Ann Major - The Hot Ladies Murder Club

“Paul O’Connor is in the hospital barely able to breathe or think,” Campbell said.

“I’m so sorry he’s ill.”

You don’t give a damn about Paul and you know it.

And yet again, her face paled, and her voice went soft with husky concern that turned Campbell to mush.

Destroy her. Unnerve her.

Campbell fumbled awkwardly with the disclosure sheets of the sales contract. Then he rustled through his list of questions he’d deliberately structured to entrap her.

Somehow he had to get this smooth-talking actress to admit that she’d known all along about the mold and hadn’t disclosed it. Her shaky voice and hands meant she was highly agitated. Maybe if he got her really mad, she’d snap. He was famous for his Perry Mason moments.

“Back to this mold situation at the O’Connors’,” he murmured in a tight, low tone. “It was an old house on the water—”

“There was no mold.” She glanced at her watch and out the window again. “The Tylers were diligent about maintaining their home. They repaired leaks, cleaned air-conditioning ducts. Besides, we had it tested for mold.”

“By an unreliable agent.”

“Just because your man, whom you no doubt paid to lie…three months later—”

Tom wagged a warning finger at his client, but she was too flushed with excitement to heed him.

Campbell almost grinned when she attacked her own attorney.

“Mr. Davis, I thought you were my lawyer.”

Campbell noted that there wasn’t a hint of that lazy drawl now. Just for a second he caught a couple of syllables that sounded crisp and elite…almost foreign. East Coast? No, that cut-glass accent wasn’t American.

“How can you defend this…this pirate?” she was saying.

“Please, Hannah…”

“It’s all right, Davis. I’ve been called worse.” Campbell faked a scowl.

“A pirate…who…who cunningly plasters his handsome, ruthless face on every billboard and phone book cover his money can buy?”

Handsome? Campbell’s perverse mind got stuck on the word.

“He’s a fake, pretending he’s some Robin Hood defending the poor. How can you defend such a rude, crude ambulance chaser?”

Ambulance chaser? The day of any accident, the insurance lawyers are there, lady! But do you criticize them?

“Mr. Campbell has repeatedly called me and threatened—”

“I was merely trying to set up an appointment for this deposition,” Campbell said in the same reasonable, sympathetic tone he used to persuade juries.

“Don’t talk down to me! You have no right to sue me.”

“This is America, Mrs. Smith. Texas, America. The Wild West. Anybody can sue anybody.”

“There was no mold when I sold the O’Connors that house.”

Campbell leaned toward her, automatically straightening his bold tie. “My clients say there was.”

She sank lower in her chair and gasped in a breath.

“Slimy. Greenish.” Campbell warmed to his subject as if she were a juror. “Black. Fungus. Toxic mold. Aspergillus, to be exact. Mr. O’Connor is a very sick man. Take a look at those photographs.”

“I’m sorry if he’s sick, but Mr. O’Connor doesn’t have anything that a green poultice won’t fix,” she said softly.

“That’s an old joke. I won’t sit here while you disparage innocent—” Deliberately Campbell leaned back in his chair.

“Innocent? They’re not innocent! I am! I told you there are such things as evil homeowners who…who…”

“Who what?” Campbell sprang forward again. “Who don’t want to be taken advantage of by Realtors like you?”

She opened her mouth wide and strained to get a breath. “Homeowners, who…who get up on the roofs with hoses and pour gallons of water into cracks between the walls!”

Her words hit him like a swift punch in the gut. To cover his fear that his clients had lied and he was on the wrong side again, he sprang to his feet. “I’m more interested in evil Realtors, Mrs. Smith, who misrepresent properties to make a quick sale.”

She stood up, too. “Don’t accuse me of your dirty games—”

Campbell smiled. “And what kind of dirty games do you play, Mrs. Smith?” His sensual gaze swept her from head to toe.

What the hell did she look like naked?

A hot crimson flush stained her cheeks. With a startled gasp, she sank back down in her chair.

Buying time, he stalked around to his desk and sat down, too.

“I think you’re vile,” she whispered.

“Who, me?” he murmured. “Vile?”

“Tom told me to save these for later,” she rasped. “But I’m too furious.”

She plunged her hand into her shapeless beige purse again and shook out three lipsticks, the gold mirror, wadded bits of paper and a photograph, which she slapped onto his desk.

“You’re not the only one with a camera! That’s your Mr. O’Connor on the roof.”

All Campbell saw were thighs to die for and masses of long golden hair.

“Wow!” he whispered, finally recognizing her. “You look much better naked than I imagined—well, half-naked.”

“Naked?” When she saw the snapshot, her cheeks caught fire. “Give me that!”

“Are you trying to distract me with sex, Mrs. Smith?”

“You low-down—”

Campbell laughed appreciatively. When she tried to snatch the picture back, he held it away from her.

The subjects in the photograph were a gorgeous blonde in a thong bikini and a blond little girl in a pink playsuit. The kid was about four. But the woman—

Wow. Bombshell. Wet dream.

Incredible breasts bulged out of slippery red material, and yes, she most definitely had thighs to die for. Mother and child were patting turrets of a sand-castle. There was a big house on a tall cliff in the background. The woman was staring at the little girl with a look of utter adoration.

He looked up at Mrs. Smith and grinned like a cat that had just munched a turtledove and found the repast delicious.

Well, now I can guess what you look like naked.

“I like you better blond.…And the less you wear, the better you look!”

With a wild guttural cry of sheer rage, she lunged for the picture.

“Wrong picture,” she said icily, when he released it.

Thrusting it back in her purse, she came up with two dog-eared photographs and slapped them onto his desk. “There!”

“I like the shot of you in a bikini better.”

“Concentrate. See that hose? Mr. O’Connor doesn’t look sick to me. I have a video of him, too, and I’m sending them to my insurance company. He deliberately created that mold to get an insurance settlement to pay for his remodeling. You’re not going to destroy my good name.”

Campbell went cold. Somehow he forced a warm smile, his best lawyer smile. “Pictures like this won’t make any difference.”

“If they don’t, it’s because the entire legal system…is bought off by corrupt, rich lawyers like you. Since I’ve been in Texas…”

“Since you’ve been in Texas?” he repeated. He stood up, and she struggled for her next breath. “Where were you before Texas? Why did you dye your hair…?”

She went absolutely still.

He stared at her hard and then let it drop. “You’re taking this lawsuit way too personally,” he murmured.

“Oh, I am, am I? Well, for your information, being sued for more money than I’ll ever make if I live to be a hundred feels personal!” She walked back to her chair and sat back down and turned to Tom. “Oh, what’s the use of even trying to talk to someone as low as he is? I can’t take any more of his questions or accusations. Not today.”

“Low…” How in the hell could her ridiculous insult hurt? Or was it that she’d turned to Tom, when he wanted all of her attention?