Behind Kane, Sergeant Ellen Brooks remained near the end of the conference table. She was forty-two, with light-brown hair pulled back into a practical knot and a uniform that looked as though she had been wearing it since early morning. She had entered the room expecting to help settle an administrative dispute, but the situation had deteriorated faster than she could have anticipated.
Brooks had watched Kane argue with the stranger at the station entrance. She had heard him dismiss the man's explanation, order him to cooperate, and insist that the identification he had briefly displayed could not possibly be legitimate.
At first, she had assumed that there was some missing information. Perhaps the man had refused a lawful instruction. Perhaps a report had been filed that Brooks had not yet seen. Perhaps Kane had recognized something about the situation that she had overlooked.
But the longer the confrontation continued, the less convincing those possibilities became.
The stranger had repeatedly asked for his credentials to be checked. Kane had repeatedly refused.
A second officer, James Parker, stood near the closed door. At thirty-five, Parker was experienced enough to recognize when an argument had moved beyond ordinary workplace tension. His hands rested at his sides, and his attention shifted between Kane and Cross with growing unease.
Nobody in the room appeared comfortable.
Nobody, that was, except Kane.
He paced once along the side of the table, stopped, and turned back toward Cross. The soles of his polished shoes made a sharp sound against the floor. He straightened the front of his uniform and looked at the handcuffed man as though he were examining a problem that had already been solved.
Cross watched him without moving.
The officer's expression hardened.
There was something about the stranger's stillness that Kane could not tolerate. He was accustomed to people responding to his presence. They explained themselves too quickly, raised their voices in return, or attempted to negotiate their way out of an uncomfortable situation. Even the people who remained silent usually revealed their fear through restless hands, lowered eyes, or nervous shifts of weight.
Cross offered him none of those familiar reactions.
Instead, the federal agent stood quietly beneath the fluorescent lights, his shoulders level and his gaze steady. His handcuffed wrists remained in front of him, and the gold badge inside his jacket was the only visible indication that his identity might be very different from what Kane had decided it was.
Kane had noticed the badge earlier.
He had seen its metallic surface and the distinctive design engraved upon it. Rather than treating it as something that required verification, he had immediately decided that it was a prop intended to impress the officers at the station.
That conclusion had been convenient.
If the badge was fake, Kane did not need to investigate the stranger's claims. If the man was pretending to be a federal agent, Kane could justify treating him as an ordinary suspect. And if the stranger's credentials were legitimate, then Kane would have to explain why he had ignored them.
The possibility of being wrong was the one possibility he had no interest in examining.
Cross understood that the argument had become less about the badge and more about the officer's pride. He had encountered that kind of behavior before, although rarely with such open hostility. Some people were willing to admit uncertainty when confronted with unfamiliar information. Others reacted as if uncertainty itself were a personal humiliation.
Kane belonged to the second group.
"Let me make this simple for you," the officer said, his voice carrying through the conference room. "You are in my station, under my control, and you will do what I tell you to do."
Cross took a measured breath.
He did not answer immediately. He studied Kane's face, then glanced briefly toward Brooks, who appeared to be weighing whether she should intervene.
"I have been cooperating since I arrived," Cross said at last. "I asked you to verify my identification. That is all."
Kane gave a short, humorless laugh.
"That's all?" he repeated. "You walk in here acting like you can tell everyone how to do their job, flash some piece of metal, and expect us to believe you're important?"
"I did not ask you to believe anything," Cross replied. "I asked you to check it."
The answer was quiet, almost conversational.
That made it worse.
Kane stepped closer. His face tightened, and his voice dropped into the threatening register he used when he wanted someone to understand that patience had run out.