Thanks once more for all your support – your reviews are so encouraging!
Special thanks as always to Alaidh who goes to so much effort on my behalf.
Chapter 11
"Well, that's all done. I'm ready to go," Bling called to Logan from the kitchen, humming a little as he went through to the front door to grab his jacket from the coat stand in the hallway.
When Logan didn't answer, he went around to the study.
"I said I'll be leaving now," he repeated, watching Logan from the doorway. "You sure you'll be okay with the kids?"
Without taking his eyes from the screen, Logan answered coolly as he stabbed at the keys, "Yup. Why wouldn't I be?"
Bling shrugged a little. "You sure there's nothing else you want me to do before I go?"
He'd already gone through the apartment, targeting anything he thought would be dangerous to a child of three, or anything that Logan would especially not want broken. He'd suggested to Logan leaving his meds, now boxed, above the wine rack where Monique couldn't reach, but Logan, worried that she'd be able to access them by standing on a chair, had been adamant they go on the top shelf of his hallway closet.
There weren't many other items that had to be moved. Bling remembered what the apartment had looked like when he had first seen it, full of antiques and curios, but Logan had streamlined it considerably when he'd first returned home from the hospital. A lot of it, like changes to some of the furniture and knocking out a wall, had been made to accommodate the wheelchair, but Bling had often wondered why Logan had removed so many of his other pieces – maybe a subconscious decision to cut off the old way of life from the new. He really didn't know why, and it had never come up in their conversations.
Logan merely shook his head in answer to his trainer's question.
Bling went back to kitchen, picked up a couple of things off the counter, then called out, "Good-bye!" to the two girls as he walked back to Logan's desk. They were playing with a wooden puzzle of Logan's on the low glass topped table in front of the couch.
Both looked up and smiled at him, perhaps on Genevieve's face a slight hint of disappointment, and definitely one from Monique. He wasn't sure how it had happened, but somehow he had been talked into giving them piggyback rides around the apartment.
"I kept these down for you," Bling said quietly to Logan, putting the tablets and ointment on his desk. "You'll need to put some of that cream on your knees tonight," he added seriously.
"Whatever," Logan muttered, barely taking his eyes off the screen as he merely glanced towards where Bling had put them well back on his desk, out of the way of small hands.
About to head out, Bling turned and said, "It should only take a day you know, Logan."
Logan stopped for the moment and looked up at him distractedly.
"The shoulder," explained Bling. "You should only have to lay off the transfers to the car for a day."
"Right," snapped Logan, turning back to his screen.
With an inaudible sigh, Bling gave up trying to get him in a better mood. "I'll be seein' yah," he nodded, and headed for the door.
Logan looked up as the door closed, realizing he hadn't said goodbye. Well, it wouldn't be the first time, he mused a little guiltily, turning back to his screen.
His first priority that morning had been to find out who the girls' parents were, or where they lived. He'd tried hacking into Social Security or checking car licence details, even immigration in case one of the parents had not been born in the US, but he drew a blank every time. With growing irritation he looked at the clock on his computer – none of this was helping him discover where Emma Belding had gone, or who had shot Matt Sung, or a hundred other questions he needed answered.
Unlocking his brakes, he quickly swung around to check behind him. He could see Genevieve at the window with Monique, pointing out to her the various things she could see. They'd been there for some time, apparently fascinated with watching the world go by so far beneath them.
He could understand it – how many countless times had he sat there and done the same thing, although not with the same childlike fascination that they had. More likely when his thoughts were dark and he wanted to escape the world.
The sudden ring of his phone brought his attention back to matters at hand. He answered it with his customary obscure brevity, "Hey."
"It's Matt."
"Hey," Logan responded a little tensely, then forcing himself to relax a little, he said, "How're you doin'?"
He could imagine the detective's smile at the other end as he said, "They've got me so doped up on stuff I don't know if I'm seeing double because of that or the slice outta my head."
Logan smiled a little, then added soberly, "That was a pretty dumb stunt you pulled yesterday morning."
"Well, I know this crazy guy ..."
"I learned my lesson the hard way, Matt," Logan interrupted him. "I never wanted you to do that."
Matt laughed outright at that. "Ah, that would be 'do as I say, not as I do'."
Logan relaxed, smiling wider, Matt's good humour having its effect on him.
"So, how's the head? I kinda hate to bring this up, but just before all hell broke loose you were gonna give me a name."
"I was?"
Logan pulled a face. He'd half expected something like this.
"Don't worry Matt. It'll probably come back to you in a few days. Just take it easy in there. Let me know if you need anything."
"Will do."
Logan grimaced again as he hung up the phone. He could have really used that name, but it seemed to be par for the course when you considered everything else that had gone wrong the last few days.
"Sore?"
With surprise he looked down a little to see Monique with one chubby hand tapping on his leg, her face turned to his, carefully watching his expression.
He grinned suddenly at her, running a hand along his other leg. "No, not sore."
He looked around to see where Genevieve was, and found her standing a little uncertainly by the sliding partition into the living area.
"I told Monique your legs don't work," she explained a little hesitantly.
Logan nodded, then turned back to the younger child. "That's right – they don't work," he spelled out for Monique's benefit, hoping he sounded upbeat about it.
The two girls continued to regard him seriously.
Just what did Max say about me, he wondered, his conscience starting to prick him that he'd virtually ignored them for most of the morning.
"So ..." he nodded at Genevieve, almost a touch nervously, unlocking his brakes and biting his bottom lip a little as he thought bracingly to himself, I can do this.
He went to move forward but realized at the last minute that Monique's fingers were about to get caught in the spokes.
"Don't touch," Genevieve told her sharply, coming forward to grab her hand as she commented to Logan, "You have lots of computers and things."
"Yep, sure have," Logan responded a little awkwardly.
"So," he nodded at them both again, his eyes sweeping the room for inspiration, and to his great surprise, finding it.
There was one thing he definitely felt confident with.
"You girls hungry?"
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When given a choice, both girls had opted eagerly for pancakes, apparently a favourite they hadn't had in a long time.
"Sure," Logan had agreed, breathing a sigh of relief that he had the ingredients for what they wanted. "We can make it brunch. You girls wanna help?"
Both had nodded eagerly, so Logan, feeling quite pleased with himself, set about instructing them on where to find the necessary ingredients and implements.
"Okay, you ready to flip that one?" he asked Genevieve some time later, both peering into the pan as the first of the mixture began to bubble slightly.
"Sure," she yelled back at him, slightly overcompensating for the noise that Monique was making by banging a wooden spoon energetically on some of Logan's mixing bowls.
"You done this before?" he asked, getting the spatula out of the drawer.
"No, my dad used ta always do it. But that was a long time ago," she added a little sadly.
"You said your dad had to go away?" Logan prompted gently.
"He made really good pancakes," was the evasive answer.
Logan nodded, looking at her thoughtfully as she concentrated on flipping. Someone had taught this child how to evade questions. Maybe she'd had a lifetime of it.
"What are we gonna have on them?" she asked, once they were flipped and almost cooked.
Wheeling across to the refrigerator, Logan said, "I'm pretty sure I've got some maple syrup in here somewhere."
"Wow. You've got maple syrup?" Genevieve asked, undeniably impressed. "We only have that on special occasions."
Logan grinned at her excitement, remembering a time when everyone could afford maple syrup, even if it was only the imitation variety.
"What kinda special occasions?" Logan tried again.
Genevieve shrugged as she turned another pancake. "I don't remember."
"Genevieve..." he began, only to turn quickly as Monique began to cry loudly from where she sat on the kitchen floor with her 'drum kit'.
Logan looked to Genevieve. "Why's she crying?" he asked suspiciously - hoping he wasn't going to have to resort to the chocolates again as he didn't like the idea of having to deal with the possible aftermath.
"She probably just hurt herself," Genevieve replied calmly, as if this were an everyday occurrence, which it probably was, as she put her spatula down and went over to her sister.
"I'll swap you," said Logan thankfully, taking over the pancake job.
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In a remarkably short time, the three of them had managed to demolish a plate of the pancakes and nearly all the maple syrup. Monique was a sticky mess, but Genevieve telling Logan that her mom always put an old towel around her neck had saved her clothing.
"Your mom's a wise lady," Logan smiled at her as he looked at the amount of food that hadn't made its way into Monique's mouth.
"Yeah," smiled the older girl, obviously happy with the compliment.
The usually pristine kitchen had been transformed in record time to something that you could only describe as the 'lived-in' look. Flour was sprinkled liberally across the counter and floor – Logan wasn't quite sure how that had happened, and there was now a very sticky mess in front of the refrigerator where Monique had dropped not one, but two eggs, when she had insisted on helping, and Logan hadn't quite known how to discourage her from wanting that particular job.
"Mom just says 'no'," Genevieve - whom Logan was fast regarding as the fount of all knowledge – stated in a no-nonsense manner. Probably very like the one her mom adopted with fussing children, Logan smiled inwardly, reflecting with a hazy memory that it must be the universal tone of mothers all over the world.
He'd taken the wayward descent of the first egg quite calmly, but when the second one went the way of the first, and all he could picture was himself having to clean it up, he had to confess to becoming the 'tiniest' bit annoyed.
When Monique, however, turned her face towards him and said, her big, serious blue eyes wide open, "Oops. I sorry, Logan," surprisingly his annoyance had vanished and he found himself waving a hand and saying dismissively, "It's fine."
"Should we tidy up now?" Genevieve asked bravely, surveying the scene.
Rubbing the back of his head vigorously he thought about it. "No. I think we'll do it later, huh? How about you kids do some drawing?"
Genevieve looked a little unimpressed by this idea. "We did that before."
"Watch TV?"
"Nothing on."
Logan quickly searched his mind for something they could do – it was going to be quite a while before Max came back. His eyes swept around the apartment – he was hardly set up for babysitting.
Somewhere at the back of his mind, he had a vague recollection of having a box of childhood things somewhere in his bedroom closet.
He looked across at Genevieve, considering her for the moment.
"What?" she asked him when she noticed.
"What are you like with heights?"
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Between the two of them, they'd managed to carry the step ladder that Logan kept in his hallway closet into his bedroom and set it up at his closet, all the while Genevieve chatting away, now quite relaxed and telling him about how she loved heights and her excitement when her mom had first taken her up the Empire State Building.
"I know there are plenty of skyscrapers bigger than that one, but it's still my favourite. When you look down everyone looks like ants and your stomach kinda does flip flops!" she finished enthusiastically.
Logan did his best to look impressed.
"How old are you again?" he asked her thoughtfully, leaning back a little.
"I'm ten."
Ten, thought Logan – and she loves heights?
"How do you feel about spiders?" he asked her calculatingly.
"I hate'em," Genevieve responded immediately with a shudder, "they give me nightmares."
Logan nodded – this time trying not to look satisfied.
"Logan, I don't like 'piders," Monique added in her singsong voice as she wandered off to inspect the now empty bathroom cabinet.
Deciding that for the 'children's sake' he should change the subject, he turned his attention back to the stepladder.
"Okay, Genevieve, let me just check that this is steady for you," he remarked, wheeling forward. Once satisfied, he let her climb up, then wheeled back a little so that he could see what was up there.
"Now, I think we're looking for a plain cardboard box, if I remember correctly," he told her, frowning a little in the effort to remember. "Hey, make sure you hold on to something," he added sharply as she wobbled a little.
"I'm okay, Logan," she told him with the natural confidence of a ten year old.
"Just toss that white plastic bag down that's in front, and I think the box maybe behind it."
There weren't a lot of things on the top shelf. The important things Bling had moved down for him in his early days home from the hospital.
"Here, catch," she called, throwing him the bag, which Logan put on the floor.
"I can see a box," she said with a tinge of excitement.
"Well," Logan murmured as he looked up and concentrated on what she was doing, "it's probably just some old DVDs an' stuff. I wouldn't get too excited."
"We've never owned any DVDs," she responded simply, reminding Logan that he took his wealth for granted.
Turning around, he realized he'd lost track of Monique, but coasting back a bit, he found he could see her through the doorway, jumping happily on his bed as if it were a trampoline.
Genevieve's reach was just long enough for her to hook her fingers around the edge of the box and drag it forward to where she could get a firm hold of it.
"Great," Logan congratulated her, which made her cheeks flush slightly as he took the medium sized box she passed to him in order to get down.
"Okay, let's see what we've got," he murmured, putting it on his lap and taking it through to his bedroom where he deposited it on the bed, Genevieve following him.
Monique stopped jumping, either out of curiosity or guilt, and climbed down from the bed.
"Well?" enquired Genevieve hopefully, tucking her long hair behind her ears as she leant forward to peer into it.
"There's not a lot of stuff in here," he warned her, as he pulled out some old DVDs, a few photos of him from school, which Genevieve looked at with interest, two hardly used board games, which he wondered why he'd even bothered to keep – computer games having been his thing – and the DVDs he'd remembered. He felt like he should apologize for getting her hopes up, but the child was more than happy.
"Hey, I've never seen these movies," she exclaimed with pleasure when she saw the DVDs he had now spread out on the bed. "This is so cool."
He smiled a little at the expression.
"Can we play one of them now?"
"Sure," he agreed, looking around in time to see Monique coming back into the room, now dragging the white plastic bag that he'd left on the floor.
Genevieve rebuked her a little, saying, 'Monique, give that bag to Logan."
Monique looked like she would have liked to argue the point, until she was distracted by the contents of the now open box spread out on the bed, immediately declaring that all of it was, "Mine."
"Now that's an expression I haven't heard in a while," Logan smiled, as he opened the plastic bag and looked inside it.
"Logan, can I open up one of the games first?"
"Logan?"
She looked at him curiously when he didn't answer.
"Are you okay?"
Logan looked up suddenly. "You say something?"
"I just wanted to know if we could play with the game?" she repeated, this time a little louder as if he were slightly deaf.
Mentally shaking himself, and clearing his throat, Logan got his mind around the fog that had suddenly descended on his mind, and said, "Sure. Why don't you girls go set it up on the table?"
Genevieve took Monique's hand and led her out, both happy with their new treasure, leaving Logan, bag in hand, staring intently somewhere ahead, a little thrown by the intensity of emotion that was now coursing through him.
He remembered they'd been his favourites at the time.
Steeling himself he looked in the bag again.
They weren't quite as he remembered; he hadn't remembered them being so badly scuffed on the toes.
Then again, he guessed dryly, you land pretty heavily once your spinal cord is shot out. He'd seen the holes in his cargo pants when they'd turned him over on the hover drone footage, along with the ugly grazes on his face.
Reaching into the bag, his long, slender fingers slid along the leather, feeling the creases where the leather had been forced to soften and stretch. His eyes held fast to where the heels had been worn down – well, he didn't have that problem nowadays.
It had always bothered him a little that he didn't know for sure what had happened to the rest of his clothes –that he hadn't been in any state to make decisions. He had a vague memory that one of the nurses had told him they'd all had to be cut off – you don't move spinal cord injury patients unnecessarily – but he'd been so pumped full of morphine and who knows what else those first few weeks that he couldn't be sure. All he remembered now from that time was that he'd been catapulted into a hazy world of pain and nightmares that he couldn't wake from.
Pity they'd cut off the jacket too – another favourite - but then, not much good to him with a hole in the back, he thought dryly.
Unconsciously he sat up that little bit straighter in his chair – is it better to see the gun and know it's coming, or have the bullet slam into you, unexpectedly when your back is turned?
Stupid to keep them, he thought now as looked in the bag again – he hadn't even known why he wanted to at the time, all he knew was that for whatever reason, when the nurse had brought them to him, asking if he wanted her to throw them away, he'd felt something akin to panic and he'd snapped, "No."
Maybe they were a reminder of those final inglorious moments of a life he'd never have again.
The sun coming through the window highlighted the blonde from the brown three-day stubble of his unshaven face, as he frowningly thought how weird it was that the mind could reproduce so vividly a time he would much rather forget.
Swallowing hard, Logan fought back the urge to get out the hover drone footage as he closed the bag with an air of finality, rolling the ends down until it was closed tight and bulging with air. He knew that urge was like a drug, an addiction – and the high that came with the morbid fascination would only leave him feeling drained and empty and kind of ill.
Wheeling back to his closet, the bag on his lap, Logan quickly picked it up and threw it with all the skill of his basketball expertise to the back of the top shelf, admitting to himself that if the girls hadn't been there, he would have done it – would have given himself over to that place of darkness, and this time Bling would probably have kicked his ass if he'd found him. He'd been disgusted enough the last time.
"Logan, can we watch one of the DVDs now?" asked Genevieve, calling to him from the box on the bed.
"Logan?"
Decisively unlocking his brakes with a deep breath, he slowly wheeled back through to the bedroom.
"No Monique, don't touch," Genevieve was telling her sister, who was trying to pull everything out of the box at once. "No," she added more forcefully, as Monique then snatched two of the DVDs out of her hand.
Still feeling a bit disoriented, Logan set himself to the task at hand – which appeared to be preventing World War 3 and saving the DVDs.
"Monique," he called to the younger child, setting his brakes again as he stopped at the bed and then held his out hand for the movies.
Monique took one look at his outstretched hand and thought this was a great game, smiling mischievously at him as his hand came near, then at the last minute jumping back further on the bed so that she was out of his reach.
"Hey!" he snapped with more heat than he meant to as he nearly overbalanced by lunging too far forward to grab the movies from the gleeful child, only managing to save himself at the last minute by putting a hand out on the bed.
The room went suddenly very still.
Both girls looked at him apprehensively.
Monique, ever sensitive to a harsh tone and discovering that she wasn't going to get her way, did what all three year olds do – she cried. Loudly.
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Max looked at the old phone on the wall of Jam Pony, oblivious to the comings and goings of those around her.
She put out a hand to pick up the receiver with a deep breath, as if she were coming to a major decision, then just as quickly let her hand drop back to her side.
"Never knew that ole thing ta bite," a voice said close to her.
Startled a little from her reverie, Max looked up to see Original Cindy regarding her with a speculative look.
"You an' Logan have a fight?" she asked pointedly.
Max gave her a look. "Course not."
"He got himself in some kinda trouble again, Boo?"
Max shook her head.
Folding her arms and shifting her weight to throw out her hip, O.C. wasn't to be put off. "Now sugah, are you gonna tell Original Cindy what's goin' down or is she gonna have to beat it outta you?" she finished with a smile.
"I left Logan looking after two kids for the day," Max admitted to her.
"Dayum - now that's something I'd like to see!" her friend said irrepressibly, quickly bringing her smile back under control as she saw Max's less than impressed expression.
"What's so funny about that?" Max asked a little defensively.
"Boo, if there was nothin' funny 'bout it, you wouldn't be standing here tryin' to work up enough courage to phone him," she informed her dryly.
"I just don't want it to look like I'm checking up on him – I'm sure he's doing fine. He's probably real good with kids. Logan's good at most things," she added persuasively.
"Whatever you gotta tell yourself, Boo – the man's a regular Mary Poppins: practically perfect in every way," Original Cindy finished dryly.
It was so far from the truth that Max couldn't stop the smile that flashed out.
"OC," she rebuked her, laughing.
"So – you gonna call him?" Cindy asked her directly.
Max looked at her for a moment, all the reasons she was worried about Logan flashing into her mind – worries she couldn't share with her best friend. Logan's attitudes towards the chair were his business.
"I was worried about him because sometimes he has these ..." she searched the right word, "issues," she finally finished with vaguely.
Original Cindy simply nodded, a hint of understanding in her eyes.
Making up her mind, Max said determinedly, "You know, he's probably got the whole dealio under control. Let's have lunch."
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Logan stared out at the buildings, glittering, and looking almost new in the glorious sunshine against the backdrop of the blue sky.
On days like this it was hard to believe The Pulse had ever happened, until you let your eyes drop down to the mess that was humanity surviving in the streets below – not that much of it could be seen from where he sat.
He could hear the girls laughing suddenly at something on the DVD they were watching in his study, sitting side-by-side on the very chair Bruno Anselmo had sat in.
He still felt bad about his earlier outburst – it must be hard enough for the two of them not knowing where their parents were without him taking all his stupid frustration out on them as well. And he had been angry, he admitted uncomfortably, grasping both wheels with his hands and cautiously letting his shoulders take his weight as he shifted his position a little.
The music soundtrack on the DVD suddenly changed to something mildly threatening, and glancing around he wasn't surprised to see Monique steal into her sister's arms. It brought back a sudden memory to him - a small boy, curled up on his mother's lap, experiencing the thrill of fear but too intrigued to turn away.
Max was right – somehow they had to find the girls' parents. Too many kids were faced with lonely lives, missing out on the security and warmth of a mother's arms.
There were times when he wished he could go back to it himself.
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Logan surveyed the mess in his kitchen – he was man enough to not let Max clean it for him, but he would have been more than happy if Bling had walked in at that moment and offered to do it.
Not quite knowing what to attack first, Logan decided to grab a cloth and start with the counters. The remains of the eggs I'll definitely leave until last, he decided.
He'd only started on the first counter when the doorbell rang.
With a grunt of irritation he absently put the cloth in his lap and headed for the door, only to stare in surprise when he saw Martin Cale standing there yet again.
"Martin!"
"Caught you at a bad time?" his cousin asked.
"Martin, what are you doing here? I thought I told you to lay low!"
Martin shrugged.
"So, you busy?" he asked Logan, looking pointedly at the cloth that was now beginning to leave a wet mark on Logan's leg.
Logan looked down at it with a hint of annoyance, quickly swinging around and heading back to the kitchen to dump it in the sink.
Martin looked around in amazement. "Woah, what happened here?"
At that moment Monique trotted out on hearing the voices.
Martin looked considerably taken aback to see a three year old in his cousin's apartment, then even more surprised when Genevieve followed to see what her sister was up to.
Logan," said Martin, looking at his cousin in a new light, "they're not..."
"No," snapped Logan coldly.
Not bothering to introduce the girls to his cousin, Logan wheeled over to them and said quietly, "How about you girls head back in and finish the movie."
Genevieve threw a slightly suspicious look at Martin, then took Monique's hand and led her back to the study.
Logan looked up at Martin.
His cousin was still trying to disguise himself in some way. This time he wore a pair of while overalls with the words, 'Morton's Cleaning Services' printed on the back in bold letters. He took off the baseball cap that he'd been wearing and tried to fluff his hair out again. Logan thought his face looked a little strained.
"I've got a killer of a headache, Logan. You got anything I could take for it?" Martin winced, putting a hand to his forehead.
"Too much partying, Martin?" Logan couldn't resist, not feeling the least bit of sympathy for him.
"It may surprise you, but – no!"
Logan raised his eyebrows, but made no further comment as he wordlessly headed to his desk to grab the bottle of tablets Bling had left there.
Martin, even though he was in his cleaning overalls, had fastidiously picked over the mess of Logan's kitchen, as if he were in one of his designer suits and had no wish to get it marked, to find himself a glass.
"There you go," Logan muttered, picking up the tablets from his lap and throwing them at Martin, who stood by the sink about to fill his glass.
Logan watched him as he popped two of the pills in his mouth and took a few gulps of the water.
"So why are you here, Martin?" Logan asked without warmth.
"I had an idea about some of that stuff you showed me last night, the notes from Bryan Burke."
"And?"
Perhaps a little thrown by Logan's coldness, Martin a little hesitantly said, "One of the roads I think I remember. The notes said, 'H/G Road,' – well I seem to remember Burke telling me that he was going to look into something or someone, I can't remember which, along Hillsgate Road."
He looked across at Logan, trying to judge the effect of his words.
"It may be a start," was the cool reply.
Martin was beginning to feel a little nettled by Logan's reaction. "Listen, Logan, you can't blame me for what happened to that friend of yours."
"I didn't say I did."
Genevieve, on hearing the slightly raised voice, left her sister and stood unnoticed behind the partition closest to the kitchen.
"Well, you're implying it. You and Max both!" Martin accused him.
"What I'm wondering is why you haven't been telling me the truth," Logan said with restraint, "and does any of this have anything to do with the fact that your account is seriously overdrawn."
Martin paled at that revelation, then his face turning red, his voice considerably raised, he said, "You had no right to check into my financial situation, Logan. It's none of your damned business."
"That's where you're wrong, Martin. From the first time you lied to me, I had every right to check into what you've been telling me."
Martin was breathing quickly now, his face still suffused with colour.
"Besides, I doubt if Jonas will be able to keep it covered up for too long that you've been dipping into Cale funds."
Martin looked at him in horror for the moment, then stepped forward explosively, "Dammit, Logan. You told Jonas? Why you ..."
At that moment, Genevieve came running out from her hiding place to stand next to Logan, her face determined. "You hurt Logan and I'll tell Max – and she can whip your butt!" she charged him fierily.
Martin took a step back, brought up short by the small whirlwind of fury in front of him, and now feeling a little ashamed that his anger had been construed in such a light.
"I wouldn't hurt Logan," he told her irritably. "He's my cousin."
Genevieve looked at Logan in surprise. "He's your cousin?"
Logan nodded at her wryly, both bemused and amused that the ten year old thought she had to defend him against Martin. Then again, maybe she was a good judge of character.
"Well, I don't like him!" she stated nonetheless.
"I don't like him, too," another voice called from the study, in a fine imitation of her sister's, and Logan turned to see Monique with her arms folded in an attitude of three year old defiance.
He grunted a little with exasperation – now he had a three year old defending him.
"You have quite an entourage of beautiful bodyguards," smirked Martin in a wonderful impersonation of his father.
Logan looked up at him at that.
"We'd better talk about this later, Logan," Martin added dismissively. "I'll come back when we can talk – privately," he finished, his gaze sweeping the two girls.
"You can talk to me any time you like, Martin – as long as you're prepared to tell me the truth, and all of it this time."
Martin shrugged a little defensively. "I'll see myself out," he muttered, and turned and left, leaving Logan to stare pensively at the now closed door.
He looked up after a moment to see both girls looking at him seriously, then he looked around at the disaster that had become his kitchen.
"How do you girls feel about a walk?" he grinned at them.
TBC
Special thanks as always to Alaidh who goes to so much effort on my behalf.
Chapter 11
"Well, that's all done. I'm ready to go," Bling called to Logan from the kitchen, humming a little as he went through to the front door to grab his jacket from the coat stand in the hallway.
When Logan didn't answer, he went around to the study.
"I said I'll be leaving now," he repeated, watching Logan from the doorway. "You sure you'll be okay with the kids?"
Without taking his eyes from the screen, Logan answered coolly as he stabbed at the keys, "Yup. Why wouldn't I be?"
Bling shrugged a little. "You sure there's nothing else you want me to do before I go?"
He'd already gone through the apartment, targeting anything he thought would be dangerous to a child of three, or anything that Logan would especially not want broken. He'd suggested to Logan leaving his meds, now boxed, above the wine rack where Monique couldn't reach, but Logan, worried that she'd be able to access them by standing on a chair, had been adamant they go on the top shelf of his hallway closet.
There weren't many other items that had to be moved. Bling remembered what the apartment had looked like when he had first seen it, full of antiques and curios, but Logan had streamlined it considerably when he'd first returned home from the hospital. A lot of it, like changes to some of the furniture and knocking out a wall, had been made to accommodate the wheelchair, but Bling had often wondered why Logan had removed so many of his other pieces – maybe a subconscious decision to cut off the old way of life from the new. He really didn't know why, and it had never come up in their conversations.
Logan merely shook his head in answer to his trainer's question.
Bling went back to kitchen, picked up a couple of things off the counter, then called out, "Good-bye!" to the two girls as he walked back to Logan's desk. They were playing with a wooden puzzle of Logan's on the low glass topped table in front of the couch.
Both looked up and smiled at him, perhaps on Genevieve's face a slight hint of disappointment, and definitely one from Monique. He wasn't sure how it had happened, but somehow he had been talked into giving them piggyback rides around the apartment.
"I kept these down for you," Bling said quietly to Logan, putting the tablets and ointment on his desk. "You'll need to put some of that cream on your knees tonight," he added seriously.
"Whatever," Logan muttered, barely taking his eyes off the screen as he merely glanced towards where Bling had put them well back on his desk, out of the way of small hands.
About to head out, Bling turned and said, "It should only take a day you know, Logan."
Logan stopped for the moment and looked up at him distractedly.
"The shoulder," explained Bling. "You should only have to lay off the transfers to the car for a day."
"Right," snapped Logan, turning back to his screen.
With an inaudible sigh, Bling gave up trying to get him in a better mood. "I'll be seein' yah," he nodded, and headed for the door.
Logan looked up as the door closed, realizing he hadn't said goodbye. Well, it wouldn't be the first time, he mused a little guiltily, turning back to his screen.
His first priority that morning had been to find out who the girls' parents were, or where they lived. He'd tried hacking into Social Security or checking car licence details, even immigration in case one of the parents had not been born in the US, but he drew a blank every time. With growing irritation he looked at the clock on his computer – none of this was helping him discover where Emma Belding had gone, or who had shot Matt Sung, or a hundred other questions he needed answered.
Unlocking his brakes, he quickly swung around to check behind him. He could see Genevieve at the window with Monique, pointing out to her the various things she could see. They'd been there for some time, apparently fascinated with watching the world go by so far beneath them.
He could understand it – how many countless times had he sat there and done the same thing, although not with the same childlike fascination that they had. More likely when his thoughts were dark and he wanted to escape the world.
The sudden ring of his phone brought his attention back to matters at hand. He answered it with his customary obscure brevity, "Hey."
"It's Matt."
"Hey," Logan responded a little tensely, then forcing himself to relax a little, he said, "How're you doin'?"
He could imagine the detective's smile at the other end as he said, "They've got me so doped up on stuff I don't know if I'm seeing double because of that or the slice outta my head."
Logan smiled a little, then added soberly, "That was a pretty dumb stunt you pulled yesterday morning."
"Well, I know this crazy guy ..."
"I learned my lesson the hard way, Matt," Logan interrupted him. "I never wanted you to do that."
Matt laughed outright at that. "Ah, that would be 'do as I say, not as I do'."
Logan relaxed, smiling wider, Matt's good humour having its effect on him.
"So, how's the head? I kinda hate to bring this up, but just before all hell broke loose you were gonna give me a name."
"I was?"
Logan pulled a face. He'd half expected something like this.
"Don't worry Matt. It'll probably come back to you in a few days. Just take it easy in there. Let me know if you need anything."
"Will do."
Logan grimaced again as he hung up the phone. He could have really used that name, but it seemed to be par for the course when you considered everything else that had gone wrong the last few days.
"Sore?"
With surprise he looked down a little to see Monique with one chubby hand tapping on his leg, her face turned to his, carefully watching his expression.
He grinned suddenly at her, running a hand along his other leg. "No, not sore."
He looked around to see where Genevieve was, and found her standing a little uncertainly by the sliding partition into the living area.
"I told Monique your legs don't work," she explained a little hesitantly.
Logan nodded, then turned back to the younger child. "That's right – they don't work," he spelled out for Monique's benefit, hoping he sounded upbeat about it.
The two girls continued to regard him seriously.
Just what did Max say about me, he wondered, his conscience starting to prick him that he'd virtually ignored them for most of the morning.
"So ..." he nodded at Genevieve, almost a touch nervously, unlocking his brakes and biting his bottom lip a little as he thought bracingly to himself, I can do this.
He went to move forward but realized at the last minute that Monique's fingers were about to get caught in the spokes.
"Don't touch," Genevieve told her sharply, coming forward to grab her hand as she commented to Logan, "You have lots of computers and things."
"Yep, sure have," Logan responded a little awkwardly.
"So," he nodded at them both again, his eyes sweeping the room for inspiration, and to his great surprise, finding it.
There was one thing he definitely felt confident with.
"You girls hungry?"
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When given a choice, both girls had opted eagerly for pancakes, apparently a favourite they hadn't had in a long time.
"Sure," Logan had agreed, breathing a sigh of relief that he had the ingredients for what they wanted. "We can make it brunch. You girls wanna help?"
Both had nodded eagerly, so Logan, feeling quite pleased with himself, set about instructing them on where to find the necessary ingredients and implements.
"Okay, you ready to flip that one?" he asked Genevieve some time later, both peering into the pan as the first of the mixture began to bubble slightly.
"Sure," she yelled back at him, slightly overcompensating for the noise that Monique was making by banging a wooden spoon energetically on some of Logan's mixing bowls.
"You done this before?" he asked, getting the spatula out of the drawer.
"No, my dad used ta always do it. But that was a long time ago," she added a little sadly.
"You said your dad had to go away?" Logan prompted gently.
"He made really good pancakes," was the evasive answer.
Logan nodded, looking at her thoughtfully as she concentrated on flipping. Someone had taught this child how to evade questions. Maybe she'd had a lifetime of it.
"What are we gonna have on them?" she asked, once they were flipped and almost cooked.
Wheeling across to the refrigerator, Logan said, "I'm pretty sure I've got some maple syrup in here somewhere."
"Wow. You've got maple syrup?" Genevieve asked, undeniably impressed. "We only have that on special occasions."
Logan grinned at her excitement, remembering a time when everyone could afford maple syrup, even if it was only the imitation variety.
"What kinda special occasions?" Logan tried again.
Genevieve shrugged as she turned another pancake. "I don't remember."
"Genevieve..." he began, only to turn quickly as Monique began to cry loudly from where she sat on the kitchen floor with her 'drum kit'.
Logan looked to Genevieve. "Why's she crying?" he asked suspiciously - hoping he wasn't going to have to resort to the chocolates again as he didn't like the idea of having to deal with the possible aftermath.
"She probably just hurt herself," Genevieve replied calmly, as if this were an everyday occurrence, which it probably was, as she put her spatula down and went over to her sister.
"I'll swap you," said Logan thankfully, taking over the pancake job.
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In a remarkably short time, the three of them had managed to demolish a plate of the pancakes and nearly all the maple syrup. Monique was a sticky mess, but Genevieve telling Logan that her mom always put an old towel around her neck had saved her clothing.
"Your mom's a wise lady," Logan smiled at her as he looked at the amount of food that hadn't made its way into Monique's mouth.
"Yeah," smiled the older girl, obviously happy with the compliment.
The usually pristine kitchen had been transformed in record time to something that you could only describe as the 'lived-in' look. Flour was sprinkled liberally across the counter and floor – Logan wasn't quite sure how that had happened, and there was now a very sticky mess in front of the refrigerator where Monique had dropped not one, but two eggs, when she had insisted on helping, and Logan hadn't quite known how to discourage her from wanting that particular job.
"Mom just says 'no'," Genevieve - whom Logan was fast regarding as the fount of all knowledge – stated in a no-nonsense manner. Probably very like the one her mom adopted with fussing children, Logan smiled inwardly, reflecting with a hazy memory that it must be the universal tone of mothers all over the world.
He'd taken the wayward descent of the first egg quite calmly, but when the second one went the way of the first, and all he could picture was himself having to clean it up, he had to confess to becoming the 'tiniest' bit annoyed.
When Monique, however, turned her face towards him and said, her big, serious blue eyes wide open, "Oops. I sorry, Logan," surprisingly his annoyance had vanished and he found himself waving a hand and saying dismissively, "It's fine."
"Should we tidy up now?" Genevieve asked bravely, surveying the scene.
Rubbing the back of his head vigorously he thought about it. "No. I think we'll do it later, huh? How about you kids do some drawing?"
Genevieve looked a little unimpressed by this idea. "We did that before."
"Watch TV?"
"Nothing on."
Logan quickly searched his mind for something they could do – it was going to be quite a while before Max came back. His eyes swept around the apartment – he was hardly set up for babysitting.
Somewhere at the back of his mind, he had a vague recollection of having a box of childhood things somewhere in his bedroom closet.
He looked across at Genevieve, considering her for the moment.
"What?" she asked him when she noticed.
"What are you like with heights?"
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Between the two of them, they'd managed to carry the step ladder that Logan kept in his hallway closet into his bedroom and set it up at his closet, all the while Genevieve chatting away, now quite relaxed and telling him about how she loved heights and her excitement when her mom had first taken her up the Empire State Building.
"I know there are plenty of skyscrapers bigger than that one, but it's still my favourite. When you look down everyone looks like ants and your stomach kinda does flip flops!" she finished enthusiastically.
Logan did his best to look impressed.
"How old are you again?" he asked her thoughtfully, leaning back a little.
"I'm ten."
Ten, thought Logan – and she loves heights?
"How do you feel about spiders?" he asked her calculatingly.
"I hate'em," Genevieve responded immediately with a shudder, "they give me nightmares."
Logan nodded – this time trying not to look satisfied.
"Logan, I don't like 'piders," Monique added in her singsong voice as she wandered off to inspect the now empty bathroom cabinet.
Deciding that for the 'children's sake' he should change the subject, he turned his attention back to the stepladder.
"Okay, Genevieve, let me just check that this is steady for you," he remarked, wheeling forward. Once satisfied, he let her climb up, then wheeled back a little so that he could see what was up there.
"Now, I think we're looking for a plain cardboard box, if I remember correctly," he told her, frowning a little in the effort to remember. "Hey, make sure you hold on to something," he added sharply as she wobbled a little.
"I'm okay, Logan," she told him with the natural confidence of a ten year old.
"Just toss that white plastic bag down that's in front, and I think the box maybe behind it."
There weren't a lot of things on the top shelf. The important things Bling had moved down for him in his early days home from the hospital.
"Here, catch," she called, throwing him the bag, which Logan put on the floor.
"I can see a box," she said with a tinge of excitement.
"Well," Logan murmured as he looked up and concentrated on what she was doing, "it's probably just some old DVDs an' stuff. I wouldn't get too excited."
"We've never owned any DVDs," she responded simply, reminding Logan that he took his wealth for granted.
Turning around, he realized he'd lost track of Monique, but coasting back a bit, he found he could see her through the doorway, jumping happily on his bed as if it were a trampoline.
Genevieve's reach was just long enough for her to hook her fingers around the edge of the box and drag it forward to where she could get a firm hold of it.
"Great," Logan congratulated her, which made her cheeks flush slightly as he took the medium sized box she passed to him in order to get down.
"Okay, let's see what we've got," he murmured, putting it on his lap and taking it through to his bedroom where he deposited it on the bed, Genevieve following him.
Monique stopped jumping, either out of curiosity or guilt, and climbed down from the bed.
"Well?" enquired Genevieve hopefully, tucking her long hair behind her ears as she leant forward to peer into it.
"There's not a lot of stuff in here," he warned her, as he pulled out some old DVDs, a few photos of him from school, which Genevieve looked at with interest, two hardly used board games, which he wondered why he'd even bothered to keep – computer games having been his thing – and the DVDs he'd remembered. He felt like he should apologize for getting her hopes up, but the child was more than happy.
"Hey, I've never seen these movies," she exclaimed with pleasure when she saw the DVDs he had now spread out on the bed. "This is so cool."
He smiled a little at the expression.
"Can we play one of them now?"
"Sure," he agreed, looking around in time to see Monique coming back into the room, now dragging the white plastic bag that he'd left on the floor.
Genevieve rebuked her a little, saying, 'Monique, give that bag to Logan."
Monique looked like she would have liked to argue the point, until she was distracted by the contents of the now open box spread out on the bed, immediately declaring that all of it was, "Mine."
"Now that's an expression I haven't heard in a while," Logan smiled, as he opened the plastic bag and looked inside it.
"Logan, can I open up one of the games first?"
"Logan?"
She looked at him curiously when he didn't answer.
"Are you okay?"
Logan looked up suddenly. "You say something?"
"I just wanted to know if we could play with the game?" she repeated, this time a little louder as if he were slightly deaf.
Mentally shaking himself, and clearing his throat, Logan got his mind around the fog that had suddenly descended on his mind, and said, "Sure. Why don't you girls go set it up on the table?"
Genevieve took Monique's hand and led her out, both happy with their new treasure, leaving Logan, bag in hand, staring intently somewhere ahead, a little thrown by the intensity of emotion that was now coursing through him.
He remembered they'd been his favourites at the time.
Steeling himself he looked in the bag again.
They weren't quite as he remembered; he hadn't remembered them being so badly scuffed on the toes.
Then again, he guessed dryly, you land pretty heavily once your spinal cord is shot out. He'd seen the holes in his cargo pants when they'd turned him over on the hover drone footage, along with the ugly grazes on his face.
Reaching into the bag, his long, slender fingers slid along the leather, feeling the creases where the leather had been forced to soften and stretch. His eyes held fast to where the heels had been worn down – well, he didn't have that problem nowadays.
It had always bothered him a little that he didn't know for sure what had happened to the rest of his clothes –that he hadn't been in any state to make decisions. He had a vague memory that one of the nurses had told him they'd all had to be cut off – you don't move spinal cord injury patients unnecessarily – but he'd been so pumped full of morphine and who knows what else those first few weeks that he couldn't be sure. All he remembered now from that time was that he'd been catapulted into a hazy world of pain and nightmares that he couldn't wake from.
Pity they'd cut off the jacket too – another favourite - but then, not much good to him with a hole in the back, he thought dryly.
Unconsciously he sat up that little bit straighter in his chair – is it better to see the gun and know it's coming, or have the bullet slam into you, unexpectedly when your back is turned?
Stupid to keep them, he thought now as looked in the bag again – he hadn't even known why he wanted to at the time, all he knew was that for whatever reason, when the nurse had brought them to him, asking if he wanted her to throw them away, he'd felt something akin to panic and he'd snapped, "No."
Maybe they were a reminder of those final inglorious moments of a life he'd never have again.
The sun coming through the window highlighted the blonde from the brown three-day stubble of his unshaven face, as he frowningly thought how weird it was that the mind could reproduce so vividly a time he would much rather forget.
Swallowing hard, Logan fought back the urge to get out the hover drone footage as he closed the bag with an air of finality, rolling the ends down until it was closed tight and bulging with air. He knew that urge was like a drug, an addiction – and the high that came with the morbid fascination would only leave him feeling drained and empty and kind of ill.
Wheeling back to his closet, the bag on his lap, Logan quickly picked it up and threw it with all the skill of his basketball expertise to the back of the top shelf, admitting to himself that if the girls hadn't been there, he would have done it – would have given himself over to that place of darkness, and this time Bling would probably have kicked his ass if he'd found him. He'd been disgusted enough the last time.
"Logan, can we watch one of the DVDs now?" asked Genevieve, calling to him from the box on the bed.
"Logan?"
Decisively unlocking his brakes with a deep breath, he slowly wheeled back through to the bedroom.
"No Monique, don't touch," Genevieve was telling her sister, who was trying to pull everything out of the box at once. "No," she added more forcefully, as Monique then snatched two of the DVDs out of her hand.
Still feeling a bit disoriented, Logan set himself to the task at hand – which appeared to be preventing World War 3 and saving the DVDs.
"Monique," he called to the younger child, setting his brakes again as he stopped at the bed and then held his out hand for the movies.
Monique took one look at his outstretched hand and thought this was a great game, smiling mischievously at him as his hand came near, then at the last minute jumping back further on the bed so that she was out of his reach.
"Hey!" he snapped with more heat than he meant to as he nearly overbalanced by lunging too far forward to grab the movies from the gleeful child, only managing to save himself at the last minute by putting a hand out on the bed.
The room went suddenly very still.
Both girls looked at him apprehensively.
Monique, ever sensitive to a harsh tone and discovering that she wasn't going to get her way, did what all three year olds do – she cried. Loudly.
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Max looked at the old phone on the wall of Jam Pony, oblivious to the comings and goings of those around her.
She put out a hand to pick up the receiver with a deep breath, as if she were coming to a major decision, then just as quickly let her hand drop back to her side.
"Never knew that ole thing ta bite," a voice said close to her.
Startled a little from her reverie, Max looked up to see Original Cindy regarding her with a speculative look.
"You an' Logan have a fight?" she asked pointedly.
Max gave her a look. "Course not."
"He got himself in some kinda trouble again, Boo?"
Max shook her head.
Folding her arms and shifting her weight to throw out her hip, O.C. wasn't to be put off. "Now sugah, are you gonna tell Original Cindy what's goin' down or is she gonna have to beat it outta you?" she finished with a smile.
"I left Logan looking after two kids for the day," Max admitted to her.
"Dayum - now that's something I'd like to see!" her friend said irrepressibly, quickly bringing her smile back under control as she saw Max's less than impressed expression.
"What's so funny about that?" Max asked a little defensively.
"Boo, if there was nothin' funny 'bout it, you wouldn't be standing here tryin' to work up enough courage to phone him," she informed her dryly.
"I just don't want it to look like I'm checking up on him – I'm sure he's doing fine. He's probably real good with kids. Logan's good at most things," she added persuasively.
"Whatever you gotta tell yourself, Boo – the man's a regular Mary Poppins: practically perfect in every way," Original Cindy finished dryly.
It was so far from the truth that Max couldn't stop the smile that flashed out.
"OC," she rebuked her, laughing.
"So – you gonna call him?" Cindy asked her directly.
Max looked at her for a moment, all the reasons she was worried about Logan flashing into her mind – worries she couldn't share with her best friend. Logan's attitudes towards the chair were his business.
"I was worried about him because sometimes he has these ..." she searched the right word, "issues," she finally finished with vaguely.
Original Cindy simply nodded, a hint of understanding in her eyes.
Making up her mind, Max said determinedly, "You know, he's probably got the whole dealio under control. Let's have lunch."
------------------------------------------------------------ -------------
Logan stared out at the buildings, glittering, and looking almost new in the glorious sunshine against the backdrop of the blue sky.
On days like this it was hard to believe The Pulse had ever happened, until you let your eyes drop down to the mess that was humanity surviving in the streets below – not that much of it could be seen from where he sat.
He could hear the girls laughing suddenly at something on the DVD they were watching in his study, sitting side-by-side on the very chair Bruno Anselmo had sat in.
He still felt bad about his earlier outburst – it must be hard enough for the two of them not knowing where their parents were without him taking all his stupid frustration out on them as well. And he had been angry, he admitted uncomfortably, grasping both wheels with his hands and cautiously letting his shoulders take his weight as he shifted his position a little.
The music soundtrack on the DVD suddenly changed to something mildly threatening, and glancing around he wasn't surprised to see Monique steal into her sister's arms. It brought back a sudden memory to him - a small boy, curled up on his mother's lap, experiencing the thrill of fear but too intrigued to turn away.
Max was right – somehow they had to find the girls' parents. Too many kids were faced with lonely lives, missing out on the security and warmth of a mother's arms.
There were times when he wished he could go back to it himself.
--------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------
Logan surveyed the mess in his kitchen – he was man enough to not let Max clean it for him, but he would have been more than happy if Bling had walked in at that moment and offered to do it.
Not quite knowing what to attack first, Logan decided to grab a cloth and start with the counters. The remains of the eggs I'll definitely leave until last, he decided.
He'd only started on the first counter when the doorbell rang.
With a grunt of irritation he absently put the cloth in his lap and headed for the door, only to stare in surprise when he saw Martin Cale standing there yet again.
"Martin!"
"Caught you at a bad time?" his cousin asked.
"Martin, what are you doing here? I thought I told you to lay low!"
Martin shrugged.
"So, you busy?" he asked Logan, looking pointedly at the cloth that was now beginning to leave a wet mark on Logan's leg.
Logan looked down at it with a hint of annoyance, quickly swinging around and heading back to the kitchen to dump it in the sink.
Martin looked around in amazement. "Woah, what happened here?"
At that moment Monique trotted out on hearing the voices.
Martin looked considerably taken aback to see a three year old in his cousin's apartment, then even more surprised when Genevieve followed to see what her sister was up to.
Logan," said Martin, looking at his cousin in a new light, "they're not..."
"No," snapped Logan coldly.
Not bothering to introduce the girls to his cousin, Logan wheeled over to them and said quietly, "How about you girls head back in and finish the movie."
Genevieve threw a slightly suspicious look at Martin, then took Monique's hand and led her back to the study.
Logan looked up at Martin.
His cousin was still trying to disguise himself in some way. This time he wore a pair of while overalls with the words, 'Morton's Cleaning Services' printed on the back in bold letters. He took off the baseball cap that he'd been wearing and tried to fluff his hair out again. Logan thought his face looked a little strained.
"I've got a killer of a headache, Logan. You got anything I could take for it?" Martin winced, putting a hand to his forehead.
"Too much partying, Martin?" Logan couldn't resist, not feeling the least bit of sympathy for him.
"It may surprise you, but – no!"
Logan raised his eyebrows, but made no further comment as he wordlessly headed to his desk to grab the bottle of tablets Bling had left there.
Martin, even though he was in his cleaning overalls, had fastidiously picked over the mess of Logan's kitchen, as if he were in one of his designer suits and had no wish to get it marked, to find himself a glass.
"There you go," Logan muttered, picking up the tablets from his lap and throwing them at Martin, who stood by the sink about to fill his glass.
Logan watched him as he popped two of the pills in his mouth and took a few gulps of the water.
"So why are you here, Martin?" Logan asked without warmth.
"I had an idea about some of that stuff you showed me last night, the notes from Bryan Burke."
"And?"
Perhaps a little thrown by Logan's coldness, Martin a little hesitantly said, "One of the roads I think I remember. The notes said, 'H/G Road,' – well I seem to remember Burke telling me that he was going to look into something or someone, I can't remember which, along Hillsgate Road."
He looked across at Logan, trying to judge the effect of his words.
"It may be a start," was the cool reply.
Martin was beginning to feel a little nettled by Logan's reaction. "Listen, Logan, you can't blame me for what happened to that friend of yours."
"I didn't say I did."
Genevieve, on hearing the slightly raised voice, left her sister and stood unnoticed behind the partition closest to the kitchen.
"Well, you're implying it. You and Max both!" Martin accused him.
"What I'm wondering is why you haven't been telling me the truth," Logan said with restraint, "and does any of this have anything to do with the fact that your account is seriously overdrawn."
Martin paled at that revelation, then his face turning red, his voice considerably raised, he said, "You had no right to check into my financial situation, Logan. It's none of your damned business."
"That's where you're wrong, Martin. From the first time you lied to me, I had every right to check into what you've been telling me."
Martin was breathing quickly now, his face still suffused with colour.
"Besides, I doubt if Jonas will be able to keep it covered up for too long that you've been dipping into Cale funds."
Martin looked at him in horror for the moment, then stepped forward explosively, "Dammit, Logan. You told Jonas? Why you ..."
At that moment, Genevieve came running out from her hiding place to stand next to Logan, her face determined. "You hurt Logan and I'll tell Max – and she can whip your butt!" she charged him fierily.
Martin took a step back, brought up short by the small whirlwind of fury in front of him, and now feeling a little ashamed that his anger had been construed in such a light.
"I wouldn't hurt Logan," he told her irritably. "He's my cousin."
Genevieve looked at Logan in surprise. "He's your cousin?"
Logan nodded at her wryly, both bemused and amused that the ten year old thought she had to defend him against Martin. Then again, maybe she was a good judge of character.
"Well, I don't like him!" she stated nonetheless.
"I don't like him, too," another voice called from the study, in a fine imitation of her sister's, and Logan turned to see Monique with her arms folded in an attitude of three year old defiance.
He grunted a little with exasperation – now he had a three year old defending him.
"You have quite an entourage of beautiful bodyguards," smirked Martin in a wonderful impersonation of his father.
Logan looked up at him at that.
"We'd better talk about this later, Logan," Martin added dismissively. "I'll come back when we can talk – privately," he finished, his gaze sweeping the two girls.
"You can talk to me any time you like, Martin – as long as you're prepared to tell me the truth, and all of it this time."
Martin shrugged a little defensively. "I'll see myself out," he muttered, and turned and left, leaving Logan to stare pensively at the now closed door.
He looked up after a moment to see both girls looking at him seriously, then he looked around at the disaster that had become his kitchen.
"How do you girls feel about a walk?" he grinned at them.
TBC