Then Mercer slapped it from her hand.
It struck the pavement.
The metallic shell made a sharp sound against the concrete.
The woman looked down.
Mercer looked at the clutch.
Then he deliberately kicked it.
The little gold bag slid several feet across the road and stopped near the front tire of the cruiser.
Doyle stared at him.
“Daniel.”
Mercer didn't look at him.
The woman slowly straightened.
Her shoulder still rested against the sedan.
She reached up.
With two fingers, she removed her sunglasses.
She folded them.
Her eyes were dark, steady, and completely controlled.
She looked directly at Mercer.
“You should've checked who you stopped before you planted anything.”
For the first time, Mercer hesitated.
Only for a fraction of a second.
Then he scoffed.
“Planted?”
“Yes.”
“You calling me a liar?”
“I'm telling you what you did.”
Doyle's face tightened.
Mercer stepped toward her again.
“You're under arrest.”
“For what?”
“Possession.”
“You haven't tested the substance.”
“We don't need to.”
“You don't know what it is.”
Mercer reached for her wrist.
She moved her hand away.
“Don't.”
“Turn around.”
“No.”
“Turn around.”
She looked at his hand.
Then at his face.
Then at the body camera attached to his vest.
“You're making this much worse for yourself.”
Mercer grabbed toward her wrist again.
And that was when the radio on his shoulder exploded with static.
“Unit Twelve.”
Mercer froze.
Doyle looked toward the cruiser.
The dispatcher spoke again.
“Unit Twelve, stand by.”
Mercer touched the radio.
“Go ahead.”
There was a pause.
Then the voice came through.
“Officer, stand down.”
Mercer's expression changed.
“Repeat?”
“Stand down immediately.”
Doyle looked at him.
Mercer lowered his hand.
The dispatcher continued.
“She’s the lead investigator on the corruption case against your unit.”
Silence.
The morning seemed to become unnaturally quiet.
Mercer's smirk disappeared.
Doyle stared at him.
The woman said nothing.
She simply watched.
The dispatcher came back over the radio.
“Officer Mercer, do not touch her again.”
Mercer's face had gone pale.
Doyle slowly looked at the evidence bag in Mercer's hand.
Then at the woman.
Then at Mercer.
“Daniel,” he whispered.
Mercer swallowed.
The woman held out her hand.
“Give me the evidence bag.”
Chapter 3
Mercer didn't move.
“Now.”
He looked at the little plastic bag.
His fingers had begun to tremble.
Doyle finally stepped forward.
“Sir.”
Mercer turned.
“What?”
“You heard dispatch.”
“I heard her.”
“No. You heard them.”
Mercer stared at him.
Doyle's voice became quieter.
“They know her.”
The woman picked up her sunglasses from her other hand and slipped them into the pocket of her dress.
“My name is Naomi Carter.”
Mercer stared.
Doyle's expression changed immediately.
He knew the name.
Not from personal experience.
From briefing documents.
From rumors.
From the quiet conversations officers had in hallways when supervisors weren't around.
Naomi Carter.
Assistant Special Investigator.
Independent state-federal task force.
The woman who had spent nine months tracing missing evidence, altered arrest records, falsified overtime, illegal seizures, and unexplained transfers of confiscated property through three departments.
The woman whose investigation had already forced two officers into administrative leave.
The woman whose sealed report had reportedly been sent to the state attorney general.
And now she was standing in front of Mercer with a handprint on her shoulder and her gold clutch lying near his cruiser.
Mercer looked at her.
“No.”
Naomi tilted her head.
“No?”
“You're not—”
“Finish that sentence.”
He stopped.
Doyle looked at the radio.
“Dispatch said lead investigator.”
Naomi nodded.
“Yes.”
Mercer glanced toward the black sedan.
“You're telling me this is some kind of setup?”
“No.”
“You planned this?”
“No.”
“You're investigating us?”
“I've been investigating your unit for nine months.”
Mercer's jaw tightened.
Doyle stepped farther away from him.
Naomi noticed.
“Officer Doyle.”
“Yes?”
“Don't move any closer to him.”
Doyle froze.
Mercer looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because you don't know what he's about to do.”
Mercer gave a short laugh.
“You think you're in charge here?”
“No.”
She looked at the radio.
“They are.”
A second transmission came through.
“Unit Twelve, confirm compliance.”
Mercer lifted the radio.
His hand was shaking.
“Unit Twelve.”
“Confirm compliance.”
He looked at Naomi.
Then at Doyle.
Then down at the evidence bag.
“Compliant.”
The dispatcher responded.
“Place the evidence bag on the hood of your cruiser. Step away from the subject.”
Mercer hesitated.
“Now, Officer.”
He walked to the cruiser.
Doyle watched him place the bag on the hood.
Naomi remained beside the sedan.
The jogger had stopped completely.
A woman across the street had opened her front door.
Someone farther down the block was holding a phone.
The quiet suburban morning had changed.
Mercer turned.
Naomi spoke.
“You're going to tell me where that bag came from.”
“I already told you.”
“No.”
Her voice remained calm.
“You told me where you claimed it came from.”
Mercer looked away.
“That's the same thing.”
“No.”
Naomi took one step toward him.
“It's not.”
The second officer swallowed.
“Ms. Carter—”
“Naomi is fine.”
He nodded.
Chapter 4
“Naomi.”
“Yes?”
“I didn't know.”
“I know.”
His face tightened.
“What?”
“I know you didn't.”
Mercer snapped his head toward him.
“Doyle.”
The younger officer looked at his superior.
“What?”
“Don't say another word.”
Naomi studied Doyle.
“You're not under investigation.”
Mercer's eyes widened.
“Don't listen to her.”
Doyle looked confused.
Naomi continued.
“But you may be a witness.”
Mercer stepped toward them.
“That's enough.”
Doyle backed away.
Mercer stopped.
Naomi looked toward the cruiser.
“Your body camera is still running.”
Mercer's eyes flicked toward it.
“Yes.”
“And mine isn't.”
“What?”
“My body camera.”