“She says the vehicle is hers.”
Rusk looked at the Bentley.
Then Renee.
His expression changed slightly.
Not surprise.
Disbelief.
“We’re handling a possible stolen vehicle.”
“Based on what?” Renee asked.
Rusk glanced at her.
“There’s been a series of high-end vehicle thefts.”
“That is not what I asked.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“What did you ask?”
“What specific information connects my Bentley to a theft report?”
Rusk crossed his arms.
“We don’t discuss active investigations on the sidewalk.”
“Have you run the license plate?”
“We know how to conduct vehicle recoveries.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
Rusk stepped closer.
“You a lawyer?”
Renee almost smiled.
“I have been.”
“Then you should know interfering with police activity can become a problem.”
“I also know police activity requires legal justification.”
The crowd grew quieter.
Rusk noticed the phones.
That irritated him more.
“Ma’am, step away.”
“I am requesting that you run the plate.”
“We will handle verification at impound.”
“There is no reason to impound a legally parked vehicle belonging to the person standing in front of you.”
Maddox laughed.
“Lady, nobody just walks up and says the Bentley is theirs.”
Renee looked at him.
“I just did.”
He shook his head.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
Renee’s voice became colder.
“I believe I do.”
The tow driver looked uncomfortable now.
He was a broad man in a reflective jacket, maybe fifty, with grease ground permanently into his hands.
“Lieutenant,” he said, “maybe we should run—”
“Keep loading.”
The driver hesitated.
Then obeyed.
The winch tightened.
There was a metallic pop.
The Bentley moved forward several inches at an angle.
The lower front trim caught against the curb.
A loud crack cut through the street.
People gasped.
The tow operator stopped immediately.
A section of the lower body panel had torn away from the mounting point and now hung slightly crooked.
Renee stared at it.
She did not react outwardly.
But something behind her eyes changed.
The Bentley was not merely expensive.
It represented time.
Every prosecutor’s office where she stayed after everyone left.
Every courtroom where she had to be overprepared because mistakes from women who looked like her were treated as evidence about more than one person.
Every Sunday missed.
Every birthday interrupted.
Every threat made against her family.
Every Senate hearing where someone interrupted her answer, then complained she had failed to answer.
She had bought the car at fifty-two.
Not as a trophy.
As permission to finally enjoy something she had earned.
Now a man who had not taken thirty seconds to run a license plate was tearing it apart beside a public curb.
Renee looked at Rusk.
“Stop the tow.”
Rusk glanced at the broken panel.
“Looks like preexisting damage.”
The tow driver stared at him.
Even Bennett looked uncomfortable.
Renee said, “You watched it break.”
Rusk shrugged.
“File a claim.”
“The vehicle was undamaged when your operation began.”
“That’s your opinion.”
Several people in the crowd murmured.
Renee looked directly at Rusk.
“Lieutenant, run the plate.”
He smiled.
“You don’t give orders here.”
Renee held his gaze.