Cockroaches scurried out as she pulled an old spiral-bound notebook free. “You’ve got a hacker on your team, yes?”

“Talulah Polk, yes.” My team’s names were public record. I wasn’t telling her anything she couldn’t have found from Google.

Deb tore off a piece of paper, slid a well-chewed pen from the spiral binding, and started writing. “Here are the names of Sandy’s friends. You’re right, I tried to loosen their tongues a bit. They didn’t know much more than I do, but one of them said he was originally supposed to hit a different target, a Coast Guard ship off the east coast. The USCGC Kagan. Have your hacker look into the Kagan. Find out what would have made her a target, and what changed.”

“Are you part of Vanguard?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you aware of any other plans to assassinate or harm anyone?”

“No.”

I waited, but the book didn’t react.

“What are you going to do with me?” Deb asked.

I should hand her over to the FBI, along with the names of the other two werewolves. Deb had facilitated two assassinations tonight.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “If you turn me in, they’ll either dissect me or use me.”

Once again, the book remained silent. Deb believed what she was saying. “What exactly do you think I should do? You amped up the hate and rage of three murderers. You’re as responsible as they are. You don’t get to walk away from that.”

“Then kill me.”

Looking at the emptiness in her eyes, hearing the flatness in her words, it was as if a part of her wanted me to do exactly that. “What happened to you, Deb?”

“Keep your damn pity to yourself.” She snorted and turned away. “You won’t hurt me. Because you’re still playing their game, by their rules.”

I turned away. “Lena, could you keep an eye on her while I check the rest of the house?”

“Knock yourself out,” Deb muttered.

The panel at the back of the closet was about three feet high. I shoved aside old dresses and shirts, switched on my reading lamp, and crept into the attic.

Two seconds later, I launched myself out again. I tripped over my heels, and my lamp went skittering across the room. I scooted past Deb, rolling and slapping at my jacket. Two wasps flew up and away, while a third stung my wrist.

Deb leaned down to pluck that one away. “Be careful,” she said as she chewed. “That’s my snack bar you almost fell through.”

“Your snack bar?” The wasps were an inch and a half long. They’d built their nest between the rafters. There had to be twenty square feet of wasp nest in that attic, so thick it was like another layer of insulation. “You could have warned me, you little shit-weasel!”