He quietly picked up the muddy library book and brushed dirt from its pages. Eric Nolan deliberately stepped on the family photograph before Marcus could reach it. The frame cracked beneath his boot. Marcus closed his eyes. It had been the last picture taken before his father died.
Nia felt anger tighten inside her chest. She forced herself to stay focused. The mission came first. Travis extended his hand again. The phone.
No. For the first time, the smile vanished completely. You're refusing a lawful request? I'm exercising my constitutional rights. Ryan looked toward the growing crowd gathering near the sidewalk.
You hear that? He called loudly. She's giving legal lessons now. A few people looked down. Others quietly walked away.
Nobody wanted to become the next target. Travis suddenly leaned close enough for only Nia to hear. You know what happens around here? No. We don't need permission to make someone's day miserable.
He stepped back. Ryan. Without warning, Ryan reached for Nia's jacket. She pivoted just enough to avoid his grip. The movement was smooth, controlled.
Years of defensive tactics hidden beneath ordinary clothing. Ryan blinked. Fast. Travis noticed it, too. Interesting.
Not normal. Nia immediately softened her posture, pretending the movement had been instinct rather than training. I don't want any trouble. Oh, Travis replied quietly. I think trouble already found you.
Across the street, Marcus finally spoke. Leave her alone. Every officer turned toward him. Ryan pointed. Looks like your boyfriend wants to help.
Marcus shook his head. She didn't do anything. Eric shoved him backward again. You don't get to speak. Marcus hit the park bench for a second time.
Several people gasped. Still, nobody intervened. Nia discreetly activated another feature on her phone. The screen appeared dark, but hidden beneath it, an encrypted emergency application silently began uploading every second of video to secure federal servers. No signal appeared, no notification, exactly as designed.
Travis never noticed. Instead, he nodded toward Dylan. Run her plate. Dylan walked toward the aging gray sedan parked nearby. He circled it once before laughing.
This thing barely runs. Ryan smirked. Figure. Dylan typed the license plate into his patrol computer. Seconds passed.
His smile slowly faded. Huh. What? The registration checks out. So, it belongs to her.
No warrants? Dylan frowned. Nothing. Ryan shrugged. We'll find something.