“My wallet is inside the left pocket of my jacket.”
“Don’t move.”
Malcolm waited.
“You asked for my license.”
“I heard what I said.”
“Then I need to know whether you want me to get the license or keep my hands on the wheel.”
Boone slapped one palm against the roof.
“Don’t get smart with me.”
Malcolm looked straight ahead.
Eli said quietly, “He’s cooperating.”
Boone turned his head toward the passenger side.
“What?”
“I said he’s cooperating.”
The comment should have lowered the temperature.
Instead, Boone seemed embarrassed by it.
“Step out of the vehicle.”
Malcolm looked at him.
“What is the reason for the stop?”
“Get out.”
“I will comply.”
Malcolm kept his voice low.
“But I want it stated clearly that I have made no threatening movement and I have not refused a lawful instruction.”
Boone stepped back.
His hand went to the collapsible baton.
Eli stared across the car.
“What are you doing?”
Boone snapped the baton open.
“I’ve got a noncompliant driver.”
“No, you don’t.”
Boone’s head turned sharply.
“You want to handle this?”
Eli stopped.
Malcolm watched the exchange.
That was the first moment he became genuinely worried.
Not because of the baton.
Because Boone was no longer responding to Malcolm’s behavior.
He was responding to being challenged.
Authority had become personal.
Malcolm knew that transition.
He had seen it in criminals.
Informants.
Supervisors.
Agents.
Anyone could make it.
Once preserving authority mattered more than gathering facts, every neutral action could be interpreted as disrespect.
Malcolm looked at Boone’s nameplate.
“Officer Boone.”
Boone’s eyes narrowed.
“I recommend you call a supervisor.”
“You recommend?”
“Yes.”
Boone laughed.
“You think because you’re sitting in a Lamborghini you get to tell me how traffic stops work?”
Malcolm looked around the interior.
“The car does not belong to me.”
“Sure.”
“I am telling you the registration is lawful.”
“I know what the computer says.”
“Then what are we doing?”
Boone’s jaw tightened.
“Get out.”
Malcolm looked at the seat belt.
“To get out, I need to release this.”
“Then release it.”
Malcolm moved one hand downward.
“Stop!”
He stopped instantly.
Eli stepped closer.
“Travis, you just told him to move.”
“Shut up.”
Malcolm returned both hands to the wheel.
“I need a supervisor.”
Boone raised the baton.
“Get out of the car.”
“I need you to step back so I can safely exit.”
“Now.”
Malcolm did not move.
The baton came down.
The first strike shattered the outer layer.
Eli shouted.
“Travis!”
The second strike punched through.
Glass fell everywhere.
Malcolm lifted one forearm to shield his eyes.
A fragment cut his cheek.
Something inside him became very calm.
His undercover identity had been built to survive scrutiny.
But the operation was over.
There was no longer a legitimate reason to protect the cover at the expense of safety.
Malcolm looked toward Boone.
“Stop.”
“Hands!”