I glanced at the empty gurney against the wall. “Ah, I think I’ll stand,” I said. “This is Kisten Felps,” I added, then turned to David. “And David Hue.”

David pulled himself together and, finding a professional air, came forward with his hand extended. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said, rocking back as soon as their handshake ended. “How…how many Jane Wolfs do you get on average a month?”

His voice carried a hint of panic, and Iceman went closed, sitting back behind his desk. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hue. I really shouldn’t—”

David held up a hand and turned away, head bowed in worry. My good mood vanished. A sharp cadence of hard-soled shoes in the outer hallway brought our attentions up, and I puffed in relief when Glenn’s powerfully built frame came through the door, his thick hand holding the heavy metal easy and his dark skin and pink fingernails standing out against the stark whiteness of the chipped paint. He was in his usual coat and tie, the butt of a pistol showing past his jacket. Angling himself, he slipped in almost sideways so he wouldn’t have to open the door entirely.

“Rachel,” he said as the door swung shut. His gaze lit on David and Kisten, eyebrows settling into a closed cast of FIB officialness. David’s confidence had degraded into depression, and Kisten was nervous. I was getting the distinct impression he didn’t like it down here.

“Hi, Glenn,” I said, conscious of my less-than-professional appearance in sneakers, faded green T-shirt, and dirt-marked jeans. “Thanks for letting me get you out from behind your desk.”

“You said it was about the Jane Wolfs. How could I refuse?”

David’s jaw tightened. The reaction wasn’t missed by Glenn, and his gaze softened, now that he understood why David was here. I could feel Kisten behind me, and I turned to him. “Glenn, this is Kisten Felps,” I said, but Kisten had already pushed forward, smiling with his lips closed.

“We’ve met,” Kisten said, grasping Glenn’s hand and giving it a firm shake. “Well, in a manner of speaking. You were the one that downed the waitstaff at Piscary’s last year.”

“Using Rachel’s splat gun,” Glenn said, suddenly nervous. “I didn’t…”

Kisten released his hand and stepped away. “No, you didn’t tag me. But I saw you during the wrap-up. Good shooting. Accuracy is hard to find when your life is on the line.”

Glenn smiled to show his flat, even teeth. He was the only FIB guy I knew besides his dad who could talk to a vamp without fear and knew to bring breakfast when knocking on a witch’s door at noon. “No hard feelings?” Glenn asked.

Shrugging, Kisten turned to the double doors leading to the hallway. “We all do what we have to do. It’s only on our days off we get to be ourselves.”