He had known it probably would.
Still, seeing the vehicles produced a complicated relief.
Mitchell followed his gaze.
“What?”
Derek did not answer.
The first Tahoe accelerated down the shoulder.
Nolan looked.
His expression changed.
“Sergeant.”
Mitchell looked back.
The Tahoe stopped twenty yards behind the police cruiser.
Doors opened.
Four people exited.
Plain clothes.
Body armor.
FBI in yellow letters.
Mitchell’s face emptied.
Another Tahoe stopped.
Then a gray Suburban.
Then a Virginia State Police unmarked unit.
Derek stood beside the shattered Lamborghini while wind pushed broken glass across the shoulder.
Special Agent in Charge Carla Nguyen walked toward them with her credentials already visible.
Five foot four.
Black suit.
Hair tied tightly behind her head.
She never needed volume to dominate a scene.
“Agent Hayes.”
“I’m okay.”
Her eyes went immediately to the broken window.
Then the gun still in Mitchell’s hand.
“Officer.”
Mitchell lowered it.
Nguyen’s expression changed.
“Holster it.”
He did.
“Now step away from Agent Hayes.”
Mitchell moved back.
Not quickly.
Pride survived longer than confidence.
Nguyen approached Derek.
“Any injuries?”
“Shoulder.”
“Anything else?”
“Not that I know.”
She looked toward Nolan.
“You?”
Nolan shook his head.
Nguyen looked at Mitchell.
“You?”
Mitchell almost seemed offended by the question.
“No.”
“Good.”
Two federal agents secured the immediate area.
Another photographed the Lamborghini.
A technician moved toward the dashboard.
Mitchell saw him.
“What are you doing?”
Nobody answered.
Derek reached toward Nguyen.
“My credentials.”
Mitchell still held them.
Nguyen turned.
“Return them.”
Mitchell hesitated.
The absurdity of that hesitation seemed to strike everyone simultaneously.
Nolan looked at him.
Mitchell handed the wallet back.
Derek inspected it.
No damage.
He placed it inside his jacket.
Mitchell said:
“If he was federal, he should’ve identified himself.”
Derek looked at him.
“I told you where my identification was.”
“That was after you became argumentative.”
Nolan’s head snapped toward Mitchell.
Derek said:
“I asked why you stopped me.”
“That’s arguing.”
“No.”
Nguyen lifted one hand.
“Agent Hayes.”
Derek stopped.
She wanted the scene preserved.
Not litigated on asphalt.
Smart.
Mitchell kept talking anyway.
“We had a suspicious-vehicle indication.”
Nguyen turned.
“From what source?”
Mitchell said nothing.
Derek watched him.
There.
That mattered.
Nguyen asked again.
“What source?”
“Our system.”
“Which system?”
Mitchell looked toward his patrol car.
Nolan’s expression changed.
Derek noticed.
Nguyen did too.
“Nolan?”
The young officer swallowed.
“Sergeant Mitchell told me the vehicle came up on the regional hot list.”