“You grabbed my uniform.”
“To stop you advancing after you put your hands on her.”
Grant reached toward his cuffs.
Eli moved.
“Grant.”
Not loud.
Enough.
Grant looked at him.
Eli shook his head once.
Tiny.
Don't.
Grant’s hand stopped.
Cole studied him.
“You believe three hundred of my brothers could be standing here within the hour?”
Grant looked toward the motorcycles.
Then Cole.
“Is that a threat?”
“No.”
“Because it sounded like one.”
Cole smiled without humor.
“They’re scheduled for a children’s hospital charity ride.”
Brooke looked toward him.
Three hundred?
Cole continued:
“I’m telling you that if you keep behaving like this, you're about to have more cameras than you can count.”
Grant scoffed.
“I don't care how many bikers you know.”
“Good.”
Cole reached slowly inside his vest.
Eli’s posture changed.
Cole stopped.
“Phone.”
Then he removed it.
Held it visibly.
Unlocked the screen.
Grant laughed.
“Calling your club president?”
Cole looked at him.
“No.”
“I am the club president.”
The statement carried no swagger.
Simple fact.
He tapped a contact.
Grant said:
“You call three hundred people down here and I'll have every available unit—”
Cole lifted one finger.
“Shh.”
That made Grant angrier than almost anything else could have.
The call connected.
Cole put it on speaker.
A man answered.
“Whitaker.”
Grant froze.
Eli’s face changed first.
Cole said:
“Tom.”
Pause.
Then the voice sharpened.
“Chief?”
Brooke looked at Cole.
Chief.
Grant looked too.
Cole continued:
“I’m at Red Mesa.”
“What happened?”
“Officer Grant Mercer happened.”
Silence.
Then:
“Tell me.”
Cole looked toward Brooke.
“Woman leaving the bar.”
“Mercer stops her.”
“Gets inappropriate.”
“Puts his hand on her after she tells him to back off.”
Grant exploded:
“That is not what happened.”
The voice on speaker stopped him.
“Mercer?”
Grant’s mouth closed.
He knew the voice.
Every deputy in Tarrant County knew it.
Sheriff Thomas Whitaker.
Cole continued:
“We have exterior cameras.”
“Three angles.”
“His body cam appears active.”
“Second officer witnessed at least part.”
“And before you ask, yes, Mercer shoved me after I intervened.”
The sheriff exhaled.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Is the woman?”
Cole looked toward Brooke.
She answered herself.
“No.”
Grant interrupted:
“She struck my hand and this biker grabbed me by the uniform.”
Sheriff Whitaker replied:
“Why did she strike your hand?”
Grant said nothing.
Brooke looked directly at his body camera.
Cole did not smile.
There was nothing funny left.
The sheriff said:
“Grant.”
Silence.
“What happened before she struck your hand?”
Grant’s jaw tightened.
“I was conducting a pedestrian contact.”