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The dust from the shoulder of Route Nine settled onto the hood of the sedan, coating the silver paint in a thin, gray grit. Deputy Vance did not look at the registration card Victoria held out through the open window of her car. He stood with his boots planted in the loose gravel, his wide frame blocking the afternoon sun. He took a slow breath, his hand resting on his duty belt.
“License,” Vance said, his voice a low, gravelly drawl.
“I have already given you my registration, Deputy,” Victoria said, her tone calm, precise, and measured. “Please identify yourselves and tell me the legal reason for this stop.”
Vance did not answer. He slowly patted the leather holster at his hip, his fingers tapping against the black grip.
Victoria touched the small silver pin on her collar, her fingers tracing the sharp edges of the metal. Her right hand remained deep inside the pocket of her canvas shorts, her thumb resting on the cold, flat metal of her gold state investigator shield and the tiny plastic switch of the active audio transmitter.