"Maya Reynolds," Hayes read aloud, drawing out the syllables of her name as if tasting something sour. "You in a rush tonight, Maya?"
"No, Officer. I was driving 44 in a 45 zone."
"That's funny." Hayes leaned in closer, invading her personal space. The scent of stale coffee and peppermint gum wafted through the window. "Because from where I was sitting, you were swerving all over the lane. Looked to me like you were trying to shake a tail. Or maybe you're just under the influence."
"I haven't had a drop of alcohol, nor was I swerving," Maya replied, her tone firm but deeply respectful. She knew the script: survive the encounter, de-escalate.
Hayes let out a dry, humorless chuckle. He leaned his head slightly into the cabin, taking a deep, theatrical sniff. "You know what, Maya? I smell marijuana. Distinct odor of unburnt marijuana coming from this vehicle."
It was the oldest, most legally bulletproof lie in the book: the phantom scent that granted instant probable cause to bypass the Fourth Amendment. Maya's car smelled of vanilla air freshener and dry-cleaned clothes. There wasn't a trace of any drug in her vehicle, and there never had been.
"Officer, I don't smoke. I don't have anything illegal in this car," Maya said, her grip on the steering wheel tightening until her knuckles turned ash-white.
"Step out of the vehicle," Hayes commanded, his voice dropping an octave, abandoning any pretense of routine courtesy. "Now."
On the passenger side, Officer Lawson shifted uncomfortably, his flashlight beam trembling slightly against the upholstery. "Mitch," Lawson murmured across the roof of the car. "I didn't smell anything."
"I said, step out of the car, ma'am." Hayes ignored his rookie partner entirely, opening Maya's door from the outside and taking a step back.
Maya knew better than to argue on a dark highway. She unbuckled her seatbelt slowly and stepped out into the biting chill of the night air. She stood perfectly still on the gravel.
"Go stand in front of my cruiser," Hayes ordered.
As Maya complied, walking past him, Hayes leaned into her vehicle. His flashlight swept over the interior, illuminating the floorboards, the back seats, and finally coming to rest on the heavy, oversized leather tote bag sitting on the passenger seat. It was a beautiful vintage brown leather purse reinforced with brass rivets. It looked heavy.