Wow, I really fibbed to you, didn't I? I said a week and a whole month goes by without a word from me. Suffice it to say, September was horrible, and the real world really kicked my ass. For those of you reading, thanks so much for sticking with me.
Chapter Seven
Giving up on trying to analyze the situation, Max preceded with the plan she had outlined this evening while dressing for the charity event. While Logan's ability to find good in everyone was touching, it was also unrealistic. Max had sent a message to Ben inquiring about the whereabouts of the elusive maid. Logan had informed her of the woman's name, Lana Smith. However, Ben had been unable to find any information on the mysterious Ms. Smith.
It seemed that she had just appeared. No social security card, no bank accounts, no parking tickets, no formal address, just a post office box in downtown Seattle. Max had a sinking feeling in her stomach that a new player had just entered the game.
She quickly extracted the bag from the loose floorboard at the corner of the darkened closet. Unzipping the small pack, she pulled out a tiny chip encased in plastic, and two external ports complete with the newest in disc storage capacity. She shoved the bag underneath the floorboard and replaced the suitcase that had been safeguarding the hiding spot.
She heard the sound of the bed squeaking in Logan's room followed by mournful instrumental piece as she reappeared in the hallway. Max paused for a moment to listen to the music. There was such longing and sadness in the notes. Closing her eyes tightly against the memories the composition evoked, she battled for control. The memory passed as quickly as it had come and she found herself opening the computer terminal. While Logan's office housed massive amounts of electronic equipment, Max zeroed in on the computer she had seen him sitting before the night she came to the apartment.
The computer was connected to six different external devices, including a digital video camera. Max unplugged the camera, attached one of the external drives to the newly freed Serial port and then turned on the computer. While the machine did its work, breaking the encryption codes on Logan's computer, Max did a quick inventory of the other items in Logan's office. She removed the camera's storage disk, breaking it with her hand and then turned to scrounge in the desk drawers beside her for the jeweler's screwdriver she knew would be there. Finding the small tool, she opened the casing on the camera and fried the circuits inside, reducing the expensive piece of equipment to trash.
The computer in front of her emitted a beeping sound, a frequency designed specifically for X5 ears alone. She unplugged Ben's password hacker from the computer and connected the storage device she had brought with her. The little storage device was manufactured to download two mainframe computers, more than enough for Logan's PC and laptop. Max watched as the screen briefly flashed each file being copied and written to the tiny disc.
Again a small beep signaled the process was complete and Max disconnected the device and hooked it up to the laptop at the far end of the desk. While the machine copied the files on that computer, Max took apart the terminal of the deactivated main computer. Assessing the circuitry she had revealed she located the correct spot and flipped open the plastic casing. Carefully, Max removed the tiny chip housed inside and placed the microchip in the computer. The device incandesced for a split second, alerting Max that it was working.
Max put the terminal back together, and then walked over the to the laptop. Unhooking the storage device, Max called up the Internet. Ben had created such a wonderful Website for the company. The site directed potential clients to the necessary links, but it also housed something dark and malicious. And the menacing threat was one hell of a computer virus available only to active field agents.
Max typed in her password and allowed the virus to go to work. Soon she was sitting before a smoking laptop, as the virus had effectively fried the internal components.
Max hadn't been paying attention to the noises around her as she worked. Her senses were still a little sluggish, another downside of the seizures, which explained why she wasn't aware of her observer.
Logan stood in the doorway of his office watching Max speed from machine to machine. While the mournful, Valse Triste had calmed him, it had not provided him with the comfort or answers he was seeking. Forgoing the sweatpants on the floor beside the bed, Logan left the room in search of Max clad only in his boxers.
Logan knew they were moving too quickly, having only met the day before. But damn it, he hadn't felt this way about a woman in a long time. The intensity and unexpectedness of the attraction should have terrified him, but, like Max, it only intrigued him.
Yet, now, as he stood in the opened entry to his office watching Max destroy his computers, he had only one question. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Max tensed as she heard the scathing voice originating from the open doorway. Shit. Max felt Logan moving to stand behind her, as she gazed blankly at the still smoking laptop her mind running through possible scenarios.
"Max?" Logan said expectantly. "I'm still waiting for an answer."
"What does it look like I'm doing?" Max asked, pushing herself up from the chair. Her movement caused the chair to move backward into Logan's awaiting shin.
Rubbing his leg, Logan watched as she stalked out of the room without so much as a backward glance.
Max was halfway down the hall, when she heard movement outside the front door of the apartment. A quick glance at the antique clock on the table told her the morning had approached and it was now eight o'clock.
A knock sounded, bringing Logan out of his reverie. He was about to look through the peephole, when he was shoved out of the way by Max.
Ever so softly, she chastised him. "Are you stupid? Don't you know that peepholes are the easiest way for snipers to place a bullet in your brain?" Rolling her eyes at his dumbfounded expression, she continued. "Ask who it is first, dummy."
"Who is it?"
"Lana," came the muffled reply.
Logan looked at Max expectantly, unsure of what she wanted to do regarding their current states of undress.
Max glanced at Logan's bare chest and black boxers, then at herself, the gray t-shirt barely covering her underwear. "This could work," she said softly. "Only one thing missing."
Logan's eyes widened as Max launched herself at him, his body automatically responding to the kiss. He lifted a hand to the side of her face, but found himself cupping air. In his dazed, stupor he turned to see a breathless Max opening the door to allow the maid inside.
The woman took one look at the pair before her, and bestowed them with her convincing 'little old lady smile' of approval. Judging from their appearances there was no doubt in her mind that the only thing Logan Cale was thinking with was his crotch. Quickly she dismissed Max as an opponent, taking her for a ditzy, social climber that Mr. Cale was apt to attract.
"Oh my," Ilena Tretiak blushed embarrassingly. "Am I interrupting something, Mr. Cale?"
"No," Logan said awkwardly, as Max laced her hand with his. "No, you're not disrupting anything, Ms. Smith."
"Of course you're not," Max chimed in a syrupy sweet voice that made Logan cringe. "I was just trying to convince Loggie to take me out for breakfast." Max leaned into Lana and whispered in a conspiratorial voice, "We kind of slept in."
This job couldn't be easier, Ilena thought as she returned Max's smile. "I'll start in the kitchen while you two get ready."
"C'mon, Buttercup," Max grinned adoringly up at Logan. "Help me get dressed."
"Oh, I don't know, Honey," Logan said in a low voice, "I like you so much better without clothes."
Max glared up into his eyes, but her steps didn't falter as she pulled him down the hall, loudly shutting the bedroom door.
Ilena rolled her eyes, "Americans." Picking up her 'cleaning' supplies, she carried them into the kitchen. She had only been working for Logan Cale for two weeks, and since he had been in the apartment each time she never had the opportunity to check out his office. Today must be my lucky day.
Logan stared at Max as she pulled off the gray t-shirt and snagged a bra from a drawer in his dresser.
"What are you waiting for?" Max asked as she caught him staring. "Get dressed."
Logan caught the jeans she threw at him before they hit him in the face. "I'm not getting dressed until you tell me what's going on."
Max finished buttoning her jeans and turned to look him, white shirt in hand. "We're going to breakfast, just like I said." When she saw that Logan wasn't going to get dressed without a little more information she continued. "Look, just put on some damn clothes so we can leave, then you'll get your explanation."
Logan hesitated and then nodded, and began pulling on clothes.
As the two exited the bedroom, Max bent under the pretense of tying her boot and extracted a toothpick from the liner. These little buggers are always coming in handy. Standing, she placed a tentative hand on Logan's shoulder. "Distract her for just a moment, alright?"
Logan headed into the kitchen, and Max heard him telling 'Ms. Smith' about a mysterious spot on his couch. Max slipped inside the office and looked around, making sure that she had cleaned her tracks. Satisfied, she patted her jeans pocket, reassuring herself that the disc containing all of Logan's files was still there. Locking the door behind her, she wedged the toothpick into the bottom of the door.
She could hear Logan floundering for conversation topics and took it upon herself to save him, it was part of the package deal…protect and rescue. Max grinned when she entered the kitchen.
"So that's just how I feel about it. What about you?"
"Logan," Max said sweetly, "I'm certain that Ms. Smith would like to finish her job. She has more important things to do than discuss the merits of lemon versus pine scented cleaning products."
Ilena shot Max an appreciative smile. It was hard to be grateful to Americans when they had so much than the inhabitants of Mother Russia, but this one was proving her worth.
"Come on, Buttercup," Max smiled up at him, taking his hand and pulling him to the door. "You promised me breakfast."