He stopped several feet away.
“You still don’t understand.”
Cleary lifted his chin.
“Understand what?”
“The card isn’t why you’re in trouble.”
The sheriff stared.
Isaiah continued.
“The card can be replaced.”
“My wrists will heal.”
“My truck can be returned.”
“The problem is what you did when you thought nobody would question you.”
Cleary’s face tightened.
Isaiah looked toward Rachel.
Mooney.
Then Avery.
“You had people around you trying to slow this down.”
“You ignored them.”
“You had documents.”
“You ignored them.”
“You had a verification number.”
“You ignored it.”
“You had your own camera.”
“You didn’t care.”
Isaiah looked back at him.
“You didn’t make one mistake.”
“You kept choosing the next one.”
Nobody spoke.
Cleary had no answer.
The investigation began before Isaiah reached Mobile.
Danielle met him outside her house at 9:04 p.m.
She was forty, five feet five, and furious enough to look twice her size.
The moment Isaiah stepped from Colonel Daniels’s SUV, Danielle wrapped both arms around him.
Then shoved him backward.
“You couldn’t call me yourself?”
Isaiah laughed.
“I was busy.”
“You were arrested.”
“Yes.”
“You were arrested in Alabama.”
“Yes.”
“You let some sheriff put you in jail and did not call me first?”
“I thought calling the duty desk was more efficient.”
Danielle stared.
Then turned toward Daniels.
“Is he always like this?”
Daniels smiled.
“I’ve known him four hours.”
“Yes.”
“He’s always like this.”
Danielle looked back at her brother.
Then saw his wrists.
Her expression changed.
“Who did that?”
Isaiah sighed.
“Dani.”
“No.”
“Who?”
“It’s handled.”
“That was not my question.”
Her husband Marcus appeared behind her.
“Let him inside first.”
Danielle pointed toward the house.
“You.”
“Inside.”
“Now.”
Isaiah looked at Daniels.
“She’s been giving orders since she was six.”
Danielle snapped:
“Five.”
Isaiah smiled.
For the first time in hours, he felt civilian again.
Inside, the barbecue food had been wrapped and refrigerated.
His nephew Jordan stood near the kitchen doorway.
Seventeen.
Tall.
Awkward.
Trying not to look frightened.
“Uncle Isaiah.”
Isaiah held out one hand.
Jordan ignored it and hugged him.
That hurt more than the cuffs.
His niece Maya came next.
Fourteen.
She looked at the broken credential in Isaiah’s hand.
“What happened to it?”
He hesitated.
“Somebody made a bad decision.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Yeah.”
“Does it matter?”
Isaiah looked down at the card.
Then at her.
“The plastic doesn’t.”
Maya nodded.
She understood more than he expected.