Barrett stepped toward the passenger window and SLAPPED his open palm against the glass.
The sound cracked across the roadside.
“Stop questioning us!” he shouted.
I looked from one man to the other.
“I haven't refused a lawful instruction.”
Mercer shoved a finger toward my face again.
“You think those fancy clothes make you special?”
“No.”
“Then stop acting like it.”
He seized my arm.
I took one breath.
“Officer, I'm asking you to stop pulling me. I can move on my own.”
He laughed.
“You hear her, Barrett?”
The younger deputy smirked.
“She thinks she's in charge.”
Mercer pushed me toward the front of the vehicle.
My heels slipped on the uneven shoulder.
I caught myself against the fender.
Then Barrett moved behind me and shoved my shoulder.
My hands struck the SUV's hood.
The metal flexed beneath my weight.
For an instant, the world narrowed to sunlight, polished black paint, and the sharp pressure of a hand forcing me forward.
I heard Mercer laugh.
“There. That's better.”
I lifted my head.
The gold fabric of my gown spilled across the dark hood, its beautiful draping now streaked with roadside dust.
A passing motorist slowed.
I saw a passenger raise a telephone.
Mercer noticed too.
“Keep driving!” he shouted toward traffic.
Then he turned back to me.
“You wanted an audience? Congratulations.”
I looked directly into his eyes.
“I asked why you stopped me.”
His expression hardened.
Barrett pressed his hand more firmly against my shoulder.
“You're still talking.”
I took a controlled breath.
“Remove your hand.”
The younger deputy laughed.
“Or what?”
I didn't answer immediately.
Because I could hear an engine approaching behind the patrol vehicles.
Not the heavy rumble of a passing truck.
Something closer.
Several vehicles, slowing together.
Mercer was still glaring at me when the first black federal SUV pulled onto the shoulder.
Then a second stopped behind it.
The doors opened.
A tall Black man wearing a dark suit stepped out, accompanied by two federal agents with their credentials displayed.
He took one look at me against the hood.
His expression changed.
“Mercer!”
The deputy turned.
“What the hell do you want?”
The man stopped several feet away.
He looked at Barrett's hand on my shoulder.
Then at Mercer's face.
“Take your hands off her.”
Mercer puffed out his chest.
“I'm conducting a traffic stop.”
The newcomer displayed his credentials.
“Special Agent Adrian Cross. Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
Mercer hesitated.
For the first time since opening my car door, I saw uncertainty cross his face.
Adrian looked directly at him.
“Do you have any idea who that woman is?”