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She eyed me, her head tilted. I waited for her to say I didn't look much like a bodyguard, but after that assessment, she nodded, walked to her chair and waved for me to sit.

"The fact that you aren't naming my benefactor tells me it's anonymous."

"It is. I'm a former police officer, living in the Detroit area, currently working part-time as both a bodyguard and investigator." I took a sheet from my bag and set it on her desk. "My credentials and references."

They were all fake. Or fake in the sense that I'd never done bodyguard work, and my private investigations weren't something I'd put on a resume. But like the credit cards, they were real numbers. If she called them, she'd get glowing references from Quinn, Felix and Evelyn. Well, maybe not "glowing" from Evelyn, but she'd confirm I was competent enough.

Angela drummed her fingers on the paper, her lips pursed. Then she looked up at me.

"Private benefactor, huh?"

"Someone who is concerned about your situation. All my expenses have been paid. I'll be mostly acting as a bodyguard and security consultant, but I'll do some investigating as well while being careful not to interfere with the police."

She nodded. "And this benefactor . . ."

"Is paying me very well, meaning this isn't a scam where I'll later charge you for 'additional' expenses. I'll sign anything you need to that effect."

"That isn't my concern. It's . . . the benefactor. Any chance he's . . . Oh, I don't know. Male? Late fifties? Six foot five? Built like a Mack truck? Swears like a sailor? Works in the . . . extermination biz, you might say."

Oh, hell, no.

I'd run this scenario past Cypher, asking if there was any chance she'd realize it was him.

"Fuck, no," he'd said. "Been too long."

Maybe so, but Cypher was a man who left a lasting impression.

I kept my expression under control, only my eyebrows shooting up. "That definitely doesn't soun

d like my client. Not unless he's had a sex change since you last saw him. And even if he had, given those stats, I think he--she--would stand out."

"Hmm."

She eyed me, her gaze boring in. Then she leaned back in her chair. "So you're here to keep me safe."

"That's what I was hired for."

"Qualifications? Besides being a former law officer?"

"I know some martial arts. No black belts, but I can hold my own. I'm an investigator and something of an expert in private security, so I can assess your current setup. I'm also a crack shot."

"Hmm."

A long stretch as she continued to study me, and I tried not to squirm under that stare.

"All right," she said. "Tell me . . ." She looked at my fake resume with my fake name. "Nancy Cooper. What is your plan here? Assess my situation."

"You face the most danger at home. That's where the perpetrator likes to strike. You've avoided attack there, though, so he--or she--may have to branch out and get more creative. Your office seems good, though I'd suggest you tell your receptionist to stay at his post--he wasn't there when I walked in. I'm sure you've instructed him not to accept parcels. I would also tell him not to let someone off the street into your office. He thought I was safe because I don't look like a threat. That's a problem."

"I would agree."

"With some adjustments, you'll be safe here. Same as at home. I won't hover in either place. I can stay the night if you like--"

"I'd rather you didn't. The police are outside all night. That's enough."

"Then my main job will be shadowing you when you're not at home or here in your office. When you're safely in one of those places, I'll be investigating. I'd like to speak to the detective in charge--Lee--so she understands that I won't interfere with her work."

"Also agreed."

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