No greeting, no explanation for the stop, just a sharp, barking order that immediately established his desperate need for dominance. I can get those for you, officer, uh Sloane said, not moving her hands from the wheel. My wallet is in the inside pocket of the jacket on the passenger seat. I'm going to reach for it now. I didn't ask for a narration, Haynes snapped his jaw tight.
Just get the damn license. Sloane turned her head slowly. She kept her movements deliberate and telegraphed. She unzipped the interior pocket of her dark windbreaker and extracted her leather wallet. She intentionally didn't pull the FBI credentials flip case.
There was an unwritten rule among federal agents not to badge local cops unless necessary. It was seen as arrogant. She just wanted her civilian driver's license, wanting to take her ticket for whatever imaginary infraction Haynes had concocted, and go home to her bed. She handed her Arizona driver's license through the window. Haynes snatched it from her fingers, looking from the plastic card to her face, his lips curling into a sneer.
Sloan Jenkins. He read aloud, stretching out her name as if testing it for a lie. You know why I pulled you over, Sloan? I don't, officer. My cruise control was set to the speed limit.
You swerved. Haynes lied without blinking. Crossed the yellow line back there, about 2 miles ago. You drinking, smoking, something? Sloan felt a flare of cold anger in her chest, but she kept her breathing steady.
No, officer. I'm completely sober. I'm just trying to get home. Step out of the vehicle. Haynes commanded.
Sloan froze. Excuse me? Are you deaf? I said step out of the vehicle. Haynes leaned back, his hand wrapping fully around the grip of his holstered gun.
Officer. Sloan said, her voice dropping an octave, slipping into the authoritative tone she usually reserved for interrogations. I have not committed a moving violation. And there is no probable cause to order me out of my vehicle for a routine traffic stop. You can write the citation.
And I will be on my way. Haynes' face flushed a deep, ugly crimson. He wasn't used to defiance, especially not out here, and certainly not from a woman who looked like Sloan. He saw the faded T-shirt, the old car, the color of her skin. And he calculated that she was powerless.