Naomi watched from beside the patrol car, where Jordan had helped her sit on the edge of the passenger seat.
Her expression was devastated.
"Please," she whispered. "That's my blood pressure medicine."
Mercer didn't look up.
"That's evidence now."
She swallowed.
"Evidence of what?"
He pressed the adhesive label against the orange plastic.
"Possible prescription fraud."
Naomi shook her head.
"No. That's not true."
The sergeant looked irritated.
"Lady, I've heard enough."
She began crying again.
"I have a doctor's appointment this afternoon. You can call them."
Mercer sealed the evidence bag halfway.
Then looked toward Jordan.
"Write her up for interfering with an investigation."
The younger officer stared.
"Sergeant, what investigation?"
Mercer's face reddened.
"The pharmacy complaint."
Jordan glanced toward the storefront.
The pharmacist was standing behind the glass doors, looking horrified.
"Dispatch described a man stealing merchandise from the front shelves," Jordan said. "This woman doesn't match."
Mercer stepped closer.
"You questioning me in front of a suspect?"
Jordan swallowed.
For a moment, the parking lot became quiet.
Then Naomi spoke.
"I'm not a suspect. I'm somebody's mother."
Her voice cracked.
"Please don't hurt my baby."
Mercer looked away.
He reached for the adhesive strip again.
And that was when a black luxury SUV turned into the parking lot.
The vehicle stopped abruptly near the police cruiser.
A chauffeur opened the rear passenger door.
And an extraordinarily elegant Black woman stepped out.
She was tall, athletic, and strikingly beautiful, with very dark skin, an almost completely cropped natural hairstyle, and an unmistakably commanding presence.
She wore an extravagant sculptural black cape-style coat with enormous flowing sleeves, a dramatic high collar, and a wide waist belt secured by a large rectangular gold buckle. Glossy dark-burgundy thigh-high pointed boots completed the outfit.
She looked as though she'd walked directly from a luxury fashion campaign.
But her expression was anything but fashionable.
Her eyes moved from the police cruiser to the orange evidence bag.
Then to Naomi.
The pregnant woman was crying.
Her mustard-yellow dress was dirty around the knees.
And one hand remained pressed against her belly.
The glamorous woman's face changed instantly.
"Naomi?"
The pregnant woman looked up.
For a brief moment, she seemed unable to believe what she was seeing.
Then she whispered, "Amanda."
Amanda Cole stood completely still.
She was thirty-eight, a celebrated professional mixed martial arts champion with a reputation for extraordinary composure under pressure. Millions of sports fans recognized her face, and major brands paid enormous sums for her endorsement.