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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7


Written by Broadway
Last updated: 01/02/2007 02:01:11 AM

Chapter 5

Cheryl stopped dead in her tracks. His jaw was clenched firmly, his fists balled tightly, and he was sitting at her desk, waiting for her. That wasn't a good sign.

"Detective, what's wrong?"

His mouth twisted into a wry a smile that was somewhere between cynical and disbelieving. "Don't even pretend, Miss. Mississippi."

Ironic, Cher decided, that he should use his playful nickname for her just before he was about to undoubtedly blow up. "Honest, Scott. Ah don't know what yah're talking about."

"Maybe this will jog your memory, Cheryl." He held up a photograph Cher immediately recognized as the one she dropped off earlier. It had been safely placed in her desk drawer, she remembered.

"What are yah doing going through my stuff, Detective?"

"I was looking for the file on White; I thought maybe I gave it to you. I also couldn't help but notice that every single drawer was completely EMPTY!" He fought inwardly to regain composure.

"Ah...Ah'm sorry! Ah'm sorry, Detective!" She pleaded.

"I don't want to hear it." He said coolly. There was a dangerous silence that gnawed at the air. It was a quiet where one is not sure to prepare to defend themselves from an outrage or to create their own scene by lashing out irrationally. The only sound was the whirling of the fan, spinning mockingly above them as if to say, 'Ha ha. There you sit in distress as I twirl carelessly, totally oblivious to your turmoil.'

"Do you know where he is now, Cher?" Detective Summers asked tightly.

Cher stood straight and stoic, determined not to let him see how outraged, confused, and above all, scared she was. She resisted the temptation to bite her lip or ring her hands; they were dead giveaways. Instead, she swallowed hard and held her head high.

"Cher," he prompted.

She shook her head, a choppy bang falling in front of her spectacular green eyes. "No, Detective. Ah don't."

"Damn it Cher! You're really somethin' to lie to me at a time like this, sweetheart, you know that!?"

"Ah'm sorry! What do you want me to do? Tell you something Ah don't know?"

He shot up from his seat so fast Cher had to suppress a yelp. "No, I want you to tell me something you do know! NOW! 'Cause I know you know where that damned, worthless, good for nothing, swamprat is! I know you know!" He repeated, yelling inches form her face now.

Cher held back her sobs and rising fury. He was pushing it.

"I mean, do you know how worried sick his sister has been? She's been killing herself over finding him, and you sit there, well aware." He stopped, and mumbled, "Sick."

Her eyes glazed a furious shade of jade, mirroring the overcast her patience just experienced. "How dare you, Mistah Summahs! How can yah sit there and pretend you've been taking this whole case for the good of citizens in Manhattan. It's obvious that wasn't all there was to it, Detective." The southerner sneered the last words.

Scott's eyes narrowed. "What's THAT supposed to mean, Cher?"

"It means, where were yah last night? ALL night? Were you, oh Ah don't know, at a client's house!"

Scott's body stiffened. "First of all, that's none of your business. Second of all, my relation to Jean has nothing to do with finding her brother. And third, you're dodging the question. Where. Is. Remy?"

"Ah don't think Ah'm dodging the question at all, 'cause maybe Ah'm not the only one you should be asking!"

Their hollering was abruptly put to an end when Jean swung the door open, concern etched on her face. "What is all the screaming about?"

Scott reared his head to her and answered, "Guess what, Jean? Guess what our li'l Mississippian knows about the location of your brother and has been selfishly with-holding from us?" He stated sarcastically.

Jean's eyes met Cher's and the two exchanged a worried glance. "What are you talking about, Scott?" Jean asked sweetly, never losing grip of the fašade.

"I'm talking about MY secretary being in a relationship with YOUR brother, Remy. She refuses to say where he is, isn't that just cute?" He spat.

For Jean, the room began to spin mercilessly and the air became muggy and still. Her entire body went clammy and all eyes seemed to be on her, most importantly, Scott's eyes. This was the moment she had dreaded all along. He had to be told. The frosty fact sent her stomach to twist into an unpleasant, trepidation-glazed knot. Oh, if only she could scream "stop time", whisk him away back to Elements, and spend the rest of their lives together between the serene, familiar walls of the jazz club, sipping martinis and letting that Munroe woman envelop them with her sultry hypnotic voice.

She tormented herself with the impossible scenario for one second longer before hesitantly saying, "Scott. We...I need to tell..." she paused and gazed at him once more, relishing her last seconds as his lover. "You need to know something."

He turned directly toward her, apparently having forgotten Cher and his anger for the moment. The look on her face unleashed a million and one horrible thoughts into his head. He hated to admit it, but he was afraid-- afraid she was giving him the gentle let down. It had never bothered him before with other women. But they were other women; this was Jean. Suddenly, nothing else mattered except him and this broad he stumbled upon, or rather, stumbled upon him, and how to make her happy. Anything she wanted, he'd get it. The stars never seem plausible until you're in love because damn it, if she wanted a star, he would make sure she woke up the next morning with Polaris at the foot of her bed.

When he didn't say anything, Jean stole a glance at Cher and continued. "Cheryl and I know Remy is here in Manhattan. We've seen him. And he's done something he will get in a lot of trouble for if the police ever catch him."

Not exactly what I was expecting, Scott thought. He was stunned speechless as they recounted the story of the cocaine shipment, the drunken rage of Xavier's, the murder, Remy's return a couple of days back, and his being falsely accused of the Manhattan Massacre.

When they had finished, they stood silently, waiting for even the slightest reaction from the detective. Cher gave up her previous attempts to be unreadable and wrung her hands in anxiety while Jean shifted her weight from one foot to another, debating whether or not to strike up a response.

Summers slowly returned to Cher's chair and sat, slumping slightly as he rested his elbows on his knees. "And you believe all of this?"

"Of course we believe it! Why wouldn't we?" Cher asked, a little startled at the implication.

"Well, Remy IS a thief and a smuggler. I, personally, wouldn't put lying past someone with a record like that."

"Are you trying to say that my brother was lying to us? For what purpose?" Jean questioned.

"Well, he did murder someone. That doesn't exactly qualify as a gentlemen thing to do. Maybe he didn't want to lose any respect from you," he turned to Cher, "or you, so perhaps he conjured up the cocaine story to make it seem as if he was being the noble knight." The look on the women's faces showed they did not agree. "I'm not saying that's what he did, but it's possible, is it not? Plus, I know Lehnsherr and he just doesn't seem like the drug type."

"You are horrible, Detective, just HORRIBLE!" Cher's voice was balancing temper and hurt. "You don't understand a thing." She stomped out of the room, slamming the glass paned door behind her.

Jean stood awkwardly alone in the center of the room, an unwilling prey under Scott's pained gaze.

She spoke lowly. "You know you're just saying that because he's from the streets. He may not have ever experienced a traditional Christmas morning, or fished with his father, or pitched a baseball around with friends, but he's a wonderful man and I'm proud to be his sister." She took a second to wipe the moisture welling in her eyes. "Our mother died when I was nine and he was thirteen. Our father was a drunk. He beat Remy almost every night and I knew in the dark recesses of my mind that the bastard was just waiting 'til I got old enough and blossomed into a woman..." She didn't finish her sentence. She didn't have to. "Remy didn't have to take me away with him, when he ran. He was just a kid and I doubt he wanted the responsibility, but he did take me and has taken care of me ever since- even when we were living in and out of gang houses and mafia circles, just barely scraping by."

Jean got quiet and silently slipped into a fleeting reverie. She recalled how every time one of the gangsters or bums gave her looks that had definite intentions behind them, Remy would make sure they were out of that particular residence as soon as possible. "I'm lucky to have him in my life."

Detective Summers resisted the urge to hug her and kiss it all away. But as much as he wanted it to, Jean's story didn't sway his opinion totally on this Remy character. Scott was still convinced that Remy did nothing but fill both Jean and Cher's heads with lies and stories in which he ended up the hero.

Jean understood immediately what he was thinking and seemed none too pleased. After all, she had just poured her soul out to him and he responded with such rebuttal it made her heart ache. "God, Scott. I just told you something neither Remy nor I tell too many people and you are so stubborn that you can't even consider the possibility that he's not so bad? How can you be so cold?" Her voice trembled but Scott couldn't bring himself to back down.

He cursed Remy for his masterful brainwashing skills. The women truly thought the world of him. Scott hated to use such a harsh term, but evidence screamed that he killed Xavier and those six women. He couldn't let a pair of voluptuous hips or a sinfully red mouth cloud his mind from the cold, hard facts.

Jean shook her head, disbelieving. Wordlessly, she turned and strode out of the office before he could see the accumulated tears fall.

Scott nearly went after her, but didn't. God, seeing her cry was heartbreaking; knowing he was the cause of it was unbearable. He needed a stiff drink.

Cher had never been so outraged in her entire twenty-four years. How dare he? He didn't even KNOW Remy and he was judging him! How dare he?

Her eyes caught sight of a man leaning against the lamppost outside her apartment building, smoking a cigarette, and her heart leaped. It was Remy.

"Hey, Rogue." He said, smothering his smoke as she approached and kissed her on the mouth. It was meant to be brief, but it deepened immediately into a passionate embrace. When they parted, Remy noticed the scowl creasing her features and asked, "What's wrong, baby?"

She sighed. "Oh, Remy! Somethin' terrible has happened. Detective Summahs found out about me and you and Jean. We didn't tell him anything, so he can't go to the police, but oh, he has me so worried!" Cher buried her face into Remy's shoulder and inhaled the thick scent of his cologne.

Remy stroked her hair rubbed her back soothingly. "Dere, dere, Cher. Not'in to worry about, eh? Remy will straighten dis whole mess out; he's not worried about de detective. What's he gonna tell de police dat dey don't already know, hmm?" He continued rocking her in the middle of the sidewalk as onlookers stared sympathetically and moved on. "Let's get out of here and take dis up to your place, alright?"

"He said a lot of mean things, Remy- things about you. Even right in front of Jean!" Cher stated later as she and Remy packed away her belongings. It was pretty obvious now that they were going to have to leave for New Orleans, and soon.

"Remy's not too concerned about it. Dough it does bot'er me a little dat he broke my sister's heart, but if Jeannie hadn't been such a damned fool and never gotten in a relationship wit' him like I told her, she wouldn't be in dis mess." Remy shook his head absently, as if Jean could somehow see the disapproving gesture.

"Oh, Remy, give her a break. The gal's in love. What if Ah had listened to all mah friends and never fell head over heels for you, huh? What then?" Cher set down the glass she was currently wrapping and caught Remy in a hug around the waist.

He smiled wickedly. "Well in dat case, Remy still would have swept you off your feet."

She kissed him. "Oh really? How's that?"

He kissed her again. "Remy has his ways. But if he told you, he'd have to kill you."

They both chuckled. Remy wanted nothing more than to throw her on the bed and have his wicked way with her, but there was work to be done. He engaged in one last parting kiss with her and headed for the door.

"Where are yah goin'?" She asked.

"To straighten out dis Summers mess. Remy will be right back; you just stay dere looking gorgeous as ever."

"And how do yah plan to do that?" She crossed her arms in mock questioning.

"I'm not going to do anyt'ing. An old friend is."

Cher smiled as he closed the apartment door behind him after flashing a customary grin. Charmer, she thought, and went back to wrapping each individual glass, only vaguely noticing that every headline on them revolved around the Manhattan Massacre. Poah gals, Cher mumbled, her voice laced with concern.

Cher never saw it coming.

Scott strolled along the sidewalk, his mind glazed with fatigue and the slight buzz he just received at Elements. He'd been walking for almost ten minutes toward the direction of his apartment when he noticed that he was being followed. At first, it had been a gut intuition, but that was enough. He started circling the block and sure enough, his tail, a man in a long black trench coat and matching hat, was always a good distance behind him.

Detective Summers slipped into an alley and walked to the dead center of it, making no attempt to blend with the shadows. He halted and kept his back to his persecutor. Placing his hands on his hips, under his coat and near his holster, he called out, "Yes, Logan?" Scott knew only one other man that could track as well as himself, and that man was Logan.

"Summers, fancy seeing your ugly mug here."

"Yeah, okay. Cut the crap; is there a reason you're following me?"

Logan stepped carefully, always the hunter, to where Scott stood. The detective turned to face him. Logan spoke swift and sharp- two words almost always associated with him. "I hear you're sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

"So what's it to ya'? You're not associated with the Whites, or have you forgotten?"

Logan growled, a sound that sent an unnerving tingle shooting through Scott's spine. "Don't get smart; I'm just tryin' to lay some advice in that thick skull of yers."

Scott cocked a bemused eyebrow. "Advice," he repeated. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"Listen, dick. You're better off staying away from this whole mess if you knew what was good for you."


"Because you don't belong with all this shit. You're a Good Samaritan, you've got, what, a few parking tickets on your record, you do your civic duty, etc, etc, etc. Don't blow it all 'cause you couldn't keep it in your pants for a nice lookin' redhead."

"Aw, I never had you pinpointed as the sensitive type, Logan." Scott shot.

"Still ain't getting' it, eh? Alright then, let me put it this way. If I catch you with either Remy, or Cher, or especially Jean 'cause I know you've got a spot for her, I'll put you in cement and toss you into the Hudson. We clear?"

Without waiting for a response, Logan turned and stalked away, quickly disappearing into the shadows and mist.

Scott took a cab the rest of the way home so he could think. He knew Logan wasn't a bluffer; so when he said he'd do something, he'd do it. The first time they'd talked about this Remy issue, Logan didn't specifically tell him to stay away from them, merely suggested it. This time, Logan gave a flat out warning: if Scott went near Jean again, he'd kill him.

The detective's odds against the stout Canadian were pretty good, but there would always be someone there every time Scott turned around to 'avenge his boss.' It would only turn into a vicious cycle in which Scott would find himself always glancing over his shoulder or limiting his hangouts so as to avoid any of Logan's 'associates.' Scott didn't want to live like that.

Scott should have heeded the warning, common sense told him that. But he never was one to let anyone push him around. His run in with Logan only served in making Scott more eager to resume things with Jean and a tad bit jealous. The twinge of bitterness that crept into Logan's voice whenever Jean was mentioned didn't go unnoticed to Scott. Damn my stubbornness, he thought, even as he called up to the cab driver to alter their course, going instead to a certain woman's penthouse.

To Scott's mild surprise, Jean was not home. So, deciding she must have went to Cher's to talk out things, or curse men, or whatever women do after a fight with their significant other, he went to his secretary's, excuse me, ex-secretary's apartment.

The minute he reached Cher's floor Scott could sense something amiss. Things got suspiciously silent and the air got eerie and still. He slowly approached Cher's door, hand close to holster if necessary; the door was partially open.

"Hello," he called in.

The door swung open to reveal Jean, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Scott," she said weakly.

He moved to console her when the door swung open further to reveal her brother, jaw set tight, hand clenching the door side.

"This is Remy, my brother." Jean lifted a hand toward Scott. "And this, Remy, is Detective Scott Summers."

"So dis is what all de fuss is about." Remy snarled.

"I could say the same for you, pal." Scott shot back.

"Gentlemen!" Jean raised her arms in truce. "Stop it. We have bigger problems at hand here than a foolish bicker."

"Where's Cher?" Scott suddenly noticed the owner of the apartment was absent.

Jean led Scott into the apartment and shut the door behind him. Scott's jaw plummeted at the sight. The place was destroyed, completely turned inside out. A sick dread washed over him. 'Oh no.'

Jean snatched a note off the counter and handed it to the detective with trembling hands. "Here." It read,

"My how the tables have turned Mr. White


Scott gasped. Cher had been kidnapped!


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