"How did you get inside?"
Naomi stared.
"Through my garage."
"Do you have keys?"
"Of course."
He gestured toward the car.
"Show me."
Naomi looked toward the hood.
Her key fob was beside her handbag.
"I can show you my driver's license and the property information."
Grant's expression tightened.
"That's not what I asked."
For a moment, Naomi recognized the warning signs.
The unnecessary hostility.
The refusal to clarify what he was trying to establish.
And the expectation that a person under questioning must respond instantly regardless of whether the question made sense.
She kept her voice calm.
"My keys are right there. My identification is in my handbag."
Grant stepped closer.
"Hands where I can see them."
Naomi raised her gloved hands slowly.
"All right."
He looked toward the open garage.
Then asked whether anyone else was inside the residence.
"My daughter is with family. I'm alone."
Grant nodded toward Reeves.
"Check the perimeter."
The younger officer moved toward the driveway but remained where he could see both his supervisor and Naomi.
She watched him.
Then turned back toward Grant.
"Sergeant, there's no burglary. I own the house."
Grant looked irritated.
"Let me do my job."
Naomi took a breath.
"I'm trying to help you verify the call."
He stepped closer.
"You're trying to tell me how to conduct an investigation."
The statement made her pause.
She'd said nothing about his investigative authority.
She'd provided information.
But Grant had already begun interpreting cooperation as resistance.
Naomi reached slowly toward her handbag.
Grant's voice sharpened.
"Don't move!"
She stopped immediately.
"You asked for identification."
"I told you to keep your hands visible."
She looked toward him.
For a moment, she considered saying that his instructions were contradictory.
Then she chose a simpler response.
"My identification is in the bag. You can retrieve it if you need to, subject to proper procedure."
Grant stared.
He seemed irritated that she understood the distinction.
"Who do you think you are?"
Naomi held his gaze.
"My name is Naomi Carter."
He laughed.
"That's what you keep saying."
She nodded toward the mailbox visible beyond the driveway.
"The name matches the property."
Grant glanced toward the street.
The mailbox stood beside a flowerbed.
He could have checked it.
He could have asked dispatch to confirm the homeowner.
He could have spoken with the monitoring company.
Or he could have examined the driver's license Naomi had repeatedly offered.
Instead, he stepped closer and demanded that she turn around.
Naomi felt her stomach tighten.
"Am I being detained?"
Grant's face reddened.
"Turn around!"
She remained still.
"Sergeant, I'm not refusing. I'm asking what you believe I've done."