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Chapter 17

Carlisle poked the gun in Logan's back.

He eyed Max warily. "You. Go ahead. Ten paces in front – at all times. You come any closer, I just complete my task that little bit quicker. Not, of course, with quite the panache I'd been hoping for."

Max looked at him with contempt. "Screw your panache!"

"Get going," he merely said, but with those cold eyes staring into hers, he ground the gun hard into Logan's back. Seemingly satisfied with the look he saw in her eyes, he said silkily, "Well?" Without another word, Max walked in front.

Carlisle had her head to the elevator. Taking the same set of keys Logan had seen him with beforehand, he unlocked a small metal door recessed in the wall next to the elevator doors. The door swung open and he inserted another key into a device in the cupboard. Instantly the lights of the elevator flashed on.

Logan watched with dawning understanding. "You turned them off."

"It pays to cover all bases."

Max was itching to whack the conceited smile off his face. In the elevator, Max was made to stand with her face to the wall, Carlisle's gun unwaveringly aimed at Logan's back.

With a sense of déjà vu, Carlisle led them back into the mahogany desk room, directing Max to stand behind the desk, while he and Logan stayed the other side of it.

"You're particularly beautiful, but then the most dangerous things always are. I know a lot of men who would have paid millions for a bodyguard like you," Carlisle said seriously.

Max and Logan spoke as one: "I'm not his/She's not my bodyguard."

Carlisle eyed them with his version of a smile. It made Max feel ill. "Ahh, I beg your pardon. Girlfriend then."

Turning slightly to look over his shoulder, Logan rapped out "It's none of your damned business 'who' she is."

Max could see the ugly look on Carlisle's face - the effect of Logan's words. 'Shut your mouth,' she begged him silently. Then in her own mind to Carlisle –'One more 'poke' at him and you're dead!'

Something made Carlisle look at her in that very moment. So surprised by the deadly intent on her face, he forgot whatever flash of anger he had been going to direct at Logan, his look turning to one of admiration. "An adversary is always far more dangerous when the heart is involved."

"Shut up!" Max literally snarled at him.

"As you like, " responded Carlisle unperturbed. "Though there does seem to be a certain amount of ambivalence ... "

"You heard her Carlisle," cut in Logan. It was bad enough the man wanted to kill him, let alone discuss his private life.

"Very well," replied Carlisle, at his most urbane. "Of course, her being here causes a problem."

Logan looked at him searchingly. He had known Carlisle would take this line, but hearing it put into words made his fear take form. "She knows nothing about this," Logan said quickly, a note of urgency in his voice. "Why don't you just let her go?"

"Logan!" Max did not appear to be grateful.

They looked at each other, both equally determined.

Looking around, Carlisle saw the doors were still wide open. Not willing to leave Logan alone, he motioned to him to go over and close them, while he followed, careful to let Max see the ever- present gun in Logan's back.

"Pity," Carlisle commented with a pained expression as he regarded the mess Max had made of the magnificent doors.

Logan remarked as he leaned forward to close them, "Vernon Taylor won't be around to worry about them."

"This wasn't Vernon Taylor's office. It was mine," Carlisle said softly.

"I'm impressed," said Logan in a voice that said he was anything but impressed. "So this was the fruit of your labour. Was it worth it?" asked Logan looking around. He then suddenly spun his chair around and looked directly up at Carlisle. "Was it worth your brother's life?"

Max watched fascinated to see the colour literally drain from Carlisle's face.

"You said Carlisle here was 'a professional' Max. You were right. He was Vernon Taylor's right hand man." Logan paused for a moment. "He was his 'hit' man."

It was as though they were all frozen by Logan's words. Max however had little thought to admire his eloquence –her gaze was riveted on Carlisle. She was waiting for her chance.

"Only problem was," and Logan leaned back in his chair, now that the gun no longer stuck into him, "He put a hit out on 'your' brother."

Max was startled at this news, her own eyes going to Logan.

The green eyes seemed to be having trouble focusing.

Logan pressed home his advantage. "You're nothing but a paid executioner." Then he added softly, "You killed Bobby."

Max watched Carlisle who stood like Lot's wife, his face frozen in a memory of his appalling deed.

Logan regarded him with disgust. "I was right - this is about your own conscience."

Carlisle regained some of his wits like a man emerging from an impenetrable fog. All vestige of emotion had fled his voice. He spoke like a dead man, and Max knew dead men with nothing to lose, were unpredictable whackos.

"I told Bobby to drop the rally. I warned him it would cost him his life."

"But you also had to cover up your own mistake of letting that information slip into the wrong hands." Logan looked down at his legs, remembering Carlisle's earlier analogy. "I take it Vernon Taylor was neither forgiving nor family-minded."

Carlisle spoke as if he hadn't heard. "He told me it was too late. The article - your article," and he looked at Logan accusingly, "was already published, and everyone was now expecting his speech at the rally."

Max cut in hotly, "It wasn't Logan's article. He simply wrote what your brother wanted."

"How did he die Carlisle? Was he afraid like all the others?" Logan pursued relentlessly.

"He died pleading for your life as a matter of fact. Taylor wanted you dead as well. Bobby convinced me you knew nothing." Now it was Logan's turn to be surprised.

For the first time, Vincent Carlisle spoke with emotion. "Do you know what it's like to have to choose between your own life or your brother's?"

"Maybe not, I just know what choice I ' wouldn't' make. You killed Bobby to save your own skin!" Max watched Logan speak with that same intensity he used when he was addressing one of his 'causes.'

"This is 'so' not the time Logan," she muttered

Carlisle seemed to utter something unintelligible, when suddenly he broke and with almost a primeval sound in his throat, rushed at Logan, pushing the gun hard against his neck, his other hand clutching Logan's sweater at his throat.

Max leapt the desk, crossing the distance between her and Carlisle virtually in a single leap. The hit man seemed to have lost his 'professional' edge – disregarding the gun, it appeared his one thought was to choke the life out of Logan.

Logan had his hands up, fighting him off, but Carlisle was fighting with the strength of the insane.

With incredible force, Max leapt, then at the last moment kicked out with her feet so that they connected with Vincent Carlisle. With great satisfaction she watched him fly across the other side of the room, she presumed momentarily knocked out, because he failed to get up. Maybe he was dead. You could only hope.

She took a quick look at Logan, who was whooping in big draughts of air with relief. He managed to nod at her when he saw her enquiring look.

Max went across to check on Carlisle, who was showing signs of movement. His gun had fallen more or less at his feet, and she kicked it away with a vengeance. Her first instinct was to pick him up and sling him through one of the huge picture windows that graced the room, but regretfully she figured Logan would have something to say about that.

As if reading her thoughts, Logan wheeled over to her, looking down at the man who'd been so determined to kill him for a death he was not responsible for. "What'll we do with him?" asked Logan, with a certain amount of distaste in his voice. They both regarded Carlisle as some unwanted vermin the cat had dragged in.

"I think I can help you in that department," a deep voice said from the doorway.

With considerable surprise, they both looked up to see a figure dressed in black at the doorway, sartorially outfitted with a black gun to match his clothes.

Logan cast a quick glimpse up at Max. "And things had been going so well too," he murmured.

Max considered the situation quickly. The visitor was too far away for her to reach him before he'd have a chance to fire a shot, even with her incredible speed, and she wasn't prepared to risk Logan being shot by a stray bullet.

"Haven't we just been through this all ready?" she asked Logan in frustration.

"Well, this is slightly different. If my guess is right, here we have the 'hit man' to kill the 'hit man.' Confused?" he asked her brightly.

Max figured he'd been unhinged by lack of air to his brain when Carlisle had tried to choke the life out of him, and she gave him a look accordingly.

Carlisle meanwhile, was beginning to regain consciousness.

The man in black motioned to Max. "You, go and stand near him," meaning Logan. Logan wondered how this new turn of events could help them. They now had two hit men wanting to kill them.

"Vandenberg," Carlisle croaked out.

"I had no idea you were entertaining. Have I interrupted something?"

"That's okay, we were just leaving anyway," Max excused themselves.

"Cute. But, I don't think so." Then to Carlisle he said, "Martin Taylor is rather upset about the untimely death of his father."

"His father would have been dead years ago if it wasn't for me." Carlisle stood up groggily as he spoke, moving closer to Max and Logan.

Max watched Vandenberg closely. Unlike Carlisle whose eyes revealed him to be the very antitheses of all that was good, the former hit man was quite good looking in an unassuming kind of way. The sort of man you might sit opposite on a bus and assume somewhere in his life there was a wife and two kids. For all that, Max didn't trust him any more than she did Carlisle: same books, just different covers.

"That's true," agreed Vandenberg. "But I'd say in one deed you've undone the other good ones. There's something so final about a car full of C4 blowing up in your face. Let's put an end to this, shall we? It looks like it's three for the price of one."

Max was still watching Vandenberg closely; too late she saw his hand come up slightly. Without warning he fired the black gun in his hand – his first shot was directed at Logan.

Max was already diving at Vandenberg, but a voice was screaming in her head, "Too late, too late."

Vandenberg had barely time to look up before the fury of hell descended on him. His arm snapped with a sickening crunch, his gun falling from fingers suddenly unable to hold it. He then found himself driven back against the wall, his head snapped back with the force of the blow to his face. He felt rather than saw the two hands grabbing his neck, and when he did open his eyes all he saw were two dark pools of fury burning him with their intensity. His head did a great deal of damage to the imported wood paneling that adorned the walls. Vandenberg was unconscious after the first blow; by the third he was dead.

"Max. Max."

She turned around stunned.

"I need your help."

For a moment Max couldn't process what she saw. She knew she'd been too late. For all her watchfulness she'd been too late.

"Logan?"

But there he was, unharmed, trying to press his hand to the wound in Carlisle's right shoulder.

He looked up at her in that moment and for a fleeting moment she had the urge to run to him and throw her arms around his strong shoulders. Swallowing her emotion she walked over to him in an almost detached manner and checked out Carlisle. The bullet had gone through his shoulder, but didn't appear to have done any major damage.

"You'll live." She didn't know whether to be sorry or glad. In silence she helped him sit on the chesterfield. "Hold your hand to it," she said roughly, making no attempt to find a bandage.

"What's your game Carlisle? That bullet was meant for me." Logan was struggling to understand what had just gone down.

Carlisle looked at him. He spoke in the manner of one who was very, very tired. "You asked me in the car, why did I wait ten years. Fear," he stated simply.

Logan looked at him questioningly.

"I had to blame someone for Bobby's death. I've killed so many people; my conscience stopped working years ago. I had no trouble blaming you." He looked at Logan for a moment. "Trouble was, Bobby died pleading for you; he told me you knew nothing." With a bitter laugh he added, "Still, it's been easy all these years to blame you for writing the article."

Speaking to the floor now, his tone reflecting shame, guilt, remorse and who knows what else thought Max as she listened to him, he said, "It took me ten years to work up the courage to go against my own brother's dying wish. It was easier to work my way up to you, so I killed Kransky and the others, then Vernon Taylor," he almost spat the name out, "then I had my plans for you."

"So what happened?" Logan asked curiously.

"Something Vandenberg said I guess."

Logan nodded in sudden comprehension. "One bad deed undid the good ones."

"Maybe Bobby hadn't given up on me after all," Carlisle said enigmatically.

Max looked at Logan, her expression softening. "One good deed to make up for all the bad."

Logan thought he saw something in her eyes.

"I still have one more thing to do," Carlisle said, watching Logan closely.

"Haven't you done enough all ready?" Max's voice was hard.

Carlisle continued to look at Logan.

Max saw Logan's eyes narrow slightly, then he bit his lip and turned away from the other man's gaze.

"For Bobby," whispered Carlisle.

Logan's eyes briefly flickered to Carlisle's gun, still lying where Max had kicked it.

"Let's get outta here Max," he said suddenly, spinning his chair around and pushing himself forward in an almost angry manner.

Max looked expressionlessly from Logan to Carlisle, and then turned to follow Logan from the room.

They'd barely passed through the once magnificent double doors before the silence was broken with a single sound.

Neither one turned back.

TBC