The warehouse off Harbor Avenue looked exactly like a place where crimes concluded. Grey. Wet. Depressing. A single floodlight illuminated the loading bay like God had given up on this specific corner of Seattle and left one sad lamp behind as a consolation prize.
Anders was waiting.
Of course he was. Standing there in his three coats like he'd been expecting us precisely at this moment, which was impossible because we hadn't exactly planned for the "getting shot at and rolling a sedan" portion of the evening. But Anders had the kind of face that never looked surprised. The kind of face that had already processed every possible outcome and filed them alphabetically. I hated it. I respected it. Both things could be true.
Anders: "Hey. You made it."
His eyes tracked over the car. The bul
