Hell on Heels

by Carla Cassidy

  Belinda tugged at the belt of her dressing gown and shook her head. “No, I’m not in the mood to socialize. You go on and have fun. I’ll just read some magazines and watch TV until you get home.”

  “Tonight isn’t about fun,” Chantal said. “I’m hoping I’ll get some information.” She sat on the edge of the bed next to her friend. “You want me to call Harrah and Lena and see if they can come over for a while?”

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” Belinda replied irritably. “I’ll be fine, I promise. Besides, I’ll be waiting for you when you get home so I can hear all the gossip.” She got up off the bed as Chantal checked her watch.

  “I don’t expect to be late,” Chantal said as Belinda walked with her to the front door. “The open house runs from seven to ten and I doubt if Mom will want to stay the whole time.”

  “I’ll be here whatever time you get home. If I happen to fall asleep wake me up.”

  “Sure,” Chantal agreed even though they both knew that wasn’t happening. Waking Belinda once she fell asleep was as easy as transforming a discount store dress into high fashion.

  Twenty minutes later Chantal pulled up in front of the house where she’d been raised. The two-story home boasted over seven thousand square feet and was surrounded by five acres of lush lawn and gardens.

  Chantal had been raised with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth. She’d had the best of everything that money could buy, but she’d also been lucky enough to be raised by people who never took their wealth for granted, people who, while enjoying the fruits of their labor, never forgot their early struggles and sacrifices.

  Edna answered the door and Chantal kissed the housekeeper on the cheek as she greeted her. Edna had worked for the Worthingtons since Chantal had been a baby.

  “Is she ready?” Chantal asked.

  “I’ll go up and see.”

  As Edna disappeared up the wide, winding staircase, Chantal turned her attention to the photos that lined the entry. She smiled as she gazed at her parents’ wedding photo. They had made a handsome couple, despite the fact that they’d both been poor as church mice.

  Even though he’d only been twenty-three years old when he’d married his bride, a burning light of ambition had lit her father’s eyes. He’d been a man with a dream and had lived long enough to see his dreams realized.

  “Darling, you look beautiful,” Katherine said as she descended the stairs.

  “Thanks, Mom. You don’t look too shabby yourself.” Her mother wore a silver gown that complemented her blond hair and bright, not average, blue eyes. She swept down the stairs like a queen and gave her daughter a warm hug, then turned to look at the photos.

  She tapped a perfectly manicured nail on the glass of a photo of Chantal’s father standing next to a shiny red boat. “Who would have thought those little boats your father dreamed of building would sell so well?”

  “Those little boats” had been the beginning of an empire. Worthington Bass Boats had become the industry standard for fast, affordable and functional fishing crafts and they had made Sam Worthington and his family millionaires several times over.

  After Sam’s death, Katherine, as a major stockholder, held the position of CEO of the company, but she had little to do with the daily running of the business. Instead she relied on a loyal business manager and a staff who loved the business and had loved Sam.

  It was a thirty-minute drive to the Folly Theater where the fundraiser was taking place. The two women passed the drive by chatting about upcoming events and mutual acquaintances.

  By the time they arrived the fundraiser was already in full swing. The Folly Theater was located in downtown Kansas City, in an area not far from Big Joey’s Bail Bonds. The Folly had begun life in the early years of the city as a house of burlesque. The building itself, both inside and out, was a masterpiece of design from years gone by.

  Most recently the town leaders had been trying to decide what to do with the old lady. Tonight was only one of many fundraisers that would be necessary to raise enough money to provide the old building with some sort of future.

  It was the usual champagne-and-hors d’oeuvres gathering, with the same faces that usually attended these kinds of functions.

  Chantal snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and began to work the crowd. She talked about fashion and facials, about who was divorcing and who was getting married and managed in each conversation to bring up the topic of Willowby.

  Her subtle inquiries were met with a variety of responses…blank stares, whispered expressions of shock and pointed changes of topic. What she didn’t get was any information that might help her in her hunt for the convicted rapist.

  By eight-thirty Chantal was bored stiff. That’s when she saw him. He stood near the buffet table, looking as out of place as a palm frond on a ski slope. Although he was dressed in a respectable three-piece suit and had his hair neatly tied back at the nape of his neck, he looked only half-civilized as he perused the guests through narrow eyes.

  How had Luke Coleman managed to get a ticket to this affair? She had a feeling he wasn’t on anyone’s list as a patron of the theater. It irked her to no end to see him here, in her world.

  His gaze caught hers and he gave her that sexy half smile that twisted her stomach into a knot. She approached where he stood. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “And a good evening to you, Ms. Worthington.” His gaze slowly slid down the length of her. “You’re looking exceptionally fine this evening. Red is definitely your color.”

  “What are you doing here?” she repeated, refusing to be swayed by his compliment but ridiculously pleased she’d chosen the red Gaultier for the evening.

  “Probably the same thing you’re doing here. Fishing.”

  “This is a ticketed, invitation-only event. How did you get in?”

  At that moment Brandy Hamilton slid up to him and smiled. “There you are,” she said. “I was wondering where you’d gone. Hello, Chantal, have you met Luke?” Brandy’s eyes shone with the glaze of a woman who had imbibed too much champagne and who enjoyed too little natural intelligence.

  “We’ve met,” Chantal replied. Brandy Hamilton was four years older than Chantal and although the two were social acquaintances, they had never been friends.

  How on earth had Luke Coleman hooked up with the twice-divorced socialite who had the reputation for being an alcoholic man-eater?

  “Luke does work for Daddy occasionally.” Brandy put a hand on Luke’s chest and smiled up at him. “Isn’t he yummy?”

  “Yummy,” Chantal echoed dryly.

  She murmured a goodbye and walked away. She shouldn’t be surprised that Brandy was the kind of woman Luke would like. Vapid and promiscuous, of course that would be his cup of tea. Not that she cared.

  Still, it irritated her that he was here. This was her territory and she didn’t like the idea that he had the same access to information that she might have.

  For the rest of the evening she felt his gaze on her often. She didn’t like the way he looked at her. She always felt half-naked beneath his dark intense gaze.

  There was some comfort in knowing that although he wore a decent suit and was accompanied by Brandy, he would still be considered an outsider and she doubted very seriously that anyone would give him any information he could use.

  By nine o’clock she was ready to go home. The evening had been a bust. Either nobody knew anything about Willowby or they weren’t talking about what they did know.

  She rejoined her mother who indicated she was also ready to go and together the two women left the old theater. “Joan is divorcing Raymond,” Katherine said as they waited for the valet to bring them Chantal’s car.

  “Why?”

  “She found out he’s been having an affair with his secretary.”

  “But, I thought Joan was having an affair with her yoga coach,” Chantal said.

  “She is, but in this case what’s good for the gander is not goo
d for the goose.”

  Chantal sighed. “Sometimes I think relationships are just too much trouble.”

  “They are a lot of trouble,” Katherine agreed. “But, when they’re good, they’re worth every ounce of that trouble. Your father and I got it right. He wasn’t just my husband, he was also my best friend.” Katherine smiled at her daughter. “I hope someday you find the same kind of thing.”

  A wave of longing filled Chantal. She couldn’t seem to get it right. Her relationships so far had been flawed in one way or another and the flaws had been too big to overlook. When she dated a man who was from her same social background and standing it didn’t take long for boredom to creep in. If she dated somebody who was not of her social background she wondered if they were drawn more to her money than to her.

  Although she loved her independence and loved her life there were times she wished she had somebody to share it with, somebody who would be her friend, her partner as well as her lover.

  She mentally shoved away the wistful thoughts as her red sports car arrived. The two women got in and Chantal took off. She’d only driven two blocks when she first noticed the car behind them. It was a beat-up dark Chevy and it was following her way too closely.

  “Doris has had a face lift since last time I saw her,” Katherine said. “She says she just took a little vacation, but I’d bet the farm that she took that vacation to a plastic surgeon.”

  Chantal only half listened to her mother detailing the latest gossip as most of her attention was focused on the car behind them.

  Back off, she thought as she stepped on the gas to gain some distance. But, before she could get any distance she came to a red light and had to stop.

  The Chevy crept up so close behind her the glow of the headlights disappeared. She saw the flash in her rearview mirror just as the back windshield shattered.

  “Get down,” Chantal screamed at her mother. At the same time she floored the gas pedal and shot through the red light.

  Chapter 4

  Chantal couldn’t beat up a man three times her size, nor could she figure out how to apply fake eyelashes that looked natural, but the one thing she could do was drive.

  Her father used to joke that somehow Earnhardt blood had mixed with Worthington blood in her veins. From the moment she’d first gotten behind the steering wheel of a car she’d had the skills and instincts of a professional race-car driver.

  She shot through the red light and took the next right corner on two wheels. The oppressively hot night air poured through the broken window as her heart pounded a frantic pace.

  The Chevy squirreled around the corner behind her. Chantal slid a quick glance at her mother, who was practically lying on the seat next to her, then returned her gaze to the rearview mirror where the Chevy was gaining on them.

  There was another flash from just outside the passenger-side window and she heard the ping of bullet against metal.

  She didn’t waste a minute’s energy trying to figure out who was driving the Chevy or why they were shooting at her. All that mattered was escape. She’d ask questions later.

  “Dean Koontz novels, cell phones, Victoria’s Secret,” she muttered under her breath as she careened around a left turn and shot through another red light.

  Several cars blared their horns to show their displeasure. She’d rather invoke a healthy dose of road rage than be dead.

  “Where are the cops when you need them?” she said.

  “A speeding ticket sounds delightful right now,” Katherine murmured.

  Chantal’s hands ached as she gripped the wheel, turning down one street then another in an attempt to lose their pursuers.

  Katherine peeked over the dashboard just in time to see Chantal turn down a one-way street. “Oh, my,” she said as a pair of headlights careened toward them. She lowered her head to the seat as Chantal swerved a hard right to avoid the oncoming traffic.

  It seemed as if it took hours, but within minutes she’d managed to lose the Chevy and slowed to a normal breakneck pace.

  Her mother didn’t move from her position on the seat, her head still covered by her hands. “Mom? I think it’s okay now,” Chantal said.

  Katherine slowly sat up. “Would you like to share with me what that was all about?” She flipped down the visor to display the mirror on the back, then pulled a tube of lipstick from her purse, a nervous habit that Chantal knew meant her mother was frightened.

  Chantal had a feeling that if her mother was faced with a psychopath wielding a machine gun she’d pull out a tube of Mauve Rose and apply lavishly.

  “I do believe somebody just tried to kill us,” she added. She applied a fresh coat of lipstick, flipped the visor back up then stared at her daughter expectantly.

  Chantal told her mother about Mundy and the price on her head. Although she tried to downplay the whole thing, there was no way to minimize a death threat.

  “And you think that’s who just shot at us? But, how did they know where you’d be? How to find you?” Katherine asked.

  Chantal frowned thoughtfully. “The Folly is only a few blocks from Big Joey’s. They probably recognized my car.” She wanted to scream at her own stupidity. Of course they’d be cruising the area, looking for her car, and the red Mustang wasn’t exactly hard to spot. She should have thought about that before.

  “So, what are you going to do?” Katherine asked.

  “Get a new car.” Chantal checked her rearview mirror for the hundredth time, pleased to see nobody suspicious behind them as she pulled into the development where her mother lived.

  Katherine emitted a small laugh. “Silly me. I thought you were going to do something totally irrational like quit your dangerous job.”

  Chantal pulled to a halt in front of the house, parked the car and turned to look at her mom. “Is that what you want me to do? Quit?” Even though she’d been bounty hunting for a relatively short period of time, the thought of quitting grieved her.

  Katherine’s love for her daughter shone from her eyes. She sighed and patted an errant strand of hair back into place. “I want you to be safe.” She placed a hand on Chantal’s cheeks and Chantal felt the slight tremble in her mother’s fingertips. “But you love what you’re doing and I would never ask you to quit. I just want you to be careful, Chantal. You know how much I love you.”

  “And I love you,” Chantal replied and pressed her hand against her mother’s. “And I do love what I’m doing and I will be careful. I made a mistake in judgment tonight, one I won’t make again.”

  It wasn’t until her mother had gotten out of the car and Chantal was driving home that the shakes began. Her stomach bucked and kicked with queasiness and her hands trembled as she thought of how close they’d come to disaster.

  She’d been foolish not to think that the only way Mundy’s boys knew to identify her was by the car that carried her back and forth to work at Big Joey’s. It was the same car that had carried Mundy from his girlfriend’s home to the police station on the night Chantal had taken him into custody.

  That single lack of attention to detail could have gotten her killed tonight, but worse than that, it could have gotten her mother killed.

  The first thing she did when she got inside her house was go to the spare room to check on Belinda, who was already sound asleep, her eyes covered with a gold satin eye mask. The second thing Chantal did was call the police.

  As she waited for the officials to arrive to make a report, she fixed herself a double mocha latte with an extra squirt of whipped cream. She didn’t normally imbibe in the high-calorie, sinful drink but she figured being shot at and surviving called for a celebration of sorts.

  “Hell of a night, Sam,” she said to the cat who sat on top of the refrigerator staring at her with unblinking green eyes.

  She sat at the kitchen table and wrapped her hands around the warm mug, fighting the chill that had taken up residency deep in her bones.

  The threat that had been nothing more than words before had no
w become a reality. Even punk-ass kids could kill her if they got lucky. Thank God they’d been unlucky tonight.

  This was the first time since she’d begun bounty hunting that she’d truly found her life in danger. Certainly she’d known on an intellectual level that it was a dangerous business, but at this moment the risks were more than just an intellectual nebulous concept.

  Did she want to quit? Hell, no. She just needed to be smarter, better. She loved what she was doing. For the first time in her life she felt a true purpose of being, a commitment to something bigger than herself.

  The doorbell rang and she jumped up, certain it would be the officers she’d summoned. She opened her front door and instead of uniformed officers, Luke stood on her porch.

  He swept past her and into the living room before she could even protest his very presence.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice a low growl. He stood too close to her, invading her personal space.

  “I’m fine. What are you doing here?” He looked wild, his tie had been yanked loose and his hair had escaped the confines at the nape of his neck.

  “I heard the call on the scanner requesting officers at this address due to a shooting.” His gaze slid down the length of her, as if checking for bullet holes. He seemed to relax slightly as he saw that she was intact. “So, what happened?”

  She took a step back from him, finding his nearness nearly overwhelming. “They killed my car.”

  “Tell me everything.” Sam appeared in the doorway of the living room and to Chantal’s surprise made a beeline to Luke. He curled around Luke’s feet and meowed plaintively. Luke bent down and scooped up the cat in his arms. Sam purred like a motor boat. Chantal scowled.

  “The police are on their way. There’s no reason for you to be here.” The man seemed to fill every space in the room and her irritation only climbed as he stroked her cat…her purring cat.

  “Was it Mundy’s men?” He obviously intended to ignore her not-so-subtle invitation to leave.