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cautious silence, pistol still leveled.
    “Is it dead?” Kristen called.
    “I think so. It’s hard to tell sometimes.”
    “Did you get the thing you wanted?”
    “Not yet.”
    Kristen opened her mouth, but Jane silenced her with a finger. Jane reached inside her flak jacket—Kristen noticed the body armor for the first time and wondered why she didn’t have any—and retrieved a cell phone. She held it to her ear and paced. Eventually, Jane began speaking. “Hey, Michael. Yeah, I know it’s late. I’m sorry. It’s kind of important. We need a cleanup crew on the Howell job. When? Like right now. One of the changelings went hairy on me. No, I’m not going to make her carry it out of here. There’s at least six other dead guys. Look, even if we did it ourselves, we need to keep the cops out of here until we’re done, so you might as well send us a clean-team. I already said I know it’s late. That’s what happens when we have night jobs. You’re the only one with authority to do this kind of thing. Do you want me to burn the warehouse down? Because that’s the only way we can handle this ourselves.”
    There was a pause.
    “Michael, that was a joke. I’m not burning down the warehouse.”
    Another pause.
    “Finally. Thank you.”
    Jane hung up.
    Kristen’s brow wrinkled. “What was that all about?”
    “We don’t have to deal with the bodies and we have plenty of time to find what we’re looking for. You think you’re up for it if another one of these guys decides to get up?”
    Kristen bounced on the balls of her feet, suddenly energetic. “Oh, hell yeah. I could go for round two. Punching that thing in the face was awesome.”
    Jane pursed her lips. She began taking a step away, then reconsidered and turned back. “I have to ask you a question. Don’t take it the wrong way.”
    “Sure, what’s up?”
    “Where do you buy your sports bras?”
    Kristen landed on the flats of her feet, deflated. She rolled her eyes. “Way to ruin the moment, asshole.”
    “No, I’m serious.” Jane made the sign of a cross over her heart. “I promise. There’s a gal I work with that’s about half your size and could seriously use the help.”
    Kristen narrowed her eyes. “You’re not bullshitting?”
    “Promise. Double promise.”
    She sighed. “I buy them online. I’ll show you later.”
    “Cool. Thanks. Help me find a box with a serial number that ends in one-seven-seven.”
    With two of them scanning the crates, it didn’t take long to find it. “Here!” Kristen called out.
    Jane jogged over from the far end of the warehouse to look at it. “Get it down for me?”
    Kristen tilted her head back, staring up at the crate on the top shelf. She chewed her lip, considering it for a moment. “Oh yeah, I can do that, can’t I?”
    She jumped to the middle shelf, then jumped again, hoisting herself to the top. Setting her feet, she worked her fingers beneath the crate, this one only half the size of her makeshift bulldozer. She lifted its edge, got her shoulder beneath it, and dropped down with the monster on her back. “Where do you want it?”
    Jane stammered, eyes wide at the spectacle. “Uh…anywhere. Just, just set it down. Right there is fine.”
    Kristen obliged, dropping the crate to crack the concrete. She couldn’t claim to have a delicate touch. “Now that I got it down for you, can you tell me what’s in it?”
    “Open it for me, and I might consider it.”
    Kristen walked a circle around the crate, finding a padlocked latch on one side. She wasted no time taking hold of the padlock and wrenching it free with a flick of her wrist. She lifted the latch, a reinforcing bar groaning with the sound of metal on metal within the box until it popped free, the crate’s door swinging open on hinges badly in need of oil. Past the door, she tore through myriad layers of packing material, each at least six inches thick. Jane moved behind her and shone a flashlight into the box. Kristen had