“Naomi.”
“Yes?”
“I didn't know.”
“I know.”
His face tightened.
“What?”
“I know you didn't.”
Mercer snapped his head toward him.
“Doyle.”
The younger officer looked at his superior.
“What?”
“Don't say another word.”
Naomi studied Doyle.
“You're not under investigation.”
Mercer's eyes widened.
“Don't listen to her.”
Doyle looked confused.
Naomi continued.
“But you may be a witness.”
Mercer stepped toward them.
“That's enough.”
Doyle backed away.
Mercer stopped.
Naomi looked toward the cruiser.
“Your body camera is still running.”
Mercer's eyes flicked toward it.
“Yes.”
“And mine isn't.”
“What?”
“My body camera.”
She pointed toward the small device clipped beneath the edge of her blazer.
“Federal investigators don't use visible body cameras during covert operations.”
Mercer stared.
Then something else occurred to him.
“You're not here for a traffic stop.”
“No.”
“Then why were you here?”
Naomi looked toward the black sedan.
“I was waiting.”
“For who?”
“Someone from your unit.”
Mercer's face tightened.
“Who?”
“I don't know yet.”
Doyle looked between them.
“What does that mean?”
Naomi's expression became harder.
“It means I came here because someone inside this department has been moving evidence before it reaches the property room.”
Mercer said nothing.
“And this morning,” she continued, “someone attempted to make me look like a drug offender.”
Doyle looked at the evidence bag.
“You think the powder was planted?”
“I don't think.”
She paused.
“I know.”
Mercer laughed nervously.
“You have no proof.”
Naomi looked directly at him.
“That sentence is going to age badly.”
He stared.
The radio crackled again.
This time a different voice came through.
Male.
Older.
Controlled.
“Naomi.”
She looked at the radio.
“Director.”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Any injuries?”
“No.”
“Was Officer Mercer the contact?”
“No.”
A pause.
“Then we have a problem.”
Naomi glanced at Mercer.
“Yes.”
The director continued.
“Secure the scene.”
Naomi looked around.
“Already done.”
“Do not leave the location.”
“I won't.”
“Federal team is four minutes out.”
Mercer heard that.
His face changed again.
“Federal team?”
Naomi looked at him.
“Yes.”
His eyes went toward the road.
For the first time since he had stepped out of the cruiser, he looked frightened.
Not angry.
Not offended.
Frightened.
Doyle saw it too.
“Daniel,” he said quietly.
Mercer didn't answer.
Naomi walked toward the gold clutch.