"You better check that wallet, Bryce." Riley said nervously, just to be sure. "Fine." Bryce holstered his weapon and snatched the wallet off the hood. He flipped it open.
He expected to see a Georgia driver's license, maybe a fake social security card. Instead, a gold shield glinted in the sunlight. It was heavy, detailed. The eagle spread its wings across the top. Below it, bold blue letters set into the gold, Department of Justice, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Special Agent.
Bryce blinked. He rubbed his thumb over the badge. He looked at the ID card in the adjacent window. Kendrick Voss, Special Agent in Charge. Clearance level: Top Secret/SCI.
Bryce's stomach dropped through the floor. The world tilted slightly on its axis. The heat seemed to vanish, replaced by a cold chill that started at the base of his spine. He looked at the second wallet. Serena's purse was in the car.
He ran to the car, grabbed her purse, and dumped it on the seat. Another badge tumbled out. United States Department of Justice, Civil Rights Division. Senior Prosecutor. Bryce looked up.
Kendrick was standing by the trunk of the cruiser, cuffed. He wasn't looking at the ground, he was looking right at Bryce. And for the first time, Bryce realized the look on Kendrick's face wasn't anger, it was pity. "Riley." Bryce croaked.
His throat was dry as sand. "Yeah?" Riley asked, holding Kendrick's arm. "Take him in." Bryce said, his voice trembling.
He couldn't admit he was wrong, not now, not in front of the rookie. He had to double down. "It's... it's a fake. They're good fakes. Take them in."
Riley looked doubtful, but he followed orders. He shoved Kendrick into the back of the cruiser. As the door slammed shut, separating them, Bryce looked down at the gold badge in his hand. His fingers were shaking so hard he almost dropped it. He had just arrested the FBI, but he didn't know the half of it yet.
He didn't know why they were in Pine Creek. The ride to the Pine Creek Police Department was short, but it felt like an eternity inside the cramped back seat of the cruiser. The Plexiglas divider was scratched and yellowed, a barrier between the dirty reality of the back seat and the air-conditioned authority of the front. Kendrick sat hunched over. He was simply too big for the space.
His knees were pressed against the cage, but he didn't complain. He breathed rhythmically, a technique he'd learned during hostage negotiation training at Quantico. Beside him, Serena was staring out the window, watching the familiar landmarks of the small town pass by. The dilapidated gas station, the high school football field, the endless row of churches. Officer Riley, driving the car, kept glancing in the rearview mirror.
He looked terrified. The confidence of the badge was evaporating with every mile. "Bryce says they're fakes." Riley muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Got to be fakes.