The Hot Ladies Murder Club

With a wild guttural cry of sheer rage, she lunged for the picture.

“Wrong picture,” she said icily, when he released it.

Thrusting it back in her purse, she came up with two dog-eared photographs and slapped them onto his desk. “There!”

“I like the shot of you in a bikini better.”

“Concentrate. See that hose? Mr. O’Connor doesn’t look sick to me. I have a video of him, too, and I’m sending them to my insurance company. He deliberately created that mold to get an insurance settlement to pay for his remodeling. You’re not going to destroy my good name.”

Campbell went cold. Somehow he forced a warm smile, his best lawyer smile. “Pictures like this won’t make any difference.”

“If they don’t, it’s because the entire legal system…is bought off by corrupt, rich lawyers like you. Since I’ve been in Texas…”

“Since you’ve been in Texas?” he repeated. He stood up, and she struggled for her next breath. “Where were you before Texas? Why did you dye your hair…?”

She went absolutely still.

He stared at her hard and then let it drop. “You’re taking this lawsuit way too personally,” he murmured.

“Oh, I am, am I? Well, for your information, being sued for more money than I’ll ever make if I live to be a hundred feels personal!” She walked back to her chair and sat back down and turned to Tom. “Oh, what’s the use of even trying to talk to someone as low as he is? I can’t take any more of his questions or accusations. Not today.”

“Low…” How in the hell could her ridiculous insult hurt? Or was it that she’d turned to Tom, when he wanted all of her attention?

Low.

“I…I’ve read things about you, Mr. Campbell,” she whispered, rallying.

“Such as, Mrs. Smith?”

“You stole money, ruined your best friend’s company, and your brokenhearted wife divorced you.”

“Ah, my wife…” Icy despair seeped through Campbell. He didn’t give a damn about his wife. Still, he had to clench his hand into a fist to hold on to his control.

“And I don’t blame her one bit.”

“So, you’ve researched me—”

“She got your mansion in River Oaks—”

As if that was what had made him bitter and filled him with hate.…

He remembered the way Carol had curled against his body every night and felt sweet and soft and warm during those first months of marriage.

His black eyes narrowed. He’d believed her when she’d told him she loved him. He’d adored her, worshiped her and believed in her. For the first time in his life, he’d almost felt…human.

“You had to leave Houston because you’re so corrupt people there despise you. Your best friend’s wife killed herself because of—”

Campbell’s face turned to stone. His mouth tasted like ashes. “Is that so? Do go on.”

“You…why, you’re such a terrible father your son won’t have anything to do with you.”

His son. Every nerve in his body buzzed.

“And you’re such a good mother,” he murmured so cuttingly she gulped in a breath.

“The state even tried to disbar you because you are such a bad lawyer. You…you solicited clients improperly after that awful two-plane collision in east Texas where those little children—”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me!” he shouted, banging his fist on his desk. “I’m not on trial. I’m deposing you.”

Davis stared wide-eyed. It was Campbell’s turn to gulp in a savage breath. If it were the last thing he did, Campbell had to get control of this exchange and finish off her and her wimp of an attorney once and for all.

“One corrupt judge tried to have me disbarred. And failed, Mrs. Smith. Just as you will fail, if you fight me with these ridiculous, rigged photographs.” Getting up, he tore her pictures in two.

She stood up, too. She was tall, but he was taller. When she shuddered, he realized his massive size intimidated her. Good. Using his body as a weapon, he moved closer.

“I—I’ve got more,” she whispered, backing away from him.

“So do I,” he thundered.

“And…and they aren’t rigged. I’m not like you. I wouldn’t rig—” She tore his pictures into zillions of pieces and tossed them onto his rug. She was almost to the door. “Goodbye, Mr. Campbell.”

“I’m not finished with you yet. You think I don’t know about you? Well, I do. I’ve done my research, too!”

She paled.

“Everything about you is a damned lie, Mrs. Smith.” He backed her against the door. “Where the hell is Mr. Smith? Or is there a Mr. Smith? What’s your real name, honey?”

“Please…I—I’m sorry.…I shouldn’t have said…any of those horrible personal things. I—I was upset.”

Her apology seemed sincere. She was white and shaking, cowering from him, but he was too furious now to care.

“Too bad you got personal.” His mouth thinned. “I intend to win this, Mrs. Smith.” He had to win this. Africa, the ruthless son of a bitch had said so. “Now I’m more determined than ever to expose you.”

He ripped her sunglasses off.

Her eyes were blue. Huge vivid irises were ringed with inky black lashes. She looked young and vulnerable and very scared—of him.

“Who are you really?” he rasped.

“You’re the last man I’d ever tell,” she whispered.

Spunk. He liked her spunk. And those thighs she had—She’d looked so loving in that picture.

Relationships. He was no damn good at relationships. And even if he was, they were off to a bad start.

With a shaking hand she grabbed her glasses and jammed them clumsily back onto her narrow, white face. “Please…Just let me go.…”

When he grabbed her hand, it was as cold as ice. With his huge body, he drew her toward him and blocked the door.