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Description
SEVEN YEARS

Trooper Savannah “Chesty” Hill sat in her Charger and watched the traffic flow by. Parked in the middle of the left and right lanes she had a good view of the road, and a copse of trees hid her vehicle from traffic approaching the city in the northbound lane. Yet she could sense the drivers were alert to her presence, as the vehicles slowed as they approached her position.

Savannah watched as a fast moving Jaguar cluelessly sped along in the leftmost lane, passing the slowing traffic.

“Seventy Two,” Savannah muttered to herself, and then lifted the laser gun and aimed it at the Jag.

A second later Savannah smirked triumphantly as the LED flashed Seventy Two, and she watched in amusement as the Jag's brake lights flashed.

But the Jag was lucky. Savannah was tired from her power lift workout the evening before, and her thick thighs were aching from the squats. It was hot and windy, and a Jag going seven miles over the limit wasn't worth the hassle of getting out of the car. Instead, Savannah cranked the AC up a notch and took a swig of her Gatorade.

“Hey Chesty what's your location?” the radio crackled.

“I'm sat in my hidey hole on thirty five at Round Rock,” she replied.

“We have a fast mover in a white Cadillac heading your way Chesty.”

“Got it.”

It was some idiot's bad luck that helicopter enforcement was doing a Saturday training exercise. No matter how fast the jackass in the Cadillac drove, there was no way he was going to outrun the chopper. No fucking way.

Savannah straightened up and buttoned the top button of her tan trousers. She screwed the cap onto her Gatorade and placed it in the center console. She pulled her seat belt over her belly and put on her mirrored sunglasses.

The Cadillac rushed by minutes later, doing a smooth ninety. She flashed the lights and mashed the gas. The Charger's V8 HEMI responded with a throaty roar, and the tires spit a spray of gravel as the car veered onto the macadam.

The Caddy slowed immediately which gave Savannah some relief. Early in her career Savannah thought pursuits were fun, but after Pappy Pierson was nearly done in by one Savannah's enthusiasm for pursuits waned considerably.

The Cadillac slowed and moved towards the shoulder, Savannah following behind. The car came to a stop, and Savannah stopped twenty yards behind, giving herself a buffer as she ran the plates.

It was a rental car with Oklahoma plates, and it came up clean. Probably not a drug runner, the mules were smart enough not to drive something so conspicuous. Well, most of them anyway.

Savannah pushed the door open, and was instantly buffeted by the warm Texas air. It was hot and dusty, and her ass was still sore from the lifting session. Savannah straightened her straw cowboy hat and rested her right hand on her service revolver as she approached the car.

There was a single driver, no passengers. She could see the driver's eyes in the rear view mirror watch her as she approached. Savannah was only a few inches over five foot, but in her tan state trooper uniform, cowboy hat, and mirrored sunglasses she felt about seven feet tall. She had the beef of a power lifter and she knew she could hold her own against any of her male colleagues.

“License and registration please.”

Savannah waited, trying not to show her impatience as the sun beat down on her. She watched impassively as the driver fumbled with the glove box, and spilled the rental car papers all over the passenger seat.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?”

It was a simple question that Savannah was trained to ask first. Admission of guilt made the whole process easier.

“So sorry,” the man replied in an English accent as he handed her his license.

Savannah took the license from him and studied it. It was a British ID. Not something that she felt like dealing with at the moment. Not to mention that the guy was staring at her chest.

“I clocked you doing ninety miles an hour.”

“I'm sorry Ma'am.”

He was still looking at her chest. Savannah wasn't in the mood. Not so soon after the divorce, after all the cheating.

“I'm going to let you off with a warning. Watch your speed next time.”

“Thank you.”

The driver hesitated. For a moment Savannah thought he was going to ask her out, but common sense prevailed. Instead, hands shaky, he slipped his license back into his wallet. Savannah waited as he pulled back into traffic, and then she made her way back to her Charger.

Lexi Ryder sprinted down the walkway, her carry-on bag bumping along behind her. The 4:56 was the last direct flight from Atlanta to Austin, and if she missed it, she was out of luck. Lexi could see her gate up ahead, just past the Chick-Fil-A. The last passengers to board the aircraft were still straggling through the check-in as a matronly flight attendant scanned their boarding passes. Chest heaving Lexi slowed to a trot and reached up to smooth her brunette hair.

As Lexi slowed another thought crossed her mind. She could just miss the flight. It was a plausible excuse.

Yes Charlotte, I tried to make it, but you know, the flight was late, and I missed my connection...

But avoiding confrontation wasn't Lexi's style. That was the cowards way out, something that she had grown all too comfortable with of late. After seven years of self imposed exile, Lexi was ready for some closure.

Lexi joined the queue boarding the plane. The businessman in front of her turned, and gave her a surreptitious glance as he checked her out. Lexi was used to the stares. A decade out of high school, the ex-cheer captain and homecoming queen still had a petite, toned figure. Lexi had the good looks of a model. If Lexi had a few more inches of height and some real hair, she probably could have made a career of it.

Lexi had seen recent pictures of Savannah in her state trooper uniform. Unlike Lexi, Savannah had ballooned up after college, a slow steady gain that left Savannah's tan trooper trousers fit to burst. In college, the star softball player had been a big girl, and now Savannah's girth was growing unchecked.

The spiteful part of Lexi tried to take pleasure in Savannah losing the battle of the bulge. News of Savannah's failed marriage had triggered delight rather than sympathy. But no matter how hard she tried, Lexi could not bring herself to hate Savannah Hill. Hate would be too easy.

Lexi finally boarded the plane, once again smoothing her hair. The 737 was full, and after passing through first class into economy Lexi spotted the empty seat on the aisle. She sighed as she noticed it was next to the businessman who had checked her out before boarding. He grinned at her and she gave him a tight lipped smile in return.

Lexi plunked down in the seat next to the businessman. The smell of breath mints and aftershave washed over her as she buckled her seat belt. She noticed with annoyance the narrow white sliver of flesh on his finger, indicating a recently removed ring.

“I'm a lesbian,” she announced pre-emptively as he turned to speak to her. She wasn't in the mood to deal with his clumsy flirtations, and she didn't have the energy to pretend otherwise.

Lexi busied herself with the in-flight magazine as the stewardess walked them through the emergency procedures.

The man cleared his throat. “It's not often I see someone that looks like you. I mean, wow, when you sat down next to me.”

“Still a lesbian,” Lexi replied, flipping through an article titled “Eat in Phoenix.”

“When I saw you before we boarded, I thought maybe you were a model or something. Your hair is absolutely incredible.”

“I bought it online.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the man's mouth flop open and shut, making no noise as if he were a fish gasping for air. Finally he shut up.

Lexi triumphantly replaced the in-flight magazine in the seat back tray, slumped back in her seat, and shut her eyes.

She woke back up when the plane landed in Austin.

Description
SEVEN YEARS

Trooper Savannah “Chesty” Hill sat in her Charger and watched the traffic flow by. Parked in the middle of the left and right lanes she had a good view of the road, and a copse of trees hid her vehicle from traffic approaching the city in the northbound lane. Yet she could sense the drivers were alert to her presence, as the vehicles slowed as they approached her position.

Savannah watched as a fast moving Jaguar cluelessly sped along in the leftmost lane, passing the slowing traffic.

“Seventy Two,” Savannah muttered to herself, and then lifted the laser gun and aimed it at the Jag.

A second later Savannah smirked triumphantly as the LED flashed Seventy Two, and she watched in amusement as the Jag's brake lights flashed.

But the Jag was lucky. Savannah was tired from her power lift workout the evening before, and her thick thighs were aching from the squats. It was hot and windy, and a Jag going seven miles over the limit wasn't worth the hassle of getting out of the car. Instead, Savannah cranked the AC up a notch and took a swig of her Gatorade.

“Hey Chesty what's your location?” the radio crackled.

“I'm sat in my hidey hole on thirty five at Round Rock,” she replied.

“We have a fast mover in a white Cadillac heading your way Chesty.”

“Got it.”

It was some idiot's bad luck that helicopter enforcement was doing a Saturday training exercise. No matter how fast the jackass in the Cadillac drove, there was no way he was going to outrun the chopper. No fucking way.

Savannah straightened up and buttoned the top button of her tan trousers. She screwed the cap onto her Gatorade and placed it in the center console. She pulled her seat belt over her belly and put on her mirrored sunglasses.

The Cadillac rushed by minutes later, doing a smooth ninety. She flashed the lights and mashed the gas. The Charger's V8 HEMI responded with a throaty roar, and the tires spit a spray of gravel as the car veered onto the macadam.

The Caddy slowed immediately which gave Savannah some relief. Early in her career Savannah thought pursuits were fun, but after Pappy Pierson was nearly done in by one Savannah's enthusiasm for pursuits waned considerably.

The Cadillac slowed and moved towards the shoulder, Savannah following behind. The car came to a stop, and Savannah stopped twenty yards behind, giving herself a buffer as she ran the plates.

It was a rental car with Oklahoma plates, and it came up clean. Probably not a drug runner, the mules were smart enough not to drive something so conspicuous. Well, most of them anyway.

Savannah pushed the door open, and was instantly buffeted by the warm Texas air. It was hot and dusty, and her ass was still sore from the lifting session. Savannah straightened her straw cowboy hat and rested her right hand on her service revolver as she approached the car.

There was a single driver, no passengers. She could see the driver's eyes in the rear view mirror watch her as she approached. Savannah was only a few inches over five foot, but in her tan state trooper uniform, cowboy hat, and mirrored sunglasses she felt about seven feet tall. She had the beef of a power lifter and she knew she could hold her own against any of her male colleagues.

“License and registration please.”

Savannah waited, trying not to show her impatience as the sun beat down on her. She watched impassively as the driver fumbled with the glove box, and spilled the rental car papers all over the passenger seat.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?”

It was a simple question that Savannah was trained to ask first. Admission of guilt made the whole process easier.

“So sorry,” the man replied in an English accent as he handed her his license.

Savannah took the license from him and studied it. It was a British ID. Not something that she felt like dealing with at the moment. Not to mention that the guy was staring at her chest.

“I clocked you doing ninety miles an hour.”

“I'm sorry Ma'am.”

He was still looking at her chest. Savannah wasn't in the mood. Not so soon after the divorce, after all the cheating.

“I'm going to let you off with a warning. Watch your speed next time.”

“Thank you.”

The driver hesitated. For a moment Savannah thought he was going to ask her out, but common sense prevailed. Instead, hands shaky, he slipped his license back into his wallet. Savannah waited as he pulled back into traffic, and then she made her way back to her Charger.

Lexi Ryder sprinted down the walkway, her carry-on bag bumping along behind her. The 4:56 was the last direct flight from Atlanta to Austin, and if she missed it, she was out of luck. Lexi could see her gate up ahead, just past the Chick-Fil-A. The last passengers to board the aircraft were still straggling through the check-in as a matronly flight attendant scanned their boarding passes. Chest heaving Lexi slowed to a trot and reached up to smooth her brunette hair.

As Lexi slowed another thought crossed her mind. She could just miss the flight. It was a plausible excuse.

Yes Charlotte, I tried to make it, but you know, the flight was late, and I missed my connection...

But avoiding confrontation wasn't Lexi's style. That was the cowards way out, something that she had grown all too comfortable with of late. After seven years of self imposed exile, Lexi was ready for some closure.

Lexi joined the queue boarding the plane. The businessman in front of her turned, and gave her a surreptitious glance as he checked her out. Lexi was used to the stares. A decade out of high school, the ex-cheer captain and homecoming queen still had a petite, toned figure. Lexi had the good looks of a model. If Lexi had a few more inches of height and some real hair, she probably could have made a career of it.

Lexi had seen recent pictures of Savannah in her state trooper uniform. Unlike Lexi, Savannah had ballooned up after college, a slow steady gain that left Savannah's tan trooper trousers fit to burst. In college, the star softball player had been a big girl, and now Savannah's girth was growing unchecked.

The spiteful part of Lexi tried to take pleasure in Savannah losing the battle of the bulge. News of Savannah's failed marriage had triggered delight rather than sympathy. But no matter how hard she tried, Lexi could not bring herself to hate Savannah Hill. Hate would be too easy.

Lexi finally boarded the plane, once again smoothing her hair. The 737 was full, and after passing through first class into economy Lexi spotted the empty seat on the aisle. She sighed as she noticed it was next to the businessman who had checked her out before boarding. He grinned at her and she gave him a tight lipped smile in return.

Lexi plunked down in the seat next to the businessman. The smell of breath mints and aftershave washed over her as she buckled her seat belt. She noticed with annoyance the narrow white sliver of flesh on his finger, indicating a recently removed ring.

“I'm a lesbian,” she announced pre-emptively as he turned to speak to her. She wasn't in the mood to deal with his clumsy flirtations, and she didn't have the energy to pretend otherwise.

Lexi busied herself with the in-flight magazine as the stewardess walked them through the emergency procedures.

The man cleared his throat. “It's not often I see someone that looks like you. I mean, wow, when you sat down next to me.”

“Still a lesbian,” Lexi replied, flipping through an article titled “Eat in Phoenix.”

“When I saw you before we boarded, I thought maybe you were a model or something. Your hair is absolutely incredible.”

“I bought it online.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the man's mouth flop open and shut, making no noise as if he were a fish gasping for air. Finally he shut up.

Lexi triumphantly replaced the in-flight magazine in the seat back tray, slumped back in her seat, and shut her eyes.

She woke back up when the plane landed in Austin.