The road was quiet, the kind of quiet that only existed just outside small towns where nothing ever seemed to happen—at least not officially. Anna Parker rode her motorcycle steadily, the low rumble of the engine blending with the late-afternoon wind. She wore no uniform, no insignia, no jewelry that hinted at status. Just jeans, a plain jacket, and boots that had seen more miles than most patrol cars in the county.
She liked it that way.
