Chapter 10

He could feel the beads of sweat forming at his brow, silently complementing the perspiration that covered the rest of his body. Some far-off portion of his brain told him that he had better stop before he overexerted himself. But with the way he was feeling at the moment, overexertion was the least of his problems.

After he had left Logan and Rogue in the parlor, Remy LeBeau wandered in and out of a number of other rooms around the house, not really focused on a specific destination, but rather trying to rid himself of the fuming anger that boiled acidly in his gut. Finally, in a spark of cathartic genius, he decided to take his raging emotions to the training hall. He had been beating on the punching bag in front of him for the better half of the past hour, mercilessly pounding his fists into its leather carcass again and again. The physical movement did nothing to take his mind off the situation with Rogue, but at least it helped to clear his thoughts. There was something to be sad about the adrenaline-producing properties of anger.

The scowl on his face deepened as he recalled the words pasted onto the note that Logan had found. …Soon you will be with me… in my arms… His right fist connected with the punching bag, quickly followed by his left. Beneath me… screaming out my name… The training bag swayed with the rapid succession of blows, causing the connecting chain above to groan in protest.

How could she have not told him about it? A maniac on the loose, keeping tabs of her every move was not exactly something that should have slipped her mind. How many times in the past few months had they been on the phone with one another? She’d had every opportunity to tell him then. Maybe she’d been reluctant to tell him over the phone for fear of someone overhearing the conversation. But if that were the case, she could have told him on the night they were last together, the night when they had met up at the dance club.

De club, he thought, suddenly grabbing the sides of the swinging punching bag to halt its movement. De night at de club, when I went t’see her… She knew den! She knew ‘bout dis bastard den an’ didn’ say not’in’ ‘bout it! His hand struck the leather casing. “What de hell is dat girl doin’?” he wondered aloud. “She’s been sittin’ on dis f’r three months, jus’ goin’ ‘bout her business like ev’ryt’in’s fine. Don’ she realize dat she could get hurt? Or worse…” He couldn’t even bring himself to think it, much less say it out loud.

He would be the first to admit that he’d had a pretty good run at life. It might have started out shaky, but it had turned around and now he didn’t have any reason to complain. When she showed up, it just got that much better. It was cliché and he knew it. The boys back in Fabian’s bunch would be having a good chuckle at him now, getting himself too attached to a woman. It was the cardinal rule of the streets: get close to no one. Even the relationships with the other members of Fabian’s group were forged more out of necessity than anything else. And yet here he was, going crazy over the thought of something happening to her. He couldn’t -- wouldn’t -- let that happen. She meant too much to him.

And now some demented freak was stalking her, leaving her jewelry and ‘love’ letters, and entertaining perverted thoughts of the woman that meant more to Remy than life itself. He didn’t want to imagine what could happen if the man got too close to Rogue. She was a public figure, exposed and vulnerable for everyone to see. It wouldn’t be impossible for the psycho to get tickets to one of her shows. Or find a way to gain access to the backstage area of a particular venue. There were endless ways in which he could meld himself into the constant crowd of people that accumulated wherever she went. For God’s sake, the man was able to get close enough to slip a letter into the pocket of her jacket!

His fist slammed into the punching bag with such force that the line of tight stitching burst open, causing the filling to pour out in a rush of sand. Remy couldn’t help but think it was an omen of some sort. Of what specific nature he wasn’t sure.

Compared t’dis, he thought wryly as he stared lethargically at his handiwork, dose two lawsuits sound like a catwalk. Dey wanna try an’ say I slept wit’ dat girl, dat I got her pregnant? Fine. Whatever. But dis t’ing wit’ Rogue… dis is diff’rent. He stretched his protesting muscles. We don’ even know what dis lunatic is capable of, what he might do if given de chance.

Vaguely, he remembered hearing something about a serial killer on the news some time ago; a man who supposedly beat and raped his victims viciously before finally murdering them. He saw an image of Rogue in his mind, stripped of all clothing and dead cold in the back alleys of New York City. Along with the image came a nauseating feeling that rose through his system and threatened to choke off his air supply.

He shook the disturbing thoughts from his head. Thinking like that certainly didn’t help their situation too much. With a frustrated sigh, Remy grabbed a towel and headed for his room to shower.

“When did ya get this one, Rogue?” Logan demanded, rounding the couch to come face to face with her. She lifted her gaze to his and he could see that she was visibly shaken by Remy’s behavior. It was evident in the dull light of her eyes, the slight fall of the corners of her mouth, the heavy set of her shoulders. She looked so small and so fragile, and he hated it.

Ever since he had come to know the girl some four years ago, she had always been a spitfire, entirely too sassy for her own good. Even at the tender age of fifteen, when thrust into the cutthroat world of the recording industry, she had never let anyone push her around. If there was an idea she didn’t like, she wouldn’t think twice about saying so. He remembered seeing a little bit of himself in her: gutsy, proud and stubborn as all get out.

But now, to see her so… vulnerable… it wasn’t something that he was used to. Nor was it something he liked.

“Ah… Ah found it ‘bout a month ago,” she said in response to his earlier question. “While we were in Memphis.”

“Memphis?” Logan echoed, mentally trying to sort through their days on tour. He made the connection. “The day ya went after that father?”

She nodded silently.

“He was there?!” he yelled, becoming agitated once again. “Where? At the venue? Backstage?”

Rogue winced at his tone and placed her fingertips to her temple, trying to rub away the ache that was developing there. “Logan, calm down. He wasn’t in Memphis. Ah said Ah found it while we were there.”

He didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. “Y’know when an’ where he left this one, don' ya, darlin’?” Somehow he already knew the answer.

“At th’ club.” She turned her head away from him. “When we went ta meet Remy.”

“I knew that was a bad idea. I knew it!” He began pacing the length of the couch in front of her. “You are too stubborn fer ya own good, girl!”

“Jus’ like some people,” muttered Rogue under her breath.

Either he hadn’t heard her or chose to ignore her snide remark. Instead, he asked, “Why didn’ ya say anythin’?”

She snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. He could see her brassy demeanor returning.

“An’ let Momma cancel th’ tour right in th’ middle o’ it? Ah don’ think so, sugah.” She rose from the sofa and smoothed out the wrinkles from her pants. “Ah don’ wanna be scared o’ him, Logan,” she added in a quieter tone.

He’d forgotten how important that was to her, to not be afraid of anyone or anything. She had spent her entire childhood living in fear of her father’s anger. When she became old enough to realize the fault in her father’s actions, she had sworn to never again let anyone have that kind of power over her.

“’Sides which,” she continued, breaking into his thoughts, “it’s been two an’ a half months since he planted that last letter. Maybe he’s given up.” She glanced at him from over her shoulder as she made her way to the door. “Be embarrassin’ ta get th’ police all riled up fo’ nothin’.”

“Men like him don’ jus’ ‘give up,’ darlin’.”

“Well, neither do women like me, sugah.” She turned to face him fully. “But it seems like that’s exactly what y’all want me ta do; you, Momma, an’ now even Remy. Ah ain’t hidin’, Logan, an’ that’s all there is to it.”

And with that she was out the door.

De shower did me some good -- not much, but some. Body relaxed a bit, but m’mind still felt like it was on fire. Couldn’ stop t’inkin’ ‘bout de letter; couldn’ stop worryin’ ‘bout Rogue. I hated de whole helpless feelin’. Dere was not’in’ I could do t’protect her. Not’in’ short o’ standin’ by her twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, makin’ sure she was okay -- which was ‘sactly what her bodyguards were already doin’.

Wrapped a towel ‘round m’waist an’ stepped out o’ de steam-filled bathroom, de cold air from de air conditionin’ hittin’ me like a brick wall. Rogue was right; ev’ryt’in’ was gettin’ more an’ more complicated. Felt like our lives were one o’ dose soap operas dey aired on afternoon TV. Bad example o’ life imitatin’ art, in m’opinion. I had no intention o’ bein’ one o’ dose characters dat was killed, only t’return a couple o’ years later.

I settled onta de bed, leanin’ f’rward t’rest m’head in m’hands. Tourin’ f’r ‘Infrequency’ had ended li’l over a week b’fore, an’ work f’r de next album wouldn’ start ‘til next month. I had ‘bout four weeks o’ downtime t’ m’self. T’ought ‘bout clearin’ m’schedule so dat I could travel wit’ Rogue while she finished up wit’ her tour, but wit’ two possible lawsuits ‘gainst me it didn’ seem likely. De press was already houndin’ us ‘bout de cases an’ de speculations dat we’ve been havin’ a secret love affair -- which is actu’lly true -- but givin’ dem proof o’ dat is gon’ jus’ add another log t’de fire.

She didn’ make a sound as she entered de bedroom, despite de fact dat she was treadin’ on hardwood floors. Still heard her t’ough. Knew she was standin’ in de doorway, starin’ at me, waitin’ f’r me t’say somet’in’. But I didn’t. Didn’ even raise m’head from its place in m’hands. I was afraid if I looked at dat beautiful face I’d f’rget ev’ryt’in’ dat was endangerin’ our relationship.

“Ah went ta th’ kitchen,” she said, an’ I heard her set a tray down onta one o’ de tables in de room. “Antoine asked me ta bring this up ta you. Since ya didn’ eat anythin’ before…”

I lifted m’head den, only I didn’ turn around. Jus’ kept starin’ at de wall ahead o’ me, but m’ears were tuned inta ev’ry move she made.

“Remy…” She sighed softly, an’ den tried again. “Sugah, Ah -- ”

“Ya weren’ gon’ tell me ‘bout de letters, were ya, Rogue?” I interrupted, still keepin’ m’back t’her. I could jus’ imagine de quiet look o’ confirmation dat was no doubt on her face right den. “Ever?”

Took her a while t’answer, an’ I got de impression dat she was tryin’ t’come up wit’ a believable lie dat was meant t’appease me somehow. Problem was, de femme wasn’ too good in de fibbin’ department. She had too expressive a nature t’cover up de truth.

“Ah was gonna tell ya, Remy,” she attempted. “But it never seemed like th’ right time ta bring it up.”

When I still didn’ look at her, she came ‘round de bed an’ stood in front o’ me, blockin’ m’pretty view o’ de wall an’ forcin’ me t’stare in de vicinity o’ her belly. An’ damn, were de wrong kinda t’oughts runnin’ t’rough m’head at dat moment. She knelt b’fore me an’ I fin’lly met her gaze. F’r a split second ev’ryt’in’ was perfect; we were jus’ two people in love, wit’out a care in de world. Den de second was gone, an’ our problems slapped me back t’reality. Time t’fess up, mon coeur.

“What’s de real reason ya didn’ tell me?”

“That is th’ real reason, Remy.”

“De first letter got t’you almost three months ago. Since den we’re been on de phone I don’ know how many times, we’re always e-mailin’ each other, an’ we even spent de night t’gether when I was in New York. Now ‘m askin’ you again, chère, what’s de real reason ya didn’ tell me?”

She continued t’stare inta m’eyes as if she were tryin’ t’gauge what was goin’ t’rough m’mind. Unfortunately f’r her, I could be real diff’cult t’read when I wan’ed t’be. Her gaze dropped t’de floor an’ I saw her take a deep breath.

“Ah knew you’d get all riled up if ya knew ‘bout th’ letters,” she said quietly. “More than likely you woulda cancelled th’ rest o’ yoah tour an’ got onta th’ next plane ta New York. Once ya got there, you an’ Momma would have no doubt cancelled mah tour an’ started thinkin’ up ways ta tighten security ‘round me. Prob’ly nothin’ short o’ lockin’ me up inna bomb shelter underground.”

“Dis isn’ funny, Rogue,” I told her sharply.

She sighed. “Ah know, sugah; Ah’m sorry.” She took hold o’ m’hands an’ looked back at me. “I know how ya get when yoah worryin’ ‘bout me. Yoah worse than Momma. Ah didn’ tell ya ‘cause Ah didn’ want ya ta worry. Honest,” she added when I gave her a skeptical look.

“Chère, dis isn’ like de times when ya sick an’ ‘m wonderin’ if ya gettin’ ‘nough chicken soup,” I argued. “Someone is out dere threatenin’ ya life.”

“He ain’t threatenin’ mah life.”

“It’s de same t’ing!” I yelled, shootin’ off o’ de bed an’ startlin’ her so much dat she almost fell onta her backside. I turned away f’r a minute t’try an’ cool m’temper b’fore facin’ her again. “Why aren’ ya takin’ dese letters seriously?”

“Ah am takin’ them seriously, Remy.” She got t’her feet but didn’ try t’close de gap dat sep’rated us. “Ah know this stalker ordeal is no bag o’ peanuts.”

“Den why aren’ ya tryin’ t’protect yaself?” I demanded. “Why did ya insist on makin’ yaself even more vulnerable by pushin’ t’rough wit’ de tour?”

“First off, Ah am protectin’ mahself. Logan’s team is almost double o’ what it used t’be four months ago. An’ secondly, like Ah told Momma an’ Logan not too long ago, Ah am NOT, under any circumstances, lettin’ ANYONE ruin mah dream! Ah would think that you o’ all people would understand that!”

She was yellin’ now, already warmed up an’ ready t’continue de fight if need be. I recognized de passion in her eyes, de spark o’ life dat showed up whenever she felt strongly ‘bout somet’in’. One o’ de reason I loved her so much.

“Why not go t’de police, mignonne?” I asked, softenin’ m’voice t’defuse de tension dat was buildin’ ‘round us. “Why not let dem handle it? Let dem do deir job an’ catch dis salaud [bastard].”

“Don’ ya think Ah want ta call them, Remy?” She slumped onta de bed an’ looked up at me wit’ big, shinin’ emerald eyes. “Don’ ya think Ah want ta see this guy found as much as th’ rest o’ y’all?”

“Den why haven’ ya contacted dem?” De look on her face jus’ about broke m’heart. It was de saddest dere’s-not’in’-I-c’n-do-‘bout-it look I had ever seen. It made me wan’ t’hunt down dat stalker an’ rip his entrails out t’rough his nose.

“Because they can’t be trusted,” she replied. “Ah know that sounds bad, but it’s true. If one cop knows ‘bout th’ stalker then pretty soon all o’ them will. All it takes is one person ta leak information ta th’ press an’ it’ll spread like wildfire.”

I sat down beside her on de bed. “Chère, if dat’s de price we have t’pay t’keep you safe den it’s worth ev’ry penny.”

She raised a hand t’stroke m’cheek. De small touch sent a surge o’ soothin’ heat t’roughout m’system. “You don’ get it, Remy. If that happens Ah won’t be safe. When th’ media hears o’ this, they’ll shoot all o’ our security efforts down. Y’know how uncontrollable they can be when they’re tryin’ ta fish out a story. It’ll get insane.”

I took hold o’ her arm an’ guided her onta m’lap, gently brushin’ her hair out o’ her eyes. As I was doin’ dat, I caught her gaze an’ said softly, “Damned if we do an’ damned if we don’.”

She nodded sadly an’ raised a finger t’trace de outline o’ m’lips, her eyes followin’ de slow movement o’ her hand. I was findin’ it diff’cult t’concentrate on what I wan’ed t’say, what wit’ such a beguilin’ enchantress practic’lly breathin’ de air inta m’lungs. I had t’take hold o’ her wrist an’ shake her slightly t’stop de torturous action.

“I still don’ like de idea o’ you bein’ so open an’ exposed in public, chère. You might’ve been lucky so far, but who knows what de man is t’inkin’ up.”

“It’s been a while since Ah got a letter from him. He prob’ly got sick o’ sendin’ them by now.”

“Non, mon amant [lover], he’s in dis ‘til he gets what he wants.” If de topic o’ conversation weren’ so serious I woulda sworn I saw Rogue smile.

“Ya sound jus’ like Logan,” she stated, slidin’ her hands up m’chest. “You two have more in common than ya think.”

“Now dere’s a scary t’ought.”

She did smile den, one dat completely lightened her face. Had t’stop f’r a moment an’ wonder if dis was what de angels in Heaven looked like, a face full o’ sweetness an’ cherubic innocence. Was dis how dey felt like, all soft an’ silky t’de touch? Did dey have her intoxicatin’ scent o’ jasmine dat found its way inta ev’ry pore o’ ya bein’ like raindrops on de earth? If dey did, I figured dyin’ couldn’ come fast ‘nough f’r me.

Her smile lost its radiance when she asked me softly, “You still mad at me, Cajun?”

“Chèrie, I was never mad at you.” I slid m’hands up t’draw her closer b’fore she could say anyt’in’ more. “I could never be mad at you, love. Never.”

She returned m’kiss wit’ such a passion dat I almost landed on m’back on de bed. It’d been a while since we were in each other’s arms. But no matter how much time we spent apart, I could never f’rget de feel o’ her, de taste o’ her. De mem’ries o’ bein’ wit’ her were burned inta m’brain, branded onta m’soul. An’ I was a willin’ victim under her spell.

Her hands undid de towel at m’waist wit’ such an urgency dat I could tell she wasn’ messin’ ‘round. Not dat I could blame her. T’ought de layers o’ clothin’ on her own body were works o’ de devil himself. Wasn’ long b’fore both de towel an’ her clothes were no longer a problem.

Rogue woke to the feeling of her sleeping lover’s arms encircled protectively around her, and snuggled even closer into his warmth. She marveled at the peaceful expression on his face only inches from her own. The few milky rays of moonlight that were strong enough to penetrate the darkness caught on the angles of his face, creating a picture that was so striking she wanted to cry. She raised a fingertip to his jaw and lightly ran over the flesh there. A quiet smile appeared on her face. He needed to shave; the prickly stubble was tickling her skin. Her curious finger found its way to his mouth, the part of his body that had her so fascinated earlier that day. It was soft to the touch and warm from each breath he exhaled. She blushed at the memory of what those lips had been doing to her only hours before. How he had used those lips to bring the most exquisite sensations to every corner of her body.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt movement beneath her finger, but slowly relaxed as she realized that it was only Remy favoring her with a light kiss. She could hear the soft chuckle building in his throat.

“Ya plannin’ on stoppin’ dere, petite?” he asked, lazily opening his eyes to drink in the sight of her. “’Cause, y’know, dere are other parts o’ de body dat wouldn’ mind gettin’ some o’ ya attention.” He grinned wickedly.

“Well, they’re jus’ gonna haveta wait their turn, now aren’t they?” She leaned forward to kiss him sweetly. “Seein’ as Ah’ve got mah hands full up here.” She locked her arms about his waist and brought herself as close to him as was physically possible.

Remy’s hand reached down to stroke the small of her back. He had something he wanted to say to her but he wasn’t quite sure how to go about it.

“Rogue?” he began, after letting a span of silence pass between them.

“Hmm?”

“Chère, earlier… in de parlor… did I scare you?”

For the longest stretch of time, she didn’t answer and he wondered if she had fallen back asleep. He was just about to look down at her to see if she was awake when she whispered, “Yes.”

He had suspected as much, had seen it in her eyes just before he had stormed out of the room, but he hadn’t been prepared for her confirmation of such. A heavy weight fell onto his shoulders, eating away at his pride. It was a sickening feeling knowing that he had hurt the woman he loved.

He tightened his embrace on her, pressing her body even closer to his own. Kissing her temple, he murmured, “’M sorry, mignonne. Didn’ mean t’frighten you.”

She merely nodded against his chest.

He tucked a hand under her chin and tilted her head upwards. “You believed me, didn’ ya, chère, when I told ya I could never be mad at you?” She nodded again, her eyes shining in the moonlight. “I was mad at de sick bastard who’s doin’ dis t’you. ‘M worried ‘bout you, Rogue.”

“Ah know ya are, Remy,” she answered. “But nothin’s gonna happen ta me. Logan an’ his team are th’ best there is. They’ll take care o’ me.” She smiled encouragingly. “Ev’rythin’ll turn out fine, sugah. You’ll see.”

She was putting up a brave front, he could tell. She wanted to believe her own words -- and perhaps a part of her actually did -- but she was still shaken up by everything that was happening, both with the stalker and the lawsuits.

“Promise me ya’ll stick close t’Logan, chère,” he persisted. “Ya still have ‘bout three weeks left on ya tour. Be careful. Don’ go anywhere alone, not even t’de restroom; have Karen go wit’ ya. An’ if anyt’in’ else happens, ya goin’ t’de police.” It was a statement of fact, not a request. “D’accord? [Agreed?]” Once again she nodded her affirmation, but Remy wasn’t satisfied with the gesture. “Promise me, Rogue.”

“Ah promise,” she assured him. “If things get any worse, Ah’ll call th’ police.”

Those words served to pacify some of his anxiety but not much. He was still uneasy about the whole situation, and if given a choice, he would simply take Rogue away from this insanity. But since he couldn’t do that, he had to settle for what he could get. He just hoped it would be enough.

“S’late,” he said, gently adjusting her body to fit his. “Should get some rest. We’ll talk ‘bout dis more in de mornin’.” He kissed her deeply before whispering, “Bonne nuit, mon coeur.”

“Night, sugah,” she answered. She laid her head against his chest and listened to the steady beating of his heart. The soothing, rhythmic sound softly lulled her back into a dream-laden sleep.

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