Mercer's expression hardened.
Instead of reaching for her radio, she stepped closer.
"Touch my badge," Marcus said quietly, "and you'll explain yourself to Internal Affairs."
Mercer laughed again.
"Internal Affairs?"
She looked toward the other officers.
"You hear this guy?"
Nobody answered.
Mercer turned back.
"I'll rip those fake stars off myself and drag you downtown."
Marcus's expression didn't change.
"Go ahead."
He paused.
"Then ask your captain why his Deputy Chief is standing in your cuffs."
For half a second, something flickered across Mercer's face.
Then she smiled.
"Deputy Chief now?"
She shook her head.
"You're really committing to this."
Marcus said nothing.
Mercer reached for her radio.
"Dispatch, I have a possible police impersonator wearing fraudulent command insignia."
Marcus closed his eyes briefly.
The situation had just become much bigger than one officer making a mistake.
Because now the mistake was being documented.
And Marcus knew exactly how difficult it would be to undo once it entered the system.
The Handcuffs
Marcus Bennett had spent twenty-six years in law enforcement.
He had started as a patrol officer in neighborhoods where backup sometimes arrived late and every domestic call could become dangerous within seconds.
He had worked narcotics.
Homicide.
Organized crime.
Internal investigations.
Eventually, command.
Three years earlier, the mayor had appointed him Deputy Chief overseeing patrol operations across several divisions.
More than four thousand employees fell somewhere beneath his command structure.
But none of that seemed to matter to Officer Mercer.
She walked around Marcus's sedan.
"Whose car?"
"City-assigned executive transportation."
"There's no patrol markings."
"Deputy chiefs generally don't drive marked cruisers."
Mercer turned sharply.
"Stop giving me attitude."
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
"I answered your question."