Tuttle sank back in his chair, smirking. “So he’s Superman with incredible powers. Can he fly through the air as well?”

“I want to leave. You aren’t charging me with anything, so I want to leave.”

“He already knows where you are.”

Tuttle dropped the words so softly she nearly missed them. For a moment her lungs seized. Her throat closed. She stared at him. Stricken. Horrified. And then she knew.

“You told him. You have someone in his organization trying to climb the ladder and you gave that information to your man so he would gain Rafe’s marker. You sold me out and then expected me to put myself in your hands.” She whispered it. She knew she was right.

She’d been certain once she’d heard some of the information they had on her that the DEA had a man undercover. They must have fed him her location in order for him to curry favor with Rafe. They told him where she was. The police. The ones who were supposed to serve and protect. They’d put her directly in the line of fire. She swallowed terror and looked up at him.

“How long ago did Rafe get this information?”

Tuttle looked at her, noted her shaking hands and tried not to smile. “We can protect you. We’ll get you to a safe house.”

She stood up, pushed back her chair. “There is no safe house, you idiot. There’s no such thing. How long ago did you inform him of my whereabouts?”

Tuttle glanced at his watch. “A few hours before we brought you in.”

She shook her head. “You don’t have any idea what you’ve done. You’ve killed at least three good men. You need to make certain you put them somewhere far from here. David Belmont at Poetry Slam. Malcom Hardy at the martial arts studio. And Ridley Cromer. He’ll kill them all to get to me. To teach me a lesson. You can’t hang them out as bait and hope he does it so you can build a case against him. You’ll never know it was him. God. You people. You don’t get it.”

“I think that can be arranged if you choose to testify.”

“Damn you, do you hear yourself? Are you really willing to risk all three of them? I’m not testifying. I don’t have anything I can help you with. I don’t have one single thing I can help you hang him with. Not one.”

“He’s been under investigation for over two years.”

“And you’ve got nothing on him. You won’t get anything on him. He was investigated before that and again before that. What’s wrong with you that you’d tell him where I am? Did it once occur to you that you were putting my life in jeopardy? Did you even care?”

“Sit down, Ms. Benoit.”

“I want to leave.”