Chapter 9

Remy stood perfectly still, keeping his eyes centered on the world outside the window. He wasn’t focusing on anything in particular. In fact, if someone were to ask him to describe the scene before him, he wouldn’t be able to come up with a single word. His mind was far from the manicured gardens in back of his family’s New Orleans home, and was somewhere in the vicinity of the worldwide scandal that he was in the middle of.

Scandals were common occurrences in the life of anyone who spent their time in front of the camera. Each step, each breath was carefully monitored and recorded. Any slipup -- even the smallest misstep -- was worthy of the front page. And Remy was no stranger to that particular ‘honor.’ He had been on and off the latest gossip columns since he first appeared onto the music scene some three years before. He was used to the intensive scrutiny. At times he even reveled in it. He smirked as he remembered the time a photographer had caught him sneaking out the back entrance of a nightclub with two particularly clinging women. Or the night he and ex-girlfriend, Michelle Hanburg, had been seen exiting the men’s bathroom of a Chicago restaurant together; Michelle’s appearance had been slightly less tidy than when she went in.

But this time was different. This particular scandal was far worse. It had the potential to ruin his career, and at the same time affect Rogue’s life as well. And he was, under no circumstances, willing to let that happen. He had to fight, just as he had done his entire life, to keep the things that mattered most to him. And God help anyone who tried to take those things away from him.

The soft, rhythmic clicking of heels against the marble floor caught his attention. He dragged his focus away from the window and his thoughts to slowly turn to his expected visitor.

It had been a rough journey home, if that were at all possible considering they had been aboard one of the company’s private planes. But Rogue’s mind had been alive with too much activity and too many thoughts since her conversation with Remy some two weeks before. She wasn’t exactly sure how she had gotten through her schedule in France, then Italy and finally Spain, before boarding the plane to return home. It had all been a blur of appearances and performances that somehow zipped passed her without much notice.

The plane ride itself had been agonizing; six hours confined to one place with nothing to do but listen to the echoing of her own thoughts. They ran and re-ran themselves through her mind like an old television show on syndication. She would have driven herself insane if she didn’t seek distraction in the form of playing with her goddaughter. Jean had decided to stay with the group for the extra week to ‘allow Rachel to experience the beauty of Europe.’ Everyone knew that was a lie; Jean was there to give Rogue her unwavering support, for which the young singer was eternally grateful.

Their first stop had been New York to drop off Jean and Rachel, and at the same time rendezvous briefly with Raven, before catching another flight to their next destination. As she watched her mother approach, Rogue saw the faint hint of shadows beneath her eyes. Obviously Raven had been following the media coverage and was not happy about it at all.

“That boy is causing you nothing but trouble, child,” she said, keeping her voice low, as they swiftly made their way through the airport, toward the exit that would lead them onto the tarmac where a smaller private plane awaited. “Irene has been working herself into exhaustion fielding questions from the media. And this is only the beginning.” She glanced at her daughter from the corner of her eye. “We may have to hold a press conference to issue some sort of statement.”

Rogue was quiet but she nodded her head, acknowledging that she had heard.

“I don’t like this, Rogue. I don’t like this at all.” She suddenly became aware of the people in the airport who had taken notice of their entourage and were watching them as they passed. Raven snapped her mouth shut, discontinuing her rant against Remy. It was a discussion she needed to have with her daughter, but one that was best conducted without prying eyes. She was glad for the somewhat ‘fresh’ air that greeted them upon exiting the building, even if it was tainted with the pungent smell of fuel and the thunderous roar of the planes’ engines.

Once they were safely tucked inside their aircraft and the surrounding noise was reduced to a tolerable level, Raven reached into her portfolio and handed Rogue a small square of paper.

“I have some things to take care of in Los Angeles. That’s the number of the hotel where I’ll be staying. I want you to call me as soon as the plane touches down. Is that understood?”

Rogue grinned wryly at her tone of voice. “Yes, Momma, Ah got it.” She slipped the paper into her coat pocket while the older woman shot Logan a stern look that seemed to say ‘make sure that she does that.’

Raven turned back to Rogue and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Take care, darling.”

“Bye, Momma.” Rogue smiled as she watched Raven disembark. She called over her shoulder to Logan, “Sugah, Ah’m gonna take a li’l nap. Wake me up when we get there, please?”

“Sure thing, darlin’.”

She repositioned herself on one of the plane’s plush sofas, trying to get comfortable. Finally after several attempts, she dozed off into a light slumber.

Only seconds later it seemed, Logan was shaking her shoulder gently and urging her to waken. It wasn’t long before the group had gathered their things and made the trek to the airport’s exit. Soon they were weaving their way through the city streets en route to their lodgings for the next few days.

She didn’t know the city all that well but she had been down there a number of times already so she recognized a few of the buildings and landmarks along the way. She realized they were nearing their destination when they turned down a familiar road where the estates were separated by vast parcels of land. The high, elaborately designed gates swung open to allow them passage and they traveled down the long driveway to temporarily park in front of the mansion’s main entrance.

Once inside the large foyer, several members of the estate’s staff greeted them warmly. The steward escorted the rest of the group up the stairs and into the guest bedrooms while the plump housekeeper ushered Rogue into the private parlor near the back of the house.

Her heels sounded lightly against the marble flooring as she entered the room. He stood with his back to her, looking out into the gardens outside the window, but slowly turned to face her as he heard her approach.

He stared at her from across the room, his deep brown eyes meeting her emerald green. For a moment, they simply looked at each other, lost in the jumble of things left unsaid, both of them unsure of what their first move should be. He noticed the blank expression on her face and wondered at its meaning. She was usually such an easy person to read, her emotions shown plainly on her face. But for the life of him, he couldn’t pick up on what she was thinking at that moment.

Then, as if in slow motion, he saw her move from her spot in the doorway, and all his uncertainty and fears melted away once his arms had encircled her in their tight embrace. She rested her head against his chest, sweetly sighing his name, and he nearly laughed out loud at the doubts that had clouded his thoughts only seconds before. He knew he shouldn’t have worried.

When she had called him back a few weeks ago, he had immediately started the conversation with three simple words: “It’s not true.” He waited with a pounding heart and a knot in his throat as silence meet his declaration. It seemed to take an eternity before she finally let out her expectant breath and said, “Ah believe you.”

He’d also let himself breathe normally after her statement and then directly launched into an explanation of the events. However, she abruptly cut him off.

“Not ovah th’ phone, sugah,” she’d said. “Ya never know who could be listenin’.” He heard the gentle squeal of bedsprings as she settled herself onto the bed. “Where are ya now?”

“Home,” he replied simply.

“All right, Ah’ll head down there as soon as we get back ta th’ States.”

Most people had the impression that by ‘home’ Remy meant New York City. While it was his residence for the majority of the year, it had never really felt like home to him. Rogue knew that his heart would always remain in the city of New Orleans and that there was no other place in the world where he felt as safe as he did there; the only exception being when he was wrapped up in the warmth of her arms.

He took comfort in those arms now, snugly curled around his waist. He marveled at her belief in him, her loyalty to him, and her acceptance of his proclamation of innocence, without needing a shred of evidence.

For Rogue’s part, she was finally able to identify that unnamable quality that set Remy apart from other men. It wasn’t so much a quality but more of a feeling she got from him. When she first heard the news about the paternity case, her mind’s initial reaction had been to prepare for the worst, to defend herself against the possible things to come. It wasn’t until some time after that she realized what her mind was imagining and what her heart was feeling didn’t match up. Her mind was producing very possible thoughts of Remy in the arms of another woman, or having numerous affairs with several women. But her heart was flat out saying it wasn’t possible, that it trusted him and his love for her; that there was a intense connection between them that she had never experienced with anyone before. In the end, all it took was hearing his voice deny the allegations to convince her of his innocence.

She raised her head to look up at him. “How’re ya doin’, sugah?”

“Much better… now.” He kissed the top of her head. “Ya tired, chère? Ya wan’ go upstairs an’ rest up from ya trip b’fore we talk?”

She shook her head and disentangled herself from his embrace, only to establish an even tighter one once they were resettled on the sofa. She was content there, her arms around her lover and her legs tucked neatly underneath her. She could hear the easy thumping of his heart beneath her ear, and could feel her own responding to its rhythm. She sighed softly before breaking the spell.

“Momma thinks it’s time Ah gave a statement ta th’ press.”

His hand came down to begin a light stroking motion along the length of her spine. She smiled slightly at the sensations it was producing.

“What’re ya gon’ tell dem?”

“’Bout us. Lord knows ev’ryone’s been talkin’ ‘bout it fo’ months now. Might as well confirm what they’ve already decided is true.”

Remy nodded before saying, “Dey’re gon’ t’ink o’ ya as de poor, cheated-on girlfriend whose lover knocked up another woman.”

“What they think is their business. What Ah know is mine.”

And there it was again: her belief in him, her confidence in his word. She hadn’t even asked about the circumstances surrounding the case, and he suddenly realized that she wouldn’t. She was leaving the decision on whether or not to tell her solely up to him. Either way, she would still support him.

He took a deep breath before beginning. “Chère, ya ‘member dat day a couple months ago when I called ya from San Diego?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, after de show we spent de night on de road goin’ up t’L.A.” His eyes took on a faraway look as if he was reliving the memory in his mind. “De boys an’ I did a li’l drinkin’, an’ I guess I was a li’l tired from de show. Henri was on m’case ‘bout takin’ it easy f’r weeks b’fore dat.

“When I got t’ m’room in de hotel, dere was a woman already dere.” He felt her body stiffen slightly. “At first, I t’ought it was you, chère, but m’eyes were jus’ playin’ tricks on me an’ I realized dat it was someone else.”

“What’d ya do?”

He almost grinned at the somewhat fearful tone in her voice. “Took her by de arm an’ brought her outta de room. Told de boys t’get her out o’ dere.” His eyebrows furrowed in concentration a bit. “But I t’ink it wasn’ as polite as dat, considerin’ I wasn’ feelin’ too good at de time.”

Rogue sat up to face him. “An’ that’s it? That’s all that happened?” She couldn’t help but think it was all too simple, judging by the frenzy the media was making out of it. “She up an’ left, jus’ like that?”

“Non, mignonne. It took ‘bout a good t’irty minutes t’convince her dat what she wan’ed wasn’ gon’ happ’n. After dat, she picked up her clothes an’ walked out de door, wit’ Vic escortin’ her all de way down.”

She stared at him for a few moments before lowering her head back against his chest, trusting what he told her. He didn’t mention the fact that he didn’t really feel quite like himself that night. Or that he’d only had a couple of beers on the bus ride over. Nor did he bring up the question of how Genevieve got into the room in the first place.

As if reading his mind, she shot back up and looked him straight in the eye. “Wait a minute, Remy. How’d this girl get past th’ boys? Don’ they always secure th’ room before ya come up?”

He sighed. “Oui, dey do.” He refocused his attention to the lock of auburn hair he took between his fingers. “We asked her ‘bout dat an’ she said she came t’rough de balcony. Didn’ t’ink it was possible f’r a girl dat petite, but de lock on de balcony door was picked an’ de hotel records showed she booked de suite a couple doors down.”

Remy could feel her skeptical gaze on him. He knew she didn’t believe that a young girl could climb across two balconies, twenty stories up any more than he could. He raised his eyes to hers and was about to comment on her unspoken question when a polite cough emanated from the doorway.

Rogue turned to see a tall, blonde man wearing a deep blue business suit and dark glasses standing in the doorway. As he ventured further into the room, he lightly tapped a cane in front of him.

“I’m sorry, Remy, I didn’t know you had company,” he said, stopping a few feet from the couch. “I can come back if this is a bad time.”

“Non, mon ami,” Remy replied, covering the distance that separated them and reaching out to shake the other man’s hand. “S’okay. Wan’ ya t’meet someone.” He turned back to Rogue. “Chère, dis is m’lawyer, Matthew Murdock. Matt, dis is mon amour, Rogue.”

She took his hand and said warmly, “It’s nice ta meet ya, sugah.”

“Likewise.” He smiled. “Remy’s told me a lot about you.”

“Is that right?” She playfully cocked an eyebrow in Remy’s direction. “You an’ Ah are gonna havta have ourselves a li’l chat sometime, Matt.”

She could have sworn she saw him wink behind the dark lenses shielding his eyes. “Part of lawyer/client privilege, I’m afraid. I wouldn’t be able to tell you much.”

They repositioned themselves back into their seats, with Matt taking a spot across from the couple.

“So, Remy,” the lawyer began, setting his leather briefcase onto the coffee table before him, “you wanted an update on the case?”

“Actu’lly, homme, was wonderin’ if ya could ‘splain de entire t’ing again… f’r Rogue.”

“Certainly.” Matt extracted several documents and ran his hands over them lightly as Rogue settled herself back into the sofa to listen.

“As I’m sure you’re already aware of, Remy is being sued for paternity of Ms. Genevieve Darceneaux’s unborn child. Now, if the charge is found to be true, Remy will be declared the legal father and be made to pay child support until the child’s eighteenth birthday.”

Rogue was about to protest the charge when Remy held up his hand to stop her, silently asking her to let Matt finish.

“In order to verify the claim that Remy is the father,” Matt continued, “the prosecuting attorney has arranged a non-invasive paternity test. What that means is they’ll take a sample of Ms. Darceneaux’s blood to test the baby’s DNA.”

“Ah don’ understand,” Rogue interrupted, her curiosity getting the better of her as she ignored the frown that appeared on Remy’s face. “Why bother goin’ ta th’ mother? Why not go straight ta th’ baby’s blood an’ compare it ta Remy’s? Aftah all, nobody’s questionin’ who th’ momma is.”

“In earlier procedures, they would have extracted samples from the placenta or the amniotic fluid surrounding the baby. But those methods put the child at risk for birth defects or complications during delivery. The non-invasive technique is newer technology that offers the same results, without the medical risks to the fetus.

“As to the reason why they extract the mother’s blood, research shows that certain fetal cells are present in maternal circulation throughout pregnancy. They can take a sample from the mother’s bloodstream and then separate the baby’s cells from the mother’s cells, thereby identifying paternity.”

“Ya lost me there, sugah. How ‘sactly do they tell who th’ daddy is?”

“It does get a little confusing after a while,” Matt said, sympathetically. “Every child receives a set of genes from each parent, one from the mother and one from the father. Once the baby’s cells are extracted from the mother, they can be compared to the her DNA. Anything that doesn’t match must be a pattern from the father. A blood sample from any man thought to be the paternal parent will put all questions to rest.”

"So they're basically gonna shift through th' baby's genes an' see which ones came from its momma an' which ones from its daddy?" She waited for Matt's confirming nod before asking, "And these tests are accurate?"

“Extremely. They guarantee either a zero-percent exclusivity or a ninety-nine-point-ninety-nine-percent proof of paternity.”

At the confused look on Rogue’s face, Remy said, “Dat means ‘m either not de father wit’ one-hundred-percent certainty, or I am de father wit’ a point-zero-one chance dey screwed up de tests, which is very slim.”

Matt consulted his notes once again before stating, “Since the earliest they can perform the procedure is twelve weeks from conception, and Ms. Darceneaux is only eleven weeks along, they won’t be able to extract a sample until next week. They will of course require a ten-milliliter sample of your blood, Remy, for comparison. I’m told that the results will be ready within seven to ten business days from the date the samples are received by the laboratory. That’s a span from anywhere between the middle of next, next week to the beginning of the week after that.”

“Mr. Murdock,” Rogue began, leaning forward in her seat, “Ah ‘ppreciate th’ explanation an’ all, but Ah don’ see how this is relevant ta Remy. He didn’ sleep with th’ girl. How could he have possibly gotten her pregnant?”

“That’s exactly why we’ve agreed to let them perform the procedure, because we’re positive that he isn’t the father. And please call me Matt,” he said as an afterthought.

“Tell her ‘bout de other t’ing.”

Rogue looked from Remy to Matt uncertainly. “What othah thing?”

Matt retrieved a new set of documents from his briefcase. “There’s another charge that’s being investigated in connection with the initial accusation.”

“Ah haven’t heard anythin’ but th’ paternity case on th’ news.”

“It’s still under investigation, chère. Dey’re tryin’ t’keep it quiet ‘til dey c’n get somet’in’ concrete on me.”

“They’re preparing for the possibility that the paternity test will come back negative,” added Matt. “Even if Remy isn’t the father of the baby, the prosecution will still try to prove that he slept with Ms. Darceneaux. The second charge is what is termed in Californian law as ‘Unlawful Sexual Intercourse,’ or what is more commonly referred to as statutory rape.”

“Statutory rape?” Rogue repeated. “Havin’ sex with a minor?” She waited for Matt’s nod before asking, “How old is she?”

“Apparently she’s seventeen, a year shy of California’s age of consent.” The attorney set his notes aside before leaning forward and creating a steeple out of his hands. “As Remy mentioned, they’re only in the investigation stage, which means they’ll be looking for just enough to show probable cause, proof that the crime more than likely occurred.”

“Which they won’t find ‘cause nothin’ happened.”

“That may be so, Rogue, but more than likely their angle will be that something did happen and that Remy used both his money and his influence as a celebrity to cover up his tracks.”

“They’re gonna lie?”

“They’re going to look at all possible scenarios and present the most probable to have happened in accordance with their case,” Matt corrected, readjusting his dark glasses which had been sliding down his nose slightly. “Now in this particular case, Remy’s fame works both for and against us. It’s to our advantage because investigators will tread lightly, careful not to ruffle the public’s feathers by wrongly accusing him of a crime. But at the same time, it will hurt us because the California judicial system will want to make an example of him.”

“Ah don’ understand,” Rogue said for the second time that day. “Why would they want ta make an example outta Remy?”

Matt shifted into a more comfortable position. “I’ll be honest with you. Trials for statutory rape are rare. The main reason for this is that in order to be brought before a court of law, proof beyond a reasonable doubt that the crime was committed must be present; something concrete and solid that they can use to say that sexual intercourse did in fact occur between the accused and the minor. More often than not, this is only possible when pregnancy is involved, and the baby itself is used as evidence of the intimate relationship. In lawsuits that lack such obvious proof, prosecuting attorneys often have a difficult time building decent cases when their key witnesses are young, teenaged ‘victims’ who refuse to testify against their adult ‘lovers.’

“However, the governor of California has strong feelings toward protecting the youth in his state. He was recently successful in imposing stricter laws to punish pedophiles and other sex offenders. Not only that, but he has more than a few judge-friends who feel the same way he does when it comes to crimes committed against minors. With someone like Remy, who is constantly in the public eye, they stand a good chance of showing other would-be offenders that no one is beyond the reach of the law.”

Matt’s business-like demeanor waned slightly as he leaned back in his seat. “I’m not trying to scare you with all this legal talk about trails and such. I’m simply preparing you for the things we’re most likely going to encounter in this case. As you pointed out before, Remy is innocent of these charges, so we really have nothing to worry about.”

For some reason, Rogue wasn’t appeased. There was something in the corner of her mind that prompted her to ask, “Hypothetic’lly speakin’, if Remy were charged with these crimes, what would th’ sentence be?”

“Well in California, civil penalties for statutory rape range anywhere from two-thousand to twenty-five thousand dollars, depending on the age gap between the minor and the adult in question. Along with restitution, counseling, therapy or any other treatment services that may be ordered, and possible or mandatory jail time of up to a year.”

Rogue nodded and reached over to clasp Remy’s hand in her own, both to reassure him and herself that he would never have to face that particular sentence.

“As I said before,” continued Matt, “Prosecuting attorneys rarely bring statutory rape cases to trial because it’s difficult to gather the necessary evidence. But if this case were brought to court -- and please bear in mind, that’s a big, if not nonexistent, “if” -- on account of Remy being the father of this baby, then we would be looking at child support, as well as a minimum prison sentence of five years. And that’s in addition to the penalties I mentioned earlier.” He returned all his documents to his briefcase. “Although I’m not too familiar with the music world, I’d imagine that such a sentencing would create a backlash for your career, Remy.”

The Cajun singer grinned wryly. “No kiddin’, mon ami.”

His lawyer returned his expression with a genuine smile of his own. “There’s nothing we have to be concerned about, really. Once the paternity test proves that you did not father Ms. Darceneaux’s child, the only thing we have to deal with is the statutory rape investigation, which is shaky at best.”

“So we’re okay?” Rogue asked uncertainly.

“We’re okay,” confirmed Matt. “Do you have any more questions? Did I explain everything clearly?”

“Yes, sugah. Thank you.”

At this, the lawyer stood, extending his hand to his client. “It was good seeing you again, Remy. My goddaughter was ecstatic when I surprised her with the autographed CD.” He turned to Rogue. “And it was a pleasure meeting you, Rogue,” he stated, shaking her hand. “I hope we can meet again, under more pleasant circumstances.”

“Ah hope we can too, Matt.” She watched as he exited the room before slowly wandering over to the windows that overlooked the gardens outside.

“You okay, chère?” Remy asked, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.

She leaned back against his sturdy frame, taking comfort in his nearness. “Ev’rythin’s gettin’ more an’ more complicated, Remy.”

“I know, belle.” He sighed as he rested his chin against her temple. “But ya heard what Matt said, it’s gon’ be okay. Not’in’ t’worry ‘bout.” His lips brushed over her skin lightly. “Dey don’ have anyt’in’ on me.”

She echoed his sigh, wishing she had his confidence that everything would turn out fine, but she simply couldn’t find it within herself. The thought of anything taking Remy away from her brought a nauseating feeling to her body.

Forcing the thoughts from the forefront of her mind, she tried to focus on other things. Like the fact that this was the first time they’d been in the same room together in two and a half months.

She slyly slid her hand down his arm and then entwined his fingers with her own. “That’s a shame, sugah,” she teased. “Ah was kinda hopin’ they’d save me th’ trouble o’ gettin’ rid o’ ya mahself.”

“Mignonne, ya wouldn’ get rid o’ me if given de chance.” Lowering his head, he let the warmth of his breath tickle her ear.

“You sound mighty sure o’ yoahself, Cajun.”

“Mmm-hmm.” He nipped at her earlobe with his teeth and grinned at the slight tremor he felt cascade through her body. “Mighty sure.”

“Fo’ yoah information, suh, Ah’m more than capable o’ resistin’ yoah charmin’ self.” Though her statement had started off as a declaration, it soon became nothing more than a low whisper as the back of Remy’s hand leisurely traveled down the side of her body to ultimately rest on the curve of her hip.

“Non, mon chérie,” he murmured huskily. “Ya no more capable o’ resistin’ me dan I am o’ resistin’ you.” His fingertips caressed the line of her jaw before gently drawing her face toward his. “Not dat I’d wan’ t’.” To prove his point, he lowered his head to receive her kiss.

If she hadn’t been so preoccupied, Rogue would have smiled. She wondered if all women in love felt as glorious as she did whenever she was in her lover’s arms. It was like being sprinkled with Tinkerbelle’s pixie dust and discovering that you could fly. Or walking through a star gate and entering a world where everything you never imagined existed. Whatever it was, she quickly decided that there had never been a time in her life when she felt so deliciously warm inside, so filled and so loved.

The quaint time-stopping moment would have no doubt lasted much, much longer had it not been for the loud clearing of someone’s throat reverberating from the doorway.

An irritated groan rumbled up from Remy’s chest as he broke their kiss, though he made no attempt to open his eyes nor remove himself from Rogue’s side.

“Wit’ a house dis big,” he began, “ya’d t’ink people would find enough space t’be somewhere else.”

“Then get a room with a decent lock on the door,” countered Logan, taking a few more steps into the parlor. “Prefer’bly upstairs where we can’t hear ya.”

“Logan!” Rogue chastened. She had to peer around Remy’s tall frame so that her bodyguard could take proper note of the icy glare in her eyes.

The stare proved useless against the older man as he chewed on the end of an unlit cigar. “Put the snow show away, kid, ya know that stuff doesn’t work on me.” He cocked his head toward one of the mansion’s numerous telephone extensions. “Did ya call yer mother yet?”

Remy smirked. “Ya de bodyguard, homme, or de nanny?”

“Yer lucky we’re in yer house, Gumbo, else I’d slug ya in the gut.”

“Good luck tryin’ dat one, old -- ”

“All right,” Rogue interrupted, shaking her head at their sham of a testosterone fit. “Ah don’ think Ah’m prepared fo’ th’ headache that this is gonna be.” She turned her attention to Logan. “No, Ah haven’t talked ta Momma yet. Would ya call her fo’ me?”

He grunted. “She’s gonna be pissed that you didn’t call her an hour ago when we got here,” he told her. “Where’d ya put that number?”

“In mah coat pocket,” she answered, watching him scan the room for the said item. “Ask Bèbette; she took it from me earlier jus’ before showin’ me in here.”

Logan nodded and exited the room, leaving the couple alone once again.

“So, chère, what do ya t’ink o’ Logan’s suggestion?” Remy asked, raising an eyebrow. “Care t’find a room upstairs wit’ a decent lock on it?”

She smiled as she walked back into his embrace. “You love rilin’ Logan up, don’ ya?”

“Not’in’ I live f’r more, petite.”

“Not even this?” she challenged, moving slowly to kiss the very corner of his mouth. “Or this?” She drew her lips across his jaw line. “Or even this?” her voice whispered next to his ear. Abruptly, she moved out of his reach and turned to walk away from him. “Well, since there’s nothin’ else ya live fo’, sugah.”

He caught her by the wrist and pulled her back up against his chest. “Play nice, chère.”

“Ah thought Ah was,” she laughed as Remy’s mouth recaptured her own.

“ROGUE!” Logan bellowed, reentering the parlor.

The young singer jumped two feet in the air before facing the head of her security team. “Logan, fo’ cryin’ out loud! Yoah gonna give me a heart atta-- ”

“What the hell is this?!” he demanded, gesturing at the paper in his hand.

“A piece o’ paper?” she retorted sassily, joining him in the middle of the room. She was annoyed at the tone of voice he was using with her.

“Don’t get smart with me, girl,” he warned. “Why didn’t ya tell me ‘bout this?!”

“Maybe Ah would’ve if Ah knew what you were talkin’…” her face paled as she recognized the item in Logan’s hand, “…about.” It was a letter. More specifically, it was the second letter her stalker had left for her. “Where… where did ya get that?”

“In yer coat pocket, while I was lookin’ fer the number o’ Raven’s hotel.”

“Ya weren’t s’pposed ta find that…”

“Then maybe ya should’ve cleaned yer pockets out more often, darlin’,” he snapped. “What were ya thinkin’?!”

“What is dat t’ing?” questioned Remy, walking over from his place by the windows.

Rogue panicked. “No!” she cried, reaching for the letter in Logan’s grasp; he easily snatched it away from her. He didn’t resist, however, when Remy took it from him.

“Have ya got no sense at all, Rogue?” Logan continued ranting at her. “How could ya keep this from all o’ us? When did ya get this one?”

But she wasn’t listening; her focus was locked onto Remy’s face as he read the short note. She caught the initial coolness of his expression, then the slight widening of his eyes, and finally the angry glint that ignited when he was finished. She wanted to take a step back, away from him, but didn’t dare. There was a calmness about him -- a controlled calmness -- that scared her, as if he were reining in his emotions.

“What is dis?” he asked quietly, though the fury was evident in his eyes.

It was the quietness of his voice, plus the calmness of his demeanor that finally made her step away. As a child, she had seen more than her fair share of this quiet rage, this silent wrath that boiled just beneath the surface, waiting for the smallest pin-drop to fall. It was usually how her father’s abusive attacks began -- a placid question as to why there were no potatoes in the stew, or how come the television’s remote control was on top of the coffee table instead of on the cushion of his favorite chair -- followed immediately by the physical beatings to ‘correct’ her ignorant ways. A part of her was crying out that it was just Remy, and that she had nothing to be afraid of. But she couldn’t quiet the fears of the eight-year-old child echoing within her. In the back of her mind, she briefly wondered what happened to the wildcat spirit that had defended the little girl in Memphis only a month before.

“What is dis?” Remy repeated, his voice straining to keep a steady pitch. When she still didn’t answer him, he turned to Logan. “Is dis some kind o’ sick joke?”

The older man shook his head. “It’s another letter from some demented bastard with a death wish.”

Remy’s head snapped up. “‘Another’? Dis isn’ de first time she’s gotten one?”

“No. He sent the last one up ta the house almost three months ago, along with a necklace fer her. That makes this one here number two.” Logan raised an eyebrow at Rogue. “’Less yer hidin’ some other stuff from us?”

All she could do was shake her head silently.

Remy took an unstable breath, struggling to get his next words out in an even tone. “What’re de police doin’ ‘bout it?”

“Nothin’,” Logan answered. “They don’ know anythin’ about it.”

“WHAT DE HELL -- ?!” Remy finally exploded, turning his back on the other two occupants of the room. He didn’t notice how his sudden outburst startled Rogue into jumping back a good two feet.

He rounded on them again. “Dis psycho’s been out dere ‘watchin’’ her f’r three months an’ ya didn’ t’ink it’d be a good idea t’get de police involved?! Jus’ gon’ sit ‘round an’ do not’in’ while he threatens her like dis?! WHAT WERE YA T’INKIN’, CHÈRE?!” he roared, one decibel short of shattering the windowpanes. He didn’t wait for a response as he confronted Logan. “An’ YOU, m’sieu, why aren’ you doin’ somet’in’ ‘bout dis?! Don’ seem like ya been guardin’ her all dat much lately seein’ as how dis guy’s gotten past ya twice already!”

“Don’ even bring it over here, Gumbo,” Logan warned, scowling. “Ya know I’d kill anyone who tries ta hurt that girl.”

The younger man seemed to accept this and nodded, returning his attention to the woman who was now halfway across the room from him.

“Three months, chère! When ‘sactly were ya plannin’ on tellin’ me ‘bout dis, eh? When de fifth letter came? De sixth? Mon Dieu, Rogue! De bastard’s practic’lly sayin’ he wants t’ rape you! An’ ya’re prancin’ ‘round in public like a doe in an open field! How much easier are ya gon’ make dis f’r him?!” He was pacing now, the rhythmic motion somehow further powering his infuriation. “Why de hell didn’ Raven do anyt’in’ ‘bout dis?! Dat maman o’ yours got no sense -- ”

He stopped suddenly, both his movement and his tirade, acknowledging for the first time the huge amount of floor space that separated them, and how she was staring at him with watchful green eyes that seemed ready to bolt at any second. He caught a glimpse of caution in those fathomless depths, as well as… fear?

Then it dawned on him. He realized just how much he must look like her father at that moment, screaming at her like he was. And the effect his sudden temper must have had on her, considering her normally outspoken mind was now uncharacteristically quiet. He felt a sliver of compassion creep its way into his heart, but it wasn’t enough to overshadow the fear, frustration and anger that had first taken root there.

Without another word, Remy spun on his heel, thrust the letter into Logan’s hands and stormed out of the parlor without so much as a backward glance.

“Guido!” Logan yelled, almost surprised when the other man seemed to materialize out of thin air. No doubt the rest of the household as well was lurking about in the shadows just outside the room, interested in what the uproar was all about. He handed the letter to the other man. “Tighter watch on her,” he ordered simply. “Tell the others.”

Now that Remy was out of the room, Rogue sank into the cushions of the couch, trying to convince herself that the sensation of numbness spreading throughout her body was on account of being separated from her lover. However, had she chosen to be honest with herself, she would have realized that it was on account of never having experienced a time in her life when she felt so bitterly cold inside, so empty and so alone.

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