Mercer moved his hand away from the saddlebag.
For a moment, she wondered if he had decided to stop.
Instead, he noticed the helmet resting across the motorcycle seat.
Plain black.
Slightly scratched from regular use.
Worth several hundred dollars.
Mercer picked it up.
Mara's eyes followed his hands.
“Don't touch my gear.”
He ignored her.
He turned the helmet over.
Looked inside.
Then tapped the shell with his fingers.
“Expensive?”
“Put it back.”
Mercer smiled.
“Just asking.”
“It doesn't belong to you.”
He held the helmet by the chin bar.
Then began walking toward the creek.
Mara stayed beside the motorcycle.
Every instinct an ordinary rider had would have told her to follow him.
Grab the helmet.
Raise her voice.
Maybe take out a phone.
Mara did none of those things.
She only watched.
Mercer reached the edge of the shoulder where the ground dropped sharply toward the water.
The creek was swollen from rain.
White water crashed around black rocks below.
Mercer held the helmet above the slope.
“Want to keep this?”
Mara's expression hardened.
“It's mine. Put it back.”
Mercer looked at the water.
Then at her.
“Maybe you should learn how to talk to police officers.”
“I've been respectful.”
“No. You've been difficult.”
“I asked why you stopped me and declined a search.”
Mercer laughed.
“You really rehearsed this stuff, didn't you?”
Mara took one slow step forward.
“Put my helmet back on the motorcycle.”
Mercer's smile widened.
Then he extended his arm over the creek.
The helmet hung from his fingers.
Mara could see droplets of water moving through the air below it.
“Would be a shame if something happened to it.”
“Grant.”
The use of his first name surprised him.
His smile disappeared for half a second.
Mara had read the name from his identification.
But Mercer didn't know that.
“How do you know my name?”
“It's on you.”
Mercer glanced down.
Then shook his head.
“Smart.”
Mara's voice remained level.
“Put it back.”
Instead, Mercer opened his hand.
The helmet fell.
It struck the muddy bank once.
Bounced against a rock.
Then dropped into the creek.
For half a second, the black shell disappeared beneath the white water.
It surfaced again several yards downstream.
Spinning.
The current carried it between two rocks.
Then slammed it against another.
Mara watched the helmet turn once more before it disappeared around the bend.
Mercer pointed after it.
“Go get it before it's gone.”
Mara slowly turned toward him.
“You think that makes you powerful?”
Mercer stepped closer.
There was no traffic behind him.
No witnesses he could see.
Just an empty mountain road.
A motorcycle.
One woman.
And the rushing creek.
He smirked.
“The badge says I don't care what you think.”
For several seconds, neither of them moved.
Then Mercer turned around.
He started walking toward his cruiser.
One step.
Two.
Three.
Mara waited.
Four.
Five.
Mercer reached the rear bumper.
His back was fully turned.
Only then did Mara unzip the lower section of her riding jacket.
She reached beneath it.
And pulled out a compact encrypted radio.
“Team Two,” she said quietly. “Destruction of property confirmed. Move in.”
Mercer kept walking.
He didn't hear her.
What he also didn't know was that the helmet wasn't carrying the recording equipment.
It never had been.
That possibility had been considered weeks earlier.
The investigation team knew Mercer had a habit of looking for cameras.
Dash cameras.
Cell phones.
Helmet cameras.
Anything obvious.
So Mara's helmet had deliberately been kept clean.
The real camera was mounted high on the front seam of her riding jacket.
Smaller than a quarter.
Nearly invisible against the dark material.
A second recorder sat beneath the fabric near her collar.
A third camera was mounted on the motorcycle itself, hidden beside the front turn signal.
Mercer had been recorded from three separate angles.
His face.
His badge.
His hands around the helmet.
The walk toward the creek.
The moment his fingers opened.
The helmet falling.
The splash.
And every word.
Mara's radio crackled.
“Copy. Throw confirmed. Clear face. Clear badge. Full audio.”
Then another voice came through.
“Teams moving.”
Mara clipped the radio onto her belt.
Mercer reached the driver's door of his cruiser.
A low engine sound appeared around the forest bend.
He looked toward it.
A dark SUV emerged from the trees.
No emergency lights.