He told her he didn’t care if she was the Secretary of Defense. He accused her of felony evasion, assault with a deadly weapon (the car), and resisting arrest. He told her she was looking at ten years in a state facility. He turned to his buddies, laughing, calling her a “high-and-mighty fed.” Dixon stepped closer, his eyes lingering on her.
He made a comment about how they “didn’t get many pretty ones” out here. Reed chuckled nervously. The air was thick with a predatory energy. Sarah realized this wasn’t a legal proceeding; it was a kidnapping by men with badges. But she also knew something they didn’t: they had just picked a fight with a woman trained to dismantle people like them.
Vance didn’t bother with the Miranda rights. He grabbed Sarah by the shoulder and slammed her against the hot hood of the Tahoe. The metal burned her cheek. He yanked her arms behind her back, ratcheting the handcuffs so tight they cut into her wrists. It wasn’t about security; it was about pain.
Sarah had been through SERE (Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape) training. She knew how to compartmentalize physical pain. But the violation of her dignity was a debt she began to record in her mind. Meanwhile, Dixon was tossing the interior of the Tahoe. He threw her personal gear—a change of clothes, a book, her shaving kit—into the dirt.
He stepped on her book with a muddy boot while searching for the “good stuff.” Vance told him to find the documents. Reed searched the trunk, tossing her spare tire aside. Sarah watched everything. She memorized their badge numbers, the way Vance squinted, the scar on Dixon’s hand. She was a professional observer, and right now, she was building a file.
Vance grabbed her by the hair, pulling her head back. He hissed in her ear that her “uniform” wouldn’t save her here. He told her this was his county, and he was the only law that mattered. The pain was sharp, but Sarah didn’t make a sound. She just looked him in the eye with a gaze so cold it should have warned him. But Vance was too arrogant to see it.
Dixon finally found the courier pouch. He held up the classified folder like a trophy. Vance snatched it, flipping through pages he didn’t have the clearance to see. He mocked the “top secret” stamps, calling them “government gibberish.”
