The lead officer turned back.
The woman raised one eyebrow.
“That answer help?”
His face hardened.
“Turn around.”
The younger officer looked at him.
“What?”
The woman’s voice stayed calm.
“Why?”
“Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
The valet stepped forward.
“Officer—”
The lead officer pointed.
“Stay back.”
Several people near the hotel entrance now held phones.
A doorman whispered something to the hotel manager.
The manager emerged beneath the awning.
The Black woman did not turn around.
“Am I under arrest?”
“You are being detained.”
“For what?”
“Failure to comply.”
“With what lawful order?”
The lead officer stepped closer.
“You want to do this the hard way?”
She looked at him.
“I want you to tell me why I am being detained.”
He reached toward her arm.
She did not pull away.
But her voice changed.
Sharper now.
“Do not grab me without explaining the basis.”
That was all he needed.
His hand closed around her upper arm.
The younger officer stepped forward instinctively.
“Hey—”
The lead officer pulled the woman away from the car.
Her silver handbag slipped from her wrist and struck the pavement.
The valet gasped.
The woman caught her balance.
Her heel skidded against the curb.
She did not fall.
The lead officer turned her toward the sedan.
“Hands on the car.”
She looked over her shoulder.
“You are making a mistake.”
He smirked.
“Everybody says that.”
The younger officer’s face tightened.
The woman placed both hands against the car roof.
Not because she accepted what was happening.
Because resisting physically would give him another story.
The lead officer patted the outside of her dress at the waist and sides.
No pockets.
Nothing.
He stepped back.
“Sit.”
She turned.
“Where?”
He pointed toward the curb.
The pavement was damp from a street-cleaning truck that had passed earlier.
Her cream dress reached below her knees.
She looked down.
Then up.
“You want me on the curb?”
“Yes.”
“I am wearing a formal dress.”
The officer shrugged.
“Should’ve thought about that before getting difficult.”
The younger officer’s eyes moved toward him.
The woman heard every word.
So did the phones.
She sat.
Carefully.
The champagne fabric gathered around her knees.
Her long braids fell over one shoulder.
She kept her back straight.
The silver handbag lay two feet away.
The lead officer looked down at her.
“Now.”
He pointed toward the sedan.
“Who actually owns the car?”
The woman stared up at him.
“I do.”
“Come on.”
“That is my answer.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
“What firm do you work for?”