Page 43 of PSYCHOlogical

He held his rifle steady but didn’t point it at me. At least not yet. “Stay where you are, Ma’am. We’re going to search your vehicle.”

“You’re going to what?”

“We’re going to search your vehicle, Ma’am.”

“For what?”

“I’m not at liberty to say, Ma’am.”

Two Marines exited the guard shack and came to his side. Without a warrant, probable cause, or any reasoning, they ransacked my car. They searched under the hood and beneath the car with mirrors and flashlights. They then pulled the carpeting from the trunk and removed the back seats.

After rifling through my purse and searching my cellphone, they swept my car with electronic devices. Thirty minutes after the search began, they put everything back together gave me my personal effects.

Marine number one cleared his throat. “Sorry for the inconvenience, Ma’am.”

“I doubt Lt. Colonel Martin is going to be happy about this when I tell him about this clusterfuck,” I warned. “I’ve left this base no less than five days a week for three years and have yet to be searched like this. Did I lose the coin toss, or is there a reason for this travesty of justice?”

“I’m not at liberty to say, Ma’am.”

I offered a smug grin. “Isn’t that convenient?”

“Have a nice night, Ma’am.”

“Save it, Sergeant Miles,” I snapped. “It’s a little late for that.”

I got in my car and shot him a glare before driving away.

The only evidence of my fact-finding mission was in a mailbox that even the Marines couldn’t search. Satisfied that I’d completed the first stage of our investigation, I drove home exhausted, nervous, and thoroughly satisfied.

The next step was Vincent’s.