Angelina Bonaparte Mysteries Box Set: Books 1-3 (Angelina Bonaparte Crime Thrillers) by Nanci Rathbun

Author:Nanci Rathbun [Rathbun, Nanci]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dark Chocolate Press, LLC
Published: 2019-06-07T22:00:00+00:00

The tavern had a long bar, where the serious drinkers sat on stools. Bart and Iggy were at the corner table, farthest from the bar, their backs to the walls. With no other patrons nearby, we would have privacy.

When I reached the table, Wukowski pulled out a chair and gave me a kiss on the cheek, then whispered, “Missed you.” Holy PDA—and in front of his partner! Iggy grinned.

I wore a deep emerald green wrap dress made of clingy silk jersey. The overlapping neckline revealed a bit more cleavage than the average dress and the fabric clung to my curves. Wukowski got an eyeful as he helped me off with my coat. His hands briefly caressed my shoulders as the coat sleeves fell away. I couldn’t wait to get home.

A tall iced glass of beer sat in front of each man. Must be off-duty, I mused. The server came over to get my order. “Any chance you have a Riesling?”

“No. We got red, white and rosé.” She pronounced the last “rosy.”

“Make it a whisky sour,” I said.

“Cocktail?”

“On the rocks.”

“Gotcha.” She walked away.

Wukowski handed me a laminated menu card. Burgers, brats, hot dogs and pizza, with sides of fries, onion stacks, deep-fried cheese curds and cole slaw. Iggy leaned toward me. “Ix-nay on the pizza, Angie. It’s frozen. And the last time Marianne ordered a salad, Barb—the waitress—just laughed. This is no low-cal joint. But the burgers are good and the onion stack—mm-mm.”

Until we got Petrovitch, Bart’s security guys probably would “ix-nay” my morning run. I’d pay for this meal with time on the treadmill in the condo exercise room.

Barb came back with my drink and took our orders: cheeseburgers and onion stacks all around.

While we waited for the food, Wukowski cut to the chase. “That attack on you was too close for comfort.”

“I agree,” I said. “Bart Matthews is setting up personal security for Adriana, Bobbie and me.” He started to object, but I interrupted him. “He has pros, Wukowski, former government special ops guys. I’ll be fine, really.”

“You’re not going to walk away from this, are you?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Not with Adriana in jeopardy. Let’s move on. Bart has given me permission to share some information on the case with you.”

“Nice of him,” Wukowski responded sarcastically. There was no love lost between them.

Iggy jumped in. “Whatcha got, Ange?”

“Three things: property ties to Petrovitch, financial information from the Johnsons’ U.S. bank accounts and a possible second home for Petrovitch. It comes with a price tag,” I told them. “We need to see records on Petrovitch’s bank accounts and any other financial information you can garner.”

They perked up immediately and Wukowski extracted a small notebook and pen from his inner suit coat pocket. “Fair enough. What’ve you got?”

I pulled out the copies of the bank records from my briefcase and handed them over, keeping one set for myself. I gave them several minutes to glance over the pages.

“What’s your take on this?” Wukowski asked.

“Bart is pretty savvy financially and here’s how he sees it.

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