Naomi did not pull away.
His grip tightened.
“You think that badge gives you authority over me?”
“No.”
“Sounds like you do.”
“I think it gives you a quick way to verify exactly who I am.”
Mercer twisted her wrist behind her.
Naomi shifted her weight to prevent strain.
He interpreted the movement as resistance.
“Stop fighting.”
“I am not fighting you.”
“Quit pulling.”
“I’m balancing.”
“Hands behind your back.”
“They are already behind my back.”
Mercer shoved her toward the SUV.
Her shoulder struck the side panel.
Not hard enough to injure.
Hard enough to send a message.
Naomi’s face tightened.
He leaned close.
“You federal people come through here thinking local cops are stupid.”
“I never said that.”
“Don’t need to.”
Naomi turned her head slightly.
“Keep your camera running.”
Mercer paused.
“What?”
“Keep it running.”
His pride took over.
He released her wrist just long enough to step around her.
Then, with an open hand, he slapped the closed credential wallet from her other hand.
It hit the front passenger seat through the still-open door.
Naomi stared at him.
Mercer pointed at her.
“Fake badge. Get out of the car completely.”
“I am out.”
“You know what I mean.”
Naomi did not answer.
He kicked the lower edge of the driver-side door.
The door swung wider.
The sound echoed across the empty roadside.
Then he grabbed Naomi by the upper arm and pulled her farther away from the SUV.
“Move.”
Naomi took two steps.
He shoved her again.
This time she hit the rear door.
The pain was sharper.
Still manageable.
Her patience was becoming less so.
“Officer Mercer.”
“What?”
“I am telling you clearly: stop escalating.”
He laughed.
“You’re not telling me anything.”
“I am documenting that I warned you.”
“Document this.”
He kicked lightly behind her right knee.
Naomi’s leg bent.
She caught herself against the SUV.
The maneuver was crude.
Not meant to injure.
Meant to humiliate.
That distinction made it worse.
Mercer pulled one wrist behind her again.
“You’re nobody out here.”
Naomi looked at the blinking body camera.
“That sentence is going to age badly.”
Mercer gave a cold smile.
“There’s that attitude.”
At that exact moment, his radio crackled.
“Unit Twelve, status.”
Mercer pressed the shoulder microphone with his free hand.
“Traffic stop. Possible fraudulent federal identification.”
Naomi closed her eyes briefly.
He had just created the record himself.
The dispatcher responded.
“Copy. Stand by.”
Mercer tightened his hold.
“You carrying a weapon?”
“Yes.”
His body stiffened.
“Where?”
“Holstered at my right hip under the jacket.”
Mercer stepped back sharply.
His hand went toward his own pistol.
“Do not move.”
Naomi’s hands remained visible.
“I told you because you asked.”
“Hands up.”
She raised them.
“Turn around.”
Naomi did.
His eyes went toward the concealed holster.
“What kind?”
“Standard agency sidearm.”
“You expect me to believe you’re federal and armed?”
“Yes.”