The Hot Ladies Murder Club

The Charger let a beefy fist fly, and it landed smack, square in the loudmouth’s jaw. As if a bomb had gone off, the bar erupted. Cigarettes were squashed out on the floor. Everybody started shouting and ramming one another with their heads. Tables and chairs crashed to the floor. Beer bottles smashed as they rolled off tables.

“Let’s go!” Hannah screamed, ducking.

“We could do room service in my suite,” Veronica yelled.

“Sounds like a winner,” Taz agreed, keeping low, running after them.

“Why can’t we just go home?” Hannah pleaded.

Not that Taz or anybody else paid the least bit of attention to her.

Six

The wave loomed over Campbell’s bowsprit like a solid brown wall. “Hold tight for a sec, Paul—”

Campbell jammed his cell phone into the pocket of his windbreaker fast. Instead of slamming into the wave, Victory surfed up its side with the gathering speed of a roller-coaster car.

Foam sprayed across the bow. Water frothed the length of the yacht. Charged to the max, Campbell wanted to yell.

With a grim smile, he swiped the burning salt water out of his eyes. Blinking, he studied the roiling swells for a calm patch and then jammed the phone to his ear again.

“Still there, Paul?”

“Settle with that Smith bitch? Whose side are you on?”

Campbell remembered her smile and the way she’d looked at her kid on the beach.

Paul couldn’t stop screaming. “You out of your mind? You saw those mold pictures! You visited me in the hospital—”

When Campbell made no reply, O’Connor burst into a stream of profanity that was so abusive, Campbell stuffed his cell phone back into his pocket.

“Are you there?” The thunder and venom of O’Connor’s voice was mostly smothered now. “What’s all that noise?”

“The wind,” Campbell replied in a mild tone. “It’s pretty raucous out here.”