Janet Evanovich - Full House

Billie stared at the telephone. Her white knight, she thought. Nicholas Kaharchek was about as close to being a white knight as Deedee was a choirgirl. She hung up. Raoul was right. She had gone and gotten herself involved with a family of lunatics.

Several hours later, Billie stood in front of her mirror and took a quick survey. Tailored white shirt, crisp, pleated khaki slacks, and brown moccasins— the only shoes she could get on her injured foot. It was about as unsexy as she could get, and she hoped it would get her safely through the evening. It was a little like wearing a cross to ward off Dracula, or a necklace of garlic cloves to scare away the plague. Dammit, where was Kaharchek? The Assassin was scheduled to arrive any minute and the promise of rescue was growing slim. She looked at her foot, only slightly swollen, and contemplated taking a hammer to it.

She jumped and put her hand to her heart when the doorbell rang. Be calm, she told herself as she limped down the stairs; this couldn't be as bad as she was making it out to be. Big John was probably very nice. And going to see a wrestling match would be a new experience that might impress her son even more than polo lessons.

Probably when you put a wrestler in street clothes he looks like a real person, she told herself.

Billie opened the door and took a step backward. Frankie-the-Assassin was almost seven feet tall with long, black, slicked-back hair. His eyebrows formed a thick black line straight across his forehead, as though someone had drawn a line across it with a marker. He wore a custom-made tux, black tie, and no shirt. Billie's jaw dropped as she stared at the massive chest and pectoral muscles. They had to be real; she'd never heard of men getting implants.

"I'm Frankie," he said, holding his hand out. "You must be Billie."

His hand was the size of a rump roast and Billie feared her own would be crushed, but he was unexpectedly gentle as they shook. "Nice to meet you, Frankie."

"Deedee speaks very highly of you."

As if acting on cue, Deedee came clacking down the stairs on three-inch magenta satin sling-backs. She wore a skin-tight, spaghetti-strapped sheath with plunging neckline, a skirt slit to mid-thigh, and decorated top to bottom with glittering magenta sequins. She had matching glitter on her heavily lined eyelids and dangling diamond earrings that Billie suspected were about equal in value to her own four-bedroom colonial.

Billie swallowed and smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from her khaki slacks. "I didn't realize this was formal."

"It's not," Frankie said. "Deedee and I just like to make an entrance."

"Yeah," Deedee said. "We don't want to disappoint the fans. They like to see the Assassin and me dressed up."

Nick knocked on the open door. "Excuse me. Am I interrupting?"

Billie felt herself sag against the chair rail in giddy relief. She'd been saved. Nick had kept his promise. Big John was going to have to impress another woman with his largesse.

"We were just going out," Deedee said, her little-girl voice surprisingly authoritative. "We're taking Billie to see a wrestling match."

Nick grinned affably. "That sounds like fun. Mind if I tag along?"

Billie felt a wave of panic. Oh, no! That wasn't part of her plan. She had about as much business spending an evening with Nick Kaharchek as she did with Big John, and the absolute last place she wanted to spend it was at a wrestling match! She vigorously shook her head no behind Deedee's back, but Nick ignored her.

"As a matter of fact, I do mind," Deedee said. "You'll ruin everything."

"No he won't," Frankie said. "I like Nick. Nick's a good guy. Besides, he looks just like Billie. Don't you think they make a cute couple?"

Nick was wearing a starched white shirt, open at the neck, sleeves rolled to his forearms; perfectly creased, European-cut, pleated khaki slacks; and his brown moccasins.

"They look like the Bobbsey Twins," Deedee said, giving Nick a disparaging look. "People will think they're a tag team."

"Yeah," Frankie said, laughing. "You guys ever consider wrestling?"

Nick splayed his hand on the small of Billie's back and rubbed his thumb across her spine as though he had every right. He gave no indication if he noticed her reaction. Her back went ramrod stiff. "It's crossed my mind," he said.

His voice made Billie's stomach flutter, at the same time as it set her teeth on edge. What did he think he was doing? This was not at all what she'd had in mind, and it wasn't like she hadn't been specific. Nick Kaharchek was playing a game. At her expense. She inched away.

Deedee must have suspected Nick was trying to pull something as well, because she shot him a look of pure venom. It was obvious she didn't trust him as far as her heavily made eyes could see him, and that she was mad as hell that he'd managed to foil her plans for the evening.

"Everyone ready to go?" Nick asked innocently.

Billie had no choice but to follow. What did it matter? she told herself. In little more than twenty-four hours, her life had been turned upside down and inside out. The fact that there was an expensive Mercedes and a sinister-looking black stretch limo in her driveway didn't faze her. Her neighbors would think nothing of it once they caught sight of Deedee in her garb, walking beside a seven-foot giant whose chest was literally bursting from his tux.

"Maybe it would be best if we went in separate cars," Nick said, his hand possessively curled around Billie's neck. "I'm afraid I can't fit four people in mine."

"Forget it," Deedee snapped. "We'll all go in the limo. And watch your hands, Kaharchek."

Billie shot him a look that echoed Deedee's words. Nick simply grinned in response. He was enjoying himself.

"This white-knight stuff is tough," Nick whispered to Billie. "Nobody appreciates me. Here I am rescuing you, as promised, and all I get is abuse."

Billie looked at him coolly. "You didn't follow the plan."

"Perhaps Big John is not the man from whom you needed rescuing."

Damned if he didn't have the sexiest eyes, she thought. She'd heard the term "bedroom eyes," but she only now grasped the full meaning. "Don't think I haven't taken that into consideration, but I have Mace in my purse, and I'm hell-bent on using it before the expiration date."

His fingers slid along the nape of her neck and tangled in her short silky hair. "Okay, so I lied. I'm not a hero, and I don't know the first thing about being a white knight."

"Now, there's a big surprise."

A chauffeur dressed in formal livery held the door as Frankie and Deedee settled into the luxurious back seat. Billie solemnly crept into the dark, cool interior and took a seat facing Deedee. Nick took the seat next to Billie and swiveled toward Frankie. "What, no bowling alley?" he asked.

Frankie smiled. "I didn't want to be ostentatious."

An hour later they pulled up to an auditorium in D.C.

"We've got front-row seats," Deedee said. "You're gonna love this, Billie, honey. Sometimes they come right over the ropes at you, and when they put Big John in a body slam it makes your heart jump."

Billie gave her a weak smile. "I'm not going to get hurt, am I?"

Deedee blinked. "Do you know what the odds are of something like that happening?"

A roar went up when they entered the auditorium, pushing Billie back into Nick's chest. "It's for Frankie," Nick shouted. "He's very popular."

"Oh, yeah? Why are some people booing and yelling obscenities?"

"I guess he's not popular with everyone. He lost a match last week."

Deedee turned, obviously having heard the exchange. "It wasn't Frankie's fault," she whispered to Billie. "He pulled a groin muscle putting his opponent in an overhead spin, and after that — well, it was awful that he then got dropped on his head. Fortunately he has me to feed his ego, and I'm an expert when it comes to that sort of thing."