His face had reddened.
He was losing something he valued more than accuracy.
Control.
The dispatcher spoke again.
"Twenty-Seven, do you still require the tow?"
Malloy seized his radio.
"Affirmative."
Naomi looked at him.
"On what grounds?"
He pointed toward the driver's door.
"Unsafe vehicle condition."
Naomi stared.
"Because you kicked it?"
Malloy's expression changed.
That question landed harder than he expected.
He stepped forward.
"Get away from the vehicle."
"I'm already standing away from it."
"Move farther."
Naomi took two steps backward.
The trooper leaned toward the door, examining the dent he had made.
Then he pulled a pen from his pocket and wrote something in his notebook.
Naomi watched carefully.
A mile away, another vehicle approached.
It was a dark-blue highway patrol SUV.
It slowed as it reached the shoulder.
Malloy looked toward it.
For a moment, his expression brightened.
Another officer had arrived.
And he seemed to believe that would solve his problem.
Trooper Hannah Price parked behind Malloy's cruiser.
She was twenty-nine years old, a white American woman with sandy-brown hair tucked into a tight bun and a thoughtful, serious expression.
She had joined the highway patrol four years earlier after serving in the Army National Guard.
Her family lived in the western part of the state.
Her father worked as a mechanic.
Her mother taught elementary school.
Hannah had grown up believing police officers were supposed to be the people others called when a situation became frightening.
The reality of the profession had sometimes been more complicated.
She had encountered colleagues who treated their jobs with care and restraint.
She had also encountered officers who confused authority with personal status.
Derek Malloy belonged to the second group.
Hannah knew that before she stepped out of her SUV.
She had heard complaints.
She had seen him escalate traffic stops.
And she had watched supervisors accept weak explanations because confronting an experienced trooper created administrative headaches.
But she had never seen him in a situation quite like this.
She approached with her hands visible.
"Afternoon, Derek."
Malloy nodded toward Naomi.
"Got a difficult one."
Hannah looked at the woman standing beside the sedan.
The outfit surprised her.
An elegant black polka-dot halter top with a fitted white waist panel.
A long satin skirt.
Carefully styled chestnut hair.
A polished handbag visible through the open car door.
The woman looked as though she had stepped out of a formal reception.
She also looked angry.
But she was standing still, with her hands visible, and did not appear threatening.