“Who is this from?” he demanded of her. “Remy?”

“No,” she barely managed to whisper.

He persisted. “Is this from Remy?”

“No!” she cried, leaning against the vanity for support and wrapping an arm across her stomach, as if the gesture would alleviate the uneasiness that she felt there. “It’s... not Remy...”

“God, doll face, what is it?” He lifted her chin with his hand and forced her to meet his gaze. His face was filled with worry and concern. “What can I do? Do you want me to call the police?”

She shook her head, compelling herself to calm down, at least for Bobby’s sake. “Get Logan.”

“Right. Logan.” He went to a side table and picked up the telephone extension. The line ran throughout the complex, connecting every room in the venue. After a few minutes, Bobby replaced the receiver. “He’s on his way.” He returned to her side. “C’mon, kid, sit down. You look like you’re about to collapse.”

She allowed him to guide her back to the couch. Why t’night o’ all nights, she wondered. What, he couldn’t have waited twenty-four hours ta send this one so Ah could at least get th’ tour behind me? She grudgingly accepted the glass of water that Bobby handed her.

“What’s the deal, Rogue?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

She swallowed a few gulps before facing her friend. Surprisingly enough, the cool liquid helped to calm her nerves. “Someone has been leavin’ me letters,” she motioned to the vanity where the card was laying, “like that one.”

“Who’s been leaving them?”

“Ah don’ know.”

Bobby looked at her with an incredulous expression on his face. “Someone’s... stalking you?” The words sounded strange to his ears, almost foreign or out of place.

“It would seem so, sugah.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Since before rehearsals.”

“Rehearsals?” he repeated. “You mean rehearsals for the tour? That was almost four months ago! Why are you out on tour if someone is stalking you?” She was about to answer when he cut her off suddenly. “Rogue, it could be Haller. Did you ever think of that? The man’s a killer. A psychopath.”

“Ah didn’ know ‘bout Haller ‘til ya told me jus’ a li’l while ago.”

“Even if you didn’t know about him, why would you willingly expose yourself like that?”

They were interrupted by Logan’s sudden appearance at the door. “What happened?” he asked without preamble.

Bobby stood and went to retrieve the card from the vanity, handing it to Logan. “Someone sent her this. Along with the bouquet.”

The older man scanned the note and then cursed under his breath. His eyes snapped to Bobby. “What did he look like?” he demanded.

“Who?”

“The man that delivered the flowers,” he hissed impatiently.

“It wasn’t a man,” Rogue answered from behind them. “It was a woman. Pretty. Blonde hair, blue eyes. ‘Bout mah height.”

Logan stomped to the door and yanked it open. “Guido,” he yelled. “Check the exits. We’re lookin’ fer a woman: ‘bout five-eight, blonde, blue eyes.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” the other man asked. “Do you know how many people here tonight fit that description?”

“Don’t argue with me!” barked Logan. “We ain’t got time fer this.” He shut the door and turned to Rogue. “Get’cha stuff, darlin’, we’re leavin’.”

Bobby looked from one to the other as Rogue retrieved her belongings. “What? You can’t be serious! It’s only fifteen minutes till call time!”

“You’d rather jeopardize her safety by havin’ her stay here with that whacko somewhere in the buildin’?”

“No, of course not,” Bobby stammered. “But what about the fans? What’re we going to do about them? Just send them home?”

“That’s exactly what we’re gonna do, kid.”

“You can’t do that!” Bobby insisted. “Do you know how many people are out there? This is a freaking stadium, for crying out loud! There are thousands of people out there! If you cancel the show now, they’ll tear this place apart!”

Rogue stopped midway through the door. “He’s right, Logan. We can’t jus’ leave them hangin’ like this.”

“We ain’t got a choice, darlin’. We’re gettin’ out o’ here. Now.” He shooed her into the corridor where they were meet by four other members of the security team.

“Bobby?” she called out, searching behind her, past the bodyguards that flanked her and Logan like an impenetrable shell.

“I’m here, doll face.” He eased himself between the other men to stand beside her. Taking her hand, he gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s going to be okay.”

As they made their way swiftly through the corridors of the venue, Rogue could hear the deafening roar of the audience through the concrete walls. She could literally feel the air around her vibrate from their collective shouts. Judging from their thunderous outcries, it would have been safe to say that the audience was more than ready for the night’s main performance.

“Get on the horn with Kurt,” Logan ordered the man to his right. “Tell him we’ve received another piece an’ that we’re takin’ her home. Tonight’s show is cancelled indefinitely.”

She felt a sharp pang tug at her heart. This wasn’t right; she couldn’t leave. This was her addiction, her high. She needed to be in front of an audience, performing, just as much as she needed oxygen to survive. She needed to be up there onstage, building that familiar connection between herself and the thousands of people that had come out to see her. She would not disappoint them by leaving. She couldn’t do that to them.

The guard behind her almost slammed into her body when she abruptly stopped walking. The rest of their entourage immediately halted when they noticed her missing from beside them.

“What is it, darlin’?” Logan asked curtly. The sooner they got out of the open, the sooner he’d feel better.

“Ah can’t leave,” she said simply, meeting his eyes. “Ah can’t do that ta them.”

He knew that when she said ‘them’ she meant her fans. They were extremely important to her, and she was just as loyal to them as they were to her. Running out on a stadium full of them was not something she was likely to do.

“There’s no possible way that you could perform now, Rogue,” he tried to reason with her. “Security’s been compromised. He could be anywhere in this buildin’.”

“But you have this place locked down tight, sugah. Check-points at the doors an’ more guards than Fort Knox.”

“You can’t be seriously considerin’ goin’ onstage tonight!” he cried out in disbelief.

“Please, Logan,” she pleaded, eyes wide and beseeching. “Don’ let him win. Ah know you can protect me th’ whole time Ah’m up there.”

He stared at her, debating with himself, weighing their options. He couldn’t believe he was even thinking about her proposal, but he could never deny her anything whenever she shot those big green eyes in his direction. It was blackmail, is what it was. The girl could get a cobra to do her bidding if she wanted to.

Plus, he knew she was right. Ever since he’d learned of the second letter, he had nearly doubled the number of men on his team. And every venue was checked and re-checked before she even set foot on the property. Every single member of the audience -- thousands of fans -- were asked to walk through metal detectors before being allowed to enter the premises. He had done everything except stand on his head to make sure that she was as safe as she could possibly be.

He had been silent for quite some time and Rogue knew that meant he was about to let her have her way. Turning, she started to walk back to her dressing room when one of the guards blocked her path.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked her.

She raised an eyebrow at the question and looked the man over. He wasn’t one of the newly hired guards, but neither was he one of those that frequently escorted her around. Apparently he knew nothing of her temper.

“Sugah, you’ve got two seconds ta get yoahself outta mah way before Ah rip yoah foot off an’ use it ta beat you upside th’ head,” she bit out acidly, staring him down.

For a second it appeared as if the man was going to stand his ground. But the look Rogue was pelting him with was enough to knock some sense into him and he stepped aside.

Twenty minutes later, she was dressed and ready backstage, waiting for the band to strike up the music. Logan and his team had cleared out the entire area of any unnecessary personnel, and members of security were strategically positioned around the stage.

“No one, but no one, is gonna get through, darlin’,” Logan had assured her.

Back in the corridor, when she was trying to convince the others to let her perform, she had been so sure she could do it. Now she wasn’t so certain. It was normal for her to feel nervous before a show, but right at that moment, she felt like she was going to pass out.

“You all right, kid?” Guido asked from beside her.

“Yeah, sugah, Ah’m fine.” Even she wasn’t convinced by her words.

“We got ya covered, ‘kay? A dozen guys on this side of the stage alone. When Logan sets his sights on something, he doesn’t mess around.”

“That’s fo’ sure.”

“It’s time, liebling,” Kurt announced, approaching them. A look of concern crossed his face. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? We can still cancel the show.”

She shook her head as she adjusted the microphone/headset that allowed her free use of her hands and arms. “No, Ah’m ready.”

Kurt nodded and then spoke into a similar headset, informing the rest of crew that they were about to begin. Moments later, the band’s first introductory notes came booming out of the speakers, causing the audience to cry out in expectation. Just before she mounted the stairs that lead up to the stage, Kurt grabbed her arm and leaned in close to her. Yelling into her ear to be heard over the music, he said, “We can stop anytime. If something doesn’t feel right, we can get you out of here.”

She managed to produce a weak smile for her brother and kissed him quickly on the cheek before making her way onto the stage. Once there, she stayed in the shadows, waiting for her cue and watching her dancers warm up the crowd. The sight before her was both familiar and alien. She felt at home in front of the ocean of people, just as she always had. And yet tonight, it felt different. Like an old pair of shoes that don’t quite fit anymore. In that moment, she realized that she truly hated her stalker for taking away the pure joy and pleasure that she always felt when she was onstage.

Stepping out of the wings and into the intense heat of the stage lights, she heard the audience’s roar of approval as they caught sight of her. The sound was overwhelming, to say the least. It crashed around her like an unrelenting tidal wave. And she loved it! It invigorated her; gave her energy, and soon she was caught up in the adrenaline rush of performing. She focused her mind on the complex series of dance routines, as well as on the intricate array of melodic notes that accompanied each song. The amount of concentration required of her was just enough to take her mind off any possible danger of being so exposed.

It wasn’t until halfway through the show that her concentration began to falter. She was alone onstage, settled on top of a tall stool, and running through a chain of ballads. Motion, just off the stage to her left, captured her attention. When she turned her head in that direction, she saw nothing but dark shadows. But after a few more seconds of scrutiny, the darkness seemed to move with a life of its own, taking shape in the figure of a man. Panic seized her as she ended the drawn-out note she was holding. Her eyes were locked onto the dim corner of the stage, and she half-expected the stalker to come rushing toward her like a bat out of hell.

The movement came again and she could hear her heart pounding in anticipation. This time she could see something shining in the dark.

Oh mah God! Does he have a gun? she thought in terror.

The figure stepped out of the shadows and into the pool of light, the laminated card around his neck gleaming in the brightness. She breathed a sigh of relief, recognizing the familiar face of one of her crew.

Gettin’ a li’l jumpy, girl, she scolded herself.

Breaking out of her thoughts, she noted that her band had gone completely silent, and that the cheers from the crowd had diminished somewhat as well. She suddenly realized that the musicians were waiting for her to end the ten-second interval of silence that was planned for the song they were currently in the middle of. Gathering herself together, she belted out the appropriate note and continued on with her performance. Three beats later, the music once again blared from the sound system in a near-earsplitting fashion.

Kurt approached her once she was backstage. They were in between sets and she was going through yet another one of her wardrobe ‘quick changes’ with the help of her three assistants.

“What happened out there?” he asked, stepping out of the way as one of the assistants moved to velcro the seams of her pants together. “You waited a full thirty seconds before giving the band their cue to continue.”

“Ev’rythin’s fine, Kurt.”

“Rogue, did you see something? Ending the show wouldn’t be a -- ”

“No,” she declared firmly. “We finish this.”

She was back onstage before he could say anything more.

The next day, she was dressed and downstairs before six a.m., prepared to hop on her early morning flight to Los Angeles to meet Remy. The rest of the show the night before had gone on without incident. She even gave a short, impromptu speech thanking the fans for their love and support throughout the duration of the tour. Then Logan had rushed her out of there in a blur of orders and snappish comments to anyone who got in their way. They had made it home in record time with the way Logan was pressuring Sam to drive.

Rogue entered the kitchen where she knew the rest of the household would be gathered at such an early hour. “Mornin’, all,” she greeted the occupants of the room.

Logan and Guido were seated at the breakfast table, drinking coffee -- spiked with some form of alcohol, she was sure -- and splitting the newspaper between themselves. Sam was in front of the refrigerator, pulling out bacon, eggs, sausage and any other breakfast food he could find. Rosie was preoccupied at the stove, and from the looks of it, in the process of cooking enough food to feed a third world country.

“You boys aren’t gonna take hours ta eat, are ya?” she asked, pouring herself some coffee. “We got an early flight t’day.”

The pages in Logan’s hand rustled noisily. “Where ya plannin’ on goin’?”

She stared at him in surprise as she took a seat across from them. “To L.A. Th’ results from th’ paternity test are bein’ released t’day, remember?”

Guido abruptly picked up his coffee mug and transferred to one of the stools beside the large island in the center of the kitchen.

Logan looked up. “Somethin’ wrong, Guido?”

“Don’t wanna accidentally get hit in the face with that mug she’s holding when you tell her she ain’t going anywhere,” he replied. “That coffee’s hot, y’know.”

She shot Logan a venomous look. “What do ya mean Ah ain’t goin’ anywhere?” she demanded.

“You ferget what happened last night, darlin’?” he asked, setting the newspaper down.

“So? That was last night -- ”

“And this is the next mornin’, an’ the threat’s still out there.” He took a long sip of his coffee. “I’m takin’ you up north, away from the city, while the police hunt fer this guy.”

“What?!” She stared wide-eyed at him. “Yoah sendin’ me inta exile?!”

“Stop bein’ so dramatic, kid. It ain’t exile.”

“An’ what exactly would you call it?” She shot out of her seat and placed her hands on the tabletop, leaning menacingly toward Logan. “You ain’t draggin’ me up ta Canada, mistah.” Her voice was deathly serene.

He met her unflinching gaze with an arrogance that rivaled her own. “I ain’t givin’ you a choice this time.”

“How dare you!” she spat out, her eyes flashing. “How dare you try an’ dictate mah life!”

“This isn’t about dictatin’ yer life. This is about keepin’ you safe.” He rose to his feet and the two squared off against each other. “I relented an’ gave inta ya last night when you wanted ta perform, an’ we were lucky; nothin’ happened. But I’m not about ta try an’ test that luck a second time. Yer tour is over, Rogue; no more company transportation ‘til the next one. If you fly ta L.A. now, it’s gonna be on a commercial flight.”

“Ah don’ see a problem -- ”

“The problem,” he explained, cutting her off, “is that everyone an’ their mother can get onta a commercial flight, as long as they’ve got enough dough ta get a ticket. Security’s too much o’ a risk.”

“We’ve flown commercial jus’ fine before. Without anythin’ happenin’.”

“That was before this psycho.” He calmly took his seat again, slinging one arm over the back the chair. “This afternoon I’m gonna go see an old friend who works fer the NYPD; give him the letters an’ see what he can fish out. Then tomorrow we’re headin’ north ‘til all this dies down.”

“Ah’m not goin’ ta Canada!”

“Rogue, we’ve done this dance twice already. We ain’t goin’ fer a third. Yer not flyin’ out west.”

“Ah am goin’ ta see Remy an’ there’s nothin’ you can do about it,” she declared defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest.

He reached to the counter behind him for the cordless phone and held it out to her. “Call Gumbo up an’ tell him you got another letter. Once he hears about it, he won’t want ya goin’ out there either.” When she didn’t move to take it, he began to dial. “Fine. Call him myself then.”

She snatched the device away from him. “You are not goin’ ta tell him anythin’!” she snapped. Looking around the room, she addressed the other occupants as well, “None o’ you will.”

Logan raised an eyebrow at her. “Keepin’ secrets again, darlin’? Thought ya learned yer lesson already.”

“Ah’ll be th’ one ta tell him,” she retorted, although she knew she was lying. She had no intention of telling Remy about the third letter, just as she had no intention of exiling herself to the wilds of Canada. “Ah’ll tell him when Ah see him later,” she added pointedly.

“Yer gettin’ on my last nerve, girl,” Logan growled.

Realizing that the conversation was going nowhere, she tried a different tactic: one that usually got her what she wanted. Although she hated manipulating people, she could see no other means of getting what she needed. She knew that Logan had a soft spot for her in a little sister sort of way. When she played her cards right, she could twist him around her little finger more times than a slinky.

“Ah’m not gonna hide up in Canada,” she repeated, slipping back into her chair. Her voice soften dramatically when she added, “Ah need ta go ta L.A. Today.” He opened his mouth to retort, but she stopped him. “This isn’t jus’ a case o’ wantin’ ta see mah boyfriend, Logan. It’s about bein’ there fo’ someone Ah really care fo’. Wantin’ ta honor mah love fo’ Remy by standin’ by him when he needs me.” If there was one thing Logan believed in, it was honoring the people you loved and respected. She knew this, and she used it to her full advantage. Raising her eyes to his, she forced a few tears to well up. “Please try ta understand.” Her voice quivered ever so slightly.

“Dammit, darlin’,” Logan cursed, running a hand over his face in frustration. When it came to matching tempers with her, he had no problem. He could easily meet her glare for glare. When it came to her stubbornness, she had learned from the master. But if there was one thing he absolutely could not stand to see, it was her tears.

The first time he had ever seen her crying was the morning after she had broken up with that southern sap, Cody. The boy had crushed her heart good and she’d spent nearly a month walking around bawling her eyes out after that. In that span of time, Logan had bent over backwards, trying to revive the carefree, fun-loving attitude that she’d always possessed. He even had gone so far as to let her drive his beloved motorcycle around the city -- at a break-neck speed, no less -- just to see the smile return to her face.

“It’s only one day,” continued Rogue, feeling that her words were breaking him down. “If yoah still worried ‘bout th’ security on a commercial plane, Karen could charter a private one. It’ll mean pullin’ some major strings on such short notice, but then again, what else are Momma’s connections for?”

He cursed again under his breath; a string of words that she couldn’t quite make out, but was sure didn’t have a pleasant meaning. “One day,” he bit out finally, emphasizing the point with a finger. “One day ta square out the Cajun’s lawsuit an’ then it’s straight back here. Do you understand me?” He waited for her to nod and then continued, “Tomorrow mornin’ we’re goin’ up north an’ I don’ wanna hear any more squawkin’ about it.”

“Thank you, Logan,” she said sincerely.

He grunted in response and then turned to Guido. “Take half a dozen or so o’ the crew with you, jus’ ta be sure.”

Rogue raised her head at that statement. “Yoah not comin’ with us?”

“I told ya, darlin’, I have ta meet an old friend ‘bout the letters.”

“Is that a good idea, sugah? Goin’ ta th’ police aftah sayin’ we couldn’t afford th’ media frenzy that would follow?”

“Well, that idea was squashed when yer mother held that press conference ta let everyone know ‘bout you an’ the Cajun. Told her it was a bad idea. Press has been sniffin’ ‘round ya, lookin’ fer a bone like the jackals they are.” He rose from the table and made his over to the sink where he deposited his coffee mug. “But keepin’ the letters outta the papers is still a priority. If this guy knows the police are lookin’ fer him, he might get desperate, maybe try somethin’ stupid.” He turned back to look at her. “Cassidy’s a good man. I can trust him ta keep this under wraps.” He looked up at the clock suspended on the far wall. “Better get a move on, kid, yer gonna be late. Have Karen charter that plane,” he called over his shoulder as he exited the kitchen.

She thanked Rosie as the older woman handed her a plate full of food. “Eat up, guys,” she told Sam and Guido. “We’ve got a plane ta catch.”

“Remy, will you please stop pacing?” Matt Murdock requested of his client. “It’s very distracting.”

The two men, plus Matt’s legal assistant, had been waiting in the conference room at the law offices of Levinson and Montgomery for nearly fifteen minutes. There was no sign of the opposing counsel or their client, neither was there any sign of Rogue who was also supposed to meet them there. The wait was starting to weigh on Remy’s nerves.

“No offense meant, mon ami,” the young singer replied, “but how do you know ‘m pacin’? Ya blind.”

“Yes, blind, not deaf. I can hear you burning a hole in the floor. Would you take a seat, please? We’re early. Everyone else will be here soon.” A few moments later, he heard Remy pull out the chair to his right.

“Jus’ wan’ get dis over wit’, y’know? So I c’n get home an’ start workin’ again.” He grinned wryly. “Actu’lly seems like a waste o’ time, comin’ all dis way out t’California jus’ so dey c’n say it isn’ m’baby. Couldn’ dey jus’ call on de phone?”

“Well, this shouldn’t take long,” Matt said with considerable confidence. “Once the results of the paternity test show that you’re not the father, we can put this lawsuit behind us.”

Although his lawyer couldn’t see the gesture, Remy nodded. He turned his attention to the enormous window just beyond the head of the table. In the distance he could make out the crystal blue waters of the Santa Monica Bay. It was a far cry from the marshy bayous of Louisiana but it was a welcoming sight nonetheless. Even though he was a city boy through and through, he still enjoyed the peacefulness that came from looking at a beautiful span of nature. It helped to soothe the uneasiness he was feeling at the moment on account of being, as he thought of it, ‘jinxed by the law.’

Growing up as a child, Remy had developed a wariness of anyone working for the justice system, be it police or lawyers. On more than one occasion, he had seen his fellow street urchins wrongly accused of various crimes and then punished accordingly, all for something they didn’t do. Remy’s faith in ‘justice’ had been tainted long ago.

Staring out into the horizon, his mind gradually turned to thoughts of Rogue. The night before had been her last day of touring. He was glad that she would finally be out of the limelight for a while, and hopefully safe from the prying eyes of her stalker.

She had spent three days with him in New Orleans before returning to her tour. In that time, they had hardly left his bedroom, much less the estate grounds. It had been like a short respite of calm for the both of them in the middle of twin troubles. One of those troubles would be over with in less than an hour, which would give them the time and focus to deal with the second.

Remy turned at the sound of the door opening. Rogue stood in the threshold with Guido directly behind her, a soft smile playing on her lips. He rose from his place at the conference table and went to meet her, immediately wrapping her into a tight embrace. Without saying a word, he led her to where Matt was already standing, having heard the newcomers’ arrival.

“Chère, you ‘member Matt.”

“O’ course.” She took the attorney’s hand and shook it warmly. “A pleasure ta see you again, Matt.”

“Rogue.” A smile of greeting appeared on his face. “It’s good to see you as well. How was your flight?” he asked conversationally.

Remy had pulled out a seat for her, which she accepted gratefully. “It was nice. Although we did get delayed a li’l bit.”

“Dose are commercial flights f’r ya,” Remy commented, returning to his chair in between the two. “Always delayed f’r one reason or another.”

“Actu’lly, sugah, we flew private.”

Mildly curious, Remy inquired, “Pourquoi? [Why?]”

“Logan insisted,” she responded vaguely.

Now his curiosity was turning into concern. If Logan had insisted on chartering a private plane there had to be a good reason for it. But before he could investigate the matter any further, the door to the conference room opened once again. Both Matt and Remy stood to greet the man and woman who entered the room.

Rogue’s complete attention was on the four-months-pregnant woman who took a seat across from them. So this is th’ one’s who’s causin’ all th’ ruckus, she thought to herself. The other woman was shorter than her own five feet, eight inches, with straight, brown hair that fell just below her shoulders. She was younger looking than Rogue had expected, barely more than a child herself. And yet here she was, creating a worldwide scandal better than anyone twice her age. Th’ hussy, she shot at the woman silently, narrowing her eyes.

As if hearing the mental insult, Genevieve turned to look at her, and the two women locked gazes. Rogue wasn’t exactly sure what it was but she felt a distinct chill run through her body as she stared into the woman’s brown eyes. She was grateful to break the gaze when the prosecuting attorney cleared his throat.

“Forgive me, gentlemen,” Barry Levinson began. “I was under the impression that this meeting was going to be a private affair.” He pointedly indicated both Rogue and Guido.

“I asked dem t’be here, homme,” Remy returned smoothly. “You don’ like it, ya c’n sue me... again.”

Levinson nodded curtly and retrieved several document folders from his briefcase. “Then let’s begin, shall we?” He handed one of the folders to Matt. “On the first of this month, blood samples were taken from both Mr. Remy LeBeau and Ms. Genevieve Darceneaux. These samples were then submitted to the laboratories at Muir Genetics for paternity testing.” He paused to consult the notes before him. “The testing was conducted under the supervision of one Dr. Moira McTaggert who is a specialist in -- ”

“With all due respect, counselor,” Matt cut in, “Let’s dispense with the formalities and just cut to the chase.”

“Very well, then. The folder I handed to you is a copy of the results from the laboratory. Now, the first few pages are simply background information on Mr. LeBeau and Ms. Darceneaux, as well as a brief explanation of the procedure that was performed. The last page, however,” he flipped through several sheets of paper until he finally settled on one, “are the results from the testing. And as you can plainly see, they prove that Mr. LeBeau is the father of Ms. Darceneaux’s baby.”