Serena slowly raised the leather wallet using only her thumb and index finger.
“Watch my hand.”
Crowe shouted:
“I SAID FREEZE!”
The wallet stopped.
The gold shield caught sunlight.
For a moment, its reflection flashed directly across Crowe’s sunglasses.
Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Special Agent.
Official identification.
Serena watched his eyes behind the mirrored lenses as closely as she could.
He looked at the shield.
Then her photograph.
Then back at her face.
There it was.
Recognition.
Not necessarily of her.
Of what the credentials represented.
For perhaps one second Serena believed the confrontation was over.
Then Crowe laughed.
It was not nervous laughter.
It was contemptuous.
Deliberate.
He tipped his head back.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Serena said nothing.
Crowe pointed at the wallet with his pistol.
“What, you order that off the internet?”
“It is authentic.”
“Sure.”
“You can verify the number.”
“I’m not calling some number you give me.”
“Run the vehicle.”
“That proves nothing.”
“The registration will return to a federal fleet system.”
“You think I haven’t seen fake government plates?”
Serena stared at him.
Crowe’s smile widened.
“What did you do, lady? Buy the whole costume?”
Something inside Serena went still.
Not because the insult hurt.
Because she had now identified the central danger.
Crowe did not want verification.
Verification could prove him wrong.
He wanted circumstances where only his judgment mattered.
She lowered the wallet onto the dashboard.
Crowe barked:
“Hands back on the wheel!”
She complied.
Both hands visible.
Ten and two.
He kept the pistol raised.
“You’re under arrest.”
“For what?”
“Impersonating a federal officer.”
“You have not attempted to verify the credentials.”
“I don’t need to.”
“Yes, you do.”
Crowe moved closer.
“No, I don’t.”
His smile vanished.
“You seem confused about how things work out here.”
Serena looked beyond him.
His cruiser sat thirty feet behind her.
Red-and-blue lights flashing.
Driver’s door open.
The highway remained empty.
His body camera sat clipped to his chest.
She could not tell whether it was recording.
That bothered her.
“Officer Crowe.”
His expression shifted slightly.
She had read his nameplate.
Nothing strange.
Still, hearing his own name changed his posture.
“Yes?”
“I am going to give you one final opportunity to verify my credentials.”
He laughed again.
“Final opportunity?”
“Yes.”
“Or what?”
Serena met his eyes through the sunglasses.
“Or everything that happens after this moment becomes considerably harder for you to explain.”
The laughter stopped.
Crowe leaned through the window.
“You threatening me?”
“No.”
“That sounded like a threat.”