The Hot Ladies Murder Club

She tried to deny that she’d called for him, but her throat was dry, and her lips seemed completely paralyzed.

He looked exhausted. No! He couldn’t have found the deposition as draining as she. And he hadn’t run all the way to save anybody. Least of all—her. Joe Campbell was the devil. Nobody could have eyes so deadly and cold and not at least be a red-horned disciple. And yet, somehow he seemed human. The terrible truth was she’d never been so glad to see anybody in her whole life.

“You? You again?” he muttered, recognizing her in the gloom. “I thought you’d left.”

When she just stared at him, he crossed his arms. “What’s wrong? Did you forget something? Don’t just stand there staring at me like I’m the devil incarnate.”

She couldn’t seem to stop looking at him, and suddenly she felt slightly ashamed she’d compared him to the devil. Yes, his hair was midnight black. It was so long it brushed his crisp, white collar and curled against his ears. But he had a cowlick that made her want to run her fingers through his hair and smooth it. And he was handsome. More importantly, he’d come when she called.

“I have a flat. I don’t know how to change—”

“A flat? Hell! Why didn’t you say so, woman? That’s nothing to get so upset about and scream like somebody’s murdering you. Why don’t you call a car service or something instead of yelling my name to kingdom come?”

It galled her to think he was probably never scared of anything, that he got to do all the scaring. And yet she was glad he was here. Fiercely glad.

“So, who’s upset?” she said. “I’m fine.”

“You look scared, a lot more scared than you did in my office.” He voice matched his eyes and was almost human. “What are you so frightened of? Tell me—damn it.”

“Nothing.” But she swallowed.

“You’re not a very good liar.”

“Maybe I need lessons from you.”

“Anytime,” he whispered in a silky voice. “Did you know that the fact that you’re a lousy liar was the first thing I figured out about you?”

“W-we were talking about my flat.”

“Right. So, do you have a towing service?”

“Yes, but I—I don’t want to wait in the garage…all alone.”

“See, you are scared.”

She bit her lip.

“I…I could stay and wait with you.” He stared at her, or rather through her, and made her heart skitter. “Would that help?” he asked.

She shouldn’t spend an extra second with him. “Y-yes.”

“So, where’s your car?”

Reluctantly, she led the way. Which was a mistake—she was parked in his spot. Worse, he stayed behind her and watched the way her hips moved when she walked.

When he laughed, she whirled on him. “Do you have to drill holes through me?”

His gaze shot sparks. “Do you have to walk like that?”

“Like what?”

“You know.”

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I don’t have the energy or time for this. I’m exhausted, okay?”

He drew a long breath and nodded.

They walked the rest of the way to her Mercedes in silence.

When they reached the front of her car, she pushed her hands in her pockets. “I’m late to pick up my little girl.”

“Georgia?”

“How did—”

“Old car,” he said.

“New tires,” she countered. “I maintain it.”

“My parking spot.”

“Sorry. Look, I’m in a hurry.”

“If you don’t want to wait for a wrecker, I have a can of something that blows air and a sealant into a tire. It’s only a temporary fix, but it should get you where you’re going.”

“I’ll pay you for the can.”

She pressed her lips together and stared into the corners of the shadowy garage.

“Follow me,” he murmured, watching her too intently. “The can is in my car.”

His brand-new, gleaming black Porsche was parked on an upper floor. Quickly, he opened the trunk and pulled out a spray can. They walked back down the stairs to her car together. Then he knelt beside her front tire and began twisting something before he attached the can to her tire.

“Muriel should have told you not to park so near the ramp and definitely not in my spot when she was giving you instructions how to get here,” he muttered as he punched the nozzle that sprayed air and goo into her tire.

“She did. I—I think.”

And she’d told Muriel she probably wouldn’t park in the garage, anyway.

“Every summer, the street kids like to skateboard in the garage,” he said. “They flatten the tires of any car that parks near the ramp where they make their turns.”

He was frowning, and she had the distinct impression that he was leaving some vital piece of information out.

“Why don’t you stop them?”

“We’ve tried everything. But what we eventually learned is that if we don’t want to come out to a flat tire, we don’t park near the ramps.”

“I’d think a building full of lawyers could best a bunch of kids.”

“Street kids are a dangerous breed.” He spoke with the authority of one who knew.

“Were you a street kid?”

He didn’t answer.

It should have been difficult to imagine him as a little boy, but the image of a tough little guy in a tougher neighborhood sprang full-blown in her mind. She saw a red sky and an industrial neighborhood peopled with young thugs that beat him on a regular basis.

The kid in her vision was brown and dirty and had a permanent scowl. The other kids his age refused to play ball with him. Bullies chased him.

“Kids used to beat you up when you walked home from school, didn’t they?” she said.

A muscle flexed in his jaw, and he nodded. “But not every day. Back then I could run like a greased jackrabbit. I had this fat friend—the Charger. He wasn’t as fast as me, so they usually caught him and beat him up. He was big, so it took about five of them.”

“And you just ran off and left him?”

His mouth quirked.

“So, where’s the Charger now?”

“Around.” The skin above his white collar flushed and he focused on filling her tire. When her tire was full of air, he stood up.

Nervously she backed away from him but not without glancing around the garage. “I—I guess I’d better go—”

“Just say thank you. Thank you for fixing my flat, Campbell. That will suffice.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, “for fixing my flat.”

“I could follow you,” he offered, catching her frightened glance when she turned back to him.

“Oh…No…I’d rather you didn’t,” she said, plunging her hands into the pockets of her jumper so he wouldn’t know how violently they were shaking.

“Just to make sure your tire doesn’t go flat before you reach your destination,” he offered.

“As I said…” She paused and made her eyes and voice firmer. “I’d rather you…didn’t.”

He flushed and set his jaw. “Right.” He drew in a deep breath. “I could give you another can.”

“That’s not really necessary.”

“Hopefully not.” His tone was clipped now. “But just in case, I don’t want you stranded somewhere.”

As though you care.

As they walked upstairs to his car again, their footsteps echoed in the concrete stairwell. She glanced around nervously, keeping close to Campbell. When they reached his car, he opened his trunk again and pulled out another can.

“At least let me follow you out of the garage.”

“No. You have to know you’re the last person I would have asked for help if…”

“If there had been anybody else with a golf club handy.”

“Just so we understand each other.”

Again he flushed, his dark eyes so haunted, he almost looked human.

As if he were a gentleman, he followed her down the stairs. Anxious to pick up Georgia, she ran down them as rapidly as possible.

When they reached her car, he opened her door.

“Who the hell are you really?” he muttered as she got in. “What the hell are you so afraid of?”

She looked up. “I’m sorry I kept you. Thank you.”

In a panic to get to Georgia’s school, she rolled her windows up and started her car before the glow plugs had a chance to warm up. When he shouted at her to wait, she raced quickly away.

Every mile she put between herself and the parking garage calmed her until she got to Georgia’s school and saw his gleaming black Porsche parked in front of the school. She gasped when she recognized Joe Campbell, of all people, sitting under the wide ash trees right beside her own darling, innocent, unsuspecting, little Georgia and the elementary school principal. The two men were chatting as if they were old friends.

Coincidence? She didn’t think so.

Georgia was reading out of a storybook. Her golden hair shone. Her pose was unusually still. The book had to be wonderful. Usually Georgia was such a live wire, her teachers complained.

When Campbell glanced down at the little girl, he looked sweet and fatherly. Hannah’s throat tightened. He wasn’t a nice man. She had to remember that. He had no business here. Still, for nine years, she had dreamed of Georgia having a father to dote on her. She’d kept hoping that Dom…The thought of Dom terrified her.

Shoving her car door open, Hannah got out of her Mercedes. Georgia didn’t look up until Hannah called her. Then her rambunctious, little darling jumped up and skipped down the sidewalk toward her, avoiding every crack.

“Mommy, what took you so long?” Georgia’s smile was so trusting, Hannah forgot Campbell and smiled, too.

When Georgia hugged her, Campbell shook hands with the principal and started toward them as if he’d been waiting for her the whole time.

Georgia turned her head and beamed at him shyly.

“Sweetheart, get in the car,” Hannah said before turning to face Campbell.

Three

The sun was streaming through the trees, making shadows dance across his target’s dark, carved face as teachers streamed out of the building on all sides of him and the little girl.

Mothers were double-parked in their cars, and the air reeked with exhaust fumes.

Damn.

One minute he had him in the scope and the next he was blinking at a bright disk of white glare.

Campbell’s Porsche was parked directly in front of the school. A few students loitered, teasing one another, laughing, talking and shoving one another. The watcher smiled grimly as the barrel of his rifle roamed from the chain-link fence surrounding the schoolyard, from the crossing guards, the teachers, to the kids carrying armloads of books.

Bang. Bang.

The watcher itched to blow them all away.

You’re not here to play games.

It took a second or two to pick Campbell out of the crowd and sight him in with the scope again. One glance at that arrogant face in his crosshairs, and the shooter’s finger twitched. Sweat beaded his brow. It was so damn hot one wondered why the dry brown grasses on the playground didn’t burst into flame.

His gut twisted as he zeroed in on his target, dead center. His eyes blurred. His temple throbbed. Soon the pain in his head was intense, electric, explosive. He had his target; he had the right weapon, a Sako .270 mounted with a Nikon scope.

He was thinking how easy it would be to take Mr. J. Campbell out. So, easy. Then a woman with black hair, fine-boned features and pale, creamy skin got in his way.

Move your cute ass, bitch.

He shifted the gun to the unsmiling woman. She seemed to be scolding a blond little girl.

The woman moved toward Campbell. She was angry. All of a sudden the watcher felt a nagging sense of familiarity.

His trigger finger shook again. No way to miss. Not at this range; not with a gun like this. With difficulty he set the gun down and wiped his sweaty cheek on his shoulder.

To do this right, he had to eliminate his emotions. With difficulty he suppressed his hatred and distrust for the legal system and for his intended victim and watched him through his scope.

Lowering the gun, the watcher stared at Campbell and the woman. They seemed like players on a stage as they stood perfectly still, their gazes fixed on each other.

Shoot him. Blow him away. What have you got to lose?

“Yes, why did it take you so long to get here?” Campbell demanded, his eyes hard and intent on Hannah’s face.

Frowning at him, Hannah turned to Georgia. “Darling, I said get in the car.”

“But…but this nice man, Mr. Campbell, is a friend of Mr. Brayfield’s.”

“I thought I told you never to talk to strangers.”

“Besides, Mummy…er…Mommy, you were late. And he isn’t a stranger. He gave a speech to our school. He’s a friend of the principal.”

Campbell smiled at her. Hannah’s stomach writhed.

“I have something to say to our friend, then,” Hannah muttered through her teeth.

“Mummy—”

“Georgia!”

Now, for the first time, Hannah wished Georgia was an easy child.

“Please, Georgia…”

Georgia recognized that low tone in her mother’s voice that meant business and hastily hopped into the Mercedes.

Hannah strode up to him and put both hands squarely on her hips. “I asked you not to follow me.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t. I took a shortcut.”

“Stay away from my little girl. Stay away from me.”

“You were scared in the parking lot…hysterical.”

As though you care!

“I was not!” Her voice was so shrill two young teachers turned to stare. Campbell’s sable hair glinted in the sunlight as he smiled at them. Annoyed even more, Hannah flushed when the women smiled back.

“Keep your voice down,” he advised. “And for the record, I was worried about you.”

“Why don’t I believe you.”

He forced another of those broad white smiles, which he no doubt knew made him ten times more handsome.

“You won’t tell me who you really are, or what you’re afraid of,” he said in a mild tone. “So, on a hunch, I got here as fast as I could…just in case…you were being followed and your daughter was at risk.”

“You are not, let me repeat, not a Good Samaritan. You keep a string of pneumatic blondes on the—”

His face darkened. “I never heard that word before.”

She paled. “I do not believe you have even one drop of decency in your blood.”

“I think you’re running scared…which makes you vulnerable—”

“What would it take to get you out of my life?” she whispered.

“You could settle with the O’Connors.”

“Never in a million years.”

“You’re going to regret that decision,” he said.

“No, you’re going to regret getting high-handed with me.”

“If you go to trial, there’s a chance some juror might find your face familiar, too. His memory might prove better than mine.” She trembled when he looked directly into her eyes. “Who are you? Why did you dye your hair? Who the hell are you running from?”

She felt faint. His face blurred. She couldn’t endure another moment of this. “Nobody.”

“Mrs. Smith?” He smiled. “Like I said, you’re one lousy liar.” His expression was intense. “You’re from the UK.”

Somehow she found her voice. “What?”

“Your daughter has the accent. You can hide it. She can’t.”

Hannah felt light-headed as he slid a brown hand into his hip pocket and took out his wallet.

Her mother and grandmother were both Americans. So was Georgia’s real father. Hannah was good at accents and was careful about vocabulary. How difficult was it to change lift to elevator or bonnet to hood or loo to rest room?

Quickly, he handed her his card. “Call me if you change your mind about settling.”

Mute with too many out-of-control emotions, all she could do was glare at him.

“And something else you might want to consider—if you settle, I’ll make sure nothing about the case makes the papers.” His uncanny black gaze focused on her lips.

“The papers?”

“You must be new here. Big settlements are news. And if this case makes the papers here, the news just might reach London.”

She winced, remembering too well what it was like to live in the blinding glare of paparazzi.

“Mommy!” Georgia began honking the horn.

“Who the hell are you running from?” he repeated softly.

“At the moment—you.”

“I’ve seen your face somewhere. I’ve got a detective doing research.…”

“You what…”

“You heard me. It’s in your best interest to settle—fast.”

She blanched. “Stay away from me and my little girl or you’ll be sorry.”

“Is that a threat, Mrs. Smith?”

“Absolutely.”

He laughed. She threw herself inside her car, slammed the door, jammed her fists down onto the door locks.

He leaned down. Because she was curious, she lowered her window.

“I’d like to follow you home. That tire might—”

“Not your problem.”

“I could be held liable since I fixed—”

“Good—then I’ll get to sue you!”

“I’d settle in a heartbeat.” The bright afternoon sun slanted into the garage and made a golden aura around his black head and broad shoulders. He was handsome, but he’d made her so angry she was shaking.

“Move, before I back over your toes.”

She turned around to make sure Georgia had her seat belt on. Then crossing herself, she stomped on her accelerator so hard, thick black fumes plumed out of her tailpipe, as she sped away.

Georgia and she drove in silence for a while.

Settle? Hannah was so upset, she forgot her fear. I’ll be damned before I make one more bargain with the devil.

Georgia’s clear, piping voice from the back seat suddenly broke into Hannah’s thoughts. “Mummy, me hungwee.”

Georgia had begun reverting to baby talk when they’d moved to Texas.

“Mommy, remember? And no baby talk, darling.”

The Big Burger sign winked invitingly from the next corner.

“I said me hungwee.”

Hannah’s heart softened. Because she felt guilty for having dragged Georgia halfway around the world, she pulled into Big Burger way too often.

With a show of determination she kept driving. “Remember, darling, last night, how we made that vow—no more burgers, that we’d try that new salad bar on the island, the one Taz likes.…” Taz was their next-door neighbor. They were supposed to go to dinner with Taz tonight.

Hannah could see Georgia’s head whip around in the rearview mirror when they passed the Big Burger sign.

“I want a big burger and double fries. But…but after tonight…after tonight…” Her coaxing voice was sly. “Then I’ll promise…to eat with Taz.”

“Darling—Mommy said no.”

It was a word she’d said numerous times that day.

Not wanting to alarm Hannah Smith, the watcher held back, keeping her ancient Mercedes barely in sight until she headed onto the causeway that went out to the offshore island where she lived. Soon lines of orange barrels and flashing lights narrowed the road to two lanes. Traffic soon slowed to a slug’s pace.

Concrete walls hemmed her in. On one side of the roadway lapped the gray waters of the Laguna Madre. The bay was to the left. Extra-tall telephone poles marched beside the causeway toward the intercoastal canal. The tide was so low, clusters of white pelicans walked about in the water wade-fishing. The exposed mudflats and oyster reefs made the air reek with the stench of rotting sea vegetation.

When she crossed the bridge over the intercoastal canal, his bloodshot eyes lifted to his rearview mirror. That same white car that had been behind him since he’d left Campbell’s parking garage was still there.

The big Harley roared onto the causeway. A few miles later, the Mercedes made a quick left onto Mustang Island. So did he. So did the car behind him, even though the light had turned red.

The big Harley spun on its side and made the turn, too.

What the hell is this—a lousy parade?

He followed her ten miles through a moonscape of white dunes to Port Aransas, where she made a right turn on one of the roads that led to the beach.

He glanced into his rearview mirror. The white car was still behind him.

And so was the Harley.

What the hell was going on?

Four

The first thing Hannah had done when she got home was to race to her bedroom, rip off her ugly jumper and toss it onto her bedroom floor on top of everything else she’d worn that week. Okay, so she was a lousy housekeeper—

Stripping off her panty hose, she pulled on a worn pair of hip-hugger, button-fly jeans and a T-shirt that didn’t reach her navel.

When Georgia ran into her bedroom with her nail polish and begged her to paint their toenails orange, Hannah was in no mood for company. She wanted to tell Georgia she was too young for orange nail polish. But since Georgia had no friends her age here to play with, she smiled and gently said, “Sure, darling, let’s go for it.”

Georgia squealed and squatted on the floor in front of Hannah’s bare feet. “I’ll paint yours first and then you paint mine!”

“Don’t forget to stay inside the lines.”

Georgia laughed and did her best, but her best left a lot to be desired. Soon orange nail polish was on Hannah’s heel and dribbling between her toes onto the oak floor.

“Sorry, Mommy.”

“Oh, well, a little nail polish will wash off.” When Georgia skipped off to her room after she was done, Hannah found a rag to clean the floor and hollered after her, “Put the polish back where it belongs, love.”

Georgia’s door slammed. Without bothering to wait until her orange toenails dried, Hannah slipped into a pair of tall platform sandals and returned to the kitchen to enjoy a glass of wine by herself while Georgia played on her computer.

Big Burger wrappings littered the kitchen counter. Georgia had only had to plead thirty seconds before winning the Big Burger battle hands down. Hannah was too tired tonight to feel too guilty about indulging her.

The phone rang, and she picked it up before she checked the caller ID. If she’d checked, she would have put Katherine Rosner off until she was back in her office. The woman came on a little too strong, which was natural since Katherine’s doctor husband was divorcing her. The woman was feeling desperate at the thought of having to move to a smaller place and go back into nursing. Hannah sympathized, but she was tired tonight.

“It’s me. Do you have a minute?” Katherine’s soft, sexy voice was highly charged.

Tiny redheaded woman. Huge aura. Something about Katherine bothered Hannah. She moved with the grace of a leopard, fast and swift and silent, so you didn’t always know she was coming. Then there she was, her ferocious eyes flashing as she made some demand or launched into a rant about her grievances—the main one being her husband.

Hannah had spent eight hours showing Katherine houses the day before.

“Hi, Katherine, I was wondering what you’d decided.”

“I still can’t make up my mind. The house in Country Club needs too much work. Besides, it’s owned by a lousy personal injury attorney. I’m not going to feed one of those sharks by buying a house from him.”

Translation: the house in Country Club was way more than Katherine could afford without her doctor husband’s salary.

Hannah sighed. “You never mentioned you had it in for attorneys.”

“Just the personal injury guys.”

Hannah thought about Joe Campbell. Katherine did have a point.

“Then we’ll keep looking,” Hannah said.

“You are so sweet.”

“Yesterday was fun.” That wasn’t totally true.

“I was feeling so depressed after you left, so I went out for a drive. I saw a sign on Ocean. Darling house. There was a blue heron on the pier.”

Katherine probably wouldn’t qualify for a loan on a house on Ocean Drive. “Do you really need a pier? I mean do you fish or anything? And a seawall costs a lot to maintain.”

“I grew up in the country. Four brothers. I fish, hunt…So, can we see it together tomorrow? Nine? Your office?”

Hannah jotted down the address and agreed to meet her though she knew it was a waste of time.