The Undead Next Door las-4

by Kerrelyn Sparks

  "I am impressed by your willingness to confront the villain." He placed a hand on the small of her back and ushered her toward the darker end of the porch. "How do you feel about confronting this attraction between us?"

  Her eyes widened. "I…suppose we can admit it's there."

  "And it's growing stronger. At least for me."

  She leaned against a column and gazed toward the highway. "It's happening very fast."

  "Do you doubt it's real?"

  She glanced at him. "No. It's real. Real enough that I could get hurt."

  "I would never hurt you. Not intentionally."

  "I know that." She placed a hand on his chest. "I'm…very attracted to you, Jean-Luc, but I'm

  trying not to make any mistakes I'll regret."

  "I understand." He planted a hand on either side of the column, pinning her in. "I know I should resist you. But whenever you're close, I can only think about how much I want you."

  He kissed her brow. "I keep remembering how good you feel in my arms and how sweet you taste." He kissed her cheek. "Remember our first kiss, cherie? The one in the park?"

  The corner of her mouth quirked. "What kiss? Did we kiss?"

  "You melted in my arms. You moaned into my mouth. You tasted me with your tongue."

  "Oh. That kiss."

  "And you did it again this morning."

  "Well, some things you just have to keep doing till you get it right."

  He smiled. "Cherie, you have it right." He skimmed his fingers up her neck. "All I can think about is kissing you. I can hardly work. My mind has become utterly useless."

  "Poor baby." She tilted her head when he rubbed his nose against her neck. "We can't have you being useless."

  "I'm sure we'll find something I can do." He touched his tongue against the pulsing artery in her neck. The scent of her blood sizzled through him.

  "Like trying to seduce me?" She sounded breathless.

  He kissed a trail to her ear. "There's no trying. I am seducing you."

  He drew her earlobe into his mouth and groaned when she responded with a shudder. He suckled as he enveloped her in his arms.

  Her hands slipped around his neck. "Yes," she whispered.

  He brushed his lips across her cheek. "I want you so."

  "I know," she breathed the words against his mouth. "Why does this feel so right?"

  "Because we…fit." He molded his mouth against hers and pulled her tight against him. They did fit. Her lips were perfect against his. Her breasts moved against his chest in just the right way.

  He smoothed his hands down her back. The small of her back arched perfectly against his lower belly, her hips nestled sweetly against his groin, and her belly cushioned his hard erection. She was perfect in every way.

  How could he let her go? Maybe she could learn to accept him as a vampire. Maybe he could have the sort of love Roman and Angus had found. Maybe he could even have a family.

  A flash of light hit them as a car zoomed up the driveway. He immediately pulled her around the column into the shadow.

  "Do you think it's Louie?" she whispered.

  "No. He wouldn't be this obvious." Jean-Luc watched the car as it passed Heather's truck and his BMW. It screeched to a halt just past the front door. "It's probably one of your admirers from town."

  "I have no admirers," she muttered.

  "Then who was that noisy little man I had to dunk in the water?"

  "Coach Gunter. He's more of a pest than an admirer." Heather twisted to peek around the column, but Jean-Luc pulled her back into the shadow.

  "Careful." He narrowed his eyes as a man exited the car. "Yes. This one is definitely in love with you."

  "What?" She scoffed.

  "Heather!" the man yelled from the driveway. "I know you're there!"

  "Cody?" she whispered with a grimace. "My ex doesn't love me. He hates me."

  "He hates that you rejected him," Jean-Luc whispered. "But he still loves you. Believe me, I know the signs."

  "You do?" She gave him a dubious look.

  "Come on out, Heather!" Cody shouted. "I saw you on the porch, kissing that man."

  "Jealousy," Jean-Luc whispered.

  "The news is all over town," Cody bellowed. "Everyone knows you're living here. They know you're shacking up with that rich foreigner."

  "Shall I skewer him?" Robby asked quietly as he shut the front door.

  "No." Jean-Luc stepped from the shadows into the light by the front door. "You are trespassing on private property. I suggest you leave."

  "I have a right to be here! You've got my daughter in there. What are you doing to her?"

  "Bethany is perfectly fine." Heather moved into the light. "You can pick her up at the appointed time next Friday. Now go home, Cody."

  "Why? So you can screw your new boyfriend? I didn't know you were a damned slut, Heather."

  "Enough!" Jean-Luc zeroed all his psychic power onto Cody's forehead. The bastard stumbled back a few feet. Every time you curse Heather, you will become a cockroach.

  Cody crumpled onto the brick pavement.

  Heather stepped forward. "What—"

  "Leave him be." Jean-Luc touched her arm.

  Cody wriggled on the driveway, then rose into a squat. "I am a cockroach," he squeaked. Heather gasped. "Not again."

  Cody crawled toward the BMW, then leaped on top and scrambled across the hood.

  Jean-Luc winced at the abuse his car was taking. You cannot pick up your daughter this weekend. Cody lumbered toward his car. "I cannot pick up my daughter this weekend." He dove through the open window of his car and thrashed about.

  "Is he drunk?" Heather grimaced when the engine roared to life. "He shouldn't drive like that."

  The car shot forward and bounced over a curb where the driveway curved back to the state highway.

  You will drive well, Jean-Luc delivered the psychic message, though he wasn't sure Cody could drive at all in his current condition.

  The car stopped weaving and zoomed down the driveway in a straight line.

  Heather exhaled a long breath. "He's gone crazy. Thank God he doesn't want Bethany this weekend."

  "That was different," Robby spoke behind them.

  Jean-Luc glanced back to find the Scotsman giving him an amused look. "Are you ready to go?"

  "Aye." Robby strode down the steps to the driveway, carrying two swords. "Let me check the car first."

  "This is it." Heather studied the Queen Anne house lit by the headlights of Jean-Luc's car as he parked. Between the scraggly azalea bushes in the front flower bed, she spotted a stone cellar.

  The two-story wooden frame house was out in the middle of nowhere, but fifty years ago it had drawn customers from all over the state. A large sign by the front steps read Chicken Ranch, est. 1863. Heather noted an old Chevy Impala in the parking lot, probably Mrs. Bolton's car.

  Heather gathered her purse, containing Fidelia's Glock and a flashlight, and met Jean-Luc on the sidewalk. Robby handed him his foil, and Jean-Luc slid it into a sheath hidden beneath his long black coat. Robby didn't bother to conceal the claymore strapped on his back.

  Heather shook her head as they climbed the front steps to the porch. "The curator's not going to let you in with those swords."

  "That is the least of my worries." Jean-Luc knocked on the door.

  As they waited, Heather admired the elaborate gingerbread work around the covered porch and the wicker furniture. "They've maintained the place well."

  Jean-Luc knocked again.

  Heather frowned. "She said she would keep it open."

  Jean-Luc turned the doorknob, and the door swung open slowly. "She has kept it open." He entered the dimly lit foyer, followed by Robby.

  "Hello?" Heather called out as she stepped into the house. No answer. She gazed about, taking in the flocked wallpaper and Oriental rug on the wooden floor. "Maybe she's in the bathroom."

  Robby obviously didn't believe in such convenient reasoning, for he drew his claymo
re. He entered the dark parlor on the right, his sword clenched tight in his fist.

  He halted abruptly. "Lord Almighty," he whispered.

  "What is it?" Jean-Luc rushed in, then stopped.

  Heather couldn't see what they were looking at, so she fumbled along the wall and flipped the light switch. "Good Lord."

  The light was aimed at the far wall, where a giant oil painting spread five feet across. Heather swallowed. No wonder Fidelia recognized this painting. Who could forget it? A curvaceous blonde reclined on a velvet chaise, completely nude while she pleasured herself, one hand on a plump breast and the other between her spread legs. Judging from the look on her face, her hands could work miracles.

  "Sheesh. That doesn't leave much to the imagination." Heather turned away to look at the rest of the room. Red velvet chaises like the one in the painting lined the walls. She wondered if the prostitutes had reenacted the scene for paying customers.

  Robby's head tilted as he studied the painting. "I suppose its purpose is to help a man be prepared."

  Jean-Luc stood beside him, his gaze also glued to the painting. "That makes sense from a business point of view. If the men are ready to perform, then they can move the customers through more quickly."

  "And make more money," Robby concluded.

  "Hello?" Heather waved a hand in front of their faces to get their attention. "We're looking for a homicidal maniac, remember?"

  Robby jerked as if coming out of a trance. "I'll take a look around." He returned to the foyer and clambered up the stairs.

  Heather glanced at the painting, then frowned at Jean-Luc. "Are you done?"

  His mouth twitched. "I feel a bit sorry for her. All the men who came through here, and still, she needs to find pleasure by her own hand."

  Heather shrugged. "If you want a job done right, you gotta do it yourself."

  He arched a brow. "Has it been that way for you?"

  She scoffed. "I wasn't talking about myself."

  "Are you sure? Didn't your ex have only three steps?"

  Heather felt her cheeks grow warm. "I wonder what happened to Mrs. Bolton." She headed toward a closed door and knocked before cracking it open. "Hello?"

  "Allow me." Jean-Luc withdrew his foil, then entered the room first.

  Heather smoothed a hand over the wall and found the light switch. A small crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, circled by a mirror edged in a gold, ornate frame. The mirror reflected the lights, making that part of the ceiling sparkle, but Heather suspected the mirror had other purposes as well, seeing that it was situated over a large bed.

  The bed and windows were lined with red satin and lace. Red wallpaper, flocked with black cupids, covered the walls. A large desk with pigeonholes sat in the corner.

  "The madam's room, I believe." Jean-Luc looked inside a closet. "Though it looks like she did some entertaining herself."

  "Yep." Heather motioned to a pair of handcuffs linked through the bed's wrought-iron headboard.

  "Looks like she needed to be in charge all the time."

  Jean-Luc frowned. "I could never submit to that. I don't like to feel powerless."

  Heather snorted. "You would have to trust me not to hurt you." She winced. "I mean whoever was with you." Her face grew hot.

  He smiled slowly as he approached. "Are you inviting me to your bed, cherie?"

  "No. I was speaking theoretically." She crossed her arms. "Though I doubt I would need to chain you to the bed."

  "No, you would not." His eyes twinkled. "Would I need to chain you? Theoretically speaking."

  She shoved her hair back from her damp forehead. This theory was getting too hot to handle. "I need to feel that I'm in control."

  "Ah, now you have given me a challenge." He stepped closer. "To make you lose control."

  She swallowed hard. "I think we're getting off course. We need to find Mrs. Bolton." She strode toward another door.

  Jean-Luc went through first, and she followed. It appeared to be a less formal parlor, a place for the ladies to relax when off duty. It opened onto the foyer and the next room, which was the kitchen. There they found the door leading into the cellar.

  Robby joined them and insisted on going down first. He flipped the light switch. Nothing happened.

  "Could be a blown fuse," Jean-Luc said.

  Heather retrieved her flashlight from her purse and lit the stairs. Robby went first, followed by

  Jean-Luc and Heather. At the bottom she shone the flashlight around, illuminating a small storeroom with shelves. The cellar was obviously divided into more than one room.

  "Do you smell that?" Robby asked quietly.

  "Yes." Jean-Luc grabbed Heather's arm. "I'm taking you back to the car."

  "What? Why?" She saw Robby going into the next room. She sniffed the air but could smell nothing but dust.

  "Lui's not here," Robby called from the next room. "But I need the torch."

  "Merde." Jean-Luc wrapped his left arm around Heather. "Stay with me."

  She shivered, and the light wavered as they entered the next room.

  "The wall to your left," Robby's voice came out of the darkness. "That's where I smell it."

  She pointed her flashlight at the wall and gasped when letters in red appeared. It was a message, but not in English.

  "It's French." Jean-Luc took her flashlight and panned across the words. "It says, 'We will meet at the time of my choosing. Signed with an L."

  "Louie," Heather whispered and stepped back. "He was here."

  Robby stepped close to the wall and examined the red letters. "'Tis fresh."

  With a gasp, Heather realized it wasn't paint on the wall. It was blood. Fresh blood. She stepped back, her skin crawling with gooseflesh. "He left the message for us. He knew we were coming."

  "Yes." Jean-Luc continued to study the message.

  Bile rose in her throat. Where did all that blood come from? She stepped back and tripped.

  "Aagh!" She fell back and landed on something bulky. She screamed again.

  Jean-Luc quickly turned the beam of the flashlight on her. And the dead body.

  "Oh my God!" She scrambled away.

  A woman's body lay on the cellar floor, her throat slit. Jean-Luc and Robby rushed forward.

  Heather slapped a hand over her mouth. Jean-Luc grabbed her. Everything went black for a second, and she blinked, nauseated and dizzy.

  A breeze wafted over her face, and she realized she was in the parking lot next to Jean-Luc's BMW. She must have fainted for a minute because she couldn't recall getting there.

  "Let's get you home," Jean-Luc bundled her into the car.

  With shaking hands, she dropped her purse onto the floorboard. Poor Mrs. Bolton. She'd become Louie's first victim in Texas. With a shudder, Heather realized she'd thought the word first.

  They couldn't let Louie kill again. Especially when she and her daughter were on his list.

  CHAPTER 17

  Back at home, Jean-Luc paced the hallway outside the kitchen. Never again. No matter how much Heather pleaded with her pretty green eyes, he was not taking her on another hunt. Not when Lui was leaving dead bodies behind.

  Merde. There'd been too much blood on the wall. The smell of it had been so powerful, he hadn't sensed the dead body on the floor.

  Heather rushed down the backstairs. Her face was still pale, and her gaze flitted about nervously.

  "Are they all right?" he asked.

  "Yes. Bethany's asleep, and Fidelia's reading. She could tell something was wrong, but I didn't want to talk about it."

  Heather strode into the kitchen, and Jean-Luc followed her. "I don't even want to think about it."

  She washed her hands in the sink, then wrung them dry with a towel. "It was so awful."

  "I shouldn't have let you go." He poured her a glass of water. "Here. Unless you want something stronger."

  "This is fine." She gulped down half the glass. "Fidelia was right. Louie was hiding there in the cellar."
/>   "Oui. But he's moved on now, and we don't know where."

  "Poor Mrs. Bolton." Heather shuddered. "I don't understand. Why would she let a creepy killer stay in her basement? Was he threatening her or tricking her somehow?"

  Jean-Luc frowned. He would have to divulge some information. "Lui was probably controlling her. He's adept at manipulating minds."

  Heather's eyes widened. "Then Fidelia was right again. He's psychic."

  "Yes. He uses people and then discards them." With a gulp, Jean-Luc realized it was time to tell her more. If he wanted their relationship to develop and last, and he did, then he needed to be honest with her. His heart raced. What if she rejected him? He would have to be very careful. He couldn't let her run away and face Lui alone.

  She sighed. "I know Robby has already called Billy, but I dread talking to him. I don't want to relive that horrible scene all over again." She turned on the faucet and rinsed her hands once more.

  "Heather." He turned the water off. "You can't wash it away."

  Her eyes glistened with tears, and her hands shook as she dried them. "I'm trying to be brave, but I keep remembering her body. I just want it all to go away."

  The kitchen door cracked open, and Robby peered inside. "The sheriff's outside."

  Heather waited on the front steps, drumming her fingers on her thighs. Billy was still in his squad car, taking his time. He thumbed through a notepad. Then he selected a new toothpick from a plastic dispenser.

  She groaned, closing her eyes briefly.

  "It's all right," Jean-Luc whispered beside her. "The sheriff is claiming control of the situation by making us wait."

  She clenched her fists to keep her hands from fidgeting. She could no longer doubt that Louie was a killer. He had no regard for human life whatsoever.

  Robby positioned himself on the other side of her.

  "We'll no' let any harm come to you, lass."

  She was actually very fortunate. She had two macho men who would fight to the death to keep her safe. Not to mention the other guards and Fidelia. She wasn't alone like poor Mrs. Bolton. The memory of her dead body sent another tremor down Heather's spine.

  Billy finally set his hat on his head and exited the car. "Good evening, folks." He slammed the car door shut, then circled the squad car to stand in the middle of the driveway. "Now which one of you called about a dead body?"