The Hot Ladies Murder Club. Ann Major
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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.”
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