“Grant.”
Harlan grabbed her.
Hard.
Sloane’s body reacted instinctively.
Her shoulder tightened.
Her weight shifted backward.
Not resistance.
Balance.
Harlan interpreted it differently.
“Stop pulling away.”
“I am not pulling away.”
“Other hand.”
Sloane stared at him.
He twisted her right arm behind her.
The motion hurt.
“Give me your left hand.”
“Harlan,” Quinn said, louder now, “she’s not fighting you.”
“Then this should be easy.”
Sloane placed her left hand behind her back.
The first cuff closed.
Then the second.
Too tight.
She exhaled slowly.
Across the street, two neighbors had stepped outside.
One was holding a phone.
Harlan noticed.
His grip on Sloane’s arm tightened.
“Walk.”
Sloane did not move immediately.
He pulled.
“What?”
She looked directly at his body camera.
“Make sure that footage is preserved.”
Something flickered across his face.
“Everybody becomes a lawyer after cuffs go on.”
Sloane’s eyes hardened.
“You think I’m a lawyer?”
He laughed.
“I think you talk like one.”
Quinn looked at her.
Sloane saw curiosity enter his expression.
Harlan shoved her forward.
Her hip struck the porch railing.
Pain flashed through her side.
She caught herself.
“Harlan!”
Quinn moved closer.
The older officer turned.
“What?”
“That wasn’t necessary.”
For the first time, Harlan looked genuinely angry at his partner.
“You want to take over?”
“I’m saying she’s cuffed.”
“I know what she is.”
Sloane straightened.
Her voice remained calm.
“No, Officer Harlan. You have no idea.”
He turned back toward her.
“Was that a threat?”
“No.”
“What was it?”
“A factual observation.”
He stared.
Then placed one hand against her upper arm and pushed her toward the steps.
Sloane walked.
Not because she accepted what was happening.
Because she understood evidence.
Every unnecessary touch mattered.
Every instruction.
Every ignored opportunity to verify.
Every sentence.
Every camera.
Every witness.
Harlan opened the rear door of his cruiser.
Before putting Sloane inside, he looked toward the house again.
“That place really yours?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head.
“Unbelievable.”
Sloane sat down.
The door closed.
Through the glass, she watched Officer Quinn walk several feet away with his phone in hand.
Harlan immediately approached him.
Sloane could not hear the beginning of the conversation.
Then Quinn’s voice rose.
“Because this can be checked in thirty seconds.”
Harlan said something quieter.
Quinn shook his head.
“No. I’m running it.”
Harlan stepped closer.
“You don’t undermine me in front of a detainee.”
“She’s in the car.”
“You know what I mean.”
Quinn looked toward Sloane.
Their eyes met.