“I set a trap.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line.

“Where?” Vance asked.

“The Westwood Women’s Clinic on Olympic,” I said.

“Tomorrow morning at ten.”

“He thinks I am handing over the ledger in the secure underground parking garage.”

“We will have federal agents stationed at every exit,” Vance said.

“We can wire the garage and have a tactical team in place.”

“Are you sure you are up for this, Natalie?”

“Your health, and the baby’s, must come first.”

I looked down at my swollen stomach, rubbing the fabric of my coat.

“I have to do this,” I said.

“It is the only way to end this nightmare.”

“We will be there,” Vance said.

“Keep the ledger safe until then.”

I ended the call and hailed a passing yellow cab.

I checked into a small, nondescript motel near the freeway under an assumed name.

The room smelled of stale tobacco and cheap disinfectant.

I sat on the edge of the saggy mattress, clutching the Callahan ledger.

I opened the brass clasp and turned the yellowed pages.