Mercer moved so close that Evelyn could see the beads of sweat forming along his hairline.
“You think you're clever,” he said. “You think you can stand there, flash a couple of badges, and tell a police officer what he can and cannot do.”
“I haven't told you what you can do. I've asked you to explain what you're doing.”
“Stop twisting my words.”
“Then stop avoiding my questions.”
For a moment, Mercer looked as though he might shout again. Instead, he reached for Evelyn's wrist.
She stepped back.
“Do not grab me.”
“I'm placing you under arrest.”
“For what offense?”
“Failure to comply with lawful commands. Obstruction. Disorderly conduct. I'll figure out the exact charges when we get to the station.”
Evelyn stared at him.
“You cannot arrest someone first and invent a justification afterward.”
“Watch me.”
He lunged forward and seized her arm.
Evelyn immediately stiffened, but she did not strike him or attempt to escape. She turned her body enough to keep her balance and spoke loudly so the security camera's microphone, if active, could capture her words.
“Officer Mercer, I am not resisting you. I am asking you to identify the legal basis for this arrest.”
“Shut up!”
He twisted her arm behind her back.
Pain shot through her shoulder, but she refused to let the discomfort dictate her next move.
“Release my arm. You are hurting me.”
“Hands behind your back!”
“They are behind my back because you put them there.”
Mercer forced her toward the sedan.
The open trunk rattled as her hip struck the edge of the vehicle. A folder slipped from the trunk and landed on the concrete, scattering several papers across the ground.
Evelyn glanced down instinctively.
Mercer interpreted the movement as an attempt to turn around.
“Don't move!”
“I'm trying to keep my balance.”
He pushed her forward again.
“Get on the ground, and maybe I'll stop being nice.”
Evelyn slowly turned her head.
“You have already escalated this encounter beyond anything your original questions could justify. Think carefully before you continue.”
Mercer gave a harsh laugh.
“Are you threatening me?”
“No. I'm warning you about the consequences of your decisions.”
He pulled the handcuffs from his belt.
The sound of metal opening was unmistakable.
Evelyn could have identified herself more forcefully. She could have ordered him to contact a federal supervisor. She could even have demanded that he step away from her immediately.
But she knew that an argument over authority would accomplish nothing while Mercer remained determined to demonstrate his control.
So she asked one final question.
“Officer Mercer, do you understand that I have presented you with two federal credentials?”
“I don't care.”
“Do you understand that I have asked you to identify a suspected crime several times?”
“You're under arrest.”
“Do you understand that you have not provided one?”
Mercer grabbed her other wrist.
“I'm giving you three seconds to cooperate before I put you face-first on this concrete.”
Evelyn looked at the handcuffs.
Then, slowly, she looked directly into his eyes.
“One.”
Mercer blinked.
“What?”
“Two.”
“Are you counting at me?”
“Three.”
She took a deliberate breath.
“Go ahead, Officer. Put the cuffs on me.”
He hesitated.
Not because he suddenly respected her credentials, but because her confidence made him uncertain whether he was missing something.
Evelyn leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice.
“But before you do, I suggest you consider exactly who you are arresting.”
“I don't care who you are.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
“Because you are about to arrest a federal judge.”
The words seemed to stop the air between them.
Mercer stared at her.
Then he burst out laughing.
“A federal judge?”
“Yes.”
“You expect me to believe you're a judge now?”
“No. I expect you to understand that I am telling you the truth.”
She nodded toward the black sedan.
“I am Special Agent Evelyn Brooks. I was assigned to assist Judge Catherine Whitmore with an official matter this afternoon. This is her vehicle. I was loading her belongings because she had to leave unexpectedly.”
Mercer's smile disappeared, though he tried to hide it.
“That's convenient.”
“It is also verifiable.”
“Where is this judge?”
“At a federal courthouse.”
“Name?”
“Judge Catherine Whitmore.”
He looked at her for several seconds.
Then he glanced at his radio.
Evelyn noticed that his grip had loosened.
“Now,” she continued, “you have two choices. You can step back, contact your supervisor, and verify my identity. Or you can put those cuffs on me and explain your decisions to every investigator who reviews this recording.”
Mercer swallowed.
His eyes moved toward the scattered papers on the ground.
One page had landed faceup beside his shoe. He could not read the entire document, but he recognized the seal printed at the top.
It was a federal court seal.
And beneath it was a name he had seen in the news.
Catherine Whitmore.
For the first time, Mercer began to wonder whether he had made a mistake.
But pride was a powerful thing.
And Daniel Mercer had never been a man who admitted mistakes easily.
He tightened his grip on the handcuffs.
“Turn around,” he ordered again.
Evelyn's expression became cold.
“You have been given every opportunity to stop.”
He raised the cuffs.
“Then I guess we'll both find out what happens next.”