“I can’t be positive, but that would be my guess.” She glared at the traitorous cat. “They were in an old Chevy and took a couple of shots at me as I was driving home from the Folly.”
“What color was the Chevy?”
She frowned thoughtfully. “Black or dark blue, I couldn’t tell for sure which.”
Luke’s jaw muscle throbbed. He set the cat on the floor and took two steps toward her. “I told you that you were in over your head. This business isn’t a game, Chantal. Go back to your luncheons and charity wingdings and leave the bounty-hunting business to the big boys.”
It had been a bad night and she was in no mood for him. He stood so close to her she could feel the heat emanating from his body, see the tiny flecks of silver that sparked in his dark eyes. “Of all the arrogant, chauvinistic things to say.”
She fought the impulse to take off her shoe and throw it at his smug, handsome face, knowing that such a girly reaction would only feed his low opinion of her.
“I think it’s time for you to go. As you can see, I’m fine. I handled everything just fine and the police should be here anytime.”
She wanted him out of her house and away from her cat, who continued to curl around his feet and meow as though he’d found his lost love.
“Chantal, the people who tried to kill you tonight aren’t going to stop trying.” Once again the muscle in his jaw worked overtime, making him appear more menacing than ever.
“And I’ll take the necessary precautions to make certain they don’t succeed,” she replied. She thought she sounded competent and cool, but he eyed her with disbelief, his mouth thin with displeasure.
“I told Joey you were a mistake the day he hired you. You’re going to get yourself killed. You don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t even know how to work your handcuffs properly.”
His words infuriated her. “I’m not sure why you felt the need to stop by, but it’s way past time for you to leave.” She walked over to the door and opened it. “I can handle myself. I’ve handled myself just fine for the last eight months and I’ll be in this business doing well long after you’re gone. Now, leave before the police arrive and I tell them you’re an intruder in my home.”
He hesitated, and for a moment she thought he was going to refuse to leave. She opened the door wider.
“Three numbers, Coleman. 9-1-1. I dial them and you won’t just be working for Joey but you’ll be in need of his services.” She smiled cheerfully at the thought of him behind bars.
Luke turned on his heels and left the house. He climbed into his truck, his emotions raging from black irritation to out-and-out anger.
When the call had come over his police radio that officers had been summoned to her address because of gunshots fired, he’d half expected to find her dead.
As he pulled out of the driveway a patrol car pulled in, and the sight of the official car only fed his anger. She had no business running around like a loose cannon trying to capture criminals.
He’d seen her type before, a bored socialite looking for a little excitement in her life. She’d be better served to do something completely predictable and have an affair with her tennis coach.
And yet, as much as he wanted to dismiss her as nothing more than a dilettante in over her head, there was something about her—besides her great ass—that got to him.
He’d assumed when she started work for Joey that she’d last a month, two at the most. She’d surprised him not only by being determined to succeed, but by actually bringing in several criminals.
Still, she wasn’t taking the business seriously enough. The fact that she was out driving the streets of Kansas City, attending a fundraiser while knowing there was a price on her head was a case in point.
If she didn’t start taking things more seriously her shapely ass would be in the morgue and that would be a damn shame. He roared down the highway that would take him back downtown to his own apartment.
He knew what she’d been doing at that fundraiser tonight, the same thing he’d been doing. Seeking information that might lead to Marcus Willowby’s whereabouts.
She’d been surprised to see him there. She probably didn’t think he was capable of putting on a suit and acting respectable. She had no idea how resourceful he could be when necessary.
Chantal Worthington. She was a fashion designer’s wet dream in high heels. But, if she thought she was going to be the one to bring in Willowby, she had another think coming.
Crazy Coleman never lost and he certainly wasn’t about to lose to some trust-fund debutante who was playing at being a bad ass.
“Jackie? This is Chantal Worthington.” Chantal spoke into the phone receiver as mid-morning sunshine danced through her office window. She watched the golf course where a well-built hunk was taking some practice swings and recognized it had been too damn long since she’d enjoyed a physical relationship with a man.
“Hi, Chantal,” Jackie replied.
Chantal spun around in her chair, finding the hunk far too distracting. “I know it’s short notice, but I’m having a little dinner party here at my house tomorrow evening and was wondering if you and Frank could attend. I realized this morning that it’s been far too long since I’ve seen the two of you.”
“I’ll have to check Frank’s schedule. Can I get back to you later this afternoon?” Jackie Shofield had the low-pitched voice of a heavy smoker, although to Chantal’s knowledge the woman had never smoked a cigarette in her life. Even though she had to be surprised by the last-minute invitation, her voice didn’t betray it.
“That would be fine. If I’m not here just leave a message on the machine or with my assistant, Harrah.” A moment later Chantal hung up and tapped a finger on the phone as she fought a wave of frustration.
Inviting Jackie and Frank Shofield to the dinner party had been sudden inspiration. Frank and Marcus Willowby had been close friends through high school and college. Jackie was Chantal’s age and while the two hadn’t been the best of friends, they had been friendly.
She leaned back in her chair and rubbed the center of her forehead. The past couple of days had gone by in a blur.
She’d given a statement to the police about the shooting incident. Of course she’d been unable to give them any names or any real description of the car, but she had told them about the price Mundy had put on her head and that she was a bounty hunter. As she suspected there wasn’t much the police could do without any real evidence.
Her Mustang had been picked up for repairs and she’d rented a car and had spent most of her time trying to connect with anyone who might know something about Willowby’s whereabouts.
She’d stayed away from Big Joey’s, using the phone rather than personal appearances to stay in touch. She’d also seen nothing of Luke Coleman since the night he’d shown up on her front porch.
Belinda had returned to her home and there wasn’t a minute of the day that Chantal didn’t worry about her. The longer Willowby remained missing, the deeper into despair Belinda seemed to plunge.
She checked her watch and stood. She had an appointment with Rebecca Willowby in an hour and needed to get dressed. She had a feeling the only reason Rebecca had agreed to see her was because she’d assumed Chantal wanted to talk about some charity or another. Rebecca and Katherine were friendly acquaintances and Chantal hadn’t been too ashamed to mention her mother when she’d called Rebecca.
Harrah sat in the kitchen, paperwork strewn across the table and a pair of purple reading glasses riding low on her nose.
“I’m going to get dressed for my appointment with Rebecca,” she said. “How are you doing?”
Harrah pushed back from the table and stretched her long arms overhead. She’d been going through clippings of old newspaper articles that mentioned Willowby’s name. She patted a stack of papers to her left. “I’ve already gone through these and found nothing of use.” She pointed to three sheets of paper in front of her. “Those are all I’ve got. All three of them
are from several years ago and show him with friends at various social functions.”
Chantal picked up the papers and studied them one at a time. They were newspaper clippings from the society pages, each one depicting a photo of a particular event.
The first one showed the handsome Marcus with his arm around a young woman at a Spring Fling Ball. The young woman was identified as Marcy Canon. Marcy and her family had moved to New York City several months after the photo had been taken.
The second photo showed Marcus with his parents and the third showed a group of young men, Marcus included, preparing for a charity baseball game. Chantal recognized several of the young men, including Frank Shofield.
She handed the paper back to Harrah. “You’re keeping a list of any names you find in connection with Willowby?”
Harrah nodded. “You’d better go get dressed for your appointment,” she advised. “I’ll get through the rest of this paperwork while you’re gone.”
At some point over the last couple of days the reporters had abandoned their posts outside the Willowby mansion. After all, the news worth reporting in Kansas City hadn’t stopped happening on the day Willowby disappeared.
She suspected that the police might be watching the house, but if they were, she saw no signs of them as she pulled into the circular driveway.
The Willowby house made the Worthington place look like a quaint summer cottage. Unlike the Worthingtons who had made their money in this century, the Willowby fortune was old money and the mansion had been in the family for years.
Chantal had no idea how cooperative Rebecca might be, but she knew in order to get into Marcus Willowby’s head, she needed to talk not only to the people who hated him, but also to the people who loved him.
It had been five days since Marcus had officially gone missing and Chantal was aware of each moment that ticked past.
As she walked to the front door, she smoothed her skirt, surprised to discover she was a bit nervous. She’d dressed carefully for the meeting with Rebecca. The powerful, dignified woman would find no fault in the beige Chanel suit and pearl accessories.
She was seeing Rebecca under false pretenses and once Rebecca knew the real reason she was here, she had no idea how she’d be received.
Her knock was answered by a uniformed housekeeper who ushered her into a living room. Chantal sat on the white sofa and declined the housekeeper’s offer of something cold to drink.
As she waited for Rebecca to join her she looked around the room with interest. It had been ten years since she’d been in the Willowby house, not since the night of the party that had changed Belinda’s life. The decor had changed since then, but memories of the party that night sifted through Chantal’s head.
By the time Chantal and Belinda had arrived, the place had already been swarming with kids. At sixteen, Belinda and Chantal had been in the midst of teenage crises. Belinda had been overweight and suffered from acne, certain she was the ugliest girl on earth, and Chantal had felt invisible and far too average to survive life on earth.
It had been typical teenage angst and drama and the party was supposed to have been a panacea for boredom and a lack of self-confidence.
They had been at the party for about an hour when they got separated. Chantal had been standing by the fireplace in this very room when Belinda had rejoined her, urging her that they had to leave right away.
There had been a horrifying blankness in Belinda’s eyes that frightened Chantal. It was on the drive home that Belinda had told her Marcus had raped her upstairs in a bathroom.
A new surge of anger filled her as she thought of what Marcus had said to Belinda, of what he’d done to Belinda. She swallowed against the anger, knowing it would be counterproductive to indulge it while speaking to Rebecca.
She got up from the sofa and walked over to the fireplace where the mantel was decorated with silver frames containing photos of Marcus at various stages of his life.
He’d been a pretty little boy who had grown up to be a strikingly handsome man. With his blond hair and blue eyes he looked like the all-American boy. He had chiseled features and the strong Willowby jaw and carried himself with the confidence of a man who was assured of his place in the world.
“Chantal. So nice to see you.”
She whirled away from the fireplace to see Rebecca Willowby enter the living room. Rebecca was a tall, handsome woman with strong, almost masculine features and sharp blue eyes. She approached Chantal and held out a hand. “Your mother is doing well?”
“Yes, she’s doing fine. She told me to send her regards to you.”
“She’s a lovely woman.” Rebecca released her hand and gestured back to the sofa. “Please, have a seat. May I get you something to drink?”
“No thanks, I’m fine.”
Up close, stress was obvious on Rebecca’s features. Dark shadows shone beneath her eyes despite an attempt to cover them up with concealer. She looked like a woman who hadn’t slept well for a month.
“I’m assuming your visit today has something to do with the fall festival dance. I understand your mother is heading up the committee. I’ll be more than happy to make some sort of financial donation, but I’m afraid that’s all I can commit to at the present time.”
“Actually, that’s not why I’m here.” She drew a deep breath, then continued. “I’m here about your son.” Chantal saw the sharp grief that momentarily claimed Rebecca’s features. It was there only a moment, then gone beneath a mask devoid of expression.
This is a mother, she reminded herself, a mother who obviously loves her son. “I’m worried about him,” she said.
“My dear, you have no idea what worry is,” Rebecca said with a trace of bitterness. She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders.
“I’m going to be perfectly honest with you, Mrs. Willowby. I’m afraid that if Marcus doesn’t turn himself in to the authorities as soon as possible he could get hurt. The moment Marcus skipped out he became a hot property among every bounty hunter in the city and some of those men aren’t nice.”
Chantal talked as fast as she could, afraid that at any moment Rebecca would summon security to have her removed from the house. “He’ll probably go to jail if he turns himself in, but he’ll have an appeal process. If a bounty hunter tries to pick him up, something bad could happen and he could wind up seriously hurt or dead.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Rebecca stood abruptly and walked to a nearby window. Her back was ramrod-straight as she faced away from Chantal. For a long moment a weighty silence reigned.
“I don’t understand this,” she finally said, her voice filled with weariness. “I don’t understand any of this. I can’t imagine why those women told those awful lies about my son.”
She turned back to face Chantal, her eyes burning with something akin to religious zeal. “We gave Marcus everything money could buy. He was the center of our universe, he had all of our attention, all of our love and he never wanted for anything. He’s bright and handsome and wealthy. Why would he ever need to rape any woman? The whole thing is absolutely ridiculous. Money. They’re obviously after money…or publicity. It’s the only way to explain this…this unseemly business.”
Although Chantal’s initial reaction was to defend the victims, she didn’t, knowing that if she did she’d lose any further opportunity to talk to Rebecca. “Do you know where he is now?”
Rebecca’s shoulders slumped slightly. “How I wish I knew. We haven’t talked to him since the day before he disappeared. But, if he did call me, I’d tell him to turn himself in. I’d assure him that this will all be taken care of on appeal. We’ll prove those women to be liars and that the entire case against him is nothing but some sort of personal vendetta.” She sat next to Chantal once again and for the next hour she told Chantal about her son.
It was as if Chantal’s presence had opened up a vein in Rebecca’s wrist and what poured out was a mother’s love for her only son.
Rebecca spok
e of her joy in finally becoming pregnant when she’d begun to think it impossible, of the rapture she’d felt when Marcus was born. She extolled his accomplishments, both as an athlete and as a scholar.
Chantal couldn’t help but feel sorry for the woman, who was so obviously convinced her son was a good boy who had grown into a good man.
From Rebecca, Chantal got a list of Marcus’s friends, although she told Chantal she’d contacted each of them in the last couple of days and none of them knew anything about Marcus’s current location. Chantal didn’t tell Rebecca that she was a bounty hunter rather she implied a deep friendship with Marcus that had her worried about his safety.
Rebecca walked Chantal to the front door and placed a hand on Chantal’s arm. “You said that those bounty hunters could be dangerous to my son.” She squeezed Chantal’s arm, her eyes burning fervently. “You find him, Chantal. I’ll do everything I can to help you search for him. But you find him and bring him back safely for me.”
“I’ll do my best,” Chantal replied.
It wasn’t until she was back in her car minutes later that she realized she had two women who wanted her to find Marcus Willowby: Belinda, who wanted to destroy him, and Rebecca, who wanted to save him.
Chapter 5
“Narcissist.” Chantal rolled the word off her tongue.
“Blue-eyed bitch,” Harrah retorted. “If you’re going to call me names, then I’ll respond in kind.”
Chantal laughed and got up from her desk to stretch. “I wasn’t calling you a narcissist. After everything I’ve read and everyone I’ve talked to in the last couple of days I’ve decided that’s what Marcus Willowby is.”
“He’s a creep, that’s for sure.” Harrah capped the bottle of polish she’d been using to paint her long fingernails.
The late-afternoon sunshine slanted through the windows in the office and the scent of culinary creations drifted through the house as Enrique and his staff prepared the food for the dinner party that evening.
Hell on Heels Page 6