“Because I like driving fast; because for once, nobody is in front of me on these roads; and because if these people are still keeping tabs on us, I don’t want to make it easy for them.”

“All good reasons,” she said. “Anyway, you drive well, and I don’t see how anyone could drive this car slowly. Do you ever get tickets?”

“Not as long as I carry a badge,” Stone replied.

“You do? Let me see it.”

Stone reached into an inside pocket and fished out the wallet that held his ID card and badge. “It’s not the real thing,” he said, handing it to her. “It’s something like a seven-eighths reproduction. Most retirees carry one.”

“It says ‘retired’ down at the bottom of your ID card,” she said, “but in very small letters.”

“You learn to cover that with a finger, when you’re flashing it,” Stone said.

“Does this allow you to carry a weapon?”

“No, but the department gives you a carry license when you retire. It’s in the wallet, behind the ID, along with a Connecticut carry license.”

Holly looked at them. “Do you carry a lot?”

“Not a lot, just when I feel nervous about the situation.”

“I can’t imagine you being nervous.”

“All right, wary.”

“Wary is more like you.”

They turned onto the interstate just north of Danbury, and Stone caught sight of a black SUV a quarter of a mile behind them. “There they are,” he said.

Holly didn’t look back. “What are they driving?”

“Black SUV, probably an Explorer.”

“That sounds like government, not something Trini’s friends would drive.”

“You could be right. After all, your boyfriend is pissed off; he could be keeping tabs.”

“He’s probably jealous,” she said, putting her hand on his thigh.

“Good.”

“You enjoy annoying the Feds?”

“Always.”

“What do you have against them?” she asked.

“I find them untrustworthy. When I had to work with them as a cop, they always wanted the collar and the press, and they usually got it. They were lousy at sharing information, and you couldn’t trust it when they did.”

“That pretty much sums up my experience, too,” she said. “Why do you suppose they’re that way?”

“It’s the federal culture, I think. They think they’re the pinnacle of law enforcement, and they tend to look down on anybody at the local level as backward children.”

She laughed.

“I don’t find them all that good at solving crimes, either.”

“Stone, you’re driving nearly a hundred miles an hour.”

“It’s Sunday morning, and the traffic is light.”

“Doesn’t this car attract cops like flies?”

“If they’re around, and if they feel like a pursuit.”

“Is the Explorer keeping pace?”