CHAPTER SIX
A shrill wail fills the library, piercing my eardrums. "You killed my baby. You….monster! I'll make you pay," Marla Jennings lashes out.
Rocking back and forth with Wendy in my arms, I mumble, "She ain't dead. I swear. She'll be ok," while Marla's pummeling fists bounce off my head, shoulders and back. Feels like nothing compared the bludgeoning my kid laid on my mind.
Charles reasserts control. He smells agitated but his voice is smooth and calm issuing verbal and telepathic commands. "Scott, Electra, escort Doctor Jennings to my office. Logan, Susan, kindly wait for my summons from the comfort of your quarters or office."
Marla goes still and quiet but the look on her face is anything but. Scott takes her by the arm, as a formal escort might. She shuffles along still shooting poison darts of hate at me.
Hank McCoy stands in front of us, his burly arms outstretched, "Logan, I've got her."
I can't make myself give her up. The feral isn't fully subdued and like a wolf protecting its cub, I growl low in my throat.
Susie gasps and I sense confusion and deep apprehension.
Jeezus, pull it together ya fucker! She's had more than a taste of my anger but the animal's one bitter pill I don't want her to have to choke down.
Blue stands firm his eyes locked with mine. He's challenging me? No, his scent doesn't match his posture.
Logan, I hear a voice in my head. You asked my help.
I break gaze with Hank to stare Charles down. His expression is neutral but his blue gray eyes are creased and intense.
"Trust me."
Wendy's eyes flutter and she whines, "Mommy."
Marla breaks away from Scott and forcibly inserts herself between Hank the kid and me.
Instinct's got me sizing them up. Feeling cornered, it's fight or flight. It's the scent of Marla's cloying maternal protectiveness that offers a third choice and Wendy seals it. Pushing me away, reaching to the only protector she's ever known, she whispers, "I want my mom."
"I'm here baby. Everything's going to be ok. He'll never, ever hurt you again," Marla answers in a strained, nurturing voice as she hovers and smoothes Wendy's sweaty, mussed hair. Extreme prejudice lasers from her expression and I'm the bull's eye.
It don't take any more to know I'm done. Surrendering, I shift Wendy to the arms of Hank and the care of her mother.
The crowd filters out. Where to; I don't care. Drained and hurting, I lower myself to the floor.
It's just Susie and me. Hands on my shoulders, she kneads gently. She still smells of confusion but anxiety's given way to relief.
"It ain't what it looks like so don't say it." I sound as beat up as I feel.
"Say what?"
"I told ya so."
"Ok." She settles beside me on the foot worn carpet and squeezes my hand, "Want to talk about it?"
Shit, I hate it when she pulls this. So gentle, understanding and correct. Makes me feel like a scumbag. Fragged in body and spirit, I shake my head no while we sit silent, crossed leg on the floor. The clock marks time with its rhythmic ticking. The only thing louder is the thunder of my heartbeat pounding in my ears, still revved by my healing factor.
"Want to go back to my office and see what Hank and I found?"
"Huh?"
"Wendy's DNA matches."
Aw fuck. Almost forgot about that. With a weary groan I haul my aching body from the floor and commence pacing.
"Logan, are you ok?"
No, I ain't ok. Where my left eye's supposed to be feels like there's ground glass rolling around inside; my charcoaled legs feel like a swarm of fire ants took roost and I just got a major mind fuckover. So, ok? Hell fucking NO!
I shrug my shoulders, "Dunno."
Rolling the fringe of a window drape between my thumb and index finger I admit, "She knows."
"Who knows what?"
"Wendy. She knows I'm her father."
Heaving a sigh, she uses the couch arm to lever herself to stand, "You tell her?"
"Nobody told her."
"Oh. Is that what all that was about?"
"Uh huh." And then some but we ain't going there right now—ever.
"I guess she didn't take it very well."
"No shit."
She wraps her arms around my waist and rests her cheek against my back, "I'm sorry, Logan."
So am I but I simply grunt, to numb to let myself feel it.
"What about the DNA? Marla provide more clues?"
"Fuck!" I smack my palm against the window pane. The result is a hairline crack in the glass. Oh well; another item on the never ending Mister Fix It list. "No. The question and the answer got torpedoed."
"Oh." She sounds and smells disappointed but it only lasts for a minute or two before she chirps, "Maybe not. You need to see what Hank and I dug up. We weren't quite through when all hell broke loose."
Christ! Next she'll break into a chorus of The Sun Will Be Out Tomorrow.
Pressing my fingers into my throbbing temples, as side effect of Wendy's empathic assault, I'm just about outta give-a-damn. "Can't be any worse. Lead on, darlin'.
xXx
Stanislav Ruchinsky presses the button on his blue fang, "Good evening, Mister Jones. You're reporting in a bit earlier than expected."
"Yeah, well I wanted to let you know there are gaps in your intelligence big enough to drive a lorry through."
"Oh. What might that be?"
"First off, nobody's named names, but I think the target's mum knows they're tagged."
"No need to concern yourself with that detail.
"Right. Well she's not the only one who's wise. There's a bloke and that Harris woman; the one who deep sixed your last extraction effort."
"My time is valuable. Make your point."
"They're all in on the game and Jennings asked 'im to protect the target."
"That's expected and contingencies are in place."
"'Ere's the kicker. The bloke claims to be the targets father…"
"Impossible."
"'E and Harris were reviewing the bloody DNA proof."
A long silence ensues before Ruchinsky demands, "Describe this individual."
"Caucasian. Six two or three; muscular. Fair complexion. Dark brown 'air… 'Ave access to the internet?"
"Of course."
"Log onto any news site. Ya can probably still find the bit. 'Is picture was splashed all over the place New Years Eve. Did ya not see that? The poor sap who got blown off the Brooklyn Bridge?"
"I was otherwise occupied New Years Eve."
"Right. Swanky gala, no doubt. Rubbing elbows with the beautiful people while us paeans toil in the gutter."
"Spare me your tedious prattle. Does this individual have a name?"
"Aye. They call 'im Logan
Another long silence is followed by a clucking sound. "Unbelievable!" is followed by what sounds like a slap on a thigh.
"Don't know if it's significant but this bloke and Harris are probably connected."
"What do you mean?"
"They're real cozy and she's preggers fit to pop any time."
Ruchinsky mutters, "Stryker's daughter and…..The sumabitch is rolling over in his grave." A roar of laughter translates into static in Jones' cell phone. "This is beyond irony. By god, our plans may have just been given the jump shot of the decade."
"'Ow's that?"
"If he's who he appears to be and we bring him in…do you know who this is?"
"Should I?"
"Your being a freelancer, I suppose not. Suffice to say he's the long lost lynch pin to my paymasters entire life's obsession. All right, with that in mind a slight alteration to the plan is in order. Without compromising the original plan, I want you to get close to this Logan. It must be determined with absolute certainty who he is. I want to know everything right down to the brand of toilet paper he uses."
"Right. It's gonna cost you."
"Your preoccupation with finances is rather tiresome. I'll speak to the Director. In the meantime you must exercise extreme caution around Logan. I'll download you a file detailing his capabilities."
"Ruchinsky, if this guy's as dangerous as you're hinting and your director doesn't see fit to meet my fee's, find yourself another mole."
"You shall be compensated in direct proportion to the risk factors and the results you produce. Do you understand?"
xXx
"Close the goddamn door," he grumbles and practically collapses on the couch dominating the center of my waiting room.
I nearly say close it yourself but a quick assessment of his sickly pale complexion says that's not a good idea. "Want to call time out for tonight?"
In obvious pain and pushed to the limit, he grunts and struggles to sit propped on the arm of the couch. "Nah. Wanna get this shit dealt with tonight. Lemme see what ya got."
"If you say so." I jiggle the computer mouse, "Oh fudge!"
"What?"
"Doggone site timed out." I repeat my action on the computer Hank used, "Double fudge."
Sitting ramrod erect, he demands, "Get it back."
"I can't. Hank's got the address and passwords."
He hoists himself up. Crossing the distance between couch and my desk he shuffles like an arthritic old man. "Bright eyes, you gotta give it up for now."
Without a word he commandeers my keyboard and types. The main site reappears and he quickly adds a password. A heavy fist slams down wrecking the keyboard when Password Invalid pops up. "Grrrraaahhfuck! Get Hank down here now."
"Hon, he's tied up with Wendy."
He swings an arm and I shout, "Whoa!" A split second before I think my monitor is going airborne, he yanks back. Arms raised to the ceiling, he bellows, "Fuck it all!"
"Phew!" Slow down heartbeat.
He mumbles, "Sorry, darlin'." Shoulders sagging, he seems to wilt like a drought stricken oak tree.
"O-okay," I stammer. "All isn't lost, you know? I know who one of the matches is."
"Gah!" he cries out and clutches his head.
"Logan?" I'm instantly fawning over him.
He waves me off then eases into the chair, head bowed and palms digging into his forehead. "No pain, no gain," he groans.
"What?"
"Healing factor's doing its thing."
"It hurts?" Duh, stupid question Susan.
"Lil' bit." He's radiating so much body heat from an accelerated healing factor I could use him as a portable space heater.
"What can I do?" I try massaging the back of his head and knotted neck muscles but he flinches away.
After a couple minutes he doesn't look it but sounds stronger. "So, who's the match?"
I spout off what I remember from the website and he simply shrugs; I guess having no clue who Mantis is either.
"Now listen to me, "I demand watching him continue to fade. "Tomorrow's another day. It's late. You look like hell and I bet you feel the same."
He shrugs but the thousand yard stare and slumped posture tells me I'm on track. "Quit Logan." I take him by the hand. "We're going to raid the kitchen; fuel up that healing factor and then tuck in for the night."
He stands, heaving a deep sigh. Wordlessly, he follows. Halfway out, he stops and backtracks. Picking up the phone he leaves a message, "Yo, Hank. Soon as yer done buzz me in my room. It's important."
"Fifty cents says you conk out so hard you'll never hear the call."
"Raise ya a major chore 'round the house I do."
"What kind of major chore?"
He pauses, clearly thinking by the creasing of his good eye. "Build ya that water garden ya've been mooning over."
"Ooh! I'm tempted but what if I lose?"
"Ya promise not to send my shirts off to be starched to death."
"Then who's going to do them?"
He grins and pats me on the top of my head. Could I be so devious as to flip his phone to silent?
xXx
Our phone does buzz but it's not until the sun is streaming through the draperies and it's not Hank. It's Charles reporting Wendy's doing well and resting and requesting we meet in an hour and a half in his office suite.
We both groan but his voice isn't coming from beside me. He's propped up on the easy chair beside the window.
"I didn't even feel you get up the second time," I comment.
We'd settled in but hadn't been asleep more than an hour when he'd awoken in a sweat, his healing leg muscles burning and his head still killing him; severe enough to make him sick to his stomach. So much for fueling his healing factor. His late night snack, forcibly ejected, ended up flushed into the Westchester County sewer system.
"Yeah, the nightmares started coming on. Figured we both do better if I bunked right here."
"Better this morning?"
"Yeah."
The blanket slips away as he stands and stretches. Oh hello! The only thing he's wearing is a spectacular erection.
"Oh my! There's a nekkid man in my room."
"My room darlin' and whatcha gonna do about it?"
"Gee, I don't know."
He motions, "Follow me to shower and I'll show ya." He gyrates those trim hips of his for emphasis. Like I really need the hint!
Trailing behind him I can't help giggling and swatting his backside. "You know what?" I say patting my belly. "There's no way four of us are going to fit in that shower."
He glances over his shoulder then to the shower stall. "Think yer right." Suddenly he growls lustily, scoops me into his arms and deposits me on the bed. Murmuring, "So, we'll clean up later," his lips showering my body with irresistible persuasion.
Kissing, nibbling and teasing a path, he gently anoints both earlobes and expertly traces my collar bone. The sticky sweet secretions from my gravid breasts don't seem to diminish his enthusiasm one iota nor does the twins untimely wiggles and kicks.
"Honing their radar," I tease.
"Izzat what they're doin'?"
My breath catches when he gently parts my legs and settles on his target. I moan and fist the sheets as his lips and tongue make a soft foray. Flicking and swirling, he teases me with soft brushing strokes of his tongue then abandons the motions to push his way deeper. Teasing, prolonging the moment, he probes lightly never settling into a rhythm. My hips rock to meet his soft tongue thrusts. "Don't tease," I moan.
He laughs softly, the vibration sending pulses against aroused flesh. Gently he settles in for the feast drawing my tight kernel between his lips and lashing with firm tongue strokes. Within moments, I feel the familiar tightening, the warmth spreading low in my belly. His mouth's relentless motion drives me to the edge. I cry out his name, surrendering to pure physical joy.
Hot tingles spread down my arms and legs as he angles his body against my curves. He pulls me into his strong arms. Nestling my cheek against his hairy chest, I sigh and tell him I love him.
He kisses the top of my head, "Love you too."
Favors must be returned in equal measures so I nibble his bottom lip and taste myself. I feel him, hot, throbbing and thick pressing against my belly. Slowly, I begin to nibble and suck my way down his torso stopping to hook my tongue around his nipples then trace the line of hair traversing his six pack abs before plunging into his navel. I love the salty taste of him, the musky scent of his arousal. To experience him unguarded, to see and feel him respond to my touch is high octane fuel for my love and desire for him.
Settling between his legs, I coax moans of pleasure with my lips contacting his hypersensitive flesh. Every muscle reacts as I tease him with the same kitten-soft teasing licks he tormented me with.
I take him into my mouth and his thrilled groan sends a bolt of renewed want straight up my spine. He's huge and I struggle to take him deeper. Grasping him with my hand I work him in short tights strokes while I suckle and draw lazy circles with my tongue.
His hips rock; gentle gyrations become insistent thrusts, goose bumps raise up on his buns, all not so subtle signs telling me he's fighting for control.
As much as I savor the taste, the feel of him I long to bring him inside me and as if we had a psychic connection, he groans, "Wanna come home, darlin'."
Merging sideways in a tangle of legs, the short loss of direct stimulation restores his control. He clutches my hips as I welcome him inside. Buried to the hilt, he exhales a satisfied sigh.
Dominant once more, he moves in a steady, measured pace reducing me to a moaning, writhing mess. So lost in the sensation I'm only vaguely aware of his shout and the feel of his release deep inside me.
xXx
Half an hour late, strolling hand in hand, secret grins pasted on our faces, we arrive at the meeting in Charles conference room. I swear I detect a knowing, mischievous smirk on his face.
Hank, leaning an elbow on the table is sipping coffee and reading a newspaper. He glances up and flashes us a brief thin lipped smile, "'Morning."
Marla Jennings is seated at the far end of the oval table. Examining her finger nails, she's obviously uncomfortable.
We ease by her and Logan sniffs making a big to-do parsing scents. And there is such a suffocating aura of tension even I can feel it without juiced senses.
She glares and mutters, "Pig."
Smiling sourly, I squeeze Logan's hand hoping he'll get it and not respond in kind.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for gathering on such short notice. Scott, thank you for delaying your departure. Logan, Susan, so glad you could make it."
While sliding a chair out for me, Logan grunts. Afterglow no doubt ruined by the company, he's got that get-off-my-case scowl creasing his features.
Feeling a touch of warmth in my cheeks that I hope doesn't show, me thinks the boss man is a tad irritated. I really can't blame him since he and Hank probably were up most of the night dealing with Wendy.
Without further comment, Charles begins, "You all must understand that it is not my habit to interfere in your personal lives."
Snorting, Logan rocks his chair back on two legs. "So don't," he replies, not exactly under his breath. I don't have to see Scott's eyes to know he's blasting Logan's attitude with disapproval.
Ignoring both men, Charles continues, "However, when circumstances pose an impact on the Team, I will act to preserve unity and readiness."
That gets their attention.
"I've become aware of information that will affect every one of us in this room and this information indeed does have the potential to adversely impact the Team."
Drumming his fingers on the conference table, Logan demands "Get to the point, Charles."
"Very well. Last evening's events came about through a question Logan posed to Doctor Jennings. The question deserves an answer. Doctor Jennings please be so kind."
With a thump, Logan plants all four chair legs on the floor and leans forward, "Whoa! Hold up Charles." His eyes dart between Hank and Scott. "Just what questions we talking about here?"
Charles doesn't respond verbally but whatever he says meets with a begrudging nod from Logan.
Logan eyes weigh Marla with a critical squint, "Ok, talk."
Her discomfort is plain as she wrings her hands and clears her throat. "You…you asked whether Wendy could have more than the normal two strains of DNA…"
Impatient, he snaps, "I know what I asked."
Under the table I rub my foot against his shin, a secret admonition to give her a chance.
She bites right back, "Don't interrupt me and I'll give you an answer." They engaged in an ocular shooting match before she continues.
"I explained before that Wendy is the products of in-vitro reproductive technology. However, it goes quite a bit further than that. You are aware that the genome of Homo sapiens composed of 23 pairs of chromosomes with a total of approximately 3 billion..".
Logan glazes over, "I ain't in the market for a fucking Ph.D in genetics. Get to the point."
"Fine." She looks on him as one might a person with mental challenges. "Simplified, Replications discovered how to strip the nucleus of an ovum and replace it with another specifically designed nucleus, thus making it possible to alter and enhance mutant capacities."
"This isn't cloning," Logan mutters and goes silent and contemplative. He starts to rub both eyes, but the patch on his left one prevents it. "God damn!" He glares accusatively, "You're talking….mutating a mutant?"
"Yes." Marla is unapologetic.
Logan looks like I feel; like we're both about to be ill. Scott seems uncomfortable as well, intensely studying Marla and twiddling a pen between his fingers. Hank, sitting erect with folded hands resting on the table top, wears an unreadable expression. Charles' posture and expression seems to be a close copy of Hanks.
Logan leans toward Marla, his eyes sharp and questioning, "Something doesn't make sense. If ya got this whiz bang method for making designer mutants what did ya need me for?"
"It was discovered success depended upon an Omega or Alpha healing factor. Considering the limited sources healing factor can be extracted from, spermatozoa yields high levels and for reasons we still don't fully understand it's the only substance that produces viable results."
"Geezus, ya talk like this is still going on."
"I think that's a given," she replies dryly. Almost whimsically, she adds, "Imagine the advances they've made in a decade's time."
"No shit." Logan goes quiet, his dark eyebrows slanted in a troubled frown, "Ya told me why I got to be the lucky guy but how in the hell could ya not wanna know who else went into making the kid?"
Marla looks exasperated, pressing her hands forcefully together in front of her face. "Oh, you just can't seem to get it." Fisting a hand, she gesticulates toward Logan, "I didn't have access to the information from whom the DNA was derived and I really didn't want to know. However, I did know what traits had been synthesized into the ovum because the DNA samples were coded alpha numerically based on….."
"Right," Logan roars. "Fuckin' designator numbers. I had one, remember? What's Wendy's? A combination of me and the other ones?"
Marla's head dips and her voice breaks, "Yes,"
Logan laughs bitterly. "Fucking A! And the kid got a mindful of this crap?"
"Thanks to you," Marla lambastes.
Charles interrupts politely, "This is an issue best handled through a different venue."
Ignoring Charles, Logan snaps,"Hell if you're gonna pin it all on me. If ya'd …."
"Enough!" Charles commands and in a stern tone rebukes, "For Wendy's sake the two of you must come to an understanding and a workable strategy concerning further disclosures and her care but this is neither the time nor the place."
Marla seems pleased by Charles intervention but a rumble comes from my husband and it's not his stomach growling for a meal. The fuck off and die expression further clarifies his sentiments.
Determined to tightly control the course of the meeting, Charles inquires, "Logan, has Doctor Jennings sufficiently answered your questions regarding Wendy's origins."
Cocking his head to one side, brows knit together across the bridge of his nose, he grinds, "Yeah."
"Very well." Maneuvering his chair back from the table, he wheels to Marla and offers his hand, "Thank you Doctor. Jennings. You may be excused now."
Rejecting Charles courtesy with a loud, "Harrumph," she turns on her heel and stalks away. Suddenly, she whips around and hisses, "How dare you!"
"Madam," Charles counters. "I dare nothing. You are projecting with such vigor it simply cannot be missed."
Telepathic bickering? Pretty much. If the airhead kept her mouth shut nobody would know.
"Since you prefer open communication," Charles continues, "I shall express a concern and an opinion that is likely to be shared among everyone in this room."
"I don't wish to hear your concerns or opinions either telepathically or verbally."
"And that is," he barrels ahead despite her protest, "you'd be committing a grievous misstep removing yourself and the child from the protection of this institute."
Logan's head snaps up; his expression is dark but his eyes blaze as he warns, "Don't even think about it, woman."
Marla looks like the cat that swallowed a canary. Red in the face, she turns with a jerk and flounces from the room. A costly crystal picture frame topples off a credenza next to the exit from the concussion of the door she slams.
Scott reacts, scrambling to gather up the broken glass, "Should I go after her?"
Charles answers, "No. Give her time…."
Logan, fast on his feet, interrupts, "I got it."
"Uh huh, that's going fix it," Scott complains as Logan disappears from our sight.
Interceding again, Charles speaks calmly, "Scott, believe me, this isn't your battle. Please have a seat."
Through the open door, we hear Marla's shrill, furious voice with only a muffled word or two of Logan's.
"Is that a threat?..."
"You have no say in our affairs…."
"Biology does not make a father; you of all people have a keen understanding…"
Oh, that wicked bitch! As if Logan chose illegitimacy.
Logan explodes, "Shut up, Marla," before his words become inaudible again.
A sudden, sharp crack of flesh meeting flesh makes me jump in my seat. Did he smack her one? No scream, so I guess not.
Silence ensues for a moment before we hear a set of heels click rapidly down the hall. A second later, Logan strolls back into the conference room. Visible to everyone is a rapidly fading welt; part of a handprint visible where his sideburns don't grow.
As he takes the seat next to me I can't resist feathering my fingertips against his cheek. I am going to make mincemeat out of that woman.
He grasps my hand, kisses it and murmurs, "Relax darlin'. It's ok."
Hands steepled at chest level, Charles clears his throat. "We must commence with the second portion of our agenda." He pauses, wait for our rapt attention. "What I am now compelled to reveal is of an extremely delicate and personal nature to us all. Because of that I shall conduct the discussion in two segments. Hank, you may be excused but stay close, please."
"Right. Is my lab too far?"
"Not at all. Scott, please excuse us until I summons you."
Scott looks hurt and vexed, "Professor?"
"Trust me, please. You shall not be deleted from the loop in any way that pertains to your or the teams' interests.
Loathing any sort of obfuscation, Logan reacts, "This is stupid. Just what the fuck is going on?"
"Logan, please control yourself. My reason for my method will become clear once you and Susan have heard what I have to say."
Scott departs muttering his displeasure leaving me with knot of tension in my chest and Logan looking intensely frustrated.
"Susan, before we begin I ask you not to hold any ill will against Hank who is source of the information I'm about to share."
Now I'm thoroughly confused. "What the heck are we talking about?"
"Wendy's parentage."
Oh, that's old news. Relieved, I reply, "We figured out half; 'er one third if you want precision, when Hank's computer froze. And then that whole mess started…."
"Yes, I understand but I must be honest. Hank's computer did not freeze up.
"Are you saying he…..he concealed something from us?"
"No. His intention was to keep the information to himself until he could speak to the two of you privately. However, while he and I were treating Wendy, he projected unusually high levels of anxiety. In a private moment I questioned him."
Logan finally adds his two cents worth, "Ya know what, Charles? Kiss n' tell around this joint is nothing new. Give it up, will ya?"
"Very well." Charles drums his fingers on the armrest of his wheelchair. Obviously stalling, he rubs a hand over his scalp while we stare at him. "You both must understand that Henry and I rechecked the data several times. Once certain, we spent most of last night deliberating over it."
I'm anxious yet intrigued. No, make that rear- end clenched freaked out!
If Logan were a volcano, steam would be shooting from his ears. Ejecting himself from the seat, he erupts, "For Christ sake! How fucking hard can it be? Yer acting like it's gonna be…." Logan stops dead in his tracks. His eyes go wide and he leans both arms on the table. "No. No…. fucking… way…."
"No way what?" I shout unnecessarily. I try throttling back, "Both of you; no telepathy. Please."
My eyes dart a mile a second between both men. I don't need telepathy to sense a missile is about to come crashing down on our heads.
Intense, pained steel blue eyes meet and lock with burning, insolent brown eyes. Charles straightens himself in his wheelchair and fires the projectile.
"Yes Logan. Wendy's second DNA match belonged to Jean."
xXx
A/N: Didja see this coming? What's the fallout? Is Wendy irreparably harmed? How is Marla going to exact her revenge? Who's the mole? So many things happening in our hero's life. Stay tuned.
Thanks to my best [only beta; you kick my fanny appropriately. Thanks to my reviewers; all y'all keep me going. MLC