You don't have authorization to photograph them. Shaw's grin widened. I got authorization to photograph anything relevant to my investigation. And these fake badges are real relevant.
Mercer watched the exchange with growing unease. His hands clasped behind his back. His eyes kept darting toward Pike, then back to the twins, like he was watching a tennis match where he couldn't predict the winner. The confident swagger he had shown earlier was fading, replaced by the careful posture of someone who sensed trouble coming.
Naomi's voice cut through the tension with calm authority. Officer Shaw, I want to make something crystal clear. Every word being spoken right now is being recorded by multiple cameras mounted on this house. Shaw's phone lowered slightly.
What cameras? Naomi gestured toward the small black devices positioned under the eaves of the porch roof. Security system motion-activated high-definition video and audio. Everything that's happened in this yard for the last 15 minutes is being permanently stored.
Pike ended his phone call and strode back toward the porch. His face set in hard lines. He had heard Naomi's warning about the cameras. Shaw.
Pike barked. Those cameras might contain evidence of the burglary. Locate the recording system inside the house. Shaw's eyes lit up with understanding.
He moved toward the front door with purpose. Maya stepped directly into the doorway, her body filling the frame. "You're not entering this house."
"I got reasonable suspicion that recording equipment inside contains evidence of criminal activity," Pike declared.
You have no warrant. You have no exigent circumstances. You have no legal authority to enter this property. Pike's face darkened.
I got plenty of authority, lady. This is a criminal investigation. This is a fishing expedition, Maya shot back. And entering that house without a warrant will create a federal problem far larger than the one you already have.
The sound of tires on pavement interrupted the standoff. An unmarked dark sedan pulled up behind the patrol cars, its engine ticking as it cooled. The driver's door opened and a tall man in his late 50s emerged. His gray hair was perfectly combed, his white shirt crisp despite the heat.
Lieutenant's bars gleamed on his collar. Warren Keller surveyed the scene with calculating eyes that missed nothing. The twins on the porch, his officers arranged below them. Pike's rigid posture that screamed trouble.
He walked toward the house with measured steps, his polished shoes quiet against the concrete. His gaze fixed on the FBI credentials in the twins' hands. Recognition flashed across his features immediately. These weren't fake badges or clever props.
They were genuine federal identification, and Keller knew it. Pike moved to intercept him. Lieutenant, these women claim to be FBI agents, but I think Keller held up one hand, silencing Pike mid-sentence. He stepped closer to the porch, his expression neutral but alert.