"Possible narcotics."
"What facts support that?"
"You can leave, counselor, or you can join her."
Amanda lifted her phone. "I'll stay at a lawful distance and record. Ms. Sanders has expressly refused consent to a search."
The officers' radio crackled again. Backup was coming. Gloria counted the moments because it gave her mind something solid to hold. At 2:49 she had refused the search. By 2:50 Hughes had taken her wrist. At 2:51 he had accused her of resistance in front of her child. The minutes had become markers in a record she intended never to forget.
"Keys," Hughes said. "Hand them over."
"I do not consent to a search of my vehicle."
"Then I'll call a tow truck and we'll do it at the impound lot. You can sort it out with a judge."
"On what charge?"
"I'm trying to help you. The more questions you ask, the worse this gets."
Gloria stared at him. The sentence was almost comically backward. He had entered her Saturday without cause, taken her documents, frightened her daughter, threatened a search, and gripped her arm. Now he was describing himself as the person offering help. She wondered how many people had been convinced to surrender something merely to make the scene end.
A second cruiser arrived with its lights flashing. Officer Travis Bennett climbed out, tall, twenty-nine, his vest still creased from a recent shift change. He had six years on the force and a reputation for being careful, though some older officers used another word for it: timid. He saw the children first, then Gloria, then the three people recording. Hughes waved him over with obvious relief.
"Secure the vehicle," Hughes ordered. "I'm searching it."
Bennett did not immediately move. "What's the basis?"