“Now hold on. You don't get to come into my county and order me around.”
Mara looked toward him.
For several seconds, her expression remained perfectly calm.
Then she answered.
“I'm not asking you to ignore lawful procedures, Sergeant. I'm asking you to stop interfering with a federal security issue while we establish the facts.”
Devlin glanced toward the SUVs.
His confidence was fading.
Then the third vehicle's rear door opened.
A tall white woman in a Maryland State Police uniform stepped out.
Her name was Captain Helena Shaw.
She was forty-six, with blonde hair gathered neatly beneath her cap and the weary expression of someone who had spent years explaining to officers that authority carried responsibilities.
She approached Devlin.
“Sergeant.”
He turned.
“Captain.”
She looked toward the briefing case.
Then at me inside the cruiser.
Then toward the badge in Ortiz's hand.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Finally, she asked, “Have you verified the detainee's credentials?”
Devlin hesitated.
“We were investigating.”
“That wasn't my question.”
His jaw tightened.
Shaw waited.
Then he answered.
“No.”
She nodded.
“Have you advised county communications that a federal officer is being detained and that you've seized government property?”
Devlin didn't answer.
Shaw's eyes hardened.
“Sergeant?”
“No, ma'am.”
For several seconds, the roadside remained silent.
Then Shaw spoke quietly.
“Step away from the vehicle.”
Devlin stared.
“Captain—”
“Now.”
He moved backward.
The captain turned toward Ortiz.
“Deputy, I want the recordings preserved and the identification secured. I also want a clear account of what happened before we arrived.”
Ortiz nodded.
“Yes, ma'am.”
Within minutes, the situation began changing.
A federal security officer verified my identity through the appropriate official channels.
The restraints were removed.
A medic examined my wrists and shoulder.
The seized weapon was accounted for and transferred through a documented process.
And the briefing case remained sealed.
I stepped from the cruiser slowly.
My legs felt unsteady.
The hem of my orange gown was wet and streaked with dirt.
My jacket was torn near one shoulder.
The elegant hairstyle Zora had admired was coming loose.
I could feel bruising beginning beneath my skin.
But I stood upright.
Mara approached.
“Vivienne.”
For a moment, her professional expression softened.
“Are you okay?”
I wanted to say yes.
I wanted to make a joke.
Wanted to tell her I'd survived worse.