Heat Vol. 5 (Heat: Master Chefs #5)

HEAT

Master Chef: HEAT Serial

VOL. 5

Kailin Gow

 HEAT (HEAT: Vol 5)

Published by KailinGowBooks.com

Copyright © 2015 Kailin Gow

All Rights Reserved. No part of
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For information, please contact:

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First Edition.

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America.

To My
Readers, Betas, and Kailin Krusaders, Thank You for All Your Love, Support, and
Encouragement. You are truly one of the most important reasons why I’m blessed
beyond measure.

Prologue

Lilly

“
W
e should have just dumped her off somewhere
when she was a kid,” Horace grumbled.  “Then we wouldn’t have to do this all
over again.”

“Don’t
talk like a stupid idiot,” Constantine said.  “We wouldn’t have her as leverage
if we’d done that.  So long as we have her, Eugene will do as he’s told and get
the money he owes us.”

“Eugene. 
Eugene.  Damn, I’m tired of hearing that fucker’s name.  When this is all over,
I never want to hear the name Eugene Cooke again.”

As
I listened to the angry comments of the men on either side of me, I noted how
Godfrey remained silent.  What was he really planning to do with me once the
car arrived at their planned destination?

The
thought alone was enough to send me into a panic, but I tried to keep a cool
and calm exterior.  Though the car rolled smoothly along the roads to God knows
where, my insides shook and were so rattled, I thought I’d throw up, adding to
the wet mess I’d already made on the seat.

Psychological
block; I remembered reading about cases of people blocking out particularly
difficult and painful memories, memories so traumatic, the brain flicked a
switch and sent the unpleasant memories to a deep recess, if only to protect
itself.

I’d
never believed in such things.  I’d long been cynical and thought people
deliberately chose not to remember certain events, but I now realized I was
wrong.  Whatever these men had done to me in the past, I’d blocked it out, and
I wondered how much more I had to discover.

“I’ve
been wanting to take some time off,” Horace said, his tone suddenly calm… as if
dreaming of the day.  “Once we get the money Cooke owes, I want a vacation. 
How ‘bout it, Godfrey?  A week in the south of France, Monaco or maybe even
Italy.  I heard Naples is nice this time of year.”

Godfrey
grunted.

“Then
again, the little country place I just bought in Troyes needs a little fixing
up.  I could easily throw twenty to thirty grand on it.  A new porch, redo the
roof and the bathroom is just awful.  It needs a whole makeover.”

“Why
don’t you give the girl your home address while you're at it?” Constantine
said.

“What
the fuck?  Who’s she going to tell anyway?  She ain’t never going to see the
light of day after we’re through with her.”

I
gagged.

“Don’t
fucking start throwing up on us now, you bitch.  You’ve made enough of a mess.”

“Then
shut your fucking trap, Horace,” Godfrey said.

My
stomach in a tight and painful knot, I tried to keep the tears of fear from
streaming down my cheeks, but they filled my eyes and quickly trickled down my
face, dripping down and falling on the cloth bag that was slowly suffocating
me.

“Christ,”
Horace said.  “Where the fuck are we taking her, anyway?  Fucking Spain?  How
long do I have to sit in this fucking piss hole?”

“We’re
almost there,” Godfrey said with the calm, smooth voice a father would take
with a child he was slowly growing impatient with.

Fifteen
minutes later, the car left the smooth asphalt and turned onto lumpy, bumpy
dirt road.  I could hear pebbles flying up behind us, hitting the back of the
car with a constant series of tings and an occasional thud.  After passing over
a speed bump, the car pulled to a stop.

“It’s
about time,” Horace said as he threw the door open.  “The stench in here is too
much.”

Chapter 1

A
vice grip seized my arm and yanked me out of
the car.  I stumbled and almost fell, but the heartless grip didn’t seem to
care.  It just kept pulling and pushing.  The crushed gravel beneath us made
walking in heels almost impossible and I repeatedly stumbled, and, on one ill
placed stone, I twisted my ankle, letting out a cry.

“Stop
your moaning,” Horace said as he gave me another firm yank.

A
bright light from overhead lit the way, allowing me to make out vague shapes
and shadows through the loose weave of the cloth bag over my head.  The large
building had a series of garage doors, but Horace dragged me to the small door
that opened onto a dingy office.

Inside,
one of the men flicked the light on.

“What
do we do with her now?” Horace said.

“Leave
her in one of the stalls.”  His back to me, Godfrey walked through the office
and out another door that led to the garage doors.

“Can
I hose her down?” Horace called out.  “She’s going to stench up the entire
place.”

“Let
her hose herself down.”

Wet,
cold, and shaking with fear, I tried to capture as many details of my
surroundings as I could… a company name, an address, a phone number… anything. 
I had to find out where I was if I had any hope of getting away.

“Come
on,” Horace said with a savage yank of my arm.  “Hopefully the next time I see
you, you’ll smell like a girl, not a fucking barnyard.”

He
opened a door and shoved me inside, slamming the door shut behind me.  I pulled
the cloth bag off my head and for a solid five minutes I stood where he’d left
me, staring out into the darkness of the room that smelled of strong
chemicals.  Only when my phone beeped, signaling I’d received a text, did I
realize I still had it on me.

Pulling
it out of my pocket, I turned it on and quickly read the text:

Hold
tight.  Help is on the way
.

 I
wanted to sigh with relief and cry for joy, but I knew I wasn’t out of the
woods yet.  How were they going to find me if I didn’t know myself where I
was?  I flicked on the flashlight on my phone and scanned the room.  Only three
feet away from me was a dark grey car, its finish mat and ugly.  Tape covered
the door handles and trim, while brown paper was taped to the windows, lights
and other portions of the car.

A
body shop.  How many body shops could there be on the outskirts of Paris? 
Walking around the car, I looked for more clues.  Other than blue overalls
stained with bright yellow paint and a paint gun, I found nothing.

My
phone rang, startling me and causing me to drop the phone.  Fearful it’d
shattered into a million pieces, I stooped down to pick it up only to hear the
door open while my phone let out another measure of
Frere Jacques
.

“What’s
that racket?” Horace called out.  “Do you fucking have a phone in here?”  He
stumbled around in the dark room.  “Where the fuck are you?” 

Finding
the light switch, he flicked it on, instantly blinding me.  “Hey,” he yelled
out.  “The bitch’s got a phone.”

As
I straightened up, my phone ringing in my hand, Godfrey and Constantine entered
the room.

“Give
me that,” Horace demanded.  Not bothering to wait until I handed it over, he
reached out and grabbed the phone from my hand.  “Yeah,” he barked into the
phone.  “What the fuck you want?”

Godfrey
swiped the phone from his hand and shot him a berating glare.  “Yes,” he said
with the civility that contradicted the circumstances. His eyes widened,
impressed.  “Mr. King.  What a pleasure it is talking to you.  Yes.  Yes, she’s
right here.  We’re keeping a very close eye on her.  What do I want?  Well,
that’s not very complicated, Mr. King.  I want Eugene Cooke to make good on his
loan.  I’ve been more than patient, waiting all these years, but I will be
patient no more.  No more.”  He paused as he listened.  “How he goes about
getting such a large sum of money is hardly my problem.  He should have thought
about that all those years ago when he pleaded for my help.  He should have
planned for this eventuality while he was been hiding out from me.” Godfrey
glared at me as he listened to Errol.

Staring
straight at him, I knew I’d seen him before.  His sunken eyes were hooded by
thick heavy lids and his lips were thin and tight, but it was his bulbous nose
that caught my attention.  It seemed out of place in his otherwise small face. 
I had the vague recollection of coming to the same conclusion as a little girl.

“Well,
that’s very kind and generous of you, Mr. King.  I’m sure little Lilly here
will be happy to hear you care so much for her welfare.”  His voice was
suddenly smooth and calm, like an experienced businessman wooing a potential
client.  “Have Mr. Cooke drive out to the Marinette farm, take the north
entrance and turn left on the first dirt road. He’ll drive about a mile and
come to a small cabin.  There’s a cellar door.  Tell him to drop the money
inside and leave.  I don’t think I need to specify that he be alone, and on
time.  Six o’clock sharp.”  He nodded as Errol spoke and seemed satisfied when
he hung up.

His
eyes grew menacing and hard as he took a step toward me.  “Any other little
tricks up your sleeve, Miss Lilly?”

I
shook my head.  Better to keep quiet. I glanced at Constantine and knew I’d
seen him before, too.  Horace, however, was completely unfamiliar to me.

With
a heavy nod of his head, Godfrey smiled, though it was anything but friendly. 
He gave me a heavy pat on the cheek, his thick fingers thudding against my skin
as he chuckled.

With
an abrupt pivot, he turned to his men.  “All that’s left to do now is wait.”

“I’m
hungry.  What d’you bring to eat?” Horace said.

That
garnered him a backhand to the belly from Godfrey as he walked out, my phone
still in his hand. Recovering from the blow, Horace straightened up and
followed him out.  Constantine, however, took a few long, slow steps to me, his
grin hungry and perverted.

“Hello,
Lilly, remember me?” he said as he brushed the back of his hand along my arm. 
“My, how you’ve grown up pretty.  You were just a little girl then.  Such a
precious darling.”

He
was a good looking man, with a thick beard, salt and pepper hair and dark brown
eyes, but something ugly lurked in those eyes.  When his gaze dipped down to my
breasts, my entire body revolted, shuddering with the mere thought of him
getting closer.

“Constantine!”
Godfrey called out.

With
a grunt and a groan, Constantine backed away.  “Later,” he whispered.

The
minute he was out of the room with the door firmly closed behind him, I broke
down.  Tears spilled down my cheeks and I gasped for breath as the dire
situation enveloped me.  Engulfed in misery, I could see no happy ending to my
ordeal and I had to fight to keep myself from wallowing in despair.

They
were going to kill me regardless of what my father did; of that I was sure. 
What other horrors they had in store for me until then, I could only imagine,
but I knew I had to find a way out before six o’clock the following night.

I
looked around the room.  There were no windows, only the large garage door
between me and the outside world. I tested it, but it wouldn’t budge.  A
padlock had been slipped into the locking mechanism making it impossible to
open.  My only hope was the door the men and I had come in and gone out by. 
How far outside that door were they?

Though
exhausted by fear, I finally regained control of my emotions and leaned back
against the car fender.  Looking down at my ankle, I swung it from side to
side, comforted by the lack of pain.  At least it wasn’t broken or sprained. 
Taking in a deep breath, I tried to think more calmly about my circumstance.

Godfrey
and Constantine; where did I know them from?  Who were they really?  Closing my
eyes, I tried to paste them onto the various, vague portions of my childhood
memory, but every attempt proved improbable.

A
sudden cold chill ran up my back and I pulled my arms around me.

Such
a precious darling.

That
voice.  Those words.  Where?  When?

Then
it struck me.

I’d
been a little girl when my father had brought me to visit the new offices he’d
just had refurbished in Paris.  It was all redecorated; so modern and posh, so
sophisticated and elegant.  He’d purchased a new glass top desk and modern
pieces of art, including several pieces by up and coming young Parisian artists. 
An entirely new computer system had been put in place and he had a monitor that
allowed him to see visitors before they even made it to his office.  I’d been
thrilled to see his acquisitions and to spend the day with him, and had looked
forward to the promised lunch with him afterwards.  He was to take me to one of
the fanciest restaurants in town.

As
I’d sat in his new leather chair, my hands running along the cool glass of his
desktop, two men had come in to consult him about a project in Rome.

“And
is this your new secretary?” the taller one had said in jest.

My
father laughed.  “Maybe one day, but for now Lilly is just checking out the
place.  Do you approve, Lilly of the changes your old dad has made?”

I
nodded and came around the desk to properly meet my father’s friends.

“This
is Mr. Fontini who’s in charge of development, and this is Mr. Terraza.  He’s
the project coordinator.”

I
stood tall and straight as I shook their hands.  I felt like a big girl and was
so proud to be in my father’s office.  Maybe one day, I would work in a pretty
office and would direct projects and tell men what to do.

“Such
a precious darling,” Mr. Terraza said.  “You’re going to have to keep an eye on
this one, Cooke.”

While
my father chuckled, I was pleased by the compliment.  I felt so grown up and I
looked forward to returning to my father’s office again.  Every chance I had, I
went with him, for a few hours and sometimes for the whole day.  I did menial
tasks that made me feel like I was truly helping, though in retrospect, my
father was just giving me something to occupy my time and make me feel
important.

On
many of those visits I saw Mr. Fontini and Mr. Terraza; Mr. Godfrey Fontini and
Mr. Constantine Terraza.

It
didn’t make sense.  How could the men who worked for my father, men my father
trusted, end up here, holding me captive while they demanded money from my
father… their former employer?

What
you doing there, little princess?

 I
frowned as the words reverberated in my head.  My father had asked me to bring
a binder of reports back to Godfrey’s office and, as I’d set the binder on his
desk, I’d looked up at his computer monitor.

The
name of a bank appeared in the upper left hand corner while a series of
numbers, in three separate rows, filled the rest of the screen.  I hadn’t
thought much of it at the time other than having been impressed by the size of
the numbers.  The transactions were often in the tens of thousands with a few
in the hundreds of thousands.

Now
as I thought back to the computer screen, I wondered what all those numbers
meant.  Did Godfrey really have the authority to make banking transactions, and
such large ones at that? Was my father aware of the large sums of money that so
frequently left the account?

No,
I thought with certainty, and I somehow felt those transactions had something
to do with the embezzlement accusation my father had made against Rial’s
father.  Had he been mistaken?  Had Godfrey been the one responsible for the
disappearance of that money all this time?

Chapter 2

I
woke up the next morning in the darkened back
seat of the car that sat waiting for its new coat of paint in the paint shop. 
With absolutely no source of heat, I’d hardly gotten any sleep, but had
shivered despite the dusty wool blanket I’d found in the trunk.  Stiff and
aching, I got out of the car.  Thin lines of sunshine managed to pierce through
the cracks around the garage door providing minimal lighting.

What
now? I wondered.

I
listened for any sign of movement outside the door.  It was silent so I turned
the doorknob to see if anyone was there.  I’d barely cracked the door open three
inches when I heard Horace clear his throat.

“Don’t
make me go in there and tie you up, little girl.”

Letting
out a puff of frustration, I closed the door and flicked the light switch on. 
The dark room was instantly bathed in bright lights, but my situation remained
just as dismal.

I
looked down at my soiled dress, my attempt to wash it out a complete failure. 
Before going to sleep, I’d tried to wash up as best as I could in the tiny sink
at the back of the shop.  I’d gone through an entire roll of paper towels and
still felt dirty and stinky.

On
the verge of tears, I longed for Rial to hold me and comfort me… keep me warm
and safe.  Just as quickly, I thought of Bobby and knew in my heart that he
would do anything and everything to get me out of this predicament.

But
for now, I’m alone, I thought. 
And I have to manage on my own.
  Once
more I looked for a way out, then realized that the answer was right there in
front of me.

The
car.  The keys had to be in the shop somewhere.

With
bated breath, I took a look in the ignition and found nothing.  Getting back
out of the car, I looked around for a safe place to hang a key, and there it
was.  Hanging on a small nail on the far wall, beyond the long black hose that
was rolled up on a hose wheel, was a key ring with one solitary key.