Renata looked toward the shattered Rolls-Royce.
“Someone whose identification you could have checked before you broke the window.”
The first black SUV appeared around the curve.
Then another.
Then a marked federal law-enforcement vehicle.
No helicopters.
No dramatic convoy.
No soldiers.
Just disciplined speed.
Gity backed away.
Miles moved toward Renata.
“Should I remove the cuffs?”
“Not yet.”
He looked surprised.
“Photograph them first.”
“What?”
“My wrists.”
She shifted slightly.
“Current position. Tightness. Marks. Chain orientation.”
Miles understood.
Evidence.
He raised his department phone.
Gity snapped:
“Don’t.”
Miles stared.
“Don’t what?”
“You don’t photograph my scene.”
Miles raised the phone anyway.
“You made it her scene.”
The SUVs stopped.
Doors opened.
Agents emerged wearing identification vests.
One carried a medical kit.
Another carried evidence equipment.
The first person to reach Renata was Daniel Mercer.
Fifty-three.
Broad shoulders.
Gray at the temples.
Usually impossible to hurry.
That afternoon he moved faster than Renata had ever seen him.
His eyes found the cuffs.
Then her face.
Then the Rolls-Royce.
“Renata.”
“I’m all right.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“I’m conscious.”
“That is not the same.”
Mercer looked toward Miles.
“Who placed the cuffs?”
Miles pointed toward Gity.
Garrett opened his mouth.
Mercer raised one hand.
“Do not speak to my agent.”
Gity bristled.
“This is an Ashford County investigation.”
Mercer turned.
“No.”
He did not raise his voice.
He did not need to.
“This is now a preserved federal incident scene involving a federal agent, a federally controlled vehicle, and alleged conduct under color of law.”
Gity stared.
Mercer continued.
“You may have counsel.”
“You may have your supervisor present.”
“You may not interfere with evidence preservation.”
Gity looked toward Renata.
“Federal agent?”
Ruth whispered from behind the fence.
“Oh my God.”
Miles shut his eyes.
Renata watched Garrett.
The first thing that appeared was not remorse.
Disbelief.
Then anger.
“You never told me.”
Renata almost laughed.
“Neither did the registration you never checked.”
Mercer looked toward the restraints.
“Photographs first.”
A technical agent documented Renata’s wrists.
Close.
Wide.
Position.
Then a medic checked circulation.
Only after that did Miles remove the handcuffs.
His fingers shook.
“I’m sorry.”
Renata brought her arms forward.
Pain shot through both wrists.
“Later.”
Miles nodded.
Garrett Gity stood beside the Phantom staring at the damage.
The glass.
The fractured windshield.
The baton on the road.
A federal evidence technician placed a numbered marker beside it.
Something about seeing an object numbered seemed to affect Gity more than the sirens had.
Evidence strips the drama from an action.