Taylor's voice remained level, but there was an edge now.
A hairline fracture in that perfect control.
"Officer, there is equipment in this vehicle you do not have clearance to view. Opening that compartment without proper authorization is a federal crime."
Norman laughed, the sound harsh and ugly in the quiet night.
"A federal crime? You're really committing to this bit, aren't you?"
"It's not a bit."
"Then show me paperwork. Show me something official that says I can't search your vehicle."
"The paperwork is classified."
"Of course it is."
Norman shook his head, his patience finally snapping like a frayed wire.
"You know what? I'm done playing games. You've got two choices. You open that trunk right now, or I open it myself and add resisting to your charges."
Taylor's hands were still on the hood, but his entire body had gone rigid.
"If you open that compartment, you will trigger a security protocol that will bring federal agents to this location within the hour. You will lose your job. You may lose your freedom. I'm trying to protect you from that outcome."
"Protect me?"
Norman's voice cracked with disbelief.
"You're threatening a police officer during a traffic stop, and you think you're protecting me?"
"I'm not threatening you. I'm warning you."
"Same difference."
Norman moved toward the rear of the G-Wagon, his flashlight beam cutting through the darkness.
"Pop the trunk, or I'm breaking a window."
"Officer..."
"Now."
The silence that followed felt like standing on the edge of a cliff.
Norman could hear his own breathing, harsh and rapid.
Could hear the distant hum of an 18-wheeler on the highway.
Could hear absolutely nothing from Taylor, who stood frozen against the hood like a man watching a child run toward traffic.
"I can't open it," Taylor said finally, his voice quieter now. "Even if I wanted to. The rear compartment is biometrically locked and linked to a security system that will alert my chain of command the moment it's breached without proper authorization codes."
Norman spun around, his flashlight beam catching Taylor's face.
"Your chain of command? What are you, a mall cop with delusions of grandeur?"
"I'm an active federal asset returning from a classified briefing. The equipment in this vehicle is property of the United States government and is protected under national security protocols that supersede local law enforcement authority."
The words should have sounded insane.
They should have been the ramblings of someone high or delusional or both.
But Taylor delivered them with the same flat certainty he'd used for everything else.
And something about that made Norman's stomach twist.
"If that's true, then you've got your credentials. Show them to me."
"I don't carry credentials that identify my operational status. That would defeat the purpose of operational security."
"How convenient."
"It's not convenient. It's protocol."
Norman stepped closer, his face inches from Taylor's now.
"You know what I think? I think you're a drug dealer who watched too many spy movies and thought you could intimidate a cop with some Tom Clancy [ __ ]. I think you're betting I'm too stupid or too scared to call your bluff. But here's the thing, Mr. Taylor. I'm not stupid. And I'm definitely not scared of you."
Taylor's eyes locked onto Norman's, and for the first time the officer saw something that might have been pity.
"You should be scared. Not of me. Of what happens next."
"Is that another threat?"
"It's a fact."
Norman's hand moved to his baton, fingers wrapping around the grip.
"Last chance. Open the trunk, or I'm smashing a window and opening it myself."
"If you do that, there's no coming back from it."
"Good."
Norman pulled the baton free, the metal extending with a sharp click.
"Because I'm tired of you thinking you're in control here."
He moved toward the rear passenger window, the baton raised.
Taylor pushed off the hood, his voice sharp for the first time.
"Officer, stop."