Daniels let out a low whistle like she’d just done a trick. “Listen to this one.”
Johnson’s face tightened. “Walk the line.”
The woman walked. Perfectly. No wobble. No sway. Boots landing straight, controlled. She could’ve balanced a glass of water on her head.
Johnson’s mouth twisted as if good performance irritated him more than failure.
“Turn around,” he said.
She turned.
“Say the alphabet,” he demanded.
She did. Clean, even, no slur.
Daniels yawned theatrically. “She’s rehearsed.”
Johnson circled her like he was searching for a crack in her composure. Then his gaze landed on her saddlebags again.
“What’s in the bags?” he asked.
“Wedding clothes,” she said. “A gift.”
Johnson stepped closer to the bike. “Open them.”
Her shoulders stayed relaxed, but her voice sharpened slightly. “No.”
Daniels chuckled. “Oh—no?”
She met Johnson’s eyes. “You’ve completed the sobriety check. If you want to search my property, you can tell me the legal basis for it, or you can ask for consent. I do not consent.”
For a second, the air felt like it got heavier. Even the traffic noise seemed to hush in anticipation.
Johnson’s nostrils flared. “You refuse a lawful order?”