Duplicity Dogged the Dachshund by Blaize Clement

Author:Blaize Clement [Clement, Blaize]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9780312340926
Publisher: Minotaur Books
Published: 2007-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

15

I hustled upstairs to shower and smooth my aching self with a sweet coconut scrub that left me smelling faintly of piña colada. When I patted dry, I was tender with my purple rib cage and pelvis bones. Since I was going for sexy, I did a little creative work with makeup to disguise the bruise on my cheek. To cover my scraped knees, I put on a long white knit skirt slit nearly up to my crotch in the back. Then I pawed around in the stacks of knit tops on my closet shelves and found a hip-hugging black halter with a low V neckline. I put on strappy sandals with tall heels, screwed my hair on the top of my head with some errant strands falling down as if by chance, and stuck my .38 in a slim black straw purse.

Before I went out the French doors, I fished my client codebook and key ring out of my backpack. I put the code-book in my purse and stowed the key ring in the floor safe in the corner of my closet. Ordinarily, I feel they’re safe in my apartment when I’m gone, but that night I didn’t feel like anything was safe in my apartment, including me.

Paco was waiting for me downstairs on the wooden deck, and we both made exaggerated sounds of appreciation at each other’s knockout beauty. Except I wasn’t exaggerating. When Paco’s in full prowl, he’s like a healthy young panther, sleek and gorgeous. His shiny black hair was rumpled just enough to look suggestive but not messy, and he wore black slacks made of some mystery fabric that fell without clinging to his legs but molded to one of the best butts in the universe. His shirt was clingy black silk that hugged his broad shoulders and slim torso like hot resin oozing from a cedar plank. I had no doubt that he wore an ankle holster under his black slacks, and possibly some other hidden weapons in his armpit or waistband.

I said, “Aren’t you working tonight?”

“Nope, called in sick. Let’s roll.”

The best sushi in Sarasota is at the Pacific Rim on Hillview. As we followed the young sari-clad hostess to a spot in the center of the room, female jaws fell open all over the room at the sight of Paco, and some women at the sushi counter nearly toppled off their stools. Jealous eyes sent me viperous looks that hoped I’d eat bad blowfish and die. If they had known that Paco’s heart beat fast only for my brother, their ovaries would have lain down and wept.

A waiter skimmed over the floor with twin baskets of cold damp towels and cups of tea. We wiped our hands on the towels and told the waiter we didn’t need to see a menu, we knew what we wanted: Thai beer, sashimi, the chef’s selection of sushi, spiced noodles, and cucumber salads.

When the beers came, Paco held his glass up in a toast. “To the woman who stood down a monster truck and won.

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