Ann Major - The Hot Ladies Murder Club

Frantic, she beat on the door and screamed Campbell’s name.

To her surprise, the door was suddenly thrust open by a powerful arm. When a tall, dark man flung himself into the dark garage like a warrior on the rampage, she fell back, gasping.

Gold cuff links flashed when he held his hand up as a shield against the glare from the slanting sun behind her. His tie was lurid yellow. Coal-black eyes regarded her with intense hostility as he held a raised golf club.

“Campbell?”

He nodded, lowering the golf club. “Who’d you expect? You were yelling my name at the top of your lungs. You in trouble?” He was panting as if he’d run the whole way from his offices just to save her.

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.”