“Get her in the back,” Vance said.
Miller took her by the elbow, his grip tight enough to leave bruises through her shirt.
He led her across the rough gravel toward the rear door of the cruiser.
Victoria looked back at her own vehicle, noting the angle of the front tires and the blue folder on the passenger seat.
Miller opened the rear door of the patrol cruiser and guided her head down so she would not hit the frame.
The back seat was hard plastic, smelling of old vinyl and damp pine needles.
She slid across the seat, her hands pinned awkwardly behind her lower back.
The door closed with a heavy thud, leaving her in the quiet of the caged compartment.
Vance climbed into the driver seat a moment later, the springs of the Ford crown victoria groaning under his weight.
He adjusted the rearview mirror so he could lock eyes with her in the back.
