"We've had reports of a suspicious vehicle matching this description," Rourke announced, his voice carrying across the parking lot. "Care to explain what you're doing in our town?"
"I'm passing through on my way to an event," Evelyn replied evenly. "What specific law have I broken, Officer Rourke?"
His jaw tightened at her direct question. Behind him, Officer Halverson shifted his weight, eyes darting between the growing crowd near the convenience store entrance and Evelyn's calm demeanor. Several phones had appeared, held at waist level but clearly recording.
"Ma'am, we'll ask the questions here," Rourke snapped. "Your attitude isn't helping."
"I'm simply asking what law I've broken," Evelyn repeated, her voice remaining steady. "That's a reasonable question, isn't it?"
Rourke's face darkened. "This kind of defiance—"
"The registration," Halverson cut in, his voice notably softer than his partner's. "Could you tell us where to find the vehicle registration, ma'am?"
"It's in the glove compartment," Evelyn said, keeping her hands visible at her sides. "Along with all other relevant documentation."
"Don't move," Rourke ordered sharply, though Evelyn hadn't shifted an inch. "Keep those hands where I can see them."
Through the storefront windows, Evelyn could see Lorna Pike watching intently, phone still in hand. The realization crystallized: the call had been made before any legitimate concern could have existed, before she'd done anything but exist in a space they'd decided wasn't meant for her.
Rourke circled the sedan like a predator, making a show of examining every detail. "Vehicle matches the description exactly," he declared, though he hadn't specified what description or from where.
"What description would that be?" Evelyn asked.
"There you go again, questioning authority," Rourke said. "Every time you speak, you're demonstrating non-compliance."
The evening air had grown heavier, charged with tension. More vehicles had pulled into the station, their occupants emerging with poorly concealed interest in the unfolding scene. Evelyn counted at least five phones recording now, not including whatever footage the station's security cameras were capturing.
Rourke yanked open the driver's side door, leaning in to pop the glove compartment. Papers rustled as he pulled out her registration and other documents. His expression shifted slightly as he examined her federal retiree credentials, the official seals and clearance markers unmistakable even in the fading light.