He patted down my pockets and removed my wallet.
Brooks looked uncomfortable.
“Sir, she’s cooperating.”
Cole opened the wallet.
He passed over my driver’s license without reaction.
Then he found the plain black access card behind it.
His thumb stopped.
The card carried no photograph and almost no identifying information, just my name, a federal seal, and an agency abbreviation.
Cole stared at it for several seconds.
Then he did something strange.
He didn’t ask me what it was.
He immediately turned his body so Brooks couldn’t see it.
“Where did you get this?” he whispered.
The anger in his voice had disappeared.
So had his confidence.
I slowly lifted my head.
“You already know.”
Across the street, Patricia was still recording, completely unaware that the situation had changed.
Brooks stepped closer.
“What did you find?”
Cole shoved the card into his pocket.
“Nothing.”
That single word changed everything.
Because an inexperienced deputy might misunderstand a credential.
He might even doubt it.
But he wouldn’t hide it from his partner.
Then Cole grabbed my arm and said, much too quickly, “We’re taking her in.”
Brooks frowned. “For what?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he reached for his radio, switched it off, and looked toward Patricia’s house.
Not at Patricia.
At the upstairs window behind her.
A curtain moved.