“You had a lot of questions back there,” Vance said.
“I still have them,” Victoria said, shifting her weight to ease the pressure on her wrists.
Miller got into the passenger side, pulling his clipboard onto his lap.
“She was doing forty-two in a thirty-five, Vance,” Miller said, his pen hovering over the top sheet of paper.
“We have the speed on the radar,” Vance said, though Victoria had checked her speedometer at thirty-four.
“A seven-mile-per-hour variance does not justify physical restraint,” Victoria said.
Vance let out a low, dry chuckle that sounded like stones rolling in a tin cup.
“Down here, we decide what justifies what,” Vance said.
“This is an undocumented detention on a state highway,” Victoria said.
“You are a long way from Columbus, lady,” Vance said, putting the cruiser into gear.
The patrol car pulled onto the asphalt of Route Nine, the tires hummed against the blacktop.
