Agent Tom Rutherford, careful of his expensive, shiny shoes, stepped over a hose to reach them, his thousand-dollar navy-blue suit as out of place in the crime scene as a ballet dancer would’ve been. Somehow, soot didn’t mar his smooth blond hair or his angled face. His blue eyes narrowed. “What has your crazy unit done now?”

Wolfe swallowed ash and grit, trying to wet his mouth so he could speak. “Your nose healed nicely.” He hadn’t seen the agent since Raider had broken his nose and given him two black eyes.

Rutherford’s head lifted. “This is going to shut you down for good. Now, what happened?”

Wolfe tried to make a fist, just in case he should break Rutherford’s nose again, but his fingers weren’t working properly. The ringing kept buzzing between his ears, and his vision wavered again.

Force remained slouched against the stretcher, part of his left pant leg burned away. “We got a tip, an anonymous one, that the guy in 3D was trafficking heroin. The tip seemed sketchy, so we decided to check it out on the way home tonight and not bother you experts in the HDD until we had more information.”

That did sound good, considering Spanek had been in the heroin game.

“That sounds like horseshit,” Rutherford said, red tinging his ambitious cheekbones. “Did you have a warrant?”

“Didn’t need one,” Force said, wincing and pressing a hand to his rib cage. “We knocked on the door, politely asked to visit a guy named Frank Spanek in 3D and were granted access. We’d just reached the door when the world exploded.”

“There are body parts,” Fields said, reaching in his pocket for a piece of candy.

Yeah, there were probably a lot of body parts. “Wow. Really?” Wolfe asked. “We didn’t make it inside.” There was no need to involve these guys, especially since they’d drag Wolfe down to headquarters to answer a bunch of questions he had no intention of answering.

“You’re coming downtown,” Rutherford snapped.

“Nope.” Force stepped down to the ground. He wavered, set a hand on the ambulance, and ducked his head, his eyes shutting and his lips pressed together as he rode out what looked like a tidal wave of pain. Finally, he straightened, his face stark white beneath his tan. “We’re regrouping tonight and will be available tomorrow if you’d like to come by the office. Wolfe can bring lattes.”

“You don’t get sprinkles,” Wolfe grunted. Could he climb down without passing out again?

Fields appraised him. “I think you two should seek medical attention.” He crunched on the candy.

Wolfe pushed off the ambulance to stand, his legs shaking. “It’s not my first concussion. We’ll be okay.” Pain howled through him, but he turned and limped toward the sidewalk with Force at his side.