“Ignore him," Heather begged. "I do. Constantly." Jean-Luc studied the coach, then turned to Heather with a wary look. "Every man in this town wants you." She laughed. "Yea, right. The old guys from the nursing home go into cardiac arrest whenever I walk by." His gaze drifted over her. "I can believe that.”

“You know what I need to do?""Buy earrings?""I need to fully embed myself in Gabriel's life. I need to get to know the real Gabriel Archer.""You need to buy new earrings," Heather said.Scarlet ignored Heather and went on."No more excuses. The time has come. Today, I am going over to Gabriel's house after school.""Good for you. Now let's talk about shoes." Heather put her magazine down. "They suck.”

“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.”

“I'd expected," Martha continued, "to have to deal with hysterics-bouts of weeping and pleading at the very least.""Yes,well..." Heather pulled an expressive face. Looking ahead, she went on, "I have to admit I did feel like panicking at first, but...I've been wondering if I shouldn't view this as an adventure." She had to deflect any suspicion, so offered the one explanation that might serve. She gestured dramatically. "A romantical adventure, complete with mysterious villain, who might or might not prove to be devastatingly handsome."Martha snorted. "So that's the way it is-you're romanticizing this blackguard who's arranged your kidnapping.""Do you actually know if he's a blackguard?" Heather didn't have to manufacture her concern.Martha grimaced. "I can't rightly say. I haven't had anything to do with the beggar. Fletcher and Cobbins were the ones that met him. But," she continued, "any blighter who arranges a kidnapping, and one as coolly planned as this, take it from me, handsome or not, you won't want to meet him." Martha glanced at her again. "Sure you won't want to rethink those hysterics?"Heather arched her brows. "Will they get me any further?""Not with me-and Fletcher's more like to slap you than come over all solicitous.""Well,then." Heather tipped up her face. "I believe I'll just go on romanticizing, at least until I have cause not to. You should be grateful-I'm making your task much easier.”

“Jean-Luc glanced at the coach. "Who is that man? What is that machine?""It's a dunking booth.""Ah, I understand." Jean-Luc nodded. "If he dose not drown, then he is a witch""No, he's just a creep. It's a game.”

“So..." Heather nodded slowly. "We're still here.""Yep. I think your team of SWAT guys got lost. Probably looking for their shirts."She made a face at him. "You're effing hilarious.""I try.”