Calvin drew a breath as though he were about to explain exactly whom Cheney had addressed. Nathaniel gave him a brief look, and Calvin said nothing. There would be time to establish identities after they understood why they had been stopped. For the moment, Nathaniel wanted the encounter resolved on its actual facts, not on the unusual rank of the passenger.
"Where are you going?" Cheney asked. "Visiting family in Carthage," Nathaniel replied.
"Coming from where?" "North Carolina." Cheney leaned closer, his gaze moving across their clothes and the vehicle's leather seats. "Who's paying for this truck?" Nathaniel told him it was privately owned and that the registration was in the glove compartment.
"You mind if I take a look inside?" Cheney asked. Nathaniel spoke with care.
"We will comply with lawful instructions, Officer, but we do not consent to a search." Cheney straightened. The measured response seemed to irritate him more than an argument would have. "I didn't ask for a lecture," he said. "Both of you get out."
The road was almost deserted, and the midday heat seemed to rise in visible waves from the pavement. Calvin climbed out first, followed by Nathaniel, who carefully left the passenger door open as instructed. Cheney stepped around the front of the Escalade, one hand resting near his holster. "I smell marijuana," he announced, though the only odors Nathaniel could detect were hot engine metal, pine needles, and the faint sweetness of the air freshener hanging beneath the dashboard.
"There are no drugs in this vehicle," Nathaniel said. "We haven't been using any." Cheney took a step toward him. "Now you're telling me what I smell?" Nathaniel kept his voice low.
"I'm telling you what I know, Officer. I'm happy to answer reasonable questions." Cheney's expression hardened. "Turn around and put your hands on the vehicle."
A second patrol car arrived before Nathaniel had finished turning. A younger officer with sandy hair and a pale, uncertain face stepped onto the road and stopped near the rear of the Escalade. Nathaniel caught the name BEASLEY on his uniform. He looked toward Cheney with the watchfulness of a junior employee entering a room where the senior person had already decided how events would unfold.
"Tommy, watch the driver," Cheney ordered. Beasley nodded but did not move closer than necessary. Nathaniel spread his hands on the Escalade as directed, feeling the heat of the dark paint through his palms. Cheney began a pat-down, pulling roughly at his waistband and pressing against his ribs with more force than seemed necessary. When Nathaniel asked whether he was being detained, Cheney answered by jerking him away from the vehicle.
The movement caught Nathaniel off balance. His sandal slipped in loose gravel, and he stumbled onto one knee. Cheney seized his shoulder and drove him forward until he landed chest-first on the asphalt. An instant later, a boot pressed down between his shoulder blades, and the unmistakable sound of a pistol being drawn made the muscles in Nathaniel's neck turn to stone.