Victoria’s gaze remained locked on his. "Why did you do that?"
"Wind took it," Halloway lied, his eyes daring her to challenge him. "Step out of the vehicle."
"On what grounds?" Victoria asked, her voice remaining steady, though her fingers tightened slightly against her knees. "I’ve committed no violation. You haven't cited a broken taillight, speeding, or lane deviation. You have not identified yourself or your department."
"I am giving you a lawful order!" Halloway’s voice boomed, sharp enough to cut through the hum of the cicadas. "Get out of the damn car before I drag you out!"
Victoria reached toward the magnetic phone mount on the dashboard. "I'm going to record this interaction for both our safety—"
Before her fingers could brush the glass screen, Vance lunged. The younger deputy tore the driver’s door open, his fingers clamping onto her upper arm like an iron vise. He jerked her violently sideways, tearing her free of the seatbelt.
"You don't reach for anything, you hear me?" Vance snarled in her ear.
Halloway grabbed her other arm, his massive hands digging into her bicep. Together, with a level of brutality entirely disconnected from any threat she posed, they hauled her out onto the gravel shoulder.
Victoria didn't scream. She didn't flail or throw an elbow. She knew the law; she knew that any physical resistance, however instinctive, would be documented as assault on a peace officer. But she kept her voice razor-sharp.
"Take your hands off me! You are using excessive force without cause! Identify yourselves!"
"Shut your mouth!" Halloway barked. He spun her around and shoved her face-first against the hot metal of her own car door.
The heat of the black paint radiated against her cheek. Gravel bit into the soles of her sneakers as Halloway shoved his heavy forearm against the back of her neck, pinning her down. Vance grabbed her wrists, twisting them upward behind her back with enough force that her shoulder joints popped under the strain.
The sound of ratcheting steel cut through the hot air: *click-click-click*.
May you like
A Father Demands Full Custody Until His Young Son Interrupts Court With...
"Chapter 1: The Boy in the Gallery
A Hidden Tackle Box Reveals Our Stepfather Secretly Fathered Another Pai...
""Chapter 1: The Secret in the Red Tackle Box
When My Battered Daughter Collapsed on My Porch, I Answered Her Husband’...
"Chapter 1: The Blood on the Porch
The handcuffs closed tight, biting deep into the soft skin over her wrist bones. Vance didn't double-lock them; he ratcheted them another notch tighter, intentionally cutting into her circulation.
"There," Vance whispered, leaning over her shoulder, his breath warm against her temple. "Not so talkative now, are you? You think you can mouth off to county deputies out here? You're going to sit in a holding cell until Monday morning, little girl. Let's see how smart you talk to a magistrate after forty-eight hours on a concrete bench."
Victoria pressed her forehead lightly against the glass of the window, gathering herself. Her heart was hammering, but her mind was crystal clear, ice-cold, and entirely analytical.
She had them.
Every second, every unlawful order, every escalation of physical force, every violation of civil rights had been captured.
Down the road, half a mile away, an old farm truck—a silver Ford with a rusted tailgate—slowed as it approached, the driver staring through the heat waves at the two large deputies manhandling a girl against a sedan. Halloway turned and glared at the truck with raw hostility, resting his hand on his holster until the old man in the straw hat took the hint and accelerated away.
"You're making a mistake," Victoria said quietly.
Halloway stepped around to face her, a cruel, mocking grin splitting his heavy face. "Oh, am I? You want to tell me how the law works again? You resisted a lawful order. You made a threatening gesture toward your floorboard. I feared for my safety. My partner will back me up every single day of the week, and the judge in this county happens to be his uncle. You don't have a prayer, sweetheart."
Victoria looked him dead in the eyes. There was no terror in her face. No tears, no trembling lip, no desperate pleading.
"Are you sure you want to take this any further?" she asked.
Halloway laughed out loud, shaking his head. "Are you trying to threaten me? While you're in my cuffs?"
"I'm not threatening you, Deputy Halloway," Victoria said, her voice dropping into a register of chilling, professional authority. "I'm giving you one opportunity to mitigate the criminal charges that are about to land on your desk. Reach into the right pocket of my shorts."
Both men paused.
Vance frowned, glancing at his partner. "What's she talking about? She got a blade in there?"
"Check it," Victoria said calmly. "I can't reach it with my hands cuffed behind my back. Reach in. Take it out."
Halloway sneered, but the absolute lack of panic in her posture had begun to seed a small, poisonous doubt in his gut. He reached down cautiously, his thick fingers slipping into the front right pocket of her denim shorts. His fingers brushed against something flat, heavy, and wrapped in leather.
He pulled it out.
It was a compact, bifold case of heavy black leather, worn smooth along the edges from years of being carried in jackets and pockets.
Halloway turned it over in his hand, his brow furrowing. "What the hell is this?"
"Open it," Victoria instructed softly.
Halloway flicked the leather snap open with his thumb.
The sun caught the polished metal inside, throwing a blinding flash of gold into his eyes.
Pinned to the upper panel was a heavy, seven-pointed gold star, meticulously engraved, encircling the state seal. Beneath it, secured behind scratch-resistant clear polycarbonate, was an official credential card displaying Victoria's photo, an official state holographic watermark, and two lines of crisp, bold type: