“Chantal, we need to talk.”
She froze and whirled back around to face Luke in horror. “How do you know my real name?” She’d been so careful to make sure nobody here knew her as anything but Carol Worth. How long had he known her real identity? How the devil had he found out?
He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell the scent of minty soap and his spicy cologne. That’s one thing she’d noticed about him—no matter how disreputable he looked, he always smelled clean and good.
“Don’t worry, your little secret is safe with me. I’m not worried about where you live or what’s in your bank account. I’m more worried about the fact that according to my sources you now have a price on your head.”
Dear Reader,
I confess, I have a passion for high heels, and my heroine in Hell on Heels embodies that passion. Chantal Worthington. I loved her the first time she popped into my head. Young, wealthy, smart and savvy, she’s a girl after my own heart. Best of all, she has a fierce loyalty to her friends and a heart the size of the price of the designer clothes she loves.
Of course, Chantal needs a strong counterpart—and crazy Luke Coleman is just the ticket. These two characters are such fun! I hope you enjoy reading their story as much as I loved writing it.
Carla Cassidy
Hell on Heels
Carla Cassidy
CARLA CASSIDY
isn’t a secret agent or martial arts expert, but she does consider herself a Bombshell kind of woman. She lives a life of love and adventure in the Midwest with her husband, Frank, and has written more than fifty books for Silhouette. Look for Carla’s next Bombshell, Pawn, an Athena Force adventure, in July 2006.
To my fellow MARA members,
Thanks for putting up with my craziness and never telling me to go away! I appreciate all of you.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 1
The fundraiser had been a smashing success. The staff at the exclusive Kansas City Club had worked overtime to ensure that the decor and the service for the two-hundred-dollar-a-plate dinner was impeccable.
Everyone who was anyone had been there, afraid that if they weren’t then they’d be fodder for gossip during the evening. Of course if there was one thing the wealthy of Kansas City loved to do more than spend money, it was to talk about one another.
“I could live on this.” Belinda Carlyle scooped up a cracker full of caviar and popped it into her mouth.
Chantal Worthington wrinkled her nose at her best friend. “Not me, I can’t stand the stuff.”
The two women stood next to a buffet table. The fancy appetizers had been picked over hours earlier. Chantal would have left long ago but her mother had been in charge. Chantal knew her mother would expect her to stay until the last party gasp.
“See the waiter over there? The one with the flashing dark eyes and tight pants? I’m thinking of having him on a cracker later this evening.”
“Honestly, Belinda…” Chantal bit back the lecture that sprang to her lips, knowing from past experience that it wouldn’t do any good.
Belinda had been on a path of self-destruction for years and Chantal knew there was nothing she could do except be there when her friend fell…which she did often.
“Your mother looks good. Botox?” Belinda asked as she grabbed another cracker.
Chantal looked across the room where her mother stood talking with the mayor. At sixty-five years old Katherine Worthington was still a beautiful woman, thanks to a man named Pepe who was paid an inordinately large amount of money to keep her hair the perfect shade of champagne blond and her skin like that on a baby’s butt.
“If she’s had it, she’ll never admit to it,” Chantal replied dryly. “She’ll simply say her ageless beauty is the result of good genes.”
“I met a guy in the bar earlier whom I would have liked to talk right out of his jeans.” When Belinda got no rise from Chantal she changed the subject. “How’s the bounty-hunting business?” Belinda shook her head, her highlighted brown curls dancing on her painfully thin shoulders. “I still can’t believe my best friend is a bounty hunter.”
Chantal grinned. “There are times I can’t believe it myself. Mother insists it’s a form of late rebellion.” Belinda was one of only a few people who knew what Chantal did during her free time.
Belinda raised a perfectly waxed eyebrow. “Is it?”
Chantal didn’t answer immediately. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I was bored, looking to challenge myself with something more than shopping and doing lunch.”
“Seems a little extreme,” Belinda observed.
“So does taking home waiters you don’t know to have meaningless sex,” Chantal retorted.
“Darling, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Belinda purred. Then she widened her eyes. “Oops, I forgot, you did try it. What was his name? Larry or Harry?”
Chantal laughed and nudged her friend with her elbow. “Gary, and that was definitely a wild, crazy rebellion.” Gary Burkett was a poet she’d met at a literacy function.
He’d been intensely handsome with soulful eyes. They’d spent thirty minutes talking at the bookstore then had left and had spent the next two days in bed.
Chantal had begun to believe she’d found Mr. Right, then they’d gotten out of bed. What was it about silk sheets that could make a man irresistible but once the sheets were off transformed him into an asshole?
“I can tell you why you were so bored with your life,” Belinda continued. “You don’t have enough dysfunction. You’re the only person I know who doesn’t have a therapist.”
“You have two. Me not having one keeps the world in perfect balance.”
Belinda picked up her purse from a nearby chair. “On that note, I’m going home. Call me tomorrow?”
“As always,” Chantal replied.
Belinda pulled her keys from her purse, then looked at Chantal again, all trace of humor gone from her pretty features. “Did you hear that the case went to the jury late yesterday afternoon?”
Chantal didn’t have to ask which case Belinda was referring to. The Willowby rape trial had been one of the most highly publicized cases ever tried in the state of Missouri.
Ten months before, Marcus Willowby, heir to the Willowby Whisky fortune had been arrested on two counts of rape. It was alleged that twenty-eight-year-old Marcus had drugged the victims with GHB, then videotaped himself raping the unconscious