Chapter 1 - The Woman Who Wasn’t PregnantErin stood alone beside a dark road outside Boise, Idaho.
One hand supported the underside of her enormous pregnant belly.
The other waved desperately at approaching headlights.
“Please!”
Her voice cracked.
“Please, somebody help me!”
Miles Archer saw her before his motorcycle entered the curve.
He slowed.
Not because the situation looked safe.
Because it didn’t.
The road was too empty.
The nearest gas station was miles behind him.
There were no houses visible through the trees.
And a heavily pregnant woman standing alone after ten at night was exactly the kind of situation most people could not ignore.
Miles stopped twenty feet past her.
The small camera mounted near his handlebars continued recording.
It always did.
“You okay?”
Erin hurried toward him.
Her face was pale.
Her hair stuck to her forehead as though she had been sweating.
“My boyfriend left me.”
Miles glanced behind her.
“No car?”
“He took it.”
“You need an ambulance?”
“No.”
She shook her head quickly.
“No, no. Please. There’s a house right ahead.”
“How far?”
“Maybe half a mile.”
“Whose?”
“My cousin’s.”
Miles studied her.
She looked about thirty.
Black coat.
Sneakers.
No purse.
No phone visible.
“You sure you don’t want me to call someone?”
“I just need a ride.”
She pressed both hands against her belly and grimaced.
“Please.”
Miles looked toward the road ahead.
Dark.
Narrow.
Trees on both sides.
Something in his instincts told him to leave.
Another part reminded him she might genuinely be in trouble.
“Helmet?”
“I don’t have one.”
“We’re not going fast.”
She nodded urgently.
“Anything. Please.”
Miles let her climb onto the motorcycle.
She held the rear grab bar instead of his waist.
That caught his attention.
A frightened pregnant woman riding a motorcycle for the first time would usually cling to the rider.
Erin seemed strangely comfortable.
Miles said nothing.
They continued.
Three hundred yards.
Five hundred.
No house.
“Where?”
“A little farther.”
Miles reduced speed.
The camera kept recording.
Erin leaned slightly forward.
“Turn there.”
A gravel access road disappeared into trees.
Miles stopped.
“That’s not a driveway.”
“It is.”
“No.”
“The house is back there.”
“I’m not taking this bike down an unlit dirt road with you on it.”
Erin’s expression changed.
For only a moment.
Then the helplessness returned.
“Please.”
“I’ll call your cousin.”
“She doesn’t have service.”
Miles almost smiled.
Neither did the imaginary house, apparently.
He turned the motorcycle off.
“Get down.”
Erin slowly climbed off.
Miles remained seated.
“Tell me the address.”
She stood behind him.
Silence.
Miles turned his head.
“Erin?”
She had told him her name several minutes earlier.
Now her posture was different.
Straight.
Balanced.
No hand supporting the belly.
No pain.
Then a branch snapped.
Miles looked toward the trees.
One man stepped out.
Then another.
Then two more.
All large.
All wearing dark clothes.
Tattoos visible beneath sleeves.
One carried a metal flashlight.
Another held what looked like a tire iron.
Miles’s expression barely changed.
Erin exhaled.
Then stood completely straight.
She reached beneath her coat.
Unfastened something.
And lifted the huge pregnancy belly away from her body.
Foam and straps.
Fake.
She dropped it onto the gravel.
Miles stared at it.
Erin smiled.
“Keys.”
One man moved toward the motorcycle.
“Wallet too.”
Another said:
“And phone.”
Miles looked at the four men.
Then Erin.
“That was the plan?”
Erin’s smile faded slightly.
“What?”
“Fake pregnancy?”
“Don’t make this difficult.”
“You do this often?”
The man with the tire iron stepped closer.
“Give us the stuff.”
Miles remained calm.
Erin frowned.
“You deaf?”
“No.”
He slowly reached inside his jacket.
The men tensed.
“Easy,” Miles said.
He removed a small leather wallet.
Opened it.
A badge reflected the motorcycle headlight.
BOISE POLICE DEPARTMENT.
Nobody moved.
Erin stared.
The man nearest the bike whispered:
“Oh, hell.”
Miles held the badge where everyone could see.
“Detective Miles Archer.”
Erin’s face turned white.
One of the men looked at her.
“You said he was alone.”
“He was!”
“He’s a cop!”
“I didn’t know!”
The man with the tire iron backed away.
Miles’s voice remained calm.
“I’d put that down.”
The man hesitated.
Miles looked at the others.
“And nobody reaches into a waistband.”
Nobody moved.
Erin stared at Miles.
Her lips trembled.
“This is a misunderstanding.”
Miles almost laughed.
“You took off a fake pregnant belly and demanded my wallet.”
“I didn’t touch you.”
“That is going to be a fascinating defense.”
One of the men suddenly looked toward the motorcycle.
His eyes stopped.
Miles followed his gaze.
The camera.
Small.
Black.
A red indicator light still glowing.
Miles smiled faintly.
“And before anyone starts inventing a different version of the last ten minutes…”
He pointed.
“…that camera recorded the whole conversation.”
Erin turned.
Her face lost all color.
The four men looked at the camera.
Then at Erin.
One whispered:
“You told us bikers never run cameras.”
“I didn’t know!”
Miles heard the words.
So did the camera.
Then another man said something that changed everything.
“Dane is going to kill us.”
Miles’s expression sharpened.
“Who is Dane?”
Nobody answered.
But Erin looked toward the man who had spoken.
Fear crossed her face.
Not fear of Miles.
Something deeper.
Miles noticed.
“Who is Dane?”
The man backed toward the trees.
Miles shifted slightly.
“Don’t run.”
The man looked at the camera.
Then at Erin.
And suddenly bolted.
The others followed.
Miles shouted:
“STOP!”
Erin remained frozen.
A distant engine roared from behind the trees.
Miles reached for his radio.
But before he could transmit, Erin grabbed his arm.
“Don’t.”
He turned.
Her voice had changed completely.
Not threatening.
Terrified.
“If you call this in…”
Miles pulled free.
“…he’ll know.”
“Who?”
She looked toward the darkness where the men had disappeared.
“Dane.”
Miles stared.
Then Erin whispered:
“You think you caught a robbery.”
May you like
Her eyes filled with fear.
“You have no idea what that camera just recorded.”
Related Stories
