by Meryl Sawyer
She pulled the sheets of paper from the side pocket of her pack, then sat with her back against the rock and watched him read the reports, which were only a few pages long.
Logan's reaction wasn't totally unexpected. He didn't seem surprised that someone might have tried to kill him when he had been little more than a toddler. He was utterly self-reliant. He couldn't be shocked the way most people could.
Lucky me. He might have escaped death, but he had no love for the people who had raised him. She imagined that he had survived something so terrible that nothing life threw at him now could hurt him. She knew that she was going to have to find out about those missing years.
"It looks to me as if the Phoenix coroner used more sophisticated equipment than the coroner here," Logan said. "He picked up a trace of a strange substance that he's identified as an alkaloid."
"The coroner claims Suzanne died of a congenital heart defect, but subaortic stenosis causes chest pains. It's treatable. Few people die from it. Plus, Suzanne never reported having chest pains."
Logan reached over and pulled his pack closer to where they were sitting. He opened it and took out a black box that was slightly larger than a paperback book. He winked at her and flashed the adorable smile that she'd come to realize meant he was up to something.
"Your tax dollars at work," He attached a small antenna with a tip like a mushroom to the back of the box, then pressed a button. The lid flipped up and a fan-shaped keyboard slid out of the bottom. "It's a prototype of the next generation of military computers."
"It's so small."
"They have to be," he told her as he booted up the machine. "If computers are going to be useful in the field, they have to be compact and lightweight."
"It's amazing, but how can it help us?"
He checked his watch, then pointed to the sky. "See the Little Dipper? Right now the Department of Defense satellite's orbit is taking it alongside the Little Dipper. I'm going to contact the DDS's computer by using the antenna on the back of my computer."
"It's powerful enough to do that?"
"You bet. Anti-terrorist units and the DEA often need info from the satellites. Sometimes we need the 'eye in the sky' to help us locate a person using the satellite's high-powered cameras. They can do a meter by meter search of an area and tell us where to find someone."
"Great! Big Brother is spying."
"Actually, there are more television and telephone satellites up there than anything else," he said.
"Is it all right if I watch?" she asked and he nodded.
She looked over his shoulder as the screen came on and a huge menu appeared, but it was too small for Kelly to read from where she was. Logan clicked on an icon in the lower corner of the screen. Bold black letters appeared: DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE. Below it was: Name and Military Branch.
"Branch?"
"The satellite is a joint venture with all the services," he said without looking up from the screen as he typed in his name and Marines/Cobra Unit. "The Joint Chiefs of Staff control its use. For those of you paranoid about Big Brother, the honchos—that's the Joint Chiefs—review every request to use the high-powered telescopes to watch people."
"That's how they know what's going on in Bosnia and places like that."
He nodded as the next question appeared on the screen: ID Number?
He typed in a number that Kelly attempted to memorize, but caught only the first three digits 641 before the next question flashed on the screen: Code Name?
Nine Lives.
That was Logan's code name? Strange.
"Yep." He leaned forward as a box appeared in the middle of the screen. He placed his index finger on the screen, then turned to her. "It'll scan my fingerprint and compare it with the access authorization file."
"Couldn't some terrorist torture you, get the codes, then cut off your finger and use it to obtain vital info from the Department of Defense?"
"You know, Kelly, you're smart. You think like a terrorist. I like that in a woman." He chuckled, still holding his finger to the screen. "It's possible, but they would have to use the finger within minutes of killing me. Once the skin dehydrates, it shrivels more and more as time passes, which alters the print. They're using a high-definition computer. That's why this is taking so long. If the computer detects any change in my print, it'll reject my entry request."
The computer beeped, and he turned back, removing his finger. On the screen appeared a single word: Approved.
"Impressive," she said as he typed something on the computer, using his index fingers. It wasn't the equipment that impressed her. It was Logan himself. What she was seeing now was a glimpse of his world, the way he worked and lived each day.
"I'm instructing DDS to link us to the mainframe at the Centers for Disease Control. Let's see what they say about traces of unknown alkaloids."
For the next few minutes, he was silent, tapping on the computer, totally absorbed by the task. She'd never met anyone like him, she reflected. He might be a dead ringer for his father, but Logan was so much more intriguing and complex.
He accepted his good looks, but didn't depend on them, or preen the way Tyler did. Logan had his own brand of inner strength and power. He couldn't be manipulated by money or status, the way most men were.
Other than his work, what did Logan care passionately about? As far as she could tell, nothing. He wasn't into sports or hobbies. He'd made it clear that he'd never had a relationship with a woman. All he cared about was his clandestine life as a counter-terrorist.
Too bad. He was missing out on so much. Seeing him with Pop, it was obvious Logan had a lot to give. But he wasn't accustomed to caring about people, nor was he comfortable with people showing him that they were fond of him.
"Interesting." He tapped on the keyboard. "Alkaloids indicate a toxin. Disease Control suggests we contact the National Clearing House for Poison Control Centers."
"They poisoned her," Kelly cried, positive she was right. She'd liked Lydia and had been convinced the woman wasn't imagining her daughter had been murdered.
"Let's see what Poison Control says about alkaloids." He poked at the keyboard, amazingly fast considering his two-fingered style. "Okay, here it comes."
Over his shoulder she read the message as it emerged on the small screen. Alkaloids were associated with classic poisons such as arsenic, cyanide, or strychnine. Arsenic had a toxicity rating of 5, which meant it took less than a tablespoon to be a lethal dose.
Cyanide or strychnine had a rating of 6, meaning they were among the most poisonous substances on earth. Less than seven drops killed a person—very quickly. They all shared a very bitter taste that often alerted people who accidentally ingested them.
Logan scrolled down. "See what it says here? Alkaloids were one of the first poisons to be detected in tissue samples."
"Scientists have been able to spot them in tissue samples since 1851," Kelly added reading the rest of the message. "I guess there wasn't enough in Suzanne's tissues to alert either coroner the way you would expect."
"Let's check related poisons." He clicked on the appropriate icon and waited. Logan turned to her, shaking his head. "Alkaloid is a trace element left by brucine."
"What is brucine?"
"Let's find out." He clicked on: More Information. The screen that appeared was long and detailed. Logan scrolled through it faster than she could read. "Brucine has a toxicity level of 6 and kills quickly. It's almost impossible to detect. The victim suffers a lot of pain. That's helped save them—if they get to a hospital in time."
Kelly sucked in her breath, imagining Suzanne in pain. "The Stanfield mansion had been filled with people on the night Suzanne died. Why didn't she ask someone to call an ambulance?"
Logan's face was expressionless, but she thought she detected a slight hardening of his jaw. "Maybe she did and that person failed to summon help."
"Oh, my God," she whispered, imagining Suzanne writhing in pain, begging someone she trusted to call a doctor
. Had he promised to get help? Or had he—maybe they—just stood there and watched her suffer? Until she was beyond pain at last.
"Does it say anything about how to confirm brucine killed Suzanne?" Kelly asked.
"What we're going to need to do is see if the coroner in Phoenix has more detailed notes," he said as she shut down the computer. "Hopefully he saved them."
He pulled her into his arms without a word. The warmth of his embrace was so male, so comforting. She rested her head against the crook of his neck. As she'd predicted, it fit perfectly.
"I'm frightened," she confessed. "I'm so worried about you, Logan. These people are ruthless and as sneaky as the devil. No telling what they might do."
* * *
Chapter 22
« ^ »
I'm worried about you.
It was all Logan could do not to groan out loud. Kelly's head was nestled against his shoulder. For one totally illogical moment, being married to Kelly, having her worry about him, felt right—so right.
Christ! This couldn't be happening to him. Not now. Not after all the precautions he'd taken to avoid caring about anyone.
"I'm terribly concerned about you, Logan. I'm afraid you'll be murdered."
He wasn't worried about someone killing him. He could protect himself. He didn't need anyone. He never had; he never would.
"Forget about it," he said, his lips grazing her hair. "I can outsmart them."
She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. "Is that why your code name is Nine Lives? You've managed to elude killers like the terrorists who ruined your vocal cords with acid."
"No. I chose Nine Lives for a different reason. On each anti-terrorist assignment, I've had to take on a new identity—"
"And put your own life at risk."
"Sweetheart, that's all part of being a Cobra." He was disturbed by how seriously she took his work. Hell, he'd never minded the danger. It was all part of the game, and that's what his job was to him, a challenge he thrived on, high-stakes entertainment.
"Logan, how many lives have you gone through?"
"Eight unless someone tried to kill me when I was a kid. Then it would be nine. This would be it—my last life."
"Oh, Logan, no," Kelly cried, her beautiful face etched with emotion.
"Hey, Kelly. It's just a superstition, right?"
He pulled her closer, tightening the arm circling her shoulders. Lowering his head to kiss her made Kelly turn toward the fire.
"Why do you want to kiss me now? You certainly didn't want to before."
"Hey, give me a break. There were dozens of people around. I'm not into group sex." His attempt at a joke didn't even prompt a suggestion of a smile. She wanted an explanation, and he couldn't blame her.
"You were supposed to kiss me, but I had to kiss you. It was terribly embarrassing."
Her heartfelt confession and the distressed look on her face caused an unexpected pang of guilt. Man, oh, man. Don't let her look at me like that. Kelly had a way of getting to him that he'd never experienced before. He decided to tell her part of the truth.
"Look, I did not have a normal childhood. I never saw television, and rarely listened to the radio. I—"
"Your parents were afraid you'd find out they kidnapped you."
He didn't answer her directly, not wanting to lie more than absolutely necessary. "I never attended a wedding. When the Marines sent me to 'charm school—'"
"Charm School? You're kidding."
"The initial test for joining the Cobra Force is passing Survival Training. The next step is Tech College. That's where they monitor your ability to use sophisticated equipment. If you fail at any phase, you're out. No second chances.
"Those who pass are sent to what the Cobra Force calls Cultural Enrichment Classes, but the guys call it Charm School. The Army's Rangers are also antiterrorist experts, but the Cobra Force is trained by the Marines. That means we're often assigned to embassies because their protection is a Marine Corps responsibility, and embassies are often targeted by terrorists.
"Cobras must learn embassy protocols—what to say and do with dignitaries from around the world. Charm School takes the rough edges off men who are tough enough to pass the other tests, but wouldn't know which fork to use at an embassy dinner."
"They teach you manners."
"Yes, and things I never knew existed like how to select an unpretentious wine." Kelly gave him an encouraging smile. "They didn't cover weddings. I guess they thought everyone knew what to do. I wasn't prepared for the judge telling me to kiss you."
He detected a hint of suspicion in her eyes that wasn't just a reflection of the flickering light of the fire.
"It wasn't the first time you've avoided kissing me. Other times you kissed my neck, but never my lips."
He suppressed a smile. When it came to ad lib, he couldn't be outdone—thanks to Zoe and her "drama" classes. Even so, it was damn hard to fool Kelly.
"Trust me, the women I've know aren't the type to exchange body fluids with. Kissing hasn't been my thing, but I'm willing to let you change my mind."
She hesitated a moment, and he thought she was going to ask him another question. What he'd told her had been the truth, but it wasn't the whole story. His aversion to kissing women on the lips went back to his childhood when he'd been expected to kiss Zoe every day after class.
Zoe. Even now, years later, his gut clenched thinking about the old hag. She claimed to have been a teacher before coming to the camp. She was supposed to teach them, and she had done a fair job. But not without making their lives miserable. No matter how cruel Zoe had been, she expected a kiss—on the lips—at the end of each day.
"Logan, I think you need to get something straight. I was willing to pay you to marry me so I could adopt Rafi, but you refused to take any money. Sex isn't part of this arrangement."
He swore under his breath, told himself to count to ten, but got only to three. "Wanna bet?"
They stared each other for a moment, a silent test of wills. The challenging glint in her amber eyes was backed by the stubborn line of her lips. Her hair had hung to her shoulders in a slight wave at the wedding. The trip up the mountain had tousled her hair, making her sexy as hell.
He reached forward, giving into an urge he'd had countless times. His fingertips touched her hair, and she didn't pull back. He thrust both hands into the loose curls, and lowered his head until his mouth hovered over hers.
"Kiss me, Kelly."
Her response was a tight frown that wrinkled her cute nose. Her lips parted as if she was about to tell him to go to hell. Her mouth fascinated him, he decided as he waited for her to say something.
That first night in the hogan, he noticed her lips even though he shouldn't have. They were slightly tilted upward, which gave him the impression she often smiled. But it was the slight fullness of her lower lip that had an erotic effect on him. Even that night, when he'd thought she'd been sent to kill him, there had been tension in his groin.
Suddenly, he couldn't wait for her to kiss him. A burning need to have those soft lips on his undermined his desire to have her kiss him. Holding her head in place with his hands, he covered her mouth with such savage intensity that he felt her entire body stiffen, but he couldn't stop himself.
He explored the lush fullness of her lips with the tip of his tongue. Her mouth gradually softened, parting by degrees as he twined his fingers through her hair. Holding her and kissing her, aroused Logan more than making love to any other woman had. He edged his tongue between her lips and brushed the tip of her tongue. Hard heat surged into his loins.
He pulled away, trying to catch his breath, realizing he didn't kiss like an expert, but what he lacked in experience, he figured he made up for with enthusiasm. Otherwise her breathing wouldn't have altered the way it had. Her resigned sigh made him smile.
"For someone who never kisses, you managed to learn how to French kiss in a hurry." Her voice was just a little too breathy, a little too quivery to car
ry off the sarcasm.
"Darlin, I'm a fast learner. Teach me how to kiss, then I'll teach you a few tricks."
"I meant what I said I'd rather pay you than become involved with you." She didn't sound nearly as convincing as before.
"Don't worry. You're not involved with me. You're married to me."
"Can't you be serious for once?"
"Sweetheart, I'm dead serious. You're sexy as hell. I'm not traipsing around with a hard-on. We're married. Let's have some fun."
"Think of it as a mission."
"Mission impossible, believe me. Stop trying to fool yourself by living in the past. Your jerk of a husband is dead. If you'd had any real sex life at all, you wouldn't act like this."
She scrambled away from him, then attempted to stand. He lunged for her and they toppled sideways onto the ground. She brought her knee up, aiming for his groin, but his superior strength made it ridiculously easy for him to shove her leg down. He angled himself across her body, his hips rubbing against hers.
"Stop it," she moaned, her eyes wide and dazed as she realized he was fully erect.
"Hey, it's our wedding night. I have a responsibility to men around the world to perform so well that you wake up smiling."
"Chauvinist pig."
"I don't give a damn if I'm politically correct. Never have. Never will." To emphasize his point, he ground against her.
Damnit all! That only made him harder—if possible—and closer to losing it. The way he had the very first time he'd had sex.
Even through the heavy fabric of the sweater he was wearing, Logan felt her nails biting into his shoulders. Desire, pure and elemental assaulted him with unanticipated urgency. He told himself to take his time, not to lose control.
He speared his fingers into the clusters of golden curls around her face. He'd never, ever wanted to kiss a woman. Because of Zoe, he'd had an aversion to kissing that bordered on a phobia. Until Kelly.
His lips reclaimed hers, and he found her tongue waiting for him. With a dainty flick of her velvety tongue, a shaft of pure pleasure arrowed through him, fueling the hard heat mounting like a flood tide between his legs.