Someone knocked heavily on the door to his bedroom, a sanctuary to which very few were spared the privilege to visit. He opened his eyes disturbed from the sweet realms of sleep and turned over to look at her. It had really happened, she was here. She had really shared his bed with him wrapped in blankets and naked flesh. A genuinely warm smile touched his lips as he traced a line gently down her cheek bone with his cool fingers, the softness of her flesh left him breathless. Her eyes fluttered open for a brief second before closing again under the weight of sleep. Content to let her rest he didn't wake her. Instead, he got of bed alone allowing her the luxury of continuing her dreams unhindered. He wished for a moment that he had had that pleasure but by the tone of the knocking on his door urgent business awaited him.

Before moving to the door he slipped a robe over his broad shoulders and concealed his body, as perfect as a statue of chiselled marble, beneath waves of silk. A slight frown creased his brow as still the knocks continued. It was only when he pulled the door open that his torment ended, on the other side of the door and guilty of landing such a noisy assault on his privacy was a harassed looking Janette.

"Nichola and his partner are here, they want to take Robyn to the precinct to ask her some questions. There's been another murder." Janette explained.

LaCroix closed his eyes briefly as if in silent contemplation, "Tell Nicholas that Robyn will be with them in ten minutes. If they cannot wait that long I would suggest that they find an alternative means of solving their case."

Janette nodded and turned away to fulfil her task. As she walked back down the corridor she heard the door to her father's bedroom click softly shut. For a few seconds she had seen who he had shared his bed with, it came of little surprise to her but she knew it was a situation that could very quickly turn nasty with a lot of people. It was more than likely that LaCroix would fall foul of Nick's tongue when he discovered just what her father had been doing with Robyn.

With Janette and the possibility of any future disturbance in the short term gone LaCroix closed the bedroom door. Turning back into the room he saw Robyn sitting on the edge of the bed watching him, her eyes warm when they met his. Smiling he walked over to her with deliberate slowness keeping his eyes fixed on nothing but her eyes. It was only when he remembered the promise that he had made that his smile faded.

"Nicholas and his partner Detective Schanke want to take you in for questioning. I said you'd be ten minutes." LaCroix purred in a voice used exclusively for his radio shows.

"I know, I heard. It seems that nowadays if someone is killed I'm the first person they look into."

"You know about the murder?"

"Yes. I felt it, yesterday afternoon while I was reading."

"Does this happen often?" LaCroix asked with genuine concern.

"Not very often but it's hard explain, it's something I can't go into. I'm restricted in what I can say, like you."

LaCroix nodded, understanding. Sitting beside Robyn on the bed he leant over and picked up a pile of her clothes from a blanket box standing at its base. Once she had been furnished with her clothes he went in search of his in a dresser that rested against a wall in the room. For the sake of prudence he kept his back turned as she put on her undergarments which allowed him the chance to do the same with his. He knew that there would be talk, someone as well known as he had little in the way of privacy as far as his actions went. As far as he was concerned they could talk all they wanted, only he and the woman sat on the edge of his bed knew what had really gone on behind the closed door.

Feeling in need of sustenance LaCroix left the room and headed for the bar but not before kissing his companion again. Were she not required elsewhere he would have loved to have repeated their night together, unfortunately it was a plan that wasn't going to work his way. There would be other times, he knew, but when that next time would happen he didn't know. All he could do was wait, something he was very good at.

Sauntering down the corridor in her usual fashion Janette arrived back at the main room in the private quarters where she found Detective Schanke peering longingly at the collection of fine wine bottles behind an ornate pair of locked gates. She was glad that they were out of his reach; it was her opinion that if he'd had access to them they would have been guzzled away in seconds, not an appropriate way to treat LaCroix's private stock. Getting a little tired with being faced by the balding patch on Detective Schanke's head Janette cleared her throat, an action which turned the balding patch into a face although she couldn't quite work out which was the more attractive.

"Oh. Hi." Detective Schanke said pleasantly, "If you're wondering where Nick is he's talking to the barman about something. You know he's a really nice guy."

"Nicholas?"

"No, the bar guy. What's his name?"

Janette raised a well plucked eyebrow, "Miklos?"

"That's him. Where's Robyn?"

"She'll be out in a couple of minutes, she's just getting dressed."

Schanke nodded before turning back to the bottles behind those oh so obstructive gates. His tongue darted out briefly to lick his lips as they became dry at the thought of tasting some of that luscious looking wine. It didn't matter that he was at work and strictly wasn't allowed to drink any alcohol. Since he'd given up smoking he'd found other pastimes to concentrate on.

A smile twisted his lips as he gazed down on the street below. People milled about some walking into the club that he had kept a watch on for days. The detectives spotting him had done little to disturb him, sure they had searched the place but he'd been long gone by the time they'd made it all the way up to the roof. They'd not found his bag either, the bag that was about to make things in the great city around him a whole lot more interesting.

He remembered times when he'd played a similar waiting game at the Crazytown orphanage. For many long summer days he'd sat in the garden waiting for squirrels to go in search of food for their winter stores, concealed in bushes he had watched them run about. To keep them even longer in the garden and to catch them unawares he would leave nuts out in the open. Like pirates finding treasure the squirrels would crowd around the nuts thinking all of their Christmases had come at once. Only when they least suspected any danger would he run out of the bushes and kill the squirrels by bashing them with sticks. Now, here he was again, playing that same game but this time there was one particular squirrel he wanted to catch but to do that he needed to flush it out. Flushing it out would be as simple as opening a bottle.

Bending down he reached into his bag. Already he'd mixed enough chemicals together to make his light show worth while. One by one he took bottles from the bag and placed them in a line on the roof ready for them to be used. In the top of each bottle he stuffed a piece of fabric that hung over the neck of each. Eager fingers pulled a matchbox from his pocket, his heart almost skipped a beat as he lit the first one. As if proposing to a bride he lowered himself down on one knee, his fingers trembling he held the match to the bottom of the fabric. A wide grin touched his face as it caught light.

Lifting the bottle in the air he looked down on all those below him, milling about like little ants, before dropping it. With the first explosion came the beginning of his campaign against the city of Toronto.