Voss's cruiser was parked in a way that allowed the officer to watch the cabinet without being visible from the office counter. Danielle checked the time against his scheduled patrol assignment. He should have been several miles east. She logged his presence, then sent a short alert to her team and to Thorne's liaison: SITE COMPROMISED. POSSIBLE INTERFERENCE AT PUMP SIX. PRESERVE APPROACH RECORDING.
The convoy was less than twenty minutes away. Her team, traveling separately with the inspection authorization, had already acknowledged the alert. She made a second note to the secure case log before stepping out of the SUV.
As soon as her boots touched the concrete, she became aware of someone watching her.
Voss had emerged from the service lane beside his cruiser. He was in his mid-thirties, broad through the chest, his hair cropped so short it revealed a pale line where his cap usually sat. He did not move toward the white pickup, the sedan, or the truck driver paying inside. He came straight toward Danielle, his eyes flicking from her face to the government SUV and then to the cabinet behind her.
"Ma'am. Hold up there."
She turned. "Good morning, Officer."
"What's your business at these pumps?"
"I'm here on authorized federal business."
"That so?" He stopped directly in her path. "Funny. I don't see a federal vehicle. I see you with a fancy SUV and no uniform."
"An unmarked vehicle does not make an investigator unauthorized. I'm Special Agent Danielle Cross with the United States Army Criminal Investigation Division. I can show you credentials, and you can verify them through official channels."
Something changed behind his eyes when she mentioned the Army. It was subtle. He looked down the row of diesel pumps as if calculating how much space separated her from the cabinet. Then he smiled.
"Army investigator? You don't look like any Army cop I ever met."
"That's not a reliable way to verify someone's identity."
"I've seen enough fake credentials to know when someone is bluffing."
"Then you know verification is the appropriate step."
He shifted closer. "You planning to open that cabinet?"
"I'm conducting an investigation involving government fuel transactions. The precise scope is not something I intend to discuss in an open parking lot."
"Well, you're not opening anything. Not here."
Danielle noticed his fingers had tightened on his belt. She had not mentioned pump six specifically, yet he was watching it instead of her hands.
"Officer, what's your name?"
"Voss. Nolan Voss. And you haven't answered my question."
"I have identified myself. If you want to confirm that identification, I'll assist with a proper check."
"Hand over the badge."
"I'll display it. I won't release the wallet to you. It contains federal identification."
"I'm giving you a lawful order."
"And I'm offering a reliable method of verification. Let's call your dispatcher together."
Voss leaned close enough that she could smell mint on his breath. "You think you can stand here and lecture me?"
The older man with the coffee had stopped near his sedan. Danielle saw him watching from the edge of her vision. She was aware of the body camera on Voss's chest and of her own recording system. None of that made the situation safe, but it made accurate recollection possible.