He flipped it open with one hand, shining his blinding flashlight onto the contents. Inside, embedded into black leather, was the heavy gold shield of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Above it, a crisp laminated ID card displaying Khloe’s stoic face, the seal of the Department of Justice, and her title, Supervisory Special Agent.
For a fraction of a second, the night went dead silent. Then Miller threw his head back and laughed. It was a loud, ugly, barking laugh that echoed through the empty trees. “Oh, this is rich,” Miller chuckled, shaking his head.
He looked down at the badge, then back at Khloe, his eyes filled with malicious amusement. “An FBI agent? You? Oh, man. I’ve seen some fake IDs in my time, but this takes the cake. Where’d you buy this? The dark web, or did you print it at a local library?”
“Officer Miller,” Khloe said, turning her head just enough to look him in the eye. She had already noted his name tag and badge number. “If you call your dispatch and have them run my credential number, 774 Alpha Niner, they will connect you directly to the regional FBI field office.”
“They will confirm exactly who I am, and they will also tell you that you are currently assaulting a federal officer.” “Shut up!” Miller barked, his amusement instantly evaporating into rage. He hated that she knew police terminology. He hated how calm she was.
He shoved the leather credential case into his own pocket, treating it like contraband. “You’re not a fed,” Miller spat, leaning in close so she could smell the stale coffee and wintergreen mints on his breath. “You’re just another thug driving through my town who thought she could get cute with a fake badge to avoid a gun charge.”
“Now put your hands behind your back.” Khloe didn’t move. “I’m telling you. For your own sake. Call it in.” “I said hands behind your back!”
Miller roared.
He violently grabbed her left wrist, wrenching it behind her back with enough force to strain the rotator cuff. In her earpiece, Collins’s voice had lost all its professional detachment. He was practically shouting. “Khloe, he’s going too far. I am deploying the tactical teams. We are 90 seconds out.”
“Hold,” Khloe whispered again, gritting her teeth against the pain in her shoulder. “Who are you talking to?” Miller demanded, noticing her muttering. He grabbed her right arm, pulling it back, and the cold, jagged steel of standard-issue Smith and Wesson handcuffs clamped down brutally on her wrists.
The ratchets clicked tightly, biting into her skin. “You’re making a fool of yourself, Miller,” Khloe said calmly as she was fully restrained. “Is your body camera on?” Miller paused. He looked down at his chest.
