Thankyou so very much for all the encouraging reviews.
As always, a big thankyou to Alaidh for taking time out from her busy schedule to beta this chapter for me. It's greatly appreciated.
Chapter 21
A deceptive tranquillity fell on Logan as he turned back to watch the four figures approach. They seemed to waver in his vision with an almost ethereal, dreamlike quality.
He knew they were coming for her. He had to get her out of the car, he told himself...he had to run. But the debilitating lethargy that was enveloping him was almost impossible to resist and he sat immoveable in his seat - awaiting the inevitable with fatalistic certainty.
After all, he knew what was going to happen. They'd take her and he'd be powerless to stop them.
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Max sped around the corner at breakneck speed, still wondering how she had let Logan talk her into his plan.
"Stupid," she chastised herself yet again, only to break off suddenly as her senses took in the enormity of the situation before her.
She could see Logan's car ahead of her, clearly wedged against another, but it was the four men with guns approaching him that made her full lips tighten with a grimace of determination as she pressed hard on the accelerator.
"Change of plans, Logan," she ground out emphatically.
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The first black-suited man to reach the car door yelled out, "Keep your hands where we can see them."
By this time all four of them had reached the car. Logan tensed instinctively as the first man wrenched open his door.
"We want the kids," he stated menacingly.
Logan narrowed his eyes, trying to focus, but all he could see were the crumpled figures on the ground.
All dead.
A wave of remorse swept over him and he closed his eyes with a grimace of contempt for himself as he heard them open the back door. It was the moment he'd been dreading. The moment when he'd failed.
Someone was yelling now, screaming a question with an insistent force.
Vaguely the words began to penetrate his consciousness and he looked up to see a man's head suspended above his own and found, to his great surprise, that the words were coming from the man's mouth and they appeared to be directed at him.
"Where are they? We want the kids!"
Logan looked up at the face that loomed above him uncomprehendingly, barely aware of the hand at the neck of his sweat-soaked shirt shaking him and pulling him forward against the seat belt.
Unexpectedly, Logan became aware of the salty taste of blood in his mouth and an intense pain at the side of his face. In that moment the fever-induced images that had filled his mind were swept away as the body decreed his senses should take note of the newer sensation of sudden, impossible-to- ignore, stinging pain.
Logan absently put the back of his hand up to his mouth, wiping away the blood, as he dazedly realized he was in his car surrounded by Petrovsky's men, not Sonrisa's.
Abruptly Logan looked up attentively as he heard the unmistakable sound of a screaming motorcycle engine coming towards him.
From his position, all Logan could make out as he tried to see past the figure at his doorway were the two men at the front and back doors of his own car. Standing a bit behind them were two other men. They all held guns that were unwaveringly pointed in his direction.
The five men would have been less than human if they hadn't turned around to see what a shapely, black-clad figure was doing heading towards them on a motorcycle.
Not quite sure whether to be relieved or angry by this latest development, Logan eyed the gun in the hand of the man at his side.
As soon as he saw the man in the black suit look away, he lunged at it.
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The two men standing away from the car watched curiously as the motorcycle approached, only to change their expression to one of horror. Their eyes widened as they realized the machine was headed directly at them .
"Hey," one of them called out frantically, only to be knocked down like a bowling pin as Max's machine hit his legs as she let the bike fall into a controlled slide.
She jumped off the motorcycle as soon as it had almost come to a complete stop. Kicking both legs free of the machine, she flung herself at the next man with a flying tackle. The quickness of the attack had been such a surprise that he scarcely had time to react before he hit the ground. Max made sure he stayed there by delivering a resounding blow to his jaw.
She jumped up in a smooth, fluid movement, preparing to take on the first man again as he untangled himself from her motorcycle with surprising speed.
Suddenly, she froze.
"You move again, little lady, and your friend here's a dead guy."
Max didn't even look at Logan, or the gun pressed hard into his temple.
"What makes you think he's a friend?" she shrugged. "I just rolled in here to even up the odds, that's all." She smiled one of her more alluring smiles at them – the perfect picture of the misunderstood thrill seeker.
"In that case you won't mind if we blow his brains out," the man in the black suit smiled back, tightening his finger ever so slightly on the trigger.
"Okay, okay, maybe we'll play it your way," she changed her mind quickly, but added a casual shrug nonetheless.
"Thought you would," the other retorted. "Vladimir. Check the car again," he barked out to one of the men.
"No sign of any girls," the other man shouted after having peered in both the back seat and the hatch.
Logan felt the gun dig even harder into his temple as the man put his face close to Logan's and ground out with fury, "Where are the kids?"
Logan shook his head. It was all he could manage at that moment.
"What do you know about it?" he heard one of them say to Max and he felt the gun removed from his temple. The voice then added with certainty, "Greville will get it out of you."
He couldn't hear Max's reply. His nervous system was still protesting loudly about the treatment it had received – a sudden, powerful surge of adrenalin coupled with a raging temperature didn't make for a good combination.
Logan barely had time to grab onto the steering wheel and door stanchion for support as he felt his stomach starting to rebel. With senses spinning, he leaned over, swallowing hard in the hope he could hold on to his dignity. He studied the roadway, examining every pebble and crack with fascinated intensity, hoping to distract himself from the nausea that was rising in his throat. He had no intention of fulfilling Genevieve's prophesy.
At some stage, a pair of brown, polished, snakeskin shoes appeared in his line of vision, but it was a few minutes before he felt it sufficiently safe to lift his head. Thankfully, the nausea receded, leaving him feeling cold and clammy.
"Feeling better, Mr. Cale?" asked a sardonic voice a few moments later.
"Feeling better than you look," Logan replied evenly, glancing up at the speaker while he pushed himself back against the seat with shaky arms.
Petrovsky's right-hand man certainly looked the worse for wear. He held his gun in his left hand because his right hand was covered in a pristine plaster cast and the still flowering bruise on his face seemed to cover his entire left jaw.
Remind me not to get on Max's bad side, thought Logan wryly as he straightened his glasses a little and looked around for the person that had inflicted the injuries.
Max was standing quietly, not far from him. Four men with guns were ranged about her menacingly, but she managed to look completely unconcerned. She gave Logan a wry look of sympathy as he caught her eye.
"They haven't brought the kids, Greville," one of the underlings said to Petrovsky's lieutenant.
Greville looked back at Logan with something like a sneer. "You're going to be very sorry that you didn't bring us the girls." Abruptly he turned to the men standing behind him. "Oleg, check out the cars. We need to get out of the street and into the warehouse. You, girl! Come here!"
Max eyed him with something like revulsion for a brief moment, then sauntered over to Greville with a nonchalant swagger.
Greville reached over and put his gun back at Logan's temple. "I'd prefer you both alive for the time being, but I won't be distraught if you push your luck. This gun stays at his head. One wrong move and it goes off. Got it?"
Max shrugged. "Not very original. You've been watching too many 'B' grade movies on the late show."
Greville smiled. "Oh, I've got a few blockbusters up my sleeve, yet. Don't worry about that."
"Can't wait," murmured Max insouciantly.
"This car should drive. Looks like ours took the brunt of the impact," Oleg reported back.
"Okay, Oleg, come with me. Keep your gun at the girl's head. Don't trust her for a moment," he added, with a smile for Max's benefit. "Get in the car. Front passenger seat," Greville told her, motioning with his head.
Max threw a quick glance at Logan, then walked around to the other side of the car.
"Vladimir, you others follow in the other car." His eyes went to the man sitting groggily on the roadway. "Bring Viktor with you."
Max stood by her door. "We're all gonna be a little cramped in here," she told Greville, gesturing with her hand towards Logan's wheelchair.
"Move it to the back, then," he told her calmly. "Remember that my gun is at his head."
While Max grabbed his chair, Greville quickly slid into the seat behind Logan. "You like to play with dolls, Mr. Cale?" he smirked as he looked at the doll sitting upright on the seat beside him, "or maybe it means that the girls are somewhere close by," he added silkily.
"Or maybe I'm just bent," Logan said coldly.
Feeling a little disappointed that Greville hadn't chosen to accompany them alone to the warehouse, Max did as she was told, all the while her thoughts on a possible plan of escape.
It was complicated, because she knew Logan had no intention of escaping until he had ascertained Martin's safety. If they couldn't leave together, she had no intention of leaving at all.
She heard Logan start the car as she stowed his chair, then Oleg was at her side, waving his gun about a little wildly as he told her to get back in the car. Max merely glanced at him with contempt and walked back to her seat.
"Drive," Greville told Logan as soon as she was in.
Max saw his look of annoyance as Greville dug the gun into the back of his head. As she scanned his face carefully, she came to the conclusion that, for the moment, he seemed to be okay.
As if aware of her scrutiny, Logan turned his head the slightest bit to glance at her. "Gatecrasher," he murmured under his breath, but she could see he was angry with her.
She had to hold back her own retort. Greville would be listening intently to any exchange of words between them.
Too quickly for her liking, they were at the warehouse. Greville made Logan wait while one of the men from the other car jumped out and pulled back the heavy, wooden sliding doors.
Max studied the building with interest. The warehouse was like dozens of other ones to be found in Seattle – a slightly decrepit timber construction that appeared to be in need of both paint and nails. The sun was virtually gone now and the area looked depressing and deserted. She held back a sigh. She'd been in worse situations than this.
"In," Greville snapped at Logan, prodding his head again with the gun.
One more prod, Max warned him silently.
Logan slowly drove the Aztek into the large warehouse, and looked about warily. It seemed to be deserted except for themselves and the car full of Russians following them.
"Stop here and get out," Greville commanded them.
Max opened her door and wordlessly headed to the back of the car to retrieve Logan's chair, all the while being followed by Oleg and his nervous twitch. The man gave her the creeps.
"Thanks," said Logan quietly as she opened his door and put his chair next to it.
Max looked at the four Russians, all dourly facing them with guns at the ready. "Don't y'think this is a little bit of overkill?" Max wondered aloud to Greville as she watched Logan transfer.
"Instances of longevity in my line of work are becoming increasingly rare. It pays to take precautions," he told her dryly.
"No welcoming committee?" Logan asked as he put is feet on the footrest. "I'm disappointed."
"Oh, Petrovsky will be here, don't worry about that. He just had a few loose ends to tie up on the way. After you," he added suavely.
The man was a complete pro, thought Max. He'd given her no chance whatsoever to make a move. Unobtrusively slowing her pace to match that of Logan, she carefully scanned the warehouse for future reference as she headed in the direction Greville indicated. With his gun rammed hard between Logan's shoulder blades, he made them head towards a heavy-looking, metal door.
"I do hope you won't be too uncomfortable in here, but it shouldn't be for too long," Greville said 'apologetically' as he motioned them both through the door and into a medium sized, white-walled room that appeared to have been a refrigerated storage room at some stage. "Oh, one thing more - Oleg, check them for weapons."
The nervous-looking Russian seemed to find this a job to his liking as he tucked his gun into his waistband and headed towards Max.
"Hands on the wall, feet apart is, I believe, the usual routine for this," Greville purred.
Logan's eyes narrowed as he watched the Russian's hands feel their way up Max's leg, but he quickly lowered them as Oleg got to her thighs and between her legs. There were certain times when he would have sold his soul to the devil himself if it meant being able to stand.
"Is this making you uncomfortable Mr. Cale?" Greville asked with cynical amusement. He had little satisfaction from Logan, however, who immediately looked him full in the face with defiant unconcern.
"Finished?" asked Max in a bored tone.
Oleg stepped back with a grunt. "She's clean," he stated rather obviously in his thick accent as he handed Greville her pager.
"Good. Now, the other one," Greville continued, nodding towards Logan. "Raise your arms please."
Logan threw Greville an annoyed look but did as he was told, submitting himself to the search with a resigned air. Oleg seemed to be sure he'd hidden a gun somewhere on the chair when he didn't find one in his clothing and insisted that Logan lift his body from the seat to ensure that this wasn't the case.
"Happy?" Logan asked him sarcastically when he was finally finished.
"No gun," Oleg reported to Greville in the dull tone of one used to being subordinate, handing him Logan's phone and car keys.
Max held her arms across her chest. The room was as cold as a tomb even though the refrigeration unit was no longer operating.
"Hey, it's kinda cold in here. I've got my jacket on, but Logan's is in the car," Max said to Greville in a neutral voice.
The Englishman considered her for a moment, then swung his gaze to Logan. Like Max, he sat in his chair with his arms folded across his chest. Judging by the impassive expression on his face he appeared unconcerned as to whether Greville agreed to the request or not.
"I'll see," was all he commented, and Max wasn't willing to press the point further. If Greville was to believe they were nothing more than business partners like she'd told Emma Belding, she couldn't appear too concerned for his welfare.
"Please make yourselves comfortable," Greville encouraged them, looking about the austere room that was completely devoid of anything other than some garbage strewn about the floor. Perhaps he was a little disappointed that only Oleg smiled at his wit. "I'm sure Petrovsky won't keep you long. He's very keen to meet both of you."
Max watched them leave the room. She'd had the opportunity to take him any number of times but...
"What are you doing here?" Logan's voice broke into her thoughts. He sounded plain angry.
"Slight change o' plans," Max shrugged, moving to the door and checking it as a matter of course, then letting her eyes roam around the insulated room. There was no window. The room was lit by two fluorescent overhead lights, and the walls were some sort of moulded plastic. "So this is what it's like to live in a refrigerator," she tried as a feeble joke.
Max glanced at Logan. He didn't appear to appreciate her humour.
"Although it doesn't look like your shelf-life is too long at the moment," she added casually, throwing him a discerning look. She'd been concerned at the obvious effort it had taken him to transfer to his chair back at the car.
"I'm okay," he told her shortly.
"Yeah...Right," she answered him with heavy sarcasm. "Looks to me like you should be in a hospital."
"It's just this damned fever. Once it's gone..."
"Logan..." she began, then stopped uncomfortably. He didn't need her to point out the possible side effects of an injury to the parts of his body that couldn't feel it and she was certainly reluctant to disclose the fact that she'd studied up on his condition.
"The point is that you're not even meant to be here. Your job was lookout," he insisted.
"I got bored," she answered flippantly. "Wonder what they're up to out there?" Max murmured, listening through the heavy doors.
Logan merely shook his head. He could hear nothing through the heavy insulation.
"Now you're stuck here with me!" he continued, still annoyed at her failure to follow his plan. He'd never meant for her to be captured by Petrovsky as well.
"What?" she asked him with raised brows. "You tired of my company already?"
"Max," he simply said with a grunt of exasperation, only to look around suddenly as the door swung open and someone was shoved inside.
"Martin," Logan said in a relieved voice. "You're all right?"
"He won't be by the time I get through with him," snarled Max who literally sprang at him and had him thrown back against the wall with both hands at his throat the instant Logan's words were out of his mouth.
"You set Logan and the girls up," she ground out, watching with satisfaction as his face began to turn red due to lack of oxygen.
"Max, don't," called out Logan to her, releasing his brakes and quickly wheeling up to where she had Martin pinned against the wall.
Martin was squirming desperately now. "They made me do it! I didn't want to," he defended himself, barely able to talk.
"Max," Logan insisted again.
"What, they threatened to kill you? Bamboo under the fingernails? Chinese water torture?" taunted Max, loosening her hold a little for Logan's sake.
Martin shook his head dumbly, but his eyes betrayed the memory of the terror he'd felt.
"Just what was it they said that could make you put at risk the lives of two innocent children – not to mention your own cousin," Max goaded him mercilessly.
Martin's face broke out in a sweat at even the memory of that conversation in Petrovsky's study. It had been some time before his legs had been able to hold him and even now he still felt the affects of the sheer terror he'd felt as the gun was pressed against his spine.
"I had to tell them, Logan," he rushed out the words as he felt the pressure on his larynx ease. "I figured you'd have some plan – that you'd see through it all."
Max let him go with disgust.
"I understand," Logan told him, discomforted to see Martin's obvious trauma.
Martin just looked at him, then he swallowed hard and an expression of anguish and remorse crossed his features.
Keeping his head down, eyes staring at the floor he said in a strained voice as if he were in a confessional, "They held a gun at my back. They said if I didn't do what they said they'd... they'd shoot me in the spine and ... I'd be just like you," he finished with barely a whisper.
That was it for Max. In one stride she had reached him and swung her arm back, the contact of the palm of her hand to his face sounding like the crack of a whip.
Martin's head jerked back and he hit the wall. In slow motion he began to slowly slide down it, his senses on the very edge of losing consciousness.
Max cast a quick look at Logan. His expression was enough to make her want to hit Martin all over again. Damn. Was the fool so insensitive that he couldn't see how his admission would affect Logan? I should have kept my big mouth shut as well, she suddenly fumed, wishing she hadn't been so intent on exposing Martin's weaknesses. She stepped away from Martin with a look of unadulterated disgust and viciously kicked at an old tin that was lying on the ground by her foot.
The unexpected sound echoed in the room and made both Logan and Martin look at her quickly, but it was Martin who spoke.
"I deserved that," he said with more decisiveness than Max had ever heard in him.
"Is that Logan's jacket you've got in your hand?" Max spat at him.
Martin looked down with a measurement of surprise. "I forgot. Greville gave it to me to bring in here."
Max snatched it from his hands and passed it to Logan, who was thankful to put it on over his shirt.
"Now give me your coat," Max told Martin, eyeing the stylish woollen three-quarter length coat he wore over his slacks and sweater. The overalls were no more to be seen. Apparently he'd given up his undercover disguise.
Martin looked a little surprised by her request, but did as he was told.
"Here, put this over your legs," she said to Logan.
When he immediately protested she just looked at him and said bluntly, "If we're gonna get outta here I need you conscious."
Logan returned her look with one of his own, but did as she directed, draping the heavy coat over his legs. He would have given anything to be able to feel the warmth of it just then.
"Does Petrovsky really have the girls' parents?" he asked Martin as soon as he'd arranged the coat.
Martin shrugged. "I don't know. I just said what he told me to."
Max, who could still hardly bear to look at Martin, gave Logan an 'I told you so' glare, which he returned with raised brows.
It was going to be a long evening, he mused darkly, if Petrovsky didn't show up soon.
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They waited mostly in silence for the next hour for Petrovsky to show up.
Martin sat in his same position, mostly with his head down, staring at the floor. Logan and Max made desultory conversation, but for the most part were silent as well.
Max paced restlessly, stopping every now and then to either listen carefully or look across at Logan, who somehow managed to doze off now and then by leaning against one of the walls.
At one point she stood by his side for several moments, carefully watching to check that he was asleep. Once satisfied she lay a cool hand across his forehead. He didn't stir. When she turned around she found Martin's eyes on her.
"Something wrong with Logan?" he asked with surprise.
"Shut up," she spat back at him, returning to her pacing without another glance in either his or Logan's direction.
When the door finally opened it caught them all by surprise.
The fidgety Oleg was the first to enter the room, followed by Greville, who didn't seem to be at all perturbed by their long stay in the cool room.
"We're ready for you," he told the assembled company, as if announcing an audience with the President himself.
TBC