“Plate run?”
“Working on it.”
Grant stared again.
“You cuffed an armed man claiming federal law enforcement before you ran the plate?”
Holloway became defensive.
“I found the gun.”
“Which would be consistent with his claim.”
“Or a car thief carrying a gun.”
“Grant to dispatch.”
She lifted her shoulder microphone.
“Run subject through law-enforcement verification. Jamal Aaron Reynolds, date of birth…”
She read it from his license.
Holloway folded his arms.
“He’s lying.”
Grant looked at him.
“How do you know?”
“Come on.”
“What?”
“Look at the situation.”
Grant’s expression hardened.
“I am looking.”
The dispatcher returned.
“Sergeant, stand by. We’re getting a restricted return.”
Grant’s eyes went directly to Holloway.
A restricted return.
That phrase meant something.
Federal.
Protected identity.
Sensitive assignment.
Witness.
Undercover.
Some category requiring additional verification.
Holloway’s face changed slightly.
“Could be anything.”
Grant ignored him.
“Dispatch, contact watch commander and federal liaison. Priority.”
“Copy.”
The teenage boy filming whispered to his friend, “Oh, he’s screwed.”
Holloway heard him.
“Move along!”
Grant turned.
“Leave them alone.”
“He’s recording.”
“It’s a public garage.”
“He’s interfering.”
“He’s standing thirty feet away.”
Holloway stared at her.
She stared back.
The hierarchy shifted.
For the first time since the encounter began, someone with authority over Holloway was refusing to accept his interpretation automatically.
Inside the cruiser, Jamal saw Grant walk toward him.
She opened the rear door.
“Mr. Reynolds?”
“Agent Reynolds.”
Grant paused.
“Understood.”
“I need you to get me out of these cuffs and contact DEA Seattle immediately.”
“We’re verifying.”
“My operation is active right now.”
“I understand.”
“No, Sergeant, you don’t.”
His voice remained controlled.
“There are people within three miles of this garage who may kill confidential sources if they believe my cover is compromised.”
Grant’s expression changed.
That was not something an ordinary car thief improvised easily.
“What office?”
“Seattle Division. Ask for Group Supervisor Renee Calder. Use law-enforcement channels, not a public number.”
Grant nodded.
“Stay here.”
Jamal looked at the handcuffs.
“I don’t have much choice.”
She almost apologized.
Stopped herself.
Closed the door.
Holloway approached her immediately.
“What’d he say?”
“He gave a supervisor name.”
“That proves nothing.”
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“Stop.”
Holloway stared.
Grant continued.
“Stop trying to win.”
His face reddened.
“I’m trying to do my job.”
“No. Right now you’re trying to be right.”
The dispatcher broke through before he could answer.
“Sergeant Grant.”
“Go.”
“We have federal confirmation. Subject is active DEA special agent. Seattle office requests immediate release and requests scene remain secure. Federal supervisor en route.”
Everything stopped.
Even the garage seemed quieter.
Grant closed her eyes briefly.
Then looked at Holloway.
“What did you do?”
Holloway stared toward the cruiser.
“He said…”
Grant cut him off.
“I know what he said.”
“Maybe he should’ve identified himself sooner.”
“He did.”
“Not at first.”
Grant’s voice hardened.
“Because you were investigating possible property crime, not asking him to identify his employer.”