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.
“Out of the vehicle,” Vance said.
“Is there an issue with my speed?” Victoria asked.
Vance took a step back, gesturing for her to open the door. He did not offer a name or a badge number
Victoria turned the key in the ignition, silencing the engine. The quiet of the rural road rushed into the cabin, broken only by the distant hum of a truck on the state route. On the passenger seat lay a fresh yellow legal pad, completely blank. She opened the door and stepped out onto the gravel.
The young officer, Miller, stood near the rear bumper of her car, his hand hovering near his belt. He was twenty-six, with a pale face and eyes that darted toward the tree line every few seconds. He repeatedly adjusted his uniform cap, pulling the navy blue brim low over his forehead
“Step to the rear of the car, ma’am,” Miller said, his sentences coming in rapid, nervous bursts. “We need to check the vehicle safety features.”
“Which features are you inspecting, Officer?” Victoria asked.
Miller did not look at her. He bent down near the rear tire, poking the tread with a silver pocket clip.
“Tires look low,” Miller said, looking up with a quick, tight sneer. “Very low. We have county standards for roadworthiness, you know.”
“The tire pressure monitoring system did not indicate any loss of pressure,” Victoria said.
“System could be broken,” Miller said. “Lots of things break when you drive too fast through these hills.”
Victoria watched him. She kept her right hand steady in her shorts pocket, her fingers maintaining their light touch on the active transmitter. In Columbus, fifty miles away, the state regional dispatch center was receiving every word of this exchange, a secret known only to Victoria and her director
“Are you issuing a citation for an equipment violation?” Victoria asked.
Miller stood up, brushing gravel from his knees. He looked over at Vance, who was leaning against the driver side door of the sedan, his heavy arms crossed over his chest.
“We are checking everything,” Miller said, his voice rising slightly. “You just need to wait by the bumper.”
Ten minutes passed in the heat. The scent of damp pine needles from the adjacent woods mingled with the hot metallic smell of her engine. Victoria stood perfectly still, her eyes tracking the movements of both men
Vance walked to the driver side window, reached inside, and pulled her insurance card and registration sheet from the passenger seat. He walked back toward the rear of the car, holding the papers between two thick fingers.
“These papers do not look right,” Vance said.
“The registration is current, Deputy,” Victoria said. “It was renewed three weeks ago.”
Vance did not look at the paper. With a quick flick of his wrist, he tossed the registration and the insurance card onto the hot metal roof of her sedan. The papers slid a few inches in the light breeze and stopped against the black rubber trim of the sunroof.
