Mercer’s expression changed. “Federal credential?”
“Yes.”
“What agency?”
Denise met his eyes. “FBI.”
The officer smiled a wide, mocking smile. “Of course.”
Denise did not react. “It can be verified.”
Mercer laughed louder. “You’re telling me you’re FBI?”
“I’m telling you I am Special Agent in Charge Denise Carter.”
Just then, a second Oak Haven officer arrived. Sergeant Eric Bell, a thirty-nine-year-old patrol supervisor, parked behind Mercer’s SUV. He stepped out just as Denise began opening her door, his eyes darting from Mercer to Denise’s uniform, and then to the large brick house.
“What have we got?” Bell asked.
“Possible casing vehicle,” Mercer responded quickly. “Driver’s giving inconsistent answers and claiming FBI.”
Bell frowned. “Inconsistent how?”
Mercer ignored the question. “She says she owns this place.”
Denise stepped out carefully. “My license shows this address.”
Bell looked toward Mercer. “Did it?”
“Licenses can be fake,” Mercer said, folding his arms.
Denise almost laughed. “Then run it.”
Bell studied her face. Something about her controlled confidence made him uneasy—not because she felt threatening, but because she felt distinctly professional. “You said you have federal identification?”
“Yes. In the center console.”
Mercer moved toward the open driver’s door. Denise immediately raised one hand. “Do not search my vehicle without consent.”
He stopped, his face flushing. “You hiding something?”
“I’m informing you that you do not have consent to search the vehicle.”
Mercer looked toward Bell as though expecting support. Bell instead asked politely, “Can you retrieve the credential yourself, ma'am?”
“Yes.”
Denise leaned slightly toward the SUV.
That was when Mercer sprayed her.
There was no warning beyond a sharp, violent movement of his hand.
The orange cloud hit Denise directly across the eyes before she could even finish saying her name. She jerked backward inside the white SUV, both hands rising instinctively as the chemical burned across her face and throat.