Serena watched in the mirror.
Crowe opened the passenger-side front door of his cruiser.
Reached inside.
Then returned carrying a short window punch and expandable baton.
Serena’s stomach tightened.
He stopped beside her window.
“You made this choice.”
“No.”
Serena’s voice remained steady.
“You did.”
He raised the baton.
His shoulder radio suddenly crackled.
“Unit Fourteen.”
Crowe froze.
The dispatcher repeated:
“Fourteen, copy priority traffic.”
He glanced at Serena.
Then pressed the microphone.
“Fourteen.”
“Confirm your current stop location.”
Crowe frowned.
“Highway Nine, mile marker thirty-eight.”
“Confirm vehicle.”
He looked at Serena’s sedan.
“Black Ford Taurus. Out-of-state fleet tag.”
Pause.
Then:
“Fourteen, hold position.”
Crowe’s expression hardened.
“What?”
“Hold position. Do not initiate transport. Supervisor notification pending.”
Crowe stared at the radio.
“Negative. I have a suspect impersonating a federal officer.”
The dispatcher went silent.
Serena watched him.
The silence lasted perhaps four seconds.
Then a different voice came over the radio.
Male.
Older.
Calmer.
“Unit Fourteen, repeat your last.”
Crowe straightened slightly.
“Captain?”
“Repeat.”
“I have a female suspect with fraudulent federal credentials. Noncompliant. I’m making an arrest.”
Another pause.
“Did you verify the credentials?”
Crowe’s jaw flexed.
“They’re fake.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“They’re obviously fake.”
“Did you run them?”
“No.”
“Did you run the vehicle?”
“Not yet.”
Serena almost closed her eyes.
There it was.
The first objective record of the problem.
Crowe pressed the microphone harder.
“I don’t need to run a car to know when somebody’s lying to me.”
The captain’s voice changed.
“Ryland.”
Serena could hear the warning even through radio distortion.
“Do not touch that driver until I get there.”
Crowe looked at Serena.
Something ugly moved behind his expression.
“Captain, with respect—”
“That is an order.”
The transmission ended.
Crowe stood beside the window.
Baton in one hand.
Pistol in the other.
He did not move.
Serena quietly asked:
“Are you going to follow that order?”
Crowe looked at her.
“You think you did something.”
“I followed protocol.”
“What did you press?”
Serena said nothing.
He stepped closer.
“What did you press?”
No answer.
His eyes moved around the interior.
The center console.
Dashboard.
Steering column.
“You triggered something.”
Serena kept both hands visible.
Crowe lowered the baton.
Then his eyes moved toward the leather wallet lying near the passenger door.
“Give me that badge.”
“No.”
“It’s evidence.”
“It is federal property.”
“I’m seizing it.”
“No.”
His hand reached through the open window.
Serena moved neither hand.
He could not reach the wallet from where he stood.
Crowe cursed.