Blood Kills, Nanci Rathbun [best books to read for self improvement TXT] 📗

was smarter than most and touched the backups too. I’ll install them on a USB drive and check them out on an air-gapped—isolated from the internet, for you non-geeks—computer in my lab. That way, they can’t infect anything else.”

“Surely he must’ve realized that Mick had copies,” I said. “Why erase them from Franken’s computer?”

Wukowski rubbed the back of his neck. “Once Hunter has his own set, he can go after anyone named in the will. Get their copies. And question them about the so-called “hidden material” Mick claimed would establish his innocence by pointing to Hunter.”

“That would be Debby and… maybe me,” I said, my voice sounding squeaky with the sudden realization of exactly how dangerous our positions were. I tried to keep my expression impassive, but my heart rate ratcheted up at the fear of coming face-to-face with a ruthless killer like Artur Hunter.

“Now do you get it?” Wukowski glared at me. “You need to back off this case and wait for us to put him away.”

I’d faced personal danger before. In an office storeroom, where a bullet took out a small chunk of my side. Rolling down Interstate 94 in a semi’s load of pipes while a killer pursued Bobbie and me. Tracking down a dead man. But this felt more immediate. More personal. And much more fraught with the potential to end my life and Debby’s.

Before panic overtook me, I breathed deep and reassured myself that, in each of those cases, my friends, my team of special ops guys, and my homicide detective lover all had my back. I had emerged, if not unscathed, at least functional and, after a period of healing, able to enjoy life. That would be what tethered me to sanity now.

“I’ll go talk to Debby,” I told Wukowski.

Chapter 28

Stay alert. Stay alive.

U.S. Army training film

I left Ma’s and made my way to Debby’s shop at the Galleria. A cheery group of female knitters and one rugged-looking man clacked both needles and tongues in her classroom area.

“Angie,” she said, looking up as her needles continued to form perfect loops, “it’s good to see you.”

It probably won’t be, once I update you on Franken and the current threat level. I recalled the DEFCON—Defense Readiness Condition—ratings that Spider explained during the course of the Johnson case. Back then, we were at DEFCON 2, one step below nuclear war. Ready to deploy and engage the enemy. It struck me that this was a DEFCON 2 situation also.

“Can we talk privately?” I asked.

“Sure. The class breaks up in about ten minutes. Want to wait in my office? Help yourself to a coffee or tea pod. Oh, I also have hot chocolate, but it might be too soon for that.”

“You’re right,” I said. “Hot chocolate is definitely a cold-wind-off-Lake-Michigan drink in my estimation.” I settled myself in her office with a cup of herbal tea and waited while the group broke up and Debby farewelled them with “See you next week” and “Great job on that shoulder. They’re tricky” and “I hope all goes well with your mom’s surgery. Let me know.”

“Now,” she said as she bustled in, “we should be alone until after school lets out. The door alarm will ring if a shopper comes in.” She took one of the two visitor chairs and folded her hands on her lap in anticipation.

“I read Mick’s will and other documents last night,” I told her. “From the intact wax seal, I’m assuming you never looked at them.”

“Well, no. I just stuffed them in my file cabinet at home. I never imagined that Mick would die so young.”

“Of course not. But the envelope held unusual documents.” I handed her my cell phone to read an image of Mick’s note.

“Dear God!” she exclaimed. “Angie, you can’t… I mean, that would be so dangerous.”

“There’s more.” I related the events of the attack on Rebecca Franken.

She blanched at that. “Oh, the poor woman. Concussion, bad bruises, and a black eye! I feel just awful for her. What room is she in? I’ll send her a bed shawl to keep warm. I always have a stock of them on hand for friends who are ill.”

“That’s very kind, but I think she’ll be released this afternoon. My aunt is making the arrangements.”

“Doesn’t she have family? She can stay with me, you know. I feel partly responsible for what happened. If I’d taken a look at the contents, maybe this Artur Hunter could’ve been stopped sooner. And… I know what it’s like to take a beating, Angie. She might want to talk to someone who’s been there.” Her eyes filled with unshed tears.

My ex had been a serial cheater, but at least he never raised more than his voice to me. “You have a good heart, but I don’t think it would be wise for the two of you to be together.” A double target, and if Artur caught all three of us in one location, he’d win the trifecta.

I laid Wukowski’s conclusions out for her, making sure to clearly enunciate the dangers.

“Dear God,” she repeated as she wrung her hands, making no attempt to cease the behavior.

I took her cold hands in mine. “The worst thing we can do is panic. I have a plan,” I said, using the quiet voice that my young children responded to when they were verging on a meltdown. “It’s not ideal, but you’ll be safe. Are you ready to hear about it?”

She gave a small nod.

“Detective Wukowski wants you to stay in a police safe house for a week, maybe two, until Hunter is caught. The good news is that no one can get to you there. The downside is that you’d have to close the shop for a short while. However, Wukowski thinks that the state’s Crime Victim Compensation Fund may cover all or part of your lost earnings.” I slowly rubbed the back of her hand in a soothing motion and waited several seconds before asking, “Is that something you’d consider, Debby? Because I