"Yes."
"If she can't behave, I can get child protective services involved. Maybe somebody ought to ask why she's crying."
Gloria's mouth went dry. Her daughter was frightened because an armed stranger was yelling at her mother. Hughes had decided to treat the child's fear as another instrument of pressure. From the far side of the parking lot, Jennifer took several quick steps forward.
"Officer," Jennifer called, "I'm recording this."
He turned his head, annoyed. "Stay back, ma'am."
"I'm standing in a public parking lot. I'm not interfering."
"Keep your distance or you'll get a citation, too."
Jennifer stopped beside a trash bin, a clear distance from both of them, and kept her phone raised. Tyrone moved into view, recording from another angle. In the background, the two teenagers at the air machine had fallen silent. One took a step toward the store entrance, unsure whether to seek help or stay out of the way.
Hughes pressed the button on his shoulder microphone. "Dispatch, Unit Twelve. Send another unit to the BP on Midlothian. One uncooperative subject, possible narcotics."
Gloria looked at him. "I have done everything you've asked except agree to a search."
"There you go again. Arguing."
"I'm explaining."
"Same difference with people like you."
She could see now that her politeness was not de-escalating him. It merely deprived him of the angry response he seemed to want, so he raised his voice to create one. She felt anger climbing through her chest, hotter than the pavement, and forced herself to breathe slowly. Her father had told her to stand up for herself, but he had never suggested that courage meant ignoring danger. She could assert her rights and still be afraid.