"Odor of marijuana. Uncooperative driver."
Bennett glanced toward the car. He was close enough to smell hot pavement, exhaust, and something sweet from an open drink on the console. He did not smell marijuana. More importantly, he knew that Virginia law did not allow a search based solely on marijuana odor. He had learned that in training and had repeated it at a briefing less than a month earlier.
"Hughes," he said carefully, "can we talk a second?"
"After we secure this scene."
"I don't think—"
"Travis. Do your job."
The reprimand carried years of hierarchy compressed into three words. Bennett had spent much of his career watching senior officers dismiss questions as disloyalty. He also remembered the way Captain Derek Johnson evaluated officers who failed to back up their partners. For a second, he did what he had done too often: he stood there and said nothing.
Hughes faced Gloria again. "Last chance. Keys."
"No, Officer. You have not given me a lawful reason."
"You're in a suspicious vehicle, in a known problem area, and refusing a legitimate request."
"This is a gas station," Amanda called. "And she was parked when you approached."
"Back off!" Hughes shouted.
The noise made Zoe stop crying. Her face appeared in the window, wet-eyed but suddenly still. Gloria recognized the expression. It was the same look Zoe had worn at four years old when a dog barked unexpectedly at a playground: the terrified attempt to become so quiet that nothing bad would notice her. That look, more than any insult Hughes had spoken, cut through Gloria's control.
Hughes removed his handcuffs. "Turn around."