“Hi, Cally,” Tommy Sunday said, pulling off his balaclava and grimacing. “Tough day at the office, huh?” The number two was a huge man, broad across the shoulders and heavily muscled, with bright green eyes in a face that was almost movie star handsome.

“Yeah, those files were miserable,” she replied. “Give.”

“Jammer,” Tommy said, shrugging. “Spoofer, whatever. Gave us the runaround; we’ve been over half of Chicago looking for you. Figured out a filter. Sorry it took so long. Glad you made it.”

“How’s Wendy?” She walked over to the other side of the bar and picked up her jeans.

“Pregnant again.”

“Don’t you guys do anything else?” She donned the jeans mechanically, shaking her head.

“I only see her every few months, so the answer is ‘no.’ ”

The fourth member of the team surveyed the room for threats in a textbook maneuver before walking over to the nearest body and nudging it with a foot.

“Is that really him?” he asked.

“I dunno.” Cally shrugged. “Toss me a sampler.” She caught the probe deftly and knelt beside the body, pressing the needle into his temple on the more-or-less intact side. She looked at the readout and nodded. “Brain DNA never lies. It’s him.”

“Cleanup on aisle one,” Tommy quipped, moving aside as several silent figures in white moved past him and began meticulously sanitizing the scene. He pulled off the black jacket and the white undershirt underneath, offering it to her. His eyes flickered to where she stood, lingering on the blood dripping into the white shag carpet. “You okay?”

“Pain is weakness exiting the body.” She took the shirt and pulled it over her head. “Nothing a trip to the slab won’t cure.

“Can you get the squealer from his car? Passenger seat, by the door,” she asked Tommy, waiting while the cleaning crew moved the first body out the door and following them out. “Thanks. See you in the van.”