your sister for felony hit-and-run, and I’m going to book your parents for conspiracy.”
He stood up, the aluminum chair scraping violently against the floor, and reached for the radio on his shoulder.
“Wait,” I commanded.
I didn’t raise my voice, but the absolute surgical authority in my tone froze his hand halfway to the microphone.
He looked down at me, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“You don’t just want an arrest, Detective Vance,” I said, leaning back in my chair, folding my hands neatly in my lap.
“If you
