Angelina Bonaparte Mysteries Box Set by Nanci Rathbun (reading books for 4 year olds txt) 📕

He picked up on my serious tone right away. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes. I don’t want to say more until you get here.”

“It’ll take me twenty minutes, Angie, but I can call the local station and have an officer there in five.”

“It’s not that urgent or serious, caro.”

“Okay, I’m on the way. Stay safe.”

I gave Spider a description of Wukowski and the particulars on his Jeep. Then I sank down on the couch, feeling the aftereffects of post-adrenaline rush—dead tired, but jittery. I wanted Wukowski here, right now. I wanted food, but felt too anxious to concentrate on cooking.

My phone rang. “Angie, I’m on the way, but I missed lunch and I’m starving. Is everything under control? I’m thinking about stopping at Cousins.”

My man! I reassured him that all was well and ordered a meatball sub with provolone on half a crusty wheat loaf. With broccoli cheese soup. I needed it.

I met him at the door, took the Cousins bag and set it on the hall table, wrapping my arms around Wukowski and shoving the door closed with one hand. Then I squeezed him. Hard.

“Whoa, droja,” he said as he enfolded me in a gentle embrace. “You okay?”

“I am now,” I told him. I released my fierce hold and backed up a bit. “Come on, let’s eat and then I’ll tell you about my day.”

While I got plates and silverware out, Wukowski hung up his overcoat, removed his shoes and padded into the kitchen in his stocking feet. I found it endearing to see the little boy side of such a large and otherwise grim man. I quickly cut the subs—mine six inches, his a full foot—and assembled the plates. “Decaf?” I asked. The last thing I needed was to put my body chemistry into overdrive again.

“Fine with me.” He pulled mugs out of the cupboard and set them on the table, then removed his suit coat and hung it on the back of the chair. He didn’t remove his shoulder holster as he usually would. We sat down to tuck into the meal. “I assume this isn’t about Thanksgiving,” he said.

Thanksgiving—another sword of Damocles hanging over my head! “Nope, it’s not. But I’d rather wait until we’re done eating to bring you up to date.”

“Fine with me, Anielica.” The coffee maker gasped and Wukowski stood, filled our mugs and replaced the carafe. When he passed behind me on his way his seat, he bent down and kissed my neck. “You scared me, Angie. No secrets, promise?”

I reached up and brought his head down a bit so I could kiss his cheek. “No secrets, Wukowski.”

We finished the meal in record time. The soup was warm, thick and comforting, but the meatball sub sat heavy in my gut as we moved into the living room and settled on the couch. Normally, I would snuggle up against Wukowski, but he still wore the gun holster. “You planning to sleep with that on?” I asked him, gesturing with my chin at the offending item.

“Only if you think it’s sexy,” he said. “Course, I’d have to duct tape the safety. Just to be sure.” He grinned, trying to embarrass me into blushing about our rather active bedroom fun.

I didn’t bite. “Take it off, Wukowski, so we can cuddle.”

“Cuddle, huh?” He shrugged out of the holster and set it on the table, loosened his tie and put it next to the gun holster. After he unbuttoned his shirt collar, he put his arms out and gathered me into his side. “Better?”

“Much.”

He stroked my face and my free arm, not in a sexual way, but as a means of comfort. Then he kissed me, set me upright on the couch and said, “Be right back.” He went into the kitchen and returned, carrying the carafe and a small notebook. After refilling our cups, he set the carafe down on a coaster and took a digital recorder from his shirt pocket. “Okay with you?” he asked.

Bart wouldn’t like it, but I nodded. Wukowski turned the device on and gave the official police description of the interview: name, place, date, time.

He listened in silence, making an occasional note, while I gave him the rundown: meeting with Lily; the Interpol report on the stolen book; my trip to the ROTC office and then to the Johnsons’ with Colonel Lewis; his suppositions about the trunk contents; Spider, Bram and Mad Man; the team meeting at Bart’s office. What a day! It made me tired just recounting it. I released the tension in my neck and shoulders.

“Ms. Bonaparte, for the record, would your fingerprints or those of Colonel Lewis be on any of the items in the attic?”

“On the uniforms and footwear, yes. We didn’t use gloves when we handled them. I touched the trunk key without gloves and may have left prints on the faceplate, but the Colonel didn’t touch either. We handled the contents while wearing gloves, so they should be uncontaminated. One moment.” I went to the hall closet and returned with my key ring. “Here,” I said, handing three keys to Wukowski. “Also for the record, these are the Johnsons’ house keys, this is the trunk key, and this is the key to their hardware store. There’s a security alarm at the store. The code is one-three-nine-one-eight.”

“So noted,” he said. “Where are Mr. Russell and Ms. Johnson now?”

“I don’t know. The security team thought it was better that way. But their cell phone numbers haven’t changed.”

“Is there anything else you wish to add?”

“No. Nothing else.”

He turned off the recorder and shut his notebook. His face was still the impassive face of the interviewer. I wasn’t sure what to do next. Everything felt so disconnected. Who was he now—lover or homicide detective?

Then he sighed, leaned back into the couch and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “That’s over. I’ll get an evidence team to the Johnsons’ in the morning.” He looked at me