Читать книгу Hell on Heels - Carla Cassidy - Страница 11

Chantal couldn’t beat up a man three times her size, nor could she figure out how to apply fake eyelashes that looked natural, but the one thing she could do was drive.

Her father used to joke that somehow Earnhardt blood had mixed with Worthington blood in her veins. From the moment she’d first gotten behind the steering wheel of a car she’d had the skills and instincts of a professional race-car driver.

She shot through the red light and took the next right corner on two wheels. The oppressively hot night air poured through the broken window as her heart pounded a frantic pace.

The Chevy squirreled around the corner behind her. Chantal slid a quick glance at her mother, who was practically lying on the seat next to her, then returned her gaze to the rearview mirror where the Chevy was gaining on them.

There was another flash from just outside the passenger-side window and she heard the ping of bullet against metal.

She didn’t waste a minute’s energy trying to figure out who was driving the Chevy or why they were shooting at her. All that mattered was escape. She’d ask questions later.

“Dean Koontz novels, cell phones, Victoria’s Secret,” she muttered under her breath as she careened around a left turn and shot through another red light.

Several cars blared their horns to show their displeasure. She’d rather invoke a healthy dose of road rage than be dead.

“Where are the cops when you need them?” she said.

“A speeding ticket sounds delightful right now,” Katherine murmured.

Chantal’s hands ached as she gripped the wheel, turning down one street then another in an attempt to lose their pursuers.

Katherine peeked over the dashboard just in time to see Chantal turn down a one-way street. “Oh, my,” she said as a pair of headlights careened toward them. She lowered her head to the seat as Chantal swerved a hard right to avoid the oncoming traffic.

It seemed as if it took hours, but within minutes she’d managed to lose the Chevy and slowed to a normal breakneck pace.

Her mother didn’t move from her position on the seat, her head still covered by her hands. “Mom? I think it’s okay now,” Chantal said.

Katherine slowly sat up. “Would you like to share with me what that was all about?” She flipped down the visor to display the mirror on the back, then pulled a tube of lipstick from her purse, a nervous habit that Chantal knew meant her mother was frightened.

Chantal had a feeling that if her mother was faced with a psychopath wielding a machine gun she’d pull out a tube of Mauve Rose and apply lavishly.

“I do believe somebody just tried to kill us,” she added. She applied a fresh coat of lipstick, flipped the visor back up then stared at her daughter expectantly.

Chantal told her mother about Mundy and the price on her head. Although she tried to downplay the whole thing, there was no way to minimize a death threat.

“And you think that’s who just shot at us? But, how did they know where you’d be? How to find you?” Katherine asked.

Chantal frowned thoughtfully. “The Folly is only a few blocks from Big Joey’s. They probably recognized my car.” She wanted to scream at her own stupidity. Of course they’d be cruising the area, looking for her car, and the red Mustang wasn’t exactly hard to spot. She should have thought about that before.

“So, what are you going to do?” Katherine asked.

“Get a new car.” Chantal checked her rearview mirror for the hundredth time, pleased to see nobody suspicious behind them as she pulled into the development where her mother lived.

Katherine emitted a small laugh. “Silly me. I thought you were going to do something totally irrational like quit your dangerous job.”

Chantal pulled to a halt in front of the house, parked the car and turned to look at her mom. “Is that what you want me to do? Quit?” Even though she’d been bounty hunting for a relatively short period of time, the thought of quitting grieved her.

Katherine’s love for her daughter shone from her eyes. She sighed and patted an errant strand of hair back into place. “I want you to be safe.” She placed a hand on Chantal’s cheeks and Chantal felt the slight tremble in her mother’s fingertips. “But you love what you’re doing and I would never ask you to quit. I just want you to be careful, Chantal. You know how much I love you.”

“And I love you,” Chantal replied and pressed her hand against her mother’s. “And I do love what I’m doing and I will be careful. I made a mistake in judgment tonight, 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.”