Gemma Halliday - Undercover In High Heels

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here, ” Deveroux said, stepping into the trailer. Then he took one look at my pink heels and blushed like a schoolgirl.

“Oh, you’re wearing them again.”

I stepped around the counter, obscuring his view. “Long story. I didn’t have time to change.”

Deveroux sat down on the sofa beside Dana. “Maddie, I want you to know that I am so, so sorry.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “For?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know how it happened. Usually those Web sites are so discreet. I don’t know how this clip got out.”

“Clip?” My internal radar pricked up. “What clip?”

He looked down toward my feet again. “You know, from yesterday. I have no idea how it got out.”

“Wait…” I held up a hand, crossing the room to face him. “What do you mean, ‘got out’?”

Dana looked down at my shoes. “Ohmigod! I didn’t put it together before. It’s you!”

“ What’s me?” Okay, now I was starting to worry. “The YouTube clip!” Dana yelled, bouncing up and down. “It’s all over the Internet, this girl doing a foot striptease. Ohmigod, you’re, like, famous!”

Mental forehead smack.

Dana popped up from the sofa and grabbed the lap-top, closing my solitaire game. After a couple of clicks, she opened a browser window and typed in the address of the Internet video-sharing site. I watched in horror as she clicked a clip entitled “High Heels Seduction, ” and the sound track to a Debbie Does Dallas -esque film played over a scene in a pink, fluffy bedroom. A scene featuring a pair of pink leather ankle-strap, rhinestone-buckled high heels. On my feet!

“Oh. My. God. I’m going to kill her!”

“Who?” Dana asked.

“Jasmine! She must have put that video up on the Internet.” I was supremely thankful she’d edited out my face, though the idea of Internet pervs getting their rocks off to my pink pumps still squicked me out beyond belief. “How many people have viewed this?” I asked, frantically trying to see if there was a delete button anywhere. No such luck.

Deveroux (who was turning a little flushed as he watched the screen) looked at the counter in the corner. “Only three hundred thousand.”

“Only?” I smacked my forehead with the heel of my palm. No wonder I’d been getting shoe snickers all day. If this was some sort of retribution for getting Jas-mine’s windows shot out, we were so even after this.

“Great. I have sunk to a whole new low.”

Deveroux made a low groaning sound.

“Stop watching that!” I flipped the laptop screen shut, then tucked my feet back under me.

The trailer door opened again (this time I was too pissed off to jump) and a PA stuck his head in.

“Steinman just called a wrap. We’re done for the day, ” he said, before ducking back out as his headset crackled to life.

Dana and I looked at each other, images of strangling Porn Star Barbie fading as she voiced my thoughts.

“I think that’s my cue.”

“You sure you want to do this?” I asked, that bundle of nerves returning full force.

“Of course!” She grinned. “Wish me luck, Mads.”

“Good luck, Ethel.”

“Who?”

“Never mind.”

The air was eerily still for how chaotic it had been just hours ago, cranes, props, and trailers casting odd shadows along the outside walls of stage 6G. I hugged the walkie-talkie that I’d “borrowed” earlier from a PA as he left. (Borrowed. That was my story and I was sticking to it. Okay, so I slipped it out of his bag when he wasn’t looking, but I fully intended to return it once the night was over.) One press of a button and a yell of a code two-fifteen, and security would be swarming from all directions. As well I knew.

Still, my heart was beating against my rib cage so hard I feared I might crack something as I crouched behind a golf cart, watching the door to Mia’s trailer. Dana had gone in an hour ago, pausing on the step with her back turned to anyone who might have been watching-giving them ample time to realize she was inside, alone and vulnerable.

Again my stomach clenched, and I wondered if this was really such a hot idea. But the truth was, I was tired of being chased, tired of being scared, and most of all, just plain tired of wearing other people’s clothes. What I wouldn’t give to be able to go home and throw on a pair of my own jeans. And a pair of heels that hadn’t starred in Internet porn.

The last grip had just filtered out of 6G, but already my feet were starting to go numb from all the crouching. I thanked the weather gods that the night was clear and not too cold as I hugged Marco’s leather jacket against me.

And then I heard it. Footsteps.

I froze, adrenaline surging through my veins so hard I was sure that it was audible. I held my breath, watching the door to Mia’s trailer as they grew closer. Closer. Then stopped.

Damn.

From behind the cart I could clearly see the door to Mia’s trailer, but I had to admit that without giving away my hiding place, my vision was limited to just that. Where had the footsteps come from? And, more importantly, where had they stopped?

I bit my lip, willing myself to be silent as I strained against the night air to hear more.

Nothing.

I did a one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi count, then, ever so slowly so as not to rustle my leather pants, stretched my legs and craned my neck to peek around the hood of the golf cart.

That was when I saw him.

A dark figure, all in black, wearing baggy clothes, with a low baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

I sat back down, my pulse hammering in my ears, my fingers fumbling with the walkie-talkie. I hit the talk button, but nothing happened. Damn. I hit it again, listening for the telltale static to show that it was working, my eyes whipping wildly from it to the door of Mia’s trailer. No dark, menacing figure filling the doorway.

Yet.

“Come on, come on, ” I whispered, banging it against my hand.

Then it crackled to life.

I was so relieved I almost cried out. I hit the talk button, static filling the silence, and was about to tell them that we had a serious code two-fifteen and needed backup, like, now!

But I never got the chance.

Just as my finger hit the button, something thick and rough wrapped around my throat, pulling tight.

Choking off my air.

Instinctively I dropped the walkie-talkie, my hands flying up to my neck. I gasped for breath. In vain, I might add, as the pressure on my throat tightened. I tried to call out, but made no sound. Just a sickening gurgle of air being squeezed out of my lungs.

I fought to keep the world from going fuzzy, my vision blurring as the pressure behind my eyes built, stronger and stronger until I thought they’d bulge right out of my head. I kicked my legs wildly, coming up against a whole lot of empty space. My lungs burned, my stomach spasming, begging for oxygen. The lot began to fade from my vision, a big black nothingness slowly wrapping around my brain. In another two seconds, I knew I’d be a goner. I had to do something. Fast.

I closed my eyes, summoning up what strength I had left, and channeled Dana, doing the one move I’d remembered from the aerobic kickboxing class she’d dragged me to last fall. I moved my leg back in a swift motion, kicking back like a donkey in the region I hoped contained my attacker’s family jewels.

I heard a soft grunt behind me, his grip loosening momentarily. That was all I needed. I clawed at the strap around my neck, pulling just enough slack to slip it over my head. I bolted forward, tripping on my heels in the attempt. Marco’s leather pants scratched against the pavement as I fell on all fours, scraping the palms of my hands. But I barely felt it. My entire body was so grateful for air that I was taking huge, thirsty gulps of the stuff as I scrambled back up to my feet and took off running like a shot.