The jogger on the sidewalk slowed.
Doyle's eyes widened.
“Officer—”
Mercer lifted the evidence bag directly in front of the woman's face.
“Found this in your car. Keep that attitude up and you’re going straight to jail.”
She stared at him.
For the first time, the expression on her face changed.
Not fear.
Disbelief.
Then anger.
Cold anger.
“Don't touch me.”
Mercer reached toward the metallic-gold clutch.
She pulled it away.
“I said don't touch me.”
“Give me the bag.”
“This is my property.”
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
Mercer grabbed for it.
She jerked her hand back.
The clutch remained in her grip for another second.
Then Mercer slapped it from her hand.
It struck the pavement.
The metallic shell made a sharp sound against the concrete.
The woman looked down.
Mercer looked at the clutch.
Then he deliberately kicked it.
The little gold bag slid several feet across the road and stopped near the front tire of the cruiser.
Doyle stared at him.
“Daniel.”
Mercer didn't look at him.
The woman slowly straightened.
Her shoulder still rested against the sedan.
She reached up.
With two fingers, she removed her sunglasses.
She folded them.
Her eyes were dark, steady, and completely controlled.
She looked directly at Mercer.
“You should've checked who you stopped before you planted anything.”
For the first time, Mercer hesitated.
Only for a fraction of a second.
Then he scoffed.
“Planted?”
“Yes.”
“You calling me a liar?”
“I'm telling you what you did.”
Doyle's face tightened.
Mercer stepped toward her again.
“You're under arrest.”
“For what?”
“Possession.”
“You haven't tested the substance.”
“We don't need to.”
“You don't know what it is.”
Mercer reached for her wrist.
She moved her hand away.
“Don't.”
“Turn around.”
“No.”
“Turn around.”
She looked at his hand.
Then at his face.
Then at the body camera attached to his vest.
“You're making this much worse for yourself.”
Mercer grabbed toward her wrist again.
And that was when the radio on his shoulder exploded with static.
“Unit Twelve.”
Mercer froze.
Doyle looked toward the cruiser.
The dispatcher spoke again.
“Unit Twelve, stand by.”
Mercer touched the radio.
“Go ahead.”
There was a pause.
Then the voice came through.
“Officer, stand down.”
Mercer's expression changed.
“Repeat?”
“Stand down immediately.”
Doyle looked at him.
Mercer lowered his hand.
The dispatcher continued.
“She’s the lead investigator on the corruption case against your unit.”
Silence.
The morning seemed to become unnaturally quiet.
Mercer's smirk disappeared.
Doyle stared at him.
The woman said nothing.
She simply watched.
The dispatcher came back over the radio.
“Officer Mercer, do not touch her again.”
Mercer's face had gone pale.
Doyle slowly looked at the evidence bag in Mercer's hand.
Then at the woman.
Then at Mercer.
“Daniel,” he whispered.
Mercer swallowed.
The woman held out her hand.
“Give me the evidence bag.”