Male.
Broad shoulders.
Sitting perfectly upright.
No passenger.
No music thumping.
No erratic movement.
The guy drove like a machine, which was the second red flag.
Normal people fidgeted.
They checked their phones at red lights, adjusted the radio, scratched their neck.
This driver sat like he was carved from stone.
Norman's instincts were screaming now.
This wasn't some rich kid joyriding in daddy's SUV.
This was someone who knew how to move product.
How to stay invisible.
Probably ex-military using his training to run drugs up the I-95 corridor.
It happened more than people wanted to admit.
Guys came back from deployment, couldn't find work, fell in with the wrong crowd.
Norman had busted two of them last year.
Both with enough fentanyl in their trunks to kill a neighborhood.
He clicked his tongue against his teeth, weighing his options.
He had no probable cause.
The vehicle was legal.
The driving was perfect.
And his captain had already chewed him out twice this month for aggressive stops without justification.
But Norman knew what his gut was telling him.
This was the one.
This was the bust that would get him noticed.
Maybe even fast-track him to narcotics.
He just needed a reason.
His eyes traced the G-Wagon's taillights, both glowing red and fully functional.
The tint looked legal.
No visible damage.
No...
Wait.
Norman leaned forward, narrowing his eyes.
Was that a crack in the left taillight?
He couldn't quite tell in the dark, but it didn't matter.
By the time they reviewed dashcam footage, if it ever came to that, he'd make sure there was a crack.
A little tap with his baton during the stop.
Blame it on the suspect backing up.
Easy.
He flipped on his lights.
The blue and red strobes exploded across the highway, painting the trees in violent color.
Norman expected the G-Wagon to hesitate.
To speed up.
To do something that would confirm his suspicions.
Instead, the vehicle's right turn signal clicked on immediately.
It decelerated smoothly and pulled onto the shoulder with the precision of a driver's education instructor.
Norman felt a flicker of unease, but he crushed it under a surge of adrenaline.
He radioed dispatch with his location and plate number, then stepped out of his cruiser.
His hand drifted to his holster, fingers brushing the grip of his Glock.
The night air was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of pine and asphalt.
He approached the driver's-side window, his flashlight cutting through the darkness.