“No?”
“No. I’m not leaving until I speak to somebody above him.”
“You can make phone calls after you leave.”
“I want your supervisor.”
Mercer almost smiled, but didn’t.
“My supervisor is not required for you to leave private property.”
“I asked for your supervisor.”
“I heard you.”
“So call them.”
“No.”
Her mouth fell open.
“No?”
“No.”
“You’re refusing to get a supervisor?”
“Yes.”
Vanessa looked around, as though searching for witnesses to something outrageous.
A dozen people were watching.
One man quickly looked away when she caught his eye.
She pointed at Mercer.
“This is exactly what’s wrong with people in authority.”
Mercer nodded toward her handbag.
“Please collect your belongings.”
“You people think because you have a badge, you can do whatever you want.”
“Ma’am.”
“You’re supposed to protect people.”
“We are.”
“I’m the person being harassed.”
Mercer looked at Daniel.
Daniel remained silent.
Then Mercer looked back at Vanessa.
“You’re being trespassed from the property.”
The word hit her harder than anything else.
Trespassed.
It sounded criminal.
Dirty.
Like something that happened to teenagers sneaking into abandoned buildings.
Not to Vanessa Whitmore.
Vanessa owned a four-bedroom house fifteen minutes from the beach.
She drove a new Mercedes.
She had a daughter in private school.
She had chaired charity auctions.
She had spent more on one family vacation than some people earned in two months.
People like her did not get trespassed.
“That is ridiculous.”
Mercer spoke carefully.
“Once you are formally told to leave, remaining here can become a criminal matter.”
“I have a hotel room.”
“You can arrange with hotel staff to retrieve your property.”
“My friends are upstairs.”
“They can bring your things.”
“My kids are here.”
“We’ll make sure your children are safe and transferred to a responsible adult.”
Vanessa’s face flushed.
“Do not bring my children into this.”
“You brought them up.”
“You don’t get to talk about my children.”
“Then let’s focus on leaving.”
Vanessa stepped toward Mercer.
“Call your sergeant.”
“Back up.”
“I want your sergeant.”
“Back up.”
“You work for the public.”
“Back up.”
“You work for me.”
Mercer’s voice changed.
Not louder.
Sharper.