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

not many people even know about S-Mail. It smells like an attempt at deep cover to me.”

“Maybe. But now that he’s dead—”

He interrupted. “Are you positive he’s dead?”

“I spoke to the funeral home director who took care of the cremation,” I said.

“But how did he know it was Hank Wagner’s body? Did the director know him before he died?”

“No. In fact, they cremated him under his assumed name.”

“Angie, this guy was on the run, and it wasn’t from his wife. Want me to do some digging?”

“I ran all the usual searches when Marcy first hired me, and every month thereafter. Nothing suspicious turned up.”

“Send me what you have. I can go deeper than public records. As for the S-Mail, there’s no way to access it without his password or a search warrant, and the warrant is only good until the message is opened. Is there any reason to get a judge to look at this?”

“I suppose not. A man’s final email doesn’t constitute a legal imperative.”

“Let me see what I can do. Meanwhile, you keep looking for the password.” I glanced up and saw Wukowski in the entry hall. “Will do,” I told Spider. “Gotta go.” I hung up.

“Hi, handsome,” I said to Wukowski.

“Hey, Angie,” he replied, his voice a monotone.

As I approached him, I saw the dark circles under his eyes and the slight slump of his normally squared-off shoulders—impressive shoulders, I might add. My man was down. I took his coat and hung it in the entry closet, while he removed his shoes and set them in the boot tray. Then I led him by the hand to the couch, turned on a table lamp, and sat beside him. “Tough day?” I asked.

“Another woman attacked. This time in Kosciuszko Park, in the wooded area behind the community center building.”

The park was a south side recreation area, with a gymnasium, indoor swimming pool, tot lots and playgrounds. “That’s terrible, Wukowski.” I put my hand on his forearm. “Was she killed?”

“No. Raped and beaten senseless. She’s in a coma, at Froedtert Hospital. The docs aren’t sure if she’ll make it. And if she does, there may be brain damage.” He rested his head on the back cushion and closed his eyes. “She’s only seventeen.”

His weary response shocked me. The Wukowski I knew would be angry, determined, unstoppable. Then I recalled the story of his younger sister Celestyna, who was killed in her teens by a Hispanic gang seeking retaliation against a Polish gang. Small wonder this latest attack hit Wukowski so hard.

I went to the bar and poured a short glass of Sobieski, a kick-ass vodka he introduced me to a few months earlier. Placing it on the coffee table, I sat back down and loosened his tie. Pushing him forward a bit—I needed his cooperation, since he outweighs me by about eighty pounds—I removed his suitcoat and tugged him to lean back against me. With my hands massaging his shoulders, I quietly said, “There’s a glass of vodka on the table.”

He sighed and opened his eyes. “Thanks, moja droga.” After a swallow or two, he set the glass down and sighed. “This case is getting to me. Maybe I should head for home. I’m bad company tonight.”

“Stay,” I whispered.

We sat like that for perhaps half an hour. Somewhere in the interval, Wukowski’s breathing changed and his head relaxed into my shoulder. I let him sleep, gently cradling him against me.

He woke with a start.

“Better?” I asked.

He didn’t answer aloud, but put his arm around my back and maneuvered me into his lap. His teeth grazed my ear as he whispered, “Much better. You sure know how to improve my mood.”

“There are even better ways, caro,” I assured him. Consolatory sex can be extremely effective!

Chapter 6

Everything we see hides another thing, we always want to see what is hidden by what we see. — René Magritte

The next morning, he grabbed a cup of coffee and left early for the homicide bullpen. I was pleased that the hangdog look and posture were gone and his chin was set in a determined way. What would he have done a year ago, I wondered, before we met?

Rick, the manager of the gym we used, once told me that after his partner Liz’s death, Wukowski disconnected from everyday life and concentrated solely on finding her killers. He went through the motions of living, but his only real human interaction was with his new partner, Joe Ignowski. Even with Iggy, Wukowski held a reserve. Rick, Iggy, and Wukowski’s mother were all happy that he was able to put some of the past behind him. So was I. I loved the guy and wanted the best for him.

The temps were predicted to be in the mid-twenties today. I showered and dressed for the office in tailored dove gray slacks, a soft brushed cotton mustard-colored shirt, and plaid wool challis shawl. Underneath, I wore a silvery silk charmeuse demi bra and high-cut briefs. Professional on the outside, sexy underneath. A perfect combo, to my mind!

Susan was hard at work when I reached the office with my Starbucks in hand. “Morning,” I said.

“Angie, hi.” She turned back to her computer.

That was unusual. Typically, she’d want to hear all about my trip and the latest case. She must be on a deadline for a client, I decided. I settled at my desk and booted up the server. Bobbie ambled in around ten o’clock. I don’t quibble about his hours because he’s only getting a small stipend in return for the work experience that will qualify him to sit for the Wisconsin licensing exam.

“Angie,” he said as he hung up his coat, “how did things go in Stevens Point?”

“I got a lot of information, but all it did was confuse me. I’m hoping you can look at it with new eyes and maybe spot a pattern I missed.”

“Could be,” he said, with no attempt at modesty. We both knew he was good at reading people, a skill that