The first inspector shoved two fingers into her pocket and pulled out a small black leather wallet. He flipped it open, and his smirk disappeared. Inside lay a gold shield and a laminated card with a photograph of Alexandra, her name, and four words: Assistant United States Attorney. The second officer leaned over his shoulder, read it twice, and his mouth fell open. A truck hummed past on the highway, and neither man moved.

“I am the federal prosecutor for this district,” Alexandra said evenly. “I drove here on my day off, to my mother’s house, and I would like my handcuffs removed now.” The first inspector fumbled for his key with shaking hands. The click of the lock sounded enormous in the silence, and Alexandra rubbed her wrists. Then she turned her head toward the road, where a dark SUV was slowing to a stop behind the patrol car.