Hell on Heels

by Carla Cassidy

  This was it. If they were successful, then by the end of the night Willowby would be in custody. If they were not successful and something went wrong there could be disastrous results.

  A screw-up could warn Willowby and he’d escape again, this time to where nobody would ever find him. A screw-up could end in her being another victim in a long line of victims. A misstep could see both her and Luke behind bars. They had no jurisdiction in Mexico and Willowby could claim to be a victim of kidnapping.

  As she waited for the cab that would take her to the bungalow, she went over the plan she and Luke had come up with the night before.

  It was relatively straightforward. She would lull Willowby, pretend to drink his “special fruity drink” and also pretend to fall unconscious. That was when Luke was to burst in and take Willowby down.

  It was strange that a week ago the last man she would have expected to watch her back, the last man she would have trusted to be her partner in any way, shape or form was Crazy Luke Coleman. And now, she couldn’t imagine trusting anyone else. Crazy Luke Coleman wasn’t crazy at all. He was one of the sanest men she knew.

  He was the only man in her recent dating history who wasn’t a diamond between the sheets and a lump of useless coal when out of bed. He was the only man in a long time whom she not only liked but respected, and who seemed to reciprocate those feelings.

  “Tiaras, New York City, hot fudge sundaes,” she muttered under her breath. “Cruises, body wraps, Luke’s eyes…”

  She had no time to wonder how Luke had made it into her list of favorite things for at that moment the cab pulled up before her.

  As she got settled in the back of the cab she shoved thoughts of Luke to the back of her mind. She needed to focus on only one thing at the moment and that was the date that was about to begin.

  Luke had parked the Jeep down the street from the row of bungalows and now sat behind the wheel, watching the front of Willowby’s bungalow.

  He’d wait in the Jeep until darkness began to fall, then he’d get closer to the house, close enough to peek through the window and keep an eye on what was happening inside.

  He tried to ignore the feeling of impending doom that he’d awakened with that morning, a feeling that had lingered throughout the long day as they’d waited for this time to arrive.

  They’d gone over things a million times the night before, trying to identify any potential problems that might arise. He’d felt as confident about their plan as he could feel, so why did he now feel as if it might all come crashing down around their heads?

  Since he’d parked there had been no sign of any activity from the bungalow and, he noted thankfully, no sign of the two men who had trailed after Willowby whenever he made a public appearance.

  Luke had enough to worry about without thinking about tangling with two men each the size of a tow truck. If they showed up, then the odds definitely changed in Willowby’s favor.

  Never in his life had he felt such nervous anxiety. He’d done a hundred more dangerous things in his lifetime, but never had his stomach twisted so tight, never had he broken out into the kind of cold sweat that plagued him now.

  What in the hell was wrong with him? He’d faced far more dangerous men when he’d been working as a bouncer in a bar. Working for Big Joey, he’d brought in mean sons of bitches who would just as soon knife you as look at you.

  So, why did this particular job feel different? Why was he sweating this so much? The answer came to him in one word. Chantal.

  If it were only his own safety at stake, he wouldn’t be as concerned. He was accustomed to taking risks, to living life on the edge. But, this wasn’t about him. This was about Chantal and that made everything different.

  If that asshole touched her, Luke might forget about getting Willowby to the States and would instead execute his own brand of justice. He placed a hand on the gun next to him on the seat. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.

  In the years that he’d been bounty hunting he’d never had to use his gun. He preferred to control the situation enough that the show of firepower wasn’t necessary. But, if he had to use it to save Chantal, he would, without any guilt, without any self-recriminations.

  As far as Luke was concerned there were only two things worse than a rapist—a murderer and a pedophile. But Luke thought there must be a special place in hell for people who preyed on children and men who preyed on helpless women.

  He raked a hand over his jaw, where a five o’clock shadow had appeared. His thoughts returned to the woman who had insisted on being bait for a rapist.

  Chantal Worthington.

  She was different than he’d expected her to be. Oh, he’d expected her to be hard-headed and she was. He’d anticipated that she’d want to do things her way, would feel the need to be in control.

  What he hadn’t expected was the softness beneath her steel. He hadn’t expected her sharp intelligence or wit, her willingness to compromise and her passion. He definitely hadn’t expected her passion.

  Even now, just thinking about sex with Chantal stirred him up. She was a lusty lover with just enough inhibition to be tantalizing. She gave as easily, as freely as she received and had stirred a seemingly insatiable hunger in him.

  He sat up straighter in his seat as the approach of a cab signaled the arrival of Chantal to the bungalow. The knots in his stomach twisted even tighter as he watched her get out of the cab and head toward the front door.

  The short red dress she wore only increased his nervous tension. Her bare, tanned legs looked long and sleek, but he cursed beneath his breath as he spied her red spike heels. If the night went bad how was she going to be able to run in those things?

  Why had she chosen such a short dress? She looked good. She looked too damned good.

  Luke grabbed the gun and shoved it into his waistband. His job was to make certain things didn’t go wrong, that she wouldn’t have to run in that short dress or those damned sexy high heels.

  Willowby greeted her at the front door and Chantal disappeared inside. Time to move, Luke thought.

  “Nice place,” Chantal said as Marcus led her into the living room. It was a traditional beach house with rattan furniture and brightly colored cushions. The floor was tiled for easy clean-up of sand and water and bamboo slatted shades hung at the windows flanking a door that led outside to the back of the house.

  “It’s all right for now,” he said. “If I decide to stay here in Tamillo long-term I’ll be in the market to buy something instead of just renting. Please, make yourself at home,” he gestured toward the sofa.

  Marcus was dressed in a pair of casual black slacks and a short-sleeved blue-and-black shirt. The dark colors complemented his blond hair and blue eyes, and again she recognized he was a very handsome man…a very handsome pervert, she thought.

  Instead of sitting she moved to the bank of windows and opened the slats, exposing a gorgeous view of the water in the distance. “It’s beautiful here. This view would be hard to give up for another place.”

  He came to stand behind her, close enough that she could smell his expensive cologne, but not so close as to be creepy.

  “It is something, isn’t it? That’s what drew me to these bungalows in the first place.” He stepped back from her.

  “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No, thanks.” She turned to face him and smiled. “I’m fine for now.” She wanted to give Luke plenty of time to get into position. “Why don’t you show me the rest of this place.” She flashed him her most charming smile. “I’ve never been in a real beach bungalow before.”

  She wanted to see all of the place, she needed to know the surroundings and she needed to assure herself that they were really all alone. She had to make note of windows and doors in case she needed to beat a hasty retreat.

  He returned her smile, as if he found her request charming. “I’m afraid you’ll be underwhelmed. This is casual living at its best.”

  For the next few minutes
Marcus showed her around the bungalow, which included two bedrooms, a bathroom and the kitchen. She was glad that they were, indeed, alone in the place.

  When they returned to the living room he opened the door that led out onto a large patio. “I spend a lot of my time sitting out here,” he said.

  “I can understand why.” Together they stepped out onto the porch. Dusk had fallen and the beach in the near distance was practically empty of people. The evening air smelled sweet, with just enough salt to be invigorating.

  She had no idea where Luke might be, but she knew he was near, knew he was probably watching her and Willowby at this very moment. Even though she felt confident that if push came to shove she could subdue Willowby by herself, there was still a certain amount of comfort knowing Luke was near.

  She’d had a single, sole purpose for going out on the patio and that was to make sure the patio door remained unlocked when they went back inside. She didn’t want Luke to have to break through a locked door when the time came for him to make an appearance.

  When they went back into the house she sat on the sofa and crossed her legs. He sat next to her and his gaze lingered for a moment on the length of her bare leg.

  She felt his gaze as potent, as repulsive as an unwanted touch. “So, tell me something about yourself, Mark. I don’t even know what you do for a living.”

  “To be honest, I don’t do much of anything.” He leaned back against the sofa cushions. “A year ago my parents died and they left behind a life insurance policy that has allowed me not to have to worry about working for the time being.”

  She thought about the worry, the love that had shone from Rebecca Willowby’s eyes when she’d talked about her son. How would Rebecca feel knowing her son had just killed her off for a good story?

  “I’m sorry about your parents,” she murmured.

  He nodded, his features radiating sadness. “Thanks, but I guess it’s part of life…you know, that you bury your parents.”

  Yeah, she thought, but most people don’t bury them until they’re really dead.

  For the next hour they talked. Chantal was amazed at the lies that fell so effortlessly from Willowby’s lips and at that moment she recognized that the man was truly a sociopath. He had no conscience and she knew this was a man incapable of loving, incapable of feeling anything for another human being.

  He talked to her about a middle-class existence in a small town in Kansas. With a pained expression he shared the story of a high-school sweetheart who had broken his heart and a dog he’d had who had also died in the past year.

  Every lie he told was designed to make him look like a warm and caring man, a man who would never harm anyone. The man was definitely some piece of work and once again she recognized that she had no idea what he might really be capable of, had no idea how far he’d go, what action he’d take to save his own skin.

  If she hadn’t known his history, if she wasn’t privy to the real facts about what kind of man he was, she might have fallen for his lies, for the sincere charm he oozed.

  After talking with him at length, it was much easier to understand why the two young women had felt comfortable going to his condo for drinks. First and foremost they must have assumed that there would be safety in numbers, but secondly she had no doubt in her mind that they had been lulled by Marcus’s charm, comforted by his act of warmth and sincerity.

  The boy next door. He’d perfected that particular act. It would be difficult for even a smart woman to see beneath the veneer to the animal contained deep inside.

  It chilled her to know that he would have continued to get away with his crimes if he hadn’t replaced one of the victim’s panties inside out or if he hadn’t spilled a drop of semen on those panties. And thankfully the police had taken the two young women seriously and the search warrant for Willowby’s place had yielded the damning video tape.

  She’d been there a little more than an hour when Marcus once again offered her a drink. “That sounds great,” she agreed. “With all this talking I think I’ve worked up a thirst.”

  When Marcus disappeared into the kitchen, she got up from the sofa and returned to the window that faced the back of the bungalow. Night had fallen. In the distance the moonlight splashed the water with silver rays and the beach appeared deserted.

  She hoped that someplace out there in the dark Luke was watching everything taking place inside, that he knew the time was drawing near to take down their man. Her heart stepped up its rhythm as she anticipated the takedown.

  She knew in her gut that the special drink Willowby was making for her would have the drug GHB in it. She also knew that within minutes she was going to have to give a performance fit for an Academy Award…for Belinda, for all the women he had victimized in the past, and for all the women he hoped to prey upon in his future.

  She had told Luke that she wanted to capture Willowby when he was most vulnerable, when he’d think himself safe to indulge in his perversion.

  She’d said that she wanted Willowby’s pants down around his ankles when Luke burst in, she wanted Willowby hot to trot and then she wanted to see his face when he realized what was happening.

  But in order for things to unfold the way she wanted she was going to have to act as though the drugs had worked and rendered her unconscious. More important than anything, she had to make sure she didn’t really drink what he fixed for her.

  She turned away from the window as Marcus returned from the kitchen carrying two pink frothy drinks in tall glasses. He handed her one of them.

  “They’re certainly pretty,” she commented. “What’s in them?”

  “A little strawberry, a little vodka and several very magical ingredients—a family secret. To new friends.” He held up his glass for a toast.

  Chantal clinked her glass against his, noting how his eyes shone with the over-brightness of anticipation. What she wanted to do was pour the drink over his head, kick him in the stomach and drop him to the floor. Instead she raised the glass to her lips and pretended to take a sip.

  “Hmmm, that’s good,” she exclaimed.

  “Yeah, these drinks are always big hits when I make them,” he replied. He moved toward the sofa and sat and looked at her expectantly. “Aren’t you going to join me?”

  “In just a minute. I need to use the ladies’ room.” She flashed him a smile. “I’ll be right back.” She hurried down the short hallway with her drink in hand.

  Once in the bathroom behind a locked door she breathed a deep sigh of relief. If he’d stopped her from carrying her drink in here, she would have been in trouble. Getting the drink in the bathroom had been an integral component of her plan.

  For a moment she leaned against the locked door and drew several deep, steadying breaths. Then she stood in front of the sink and poured most of the pink concoction down the drain. If by some chance the drink hadn’t been drugged, then Willowby might question her response to the drink.

  But, her instinct screamed that the drink was tainted and the handsome man was simply waiting for his opportunity to have sex with her when she fell unconscious.

  She ran the water in the sink, washing away any trace of the pink froth, then dried her hands on the towel and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

  This was it. The moment of truth. Everything she and Luke had worked toward was about to come to fruition. She smoothed a strand of her hair, aware of the trembling in her fingertips.

  You can do this, she told her image. Take the bastard down. Steely resolve flooded through her. She picked up the glass once again. There was just a swallow left in the bottom of the glass. Hopefully it wouldn’t be enough to knock her out.

  Fifteen minutes. In about fifteen minutes she had to pretend that the drink had taken effect. Minutes after that she hoped, she prayed that Willowby would have his pants down, Luke would burst inside and the creep would be theirs.

  Drawing a deep breath, she left the bathroom and returned to the living room. She hefted the glass in the air
and smiled at Marcus. “This is awesome,” she exclaimed. “Maybe I should have another one.”

  He laughed, a trace of uneasiness in the sound. “You drank that pretty fast and I should have warned you that they’re really strong. Maybe you should wait a little while before having another.”

  “All right.” She set the glass down on the coffee table and sat on the sofa next to him. “Whew, maybe you’re right. I think I feel it already.”

  Time for her performance, she thought.

  From his position at one of the back windows Luke saw Chantal go to the bathroom, then return with an empty glass. Thank God, it was going just as they’d planned. She’d managed to dump the drink without having to consume any.

  If he had his way he’d go inside now and get Willowby into cuffs. But, Chantal had insisted that she wanted the drama to play out to its fullest. She wanted Willowby half-naked when Luke went in.

  He suspected that she wanted him not only captured but humiliated as well. Payback for what Willowby had done to Chantal’s friend.

  Every muscle in his body tensed as he prepared to spring into action. He wondered if Willowby would try to rape her right there on the sofa or if he would carry her to his bedroom? Did he already have a video camera in place? Luke balled his fists at his sides. Sick son of a bitch, he thought.

  Either place, it didn’t matter. Luke intended to get inside before things got dicey for Chantal. There was no way he was going to let anything happen to her.

  He leaned closer to the window and at that moment something hard came down on the back of his head. He had a moment to think Oh shit before blackness descended.

  Chapter 15

  Chantal slumped back against the sofa, as if she was too drunk to hold herself upright. She allowed her eye lids to drift down to half-mast as Marcus continued to drone on and spin lies about his childhood.

  “Hey, Carol, are you all right?” he asked suddenly.

  “I’m fantastic,” she muttered, slurring the words together as she willed her body to go completely limp and she closed her eyes. Let him buy it, she thought fervently. Please, let him buy the act.