It looked more like a museum than a store, Heather thought as she stood

outside her new temporary home. Greek columns, made of stone, stretched to the high gabled roof. Close to the front porch was a sign with Le Chique Echarpe painted in a pretty cursive script.

“It’s big,” Bethany whispered.

“And expensive,” Fidelia added. “Juan must be very rich.”

“It’s Jean—” Heather winced as she recalled the way Jean-Luc had practiced his pronunciation.

He was at the front door of his store, his cane gripped in his right hand as he talked to Phil and another man dressed just like Phil. Apparently khaki pants and a navy polo shirt were the official guard uniform. The two guards disappeared into the building with the bags of newly purchased stuff from the discount store.

Jean-Luc descended the steps to where Heather waited on the circular driveway. “Phil and Pierre are taking the bags to your room.” He glanced around the grounds. “You’ll be safer inside with the alarm system on.”

“I’ll show you safe.” Fidelia plopped her purse on the hood of the

BMW and pulled out her Glock. “If Louie shows up, I’ll be ready for him. Now where’s the key to this damned trigger lock?” She rummaged through the purse.

“Pierre is the other guard?” Heather had never been good at remembering names, and she’d a met a lot of new people in the last two days.

“Oui. A daytime guard.” Jean-Luc tapped his cane impatiently on the brick driveway. “We should go in now.”

“I heard we have company,” a voice said from the front door.

Heather turned and recognized the speaker. He was the one Sasha had “talked” to on Friday night. Alberto Alberghini. He was sandwiched between the two beautiful models Sasha had gossiped about. Heather couldn’t recall their names, but she remembered there were rumors about them and Jean-Luc. At least they were clinging to Alberto and not Jean- Luc. Still, when the young Italian man escorted them down the steps, she wished they would trip over their long evening gowns.

Jealousy, she chided herself. What an ugly emotion. It would be easier to bear if the two women weren’t so damned flawless. Perfectly pale complexions, perfectly applied makeup, perfectly proportioned bodies.

Together they were even more striking because they were opposites.

One had long black hair and dark, almond-shaped eyes. She wore an elegant black gown of satin that gleamed in the moonlight just like her perfect curtain of black, silky hair. The other model’s hair cascaded down her back with curls of the palest blond. Her eyes were a translucent, icy blue. Her skin was as pale as her white, shimmering gown.

“Is she a princess?” Bethany whispered.

The two models glanced at the little girl, but no expression registered on their perfect faces. Their gazes passed over her and Fidelia, then rested on Jean-Luc.

Heather knew she’d been dismissed.

Jean-Luc motioned toward the one in black. “This is Simone.” His hand moved to the one in white. “And Inga.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Heather Westfield, and this is my daughter, Bethany.”

“Aha!” Fidelia extracted a key ring from her purse. She did a double- take at Inga. “Santa Maria, girl, eat some tacos. And get some sun. You look like a skinny ghost.”

The blonde gave her a bland look, then turned away.

Simone glared at Jean-Luc, her dark eyes simmering with anger. “They are beneath you.”

Jean-Luc said nothing but stared back, his eyes intense.

Heather wondered how long the staring contest would continue.

Bethany yawned. Fidelia cursed softly in Spanish as she worked on the trigger lock.

Finally Simone lowered her gaze. She bowed slightly as if acknowledging surrender. When she straightened, she directed a look at Heather, a look so full of hatred, it made Heather flinch.

Inga’s cold eyes drifted past Heather like a chill wind, then focused on Jean-Luc. “It is not like you to have such poor taste.” She pivoted and went up the stairs alongside Simone, Alberto scrambling after them.

Heather hunched her shoulders as she slid her hands into the pockets of her jean cutoffs. “That was one hell of a welcome wagon.”

Jean-Luc’s mouth thinned. “They are not accustomed to being around

—”

“Commoners?” Heather interrupted.

“Got it!” Fidelia removed the Glock’s trigger lock, then swiveled toward the front door. “Damn, I’m too late. I wanted to do some princess hunting. Mount one of their freaking tiaras over my fireplace.”

“Don’t let them upset you,” Jean-Luc said. “They’re only here because of the charity show in two weeks. After that, they’ll be gone. Alberto, too. They’re all going back to Paris.”

He looked so sad about it, Heather couldn’t help but wonder why he was here. “Why did you leave Paris?”

“It’s a long story.”

She bet it was. She also wondered just how close he was to the models from hell. “You’ve known Simone and Inga for a long time?”

“Yes.” He started up the steps, motioning for them to follow. “Come. It’s safer inside.” He waited by the front door, surveying the grounds with narrowed eyes.

“Do you think Louie’s coming here?” Heather escorted her daughter up the steps.

“There’s no telling what he’ll do next.” Jean-Luc held the door open. Fidelia and Bethany went inside, but Heather lingered beside him on the porch.

“Simone and Inga, they’re…just your models?”

“Yes.” His mouth quirked. “Are you concerned, chérie?”

“No. I’m fine.” She was just a jealous liar, that was all. She entered the elegant foyer that opened into the store’s showroom. “Fidelia, put the lock back on your gun. I believe you’ll be sharing a room with Bethany and me.” She gave Jean-Luc a questioning look.

“Yes. Unfortunately, I have only one guest room upstairs.” He shut the front door and locked it, then punched some numbers on a security pad on the wall.

Only one guest room? “Then Simone and Inga aren’t living here?”

Jean-Luc frowned. “They are staying here. Alberto and all the guards, too.” He motioned to the right. “Would you like a tour?”

“Okay.” Heather suspected he was trying to change the subject. “Look at the big stairs!” Bethany gawked at the grand staircase that

began on the right of the showroom and curved gracefully up to a catwalk on the second floor, overlooking the showroom. “Is our room up there?”

“Yes. But first, I want to show you where your mother will be working.” Jean-Luc led them to the hallway that began under the curve of the grand staircase.

Heather took Bethany’s hand and followed him. There were a lot of people living here. Where did they all sleep?

“I suppose the master bedroom’s on the first floor?”

“There are no bedrooms on this floor.” Jean-Luc strode down the hallway that dissected the right side of the house. The walls were decorated with black-framed photos of models wearing haute couture by Jean-Luc Echarpe.

He motioned to doors on the right as they passed by. “Women’s restroom. Men’s restroom. Conference room.” There was only one door on the left side of the hall. “This is the design studio.” He stopped by the large double doors and pressed some numbers into the keypad.

Heather couldn’t see around him. “If I’m working in there, shouldn’t I learn the combination?”

He hesitated. “Alberto knows it.” He opened the door.

He didn’t trust her with the combination? Heather entered the studio, frowning. “Will Alberto be working here, too?”

“Oui.” Jean-Luc flipped on the lights.

Bethany gasped. “It’s so big!” Fidelia nodded. “Gigante.”

“Yes, it is.” Heather surveyed the huge room. There was no sign of the battle from Friday night. The shattered mannequin had been cleared away.

Jean-Luc pointed at a spiral staircase in the far left corner. “That leads to the catwalk over the showroom. It would be a shortcut to your bedroom upstairs.”

“I see. Can we go there now? Bethany’s really tired.”

He hesitated, then cocked his head, frowning. “It’ll be ready soon.

Come, you should know where the kitchen is.”

Heather followed him back into the hallway and noticed a door at the far end of the hall. “Is that an exit?”

He glanced at the door. “It leads to the cellar. You will have no business there.” He strode quickly in the opposite direction, back to the showroom. “We’ll be closing the store to the public. It’ll be safer that way.”

They followed him into the showroom.

Fidelia paused to look at a glass case filled with purses made with Jean-

Luc’s signature fleur-de-lis fabric. “I could use a bigger purse for all my pistols.”

“You may have whichever one you like,” Jean-Luc offered as he continued toward the hall on the left.

Heather gave Fidelia a disapproving frown, but the babysitter just grinned back.

“Can I have a purse, too?” Bethany asked.

“No!” Heather grimaced at the thought of a four-year-old carrying an eight-hundred-dollar purse.

As they entered the hallway that bisected the left side of the house,

Jean-Luc motioned to the first door. “This is the security office. If you need help, you should go there.”

“Got it.” Heather noticed the keypad next to the door.

“Storerooms.” Jean-Luc gestured to the left. “Alberto’s office.” He stopped at a door on the right. “This is the kitchen. You may use it as much as you like.” He opened the door and stepped aside to let them enter.

It was more than a kitchen. It had a small dining area and a sitting area, complete with a comfy couch, recliners, and a television. It opened onto a utility room with washer and dryer. Heather wandered into the kitchen and admired the pristine appliances, all sparkly new. The cabinets were filled with beautiful glassware and stoneware.

“I love the Tuscan-style dishes,” she said. “I was thinking about buying some at the discount store. Where did you get yours?”

His mouth quirked. “Tuscany.”

“Oh, right.” Her cheeks warmed. The rich lived in another world.

The stainless steel fridge contained nothing but a few crab cakes and cheese puffs, along with three unopened bottles of champagne—leftovers, no doubt, from the party Friday night. The pantry was completely bare.

She shut the pantry door. “What do y’all eat around here?”

Jean-Luc winced. “I forgot about that. I’ll have the guards take care of

it.”

How could you forget about food? Heather noticed her daughter

slumped on the couch, about to fall asleep on the yellow bear. “We really need to go to our room.”

He tilted his head as if listening to something. “It’s ready now.” “Okay.” She exchanged a questioning look with Fidelia.

The psychic shook her head slightly. Either she didn’t know or she didn’t want to talk about it now.

Heather helped her daughter to her feet. “Let’s go, sweetie. We’re almost there.”

As they exited the kitchen, Heather noticed Alberto emerging from a room at the far end of the hall. He stumbled into the hallway, his hand clasped to his neck. In his other arm, he carried two evening gowns.

He looked back at the open door. “I’ll fix them just like you wanted.” “See that you do,” Simone’s voice hissed just before the door slammed

shut.

Alberto rushed down the hall. He slowed when he saw them.

Jean-Luc clenched his cane so tight, his knuckles showed white. “Is there a problem?”

Heather glanced at him, surprised by the angry tone of his voice. Alberto blushed. “They are hard to please.”

“Indeed.” Jean-Luc glared at him. “A wise man would not make the attempt.”

Alberto’s gaze lowered. “I know you’re right. But they’re just so… beautiful.” He rubbed at his neck.

Heather narrowed her eyes. Was that a bloodstain on his fingers?

“Excuse me.” Alberto dashed to the door that led to his personal office and let himself in.

“This way.” Jean-Luc gestured for them to follow. Heather exchanged another look with Fidelia.

He came to a stop. “These are the backstairs.”

Sure enough, there was a narrow set of stairs going up to the second floor.

Heather glanced at the end of the hall and the door Alberto had stumbled through. Another keypad. “Is that the bedroom where the models are staying?”

Jean-Luc glanced at the door, frowning. “It leads to the cellar. You will have no business there.” He started up the stairs.

Heather slanted one last look at the forbidden door before following

Jean-Luc up the stairs. The ascent was slow since Bethany climbed one step at a time and insisted on carrying the big yellow bear. Heather’s mind wandered back to the cellar door. Why was it kept locked? And what about the second door to the cellar, the one at the other end of the hall? Was it locked, too?

What was down there? Monsters? Simone and Inga certainly fit that bill. With a snort, Heather chided herself for having a crazy imagination. It was more likely to be something business-related, like an illegal immigrant sweatshop. She reached the top of the stairs.

“This is my office.” Jean-Luc indicated a door with another keypad. “I’ll show it to you later.”

“All right.” She spotted an overhead surveillance camera.

Just then a door down the hall opened, and two men emerged. Or a man and a boy, Heather thought, upon a closer look. She recalled seeing them

before with Angus MacKay.

The teenager in a kilt smiled. “Yer room is ready, Mrs. Westfield.” “Thank you. Please call me Heather.”

“Verra well. I’m Ian, and this is Phineas.”

“What’s shakin’?” The black man was wearing the uniform of khaki pants and navy polo shirt.

“We’ll be going now.” Ian motioned for Phineas to follow. “See ye tomorrow night.”

“Good night.” She noticed the sword strapped to Ian’s back as he passed by. They clambered down the stairs. How odd that the one who looked fifteen acted like he had seniority. “Isn’t he a bit young to be a guard?”

“He’s older than he looks.” Jean-Luc opened the door that Ian and Phineas had just exited. “This is your room.”

Bethany ran inside and squealed.

“What?” Heather rushed inside and halted, stunned.

Fidelia ran inside and bumped into her. “Ay, caramba,” she whispered, looking around the room.

“My toys!” Bethany dropped the yellow bear on the floor and knelt in front of her dollhouse.

Heather blinked, speechless. Parked next to the dollhouse was Bethany’s doll carriage.

She noticed her makeup case on the dresser. “How did you do this?

There was a deputy guarding the door.”

“My guards are excellent,” Jean-Luc said.

They had to be good if they’d managed to sneak all this stuff out of the house.

Fidelia dropped her purse on one of the queen-sized beds and sat. “How did they do it?”

“It is done.” He looked worried. “I thought it would make you happy.”

“I’m happy!” Bethany announced.

I’m suspicious. Heather looked slowly around the room. The walls were painted a soft green. The two beds were covered with blue damask comforters. A beautiful stained glass lamp rested on a bedside table between the two beds. There was no mirror above the dresser, but a lovely painting by Monet. Against the wall rested the bags of stuff they’d bought at the discount store.

“Heather?” Jean-Luc approached her. “Will this be all right?”

“Yes.” She avoided eye contact. “Thank you.” He’d obviously tried to make her happy, but the opposite had happened. She didn’t know what to think.

“I’ll be in my office down the hall for the next hour or so if you need me. Robby will be here soon with your truck.”

“Okay.” That seemed odd to Heather. Hadn’t they used her truck to bring Bethany’s toys here?

“I noticed a few boarded-up buildings in town,” Jean-Luc continued. “Yeah, the discount store made them go out of business.”

“Robby and I will check them later tonight.”

“You mean…?” They thought Louie might be hiding in one of them? “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No,” he answered quickly. “You’ve been through enough tonight. Your daughter, too.”

That much was true. Heather didn’t think she could handle any more excitement right now. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow evening, yes. Phil and Pierre will watch over you during the day.”

And where will you be? She met his eyes. There was still too much mystery surrounding him.

“Good night, chérie.” He took her hand and raised it to his mouth. His lips were soft, sensuous.

Heather’s face flooded with heat when delicious memories swept over her. His kiss had been glorious. She’d felt so safe and wonderful in his arms. She wished that feeling could come back, but it was gone. Instead she suffered from a nagging sensation that something was seriously wrong.

“Sleep well.” He left the room, closing the door behind him. “Juan is very romantic,” Fidelia observed. “Muy macho.”

“Muy something,” Heather muttered. “Let’s get Bethany to bed.” And then we can talk. The words dangled at the end of the sentence, unsaid.

Thirty minutes later, Bethany was sound asleep in the bed she would share with her mom. Fidelia and Heather took turns washing up.

Heather exited the bathroom and waved a hand toward the dollhouse. “How do you think they managed this?”

“I don’t know.” Fidelia fluffed the pillows up against the headboard of her bed, then slipped beneath the comforter. “They must have sneaked past the deputy.”

Heather rested a hand on one hip. “I don’t think Billy and his deputies could be that incompetent.”

Fidelia chuckled. “You never know. At least we have the smart ones on our side.”

“Smart or just…sneaky? There’s something very odd going on around here.”

Fidelia nodded. “Juan seemed to be listening to someone. He may be psychic.”

“I got that impression, too.” Heather perched on the end of Fidelia’s bed. “Could you hear anything?”

“No, but I’m sensing strange…energy. Maybe I’ll dream something tonight that’ll help.”

Heather nodded. She wasn’t quite ready to voice her earlier suspicion that Jean-Luc could be immortal. It still seemed too bizarre.

“This is the only bedroom upstairs,” Fidelia continued. “And Juan said there are none on the first floor.”

“That seemed strange to me, too,” Heather conceded.

“Where are all the people in this house sleeping?” Fidelia asked.

Heather winced, remembering the locked cellar doors. “I guess they’re in the cellar.”

“That’s strange,” Fidelia muttered. “And what was that with Alberto? I think those bitches scratched him. Or cut him. There was blood on his

fingers.”

“I saw that. And Jean-Luc kept telling us to stay away from the cellar. Of course, that could be a good warning with those psycho women living down there.”

Fidelia made a clucking noise. “Why were you late to hear Bethany sing? That is not like you.”

A blush warmed Heather’s cheeks. “I was…distracted.” “By Juan? Did he make a pass at you?”

Her blush grew hotter. “I was willing. Far too willing. I…I thought I was falling for him.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know. I’m attracted to him. He’s gorgeous and sexy—” “And rich.”

Heather gave her an annoyed look. “That’s not what matters to me.

Cody had plenty of money, and it sure didn’t make me happy.” “Then what do you like about Juan?”

“I think he’s an honorable, intelligent, kind man. It was very sweet the way he got that bear for Bethany. And he likes me the way I am. He treats me with respect. He actually listens to me and cares about my feelings.”

Fidelia nodded. “He is a good man. I am fairly certain of that.” “Fairly certain?”

Fidelia shrugged. “Appearances can be deceiving. I sense something… wrong.”

Heather snorted. “You don’t have to be psychic to know that. There are secrets in this place. Secrets that Jean-Luc wants to hide from me.”

“I agree.”

“Then how can I trust him?”

Fidelia lounged back against her pillows, frowning. “You must be very careful.”

Heather’s eyes burned as unwanted tears threatened. She’d so wanted to believe in Jean-Luc. He’d seemed so perfect. But she had no choice. She needed to keep a distance between them. She couldn’t let herself fall for

Jean-Luc Echarpe.