She lowered her voice.
“Does Deputy Chief Mitchell know?”
“Eventually.”
Emily almost smiled.
“Okay.”
“Could you call upstairs and say the visitor is here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“No sir.”
She looked confused.
“Today I’m Marcus.”
“That feels like a trap.”
“It isn’t.”
“I’m still saying sir.”
“Fair.”
Emily made the call.
Nobody answered on the first attempt.
“Command meeting,” she explained.
“I can wait.”
She pointed toward a seating area near the internal service counter.
“You can stand there if you prefer. Somebody should come down.”
Marcus moved aside.
That was when Wade Harlan entered.
The sergeant had just returned from the underground garage.
He noticed Marcus immediately.
Harlan’s eyes moved from Marcus’s clothes to the internal door.
Then to Emily.
“Who’s this?”
Emily opened her mouth.
Marcus answered.
Harlan looked at him.
“I asked her.”
Emily stood.
“He’s waiting for—”
Harlan cut her off.
“Why is he past the blue line?”
Emily glanced downward.
A thin blue stripe crossed the floor several feet behind Marcus.
“He isn’t.”
Harlan looked.
Marcus was standing perhaps eight inches in front of it.
Harlan’s face tightened.
“Back up anyway.”
Marcus did not move immediately.
He looked behind himself.
Then at Harlan.
“Is this area restricted?”
“I just told you to back up.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Harlan took two steps forward.
Marcus saw it happen.
Not physically.
Mentally.
The moment inquiry became challenge.
“Who are you here to see?”
“Administration.”
Marcus considered answering.
Then decided the question was reasonable.
“Deputy Chief Mitchell.”
Harlan smiled.
“You have an appointment with Deputy Chief Mitchell?”
“What for?”
“That’s between us.”
Harlan laughed once.
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
“No?”
“You don't walk into headquarters, hover around secure access, and refuse questions.”
“I’m standing where reception told me to stand.”
Emily nodded.
“I did tell him—”
Harlan raised a hand without looking at her.
“I’ve got it.”
Marcus noticed Emily’s expression.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
She had seen this before.
That mattered.
“What’s in your pockets?” Harlan asked.
“My wallet. Phone. Keys.”
“Take them out.”
“For what purpose?”
Harlan stepped closer.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“Attitude.”
Marcus nearly sighed.
He had read that word repeatedly in disciplinary files.