"The Constitution applies here," she answered. "And you know it."
His fingers closed around her upper arm. He pulled her away from the hood and turned her toward the road. Her shoes skidded in the gravel, and she caught herself before falling. He searched the outside of her blazer and trousers roughly. He found a pen, a packet of tissues, and nothing that resembled a weapon.
"Satisfied?" she asked.
"Not even close."
Dominic kept his hands where they were. He was measuring Maddox's breathing, the positions of his feet, and the distance to the cruiser. More than once he could have moved before the officer expected it. He understood that taking advantage of that possibility might leave his sister facing a drawn weapon. A competent officer could control his strength. A reckless one might mistake restraint for a challenge.
Maddox ordered them to remain beside the hood. He then walked around the SUV and opened the driver's door.
"Officer," Nyla called, "we do not consent to a vehicle search."
He looked over the roof. "Smells like marijuana. That's probable cause."
Dominic glanced toward her. Neither had used marijuana. The cabin contained only bottled water, mint wrappers, the faint scent of new leather, and a paper bag from a sandwich shop near the interstate. Maddox had not mentioned any odor until that moment.
"There is no marijuana in the vehicle," Dominic said. "Your statement is false."
"Tell that to a judge," Maddox replied.
He climbed inside. His boots dragged dust over the rental's floor mats. He opened the center compartment and emptied its contents onto the passenger seat: a charging cable, mints, sunglasses, and a folded receipt. He opened the glove box and leafed through the rental agreement, pausing when he saw the Atlanta pickup location.
"A rental," he muttered. "Of course."
He interpreted every harmless discovery as evidence of a theory he had already accepted. A rental meant concealment. Clean upholstery meant a professional operation. No narcotics in the center console meant hidden compartments. The absence of wrongdoing irritated him because it required him to keep searching for a justification he should have possessed before making the stop.
He pushed the driver's seat backward and reached beneath it. His hand met a secure, zippered black equipment case fitted against the seat rail. A small tag identified the case as property that required authorized handling. Maddox dragged it into the open and unzipped it.
Inside lay a SIG Sauer P320 handgun in an approved transport sleeve, with its identification and authorization card in a separate compartment.
For a moment, Maddox felt his chest expand. He had found the object that would explain everything, if only he could make everyone else see it through his eyes.
"Gun!" he shouted.