Thank you so much for all the positive feedback. It certainly makes my day!

Many thanks as always to Alaidh, for the beta.

Chapter 7

Max looked ahead at the beckoning lights of Seattle through the gloom of the misty, wet dawn.

How many dawns had she spent like this, she wondered to herself, since she'd made Seattle her home - heading home with hair wet, skin cold, but still buoyant from the exhilaration of an early morning ride.

There'd been a time when it was almost nightly, as long as she could avoid the curfew and get through the sector checkpoints. But that time seemed like a long time ago now – before her life had ... a purpose?

Max shook her head from side to side with a slightly bewildered expression. She'd never meant for her life to have a purpose. She'd just meant to keep her head down, keep below the radar, and find Zack and the others.

It had all seemed so cut and dried until she'd met Logan Cale.

Logan.

She remembered abruptly that she'd added him to her list of 'asses to be kicked.' 'Then again,' she thought with a smile,' he does have a very nice ass.'

Somehow, after a pre-dawn exhilarating ride on her motorbike, Logan's usual methods of only telling her ten percent of the story in regard to himself didn't seem nearly as infuriating as they had the night before.

It was kind of hard, she had to admit, to be mad at Logan for something she would probably have done herself. It wasn't as if he'd changed in anyway since she'd known him – worrying about his own safety had never stopped him doing what had to be done. She felt a flicker of guilt as those same words came back to her – she'd used them as a gauntlet, ever one to have the last word, when he wouldn't condone her desire to meet with whomever had put her barcode in the paper. She wondered if they had stung him at the time? To her shame she had wanted them to.

It was well past dawn now – she'd have to be getting home to get ready for work or Normal would have her ass.

Slowing down to stop at the approaching checkpoint, she shivered suddenly.

Must be really cold, she thought, a little surprised.

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Logan knew he was far too slow in reacting as the startling sound of another gunshot cracked in the air.

Bling, who'd been standing in front of Logan and Matt, spun around as soon as he'd heard the first shot, but the second bullet had already been let loose.

Without hesitation, he reached out and grabbed Logan's right hand, wrenching it free from the wheel that he'd been gripping instinctively with white knuckled force as he looked around wildly for some sign of the shooter, and with his considerable strength, dragged Logan from his chair, and onto the ground.

Logan had the fleeting sensation of the ground rising up to meet him before he hit the gravel path, only his upper body signalling to him that it didn't approve of the roughhouse treatment, then his face hit one of the boulders at the side of the path; for the briefest of moments he felt his hold on consciousness start to slip away, but in the next instant he was aware of the gritty sensation of dirt in his mouth and rather than becoming brighter, his world seemed to grow black and he found he had trouble breathing, and through all this, the sound of the gunfire continued. Three, four, five shots – then nothing.

Silence.

Logan waited, unconsciously holding his breath.

At last, he started to breathe again, and slowly tried putting his head up, but something was preventing him from moving.

"Stay still," hissed a voice.

He knew that voice. It sounded a little less calm than usual, but not much.

After the initial shock, an awareness of what had happened quickly came back to Logan. He realized the reason it seemed to be so dark and it felt like his chest was being pressed into the ground was simply that Bling was lying on top of him.

Bling, in bodyguard mode, cautiously lifted his head, his gun held steadily in his hand, thankful for the protection of the trees that surrounded them, giving any shooter a difficult shot.

The only sound to be heard now was the chattering of the birds high in the treetops, voicing their disapproval at having the serenity of the early morning so rudely disturbed.

He looked across, meeting the eye of Matt Sung, who also lay prone on the grass a few feet away.

"Logan okay?" were the detective's first words, making sure to keep his head down as his eyes anxiously scoured the surrounding area for a sign of their attacker.

"I'd be a whole lot better if Bling'd get off my head," was the muffled reply that made the detective smile quickly, despite the seriousness of their situation.

"Can you see him?" Bling asked, shifting his position, but staying close to Logan, his eyes sweeping the trees in front of them as Matt's did.

"How many are there?" Logan asked quietly, propping himself up a little on his elbows and cautiously looking around.

The sudden deadly ping of another shot landing uncomfortably close made them all duck their heads again instinctively, Bling, at the same time putting his hand on the back of Logan's head, forcing him to lie flat once more.

Matt raised his gun and fired a few shots in the direction he thought the firing had come from, but he knew it was a futile gesture. He had no idea which tree the shooter could be hiding behind.

He looked at Bling worriedly.

"I need to draw his fire to give you a chance to get Logan outta here."

"Matt. You can't do that," Logan stated categorically, using the boulder that had almost knocked him out for protection.

"Logan, it's me they're after."

"You can't be sure of that, Matt," Logan argued hotly, inwardly cursing the fact that both Matt and Bling had been put in an even more dangerous position because of his inability to walk.

Matt looked across at Bling seriously, ignoring Logan's protests. "I'm almost one hundred percent sure that there's only one shooter and he's firing from behind those trees on the top of that rise," he said in his usual calm manner.

Both Logan and Bling looked in the direction he'd indicated.

"Matt ..." tried Logan again.

"I'm gonna head in that direction, keeping parallel to the shooter, but stay in the shelter of the trees. Give me a few moments, then get the hell out of here."

Bling looked unhappy with the idea, but nodded his head in agreement.

Logan reached across and grabbed at Bling's arm, saying, "No," only to dive for cover again as another bullet whistled uncomfortably close.

Matt edged forward a little so that he could see Logan's face. "Logan, I'm a cop. This sort of thing is what I'm trained to do – and anyway," he added, "I'm sure Eyes Only doesn't expect you to take another bullet for 'the cause'. Seems only fair that someone else has a chance to be a hero. Besides, I'm a smaller target than either of you," he finished lightly.

Logan frowned, failing to see the humour behind the Asian detective's words.

Before Logan had a chance to say another word, Matt jumped up and cautiously ran to the closest tree, then on to the next one, all the while heading away from them in an attempt to draw the attention of whoever was firing at them, and hopefully pinpoint the shooter's position and get off a lucky shot.

As soon as he was far enough away, Bling rolled over and retrieved Logan's wheelchair, placing it within his grasp.

About to pull himself into it, Logan stopped as he heard gunfire – four shots, and then the early morning quiet descended once more.

"Any sign of Matt?" Logan asked Bling worriedly, looking up at Bling who now pressed himself against the trunk of one of the trees, carefully inching his head around it to stare in the direction they'd both seen Matt go.

When Bling shook his head, Logan said, "I don't like it," grimacing slightly at the sense of foreboding that swept over him as there was still no sign of Matt's return, and the shooting seemed to have stopped.

"You'll have to go and search for him ... I'll be all right," he insisted exasperatedly, seeing Bling's expression.

Bling would have waited until he'd hauled himself into his chair, but Logan snapped, "Find Matt."

Torn between staying and going, Bling took the path he'd seen the detective take only minutes ago, although it now seemed like hours. He'd only made it to the top of the first rise, still standing behind the protection of a tree, when he stopped suddenly.

With his gun at the ready, aware of his heart thumping unpleasantly hard in his chest, he swept the area with an intensity born of a very rational fear and the necessity for speed.

Sweeping the area once more, Bling then steeled himself to leave the cover of the tree.

Feeling horribly exposed, he ran forward to the crumpled figure, now lying face down in the wet grass.

Bling saw the blood on the grass before he'd even turned the detective over.

Standing, Bling raced to the top of the rise, not surprised to see Logan heading determinedly towards him.

"Call 911," his voice carried clearly to Logan. "He's been hit."

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"I did a good job on you," Bling muttered, as he applied the antiseptic cream to Logan's knees.

"Better than a bullet," Logan came back at him. "Been there, done that."

Stripped to his boxers, Logan sat on the workout table, legs dangling, as Bling worked on his badly grazed knees that had taken the brunt of his fall.

"We'll have to keep an eye on these," he warned Logan.

Logan grunted irritably, "Spare me the whole 'you gotta look after yourself' speech."

"Well, you can blame me this time," smiled Bling. "That's something new."

"Actually I should be thanking you," admitted Logan wryly, turning his head as he heard the sound of his apartment door opening. Despite his determination not to, he could feel his face reddening.

Max had seen him in boxers before when he'd worked with Vertes– but his legs had been working more or less then, and at the time he would have let her see him naked if it meant being able to walk. They certainly weren't the white and dangling useless things that hung in front of him now that he felt so oddly ashamed of.

"Hey kids," she smiled, coming in. "Got your message. Something up?" she added, suddenly aware that something wasn't right.

"Max," Bling smiled at her briefly but seriously.

"I'll massage that shoulder in a minute," he told Logan as he moved away to put the various ointments back in their place.

Once Bling had stepped away, her eyes went immediately to his legs. Despite his tenseness a moment ago, Logan found his unease dissolve as Max herself showed no sign of finding the situation awkward, but, quite the opposite, walked up to him and stared at the ugly red grazes on his knees quite openly.

Her eyes flew to his face and now they opened even wider as she saw the bruise on his cheek that started at the top of his cheekbone where he'd hit the boulder.

"Logan, what happened?"

"Matt Sung was shot this morning," he told her quietly.

"How bad?"

"Right shoulder and a deep graze to the head," Logan replied, as he spoke remembering his trip back to the apartment with Bling:

It had been hard having to leave Matt in the hands of the paramedics and pretend that they'd just come across his body while out for their early morning exercise.

Logan had made sure that they were taking him to Metro Medical rather than any of the other poorly equipped hospitals, and had called Sam Carr, ensuring that his friend had the best care his money could provide in the badly over-worked, under funded Seattle medical system.

Logan kept his face expressionless as he answered the questions of the investigating police who had arrived on the scene, but inside his stomach was churning. The effect of shock he supposed numbly as he saw Bling watching him.

Bling.

The man was cool and competent as ever, impressing the police, who thanked him gratefully for his, unknown to them, 'doctored' detailed report.

Once they'd reached the car, Bling had taken one look at Logan's face and wordlessly opened the passenger door for him, loading his wheelchair into the back once he'd transferred to the car.

The roads were congested now with the morning rush-hour traffic, made even worse by the many hold-ups as people had to wait in the slow moving lines at the sector check points. It was the worst time of day to travel in post- pulse Seattle.

Logan stared moodily out the window, his mind a tangled, thorny mess of dark thoughts.

"Sam Carr will take good care of him," Bling told him, darting a look across at the morose figure beside him.

"He shouldn't even be in the damned hospital."

Logan spoke in a voice so low and with such suppressed emotion that it came out as a deep-throated, husky whisper.

Stopping the car to join the line at the sector checkpoint, Bling debated whether to speak or not. He knew from past experience that Logan was invariably reluctant to even admit that he was struggling, let alone talk openly about it.

"Logan, Matt wouldn't want you to feel guilty because he's in the hospital," Bling remarked, unerringly reading Logan's mind.

Logan swallowed hard, but said nothing, his eyes staring bleakly out the front windshield.

"That's the very reason a man like Matt becomes a policeman – because he has a desire to protect people, and he protected 'you' because you're his friend."

When Logan didn't reply he added, "Didn't you do as much for him when Bronck had you both? Would you have wanted Matt to feel guilty if that had blown up in your face and you'd wound up dead?"

"No," said Logan immediately, "but that was different."

"No it wasn't," Bling contradicted him forcefully. "You were willing to give yourself up to save a friend."

"It's not the same."

Bling played his last card carefully. He knew all the facts, but he didn't want Logan's still sometimes fragile hold on the issues that confronted him, to crumble.

"Would you have wanted anyone to feel guilty because you wound up in a wheelchair: Lauren, because you were protecting her daughter?"

Then with a more purposeful tone, he added, "Max ... because she didn't agree to play bodyguard?"

"You know I wouldn't," Logan snapped quickly, but with the same husky intensity as before.

"Neither would Matt. He's just like you – and he'd want you to feel grateful. It's an emotion that's a lot easier on the body than misplaced guilt."

Bringing his eyes back to Max's concerned face, Logan told her what had transpired that morning, an undercurrent of anger running through his words.

"We had a meet at the park this morning." Shaking his head with frustration he added, "He must've been followed."

"Does he know why or who did it?" Max asked, concerned that Matt had been injured and at the same time alarmed to find that Logan had been in such danger. Just how close a call had it been?

Logan made a face. "Don't know. He's unconscious."

Still puzzled by the turn of events, Max motioned to his legs again. "But what ...?"

"Bling hauled my ass outta the chair when the shots started flying. I'm gonna have to start paying him danger rates," he smiled with an attempt at humour.

"Do you think this is all tied up to Martin and his missing debutante?" Max asked, keeping her face expressionless at the picture his words conjured in her mind and mentally thanking the quick-thinking Bling.

Logan shrugged resignedly. "I dunno. Matt seemed to think so, but I just don't know. Until we can talk to Matt and find out what the information was that he was going to give me, well, I just can't be sure – of anything ... or anyone," he added with meaning.

"Anyway, I'm glad to see that you're okay," Max told him with quiet honesty.

"I sure hope Matt will be," countered Logan, looking deeply into her eyes in search of the comfort and understanding he knew he would find there.

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Logan spent the early part of the afternoon reading through Bryan Burke's detailed bookkeeping methods, but in the end, gave up with frustration. When it came to his accounts, the detective had used abbreviations to limit the pen work, so instead of naming a street, he'd simply put H/S instead of Harris Street.

Without Martin to fill in the missing letters, it was like trying to do a monochrome jigsaw puzzle.

Dispiritedly, Logan put the documents back into the manila folder, his eyes lighting on the empty folder that had once held Burke's actual documents of the case.

Dammit, how had things got so ugly? he frowned, thinking of Matt Sung lying unconscious in a hospital bed. The difference between life and death could be uncomfortably close, he thought grimly.

"You want something to eat ... drink?" called Bling from the kitchen.

Logan scratched the back of his head, frowning indecisively as he tried to make up his mind.

Giving up on such a complex question, he carefully removed his glasses, finding it annoying that they sat where the bruising on his face began It was remarkable they hadn't broken.

"I think that's what they call a 'kaleidoscope of colour,'" motioned Bling, coming through to get a definitive answer. "Sore?"

"Just annoying," Logan replied. "And it's annoying that I can't get a hold of Martin. I've left messages for him all over the place. I can't get anywhere on Burke's account details without him."

"Any word from the hospital?"

"Still unconscious," Logan frowned.

"Well, it's the body's way of dealing with things," Bling said encouragingly. "It's not necessarily a bad thing."

Logan nodded absently.

"So, you want coffee?" tried Bling again.

With a decisive unlocking of his brakes, Logan said, "Why not," only to turn his head as the ringing of the doorbell sounded through the apartment.

"I'll get it," said Logan, putting out a hand to stop Bling who was already about to head to the door.

The bell rang a second time causing Logan to let loose a grunt of irritation - anyone ringing his doorbell should have enough sense to know that sometimes it might take him a while to answer. A sudden thought made him pause - unless it was someone who didn't know him. Considering the events of the morning, well ...

A similar thought must have been running through Bling's mind, because he came out from Logan's study to stand tensely in the hallway.

Logan wheeled forward and opened the door.

"Logan," the voice said in its ever-present ironical tone. "Well, are you going to invite me in?"

"Uncle Jonas," Logan managed to get out, looking at the one person he least wanted to see at that particular moment.

His uncle stood in the doorway, obviously expecting an invitation to come inside, so with as much grace as he could muster, Logan rolled back a little to let his uncle enter the apartment.

Aware of his uncle's careful scrutiny of his face, he swung around quickly, heading down the hallway and into the living room, throwing a grimace at Bling as he went by, then swinging around and saying, "Uncle, you remember my therapist, Bling."

"Yes, I believe we've met before," Jonas said smoothly, taking hold of Bling's proffered hand.

"I'll head out and grab those few things you need," Bling said to Logan, adding, "Nice to meet you again, Mr. Cale," before he turned to go.

Feeling a little as though his last lifeline had disappeared, Logan looked over at his uncle, who was now standing by the window surveying the view.

"Can I get you a drink, Uncle Jonas?" Logan asked politely, assuming with some exasperation that this was more than likely about Martin.

Jonas turned around in a measured fashion.

Ignoring the question he asked instead, "Have you taken to wearing 'contacts' Logan?" – making it sound as if Logan had committed some social solecism.

"No. I just took my glasses off for a minute," Logan answered, feeling a little on edge as he always did when forced to confront Jonas – another thing he'd have to thank Martin for when he saw him.

"I'll have that drink now, Logan."

Nodding, Logan spun around and headed out to the kitchen with a sense of déjà vu; was it only two days ago that he'd done the same thing for Martin? he wondered as he precariously balanced two glasses and a large decanter on his lap.

Jonas had occupied the few minutes by wandering around the living area, checking out the view, artwork, and anything else that took his interest.

Feeling mildly irritated with his uncle's usual implied attitude that nothing was quite as Jonas himself would have liked it, Logan threw him a dark look from under his lashes and dumped the contents of his lap on the low glass-topped table near the sofa, then wheeled back to his desk to get his glasses.

Carefully putting them back on, he watched as Jonas poured himself a drink.

The sight of his uncle in correct focus was even more objectionable than the blurred one had been.

"That's a nasty bruise you've got there," Jonas commented dispassionately as he wheeled back into the room.

Logan's mind disobligingly went blank for the moment.

"I fell," he eventually got out quickly, then seeing his Uncle's enquiring look, he stammered out, "In the shower."

It was the most plausible thing he could think of at short notice – one of Bling's more insistent warnings to him.

"Your aunt has been worried about you," Jonas continued in his dictatorial manner, looking at Logan over the top of his glass. "She's concerned about you living alone."

"You can tell Aunt Margo that I'm doing fine."

"You don't have to snap, Junior. She's just thinking of your welfare," Jonas continued smoothly, with an ironic nod of his head towards the bruise on his nephew's cheek as if to say that he wasn't convinced.

Forcing himself to stay calm, and wishing he'd never come up with the whole 'shower' excuse, Logan replied with a quiet insistence, "I'm sure she is, but I am doing fine. Besides, Bling's here part of the time, most days."

"Well, I'm sure it can't be easy for you," Jonas replied inconsequentially, taking a large gulp of his drink.

Standing in need of a little fortifying himself, Logan poured a drink and took a generous mouthful, gratefully feeling it burn as it slipped down his throat.

"Have you seen Martin lately?" Jonas suddenly asked.

Logan had been expecting it, and he'd already decided that he wasn't going to lie on Martin's behalf.

"As a matter of fact, I have. He visited me here the other night."

Logan could see that Jonas was surprised by his honesty.

"I had no idea that you two were so close."

"We're not," Logan stated bluntly.

"You left messages on his answering machine," Jonas reminded him, closely watching for his reaction.

"That's right," agreed Logan evenly, refusing to elaborate further.

"Your aunt is worried about him. She hasn't been able to contact him since the night before last."

Mentally rolling his eyes at Martin's stupidity in not allaying suspicion, Logan shrugged, "Well, he's a big boy. I'm sure whichever beauty he's with will be taking good care of him."

"Do I detect a hint of green-eyed envy?" Jonas smiled suggestively, always ready to be amused at another's expense and reminding Logan very strongly of his recent encounters with Martin

"Hardly," snapped Logan, revolted by the idea of one of Martin's fly-by- night love affairs.

"Logan," a familiar voice called out from the hallway, appearing suddenly from the kitchen end of the apartment

Jonas looked down at Logan with one of his slightly sarcastic smiles. Logan knew this meant his uncle was likely to make some outrageously rude comment and mask it as a joke. He was already cringing inwardly for Max's sake, and his uncle's words only served to confirm his expectations. "Well, I can see why you don't need to be jealous of Martin."

"The difference between them is so obvious isn't it!" Max agreed as if pleased they'd both reached the same conclusion and being purposefully obtuse at Martin's expense.

"You've met Max before, Jonas. She's a 'friend'," Logan emphasized quickly.

"Well, I hope for Logan's sake you're a particularly close friend," commented Jonas, smiling ingratiatingly in Max's direction.

Max smiled winningly.

For once she was not quick to refute the oft-mentioned observation, not if it meant another thinly veiled barb in Logan's direction.

Instead, she thought it safer to smile enigmatically and say nothing, which took an enormous amount of self-control on her part, wondering at the same time how Logan could possibly be the product of a family such as this.

The thought sobered her for a moment – she was a product of Manticore, and she had spent her life trying to escape its tentacles in her life, just as Logan tried to escape the more distasteful aspects of his upbringing.

Jonas meanwhile, was talking to Logan about Bennett and Marianne, pointing out in his own indomitable way how successful the pair were destined to be.

Logan, for his part, had long ago decided he'd had enough of the whole conversation and was debating the most tactful way to send his uncle packing, when he caught his uncle looking at him with a slightly different expression.

For once Logan thought his uncle looked a little indecisive on how to continue.

Logan leaned back, idly running his hand along the top of the wheel of his chair, awaiting his next words with interest.

"Well Logan, I'll pass on to your aunt how well you're doing," Jonas said, putting his glass down as if in readiness to leave.

Logan nodded.

Suddenly Jonas turned to him, all sign of facetiousness gone, speaking with a kind of grim cautiousness as if he didn't know how much Logan knew, and he didn't inadvertently want to reveal more.

"This business with Martin - I don't know what the boy has told you, but it's something better left in the hands of wiser heads than yours ... junior." The last word was left to hang in the air, not as an expression of affection but instead clearly designed to keep his nephew in his place.

It stung a little as it always did, not the word, but the intonation that Jonas invariably attached to it, but this time Logan was more interested in what it was Jonas wasn't saying.

Not wanting to let on how little he, in fact, knew of anything to do with the disappearance of Emma Belding, or how Martin was involved in it, Logan simply assumed an expression of indifference and told Jonas evenly, "Well I'm sure if Martin was ever in some kind of trouble you'd be there for him."

Jonas looked down at him, suspicious of some kind of double meaning, but then, apparently happy with the results of his thinly veiled warning, Jonas remarked jovially, "Keep in touch," and with a, "Don't bother to see me out," he left, leaving Max and Logan to stare at each other bemusedly.

"Well, that went well," Max smiled, as she tried to judge his reaction.

"Mmmm," Logan replied, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

"Watcha thinking?"

"I'm wondering more and more what it is that Martin hasn't told us, or why Jonas is so concerned about me butting in on this.'

Max watched him as he wheeled across to his computer – back to his 'safety zone', she thought ironically.

"You know, you shouldn't let him get to you," she said, following him, her thoughts going back to their discussion in the car on the way to Bennett's wedding. She had always wondered just what it was he'd said or done that supposedly had the whole family talking about him for 'the next twenty years'. Some of Logan's wounds were remarkably deep.

Taking off his glasses again, he shrugged a little, but his eyes had an intent, focused expression as they fell on the empty manila folder that had once held Bryan Burke's investigative notes on Emma Belding.

"You think he used disappearing ink?" Max joked, looking down at him as she leaned against his desk.

Logan suddenly looked up at her. "Maybe," he said cryptically.

Max raised an eyebrow.

Leaning across, Logan grabbed a pencil and proceeded to very lightly cover the folder with a faint layer of pencil. "I think I saw this in some show when I was a kid," he murmured intently.

Max watched fascinated as a criss-cross of letters appeared on the cover of the folder where someone had rested a sheet of paper on it to write.

Logan squinted at it in a myopic manner until Max handed him his glasses, but even then he began to look disheartened.

"Well, it was a good theory."

"Let me have a look," said Max, holding it up to the light. She began to shake her head as well, when suddenly she said, "Logan, I think I can read an address."

TBC