She smiled without looking up.
“Yes.”
He whistled.
“At your age?”
The teen sighed.
“Yes.”
“Parents?”
She looked over.
“Have a nice day.”
He laughed awkwardly.
“Just asking.”
She turned back toward the pump.
The man finished fueling.
Drove away.
Nothing else happened for perhaps five minutes.
Then the first police cruiser entered.
The teen did not connect the two events.
Why would she?
The cruiser parked near the convenience store.
Officer stepped out.
Looked toward the Lamborghini.
Then toward her.
Walked closer.
She kept fueling.
“Ma’am.”
She turned.
“Yes?”
“Is this your vehicle?”
There it was again.
“Yes.”
“License and registration.”
She frowned.
“Did I do something?”
“License and registration.”
The tone answered more than the words.
She stopped the pump.
Placed the nozzle back.
Reached toward her handbag.
The officer’s hand moved immediately toward his belt.
“Slow.”
She froze.
“My wallet is in the bag.”
“I said slow.”
Her heart started beating harder.
She opened the handbag carefully.
Removed wallet.
Handed over license.
“Registration is inside the glove compartment.”
The officer glanced toward the passenger door.
“Stay here.”
He radioed the plate.
She waited.
Then the second cruiser arrived.
That was when she knew the situation was not routine.
The second officer stepped out.
Walked over.
The first handed him her license.
“Check the plate and VIN.”
The teen looked between them.
“Why?”
The first officer stared.
“We got a call.”
“About what?”
“Possibly stolen vehicle.”
Her stomach tightened.
“My car?”
“Vehicle matching this description.”
The teen looked toward the Lamborghini.
Matte gray.
Black wheels.
Not exactly invisible.
“Who reported it?”
“We’re checking.”
“Was a Lamborghini actually reported stolen?”
The officer’s eyes hardened.
“Stand by the car.”
She did.
The second officer walked around the front.
Checked VIN through the windshield.
Then returned to his cruiser.
The first officer looked at her clothes.
Then her handbag.
Then the car.
She noticed.
That sequence bothered her.
Not the VIN.
Not the plate.
Her.
“What?”
The officer frowned.
“What?”
“You keep looking at me.”
“I’m conducting an investigation.”
She nodded.
“Then investigate.”
He looked surprised.
“Excuse me?”
She pointed toward the car.
“Run the numbers.”
The officer stared.
The teen realized she had spoken too sharply.
She softened.
“Please.”
The officer looked toward the cruiser.
“Registration.”
She nodded.
“May I get it?”