Читать книгу The Hot Ladies Murder Club - Ann Major, Ann Major - Страница 11

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?

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.”

“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.”

In a panic to get to Georgia’s school, she rolled her windows up and started her car before the glow plugs had a chance to warm up. When he shouted at her to wait, she raced quickly away.

Every mile she put between herself and the parking garage calmed her until she got to Georgia’s school and saw his gleaming black Porsche parked in front of the school. She gasped when she recognized Joe Campbell, of all people, sitting under the wide ash trees right beside her own darling, innocent, unsuspecting, little Georgia and the elementary school principal. The two men were chatting as if they were old friends.

Coincidence? She didn’t think so.

Georgia was reading out of a storybook. Her golden hair shone. Her pose was unusually still. The book had to be wonderful. Usually Georgia was such a live wire, her teachers complained.

When Campbell glanced down at the little girl, he looked sweet and fatherly. Hannah’s throat tightened. He wasn’t a nice man. She had to remember that. He had no business here. Still, for nine years, she had dreamed of Georgia having a father to dote on her. She’d kept hoping that Dom…The thought of Dom terrified her.

Shoving her car door open, Hannah got out of her Mercedes. Georgia didn’t look up until Hannah called her. Then her rambunctious, little darling jumped up and skipped down the sidewalk toward her, avoiding every crack.

“Mommy, what took you so long?” Georgia’s smile was so trusting, Hannah forgot Campbell and smiled, too.

When Georgia hugged her, Campbell shook hands with the principal and started toward them as if he’d been waiting for her the whole time.

Georgia turned her head and beamed at him shyly.

“Sweetheart, get in the car,” Hannah said before turning to face Campbell.