The Undead Next Door (8 page)

He gazed about the living room and realized how truly lonely he’d been over the centuries. Heather appealed to him in many ways, but her family, Bethany and Fidelia, were touching his heart, too. How different his life could be if he had true companionship and love filling each night. Such a life made all his previous centuries seem empty and meaningless.

But could they accept him as he was? Could Heather love him?

“I’m so sorry you had to witness that scene with my ex,” Heather said as she entered the room.

He turned to face her. Zut, he’d been so deep in thought, he hadn’t realized that Emma had left and Heather had returned. He needed to stay more vigilant than that. “I didn’t mind.”

Heather sighed. “I don’t know what got into Cody.”

“Is Bethany all right?”

“Yes. Thank goodness.” Heather flopped down on the couch. “She was watching a DVD with the volume turned up, so she didn’t hear anything.”

“That’s good.” Jean-Luc sat beside her. Instantly, he heard her heartbeat speed up. A good sign.

She glanced shyly at him. “Where did Fidelia go?”

“To the kitchen for a beer.”

“I wish she wouldn’t drink and handle those guns at the same time.”

He extended an arm along the back of the couch. “The guns have trigger locks.”

“You bet. It was the one requirement I made before she could move in here.”

“You’ve lived in this area all your life, correct?”

She sighed. “Yes. I always wanted to travel, but it never happened.”

He made a mental note that he needed to take her to all the places she wanted to see. “Can you think of anyplace that matches Fidelia’s description? A place on the outskirts of town. Most probably abandoned.”

“With a stone cellar?” She tilted her head, considering. “The state park has an old stone building built during the Depression.”

“I’ll check it out.” He could leave Emma here with the women and take Robby with him.

“I’ll come with you.”

He blinked. “No. Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous.”

“I’m already in danger. I fought Louie before and I did well. And I know where the park is.”

“I can look up the park’s location on the Internet.”

Her chin lifted. “I’m going. I’m not cowering here in fear. I’m at war with fear, remember?”

“There’s a difference between courage and bad judg—” He paused when his superior hearing detected a sound outside. “Someone is approaching your front porch.”

He jumped silently to his feet and grabbed his sword.

Heather stood and whispered, “Should I get my shotgun?”

“No.” He hoped Lui was outside. He would destroy the bastard and…But what if he made a fatal error and lost? Lui would simply walk into the house and slaughter Heather. “Yes, get your gun. Tell Emma, and wait inside. If he comes in, aim for his chest.”

“If he comes in, then you would be…” She squeezed his arm. “Be careful.”

The concern in her eyes was genuine. Mon Dieu, she did care for him.

He touched her cheek. “Go.”

Her eyes glazed over with a dreamy look, then she blinked. “Right.” She ran to the stairs. The carpet muffled the sounds of her sandals as she dashed up the steps.

“What’s up?” Fidelia sauntered from the kitchen, holding a half-empty beer bottle. She glanced at Heather’s disappearing form. “You chased her off again?”

Jean-Luc lifted a finger to his lips, then pointed outside.

Fidelia’s brown eyes widened. “I left my German muchacho in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

“I don’t want you outside. It could be dangerous.” Jean-Luc groaned when Fidelia scurried into the kitchen. He’d better act fast before the women in the house charged to the rescue. He smiled to himself. No wonder he liked them so much.

Silently he unlocked the door, then yanked it open.

Jean-Luc leaped onto the front porch, aiming his foil at the trespasser.

A blond woman yelped and stumbled back. Her stiletto heel caught between two wooden planks, and she crashed onto the porch. “Shit!”

She looked familiar. “Who are you?” he demanded. She was mortal, but that didn’t mean she was safe. Lui enjoyed using vampire mind control to coerce mortals into performing his assassinations.

“Damn.” The woman rubbed her bony ankle. “I’d better be able to walk a runway.” She glared at him. “You crazy imbecile! You scared me to death with that sword!”

He recognized her now. Sasha Saladine, the model Alberto had hired. Obviously she had no idea who he was.

Still sprawled on the porch, she pulled off her shoes and examined the rhinestone-studded heels. “I swear, if my shoes are damaged, I’m suing your ass. These were four hundred bucks, you know. I only buy the best.”

Already he missed Heather. When she challenged him, he liked it. She was witty and fun. This woman was simply annoying. While she continued to berate him with her shrill voice, he scanned the yard for any sign of movement.

“You gonna stand there all night like an idiot or help me up?” She looked around the porch. “This is Heather’s house, isn’t it? This is where she lived in high school.”

She glanced over her shoulder at his car. “Shit. She told me she didn’t have a boyfriend.” She gave him a wary look. “What are you doing with a freakin’ sword?”

“You prefer a gun?” Fidelia shoved past Jean-Luc, holding a beer in one hand and her Glock in the other.

“Oh my God!” Sasha jumped to her feet and raised her hands. “Don’t shoot. I thought this was Heather’s house.”

“Fidelia, be careful!” Heather rushed out onto the porch, her shotgun in her hands.

Sasha gasped. “And I thought New York was dangerous.”

Jean-Luc groaned inwardly. “Heather, didn’t I tell you to stay inside?”

Heather ignored him and turned to the blond model. “Sasha? What are you doing here?”

“I’m about to get shot or skewered, I don’t know which.”

“Well, make up your mind. I don’t have all night.” Fidelia set her beer on the porch and removed a set of keys from her skirt pocket. She fumbled with the key, trying to release the trigger lock on her pistol.

“Don’t do that,” Heather warned her. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

Fidelia snorted. “I’m not drunk. I’m in complete control.” She tore off the trigger lock.

Bang! The gun fired, ripping into a nearby oak tree.

The women screamed. Jean-Luc winced.

A squirrel plummeted from the tree and landed in the yard with a thud.

Fidelia shrugged. “I meant to do that. Damned rodent’s been gnawing on the house. And stealing all the nuts from our pecan tree.”

Heather planted her hands on her hips. “Haven’t I told you a million times to keep the locks on?”

Fidelia hung her head, looking properly remorseful. “I’ll be more careful.” She switched on the safety, then shot Jean-Luc a pointed look. “I know how to deal with a scumbag with nuts.”

His mouth twitched. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

At that moment, Emma burst onto the porch, a stake in her hand. “Is he here?”

“No,” Jean-Luc answered. “False alarm.”

Emma looked around. “But I heard a gunshot.”

“Yes.” Jean-Luc motioned toward the front yard. “We suffered a casualty.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “We were attacked by a squirrel?”

“Damned right,” Fidelia said. “And I took care of it.”

“Oh my God, Heather,” Sasha whispered. “You’re dealing drugs?”

“What?” Heather turned to her. “No!”

“Oh.” Sasha looked disappointed. “Then what’s the deal with all the weapons?”

Heather sighed. “I can explain. Later.”

“Since everything’s fine, I’ll go back to my post.” Emma slanted Jean-Luc an amused glance as she headed back into the foyer. “And you thought you’d be bored in Texas.”

He nodded. Life had become much more interesting lately.

“I’ve had enough excitement for one day,” Fidelia announced and waddled after Emma. “I’m taking a long hot bath and going to bed.”

“Good night.” Heather set her shotgun down on the porch. “Great. Now I get to deal with the squirrel.”

“There is nothing to deal with,” Jean-Luc assured her. “The squirrel is dead.”

“I can’t leave it lying there. Bethany will see it, and she thinks it’s SpongeBob’s friend Sandy.”

Jean-Luc had no idea what she was talking about. “I could bury it. Even say the Last Rites.” He knew them by heart after hearing Roman perform them more than a hundred times for their fallen comrades during the Great Vampire War.

Heather’s pretty mouth tilted up at the corners. “I didn’t realize our squirrel was Catholic.”

Was she laughing at him? “If you rather I didn’t—”

“No, please. I want you to.” She gifted him with a brilliant smile. “I think you’re very sweet.”

His heart expanded. Mon Dieu, a man could grow addicted to this feeling. “You have a shovel?”

“Yes, in the garage.” She motioned to her left.

He hurried down the porch steps and took a left turn toward the driveway. He kept his sword with him, just in case Lui was hiding in the shadows. Or the garage.

Sasha Saladine watched him as he passed by, then hissed at Heather. “You big liar! You told me you didn’t have a boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Heather whispered.

Jean-Luc continued to pick up their conversation as he strode toward the detached garage.

“Where on earth did you find him?” Sasha whispered.

“I met him last night at the grand opening.”

“You’re kidding! That handsome hunk was there? Damn, I screwed the wrong guy.”

“Sasha!”

“Have you slept with him yet?”

“Of course not,” Heather huffed. “I just met him yesterday.”

Her indignation made Jean-Luc smile. He paused at the garage’s side door to hear more.

“If you don’t want him, I’ll take him,” Sasha continued. “Alberto was kinda disappointing. But he did promise me more turns on the runway. So, what do you say?”

“Uh, congratulations?”

“No, I’m talking about the hunky guy with the sword. Can I make a move on him or not? Do you want him?”

He strained to hear a response.

“Jean!” Heather called. “Is the door locked?”

He twisted the doorknob, and the door creaked open. “It’s fine!” He slipped inside, but left the door ajar so he could hear. He glanced around. The garage was empty.

“John?” Sasha asked. “John who?”

“Jean Echarpe,” Heather replied. “He’s Jean-Luc Echarpe’s son.”

Sasha gasped. “You’re kidding! Oh, crap! I really did screw the wrong guy.”

Jean-Luc shook his head. As if he could possibly desire that vain shrew. Now Heather was another story. He’d love to see her green eyes grow dazed with pleasure when he palmed her breast or stroked her between her sweet thighs. He’d like to see her cheeks flush with heat, her mouth open with a throaty groan. He’d…

He’d better stop before his eyes started glowing. He grabbed the shovel and left the garage. The women were still talking, but he was no longer the subject.

“Where’s your rental car?” Heather asked. “How did you get here?”

Sasha was lounging on the porch swing, pushing it with a bare foot on the porch. “Alberto dropped me off. We just had dinner, and he thought I’d drunk too much to drive. But I swear I only had two margaritas.”

“Did you eat anything?”

“Sure. But I didn’t keep it, if you know what I mean.” Sasha pointed an index finger into her mouth.

Jean-Luc grimaced. She was bulimic. This was precisely why he used Simone and Inga as his main models. They were Vamps, so they never had to damage themselves to stay thin. Unfortunately, the media was beginning to question why they never aged, either.

“You shouldn’t joke about bulimia,” Heather grumbled. “It’s a disease.”

“It’s desperation. I’m twenty-six years old, trying to compete with babies.” Sasha noticed Jean-Luc passing by and scrambled to her feet. “Oh, Mr. Echarpe, it’s such a pleasure to meet you. I hope you weren’t offended by anything I said.” Her gaze wandered to the sword, still in his right hand. “Heather said you were here to protect her. I think that’s so noble of you.”

She was buttering him up. Jean-Luc was used to that. It had nothing to do with him. He’d realized many years ago that some models would jump the Hunch-back of Notre Dame if it could further their careers.

“I am honored to meet you.” He shifted his gaze to Heather. “Where would you like the burial site?”

She looked around the front yard. “How about under the oak tree? That was his home, so I think he’d like that.”

“As you wish.” Jean-Luc sauntered toward the tree. He spotted a blank space between two patches of flowers and started to dig. If only the women would go inside, he could use vampire speed and finish the task in a few seconds.

The porch swing creaked when Sasha sat once again. “People talk about how friendly small towns are, but it’s so not true. Old Mrs. Herman threw me out of her bed-and-breakfast. Can you believe it?”

“That’s odd,” Heather answered. “She’s a widow. I would have thought she’d need the money.”

“She’s an old prude. I invited Alberto over last night, and when she saw him leave this morning, she got all huffy and told me she wasn’t running a bordello. Then Alberto and I tried to go back there after dinner, and she wouldn’t let us in. I swear, she’s just a frigid old bat!”

“She was our Sunday school teacher,” Heather murmured. “Do you have a place to stay?”

“Well, I really don’t want to stay with my psycho mom in her dinky trailer, so I thought I’d crash here,” Sasha mumbled. “What do you think?”

“Where’s your luggage?”

“Don’t need it. I sleep in the nude.”

“Great,” Heather muttered.

“I’ll get my stuff and my rental car in the morning. I can’t wait to get out of this town. I’m going to the Spa d’Elegance in San Antonio tomorrow. You want to come?”

“I need to stay here.”

“How can you?” Sasha’s voice turned shrill. “I can’t stand it anymore. There are no shopping malls, no nightclubs. I ordered an orange frappaccino at the diner, and they looked at me like I was some kind of alien.”

Heather sighed. “You lived here for eighteen years. You know how it is.”

“Believe me, I made sure I forgot everything about this godforsaken cesspool.”

Heather’s voice was low and tense. “I still live here.”

Jean-Luc paused in his shoveling to look at the women on the porch. He could see the pink tint of Heather’s cheeks, and the green flash of anger in her eyes.

Sasha shrugged. “Well, that’s your loss.”

He considered digging a bigger grave.

“Since you have no car and nowhere else to go,” Heather continued, “I’m going to ignore your insulting comments and show you to the guest room.”

Jean-Luc’s mouth tilted with a slight smile. In spite of her recent divorce, Heather still had a forgiving and compassionate nature. But would she be so understanding if she knew the truth about him? His smile faded as he recalled her description last night of a vampire. Creepy monster. How could she ever accept him?

“Geez, Heather.” Sasha’s thin shoulders drooped. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. You’re the only real friend I have. Everyone else just wants to use me. Well, I use them, too. But you’re the only one I can really talk to.”

Heather’s face softened, and she gave the model a hug. “Okay.” She opened the front door. “Let’s get you to bed.”

As the door shut, Jean-Luc surveyed the house once more. It was more than a home; it was a shelter for those in need. Heather had opened it to Fidelia, and now Sasha. With her generous, loving heart, Heather would always have friends and family.

A picture flashed through his head. A family picture—Roman and Shanna Draganesti and their little son, Constantine. Jean-Luc fisted his hands around the wooden shovel handle. He’d never had a family. He never would.

He rammed the shovel into the ground. With his vampire strength, the blade sliced into the ground all the way past the hilt, neatly chopping through a tree root. The grave was big enough now for the squirrel, so he walked toward the dead animal. After two steps, he halted.

A white police car rolled to a stop in front of Heather’s house. Along the side of the car, fluorescent letters spelled the words County Sheriff. Merde. Like most Vamps, Jean-Luc was wary of law enforcement. A Vamp could never allow himself to be interrogated in one of those rooms with one-way reflective glass, not when their bodies didn’t reflect.

He glanced at his sword where it rested, propped against the tree. He strode back and slid the sword under some thick bushes at the base of the tree.

Meanwhile, the officer had exited the squad car. He marched toward the house, looking very official in his neatly pressed khaki uniform complete with belt and gun holster. He watched Jean-Luc with narrowed eyes and rolled a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other.

“Step away from the tree. Raise your hands where I can see them,” he ordered.

Jean-Luc took one step to the side and opened his hands, palms forward. “Is there a problem, Sheriff?”

The young officer halted and chewed on his toothpick. “Who the hell are you?”

“I am Jean Echarpe.”

“Johnny Sharp, huh? Where you from, Mr. Sharp?”

Jean-Luc figured it was best to leave the misunderstanding alone. “I’m from Paris.”

The sheriff nodded knowingly. “Up north of Dallas. I’ve been there.”

Jean-Luc was taken aback for a few seconds. “There is a Paris in Texas?”

“Yep. But you talk too weird, even for someone from up north. Guess you’re one of those Frogs.”

Jean-Luc gritted his teeth. “I am from France.”

“That’s too bad.” The sheriff’s gaze focused on the recently dug grave. He plucked the toothpick from his mouth and tossed it on the ground. “I got a report from one of the neighbors that a gun was fired here. And now I catch you in the act of digging a grave.”

Jean-Luc motioned to the hole. “As you can see, it is a very small grave.”

“Well, maybe you like cutting up your victims and burying them in parts.” The sheriff rested a hand on his gun holster.