“I decide what is current in Oakhaven,” Vance said.
“This is a state highway, Deputy Vance,” Victoria said, reading the small nameplate on his chest. “State regulations govern this route.”
Vance stepped closer, his boots crunching loud against the stones. He stood less than two feet from her, his breath warm and smelling of stale tobacco.
“You have a lot of opinions for someone fifty miles from home,” Vance said.
“I am asking for standard police procedure,” Victoria said.
“This is standard,” Vance said.
“You have not run my license, and you have not checked my registration against the state database,” Victoria said.
Miller walked around the passenger side, his boots kicking up a small cloud of dust. He stopped next to Vance, his eyes still darting toward the empty highway.
“She is being non-compliant, Vance,” Miller said, his voice high and thin. “We should just transport her.”
