"Good."
"Not the police you mean."
Marissa laughed. "You are not in a position to make threats."
"I am not making one."
Evan had gone very quiet. He looked at the federal badge, then at Duncan, then toward the open bay. "Trent, maybe we should cut him loose until this gets verified."
"No."
"We do not know who he is."
"Exactly."
"That cuts both ways."
Trent rounded on him. "You want to walk off the job? Walk. Otherwise stop talking."
Evan stayed, but he moved farther away from Duncan and stopped participating.
Twelve minutes after the call ended, engines rolled through the gate. They did not arrive with sirens or flashing lights. Three black sport utility vehicles entered in sequence, slow enough to take in the scene and close enough together to control the approach. Each bore federal government plates.
Marissa saw them first and straightened as though an audience had arrived.
"Finally," she said.
She stepped outside before anyone asked her to and adjusted the hem of her blazer. The gesture was so ordinary that Duncan remembered it more clearly than many of the louder details around it. Even then, some part of her still believed the people getting out of those vehicles were about to validate her.
Deputy U.S. Marshal Jonah Greer emerged from the lead SUV. He was thirty-nine, lean, dark suit jacket over an open-collar shirt, badge visible only after he stepped fully into the loading bay light. Two other deputies spread out behind him, not dramatically, simply creating space and watching hands.
Jonah's eyes went first to Duncan's face, then to the white plastic restraints around his wrists.
His expression changed.
"Who put those on him?" Jonah asked.
Trent answered before Marissa could. "We did. Private security. He trespassed on association property."
Jonah looked at the warehouse around him. "On association property."
"Yes."
"This building?"
"Correct."
Jonah looked at Duncan again.