She did not speed up. She activated the transport alert on her phone and left the device in its mount. The alert silently notified Reed that an unscheduled local law enforcement contact might be developing. The SUV's dash and exterior cameras were already recording as part of the secure transit system; the alert created a protected marker in the footage so the federal team could find the encounter later.
Red and blue lights filled her rearview mirror.
Simone pulled into a legal parking space along the curb opposite a small white house with a porch swing. She kept both hands visible on the steering wheel, waited until the patrol car stopped safely behind her, and lowered the window. It was the sort of ordinary roadside sequence she had observed dozens of times as an investigator. That ordinariness was what made the sheriff's next choices so important.
Mercer approached slowly, one hand resting on his duty belt. He was forty-four, with a square jaw, a neat sandy mustache, and the confident walk of someone who believed hesitation was weakness. He stopped near the driver's window and looked at Simone without greeting her. His gaze went first to her face, then to her hands, then to the interior of the SUV.
"License and registration."
She gave him both. "Good morning, Sheriff. Can you tell me why you stopped me?"
He studied the license longer than necessary. "You crossed the center line back on Alder Street."
"I don't believe I did."
His eyes lifted. "Are you calling me a liar?"
"I'm asking which part of the roadway you mean."
"I mean the part where you couldn't keep your vehicle in your lane. That ought to be clear enough."
He took her papers back to his cruiser. Simone watched him in the side mirror. He spent little time looking at the registration. Instead he appeared to speak into his radio, turning his shoulder so she could not read his lips. She could not hear his words, and she did not invent them in her notebook. She simply recorded the time and waited.
A minute later, another patrol vehicle entered the street from the far end and parked ahead of her. Deputy Ryan Keller got out. Simone recognized him immediately from the surveillance photograph, though his close-cropped hair and polished uniform made him look younger in daylight. The warehouse image had shown him leaning against a truck beneath industrial lamps. Here he walked toward the sheriff with his chin lifted and his sunglasses on, as if the entire neighborhood were an extension of the station yard.
Mercer spoke to Keller briefly. Keller looked at Simone's SUV, then toward the rear liftgate. The glance was quick but not accidental. He had not approached her window or heard an explanation of the traffic stop. Yet his attention went straight to the cargo area.
Simone kept her hands on the wheel. Inside her chest, the last uncertainty about the stop began to narrow.