“My phone,” Victoria said, extending her hand toward Vance.
Vance reached into his pocket and handed her phone back to her with two hands, his eyes fixed on the ground. His bravado had completely vanished, replaced by the hollow, sick realization of what was about to happen to his career, his pension, and his freedom.
In the distance, the low, rising wail of high-pitched sirens broke through the silence of the pine forest. Within thirty seconds, two sleek, black-and-silver State Patrol Chargers tore around the curve of Route Nine, followed closely by a large black SUV. They pulled onto the shoulder in a coordinated maneuver, blocking Vance’s county patrol car from both the front and the rear, their blue emergency lights strobing against the dust.
Car doors slammed shut in rapid succession. Four state troopers in full uniform stepped out, their hands resting firmly on the holsters at their hips. From the front passenger seat of the black SUV stepped Senior Director Arthur Cross, a towering man with graying hair, wearing a dark suit and an unyielding, stone-hard expression.
