Sarah warned them that those documents were a matter of national security. Vance just laughed, a harsh, braying sound. He said the only “security” he cared about was making sure she learned her lesson. Reed pulled out his phone and started filming her, mocking her disheveled appearance for his own amusement.
Dixon walked up and ran a greasy finger down her cheek, “cleaning” off the dust. It was a slow, insulting gesture. Sarah jerked her head away, her eyes flashing with a fury that made Dixon flinch for a second. He recovered by gripping her chin hard enough to leave bruises, telling her to “be a good girl.”
The two deputies from the roadblock, sensing things were going south, quietly retreated to their cars. they didn’t want to be witnesses, but they weren’t going to stop it. That was the “thin blue line” in this county.
Major Miller calculated her odds. Three armed men, her hands bound. If she moved now, the documents might be destroyed in the scuffle. She had to wait. She forced her muscles to relax, suppressing the urge to break Dixon’s windpipe. Vance ordered them to take her to the “substation”—a remote, unofficial building they used for “special” cases.
They shoved her into the back of Vance’s cruiser. Dixon sat next to her, crowding her space, his leg pressed against hers. Reed sat in the front, still filming. Vance pulled away, leaving the Tahoe abandoned on the shoulder. Dixon leaned in, whispering that they were going to “take real good care” of her.
