Hell on Heels

by Carla Cassidy

  “That’s an understatement,” she replied.

  She wondered if it would have been as fierce if they hadn’t been arguing right before falling into bed. She also wondered if this had somehow been a ploy on his part to soften her up and get her to see things his way. If that was the case, he was going to be disappointed.

  She’d had the feeling that he was somehow dangerous to her, that having sex with him would be a mistake. If it had been a mistake it had been a wonderful one, and if he was dangerous to her mental well-being, then she’d accept the danger, for, even now, sated by what they’d just shared, she wondered when they’d do it again.

  He raised up on one elbow and gazed down at her. “What’s that thing you do?”

  “That thing? What thing?” Oh God, what had she done while in the throes of passion? Had she done something totally embarrassing? Had she drooled or made strange, funny noises?

  “You list things. You murmured something about nail polish and magazines.”

  “Oh, that.” She relaxed. “It’s just something I do when I’m feeling nervous or frightened.”

  “Did I scare you?” he asked in surprise.

  “No, it was just…just…intense. Anyway, when I feel that way I list my favorite things. I know it probably sounds crazy, but it calms me.”

  “It doesn’t sound crazy,” he replied with a small smile. “Everyone has little tricks they use to calm themselves down.”

  “What do you do?” she asked curiously. She loved the way he felt lying so close to her, his body radiating warmth and strength. She was in no hurry to jump out of bed and continue the fight they’d been having before.

  “I think of my brother. Seth was the calmest, sanest person I ever knew. Even though he was two years younger than me, he was the one who could calm me down when I was angry, make me feel better if I was upset.”

  Chantal grabbed his hand and held it tight.

  He stroked his other hand through her hair and gazed at her soberly. “You can’t save her, you know,” he said softly. “Getting Willowby into custody isn’t going to save your friend. From what you’ve told me about her she needs intensive therapy and probably a stint in rehab.”

  A tightness banded around her chest as she thought of Belinda and that night so long ago. “You’re right, but getting Willowby into custody will make her feel better.”

  “And will it make you feel better? Will it ease the guilt you feel about that night?”

  She sat up, the band compressing tighter, hurting her heart. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied.

  He sat up as well. “I think you do. It wasn’t your fault, Chantal. You aren’t responsible for what happened to your friend.” His gentle voice should have soothed her, but it didn’t, rather his words sent a fresh shaft of pain through her.

  To her relief he got out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom. She lay back down and stared up at the ceiling, tears blurring her vision.

  He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand. It was her fault. If she hadn’t left Belinda alone, then Willowby wouldn’t have preyed on her. If she’d remained at Belinda’s side throughout the evening, then Belinda wouldn’t have been raped and her life wouldn’t have been destroyed.

  They had agreed to stick together, but Chantal had wandered off, leaving her friend alone. Belinda wouldn’t need therapy or rehab if Chantal had done what she should have done. She swiped at her tears, angry with herself for the momentary meltdown.

  She got out of the bed and found her clothes and pulled them on, wanting, needing to be dressed when Luke came back into the room.

  When she was dressed she stepped back out on the balcony, the humid night air wrapping around her the way Luke’s arms had been around her moments before.

  Right or wrong, good or bad, she knew what she had to do and she could either do it with his help or not, but she intended to follow through on her plan to get Willowby.

  She owed it to Belinda. It was the only way she could live with herself. It was the only way she could forgive herself.

  She was still on the balcony when Luke joined her there. He’d taken the time to pull on his slacks and he came up behind her and turned her around to face him.

  “All right,” he said. “I don’t like it. I don’t like it one damned bit, but we’ll do it your way. We’ll work it together so there’s as little risk to you as possible and with the understanding that if I feel it becomes too dangerous for you, then we go to an alternative plan.”

  “Okay, that sounds reasonable,” she agreed, relieved that he wasn’t going to fight with her on this but rather intended to support her.

  “I also want you to promise me that you won’t do anything until we have more information about the two bodyguards and Willowby’s current living situation.”

  “All right. I’ve told you before I’m not suicidal.” She placed a hand on his chest. “Thank you, Luke.”

  He flashed her a dark look. “I’ve just agreed to let you be bait for a convicted rapist. Don’t thank me yet. I just hope to hell I haven’t just allowed you to become Willowby’s latest victim.”

  The sun beat down with the dazzling rays of a twenty-karat perfectly faceted diamond. From behind her sunglasses Chantal surveyed the beach as she stretched out on a hot-pink striped beach towel that perfectly matched the bikini she wore.

  This was her second day on the beach. She’d spent most of the afternoon the day before hoping Willowby would show up, but all she’d had to show for it at the end of the day was a healthy dose of frustration and a gorgeous tan.

  Luke had spent the day two days before finding out what he could about Willowby’s living arrangements. By asking a few discreet questions and pretending to be interested in renting one of the bungalows he’d learned that Willowby lived in bungalow three alone.

  The estate agent had said that Marcus often spent his afternoons on this end of the beach and was never seen outside without the hired muscle—brothers who lived on the other side of Tamillo.

  “Do you have any idea what those places rent for?” he’d told Chantal when he’d returned from his fact-finding mission. “Twenty-five hundred bucks a week! Jesus, that’s more than most people pay for their monthly mortgage.”

  Chantal now glanced over her left shoulder to where Luke sat on a bench with a newspaper opened in front of him. She knew he wouldn’t be reading. She could feel his gaze on her, knew that he had her back.

  She pulled a tube of sunscreen from her beach bag and began to rub it on her legs. While he had been checking out the bungalows, Chantal had contacted her mother and arranged for the Willowby business jet to fly into Tamillo. The hotel had a private airstrip about ten miles from the town and she’d arranged for the jet to land there and be ready at a moment’s notice to return to the States.

  It was impossible to formulate any real plan for the capture of Willowby. There were too many variables to consider. But she and Luke had done what they could to be ready should the opportunity present itself.

  Luke. It was difficult for her to believe that just a week ago she’d thought him a hateful, arrogant bastard with no redeeming qualities.

  In the past couple of days he’d proven himself to be an extraordinary man. The fact that he’d had the insight to understand the forces that drove her, the need to redeem herself by capturing Willowby, stunned her. She hadn’t recognized how much she was driven by guilt until he’d astutely pointed it out to her.

  Logically she knew she wasn’t responsible for what had happened to Belinda at that party a decade ago. Only one person was responsible for the crime against Belinda and that was Marcus Willowby. But just as Chantal was depending on Luke to cover her back now, Belinda had counted on Chantal to cover her back years ago, and Chantal had failed her.

  She knew Luke was right about something else as well. Belinda needed more help than her friends could give her. She was popping too many pills, drinking too much alcohol and when Chantal got back to the States
she intended to encourage Belinda to seek help for her substance abuse and to get therapy.

  Chantal had been on the blanket only about twenty minutes when a tall, dark-haired man approached her. She could tell by his affected swagger as he came toward her that he was on the make and thought he was all that and a bag of chips.

  Just before he made eye contact with her she saw him suck in the slight pouch of a stomach that threatened to spill over the top of his shorts.

  He stopped at the edge of her towel and flashed her a big grin. “Are my eyes deceiving me or is it the girl of my fantasies come to life?”

  “Thanks for stopping by, but I’m not interested,” Chantal replied. He looked much older up close.

  “Honey, how can you possibly know you aren’t interested unless you have a drink with me and we do a little personal exploration into our souls?”

  Was this guy for real? She had a feeling there was only one rejection he’d truly understand. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not into men’s souls.”

  “Ah, a woman who functions strictly on the physical plane, that’s fine with me, babe.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” she said and pulled off her sunglasses. “I’m not into men’s souls. I’m into women’s souls. In fact, I’ve got my eye on that hot blonde over there in the blue bathing suit.” She gestured toward a busty blonde lying on her back, silicone breasts standing up like twin soldiers beneath a skimpy suit.

  The man stepped back, obviously disappointed. “So, you’re one of those lesbos?”

  “’Fraid so. As far as I’m concerned you’re packing extra parts that don’t interest me. So, see ya.” She returned her glasses to the bridge of her nose and waggled her fingers in a goodbye.

  She breathed a sigh of relief as he walked away. At least he hadn’t insisted that all she needed was a good man to change her sexual orientation.

  She glanced back at Luke who had risen from the bench and stared in her direction, poised to provide help if she needed it. She gave a faint shake of her head and lay back down on her towel.

  There was only one man she wanted to try picking her up, and that was Willowby. The beach was littered with beautiful women, but few of them were completely alone. She was hoping that by appearing to be a lonely, vulnerable woman she’d catch Willowby’s attention if and when he hit the beach.

  By the time an hour and a half had passed she was sweaty and bored. She alternated her gaze between the crowd around her and the bungalow in the distance, willing Willowby to appear.

  She got up from the towel and walked to the edge of the water, dipping her feet into the refreshing waves, then bending over to splash her shoulders and cool off her face.

  She was still standing there when from the corner of her eye she saw Willowby and his two grunts leave the bungalow and make their way toward the beach.

  Nerves jangled inside her as her heart rate quickened. She glanced toward Luke and saw him sit up straighter on the bench.

  Willowby was here. She was here. Now all she had to do was catch his attention and make him interested in her. She hoped the bright pink bikini she wore worked like a red flag in front of an angry bull’s face. She wanted Willowby to charge her so she could deliver a death blow with the sword of justice.

  She bent over once again and splashed her shoulders one last time, watching the trek of the three men. Willowby was dressed in a pair of white shorts and a white-and-tangerine shirt opened to expose a tanned, muscled chest. His blond hair glistened in the sunlight, and if she didn’t know what he was capable of, what he had done, she might have found him attractive.

  If they continued in the direction they were going they would cross between the water’s edge and Chantal’s towel. If she timed it just right she could reach her towel just about the same time they walked right in front of it.

  She held her breath, waited for the perfect moment, then turned and sauntered back toward her towel, almost colliding with Willowby.

  “Whoa,” he said as they nearly made contact.

  “Oh, gosh. Sorry, the sun had me blinded for a moment,” she replied. She flashed him a smile that she hoped looked a little shy, a little interested and a little apologetic.

  He offered her a bright smile, his eyes hidden behind designer sunglasses. “American?”

  “That’s right.” She noticed that the two big men hung back slightly, as if they were accustomed to Willowby stopping often to talk to pretty women.

  “What brings you to Tamillo? Don’t tell me, you’re on your honeymoon.”

  She forced a light laugh. “I wish. Honeymooners seem to be everywhere, but I’m not one of them. This is my last stop on a prolonged vacation. I heard it was a beautiful place where the hotel rates hadn’t caught up with those in Puerto Vallarta or Cancun. What about you? On vacation or on your honeymoon?”

  “No honeymoon for me,” he replied.

  “I’m Carol Kelly.” Although she didn’t want him touching her in any way, she held out a hand toward him.

  “Hi, Carol. I’m Mark Wills.” He took her hand in his and shook it. He cocked his head to one side, his gaze intent on her face. “Have we met before?”

  Chantal’s heart plunged to her feet. She frowned thoughtfully, hoping her features betrayed nothing of her concern. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve only been here a day and I’m sure I would have remembered you.”

  He nodded as if satisfied. “Yeah, I’m sure I would have remembered you, too. You just look a little familiar.”

  She laughed lightly. “Lots of people tell me that. I guess I just have one of those faces.”

  “Are you here all alone or traveling with friends?”

  “No friends, just little old me,” she replied.

  “Maybe as the only two non-honeymooners in Tamillo we should have dinner together.”

  “That might be nice,” she replied and pulled her hand from his. She fought against a shudder of revulsion.

  “I could cook for you at my place.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said hesitantly. She wasn’t sure exactly how to play it, but suspected if she appeared too eager, too easy, he’d lose interest. Besides, did women really go to a stranger’s house for a first date?

  “If you aren’t comfortable with that, why don’t we meet for dinner in one of the hotel restaurants?”

  She hesitated a moment, then smiled at him. “I’d like that.”

  “Tonight? Around seven? How about the Seaside Room in the Tamillo Grand Hotel?”

  “All right. Seven o’clock it is,” she replied. “And it was nice meeting you, Mark.”

  He took her hand once again in his. “I look forward to this evening, Carol.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it lightly, then released it. “I’ll see you later.”

  She watched as he turned and walked away, his cohorts following close behind. Her stomach quivered with nerves and the back of her hand burned with the disgusting imprint of his mouth.

  She returned to her towel and picked it up from the sand. There was no reason to remain on the beach. She’d accomplished what she’d set out to do. She’d made a date with a rapist.

  Chapter 13

  “Don’t you have something else you can wear?” Luke’s dark gaze swept over her as she stood in front of the dresser mirror and put on her jewelry.

  “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” She turned to look at him. He was seated on the edge of the bed, dressed in a pair of charcoal slacks and a gray-and-white striped shirt. He looked unbelievably handsome except for the tension that tightened his features and the eyebrows tugged together to create a deep frown.

  “I don’t know. I just don’t think it’s right,” he replied.

  She turned back to face her reflection. She’d bought the dress that afternoon in a boutique in the hotel. It wasn’t a designer label, had not been too expensive and she’d thought it was the perfect attire for Carol Kelly.

  The scoop neck of the light blue dress was low
enough to be interesting but not low enough to be obvious. It was fitted through the bodice and the waist, then flared into a flirty skirt. High-heeled silver sandals adorned her feet.

  “What’s not right about it?” she asked as she fastened a tiny silver hoop to her ear. She liked the way the pale blue complemented the tan she’d acquired during her two days at the beach.

  He got up from his seated position and came to stand just behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and moved them in a caress as he held her gaze in the mirror.

  “You look way too sexy, way too hot. You make me want to put my hands all over you and the thought of Willowby thinking the same kind of thoughts I’m thinking right now makes me sick.”

  His words sent a wave of heat through her…not because of the way her appearance might affect Willowby, but rather because of how her appearance affected Luke.

  It had been less than twenty-four hours since they’d had sex for the third time and it thrilled her that what she saw in his eyes was fevered want.

  She turned to face him once again. “Stop looking at me like that.”

  “Like what?” He stepped closer to her, his breath warm on her face.

  “You know what I’m talking about,” she replied. She pushed against his chest to back him up, afraid that if she didn’t they’d tumble to the bed and screw up her date with Willowby.

  He sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know why in the hell I let you talk me into this crazy plan.”

  “Because you know it’s the best crazy plan for getting him. Tonight is just about dinner, Luke. Nothing is going to happen as long as we’re in a public place. Besides, you’ll be in the restaurant, too. It isn’t like I’m going into this all alone.” She checked her watch. “And I need to get going, otherwise I’ll be late.”

  Nerves jangled inside her as she and Luke rode the elevator to the lobby together. Once in the lobby she would get a cab and Luke would drive to the restaurant located in a hotel three miles away.

  They had both agreed not to try to take Willowby tonight. What she hoped was that dinner tonight would be a prelude to something more intimate later. The absolute best possible place to get Willowby into custody was in the privacy of his bungalow. They wanted no spectators, no third-party involvement…just a nice, uncomplicated take-down.