Hell on Heels

by Carla Cassidy

  “Carol?” He grabbed her hand and shook it. “Carol? Are you okay?”

  She didn’t move a muscle, willed herself to breath deeply and evenly as if she were unconscious. He chuckled, a low, wicked sound that chilled her blood. “I warned you that the drink was strong.”

  She sensed him moving closer to her, so close she could feel the warmth of his sour breath on her face. “Carol, are you in there?”

  The most difficult thing she’d ever done in her life was to remain unmoving. She wanted to spit in his face, she wanted to claw at his handsome features and mark him, make him as ugly on the outside as he was on the inside.

  Again she focused on keeping her breathing slow and steady, not wanting him to have a clue that she was conscious and her heart pounded so fast it felt as if it might explode out of her chest.

  Minutes, she reminded herself. Within minutes it would all be over. Willowby would be in custody. Luke had her back, the jet was on standby and everything was coming together just as they’d planned.

  Chocolate fondue…Swarovski crystals…silk nightgowns, she mentally began her mantra as her nerves screamed in anticipation of what was to come.

  “Carol? Didn’t anyone ever tell you it was risky to go to a stranger’s house for a drink that you didn’t watch him prepare?” He laughed again, a low deep sound of extreme pleasure. “That was not smart, Carol. That was not smart at all.”

  If she had any doubt as to whether he’d spiked the drink or not, these words confirmed it to her. Bastard, she thought. He was the worst kind of predator.

  Then he touched her breast.

  It was a light skim over the top of her dress, but it burned the skin beneath her clothes and made her want to throw up. His breath on her face was shuddery, as if he was already in the throes of some sick desire.

  Oh God, she didn’t know if she could follow through on this or not. His breath, his touch filled her with revulsion.

  Stay calm, she told herself. Luke is just outside watching all this and should be coming through the door at any minute.

  She fought an impulse to gasp as Marcus reached an arm beneath her and with a grunt of effort scooped her up and stood.

  She kept herself limp as he carried her down the hall and into the spare bedroom where he tossed her on the bed. She sprawled inelegantly, but remained unmoving as he left her there.

  She waited a long moment, then another, then she cracked open one eye just enough to see him setting up a tripod with a video camera at the foot of the bed.

  He was not only intending to rape her, but he also intended to memorialize the occasion. He seemed to be in no hurry as he set the camera and focused it. GHB usually rendered the victim unconscious for six hours or so. She was sure he figured he had plenty of time.

  He fiddled with the camera for several minutes. “You’re going to be a movie star, Carol. Well, actually I’m the star, you’re just a prop, but a very important one.”

  Was that the way he saw his victims, as nothing more than props? The police had only found one movie that he had made with the two women who had brought charges against him. But, Chantal was certain that somewhere Willowby had a whole stash of videos depicting him as a “star.”

  “We’re going to have a good time, Carol,” he said as he kicked off his shoes and sat on the edge of the bed to remove his socks.

  Any time now, Luke, she thought. Even though she’d told Luke that she wanted Willowby half-naked and panting when they took him down, she now found herself wanting it not to go any further. She wanted it over now.

  When he stood and unzipped his pants, Chantal thought she was going to throw up. Urgency filled her. Come on, Luke, she thought frantically as Willowby returned to the bed clad only in a pair of boxers.

  Once again she felt his breath, hot and labored against her face as he pressed his length against her side. He was fully aroused. What kind of a man found an unconscious, unresponsive woman a turn-on?

  She nearly stopped breathing as his fingers fumbled with the tiny buttons on her front of her dress. His fingers trembled and his panting breaths filled the silence of the room. He unbuttoned half the buttons then stopped and she could tell by the movement of his body against hers that he was rubbing himself.

  “Oh, baby, have I got something for you.” He moaned, then placed his hand back on her dress.

  Where are you, Luke? God, why wasn’t he in here yet? Willowby had his pants off, it was time for Luke to burst into the room and stop everything from progressing further.

  Was this what Belinda had felt? A sickness in her soul as she stood frozen in terror and Willowby touched her, violated her? Belinda had been helpless to save herself, inert with fear, with shock.

  He straddled her and leaned forward. “You’re going to have the best time of your life tonight,” he breathed into her ear. “Unfortunately, you won’t remember a thing about it in the morning.” Once again his hand raked over one of her breasts, this time with only the barrier of her wispy bra between his hand and her flesh.

  Unexpectedly she felt the burn of hot tears at her eyes. No more. She couldn’t allow him to touch her any more intimately than he already had. She was going to be sick if she didn’t stop him now.

  She couldn’t wait for Luke, couldn’t imagine what he was waiting for. But she had to act now.

  As Willowby tried to pull her dress from her shoulders, she snapped open her eyes and shoved at his chest with a force that sent him backward and off her.

  “What the hell?” He jumped off the bed, a look of complete shock on his face as she scrambled to her feet and faced him. “What in the hell is going on? Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m your nightmare…a woman who is conscious and can fight back. You bastard! I’m here to take you into custody and get you back to face the justice you’ve escaped for too many years.”

  Willowby’s eyes narrowed. “What are you? You aren’t a cop. Are you some kind of bounty hunter? I’ll pay you twice the fee you’d get for bringing me in if you forget you found me here.”

  Damn it, where was Luke? Chantal had no weapon. She didn’t even have her cuffs. They were in her purse in the living room.

  “You can’t pay me enough money to forget I found you,” she replied as she stepped closer to him. There was no way she was leaving this room without him in tow. She’d use whatever means necessary.

  “This is personal, Willowby,” she exclaimed. “You raped my friend ten years ago at a party at your house. Now I’m taking you in.”

  His eyes narrowed once again as he stared at her. “Your friend?” She could almost see the wheels turning in his head. “Worthington…Chantal Worthington. I knew you looked familiar.” The features that had looked so handsome, so elegant earlier in the evening now twisted into something ugly, something evil. “I’m not going anywhere with you and I sure as hell am not going to allow you to take me anywhere.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. We can do this easy or we can do it the hard way.” Chantal hoped the years of soft living had taken a toll on him and that her months in the gym sparring and playing with the big boys had worked to her advantage.

  At that moment there was a deep male cry from someplace outside the window. Willowby looked toward the window and Chantal took that opportunity to charge him. She lowered her head like a charging bull and hit him square in the midsection.

  He careened backward, hitting the wall at the same time his fingers tangled in her hair. He yanked her hair and she cried out with pain, gripping his wrists in an attempt to get him to release his hold.

  Tears sprang to her eyes as he yanked harder on her hair. It felt as if he were pulling it out by the roots. She released his wrists and instead reached for his face, scratching her sculptured nails down his cheeks.

  He screamed, a sound almost inhuman, and let go of her hair, but he wrapped his hands around her neck and squeezed. “You bitch. I’ll make sure they never find your body,” he said between clenched teeth. Blood welled up in the scr
atches that now adorned his face and his eyes held the murderous rage of the devil.

  If Chantal had any questions about just how dangerous Willowby might be, his words answered them as did the painful pressure of suffocation.

  His hands squeezed, cutting off her oxygen. At that moment she wasn’t just in a fight for a fugitive, she was in a fight for her life.

  She was vaguely aware of the sound of more men shouting outside the bungalow as she frantically tried to get air. She grabbed at his hands, but her strength ebbed and darkness grew closer.

  Help me. The words flashed in her head, but she knew no help would arrive. She had no idea what had happened to Luke, but it was obvious she was on her own.

  Air. She needed air. She didn’t want to die. Not here. Not now. And especially not at the hands of a creep like Willowby.

  “Die, bitch,” Willowby cried, his features contorted with rage.

  Panic seared through her. She had no weapon and within seconds she knew she’d be unconscious. She’d be dead.

  A spark of survival lit inside her. She did have a weapon, she suddenly thought in a moment of startling clarity.

  She slammed her spike heel into the top of his bare foot. Thank God, Gucci made strong shoes.

  He roared in pain and released her. She coughed and gasped in relief as air flooded her lungs. He sank to the floor and grabbed his bloody foot, moaning in pain as she sucked in deep breaths of sweet air.

  At that moment a gunshot resounded from someplace outside, followed quickly by the sound of sirens in the distance.

  Luke exploded into the room from the hallway, his chest heaving as his gaze shot from Chantal to Willowby. “Where the hell have you been?” she asked.

  “Tangling with his hired help. The police are going to be here any minute. You need to get out of here,” he said. He grabbed her arm as if in an effort to propel her out of the house.

  In a split second, she considered their options. She jerked away from his grip. “I’m not going anywhere,” she exclaimed. “You go, get out of here.”

  “Damn it, Chantal, get the hell out of here right now,” he yelled, his features alarmed. “This isn’t the time to be hard-headed. You don’t want to spend a minute in a Mexican jail.”

  “And you do?” she retorted. “I’m not leaving, Luke. There’s no way I’m going to let this creep out of my sight. You get out of here. It won’t do any good for both of us to be in jail.”

  Luke released a stream of curses at the same time they heard the sound of cars squealing to a halt at the front of the house.

  “Go, Luke. I’ll tell them he tried to rape me. I’ll be fine,” she said. “It’s better this way.”

  He held her gaze for a single long moment, then turned and left. A moment later, three armed policemen burst into the room, guns drawn and their expressions fierce.

  “¡Policia! ¡Policia!” they cried. They screamed in rapid-fire Spanish making it impossible for Chantal to understand what they were saying. However, she easily understood the universal body language that told her to hold up her arms in a gesture of surrender.

  “She attacked me,” Marcus cried. He struggled to his feet. “I demand you arrest her.”

  Minutes later, cuffed and in the back of a police car, Chantal realized she was in deep trouble. She’d heard stories about Mexican jails and her blood ran cold as she contemplated what might lie ahead.

  The only comfort she had was that Willowby was cuffed and in the back of another police car. Maybe she’d been a fool not to run when Luke had given her the opportunity, but she’d been afraid that somehow Willowby would escape. She’d needed to see this through to the end.

  Damn it, they’d been so close to success. Apparently Willowby had lied when he’d told her they would be alone. The two bodyguards must have shown up to keep an eye on the place. She wondered if they were in a police car being taken away? She wondered if Luke had been forced to kill them both?

  Somebody had apparently heard the melee and had called the authorities. Their plan for a quiet, controlled take-down had been blown out of the water.

  She tried to talk to the two officers in the front seat, but they either didn’t understand English or her butchered Spanish, or they simply refused to talk to her. She suspected the latter.

  The only thing she could hope was that when they got to the station somebody in charge would listen to her, preferably somebody who spoke perfect English.

  She suspected Willowby had entered Mexico with a fake passport and if that was true, then she could only hope they would deport him back to the United States.

  She tried not to panic as they reached the flat, adobe building that apparently served as the area police headquarters. She had no idea what to expect once they all got inside.

  The officers weren’t gentle as they pulled her from the back seat and led her into the building. She saw no sign of Willowby.

  If that bastard had somehow talked his way out of custody, she’d be more pissed than she was now. “Hey, take it easy,” she exclaimed as one of the officers shoved her in the back to move her across the large office area and through a doorway that led to a large cell.

  “Hey, wait a minute, don’t I get a phone call?” she asked.

  The guard ignored her and poked her in the back once again.

  She couldn’t even summon her mantra as she stared into the cell. It was filled with women and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess that most of them were hookers.

  They all wore the evidence of hard lives, destroyed dreams and a street toughness that didn’t bode well for Chantal.

  These were women who knew how to take care of themselves, women for whom each and every day would be a struggle for survival.

  And she was the outsider…a minnow in a pond of sharks.

  The officer opened the cell door and unceremoniously shoved Chantal inside. The clank of the door closing behind her sent a new icy chill through her veins.

  She was definitely sorry she hadn’t taken Luke’s advice and run. She had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

  It took her only one minute of sizing up the crowd to recognize who was boss. The woman was beautiful, of indeterminate age, with glossy black hair that hung halfway down her back.

  She sat in the only chair the cell had to offer and the others clustered around her like ladies in waiting.

  When the officer disappeared she rose regally and approached Chantal, her full upper lip raised at one corner in a sneer.

  “Filthy American puta,” she said, then spat at Chantal’s feet.

  Chantal sighed in resignation. Her Spanish wasn’t great but it was good enough to know a challenge had just been thrown down and if she didn’t rise to it, her time in the cell would be hell.

  “Oh no, I know you didn’t just call me a whore,” she said and took a step toward the woman.

  “No. I call you a filthy American whore,” the woman replied, her dark eyes flashing. Without warning her hand shot out and long fingernails raked down Chantal’s cheek.

  Without thought, Chantal bitch-slapped the woman.

  There was a collective gasp from the other women as Chantal and the boss lady stood toe to toe.

  Chantal’s strength had never been physical. Her mind worked to find a solution that would allow this woman to maintain her dignity yet wouldn’t be a show of weakness on Chantal’s part.

  There was a universal language among women, and although she was taking a chance, she decided to try to speak it. She managed to grab hold of the woman’s long hair.

  “You’ve got beautiful hair, ever tried to French braid it?” she asked.

  The woman stared at Chantal. “French braid? What is that?”

  In those simple words Chantal knew she’d won this battle with only a scratched cheek as an injury.

  Chapter 16

  Luke leaned against the side of the Jeep and stared at the front door of the police station, every muscle in his body painfully tense.

  The earl
y-morning sun had peeked up over the horizon only an hour or so before, but already the rays were hot and the ever-present humidity seemed closer, almost suffocating.

  He’d never experienced a night like the one he’d just passed. He’d seen Chantal and Willowby taken away by the officials and had followed so he’d know where she was being held.

  Once he knew where they’d been taken he’d returned to the hotel. He’d packed their bags, checked out and had come back here, this time armed with her identification and whatever cash he’d been able to rustle up.

  The idea of Chantal behind bars in a Mexican jail terrified him. He knew what could happen to a beautiful woman like her and the thought of any harm coming to her made him sick.

  He stretched with arms overhead then leaned against the side of the Jeep and stared at the door leading into the police station.

  He’d been a fool to get involved in this, a bigger fool to get involved with her. He’d had a bad feeling from the moment she’d come up with her plan. No, that wasn’t exactly true. He’d had a bad feeling from the moment they’d first made love.

  Everything would have been less complicated if she’d been a pretentious socialite playing at real life. Everything would have been so much easier if he hadn’t come to respect her and to like her.

  It would have been so much simpler had he been able to dismiss her as a fashion-wearing, jet-setting, bubble-headed woman.

  He’d spent the night trying to find somebody with the power to release her. He’d spoken to half a dozen officials and had explained the entire situation over and over again. But, it wasn’t until thirty minutes before that he’d finally gotten to speak with the capitan. He’d explained, cajoled and finally bribed the man to release both Chantal and Willowby.

  The capitan had stared intently with his enigmatic black eyes, slid the envelope of money into his top desk drawer, then had indicated Luke should go outside and wait.