The woman’s voice stayed level. “You asked me what’s in the bags. I answered. Now you’re asking to search. That’s not the same as a sobriety check. I’m refusing consent.”
Daniels stepped forward, smiling like he’d been waiting for the fun part. “You got something to hide?”
The woman looked at Daniels, then back at Johnson. “No. But I’m not giving up my rights because you’re bored.”
Daniels’ smile dropped instantly. “Excuse me?”
Johnson’s voice went colder. “You wanna make this difficult?”
The woman didn’t raise hers. “You’re doing a checkpoint. You can run my license. If I’m free to go, I’d like to go.”
Johnson stared at her like she’d slapped him.
Then he did something petty and ugly: he tossed her license onto the seat of her motorcycle instead of handing it back.
It landed crooked, like disrespect made physical.
“Wait here,” he snapped, turning toward his patrol SUV.
The woman didn’t move. She stood beside her bike, hands at her sides, watching him with a face that gave nothing away.
Daniels leaned closer, voice low, taunting. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“I live twenty minutes away,” she said.
Daniels laughed. “Yeah? Well, around here, we don’t like smart mouths.”