Her conscience demanded something else. She discreetly opened the camera application. Across the street, Travis leaned closer to Marcus. You've been warned before. I didn't do anything.
You don't get to decide that. Nia pressed the record button. The small red light appeared on the screen. Every second mattered now. She had no way of knowing that one careless glance from Officer Dylan Hayes was about to change everything.
Dylan's eyes drifted across the street. They stopped. Locked directly onto the phone in Nia's hand. His expression hardened. He leaned toward Travis and murmured something too quietly for anyone else to hear.
Travis slowly turned his head. His eyes found Nia. Then they found the phone. His smile disappeared. Without saying a word, he started walking straight toward her.
Travis Cole's polished boots crossed the street with slow, deliberate confidence. Every step carried the silent certainty of a man who had never been told no. Nia Brooks lowered her phone naturally, pretending to read a text message instead of recording video. She kept her breathing steady. The instinct to reach for the FBI credentials hidden deep inside her tote bag flickered through her mind, but she buried it immediately.
Not yet. The investigation was bigger than one confrontation. If she exposed herself now, six months of work could disappear in a matter of minutes. Travis stopped only a foot away. What are you filming?
His tone sounded almost casual. Almost. Nia looked up with practiced calm. The town. Ryan Mercer and Dylan Hayes joined him, positioning themselves on either side of her.
Eric Nolan remained across the street with Marcus, while Kevin Ross stood halfway between both groups, watching everyone at once. The town? Travis repeated with a crooked smile. That's right. He held out his hand.
Let me see your phone. Nia slipped it into her jacket pocket instead. I'm not required to hand over my personal property. Ryan laughed. You hear that, Sarge?
She knows the law. Travis smiled even wider. I like people who know the law. His eyes hardened. They're usually easier to charge with obstruction.
Linda Foster froze behind the cash register inside her store. She had seen this routine before. It always began politely. It never ended that way. Outside, Marcus gathered his scattered belongings with trembling hands.
He quietly picked up the muddy library book and brushed dirt from its pages. Eric Nolan deliberately stepped on the family photograph before Marcus could reach it. The frame cracked beneath his boot. Marcus closed his eyes. It had been the last picture taken before his father died.
Nia felt anger tighten inside her chest. She forced herself to stay focused. The mission came first. Travis extended his hand again. The phone.
No. For the first time, the smile vanished completely. You're refusing a lawful request? I'm exercising my constitutional rights. Ryan looked toward the growing crowd gathering near the sidewalk.
You hear that? He called loudly. She's giving legal lessons now. A few people looked down. Others quietly walked away.
Nobody wanted to become the next target. Travis suddenly leaned close enough for only Nia to hear. You know what happens around here? No. We don't need permission to make someone's day miserable.
He stepped back. Ryan. Without warning, Ryan reached for Nia's jacket. She pivoted just enough to avoid his grip. The movement was smooth, controlled.
Years of defensive tactics hidden beneath ordinary clothing. Ryan blinked. Fast. Travis noticed it, too. Interesting.
Not normal. Nia immediately softened her posture, pretending the movement had been instinct rather than training. I don't want any trouble. Oh, Travis replied quietly. I think trouble already found you.
Across the street, Marcus finally spoke. Leave her alone. Every officer turned toward him. Ryan pointed. Looks like your boyfriend wants to help.
Marcus shook his head. She didn't do anything. Eric shoved him backward again. You don't get to speak. Marcus hit the park bench for a second time.
Several people gasped. Still, nobody intervened. Nia discreetly activated another feature on her phone. The screen appeared dark, but hidden beneath it, an encrypted emergency application silently began uploading every second of video to secure federal servers. No signal appeared, no notification, exactly as designed.
Travis never noticed. Instead, he nodded toward Dylan. Run her plate. Dylan walked toward the aging gray sedan parked nearby. He circled it once before laughing.
This thing barely runs. Ryan smirked. Figure. Dylan typed the license plate into his patrol computer. Seconds passed.
His smile slowly faded. Huh. What? The registration checks out. So, it belongs to her.
No warrants? Dylan frowned. Nothing. Ryan shrugged. We'll find something.
Kevin Ross shifted uneasily. Sergent. What? We don't actually have probable cause. The words hung in the air.
For a brief second, silence settled over the intersection. Travis slowly turned toward Kevin. What did you say? Kevin swallowed. I just meant Travis stepped closer.
I asked if we had probable cause. Kevin looked down. No, sir. Travis smiled. There you go.
Then, without taking his eyes off Kevin, he spoke loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear. Funny thing about probable cause. He finally looked back at Nia. Sometimes it introduces itself. At that exact moment, Ryan suddenly shouted, "She's deleting the video!"
He wasn't telling the truth, but the accusation was enough. Travis pointed directly at Nia. "Seize the phone." Ryan lunged. Nia stepped sideways, protecting the device with her body instead of striking back.
She could have disarmed him. She knew at least six different techniques that would have dropped him onto the pavement in seconds. Instead, she absorbed the impact. Ryan slammed into her shoulder. The phone slipped from her hand.
It bounced once across the concrete. Dylan grabbed it before she could. Got it. He held the phone high like a trophy. The crowd murmured nervously.
Travis nodded with satisfaction. There. Now we're getting somewhere. Nia stared at the phone. Months of planning, evidence, notes, contacts.