Booby Trap Read Online Free Page A

settlement.”
    I stepped into his office and carefully put one of the cups of coffee down on his desk in line with his peripheral vision. As soon as he spotted the familiar logo on the paper cup, he stopped typing and gave me his full attention.
    “This must be pretty serious, Grey, for you to come bearing gifts.” He picked up the cup, took off the lid, and took a long, appreciative sniff.
    “A little half and half, no sugar, right?”
    He took a small sip and smiled. “You know me too well.”
    He took a bigger sip. After he swallowed, he turned in his chair and faced me. I set my own coffee down, shut the door, and took a seat across from him.
    “A shut door conference?” Steele narrowed his eyes at me. “You leaving the firm, Grey? Is that what this is all about?”
    I honestly couldn’t tell if his question held a tone of disappointment or of hope.
    “No, I’m not leaving the firm, so you can just keep the cork in the champagne.”
    It was my turn to take a sip of coffee, but for me it was a stall tactic. I wasn’t sure quite how to open the subject of a serial killer.
    Steele leaned back in his chair and swiveled slightly. The chair gave off its familiar squeak. For all his obsession with perfection, Steele seems to love that damn squeak. Everyone has tried to get him to oil it. Tina Swanson, our office manager, even sent an office services person down once with a can of WD-40, but Steele banished him back to the copy room with the threat of termination if he ever touched his chair. Personally, I also like the squeak; it’s like a bell on a cat. When we hear the squeak, we know Steele’s in his office hard at work and not prowling the halls, looking for someone to annoy.
    He took a deep drink of coffee and waited.
    I also took another drink of coffee. “You won’t believe this,”
I began.
    “I believe everything you say, Grey. No one could make up the shit you get into.”
    He laughed. I didn’t.
    When I didn’t respond on cue, he leaned forward and put his coffee firmly down on his desk. He stared at me, eye to eye.
    “Please tell me you haven’t gotten yourself involved with another stiff.”
    “No, at least not technically. I mean, not directly.”
    “Okay, so how indirectly have you gotten yourself involved with yet another corpse?”
    “I’m not involved with any corpse,” I insisted. “I just need some advice. That’s all.”
    “Uh-huh,” he said with a slight snort. “You came into work at seven thirty, armed with my favorite coffee, just for some simple legal advice?”
    “Yes.” I took a big gulp of coffee to avoid his stare.
    “Look me in the eye, Grey, and swear that this simple legal advice has absolutely nothing to do with anyone’s death—past, present, or in the future, in any way, shape, or form.”
    This time, I looked Steele square in the eye. “I can’t do that.”
    He smacked the top of his desk with his left palm. His coffee cup gave a little hop. “I knew it!”
    “It’s not what you think, Steele.”
    “Who is it, Grey? Your manicurist? A second cousin twice removed? Who managed to get themselves killed in your screwy little world this time?”
    “No one, Steele. I just need some advice about my responsibility in a certain situation.”
    “ Your responsibility?” He looked at me, his face serious and full of curiosity. “Did you witness a murder? Plan one? Commit one?”
    “No, no, and no.”
    “An assault?”
    “No, and if you’ll quit playing twenty questions, I’ll tell you.”
    Steele studied me a few seconds, then picked up his coffee, took a big swallow, and leaned back in his chair again. “I’m all ears.”
    I took a deep breath. “Someone told me that they think they know who the Blond Bomber is.”
    Steele catapulted forward in his chair, eyes wide with disbelief, his coffee splashing onto his shirt and desk. If it hadn’t been for his big, black lacquered desk standing between us, he and his coffee would have ended up in my