*******************************************

Even three steps away she could see it was ajar.  Nat quickly covered the
remaining distance and grabbed the doorknob (black lacquer she noted idly)
and pulled it toward her.  She peered around into the large sparsely
furnished space and slipped into the room, tiptoeing like some cartoon
character trying to avoid her arch-nemesis. Not an inappropriate simile, she
thought with a smile.  This certainly had very little relation to reality -
at least *her* reality.  And her reality was decidedly stranger than most.
That put this situation way off the charts, she acknowledged ruefully.  She
was half way to the front door; only another few feet.

"What would you prefer to listen to, since Mozart isn't a favorite?"

Nat gasped and jumped at least two feet off the ground.  Where had he come
from?  She could have sworn he wasn't in the room when she'd entered it.
Her heart continued to thunder so loudly she could almost hear it.  What
must it sound like to him?  <Hope it deafens him > she thought spitefully.

And then she was crying.  How could she even think she could get away?  He
could hear her heartbeat, pick up her slightest breath, track her footsteps
anywhere in the house.  Hell, he could probably identify her scent anywhere
in Toronto for all she knew.  It was impossible to get away.  She was stuck
here until her released her. Or killed her.

Nat shuddered.  But she knew she'd been right earlier.  If he wanted her
dead, he'd have killed her already.  He didn't strike her as someone who
played with his food - or his enemies.  So why was she still alive?  She
would just have to play along with this...charade her captor had crafted
until she learned what his real motives were.

She straightened her shoulders and rubbed her nose, being careful not to
snuffle; she'd already behaved too much like a lost child.  Keeping her back
to the black-clad figure she stated, "Anything but Mozart will be fine.  If
you'll excuse me for a few minutes, I need to fix my hair."

<And repair the tear damage> LaCroix thought as he watched her stride back
into the bedroom.  He was surprised that she didn't want him to see her
weakness.  In his experience, most women were more than willing to use their
tears to get what they wanted.  Even Fleur had cried when she begged
Nicholas to allow her to join them.  Again he cut off the memory; after
nearly 800 years the pain was still fresh.  Better to think about the
present.

Dr. Lambert had not surprised him in her reaction to his little trap.  He'd
fully expected her to try to escape when he'd left the bedroom door ajar and
moved into the bathroom to observe her.  Her recovery when he stopped her
had been remarkably swift, if damper than he would have liked.  She was
definitely proving to be a most formidable opponent - for a mortal.  But a
mortal would always succumb to a vampire's superior...persuasion.

True to her word, Dr. Lambert was back in five minutes, her hair now twisted
into a knot high on the back of her head, a wispy cloud of loose ends
brushing the nape of her neck.  She had removed all traces of her earlier
tears, but he could see the knowledge that had caused them flickering at the
back of her eyes.

Good. She knew her situation was hopeless.  But, the vampire realized with
increasing respect, she wasn't ready to give up without a fight.  He turned
back to the entertainment center.

"Do you like Vivaldi?  I have several excellent recordings of his concerti."

"Vivaldi is fine."

LaCroix smiled.  He could have suggested Scriabin, John Cage or the theme
song from that "Barney" program and she would have told him it was "fine".
Music was not her chosen battlefield.  He wondered what it was.

It was a pity that most people knew of Vivaldi only from "The Seasons".
Not a poor piece of music by any means, but it didn't show off the true
depth of the monk's talent.  He placed several disks on the CD changer and
pushed the play button.

"Would you like something to eat or drink?" he asked as the first notes of a
cello concerto played softly.

Although wary of his solicitousness, Nat didn't have a good reason to
refuse; he definitely had no need to poison her and she *was* hungry.  She
sat down at the end of the sofa with her feet flat on the floor and her
knees primly together, rested her hands in her lap and politely accepted the
offer.

"I'd love some more of that delicious fruit and cold water to go with it."

She would have liked a glass of white wine - she was sure it would be an
extraordinary vintage - but her head was spinning enough already.

When LaCroix moved toward the other room, Nat stood up to intercept him.

"Please don't put yourself out.  I can get it myself."

So, she'd decided to play the agreeable guest, the vampire thought with
enjoyment.  This was proving to be a most...interesting encounter.  He
continued his trip to the kitchen.

"I'm sure you can, Doctor.  But what kind of...host would I be if I let my
guests fend for themselves?"

<So,> Nat thought in surprise <he decided to join in the game.>  Good.
Maybe this would buy her enough time to find a way out of this.

"Thank you."

Nat waited quietly while LaCroix worked silently in the other room.

The vampire returned and handed her a black plate that held a circular
arrangement of overlapping fruit slices, their vibrant colors each a
complement to the next.  He placed a magnificent cut crystal glass of water
on the end table next to her, spread a napkin expertly across her lap and
handed her a fork that was different from the salad and shrimp utensils she
was used to seeing.

LaCroix bowed as unctuously as any head waiter and gestured that she should
begin eating.

Nat looked him square in the eye and said sweetly, "Thank you for the
excellent service.  You must have been a waiter at some point in your long
life."

"NO!"

His look of horror sent Nat into a fit of laughter that threatened to
resolve itself into a case of the hiccups.  She regained control before that
happened and schooled her features into a mask almost as unrevealing as her
captor's.

"My mistake.  But surely you can understand my confusion.  I've never been
served quite so elegantly with such...unusual utensils."

LaCroix smiled his vulpine grin, pleased that his bit of cleverness had
worked.

"I was sure you would enjoy using the fruit fork."  He watched Nat absorb
the information before continuing blandly,  "After all -"

"This is *fruit fork*?  I had no idea such things even existed.  Where did
you get it?  How old is it?  Who owned it before you?"

The woman just couldn't keep from interrupting.  But LaCroix enjoyed the
sparkle of interest in her eyes as she leaned forward in her excitement.
She was enough of a scientist to enjoy learning new things.  Just as Fleur
had been...  Another memory to be ignored.  Why did he continue to think of
Fleur so vividly tonight - today he corrected himself wearily - when he
could usually go for weeks without her memory stirring?

"They were once quite popular," he explained quickly.  "But, like many
things, they are now thought of as only museum pieces.  This fork is part of
a set I had commissioned from one of the finest silversmiths in Paris."

Nat held the fork up and slowly turned it around in her hand, both width-
and length-wise.  The silver handle, with it's pattern of intertwined "fleur
de lis" and something she thought looked vaguely Roman rotated smoothly
through her fingers and the tines glittered in the artificial light.  For a
moment she was able to imagine how they would have looked burnished in the
light of a hundred candles.

She rested the utensil on the plate in her lap and asked softly, still under
the spell of the imagined candlelight, "How old is it?"

LaCroix smiled, pleasure lighting his eyes, as he remembered presenting the
complete silver service to Janette just before a dinner party on December
31, 1700.  She had hugged him seductively and kissed him hungrily before
summoning the staff to replace the silverware already laid on the table.
She had basked in the compliments of the hundred guests on her beautifully
set table while he had observed unnoticed by any but her from the shadows.
Their private celebration, after her guests had gone, had brought them
closer than they had been in centuries.

The sigh escaped his lips before he could prevent it.  He glanced quickly at
his "guest", but she appeared to have noticed nothing, her eyes still
focused on the fork she was examining in minute detail.  He would have to be
more vigilant; it would not do to reveal too much to this mortal.

Natalie heard the sigh and fought to keep the knowledge to herself.  She
concentrated on keeping her heartbeat constant and her breathing regular,
staring at the fruit fork as though it were the most interesting thing in
the world - which it most certainly was not.  The man - creature? - standing
in front of her had a mere eating utensil beat by a mile.  He seemed so
controlled - so distant - but that sigh had held more pain than she could
ever imagine having to bear.  He was more of an enigma even that Nick was, a
puzzle that the scientist in her longed to solve.  A creature in pain that
the human in her longed to comfort.

The fork dropped soundlessly to the thick white carpet.   She reached down
to retrieve it and bumped heads with LaCroix who had also bent over.  Pain
exploded behind her eyes and the room swam once again.

Without thought, the vampire sank to his haunches and took her head in both
his hands to immobilize it.  He did nothing else for a moment while he
evaluated her heartbeat and breathing.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly, knowing that she was not and wondering
if she would admit it.

"Nnnnooo," came the unhesitating reply, muffled by the hand she had clapped
over her mouth.

LaCroix became completely still.  If she were admitting to any weakness at
all, she must be truly terrified of what her symptoms meant.  Did she have
some condition that had been exacerbated by her treatment in the alley?  It
would be more than ironic if his actions wound up causing her death even
though he no longer desired it.

"Doctor, do you need any medication?"

Nat was momentarily distracted by the urgency in his tone.  Why did he care
if she needed medication?  He certainly wouldn't have any real concern about
her welfare.  But then she lost her battle against the nausea that had
threatened throughout the night and her stomach contents spewed between her
fingers on onto her captor's pristinely polished shoes.

She closed her eyes as she shivered, goose bumps forming in the wake of the
cold sweat that drenched her clothing.  She gasped.  She couldn't believe
she had ruined another borrowed outfit.  She opened her eyes and surveyed
the damage.  Not only was the white carpet splattered, but there were also
splashes on her slacks and jacket sleeve as well.

Nat raised her eyes and caught the most...interesting combination of
expressions she had ever seen on a human face: revulsion, annoyance and what
looked like pain blended expertly with surprise, amusement and resignation.
At least he hadn't leaped back out of the way.  She had to give him points
for that.

The next moment she was she was ready to kill him as he lifted her easily
off the couch and strode into the bedroom.  He marched directly into the
bathroom and dumped her unceremoniously into the shower, turning the water
on full blast.

"Stay here!"

"B-b-but," Nat sputtered, her mouth filling with exquisitely warm water.
She spat it out and gestured helplessly at the now totally ruined clothing.

"I have given up hope of salvaging any clothing while you are here to wear
it.  So don't give it another thought."

Was that a smile that flashed across his face before he slid the shower
doors closed and left the room?

The coroner sat in a heap for several minutes, too exhausted to do anything
else, but finally she stood up and removed the sodden clothing, not caring
if he were standing right outside the doors watching her every movement.
But somehow she didn't think he was.

When she'd washed her hair and body for the second time in only a few hours,
she turned off the water and stepped out of the shower into a room that was
almost completely dark.  There was more light than she had allowed, but
still probably not enough for anyone - or anything - else to see by.  Of
course, he *was* a vampire - she realized with a shock that she had
forgotten that fact for the last little while - and could see perfectly well
in the dark.  But, again, she was sure he wasn't spying.

She toweled and combed out her hair and was just starting to wonder how to
cope with having to walk into the other room totally naked, when she saw the
most exquisite robe hanging from the hook on the back of the door.  She
blushed as she realized LaCroix must have come back into the bathroom to
leave it while she was in the shower.

The caftan was magnificent, and probably very old.  With wide swirls of
copper and gold on a background of deep royal blue it complimented her
coloring perfectly.  The silk slid over her head and settled on her
shoulders, the hem bunching slightly on the floor.

Finally something that wasn't perfect.   It made Nat feel a little more
charitable to her...host; made him seem less like a stalker acting out his
fantasies.

She lifted the front of the robe and opened the bathroom door, still a
little dizzy but not in any danger of a repeat of her living room
performance.

LaCroix was sitting in the same chair he'd occupied earlier, but stood as
soon as she entered the room.  Nat raised an eyebrow at the courtesy, but
appreciated it all the same.

He intercepted her before she could reach the kitchenette, blocking her path
but not touching her.

"I think not, Dr. Lambert.  At least not until we clear up some problems."

"Wh-what problems?"  Concern was evident in Nat's voice.

"Such as why you continue to make a shambles of the rather expensive
wardrobe that I've provided you, perhaps?"

The twinkle in his eye took away most of the sting of his words, but Nat
realized he was right, she couldn't just keep on destroying his property.
And if anything happened to what she was wearing now, she'd never forgive
herself.

"Very well.  How would you like to proceed?   You are after all the...host
of this little party."

<Perhaps the Doctor *was* feeling better,> LaCroix mused.  That was the
first really sarcastic thing she had said in quite a while.  He gestured
toward the bed.

"Why don't you sit down and tell me why your heart rate and breathing
increase so wildly periodically?  I know that you're still experiencing
vertigo, but your physical response is a decided overreaction."

Nat's eyes snapped wide open and she could do no more than gape at him for
several seconds.

"How do you know that I have vertigo?"

LaCroix' tone was patient.

"Your eyes unfocus and you have trouble maintaining your balance.  And your
dinner."

Nat blushed to the roots of her hair and then, as she had since she'd been a
young girl trying not to let her brother know he'd "gotten" her, she got
angry, any thought of sitting down erased by her need to take the offensive.

"You'd lose your lunch, too, if you'd been assaulted in an alley, brought to
some unknown place and held against your will by someone with the reputation
of being a cold-blooded killer."

"Actually, Dr. Lambert, my captor would have been my lunch.  One of the
advantages of being a 'cold-blooded killer', would you not agree?"

Nat looked up and searched LaCroix' face for any sign of humor, but realized
with a shiver that he meant every word.

"Is that what you plan for me, then?  Are you just looking for a quick
snack?"

He admired her bravado.  Not many people would have challenged him like
that.  He smiled.  It almost reached his eyes.

"Actually, no.  That would not suit my purposes at all."

"What *does* suit your purposes?" Nat shot back.

LaCroix looked into the angry blue eyes and slowly shook his head.

"I truly don't know, Doctor."

"I find that hard to believe."

"So do I."

Nat stared at the vampire for a long time.  She saw nothing but confusion in
the ice-blue eyes.  Although she was sure he was capable of feigning any
emotion to get what he wanted, she also knew that he was more likely to just
intimidate someone into capitulating; or he'd just overpower them and take
what he wanted.

So why was he admitting to all this uncertainty all of a sudden?  She peered
deeper into his eyes, but came up against a barrier as real as any steel
door.  <I guess he's not really into sharing> she thought sarcastically.
She shivered as she wondered what it would be like to share everything with
this complicated man.  Or was he truly just a deadly predator, hiding his
real nature beneath a cloak of humanity?  Nick would certainly tell her that
was true.

Her snarl took them both by surprise.  Nat couldn't believe that just the
thought of Nick would make her feel that way and LaCroix had never heard a
mortal - especially a woman - make such a menacing sound.

"Is anything wrong, Doctor?  Besides your previous list of complaints, that
is?"

Nat ground her teeth at the patronizing tone; she'd heard more than enough
of it tonight.

"Wrong?  I'll tell you what's wrong.  That SOB who calls you his mentor - or
master - or whatever it is, has wreaked havoc with my life for the last
time.  He's stood me up to be with his "sister" one time too often.  He
tells me that you're a monster, but then ignores a date with me to go
sneaking to your radio station.  I don't need a pile of bricks to fall on my
head to let me know that he doesn't care about me.  When I see him n-"

Nat groaned as her head began to throb again.  She was afraid she would
start crying, but instead a giggle bubbled up through her throat and escaped
into the sudden stillness.

"Or maybe I *did* need to be hit by a pile of bricks," she sputtered between
peels of hysterical laughter.  "At least that's what it feels like."

She dropped her head into her hands as the room spun once more and LaCroix
heard her heartbeat start to race.

<End of The Best Laid Plans part 5>