She got the case into her office, dampened some paper towels, and wiped the pine pollen off the case, making its black aluminum surface look nearly like new. Then she hoisted the case onto a table and opened it. She was greeted with the sight of rows of hundred-dollar bills, sorted into stacks of one hundred, each secured with a heavy rubber band. She counted out twenty of the stacks and packed them into a small zippered duffel from her locker. Then she counted out another ten stacks, dropped them into a Federal Express envelope, and wrote out a note on her stationery. She put the note into the envelope, sealed it, filled out a FedEx waybill, and stuck it to the envelope.

Then she picked up the heavy case and took it into the darkened evidence room. She went through the procedure for setting the combination locks on the case, then locked them and looked around for just the right spot. She found a place among some filing boxes that had been seized during a drug raid, and set it there. Then she got an evidence sticker, put her name on it, and fixed it to the side of the case. If anyone came across it, they wouldn’t be able to open it, and if they asked about it, she could say she’d forgotten to log it in.

She went back to her office, picked up the duffel and the FedEx package, and set them on her desk, looking at her watch. It was nearly ten. The call should come soon. She switched on her desk light, picked up a law enforcement magazine, put her feet on the desk, and started to read. Twenty minutes later, her cell phone vibrated on her belt. “Yes?”

“Hey, you ready for us?”

“Yes.” She asked where he was, then gave him directions, then she hung up, picked up the duffel and the FedEx package, and walked down to the garage with Daisy clicking along on the tile floor behind her.

She got some gear out of her car, then waited in the garage for another twenty minutes, until headlights appeared outside. She walked out and held up a hand for the truck to stop.

Two men got out. “Hey, how you doin’?” the passenger said.

“I’m good. You got my package?”

“Sure. You got my package?”

She handed him the duffel. “It’s in stacks of one hundred hundreds. Count it.”

He counted it carefully. “It’s good,” he said, and he led the way to the rear of the vehicle.

Holly watched as the two men removed a dozen boxes from the back of the truck. Then one man climbed in and walked forward a few steps. He knocked on something. “Hey, man, we’re here,” he called. “You ready to come out?”

Holly switched on her flashlight, illuminated the inside of the truck, and pulled out her gun.

“Here we go,” the man said, opening the door.