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The lights in the hospital corridor had been dimmed slightly to suggest
night.  Not that it made any difference to Lucien LaCroix.  To him it was
bright as day - a phrase that had lost any real meaning to him more than a
thousand years before.  He supposed that at the beginning of his eternity he
had missed the daylight, had wanted to welcome the  warmth of the sun on his
skin once again, or watch its rays reflected in the highlights in a woman's
hair.  But he had learned quickly to appreciate the cool beauty of moon
reflected on a still lake and the caress of the silence as he hunted in the
dark.

The ancient vampire shook off the unaccustomed introspection and caught the
gaze of the elderly woman sitting behind the information counter.  He waited
until he could hear her heart beating steadily to the rhythm he wanted and
asked quietly, "What room is Dr. Natalie Lambert in?  She was brought in
about an hour ago."

The woman, whose name tag proclaimed her to be 'Sylvia', looked down at the
list in front of her and frowned.

"I'm sorry, there's no one here by that name."

LaCroix frowned in turn and forced his impatience aside as he replied, "I
know she was brought to this hospital.  Is there some other place she might
be?"
Sylvia smiled brightly, if vacuously, glad she was able to give this
charming gentleman the information he required.

"You said it was only an hour ago?"

At LaCroix' nod, she continued, "If she was brought in by ambulance, she's
probably still in the emergency department.  I heard they got rather backed
up this morning.  You might try there.  It's just down the hall to the
right.  Then you turn at the 3rd corridor on the left and..."

LaCroix finally escaped after a few more "lefts" and "rights" and
"watch out fors", glad his memory was as good as his night vision.  How did
distressed mortals ever find their way to greet their loved ones?

He easily found his way to the emergency department, walked unchallenged
past the admittance desk and stood near the nurses' station waiting to hear
word of Dr. Lambert's condition.  He hoped she hadn't died and spoiled his
plans.

He quickly tuned into a conversation between two women in medical scrubs
loitering in the corridor about a hundred feet away.

"I can't believe Dr. Lambert got mugged."

"I know.  And in that neighborhood.  What was she doing down there alone at
one in the morning, anyway?"

"Maybe she wasn't alone.  Or maybe she was looking for company."

"Come on.  Everyone knows she's got a thing for that homicide detective.
What's his name?"

"Nick Knight.  And you've obviously never seen him or you'd have no trouble
remembering his name.  He's an absolute hunk."

"And when did you meet this...god?"

"He was in here about a year ago investigating the death of one of the
residents.  Turned out to be murder.  He had the nurses all steamed up every
time he stopped by."

"Sounds like he had an impact on more than the nurses."

The first woman laughed self-consciously and nodded her head in agreement.
He really *was* something.

"Believe me, if Dr. Lambert has anything going on with Nick Knight, she
wouldn't be out looking for company in the middle of the night.  She'd be
taking off her nightgown, putting in her diaphragm and breathing heavy on
Detective Knight's phone line."

"She'll have to postpone her tryst.  I heard she's here for 24 hours or
until someone comes to take her home and stay with her.  I guess she hit her
head pretty hard."

LaCroix smiled triumphantly as he tuned out the rest of the vapid
conversation.  He turned back toward the nurses' station.

In less than five minutes, he had "explained" to the nurse on duty and the
attending physician that he was Dr. Lambert's uncle, had heard about her
condition on a - nonexistent - news and was here to take her to his home,
where he and several servants would be able to monitor her round the clock.
He also explained that Dr. Lambert would probably deny his existence since
"there had been a falling out in the family and you know how that goes...".

 He scrawled an illegible signature on some official document and told the
staff he would summon a taxi and wait for them outside.

When the hospital aid wheeled Natalie out to the curb, she was still
protesting that she didn't have an uncle and she would prefer to wait for
Grace Balthazar or Nick Knight.  But the aide had obviously been briefed
about the "family difficulties" and merely stopped the wheel chair next to
the open taxi door and put upward pressure on her elbow to indicate she
should stand up.

Figuring this was her chance to escape whatever lunatic had convinced the
hospital staff he was her uncle, Natalie jumped out of the chair and whipped
her head around looking for a security guard.  The world spun and her legs
buckled, making it easy for the taxi's occupant to lean over and slide her
into the back seat.

She lost her battle to stay conscious before the door slammed closed next to
her.

LaCroix knew he had less - much less, if she had contacted someone while she
was in hospital - than 24 hours before someone started looking for Dr.
Lambert.  He also realized that he could no longer kill her: too many people
he hadn't "influenced" had seen him.  But there were other ways to reach his
goal.  The ability to change plans was integral to success; a good general
never let ego get in the way of victory.  He just needed to separate the
good doctor from his son.  It wouldn't be as satisfying as having her die,
but Nicholas would be devastated when Dr. Lambert left him - and that could
lead to all sorts of possibilities.

Nicholas had no idea of the existence of this apartment.  He had bought it,
using an alias unknown to the younger man, shortly after returning from his
involuntary exile - necessitated by his son's overzealous use of that
flaming stake.  He grimaced at the memory of how close Nicholas had come to
making himself an orphan.  One more reason to teach the young whelp a
lesson.

He looked around the large living area, surprisingly restful with its black
and white décor.  He had bought it already furnished and had added very
little of his own: an obsidian vase containing one white rose on a low white
marble table behind the black leather sofa; a very good copy of Picasso's
"Guernica" covering one entire wall, its gray-toned images reminding him
that it was better to view the carnage of war from the heights of victory
than to live it from the depths of defeat;  and, draped over a utilitarian
black metal music stand, a piece of red silk that looked as if might have
been torn from a woman's nightgown.

Comprised only of the living area and the master suite, it met his needs
quite well.

The ancient vampire brought his thoughts back to his current conundrum.  How
could he best accomplish providing Nicholas with his "lesson"?  Logic
wouldn't work.  That had been apparent the minute he'd first spoken to Dr.
Lambert at Azure.  For a scientist she was much too easily ruled by her
emotions - a trait she had in common with Nicholas.  He would be interested
to find out why she'd chosen medicine rather than social work or teaching,
fields seemingly much better suited to her temperament.

He stopped pacing, and took a sip from the contents of the Murano goblet he
held, as he realized that was the answer to his question.  The woman was
obviously lonely; he had researched her extensively enough to learn that she
had very few close friends other than Nicholas.  Her sister-in-law and niece
had moved away after that debacle with her husband. <What *had* Nicholas
been thinking when he brought the man across?  Just more proof that he could
not be trusted on his own.>  And other than the parents of her goddaughter,
she seemed to confide in no one.  So *he* would become her new "best
friend"; show an interest in her both intellectually and physically.  The
latter would not be very difficult; he had told her the truth when he said
she was 'exquisite'.  Of course, there was the obstacle of having abducted
and confined her against her will to be overcome, but he could be *very*
persuasive when he chose to.

LaCroix put the goblet down as he heard movement from the master suite.
Just the soft rustle of sheets, but along with her increased heart rate it
was enough to tell him that his "guest" was beginning to return to
consciousness.

He crossed to a cabinet built into the wall to the left of the fireplace,
the seam so perfectly hidden that no one would find it even after a thorough
search.  The door swung open silently at the light touch of his fingertips
and a screen lit up as he pressed a button on the console beneath it.  He'd
had the video equipment installed as a security measure and had also used it
to tape some of the more...acrobatic activities that took place in the room.
But he had never expected to make such unique use of the set up as this.
There were 7 cameras positioned throughout the apartment, several of them in
the master suite, that  included a bathroom, a small kitchen and a sitting
area in addition to the sleeping platform that was the center of the current
view.

LaCroix picked up the remote and turned away to snag the arm of a black
leather Scandinavian recliner.  The round base briefly flattened the thick
pile of the pure white carpet as he pulled the chair toward him.  He sank
gracefully into the contoured seat, rested his right ankle atop his left
knee and stared intently at the images on the screen in front of him.

Natalie Lambert stretched languidly, arching her back until only her head,
shoulders and heels touched the bed.  She gasped as a sharp pain exploded
inside her skull, blurring her vision and making her ears ring.

She turned onto her side and curled into a ball, her hands cradling her
head, until the pain receded to a dull ache.  She probed the back of her
head with experienced fingers and hissed as they found the knot just above
the base of her skull.  How had -?

The memory of her mugging and everything that came after it - including the
phony "long-lost uncle" who came to get her at the hospital - sent her bolt
upright. She sobbed in frustration as her fingers scrabbled to push aside
the sheet that had tangled around her waist.  Free, finally, from the soft
dense cotton she stood up and immediately collapsed back onto the bed, her
head spinning, fighting the nausea that pushed bile into her throat.

She curled back into the protective ball, grabbing the sheet she had so
recently fought to be rid of and pulled it over her head.  She waited a few
minutes and then tried to stand up again, this time much more carefully,
keeping her head perfectly still.  That worked much better.  She was still
dizzy, but as long as she moved slowly she could explore her surroundings.

The first thing she was relieved to discover was that, except for her shoes,
she was fully clothed.  A slow turn toward the freestanding mirror confirmed
her first impression.  These were not the clothes she'd been wearing earlier
this morning on the way to the Raven.  The memory of being dressed in these
clothes - 'Brought by your uncle.  What a thoughtful man, knowing that your
regular clothes would be a mess and all' - as she protested to the hospital
aide that she didn't *have* an uncle, and if she did he wouldn't have
provided a midnight blue watered silk pants suit, pale blue satin panties
and bra along with wedge-heeled navy sandals, replaced her fear with anger.
At least for the moment.  Why hadn't anyone at he hospital listened to her?
Just because she had a concussion didn't mean she was crazy.  It was almost
like they'd been hypnotized.

Oh, shit.

The remaining color drained from her face and she sank to the floor before
she landed there in a heap.  Burying her face in her hands, she tried to
remember what had happened as she was helped into the taxi.  She'd been so
dizzy she hadn't been able to focus.  But surely there was something -
anything - that would slow the sudden hammering of her heart and make it
possible for her to draw another breath.  Even knowing the worst would be
better than this mindless terror.

Facts.  She dealt in facts.  She needed facts to understand her situation,
plan a strategy, assess the risks.  That's it.  Think.  Remember.  She'd
been wheeled to the curb and had stood up - too quickly - to look for help.
She'd gotten dizzy and would have fallen, except...

Long, pale fingers with well-manicured nails had - gently - closed on her
upper arm and held her up as a black-clad arm had circled her waist and
guided her into the back seat.  Her legs had been scooped up and her feet
placed gently on the floor.  A pale face had crossed her line of sight,
indistinct to her blurred vision and...

That was all.  She must have passed out and not awakened until a few minutes
ago.

Her heart slowed and she forced herself to take even, measured breaths.  Now
she knew the worst.  Based on the superhuman strength and pale skin she'd
remembered, there was really only one conclusion she could reach: she'd been
abducted by a vampire; probably one not sympathetic to Nick's search for a
cure; possibly even his - what did he call him? - mentor, master...father.

Natalie raked her fingers through her hair and gasped as they got caught in
a mass of tangles, pulling sharply on her already throbbing scalp.  She
gently slid her hands back out and caught her chin between them, closing her
eyes to concentrate on willing the pain away.

Several deep breaths later she was able to open her eyes and move slowly
back toward the bed.  She was distracted by a sparkle of light to her left
and paused to investigate what turned out to be the bathroom mirror
reflecting the light from the bedroom.

A shower.  That's what she needed.  She realized that although her clothes
were clean, there was grit in her hair and dirt streaking her palms.  If she
moved slowly and stood carefully she should be able to complete the shower
without falling over.

She walked into the bathroom, blinking as soft lighting came on
automatically, and was pleased to see a stall shower, with walls that looked
like black marble, next to a - very large - white marble Jacuzzi tub.  She
pulled open the shower door - clear glass, trimmed with what looked like
black lacquer - and inventoried the row of shampoos and soaps lined up on
the shelf attached to the opposite wall.  She smiled as she read brand names
she'd often thought about trying, but could never quite justify the cost.
And then there were several bottles with no labels at all.  She took one off
the shelf and unscrewed the top, unable to resist the temptation to smell
it.  She inhaled deeply and sighed.  Cinnamon, anise, clove and a few other
scents she couldn't identify filled her nose and for a moment her headache
cleared.  She opened another bottle - sandalwood and vanilla.  Nice, but
definitely not as good as the first one.  She put it back and moved the
first bottle to the end of the shelf where she could easily reach it and
hung the black - what a surprise - net sponge on the hook beneath it.  She
took another few minutes to find a shampoo she liked and put it next to the
body wash.

She turned to look at the shower head and her improved mood evaporated.  The
nozzle, black to match the stall trim, was attached to a hand-held wand.
She hated them at the best of times, but tonight - this morning?  What time
*was* it anyway?- she didn't know if she could even manage to use it.  She
just wanted to stand passively while water poured over her, sluicing the
dirt - and fear - down the drain.  She looked at the shower head again and
shrugged. She'd just have to deal with it.  It certainly wouldn't be the
first time she couldn't pamper herself when she wanted to.  Tears filled her
eyes.  Dammit.  Why couldn't she, just for once, have someone to take care
of her?  She felt like crap, her head throbbed incessantly and she now
couldn't even take a shower without a hassle.

Natalie blinked until her eyes were dry again and ignored the remaining
pangs of self-pity.  Maybe she'd acknowledge them someday, but not now; they
wouldn't do anything to help get her out of this...mess.   Whatever she
might wish for, this was her reality and she would just have to accept it.

She angrily pulled the regulator forward and jumped back as a stream of
perfectly heated water instantly soaked her arm.  That set off another
barrage from her throbbing head which, combined with the feel of the rapidly
cooling sodden silk that plastered itself to her arm, intensified her nausea
to the gagging point.  She couldn't do anything about her headache, but she
could get out of the now-clammy blouse.  She swallowed a few times and
reached down to lift the hem of the mid-thigh length top. But before it
reached her waist, she slowly lowered it, walked deliberately to the light
switch across the room and sharply tapped it off as she looked pointedly
toward the ceiling, slowly raising her right eyebrow.  She certainly
wouldn't put it past whoever was holding her here to have the entire place
under surveillance.

<End of Best Laid Plans Part 2>