Chapter 7: Agendas

It's pitch black.

Okay...

...so I got me a case of déjà vu.

No, wait. There’s a light.

Could be inches away, could be miles.

No way of telling.

Just a gnat’s bite.

A tiny golden beacon.

Warm.

Inviting.

Ain’t no hesitation this time.

It’ll take me back to the world.

Back to Jessie.

Reach out.

No pain.

Things're looking up.

Can't touch the light.

Can't eclipse it either.

That ain't right.

Wait!

What the fuck’s that?

A deeper blackness boiling out of the dark.

Amorphous.

Extruding long, thin tendrils.

Not tendrils, limbs.

Long, thin, skeletal.

There are hands.

Wraith hands.

Thousands of 'em.

Clawed fingers twisted into vicious pincers.

Reaching out.

Grasping for me.

Snagging my arms.

My legs.

My hair.

Tugging on my clothes.

Piercing my flesh.

Dragging me back.

SNICKT

I slash at the darkness.

Twisting and turning.

Cutting and stabbing.

Without pay-off.

They can touch me, hurt me.

While I fight insubstantial mist.

Story of my life.

I fucking hate that.

Now what?

The air's thickening.

The beyond black shadows are condensing.

Can feel 'em gathering.

Massing.

Expanding.

An unholy dark nova.

Broadcasting hate and oppression.

Overwhelming my senses with paralysing fear.

There's something there.

A melevolent entity.

An invisible nightmare.

Something not wraith hands.

And it's crawling right up my ass.

It's hot breath sears my neck.

Poisonous.

Reeking.

I turn.

Clawing the darkness.

Where the fuck did it go?

It's still on my six!

I turn again.

And again.

First right.

Then left.

Dive and twist.

Trying to shake it free.

Trying to rip it to shreds.

It's still behind me.

A malicious presence pressing into my spine.

Its barbs burrowing into my flesh.

Burning.

Freezing.

Cruel.

I try to scream my defiance.

The darkness fills my mouth.

Crawls down my throat.

Choking me.

Stealing my voice.

CHUUUUUUNKKK

Huhwuzzat?

It echoes through the smothering dark like mocking laughter.

Getting louder and louder.

A trip-hammer shockwave rippling through the painshadows with bone-jarring force.

CHUUUUUUNKKK

The dark shadow recoils, absorbing some of the clawed hands.

Dragging at the monster on my back.

Barbs press deeper.

Seeking out vital organs.

Sucking the life outta me.

It ain't giving in so easily.

Neither am I.

I begin to run.

Towards the light.

Towards the noise.

CHUUUUUUNKKK

The light puckers like someone pulled a drawstring.

Then flares open.

A doorway out of this weird hell?

If it ain't I'll deal with what's waiting when I get there.

Tendrils of black fire coil around my legs.

Melting into my flesh with crushing force.

Inhibiting my flight.

Dragging me down.

SNICKT

Slashslashslash.

Getthefuckoffame!

The blades bite deep.

Sinking through flesh to sever the coils.

Which squeeze harder.

Smell hot fresh blood.

Feel it gush out, spilling down my legs.

The light gapes wider. A cavernous maw devouring everything in its path.

Sucking in the shadows.

Closing over my head with the finality of death.

CHUUUUUUNKKK

Eyes snap open.

Reek of blood fills my nostrils.

I sit bolt upright, claws deployed and dripping with gore. Try to swing my feet so I can stand but find I can't. From the waist down I'm semi-mummified; tangled in blood-soaked white rags – the remains of a sheet. The mattress I'm lying on has been hacked to hell, it's stuffing scattered around, some of its springs reduced to steel splinters and sharp spikes. My legs are covered in deep gashes, self inflicted by the look of 'em, that hurt like fuck. Ravaged skin burns as my healing factor knits together the raw lips of the wounds.

This is a first.

Ain't the first bed I've ripped up. Probably won't be the last. I've torn apart fuck knows how many phantom evil bastards invading my nightmares. Even, to my eternal shame, skewered a concerned, well meaning and very real Rogue. Ain't never managed to maul myself before though. This development ain't good. What if Jessie had been...

NO! Ain't going there. Never happen. I'll make sure of that.

I check out my surroundings Quaint bedroom with antique furniture. The dullness of the daylight filtering through the drawn curtains tells me there's an overcast sky outside.

There's chintz everywhere.

Pink and green.

Some of it flecked with glistening splashes of red.

Fuck am I?

CHUUUUUUNKKK

"Piotr, you must be thirsty after chopping all that wood. Would you like some lemonade?"

"Da. That would be pleasing. Spaciba, Jen."

THUNNNKKK

SNACKT

Jen? Piotr? Ah shit! I survey the devastation. Mama Commeau musta taken me in and look what I did. Ragged and fragged her linen and bed like some apocalyptic kitten. Made splatter patterns on her floor, walls and standing furniture. I've trashed the entire room. Some fucking gratitude, huh?

Dunno where I am. Hate that. Waking up somewhere I didn't close my eyes, no fucking clue where that somewhere is. Damn certain this ain't the Commeau house. Ambient noises are different. There's water nearby but it's river, not ocean. The gingko's a big sucker but no way does it sound like a damned forest. No harbour noises. Just the wind in the trees, the river running in its course, birdsong on the air and kitchen noises coming from somewhere below me.

Sure as hell ain't Tilda's place neither even though she does have a chintz thing going on.

Sniff...

The reek of antiseptic is strong but I manage to filter it out. Likewise the clinging stench of blood and sweat. Familiar scents suffuse the room. Some stale, hours old: 'Ro, Moira, Metal Boy, Doctor Asscramp. Some fresh: Jessie, Jen.

If Jessie's been in here she must be on the mend. At least something's going right for a change.

My bladder is full to bursting, adding its discomfort to the gnawing ache in my recently healed gut. Evisceration, partial or otherwise, always leaves residual pain that hangs around for a while. All those organs, all that plumbing, helluva lot more complicated to regenerate than muscle. Takes longer to fix 'em. Question on my mind is how long this time? How much of a jump do those murdering cocksuckers at the marina have on me? How cold is their fucking slime trail? A day? Longer?

Won't save 'em.

They're gonna hafta wait. Need to take a piss. Urgently. There don't seem to be an en suite and I got no idea where the bathroom is. Do I go redneck and open the window? Or do the crossed-legged shuffle and hunt down the bathroom? I'm likely in the doghouse over the damage so do I wanna compound the crime? Guess I can hold it in for a coupla minutes longer. Gonna be touch and go though. And in the buff. Can't see any clothes or modesty towels. Ain't much left of the sheet but rags and holes. There's a comforter that musta fallen to the floor while I thrashed around but it's too bulky, too awkward.

Ah well.

Not like I ain't pulled this stunt before.

And this time it is an emergency.

Poke my head around the bedroom door. Hall's empty. Sniff sniff. Acrid stink of toilet bleach and soap coming from the right. Just follow my nose. Yup, bathroom. They even labelled the door. Thoughtful.

Unoccupied.

Kick the door shut.

Lift the seat.

And let go.

God, that feels good!

The in yer face chintz theme seems to have spread to the bathroom. Pink and blue this time. This bothers me in a vague sorta way. Somehow chintz and Jen don't seem to go together. Didn't see any evidence of it in her house. Jessie is the least chintzy person I ever met. Guess ya live and learn. There are towels on a shelf. Large. Fluffy. Hideously pink. There's a shower too. Wonder if there's any hot water? Yup.

Bladder emptied, another aching need is kicking the shit outta my insides; a critical urge to eat. Gotta replace the protein reserves my healing factor's still burning up and fill the void in my belly. It ain't polite to raid Jen's kitchen butt naked and covered in blood so a quick scrub up is in order. The steaming hot spray feels good against my skin. Face upturned, I let the water cascade over me, sluicing away the sweat and congealing blood, making a hasty but thorough use of the commercial brand shower gel and shampoo. Done, I wrap a generously sized towel around my hips and then use a hand towel on my thick mane of hair, scrubbing as much water out as I can.

"Logan?" Then more urgently, "Logan!"

Jessie's discovered I've gone AWOL. Judging by the stress in her voice she's discovered the wreckage too. Had to happen.

Dropping the hand towel into a hamper I head back to the scene of devastation. As I step out into the hall so does Jessie but she don't see me straight off. I hear the breath catching in her throat, see her knuckles grow pale as she grips the door frame. The intensity of her mood sours the air but it ain't anger rolling off her, it's fear.

"Hey," I call, keeping my voice soft.

Her head whips around, hair swinging out around her shoulders. Blue eyes stare at me, the expression on her bruised and grazed face anxious. I can see the patch of dark scabs and deep bruising marring her temple just below the hairline, see the line of small stitches poking through. Doesn't look so bad now it ain't pouring blood. There's an explosion of motion and suddenly she's in my arms, shaking with emotion.

"Thank God! When I saw the blood I thought..."

I pull her closer, nuzzling her hair with my cheek. "Bad dream. Sorry about the mess. I'll make it good." That's if Charlie's credit card is still intact.

"Jessica, is everything all right?" Jen calls from somewhere below.

"Everything's fine, Mom. Logan's awake."

"Then I guess he'll be feeling rather peckish."

My stomach chooses that moment to stage a loud protest.

"I think that's an affirmative," Jessie replies.

Her lips stretch into a smile but there's a haunted look in her eyes. The skin beneath them is taut, underscored with dark lines that I don't think are bruises. She looks haggard, like she's barely slept. Heartbreak and exhaustion cling to her, all but smothering the scent of relief currently wafting from her. Eager hands explore my chest with gentle urgency, as if she can't quite believe her eyes. Tentative, caressing, she runs cool fingers across my face, brushing through my damp sideburns before seizing them and pulling my lips down to meet hers. She kisses me, tastes me, reassuring herself that I'm real. I return the kiss, feel her melt into me. My stomach gatecrashes the party, growling louder.

Giggling, she breaks away from me. "We'd better fix that. Looking good, Wild Man."

"You too, darlin'," I murmur as I brush a strand of hair from her eyes. I can smell her blood beginning to run hot but she ain't what I need right now.

Those luscious lips form a pout. "You are such a liar."

"Me? Never!" You'll always be beautiful to me, sweetheart even when ya look like ya just went three rounds with Tyson.

She takes my hand, fingers lacing with mine, her eyes twinkling with the light of desire. "C'mon, stud. Let's make you presentable. The pink towelling sarong is sooooo not you."

I got your wavelength, honey. Shame I gotta ten-six ya.

-o0o-

Juice drips down my chin as I sink my teeth into my second rib-eye, savouring the almost raw blood on my tongue. Gonna take a lot of protein to replace what I've used up. Jessie's at my side, nursing a cappuccino and picking at a tuna sandwich. She looks distant, preoccupied. Piotr is sat opposite, meaty hand wrapped around his own coffee mug, marvelling at the way I'm shovelling food into my mouth, his own plate emptied and cleared away some time ago. Jen is still busy at the stove, putting the finishing touches to another steak by dropping a coupla fried eggs on it.

Two days. It took me two days to knit back together. The explosion's been all over the media. I'm watching the local cable news right now. Zilch about a bomb. Zilch about terrorists. Zilch about a black Jeep last seen in the vicinity of. Some speculation about a tragic accident, an old World War Two sea mine breaking loose, drifting into the marina and detonating on impact. The newsreader lists the injured. And then she lists the dead, amongst them Sara Jensen and Lieutenant Commander David Frankland. The screen flashes to photographs of the victims and then days old interviews with eye witnesses. No one is screaming murder or pointing accusing fingers. No mention of the bozos I KO'd. What the fuck is going on?

No point returning to the marina. Scent trail'll be stone cold and over-lain by people and clean up gangs. 'Sides, I got me a few names I can get to work on. First up I'm gonna track down Catchpole, have a chat with him if he's still alive. If that line of enquiry dead-ends there's Schaefer and Harris. Wanna know more about Spearhead too coz I figure it's linked to the Weapon X project. Can feel it in my metal coated bones.

Would be helpful to get my mitts on a copy of the taped evidence. Ahab said he'd put his in a safe place but that could be anywhere. Jessie might have a clue where. Might be worthwhile checking out his pad if I come up snake-eyes with Catchpole.

"Here you go." Jen serves up the third and last steak, a wan smile on her face.

"Thanks."

She seems to have aged since the last time I saw her. More careworn, the lines at the corners of her eyes deeper, etched by grief. Sadness and trepidation war with each other. The loss of Sara, almost like a daughter, has hit Jen hard. The near loss of Jessie has created a beacon of fear inside her that won't quit broadcasting. She's putting a brave face on it but she ain't fooling me.

"I'm sorry about the mess. I'll make sure everything is made good as new." I'll square it with Charlie later. With me on the payroll he's gonna hafta get used to crap like this.

Wrong time to open my yap. Jen's heartbeat quickens and she fails to look me in the eye.

"There's no need, Logan. It's a small price to pay for Jessica's life."

Ain't a huge leap to imagine what she's thinking. That bed coulda been Jessie.

"I got it, okay?"

Jen nods, turns away and gets busy with the dishes. She shoulda been at her husband's bedside these last coupla days. She shoulda been able to go home and not fear for her life nor the lives of her loved ones. Fucking Curse of Logan strikes again, delivering death and destruction in its wake. Trouble is I don't think it's done just yet.

"I ain't gonna put you to anymore trouble, Jen. I'm leaving just as soon as I get some answers to a few questions." I turn to Tin Man. "Kid, you got one of Charlie's phones?"

"Da. But I also have yours. I found it in Doctor Commeau's car park." He pulls the cell out of a pocket and hands it over. It looks like a toy in that huge hand. How can something so lethal be an artist's hand?

"Thanks." I take it. It stinks of old blood. My blood. But it's been cleaned up and given a full charge.

Jessie's attention is fixed on me. There's a shrewd gleam in her eye and an air of determination about her. She ain't about to let me leave alone but she remains silent, sparing her mother's feelings.

"Is that wise?" Jen's aware the sea mine story is a crock and her concern reaches a new peak.

"Something screwy's going on. Somehow Jessie is caught up in the middle of this and I need to figure out what the hell's going down. Could be coincidence all this crap was stirred up following the Iraq..." Dammit! I ain't supposed to know about that. Too late. Jessie's staring daggers at me and her Mom. "...thing. Wouldn't put money on it though. Whatever they want her for the bastards are gonna keep on coming until they're stopped."

Jen frowns. She's been caught up in this, had her life turned upside down yet kept a cool head, made sacrifices. "How can they if they don't know where we are?"

"Your son does and I don't suppose whoever's out there will lose much sleep over using illegal interrogation methods."

I can see protest in Jessie's eyes, a moment of denial at the thought of her brother giving up his family, but she's Navy, knows how interrogation works and bites her lip.

"It's only a matter of time. His every move is probably being watched, his every word recorded. Right now, none of you are safe. I need to do something about that. I gotta talk to Xavier."

-o0o-

"…twenty-nine fifty-one Fleetwood Pond Road, Seaford," Charlie informs me. As I scribble the address I can hear fingers tapping on a keyboard as he remote programmes my sat-nav. Let him. Soon as I snap the cell shut on him I'll do the same with the bitch in the box. Like I can't find my own fucking way? "It's east of the town, directly off Route 20," he adds.

"That's a weekend retreat, Charlie. This guy spends a lot of his time hopping between Norfolk and Washington. Figure he'll have an apartment in both places."

"You are correct, Logan. However, Admiral Catchpole is currently on leave and according to the records is spending the time in Seaford."

"Right." Witness re-location programme? Navy personnel records? How many government moles has he got working for him? Bet Cue-ball could find out who shot JFK if he put his mind to it. That's if he don't know already.

So, looks like I'm heading for Delaware.

More keyboard tapping. "I'm sending you a recent image for identification purposes together with other information you may find useful."

"Thanks."

Leather creaks as I settle back in the seat waiting for the intel transfer. The Jeep's cab reeks of cleaning products with faint undertones of burnt fibres and old blood. It ain't pleasant which is why I got all the windows open to let the scent of forest and fresh air dilute the funk. Couldn'ta been a pleasant task dealing with the mess. I owe Jen a lot.

The cell indicates it's received a message and I toggle the function key to retrieve it. Catchpole is an African American, late fifties by the looks of him. Distinctive scar on his chin, a little grizzled around the temples. Figure I'll know him when I see him. The text data contains two more addresses; one in Norfolk and another in Washington.

"He live with anyone?"

"His wife passed away four years ago. There is a housekeeper but she doesn't live in. He has a daughter attending the Sorbonne in Paris and his son lives in Seattle with his wife and two young children."

Charlie's thorough, I'll give him that. "Kay. Your buddy come up with the goods on Spearhead or those Para-human Counterforce bastards?"

"PCI appears to be a new agency created to deal with mutant terrorism. It has links to Homeland Security and the NSA."

"Has links to Spearhead too."

The voice coming through the earpiece alters, taking on a deeper timbre. I figure that ain't a good thing. There's a subtle but noticeable hesitation, a sharp but almost inaudible intake of breath. That ain't a good thing either. He knows something.

"Logan, if this Spearhead is associated with the Weapon X project as you surmise…"

"Ain't nothing to surmise. I know what I saw, dammit!"

"Quite. Preliminary enquiries have proven fruitless which is to be expected. If, as I suspect, we are dealing with a clandestine and unlawful agenda, we may never trace it using conventional means."

"Bullshit! They're feeding information to the spooks which means that someone fucking knows something." Just like you do, ya bastard. What is it ya ain't telling me?

"Which is why Spearhead, as an organisation, is unlikely to exist."

"You telling me it's a front?" Makes sense. What was it that dumb fuck Harris said? Need to know. "So Spearhead is a scam? It's a cover for something else?"

"At this juncture I can only speculate."

Yer so full of crap, Charlie. I heard that little hitch in yer breath the first time I mentioned Spearhead. Ya know more than yer letting on and when I get back to Westchester yer gonna tell me what I wanna know or I'll pin yer sanctimonious ass to yer damn wheelchair.

"Yeah? Well you go right ahead and speculate while I hunt the fuckers down."

"Logan, violence is not the answer."

Not this again! "Zat so? Then I guess someone forgot to mention it to the heroes who blew up a fucking marina!"

"The X Men do not…"

"Save it. You want 'em caught as badly as I wanna catch 'em. You okay with Petey staying on a while to keep an eye on Jessie and her folks?"

Cue-ball lets out a sigh. "Of course but this is not a prudent course of action. Taking recent events into consideration Jessica and her family would be safer here, at the school, for the interim."

"Yeah, I know. But she refuses to leave while her father's still in hospital and Jen will refuse for the same reason. And short of knocking 'em out, tying 'em up and throwing 'em in the trunk there ain't a whole lot I can do about it."

"I understand. Perhaps Mr. Commeau might be persuaded to convalesce in Westchester?"

"I mighta mentioned it to his wife."

I can hear his relief in the plummy tone oozing from the cell. The change of subject has him sailing safer waters. "Please assure Mrs. Commeau that her husband will receive the best medical aftercare. As for the other matter you mentioned earlier, please advise her that Moira will contact her presently to discuss details of refurbishment. Expense is not an issue."

"Thanks." My nose picks up a familiar scent and I hear the muffled scuff of soft soles treading on leaf litter coupled with the distinctive slap of toe sandals striking flesh. "Someone's coming. I'll talk to ya later."

"Logan I…"

Whatever he's about to say is cut off as I snap the cell shut and not a moment too soon. Jessie's making her way through the trees and she's dressed for action. The warm glow of the late afternoon sunlight shafting through the trees dapples her skin, transforming it into a writhing pattern of shadow and gold. A static pattern of abrasions, bruises and minor burns, two days into healing, are a grim reminder of how close she came to buying it. Her breasts jiggle slightly as she walks, her black spandex sports bra leaving little to the imagination. Skin-tight jogging shorts accentuate the way her hips sway as she swings her well toned legs. Ain't the only way those hips know how to move and my mouth goes dry just thinking about it. She pauses at the edge of the trees that delineate the track leading to the house, one hand combing back her hair from her face. The girl's blood has been running hot since I woke up this morning and the sensuous smile on her face tells me she ain't gonna be put off any longer. Hell, we could both use a little sweet and low relaxation. I slide out of the Jeep, dropping the cell into the door pocket before I engage the lock. She takes this as an invitation and saunters over.

"Hey, Wild Man," she breathes, moving in and wrapping her arms around my neck. "I thought you were only going to be five minutes."

"Ya know how it is when guys get talking, babe…"

Now she's nuzzling the curve where my neck meets my shoulder. "Somehow I doubt you were discussing sport with the professor."

Can see where this is leading so I'm gonna derail the conversation. I got an address and she ain't coming with me. I snake my arms around her waist, gently drawing her closer before dropping my hands to cup her ass cheeks.

"Got that right, darlin'. Guy's likely into pansy sports like baseball. Even got a court to prove it. What can ya say?"

I'm bathed in her scent and I suck it in, letting her pheromones, her delicious proximity, work their magic. Those soft lips work upwards and begin nibbling and sucking on my earlobe. Her arousal is obvious, just like mine's gonna be any second now. What is it about this woman that makes her so goddamn irresistible? It ain't just the looks and it ain't just the chemicals. She gives herself to me both mentally and physically. Such implicit trust, such complete surrender is a helluva turn-on. There's just something...I dunno.

Something.

Goddamn paranoia.

She draws back her head and looks up at me, her breathing shallow, her lips parted in anticipation. I find myself staring into those fathomless blue eyes, their pupils dilated with passion. The breeze blows a strand of hair across her face and as she brushes it away my gaze is drawn to the scabbed over wound on her temple. There're cracked ribs to take into consideration too. It's too soon for fooling around like this.

"Yer still hurting, Jessie. I don't think this is a good idea."

Wrinkles crease the bridge of her nose as she narrows her eyes. "You think too much!"

Not sure who initiates the kiss but it's sweet and deep and highly stimulating. One of her hands travels south and I catch it in one of my own.

"Not here," I growl. Too damn close to the house.

"I know just the place," she responds. Lacing her fingers in mine she heads away from the house and into the trees pulling me after her.

We walk for several minutes and I watch her carefully, noting the slight stiffness in her posture. She's sporting a spectacular bruise that stretches from mid-waist and up under her top. Deeper mottling outlines the cause of her injury; blocky rather than striated. My money's on the workbench rather than the fence. Whatever it was, ain't no way she's gonna take my three hundred plus pounds pressing down on her. Ain't no way I'm gonna let her. Doing her upright against a tree is also out. Bark's rough on the skin and my hands accidentally exerting pressure in the wrong place is too risky. If she's determined to go through with this then I'll just let her set her own pace and see how she copes in the driving seat. Personally I think her libido's writing cheques her body ain't really willing to cash. Until I know for sure ain't no harm in playing along. 'Sides, she's got me taught as a wire. I wanna do this as much as she does.

Around us birds call, insects hum and a fresh breeze rustles through the young leaves, carrying a promise of rain. I catch the fleeting shadow of something rushing through the undergrowth – a deer spooked by our presence. Somewhere off to the left the river surges along it's rocky course. Ain't no snow capped mountains to be glimpsed through the trees but the place has a wild and rugged charm of its own. It'll do.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

The devil plays in her eyes and she smiles. "You'll see. Not far now."

The heady scents of nature dilutes the desire streaming from Jessie. Even so, I take care to remain a little upwind of her because those damn pheromones are working their chemical magic and have forged a direct connection to the animal. It's all I can do not to take her right here, right now. We reach a stream and she turns, heading along a narrow path leading away from the river. The ground rises gently and after a coupla hundred yards the path meanders into a stand of birch that opens into a small, glade. I can see she's been busy.

Beside an inflatable camping mattress spread with a blanket there's a picnic basket. Cooling off in the stream is a small plastic crate containing six bottles of beer. The caps bear the distinctive Blue Boar crest.

"You thought of everything," I grin.

"You like?"

Do I like? Hell yeah! No broad's ever gone to this much trouble just to please me. Tilting her face upwards I plant a kiss on her lips and am instantly smothered by the fog of her need.

"That answer yer question, darlin'?"

She replies in kind and our hands begin to explore and caress. Nimble fingers tug my flannel shirt free of my waistband. She makes short work of the buttons and I shrug it off, letting it fall to the grass. My T shirt quickly joins it and in no time at all her fingers are brushing through the wiry hair on my chest. Warm, moist lips graze my collarbone as a hand dips to my waistband and unfastens my belt buckle. Obstacle overcome she pops the button and fumbles for the zipper. Lady's in a hurry.

Sliding my hands under her top I tease it upwards and her hand is forced to relinquish its position as I tug the strip of fabric over her head. Free of their constriction I lend her beautiful breasts a more personal kind of support; exploring the plump contours with experienced hands and lips. She leans into me, exposing her throat, her head lolling backwards letting her hair cascade, her eyes half lidded in pleasure. So far so incoherent throaty purr.

Taking care not to press on anything painful I let my hands wander south, hooking my thumbs into her waistband and inching it over her hips and down her thighs. My fingers test her secret place finding her as ready as her scent suggests. At this intimate touch a moan escapes her lips and her impatient hands push the shorts further down until she can step out of them, kicking them aside along with her sandals.

This is a fantasy. I'm standing in a wooded glade, a naked forest nymph in my arms. A forest nymph with an exquisite taste in seduction and beer. Taken by the moment I sweep her off her feet and into my arms. Reality rears its ugly head as she winces.

Dammit!

A stab of guilt cuts through my aroused senses and opens the door to reality. My will battles with the fire ignited by her scent and wins. "Jessie, if this is gonna hurt ya then it stops right now." Inside my head the animal howls its frustration.

Raising a finger to my lips she mutters, "You took me by surprise. I'm okay. Really," she adds when my doubt forms a frown.

I carry her over to the mattress and drop to one knee to gently lower her lithe form onto the buoyant softness. The smile on her lips, the twinkle in her eye is pure minx. In no time at all my boots and the rest of my clothing lie scattered on the grass and I join her, continuing where I left off, aiming on taking my time.

Jessie has other ideas.

She takes one look at my arousal and straddles me. No preliminaries. Just wild, animal lust. Exuding musk and need she's ready for me and takes me inside, sliding down me as smoothly as silk on skin. The girl means business. Establishing her own pace she quickly finds the spot and sets a rhythm of delicious friction that fuels the fire in my belly. Swiftly working herself up to fever pitch, her passion emerges as low, wordless moans of pleasure. Watching her grind against me with total abandon is incredibly erotic and I have to concentrate on holding back, not to end it too quickly for her. For a few moments she teeters on the edge of the abyss, twitching, teasing, trying to prolong the sensations I can feel flying off her like charged particles. Unable to bear the delicious agony any longer she takes flight, soaring headlong into rapture. Gripping her hips I thrust hard, once, twice, and follow her, pouring myself into her with explosive force.

"God, Logan, that was incredible" she pants as she lowers her sweat slick body onto mine. She's radiating heat, satiation and pain.

"You okay?" I demand, concerned that she's over exerted herself.

"I'll live," she replies, her lips kinked into a wicked smile. She grunts a little as she slips herself free and gingerly rolls off me before snuggling at my side. Wrapping my arms around her I plant little kisses on her shoulder and face and hold her like it’s the last time.

-o0o-

We sleep, eat, share a coupla beers and make love again as dusk begins to fall and tiny bats flit between the trees. With the approach of night the forest chorus alters subtly as the nocturnals become active and the birds begin to fall silent. Hand in hand Jessie and I head back to the house. The breeze has picked up some and feels chill now the sun has set. She shivers slightly and huddles deeper into my borrowed shirt so I drop her hand and put my arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to share my warmth. No longer driven by her pheromones her mood, like the forest, has altered. I'm picking up apprehension, agonising grief, guilt and a smouldering anger. Our romantic interlude is definitely over.

She's been silent since we left the glade, since the her lust driven feel-good factor began to dissipate. Her thoughts are uneasy and marked, passing across her face like chaotic ripples as real life intrudes. I know the silence is over when she draws a sharp breath to speak.

"When are you leaving?"

"Soon." Sooner the better far as I'm concerned.

"I want to come with you."

Knew this was coming. Don't make it easier though. Preparing myself for her adverse reaction I bite the bullet.

"I wouldn't expect anything less," I reply, "but I don't know what I'm heading into, sweetheart. You simply ain't fit enough to be rotated back into the thick of things."

Stopping dead in her tracks she ducks from my embrace and twists to face me. Night dulled highlights flicker in her eyes. "Bullshit!" She spits out. "We just made love. Twice. Very vigorously. And I'm still on my feet. How rotated do I need to be to sit in a damn car?"

Dammit Jessie. Why ya doing this? Ya disappoint me, darlin' coz I thought you were above crap like this. Flaming broads are all the same. Just coz a guy's had a taste ya think he can be led around by the dick.

"Zat what this afternoon was about?" I jerk my head in the direction of the glade. "That little fucknic ain't gonna be the decider, girl. Don't think it will."

Jessie's lips fall open into a shocked O, her eyes widen and her face takes on a ghostly cast as blood drains from her cheeks. I can hear the tendons in her knuckles strain as she clenches her hands into fists.

"What did you say?"

The words are monosyllabic and hoarse with anger; she follows them up with a stinging slap across my face.

Voice now shrill she yells, "You think what we did was a sweetener? You bastard!"

A second slap, harder and louder, briefly shocks the forest critters into silence. Tears star her eyes as she massages her hand. Guess the slaps hurt her more than they hurt me. Ain't hardly the first time I've been slapped by a broad. Ain't likely to be the last. What bothers me is the smell flying off her ain't guilt or shame, it's righteous outrage. Shit! I read her wrong and royally pissed her off. Way to go shit for brains.

I reach out to her, trying to calm her. "Jessie, I'm sorry." The words stumble out of my mouth as I search for an explanation that doesn't sound lame.

Batting my hands away she hisses, "You sure as hell are!" before she does a swift one eighty and marches towards the house.

"Jessie!" I call after her. "I didn't…I'm…"

"Fuck you, asshole," echoes through the trees as the gloaming swallows her receding form.

She's right, I'm an asshole. I've just insulted the best thing that's happened to me in Christ knows how long and I'm gonna compound the crime by...

Huh? What's this? A ribbon of rage floats on the breeze but it ain't alone. There's determination threaded through it, salted with connivance and a little anxiety. Well I'll be… The minx might be mad as hell at me but she knows how to seize an advantage. I've fucked up, I feel like crap about it and she's using my guilt to her advantage, complete with pissed off female special effects.

She's playing me.

And she plays dirty.

Plays by my rules.

Helluva a woman!

-o0o-

No point returning to the house for a while. Jessie needs time to cool off. With luck she'll lock herself in her room and refuse to come out which'll makes my vamoose easier. Figure she's gonna get a bigger mad on when I book without her. Better that than dead.

I need to think some. Solitude and a coupla smokes will help me focus; pick through the rubble of facts, clues and suspicions littering my mind. Not wanting to be found I head off through the trees towards the river. As the last glow of daylight fades I lean against a maple trunk, light up a stogie and inhale fragrant smoke. Illegal or not ya can't beat a Havana. Castro might be a political pain in the ass but his citizens sure know how to roll a damn good cigar.

Okay so where the fuck do I begin? There's Harris. Woulda liked a little more time to wring the scumbag dry but since I went pulp city on his face he won't be talking to anyone for a while so he gets a reprieve. For now. Asshole's a stooge anyway just like Derwent and his crew but I wanna know who was yanking his chain. Who let him access the Spearhead file coz it ain't the sort of intel any Tom, Dick or Harris is gonna happen across by accident.

That file bugs me. Was my appearance at the marina anticipated or were there Weapon X/Spearhead personnel who ID'd me and sent a flash message back to Nazi Central? If the latter they were obviously in the loop about Harris. Pretty sure it wasn't Harris so who tipped them off so who the fuck was it? Derwent didn't come over as anything but what he is, a soldier, so I figure he ain't the one either. Was it Spearhead? Did Spearhead send the motherfuckers who went postal with the bomb? Or am I am a looking for a different bunch of creeps?

If Ahab got his facts right then I'm looking at rival factions. One bunch who wanna use Jessie for whatever fucked up agenda they have and one bunch that don't. Is that who the bombers were? The don't people?

That's another thing. Why delay the detonation? Why let me go walkabout? They had Jessie and Frankland cold yet they waited. Was I a target? Is that why the bomb was big enough to maybe take me out? So I ask myself again – why let me go walkabout? They, whoever they are, have gotta know by now Jessie and me ain't on the casualty list. They're gonna come looking for us. Surprised they ain't found us. Could be the opposing team are keeping the bastards busy. Soon as we hit the grid they're gonna be up our noses like cyanide gas. I need to know what I'm dealing with here. I gotta protect her from these bastards. Protect her family too.

Let's take a closer look at Derwent. His team was sent on a bogus mission and equipped with spiked tech to gather intel on an equally bogus mutant terrorist cell. How come Harris was told to withhold information about me? I was the only mutant in the mix for chrissake! What the fuck was any of it about? Doesn't make a white of sense.

And what's with the media whitewash? No report of unconscious bodies with radios and sniper rifles and no report of a guy tied up in the john. Surely a media frenzy sparked by a downed surveillance team and a huge-ass bomb planted by mutant terrorists would serve the dark forces better than a tragic accident created by a rogue World War Two mine. Some nosy newshound shoulda latched on to the guys I beat up on but it didn't happen. Derwent and Harris believed they were on an anti-mutant terrorist op so why was media attention drawn away from that angle? Why off innocents in such a public way and not lay the blame on mutants? What was the fucking point? Was it a message of some kind?

Shit! My head is spinning with all this crap.

The bark feels rough against my skin as I prop the tree up, smoking quietly and letting the puzzle cascade through my mind in the hope that something, some little detail will slot into place or stand out so I can begin to build a picture. I let my senses roam, explore the forest around me. The night hunters are out, stalking through the undergrowth in search of a meal or carried through the night on wings as silent as death. Not that death is always silent. You ask anyone who can hear a corpse decay. Tree boughs creak and foliage whispers. The breeze is fresher, carrying the sweet scent of impending rain as the expected weather front moves in off the bay. Shame it don't carry a clue or three.

Okay, let's turn this mess on its head and look at it from the Jessie/Ahab angle.

Fact, someone planted the bomb and had an eyeball on the target to remote detonate. No escaping the fact Frankland and Jessie were set up. Using Sara indicates the mastermind behind the set-up is a pro and the bastard did his homework real well. The entire sitch reeks of deepest black ops. Trouble is, I can't see the mirrors for the damn smoke!

Harris recognised Frankland but not Jessie which suggests his orders came from the faction who didn't destroy her navy career. If this second faction are the bombers they either fucked up or they suffered a temporary equipment meltdown. Did Harris know about the bomb? Maybe. The van was parked in the alley and would've escaped the worst of the blast. Problem is, he stank of so much fear and anxiety during our little chat there was no way of telling if he had a different reason to piss his pants.

Stands to reason if Frankland was under surveillance then so was Jessie. Musta been how they picked up on me; why my file was on Harris' screen. Question I need answered is who put it there? Who or what the fuck is Spearhead? A codename for Stryker's outfit or separate group with access to the Alkali Lake project data? Jessie never had a problem until Iraq. If anyone's interested in her XFI status it's gonna be Stryker's mob. She and others like her escaped the effects of the brain-warping machine. Stands to reason the project would wanna know why which'd put 'em on the don't snuff Jessie side of the balance sheet. At least not until they can round her up and strap her down in one of their torture chambers. I aim to see that Jessie don't get dissected like a bug. I'll kill every motherfucking one of 'em before that happens.

My boot crushes the life outta my cigar and I light up another, inhaling until my lungs feel like they're bursting. Smoke drifts from my nose and mouth as I exhale. It doesn't have time to spiral upwards before the breeze snatches it away.

All this thinking is just creating more questions coz the situation is so screwed up I can't tell what's ass and what's elbow. Seems likely I'm dealing with two factions whose motivations are at odds with each other; three if the PCI shitwits have their own handle on this. I can use this to keep 'em at each other's throats if I can only identify the players.

Ain't got clue fucking one which side of the fence Spearhead falls. They know who I am coz they have access to Stryker's files. Don't mean they're the old goose-stepper's buddies though. Charlie's reaction when I mentioned the name was weird; a telling hesitation and a change in timbre. That's the Cue-ball version of oh fuck. The name's familiar to him, from Stryker's records perhaps. If so I can rule out Spearhead being new kids on the block. Did they blitz the marina? Fuck knows.

My profile on Harris' screen raises suspicions but it ain't evidence. Whoever thumbed the detonator won't hesitate to do it again. They ain't in Stryker's league but they clearly don't care about collateral damage which means they pose a serious threat to life. Need to identify the fuckers real fast so I can track 'em down and take 'em out before their lack of subtlety sends the body count sky high and maybe Jessie with it.

Catchpole's the next link in the chain. Dupe or otherwise, him priming Frankland was the catalyst for the marina disaster. Chances are he's already been offed unless he's smart. If he's still kicking I'll persuade him to give up the bastards he's been investigating. If he and his addresses have already been sanitised I'll go after Schaefer. From what Frankland said the guy might be nothing more than a messenger boy but I could strike lucky. If he's a kosher colonel then he won't be difficult to find and if he's dirty I'll know it the moment I get up close and personal. He issued orders and then had to rescind them. Be interesting to find who issued Schaefer's orders.

Jessie, Frankland, Catchpole, Derwent, Schaefer, a top brass conspiracy. The military is up to its bull neck in this mountain of steaming shit. That means there's a trail I can follow.

Important item. Gotta get me a copy of those tapes. Tapes'll give me faces, faces'll give me names and names'll give me bodies. Can only hope it ain't the shallow grave variety although I can offer that as an incentive if live bodies opt to go moody on me. They did their part but they ain't the conspiracy. They're minor players at best; a means to an end. Someone commissioned them to frame Jessie. I wanna know who and I wanna know why. Maybe it was an anti-mutant conspiracy. Good a reason as any but I ain't taking anything at face value until I've got my claws, either metaphorical or physical, into the people involved.

Gut instinct tells me I'm an integral part of this fucking nightmare and maybe understanding where I fit in is the key to unlocking the puzzle. And I need to find that key fast before Jessie's ticket gets cancelled.

Looks like I'm gonna be kicking a heap of ass and cracking a lot of heads.

Suits me.

Whatever gets the job done.

Wind's picking up bringing the first spots of rain. Can't feel 'em yet but I can hear 'em, and smell 'em. Cigar's only got a coupla good drags left in it so I finish it off and stomp the butt into the earth, twisting my boot back and forth to make sure it's out.

Time to have a quiet talk with Petey and get my ass in the wind.

-o0o-

I slip silently through the kitchen door and disturb Jen in the process of making coffee. She acknowledges my presence by adding another mug to the tray she's preparing. Along the hall I can hear a movie playing on the TV with the sound turned down low. Sounds like the Marx Brothers. Quiet laughter tells me Petey's indulging his favourite pastime – American pop culture. Maybe Jessie's chilling out with him? Ears tell me no.

"Hungry?" Jen enquires. "There are some cold cuts. I can make you a sandwich if you like."

"Thanks, that'd be good." Might as well stoke up. When I hit the road I ain't gonna stop unless I hafta. "Where's Jessie?"

Jen quits what she's doing and gives me her full attention. "Jessica marched into the house nearly two hours ago and announced a hot shower and an early night. She practically stormed up the stairs. Have you two had words?"

"Could say that." Some of 'em were choice but I ain't about to expand on 'em.

"She wants to go with you."

Inflection says it ain't a question. "Yeah. Told her it wasn't happening."

Jen nods and exudes relief. "That explains her foul mood then."

Can't help but grin. "Ya think?"

"She's learned to cope with disappointment. She'll get over it." Jen returns to her coffee making and an awkward silence falls. "I spoke to Rachel Jensen this afternoon."

Shit, I hope she...

Anticipating my reaction she adds, "I used Piotr's 'phone." She lifts the jug and pours coffee into a mug. I can't see her face but the undertones of her odour, the stiffness of her posture reveals her conflicting emotions. "Sara's funeral will be held next Friday. Jessie and I would like to pay our last respects." Jen's voice quavers with emotion and she bows her head. The salty smell of tears mingles with the coffee aroma. "To David also."

Ah shit, not this again. Thought we'd thrashed this one out earlier.

"What difference does it make?" I demand. "Both Sara and Frankland are past caring and wouldn't want ya put in harm's way. The people who blew up the boat ain't gonna stop coming. They'll be waiting for ya to make a dumb move like that. Ya want the next wave of funerals'll be yours and Jessie's and Christ knows who else gets in the way? Zat what ya want?"

She twists around to face me, coffee slopping around in the jug. Eyes reddened by tears flash defiance but she smells apprehensive.

"I'm not asking for your permission, Logan. It's bad enough having lied to my husband and to Rachel about why Jess and I are suddenly unavailable. Jess wasn't injured in an automobile accident, she was injured by the bomb that killed Sara and David. Rachel has a right to know what really happened. So do the Franklands."

Fucks's sake, woman. You going suicidal on me? What the hell ya playing at? Okay, forget diplomacy. Can't afford to take no prisoners here. She either sees sense or she's gonna be deader than pig iron.

"Izzat what this is about? What they'll think of you? Izzat worth your damn lives?"

Jen stares at me hard, her eyes wet and reproachful. Her breath catches in her throat as she stifles a sob. I know I got to her.

"Well is it?" I demand, driving home my point.

"No."

She looks like she's gonna burst into tears. This has been hard on her. She chose to stay with Jessie and talk to her husband and son over Charlie's hi-tech and untraceable phone. Sooner I get 'em all up to Westchester the better I'll feel and the safer they'll all be. She takes a tissue out of her slacks pocket and dabs her eyes dry. Grief rolls from her in thick waves, some anger too. She didn't ask for this to happen. Up until I gate-crashed her cosy little world everything was hunky-dory. She's good people. They all are, even Doc Asscramp. They don't deserve the shit storm coming down on 'em.

Jen fills another mug. I sense she's waiting for me to say something. I scratch my neck, searching for the right words. "I know this is important to ya, Jen. I can't make any promises but I'll see what I can do, okay?"

Coffee mug in hand she steps towards me, a watery smile quirking on side of her mouth. "Thank you, Logan."

"You give any thought about relocating to Westchester for a while?"

She shakes her head. "I need to speak with Claude and Philip about it before I can make a decision. Since it is impossible to discuss any such move on the 'phone I cannot give you an answer just yet."

"If the manure hits the fan yer gonna hafta make a unilateral decision, sweetheart."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

This ain't no time to be playing ostrich, lady. I let it rest for now. "One of those for Petey?" I nod towards the tray.

"Yes."

"I'll take it. I need to have a word with him before I go."

"I'll bring a plate of sandwiches through," she says, filling the last mug on the tray.

Careful not to slop the hot liquid over Jen's hand I take the mug from her and grab another from the tray. The lounge door is ajar so I kick it closed behind me.

"Got a minute, kid?"

Petey, sprawled on the sofa, cranes his head around and replies, "Da." On seeing the coffee he sits up and takes a mug from me. "Spaciba."

"Gonna be on the road ten minutes from now. If everything goes okay I'll be back sometime tomorrow. I just wanna be sure you ain't gonna let these two do anything stupid."

His amiable expression sours a little. "Jen and Jessica are not stupid people."

The kid means well but I ain't got time to argue. "I know that. But right now they're in shock which can and does affect judgement. No matter what they stay right here, got that?"

"I will guard them with my life, Logan," he announces solemnly.

I know ya will, kid. Yer a one man army. That's why I'm leaving them in your care for a little while. "I hope it won't come to that. Charlie's making arrangements to evacuate the lot of 'em to Westchester. With luck you'll be gone by the time I'm through in Maryland."

"That is my hope also," Peter's bass voice mutters. "Professor Xavier is a great man. A saviour."

"Yeah." He's also a sneaky, manipulative bastard who holds out on his pals. One of these days kid you'll find that out for yourself. "Any sign of trouble you reach for that 'phone, ya hear me? 'Ro or Summers can get here inside thirty minutes"

"You have my word, Logan."

"That's good enough for me."

The door swings open and Jen enters the room, a plate of sandwiches in her hand. Petey jumps to his feet like a good little soldier and relieves her of her burden. "There you go, boys. Tuck in." Then she's gone.

My side of the plate is cleared in thirty seconds flat as I cram the food into my mouth. I wash the sandwiches down with the still very hot coffee and put the mug on a side table.

"They find you, you know the drill."

"Da. Through the trapdoor to the crawlspace beneath the house, escape into the trees and..."

"...head for the car hidden near the road." Jen says in a businesslike voice, finishing Petey's sentence for him as she steps back into the lounge. "When you mentioned you were planning to leave I prepared this." She thrusts a large brown paper bag at me. Food for the journey. "There's a flask of coffee in there too. Strong and black."

"Just the way I like it. Thanks, darlin'," I respond, acknowledging her kindness with an appreciative sniff of the contents.

A wan smile ghosts her lips. Suddenly she reaches out, seizing my arm in a strong grip. "Logan, take care." Then her touch is gone and she looks a little embarrassed at her boldness. "Jessica has lost so much. I couldn't bear it if she lost you too."

"She ain't gonna." Curling my fingers around the bag's opening I let it and my arm drop to my side. "Tell Jessie...tell her I'll be back."

My farewell to Petey is a nod and a swift, meaningful stare. He fucks this up he answers to me. Unfazed, he returns my nod, his own gaze steady. Kid knows what's at stake. Did good when the school got raided, kept his cool and saved almost all of the his fellow pupils from being snatched by Stryker's goose-steppers. He's ready to do it again.

Time to leave.

-o0o-

In the hall I listen for any sound coming from Jessie's room. Zilch. If she's eavesdropping she ain't giving anything away. Out in the yard I glance up at her bedroom window. Room's dark and she ain't there peering out at me. Nor at any other window that faces this side of the house. Boy, does that broad know how to sulk.

It's stopped raining and the wind's dropped a little. The breeze carries a myriad of scents; decay, life, the reek of engine oil and human endeavour. I pause, testing the sounds and smells of the night and find nothing out of place. Across the yard the Jeep reflects spots of light from the house, it's greater bulk a dark outline against the trees. One more glance over my shoulder reveals Jen and Petey watching me through the kitchen window. Of Jessie there ain't a sign, just a faint, hours old scent mingled with the wet earth. It'll soon disappear, washed away by the approaching band of rain.

Ah well. Perhaps she's realised I'm right and she's just giving me a hard time over that stupid crack I made. Gonna hafta make it up to her when I get back. A click of my key fob unlocks the Jeep and I climb inside, dropping the food bag behind the passenger seat. I've barely pulled away down the track when a figure steps into view.

Fuck!

Shoulda known.

Jessie strides into the middle of the track, her lithe figure looking almost supernatural in the brilliant beam of the headlights. I'm forced to slow down to a crawl as she turns and faces me, blocking my way. Determination etches her features as she stands there, arms folded across her chest, staring at me defiantly. The skimpy costume's gone. In its place are boots, jeans and a dark grey hooded top. Business clothes.

I roll the Jeep forwards slowly in the hope that she'll step aside. She ain't gonna of course but it's worth a try. As expected Jessie stands her ground forcing me to roll to a halt mere inches from her. Engine set to idle in neutral I exit the cab. Gotta employ a little tact to this sitch, a little of the old Logan charm. She ain't gonna listen to reason if I bawl her out.

She stands there like a hiker's Venus, haloed in light and dark, strands of hair writhing in the breeze. Resolute. Waiting.

"Look, Jessie, what I said, I was an asshole, okay."

She waves a slender hand in dismissal. "Not an issue, Logan. I've had time to think about it. We're all a little preoccupied right now. I can see why you thought…"

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry. We okay now?"

"I guess so." Hands drop to her sides as she relaxes her pose, the hard lines of her expression softening to an almost smile. Shame I gotta wipe it away.

"Good, coz ya still ain't coming with me, sweetheart."

Girl's got a short fuse so I wait for her to bristle like a porcupine with a burr up its ass. To my amazement she nods in agreement. She actually giving up? Un-fucking-believable...

While my jaw hits dirt she steps towards me, one hand fumbling in her jeans pocket. "We can cover more ground if we split up." She pulls out a bunch of keys, dangling them in front of me. "You go chasing the admiral and I'll go turn over David's place and talk to his father."

"What?" Dammit, darlin'. I don't have time for crap like this.

"I said…"

"I know what ya said. You fucking crazy? You looking to get yerself killed?"

Unperturbed by my argument she sticks to her guns. "I'm looking to get payback. For Sara. For David."

You're hurting, hon. Ain't no time for grandstanding. "No. You'll get your payback. I'll get it for ya."

Keys clutched tightly in her hand she steps closer until she's almost in my face. "With you or without you, Logan, I'm going to do this."

"What if I tie you up and dump you back with your Mom?"

She shrugs. "Then you'll never see me naked again."

She's got me over a barrel. I leave without her and the stubborn bitch'll go looking for answers on her own. Lady wants revenge and I can't fault her for that. But she's a minnow swimming with sharks who'll gobble her up and hardly notice. I lost Jeannie. Ain't about to lose Jessie. 'Sides, I can keep an eye on her. Make sure she don't do anything as dumb as getting herself dead.

"Hell sweetheart, if that's what's at stake then ya'd better get in."

"Knew you'd see sense." Smiling triumphantly Jessie plants a brief kiss on my lips before walking around to the front passenger door and climbing inside.

Out-manoeuvred by a broad. I'm fucking losing it. Resigned, I join her.

"Yer just a passenger, right? Nothing else."

Eyes cast down like a demure teenager on her first date she replies, "Whatever you say, Logan."

"Then ya don't need that piece yer toting." I smelled the gun oil the moment I climbed in beside her. "Get rid of it."

Without any protest she removes a nine millimetre automatic from beneath her top and puts in the glove box.

"Happy now?"

"No, I ain't."

Jessie shrugs and straps herself in, her expression unrepentant. "Life's full of disappointments."

One last feeble attempt to get her to rethink what's she doing. "What about yer mom? She thinks yer tucked up safely in bed."

"I left her a note. She won't fret so much knowing I'm with you."

"Oh yeah? How will she know yer with me?"

"It was never an issue."

"Fuck!" I growl.

She laughs her minx laugh as we head off into the night.

I know this chapter has been a long time coming and I apologise for the delay. I suppose that's what the death of a parent does for you. Anyhow, I'm back now thanks to MidLifeCrisis beating me over the head to get my ass into gear. She beta'd this and nursed it along for the last few days so thanks for that, Dee.

Hopefully the follow up won't be so long in coming.

If you enjoyed the chapter please review. That's if anyone still remembers who I am and what this story's about. :0)