A laptop case.
A folded blazer.
Nothing unusual.
“Long way from home.”
Sarah looked at him.
“I’m on my way to Richmond International Airport.”
Boyd’s mouth tightened.
“I didn’t ask where you were going.”
Sarah paused.
Then nodded once.
Boyd handed the rental agreement to Toby but kept Sarah’s license.
“You know why I stopped you?”
“No, Sheriff.”
“You crossed the yellow.”
“I don’t believe I did.”
His expression changed almost imperceptibly.
Sarah continued calmly.
“My speed was forty-four in a forty-five zone, and I remained inside my lane.”
Boyd smiled without warmth.
“You calling me a liar?”
“No.”
“Sounds like it.”
“I’m stating what I observed.”
Toby shifted behind him.
Boyd leaned toward the window.
“You’ve got a lot of attitude for somebody passing through my town.”
Sarah’s eyes remained steady.
“I am speaking calmly.”
“See, there.”
“What?”
“That tone.”
Sarah did not answer.
Boyd waited.
When she gave him nothing, he looked toward Toby.
“Run her.”
Toby carried the license back toward the cruiser.
Sarah remained still.
The afternoon temperature hovered in the mid-nineties, and heat lifted from the pavement in shimmering waves.
A tractor trailer passed, rocking the Malibu slightly.
Boyd rested one forearm against the roof.
“What do you do in Washington?”
“I work for the federal government.”
His smile returned.
“Everybody in D.C. says that.”
Sarah said nothing.
“Agency?”
“I’d prefer not to discuss my employment during an unrelated traffic stop.”
Boyd laughed.
“There’s that attitude again.”
“My employment is not relevant to whether I committed a traffic violation.”
“You don't decide what’s relevant.”
Sarah studied him.
That sentence was more revealing than anything else he had said.
“You’re correct,” she said.
Boyd seemed surprised.
Then she added, “The law does.”
The smile disappeared.
Toby returned carrying the driver’s license.
“Valid.”
Boyd did not turn.
“Anything else?”
“No warrants. Clean record.”
“Insurance?”
“Rental is covered.”
Boyd took the license.
Toby hesitated.
“Sheriff, we can probably just—”
Boyd raised one hand.
Toby stopped.
Sarah watched them.
Boyd leaned toward her window again.
“Step out of the vehicle.”
Sarah’s posture did not change.
“For what reason?”
“Step out.”
“Am I being cited?”
“I said get out.”
Sarah looked toward his body camera.
The indicator light was blinking.
Good.
“Sheriff Cleary, I will comply. I am asking you to state why you are ordering me out.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Because I told you.”
Sarah unlocked the door.
Boyd stepped backward.
She opened it carefully and placed both feet on the shoulder.
Her cream silk blouse had been immaculate when she left Washington that morning.
She wore black tailored trousers, low heels, and small gold earrings.
Nothing flashy.
Nothing that announced rank or authority.
That was intentional.
Sarah had learned years earlier that important information often appeared when people believed they were speaking to somebody unimportant.
She stood beside the car.
Boyd pointed toward the hood.
“Turn around.”
“For a lane violation?”
“You keep questioning me, you’re going to make this worse.”
“I strongly suggest you reconsider that sentence.”
Boyd stepped closer.
“Threatening me?”
“Sounded like one.”
“I am giving you a factual assessment.”
That answer irritated him more than anger would have.