Chapter 12

“You happy now, chère? You havin’ fun yet?”

Remy LeBeau’s voice was barely more than a whisper but it held more venom than the most poisonous of snakes. He directed his statement to the woman seated across from him, supposedly pregnant with his baby.

Genevieve’s brown eyes locked with his. “Do you think this is fun for me, Remy? Do you think that I want to be alone and pregnant with your child?”

His own eyes narrowed at her statement, but he remained silent.

“I did not ask for you to leave me after making love to me that night,” she continued, never taking her gaze off him. Her hand moved protectively to her stomach. “This is your child, Remy. You can no longer deny that.”

“Enough!” He shot to his feet in anger. “We’re leavin’. Now.” Reaching down, he cupped his hand around Rogue’s elbow and urged her to rise.

Genevieve’s attorney rose as well. “This meeting is far from over, Mr. LeBeau.”

“It is f’r me, m’sieu,” replied Remy, just before exiting the conference room. He met Hank at the door, and vaguely noted that Rogue was surrounded by Guido and two other members of her security team. Had he not been preoccupied with the events that had just taken place, he would have questioned the need for the extra bodyguards.

“Damien suggests we go out through the parking garage,” Hank reported once the group had filed into the elevator. “Somehow the media got wind of the test results being released today. They’ve set up camp in front of the building.”

Remy nodded and then turned to his lawyer. “What happens now?”

“They take us to court, using the results from the paternity test as evidence.”

“An’ what are m’chances?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Matt answered.

Inwardly, Remy cursed. He then shifted his attention to the woman who stood beside him. Rogue had been strangely silent throughout the entire meeting. Slipping his hand into hers, he squeezed it gently. When she didn’t return the affectionate gesture, he tried to catch her gaze.

“Chère?”

The elevator doors slid open before she had a chance to answer. Their group was abruptly assaulted by flashing camera bulbs and blinding video lights aimed straight at them. Questions were thrown their way from all directions, with speeds that could rival any high-powered missile.

“Remy! Is it true that you are the father of Ms. Darceneaux’s baby?”

“What were the results of the paternity test?”

“Rogue, how do you feel about Remy screwing around behind your back?”

“Are the two of you still a couple?”

“How many more children have you fathered that the public doesn’t know about?”

“All right, ladies and gentlemen, that’s enough,” Matt ordered, as they followed two of the bodyguards through the crowd. “We have no comment at this time. Thank you.”

The media, however, had no intention of backing off on such an in-demand story. They pressed forward even further, making the route to the singers’ respective vehicles difficult.

Remy leaned in close to Rogue’s ear and whispered, “Hotel,” just before Guido and the rest of her team swept her into a darkly-tinted van. Moments later, he jumped into his own awaiting vehicle.

“They’re sneaky little shutterbugs, I’ll give them that,” Hank commented as they pulled out of the building. “And tenacious at that.”

Remy didn’t reply. Instead, he asked the driver to take them back to the hotel where he planned to rendezvous once again with Rogue.

Logan walked into the homicide division of the New York City Police Department, intent on speaking with one of the detectives who worked there. He scanned the chaotic offices for a specific face, and was soon walking over to a desk in the middle of the floor.

“Been a while, Irish,” he greeted the red-haired man behind the desk. He was one of the few men Logan truly trusted. “These flatfoots workin’ ya too hard?”

Sean Cassidy lifted his head from the pile of paperwork before him. “Well, bless me sainted mother, if it isn’t the infamous Logan.” He grinned and rose to shake the other man’s hand. “’Tis good t’see ye again, man. Yuir right, it has been a while. What brings ye t’this neck o’ the woods?”

“Li’l bit o’ business, actually. Can we talk? In private?” added Logan, looking about the room cautiously, as if expecting a spy to be lurking around the corner.

“O’ course. Follow me.” Sean led him to an unoccupied interrogation room at the farthest end of the office. “Can I get ye some coffee?” he asked once they were safely inside.

Logan shook his head. “I’m good.” He pulled out a chair and sat down. “How was yer vacation back home? You were away fer a long time.”

“Four months,” Sean confirmed, taking the seat opposite his friend with a deep sigh. “Though I dinnae think ‘twas much o’ a vacation. I had t’play lord and master o’ Cassidy Keep the entire time.” He leaned back in his chair. “Still, ‘twas probably better than stayin’ here.”

“Trouble on the home front?”

Sean nodded. “Internal Affairs has been investigatin’ several cases o’ officers on the take. Acceptin’ bribes an’ such. ‘Tis gotten everyone here on edge.”

“I.A.’s doin’ some house cleanin’, huh?”

“Aye, it would seem so. But what about ye, boyo? How fairs that high-profile job o’ yuirs?”

“Not too good, actually.” Logan pulled out a large manila envelope. “Jus’ ‘tween you an’ me?”

“O’ course.”

He slid the envelope across the table and waited until Sean had extracted the letters from within. “Kid’s been gettin’ those. First one came ‘bout three an’ a half months ago, along with a necklace. Second one, a week later. The last one was delivered with some flowers jus’ before she went on stage last night.”

The police detective examined the papers in his hand. “Any idea who could be sendin’ them t’her? Disgruntled employee? Old boyfriend?”

“Kid’s a peach. She’s everyone’s li’l darlin’. Can’t imagine anyone holdin’ a grudge ‘gainst her.” Logan watched as Sean took out a small notebook from his back pocket and began taking notes. “A dancer friend o’ hers said that the woman who delivered the flowers introduced herself as Emma Frost.”

Sean jotted the name down. “I’ll run a background check on her, see what comes up.”

Reaching over, Logan tapped one of the letters. “What ‘bout that mental patient? The one that escaped?”

“Haller? It could be him. But I cannae be sure; I’m not in charge o’ that case. I dinnae know the specifics.”

“I’m callin’ in a favor, Irish. I need ya ta look inta this. Fish around a li’l an’ see what you can find.” Logan stood to leave. “One more thing, I wanna keep this quiet. Yer the only one that knows ‘side from us. Can’t let the press find out ‘bout this.”

“Aye, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Much obliged, Sean. I’d ‘ppreciate it if ya kept me posted.”

“How ya doin’, kid?” Guido asked from the seat beside her.

They were currently en route to Remy’s hotel, but were having some difficulty losing the paparazzi that had been following them since leaving the law offices of Levinson and Montgomery. The short drive that should have taken only twenty minutes was slowly dragging out into an hour.

At Guido’s question, Rogue peered out the window. How did she respond to that? How was she supposed to answer that when she herself wasn’t really sure? How was she doing? What were the emotions running through her head? Love? Hate? Betrayal?

… after making love to me…

Genevieve’s words haunted her, stabbed at her heart like a hot poker through the snow. But for the life of her, she couldn’t think of anything else. They replayed themselves over and over in her mind, refusing to leave like an unwanted guest who’s overstayed his welcome.

… your child… can no longer deny that…

Wordlessly, Rogue pulled out her cell phone and punched in a number. “Operator,” she said once someone answered, “Ah’d like ta be connected ta Muir Genetics, please.”

“Please stay on the line, ma’am.”

As the soft elevator music played into her ear, Rogue’s eyes wandered around the interior of the rented van. All five of her bodyguards -- plus Sam, who was driving -- pretended to occupy themselves with something other than eavesdropping on her telephone conversation. It would be impossible for them not to overhear, considering the close confines of the vehicle, but at the moment, she was beyond caring.

“Thank you for calling Muir Genetics. Good afternoon, my name is April. How may I help you?” a sunny voice asked. “Moira MacTaggert’s office, please.”

“One moment, ma’am.”

The awful ‘on-hold’ music started up again, grating on her nerves with its mellow cheerfulness.

“Good afternoon. Dr. MacTaggert’s office.”

“I’d like t’speak wit’ Dr. MacTaggert, please,” Rogue requested, mimicking Remy’s Cajun accent.

“May I know who’s calling?” the secretary inquired pleasantly.

“Dis is Mercy LeBeau. I’m de sister-in-law o’ one o’ ya clients.”

“Yes, of course. One moment, Mrs. LeBeau, I’ll see if the doctor is available.”

Thankfully, silence met Rogue’s ears as the other side of the line was muted. She was sure she’d break down and cry if she’d been made to sit through another round of painfully irritating elevator music.

“Moira MacTaggert speakin’,” a Scottish-accented voice filtered in through the receiver.

“Dr. MacTaggert, m’name is Mercy LeBeau. I believe ya office performed a paternity test f’r m’brother-in-law recently.” Beside her, Guido cocked an eyebrow, which Rogue promptly ignored.

“I’m afraid I cannae give y’ any information regardin’ this case without the proper confirmation,” Moira stated. “Do y’ have the account number?”

Rogue reached over to retrieve the folder that Attorney Levinson had handed to them in his office. Leafing through the pages, she found the number at the top of the last page and dutifully recited it through the telephone.

“Very well,” Moira continued. “Now then, what can I help y’ with?”

“How accurate are ya tests?”

“They are nearly foolproof, with only a point-zero-one margin o’ error.”

“Have ya ever been wrong?”

“Only once. An’ that was a special circumstance. The putative father bein’ tested was the identical twin o’ the actual father. In that case, there was no way o’ distinguishin’ between the two men’s DNA.”

“What ‘bout someone switchin’ de blood samples?”

“That is nae possible, I can assure ye. Our qualified technicians carefully label an’ catalog all procedures bein’ performed in the laboratories.” Rogue heard the distinct sound of typing on a keyboard. “I am lookin’ at yuir brother-in-law’s account now, Mrs. LeBeau. Considerin’ the nature o’ this case an’ the public status o’ the person involved, ‘twas given special attention by our company. Mr. LeBeau’s blood sample was delivered t’ us by his own lawyer, a Mr. Matthew Murdock, an’ then immediately sent t’ the lab for processing. I supervised the procedure myself.”

“But, mah -- ” Rogue caught herself before she reverted back to her natural southern drawl. “M’brother-in-law swore t’me dat he wasn’t de father.”

“I’m very sorry, Mrs. LeBeau,” said Moira sympathetically. “But ‘tis nae possible for the samples t’ have been tampered with or the test results altered. All procedures much be cleared an’ authorized by me before they are released t’ our clients. I am afraid it seems yuir brother-in-law lied t’ ye.”

Lied. It was a bitter word to swallow for Rogue. One that caught in her throat and refused to go down easily.

“T-thank you f’r ya time, Dr. MacTaggert,” she mumbled into the phone before hitting the ‘End’ button. She could feel hot tears sting in the back of her eyes, threatening to cascade down her skin if she didn’t get them under control.

Her heart had been wrong. It had told her that Remy cheating on her was never a possibility, despite her mind’s protests. It had sworn to her that she could trust him, trust that he loved her and would never hurt her. But her heart had lied. Just as easily as he had done.

“Sam,” she called out, turning her head toward the window as she felt the first wave of tears fall. “Head fo’ th’ airport. Ah… Ah wanna go home.”

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