"Officer Connelly. You are making a grave mistake," Evelyn warned softly. "I highly recommend you run my name through your dispatch before this goes any further. " Turn around," he yelled, grabbing her by the shoulder and spinning her roughly against the slick metal of the Honda. Evelyn gasped as her chest hit the cold roof of the car. The sheer indignity of the moment washed over her.
She could feel the stairs of phantom neighbors from the houses hidden behind the trees. Connelly kicked her feet apart roughly. "You've got a real attitude problem, you know that? Coming up here into these neighborhoods, acting like you own the place, giving me that back talk with that thick country accent. Let's see what dispatch has to say about Khloe Jenkins car.
He pulled his radio from his shoulder. Dispatch, unit 4. Need a run on a Virginia plate. He rattled off her niece's license plate. Evelyn closed her eyes, the rain dripping from her eyelashes.
My niece has no outstanding warrants. Nor do I. This is an unlawful detainment. Connelly ignored her. He patted down her trench coat.
His movements unnecessarily rough. We get burglaries in this area, Evelyn. People casing houses, a beatup car, an outofplace driver who can't keep her mouth shut. You fit a profile. I fit a demographic, officer.
There is a distinct difference, she replied sharply. The radio crackled. Unit 4 dispatch. Vehicle returns clean. Registered to a Khloe Jenkins Arlington.
No flags. Connley frowned. He clicked his radio. Run the driver. Evelyn Hayes.
Date of birth. He read it off her wet license. There was a long pause. Evelyn knew what would happen. Her civilian profile was restricted.
As a highranking flag officer with top secret SCI clearance. Her public records were heavily shielded by the Department of Defense. To a standard local police database. Her profile would either come back blank or throw an anomaly flag requiring federal clearance to access. Unit 4, dispatch.
The voice crackled back, sounding confused. I'm getting an error code on that DL. It's not pulling a standard DMV record. Getting a federal hold prompt. Might be a glitch in the system.
Connelly smiled grimly. A glitch or a fake ID? It is not a fake ID, Evelyn said, turning her head slightly. If you allow me to reach into my briefcase on the passenger seat, I can provide you with my federal identification. Don't move.
Connelly shoved her back against the car. You think I'm stupid? You're not reaching for anything. Fake ID. Driving a car that isn't yours in a highinccome neighborhood.
You're under arrest. Eivelyn felt the cold, hard metal of the handcuffs snap shut around her left wrist. The sound was like a gunshot in the rain. "Officer Connelly," Evelyn said, her voice deadly quiet now. The anger was gone, replaced by a terrifying, icy calm.
"I am going to tell you this once. I am a lieutenant general in the United States Army. I am currently scheduled for a secure briefing with the Secretary of Defense at 2,100 hours. If you put those cuffs on me, you will not just end your career. You will face federal charges.
Connelly let out a loud, mocking laugh. He grabbed her right wrist and wrenched it behind her back, locking the second cuff into place. It was tight, pinching the nerves in her wrists. A lieutenant general, Connelly sneered, leaning in close to her ear. Right.
And I'm a Navy Seal. You people always have some wild story. A general with a sweet little southern draw driving a 10-year-old Honda. Save it for the judge, lady. He spun her around and marched her toward the back of his cruiser.
He pushed her head down roughly, forcing her into the cramped plastic back seat of the patrol car, the door slammed shut, sealing her in the claustrophobic darkness. Eivelyn sat shivering in the back of the cruiser, the cuffs digging into her skin. She looked out the window at her niece's car, abandoned on the side of the road. She glanced at the digital clock mounted on the partition cage. Shabbard Sisu Wuen.
She had 2 hours and 15 minutes before the joint chiefs and the secretary of defense realized their senior logistics commander was missing. Connelly climbed into the driver's seat, shaking the rain from his coat. He looked at her in the rearview mirror, a smug smile plastered across his face. "Enjoy the ride, General," he mocked, putting the car in drive. The Fairfax County Police precinct was blindingly bright, smelling of stale coffee, damp wool, and floor wax.
The bullpen was loud, filled with the chatter of officers ending their shifts and the ringing of phones. Connelly marched Eivelyn through the double doors, his hand gripping her bicep. She walked with her head held high, her spine perfectly straight despite her soaking wet clothes and the undignified constraints on her wrists. Several officers looked up, their eyes lingering on the well-dressed black woman being paraded in by the precinct's loudest patrolman. "Hey, Derek, what have you got there? " asked Officer Broady.
"A younger cop leaning against the booking desk. Got us a real high value target tonight, Broady. " Connelly laughed loudly, ensuring the room could hear him. Caught her prowling around Elmwood Crest in a beta car. Tried to pass off a restricted ID. Says she's a left tenant general in the army.
A few chuckles rippled through the room. Eivelyn didn't say a word. She allowed Connelly to guide her to the booking desk. Sitting behind it was desk sergeant Miller, a grizzled veteran with tired eyes and a thick gray mustache. Miller looked up from his computer monitor, taking in Evelyn's composed demeanor, the sharp cut of her ruined Kashmir sweater, and the intense unwavering focus in her dark eyes.