Hell on Heels. Carla Cassidy

one I won’t make again.”

      It wasn’t until her mother had gotten out of the car and Chantal was driving home that the shakes began. Her stomach bucked and kicked with queasiness and her hands trembled as she thought of how close they’d come to disaster.

      She’d been foolish not to think that the only way Mundy’s boys knew to identify her was by the car that carried her back and forth to work at Big Joey’s. It was the same car that had carried Mundy from his girlfriend’s home to the police station on the night Chantal had taken him into custody.

      That single lack of attention to detail could have gotten her killed tonight, but worse than that, it could have gotten her mother killed.

      The first thing she did when she got inside her house was go to the spare room to check on Belinda, who was already sound asleep, her eyes covered with a gold satin eye mask. The second thing Chantal did was call the police.

      As she waited for the officials to arrive to make a report, she fixed herself a double mocha latte with an extra squirt of whipped cream. She didn’t normally imbibe in the high-calorie, sinful drink but she figured being shot at and surviving called for a celebration of sorts.

      “Hell of a night, Sam,” she said to the cat who sat on top of the refrigerator staring at her with unblinking green eyes.

      She sat at the kitchen table and wrapped her hands around the warm mug, fighting the chill that had taken up residency deep in her bones.

      The threat that had been nothing more than words before had now become a reality. Even punk-ass kids could kill her if they got lucky. Thank God they’d been unlucky tonight.

      This was the first time since she’d begun bounty hunting that she’d truly found her life in danger. Certainly she’d known on an intellectual level that it was a dangerous business, but at this moment the risks were more than just an intellectual nebulous concept.

      Did she want to quit? Hell, no. She just needed to be smarter, better. She loved what she was doing. For the first time in her life she felt a true purpose of being, a commitment to something bigger than herself.

      The doorbell rang and she jumped up, certain it would be the officers she’d summoned. She opened her front door and instead of uniformed officers, Luke stood on her porch.

      He swept past her and into the living room before she could even protest his very presence.

      “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice a low growl. He stood too close to her, invading her personal space.

      “I’m fine. What are you doing here?” He looked wild, his tie had been yanked loose and his hair had escaped the confines at the nape of his neck.

      “I heard the call on the scanner requesting officers at this address due to a shooting.” His gaze slid down the length of her, as if checking for bullet holes. He seemed to relax slightly as he saw that she was intact. “So, what happened?”

      She took a step back from him, finding his nearness nearly overwhelming. “They killed my car.”

      “Tell me everything.” Sam appeared in the doorway of the living room and to Chantal’s surprise made a beeline to Luke. He curled around Luke’s feet and meowed plaintively. Luke bent down and scooped up the cat in his arms. Sam purred like a motor boat. Chantal scowled.

      “The police are on their way. There’s no reason for you to be here.” The man seemed to fill every space in the room and her irritation only climbed as he stroked her cat…her purring cat.

      “Was it Mundy’s men?” He obviously intended to ignore her not-so-subtle invitation to leave.

      “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.”