He approached their table with Dawson flanking his right side. You ladies running some kind of undercover operation. Ava looked up calmly. We're off duty, officer. Just trying to enjoy dinner.
Off duty from what exactly? Mercer planted his hands on his hips. his chest puffed out. Let me guess, CIA, FBI, maybe your international spies. Dawson snickered. Collins moved to the left side of their table, boxing them in.
Harrison hung back, clearly uncomfortable, but unwilling to challenge his sergeant. "Sir, we're federal employees having a private conversation," Amara said evenly. "We haven't disturbed anyone." The bartender approached, wiping his hands on a dish towel. Sergeant Mercer, these ladies have been nothing but respectful all evening. They ordered food, paid their tab, and minded their own business.
Mercer waved him off without looking away from the twins. I'll decide who's causing problems in my neighborhood. Curious customers stopped eating. Conversations died. The baseball game continued on the television, but nobody was watching anymore.
All eyes focused on the corner booth where four armed officers surrounded two women trying to finish their dinner. Federal employees. Mercer rolled the words around his mouth like they tasted bitter. "Sure you are, and I'm the director of Homeland Security. We understand your skepticism," Ava replied, her voice remaining perfectly calm.
But we really are just having dinner. That's a lie. Dawson stepped closer, his hand resting on his radio. Nobody talks about federal paperwork and evidence unless they're playing dressup. Collins said nothing, but his position blocked any potential exit from the booth.
His quiet presence felt more threatening than Dawson's loud posturing. The tension in the room thickened. Other patrons shifted uncomfortably in their seats. The bartender looked between the officers and the twins, clearly wanting to diffuse the situation, but unsure how to challenge four armed men. Mercer leaned forward, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper.
"I think you two are lying," playing some kind of game, pretending to be important. The sisters exchanged a quick glance. Years of partnership had taught them to communicate without words. They both recognized the signs of an encounter spiraling out of control. Now, Mercer straightened, his voice booming across the suddenly silent bar.
I want to see some government identification. Both of you stand up right now. Ava and Amara rose from their seats with deliberate calm. Their movements were measured and professional, showing no hint of fear or anger despite the growing hostility around them. The booth's worn leather seat creaked as they stood, their half-finished burgers growing cold on abandoned plates.
"There you go," Mercer said with obvious satisfaction. "Now we're getting somewhere." The positioning was deliberate. Mercer stood directly in front of their table, blocking any path toward the front door. Dawson had moved to their left, his bulky frame creating another barrier. Collins remained on their right, quiet, but unmistakably threatening.
Harrison lingered behind the group. His discomfort visible, but his loyalty to his sergeant stronger than his conscience. The visual impact was immediate and powerful. Four armed officers in full uniform surrounding two women in business attire created an obvious display of authority and intimidation. Other customers couldn't help but stare at the unfolding drama.
The contrast in numbers and weaponry made the twins appear vulnerable and trapped. Identification, Mercer repeated, extending his palm. Let's see what kind of fake badges you're carrying. Ava reached into her blazer pocket with slow, careful movements. Every gesture was deliberate, giving the officers no excuse to claim threatening behavior.
She withdrew a black leather credential case and placed it in Mercer's outstretched hand. Amara followed with identical precision, producing her own credentials from her jacket pocket. The leather cases looked official and wellwn, bearing the scratches and creases of regular use. Mercer opened Ava's case first. The gold badge gleamed under the bar's fluorescent lights.
Next to it sat a laminated identification card with Ava's photograph, official seals, and detailed security features. Everything looked authentic because it was authentic. He stared at the credentials for several seconds, his expression shifting from confidence to uncertainty to stubborn denial. "Well, look at that," Mercer said loudly, holding the case up for everyone to see. These fakes are getting better every year.
Look at this craftsmanship. Laughter rippled through the crowd of officers. Dawson grinned widely. Must have cost them a fortune to get counterfeits this good. Sir, those credentials are genuine, Ava said respectfully.
I understand they might look unfamiliar, but I assure you they're issued by the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Sure they are, sweetheart. Mercer snapped the case closed without examining it properly. And I'm the president of the United States. Collins opened Amara's credentials, giving them the same dismissive glance.