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.