Yes, I've ignored the Christmas shopping to be kind to all my faithful
readers! I think I must have a sadistic streak in me, thus the tendency to
write cliffhangers – Sorry. All my thanks again for the reviews - I
absolutely LOVE your feedback!!
Chapter 11
The small whirlpool of brown liquid swirled around and around, and in fact swirled around so long it was in danger of becoming cold.
Eyes coffee rich in colour, stared into it.
Hearing a sound, the hypnotic trance broken, Max immediately put the spoon down. Looking up she stood perfectly still, her senses on alert, the brown eyes wide with anticipation. On hearing the noise again, she seemed to relax the barest amount, quietly walking around to where she'd heard the familiar sound.
Just as she reached the door she sought, it opened.
Logan looked up, slightly confused to see her at the door of his bedroom.
"Heard a noise," she said by way of explanation.
Logan nodded absently and proceeded to make his way into the kitchen.
"Couldn't sleep?" asked Max helpfully
"Something like that," he responded.
"I just boiled water for a hot drink. You want one?"
He didn't answer her, his mind obviously far removed from a penthouse in Seattle.
Max studied him for a moment. He had that just woken look, hair awry, (well, that wasn't so unusual), unshaven, (well, that wasn't unusual either), and wearing a plain grey tracksuit and thick grey socks.
"Is it possible to 'sleep-wheel?' by any chance?"
She saw his lips twitch slightly. Ignoring her last remark, he said "Tea. Thanks."
Max took their hot drinks through to the living room where she set Logan's down on the low table. Sitting herself, feet curled up beneath her on the couch, she watched him closely. He made no attempt to drink his tea, his eyes still with that distant look, both hands still resting on the rims of his chair.
"Well I know what 'my' excuse is for being awake at four in the morning, but what's yours?"
"March thirteenth," he said simply.
Max gave a small gasp. Leaning closer to him she said, "Logan, you know what it means?"
He nodded.
"You 'are' gonna tell me?" she prompted
He nodded again, but continued to stare ahead, frowning into the past - perhaps a past he had no desire to return to.
Max watched him: impatient to know what he had to say, but being sympathetic to his mood, she waited.
Eventually, with a quick, nod of his head, as if he were answering some unspoken dialogue, he started speaking.
"I was at Yale, studying journalism - It was just before The Pulse," he began. "The country was already falling into chaos. The government was being infiltrated by men whose agenda was, well let's just say, unethical to say the least."
Leaning forward, he picked up a book of matches from the table – a reminder of their 'picnic.' It seemed a long time ago. Reluctantly he returned to his story.
"We were a small group of students ... you know ... keen to change the world." He gave a small self -deprecating laugh.
"So what's changed?" she asked slyly.
He narrowed his eyes at her.
"Anyway," he continued, "the leader of our group was Robert Carlisle, Bobby. He was," and Logan smiled at the memory, "incredibly popular, good looking, charismatic ... "
"And what were you?" she interrupted him.
"Oh, I was the nerdy journalist major with glasses."
Max considered him for a moment, "Why do I 'so' not believe that?"
Logan grinned. "Well, I think Bobby cast everyone in the shade."
He spoke seriously, "You know he really believed one day he'd be president."
Logan's face clouded over as he spoke.
"What happened?" asked Max quietly.
Logan took a deep breath. "He was killed ... murdered," he added, trying to sound matter of fact, but she could hear the underlying pain in his voice.
Eventually he continued, "Bobby was very concerned about the influence of syndicate men in the government. He was ... fanatical ... about it." Logan paused for a moment, rubbing the unshaven stubble on his chin with his hand.
Watching him, Max noted how expressive his face was when he spoke; all the quirky little expressions he made with his eyes, and mouth; the way he would raise his eyebrows, sometimes singularly, at others both, to prove a point, or show surprise, or disdain, or a hundred other emotions.
He was talking again now, turning the box of matches over end to end with the fingers of his right hand and she swung her concentration back to what he was saying.
"He organized a big rally to speak against governmental corruption."
Looking directly into Max's eyes, he said calmly, "It was to be held on March Thirteenth."
"Was?"
Logan swallowed. 'Here comes the hard part' thought Max.
"About a week before the rally, he came to me ' reeel' excited ... told me that he had irrefutable evidence of syndicate infiltration at senior government levels." Logan bit his lip momentarily, and then continued. "He insisted I write an article, and send it to all the leading newspapers of the time, highlighting the degree of infiltration, and stating that he held in his possession, the means to discredit the administration of the time."
Logan shook his head. "He was so ... on fire about the whole thing. I can still hear him: We're gonna get them Logan, we're going to bring 'em down."
He gave a short derisive laugh. "Two days, maybe three days later, he was dead."
He paused for a moment then said, "The rally was cancelled – on March Thirteenth we held his funeral instead."
He stopped twirling the book of matches. "I learnt the hard way the power of the pen," he finished softly.
"It wasn't your fault Logan that some bad ass creep killed your friend."
Logan raised his eyebrows in a dismissive gesture. "I guess we were all naïve - not the best way to learn a lesson though," he added, the pain still fresh in his voice as if it had happened yesterday.
"The killer?"
"Never caught, never brought to justice. Ho hum."
"What did his family do?"
Looking thoughtful, Logan remembered, "I'm pretty sure all he had was a brother, some bigwig financier or something, I never met him. Then there was Gracie." His face softened at the word.
Noncommittally, Max asked, "Who was she?"
"Bobby's fiancé. She was beautiful. I think we were all half in love with her at the time."
She noted how the small smile lit his eyes.
Max looked across at him. "So," she said carefully, "You think someone blames you for his death?"
"It does seem the obvious scenario."
"Why now? Why not back then?" It didn't make any sense.
Logan was back to twirling the book of matches. "I guess that's what I have to find out," he sighed, half glancing towards his computer as he spoke.
"Well not tonight hot shot."
Logan looked at her in surprise.
"Tonight, or rather this morning, you need your beauty sleep."
Unexpectedly, he rubbed the back of his head, and said dryly, "Yeah."
As Logan got to his bedroom door, he turned to her and said, 'Did I tell you the name of my article?"
Seeing the negative headshake he continued,
"I borrowed the title from an old Alistair MacLean book I'd read when I was a teenager."
Max looked at him enquiringly.
"It was called – 'Fear is the Key'."
At that he turned and wheeled back into his bedroom.
***********************************************************
Sleep didn't come quickly to Logan.
"Look at you, you're lucky to be alive." Some of the last words Nathan Herrero had spoken to him.
Nathan dead. Bobby dead.
Hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling he wondered how many others were dead because of something he'd written or some Eyes Only cable hack he'd broadcast.
Four, seven, twenty-seven?
The good and bad alike, surely they were all somebody's brother, uncle, father ... son.
Who was keeping tally?
Probably no one on this earth he mused.
The front door was totally ineffective at withstanding the onslaught it faced.
They came in without speaking, dressed in black – masked and menacing. Logan tried to roll back, but found to his rising concern that he wasn't in his wheelchair. He looked around frantically for Max. They were coming closer now. Instinctively he braced himself for the attack.
Crash!!
Immediately wide-awake, Logan struggled up on to his elbows. He couldn't entirely bite back the grunt of pain as his injured arm took the weight of his body.
He noticed his heart was thumping wildly.
There was no other sound now, and he wondered if he'd imagined the sound that had jarred him awake.
"Logan?" It was Max's voice speaking softly at the door.
He breathed a huge sigh of relief.
"Yeah," he answered, trying to sound normal. "You can come in, I'm decent."
She poked her head around the door, looking contrite.
"Did the noise wake you? I busted two coffee mugs," she confessed.
"Only two?" His breathing was back to normal now.
"The good news is I actually dropped four, but only two broke," she smiled disarmingly.
With visions of masked men with guns breaking into his apartment still fresh in his mind, he wouldn't have cared if she'd broken every piece of crockery he owned.
"It's fine," he assured her.
"You okay?" she asked, and if he hadn't been so flustered he probably would have been touched by the look of concern on her face.
"I'm fine ... just woke with a start, that's all ...you know."
Max nodded. "Will I send Bling in?"
"That'd be great, thanks."
Logan pulled himself upright as Bling came in.
"You all ready to start the day?" asked his trainer brightly.
Logan took one look at him, his own face like thunder. "What are you so cheerful about?"
*****************************************************************
"So - What's your plan Stan?" asked Max, biting into an apple. "You still in touch with these peeps?"
"I haven't seen any of them in years," admitted Logan, finishing off his breakfast.
Max wasn't surprised to hear that.
Pushing himself to his computer he said over his shoulder, "I think I've still got Gracie's number."
I'm definitely not surprised to hear 'that' thought Max.
Sitting in Logan's computer chair, she watched him scrolling through his addresses, eyes intent on the screen.
"Here we go," he murmured, reaching for his phone.
Punching the numbers in, she wondered if he looked a bit tense.
After a few moments he said, "Gracie?...It's Logan."
He smiled suddenly, and after the dark humour he'd been in last night, it was as if the sun had come out. Max felt a small stab of ... well, something. The word wouldn't quite form in her mind. It couldn't be the 'J' word, she rebuked herself.
At the other end of the phone line, a vivacious, woman with auburn hair and brown eyes, was trying to control two small children, who had naturally decided to debate ownership of a rather worn stuffed bear, with only one eye. "Logan, It's been ages. How are you?"
"I'm fine. And you?"
"Wonderful! Bret and I got married nearly five years ago. You remember Bret?"
Logan could hear the happiness in her voice. "We have two kids!! Can you believe that!!"
"Wow, two kids!" he smiled. "That's great."
"What about you? You still writing? I don't hear anything from you anymore." There was a slight hint of reproach to her words. "What about the sailing?"
"Yes, I still write, and no, I don't sail anymore," he said, trying to keep his voice even, his glance darting to Max.
He could hear the noise of the two children in the background. "I'm sorry Logan," Grace was saying, "I've got a civil dispute I'm working on right now." Her laugh was silvery as it came down the line. "What about you, has the eminently desirable Mr Logan Cale been snared yet?"
"Er no. Not yet." He was glad Max could only hear his half of the conversation.
"So, why the call out of the blue?" He could hear the note of intrigue in her voice.
"Actually, I'm just trying to catch up with come of the old gang."
"Bobby, give that back to your sister!!" he heard her say firmly.
"Bobby, is he your eldest?" Logan asked, his tone softening.
He could hear the changed note in her voice too. "Yeah. You know it was ten years this year."
Logan didn't answer her.
"We were a bunch of idealistic hot heads, weren't we!"
"Yeah," was the most he could bring himself to say.
He heard the pause on her end of the line, and then she said, "You know I never blamed 'you' for what happened to Bobby."
Max could see Logan's jaw muscle tensing. All he said was, "Yeah, I know."
She had a fair idea of what was going down. She was so used to having him mask his true feelings that she was surprised to catch the look of vulnerability on his face. Instinctively, for his sake, she looked away.
When she looked up again, he was busy writing something into a notepad.
"What about Bobby's brother, Vincent, 'you ever hear from him? ... Okay. That's great. Thanks. Well if I'm ever in Washington, I'll look you up."
Max raised her eyebrows skeptically at that comment.
"Bye."
"Well, d'you get anything?"
"She gave me the number of Kyle Davidson. As luck would have it, he's here in Seattle."
"Isn't that a little too convenient?" she asked, immediately suspicious,
"I don't think so. We both came from Seattle - it's not entirely unusual that he should have drifted back here."
"What about his brother?"
Logan shook his head. "No luck there," he replied, stretching his shoulder muscles as he spoke, and wondering vaguely why he felt so tense after a simple phone call.
He looked at the phone number and address on the notepad in front of him.
Kyle Davidson.
He felt the tension returning to his shoulders.
"Are you gonna call?" asked Max, watching the telltale signs.
"Yeah."
Logan picked up the phone decisively.
TCB
Chapter 11
The small whirlpool of brown liquid swirled around and around, and in fact swirled around so long it was in danger of becoming cold.
Eyes coffee rich in colour, stared into it.
Hearing a sound, the hypnotic trance broken, Max immediately put the spoon down. Looking up she stood perfectly still, her senses on alert, the brown eyes wide with anticipation. On hearing the noise again, she seemed to relax the barest amount, quietly walking around to where she'd heard the familiar sound.
Just as she reached the door she sought, it opened.
Logan looked up, slightly confused to see her at the door of his bedroom.
"Heard a noise," she said by way of explanation.
Logan nodded absently and proceeded to make his way into the kitchen.
"Couldn't sleep?" asked Max helpfully
"Something like that," he responded.
"I just boiled water for a hot drink. You want one?"
He didn't answer her, his mind obviously far removed from a penthouse in Seattle.
Max studied him for a moment. He had that just woken look, hair awry, (well, that wasn't so unusual), unshaven, (well, that wasn't unusual either), and wearing a plain grey tracksuit and thick grey socks.
"Is it possible to 'sleep-wheel?' by any chance?"
She saw his lips twitch slightly. Ignoring her last remark, he said "Tea. Thanks."
Max took their hot drinks through to the living room where she set Logan's down on the low table. Sitting herself, feet curled up beneath her on the couch, she watched him closely. He made no attempt to drink his tea, his eyes still with that distant look, both hands still resting on the rims of his chair.
"Well I know what 'my' excuse is for being awake at four in the morning, but what's yours?"
"March thirteenth," he said simply.
Max gave a small gasp. Leaning closer to him she said, "Logan, you know what it means?"
He nodded.
"You 'are' gonna tell me?" she prompted
He nodded again, but continued to stare ahead, frowning into the past - perhaps a past he had no desire to return to.
Max watched him: impatient to know what he had to say, but being sympathetic to his mood, she waited.
Eventually, with a quick, nod of his head, as if he were answering some unspoken dialogue, he started speaking.
"I was at Yale, studying journalism - It was just before The Pulse," he began. "The country was already falling into chaos. The government was being infiltrated by men whose agenda was, well let's just say, unethical to say the least."
Leaning forward, he picked up a book of matches from the table – a reminder of their 'picnic.' It seemed a long time ago. Reluctantly he returned to his story.
"We were a small group of students ... you know ... keen to change the world." He gave a small self -deprecating laugh.
"So what's changed?" she asked slyly.
He narrowed his eyes at her.
"Anyway," he continued, "the leader of our group was Robert Carlisle, Bobby. He was," and Logan smiled at the memory, "incredibly popular, good looking, charismatic ... "
"And what were you?" she interrupted him.
"Oh, I was the nerdy journalist major with glasses."
Max considered him for a moment, "Why do I 'so' not believe that?"
Logan grinned. "Well, I think Bobby cast everyone in the shade."
He spoke seriously, "You know he really believed one day he'd be president."
Logan's face clouded over as he spoke.
"What happened?" asked Max quietly.
Logan took a deep breath. "He was killed ... murdered," he added, trying to sound matter of fact, but she could hear the underlying pain in his voice.
Eventually he continued, "Bobby was very concerned about the influence of syndicate men in the government. He was ... fanatical ... about it." Logan paused for a moment, rubbing the unshaven stubble on his chin with his hand.
Watching him, Max noted how expressive his face was when he spoke; all the quirky little expressions he made with his eyes, and mouth; the way he would raise his eyebrows, sometimes singularly, at others both, to prove a point, or show surprise, or disdain, or a hundred other emotions.
He was talking again now, turning the box of matches over end to end with the fingers of his right hand and she swung her concentration back to what he was saying.
"He organized a big rally to speak against governmental corruption."
Looking directly into Max's eyes, he said calmly, "It was to be held on March Thirteenth."
"Was?"
Logan swallowed. 'Here comes the hard part' thought Max.
"About a week before the rally, he came to me ' reeel' excited ... told me that he had irrefutable evidence of syndicate infiltration at senior government levels." Logan bit his lip momentarily, and then continued. "He insisted I write an article, and send it to all the leading newspapers of the time, highlighting the degree of infiltration, and stating that he held in his possession, the means to discredit the administration of the time."
Logan shook his head. "He was so ... on fire about the whole thing. I can still hear him: We're gonna get them Logan, we're going to bring 'em down."
He gave a short derisive laugh. "Two days, maybe three days later, he was dead."
He paused for a moment then said, "The rally was cancelled – on March Thirteenth we held his funeral instead."
He stopped twirling the book of matches. "I learnt the hard way the power of the pen," he finished softly.
"It wasn't your fault Logan that some bad ass creep killed your friend."
Logan raised his eyebrows in a dismissive gesture. "I guess we were all naïve - not the best way to learn a lesson though," he added, the pain still fresh in his voice as if it had happened yesterday.
"The killer?"
"Never caught, never brought to justice. Ho hum."
"What did his family do?"
Looking thoughtful, Logan remembered, "I'm pretty sure all he had was a brother, some bigwig financier or something, I never met him. Then there was Gracie." His face softened at the word.
Noncommittally, Max asked, "Who was she?"
"Bobby's fiancé. She was beautiful. I think we were all half in love with her at the time."
She noted how the small smile lit his eyes.
Max looked across at him. "So," she said carefully, "You think someone blames you for his death?"
"It does seem the obvious scenario."
"Why now? Why not back then?" It didn't make any sense.
Logan was back to twirling the book of matches. "I guess that's what I have to find out," he sighed, half glancing towards his computer as he spoke.
"Well not tonight hot shot."
Logan looked at her in surprise.
"Tonight, or rather this morning, you need your beauty sleep."
Unexpectedly, he rubbed the back of his head, and said dryly, "Yeah."
As Logan got to his bedroom door, he turned to her and said, 'Did I tell you the name of my article?"
Seeing the negative headshake he continued,
"I borrowed the title from an old Alistair MacLean book I'd read when I was a teenager."
Max looked at him enquiringly.
"It was called – 'Fear is the Key'."
At that he turned and wheeled back into his bedroom.
***********************************************************
Sleep didn't come quickly to Logan.
"Look at you, you're lucky to be alive." Some of the last words Nathan Herrero had spoken to him.
Nathan dead. Bobby dead.
Hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling he wondered how many others were dead because of something he'd written or some Eyes Only cable hack he'd broadcast.
Four, seven, twenty-seven?
The good and bad alike, surely they were all somebody's brother, uncle, father ... son.
Who was keeping tally?
Probably no one on this earth he mused.
The front door was totally ineffective at withstanding the onslaught it faced.
They came in without speaking, dressed in black – masked and menacing. Logan tried to roll back, but found to his rising concern that he wasn't in his wheelchair. He looked around frantically for Max. They were coming closer now. Instinctively he braced himself for the attack.
Crash!!
Immediately wide-awake, Logan struggled up on to his elbows. He couldn't entirely bite back the grunt of pain as his injured arm took the weight of his body.
He noticed his heart was thumping wildly.
There was no other sound now, and he wondered if he'd imagined the sound that had jarred him awake.
"Logan?" It was Max's voice speaking softly at the door.
He breathed a huge sigh of relief.
"Yeah," he answered, trying to sound normal. "You can come in, I'm decent."
She poked her head around the door, looking contrite.
"Did the noise wake you? I busted two coffee mugs," she confessed.
"Only two?" His breathing was back to normal now.
"The good news is I actually dropped four, but only two broke," she smiled disarmingly.
With visions of masked men with guns breaking into his apartment still fresh in his mind, he wouldn't have cared if she'd broken every piece of crockery he owned.
"It's fine," he assured her.
"You okay?" she asked, and if he hadn't been so flustered he probably would have been touched by the look of concern on her face.
"I'm fine ... just woke with a start, that's all ...you know."
Max nodded. "Will I send Bling in?"
"That'd be great, thanks."
Logan pulled himself upright as Bling came in.
"You all ready to start the day?" asked his trainer brightly.
Logan took one look at him, his own face like thunder. "What are you so cheerful about?"
*****************************************************************
"So - What's your plan Stan?" asked Max, biting into an apple. "You still in touch with these peeps?"
"I haven't seen any of them in years," admitted Logan, finishing off his breakfast.
Max wasn't surprised to hear that.
Pushing himself to his computer he said over his shoulder, "I think I've still got Gracie's number."
I'm definitely not surprised to hear 'that' thought Max.
Sitting in Logan's computer chair, she watched him scrolling through his addresses, eyes intent on the screen.
"Here we go," he murmured, reaching for his phone.
Punching the numbers in, she wondered if he looked a bit tense.
After a few moments he said, "Gracie?...It's Logan."
He smiled suddenly, and after the dark humour he'd been in last night, it was as if the sun had come out. Max felt a small stab of ... well, something. The word wouldn't quite form in her mind. It couldn't be the 'J' word, she rebuked herself.
At the other end of the phone line, a vivacious, woman with auburn hair and brown eyes, was trying to control two small children, who had naturally decided to debate ownership of a rather worn stuffed bear, with only one eye. "Logan, It's been ages. How are you?"
"I'm fine. And you?"
"Wonderful! Bret and I got married nearly five years ago. You remember Bret?"
Logan could hear the happiness in her voice. "We have two kids!! Can you believe that!!"
"Wow, two kids!" he smiled. "That's great."
"What about you? You still writing? I don't hear anything from you anymore." There was a slight hint of reproach to her words. "What about the sailing?"
"Yes, I still write, and no, I don't sail anymore," he said, trying to keep his voice even, his glance darting to Max.
He could hear the noise of the two children in the background. "I'm sorry Logan," Grace was saying, "I've got a civil dispute I'm working on right now." Her laugh was silvery as it came down the line. "What about you, has the eminently desirable Mr Logan Cale been snared yet?"
"Er no. Not yet." He was glad Max could only hear his half of the conversation.
"So, why the call out of the blue?" He could hear the note of intrigue in her voice.
"Actually, I'm just trying to catch up with come of the old gang."
"Bobby, give that back to your sister!!" he heard her say firmly.
"Bobby, is he your eldest?" Logan asked, his tone softening.
He could hear the changed note in her voice too. "Yeah. You know it was ten years this year."
Logan didn't answer her.
"We were a bunch of idealistic hot heads, weren't we!"
"Yeah," was the most he could bring himself to say.
He heard the pause on her end of the line, and then she said, "You know I never blamed 'you' for what happened to Bobby."
Max could see Logan's jaw muscle tensing. All he said was, "Yeah, I know."
She had a fair idea of what was going down. She was so used to having him mask his true feelings that she was surprised to catch the look of vulnerability on his face. Instinctively, for his sake, she looked away.
When she looked up again, he was busy writing something into a notepad.
"What about Bobby's brother, Vincent, 'you ever hear from him? ... Okay. That's great. Thanks. Well if I'm ever in Washington, I'll look you up."
Max raised her eyebrows skeptically at that comment.
"Bye."
"Well, d'you get anything?"
"She gave me the number of Kyle Davidson. As luck would have it, he's here in Seattle."
"Isn't that a little too convenient?" she asked, immediately suspicious,
"I don't think so. We both came from Seattle - it's not entirely unusual that he should have drifted back here."
"What about his brother?"
Logan shook his head. "No luck there," he replied, stretching his shoulder muscles as he spoke, and wondering vaguely why he felt so tense after a simple phone call.
He looked at the phone number and address on the notepad in front of him.
Kyle Davidson.
He felt the tension returning to his shoulders.
"Are you gonna call?" asked Max, watching the telltale signs.
"Yeah."
Logan picked up the phone decisively.
TCB