Lose. Campbell had felt the blood rising in his face. Hell, at least Africa hadnt reminded him about the death threats all the partners had been receiving ever since Campbell had lost the case. Hell, the incompetent quack had won. What was he so mad about? Crockers wife, Kay, maybe? Shed made a play for Campbell, a helluva play.
Today a letter from some crackpot, who said he was praying for Campbell, had arrived. The letter was in the same loopy handwriting as the death threats. Strangely, somehow it was even scarier. Mrs. Crocker had called three times this week, too.
But it was the woman across from Campbell who had him rigid with tension. He had to beat heror else.
Her face was damnably familiar. Her husky voice was so exquisite and raw, it tugged at Campbell on some deep, man-woman level.
He hated her for her easy power over him even as his cold lawyers mind told him she was a fake. This was a staged performance. There was definitely something too deliberate and practiced about her lazy, luscious drawl.
To buy time he played with his shirt cuff. Hed asked dozens of questions and had gotten nowhere. She was a liar, and if it was the last thing he did, he would expose her.
II swear I knew nothing, absolutely nothing about mo-o-old in the OConnors house, she repeated for the tenth time.
I think the lady doth protest too much.
When he shot her his most engaging smile and leaned toward her as if the deposition were over, she jumped. Her lovely, long fingers and unpolished nails twisted in her lap so violently, she almost dropped the damning photographs hed jammed into her hands a few seconds earlier.
II swearno mold, she pleaded.
Then why wont you look me in the eye?
Toxic mo-o-old, Campbell drawled, pleased his o lasted even longer than hers. His mocking gaze drilled her.
She shook her dark head like a true innocent and began flipping through the photographs hed made of the black muck growing inside the walls of the OConnors mansion.
There has to be a mistake, she whispered.
No, you little liar. No mistake.
Campbells long, lean form remained sprawled negligently behind his sleek ebony desk. His beige silk suit was expensive. So was his vivid yellow tie.
Hannah Smith, her knees together beneath her full white skirt, sat on the edge of the black leather chair opposite him. Flanking her was the attorney from her insurance company, a mediocre, colorless little stick of a man. Hunkered low in his chair in an ill-fitting undertakers suit wearing smudged, gold-rimmed glasses Tom Davis looked about as dangerous as a terrified rabbit.
No mistake, Campbell said. The OConnors had to abandon their home. Itll cost more to remediate it than they paid for it, which was a substantial sum
More than a millBut its not my fault! she protested. I was only the Realtor. I thought smart lawyers like you only sued rich people.
Didnt she get it? The deep pocket here was her insurance company. Not her. So, why was she working herself into a sweat?
Mold was not in your clients disclosure statement, he said.
There was no mold! Her voice shaking, she began a boring repeat of her defense.
Maybe you didnt realize mold is a very serious issue on the Texas Gulf.
Because lawyers like you have made it into a billion-dollar industry?
Im supposed to be asking the questions. And you are liable
She opened her pretty mouth and gulped for a breath.
Hannah Smith was lying. And she wasnt all that damn good at it, either.
And yet he liked her.
This was bad.
Joe Campbell, or rather just plain Campbell, as he was known to most people, at least to those with whom he was on speaking terms, and there were fewer and fewer of those in this town since his line of work tended to alienate a lot of people, had been a trial lawyer too long not to be able to smell a liar a mile away.
Hed been screwed, glued and tattooed by the best liars in the universehis ex-wife and his former best friend and boss had taken him to the cleaners.
Here we go again. The pretty little con artist across from him smelled warm and sweet. And thanks to his air-conditioning register that wafted her light fragrance Campbells way, he was too aware of that fact.
Chanel. He frowned, shifting his long legs under his desk as another unwelcome buzz of man-woman excitement rushed through him. By now he should have boxed her in. She was scared and pretty, and he should have had her on the run. And yetshe had him oddly off balance.
Her nervous fingers shuffled and reshuffled the photographs of the OConnors estate. He caught glimpses of the abandoned pool, the empty hot tub, and the red brick path that wound through the strawlike remnants of formerly showy flower beds. Her slim, graceful hands trembled so badly when she came to his damning shots of the mold, she nearly dropped the whole bunch.
Think how those images will affect a sympathetic jury, Mrs. Smith.
Thats not a question, her lawyer said. You dont have to answer.
Deliberately, she licked her lips with her pink tongue. Im sorry Mr. OConnors sick, but
Hell. She sounded sorry. A jury would believe her, too. He almost believed her. When she began talking faster and faster, swallowing, and glancing everywhere but at him, Campbell found himself studying her wide, wet lips with obsessive interest.
Sexy voice, intoxicating scentand that delectable mouthEverything about her seemed soft and vulnerable and likable. She was too damned likable. Not like him.
Suddenly Campbell wanted her to shut up and just look at him, and that scared the hell out of him. His big house was lonely and empty, his footsteps echoed when he finally made it home and climbed the stairs to his bedroom alone every night.
Was anything about her for real? Was she sucking him inas Carol had?
Mrs. Smith was damned attractive, too damned attractive, despite that shapeless white sack that concealed her figure, despite thick, inky bangs and huge dark glasses that masked her face. Her legs were long and shapely, her ankles slimeven though those low-heeled, stained canvas shoes did nothing for her calves.
Yes, she was pretty despite the fact that shed gone to a lot of trouble not to be. Why had she done that? Most women liked to add pretty to their arsenal of weapons when they went up against him or a jury. For an instant, he remembered Mrs. Crockers slit skirts and shapely legs. Shed been built like a gymnast.
Call me Kay, shed said the day Campbell had lost. Better, call meanytime.
Hed been angry because hed lost. I dont mess around with married women.
So, my husbands wrong about you, shed purred. You do have a principle or two. I like that.
No principle. I just dont want to get shot by a jealous husband.
My husbands a good shot, too. Hes a hunter.
This lawsuit wasnt personal, you know.
So, why are you so sore you lost?
Im sore about a lot of things.
So am I. Her eyes had sparked.
Forget Kay. Concentrate on Mrs. Smith. Campbell ran a tanned hand through his jet-black hair and yawned, pretending he was bored by what Mrs. Smith was saying. Bored by her. If only he was, maybe he could concentrate on the OConnors case and finish her off.
She was tall. From the moment shed glided into his office, hed been riveted by her exquisite lightness of being. Something sweet and vulnerable screamed look at me, love me, please. Her every gestureher quick, nervous smiles at Tomhell, even the frightened glances he got both charmed and maddened him.
A jury would be equally charmed.
Then there was the way she couldnt seem to catch her breath when he got too close. She was playing the role of damsel in distress with a vengeance that should have infuriated him. And yetHer fear felt so real and palpable, he wanted to protect her.
Damn it, he had to get her. Africa had made it clear, his ass was on the line.
If her accent was fake, hed bet a years salary her black hair came out of a bottle. The harsh color was wrong for her fair complexion, the style too severe for her narrow face. He kept eyeing the thick, glossy mass, longing to undo the cheap plastic clip.
Hell, what were those white bits of dust that clung to her bangs? What had she been doing before shed dashed late to his office.
If the OConnors are so concerned, why arent they here today? she finished in that velvet undertone that undid him.
They hired me to represent them. His voice cut like ice.
You mean to do their dirty work? she finished, glancing out his windows like a trapped animal.
Damn it, Campbell felt sorry for her. Then Tom put a cautionary hand over hers, and Campbell felt a wild, really scary emotion.
Whats all that stuff in your hair? Campbell growled, wanting to rip Toms hand away.
Oh! Her eyes flew self-consciously to his. She gulped in another big breath, and he felt like the air between them sizzled.
This was bad.
She stirred her fingers through the mess of her purse and finally plucked out an elegant, gold-framed mirror. When she saw herself she wrinkled her nose. Quickly, she yanked at the hideous clip and shook out her long, thick hair.
When lots of little white bits showered onto his gray carpet, she smiled, revealing deep dimples, and he felt that damn buzz again. Despite a bad haircut, she was way sexier with her hair down. She studied herself in her mirror and wrinkled her nose again.
Campbell squirmed in his leather chair. He didnt need this.
Bits of Sheetrock, she explained airily. Lifting her triangular chin, she shot him a pious look. I was inspecting one of the waterfront properties I represent. For mold, Mr. Campbell.
Just call me Campbell.
There was a suspicious stain on the ceiling.I wanted to be sure.
She and Tom exchanged self-righteous glances.
My expert didnt find any, she said.
Touche, Campbell thought grimly, even as some part of him cheered for her.
Again, her hands fluttered prettily as she reclipped her hair. She didnt wear a wedding ring. For no reason at all he longed to remove those huge glasses that hid her eyes.
Were they dazzling blue or soft velvet brown? Or fiery black? He wanted to sweep her hair back, get a good look at her. Maybe then hed remember where the hell hed seen her.
Damn it. He grabbed one of the mold photographs from his own duplicate pile and forced himself to focus on his clients and their toxic-mold problem.
Paul OConnor is in the hospital barely able to breathe or think, Campbell said.
Im so sorry hes ill.
You dont give a damn about Paul and you know it.
And yet again, her face paled, and her voice went soft with husky concern that turned Campbell to mush.
Destroy her. Unnerve her.
Campbell fumbled awkwardly with the disclosure sheets of the sales contract. Then he rustled through his list of questions hed deliberately structured to entrap her.
Somehow he had to get this smooth-talking actress to admit that shed known all along about the mold and hadnt disclosed it. Her shaky voice and hands meant she was highly agitated. Maybe if he got her really mad, shed snap. He was famous for his Perry Mason moments.
Back to this mold situation at the OConnors, he murmured in a tight, low tone. It was an old house on the water
There was no mold. She glanced at her watch and out the window again. The Tylers were diligent about maintaining their home. They repaired leaks, cleaned air-conditioning ducts. Besides, we had it tested for mold.
By an unreliable agent.
Just because your man, whom you no doubt paid to liethree months later
Tom wagged a warning finger at his client, but she was too flushed with excitement to heed him.
Campbell almost grinned when she attacked her own attorney.
Mr. Davis, I thought you were my lawyer.
Campbell noted that there wasnt a hint of that lazy drawl now. Just for a second he caught a couple of syllables that sounded crisp and elitealmost foreign. East Coast? No, that cut-glass accent wasnt American.
How can you defend thisthis pirate? she was saying.
Please, Hannah
Its all right, Davis. Ive been called worse. Campbell faked a scowl.
A piratewhowho cunningly plasters his handsome, ruthless face on every billboard and phone book cover his money can buy?
Handsome? Campbells perverse mind got stuck on the word.
Hes a fake, pretending hes some Robin Hood defending the poor. How can you defend such a rude, crude ambulance chaser?
Ambulance chaser? The day of any accident, the insurance lawyers are there, lady! But do you criticize them?
Mr. Campbell has repeatedly called me and threatened
I was merely trying to set up an appointment for this deposition, Campbell said in the same reasonable, sympathetic tone he used to persuade juries.
Dont talk down to me! You have no right to sue me.
This is America, Mrs. Smith. Texas, America. The Wild West. Anybody can sue anybody.
There was no mold when I sold the OConnors that house.
Campbell leaned toward her, automatically straightening his bold tie. My clients say there was.
She sank lower in her chair and gasped in a breath.
Slimy. Greenish. Campbell warmed to his subject as if she were a juror. Black. Fungus. Toxic mold. Aspergillus, to be exact. Mr. OConnor is a very sick man. Take a look at those photographs.
Im sorry if hes sick, but Mr. OConnor doesnt have anything that a green poultice wont fix, she said softly.
Thats an old joke. I wont sit here while you disparage innocent Deliberately Campbell leaned back in his chair.
Innocent? Theyre not innocent! I am! I told you there are such things as evil homeowners whowho
Who what? Campbell sprang forward again. Who dont want to be taken advantage of by Realtors like you?
She opened her mouth wide and strained to get a breath. Homeowners, whowho get up on the roofs with hoses and pour gallons of water into cracks between the walls!
Her words hit him like a swift punch in the gut. To cover his fear that his clients had lied and he was on the wrong side again, he sprang to his feet. Im more interested in evil Realtors, Mrs. Smith, who misrepresent properties to make a quick sale.
She stood up, too. Dont accuse me of your dirty games
Campbell smiled. And what kind of dirty games do you play, Mrs. Smith? His sensual gaze swept her from head to toe.