Morgan noticed the cruiser after the next gentle bend. She checked her speedometer, verified that the cruise control was holding, and moved no closer to the vehicles around her. The trooper remained behind her through one exit, then another, neither passing nor pulling away. She felt the familiar discomfort of being watched, but reminded herself that a patrol car sharing a stretch of highway was not evidence of misconduct.
Two minutes later, the lights came on.
Morgan glanced at the shoulder and decided against stopping immediately beside a narrow culvert. She put on her right turn signal, reduced speed, and moved toward a wider, relatively level section of gravel beyond the next sign. It was not an ideal place to park a low car, but it left room for a cruiser and reduced the chance that a passing truck would clip an open door. She brought the McLaren to a stop, turned off the engine, and let the recorded jazz music fall into silence.
Her first impulse was to call Raymond. She did not, because she was thirty-eight years old and did not want to frighten him over an ordinary traffic stop. Instead, she started an audio recording on her phone and left the device visible beside her handbag, while keeping her own hands on the wheel. She knew the recording would not make her safe on its own, but a record could protect the truth if somebody later disputed what had been said.
Behind her, Nolan stepped out without waiting for a dispatch check. Henley followed, automatically scanning passing traffic and the shoulder. The older trooper walked toward the driver's side with one hand near his belt and his shoulders held unnecessarily high. He did not appear interested in learning anything new, and Morgan could tell before he reached the window that the conversation would not start with a courtesy.
"License and registration." Nolan delivered the words without a greeting, leaning over the low window opening so that his face blocked part of the sky. Morgan looked at his nameplate and noticed how his eyes traveled over the seats and dashboard before settling on her face. She said good afternoon and asked permission to reach into her bag. He gave a curt nod, as though he were granting a privilege she should have begged for sooner.
She retrieved her wallet slowly and handed over her identification, registration, and proof of insurance. The name on all three documents was Morgan Elaine Owens, and the vehicle identification number matched the one visible on the windshield. Nolan examined the papers longer than necessary, turning the registration over as if a hidden confession might be printed on the back. "This really yours?" he asked.
"Yes, Trooper. It is registered and insured in my name." Morgan kept her answers concise because she had seen perfectly ordinary explanations turned into alleged inconsistencies. Nolan looked around the cabin again and asked how she had paid for the car. She considered declining the irrelevant question, then answered that she had purchased it from an authorized dealer eighteen months earlier.