Victoria looked at the young officer. His uniform cap was slightly crooked, and a bead of sweat was running down his temple. He was trying to look stern, but his hands were hovering near his pockets as if he wanted to hide them.
“Are you placing me under arrest?” Victoria asked.
“We are detaining you for further investigation,” Vance said.
Victoria reached with her left hand toward her shirt pocket, where her phone was visible.
“I am going to record the remainder of this stop,” Victoria said.
Before her hand could touch the fabric of her shirt, Vance lunged forward. His large, calloused hand clamped down on her wrist, twisting her arm behind her back with a sudden, heavy jerk.
The force of his movement shoved her forward against the side of the sedan. The cold metal of the vehicle door pressing against her cheek as Vance grabs her wrist.
Vance twisted her arm upward, forcing her shoulder to lock.
Miller stood two feet away, his fingers twitching near his belt.
“You are making a mistake, Officer,” Victoria said, her nose inches from the dusty window of her sedan.
Vance did not answer, using his weight to crowd her against the driver-side panel while he pulled her other hand behind her back.
The pressure on her wrists was immediate and heavy.
Miller adjusted his uniform cap, pulling the brim down until his eyes were in shadow.
“Keep still,” Miller said, his voice rising a full octave.
Victoria kept her forehead pressed against the warm metal of the door, her breath leaving a small circle of condensation on the paint.
“I am not resisting,” she said.
Vance shifted his grip, his thick fingers pinching her skin as he brought her wrists together.
“Miller, get the restraints,” Vance said.
The junior officer stepped forward, the gravel crunching under his heavy boots.
He pulled the plastic zip-ties from his utility belt, his hands moving with a quick, jerky motion.
