“Don’t.”
Grant raised his eyebrows.
“Don’t what?”
“You know exactly what.”
Cole stepped forward.
“All right. Enough.”
His hand closed around Maya’s wrist.
Hard.
She looked down at it.
Then at him.
“Take your hand off me.”
Cole tightened his grip.
“What are you gonna do?”
Maya did not yank her arm away.
She knew better.
Instead she spoke carefully.
“I am not resisting you.”
“You better not.”
“I am asking why you’re holding me.”
“Because I told you to stay put.”
“I was standing still.”
Grant circled around Maya’s side.
“Maybe she needs checking.”
Maya turned her head.
“What does that mean?”
Grant raised both hands slightly.
“Standard officer safety.”
“I have no pockets.”
He moved behind her.
Maya felt her pulse increase.
“Do not touch me.”
Grant laughed.
“Relax.”
His hand came toward her waist.
Maya reacted instantly.
She knocked it away.
Not a punch.
Not an attack.
Just a sharp movement removing his hand from her body.
Grant’s face changed.
Cole yanked Maya’s arm.
“Hey!”
She stumbled half a step.
His grip tightened.
“You want to go to jail?”
Maya looked directly into his eyes.
“He put his hand on my waist.”
Grant said quickly, “I was checking you.”
“No.”
“You don’t decide that.”
Maya turned toward him.
“You put your hand on me after I told you not to.”
Grant smirked.
“Maybe don’t dress like you’re trying to get attention.”
Silence.
Even Cole glanced at him for half a second.
Maya stared at Grant.
Something inside her settled.
Not calmed.
Settled.
Every loose piece of the encounter suddenly locked into place.
She stopped explaining.
Stopped trying to convince them to behave professionally.
Stopped believing either man was interested in understanding what had happened.
Cole noticed the change.
“What?”
Maya looked at his nameplate.
Then Grant’s.
Then the numbers on their badges.
She memorized both.
Cole saw her eyes moving.
“You taking inventory?”
“Yes.”
Grant laughed.
“For what?”
Maya ignored him.
She looked at Cole.
“Run the name Maya Brooks.”
Cole stared at her.
“Why?”
“You wanted to know who I am.”
He smiled.
“I already know enough.”
“Run it.”
Grant folded his arms.
“Oh, this should be good.”
Maya held Cole’s gaze.
“Run the name.”
Cole’s pride did exactly what Maya expected.
He raised the radio.
“Dispatch, Unit Thirty-Two.”
“Thirty-Two, go ahead.”
“Run a Maya Brooks. Female. Black. Approximately thirty.”
Maya nearly corrected him.
Didn’t.
The dispatcher asked for her date of birth.
Cole looked at Maya.
She gave it.
He repeated the numbers.
Then came static.
A few seconds of silence.
Grant leaned close enough for Maya to smell coffee on his breath.