Ann Major - The Hot Ladies Murder Club

“Hannah Smith, huh. Mystery lady? No rough stuff? You got the hots for this mama or something?”

Campbell suppressed a vision of her in the bikini. “Just find out who she is. And don’t let her see you. She’s scared of her own shadow. One whiff of you…and she’d run like a rabbit.”

“You do have the hots.” The Charger laughed.

“Scare the hell out of her if you want to, for all I care!” Campbell slammed the phone down and ordered pizza. He did not give a damn about Mrs. Smith. He didn’t.

Speaking of the hots, Muriel came in and told him Mrs. Crocker had called four more times.

“Call her back. Tell her I’m gone for the day.”

Shuffling through the stacked files on his desk, he saw the name Guy James on one of the labels and remembered he was supposed to make a decision as to whether or not to hire the kid as a law clerk. The kid was taking a year off from law school because his little brother was sick and getting sicker. Guy was raw and young and smart. He’d needed a job so badly he’d really pressed Campbell.

Impressed as Campbell was by the kid, he was in no mood to call him. Later.

Shoving James’s file aside, he eyed the rest of the stacked files and wondered how much he could get done if he worked until midnight. No reason to go home; there was nobody there. He was opening the top folder on his stack when Bob Africa buzzed him.

“I want to know how the deposition went. My office. Ten minutes? Okay?”

Not okay. Campbell hated stacks and wanted to get to work.

“Sure.” Campbell’s low voice was mild, but he spoke through his teeth and slammed the folder shut.

Hell.

When the big metal door clanged shut behind her, Hannah stood in the dark beneath the burned-out light in the shadowy parking garage. For once she didn’t really register she was alone in the kind of place she was terrified of.

No, she was still shaking all over from the intensity of Joe Campbell’s attack, still too upset by the dark fury scrawled on his handsome, piratical face when he’d ripped off her glasses and stared at her with those black, deadly eyes that had stripped her to the bone while he threatened to expose her.

His wife had divorced him. Lucky woman.

Clasping her throat, where a large hand had once pulled red satin ribbons too tight, Hannah shivered, feeling sick to her stomach. Are you somebody else’s woman? Admit it. You’d better admit it because I’ve been watching you. Then the ribbons had squeezed off her breath.

Behind closed doors Mr. Campbell was probably a dangerous, violent and pathetically sick man.

She’d dreamed about this deposition, dreamed about him, had nightmares about him. But he had been worse than her nightmares. Every slick question, every pretty-boy white smile, every sympathetic stare when she’d tried to tell him what had really happened had been meant to trick or entrap her. And the way he’d kept looking at her, and looking through her, had thrown her totally off balance.

Naive fool that she still was, she’d wanted to be honest, but with a predator of his ruthless reputation, she’d known the foolhardiness of that tactic. So—knowing what kind of man he was, suspecting he was even worse in private, she’d deliberately baited him and made him so mad that he really was out to get her now. Why had she done that?

Because his black, deadly eyes had made her feel trapped and scared. She’d felt that if she’d attacked him, maybe he’d let up on her. But, of course his kind never backed off. She should know.

Oh, why hadn’t she just stuck to her plan to be careful and not to say anything that he could use against her?

Now he’d really be gunning for her. He’d called her a fake and threatened to expose her. Her stomach heaved queasily.

Oh, if only she could go somewhere, have a cup of tea or something, get over the awful encounter…maybe catch her breath, even.

She wanted to sit alone in a café where she could calm down and have time to digest what had happened, maybe think of a new game plan to appease him. Maybe she could ask Tom to settle on the mold issue so Joe Campbell wouldn’t threaten her entire life and the safety of her little girl.

She glanced fearfully at her watch. No time for tea. As usual, she was late to pick up her darling Georgia. Late! It was never smart to keep Georgia waiting. No telling what mischief her dynamo might get into.

Hannah heard the rumble of wheels on concrete and the soft purr of a finely tuned engine several floors below. Suddenly, it struck her that she was all alone in a place that terrified her. Why hadn’t she thought to have Tom walk her to her car?

As she moved away from the door to find her Mercedes, the ninth floor of the parking garage seemed to be bathed in an eerie, shadow-filled light. The air felt dank and thick and way too warm. She gasped for breath, for air itself.

Enclosed places. Hot spaces. Not her thing. Especially since she’d been stalked.

She swallowed and inhaled another little breath. Something was wrong—she could feel it. Turning her head, she peered into the darkness, but nobody seemed to be there. And yet, she felt a presence, as if someone was watching her. Naturally, she thought of the man who used to track her every move, the man who’d professed undying love for her.

He isn’t here. He can’t be. Crossing herself, she tilted her chin upward. Then she forced herself to pad silently in the direction of her ancient Mercedes, which she’d parked by the up ramp.

Why hadn’t she just parked on the street? Why?

Because it was important not to give in to every fear or whim, or pretty soon her whole life would be dictated by them.

Because being afraid was no way to live.

Don’t go there, she thought. Don’t think of him.

Lately, she’d been dreaming about him. Instead of reliving the dark, horrible memories of their marriage like she used to, she’d been dreaming he’d found her. That he was here, that he was only waiting, that he was playing one of his cat-and-mouse games again before he pounced on her.

“Did I ever tell you hide-and-seek was my favorite game when I was growing up?” he’d whispered lovingly one night.

Walking faster, she began rummaging in her catch-all of a purse for her car key.

At last she saw her Mercedes. She’d parked it in Joe Campbell’s spot because it had been the only empty space—and to defy him.

Only something was wrong. Her silver-blue sedan looked off balance somehow.

“Oh dear.…” The front right tire was flat. He used to flatten her tires.

From somewhere on the same floor, she heard hushed male laughter and then slow, deliberate steps. Then something moved toward her from the shadows.

A man? Him?

Black wings hurtled out of the ceiling struts straight at her. When a feather brushed her cheek, she screamed.

It was only a bird she’d startled. Not that that knowledge slowed her down any. Without investigating the tire, she skittered back toward the door that led to Joe Campbell’s offices as fast as she could run. Only when she got to the door, it was locked. When she jiggled the metal knob and yanked at it, and the door wouldn’t open from the outside, she beat on it, screaming. There was a keypad by the door, but she was too hysterical to remember the combination Muriel, Mr. Campbell’s beautiful, efficient secretary, had given her.

Her mind darted about wildly. She’d written it down, but it was lost in the scramble of scraps of paper in her purse somewhere. No use to even look for it. Not now.

As she pounded, the heavy footsteps behind her reverberated through the concrete parking garage.

He’d found her. Her dreams had been right once again.

If he killed her this time, what would happen to Georgia? Would he hurt her daughter as he’d threatened? And what about her mother?