He scowled.
“Has any of this made the local news?” she asked as her thoughts shifted to Belinda. If her friend got wind of this, she’d be beyond distraught.
“I don’t know, but I’d doubt it, since nothing official has been announced yet.”
Chantal stood. “I’ve got to run. Let me know as soon as you know anything about Willowby.”
“Will do,” Joey replied.
Minutes later as Chantal drove toward home, she thought of the man who was her boss. Rumor had it that years ago Joey had been engaged to a beautiful woman. A week before their wedding she was killed by a drunk driver who had half a dozen DUI arrests on his record. Joey went crazy. He hunted the man down and three days later beat him to death with his bare hands.
Joey went to prison for ten years. With his physical stature alone, prison should have been hell for the man, but Joey had not only survived, he’d thrived. He’d come out of prison with a zeal to right the wrongs of his past, and thus Big Joey’s Bail Bonds was born.
Before Chantal had gotten into bounty hunting, she, like so many others, had a romanticized view of the business. She’d thought bounty hunters were honorable men fighting for justice and righting the wrongs of an inadequate legal system.
In truth it was a business shadowed with darkness. Perhaps there were some honorable men, but there were also men drawn to bounty hunting by their own propensity for violence and power and control.
By the time she pulled into her driveway her thoughts were back on Belinda. She knew the emotional investment Belinda had in seeing Marcus Willowby tried and convicted for his crimes. She also knew Belinda had no support system other than Chantal.
Belinda was the cliché of the poor little rich girl. She had no siblings and her parents had always been more interested in traveling than in their only daughter. Belinda had been raised by a variety of nannies and had never connected with the people who had given her life.
Sometimes Chantal thought Belinda had been drawn to her because of the relationship Chantal had with her own parents. Katherine and Sam, while he’d been alive, were loving, caring people who always had time for their only child.
Belinda had loved spending time at Chantal’s house when they’d been growing up, and she’d mourned the death of Sam almost as deeply as Chantal and her mother had.
Chantal and Belinda had spent many hours discussing the differences between their parents. Belinda insisted that she thought it was because her parents had been born wealthy and Chantal’s parents had made their money.
Inside the house, Chantal went directly to her office. She sat behind her desk and turned on the television with the remote control. She channel-surfed, seeking any news report on the Willowby trial.
Since the case had gone to the jury late Friday afternoon. Marcus wouldn’t have been required to show up in court today unless a verdict had come down. However, he was required to wear a monitoring device and check in with the authorities at specific predetermined times during the day and evening.
There could be a hundred innocent reasons why he had missed his noon check-in or there could be one reason why he hadn’t…and that was because he’d run.
When she found nothing on the news, she turned on her computer and went to the Web site devoted to the trial. It was run by a group that identified itself only as Women Against Rape and had sprung to life the day after Willowby had been arrested.
The headline across the first page read: Willowby on the Run?
The provocative headline wasn’t substantiated by the blurb beside it, which indicated only that Willowby had missed a check-in and his lawyer had assured the authorities it was some sort of technological glitch. She shut down the computer, picked up the phone and dialed Belinda’s number.
Margaret, the Carlyles’ housekeeper, answered the phone on the second ring. “Hi, Margaret, it’s Chantal. Is Belinda there?”
“Ms. Belinda is resting.”
It wasn’t unusual for Belinda to nap during the day, but Chantal needed to speak to her friend, needed to find out if Belinda had gotten word about Willowby. “Could you get her on the phone? I really need to speak with her.”
“Just a moment.”
Chantal tapped her sculptured nails on the top of her desk as she waited for Belinda, hoping that her friend hadn’t seen the Web site, had no idea that there was even the most remote possibility that Willowby had fled the jurisdiction.
“Ms. Chantal, I can’t get her awake and there’s an empty pill bottle next to her bed.” Margaret’s voice held a frightening urgency.
“Call 911 and tell them to take her to St. Luke’s! I’ll be there as soon as possible.” Damn. The minute Big Joey had told her about Willowby’s missed check-in, she’d been afraid that Belinda might get word of it and do something stupid.
Chantal jumped out of her chair, grabbed her purse and headed for the door.
As she drove to St. Luke’s Hospital, her heart beat a frantic rhythm. This wasn’t the first time Belinda had done something stupid. Twice before she’d taken an overdose of pills.
“Damn it, Belinda,” she murmured. The thought of losing her created an ache inside Chantal’s chest. Belinda was more sister than friend. Belinda was the keeper of secrets, Chantal’s partner in joy and sorrow and she couldn’t imagine not having her best friend in her life.
By the time Chantal arrived at the hospital, Belinda had already been taken into the emergency room. “I’m here for Belinda Carlyle,” Chantal said to the receptionist.
“And you are?”
“Her sister, Chantal.” She knew the only way to get information was to pose as an immediate family member.
“If you’ll just have a seat in the waiting room I’ll let them know you’re here.”
Chantal sank into one of the chairs and tried to still the rapid beat of her heart. Thank God she’d decided to call Belinda. She prayed they had found her in time.
“Nine-hundred-count sheets, anything by Armani, chocolate-covered strawberries.” As the stress built up inside her, she began her mantra beneath her breath.
She wanted to wring Belinda’s neck, kick her in her butt, and pull her against her heart and make her swear she’d never do anything like this again.
What if Chantal hadn’t called her? What if Margaret hadn’t gone into the bedroom? What if…what if…Those kinds of thoughts could eat you alive.
It was a little over an hour later that she was allowed into the emergency-room area where a doctor told her they had pumped Belinda’s stomach and he’d summoned a mental-heath associate to speak to her.
“May I see her?” Chantal asked.
He nodded and motioned toward exam room seven. Chantal hurried into the enclosure to find Belinda with her head turned toward the wall in the semi-dark room.
“Belinda, it’s me.” Chantal
