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Chapter 13
Logan put his hand on the back of his head feeling gingerly.
"Ow!"
"I wouldn't do that if I were you. You've got a huge lump like an egg."
Looking to where the voice was coming from, he saw Max sitting on the end of the bed. She handed him her glasses as she spoke.
"So how d'you feel?" she asked him quietly.
Still dazed, Logan said hesitatingly, "I don't know ... still thinkin' about it."
"I screwed up Logan."
He looked at her, trying to maneuver his head on the pillow to avoid the lump on his head. He was surprised by her tone.
Logan put his glasses on and then propped himself up on his elbows. The movement made his head swim.
"How?" was the best he could manage, as he closed his eyes for the moment.
"My mission was to protect you," her voice throbbed with deep-seated emotion. "I should have stayed here," she said fiercely.
"I'm not your 'mission' Max," Logan replied, a slight edge to his voice.
"I let emotion cloud my judgment," she continued as though she hadn't heard him. All she could remember was her overwhelming desire, regardless of all else, to take out this green-eyed scumbag, once and for all.
Her eyes flickered to Logan, now watching her groggily from Kyle Davidson's bed. "Almost at the cost of ..."
She pushed the thought down.
Not entirely sure why she was so upset, but with an inkling that perhaps he figured somewhere in all this, he said simply. "Max. It's okay."
Trying to focus on his watch, Logan asked, "Have I been out long?"
"About 10 minutes. I always knew you were hard-headed," she added with a bit more of her usual attitude.
That drew a wry grin from Logan.
"So, what happened while I was gone?" she asked.
"The Yearbook!" said Logan suddenly, looking around.
"What Yearbook?"
"After you left, I poked 'round a bit ... came across it on the coffee table."
He didn't tell her that he noticed it while pulling himself across the floor to his wheelchair.
"Kyle must have had it out for a reason," he mused.
"Was there anything in it?'
"I didn't get that far," was all he replied, a little shortly.
It had been difficult with his sore arm to twist his body around and sit up. With his back to the door, he'd only just opened the book, when he became vaguely aware of a movement behind him.
"I'd only opened it up, and next thing, whammo."
"Just as well it was only 'whammo'!" added Max feelingly, still not satisfied with her part in all this.
"He could have killed you Logan," Max said quietly, her face averted from his.
"Yeah, well." Logan wasn't too thrilled with the thought either.
They were both silent for a moment.
"Anyway, "grunted Logan, getting into his chair where Max had put it next to the bed, (briefly wondering in turn how he came to be on the bed, and not entirely happy with his assumption), "I guess we should do something about Kyle."
"Hardly a loss to society," put in Max coldly.
Logan looked up at her as he positioned himself – Kyle had obviously made a big impression on her during their very brief acquaintance.
"I'll give Matt Sung a call. See if he can sort it out and keep my name out of it."
Another thing to worry about thought Max – the last thing Logan needed was attention from the police or publicity.
She sighed. 'Why did everything have to be so complicated?'
Vaguely listening while Logan called Matt, with gloved hands she systematically did a search of the unattractive room - unattractive like the occupant had been. Her lips curled thinking of Kyle Davidson. Finding a facecloth in a drawer, she then used it to wipe the doorknob, and anything else they might have touched.
"That's all set. Matt'll send someone along."
"Let's get out of here," said Max repressing a shiver, suddenly very keen to get out of there.
"How's your head?" asked Max on the way down in the elevator.
"Still there," was Logan's non-committal reply.
Max raised her eyebrows, but said nothing more.
*****************************************************
Her own thoughts grim, Max stole a look at Logan's profile, noting the frown above his glasses, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
Catching her gaze he half smiled at her.
"Watcha thinking?' she asked.
"I'm thinking I'd better find out what I can about Vincent Carlisle," then hesitating for a moment he added, "'cause I don't know how many more chances we're gonna get."
****************************************************************
Bling met them at the door, just on his way out. A look of relief crossed his face when he saw them.
"I was beginning to get a bit worried," he admitted.
"You got a pain killer in your bag of tricks?" Max called out to Bling
"Yeah." He looked enquiringly at Max.
"Not me – 'hero boy' over there has a headache."
Bling saw Logan throw her a very dirty look, as he wheeled himself to his computer, snapping the brakes with slightly more force than usual.
Seeing Bling's enquiring look she said briefly with a nod towards Logan, "Whack on the head. You might need to check it out."
Taking the bottle of painkillers from Bling, and filling a glass with water, she took them to Logan who was already intently tapping at the keyboard.
Without taking his eyes from the screen, he absently took the two tablets she held out for him, swallowing them with the water. It made her grin.
"What?" he frowned up at her immediately suspicious . "Nothing." She gave him her sweetest smile.
Coming up behind Logan, Bling said with a grimace, "You've sure been in the wars lately."
"Don't touch it!" said Logan, suddenly leaning forward as he caught Bling's arm reflected in the computer screen, not at all keen to have the trainer touch the tender lump on his head.
"Any dizziness? Nausea?" the trainer asked with some concern.
Not taking his eyes from the screen, Logan said impatiently, "No. It's fine."
"Headache bad?"
Now frowning, and with his eyes still fixed on the screen, Logan replied with cool annoyance, "The only headache I have is from you two fussing about this."
Bling grinned at Max. "Can't be too bad."
********************************************************
"Vincent Carlisle," said Logan triumphantly, some time later.
Max came round to stand almost touching him, leaning forward, one hand on the computer desk, eyes skimming for the relevant information
"Born '84. One brother, Robert Francis, educated Yale." She stopped at that. "Logan, he was at Yale too."
"Yeah, but before my time."
"It says here he's a financial consultant for Taylor Industries. That mean anything to you?"
Logan looked thoughtful. "Not that I can remember," he murmured.
"What about a picture?"
"That's the curious thing. I can't even call up a picture on a driver's license."
"Isn't that a little strange?"
"Yep."
"On a different angle, why d'you sp'ose he took the Yearbook?"
Logan shrugged. "Why does this guy do anything?" he answered, his frustration starting to show.
"How come 'you' don't have a Yearbook?"
"I think my Mom had that stuff. I don't know what happened to it."
Her ears pricked at the mention of his Mom, but to her disappointment, he didn't say anymore. She often wondered about his family.
"Did you say a Yale Yearbook?" asked Bling, coming through from the kitchen. "I'm pretty sure there's one in that box of stuff you left on the top shelf in your closet."
Looking surprised Logan said, "Would you mind getting that down for me Bling?"
Following Bling to his bedroom he watched while Bling hauled the box down. He couldn't help reflecting that not very long ago he would have done this for himself. Pushing the black thoughts away he turned his concentration to the job at hand.
He had Bling place the box on the low table near the couch where he would be able to access it. Snapping on his brakes, he leaned forward to look in it.
"Anything else you need?" asked Bling, wiping his hands to remove the small amount of dust on them.
"No. That's fine. In fact I won't need you till tomorrow."
"You sure about that?" Bling asked seriously. "I need to change the dressing on your arm."
"Max could probably do it," prevaricated Logan, mentally thinking there was no way he'd have Max do the unpleasant job. "I mean it Bling." Logan looked straight up at him now.
Not entirely happy, but feeling he couldn't push it, Bling said. "Okay, but you call me if you need anything. Watch that arm!" then he added as an afterthought with a grin, "and the head."
Logan nodded, his head already down looking through the box.
Bling gave Max a look as he said good-bye, then in an undertone said to her, "He really has to have that dressing changed."
"I got it covered."
"Sparks are gonna fly!" he warned.
"Oh, I think I can handle him," Max smiled musingly.
Seeing Bling to the door, her smile faded as she regarded Logan, still sorting single- mindedly through the box.
"You let him go on purpose, didn't you." Max watched him closely.
"You know ... my arms feeling pretty good now. He's got other things to do."
She noted how Logan kept his head down, peering intently into the box.
"Could be you were worried about him," she said carefully.
"Logan," she said a little louder when he didn't answer her.
He looked up at her with an almost guilty look on his face.
"You think he's gonna make a move soon, don't you." Her words were a statement, rather than a question.
Logan's eyes searched the room for a moment, but eventually they came back to rest on her. He studied his fingers for a moment then admitted with a rush, "I don't think he's gonna 'play' next time."
Max nodded her head silently.
That had been her thought as well.
"Here we go!" Logan announced satisfied.
"Is it the same as Kyle's?" Max moved behind his chair to look over his shoulder.
"I think so," murmured Logan, as he flicked through it.
Suddenly Max put a hand out. "Stop. Go back a bit."
With considerable surprise he saw that she'd picked out a picture of Robert Carlisle.
"How did you ...?"
Seeing the look on her face, he paused. "Max?"
"Logan. That's him." She stared hard at the grainy photo.
Turning his gaze to where she was pointing, he saw that it was not Robert Carlisle she was looking at, but the other man in the picture.
The caption read: Vincent and Robert Carlisle celebrate the inaugural Taylor Industries scholarship programme.
Logan felt a sudden uneasiness. "That's him Max?"
She nodded, still staring intently at the picture. Both men held champagne glasses in their hands, the older man with his arm around the younger in an expression of camaraderie, and both men looking directly towards the camera and smiling.
It made her feel ill.
With sudden decisiveness she jumped up and proceeded to draw the curtains against the greyness of the late afternoon.
Logan looked at her. "Max. What are you doing?"
"That creep's not gonna catch me out again," she said with purpose.
TBC
Chapter 13
Logan put his hand on the back of his head feeling gingerly.
"Ow!"
"I wouldn't do that if I were you. You've got a huge lump like an egg."
Looking to where the voice was coming from, he saw Max sitting on the end of the bed. She handed him her glasses as she spoke.
"So how d'you feel?" she asked him quietly.
Still dazed, Logan said hesitatingly, "I don't know ... still thinkin' about it."
"I screwed up Logan."
He looked at her, trying to maneuver his head on the pillow to avoid the lump on his head. He was surprised by her tone.
Logan put his glasses on and then propped himself up on his elbows. The movement made his head swim.
"How?" was the best he could manage, as he closed his eyes for the moment.
"My mission was to protect you," her voice throbbed with deep-seated emotion. "I should have stayed here," she said fiercely.
"I'm not your 'mission' Max," Logan replied, a slight edge to his voice.
"I let emotion cloud my judgment," she continued as though she hadn't heard him. All she could remember was her overwhelming desire, regardless of all else, to take out this green-eyed scumbag, once and for all.
Her eyes flickered to Logan, now watching her groggily from Kyle Davidson's bed. "Almost at the cost of ..."
She pushed the thought down.
Not entirely sure why she was so upset, but with an inkling that perhaps he figured somewhere in all this, he said simply. "Max. It's okay."
Trying to focus on his watch, Logan asked, "Have I been out long?"
"About 10 minutes. I always knew you were hard-headed," she added with a bit more of her usual attitude.
That drew a wry grin from Logan.
"So, what happened while I was gone?" she asked.
"The Yearbook!" said Logan suddenly, looking around.
"What Yearbook?"
"After you left, I poked 'round a bit ... came across it on the coffee table."
He didn't tell her that he noticed it while pulling himself across the floor to his wheelchair.
"Kyle must have had it out for a reason," he mused.
"Was there anything in it?'
"I didn't get that far," was all he replied, a little shortly.
It had been difficult with his sore arm to twist his body around and sit up. With his back to the door, he'd only just opened the book, when he became vaguely aware of a movement behind him.
"I'd only opened it up, and next thing, whammo."
"Just as well it was only 'whammo'!" added Max feelingly, still not satisfied with her part in all this.
"He could have killed you Logan," Max said quietly, her face averted from his.
"Yeah, well." Logan wasn't too thrilled with the thought either.
They were both silent for a moment.
"Anyway, "grunted Logan, getting into his chair where Max had put it next to the bed, (briefly wondering in turn how he came to be on the bed, and not entirely happy with his assumption), "I guess we should do something about Kyle."
"Hardly a loss to society," put in Max coldly.
Logan looked up at her as he positioned himself – Kyle had obviously made a big impression on her during their very brief acquaintance.
"I'll give Matt Sung a call. See if he can sort it out and keep my name out of it."
Another thing to worry about thought Max – the last thing Logan needed was attention from the police or publicity.
She sighed. 'Why did everything have to be so complicated?'
Vaguely listening while Logan called Matt, with gloved hands she systematically did a search of the unattractive room - unattractive like the occupant had been. Her lips curled thinking of Kyle Davidson. Finding a facecloth in a drawer, she then used it to wipe the doorknob, and anything else they might have touched.
"That's all set. Matt'll send someone along."
"Let's get out of here," said Max repressing a shiver, suddenly very keen to get out of there.
"How's your head?" asked Max on the way down in the elevator.
"Still there," was Logan's non-committal reply.
Max raised her eyebrows, but said nothing more.
*****************************************************
Her own thoughts grim, Max stole a look at Logan's profile, noting the frown above his glasses, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
Catching her gaze he half smiled at her.
"Watcha thinking?' she asked.
"I'm thinking I'd better find out what I can about Vincent Carlisle," then hesitating for a moment he added, "'cause I don't know how many more chances we're gonna get."
****************************************************************
Bling met them at the door, just on his way out. A look of relief crossed his face when he saw them.
"I was beginning to get a bit worried," he admitted.
"You got a pain killer in your bag of tricks?" Max called out to Bling
"Yeah." He looked enquiringly at Max.
"Not me – 'hero boy' over there has a headache."
Bling saw Logan throw her a very dirty look, as he wheeled himself to his computer, snapping the brakes with slightly more force than usual.
Seeing Bling's enquiring look she said briefly with a nod towards Logan, "Whack on the head. You might need to check it out."
Taking the bottle of painkillers from Bling, and filling a glass with water, she took them to Logan who was already intently tapping at the keyboard.
Without taking his eyes from the screen, he absently took the two tablets she held out for him, swallowing them with the water. It made her grin.
"What?" he frowned up at her immediately suspicious . "Nothing." She gave him her sweetest smile.
Coming up behind Logan, Bling said with a grimace, "You've sure been in the wars lately."
"Don't touch it!" said Logan, suddenly leaning forward as he caught Bling's arm reflected in the computer screen, not at all keen to have the trainer touch the tender lump on his head.
"Any dizziness? Nausea?" the trainer asked with some concern.
Not taking his eyes from the screen, Logan said impatiently, "No. It's fine."
"Headache bad?"
Now frowning, and with his eyes still fixed on the screen, Logan replied with cool annoyance, "The only headache I have is from you two fussing about this."
Bling grinned at Max. "Can't be too bad."
********************************************************
"Vincent Carlisle," said Logan triumphantly, some time later.
Max came round to stand almost touching him, leaning forward, one hand on the computer desk, eyes skimming for the relevant information
"Born '84. One brother, Robert Francis, educated Yale." She stopped at that. "Logan, he was at Yale too."
"Yeah, but before my time."
"It says here he's a financial consultant for Taylor Industries. That mean anything to you?"
Logan looked thoughtful. "Not that I can remember," he murmured.
"What about a picture?"
"That's the curious thing. I can't even call up a picture on a driver's license."
"Isn't that a little strange?"
"Yep."
"On a different angle, why d'you sp'ose he took the Yearbook?"
Logan shrugged. "Why does this guy do anything?" he answered, his frustration starting to show.
"How come 'you' don't have a Yearbook?"
"I think my Mom had that stuff. I don't know what happened to it."
Her ears pricked at the mention of his Mom, but to her disappointment, he didn't say anymore. She often wondered about his family.
"Did you say a Yale Yearbook?" asked Bling, coming through from the kitchen. "I'm pretty sure there's one in that box of stuff you left on the top shelf in your closet."
Looking surprised Logan said, "Would you mind getting that down for me Bling?"
Following Bling to his bedroom he watched while Bling hauled the box down. He couldn't help reflecting that not very long ago he would have done this for himself. Pushing the black thoughts away he turned his concentration to the job at hand.
He had Bling place the box on the low table near the couch where he would be able to access it. Snapping on his brakes, he leaned forward to look in it.
"Anything else you need?" asked Bling, wiping his hands to remove the small amount of dust on them.
"No. That's fine. In fact I won't need you till tomorrow."
"You sure about that?" Bling asked seriously. "I need to change the dressing on your arm."
"Max could probably do it," prevaricated Logan, mentally thinking there was no way he'd have Max do the unpleasant job. "I mean it Bling." Logan looked straight up at him now.
Not entirely happy, but feeling he couldn't push it, Bling said. "Okay, but you call me if you need anything. Watch that arm!" then he added as an afterthought with a grin, "and the head."
Logan nodded, his head already down looking through the box.
Bling gave Max a look as he said good-bye, then in an undertone said to her, "He really has to have that dressing changed."
"I got it covered."
"Sparks are gonna fly!" he warned.
"Oh, I think I can handle him," Max smiled musingly.
Seeing Bling to the door, her smile faded as she regarded Logan, still sorting single- mindedly through the box.
"You let him go on purpose, didn't you." Max watched him closely.
"You know ... my arms feeling pretty good now. He's got other things to do."
She noted how Logan kept his head down, peering intently into the box.
"Could be you were worried about him," she said carefully.
"Logan," she said a little louder when he didn't answer her.
He looked up at her with an almost guilty look on his face.
"You think he's gonna make a move soon, don't you." Her words were a statement, rather than a question.
Logan's eyes searched the room for a moment, but eventually they came back to rest on her. He studied his fingers for a moment then admitted with a rush, "I don't think he's gonna 'play' next time."
Max nodded her head silently.
That had been her thought as well.
"Here we go!" Logan announced satisfied.
"Is it the same as Kyle's?" Max moved behind his chair to look over his shoulder.
"I think so," murmured Logan, as he flicked through it.
Suddenly Max put a hand out. "Stop. Go back a bit."
With considerable surprise he saw that she'd picked out a picture of Robert Carlisle.
"How did you ...?"
Seeing the look on her face, he paused. "Max?"
"Logan. That's him." She stared hard at the grainy photo.
Turning his gaze to where she was pointing, he saw that it was not Robert Carlisle she was looking at, but the other man in the picture.
The caption read: Vincent and Robert Carlisle celebrate the inaugural Taylor Industries scholarship programme.
Logan felt a sudden uneasiness. "That's him Max?"
She nodded, still staring intently at the picture. Both men held champagne glasses in their hands, the older man with his arm around the younger in an expression of camaraderie, and both men looking directly towards the camera and smiling.
It made her feel ill.
With sudden decisiveness she jumped up and proceeded to draw the curtains against the greyness of the late afternoon.
Logan looked at her. "Max. What are you doing?"
"That creep's not gonna catch me out again," she said with purpose.
TBC