“I’m hoping to grab one of them to interrogate.” I picked up a checkered sleeping bag that smelled vaguely like canned dog food. “I figure if I layer up and cover my hair, they won’t recognize me. And Henry already looks like a street person, so it’ll be easy for him.”

“Jim and I could set up a perimeter. I can keep watch—”

“You can go to those other places like I told you to,” I said firmly. “There are only four of us, Malachi. We need to be in as many places as possible. We keep missing them, and it has to stop.”

“Of course,” he said, keeping his gaze focused on the equipment. “It was only a suggestion.”

I dropped the sleeping bag and picked up a knit cap. Ignoring the smell of all the unwashed heads that had come before, I jammed it over my hair. “See? Don’t I look like a vagrant?”

Malachi’s lips twitched, which made my heart skip. “Hardly.” He blinked and turned his back. “What weapons will you carry?”

“I don’t know. Care to advise me?”

He straightened his shoulders. “Knives. You’ll want to stay light and agile.” He paced over to the pile of old clothes. “Choose your clothes, and put them on.” He began to paw through them.

“Now? I have to get back to Diane’s by six.”

“That’s enough time for us to outfit you and practice. Your plan may be to capture instead of kill, but surely you do not intend to enter enemy territory unprepared.” He looked up at me and arched an eyebrow, his expression full of challenge.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I grumbled.

He tossed me a thermal shirt with heavily stained pits. “Tight on the bottom, loose over the top.”

It took me several minutes to figure out my outfit, which ended up consisting of two sets of long thermal underwear beneath a pair of holey jeans, which Malachi made sure would stay up by fastening a belt around my waist, where he secured two horizontally sheathed knives. He kept chivalrously turning his back as I wiggled into the clothes, and patiently waiting until I gave the all clear to turn around and start helping me again. He strapped a holster around my shoulders and torso that held four more knives. When I protested that it was overkill, he leaned down and looked me in the eye. “Underestimating the danger is a mistake. Do not make this mistake.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to end up stabbing myself.”

He held up a thick blue-and-yellow flannel shirt, holding it for me like a jacket while I put it on. For a moment, I felt the brush of his chest against my shoulder blades. He was that close. So close. I took a step forward to keep myself from whirling around and wrapping my arms around him.