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looked at his watch. Twenty seconds. “And the local police came gunning for me, not the Kreshnins like they were supposed to be.”
    “What?”
    “The force has been compromised.” Forty seconds.
    “Who? How?”
    “Look, Tom. Can you get Nicky and me into protective custody? And some medical aid? And can you meet me somewhere today?” Fifty seconds.
    “Meet me at the Farmers market downtown.”
    “Make it for four this afternoon and we’ll be there.”
    “Jake...”
    Jake clicked the phone down. He hated to cut off Tom Bridges like that, but at this point the only person he could afford to trust was himself. The phone could be tapped. Or worse. Even his boss, whom he’d known nearly ten years, was suspect until he found out otherwise. Someone had informed the Kreshnins about Nicky working with him. The person who compromised his cover would live to regret it.
     
    After checking that no one tailed him, Jake drove into town. His apartment was off limits, as well as the flop room he’d been using while undercover. He still had one totally secure place, the safety deposit box he leased in his maternal grandfather’s name. He habitually concealed any personal papers there. Years of undercover work as a federal agent had honed his survival instincts to a sharp edge. He left nothing to chance when it came to hiding his identity.
    The bank supervisor led him to the safety deposit vault, then left him to open his box in private. Jake slid the lid off the gray metal container. The room’s dim central light gave the cubicle a surreal nineteen forties mystery feel. He laughed at his fantasy. His own personal film noir. One he would gladly not be featured in.
    He lifted out the Glock and its holster. It felt good to hold it in his hand, comforting even. The cold metal gave him a sense of security he hadn’t felt in the past three years.
    Except for last night. Lying in Samantha’s bed, her warm body pressed against his, he’d experienced the most relaxing sleep he’d had since this whole investigation fell into his lap.
    He slipped off the jacket he’d found in her closet. The holster fit over his left shoulder, the support strap stretching across his back and over his right shoulder. A pair of steel police handcuffs lay on top of the papers in the box. Jake slipped them into his pants pocket.
    He chuckled to himself. These could come in handy in dealing with Samantha. She had lots of gumption. Despite all his threats, she kept trying to find something to help her escape.
    Finally he drew out the folded manila envelope. He didn’t need to check its contents. It contained all the evidence he’d gathered against the Kreshnin brothers’ black market weapons, sex slave prostitution houses, and strong arms deals, along with the information about how they ran their individual cells of underlings–complete with pictures. If he only had the cops’ names that set him up, the puzzle would be complete. Once he got Nicky into protective custody with his people at the feds, the Kreshnins and their inside help would pay for the torture that kid had suffered.
    Finished, he climbed into the Suburban, heading back to Samantha’s place. She was another loose end he needed to do something about. He couldn’t leave her tied up in the apartment when he left. She didn’t deserve that. But until he had Nicky somewhere safe, he couldn’t leave her free. No, he didn’t trust her that much.
    Maybe he could find the phone number of that cop brother of her’s and get him to come get her as soon as they were safe. Yeah, he’d do that. Her brother would protect her.
    As he pulled into the garage and cut the engine, he muttered another curse. Never in his life had he taken advantage of a woman. Despite his threats to her earlier, he didn’t plan to start now.
    “Nicky, I’m back,” he called as he came though the kitchen.
     
    Nicky didn’t answer him.
    He found the boy lying pale and shaking on the floor next to the couch. Gently,