"Where's the magistrate’s raised seal?" Garza asked. "County Annex intake doesn't accept an isolation hold without a hard stamp from the clerk's office, Miller. And where are her shoes?"
"Contraband risk," Cole said, stepping forward to block Garza’s view. "She kicked out a cruiser window on Route Nine. We bagged her footwear. Judge Vance’s clerk phoned the authorization. The hard copy will docket electronically before your van clears the perimeter gate."
"That's outside protocol," Garza replied, tapping the clipboard against his thigh. He gestured toward the mobile terminal inside the cab. "If she’s unverified, I run county mobile prints right here before taking custody. If the system kicks back an open homicide hit on a material witness, Sheriff's Homicide has to escort the transport."
Miller stepped closer, dropping his voice into a quiet murmur. "Ray, look at me. The woman is an absconded informant from the canal case. Unstable, three aliases. The DA wants her secured in a quiet tank until Friday's grand jury. You ping county dispatch, and scanners bring reporters to the gate. Do the drop at the Annex. Put her in Tank Four. I’ll hand-deliver the docket to your captain at six."
While Miller spoke, Cole shifted toward my rental car. He hooked his fingers through the strap of the blue federal pouch and dragged it across the bumper toward the transport van's side door. He was loading it into the cargo well beneath the bench seats—a dead space where uninventoried property could be hauled to the incinerator behind the Annex without touching a county ledger.
The cold certainty settled in my chest. If that pouch vanished into the van, the paper trail proving the wire transfers to Clara Mercer's shell account was gone. The pink slip in my waistband would become one uncorroborated scrap against two municipal officers. My badge was in the trash, my credentials destroyed, and my phone shielded. Once those steel doors locked, my identity would dissolve into the Annex isolation book.
I had two seconds before Cole lifted the bag over the threshold.
I didn't run for the bay gates. With my hands pinned behind my back, I dropped my shoulder, lowered my center of gravity, and drove my entire weight straight into Cole's ribs.
The collision knocked him against the rental car's quarter-panel. The blue courier pouch slipped from his fingers, struck the concrete with a heavy thud, and skittered across the oil slick, stopping beside the van's front tire—directly beneath the dashboard camera's recording lens.
"Get off him!" Miller snarled, lunging forward.
Cole rebounded with a vicious snarl, knotting his fist in my blazer lapel and slamming me to my knees on the concrete. Pain tore through my joints, but I twisted my torso toward Garza, shouting directly toward his shoulder microphone.
"Deputy Garza, log the barcode!" I shouted, the cold concrete biting into my knees. "Look at the orange seal on that courier bag! Serial code DOJ-AUD-8841! That is an active Department of Justice evidence pouch seized from an authorized federal vehicle! I am an investigator with the Inspector General, and that pouch contains federal warrants for escrow tag forty-four zero-nine Echo!"
Cole’s forearm clamped across my windpipe from behind, cutting off my breath with crushing force. He wrenched my neck backward, dragging me violently toward the open steel cage of the van. "Shut your mouth!" he hissed in my ear.
Garza did not draw his sidearm, but he stepped backward, clearing his holster with his right hand while his left thumb slammed down on the emergency push-to-talk button on his lapel mic.
"Ten-eight, county dispatch," Garza barked into his shoulder, eyes locked on the orange seal. "Hold transport on Unit Fourteen. Detainee in Precinct Four sally port alleging unauthorized seizure of federal evidence, tag DOJ-AUD-8841. Requesting an immediate supervisor and a county dispatch cross-check on escrow forty-four zero-nine Echo."
"Cancel that transmission, Ray!" Miller shouted, his face turning crimson as he reached toward Garza's radio. "The prisoner is delusional! Secure that vehicle!"
Garza slapped Miller’s reaching hand away with his clipboard, stepping back behind his van's bumper. "Do not touch my rig, Sergeant. That call is on county wide-band. My shift commander is copying."
Cole didn't wait for dispatch. With a furious heave, he hoisted me by my belt and cuff chain, hurling me into the steel transport cell. My head cracked against the iron floor grating, stars flashing behind my eyes. Before I could roll over, the heavy door slammed shut, and the exterior padlock snapped tight.
CHAPTER 3: The Camera Pointed At Bay Three