Gravel crunching beneath his boots.
He kept glancing at them.
Then at the diner.
Then back.
Like he was waiting for an excuse.
A reaction.
Anything that might justify what he had already decided to do.
Finally he stopped in front of Malcolm.
"You know what I think?"
Malcolm said nothing.
"I think you two are running something. Drugs, maybe. Stolen goods. Something."
He pointed toward their car.
"Nobody drives three hours just to eat pancakes in the middle of nowhere."
"We're not running anything," Malcolm said.
"Prove it."
"I don't have to prove anything. That's not how this works."
Hutchkins's face reddened.
His hand shot forward.
He grabbed Malcolm's collar.
Twisted the fabric.
Pulled him forward.
"Let me tell you how this works," Hutchkins hissed.
"You do what I say when I say it, or you spend the weekend in a cell. That's how this works."
Lacader stepped forward.
"Sergeant..."
"Stay back, Lacader."
Lacader froze.
His hands half-raised.
He looked at Malcolm.
Then Hutchkins.
Then down at the ground.
Hutchkins released Malcolm's collar and shoved him back against the cruiser.
"Last chance. Get in your car. Leave. Don't come back. Or I arrest both of you for obstruction, resisting, and whatever else I can support."
The threat hung in the air.
Heavy.
Final.
Malcolm straightened his collar.
Smoothed it down.
Looked Hutchkins directly in the eyes.
"No."
Hutchkins blinked.
"What?"
"I said no. We're not leaving."
Terrence turned his head.
Looked at Malcolm.
A question in his eyes.
Malcolm nodded once.
Hutchkins's expression twisted.
Rage.
Disbelief.
"You just made the biggest mistake of your life."
He pulled the cuffs from his belt.
Metal flashing in the sunlight.
"Turn around. Hands behind your back. You're under arrest."
Malcolm didn't move.
That was when everything changed.
Hutchkins stepped toward him.
"I said turn around."
Malcolm slowly reached toward the inside of his jacket.
Hutchkins froze.
His hand immediately moved toward his holster.
"Don't."
"Easy," Malcolm said.
His voice remained calm.
Steady.
His movement was slow and deliberate.
Two fingers.
Nothing else.
He pulled out a black leather credential wallet.
Flipped it open.
Gold badge.
State seal.
Engraved lettering.
STATE BUREAU OF PROFESSIONAL STANDARDS
INTERNAL AFFAIRS DIVISION
The parking lot went silent.
Hutchkins stared at the badge.
His mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
No words came out.
Malcolm's voice changed.
Still calm.
But carrying authority now.
The kind that didn't need volume.