The driver, Kendrick, reached slowly toward the center console. "Hands!" Bryce screamed, jumping back and putting his hand on his gun. "I want to see hands on the dash, now." "I'm getting my wallet," Kendrick said, freezing his movement.
"You asked for ID." "I don't know what you're reaching for," Bryce yelled, playing to the invisible audience of his dashcam, setting the stage for self-defense. "Get out of the car. Both of you. Out."
"Officer," the woman said, her voice turning icy, "This is unnecessary. We are complying." "Get out or I will drag you out," Bryce roared. He was escalating it. He wanted a reaction.
He wanted them to yell back, to resist. That gave him permission to do what he really wanted to do, put them on the ground. Kendrick looked at the woman. They exchanged a glance that Bryce couldn't decipher. It wasn't fear, it was a silent communication.
"Protocol." "Okay," Kendrick said, "we're stepping out." Bryce stepped back, hand twitching over his holster. He was grinning internally. He had them.
He was going to tear this fancy car apart, find the drugs he knew were hidden in the panels, and seize the vehicle. By tonight, he'd be the hero of the precinct. He had no idea that he had just ordered the special agent in charge of the Atlanta field office and a senior DOJ civil rights prosecutor out of their vehicle. The heat hit Kendrick and Serena Voss the moment they stepped onto the roadside gravel. It was suffocating, but neither of them flinched.
They stood by the side of the car, hands clearly visible. "Spread 'em," Bryce ordered. "Hands on the hood." "Am I under arrest?" Kendrick asked, not moving yet.
"You're being detained for investigation," Bryce spat. "Now, do what I told you." Kendrick placed his large hands on the hot metal of the hood. Serena did the same. Bryce moved in behind Kendrick.
He kicked Kendrick's ankles apart roughly. "Wider." He patted Kendrick down, his hands aggressive and intrusive. He checked the waistband, the pockets, the inner thighs. He was looking for a weapon or a baggy, anything hard.
He felt a hard, rectangular lump in Kendrick's back pocket. "What's this?" Bryce asked, triumph rising in his throat. "That is my wallet," Kendrick said, "which contains the ID you asked for." Bryce ripped the wallet out.
He didn't open it yet. He tossed it onto the hood of the car. He moved to Serena. "Officer," Serena said sharply, "I do not consent to a search. You have no probable cause."
"I have probable cause because you're acting nervous and your partner here is combative," Bryce improvised. He reached for her. "Do not touch me." Serena said. It wasn't a scream, it was a command.
It stopped Bryce cold for a split second. "You listen to me." Bryce whispered, leaning into her ear, smelling her expensive perfume. "You're in Pine Creek now. The Constitution ends at the county line.
I can do whatever I want." He grabbed her arm and spun her around. He patted her down quickly, roughly. He felt nothing on her. Frustrated, he stepped back.
"Stay right there. If you move, I will tase you. You hear me?" He walked to the driver's side door of the Range Rover. "You cannot enter the vehicle without a warrant."