Mantrap (The Boston Uncommons Mystery Series) by Arlene Kay Page A

thoughts to watch where I was going. Meeka Kyle was a piece of work—elegant, smart, and rather smug. Her disparaging comments about writers irked me, especially since she’d never had to worry about money in her privileged life. Like most writers, I’d toiled in relative obscurity, cobbling a livelihood together as best I could until very recently. Deming Swann had changed all that. In my heart of hearts, I pegged Meeka as a snob and potential suspect. Perhaps she was Dario’s lover as well as business partner, and they’d had a falling out. She didn’t look like a smoker, but that was misleading. After all, Paloma looked like a hooker and wasn’t. Not anymore.
    Meeka’s description of Dario perplexed me. If it was accurate, a number of people had a solid motive for killing him. His proposal could have spelled ruin for a number of local livelihoods.
    Everything that followed happened in slow motion. I stepped off the curb, brakes squealed, and the front bumper of a silver Range Rover hurled toward me. I didn’t move, couldn’t save my own life. The driver’s frozen face mesmerized me as I registered each detail with startling clarity: her silent scream, bugged eyes, even the cell phone she still clutched to her ear.
    At the last moment, a pair of strong arms pulled me back from perdition. I heard a strained voice, hectoring me for my carelessness. Nothing registered until Deming clasped me to him in a tight hug.
    “What the hell, Eja? Suppose I hadn’t been here?” He spun me around, nuzzling my cheek. “You never learn.”
    My heartbeat slowed as I finally regained my senses. I gulped, trying to keep lunch down and my muscles under control. “I guess I wasn’t thinking. You saved me again just as you always do.”
    Deming has protective urges that just won’t quit. It’s part of his identity. He obsesses about me, his mother, and any other being in his charge, even Cato. Lord only knows how he’ll react when he’s a father. He was trembling, shaking with either rage or fear. I felt his arm vibrate as he tugged me toward the Porsche.
    “Here. Lean against the car and get your sea legs. That must have been some lunch you and Meeka had. I can’t wait to hear all about it. Later.” Deming shook his head. “You need a bodyguard, Ms. Kane. Full time, twenty-four/seven.”
    “Hmm. Interested in the job? Let’s see your credentials.”
    He raised an eyebrow at that one. My fiancé tries valiantly to loosen up, but he’s still a Swann, hidebound by three centuries of propriety, prudishness, and inhibitions.
    “I’ll pass, thank you very much. Don’t want to be a convicted sex-offender. All those nasty lists and police shakedowns. Wouldn’t do much for my legal career either.” Deming dusted off an imaginary speck from the fender. “Mind if I join you at your next stop? Or is your meeting with the sheriff a private matter?”
    This was a new development in Swann-land. He was jealous, a modern Othello pea-green with envy and love struck. I liked it even though I’d pass on sharing Desdemona’s fate. My transition from dull, stolid Eja to sultry temptress was a minor miracle and a fantasy that would fade soon enough. I planned to savor every minute.
    “Police chief, not sheriff,” I said. “Chief Raylan Smith. Anyhow, what about your court date? Didn’t you plan to work some legal magic with Dario’s will?”
    He shrugged and looked down. What a blessing that Deming didn’t gamble! His fortune wouldn’t last a week with such an obvious “tell.” He was hiding something. Something I needed to know.
    He helped me into the passenger’s seat, tucking my skirt in before he closed the door. By the time Deming turned on the engine, adjusted his sunglasses, and patted his mane of hair, I was antsy as hell.
    “What gives?” I asked. “Did you find something interesting? A clue?”
    Deming tickled my chin and smirked. “Surely you’ve heard of attorney-client privilege. I was Dario’s attorney