“I don’t believe I did.”
O’Grady leaned closer.
“You calling me a liar?”
“I’m saying I was driving carefully because of the weather.”
He shined the flashlight around the cabin.
Passenger seat.
Center console.
Floor.
Rear seat.
“What’s in the bags?”
“A laptop case.”
“Anything illegal in the vehicle?”
“No.”
“Drugs?”
“No.”
“Weapons?”
“No.”
That answer was technically true under the arrangement she was using that evening. Her service weapon was secured elsewhere with the protective team.
O’Grady watched her too long.
Cynthia knew what he was doing.
Looking for nervousness.
Looking for contradiction.
Looking for an excuse to extend the encounter.
She also understood something else.
Her vehicle’s cameras were recording every second.
The encrypted feed was being mirrored remotely.
If O’Grady behaved properly, this would end as an unpleasant but forgettable traffic stop.
If he did not, the truth would not depend on his memory or hers.
“Step out of the vehicle.”
Cynthia’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“May I ask why?”
“You may ask after you step out.”
“For an alleged lane violation?”
O’Grady’s right hand settled near his duty belt.
“I gave you an instruction.”
Cynthia considered several options in the span of one second.
She could identify herself.
Show federal credentials.
Call her detail.
End the encounter immediately.
But something about O’Grady’s certainty bothered her.
He did not appear confused.
He appeared practiced.
Cynthia unbuckled her seat belt.
“Understood.”
She opened the door.
Stepped into the cold rain.
Within seconds, water darkened her blazer.
“Face the vehicle.”
She complied.
“Hands on the roof.”
She placed both palms above the driver’s door.
O’Grady conducted a pat-down.
Too aggressive for the circumstances.
Cynthia said nothing.
He found only her phone, wallet, and lipstick.
“No drugs?”
he asked.
“No.”
“We’ll see.”
That phrase changed everything.
Cynthia turned her head slightly.
O’Grady snapped:
“Face forward.”
She obeyed.
Through the rain-covered driver’s window, she watched his reflection.
O’Grady opened the door.
Started searching.
Center console.
Glove compartment.
Under the passenger seat.
Behind the front seats.
No request for consent.
No explanation of legal basis.
Cynthia’s expression remained unreadable.
Then O’Grady reached into the inside pocket of his own raincoat.
Cynthia’s breathing stopped for half a second.
His hand emerged closed around something.
A small transparent plastic bag.
Inside was a white, rock-like substance.
O’Grady leaned into the vehicle.
His hand disappeared below the driver’s seat.
Then he straightened.
Reached down again.
This time theatrically.
“Well, well.”
Cynthia slowly turned.
O’Grady held the bag between two fingers.
“What do we have here?”
She looked at it.
Then at him.
“I’ve never seen that before.”
“Of course you haven’t.”
“That did not come from my vehicle.”
O’Grady laughed.