Simone blinked. "I'm watering my garden. Is there a problem?"
"Your garden?" He looked at the house, then back at her, eyes narrowing. "This is your house?"
The way he emphasized your made her skin prickle. "Yes, I live here. Why are you asking?"
Whitmore took another step closer, invading her space, making himself bigger. "Ma'am, I'm going to need to see some identification."
Simone's heart pounded. As a federal judge, she knew the law better than most attorneys. Right now, this officer had no legal justification to demand her ID. "Officer, I'm on my own private property. I don't have to show you identification."
Whitmore's face hardened. "Ma'am, don't make this difficult."
"I'm not making anything difficult. I'm asking why you're here."
"We've had reports of suspicious activity in this neighborhood. I need to verify that you live here."
"Suspicious activity?" Simone asked. "I am watering flowers."
"Exactly. You don't look like you belong in this neighborhood."
The words hung in the air, ugly and blatant. Simone's jaw tightened. "And what does someone who belongs here look like, Officer?"
Whitmore's eyes flashed. "Don't play games with me. Are you the homeowner or the help?"
Eleanor Henderson's voice cut in from next door. "Officer! Simone lives there! She's been my neighbor for five years!"
Whitmore spun toward Eleanor. "Ma'am, step back! This is official police business!"
"Police business?" Eleanor countered. "She's watering her own garden!"
"One more word and I'll cite you for interfering with an investigation!" Whitmore barked. Eleanor gasped, pulled out her phone, and began recording.
Simone forced her voice to stay level. "Officer Whitmore, I am happy to answer reasonable questions, but you have given me no legal justification for this stop."
Whitmore laughed—a cold, vicious sound. "You want to give me legal advice now?"
"I am simply asserting my rights."
"Your rights?" He moved inches from her face, his cheap cologne overpowering the scent of lavender and roses. "How about I tell you what your rights are? You have the right to cooperate. You have the right to not piss me off. Is that clear enough?"
Mills appeared at the fence line, his face pale. "Derek, maybe we should get back to the car. Captain Reynolds said—"
"I don't care what Reynolds said! I'm handling this!" Whitmore snapped. Mills hesitated, then retreated to the sidewalk.