Ann Major - The Hot Ladies Murder Club

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?

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.