Rourke’s expression flattened.
“Careful.”
There it was.
Not simply extortion.
The promise of vulnerability.
Marcus asked whether he could use a credit card.
Rourke laughed again.
“Transfer.”
“To whom?”
“Iron Creek Road Services.”
Marcus already knew the company did not legally process impounds.
“That’s private.”
“They work with us.”
“Officially?”
Rourke’s patience thinned.
“You want to keep asking questions, or do you want to keep your business?”
Eli shifted near the cruiser.
“Sergeant, maybe we should rerun the permit.”
Rourke snapped his head toward him.
“Did I ask you to run anything?”
Eli looked down.
Marcus watched the moment carefully.
Then he asked the question that had been sitting inside the operation from the beginning.
“Did Tomas Vargas ask this many questions?”
Rourke stopped moving.
Eli looked sharply toward the cab.
For several seconds, highway noise seemed louder than before.
Rourke’s hand remained pressed against the truck.
“I don’t know that name.”
Marcus looked at him.
“You signed his death report.”
“I sign plenty.”
“He had restraint bruises.”
Rourke stared.
“Cracked rib.”
No answer.
“And a puncture wound under his jaw.”
The lazy contempt disappeared from Rourke’s face.
Calculation replaced it.
“Open the door.”
Marcus kept both hands visible.
“No.”
“You’re under arrest.”
“For what?”
“Threatening an officer.”
Marcus almost smiled.