She saw the flashing lights behind her and cursed herself for making the call. Not that she couldn't talk Graham into making a ticket disappear before it even hit her record, but considering where their relationship currently stood, she wasn't sure she wanted to ask.
She pulled to the side, and curtly explained to the desk sergeant that she would call back as she hung up, and opened the glove box, knowing it would take a while to root through the cache of snacks she kept stored in there to find the required paperwork. It wasn't that she was a habitual law breaker, but she knew the drill. License and registration.
As the officer approached, she watched in the side mirror trying to figure out if she had lucked out and it was someone she knew. The gait and build of the man didn't seem familiar, but even as entrenched as she was with Boston's finest, she was nowhere near close to knowing them all.
It wasn't long before he tapped on the window, indicating she was to roll it down, and she finally cranked the ancient handle, fighting against the gears to lower the glass. She felt the cold sting of air instantly, and with her other hand passed the papers and her license through the sliver of the window before he even had a chance to ask for them. The heat was barely functioning in her classic VW Bug, and on top of this hassle she didn't want to freeze the rest of the way home.
"I know it's chilly, love, but I'm going to need you to open the window. Do you know why I pulled you over?"
"Love? Really?" She couldn't stop herself, even though she knew that antagonizing the officer would not get her anywhere.
The flashlight pointed in her direction had made it impossible for her to see his face, and as soon as he shined it toward the paperwork, she tried to make out his features. Unfortunately, it was almost immediately trained back on her. What she did see in that brief moment was dark hair and scruff and eyes that had they not been so blue, she would not have been able to make out in these conditions. If it weren't for his attitude, she'd give him credit for being exactly the type of man she'd like to meet in a bar for a night of fun.
"Miss Swan, it's unlawful in the state of Massachusetts to drive while talking on one's cell phone. It's quite dangerous, and you were putting yourself and others at risk. I'm afraid I'll going to have to a write you a ticket for it."
"Look Officer, " she squinted to see past the light and to the name on his lapel, "Jones, if you'd…"
"Detective." He cut her off before she could go further, and she looked at him confused by the clarification. "It's Detective Jones. But please continue. Please…."
And that's when his flashlight wavered, and he caught sight of the baggie of cocaine sitting on her passenger seat.
She closed her eyes, and leaned against the headrest as soon as she realized he'd noticed it.
All traces of jest left his voice, and his entire demeanor changed instantly. This was no longer a routine stop.
"I'm going to need you to step out of the car, Miss Swan." He started to press the button on his collar indicating he was calling the station to relay an impending arrest.
"Wait, stop! There's an explanation. That's what I was making the call about."
He took his hand off his collar, but continued his order for her to step out of the car. As soon as she had exited, she saw him grab a bag and gloves from his pocket to properly process the cocaine as evidence. It was not until he heard her utter under her breath, "it's a little too late for that now," that he turned his attention back to her her.
"Alright, Miss Swan. You have my attention. What could the possible explanation for this be? What legitimate reason are you going to give me for driving around with," He bounced the bag of cocaine in his hand a few times, while cocking his head to the side "30 grams of cocaine in your car?" He smiled and raised an eyebrow, as if he couldn't wait to hear whatever story might be coming, his attitude returning ever so slightly.
The glare she returned, already done with his cockiness, didn't wipe the smirk from his face, but she started her explanation without hesitation. "I'm a bail bonds person. The skip I brought in tonight had that in his pocket. I forgot it in the car when I brought him in and was calling the desk sergeant to explain when you pulled me over. It's already a pretty bad fuck up because now they can't use this against him as breaking the terms of his release, but it's not mine. Call detective Humbert or Detective Nolan if you don't believe me."
That's when all the pieces snapped together for him. This was Emma Swan. The Emma Swan. The one that Nolan and Humbert wouldn't shut up about. Humbert, the love struck puppy that he was, pestering Nolan with questions about his friend, and Nolan, as if in full protective big brother mode, telling Humbert to let it go.
He'd also heard from them both that Emma Swan was a force to be reckoned with when it came to apprehending bail skips, and so her story immediately checked out.
He didn't have to let her know that though.
'Well, that's certainly a new one. 'It's not mine, Officer, I swear. The bail jumper I took down left it in my car.'" He did a poor job of imitating her voice and accent, and he received an eye roll in return.
An eye roll, and a response of "Detective. I'm not an officer, I'm a detective." In a lowered voice, as miserable an attempt of imitating his accent as he'd done of hers.
He couldn't help but laugh outright.
"Well, Miss Swan. Say I were to believe your story. What would you have me do?"
"You could take that back into the station tonight and give it to Hawkins and save me a trip. It's been a long day."
"I could do that. What would you do for me in return?"
"Why would I do anything for you in return?"
"Well, I am doing you a favor. As you said, I'm saving you a trip and it's been a long day."
"What could a Detective possibly need from a bail bonds person. You have the entire BPD at your disposal. I'm the one who is usually knocking on your door."
"Oh, you're most certainly welcome to knock on my door anytime you like, lass." He smirked as she rolled her eyes again. It must have been a record number in so short an amount of time. "But I was thinking more along the lines of having a drink with me for starters, and if all goes well…" He let his words die out and his look say the rest for him.
Emma closed her eyes and took a deep breath rather than risk further damage to her optic nerve.
When she opened them again, he was looking at her, clearly expecting a real answer.
"Sorry, I don't date cops. And even if I did, it wouldn't be you."
"Well, love, your loss. Now, about this ticket." He pulled out his book and started writing. Emma didn't protest, and let him continue. She'd earned the violation fair and square, and it seemed as though he was going to let the cocaine issue drop. "I'm sure you know all the proper procedures. You call the number on top and pay all the proper fees and such. Points on your license. That will save you a trip to court."
He continued with all of the basic information, more professionally than Emma would have given him credit for especially after she'd just refused a date with him. When he was finished, he handed her the ticket and joked that she should wait until she was home to make any further calls, no matter how desperate she might be.
He stayed as she got into her car and started the bug back up, almost as though he were concerned the ancient vehicle might not come to life given the temperature. She was grateful for the gesture, as there was no guarantee that her car would start.
As she was cranking the window back up, and he turned to walk back to her car, she caught his piss poor attempt at a wink, and again heard him say. "Remember, Miss Swan. No calls until you get home. No matter how tempted you might be."
His shiny patrol car didn't need time to heat up before it could drive away, and she watched as he cycled through his lights and pulled out into traffic. The ordeal had been just long enough for her engine to cool off, and the bug was temperamental and needed a little time before she could be sure it would be ready for the trek home.
She sighed and thought about meeting Detective Jones under different circumstances. Dim lights, a few whiskeys. Those blue eyes and that attitude. Oh she definitely could have handled him.
Cursing her luck, both at meeting him this way, and at the ticket she definitely could not afford, she looked at the passenger seat to see if there was a date on it. She hoped it was far enough in the future that she would have a bit of time to pull the money together.
She was surprised when she saw the fluid and beautiful writing across the front.
"Swan. It's not too late for that drink. 617-555-7685. Detective Jones."
She laughed when she thought about the inquisition he'd face when they saw the carbon of that ticket back at the precinct.
Maybe she would go for that drink.
But she'd definitely wait until she got home to make the call.