Something was very, very wrong.
Tim’s pulse quickened, but his face remained calm. He had years of practice at this. If he startled the man, things could escalate. He needed to act with precision.
Keeping one hand steady on the wheel, Tim reached for the radio clipped to the dashboard. His voice came out steady, practiced: “Control, this is Bus 43. Minor mechanical issue. Pulling over at the next stop.”
“Copy that, Bus 43. Need assistance?” crackled the response.
“Yes. Send a patrol unit.”
Tim kept his tone casual, as if this were just another maintenance call. But the coded message was clear. He had once worn that uniform. He knew what to say.
The bus rolled on for another block before easing to a stop outside a quiet coffee shop. Tim turned on the hazard lights.
“Sorry, folks,” he called out, his voice carrying down the aisle. “Bit of a hiccup here. We’ll just be a minute.”
Passengers groaned, checked watches, and muttered about being late for work. Some stood to get off and stretch. All the while, Tim’s eyes never left the mirror.
The man looked tense now, his grip tightening on the girl’s wrist. “What’s the problem?” he demanded.
“Just routine,” Tim said smoothly. “Nothing to worry about.”
