"What a prick," I mumbled under my breath, addressing the two bottles of wine as I gently placed the brown paper bag on the passenger seat. The door of the car slammed shut with more force than necessary, echoing my current state of frustration. I started the ignition, continuing to vent to my silent, bottled companions. "All I wanted him to do was go and check out the back for another bottle. It really wasn't that difficult." My words floated emptily in the car as I pulled out of the bottle shop car park, a sense of irritation still nagging at me.

"Thank you for listening," I said, directing my words to the wine bottles as the brown bag crinkled in response to my touch. I felt a sense of gratitude for their unjudging presence. "You never do disappoint."

However, my moment of solace was abruptly shattered. Bright red and blue lights from an unmarked police car flashed in my rearview mirror. Instinctively, I flicked on my left indicator, slowing down and edging as close to the side of the road as I could, assuming the police car needed to pass.

My brow furrowed in confusion as the police car remained behind me. Why aren't they passing me? I wondered, a sense of unease beginning to creep in.

Then, the unmistakable sound of a police siren blared for several seconds. "Shit!" I hissed, the realisation hitting me like a ton of bricks. It was me they intended to pull over.

With a heavy sigh, I brought the car to a complete stop on the side of the road. My mind raced with possibilities. Had I done something wrong? Was this about the wine? Or was it something else entirely?

Sitting there, waiting for the police officer to approach, my heart pounded in my chest. The last thing I needed right now was trouble with the law. As I watched the officer step out of the patrol car in my rearview mirror, I braced myself for whatever was to come. My thoughts momentarily flickered to Luke and the Guardians. Was this related to Joel? Or was it just an unfortunate coincidence?

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. Whatever the reason for being pulled over, I was determined to handle it calmly and efficiently. But deep down, a part of me couldn't shake off the feeling that this was just another complication in what was becoming an increasingly complex and unpredictable life.

You've got nothing to worry about, I reassured myself, even as my hands felt slightly clammy on the steering wheel. The window glided down smoothly as the young female officer approached my car.

"License, please," she demanded. There was a peculiar shift in her demeanour - a twitch at the corners of her mouth, as if she struggled to switch from a sense of warped glee to enforced seriousness. I shook off the odd impression, attributing it to my own heightened nerves.

Reaching across to the passenger seat, I grimaced slightly from the stretch, my handbag lying in a dishevelled heap in the footwell. "Did I do something wrong, officer?" I asked, retrieving my license and handing it over. I was genuinely puzzled about why I had been pulled over.

"Well, you almost hit a parked car back there when you turned out of the bottle shop," the officer explained, her eyes methodically scanning my license.

I did? Confusion wrinkled my forehead as I instinctively turned to look back, searching for any car I might have nearly hit. Seeing none that seemed a likely candidate, I turned back to face forward.

"Have you had anything to drink this afternoon?" she inquired, her tone professional yet probing.

"No," I answered a bit too quickly, feeling a twinge of defensiveness. Realising my response might have come off as brash, I softened my expression and, in an attempt to lighten the mood, patted the brown paper bag on the passenger seat. "That's why I was out getting these lovelies," I added, hoping to convey a sense of innocence and lightheartedness.

As the officer continued to hold my license, I could feel the tension in the air. I knew I hadn't done anything seriously wrong, at least not today, but the situation was still unnerving. The officer's presence and questioning, the flashing lights of the police car in my rearview mirror, they all contributed to a growing sense of unease.

"Gladys Cramer," the officer announced, her professionalism evident as she effortlessly produced a breathalyser device from her utility belt. It almost seemed like magic how quickly it appeared in her hand. "I just need you to blow into this tube here until I tell you to stop," she instructed, holding the device towards me.

You've nothing to hide, I reassured myself internally, reminding myself of the simple fact that my last drink had been yesterday. Surely there'd be no trace of alcohol left in my system by now. With a nod of understanding, I took the breathalyser, my dark plum-coloured lips wrapping around the white plastic tube.

"Okay, now blow," the officer directed.

I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs, and then exhaled forcefully into the tube. The sound of air rushing into the device echoed slightly in the quiet of the car. The officer watched the breathalyser intently, and I continued to blow, the process feeling longer than I had anticipated.

"Stop," she finally instructed.

I noticed a look of disappointment flicker across the young officer's face. "One moment please, Ms. Cramer," she said, her tone suggesting something unexpected had occurred.

Puzzled by her reaction, which seemed incongruous with what I assumed would be a clean result, I watched through the rearview mirror as she walked back to confer with the second officer who had remained in their vehicle.

Sitting there, waiting, I felt a surge of curiosity mixed with a tinge of apprehension. What were they discussing? Had something gone wrong with the test, or was there another issue at play?

After a brief wait, the second officer, a tall and broad male, emerged from the police vehicle and approached my window. My eyes followed his every move, a mix of curiosity and apprehension brewing within me.

"Gladys Cramer?" he inquired, holding my license up for reference.

"Yes," I confirmed, trying to mask the unease in my voice. "Have I done something wrong?"

"I'm Senior Detective Karl Jenkins," he introduced himself, his tone authoritative. "Is this your car, ma'am?"

I hesitated for a moment. There was something vaguely familiar about his face, and the name definitely rang a bell. Karl Jenkins... Yes, he had been involved in the investigation into Brody's death, and he was quite close to Beatrix. It struck me as odd that he didn't seem to recognise me, but then again, we hadn't really interacted before.

As I pondered over the situation, an uneasy thought crossed my mind: If my breathalyser result was clean, why is a detective now showing such keen interest in me? A sense of foreboding began to form in the pit of my stomach.

"No," I finally answered. Realising that a simple response would not suffice in this case, "It's a friend's car," I elaborated quickly, hoping to divert any further probing. "He told me I could use it to go to the bottle shop. We were planning on having a trashy movie binge session, but then we realised we didn't have any drinks to go with it. He's at home cooking now, which is why I went to get the wine."

I took a deep breath after my explanation, silently hoping that my words would be enough to satisfy the detective's inquiry and dissolve any further interest in my activities. The explanation was truthful yet innocuous, perfectly fitting for a casual afternoon plan.

As Detective Karl Jenkins furrowed his brow in thought, the silence stretched, growing more uncomfortable by the second. My mind raced, wondering if he believed my explanation. Was he going to leave me alone now?

"Who is this friend of yours?" Karl finally broke the silence, his voice steady.

I caught myself just in time before blurting out Luke's name, which would undoubtedly complicate matters. "Oh. Jamie Greyson, of course. This is his car," I replied, trying to sound as casual as possible. Given the detective's inquiry about the car's ownership, it seemed logical to acknowledge Jamie's name. It was a simple truth that I hoped would divert any deeper scrutiny.

"Jamie Greyson, did you say?" the detective pressed, his tone suddenly piquing with interest.

"Yes," I confirmed, feeling a flicker of nausea. What did he know about Jamie or the car? Surely, as police, they had access to vehicle registration details. I hoped my response wouldn't inadvertently lead to more complications.

"Well, how's that for timing," Detective Jenkins exclaimed, almost too energetically. "We've been trying to contact Jamie for the last few days. We'll just follow you back to his house, if you don't mind."

My heart sank at his words. The prospect of police following me to Jamie's house, with all the uncertainties currently swirling around our lives, was the last thing I needed. I glanced at the bottles of wine on the passenger seat, silently pleading with the universe to spare my darlings from any potential sacrifice. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach, heralding a sense of impending trouble.

Turning back to Detective Jenkins, I managed to muster a forced smile. "Not at all," I lied, trying to sound cooperative and unconcerned.

"Alright then," he said with a final tap on the edge of my car before walking away.

As he left, a wave of apprehension washed over me. Leading the police to Jamie's house felt like inviting trouble into our already complicated lives. But what choice did I have? Refusing could raise more suspicion, and I had to keep up appearances.

"Shit!" I muttered under my breath, my fingers awkwardly fumbling with the keys in the ignition. The ludicrous idea of offering my wine as a bribe to the detectives, in case they didn't find Jamie, sent an involuntary shiver down my spine.

I turned onto Berriedale Road, my mind racing as I dialled Luke's number on my phone. It rang unanswered, adding to my growing sense of urgency.

"Luke!" I yelled into the phone, my voice betraying a mix of frustration and rising panic. "The police are following me back to your place. They're expecting to find Jamie. What do I do?" I ended the call, knowing all too well Luke's notorious habit of ignoring voicemails.

Frowning deeply, I felt my hands start to sweat with anxiety. I was acutely aware that texting while driving, especially with the police trailing closely behind me, was risky. But the urgency of the situation left me with no choice. My heart pounded as I thought about the possible consequences.

With reluctant determination, I grabbed my phone, trying to compose a quick warning text to Luke. My fingers trembled as I typed, the car winding up the hill. Before I could finish, the familiar blue and red lights began flashing behind me. "Shit!" I hissed, frustration and fear mingling as I continued to type, ignoring the police car's signal to pull over.

The message was riddled with errors thanks to my hurried typing and the damned autocorrect, but there was no time to fix it. I hit send, hoping Luke would understand the urgency despite the garbled text.

As soon as the message was sent, I quickly deleted any trace of it, a precautionary measure against any unwanted questions. I then complied with the police signal, indicating and pulling the car over to the side of the road.

With every fibre of my being, I reminded myself to stay calm as Detective Karl approached my window. The window whirred down, and I braced myself for whatever came next, trying to maintain a composed exterior despite the turmoil brewing inside. The stakes were high, and I knew that my reactions in the next few moments could significantly impact the unfolding situation.

My heart raced as Detective Jenkins peered down at me through the car window, his glare sharp and unwavering. "Gladys," he began, his tone firm, "Why were you texting while driving?"

"I wasn't texting," I asserted with a boldness I didn't truly feel.

"But you were," he countered, unmoved. "My partner and I could see you do it while we were following behind you. We watched you almost run off the road. You could have done yourself some serious harm had you gone over the embankment."

I felt a mix of indignation and fear as he accused me of poor driving. "I already told you. I wasn't texting anyone," I repeated, a bit too hastily.

"Gladys," he said again, his voice stern. "Who were you texting?"

His piercing gaze unsettled me. Reminding myself there was no evidence, I reluctantly unlocked my phone. "Look, I wasn't texting anyone," I insisted, my voice tinged with nervousness. "Here, check for yourself," I said, pushing the phone into his hands with a forced sense of confidence.

As Detective Jenkins thumbed through the messages, I struggled to mask my growing anxiety. "I see you haven't messaged Jamie since yesterday," he observed. "Did he call you?"

His intrusion beyond just checking the recipient's names irked me. "Of course, he did," I snapped back, snatching the phone from his grasp. "I'm on my way to his house in his car, aren't I?" The words left my mouth before I could stop them, immediately regretting how they might reinforce the false impression that Jamie would be at Luke's house.

"Our mistake then," Detective Jenkins conceded, his expression softening slightly. "Shall we continue?" he suggested, gesturing up the road towards Luke's house.

I bit my lower lip, a sense of dread settling over me. Nodding reluctantly, I agreed to continue the drive, my mind racing with thoughts of what I would do next. How am I going to explain Jamie's absence? The situation was spiralling out of my control, and I felt a knot of worry tighten in my stomach.

As I pulled back onto the road, following Karl's gesture, I couldn't help but feel cornered. The prospect of arriving at Luke's house with the police expecting to find Jamie filled me with a sense of impending doom. What was supposed to be a simple errand was quickly turning into a nightmare. I needed a plan, and fast, but my mind was drawing blanks. With every turn of the wheel, the anxiety within me grew, the uncertainty of what lay ahead looming over me like a dark cloud.