"Let go of me right now," Alicia commanded. It wasn't a scream; it was an order. It was the voice she used when a live-fire exercise went wrong, a voice that demanded instant, total compliance.
But Finch was running on adrenaline and bruised pride. "You're under arrest for obstruction and resisting!" he shouted, shoving her roughly against the side of her own car.
Alicia did not fight back. She knew exactly how quickly situations like this could turn lethal for someone who looked like her. She went completely rigid, her face pressed against the cold metal of her sedan, her jaw clenched so tight her teeth ached.
"You are making a catastrophic mistake, Officer Finch," Alicia said, her voice eerily calm over the sound of the highway.
Finch ignored her. He unhooked the steel handcuffs from his belt. He grabbed her wrists, wrenched them forcefully behind her back, and clamped the cold metal down. The ratchets clicked loudly: click, click, click, locking into place.
"Stolen valor, my ass," Finch muttered under his breath, completely convinced he was the hero of the day.
On the curb, Mitchell was laughing, cheering the officer on. "Got her! Good job, Officer!"
Finch patted Alicia down roughly, reaching into her right cargo pocket. He pulled out her leather wallet. He flipped it open, looking for a fake ID to prove his point. Instead, he pulled out a thick, heavy, white plastic card with a microchip: a Common Access Card. The Department of Defense insignia was printed flawlessly in the corner.
Finch stared at it.
His eyes darted to the name: Reynolds, Alicia M.
His eyes moved to the rank: Colonel.