“You didn’t realize what?” Naomi cut him off, her dark eyes pinning him to the spot. “That you were profiling? That you decided a woman in a vehicle not from your jurisdiction was an easy target for a shakedown? Or that you were stalling me?”
Ryan swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Stalling? No, Commander, I was just running standard interdiction—”
“Save it,” Naomi said, rolling her window up halfway. “You’re a liability to this badge, Ryan. When I get to the station, you better hope your desk is already cleared out.”
She didn’t wait for his response. She put the SUV in drive and left him standing in a cloud of fine red dust, a solitary figure shrinking in her rearview mirror. As she accelerated back up to the speed limit, she finally let out a slow, controlled breath. Her hands were perfectly steady on the leather steering wheel, but her mind was racing.
Deputy Ryan’s arrogance was irritating, but Naomi hadn’t survived fifteen years in the Bureau by attributing to stupidity what could easily be malice. Oakhaven County was supposed to be a sleepy, unremarkable stretch of rural highway connecting two major interstate arteries. Instead, over the last six months, it had quietly become the most efficient smuggling corridor for the Vargas syndicate on the Eastern Seaboard. Millions in untraceable cash, narcotics, and stolen munitions were flowing through this quiet valley, and the local law enforcement was completely blind to it.
Or, as Naomi was beginning to suspect, they were guiding it right through.
Her encrypted dashboard console chimed. She tapped the screen.
“Grant,” she answered.
“Commander, this is Vance,” her lead tactical agent’s voice came through, crisp and professional. “I heard the radio chatter. You alright?”
“Just a local uniform trying to play highwayman. It cost me twelve minutes. What’s our status at the staging ground?”