You girls don't look like locals. Where's the fire? Dominique didn't turn around to face him. Her posture remained perfectly straight, her muscles relaxed with the practiced, terrifying discipline of an operative waiting for the right entry point. Take your hands off my chair, Officer. Or what, sweetheart? Mark sneered, his face twisting into an ugly expression. Who are you going to call? The local police? Dalton’s arrogant grin vanished instantly, replaced by the ugly, dark irritation that usually preceded a violent street arrest. His heavy hand drifted naturally toward the leather holster at his hip. Keep talking like that and I'll drag both of you out to the curb in handcuffs. I teach respect in this district whether you like it or not. Danielle glanced across the table at Dominique. The look that passed between them was instantaneous—a secret language refined across thirty-two years of life and a decade of shared law enforcement career. They weren't just sisters; they were trained federal agents who understood deeply that when a corrupt, arrogant officer starts digging his own grave, the most effective strategy is simply to stand back and let him hold the shovel. Go ahead, Danielle said, leaning back comfortably into the vinyl booth and crossing her arms over her chest. Cuff us. But make sure you take a very good look at the official credentials tucked inside our pockets before you close that precinct door.
Dalton stared hard at Danielle for a long second, then burst into another loud, boisterous laugh to cover his sudden uncertainty. Kyle joined in from the bar, slapping the polished wood counter and looking around as if waiting for the other patrons to share the joke with them. Nobody in the room laughed. Behind the bar, Luis Ramirez froze entirely. He knew Sergeant Rick Dalton all too well; for two years, Dalton had used his uniform and badge to demand free drinks, clear his mounting tab debts, and threaten aggressive licensing inspections whenever Luis refused to indulge his bullying behavior. But Luis also recognized the unmistakable look of real, unshakeable authority—and the two women sitting quietly in the corner booth didn't look frightened in the slightest. They looked like apex predators waiting calmly for a foolish mark to step directly into a well-laid trap. Dalton stared down at Danielle, his red face darkening further as the alcohol in his system fueled his bruised ego. You think you're pretty tough, don't you? he snarled, leaning his weight onto the table. I run this town, ladies. Nobody comes in here acting like that without answering to me. Dominique finally turned her head, her dark eyes locking onto Dalton with a penetrating chill that made the sergeant unconsciously pull his hand back from his holster by half an inch.