With a growl, Lui twisted the knob on his cane and ripped the wooden sheath away from a slim, lethal foil. He tossed the wooden sheath aside, and it clattered on the floor. "Your friends will be too late." He charged.
Jean-Luc leaped to the side, grabbed a nearby mannequin, and swung it hard to deflect the first attack.
Lui's sword sliced through, decapitating the male mannequin. "Ah, that brings back sweet memories of the Reign of Terror." He swung again and shattered the mannequin's torso.
Jean-Luc was left defending himself with a mannequin leg. At least it had a metal bar through it. And Robby would be here any second with a real sword.
Jean-Luc ducked, feeling the whir above him as Lui's foil sliced the air. He ran to the right, planted the mannequin leg on the floor, and used it to pole vault onto a cutting table. Lui swung at his legs, but Jean-Luc jumped and landed on the floor on the far side of the table. When Lui circled to the right to catch him, he moved to the right, too. He could keep Lui dancing around the table until Robby arrived with a sword.
Jean-Luc had completed one circle when he spotted movement behind Lui. He froze. Heather was sneaking up behind Lui with nothing but a handful of belts. What was she thinking? He didn't dare yell at her to stop. That would alert Lui to her presence, and he'd stab her with his sword. Merde! He made a face at her and motioned with his head for her to get the hell out of there.
She ignored him, her eyes focused on Lui.
The only thing Jean-Luc could do was draw Lui away from her. He ran to the center of the room and engaged in battle with the mannequin leg. Bits of plaster flew through the air as Lui hacked at Jean-Luc's inferior weapon.
"Stop it!" Heather swung her belts at Lui.
Lui stiffened as silver metal struck the back of his head. A coil of smoke curled up. He turned toward her, his face contorted with pain. "You vicious bitch." He raised his sword.
"Heather, run!" Jean-Luc leaped forward and clobbered Lui on the head with the mannequin leg. The metal rod sent Lui stumbling to the side. His foil clattered to the floor. Jean-Luc ducked to retrieve the sword, then jumped out of the way when Heather took another swing at Lui.
"Take that, you creep!" Her eyes glittered with excitement.
Lui raised his hands to protect his head, and the silver hissed across his palms, sizzling the exposed flesh.
The front door burst open, and Angus and Robby ran inside, their claymores drawn. Robby tossed a foil across the room to Jean-Luc.
He caught the foil, then turned to face Lui. The bastard had retreated, hiding among the racks of clothing. From the corner of his eye, Jean-Luc spotted Angus slipping between two racks. No doubt the Scotsman intended to catch the bastard from behind.
Jean-Luc handed Lui's foil to Heather. "If he comes after you, do not hesitate to use it."
She nodded, her eyes meeting his. His heart stuttered. Mon Dieu, what had he gotten her into?
"I will return for you, Echarpe," Lui announced. "But first I will kill your woman. Just like old times, non?"
"She is not my woman! Leave her out of this."
"Ah, but I can see that you care for her. I wonder if she will be as accommodating as your last mistress?"
"Damn you." Jean-Luc strode toward the racks. "Watch her," he yelled at Robby; then he ran down an aisle. He spotted Angus coming from the opposite direction.
Jean-Luc shoved clothes aside, hunting for Lui.
"Bugger," Angus muttered. "He must have teleported away. I'll keep searching." He dashed away at vampire speed.
"Did you get him?" Heather called.
"No. He…escaped." Jean-Luc stalked back to the center of the workroom. Seething with frustration, he whipped his foil through the air. Heather's eyes widened.
Robby paced around her, his claymore clenched in a tight fist. "I need to search the grounds. Now."
Jean-Luc nodded. "Go."
Robby sprinted toward the French doors along the back wall and let himself out.
Jean-Luc took a deep breath. "Are you all right?"
"I guess." Heather dropped the belts and Lui's foil onto a cutting table. "But I don't understand what's going on. What's the deal with all these swords? And why would anyone want to kill a fashion designer?"
"It's a long story." And a painful one. "I wish you had run like I told you to do."
"I meant to, but when I saw him attacking you with that sword, and all you had was a mannequin—I don't know. I should have been afraid, but I've been afraid all my life, and I'm sick and tired of it. Then all this anger came pouring out. Anger at myself for being a wimp. Anger at my ex for being an asshole. I just had to take action. And—and I was good!"
Jean-Luc took her hand in his. He suspected it was her ex-husband who had left her immersed in self-doubt. But she was fighting back, and his heart swelled with pride for her. "You were very brave. You may have saved my life."
Her cheeks turned pink. "I don't know if I helped that much. You were doing really well. Who was that guy?"
"I have never known his real name. I call him Lui."
"Louie?"
"Non, Lui."
She frowned. "That's what I said."
Jean-Luc sighed. "Lui means 'him' en francais. He is an assassin of many names. Jacques Clement, Damiens, Ravaillac. He incites murder and delights in death."
Her hand trembled. "Why does he want to kill you?"
"Because I have tried to stop him over the cen—years. I succeeded once, and he has wanted me to suffer ever since." Jean-Luc squeezed her hand. "Heather, I regret to tell you this, but you are in terrible danger."
Her face paled. "I was afraid of that. He thinks I'm…"
"He believes you are my lover."
She pulled her hand from his grasp. "I'd better stay away then. I guess I can't work here after all."
"Au contraire, you should work here. I have security guards who can protect you. In fact, you should live here until we can…take care of Lui."
She scoffed. "I can't live here. I have a house in Schnitzelberg."
"You must live here. Lui has killed two women in my past."
Heather gulped. "He kills your girlfriends?"
"Yes. I am sorry this happened to you. I did warn you not to let him see you."
She winced. "I should have done what you said."
"If you had, I might be dead. Let me protect you, Heather. I owe you that much."
"I can't stay here. My daughter—"
"Non." Jean-Luc felt as if he'd been pummeled in the stomach. "You have a daughter?"
"Yes. Oh my God. Are you saying she's in danger, too?"
Jean-Luc swallowed hard. A vision of mutilated bodies flashed through his mind. Yvonne in 1757. Claudine in 1832. He couldn't bear this pain and guilt again. "Do not be afraid. I will protect you both."
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."