Oh, we'll verify. All right. Faulner cut in, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. He grabbed her wrist, twisting it slightly as he snatched the license. Funny thing about paperwork, sometimes it lies, just like people.
Trina's training screamed at her to counter his hold, to take control of the situation. But she couldn't blow her cover, not with so much at stake. She pressed her thumb against the tiny comm unit in her ear. Two quick taps, their agreed upon danger signal. "Sir, you're hurting my wrist," she said loudly, making sure the gathering crowd could hear.
"I've shown you my license. There's no reason for shut your mouth," Rusk barked, his fake friendliness evaporating. "Getting real tired of your attitude, acting all high and mighty with that fancy truck. We know what kind of trash comes through here." More phones had appeared in the crowd.
Faulner's grip tightened painfully. Maybe we ought to do a full search, he suggested, voice silky with threat. See what you're really hauling. Unless you want to tell us now who you're working for. Trina's heart raced, but her face remained calm.
They were fishing, trying to provoke her. Did they suspect something, or was this just their normal abuse of power? Either way, she couldn't risk the operation. Months of work, dozens of potential victims' lives on the line. "I work for myself," she stated firmly.
"I've done nothing wrong, and you have no probable cause—" The movement was lightning-fast." Faulner yanked her arm behind her back while Rusk stepped in close, blocking the crowd's view. "Resisting an officer," Faulner announced loudly. Always got to make it difficult, don't you people? Trina's cheeks slammed against the hot metal of her truck as Faulner roughly cuffed her hands behind her back.
The steel bit into her wrists. She could take them both down. The positioning was perfect for a sweep and disarm. But the mission had to come first. Always the mission.
That's when she heard it. the soft buzz in her ear followed by words that made her blood run cold. Abort the sting. You've been made. We're compromised. The cruiser's vinyl seats stuck to Trina's skin as she watched a drop of blood from her split lip fall onto the dark upholstery.
Deputy Faulner drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on his gun, a deliberate show of power. In the passenger seat, Deputy Rusk kept turning around to leer at her. "Bet you ain't so tough now, are you?" Rusk taunted, his face red with satisfaction. "All that attitude just got you a nice trip downtown."
Trina remained silent, using the bumpy road as cover to slowly work her cuffed hands toward her ankle. She had a backup commun strapped there. If she could just activate it, the FBI would be able to track her location. The main unit in her ear had already been discovered and crushed under Faulner's boot at the rest stop. I wouldn't do that if I were you.
Faulner's cold voice cut through the air. His eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. Whatever you're reaching for. Stop now. Trina froze.