Victoria felt the cold plastic loop around her left wrist, then her right.
Miller pulled the tab, the sharp clicking sound filling the space between the two vehicles.
He yanked the plastic band tighter than necessary, digging the sharp edges into her skin.
“That is too tight,” Victoria said, keeping her voice level.
“It is standard,” Miller said, though he kept his eyes on her shoes rather than her face.
“Check her pockets,” Vance said, stepping back to wipe his brow with the back of his hand.
“There is nothing in my pockets but my identification,” Victoria said.
Vance leaned against her car, his hand resting on his leather holster as he stared down Route Nine.
“We will be the judge of what you have on you,” Vance said.
“Under state law, you are required to state the reason for this detention,” Victoria said.
Vance looked at Miller and nodded toward the patrol car parked ten feet behind her sedan.
