Pain shot through Marcus’s wrists.
Marcus inhaled slowly.
Did not give Mercer the reaction he wanted.
“Keep talking,” Mercer whispered, “and I’ll book you for obstruction.”
Marcus stared at him.
“On what conduct?”
Mercer tightened his grip.
“Your attitude.”
“That is not a criminal offense.”
Mercer released the chain.
Danner’s hand moved toward his camera.
For a moment, Marcus thought he would obey.
Danner touched the device.
Fumbled with it.
Then said:
“It’s not responding.”
Mercer glanced at the camera.
The red light remained on.
Danner shifted his body slightly, obscuring it from Mercer’s view.
“I think it froze.”
Mercer cursed.
“Fine.”
Marcus understood.
Danner had chosen not to stop the recording.
The young officer did not look at him.
But Marcus knew.
From that moment forward, the roadside stop had a witness Mercer did not control.
Mercer called for Lieutenant Wade Hollis.
Twenty minutes later, an unmarked police sedan pulled up.
Hollis stepped out.
Late fifties.
Crisp uniform.
Silver hair cut close.
A face trained to reveal nothing unnecessarily.
He walked toward the ruined SUV.
Stopped.
Took in the scene.
Clothing.
Broken equipment.
Torn interior.
Handcuffed man.
Mercer clutching FBI credentials.