Alicia glanced at his name tag. ""Finch, under what legal authority are you demanding my identification? What crime am I suspected of committing?"" Finch's jaw tightened. He wasn't used to people, especially suspects, calmly questioning his legal authority. ""I'm investigating a report of fraud. Now, you can hand over your ID or I can detain you for obstruction." You are investigating a baseless phone call from a man who harassed me.
Alicia corrected him, her voice dropping a register, becoming colder, sharper. I am an active-duty officer en route to a military installation. I have committed no crime. I have broken no laws, and I am not required to present my identification simply because that man's fragile ego couldn't handle my presence. "Last warning, lady," Finch snapped, his face flushing.
He was losing control of the interaction, and he knew it. Several people at the neighboring pumps had pulled out their phones and started recording. The flashing lights of the cruiser made the whole scene look incredibly dramatic. "I am leaving," Alicia said calmly. She turned to open her car door.
"Hey!" Finch yelled. Before Alicia could even touch the handle, Finch lunged forward. He grabbed her left arm, his fingers digging harshly into the fabric of her OCP sleeve, directly over her unit patch. He yanked her backward with excessive force, spinning her away from the car.
"Let go of me right now," Alicia commanded. It wasn't a scream. It was an order. It was the voice she used when a live-fire exercise went wrong, a voice that demanded instant, total compliance. But Finch was running on adrenaline and bruised pride.
"You're under arrest for obstruction and resisting," he shouted, shoving her roughly against the side of her own car. Alicia did not fight back. She knew exactly how quickly situations like this could turn lethal for someone who looked like her. She went completely rigid. Her face pressed against the cold metal of her sedan.
Her jaw clenched so tight her teeth ached. "You are making a catastrophic mistake, Officer Finch." Alicia said, her voice eerily calm over the sound of the highway. Finch ignored her. He unhooked the steel handcuffs from his belt.
He grabbed her wrists, wrenched them forcefully behind her back, and clamped the cold metal down. The ratchets clicked loudly. Click. Click. Click.
Locking into place. "Stolen valor, my ass." Finch muttered under his breath, completely convinced he was the hero of the day. On the curb, Mitchell was laughing, cheering the officer on. "Got her."
"Good job, officer." Finch patted Alicia down roughly, reaching into her right cargo pocket. He pulled out her leather wallet. He flipped it open, looking for a fake ID to prove his point. Instead, he pulled out a thick, heavy, white plastic card with a microchip.
A common access card. The Department of Defense insignia was printed flawlessly in the corner. Finch stared at it. His eyes darted to the name. Reynolds, Alicia M.