The Undead Next Door

CHAPTER 4

She should have known he wasn't perfect. Anyone as gorgeous as Jean-Luc Echarpe had to possess a few serious flaws. Flaw number one: stubborn as a mule. After Heather had recovered from the initial shock, she had refused Echarpe's offer of protection. He'd looked stunned, but then he'd announced his intent again as if he'd automatically passed a law.

After she'd lived for six years with a control-freak husband who legislated everything, even down to what kind of underwear she could buy, Heather's dictator-approved, white cotton panties were in a twist. God help her, she needed to escape domineering men. And she also needed to buy new underwear—something wild that symbolized her newfound courage. Thank goodness there was a giant discount store on the way home. Where else could an independent gal like her purchase lacy underwear and shotgun shells in one convenient stop?

"Mr. Echarpe, I appreciate your kind offer, but I really don't need a protector." She motioned toward the locked door. "If you'll just let me out—"

"In a moment." He frowned at the door. "I don't think you realize how dangerous Lui is."

Grrrr. The man never gave up. "Louie didn't seem that dangerous to me. He was downright wimpy when I hit him with those belts. And you fought him with a broken mannequin. For a villain, he was rather easy to beat."

"It was not easy! It only appeared that way because I am the best swordsman in all of Europe."

Flaw number two: overinflated ego. Though she had to cut him some slack. She'd never met a man yet who didn't suffer from that problem. "Maybe y'all still do swordfights in Europe, but here in Texas, we use guns. If I'd been packing, Louie would be on his way to the morgue."

Jean-Luc's brows drew together in a fierce scowl. "Are you saying you can fight him better than I?"

"I've got more faith in my shotgun than any man, that's for sure."

"But I'm trying to save you!"

"I'm already saved. Hallelujah, praise the Lord. Now unlock that door and set me free, brother."

His eyes widened with a look of exasperation. "I cannot let you go until you agree to let me protect you."

"You'll be waiting a long time 'cause I don't need you."

"Ungrateful woman."

"Arrogant man." Her heart raced. Good Lord, this was just as exciting as the time she'd slammed a pie into her ex-husband's face. Even better, actually. The pie had been an act of desperation, tainted with the sad knowledge that her marriage was a failure. This—this was a glorious declaration of independence. She'd never felt stronger or more fearless. Whipping Louie with those belts had made her feel like Wonder Woman, and she liked it.

"It was nice to meet you, Mr. Echarpe. And I appreciate your offer of employment, but under the circumstances, I feel it's best for us not to see each other again." Heather turned, quite proud of her little speech, and marched toward the door. The muttered curses behind her made her smile.

"If you'll just unlock the—"

The door suddenly burst open, and a crowd of people swarmed into the room.

"About time," Jean-Luc grumbled.

A kilted Scotsman shut the door and leaned against it. The stern look on his face and the long sword in his hand meant business. Heather's dignified exit was ruined. More than ruined. She was trapped. Somehow, Jean-Luc Echarpe had managed to call in backup.Flaw number three: he was more than stubborn. The man was relentless.

He introduced her to his friends, but she barely paid attention. This was too damned frustrating.

She'd fought too hard to learn how to take care of herself and her daughter, Bethany. Letting a man protect her felt like a giant step backward.

Yet she had to admit he'd seemed very charming at first. She'd been so flattered that he found her attractive. She'd certainly found him attractive before his Napoleon complex had kicked in. He'd offered her the job of her dreams. Chances like that didn't come along often, so she'd be crazy to pass it up. Was she overreacting because he pushed the wrong buttons? He was overbearing, but he'd lost two girlfriends. His desperation was understandable.

The guy wanted to be a hero. Was that so bad?

But what did she know about him? If you judged a man by his friends, Jean-Luc would be caring and loyal. That was how his friends appeared. There was a tall, serious man named Roman Dragon-something with his blond wife and baby boy. There was another guy named Gregori who grinned a lot. The two Scotsmen were both named MacKay. Brothers, maybe. The one named Robby was still guarding the door. The other one, Angus, was married to a beautiful brunette named Emma. Come to think of it, they were all exceptionally good-looking.

"Are you models?" Heather asked as the men hustled Jean-Luc across the room, leaving her with the women and baby.

Shanna laughed as she jiggled the baby in her arms. "No way. I'm a dentist. My husband's the owner of Romatech Industries, and Gregori's one of his VPs. Angus is CEO of MacKay Security and Investigation."

"Oh." Heather glanced at the door. Robby was still guarding it. She wasn't going anywhere for a while.

Emma smiled at her. "You fought very well."

"Thanks." Since she was trapped, Heather figured she might as well fish for more information.

"What do y'all know about Louie?"

Shanna shifted the plump toddler to her hip. "It's a sad story. Jean-Luc has been plagued with him for a long time."

"Angus explained a bit while we were coming downstairs," Emma continued with a slight British accent. "Lui has murdered two of Jean-Luc's girlfriends from the past."

"I'm not a girlfriend," Heather muttered. "I only met Mr. Echarpe tonight."

"It doesn't matter," Emma said. "As long as Lui thinks you two are involved, you will be a target."

"I can understand your reluctance to accept Jean-Luc's protection," Shanna admitted. "I was once in a similar situation where Roman had to protect me. That was before we were married."

Heather glanced at the men, huddled across the room and whispering urgently to one another.

They were a handsome bunch, but still, there was something different about them, something she couldn't quite put a finger on.

"It took me a while to get to know Roman and trust him," Shanna continued. "I understand your reluctance to trust a stranger, but I've known Jean-Luc for two years now, and he's a totally trustworthy guy. Sweet as can be. He's always watched out for Roman and me."

"He came to my rescue, too," Emma added. "He's the best swordsman in all of Europe."

"So I heard." Heather sighed. His friends were laying it on thick. She glanced at Jean-Luc. She had no doubt he was a capable guy. He had the body of an athlete, and she'd seen how quick and resourceful he was in action. His elegant tuxedo didn't conceal his aura of strength and danger. It just made him look more like James Bond. And James Bond always got the pretty girl in the end. Her heart constricted in her chest. God help her, she wanted to be that pretty girl.

Flaw number four: too gorgeous for his own good.

"He's a handsome man, don't you think?" Shanna whispered.

Heather jumped. Shoot, she'd been caught ogling him.

Emma gave her a knowing smile. Even the baby on Shanna's hip snickered along with his mom.

"Okay, so he's good-looking. That doesn't mean I need his help," Heather protested. "I can take care of myself."

Emma's smile faded. "You don't understand how terrible Lui is."

"The guy ran away as soon as he was outnumbered. He's not so tough."

Emma lowered her voice. "Locked doors cannot stop him. He has the ability to enter your house whenever he chooses. You would never hear him. He could appear behind you at any moment. Before you knew what was happening, your throat would be sliced in two."

Heather gulped and fought an urge to look over her shoulder. Dammit, they were starting to scare her. Her voice began to rise. "He can't be that bad. It's not like the guy can actually vanish or appear at will. You make him sound like some kind of supernatural creature of the night!" Her loud words echoed in a suddenly quiet room.

The circle of men all turned to stare at her. Heather's face heated with a blush. Even in the classroom at Guadalupe High, she didn't get this kind of undivided attention.

The silence stretched while the men exchanged glances. Emma and Shanna looked at each other, then laughed. The toddler squealed and waved his arms toward Heather.

"He wants you to hold him." Shanna thrust him into Heather's arms.

The baby grabbed a handful of Heather's hair, and it brought back pleasant memories of Bethany's infancy. Heather smiled at the little boy's chubby red cheeks and bright blue eyes.

"He's adorable. What's his name?"

"Constantine," Shanna answered. "I heard you have a daughter?"

Heather could see where this was going. They'd use her daughter to ratchet up the guilt and make her accept Jean-Luc's offer. "She's four years old. And I can protect us both. I inherited a shotgun from my father."

Shanna winced. "You keep a weapon in the house with a child?"

Heather gritted her teeth. There was nothing she took more seriously than being a good mom. "I don't keep it loaded. Of course, now I need to get some shells for it."

Emma's eyes gleamed with approval. "You know how to shoot?"

"Yes. My dad taught me everything about gun safety. He was an expert."

"What happened to him?" Shanna asked.

"He was…shot."

Shanna grimaced.

"In the line of duty," Heather added. "He was the town sheriff."

"Unfortunately, that just goes to show you that even the best of professionals can be killed," Emma said. "You need help to protect your daughter. You cannot stay awake and alert 24/7."

"Fidelia is packing, too."

Shanna gasped. "Your four-year-old has a gun?"

"No, of course not!" Heather huffed. "I would never allow my daughter around guns." She winced. That wasn't quite true. Fidelia had made it clear that she never went anywhere without her pistols. "Fidelia is my live-in babysitter and an old friend of the family. She would do anything to protect Bethany and me."

"So there are two women in your household who know how to shoot?" Emma asked, smiling.

"Would you like to make it three?"

Shanna grinned. "That's a great idea!"

"What?" Heather settled the baby Constantine on her hip.

"But do you think Angus will mind?" Shanna leaned toward Heather and whispered, "They're newlyweds."

"We've been married a year now, so I don't think a few nights apart will kill Angus," Emma protested. "What do you think, Heather?"

"It's very kind of you to want to help, but—" Heather winced when the baby tugged on her hair.

"I'm vice president of MacKay Security and Investigation," Emma explained. "And I'm a former employee of MI6 and the CIA, so I'll make a very good bodyguard."

Heather was impressed. "I really appreciate your offer, but my funds are very limited—"

"No charge," Emma interrupted. "Jean-Luc helped Angus and me when we were in trouble. I owe him one."

"It's the perfect solution," Shanna concluded.

Constantine tugged once again on Heather's hair, and she glanced at his face. His eyes captured her attention.

"My days are…tied up, so I can only guard you at night," Emma continued. "But that'll give you and your babysitter a chance to sleep, so you'll be better able to protect yourselves during the day."

"I understand." A calm acceptance seeped into Heather as the baby smiled at her. "Thank you, Emma. I'm delighted to have your help."

"Great! I'll let the men know what we decided, then we can go." Emma strode toward the group of men.

Constantine released his grip on Heather's hair. "You can put me down now."

She blinked. The toddler's voice was remarkably clear. And there was something oddly intelligent about his eyes. She set him on his feet. "How old is he?"

"Seventeen months," Shanna replied.

Heather watched him stroll calmly back to his mother. "He's a special little boy."

Shanna beamed with pride. "Yes, he is."

Thirty minutes later, Heather pulled her Chevy truck into the driveway of her home in Schnitzelberg.

"What a lovely house." Emma opened the passenger door to get out.

"I inherited it from my parents." Heather loved the old Queen Anne with the wide porch and hanging swing. She loved the gingerbread woodwork around the porch and second-floor balcony. But most of all, she loved the fact that she could raise her daughter in the same house where she'd grown up.

She grabbed her purse and the shopping bag containing her newly purchased lacy underwear and shotgun shells. Emma hadn't batted an eyelash at the discount store, so Heather liked her already.

"This way." She headed up the stairs to the front door.

Emma hitched a tote bag over her shoulder and scanned the front yard. "Your house is off the ground?" She leaned over for a closer look. "No cellar?"

"I wish. I could use the extra storage." Heather unlocked the front door. She could hear the television inside. Fidelia might still be awake.

Emma frowned as she ascended the porch. "It's a lovely home, but very vulnerable. Whose room is off the balcony?"

"Mine, but I keep all the windows and doors locked."

Emma didn't look impressed. "Let me go in first."

Heather's heart lurched. "You think Louie is here?" With her baby inside?

"I'm not taking any chances." Emma retrieved a stick from her tote bag and eased into the foyer. A stick? It would be quieter than a shotgun, but Heather doubted it was more efficient. She followed Emma in and locked the door.

Emma peered into the living room, then whispered, "Is that Fidelia?"

Heather looked inside. Fidelia was snoozing on the couch with the TV blaring in Spanish. "Yes."

The living room opened into the dining room, which appeared empty.

Emma slipped past the staircase toward the back of the foyer and the swinging door that led to the kitchen.

Heather had no patience for this. She had to know if Bethany was all right. She charged up the stairs to her daughter's room.

The nightlight barely illuminated the pink roses Heather had stenciled across the walls and around the windows. White lace curtains let the sun shine in during the day, but for now, the blinds were shut.

Heather tiptoed past the giant dollhouse and wicker doll carriage to the bed topped with a Sunbonnet Sue quilt her mother had made. She dropped her purse and shopping bag on the foot of the bed. Her daughter's feet reached only halfway down the length of the bed. At the head, strawberry-blond curls lay strewn across the pillow. The sight always squeezed Heather's heart.

She brushed the curls away to reveal a soft cheek. If she never accomplished any of her dreams, if she never designed clothes or saw Paris, it would be no great loss, for she'd already created the most perfect little masterpiece.

I will protect you, sweetheart. Heather went to the windows to make sure they were locked.

"Don't run away from me again," Emma whispered from the doorway.

Heather turned. "I had to make sure my daughter was okay."

Emma nodded as she entered the room. "The first floor is clear, and all the rooms upstairs."

Wow, she was fast. And thorough. "There's a guest bedroom across the hall that you're welcome to use."

"Thank you, but no." Emma hitched her tote bag higher on her shoulder. "I'll be up all night."

"Then please help yourself to anything you want in the kitchen." Heather had to admit she would sleep a lot easier with Emma standing guard. Thank God she'd managed to avoid having Jean-Luc Echarpe over. The last thing she needed was another domineering man in her life. And a famous fashion designer? He'd probably go through her closet and throw everything out. Or worse, he would stand there and laugh.

Emma eased closer to Bethany's bed and whispered, "She's beautiful."

Heather nodded. "She's everything to me."

"I understand." Emma's smile held a hint of sadness. "I'd like to see the attic now."

"This way." Heather went to the hall and pulled the rope that lowered the folding ladder. "Do you need a flashlight?"

"I see quite well in the dark." Emma ascended the ladder. She stayed in the attic for a moment, then came down. "It's clear. I'd like to check outside again."

"Okay." Heather folded the ladder and let it swing back into the attic. Emma had already moved down the stairs and out the door, so Heather decided to get ready for bed.

She retrieved her purse and shopping bag from Bethany's room and proceeded to her own bedroom. She closed the blinds over the French doors to the balcony. What a night. A job offer from a famous designer and a death threat all in one evening. She replayed the night's events in her mind as she dragged her desk chair over to her closet. Why would a deadly assassin pick on a fashion designer? Unless…he was more than a fashion designer? Jean-Luc did have a James Bond aura of mystery about him.

With a snort, she rejected that theory. International espionage was not interested in Schnitzelberg, Texas. She climbed onto the chair, located the shotgun on the top shelf of her closet, then took it to her bed. Didn't Jean-Luc say something about Louie's other names? Cadillac? No, something else. She inserted two shells.

Maybe if she relaxed a bit, she could remember. She'd always had a great memory. She'd given her ex-husband, Cody, the shock of his life when she'd recalled his every insult and threatening remark in court.

She undressed and put on her favorite green silk pajamas. She adored the feel of silk against bare skin, and the sensation always calmed her. She sat on her fuzzy chenille bedspread, snuggled against the pillows, and closed her eyes. An assassin who had taken many names. Not Cadillac, but Ravaillac. Jean-Luc had admitted to stopping Louie, and that was why the assassin wanted revenge.

What kind of fashion designer stopped an assassin from carrying out his evil plan?

James Bond music started playing in her head. No, it couldn't be. She was letting her imagination go crazy.

She turned on her computer, then dragged her chair back to the desk while it booted up. She Googled «Ravaillac» and sat there, stunned. This was even crazier than her James Bond theory.

Francois Ravaillac had been executed in 1610 after assassinating King Henri IV. Four horses had ripped him into four parts. Sheesh, did they do his death certificate in quadruplicate? One thing was for sure, the man was definitely dead. Even if Louie managed to live four hundred years, he couldn't be Ravaillac. And the French government had ordered the infamous name never be used again.

At the bottom of the web page, there was a link to another assassin named Damiens. That was another name Jean-Luc had mentioned. She clicked on the link.

Robert-Francois Damiens had tried to kill King Louis XV in 1757. He'd failed, but had still won the grand prize—death by drawing and quartering. Once again, the French had ordered the name never to be used again.

A search for Jacques Clement yielded similar results. He'd killed King Henri III in 1589. He'd been quartered and burned. As a history teacher, Heather found it all fascinating, but confusing. It just didn't make sense. Either Jean-Luc was mistaken or purposely lying or…something very strange was going on.

That brought Jean-Luc's list of flaws up to number five: ambiguity. How could she trust him if his story didn't make sense?

There was a soft knock on her door, and Heather quickly minimized her screen. "Yes?"

The door cracked, and Emma peered inside. "I just wanted you to know everything is safe. You can relax for the night. I'll be leaving shortly before dawn."

"Thank you."

"Fidelia woke up, so I told her what was going on. She insists on reading my future."

"Oh, right." Heather nodded. "She does her tarot cards for anyone who comes to the house. It's her way of protecting us."

"Along with her guns? This should be interesting." Emma glanced at Heather's computer.

"Catching up on e-mail?"

"Yes. I'll be down in just a minute."

"All right. Please keep the door open a bit, so I can check on you during the night."

"Okay." Heather waited for Emma to leave, then turned back to her computer. She Googled "Jean-Luc Echarpe" and found a few sites that sold his clothing. She ignored those and looked for personal information. She found a picture taken a year ago at his annual show in Paris. Dark curls, blue eyes, a hint of a dimple with his debonair smile. Sheesh, could the guy get any more gorgeous? Back to flaw number four: too handsome for his own good.

She found a recent article, translated from the Parisian newspaper Le Monde. Everyone was wondering why Jean-Luc Echarpe hadn't aged in thirty years. Hmm, they had to be referring to Jean-Luc's father. The Jean-Luc she had met looked only about thirty years old. Apparently the elder Jean-Luc had not been seen for several months. The media suspected he was undergoing another facelift.

Heather found another article dating back thirteen years. This one had a photo. Sheesh, he looked exactly the same as he had tonight. This wasn't making any sense. She searched for Jean-Luc's date of birth, but found no personal information at all.

Back to flaw number five: ambiguity. Some women might call an aura of mystery a plus, but Heather didn't like surprises when it came to men. Though it was intriguing…

Why would he call Louie a bunch of names that had disappeared centuries ago? And why did he look exactly the same after thirteen years? Cosmetic surgery or…A thought flashed through her mind. A totally bizarre thought, no doubt triggered by the late hour and her overactive imagination.

It had always been one of her favorite TV shows—the immortal Highlanders who lived for centuries, fighting their old enemies with swords. It would explain why Jean-Luc and his friends fought with swords. And why he talked of assassins who lived centuries ago. He even had the kilted Highlander friends. The way they had huddled across the room, whispering to one another, had definitely looked like a bunch of guys with a secret.

Could Jean-Luc be immortal?

With a snort, Heather turned off her computer. Her theories were becoming more and more ridiculous. Immortal men? She might as well believe in elves and fairies, too. Unfortunately, she'd learned the hard way that trolls existed. She'd lived with one of those for six years.

As she descended the stairs to fetch a glass of water, she noticed the television was off. She could hear Fidelia's slightly accented voice. "The reversed Hermit card could mean you are suffering from a deep loneliness."

That didn't sound like Emma. Heather stopped at the entrance of the living room. Her mouth fell open. It wasn't Emma.

Jean-Luc stood. His slender foil was propped against the wingback chair. His blue eyes glimmered as he checked out her pajamas. "I stopped by to see you. Emma let me in."

She'd been tricked. Heather gritted her teeth. She should have known Emma was in league with this guy. "Where is Emma?"

"She's upstairs, guarding Bethany." Fidelia winked at Heather. "This young man says it is his sworn duty to guard you. He's muy macho, no?"

Jean-Luc bowed. "I am at your service."

Heather bit back an angry retort. The man refused to take no for an answer. Back to flaw number one: stubborn as a mule. And the way Jean-Luc Echarpe bowed—it seemed old-fashioned.

Extremely old-fashioned.

She had to wonder just how old a mule could get.