Hell on Heels

by Carla Cassidy

  “Chantal, we need to talk.”

  She froze and whirled back around to face Luke in horror. “How do you know my real name?” She’d been so careful to make sure nobody here knew her as anything but Carol Worth. How long had he known her real identity? How the devil had he found out?

  He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell the scent of minty soap and his spicy cologne. That’s one thing she’d noticed about him—no matter how disreputable he looked, he always smelled clean and good.

  “Don’t worry, your little secret is safe with me. I’m not worried about where you live or what’s in your bank account. I’m more worried about the fact that according to my sources you now have a price on your head.”

  Dear Reader,

  I confess, I have a passion for high heels, and my heroine in Hell on Heels embodies that passion. Chantal Worthington. I loved her the first time she popped into my head. Young, wealthy, smart and savvy, she’s a girl after my own heart. Best of all, she has a fierce loyalty to her friends and a heart the size of the price of the designer clothes she loves.

  Of course, Chantal needs a strong counterpart—and crazy Luke Coleman is just the ticket. These two characters are such fun! I hope you enjoy reading their story as much as I loved writing it.

  Carla Cassidy

  Carla Cassidy

  Hell on Heels

  Books by Carla Cassidy

  Silhouette Bombshell

  Get Blondie #3

  Deceived #26

  Hell on Heels #82

  Silhouette Shadows

  Swamp Secrets #4

  Heart of the Beast #11

  Silent Screams #25

  Mystery Child #61

  Silhouette Intimate Moments

  One of the Good Guys #531

  Try To Remember #560

  Fugitive Father #604

  Behind Closed Doors #778

  †Reluctant Wife #850

  †Reluctant Dad #856

  *Her Counterfeit Husband #885

  *Code Name: Cowboy #902

  *Rodeo Dad #934

  In a Heartbeat #1005

  *Imminent Danger #1018

  Strangers When We Married #1046

  ‡Man on a Mission #1077

  Born of Passion #1094

  ‡Once Forbidden… #1115

  ‡To Wed and Protect #1126

  ‡Out of Exile #1149

  Secrets of a Pregnant Princess #1166

  **Last Seen… #1233

  **Dead Certain #1250

  **Trace Evidence #1261

  **Manhunt #1294

  ††Protecting the Princess #1345

  ††Defending the Rancher’s Daughter #1376

  The Coltons

  Pregnant in Prosperino

  Lone Star Country Club

  Promised to a Sheik

  Silhouette Books

  Shadows 1993

  “Devil and the Deep Blue Sea”

  CARLA CASSIDY

  isn’t a secret agent or martial arts expert, but she does consider herself a Bombshell kind of woman. She lives a life of love and adventure in the Midwest with her husband, Frank, and has written more than fifty books for Silhouette. Look for Carla’s next Bombshell, Pawn, an Athena Force adventure, in July 2006.

  To my fellow MARA members,

  Thanks for putting up with my craziness and never telling me to go away! I appreciate all of you.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 1

  The fundraiser had been a smashing success. The staff at the exclusive Kansas City Club had worked overtime to ensure that the decor and the service for the two-hundred-dollar-a-plate dinner was impeccable.

  Everyone who was anyone had been there, afraid that if they weren’t then they’d be fodder for gossip during the evening. Of course if there was one thing the wealthy of Kansas City loved to do more than spend money, it was to talk about one another.

  “I could live on this.” Belinda Carlyle scooped up a cracker full of caviar and popped it into her mouth.

  Chantal Worthington wrinkled her nose at her best friend. “Not me, I can’t stand the stuff.”

  The two women stood next to a buffet table. The fancy appetizers had been picked over hours earlier. Chantal would have left long ago but her mother had been in charge. Chantal knew her mother would expect her to stay until the last party gasp.

  “See the waiter over there? The one with the flashing dark eyes and tight pants? I’m thinking of having him on a cracker later this evening.”

  “Honestly, Belinda…” Chantal bit back the lecture that sprang to her lips, knowing from past experience that it wouldn’t do any good.

  Belinda had been on a path of self-destruction for years and Chantal knew there was nothing she could do except be there when her friend fell…which she did often.

  “Your mother looks good. Botox?” Belinda asked as she grabbed another cracker.

  Chantal looked across the room where her mother stood talking with the mayor. At sixty-five years old Katherine Worthington was still a beautiful woman, thanks to a man named Pepe who was paid an inordinately large amount of money to keep her hair the perfect shade of champagne blond and her skin like that on a baby’s butt.

  “If she’s had it, she’ll never admit to it,” Chantal replied dryly. “She’ll simply say her ageless beauty is the result of good genes.”

  “I met a guy in the bar earlier whom I would have liked to talk right out of his jeans.” When Belinda got no rise from Chantal she changed the subject. “How’s the bounty-hunting business?” Belinda shook her head, her highlighted brown curls dancing on her painfully thin shoulders. “I still can’t believe my best friend is a bounty hunter.”

  Chantal grinned. “There are times I can’t believe it myself. Mother insists it’s a form of late rebellion.” Belinda was one of only a few people who knew what Chantal did during her free time.

  Belinda raised a perfectly waxed eyebrow. “Is it?”

  Chantal didn’t answer immediately. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I was bored, looking to challenge myself with something more than shopping and doing lunch.”

  “Seems a little extreme,” Belinda observed.

  “So does taking home waiters you don’t know to have meaningless sex,” Chantal retorted.

  “Darling, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Belinda purred. Then she widened her eyes. “Oops, I forgot, you did try it. What was his name? Larry or Harry?”

  Chantal laughed and nudged her friend with her elbow. “Gary, and that was definitely a wild, crazy rebellion.” Gary Burkett was a poet she’d met at a literacy function.

  He’d been intensely handsome with soulful eyes. They’d spent thirty minutes talking at the bookstore then had left and had spent the next two days in bed.

  Chantal had begun to believe she’d found Mr. Right, then they’d gotten out of bed. What was it about silk sheets that could make a man irresistible but once the sheets were off transformed him into an asshole?

  “I can tell you why you were so bored with your life,” Belinda continued. “You don’t have enough dysfunction. You’re the only person I know who doesn’t have a therapist.”

  “You have two. Me not having one keeps the world in perfect balance.”

  Belinda picked up her purse from a nearby chair. “On that
note, I’m going home. Call me tomorrow?”

  “As always,” Chantal replied.

  Belinda pulled her keys from her purse, then looked at Chantal again, all trace of humor gone from her pretty features. “Did you hear that the case went to the jury late yesterday afternoon?”

  Chantal didn’t have to ask which case Belinda was referring to. The Willowby rape trial had been one of the most highly publicized cases ever tried in the state of Missouri.

  Ten months before, Marcus Willowby, heir to the Willowby Whisky fortune had been arrested on two counts of rape. It was alleged that twenty-eight-year-old Marcus had drugged the victims with GHB, then videotaped himself raping the unconscious young women.

  The crimes were brought to the attention of the police by a young woman and her friend who had spent the night at Willowby’s condo after a night of dancing and partying at a local club.

  According to the young women they had gone to Willowby’s place and had a few drinks and neither of them remembered anything after that. They’d awakened the next morning in Willowby’s spare bedroom, fully clothed on top of the bed. Willowby had been in the kitchen fixing them all breakfast.

  It wasn’t until one of the women went to use the bathroom and discovered her underwear inside out that she became suspicious that something had happened that shouldn’t have. She and her friend had left Willowby’s and gone directly to the nearest police station where rape kits were performed on the two women and traces of semen were found on their underwear and skin.

  An investigation had yielded the videotape of the two women being raped by Willowby while they were unconscious. Although the police suspected there were other victims, no other videotapes had been found and no other women had come forward.

  It was an ugly case, but there had been very little gossip among Chantal’s friends and peers. Willowby was one of their own, but the heinous nature of the crime and the power wielded by Rebecca and Roger Willowby, Marcus’s parents, had kept public gossip at a minimum.

  But Belinda and Chantal had spent a lot of time talking about Willowby. Ten years ago Marcus had raped Belinda.

  “I hope the bastard rots in hell,” Belinda now said, her voice husky with suppressed emotion. “I hope somebody kills him in prison.”

  Chantal placed a hand on her friend’s arm. She knew the devastation that single night had wreaked in Belinda’s life. She knew the emotional scars had been ripped open again when details of Willowby’s arrest had hit the news.

  “Belinda, he’s not going to get away this time,” she said softly. “According to everyone there’s no way the jury can come back with a not guilty verdict.”

  “I know…I just wish…” She shook her head once again. “I’ve got to go home. I’m getting one of my headaches.” She leaned forward and kissed Chantal on the cheek, then turned and headed for the banquet-room exit.

  Chantal watched her friend go, her heart aching. She and Belinda had been best friends since seventh grade when the two of them had attended an exclusive summer camp and discovered they both had a passion for mint chocolate truffles from the Tenth Street Bakery, Vogue magazines and late lunches at the Plaza.

  During those early teenage years, they had shared their despair over the fact that high fashion came to Kansas City six months later than every place else on earth and that the grapefruit diet didn’t really work.

  They’d shared the joy of discovering that Calvin Klein jeans actually made their butts look good and that bitchy Susie Winchester had become a cliché and run off with her family’s gardener.

  Those had been the most carefree years Chantal had enjoyed, even though, looking back, she recognized that she and Belinda had been totally self-absorbed and shallow as only teenagers can be.

  The night of the party at the Willowby mansion had changed everything. They’d been sixteen, and, despite not really hanging out with Marcus and his friends, they hadn’t been able to resist a party at the Willowby home.

  The house had crawled with teenagers. Drugs and liquor had flowed freely and in the space of the thirty minutes that Belinda and Chantal had been separated, Marcus Willowby had nearly destroyed Belinda’s life.

  Chantal had tried to talk Belinda into going to the authorities and reporting the crime, but Belinda had been afraid. She’d been afraid of what Marcus might do, what her parents would think, and the gossip that would surround her if she told.

  While Chantal and Belinda’s friendship had only grown stronger, Belinda had transformed from a happy, carefree teen to a neurotic mess who only occasionally allowed glimpses of the happy girl she had once been.

  “Darling, where are you?”

  Chantal blinked and realized her mother stood before her. She smiled. “I got lost in my thoughts for a moment.” She leaned forward and kissed her mother on the cheek. “The evening was a huge success.”

  Katherine frowned, a dainty wrinkle forming in the center of her forehead. “The salmon was overcooked and the salad wasn’t chilled enough, but the good thing is, according to my best guess, we raised almost twenty thousand dollars for Kansas City Kids.”

  Kansas City Kids was one of Katherine’s pet charities, an organization that provided medical and dental treatment to the underprivileged children in the city.

  “That’s wonderful, but certainly not a surprise. You’re definitely an expert at fundraising.”

  Katherine smiled. “Your father used to say that if necessary I could raise a million for a family of toads.” Her smile grew wistful and Chantal knew she was thinking of Chantal’s father, who had died unexpectedly of a heart attack five years before.

  “He’d be proud of you,” Chantal said softly.

  “Yes, I think he would be,” she agreed. “So, are you heading straight home?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m going to check in with Big Joey and see if anything is happening.”

  The frown that had disappeared from Katherine’s forehead appeared again. “You will be careful?”

  “Heavens, why would I want to do that?” Chantal teased. “You know I will be,” she added and kissed her mother’s cheek once again.

  Minutes later she walked out of the lobby and into the sultry mid-June night and waited for the valet to bring her car around. She was glad the fundraiser was over. This had been her third one in the past two weeks. Friends of the Zoo, People for Pets, Save the Whales…everyone needed money and Chantal was on everyone’s list as a benefactor.

  As she waited for her car she pulled her cell phone from her purse and hit the speed dial for Big Joey’s Bail Bonds.

  Even though it was after eleven, she knew Joey would be in. Joey was almost always in. He slept, ate and drank his bail-bond business, and that business was never closed.

  The phone was answered on the first ring. Monica Hyatt, Big Joey’s assistant, barked a hello. “Monica, it’s Carol. Is the boss in?”

  “Nah, he left about fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Everything all right?” Chantal asked in surprise.

  “Fine, just the slowest Saturday night we’ve seen in years. Every criminal in the city either went to bed early or decided to take the night off.”

  “So, there’s nothing popping?”

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  “Anyone else around?”

  “James and Brian are playing cards and keeping me company, bitching about the slow night.”

  “Thanks, Monica, I’ll check in sometime Monday.” Chantal ended the call as the valet arrived with her car.

  As she drove away from the hotel she contemplated her options. She could go straight home and get out of the sinfully short, clingy, red Valentino dress and the Gucci heels that made her long legs looks sexy but pinched like hell, or she could swing by Ruby’s and see if Wesley Baker was as dumb as his rap sheet implied.

  She decided on the latter. She headed toward the west side of town where Ruby’s was located. As she drove, her thoughts were scattered, shooting first in one direction, then another.

&nbs
p; For the last eight months she’d been living a lifestyle that would please a schizophrenic. Her life as Chantal Worthington revolved around fundraisers and parties, lunch dates and social events.

  When she wasn’t being socialite Chantal, she was working hard at being Carol Worth, bounty hunter. From the moment Big Joey had hired her she decided the smartest thing to do was keep the two lives as separate as possible.

  She was wise enough to understand reverse snobbery, that the men she worked with at Big Joey’s wouldn’t trust her, wouldn’t respect her if they knew where she came from and what her bank account contained. As it was, even after several decent collars she didn’t feel as if she’d gained the respect of her coworkers at Big Joey’s.

  As a bounty hunter she used the name Carol Worth and worked from a post-office box. Only Big Joey knew that in reality she was heir to Worthington Boat Industries and worth a small fortune.

  Ruby’s was a hole in the wall, a bar that catered to a leather-and-Harley clientele. Chantal parked across the street, shut off her engine and rolled down her car window.

  You could always tell how business was at Ruby’s by the number of motorcycles parked out front. Tonight there was an even dozen, all chromed and shiny in the illumination from a nearby streetlight.

  For the last four nights Chantal had been watching Ruby’s, waiting for one Wesley Baker to show up. Baker’s latest crime, an attempted robbery using a Slim Jim beef stick as a pretend gun in his pocket had gone bad when the convenience-store clerk had pulled a very real gun on him.

  Baker had no known address, unless you counted Ruby’s, where on most nights before his arrest he could be found. He’d missed his court date a week ago and Chantal had a feeling it was just a matter of time before he showed up back here.