Note: Sorry if this throws an update :) Just testing some things.

I know this story is a little dense, but...it should lighten up soon...soonish.

Also: This chapter is dedicated to icewitch73, who has been so incredibly busy with work and life that she has to squeeze in time just to email :) And thanks to cocobean2206, happyheart65 and rookiebluefan89. Again.


Andy was sitting at the bar. She'd considered waiting for Sam, but as she walked out of the locker room, she caught sight of him, still in his uniform talking to Jerry. Their eyes met across the squad room and he gave her a small wave and mouthed 'I'll meet you.' After smiling back and nodding, she'd followed Chris and Dov out to the parking lot. So far, she'd been sitting on a stool, nursing her drink for the better part of an hour, waiting for him to walk through the door. Traci and Gail had begged off for the night. Traci was going home to Leo, and Gail had been MIA lately as far as after-hours drinks were concerned. Andy knew things weren't yet right between her and the boys, and she didn't blame her for hiding away for a while.

In truth, she didn't really want to be over on the other side of the room, laughing and carousing with Diaz and Epstein. It was too loud, too bright. She wanted to be back at her apartment with Sam, with a soft light and even softer whispers. A large warm hand slid over her shoulder, and when the skin of his palm brushed the side of her neck, Andy felt a zing run through her. He sat down next to her and she swiveled to the left as he let go of her to signal the bartender. Her leg touched his thigh and as he turned to face her, his knees pushed between hers. The hand that still rested on the bar moved down to her knee, squeezing it underneath the counter, out of sight of the rest of the clientele.

"Sorry I'm late." His voice was quiet, but his smile was wide, and she caught a flash of teeth before he turned his head and dug into his pocket for a bill for the bartender.

Under the bar, she slid her hand over his, tangling their fingers. "I'm in no hurry tonight." He took a sip and she watched as his lips parted and his tongue ran once over his lower lip. "What did Jerry want to talk to you about?"

He shook his head. "He had tickets to the game tomorrow, but I told him I was busy."

"Oh yeah?" she asked, raising a single brow. "What are you doing?"

"Hopefully, you," Sam said, grinning at her. A touch of laughter escaped her lips as she felt a slight warmth touch her face, her stomach, and lower. It flooded her almost instantaneously, leaving little doubt as to its source.

"You're like the king of romance, you know that?" she asked, trying to sound casual, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Andy squeezed her legs against his. "What if I had other ideas?"

He let go of her hand to reach out and touch the hair at her temple, smoothing it behind her ear. "I'd probably die of shock." And then he laughed as her mouth dropped open in mock indignation.

"You make me sound like some kind of nymphomaniac."

Sam held the glass up to his mouth, dropping his eyes. When he brought it down again, laughter and lust were blatantly shining out of his eyes. "You are a little…insatiable."

"Is that a fancy way of saying that I wear you out?" Andy asked giving his shoulder a small shove. Her lips curved into a grin. "Because I think it just means you need to work harder."

"That's not what you said this morning." Her eyes narrowed playfully as his hand returned to her thigh, running up and down the denim. "In fact," he said, working his fingers up her thigh, squeezing gently every few inches. "I don't think you could say much of anything when I got done with you." Her eyelids sunk a little with the thought and as she ran her lip through her teeth, she leaned into him. But he reached up, wrapped his hands around her arms and held her away from him. "I thought we weren't going to…" Sam glanced around at the other people in the room.

She sat back. "I forgot," she said quietly, a little deflated.

"It was your idea," he reminded her.

Andy nodded and was quiet for a second as she put away the rest of her drink. And then she turned back to him. "It's not like it's a secret. Everyone knows," she said with a sly smile slowly spreading over her face.

"They do." His expression mirrored hers, like they were partners in some great conspiracy.

"I mean, we've been doing this for almost a week now." Her fingers traced a pattern on his knee, as she talked, trying to sound cool, laid-back.

But he wasn't fooled. He kept his eyes on her. "We have."

"So, what's the big deal?" she asked, quietly, meeting his eyes with a startling intensity.

Sam smirked, glad she'd finally come around to his way of seeing it. "You tell me." As his dimples popped out, she leaned forward again, quickly sliding her hands around his jaw and pulled his mouth to hers.

She was in control of the situation for a grand total of two seconds. And then he put his hands on her shoulders, thumbs dipping down into the collar of her shirt. His fingers slid into her hair, cradling her head, and as she pulled away slightly to take a breath, he tipped his head to the side, capturing her mouth again. He deepened the kiss, and the whimper she made cut through him, splitting him into pieces. He tore his mouth away from hers and ran his hands over her hair, pushing it back from her face.

"We need to get out of here," he said, his voice ragged as he bent his head, leaning it against hers.

"Your place?" she whispered, her breath coming hard and fast in his ear.

"Fine by me." He reached over, tossed back the rest of his drink and snatched her hand, pulling her from the bar stool.

.

Andy jerked awake as someone touched her shoulder. Luke was crouched down in front of her and he frowned slightly as she sat bolt upright, scattering loose sheets of paper all over the floor. She glanced around blinking against the bright light coming in through the window, trying to figure out where she was. And then she remembered. She was on a couch in one of the offices tucked into the depths of the station house. Her hand instinctively went to her head, over the bandage partially hidden by her hair and she winced as she pressed it. And then she put her elbows on her knees and set her head in her hands and breathed as the events of the night washed over her like a tidal wave.

Once safely away from the warehouse, Andy had borrowed the cabbie's phone. She'd called into dispatch, leaving a somewhat frantic message stating her name and shield number and giving them a quick rundown of what they could expect to find. After arriving at the station, she'd come in the door and then literally run into Shaw who'd been sent to meet her. At the sight of the blood on her neck and fingers and the way her hands were shaking, the way her entire body was shaking, he'd quickly hustled her into the nearest empty room and sat her down. After giving her a quick once-over, he'd picked up the phone and called Best's direct line. Cars were already out, responding to the abandoned building and while Frank went to the scene, Shaw escorted Andy to the hospital.

She'd spent hours there. Scans were taken of her head, and she was now sporting a small bald patch towards the back of her head where they'd had to shave away the hair to stitch up the small laceration caused by the blow of the Maglite. In between visits from doctors and nurses, Shaw recorded her statement. They'd gone over and over it, and when Terry Simonson was brought in by ambulance, Shaw received the call on his radio. He'd disappeared for a while, maybe half an hour, and then returned with information. Simonson was still alive; just barely. Simonson had been rushed into surgery to alleviate the pressure in his brain, but there was no news yet.

The doctors had strenuously objected to her leaving the hospital, but Andy was feeling pressure to get back to the station, and so after having her sign a release, they let her go. All she'd really wanted to do was go home and shower; to crawl into a pair of flannel pajamas and fall into bed. But the sun was going to be up soon, and she wasn't done yet; she couldn't stop moving yet. She had to go back to work.

She took a quick rinse, trying not to watch the way the water turned pink as she washed the blood out of her hair. And then she'd dressed in her civvies, feeling very much the outsider as she walked through the station. By that time, everyone had heard a different version of the story and as she made her way through the building, they stared openly at her, looking for any tidbit of information.

Best had made it back and was waiting to question her in his office. His haggard appearance reminded her that she hadn't slept in almost twenty-four hours and before she walked into his office, she'd stopped at the coffee cart and poured herself a cup. Still on nights, Shaw had been relieved for the day, and was free to go home to his wife and children. Barber had been called in early, as well as Callaghan, and the four of them sat together in the office.

Andy crossed her legs and sat back in the chair as Frank filled them in. When he got to the part about Simonson, their eyes jumped to her and she looked away, feeling more than a little guilty that she'd just left him there.

"He's still in the ICU, but even after the surgery, it's not looking good."

Jerry leaned back against the wall. "You called his wife?"

Best nodded. "She's at the hospital now. I'm heading over as soon as we finish up here."

"But they didn't find the other guy, the one you say was shot?" Luke asked as he glanced at her, crossing his ankle over his knee.

"He was shot," Andy said, her voice firm. Her eyes met his and he blinked when he saw the tired anger glittering in them.

Best shook his head. "We've got blood, but no body. In fact, other than Simonson, and a bullet in the wall, they didn't find anything else. CSU is still there, doing what they can, but the last report I got wasn't very promising. No one in the neighborhood saw or heard a thing. McNally is going to start going through the mug shots when we're finished here."

Jerry stood up and took a few steps, restless. "So they got all your information, wallet, phone, keys?"

"And my gun," Andy filled in, a blush of embarrassment touching her cheeks. "I still have to call the bank, and the credit card company, suspend my cell service, get my locks changed," she finished quietly.

"I don't know, Frank." Luke swept a hand over his face and then over the back of his neck. "I have a bad feeling about this. Maybe we should set up a protective detail."

"I don't really think that's necessary," Andy argued.

Jerry nodded. "I think it's a little early for that. Let's just take this one step at a time. We should get started." He stepped towards the door but Frank stopped him.

He tapped his pen against the surface of his blotter and then looked up at Jerry. "Barber, I think we should debrief everyone who responded to the scene and set up a new team dedicated to this case. This situation is extremely sensitive, and I don't want information leaked to the press. They're going to be all over us as it is. And I want to keep the information about McNally on a need-to-know basis. I don't want you to have to deal with gawkers and questions here at work," he said looking at her. "And I don't want you to talk to anyone about this. You report only to the people in this room."

She nodded. "Yeah, okay." She stood up. "I guess... I guess I'll get to it then." She walked over to the door, and as she pulled it open, Jerry spoke.

"You said one of them called another one by name."

She turned toward him. "Yeah." Her brows drew together as she thought back. "He called him Wes." Jerry stared at her for a moment, and she had the distinct impression that he wasn't seeing her, but something else inside his head. "What is it?"

He shook his head. "Maybe nothing. I need to make some calls, check something out. Let me know if you find anything in the computer."

He walked out of the room and Andy turned back to Luke. "What was that about?"

He was staring out the window after Jerry. "I have no idea." He pushed himself to his feet. "Are we done for now?" he asked Frank. At his nod, Luke strode to the door and gestured for her to exit ahead of him. "I'm going to put you in one of the offices. Keep you out of the spotlight for a while." He jerked his head over the railing and Andy looked, seeing a sea of people look away. If it had been one, it might have been barely noticeable, but when it was a dozen, it was about as subtle as a train wreck.

"Thanks." She nodded and followed him.

Andy'd lasted about an hour in front of the monitor before her eyes started to close, and her head started to droop. There was a stack of pictures lying on the printer that she'd wanted to look through a second time and she took them with her over to the utilitarian-looking sofa crammed into the corner of the room. And then she'd stretched out on her back, balancing the short stack of papers on her stomach as she went through them one by one. They went into two piles. No and maybe. She knew if she couldn't pick them out soon, she'd be in trouble. Her memory was fading more and more with every passing minute. The doctor had warned her that things might be vague because of the concussion. He'd also warned her that she'd be tired.

And so it was no surprise when her chin fell to her chest, her eyes fell shut, and the papers settled into a messy pile on her torso as she dropped off to sleep.

Luke touched her shoulder again and her head snapped up as he wrenched her out of the spell of memories.

She murmured a hurried, "Sorry," and pulled back, looking around as she started to gather up the pictures.

"You've been in here for hours," Luke said, looking at her, concerned. "You're not finished, are you?"

She shook her head. "I had to stop; I was passing out. I printed out some that were close, but none of them look exactly right." She closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them again. "Some of the details are a little fuzzy."

"I'm not surprised." His voice was gentle, taking on a soothing tone he usually reserved for settling the nerves of suspects. He bent in close to her and she found that she was too tired to care. "You've barely slept in twenty-four hours, and this…" He reached out and touched the back of her head and again, she leaned away, even as her hand went to the same place.

She shook her head. "No, I'm fine." As Luke rose from his crouch, she pushed the papers into a semi-ordered stack and stood up. "I guess I should go give these to Jerry."

Luke raised his eyebrows and looked like he didn't agree but he nodded and then moved past her to open the door. "After you."

Andy and Luke wove between the desks finally making their way over to Jerry's. He was on the phone with someone, deep into conversation and he held out his hand as Andy walked up; she gave him the pictures. Quickly, while still listening to the person on the other end, he flipped through, finally pausing when he reached the end of the pile.

"I'm going to have to call you back." He tucked the cell phone back into his shirt pocket and then looked up at Andy. "How sure are you about these?"

She pulled a chair over next to his and bit her lip. "Honestly, not very. Some of them, these," she said, as she pulled a couple off the top. "These I'm sure about." He looked at them. Evan and Chris Malone. Both had done time for minor crimes. A little B&E. A little petty theft.

"What about this guy?" Barber held up a picture. Paul Allen. Andy stared at it. The guy in the picture resembled the man she'd seen. His blonde hair was longer, and he was younger by quite a few years. But his face was the same shape, his nose and chin had the same angularity.

She shook her head. "It could be him. Maybe. Last night was really…" she trailed off, trying to explain it, the stress of the moment, the inability to hold all the faces in her head. "Maybe."

Jerry nodded. "Okay. Well give me some time. I'll pull some records and make some calls and I'll let you know if I find something."


"Schofield." Sam looked up towards the door. All morning, he'd felt eyes on him. He tried to ignore it, figuring it was just general curiosity. But something had changed in the hours since he'd last been there. The Malones were no longer supervising; they were doing manual labor, loading equipment into a truck backed up to the loading dock, just like everyone else. Sam hadn't heard Clay return the night before, although it wouldn't be the first time he disappeared for hours at a time. But for the second time in two weeks, he hadn't shown up for work. And there was someone new in play.

Allen was standing near the exit with another guy. The one from the night before, in the hallway of his building. He walked up to meet them. The new guy hit maybe at his eyebrows but looked hard, wiry. His hair was close-cropped and his eyes had a dangerous glint to them. The two of them stared at each other for a moment before Sam looked away to Allen.

"Yeah. What can I do for you?"

"I knew your cousin." Sam felt a small prickle of sweat start between his shoulder blades. Not good. Allen rubbed a hand over his mouth. "What I mean, is I met him a few times. We weren't exactly friends; he was kind of a quiet guy. Must be a family trait." He looked at Sam curiously, and Sam looked back fighting to keep any expression off his face until he knew where he was headed. Allen raised his eyebrows and smiled. "Anyway, we worked together on a few things. He seemed like a good man to have in a pinch."

"I guess you could say that," Sam said, his brows drawing together.

"So, we were wondering if you'd like to make a little cash tonight. Do a little overtime."

Swarek glanced over at the smaller guy and then fixed his eyes on Allen. "What's the job?" The blonde man raised his eyebrows and Sam settled his hands on his hips. "Hey man, I don't do anything until I get information. That's how I ended up inside in the first place."

Allen flashed a quick, icy smile. "Something came up and Bishop's gotta get out of town for a while, but he wants to make arrangements for his next trip. He's having a little meeting, nothing major. We just need some extra muscle. Just in case."

Sam raised an eyebrow and swiveled a little, turning to look at the brothers working behind him. They were talking quietly between themselves, throwing dirty glances across the room at the three of them. "I'm not exactly the biggest guy in the room."

Allen glanced over at them and then crossed his arms over his chest. "The Malones are out. We've got another job for them."

Sam gave Chris and Evan one last look, and then turned back and held out his hand. "I guess that means I'm in," he said with an easy grin.

The blonde man smirked and shook his hand. He jerked his head towards the other guy. "This is Jimmy Weston; Wes. He'll pick you up at nine."


"I think Clay Warren is missing," Sam said into his phone as he sipped from his coffee. He'd ducked into a nearby coffee shop on his lunch break.

"What do you mean 'missing'?" Boyd asked. His voice was already beginning to achieve that tense, rapid quality reserved for his more impressive over-reactions.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. His head was pounding. "I mean, he didn't show up to work today, and the Malones…something's weird with them. I wasn't there, but something happened last night." He glanced out the window, checking for familiar faces. "And I've been promoted."

"Explain."

"Allen approached me. Said they need another guy for some meeting tonight."

"You think it's going down tonight?"

Sam paused and then gave his head a slight shake. "No. It don't think so. There's not enough time. Bishop's leaving town. But they say he's coming back."

"Do you want a team in place?"

Again, he hesitated. A team could risk the whole thing. One sniff of anything out of the ordinary and the entire operation would be finished. Almost a tempting thought. "No. I don't want to spook them. If I get a bad feeling, I'll let you know." He saw Allen walking briskly across the street, leather jacket flapping in the wind, and stood up, cup in hand. "You'll find Clay Warren, right?"

"I'll see what I can do, but if you think he's missing, my guess is..."

"Yeah, that's what I figured too. Hold on a second."

He slid his open phone into the pocket of his coat and met Allen at the door, getting a friendly clap on the shoulder as they passed. He glanced once more at him over his shoulder as he walked back out onto the street and around the corner of the building. The phone came back out and he took a sip of his coffee before he spoke. "Hey, have you ever heard of a guy named Jimmy Weston? He wasn't in the file you gave me."

"Yeah, that guy was around when Bishop was living in the city. He was a stone cold killer. Probably the one who pulled the trigger on those kids. Why?"

"Cause he's here."

"No man. That guy's dead. Firemen pulled his corpse out of a burning building right before Bishop disappeared. Had ID and everything."

"Well, better call a priest then, because the guy's been resurrected." Sam paused as he peered around the corner and watched Allen go back to work. "Listen, do I need to be worried about him?"

"I don't know. How does it feel?"

"Okay for now. But the guy's my ride tonight. He's not going to take me out to the docks and put a bullet in me is he?"

"Sammy, if this guy really is Jimmy Weston and he wanted you dead, you'd be dead. He's a pro."

"Somehow that doesn't make me feel better."

"Let me check some things and I'll get back to you. Are you sure you don't want a team?" he asked again.

Sam took a breath and considered it one more time. Finally he shook. "No. No one seems worried enough. We've still got a lot of work to do. If the deal was going down tonight, they'd be panicking."

"Give me a shout when you get back tonight. Let me know what happened." He paused and Sam heard him draw a breath. "If you're still serious about getting out, you could be going home tomorrow."

Sam closed his eyes and leaned back against the building, feeling no small amount of relief and hope spread through his chest. As the smile took over his face he ducked his head. "Later, man." He snapped the phone shut and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat, smile fading as he turned to go back to work.


At 3:30 pm, Andy was dead on her feet. The two-hour nap hadn't been enough to replenish her energy, nor had the few items she was able to get out of the snack machine. And it was weird being at the station with a building full of cops she didn't know very well. Her people would be starting their fourth night shift this week in a few hours, but she'd probably be gone by then. God willing, she'd be asleep in her bed. The phone next to her rang and she automatically picked it up, eyes raising to the window overlooking the squad room as she heard Best's voice asking her to come to his office.

When she got there, she realized she'd joined a roomful. Barber and Callaghan were pouring over an open file arguing quietly between themselves while Best had his eyes on a tall woman in a suit, talking on her cell. As soon as she spotted Andy in the doorway, she got off the phone and turned to Frank.

"Well, let's get started." She gestured at the empty chair and Andy sat gingerly, a little nervous.

"Barber," Frank said, and Jerry looked over and, seeing Andy, pulled another chair up to hers and held the file on his lap. He started digging through it, until he had everything in the order he wanted it.

"Recognize this guy?" The kid in the orange hat. In the picture, he looked exactly the same as he had the night before, sans hat, blood and dirt. It was a recent mug shot.

"Yep, that's him. That's the one that got shot."

"Clay Warren. Known associate of these two." The two pictures of Chris and Evan Malone came out. "And him." Paul Allen. "And all of them at one time worked for this guy. Probably still do. Look familiar?"

The man with the silver hair stared back at her. It wasn't a mug shot. It was a surveillance photo. Taken with a telephoto lens, shot from a distance, he was standing near a dark-colored sedan with a few others who had their backs to the camera. His hair was similar in color, though longer in the photo and his face was a little more filled out than it had been when Andy had seen him. And if she was honest with herself, he could almost be handsome, if it weren't for his eyes. They were striking, but not in the good way that made a person smile simply by looking into them. In a more terrifying way that made Andy cross her arms over her chest defensively, just looking at the picture. Sinister.

She nodded. "Who is he?"

"This," Barber paused dramatically, "is Malcolm Bishop."

It felt like her throat was closing. For a second, she couldn't catch her breath. Jerry was going on, explaining who Bishop was but finally, Andy waved a hand at him.

"I already know all this," she croaked.

He shrugged. "I'm not surprised. The guy's notorious."

"No, I mean, I've heard of him recently." She hesitated, suddenly aware that she could be in a lot of trouble for saying what she was about to say. But then, she was already in trouble. Time to spill her guts. "Bishop is Sam's undercover job. They're trying to bring him in."

All at once, the office exploded with sound as Jerry leapt to his feet and Luke met him at Best's desk and the three of them started yelling. Or rather, they started talking; one over the next, but within moments, the volume rose and started echoing around the room. Andy could only stare in shock as hands started flying, gesturing wildly.

The woman in the suit stuck two fingers in her mouth and let out a shrill whistle. They all paused and turned towards her. "Gentlemen, we need to finish this. Your guy has been undercover for…" she looked at Andy.

"Two months," Andy supplied.

"For two months. He can wait another fifteen minutes." None of them moved, but none of them spoke again either and so she walked over and took the chair Jerry had vacated. "No one bothered to introduce me, so I guess I'll do it myself. Karen Anderson. I'm with the Ontario Provincial Police. Originally, I was supposed to talk to you about possibly setting up a protective detail, but after talking to Jerry and Frank," she glanced at them, "and given what we know about Bishop, I think we should probably discuss your other options."

"What do you mean?"

Luke and Jerry both turned to face her and Jerry closed the file, tucking it under his arm as he spoke. "This guy doesn't like loose ends, and he has a history of killing witnesses."

Luke was nodding. "A guy like this, he's not going to want to go down for the murder of his own small time drug dealer."

"What about the attempted murder of a cop?" Andy asked, suddenly feeling numb from the ground up.

"You mean Simonson?" Luke asked with his eyebrows raised. "You said someone named Wes did that. And he is a whole different problem." Jerry handed him the photo and he held it up for Andy to see and when she nodded, he passed it back.

Jerry took it in his hand and looked at it for a moment. "Everyone thought this guy Jimmy Weston died in a fire years ago, but if he's back, you've got trouble. He'd shoot his own mother if the money was right." He held up the pictures of Allen and Bishop. "These two will kill you to keep you quiet." He exchanged those pictures for the picture of Weston. "This guy… He'll kill you for fun."

"Geez, Jerry," Luke said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

"Well, she needs to hear this," Barber snapped, looking over at him.

Andy pressed her lips together and ran both hands through her hair, wincing a little as she hit the sore spot. Her elbows landed on her knees and she pressed her face into her palms for a moment, trying to figure out how everything could have possibly gone so wrong.

"Ms. McNally?" Andy turned her head, and then sat up as she realized the woman was talking to her again. "Are you ready to go on?" Andy pulled her hands inside the sleeves of her shirt and held them between her knees and nodded silently.

"Okay," Anderson said, not really sounding as if she believed her. "There are a few levels to this. We have the very temporary protective detail, putting a car on your apartment, stationing an officer with you when you move around town. There's emergency relocation, which lasts few days; a week at most. We have short term protective custody, which is designed to last anywhere from a few months to a year. And then there's permanent witness protection, which I'm sure you're familiar with."

"I'm not doing that," Andy said quickly, back stiffening until she was sitting ramrod straight in the chair.

"Just hold on. Hear me out." She raised her eyebrows and Andy nodded. "Ontario does have its own version of Witness Protection, but given the magnitude of this guy's reputation and reach, not to mention the fact that almost every province wants a piece of him, the RCMP would probably take over, if it comes to that. They usually assist with these sorts of things anyway. I've already made a few calls, and they're sending a team to Toronto from another location to meet with you. Just to talk," she added quickly, seeing the expression on Andy's face. "They'll be here in the morning."

"But that's not necessary," Andy said. "Nothing's happened. And I'm a cop; I can protect myself. Witness protection is for criminals and snitches."

"We take innocent people too."

"I'm not going anywhere," she said adamantly, standing up as she folded her arms over her chest. "They aren't coming after me. What's next?" she asked, looking at Frank. "What can I do to help?"

The men glanced at each other and then Frank turned to her. "I guess if you really don't want the detail, I think the best thing you can do now is to go home and get some rest. You're exhausted."

"I'm not the only one," she said raising an eyebrow at him.

He waved a hand. "Part of the job, McNally. I want someone to go with you, and check over your place before you turn in for the night. Callaghan?" Everyone looked at Luke. His face was still tense, eyes wide with concern and anger.

"Yeah. Just let me grab some stuff, a copy of the file, and I'll be ready." He stalked out of the room and Best waved Andy and Jerry up to his desk.

"I'm going to get ahold of Boyd, if I can, and find out what the deal is with Swarek." His eyes moved between Jerry and Andy, and nervously, she tucked her hair behind an ear and wrapped her arms around herself. "But I'm not making any promises. We want to haul these guys in. However, if they're close to making a bust, he may decide to let it sit for a day or two and then charge them with the whole mess when they make the arrests."

Jerry glanced at Andy out of the corner of his eye. "Then you'd better not tell him that McNally's involved." She looked at him and her eyebrows rose. "Only because Swarek's got a blind spot as far as she's concerned. You tell him she's involved, and he'll quit, which will not only blow his case, but it'll give them a head's up. They'll know we're closing in on them, skip town and we'll never see them again."

Best folded his hands behind his head. "McNally?" He looked at her. She was still staring at Barber in disbelief.

He looked back. "You know it's true."

She considered it. If Sam heard that she'd gotten involved in this case, he would come back. He'd walk. He'd be back and they could start over fresh. At the thought, Andy felt a rush of relief push through her veins and she blew out a breath, ready to tell him he was wrong, that she needed Sam here. And then the guilt came. If Sam left unexpectedly, Bishop might slip right through their fingers and then what happened to Terry would haunt her for the rest of her life. Could she live with the knowledge that her selfishness had caused his attacker to get away without being brought to justice? After a long moment, she nodded haltingly. "Yeah. Yeah, he's right. If they think they're close, let's wait a few days."

Best looked surprised, but pleased with her decision. "Are you sure?" She nodded. "Alright. I'll leave McNally out of it for now. Time to get back to work," he said to Barber. "And McNally?"

"Yeah?"

"Try and get some sleep." She nodded.


Somewhere around five o'clock, Andy slid the spare key she'd gotten from the landlord into the lock. It was a new key, barely ever used with sharp edges, so it took a little jiggling, but the door opened under her hand. She stood in the doorway and stared in.

Shadows were settled heavily in the corners of the living room and she flipped the lights on, chasing them away. Luke walked up behind her, putting his hand on her shoulder like he did it every day, and she pulled away from him, walking into the apartment. Now that she was home, she felt the fatigue fall down around her, weighing her body down, making her feet and arms feel heavy. She put her duffel on the floor near the kitchen counter and paused as her eyes fell on the stack of mail on the counter. Piled neatly, largest on the bottom, smallest envelopes on the top, just like she always left it. But the top letter was askew, sitting perpendicular to the letters below it. She tilted her head and stared at it trying to remember if it had looked like that the last time she'd been there. And as a tiny prickle of sweat broke out along her spine, she moved into the living room.

Everything in here was spotless. She'd given the apartment a thorough cleaning the day before, and so things were put away. But the pillows against the back of the couch were a little creased, maybe a touch crooked. She felt her breathing pick up, and she spun around, nearly barreling into Luke as she quickly made her way through the apartment. The dining room table looked the same. It was a mess anyway; she'd never know if anything had been touched. Her shoes slapped against the floor on the way down to the bedroom and as she walked into the room, she paused and tried to remember.

Had she sat on the foot of the bed and left the duvet wrinkled like that? The far corner of it was touching the floor and she felt her hands start to tremble a little. Moving to the dresser, she let her eyes move quickly over the items on top. Everything looked ever so slightly…adjusted. But she couldn't remember. She couldn't remember if she'd left her deodorant facing the wrong way, or if the pile of receipts and refuse cleaned out of her wallet was that messy. And then, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth, she sucked in a breath and held it as she reached out and touched the top drawer, pushing at it with her index finger. It slid in half an inch.

"Everything okay?"

Andy whirled as Luke spoke right behind her. As she turned, her shoulder brushed his chest and instinctively, she took a step back, crossing her arms across her chest.

"I don't know."

He frowned a little and then looked around. "What's wrong?"

"It feels like someone's been here."

"What do you mean?"

She pointed to the bed and hooked a thumb over her dresser. "I can't remember what things looked like when I left, but I don't think I left them like this."

"Is anything missing?" He walked around, eyes moving over the bed and the nightstand, over the top of her dresser.

"Not that I know of, but… I don't know. It just feels wrong. Like someone came in and touched everything, but didn't move it enough so I would know for sure."

He paused and then turned on his heel and walked back to the living room. She followed. "I'm calling it in," he said as he looked over his shoulder at her. She nodded and then wrapped her arms around herself and walked over to the window. Outside, the street was dark; nighttime came early in January. She looked up and down the block. No one on the street. No cars coming from either direction.

As something occurred to her, she walked back to the bedroom, ducked down and looked under the bed. Her laptop sat in exactly the same place she'd put it after checking her email after her last shift. It was password protected anyway. If they'd wanted to look at it, they'd probably have taken it. Next to it, sat her lockbox that contained all her important papers, birth certificate, passport and the like. It also looked untouched. She pulled it out and then turned and slid the drawer out from her nightstand. She dug inside it for a second and finally came up with the key tucked all the way in the back. After opening it, she saw everything stacked neatly, edges lined up. Shaking her head slightly, she locked it back up and replaced everything and went back to meet Luke.

"They're on their way. Best, Barber and Anderson. And they're bringing a few uniforms to fill out a report." Andy nodded absently and then started checking other things. Her digital camera was sitting in the mess on the table, but it had been there for a month. The memory card was still tucked into the little zippered pocket in her duffel. And then, she moved to the bookshelf.

On the second shelf from the top was a round votive holder. It was about the size of a softball and made up of a mosaic of several shades of blue stained glass. It was the only real present Sam had ever given her. One day, almost two months ago, she'd seen it in the window of an antique store while they were walking to lunch. She'd never pointed it out, hadn't said a word about it, but he'd seen her look at it, had seen the curious, desirous expression on her face, and then it had shown up in the mail two days before Christmas with a card. But there had never been a candle put into it; it had another purpose. Holding her breath as she reached out for it, she put a hand over the top and turned it over. When Sam's keys fell into her hand, she exhaled gratefully and tucked them into her pocket.

"What are those for?" Luke asked over her shoulder.

"None of your business." Her fingers stroked once over the hard bulge in her pocket, closing her eyes and wishing for a long moment that she'd tried to convince Sam not to go. That he were the one in her apartment with her right now.

"Well, you shouldn't touch anything else. CSU's going to want to dust for prints."

She opened her eyes and shook her head. "If they were this careful, they didn't leave any prints."

"Even so. Just wait." Again, his hand touched her shoulder and she pulled away, rotating the joint to shake him off. She walked into the kitchen and poured herself a drink, putting it away quickly, and then poured another. She looked up as Luke stepped into the room.

"Want one?" She raised an eyebrow, but he shook his head.

"You know, Andy, I…" He broke off as a knock sounded on the door and he paused, mouth open for a moment and eyes on her before he turned and walked over, opening it.

As Andy heard Best and Barber walk into the apartment, she took a huge swallow of scotch and set the glass on the counter. "Let the circus begin," she muttered.


Andy sat on the steps of her building with her glass in her hand, arm balanced on her knee. She clutched her coat tighter around her as she stared through the bottom of it at her feet. Upstairs, CSU was finishing up. Best, Barber and Anderson had all left about an hour before, and Luke was standing at the curb, talking to Shaw. Shaw and Peck had been the responding officers and had come in and taken her statement. Andy tried to ignore the questioning looks that Gail had been shooting at her over her notepad the whole time, and when she'd been sent out to the car and Shaw had taken over, Andy was grateful. But now they were headed back to the station.

When Best, Barber and Anderson had walked into the apartment, they'd skipped right through the chit chat and hustled her out of the apartment so they could talk her through everything and keep her away from any potential evidence. She didn't have much to tell them. They'd been called in based on an instinct, based on a swirly feeling deep in the pit of her stomach and as embarrassed as she was about that, she knew it had been the right thing to do. And so this time, when Anderson pulled her aside and sat her down on the steps to talk about protection, she'd sat still and listened. When Anderson had suggested a safe house, Andy shook her head and countered with another offer.

What if she went and stayed at Sam's? The house was empty. No one outside the department could connect her to it. But Anderson responded negatively to the suggestion. If Andy was being harassed by the very people that were employing Sam, it probably wasn't the best idea for her to lead them to his doorstep. What if they forced their way in and saw a picture of him? He'd be dead within an hour. And that made sense to Andy. She couldn't go there, as much as she wanted to; as much as she needed the comfort of his house and his things around her.

So it had been decided that Andy would stay where she was for the time being; and a protective detail would be stationed outside her building for the next few days. There wasn't any actual proof that her apartment had been broken into. CSU had found dozens of prints, but Andy was willing to bet that every single one of them was hers. No one in the building had seen anyone entering or leaving; no strange cars had been observed on the street or in the alley. It was literally like a ghost had swept through, leaving the place with a sense of unease.

She watched as Luke tapped his hand on the roof of the squad car and it drove away; Shaw gave her a solemn wave as it passed and she nodded to him. Luke made his way back up the walk and then held out his hand to help her to her feet. Shaking her head, she pushed herself off the steps as she heard CSU coming down the stairs, their bags rustling against the walls in the stairwell.

Andy could feel Luke's irritation. She was purposely keeping him at a distance. She didn't trust him; still didn't want him anywhere near her, but he was capable and willing to keep her safe until the protective detail showed up. So she let him follow her up the stairs after sending CSU on their way. The locksmith had been called, but hadn't yet arrived; even with the cops pushing at him, he might not show until morning.

The lights were off, and though the sun was only starting to go down, her apartment felt cold and dark. She heard Luke behind her and when he set his hand on her shoulder for the third time that night, she stepped inside.

Walking through the entry, she looked around. To her left sat the living room, couch, rug, coffee table, television, bookshelves. To her right, the dining room table, chairs all pushed in, papers and magazines pushed into some sort of order by CSU. A little further past that, the kitchen. She stepped forward and flipped on a light and her eyes fell to a small smudge of dust left on the island by the clean-up crew and she reached out, rubbed her thumb against it.

Andy walked through the short hallway back to the bedroom and took off her coat, draping it over the end of the bed. It didn't feel like her apartment anymore. And as tired as she was, she didn't want to be here. She didn't want to touch the furniture, or eat the food in the fridge. Luke came in, interrupting her ruminations and she threw a dirty look his way, remembering that she was also irritated for another reason.

"Everything okay in here?"

"As okay as it's going to get," she said as she walked past him, out the door. She knew she was on a clock; she had maybe two minutes before she lost it completely.

He followed her back down the hall and when she split off towards the bathroom, he went straight towards the kitchen. He sat down at the table and pulled out his phone. "You mind?"

"Knock yourself out." She pulled a towel out of the linen closet. "I'm taking a quick shower. I'll be back in a few minutes." Not waiting for a response, she walked into the bathroom, flipping on the light as she turned around and locked the door behind her. The water was turned on, adjusted for temperature and then she started dragging off her clothes. Finally, she stood in front of the vanity in her underwear and stared at herself in the mirror.

Best had been right. She looked awful. The circles under her eyes were obvious; grayish-purple smudges that could have been painted on. Her hair hung limply down over her shoulders, which were sagging. Rolling her head around on her shoulders, she heard her neck crack and she pulled off her remaining clothing and stepped into the shower.

That was better. She stood still, back to the spray and let it beat at her tired muscles. If it was possible, she felt worse than she looked. Utterly exhausted and beyond any physical pain, once she let herself relax, she just hurt inside. It took only seconds for the tears to rise to her eyes and she leaned against the wall and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes as she let herself cry for Terry Simonson, and for the feeling exploding inside her whenever she thought of Sam, and for the fear that was starting to work its way through her.

When the sobs stopped, and her shoulders stopped heaving, she turned into the spray, letting it pelt her until the skin on her back was numb and then she quickly washed her hair. She took her time drying off, combing her hair, getting dressed, hoping that when she finally emerged, Luke would be gone and a squad car would be sitting outside her building. She didn't feel like pretending to be polite. Not that she'd been doing such a great job of it up until this point. She cracked the door, letting out a billow of steam and heard him still talking on the phone. No such luck.

She made damp foot prints down the hallway to the kitchen and poured herself a tall glass of water. And noticing that the conversation had stopped, she turned to look at Luke, sitting at the dining room table. He had his phone in his hand, thumb on the buttons but he was watching her. "What?"

He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "Best is still trying to get ahold of Boyd. Apparently, he has some major bust going down tonight. Another case," he added as her eyes lit up. As she frowned and looked away, he leaned back in his chair. "You should really think about your other options."

She walked over to the window overlooking the street. No squad car. "I'm not going anywhere, Luke," she said softly.

"I know you don't want to hear this, but you might have to." He stood up and stepped up next to her. "The protective detail is just a temporary fix."

She shook her head. "No. I've got a life here. A job, my friends, my Dad…" Sam. She didn't say it, but the thought of him made her chest ache. "I'm not going anywhere," she repeated; partly for Luke, but mostly for herself. "They'll bring Bishop in, and everything will go back to normal."

"I wouldn't hold your breath." She glanced at him. "There's a reason this guy's still walking around, Andy. He's not stupid."

"He's stupid enough to kill off his own staff with two cops in the next room," she mumbled. She felt him move closer, and his hand settled on her head and ran over her hair. Andy knew he only meant to give her comfort, but his touch did nothing to soothe her; in fact, it did the opposite. She turned out from under it and took a step to her right.

"You've changed," Luke said as she moved away from him.

"No, I haven't." She tossed the words over her shoulder, not even bothering to look back.

"Yeah," he said, as he sunk down onto her couch and crossed an ankle over his knee. "You're different."

"God, you're full of it." She didn't mean for it to come out harshly, but she was exhausted, and he was pushing her.

"You're moody. Quiet."

"Geez, Luke. I'm sorry. I've had kind of a shitty day," she said sarcastically as she rolled her eyes and started walking past him to the living room. But she stopped when he grabbed her arm.

"It's not just this. You've been distracted and angry for weeks." She pulled out of his grasp and sat down on the couch. He followed her into the room. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened. Everything's fine." She glanced around. "Well, except for this whole mess." He was giving her that look again; that probing, curious look. "What?" she practically yelled, so incredibly tired after a day of nonstop interrogation.

"Are you seeing someone new?"

She met his eyes directly. "You know who I'm seeing."

"Swarek." It wasn't a question. At her irritated nod, he snorted. "Andy, the guy's been off the grid for months. You're not seeing him. At least you're not supposed to be seeing him," he added, raising an eyebrow.

"Two months. And I'm not seeing him. I mean, I am, but I'm not," she amended and then, she narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't want to talk about this."

"Why not?"

"Why do you think?" She stood up and stepped past him, but he walked after her. "Besides, he'll be back in February. Maybe sooner."

"Oh yeah? How do you know that?"

"Because he said so."

Luke sneered. "He's not going to risk a major takedown just because he made you a promise. Do you always believe everything people tell you?" His voice was strange. Hard, each syllable sharp. And jealous, she realized. It made her even angrier. And it was kind of nice to be angry about something she could fight back against.

She whirled. "Well, I believed you when you said you weren't still hung up on Jo. So, yeah. I guess I do." His expression grew stony then, the muscles in his face tightened and before he could open his mouth she shook her head. "None of this even matters anymore. We are not talking about Sam."

"Why not? Afraid you'll hear something you'll wish you hadn't?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at him. "Considering I've been sleeping with him, I think I know him a little bit better than you do."

She said it to hurt him, and from the look that passed over his face, she'd succeeded. But he wasn't done with her yet. "You can't sleep with someone you never see. Aren't you afraid he'll come back and things won't be the same? Living the way he is, it changes people."

She tried to move past him, but he moved with her, blocking her exit. That fear, that things had somehow changed, had been lingering in the back of her mind the entire time Sam had been gone. She knew it was ridiculous. There was absolutely no reason for her to think that, and yet, there it was. People grew apart, especially when they were apart physically. And she hated Luke for guessing about the fear. "Our relationship is none of your business," she said finally, quietly; not quite trusting the steadiness of her voice.

"What relationship?" he laughed, bitterly. "You were only with him a few weeks before he went under. You've been apart longer than you were together. It's not like it's serious."

She pressed her lips together and shook her head very slowly, rage shining out of her eyes. "It is serious."

"Yeah, right." Luke snorted. "Andy, at three weeks, you and couldn't even spend the night at my place. It took you months before you could even tell me you loved me. You don't settle in that quick."

She glared back. "At three days, I was more serious about him than I ever was about you." Okay, not exactly the truth, it had actually taken a few more days. But she'd hit a soft spot. The way his face fell was something she'd never forget but she didn't move to comfort him; didn't take back a single word. He just stared at her, as his angry expression fractured into devastation. "Even if you hadn't cheated on me," she started, each word dripping with venom, "this wouldn't have worked out. We might have gotten married, or…whatever." She flung her arms out to the sides in a wild gesture. "But I was in love with him even then; I just didn't know it. So quit touching me, and quit pushing, and quit trying to talk me out of it, because it's not going to work," she spat out. She watched as he set his jaw, steeling himself against her words, even as he took a step back and folded his arms defensively. "The detail should be here any minute. Feel free to let yourself out."

She turned then, hair swinging out heavily behind her as she walked back to the bedroom and slammed the door. She slapped at the light switch, flooding the room in darkness and fell onto the bed. She put an arm over her eyes, feeling the room spin just a tiny bit; she wasn't completely sober yet. And then she heard it. The sound of the door shutting behind him as he walked out. She pushed out a loud breath of relief and then stood up, looking out the window onto the street. No squad car yet, but Luke was walking away. She watched him get into his car and start it up; and then she turned away and went to lock the door.


"I don't know about this, man." Chris Malone pulled the cigarette lighter out and lit up, blowing a stream of smoke towards the open window. They were parked on the street, a few houses down from the brick building they were watching. On the second floor, the side window was lit and a figure was moving around in the room. They'd actually stopped on this street three hours ago, but the place had been a zoo. There'd been cop cars, and people in uniform walking around the property. The Malones had left then, driving by every half hour until the crowd cleared. The last time they'd pulled in to park, the last squad car was just leaving, and the girl was walking into the building with a tall man in a gray suit.

"Me either, but we have to." Evan held out his hand and Chris passed him Andy McNally's driver's license.

"She looks like Marla, doesn't she?"

"Knock it off. It's hard enough without bringing family into it. I mean, what do we even do? Do we have a plan?"

Chris took another drag. "You know what Wes would do?" Evan shook his head. "He'd knock on the door and hit her as soon as she opened it. She'd be dead before she hit the floor."

"I don't know man. He's got this look; like he's not all there. Like he'd do it slow. Maybe enjoy it a little"

Chris put his elbow out the window and stared up at the building. "They're probably going to kill us anyway," he said quietly.

"They will if we don't do this. You heard them. It's her or us."

"I say we just leave, get out of town. Forget this shit."

"It's a lot of money," Evan reminded him. "When this job's done. More than we've ever had before."

"Won't do us any good if we're dead."

"Let's make a deal. We do this. If one thing goes wrong, if we even get a bad feeling, we leave town."

"Why are we doing this anyway? Wes would have finished by now," Chris complained.

"He's busy tonight. They're meeting the buyer. You finished yet?" He jingled Andy's keys in his hand.

Taking one last long drag, Chris crushed the cigarette out in the ashtray, and then took a good-sized mouthful from the small bottle sitting in the console between them. "We don't both need to go."

Evan looked at him. "There's two of them up there. You can't take take 'em both."

"Wait," Chris said as he stared at the building. "Look." The lanky blonde guy in the suit came out, moving almost at a run. He climbed into his car and sped off down the road. Then Chris turned back to his brother. "You want to flip for it?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

Evan hesitated, then finally nodded and pulled out a quarter. "Winner stays in the car. Call it."

"Tails."


Andy was almost asleep when she heard the noise. After he'd left, she'd turned onto her side; she let the alcohol take over and pull her down into a restless sort of doze. But her eyes fluttered open at the sound of a key in her lock and then the doorknob clicking under someone's hand as it turned. She rolled her eyes as she imagined Luke walking back into the apartment, and then, mentally preparing herself for another round, slid out of bed as she heard footsteps coming down the hall. Moving to the window to pick up her sweatshirt, she wrapped it around her as she glanced out, frowning when she didn't see his car. And then she froze as the footsteps stopped heavily outside her door. Luke was a tall guy, but he stepped quietly, he carried his weight better than that. Even at his most ungraceful, he made very little noise; he was considerate. The knob shimmied as someone's hand wrapped around it and then started turning.

Her eyes flicked around the dark room, looking for something, anything, but there was nothing within reach. Out of options, she fell to the floor, sliding under the bed on her back as the door opened. Hot tears of fear slid down over her cheeks and ran into her ears as she lay there, sure that he could hear her heart hammering away against her ribs. She felt the floor move under his weight as he stepped around the bed. She knew what he saw. The bed was a mess. She'd tossed and turned; the sheets were still warm. All evidence that she'd been there only moments before.

As the footsteps stopped, she held her breath, turning her head as she saw the toes of two large boots peeping underneath the blanket hanging over the edge. Then they moved away and unable to help it, she exhaled quietly. Andy waited then, for him to leave, to walk out of the room, but instead, she heard something thud heavily to the floor, and then screamed in surprise as a large hand reached out for her arm. Instead, he got a small handful of her hair and as his hand struggled to find purchase, she tore away. She slid out the other side, springing to her feet and out the door as she heard him swear under his breath and rise behind her.

Andy blew down the hallway, stumbling a few times, stubbing a toe against the slick floor as she landed wrong, and then she felt the breath leave her as a heavy body hit hers and slammed her into the floor. Her hand hit first and she felt the almost rubber band-like snap as her wrist broke. She pain blinded her momentarily and she felt herself turning, rolling as her attacker flipped her over. As her eyes began to focus again, she took in the sight of the black ski mask, the dark canvas jacket and the large hands moving up to her face. One hand grabbed her by the hair and awkwardly slammed her head once against the floor and she saw stars. Right away, through the pain, she recognized that wet feeling at the back of her head; her stitches opening up. And before he could lift her head one more time, she got her left arm up between his and over her right shoulder. With a quick motion, she elbowed him in the face, and she heard a crack. She heard the howl of pain as he released her and he reared back, hand clapping against his face.

Scrabbling against the floor, she pulled herself out from under him and got to her feet as he struggled to right himself. She was out of the apartment in moments, banging on every door she passed to wake people up as she scrambled down the stairs and out the front door, right into the uniformed cop coming up the walk.


As Sam exited the vehicle, he resisted the urge to glance around. He hunched his shoulders against the cold and shoved his hands in the pockets of his too thin leather jacket. The watch cap over his head helped, but he really should have worn a warmer coat. Then Wes opened the door to the club and they went inside.

Sam was surprised to see that despite the unappealing storefront, the inside of the place was really well taken care of. The lights were low, shining through stained glass shades hanging over the tables, which were clean. The bar, large and cube-like, was centered in the middle of the room, well-stocked, and had clean glasses hanging from racks mounted under the cabinets. The staff even appeared to have a uniform, black pants and vests over white button down shirts. In fact, Sam thought as he looked down at his T-shirt and jeans, I'm a little underdressed.

In a back corner, in a burgundy-covered booth sat Allen and Bishop. Sam had never seen him up close, only in the surveillance photos given to him by Boyd, but he hadn't changed much. His hair was kept a little shorter, his suit cut a little closer, the fit a little more modern. But his eyes were the same, ice blue, and frosty.

As Weston and Sam approached the table, they moved over him, quietly assessing. Apparently, he'd passed the first test, looked sufficiently disreputable, because his gaze returned to Wes. "Did you finish that other job?"

Wes shook his head. "Almost. Still waiting to hear." Bishop nodded and turned back to Allen. Sam checked his watch. Allen had originally said 9:00. It had taken him the better part of the hour to get changed and get over to the meeting place. 9:53 pm. The buyer should be showing up any minute now. The server came over and Bishop looked at them and then signaled for a refill. Sam shook his head when she looked at him and gave her a tight smile. His head cranked to the right when he heard a phone ringing.

Allen pulled his cell out of the pocket of his leather coat and looked at it, puzzled, but answered. "Yeah?" He cursed once and after that, said only a few words, but when he ended the call, he turned to Bishop. "I've gotta go. One of the alarms went off, probably kids breaking windows again. But the alarm company said they're going to call the cops unless we get down there to check it out."

"Can't someone else go?" Sam was a little surprised at Bishop's voice. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but not the educated, almost cultured way the words sailed out of his mouth. The volume was quiet, but the tone was one that suggested power.

"Well that's Chris' job, but he's not answering his phone." Allen tried dialing it himself, but hung up when it switched over to voicemail. He looked at his watch. "We sent them out hours ago. If they're not answering they probably didn't take care of that other thing." He looked at Wes who smirked and nodded.

"I'll take care of it when we're done here."

Allen stood up to leave and Bishop stopped him. "Let the new guy go. We can do without him." They all turned to look at Sam and he felt his heart sink. If he left, he'd miss the meeting and never get any information to pass along to Boyd. So much for going home tomorrow.

"I don't have any wheels," he said lamely.

Allen looked over at Wes, who snorted. "I've got work after this. Let him take a cab."

Allen rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet and handed Sam a couple hundred dollars. "That's for the cab and tonight. We'll probably be done by the time you get back. Same building we were at last week." He held up a key. "Just toss the key through the mail slot when you're done. Alarm code is 5401." At Sam's surprised look, he gave him an ominous grin. "I change it every few days, so don't get too excited." And then he turned back to Bishop and Wes did the same and Sam was dismissed. Just like that.

He wanted to stay and argue, but what could he say? Another large part of him wanted to put his fist in Jimmy Weston's face, smash that smirk to pieces. But instead, he headed for the entrance, skirting the large bar surrounded by people. And then, glancing over his shoulder to make sure they weren't watching, he hung a left into the restroom. If he was being sent on his way, he certainly wasn't going quickly.

He paced in the restroom, waiting as time passed; waiting for the buyer to show up. Boyd had showed him photos and files on the three guys Bishop usually dealt with. He knew if he saw them, he'd recognize them, so at least he'd have that to bargain with. He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes was slower when you watched the clock, but eventually, he walked to the door, and peered out, through the bodies filling the swiveling chairs at the counter, through the myriad of beer taps, and tall clear glasses. And saw something that chilled him to the bone.

Sitting at Bishop's table were three people he'd recognize from a mile away. On one side, a stocky guy wearing a black suit, on the other side, a thin Asian kid with a bad haircut wearing a sneer, and between them, sat Anton Hill, managing to look disinterested and menacing all at the same time. Sam ducked behind another small group of people and then looked again. None of them even glanced in his direction, and they were definitely discussing something of interest. All the players were listening intently as Bishop spoke and as Sam backed away towards the exit, he felt an overwhelming flood of adrenaline. He pushed through the doors and as his foot hit the pavement, he pulled out his cellphone.

Sam stepped off the sidewalk and crossed the dark street, pulling his watch cap back on. He waved his arm as a cab approached and as he swung into it, he started dialing. He waited a while. It took five rings.

"You need to come get me."

"I'll send someone. Where are you?"

"No. Not someone. You. I don't care what you're doing. Get your ass over here and pick me up. Right now."


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