The handcuffs hung between them, catching the harsh fluorescent light overhead.
For a brief moment, neither spoke.
Then a vehicle entered the garage from the lower ramp. Its headlights swept across the concrete pillars before disappearing around a corner.
Mercer glanced toward the sound.
Evelyn used the moment to shift her weight and relieve the pressure on her shoulder.
“Officer, I need you to release my arm.”
“You're not going anywhere.”
“I'm not trying to leave. I'm asking you to stop hurting me.”
He loosened his grip slightly, but he did not let go.
“Where's your partner?” he demanded.
“I don't have a partner with me.”
“So you expect me to believe a federal agent is working alone in a parking garage with a judge's belongings?”
“I expect you to verify what I've told you.”
“Call the judge, then.”
“I will not disclose private contact information to someone who has not established a legitimate need for it. You can contact the courthouse through official channels.”
Mercer sneered.
“Always another excuse.”
Evelyn said nothing.
The silence irritated him. He wanted her to become emotional, to raise her voice, or to say something he could use to justify his behavior.
Instead, she watched him with the patient attention of an investigator observing a suspect who had begun to contradict himself.
Mercer looked down at the paper near his foot.
“Pick that up,” he ordered.
“I cannot do that while you're restraining me.”
He released her arm abruptly.
“Fine. Pick it up.”
Evelyn bent carefully and retrieved the document. She examined it to ensure it had not been damaged, then placed it back inside the folder.
Mercer noticed the seal again.
“Let me see that.”
“The document contains confidential information.”
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
His face reddened.
“That's obstruction!”
“No, Officer. Refusing to hand over confidential judicial documents without a stated legal basis is not automatically a crime.”
He stepped toward her.
“Do you ever stop talking?”
“When necessary.”
He reached for the folder.
Evelyn moved it away from his grasp.
For several seconds, the two stood facing each other beside the open trunk.
Then Mercer snatched the folder from her hand.
“I'm securing this as evidence.”
“What evidence?”
“Evidence related to your suspicious activities.”
“Which suspicious activities?”
“That's enough!”
He opened the folder and began examining the papers.
Evelyn did not attempt to take it back. Instead, she watched carefully, noting the time and the officer's actions.
The folder contained no classified intelligence, but it included internal scheduling information and documents connected to an upcoming federal hearing. The most sensitive pages were inside a sealed envelope.
Mercer reached for the envelope.
“Do not open that,” Evelyn said.
He paused.
“Why not?”
“Because you have not established any legal basis for searching it.”
“Now you're telling me how to do my job again.”
“No. I'm telling you that the document is sealed and concerns a federal judicial proceeding.”
Mercer looked at the envelope.
Then he turned it over.
The front displayed a formal heading and the name of the presiding judge.
CATHERINE M. WHITMORE.
Below the name appeared the words UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURT.
Mercer stopped moving.
He read the heading again, more slowly this time.
Evelyn watched his expression change.
“Now do you understand?” she asked.
He looked up sharply.
“You could have printed that yourself.”
“Then verify it.”
“You could have stolen the documents.”
“Then investigate that possibility through lawful procedures.”
“You think you're going to scare me with a name?”
“No.”
Evelyn's voice was quiet, but every word carried weight.
“I think you should be concerned that you are holding a federal court document while detaining a person who has presented valid credentials and repeatedly asked you to identify a crime.”
Mercer glanced toward the security camera again.
This time, he looked at it for longer.
His radio crackled.
“Unit Twelve, status update?”
He lifted it.
“Dispatch, I have a possible federal matter at my location. Stand by.”
A woman's voice responded.
“Copy. Do you require a supervisor?”
Mercer hesitated.
Evelyn waited.
“Negative,” he finally answered. “I'll advise.”
He lowered the radio.
“You're not leaving until I figure this out.”
“Then contact your supervisor.”
“I don't need a supervisor.”
“Your actions suggest otherwise.”
His expression hardened again.
“Listen carefully. I don't care if you work for the FBI, the Justice Department, or the president himself. Nobody gets to walk away from me after refusing commands.”
Evelyn looked at him with something approaching disappointment.
“That is exactly the problem, Officer Mercer. You seem to believe this encounter is about whether I respect your authority.”
She pointed toward the document in his hand.
“It is about whether your authority has a lawful basis.”
Mercer stared at the name on the envelope.
Catherine Whitmore.
He remembered a news report from several months earlier about a federal judge overseeing a major corruption investigation. The case had involved government contracts, missing evidence, and allegations against several influential people.
He had not paid much attention at the time.
Now, standing in a parking garage with a federal agent, he wished he had.
He handed the folder back.
“I'm still investigating.”
“Then investigate properly.”
Mercer reached for his radio again.
But before he could speak, another voice echoed from the entrance ramp.
“Officer Mercer?”
Both turned.
A uniformed security guard approached, carrying a tablet.
He looked from Mercer to Evelyn, then at the open sedan.
“Is there a problem here?” he asked.
Mercer answered immediately.
“Police matter. Keep moving.”
The guard did not move.
Instead, he studied Evelyn's face.
Then his eyes widened slightly.
“Agent Brooks?”
Evelyn gave a small nod.
“Yes, Marcus.”
The guard turned toward Mercer.
“Sir, you need to step away from her.”
Mercer stiffened.
“Excuse me?”
The guard lifted his tablet.
“Because the person you're threatening to arrest is not the only federal official involved in this situation.”
He tapped the screen and turned it toward the officer.
A photograph appeared.
Beside it was a name.
And beneath that name was a title that made Mercer's stomach drop.