She complied.
The small triangular handbag barely held the essentials, and retrieving the license required moving aside a compact wallet and her phone.
Voss watched impatiently.
When she handed him the card, he examined it.
Then looked toward the Bentley.
"How much did you pay for this?"
Camille frowned.
"That's not relevant to whether it's stolen."
His expression darkened.
"You don't decide what's relevant."
She took a measured breath.
"The registration will confirm ownership."
Voss stepped closer.
"Just answer the question."
Camille looked directly at him.
"I purchased the vehicle legally. The details are documented."
He laughed.
"That's a very polished answer."
For a moment, she wondered whether he was deliberately trying to provoke her.
She'd spent years interviewing witnesses and suspects.
She recognized how someone could use repeated interruptions to make an ordinary explanation sound evasive.
So she stopped volunteering unnecessary details.
She asked what specific information he needed to verify.
Voss interpreted that as defiance.
Solis approached from the patrol SUV carrying the preliminary dispatch details.
"Sergeant, communications says the hotel caller couldn't confirm a plate."
Voss turned sharply.
"I heard the original call."
She nodded.
"Yes, but there's no confirmed stolen-vehicle entry matching this Bentley."
Camille looked toward her.
"Thank you. The registration is in the glove compartment."
Voss pointed at the younger deputy.
"Stay with the driver."
Then he turned toward Camille.
"Open the door."
She hesitated.
She wasn't refusing to cooperate with legitimate requests.
But she also understood the importance of not consenting casually to unnecessary searches.
She explained that she could retrieve the registration while remaining visible, or the deputy could use available identifying information to verify the vehicle through appropriate procedures.
Voss became irritated.
"You're making this difficult."
Camille shook her head.
"I'm trying to make it simple."
He stepped closer.
"Open the door."
For several seconds, she studied him.
Then she said calmly, "Please explain whether you're ordering me to do that under a specific legal authority or requesting my consent."
Voss stared.
The question was ordinary.
An officer should understand the distinction.
But he treated it as a personal insult.
"You're one of those people who thinks knowing a few legal words makes you smarter than the police."
Camille didn't answer.
She knew where the conversation was heading.
And she knew the safest thing she could do was remain composed while preserving the facts.
Evelyn watched from her porch with growing alarm.
She'd known Camille since the girl was eight years old.
She remembered her winning academic awards.
Leaving for college.
And returning home after years of investigative work.
She also knew Camille had just been selected as Hawthorne County's next sheriff.
When Evelyn heard Voss accuse her of driving a stolen car, she initially thought it was an unfortunate misunderstanding.
Then she saw his behavior.
He stood too close.