Instead, she stood beside the pathway while an emergency medical responder evaluated her condition.
Her cheek was sore.
Her wrists were irritated by the cuffs.
But she remained alert and able to provide an account.
The medic recommended appropriate follow-up care and documentation.
She agreed.
Then she looked toward her fellow agents.
"Where's the source?"
The lead agent glanced toward the far end of the park.
"Safe. He never reached the table."
She closed her eyes briefly.
"Thank God."
The source had been approaching from the western pathway when he saw the confrontation.
He recognized the woman in the green dress.
Then saw a police officer restraining her.
He stopped.
One of the surveillance agents discreetly redirected him away from the immediate area.
The source was frightened.
He believed somebody had discovered the meeting.
But he hadn't been exposed to the senior officer.
And the task force still had an opportunity to protect him.
The woman took a slow breath.
"Did he bring the records?"
"Yes."
She nodded.
"Good."
The lead agent studied her face.
"Are you sure you're all right?"
She gave a tired smile.
"No."
He looked surprised.
She continued.
"But I will be."
For a moment, his expression softened.
He had worked with her for six years.
He knew how much she disliked appearing vulnerable.
She was disciplined.
Careful.
And usually the person helping everyone else remain calm.
Seeing her standing beside a picnic table with a reddened cheek and wrist marks made him angry.
But anger couldn't replace the work that needed to be done.
He looked toward the scattered items on the table.
"We need to preserve the scene properly."
She nodded.
"Of course."
Then she glanced toward the young police officer.
The rookie stood several yards away with a supervisor who had just arrived.
He looked shaken.
The woman watched him for a moment.
Then said quietly, "Make sure somebody gets his account before anyone has time to influence it."
The lead agent nodded.
"We're coordinating that."
She looked toward the senior officer.
He was speaking loudly to another supervisor.
His hands moved constantly.
He kept gesturing toward the picnic table.
And every few seconds, he looked toward the federal agents with obvious resentment.
The woman turned away.
She had no interest in watching him perform outrage.
Then her phone vibrated.
A message from the task force supervisor.
We need to talk. The security director's presence changes our understanding of the source leak.
She stared at the screen.
The message confirmed what she'd already begun suspecting.
The stop hadn't happened by chance.