He grabbed her iPhone from the cup holder. "Hey!" Naomi shouted, turning her head. You do not have a warrant to search my vehicle or seize my property. Stanfield ignored her, looking at the screen.

The caller ID simply read. Mitchell encrypted. Playing games, huh? Stanfield muttered.

He brought the phone up to his face. Listen to me, whoever you are. If this is her pimp or her dealer, you're about to lose your girl. She's going away for a long time.

A deep, terrifyingly calm voice resonated from the phone. This is Robert Mitchell, director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. You are currently detaining a federal consultant without probable cause. I suggest you return that phone to Miss Hayes.

Step back to your vehicle and wait for your watch, Commander." Stanfield paused. For a fraction of a second, doubt flickered in his eyes. But his ego, swollen by years of unchecked authority in a wealthy, insulated town, quickly crushed it. He laughed, a harsh barking sound.

"FBI director?" "Yeah, right. And I'm the president of the United States." Stanfield scoffed. Nice try. You people always have some kind of scam.

Fake lawyers, fake badges, officer. Mitchell's voice dropped an octave. The authority practically radiating through the speaker. I'm logging your badge number.

If you harm her, shut up. Stanfield snarled, determined to assert his absolute dominance and destroy what he believed was a recorded line that could get him written up. Stanfield stepped back from the car. He looked Naomi in the eyes, holding her phone up in the rain.

"You think you're smart?" Stanfield taunted her. "You think you can come into my town and intimidate me with some fake prank call?" Officer Stanfield, Naomi said softly. You are making a catastrophic mistake. The only mistake was you driving through Crest Haven, Stanfield replied with a vicious downward swing.

He hurled the thousand iPhone onto the wet asphalt. The screen shattered instantly, pieces of glass exploding outward. Not satisfied, Stanfield raised his heavy steeltoed combat boot and stomped down on the device, grinding his heel into the delicate circuitry until the phone was nothing but a twisted, mangled piece of metal and glass. "Oops," Stanfield mocked, a cruel, satisfied smile spreading across his face.

"Looks like you dropped it. No more fake FBI friends to save you now. Stanfield thought he had cut the line. He thought he had severed her lifeline to the outside world, leaving her completely isolated on a dark road with him.

He was wrong. When the physical phone was crushed, the PA hardware sustained catastrophic damage to the screen and the internal battery casing. But the call hadn't dropped. In the split second before the phone's processor completely died, the vehicle's intelligent Bluetooth system recognized the sudden hardware trauma and immediately defaulted to the car's built-in SOS communication matrix, a feature standard in government modified vehicles.

The audio seamlessly transferred from the crushed phone back to the Lexus's internal cabin speakers and the highfidelity microphone embedded in the rear view mirror. Because the driver's side door was wide open, the acoustic trap was perfect. Stanfield couldn't hear the faint ambient static of the open line. But in Washington, Director Mitchell could hear everything with terrifying clarity.

He could hear the rain hitting the roof of the car. He could hear Naomi's steady breathing. and he could hear the sickening crunch of the officer's boot on the asphalt. Inside his office, Mitchell slammed his fist onto his mahogany desk. He pressed an intercom button, his eyes blazing with a cold, righteous fury.

Get me the special agent in charge of the regional field office. Now, Mitchell commanded his night shift aids, and patch me through to the chief of police in Crest Haven. Tell him if he doesn't answer. I'm sending federal marshals to kick his front door down.

Back on the dark highway, Stanfield pulled out a pair of steel handcuffs. They clinkedked menacingly in the quiet night. "Put your hands behind your back," Stanfield ordered, stepping aggressively toward Naomi. "On what charge?" Naomi demanded, refusing to turn around, though she kept her hands visible.

Resisting arrest. Suspicion of narcotics trafficking. Obstructing a peace officer. Stanfield rattled off, making it up as he went.

Take your pick. I'm going to tear this car apart. We both know I'm going to find something in there. People like you always have something to hide.

Naomi looked at the crushed remains of her phone, then looked back up at the arrogant, sneering face of the officer. She knew exactly what was happening. She knew the car's system. A tiny, almost imperceptible green light was glowing on her rear view mirror.

She wasn't alone. She had never been alone. "You're going to search my vehicle without consent after destroying my property?" Naomi asked loudly, ensuring her voice carried directly toward the open door. I don't need your consent, Stanfield hissed, grabbing her roughly by the bicep.

His grip was tight, bruising. He shoved her against the side of the Lexus, ignoring her gasp of pain, and forcefully wrenched her arms behind her back, snapping the cold steel cuffs onto her wrists. He ratcheted them far tighter than necessary, the metal biting into her skin. There," Stanfield breathed, leaning in close to her ear.

"Now you're going to stand here in the rain, and you're going to watch me rip your shiny little car to shreds. And when I find what I'm looking for, your life is over." He left her standing by the rear quarter panel, soaked by the freezing rain, and turned toward the open driver's door to begin his illegal search. As Stanfield leaned his head inside the pristine cabin, preparing to rip open the glove compartment, a voice suddenly boomed from the car's premium surround sound speakers, echoing loudly into the night. Officer Derek Stanfield.

Stanfield jumped backward, hitting his head against the door frame. He looked around wildly, his hand dropping to his sidearm. Who is that? Stanfield yelled.

"This is director Robert Mitchell." The voice radiated from the car louder this time. "Absolute and unyielding." "I heard the assault. I heard the illegal detention. I heard the destruction of federal property.

You have exactly 3 minutes to remove those cuffs from special consultant Hayes." before the tactical team I just dispatched arrives at your GPS coordinates. Stanfield froze, the blood draining completely from his face. The heavy rain continued to fall, but he suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe. 3 minutes, Stanfield, the voice echoed from the dashboard. The clock is ticking.

The heavy rain continued to fall, drumming a relentless rhythm against the roof of the black Lexus. Officer Derek Stanfield stood entirely frozen, staring into the illuminated cabin of the vehicle, as if a ghost had just spoken. The blood pounded loudly in his ears, a frantic, deafening drum beat of pure terror. The deep authoritative voice of Robert Mitchell still echoed in his mind. 3 minutes.

He had exactly 3 minutes. Stanfield swallowed hard, his throat suddenly incredibly dry despite the downpour. He looked back at Naomi Hayes. She stood silently by the rear quarter panel, her hands still locked tightly behind her back, her posture perfectly straight.

She did not look scared. She looked like a predator patiently watching a trapped rat. This is a trick, Stanfield stammered out loud, though his voice lacked any of its previous arrogant venom. You rigged the car.

You set up a recording. You are stalling, officer, Naomi replied, her voice cutting through the sound of the rain with absolute clarity. "Every second you waste standing there trying to convince yourself this is a lie, is a second closer to your career ending in federal prison. I strongly suggest you find your keys.