The sound was so sudden that everyone froze.
It was an old-fashioned telephone with a bright red casing, a handset connected by a thick black cord, and a small metal label beneath it.
The phone almost never rang.
Most employees had never heard it ring.
Evan had been told during his first week that it was for emergencies involving agencies outside county jurisdiction.
He had never been told which agencies.
He had never asked.
Now it rang again.
Loud.
Sharp.
Insistent.
Colter looked at it.
The woman did not.
She was watching him.
The phone rang a third time.
Evan slowly reached for it.
Colter said, “Don't.”
Evan's hand stopped.
The phone rang again.
Evan looked at his sheriff.
“Sir?”
Colter stared at the telephone.
“Answer it.”
Evan picked up the receiver.
“Bell County Sheriff's Office.”
His face changed almost immediately.
The color drained from his cheeks.
His eyes moved toward Colter.
He said nothing.
He listened.
The sheriff's expression tightened.
“Who is this?”
Evan listened again.
Then he swallowed.
“Yes, sir.”
Another pause.
“Yes, sir.”
The woman stood perfectly still.
Evan looked at Colter.
His voice was barely above a whisper.
“Sheriff…”
Colter's confidence began disappearing.
Evan's fingers tightened around the telephone.
“The Pentagon is asking why we arrested her.”
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then Colter's face went completely blank.
Not confused.
Not angry.
Blank.
The woman bent down and calmly retrieved her credential wallet.
She opened it.
For the first time, Colter saw the identification inside.
And the room suddenly seemed much smaller.
The name on the credential was Mara Ellison.
Underneath it was the seal of an agency Colter recognized but did not understand.
At the bottom was a classification designation.
Colter read it twice.
Then a third time.
His mouth opened slightly.
Mara closed the wallet.
“You should have asked who I was before you decided to prove who you were.”
Colter stared at her.
Evan was still holding the red telephone.
The voice on the other end was still speaking.
And for the first time in eleven years, Sheriff Raymond Colter realized he had no idea what kind of trouble he had just brought into his own booking room.
The trouble had actually started three hours earlier.
It had started on the shoulder of County Road 18, beneath a sky that had turned the color of bruised steel as evening approached.
Mara Ellison had been driving a dark government sedan north toward Bell County when a patrol cruiser pulled in behind her.
She noticed it immediately.
Not because she had done anything wrong.
Because she was trained to notice vehicles that maintained the same distance for too long.
The cruiser followed her for almost four miles.
Then the lights came on.
Mara slowed.
She pulled onto the shoulder.
She put the car in park.
She lowered the window.
The young deputy who approached her was Evan Miller.
He had looked nervous from the moment he reached the driver's door.
“Good evening, ma'am.”
“Good evening.”
“License and registration.”
Mara handed them over.
Evan looked at the license.
Then at her.
Then at the license again.
“Where are you headed?”
“Bell County.”
“What are you doing there?”
“Business.”
“What kind of business?”
“County business.”
He hesitated.
“Can you be more specific?”
“No.”
Evan looked uncomfortable.
Mara watched him.
“You were instructed to stop me.”
His eyes flicked upward.
“No, ma'am.”
“You're not good at lying.”
That had made him look even more nervous.
“I wasn't lying.”