A Dangerous Man

Tracy Cooper-Posey A man with a dangerous secret.

A woman with no way out.

Together, they learn about choices…and their price.

Tracy Cooper-Posey

Sasha Productions.

A Dangerous Man

Copyright © 2003 Tracy Cooper--Posey

Published by Sasha Productions.

tracy@sashaproductions.com

Edmonton, Alberta

http://www.sashaproductions.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means -- graphic, electronic or mechanical -- without the prior written permission of the publisher.

 

 

 

About A Dangerous Man

This is quite an old book. Nevertheless, I keep it in circulation because for some

In 1999 I formatted the book as a PDF and offered it free to anyone who would like to download it from my website (www.sashaproductions.com). It was intended as a

Christmas gift for readers of my other romances, mysteries and romantic suspense novels who visit the site.

The book, had I asked for money, would have been a runaway best seller. For the next three years I kept the book up on the site, and without fail, hundreds of readers took a copy every month.

I finally took the book down from the website in early 2003, when the site went through a major revamp. I’ve had a steady stream of hits on the page where it used to be, which tells me people are still looking for it.

So here it is.

Enjoy.

Tracy Cooper-Posey

 

 

Biography of Tracy Cooper-Posey

Tracy Cooper-Posey is a national award-winning writer of popular fiction. An Australian, she brought her family with her to Edmonton, Alberta, Canada in 1996 to marry. Tracy is a "net citizen": She met and courted her husband on the Internet, and has coordinated discussion groups and teaching on-line. She also wrote and maintains her own web site. She teaches creative writing both on-line and at at Grant MacEwan Community College, and students and the public with anecdotes and insights into one the antisocial professions in the world, and the peculiar industry it drives.

During the day she is disguised as the mild-mannered editor of Edmonton magazine.

So far her life has encompassed an eighteen month stint on war-ravaged Bougainville Island in Papua New

Guinea, and at various times she has been a secretary, office clerk, single mother, freelance writer, public speaker, columnist, law student, international traveler, writing teacher, advertising production coordinator (for a national newsmagazine), web-press production coordinator, and the first female cinematograph operator in Western Australia. She currently lives in Edmonton with her husband and their blended family of three children. You can find her web site at http://www.sashaproductions.com.

Table of Contents

A Dangerous Man .......….................. 2

About A Dangerous Man ...........…..... 4

Biography of Tracy Cooper-Posey ......4

Chapter One ...................................... 6

Chapter Two...................................... 17

Chapter Three.....................................27

Chapter Four ...........…...................... 37

Chapter Five...........…....................... 45

Chapter Six........................................ 55

Chapter Seven ......…………............. 64

Chapter Eight .......…………............. 71

Chapter Nine ........…………............. 83

Chapter Ten....................................... 91

About Tracy Cooper-Posey...…......... 97

Heart of Vengeance Chapter 1 ….. 100

Chapter 1 "Logan North? Wants to see me?" Kate repeated, thunderstruck. She stared at the man’s Asian features, shading her eyes with her hand against the late--spring sunshine. "He doesn’t even know who I am. Why would he want to see me?"

The man nodded. "Mr North said you might say that. He ordered me to tell you it concerns last Monday night -- on Metcalfe Road."

Kate felt her jaw drop, as she remembered the man with the fancy car, stopped on the side of the road. "You’re kidding! That was Logan North? I wouldn’t have known him."

The man who'd introduced himself as Logan North’s agent repeated his first statement.

"Mr North would like you to come with me. He wishes to speak to you."

Kate looked around to see if anyone else was a witness to this amazing conversation.

There were any number of students threading their way through the rows of cars, on their way home for the evening, but nearly all of them were dazzled by the shining black limousine the man stood beside. No--one was looking her way.

She had found the limousine blocking her trusty old Suzuki, plus both cars on either side, when she had arrived there after her last lecture.

As she looked around, the man opened the back door and waved gracefully to the luxurious cream leather upholstery.

"Please get in," he said.

Kate clenched the strap of her heavy backpack. "No." She shook her head slowly. "I don’t think so."

"Mr. North was very explicit."

"I’m sure he was, but I’m not getting in there." She looked him. "I don’t know you from a bar of soap. You don’t expect me to just hop in and let you drive me away because you say you’re Logan North’s employee, do you?"

He stood patiently by the door, silent and still for a moment. Then he delved into his jacket pocket and produced a business card, which he handed to her.

Puzzled, Kate read it. Logan North. A telephone number. That was all. It was a stiff cream textured card. "So?" she asked, lifting her eyebrows.

"It would be a rather expensive hoax to hire a limousine and have cards printed, all to convince you I work for Mr. North, Miss McAllister. It is quite plain you would have very little to offer an abductor." His English was perfect, and barely accented. His

tone was neutral -- friendly, even -- but Kate knew he had sized up her battered Suzuki, her worn jeans, plain white teeshirt, and her scuffed leather sandals.

"Consider for a moment," he continued in a reasonable tone. "No--one but you, Mr. North, and the youths you scared off could possibly know about the incident on Monday night.

There were no other witnesses. Even if he is not Logan North, he is the man you saw on Monday night."

Kate considered this. "Yes. And I repeat: So?"

"He wishes to speak to you. His time is very limited."

"And mine isn’t?" Kate asked dryly. "I’ve got to be at work in an hour."

"Mr. North would not wish you to be out of pocket," the man replied smoothly. "He will compensate you."

Kate stared at him, wishing Asian features weren’t quite so inscrutable to her. It was very hard to judge if the man was trustworthy or not.

"Please, Miss McAllister," he repeated, waving again toward the seat. "The limousine has bullet proof glass between the seats, and a telephone in the back with you. You will be quitesafe. I give you my word."

Kate got in, somewhat reassured. But mostly, she was driven more by a curiosity to playthe scene out and see where it led. It was a quantum leap away from the daily grind of her life, and the novelty was intriguing.

As the door closed, she felt the first seeds of misgiving start to germinate, and clutched her backpack close to her. She may only be a humble student but she was aware that her tall,slim body and natural looks were prized by some men as others prized valuable objets--d’art, to be ruthlessly hunted down and collected.

However, the driver must be about five foot two, which gave her eight inches over him, and she probably outweighed him, too. Besides, if he was going to do anything at all, he’d have to stop the car first to do it.

It was stuffy in the car. How long had it been sitting in the hot November sun, waiting for her to return to her Suzuki? As the limousine pulled smoothly away, leaving her

car behind, she felt cool tendrils of air curl around her arms and reach up to her face. Air--conditioning. Of course, she thought, her mental voice wry.

She found herself relaxing in the coolness, despite her apprehension. It had been a tough day, today. Last night hadn’t helped -- she’d worked until past midnight. She watched the passing scene, and the silhouettes of the city buildings ahead of the limousine growing slowly clearer.

Logan North! The name rolled inside her mind. Possibly one of the richest men in Western Australia, an ex--racing car driver turned successful entrepreneur. She knew very little about his racing career, except that he'd been forced to retire because of an accident, but his name and his company were constantly in the financial news. Every time she opened a journal, she ran across his long reaching influence.

Why did he want to see her? To thank her? He could have done that by letter or phone. Besides, she hadn’t done much to be thanked for. She’d been driving down Metcalfe Road late Monday night, on one of her last deliveries, and had seen four rugged--looking teenagers sneaking up on a man too busy changing a flat tyre to notice their approach. She’d wheeled into the kerb, screeched to a stop and stood on her seat to shout a warning over the top of her windscreen. They’d turned and run.

She’d barely even spoken to the man. "This isn’t the area or the time to forget to look over your shoulder," she told him. "Will you be all right now, or should I stay until you’ve finished the tyre?"

He’d looked back at her, after watching the youths run around the corner, out of sight into the darkness. The street light was behind him, and his features in shadow, but he was tall. She saw him pick up the wheel brace from the ground near his feet. "I’ll be fine," he’d called back.

"They won’t take me by surprise again." He sounded amused. "Besides, I’ll be finished in three minutes."

"Okay," she agreed, anxious to leave. She had three pizzas sitting on her passenger seat, and if customers complained about them being cold, she lost her commission. "Bye." She’d pulled out from the curb again, and driven off, instantly forgetting about the incident, until this strange chauffeur--come--agent had confronted her in the university car park, three days later.

So how had Logan North found out who she was? Her licence plate? She frowned.

Somehow, she didn’t think it was possible for citizens to have a trace made out on licence plates.

But then, simple things like that probably wouldn’t stop Logan North from getting what he wanted ... not the man who had increased his family’s wealth ten--fold since retiring from motor sports, only seven years ago.

The anxiety that had begun to grow faded back a little when she saw the skyscraper that housed North’s business enterprises ahead of the limousine. The driver turned into the entrance to the below ground car park, and stopped at the guard booth, twenty metres inside, and got out.

He opened the door where Kate was sitting.

She looked up, blinking in the dim light.

"This way, please, Miss McAllister."

Another person slid in behind the wheel of the car, making it sink on its suspension. One of the guards.

Kate stepped out, and slung her backpack over one shoulder.

The chauffeur led her to a glass panelled room that sheltered a series of lifts. She was led to the lift furthest to the right, and at a touch of the button, the doors swept open.

As she stepped inside she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror--lined back wall, and did a quick check on her appearance. After all, she was about to meet Perth’s version of royalty. Black hair with russet highlights, two inches all over, with feathered tendrils lining her face. The hair and the strong arched brows made her white skin and teeth look whiter still. The peacock blue eyes were wide, and the normally full lips pursed and thinned, making her high cheekbones stand out in stark relief. Pale and skinny, she assessed herself ruthlessly. Oh well.

It wasn’t as if she were about to ask him for a job.

She turned to face the doors, commanding herself to relax. There were only two controls.

Up and down. An express elevator. Her guide touched the top one, and the doors shut instantly.

They were lifted up, swiftly and smoothly, and Kate found herself clutching her backpack strap with anxious tenseness, and willed her fingers to loosen. Really, what could the man do to her? What could either of them do? This was simply a command to attend an audience with the financial kingpin of Perth, and if her guess was right, it was his elaborate way of saying thank-you.

It was a fast trip to the top, but it was enough time for her apprehension to develop a weak strain of indignation, as she followed this line of reasoning to its logical conclusion. Her indignation changed to righteous anger when she considered the manner with which she was being dealt. The arrogance of a man to suppose she would just drop everything and come running at his command!

But you did, didn’t you? The mental voice was cool, and damped some of her hot anger down.

When the doors swished efficiently open, Kate’s anger and apprehension had diminished.

The balance of emotions allowed her to study the foyer the lift opened onto with detached, almost clinical, interest.

Cool marble floors and walls, and dim lighting. To the right a set of double doors, with ornate, polished brass handles. She followed the thin art deco line that bordered the doors up ... and up. The doors were incredibly tall. Deliberately so, she judged, to impress and perhaps even awe the visitor who dared to cross the threshold.

And it worked, she admitted to herself. The silence, the cold hard surfaces, and the imposing doors -- the only doors leading off the foyer -- all tended to press down on one’s self-esteem. Those who came with any weakness of spirit at all would be crushed. She wondered why Logan North’s designers had chosen such dim lighting, though. Surely, she thought facetiously, dazzling, clinical spotlights would have more effect?

Her unspoken question was answered when the man crossed the floor to the doors, and pushed them both open in one dramatic sweep. Light -- dazzling, eye--watering beams -- blazed out at her from the open doorway, and Kate winced, and lifted a hand to shield her eyes.

"Please come in, Miss McAllister," the driver said.

She stepped forward, aiming for the light, all but blinded. If there had been any obstruction in her way, she would have tripped.

Inside, she stopped, and tried to adjust to the light level. The little man stepped to her side. She looked at him. "Please ... the light."

"My apologies, Miss McAllister. I had forgotten the time," said another voice. It was rich, deep, and precisely controlled, but recognisably the voice of the man she had spoken to on Monday night. There was a quiet hum, and gradually the dazzling light faded. She could see in front of her a huge expanse of plate glass windows. Slowly crossing their length on motorised pulleys were long elegant curtains. They were light, almost sheer, yet sufficient to cut the glare of the late afternoon sun bouncing off the windows of neighbouring skyscrapers, and also from the surface of the Swan River, laid out below in panoramic proportions.

Kate soaked up the spectacular view before it was completely veiled. She looked around to her right as movement in her peripheral vision alerted her to the speaker’s position.

"The sun always intrudes at this time of day," he said, "but as no--one else has walked through the door for several hours now, I’d forgotten to draw the curtains."

I bet, Kate thought. She took a breath to steady herself. The blinding effect of the sunlight had thrown her composure a little. She looked at the tall man stepping around the huge desk and walking towards her. Yes, it was Logan North. She recognised him now, both from his silhouette and way of moving on Monday night, and his features from sports television, years ago. Bryan, her younger brother, had been the racing nut in the family. That had been when her mother was still alive.

Before Kate had abuptly left home.

Logan North stopped in front of her, and held out his hand. "Miss McAllister," he said.

She accepted the offered hand, and prepared herself for a bone crushing grip. Even those men who were prepared to offer their hand to a woman in these days of equality still often couldn’t resist showing their physical superiority by squeezing like a vice.

But Logan North’s grip was simply firm. No nonsense. A simple formality instead of a macho ritual. Instead, Kate found herself looking down at his hand, surprised by the touch of long slim fingers, and the distinct feel of calluses. Yes, calluses, she saw.

"I work on my own cars," he said. "I have a temperamental Jaguar that gets sulky if anyone else tries to work on it."

She looked up again, disconcerted that he had identified her glance correctly. She had to lift her chin to look at him, which secretly pleased her. There weren’t many men she had to look up to. He must be about six foot two, she judged, looking into his black eyes. Black Irish, she identified.

The Celtic colouring was unmistakable; black hair, black eyes, thick brows and dark lashes. Fine skin smoothed over high cheekbones, down -- abruptly -- to a square, sharp jaw.

One thick brow lifted in reaction to her perusal, and she dissembled by saying; "Yes, you’re Logan North. You’re the man I saw Monday night."

"You were in doubt?" he asked, releasing her hand, and motioning her to sit on one of the leather visitor’s chairs sitting in front of his desk. No cute coffee table and conversational grouping for this man. Just him behind his desk, and the visitor in front of him.

She sat, sinking into the luxurious chair, which seemed to curl around her body with expertly proportioned curves.

Logan North, unexpectedly, sat on the edge of his desk in front of her. It forced her to crane her head up to look at him. It was even worse than having him behind the desk, she thought.

"I had a few moments where I didn’t believe your ... agent," she admitted. "How did you find out who I was, Mr. North?"

"Logan. Mr North was my father."

"How did you find me?" Kate repeated, refusing to be redirected.

"I saw your number plate. I have a friend in the police force, and when I explained I wished to find you and thank you for what you did on Monday night, he supplied me with your name and your employer. From there, I was directed to the university as the place where I could find you during the day. I assume you were delivering pizzas that night?"

"Yes," she answered shortly, trying to keep track of the dozen questions that had sprung to her mind from his reply. She asked the most pressing question first. "Is that why you have virtually dragged me here? To thank me?"

He studied her, and she thought she could see a hint of surprise in his expression. "Yes, amongst other things. Why do you say ‘dragged’ in that way? Peter didn’t hurt you, did he?"

"No, but he wasn’t pleasant either." Kate could feel some of the indignation and anger she had felt in the lift return to her now, prompted by the reminder of the man’s arrogant wielding of power. "He blocked my car, and I was told I must come with him because you wanted to see me. I wasn’t given much choice at all. Don’t you ever use the phone? Or write letters? Even a simple card would have done."

"I see. Then I must apologise for Peter’s oversight. He didn’t fully explain the situation to you. I merely wished to extend an invitation to you to speak with me. There are some questions I wanted to ask you -- to clarify the situation, and settle the matter that lies between us."

Kate felt her anger fade away yet again, this time pushed aside by puzzlement. "I’m sorry?" she said, completely lost. "What matter?"

Logan North crossed him arms. "Why did you stop on Monday night, Miss McAllister?"

"Why? Because of the boys sneaking up on you. One of them had a golf club. They weren’t going to help you -- not in that area."

"And you were? Going to help me, that is."

Kate was really puzzled now. "Well ... yes, I suppose it might have come to that. I didn’t really think about it too much. They were there. You had your back to them. So I stopped, and it scared them off." She shrugged. "It’s really not such a big deal. I’m not sure I would have been much use to you if they hadn’t turned tail and run. I carry a big industrial torch with me and it makes a pretty good blunt weapon, but there were four of them."

"And you didn’t know who I was? I was a stranger to you?"

"I couldn’t even see your face. The street light was behind you, which is how I saw the boys, and my headlights were shining in the other direction." Kate stared at him. "You’re not implying what I think you’re implying, are you?"

He almost smiled. "What am I implying?" he asked.

Kate hesitated before answering him directly. Surely he didn’t suspect her of ulterior motives? He had been a stranger to her. Suddenly, all her anger returned, this time swollen with true indignation now she knew where she stood with him. "That’s the ‘matter’, isn’t it?" she said, standing up. She couldn’t sit still, and she wanted to be eye to eye with him. "You think I stopped to help you for some sort of reward or something, didn’t you?"

"I’ve had some experience sorting out fortune--hunters before," he replied calmly.

"Coming to the rescue of the famous billionaire? Hell’s bells!" Kate whirled away, stalking in a tight little circle, searching for words to adequately express her disgust. She finished her circuit and stopped, facing him.

"Firstly, Mr. Logan, let me point out that what I did, I would have done for anyone. As far as I was concerned on Monday night you were anyone. I had no idea who you were. And secondly, might I point out that if I had stopped to help with the idea of squeezing some sort of reward out of you, why did I leave again so quickly? Any self--possessed fortune hunter would have at least given you their name and address."

"Why did you leave so quickly?" he asked.

Kate shook her head, disbelief warring with her indignation. "Because the pizzas were getting cold. It’s an open top Suzuki. The wind chills them off fast, despite the heat--wave."

She looked at him, trying to struggle with the issue from his point of view. "Haven’t you ever had strangers stop to help you before, Mr Logan? Not for material reward, but simply because that’s the right thing to do?"

"Not that I remember," he said simply.

Kate struggled to deal with that concept. "Never?" she asked.

"No. Although I accept that it does happen, and that you were genuinely trying to help that night. So...." He stood too. "What can I do in return, Miss McAllister?"

This time, she was really astounded. She stared at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"What is it that you need? Clothes?" His glanced flicked down and up her length, taking in her student uniform. "Books? Your rent paid? Name your price."

Kate clenched her jaw together firmly, and counted to ten, then on to fifteen for good measure, before unclenching her jaw enough to allow her to speak. "You can’t buy me off, Mr. North. I’m not for sale, and never will be. I’m astonished you are attempting it, but then I don’t move in the same circles as you so I’m not used to it. And I’m immensely glad I’m not."

She shook her head sorrowfully. "I will forgive you for the insult, as you don’t know any better." She settled her backpack upon her shoulder again. "I want to be returned to my car. Now." She walked back across to the doors, and stood there, waiting for Peter to escort her back to the lifts.

A callused hand came down on the polished brass handles. "I apologise." His voice was quiet and did sound sincere.

She looked up into his eyes. The dark irises were unreadable, and his face was closed, giving nothing away. A poker--player’s face. "I’ve already forgiven you," she said. She was going to leave it at that, but an impulse from nowhere made her add; "I’m really sorry you don’t recognise genuine kindness when you see it, Mr. North. Your life must be a bleak one, indeed."

A furrow creased his brow, and she saw a muscle in his angled jaw ripple. The silence seemed to stretch on forever before he answered hollowly; "I suppose it is."

Kate turned to face him properly, aghast. Pain swelled up from her heart, and she recognised it was an echo of his pain. "Oh, Logan," she breathed.

Abruptly he straightened his shoulders, the hand falling away from the door. The creased brow smoothed. He didn’t quite step back but Kate understood as clearly as if he had told her in English that he had just lifted some sort of barrier up into place. A shield. He was rejecting her sympathy.

"Tell me how I can thank you," he said.

Kate tried to adopt his pleasant, business--like tone. "If you have any human kindness in your soul at all, you’d figure that out for yourself."

"That could prove to be an impossibility," he said, and although his tone stayed the same, she caught a reflection of the mood he’d been in just before thrusting up the shield.

It forced her to say honestly; "I believe you can." She smiled brightly. "Besides, you entrepreneurs like long odds, don’t you?"

This time, he did smile, and it seemed to lighten his features and fundamentally change his appearance. It reminded Kate that he was still quite young -- very young for one so successful. But then he’d been ridiculously young when he’d had the accident that had forced him out of motor racing. "Goodbye, Miss McAllister," he said. "Peter will return you to your car."

"Goodbye, Mr North."

As promised she was returned to her car. Because of the bullet--proof shield between them, Peter remained silent. This suited Kate anyway. She had far too much to think about as it was.

What an enigma Logan North was! Impressive, almost frightening, despite one seeing through the less subtle intimidation strategies built into his office design.

At the same time he was intriguing. He worked on his own cars. He had a strange fellow of Asian extract with the unlikely name of Peter at his beck and call. And he was suspicious of the whole world. Why?

The question kept her mind occupied for the next few hours, and was stimulated by her boss’s "little chat" when she arrived at work that night. "I’m proud of the fact that you stopped to help a stranger, Kate," George told her. "But don’t do it again. It’s a tough old world out there at night. My conscience troubles me enough because I let you do deliveries."

Kate was alarmed. "You’re not going to fire me, are you?" Heaven help her ... if the money stopped coming in she would be in dire straits indeed.

"A proper good samaritan like you? I’d be an insensitive fool if I did. Just be careful is all, Kate."

"I will," she replied, and picked up her first delivery for the night.

On the Friday night, the next night, which was one of their busiest for home deliveries, Kate arrived early to find the back office awash in flowers. Roses, carnations, gladioli, orchids, baby’s tears, and other varieties she couldn’t put a name to. All in beautiful arrangements, all perfect. That was all she saw before the overpowering scent of them drove her out of the office again, her eyes streaming.

"They’re for you," George said. "From guess who."

"I don’t have to," Kate said, wiping her eyes. She took the sealed envelope her boss handed her, and picked up a pen. "Send them back," she told him.

"What?"

"All of them. Send them back. Get the same couriers, and tell them Logan North will pay them the return delivery too." She wrote across the back of the envelope: Buying out Interflora isn’t the way to do it. Besides, I’m allergic to flowers. K.

She wiped her eyes again. "I’m going to have to take an antihistamine," she said.

"You’re allergic to them?" George asked, starting to chuckle.

"Wildly. Why do you think I live on the top floor of an apartment block?" she asked.

"Because it’s cheap," he replied.

"And because it’s as far away from gardens as I can get." She handed the envelope back to her boss. "Send that with them."

He glanced at the envelope. "You’re sure?"

"Very sure. He probably got a secretary to order them, anyway. That’s not a thank--you. That’s not even a gesture."

"Well, he’s a busy guy, I imagine."

"Then he should take time out to get it right, first time," Kate said firmly. "Besides, I want to know if he can get it right."

The next day, being Saturday, meant no lectures, but it was one of her busiest days. Rising shortly after dawn, she raced through her tiny flat and cleaned it, went to the local supermarket to do her weekly shopping, and returned home to settle down to some serious studying.

Working five nights a week ate into her study hours, but the extra income on top of her minimal Austudy allowance was necessary to keep food on her table and a roof over her head.

Her life, while the university was in session, was a tight round of work, sleep, and study. There was very little room for anything else except the bare essentials of living.

Around six o’clock, just as she was preparing herself a light meal, the phone rang. The STD bips told her who it was before he spoke. "Hello, Bryan," she said, smiling.

"And what if I were someone else?" he asked.

"Then I’d apologise. But I knew it was you. Who else but my little baby brother phones me long distance every Saturday at this time? Are you on your way out to work? How’s your thesis going?"

"Slowly. Work’s fine. Busy, of course. I’m starting to get really good at mixing cocktails now. But finishing at three in the morning plays havoc with my research schedule."

Kate nodded. "I know the problem."

"How is your study going?" Bryan’s voice took on a patronising note that Kate knew was quite unconscious.

At twenty--five, and just starting her undergraduate studies, Kate was a mature student and a late starter. Bryan, two years her junior, had gone into tertiary study straight from high school, and was now writing his doctoral thesis.

It gave him a gentle satisfaction to be able to give her practical hints and advice on studying. The advice was always valuable, so Kate did not begrudge him his feelings of superiority, for he was an excellent student. Studying was the one thing they did have in common, despite living on different sides of the continent.

But today she wanted different information. "Bryan, tell me what you can remember about Logan North."

There was a small silence before he answered. "Logan North? Why? And what do you want to know?"

"Just whatever you can remember from his racing career. The rest I already know from financial journals. What was he like as a person? That sort of thing."

"Why?"

"I met him the other day, and I’ve never met anyone as hard to read as him. I kept getting conflicting messages."

"I’m not surprised. Anyone who can go from racing cars successfully to running a business successfully has got to be at least partially schizophrenic."

"I don’t know ... he’s an entrepreneur now. Both careers involve taking immense risks, except one is physically risky, and the other isn't," Kate replied. "Tell me what you remember."

"Well, I remember around the time Logan North was racing that John McEnroe, the tennis player, used to upstage him for temper tantrums ... but only just. Logan North was a bit of a wild boy. They said he was a good driver until he lost his temper, and then he got faster and harder to beat, but more dangerous. Remember Mum talking about Irish tempers?"

Kate recited her mother’s words, adding a soft brogue; “‘the Black Irish deserve their name, poor bedevilled souls they are, with fire for blood and no rest for their sins".”

“God, you sound just like her,” Bryan said, and fell silent for a moment.

Kate sighed.

“What else can I tell you?” Bryan asked.

“The accident -- the one that stopped his racing career. What happened?”

“No--one will ever know for sure. Bad judgement, mechanical fault, whatever. He lost control of his car coming around a wide bend during the Australian Grand Prix, slammed into a concrete barrier, and the car caught on fire. I remember watching it. By rights, he should have died.”

She could hear the awe in Bryan’s voice as he recalled the scene.

“His father did die, you know. He witnessed it, too, and had a heart attack and died on the way to the hospital. Logan North was in hospital for a couple of weeks with minor burns and breaks and so on. He announced his retirement from his hospital bed. What a waste of talent,”

Bryan murmured. “He was only thirty.”

“He’s put his talent to good use since then,” she replied. “I’m the commerce student, so I know what he’s managed to achieve. It’s an impressive list. I’d estimate he’s one of the richest men in Western Australia.”

“What’s he like as a person though?” Bryan asked. “Wish I’d been there,” he added.

“You wouldn’t have liked him, I think,” she said slowly. “But maybe I’m wrong. I don’t know ... just before the end there, when we said goodbye….” She shook her head. “You’re better at judging people than me. Maybe you could have pinned down what it was. It was so elusive. But I felt ... almost sorry for him.”

“You know, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you admit I can judge people correctly,”

Bryan said. It was an oblique referral to Mickey. They had both declared the man and all matters connected with him as off--limits subjects. It caused too many senseless arguments.

Gently, Kate closed the subject down again. “Well, I’ve always admired you for not saying 'I told you so'. Time’s almost up, Bryan. When are you going to let me phone you, huh?”

“Save it for emergencies, Kate. I’m the one that got the scholarship, remember? You can’t afford it.”

Kate was half--expecting a response from Logan North over her return of his flowers. She suspected it would be the simple phone call or card she had hinted was all that was necessary all along, so it was doubly shocking to emerge from the lecture theatre after her last lecture on Monday to find him waiting by the stairs.

Logan North, in person, at the university. And waiting for her, at that, for he straightened from his negligent lean against the banister as she saw him, and cut his way through the press of students towards her.

Kate found herself coming to a standstill, the small group of mature--age students she habitually sat with in lectures dragging to a halt with her.

Her first thought was that his perfectly cut and tailored business suit contrasted oddly with the shabbiness of the students he towered over. Her second thought was that she preferred him that way. She realised he was receiving equally admiring glances from the women still lingering in the area. Even some of the men gave him a second look. He’s here to see me, Kate thought. Her chin went up.

“Hello, Miss McAllister,” he said, when he reached her.

“Hello, Mr. North.” She smiled when she heard a quick hiss of indrawn breath behind her as someone in her group put surname to face and recognised him.

“Do you have a minute? I’d like to talk to you.”

“Certainly. If you come with me, I’ll find somewhere more private...."

“Here is fine,” he said. “Nothing I’m going to say will embarrass you.”

“I don’t need an audience,” she assured him.

“But you deserve one. Here --” From behind his back, he produced a small, exquisite bouquet of tropical orchids. All were silk, all were hand--made and tinted, and bound up in a beautiful bright peacock blue silk scarf. They were lovely. Kate couldn’t help herself -- she sniffed, despite knowing there would be no scent to irritate her nose. Instantly the scent of her perfume, the one she always wore, tickled her senses.

“Silk, in deference to your hypersensitivity,” he pointed out.

“They are beautiful,” she said. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you. For quite possibly saving my life. For showing a stranger kindness.”

She smiled up at him, and was rewarded to see a glimmer of amusement in his own expression. “You figured it out,” she said.

“I like challenges,” he replied. “Though the lengths I went to get them should rate a knighthood. I never imagined a bridal accessory shop could be such a terrifying place.” This time he smiled fully. He reached into his inner jacket pocket, and withdrew a card. “Here.

Don’t loose it. It’s my private number. If ever I can help you -- in any way -- call me.”

Kate looked down at the cream--coloured card. It showed a phone number. Nothing else. “I’ll keep it,” she promised.

He nodded. “Can I walk you to your car?” he asked.

She shook her head. “You can’t, I’m afraid. I’ve got some research I have to do in the library. I have exams in a week’s time, and...well....” It seemed such a poor way to repay his efforts, but it was the simple, unavoidable truth.

“I understand,” he said smoothly, blandly. “Goodbye, then, Miss McAllister.”

“Goodbye, Mr. North,” she replied.

He turned and crossed to the stairs. She watched him leave as the others around her all began to speak at once. The bouquet was plucked out of her hands.

Logan didn’t look back as he descended the stairs, and she felt a small jerk of disappointment.

“Kate, whatever did you do for him? How could you keep something like that a secret?

Tell me all about it,” Alexandra demanded.

“So that’s the Nasty Northman himself, huh?” Russell said.

“I hadn’t realised how sexy he was before!” Dotty said breathlessly. “It doesn’t show on telly, does it? He’s so tall....”

When Logan had completely disappeared from her view, Kate turned back to her friends.

“It’s kind of a long story,” she said.

“Which means she doesn’t want to tell you,” Russell told the two women. “Come on, let’s go and get that drink. It’s hot.”

Everyone but Kate moved off in the direction of the cafeteria. The women grumbled to each other about not having the full story, while Dotty admired the bouquet she still held.

Kate looked down at the card in her hand. Call me. She slipped it into her pocket. They were from such different worlds, and they had such different points of view on life. It had taken him three efforts to see the “issue” from her perspective, which showed the size of the gulf that lay between them.

If ever she did need help, she could cope without bothering him over what would surely seem to him to be trivial. She would keep the card because that was what he wanted her to do, but she was quite sure she would never have to use it.

Never

 

 

 

Chapter 2Four weeks later, Kate found herself fingering the stiff cream card, turning it over and over in her fingers, making the telephone number appear and disappear. Her telephone sat in front of her on the tiny table in the kitchen half of her flat.

She was going to have to ask Logan North for help.

Kate recalled her complete certainty that she would never need to use the card, such a short while ago, and grimaced. What a short--sighted notion that had been.

She sighed, and picked up the telephone receiver for what seemed liked the thousandth time, and placed the card square on the table in front of her. Then, with a deep breath, she dialled.

The phone rang twice, and then was answered. “Logan North.”

The deep cultured tone was unmistakable, and instantly painted in Kate’s mind a picture of the last time she had seen him, when he had given her the card. For a few seconds she was silent, shocked to find she had got straight through to him. She had been expecting -- hoping, really -- for the usual buffer of a secretary or assistant to deal with first. It would have been easier to have a secretary break the ice for her. Now she would have to ask him without a prior softening process.

“Hello?” His voice reverberated down the line, and she could sense both puzzlement and impatience tinging the word.

“I’m sorry, Mr. North, I wasn’t expecting to get you straight away. It’s...Kate McAllister. I don’t know if you remember me, but--"

“Yes, I remember you.” The tone was absolutely neutral. There was nothing for Kate to gauge his reaction. At least he remembered her. That was something.

“Oh,” she said, her opening lines of introduction now defunct. Again, the silence stretched for moment or two, while she scrambled to find a way into the subject.

Logan North spoke first. “Do you need my help, Kate?” This time his words were warm and gentle. She relaxed, for he had stated the whole conversation in one simple question, and now all she need do was reply. But even the reply was difficult to voice.

“Yes,” she admitted, holding her temple with her free hand.

Again there was an uninterpretable silence. Then he spoke briskly. “I know the university semester has finished for the year. Are you free during the day?”

“I can make an appointment to see you for whenever it suits you --”

“Come now,” he replied.

“Now?”

“Yes. Unless you have other arrangements?”

“No....”

“Good. I’ll see you when you get here. You will be expected.”

“It could take me a while,” she warned.

Again a silence, and this time she sensed his puzzlement. “I see,” he said finally. “I’ll be here all day. Goodbye, Miss McAllister.”

Kate managed to catch an express bus into the city, and found herself standing outside the huge padded revolving door of the North Incorporated building just over three quarters of an hour later.

The foyer inside looked empty, so she slipped between the partitions of the door, and moved into the cool air.

The foyer was decorated in the same cool marble as the top floor of the building, but the effect here was warmer, for there was full sunlight bathing the foyer from the four glass walls that surrounded it, and there were groups of lounges here and there, anchored together visually by thick rugs and pot plants.

The bank of lifts were in the centre. Kate checked the directory on the wall between the lifts and pressed for a lift. North Incorporated reception was on the 33rd floor. The 35th, Logan’s floor, wasn’t listed.

Inside the lift, Kate neatened her clothing and checked herself over one last time. She had made an attempt to look presentable, but her clothes were a far cry from the sassy ladies’ business suits she had noticed around the city streets. Her long slim black skirt brushed her lower ankle, and her shirt was sleeveless white silk. It was the best and virtually only presentable shirt she possessed. With a wide belt cinched around her waist, and black low heeled court shoes, she looked neat and tidy, but hardly fashionable, or even business--like.

She had hesitated over wearing the vivid blue scarf Logan North had given her along with the flowers. She hadn’t worn it since he had given it to her, and finally she had decided against wearing it today. It was a little bit too much like supplication to suit her mood.

The lift chimed, claiming her attention, and she stepped out into a pleasant carpeted reception area. There were two receptionists, and one was already smiling at her, waiting for her to approach and state her business.

Kate walked over, squaring her shoulders. “I’d like to see Logan North, please.”

“Is Mr. North expecting you?” the receptionist asked, with a bland smile.

“Yes.”

Within a few short minutes, after giving her name, Kate was back in the lift, and pressing the button for the next floor. When the lift doors opened this time, she found herself facing a pretty strawberry blonde in an immaculate summer--weight business suit, who stepped into the lift with Kate.

“Kate McAllister?” she asked, her voice an unexpected soft contralto.

“Yes.”

“I’m Bethaney Adams, Logan’s personal assistant. Please call me Bethaney. No one stands on ceremony too much here. I’ll take you up to his office. He’s expecting you.” The woman pulled out an electronic card--key from her pocket and slid it into a slot in the lift control panel, and pressed the key for the 35th floor. The doors shut, and they were lifted the few extra feet necessary to reach the next floor.

When the doors slid open again, Kate found herself looking out upon the marbled foyer she had visited four weeks before. The light was still dim, and when the personal assistant crossed to the double doors, and tapped quietly before opening, Kate was ready for a sudden wash of light.

This time, because she was ready for it, and because the sun was at its noon peak, the change in light didn’t bother her, and Kate stepped through the doors Bethaney pushed aside for her. “Thank you,” Kate told her.

“You’re welcome.” Bethaney withdrew, shutting the doors behind her.

Logan North was already on his feet, and crossing the floor towards her. Kate tried to tack a friendly smile on her face, and failed. “Mr. North.”

“Miss McAllister,” he said, holding out his hand. They shook hands again, and this time he kept her hand in his warm strong grip and drew her across to the same soft chair she had sat in before. He let her settle herself in the chair.

“You’d better call me Kate,” she told him, feeling it would be difficult to insist on formalities when she was here to ask a favour.

Logan took the same desk edge perch as before and crossed an ankle over the other, his long legs stretched out past her shoes. His eyes narrowed. “You wish you were anywhere else but here, don’t you?”

Kate bit her lip. “Yes,” she admitted. “I never had any intention of using the card you gave me.”

“I know.”

Kate stared at him. “You do? Then why did you give it to me?”

“Because there was always the chance that one day I could help, and if I were the last person you turned to then I knew I would be helping you where no--one else could or would.

Now that day is here.” He smiled. “So tell me. What’s wrong?”

“I had a car accident a few weeks ago,” she said. “My Suzuki is off the road.”

“Were you hurt?” he asked, the brows rushing together.

“Bruises. That’s all. No one was hurt, luckily. There was another car involved.”

“Who was at fault?” Logan asked.

Kate sighed. “I guess the verdict will come out against me,” she said. “Although the Volvo was overtaking a turning car, and was in the wrong lane. He hit my right side,

so I guess that’s pretty conclusive. I turned out in front of him.” She shrugged. “I didn’t see him,” she said. “Not until it was too late.”

“It was late at night, I’d guess,” Logan said.

“Yes. Close to midnight. I was tired….” Kate looked down in her lap. She had been very tired. It had been exam week, and the pressure had been tremendous, but she had resisted the urge to take the week off work, because she needed the money. But she wasn’t about to admit that to Logan North. He only needed to know the bare minimum necessary to decide if he would help her or not.

“Kate,” Logan said quietly.

She looked up again. He was watching her steadily. “You need money to get your car repaired, do you?”

“Yes. And I guess I’m going to need money to fix the Volvo too. If it’s my fault, I’m liable.”

“The banks won’t help you?”

Kate shook her head. “I’m a full--time student. The money I earn is just enough to pay my living and studying expenses, and there’s nothing left over to pay back a loan.”

“I see.” Logan’s voice was dry. “How do you propose to pay me back...assuming I do lend you the money?”

“You would get it back,” Kate assured him hurriedly. “I’ve only got two years left to finish my degree and after that I will be working full time. During the summer break I can work two jobs...but only if I have my car.”

“And for that you need my money. You don’t have any family to lend you what you need, or to help you with your expenses?” Logan’s tone was brisk and business--like now. He was fact--finding, sizing up the situation.

“My parents are dead. My younger brother is a student, like me. There is no one else I know who would have that sort of money to spare.”

“Except me,” Logan concluded.

Kate threaded her fingers together. “Except you,” she echoed.

He stood and walked around to the other side of his desk, sat in the chair, and leaned back , studying her. “You could always leave university. Get a full time job.”

Kate felt her heart thud. “Yes, there is that option,” she agreed, but her voice lacked conviction. Leave? she thought. After fighting so hard to get there in the first place?

“Can you tell me why you started studying, Kate? You’re -- what? Twenty--three?

Four?”

“Twenty--six,” she admitted. “I started late. It’s a long story.”

“I’m a patient listener,” Logan replied.

Kate shook her head. “Another time, perhaps. Let’s say I was forced to start my life over again at twenty--four, and finishing my degree is the key to getting it right this time.”

“Nothing criminal, I assume?” His tone was cool.

“No, nothing like that.” Kate hesitated. Logan needed to know that it wasn’t something that was likely to affect her credit--worthiness, so she added; “It was a man, actually.” She lifted her chin and looked him square in the eyes, silently warning him not to probe deeper.

Unexpectedly, the dark eyes narrowed, and the muscles along the jaw rippled. Kate remembered the reaction from the last time she had been in the office. Logan’s next statement after that had been candid. This time he said levelly; “Who was he?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” she asked gently. “It’s over and done with now.”

His face cleared. “And none of my business, either, I gather from your tone.” He bought his hands down gently, laid flat on the desk. “All right...you want to borrow sufficient money to get your car back on the road, and repair the other one. You can only pay me back during the summers, and the remainder when you graduate. Is that right?”

“Yes,” Kate replied, rallying her mind back to business. “I know it’s a pretty awful business proposition, but I’ll pay whatever interest you think is fair for such circumstances.

Compound, of course.”

Logan steepled his fingers, and the eyes narrowed. “I’ll lend you the money, and I’ll waive the interest if you fulfil one condition for me.”

Kate could feel her stomach clamp with sudden apprehension. Waive the interest? What could possibly be in it for him that would deserve losing any profits from the deal?

“What condition?” she asked softly.

“I want you to be my partner at a social occasion in the near future.”

Kate didn’t wait to hear any more. With a little moan of disgust she scrambled from the chair to her feet, and raced across the soft wool carpet toward the big double doors, her heart thudding with a painful, erratic beat.

A date! Damn the man!

“Wait. Kate, wait a minute,” she heard him say behind her.

She ignored him.

Abruptly, two strong hands clamped around her upper arms, and she felt herself loose balance as her momentum brought her feet out from under her. She was kept upright, and spun around to face him, and put back on her feet.

“Let go of me,” she muttered. “I’m not completely helpless, you know.”

“Kate, I could beat you with one hand. Just listen to me for a minute, would you, before you make such wild assumptions about my motives?”

“I don’t need to listen,” she shot back, feeling the dawning of new anger in her. “You just reminded me of something I had forgotten about you. Your morals run a different way to mine.

"I shouldn’t be so damn surprised at this, but there you are. It doesn’t matter how you try to dress up a ‘date”, it all comes back to the fact that you are asking me to sell myself in exchange for finance.” She shook her head. “The answer is no. Now let me go.”

He shook his head. “Not until you hear me out.”

Kate stopped trying to pull away from his grip and stared up at him. “You don’t think this is the first time I’ve had a proposition like this, do you? I’ve learnt to recognise

propositions now, no matter how they come packaged. I’ve also learnt how to deal with the propositioner. So let go of me.”

Instead of being released, she was physically lifted. Logan let go of her arms, and grasped her by the waist, and simply lifted her.

Kate heard herself cry out in surprise, as she felt the floor fall away from her feet, and reached out to steady herself. Her hands found Logan’s shoulders, and she sensed their broadness despite the contoured jacket. His tactic had completely neutralised anything she might have done to defend herself -- and she had a small arsenal of tricks she had picked up over the years.

She was carried across to a sofa sitting next to the bank of windows, and unceremoniously dumped into the deep buttoned cushions.

She lay, stunned, while Logan sat on the coffee table in front of her and ran a hand through his ruffled hair.

“Just sit still and listen, or by God I’ll shake you ... I swear,” he said.

Kate could feel herself sink back further into the cushions. Anger was flicking through his eyes, and she could feel it radiating from him in waves.

“And don’t look at me like that,” he said.

“Like what?” she shot back. “How am I supposed to act? You just manhandled me like some ... bouncer or something, after dropping such an insulting suggestion --”

Logan lifted a finger. “Not another word,” he warned. “You’ve managed to deliver your own insult, too, you know. I deserve a chance to explain myself.”

He lifted his gaze up and away and sighed, a gusty explosion of breath. “Damn it, this is...crazy.” He looked back at her. “It was a simple, genuine business proposition. You’re adept at seeing inside people, understanding them, almost as soon as you meet. I've had personal experience of that. You’re pleasant, well--mannered, hard working, and honest. You’re not a gold--digger, as we’ve already established. You’re exactly the sort of person I need to take to a conference coming up soon, to help me judge some of the business men I will be meeting there.”

He shrugged and held his hands wide. “I’m not good at it the way you are. I need your help.”

“My help?” she repeated blankly.

Logan looked amused, his dark eyes dancing. “Yes, your help. Why do you look so surprised? I’d be a lousy businessman if I refused to use other people’s expertise to cover those skills I lack.”

Kate almost laughed. “You really need my brother, then. He’s much better at seeing inside people than I.”

“But you’re to hand. I want you -- I’ve seen what you can do.”

Kate eased herself further upright, brushing wisps of hair away from her eyes. She eyed Logan suspiciously. “What if I looked like a hag ... would you need my expertise so desperately then?”

Logan looked at her steadily for a moment, then looked away. It seemed he was lost for an answer. But then he turned back to face her, and his face was grave. “Kate, you are beautiful -- achingly beautiful. I can’t say that I haven’t noticed -- you wouldn’t believe me if I tried, and I’m not trying to convince you that I’m a saint, either. But at this precise point in time, your beauty is irrelevant to the discussion. This is business, and as such, the only way I could bring your appearance into the issue is as a commodity. I’d rather not do that, if you don’t mind. I’d rather enjoy it as an aesthetically pleasing side effect.”

Kate found herself staring at him again. Such frank honesty was unusual in big business.

Perhaps that was why he was so successful.

“Or would you rather we deal with it on a business basis?” he asked, when she stayed silent. He frowned, thinking, his gaze unfocused. “The fact that you’ve got the sort of looks that can stop men in their tracks might just throw some of those old cronies off balance. I could use such an advantage to crack them open.”

“Is that what you want to do to them?” she asked.

“Perhaps. The problem with this occasion is that it’s dressed up as a social event, which means all the political in--fighting just goes underground, and that -- I freely confess -- is where I start getting lost.” His brows rushed together. “I’m fine if it’s open warfare over the board table.”

Something in his tone told Kate that he wasn’t just fine -- he actually enjoyed that sort of confrontation. She thought she understood why, too. When he had been racing, his aim had been simple; to be the fastest on the track. There was nothing even remotely covert about his actions, or anyone else’s. He may have retired from racing, but he had been one of the best, and she suspected that the desire to be the fastest, the best, hadn’t retired along with his career. Over the board table he could indulge that need.

She sat up properly, swinging her legs to the floor, and turned to face him. Because he was sitting on the coffee table, her face was level with his. “So, it’s got nothing to do with a date?” she concluded. She was aware she was repeating herself, but she had to make sure.

“You really are assaulting my character, aren’t you?” The corner of his lips lifted a little.

“Is it that you think I am such a dysfunctional man I can’t ask a woman out without somehow blackmailing her into it?”

“No--” Kate began hastily.

“If I was using such an underhanded tactic, then by rights when I threw you onto the sofa a moment ago, I should have followed it up by kissing you.”

Kate grew very still. She looked into his eyes, trying to read where he was taking this conversation. Her heart started pounding again, picking up the heavy rhythm it had been beating out since he had voiced his incredible proposal. “What are you trying to say?” she asked, her voice a croak.

One thick brow lifted at the sound of her voice. “I suppose I’m saying the thought had crossed my mind, but I resisted the temptation.”

“Oh,” she whispered. The air was very thick and heavy around her, and she found breathing an effort.

“Disappointed?” he asked.

Yes you are. So go. Get out. Get out! her mind shrieked at her. This was dangerous...too dangerous. “No,” she whispered in answer to his question.

He leaned forward, close to her. “Never mind. Here’s a simple one, so you can’t accuse me of inconsideration....” and his lips brushed her cheekbone. Warm breath fanned her skin.

She felt her eyes closing, with a will of their own, and her lips parted. His scent -- hot, clean, male, with a hint of spicy cologne, washed over her. She drew in a tortured breath, tasting it.

He heard her, for he froze, his cheek hovering next to hers -- so close she could feel the warmth of his skin radiating against hers.

Kate held very still, knowing that any motion, even her simple breath, would tell him too much. Her heart was racing now, the blood scalding its way through her veins and making her body throb with the incessant rhythm. Her mind was screaming warnings at her to get up and leave. Now. It had stopped being a business discussion now. It was way past business.

Instead she found her head turning towards him. She tried to control her lungs, and was reduced to fast breaths that told him exactly what she was feeling.

His lips brushed her cheek again, lower, close to the corner of her mouth, and her whole body jumped at the light touch, sensitised now to the smallest stimulus.

It was a signal even a blind man could not fail to miss. Helpless, her protesting mind oversaw her body pliantly reach toward him, her chin lifting, offering her mouth up to his lips.

He took what she offered, his firm mouth taking hers in a kiss that was both sweet and hot. She felt his hands on her arms, her bare skin under the long fingers zapping with something akin to static. She was being lifted to her feet, and one hard thigh leaned briefly against her knee as he rose, bringing her with him. Then they were standing, and still the kiss continued. His mouth was exploring her full lips, gently probing past their warmth. She wanted to taste him, and delicately she touched his lips with the tip of her tongue.

At her touch, she heard a sound -- almost a groan, echo from deep inside of him, and she was pulled up against him, held tight against the long lean length of him with one iron arm around her waist. The fingers of his other hand captured her chin and held her steady while his lips and tongue raided her mouth in an assault that left her dizzy with the rush of adrenalin and a wave of sensuous longing that she had not felt in years, and never this strongly.

She revelled in the feelings, and the enjoyment of being in the arms of a man who was taller than her, that forced her to lift herself up to him, and made her feel smaller, weaker, helpless.

Abruptly, almost shockingly, she was wrenched away from him, his hands on her shoulders hurting her through the power of his grip.

She gasped as her soaring senses plunged back down to the level of reality, and her mind’s voice, which had been drowned out for long moments, suddenly reawakened, the volume of its protest doubling.

Logan whirled away, and stalked to the window, where he stood looking down at St George’s Terrace, far below, his back to her. After a moment he lifted a fist, and with the fleshy part of his hand at the side of his curled up fingers, he hit the thick concrete column next to him.

It was a soft hit, but it more than adequately conveyed his chagrin, his disgust. Kate didn’t need him to speak to know exactly what he was feeling.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was rough. Harsh. “I....” He hesitated, looking for words, and finally just shrugged and repeated, “I’m sorry.”

Kate nodded. What else could he say? It was entirely her fault. She leaned over to pick up her bag where it had fallen to the foot of the sofa when Logan had dumped her there.

Finally, she would listen to the voices of reason. Too late, of course, but at least she could minimise the damage. She would leave. Now.

She was halfway to the door when he spoke again. From his voice, she judged he was still standing at the window, but she didn’t turn to look. She couldn’t. She could feel her cheeks were hot and rosy.

“Go and see Bethaney and tell her how much you need. She’ll draw up a bank cheque for you. As to the other half of the deal -- let’s forget it.”

If only I can -- as quickly as possible, Kate thought. She hurried from the room and across the foyer to the lift, which still stood open and waiting. Inside she punched the ground floor button. There was no way she would take his money now.

She would have to find another way of paying for the car. Somehow, she would find a way.

And all the way home she cursed herself, and her own betraying body. How could she possibly be attracted to a man like that? Even physically? He had the ethics of a drug

dealer, and even if he wasn’t quite dysfunctional, there were flaws there, deep down, hidden, so that she couldn’t see the shape of them.

He was dangerous for all sorts of reasons apart from those. Bryan had alluded to his temper, and to his wild ways. Russel had evoked his old nickname, had called him the Nasty Northman. Logan himself had virtually confessed that he had problems dealing with people.

And none of it is true. The voice of reason that had forced her from Logan’s office spoke again in her mind, quiet now that the roiling emotions in her had begun to subside.

Kate stared blindly out of the bus window. Not true? she wondered. Was that her instinct speaking to her, or the dictates of her body, driving her towards what it needed?

Ultimately it didn’t matter. She had no intention of ever seeing him again.

Her flat was hot and stuffy when she arrived home, tired and thirsty, in the noon--day heat.

She shuttered all the windows, and sat at the kitchen table with a litre of cold water and a glass and the day’s mail. Her exam results had arrived, and she opened them with a little trepidation, despite knowing she had put in a solid term’s worth of work.

The results were appalling. She had failed one of her units. Kate stared at the F, willing it to change on the page as she looked, so she could believe she was seeing an illusion, but it was indisputable. She had failed a unit.

After a moment she looked across to see which subject she had failed. Managerial Economics. The hardest subject -- one that involved regression analysis, statistics, calculus -- all heavy on logic and maths. She had sat the exam the day after her car accident, and she had felt fine, and thought she had performed adequately, but obviously she had not. The exam was eighty percent of the course mark, so that was what must have gone wrong.

After a while, her brain began to move again, pulling out of the shock. One failure amongst a previously unbroken record of distinctions and high distinctions was not the end of the world. She would simply have to repeat the subject.

It meant extending her studies by an extra six months, but what was six months in the long run? Bryan had been studying for seven years now, and here she was moaning

over extending a three year degree. And who knows? Having tackled the course once already, she may get wonderful marks the second time around.

Kate rallied herself, knowing she was letting the events of the day get to her. Logan North was not going to get her to throw in the towel. Not just yet.

George picked her up from the flat around five o’clock, in his sleek Mercedes, to take her to work. While her car was out of commission, she was using George’s for deliveries.

George asked her about her day, and Kate found herself telling him about the failed course.

“That’s too bad, honey,” George replied, when she had finished. “That’s another six months you’re looking at.”

“I know,” Kate replied. George had been employing students for many years now, and knew a lot about the inner workings of the university.

“How are you going to manage?” he asked.

Kate looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Financially, of course.” George spared a moment of attention from the road to glance at her. “You do know that your Austudy allowance cuts out after three years, don’t you? If you take longer than the standard time for a degree, you’re expected to support yourself financially.”

Kate looked at him, appalled. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“Afraid not, honey.” He wheeled the big car into the store’s parking area, and switched off. He turned to look at her. “Are you all right?”

Kate nodded, but she could feel her face draining of colour. Six months without any income at all? She would have to survive on savings and what she could earn from her job.

What little she did have left in her emergency bank account would all go on fixing her car, and she would still be in debt, besides. There was no way she was going to save the extra money needed to tide her over for six months. It was impossible.

George was studying her kindly. “Have you found the money to get your car fixed?” he asked.

Kate shook her head. “The banks won’t give me a loan. I’ve nothing to secure it with, and no income to speak of. No savings ... they virtually laughed in my face.” She didn’t add that her first attempt at an unconventional solution had gone horribly wrong. She was still smarting from the sting of Logan North.

George looked out through the windscreen again. “Kate, I hate to do this to you on top of your other woes ... but I just can’t keep you on if you don’t have your own car.”

Kate felt as if she had been sandbagged.

George grimaced. “I was happy to let you use my car while yours was being fixed, but it looks as if that’s going to take some time, and ... listen, I like you, honey, but I’m running a business. You see that, don’t you? I hate like hell to drop this on you, but there you are. I can’t afford to let you keep using my car -- the insurance goes through the roof just to start with.”

Kate could feel the hard ache of tears at the back of her throat and stinging her eyes, but she swallowed, keeping them back. “So that’s it?” she asked. There was no point in arguing with him. She was a commerce student -- she understood the necessity as well as he did.

“You can work out the month, of course,” George replied, looking relieved at her lack of protest. “You can use my car, too.” He looked sad. “I hate to loose you, Kate. You’re a good worker. Sensible -- not like the young ones. I know how hard it is for you. I’d put you on in the kitchen, if you were under twenty--one and if I had the space, but….” He shrugged. “If you can get your car back on the road I’ll take you back in an instant. Okay?”

Pride told her to quit right now -- to get out of the car and head for the nearest bus stop.

But economic reality forced her to nod. “Thanks, George,” she said softly, for his offer to let her work out the month was a kind one. He didn’t have to lend her his car at all, really.

Her helplessness simply made her more determined to solve her problems -- without Logan North’s help. She knew there must be a way.

The next day the news became worse. The owner of the Volvo that had been in the accident phoned her with a quote for the repairs to his car. Kate clutched the phone in reaction to the figure, and the plastic casing creaked under the pressure of her fingers. “H--how much?” she said.

The man repeated the outrageous sum, and added “I know it’s a lot, but it’s a Volvo, after all. Besides, it was your fault, and I’d rather not loose my no--claim bonus. I’d end up paying for something that wasn’t my problem.”

“Yes, I see,” Kate said, pushing on her temple with her fingertip. She refrained from pointing out he had been overtaking a turning vehicle, and if he hadn’t hit her right side, he would probably be equally as liable in the eyes of the law. There was no point in being sanctimonious. The accident had happened the way it did.

Kate spent that night tossing and turning. Where was she going to get the money? It wasn’t just the repairs, now. It was also the extra six months at the end of her degree, too.

What if some other financial disaster struck in between? She would be wiped out. There was no way she would be able to cover herself a second time. She hadn’t even solved the first crisis, yet.

There was a hint of dawn in the night sky when Kate finally acknowledged what she must do. Logan North had offered the money -- even, in the end, without the condition of accompanying him to the social occasion he needed help with. The only reason she had refused to take it was because she didn’t want to risk on--going dealings with him, which such a financial arrangement might entail. Her pride stood in the way.

She had to go back. She would have to return, cap in hand, humble herself, and ask for the money. There was no other way.

 

 

 

Chapter 3

This time -- the third time -- Kate approached the huge double doors leading into Logan North’s office with such reluctance that it weighed down every step she took, and got heavier the closer she came to facing him once more.

Bethaney Adams noticed. She had escorted Kate past the electronic security once more, and now she said gently; “He doesn’t bite, you know.”

Kate tried to smile. “I know.”

Bethaney smiled herself -- a wonderfully warm, friendly grin. “It just seems like it. I’ve walked out of his office on a couple of occasions looking for teeth marks. But don’t worry, he only ever gets angry over personal issues. He’s as cool as a cucumber when it’s strictly business.”

Great, Kate thought. That doesn’t reassure me in the slightest.

Bethaney grasped the door handles and pushed them aside. “Go on in,” she told Kate, with another warm smile. It occurred to Kate then that Bethaney was as intuitive as Logan believed Kate to be. He really did surround himself with talented people, then, and not just sycophants. Why didn’t he take his personal assistant to the occasion, instead of her?

Kate stepped inside the doorway and heard Bethaney shut the doors quietly behind her.

Logan was sitting in the chair behind his desk, but he had swivelled it to face the windows, and was staring out through the glass again ... just as she had left him two days before.

He turned as Kate walked over to the seat in front of his desk, and she paused, surprised at his drawn, tired features.

“Hello, Kate,” he said.

“Hello.” She sat down without invitation, and studied him. “You’ve been working too hard,” she said.

“Not especially. But I’ve had things on my mind,” he replied. “Does it show?”

“A little.”

He waited silently for her to continue. As she had requested the meeting, it was up to her to open the discussion. Taking a deep breath, she began to reel off her partly rehearsed words.

“I’ve returned to ask you for the money I need for my car. I don’t know if the offer is still open, but I’ll accept any terms you want if it is. I’ll even partner you for that social occasion you were talking about last time, on a purely business basis. Or I’ll pay interest -- whatever terms you want.” Kate felt herself sigh, a silent exhalation of breath, relieved that she had got the worst part of this interview out of the way. She watched Logan’s face, trying to read the impossibly unreadable expression there.

“What’s happened, Kate? What’s forced you to come back here?”

She bit her lip. She had to tell him about her failed course. It meant that he wouldn’t get his money for another six months -- possibly longer. With another sigh, this one audible, Kate told Logan about the events that had -- as he had correctly guessed -- forced her back here.

Logan’s face remained impassive as she related the events, and he stayed seated, spreading his hands out on the desk, listening. When she had finished he drummed the wooden surface with his fingertips. It seemed to Kate that he was a reluctant participant in this conversation himself. Did that mean he wouldn’t lend her the money now? Had he changed his mind?

After a moment’s thought, he said quietly; “It’s not just the repairs you need money for, is it?”

“That’s all I need for now,” she replied, feeling her heart thump once, painfully, before falling back into a normal, but faster, beat. Was he reading her mind?

“Yes, but is that going to get you through your degree?” he asked. “I can sense holes in your story, Kate. Tell me ... how did your employer react to the news about your accident?”

“He was fine. Concerned about any injuries of course, but that was all.”

“He didn’t ask you to leave because you don’t have a vehicle any more? I would have -however reluctant I was. What car are you using, anyway?”

“I ... I’m using his, at the moment.” It was the truth, although not all of it. She hoped she wouldn’t be pushed into revealing the full story. The last thing she wanted was for him to know just how much money she would need in the long run. All she needed for

now was to get her car back on the road and the other repaired, and she would deal with the last six months of her degree later. When it was closer. And she would wish for a miracle in the meantime.

“What are you hiding?” he demanded. “I don’t have to point out to you that I’m holding the purse strings, do I? I have a right to any information necessary to make my decision. Any other banker doing his job would demand references and income statements and budgets ... but you know all that. So tell me what is really going on.”

Kate could see the offer dissolving before her eyes. She only hesitated a moment before reluctantly telling him the rest. She kept the summation short and strictly factual. There was no need to labour the story. It was bleak enough.

As she was telling her tale, Logan was busy writing down the figures she gave him. Her Suzuki’s repair bill, the cost of the Volvo’s repairs, living expenses for six months, emergency funds, expenses she would build up until she could find another part time job to add to her Austudy allowance. HECS fees for her tuition. The cost of books and student guild fees. The total was probably minuscule compared to the average company budget Logan would handle on a daily basis but to her it was shockingly large, and completely out of her financial reach.

He put his pen down when the total had been added up, and looked up at her. “You won’t consider quitting and getting a full time job?”

“Even if I did, I still won’t be able to accumulate enough money fast enough to keep my creditors satisfied. Besides -- I won’t quit. Not yet.”

“Part time, then? External studies?”

Then it would take her twice as long to finish, and she would still have to work part time to cover her living expenses. She almost groaned at the thought of six more years of subsistence living. She didn’t have Bryan’s dedication, not when she was faced with this sort of quandary.

Logan must have found answer enough in her face, for he swivelled around on the chair again, and looked out the window. He rested his elbows on the chair arms, and steepled his fingers.

“Is it that you don’t want to lend me the money now?” Kate asked quietly.

He shook his head. “No. I’ll lend you the money,” he said. Then he turned to face her again. “But the price has gone up."

"Up?"

"I will give you everything you need to get through your degree. Living expenses, study expenses -- whatever it takes. You don’t have to find another job. You can devote what spare time you have to studying, not working. That way you won’t have another accident through being too tired to concentrate. In return I ask only two things. The first is that you cut your study load in half. I want you to swap to part--time study.” He stopped, and his dark gaze raked across her face, gauging her reaction.

She swallowed. It was a generous offer, and one that surprised her, for she knew he had read between the lines. She had never directly told him she had been tired as a result of the endless work/study routine when she’d had the accident. For someone who professed an inability to see inside people, it was a remarkable insight. And he had neatly dealt with her major objections to part time study -- the longer period of financial struggle.

Logan was offering her the very thing she had wished for only last night -- a way to solve all of her financial dilemmas up until she graduated and could earn her own income. But there was still the problem of part time study. Could she afford to wait another three years to graduate? Ear--marking the question for later, Kate focused on Logan again.

“And the second condition is the social affair you were talking about last time?”

Logan’s eyes glittered as he replied calmly; “No. The second condition is that you become my wife.”

A chill settled around Kate’s spine. “Your wife,” she repeated flatly.

She sat there, trying desperately to think of an adequate reply. Logan North had a habit of leaving her speechless. She had never heard as many shocking statements in her life as she had heard from Logan during the few times they had met. This time, she was dumbfounded.

Nothing came to mind except an endless echo of his words. My wife ... my wife....

Finally, Logan spared her the necessity of replying. “I know this is unexpected. You’re probably thinking -- I hope you’re assuming -- that it is another business deal, and you would be right ... to a degree.”

He stood and walked around the desk to take up his familiar perch on the front of it. He grasped the edge of the desk with both hands, and Kate noticed that the knuckles turned white under the pressure of his grip. She looked up at his face.

“You’re talking about marriage -- a lifetime commitment. There isn’t a way to reduce something like that to a business deal,” she said at last.

“I said only to a degree,” he replied gently.

“Well, I hardly think we know each other well enough for you to propose,” she shot back.

“Which is exactly why I am proposing. Will you hear me out?”

Kate threaded her fingers together, and squeezed tightly. Her financial future -- a complete, comprehensive scholarship, in fact -- hinged on this. The least she could do was hear him out. She owed him that much. She nodded.

“How much do you know about me, Kate?” he asked.

“A little about your racing career. A lot more about your business ventures. I don’t know a lot about you personally, except for what I’ve learned since meeting you.” She bit her lip. “I suppose I should tell you my first impression of you was that you weren’t a nice man.

Since then I’ve qualified that impression somewhat.”

She didn’t add that those qualifications were hesitant ones, forced by her own body’s inexplicable reaction to him, and her gut instinct, which told her that everything she had heard and learned about him was wrong. It wasn’t much to go on, but until this point in time it hadn’t mattered. Now it did matter. A lot.

Logan seemed to accept her analysis of him calmly. He nodded. “You wouldn’t be the first to have reached that conclusion about me,” he replied gravely. “Do you know that I have a temper, a bad one that gets out of control sometimes?”

Kate bit her lip again. If he was trying to woo her into accepting his proposal he was going about it in the strangest way. “I’d heard,” she admitted. “Only rumours, though,” she added.

He almost smiled. “Thank you for the qualification. Most people believe what they have heard without question.” The smile faded. “I get angry with the people I care

about -- god knows what the correlation means. I gave up trying to analyse why around the time my father died.”

When he retired and went into business, Kate added to herself. His accident had obviously been a watershed in his life in more ways than just changing his career path.

“Anyway, there’s no need to go into details. Suffice to say I decided a long time ago that I’m not the sort of person who should have deep relationships in their life. They don’t work for me...they most spectacularly don’t work.” The latter words seemed to be a personal aside, for Logan frowned and looked down at the carpet.

His father, Kate thought. And who else? It seemed her guess that Logan’s life was an empty one was right. Some of the compassion she had felt the first time she had sensed this surfaced again, and she tried to put it aside. Emotions wouldn’t help her deal with this. She needed to be very clear-headed.

“So why marry at all?” she asked. “It’s perfectly acceptable not to marry these days. It’s even possible to get away with a continuous string of casual relationships, if that’s what you want.”

“But they are still relationships, and most of them are not initiated by me. Eventually all of them founder because I won’t allow them to grow naturally into something more meaningful, and I’m sick of the wretchedness and hurt that goes with saying goodbye. A wife will circumvent all that.”

“So you want a wife as a sort of ... bouncer?” Kate concluded. She kept her tone neutral to try and distance herself from her reactions to the conversation.

“I suppose, yes, that’s what I want. I want to get on with my life without having to deal with this issue over and over again. People...women,” he corrected himself candidly, “don’t seem to understand what I’m telling you now. They tend to jump to the conclusion that I’m being selfish.”

“I can understand why they might,” Kate said cautiously. Without the insight about his temper, and the hint of pain in his past, she might have come to the same conclusion about him, too. It was evidence that he was revealing more about himself to her than ever he had shared with the ladies in his past. It meant that he was serious about this proposal. Kate felt her stomach clench a little tighter in reaction.

Logan shrugged. “You would understand,” he said dryly. “So, I need a wife. I’m asking you.”

“Why me?” she asked instantly.

He crossed his arms. “For all the same reasons I gave you the other day. I trust you, you’re honest and hard working. And you need my money. I can help you in return. You’re possibly the only woman in the city to whom I could put such a proposal without endless ramifications, which makes you uniquely suitable.”

For the job, she added silently, finishing off the sentence for him. It really was as clinical as he had indicated.

Logan went on. “Of course, the public must think this is true romance, or your worth as a wife is wasted. It won’t keep people away from me if they know it is all a charade.”

“And what about me? My feelings?” she asked softly. “You don’t even know if I have a boyfriend.”

“Actually, I do,” Logan replied. He reached behind him, and picked up a manilla folder from his desk. “I know a lot about you now. I know about most of your life, including the man you alluded to, once. Mickey Fraser. You left home at nineteen, and shifted to Western Australia to be with him. You defied your family to do so. Two years later he disappeared, taking all your money, and most of your possessions that had any intrinsic value. You haven’t seen him since.”

Kate frowned, feeling the muscles in her forehead ache with the intensity of the expression. Her temples were throbbing again. Mickey ... He knew about Mickey.

“That’s why you won’t pull out of university,” Logan went on calmly, dropping the folder back onto the desk. “It took you three years to scrape together enough of a fund to get there, and you had to battle the odds to get in as a mature-age student. Nothing short of force will make you quit now. What Mickey Fraser did to you is also the reason why there hasn’t been a man in your life since. You’re not going to let yourself be taken in so easily or cheated so badly ever again. You’re going to be a success in your own right, and to hell with the rest of the world.”

Kate rubbed her temple. “I was wrong about you,” she said softly. “I thought you couldn’t understand people, that your intuition about people was poor. You virtually told me that yourself. But it isn’t that at all, is it? You’re very perceptive. You’re like my brother, Bryan, only you don’t want to be. It’s all tied up with not wanting to get close to people any more, isn’t it? You just don’t want to deal with people.”

Logan didn’t answer.

Kate sighed, and tried to relax her shoulders, which were rigid and tight.

“I can help you get what you want, too,” Logan said. “I can guard your back, keep the creditors at bay until you are ready to do that yourself.”

“And what would I do after I graduate, if I married you? The wife of Logan North would hardly do the recruiting circuit, would she? In fact, it would seem a little ludicrous to continue studying at all.”

“I want you to. It’s something you need to do to prove to yourself you can do it alone. I don’t want to take that away from you. After you graduate, there would be a position here for you, if you want. Or you can find your own job with some else if that is what you want. I want to marry you, Kate, not take over your life. You’re free to be your own person.”

“You’re already dictating I study part time. Do you think getting married to you isn’t going to change my life?” Kate lifted her chin, hoping her expression was a reasonable one.

Logan paused. “There will be changes, certainly, but as I’m marrying you to avoid any future relationships in my life, I’ll try to minimise the impact I have upon yours.”

They were both speaking as if her agreement was established fact, she realised. When had she begun to do that? Was it after he had revealed his knowledge about Mickey? When he said he could help her achieve the goal she most wanted in her life? No. It was when he said he would guard her back while she worked for that goal. Could she really refuse such an offer, despite it being scandalously unconventional?

There were still lingering issues she needed to clear up first, she remembered.

“It would be a marriage in name only, then?” she asked.

Logan, perhaps sensing that she was almost ready to capitulate, stood and returned to the chair behind his desk. Business mode, Kate thought. When he’s trying to persuade, he gets close, so he can tower over you.

“In name, and in appearance. In private, we go our own ways.”

“And what if I fall in love with another man, later, and want a permanent relationship?”

“If and when that happens, we can deal with it then. But you don’t want a man in your life. Not now.” He spoke with utter certainty, and Kate knew he was right.

“Then we have to deal with what happened the last time I was here.”

Logan sat back in the chair, and nodded. “Yes, we do. It was a mistake, Kate. I suppose I was driven by curiosity, and you didn’t say no, so....” He shrugged. “It won’t happen again.

Ever. I won’t let it happen.”

“Never? What if your natural ... curiosity gets the better of you again?”

“That is something you needn’t worry about. I give you my word. I think I’ve told you enough about myself for you to know that it would be against my interests to fail in that promise.” He shook his head. “I could only end up hurting you if I let anything like that happen.

I like you enough to want to avoid that for your sake as well as mine.” His voice was gentle enough, but Kate sensed the core of iron hard resolve hidden in his words. She shivered.

“What about you?” Logan asked. “You’re not exactly sold on me as a human being, so that’s an advantage. What do you think, Kate? Do we have a deal?”

She bit her lip, studying him across the desk. Could she really be thinking of marrying a man she didn’t particularly like, just to get herself through university? What would happen if she said no?

I'd have to pull out of university.

Mickey would have the last laugh.

What will Bryan think? She wondered. The first time I ever mention the man I’m asking Bryan about him. The next time I talk about him, I’ll be telling Bryan I’m marrying him.…

Kate rubbed her temple again. There was her answer. She was going to do it.

“We have a deal,” she told Logan.

Logan was quite wrong. Marrying him, despite his best intentions, turned her life completely upside down and inside out. The transformation began from the moment she had agreed to marry him.

Kate’s first step was to tell Bryan. Logan had pushed the telephone across the desk to her, where she still sat, bemused, in the soft leather chair. “Dial 2 for an outside line,” Logan told her.

Kate swallowed on a dry throat. “Now?” she asked.

“Now. Get it over with. Then we can get on with a public announcement.”

Bryan had been incredulous. Once he had climbed down off the roof, he spoke more civilly. “Well, I suppose you’re not stupid enough to make the same mistake twice, sis. But isn’t it a bit fast? You’ve only known him a few weeks.”

Kate found she was rubbing her temple again, and put her hand back in her lap. “I hardly think Logan is after my money, do you?” she replied lightly. “We both want this,” she added, and winced. It sounded very romantic put like that. Two impetuous lovers, driven by their need for each other, and the need to declare their relationship permanently and publicly.

Bryan put the same interpretation on her statement. After a cautious well-wishing, and the promise to catch up with her soon, he’d hung up, sounding moderately satisfied.

“Give him time,” Logan had added as she hung up. He had obviously read much from her tone and expressions.

Next, Logan had called in Bethaney Adams, and Peter Ho, his factotum, and told them he was getting married. Kate watched Bethaney carefully for her reaction. The woman was very pleasantly surprised, and vocal in her approval and good wishes. She set about organising a bottle of champagne and glasses, insisting, despite Logan’s mild protest, that they all at least have one glass to celebrate the occasion.

The bottle arrived, and the cork was popped, while Kate sat quietly observing. As Bethaney filled the glasses, Logan picked up Kate’s hand where it lay threaded with the other on her lap, and lead her over to the coffee table to share a drink. He sat next to her on the sofa, and put a hand around her waist. She almost jumped at the contact of his arm against her back, but controlled it.

He wanted the appearance of a romance, she remembered. Still dazed at the speed at which it was all moving, Kate managed to lift her glass, and smile up at Logan with

the semblance of a woman in love. His lips brushed her cheek, and this time she did jump, although his upper body shielded her reaction from the others. His eyes, when he pulled away, were thoughtful, and she tried to smile her reassurance.

Peter held up his glass. “Congratulations, Mr Logan. Miss McAllister.”

“Thank you, Peter,” Logan replied gravely, turning back to face the group.

That was the only announcement Logan made that day, although he didn’t specifically request that Peter or Bethaney keep the news to themselves, so Kate knew the news would filter through his organisation’s gossip grape-vine with peak efficiency.

The next day she learned just how efficient the grape-vine was. At nine in the morning she received a phone call, the first of many.

“Miss Kate McAllister?”

“Yes,” Kate confirmed, suspecting she was about to be asked to donate to one charity or another.

“I’m Claire Exeter, from the West Australian Newspaper. I write the social column. Is it true you have just become engaged to Logan North?”

Kate hesitated. This was it. This was where she laid her intentions out for the public to see. “Yes, I am Logan’s fiance,” she said firmly.

“Tell me ... how did you meet?” the woman returned quickly. “There has been no previous hint of a relationship before. Was it a fast romance?”

“I ... I’m not sure that Logan would want me to talk about it,” Kate prevaricated.

“Perhaps you should ask him these questions.”

There was a little, telling silence. Claire Exeter had already tried Logan North, then, and got nowhere. Kate smiled. “I don’t think I can help you, Ms Exeter,” she said sweetly.

“Goodbye.” She hung up gently, and the phone instantly rang again.

After the eighth phone call, there was a knock on her door.

“God help me, I’ll scream if it’s another reporter,” she muttered, stalking to answer the knock.

A balding, paunchy middle-aged man in a grey business suit stood waiting. “Miss McAllister?”

“Yes.”

“I’m from Collier and Hughes.”

Kate stared at him. “Who are they?” she asked at last, feeling ignorant and stupid, but also wary. Was this another way of getting under her guard and asking a few pertinent questions?

“We’re in the car business,” he said gently, apparently amused. He held up a key ring.

“I’m delivering your car.” And he handed her the key ring.

Attached to the ring by a thin blue satin ribbon was a card, and Kate recognised the thick, creamy colour, and even, she was surprised to realise, the handwriting. Merry Christmas. Love, Logan.

So it was -- Christmas was only a few days away. Kate had forgotten in the rush of events. Her one Christmas present, to Bryan, had been posted off, surface mail, at least a week before.

The car dealer was grinning broadly. “It’s all yours. Down there.” He pointed down towards the central well in the apartment block where everyone parked their cars. She looked down over the balcony rail.

Peacock blue, dazzling metallically in the bright hot sun bouncing off the roof and windows, the car sat precisely in the middle of the parking area. It was already attracting attention.

Kate gasped. “Dear heaven....” she whispered, and raced for the stairwell. She took the steps two and three at a time, jumping down them with her long legs, leaving the dealer to puff and gasp his way down behind her.

She walked slowly around the car, admiring the sleek curves and engineered perfection of its lines. She wasn’t a car fanatic, but this car she liked. “It’s wonderful,” she told the dealer on her third circuit around. “What is it?” She had failed to look at the logo on the back of the car both times she had passed it, too busy admiring the colour of the bodywork.

He coughed. “We only deal with Porsches, of course,” he said, trying for dignity despite his breathlessness.

A Porsche. For her. Even if the flamboyant gesture was designed for public consumption, Logan had still been thoughtful of her needs. She didn’t have a car. Now she did.

And what a car!

“You’ll have to change the registration, and arrange with Telstra to have the phone registered and linked up with the satellite network,” the man told her.

“There’s a phone, too?” Kate asked, fitting the key into the lock.

Suddenly a caterwauling shriek filled her ears, making her flinch. The man snatched the key out of her hand, and pressed the thick black top with his fingers. Instantly, with an electronic beep, the wail stopped.

“There’s also an alarm,” he said dryly, and opened the door for her. “I’ll leave you to it, Miss McAllister, but do call round to see us in a few days, hmm? We need to process the paperwork. Here’s my card.” He handed her a business card, the keys, and waved farewell.

Kate slid into the driver’s seat, and sniffed. Leather seats, and the undefinable smell of a new car.

She managed to drag herself away from the car fifteen minutes later, when she remembered that she had left the door of her flat wide open. She used the lift this time, and arrived back at the flat to find the telephone was ringing again.

Another reporter. Kate disentangled herself from the conversation with an ease developed with practise, and hung up. Instantly, she took the phone off the hook, and dialled Logan’s private number, using the card she pulled out of her bag.

“Kate. Good morning.” Logan’s voice was warm and welcoming. Someone was there with him, she suspected.

“Thank you for the car. It’s beautiful. I love it.”

“I’m glad. I have a fondness for Porsches, myself. I used to race them, once. I’m glad you rang. I need to see you some time today.”

“I have a more urgent problem,” Kate replied, and told him about the phone calls she had been getting.

Logan laughed. “Damn, I’m sorry, Kate,” he said. “I’d forgotten how insulated I am from all that. Listen, come here to the office now, and we’ll make better arrangements. We didn’t have a chance to organise anything yesterday. Drive into the car park -- I’ll get someone to meet you and bring you up.”

Thirty minutes later, Kate could understand Logan’s fondness for Porsches. Her new car was a dream to drive. It moved along with a low growl that promised far better speed and performance than could be legally allowed, and it handled with a smoothness and ground-hugging grace that had Kate in raptures whenever she considered the wind-tossed, chugging progress of her Suzuki.

She went to climb reluctantly from behind the wheel when she pulled up next to the security office in the underground car park, but was halted by a tapping on the passenger door.

Kate unlocked it with the central locking device that she had discovered on her way into the city.

Bethaney Adams slipped into the passenger seat. “Hi,” she said, with a bright smile, closing the door. “Drive on, and I’ll show you where you can park from now on. I’ve arranged a bay for you.”

Kate put the car into gear and drove carefully around the stalls, circling down to the next level. Bethaney guided her to a bay right next to the lift. “This is yours,” Bethaney told her.

“That’s Logan’s on the other side of the lift. Mine’s next to yours, so don’t scratch my paintwork!”

Kate glanced at the Ford next to her new car. It looked to be a few years old, and she was startled to notice a child’s booster seat in the back seat.

Bethaney was already out. Kate slid out, shut her door, and conscientiously set the alarm with her key. Bethaney grinned. “It’s a nice car,” she said, leading Kate to the lift.

“I think so, too,” Kate said cautiously. She wasn’t sure how much Logan revealed of his personal life to Bethaney, and she didn’t want to step over any boundaries he may have set.

Despite her caution, Kate felt she could trust Bethaney. She liked her easy charm and friendly attitude, and Kate sensed there was a lot to Bethaney that didn’t show on the surface.

Logan had people in the office with him when Kate arrived. This time, Bethaney came into the office with her, clearly indicating that this was a business appointment.

Kate hovered in the middle of the floor, uncertain of her welcome. Logan came from around his desk, and greeted her with a gentle kiss on the temple, and drew her forward to a chair set next to the desk. “Alan Ingelson, David Morgan, this is my fiance, Kate McAllister.”

Both men stood and shook her hand, before settling themselves back in their seats, and the larger of the two, David Morgan, shot her a quick, impersonal sizing-up glance.

Logan waved a hand. “Kate’s got a good head for business. Do you mind if she listens in? The press are giving her a hard time, so I’m letting her hide out here for a while.”

David nodded. “So I’ve heard. Congratulations, Logan, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Abruptly they got back to business, discussing some sort of investment deal, leaving Kate to follow in their wake.

After the meeting, Logan turned to Bethaney and rattled off some instructions, and then glanced at Kate. “And arrange for someone to pack up Kate’s belongings and bring them around to my place,” he told Bethaney.

Bethaney nodded. “If that’s all right with you, Kate?” she asked.

Kate took a deep breath. “I’m to shift in with you, Logan? Now?”

“Why not? I can look after you better there. The security’s tighter, and as you’re going to end up there, we might as well short-circuit the whole process.”

Kate nodded, feeling winded. It was all going so fast.

Bethaney smiled and left the room.

Logan’s “place” was an extensive spacious apartment in an exclusive block high up on The Mount, overlooking the Swan River, the graceful arches of the Narrows Bridge, and the South Perth peninsular. A high-rise block of small single bedroom

apartments only two buildings away had sold the previous year for one million dollars per apartment.

Logan obviously liked the river view, for it was captured with a similar bank of glass wall as his office. On the other side of the vast window was a large balcony, with a simple iron balustrade designed to limit any obstruction to the stupendous view. Kate looked around the vast living/lounge/dining area.

“Your room has the same view,” Logan told her, as her eyes were drawn to the windows again. “Through here. Your belongings are already in there.”

And so Kate took up residence in Logan North’s apartment. It was a luxurious way of life, as she was tended to by Peter, who catered to her every whim. Logan, when he returned in the evenings, saw to it that her transition was eased as much as possible.

Because university was in recess for the long Christmas break, Kate’s studies weren’t interrupted by the move, but her days were by no means empty. She was kept busy dealing with the necessary administration her engagement and shift of residence involved, including registering her new car, and having the phone connected. She took time out to catch up with the small handful of friends she had made at university, and tell them of her change in status. It didn’t surprise her to discover they already knew.

Dotty was full of the gossip that the papers and electronic media had managed to broadcast despite Logan’s best efforts, including the juicier pieces that hinted at Kate being a gold-digger. Logan had already warned her of that possibility, and she was ready for it. “After all, we know the truth. No one else’s opinion matters,” he’d told her.

Another reason Kate was kept busy was because Logan had set the date of the wedding for as soon as possible. By law they had to wait a month between official advice and wedding ceremony. It had shocked Kate a little to find Logan had put the proceedings in place the day after her agreement. Just over four weeks after settling into his apartment, Kate found herself on the eve of her wedding day, sitting on her bed, staring out over the sizzling summer skyline, marvelling at the changes that had already taken place in her life, and those that were yet to take place.

Peter tapped on her door. “Miss Kate,” he called softly. “There’s someone here to see you.”

“Me?” Kate asked, opening the door. She was confronted by a elegantly dressed woman about the same height as herself, and well into middle-age, but wearing her years extremely well.

Kate barely had time to register the dark eyes and finely proportioned bone structure before the woman spoke.

“Well, I always expected my son to find himself a beauty, and I wasn’t wrong.”

 

 

Chapter 4 Mary Elizabeth North was a breath of fresh air to Kate. After getting over the astonishment of finding that Logan had a mother he had overlooked telling her about, Kate found herself drawn to the outspoken, sensible widow. She liked Mary’s unexpected views, and she was fascinated by the different perspective on Logan the older woman showed her.

After sorting out names, (“I’m Mary to everyone I know except Logan. Is Kate short for Katherine or not?”), they had settled on the sofas to share a carafe of wine before Peter served dinner. Mary had already made several references to Logan’s past that Kate couldn’t follow, and now Mary said; “Of course I’m not surprised he hasn’t told you a lot about his racing. You know his father died watching Logan’s final race, don’t you?”

Kate said she did, although she omitted telling Mary she had learned that from her brother, not Logan.

“Did Logan tell you that his older brother, Sean, died racing on that same track?” Mary continued.

Kate sucked in a quiet gasp. “No,” she breathed. “Your husband saw that, too?” she asked.

Mary nodded, frowning. “Yes, god rest his soul,” she murmured. “He was naturally against Logan racing at all. It didn’t help that Logan was good at it -- much better than Sean ever would have been.” Mary sipped from her glass. “So...you can perhaps understand why Logan is loath to talk about it. He feels totally responsible for his father’s death. I’ve tried to explain that he has it all wrong, but--” Mary shrugged. “You know Logan -- stubborn, wilful child he was and still is. The fights! The arguments those two had. Patrick never stopped trying to convince Logan to stop

racing, and Logan was just as adamant that he would race. Of course, they fought the day Patrick died.”

Kate studied the woman carefully. On that day she had lost a husband, and nearly lost a second son to motor racing. “It must have been a terrible day for you,” she said softly.

“It was,” Mary admitted candidly. “I’m glad that it forced Logan to stop racing.” She leaned forward to pat Kate’s hand where it rested on the sofa arm. “I think I understand now why Logan picked you to marry.” She smiled. “You’re kind,” she said simply. “And you’re just what he needs in his life. He believes he has the curse of the Irish on him, or something like that, and you could be just what he needs to lift it. Do you have any Irish in you, Kate? You have the colouring.”

“My mother’s parents were from County Wicklow,” Kate confessed.

Mary smiled. “Then we’ll get along just fine,” she said.

Kate tried to smile, and managed a small one. This was the first taste she’d had of the possible ramifications of her marriage to Logan North. If Mary were ever to learn the truth, she would be devastated. She would know then that Kate was a calculating as her son.

Logan arrived then, and the conversation was turned to more general topics, for which Kate was thankful. She sat back and watched Logan and his mother talking, curious about their relationship. It seemed amiable and adult, with no hidden undercurrents. It was plain they liked each other immensely, and the only time Mary dropped back into a typical mother role was when she took Logan to task for not giving her more warning about the wedding.

That night, Kate was restless, and it wasn’t wedding jitters that kept her fidgeting and tangling the sheets about her legs. It was doubts. Finally, unable to sleep, she stood at the window and watched the midnight traffic crossing the Narrows Bridge and a slow late ferry chug its way up to the dock.

Kate knew her own reasons for entering into this bargain, but she couldn’t fathom Logan’s. He had simply stated that he didn’t want any deep relationships in his life, and no more. Why didn’t he want any relationships? Why didn’t he want to get close to people? Was he afraid that something might happen to them like his brother Sean and his father? Was that what Mary meant by the curse of the Irish?

Kate pressed her head against the window, letting the cool glass bathe her hot forehead.

No, the curse of the Irish was a bad temper, she remembered, recalling her mother’s voice once more. Logan had already warned her about that. He got angry with those he cared about. That was probably why his mother lived in the south of the state, and he remained in Perth with his business. Was a temper enough reason to push aside all intimacy, forever, though?

Could she really live with that? Kate remembered Logan’s response to that same question when she had put it to him. There was a way out, if she had to use it -- Logan had assured her of that. If she didn’t carry this through, she would have to pull out of university, and Mickey, and all the other people in the world like him, would win one more victory.

With her decision reaffirmed, Kate went back to bed. However, she suspected that sleep would still tarry, so she pulled her personal CD player off the shelf and slipped the headphones on, and search her CDs for something suitable. Normally her tastes were firmly centred on the Russian composers, but tonight she pulled out a CD she rarely ever played because it tended to interrupt her thought--processes when she was studying. With a small smile, she slipped Wagner’s Ring cycle into the player and pushed the volume up. Interrupting her thought processes was exactly what she needed right now.

Despite the lack of preparation time, between Kate, Bethaney and Logan they managed to organise a wedding that rivalled an opera production in scale and grandeur. Kate had been appalled when Logan had first outlined his ideas about the ceremony and the celebration afterwards. She had been expecting a simple civil ceremony that would be over and done with as quickly as possible.

Logan refused to consider it. “I want the world to know we are indisputably married. If that takes a cast of thousands and a Roman circus, then that’s what I want.”

Kate had no choice but to go along with his demands. She had met with Bethaney, knowing she would need help, and suspecting that this sort of thing was Bethaney’s forte. It was, but Bethaney kept Kate involved, too, and soon Logan was pulled in as the details of orchestrating such a large event began to overwhelm them. The three of them worked smoothly together, which surprised Kate. Logan was quick to off-load other commitments when necessary to deal with this more urgent priority, and he was a reasonable, cooperative task master who only demanded perfection and the best of everything when it was within their reach. Surprisingly, that ideal was reached more often than Kate thought possible, given their time limitations.

And so she found herself walking down the long aisle of the cathedral, grasping Bryan’s arm, dressed in a sheath of white raw silk, her train and veil clouds of tulle floating out behind her as she came closer to the man she was going to marry, in front of three hundred witnesses and a tight group of cameras and microphones.

Bryan gave her hand to Logan, who took it gently in his. She looked up at him through the misty veil. He was studying her, his black eyes glittering.

Kate swallowed. Last chance, she thought.

Logan leaned closer to her. “Last chance,” he whispered. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, and tried to smile at him. “Yes.”

He squeezed her hand. It was enough. Kate turned to face the priest, and the rest of her life.

The rest of her life began with a dizzying round of social engagements. Logan and his new wife were in hot demand, and Logan, now armoured with the total defence against familiarity, was happy enough to oblige. “We need to keep up the facade of the romantic honeymoon couple for a while, until interest dies down. By the time your next semester begins, Kate, things will be back on an even keel, and we can go our own ways once more.”

Logan fascinated Kate. Although she had no intention of stepping over the boundaries of their agreement by doing something as foolish as falling in love with him, she suspected that learning about him would help smooth their dealings with each other.

Their day to day lives quickly settled down into a routine. In the morning Kate would swim in the pool in the basement of the apartment building, and by the time she showered and changed Peter would have breakfast ready for her. Logan left very early in the morning for the office, and she didn’t see him before he left. Sometimes, if they had a social occasion during the day, he would return to pick her up. Because almost every night was filled with one occasion or another, he always returned home early to share a drink with her before they went their separate ways to prepare for the night’s event.

This custom began as a necessary means of exchanging vital information. To keep up the pretence of a true marriage, there were things that they had to share, snippets of information and news that they both must know. Neither of them tried to fool Peter. Logan’s factotum lived in the house, and took care of every menial aspect of their lives. Pretence would have been impossible in such close quarters. Kate was glad it

was so, for she had never had the luxury of being taken care of so thoroughly, and she quickly grew to like it. It would have been a pity to loose Peter.

The cocktail hour grew into a pleasant custom gradually and invisibly. Kate tried to live by the spirit of their agreement, and kept a tight rein on her reactions to some of the stories Logan began to bring home. Very soon Kate showed him that he could say almost anything and fail to get much more than a raised eyebrow of interest from her. It took Kate weeks to realise that he actually found the process cathartic. After that discovery, more than ever she strode to keep her reactions in check, and let him unwind. It was the first time she had realised that there was a price for success, even for someone as icily in control as Logan.

And in return, Kate’s education in the fine art of entrepreneurship leapt forward.

Logan soon discovered her love of music and her prized CD player. He flipped through her CD collection with interest, but deplored her narrow tastes. “The world of classical music doesn’t stop on the Russian borders,” he told her. The next evening he produced two more CDs for her to try. “Bizet and Ravel. If you look past their most famous works, you’ll find they have a lot in common with your Russians. Try them.”

She had, and liked them, very much. Soon after that, a full stereo system with a state-ofthe-art CD player appeared in the living area, and from then on, music was always played during their cocktail hour.

Luxuries like that Kate quickly got used to, although she never quite reached the point of taking them for granted. She was aware, always, of the terms of their agreement. For that reason she was always reluctant to pamper herself, despite an enormous allowance that Logan had set up for her.

Logan dealt with that the way he dealt with everything not done the way he liked -directly.

He came looking for her one Saturday, for some trivial matter, and after tapping, opened her bedroom door. Kate looked up from her dressing table mirror.

“What are you doing?” he asked, astonished.

“Cutting my hair,” she said simply, lowering the scissors.

“Why are you doing it? There are salons where they charge enormous amounts of money to do that for you.”

“Exactly, Logan. I’ve been cutting my hair myself for years. I’m pretty good at it, now.

I just keep it this long, all over --” and she held her fingers apart in a practiced measurement.

“No-one has ever guessed I do it myself.” She smiled at his astonishment. “When it comes to a choice between paying the rent, or getting your hair cut at a salon, home hairdressing makes enormous sense.”

Logan leaned against the door frame, and frowned. “My mother spends hundreds on hair care, without batting an eyelid. I don’t think I quite realised until now just how much you must have struggled to get by while you were studying.”

Kate laughed. “That was a simple choice I was faced with,” she told him. “Try choosing between paying the rent and eating.”

Logan’s frown grew deeper. “You had to make that choice?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted, her amusement fading.

“What did you choose?” he asked.

“I paid the rent,” she said shortly. “I needed to have a place to study.”

“Graduate, or starve trying, huh?” he murmured thoughtfully. He crossed the room, the first time he had ever invaded her bedroom, and took the scissors out of her hands. “I’ll take you to the hairdressers myself,” he said, and he had, although he had remained silent and remote throughout the excursion.

University had been in session for four weeks when she learned he had set up a generous scholarship specifically for mature students, the first such for that minority group.

Their evenings out together were both interesting and draining. They were interesting because she got to see how Logan interacted with other people. Except for the invisible shield of reserve he always kept in place, he was never predictable. He had a rapier wit, which he used with precision, bringing some of the keenest minds and sharpest tongues in Perth to heel. She found enormous amusement in watching some of his verbal battles. He was a fair sparring partner, but he never hesitated to swoop on an exposed vulnerability. It could be considered ruthless, except she never saw any evidence of malice in his manner. The shield of reserve kept everything firmly inside,

as well as shutting out the world. It was as if he was dabbling, to keep himself amused.

And she found their social life draining, because pretending they were in love was taxing on her nerves and her emotions.

Logan had not failed in his promise: The routine of their lives together was such that not even the smallest hint of physical intimacy ever occurred. They had separate bathrooms, separate bedrooms, and although they shared the kitchen and living areas, the only meal they shared was the evening one, and that, frequently, took place at some social occasion or another.

Their cocktail hour, although friendly, was spent with each sitting upon a separate sofa. Never by so much as a look, or motion, did Logan ever indicate he was thinking about her as a woman, and perhaps desirable.

Kate was grateful for his control, for she was fighting a battle within herself to contain her own awareness of him as a man. She had known before the wedding that her body coordinated its own peculiar response to him. Since then, she had gradually found herself mentally considering his potential as a mate.

At first she was horrified, and tried to block all such considerations from her mind, but then she had realised that such a response was natural. She was a mature woman, and with an attractive, potent male living under the same roof, it was perfectly normal to size him up. It didn’t mean she was breaking their agreement in any way. It simply meant she was functioning normally, and should consider her feelings as simple, physical needs she had to rise above. The human animal had developed beyond the point of basic want--fulfilment.

In the confines of Logan’s apartment, Kate could manage it, but their evenings out together were torture. For there, Logan was forced to touch her, with occasional caresses, a hand around the waist, perhaps a kiss on the cheek. And often, dancing.

Kate normally loved to dance, but now she found she dreaded the occasions where dancing was possible -- most especially when the lights were dimmed and the slow dances began. It was impossible to avoid at least one such dance, for it was generally expected by everyone that they would want to snuggle together on the dance floor.

Logan’s manner didn’t help, either, for he always remained completely silent and didn’t respond to her beyond that necessary to keep up the charade. It meant that she was free to focus on the feel of his body against hers, and his arm around her, and Kate always finished the dance with her colour high and her heart thumping

erratically, and her body yo-yoing inside with the taut pull and ebb of sensuality. Logan’s manner perplexed her, for usually he was more than willing to help her keep up appearances, for it was in his interest.

It was some weeks before Kate gradually grew to understand that sometimes his caresses, and gentle tugs around the waist to bring her standing up against him were prompted by genuine need. His determination not to let anyone rise beyond the level of acquaintance meant that often -- especially as their social engagements continued on and they began to see the same groups of people -- Logan was forced to subtly deflect people’s efforts to get to know him better. At those times, if Kate was nearby, he would reach out for her, and draw her close to him, and with either a long slow smile, or perhaps a kiss and caress, he could gently change the subject. If the person being deflected was sensitive enough, Logan’s tactics were sufficient to make them go away altogether.

After she had learned this, Kate began to watch out for the times when she thought it might be happening, and hover nearby. It occurred to her that if she could step in early enough and deflect the conversation quickly enough, Logan would not need to reach out for her at all, and she wouldn’t have to deal with the sensitive reactions of her body to his touch.

It was with eternal gratitude that Kate began the new semester of study in late February.

It meant they had a legitimate excuse for refusing most of the invitations that they received. But it also presented a problem Kate hadn’t expected.

“I need some space to study, Logan,” she told him that night over their usual glass of wine.

“You can use my study,” he told her. “I’ll get Peter to clear some shelf space for you.”

A simple solution, she had thought. But the next night, after dinner, when she settled herself down behind the mahogany desk, and opened her books, she found herself interrupted by Logan.

“You’re studying?” he asked. “Now?”

Kate was puzzled. “Of course. We don’t have anything to go to tonight, do we? I thought you said before dinner--”

“Yes, I cancelled that dinner party,” he said.

Kate shrugged. “Then I need to study. I failed this course last semester, Logan. I have to pass it this time, or I’m dead.”

He straightened. “Heaven forbid I get between you and your career.” Abruptly, he turned and left.

It was twenty thought--filled minutes later when Kate came to the conclusion that Logan had expected the evening to carry on as others had when they had had a rare night at home, with an extended version of their cocktail hour. But that had been before the semester had started.

Pensive, Kate had tried to settle back into studying again.

The next evening, Logan didn’t return home in time for their usual pre-dinner drink.

Kate ate alone, and Logan still hadn’t returned when she went into the wood-panelled study to begin her evening’s work. She went to bed around ten, unsure of whether Logan had returned or not. Peter had retired -- he kept lark hours -- so she could not ask him. Checking Logan’s bedroom was out of the question, and because she never saw Logan in the morning, it meant the whole day had gone by without speaking to him.

The same happened the next day.

Kate lingered over her solitary dinner, wondering what to do about it. She was aware of the extended hours some businessmen worked, but this was ridiculous. Surely Logan wasn’t sulking? Well, there was one way of finding out, short of confronting him.

Kate phoned Bethaney.

Bethaney Adams had become a close friend and staunch ally. Kate had liked her from the first, and she admired her new friend’s drive and ambition, which was similar to Kate’s own.

However, Bethaney was driven by a different motive -- to provide the best for her three children.

As a single mother, Bethaney was trying to fulfil two roles, nurturer and bread-winner, without a drop of support from her errant ex-husband. From Kate’s perspective, Bethaney was succeeding magnificently.

Kate had forgotten how intuitive Bethaney was, though. Kate voiced her hesitant question regarding Logan’s work schedule with casual indifference, but Bethaney verbally pounced on her.

“I knew you two’d had an argument,” she said, her contralto purring down the line.

“Logan’s been mooching around the office until all hours, staring at an empty in-tray.”

“Has he?” Kate said, surprised. “I don’t know why. We haven’t argued, exactly....”

“But he’s staying away. Never mind, Kate. I’ll put a squib under him.”

“Please don’t, Beth. I’d hate him to know I’ve been checking up on him. It’s just that....” Kate stopped. Just what? she wondered. What on earth was she doing? Who was she to care where and what Logan North was doing? Except that he was deliberately staying away, and that was her fault, somehow. They were supposed to be comfortable acquaintances, not enemies. She didn’t want him to feel that he couldn’t come home.

Bethaney stepped into the silence. “Relax. I can be subtle. I’ll just remind him that his rightful place is at home with his wife. Let’s see what that does.”

Logan arrived home that night, just as Kate had begun to eat dinner. Late, but he had returned. Peter magically produced a second meal, and placed it on the table, while Logan shrugged off his jacket and dropped his briefcase to the carpet. Kate tried to keep her actions smooth and normal, as she calmly waited for him to sit down to the meal. His presence seemed to fill the room, and bring a sudden change in the atmosphere.

Logan looked at her across the table. “I’ll need my study tonight,” he said shortly.

Kate nodded. “Okay. I can study here, at the table.”

“Fine,” was all he said in reply. He picked up his knife and fork and silently began eating.

Kate tried to finish her meal, but failed. Logan was home, but only physically. Mentally, he was miles away. It was then she realised she missed their tête-à-tête each evening. Quite apart from the fact that it left a large hole in her knowledge about Logan’s business affairs, she found she missed the simple, unforced companionship.

Logan could be quite charming when he needed to be and although he never tried to be so in her company, his natural personality was interesting in itself.

As soon as he had finished his meal, Logan locked himself in his study.

Kate reluctantly dragged out her books, spreading them out on the dining table. She had never felt less like studying. Resolutely, she began tackling regression analysis problems, determined to rise above her inability to deal with the complicated formulas. Her concentration had deserted her and after struggling for nearly an hour, Kate growled deep in her throat with frustration and pushed the book away from her. Grimly she rubbed her temples.

“Problems?” Logan asked from behind her.

She swivelled on the dining chair. He stood in the doorway that lead to the bedrooms and his study, the crystal carafe that usually sat on his desk in his hand. His rolled shirt sleeves and open collar told her that he’d had no trouble getting down to work.

“Regression analysis,” she said succinctly. “I seem to have a mental block over this stuff.”

Logan walked over to the table, and put the carafe down, drawing the book closer to him.

He studied the graph printed on the page it was open at. “Well, if I were asked to invest based on this curve, I’d run a mile,” he said after a moment.

“Why?” Kate asked, surprised.

“Look at the t-statistic,” he said, jabbing his finger down on the page.

“Yes, I know. But what does it mean? How do I work it out? This stuff drives me crazy,” she said, with a sigh.

“It’s all very straight forward, and logical,” he replied, sounding surprised. “Look--”, and he pushed the book around to face her once more, and began pointing out various characteristics of the graph.

Over an hour later, he was still at her side, now sitting on a second chair, pencil in hand, explaining. “It’s simply a matter of following the rules,” he said, finally. “Learn them, learn the formula, then, when you graduate, hire your own statistical whiz kid to read them for you,” and he grinned. “I haven’t had to do this for myself for years.”

“Cheat,” Kate said lightly, absurdly pleased to see his smile.

“I have better things to do,” he returned, equally as casual. He stood. “And I had better go and do them,” he added. He filled the carafe with mineral water from the refrigerator, and went back into his study.

Kate looked down at the pencilled notes on her page, and sighed. It was no use. Despite Logan’s careful tutoring, she had been unable to retain more than a fraction of what he had shown her. She had been too caught up in the awareness of him sitting by her side, and the brush of his shirt sleeve against her hand as he worked figures on the page for her.

It wasn’t a sign that he had forgotten whatever it was that had kept him away from home for three days, either. She would have to solve that issue, if she wished to be able to study with any success. Their agreement was based around her fundamental need to complete her degree.

If that right was not preserved, then the agreement was broken, and ultimately, their agreement was all that stood between her and ruin.

 

 

Chapter 5 The next day, when Kate emerged from the study after a full day’s work at home, she again found the living room empty. She turned to Peter in the kitchen, trying to contain her disappointment. “Logan isn’t home, then?” she asked.

Peter nodded. “Yes. He’s home. He’s down in the garage.”

Kate wrinkled her forehead. “I see,” she said thoughtfully. She opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of white wine and two glasses, and made her way down to the garage.

The garage was a big workshop where Logan kept his prized E-type Jaguar, and the Porsche he used for every day transport. Kate’s Porsche had joined the line up, and Logan liked to maintain all of them, if he had the time, though often he didn’t. Kate knew she would find him leaning over the antique Jaguar, the bonnet up, getting his hands dirty. It was his way of unwinding.

He looked up from the Jaguar’s engine when she opened the door that lead to the fire escape, and up to the building foyer, and dropped the spanner he had been holding onto the bench behind him. “Hello,” he said. His tone was neither friendly nor cold. He was still wearing a business shirt and trousers, although he had discarded the jacket. Had he even entered the apartment, yet? Kate wondered. She saw his eyes glance over the wine bottle and glasses, and she held them up for him to see properly.

“Well, if Mohammed won’t come to the mountain....” she said, with a grin.

“What’s wrong, Kate? Did you miss me?” His voice was soft, almost teasing.

Kate kept her head averted as she put the glasses on the bench, and bent over the bottle, unwrapping the cork. “Even the most casual of flat mates need to cross paths every now and again and exchange information,” she said. “I didn’t even know you were home.” She looked at the cork inside the bottle. “Damn, I forgot to bring a cork screw.”

Logan smiled, and took the bottle from her. He picked up a long screwdriver from the bench, and a rubber mallet, and with one firm blow, drove the cork back further inside the neck, so that it fell into the wine. Silently, his smile broadening, he held the bottle back out to her.

“Why can’t I think of tricks like that?” she asked.

“It’s called lateral thinking,” Logan replied. “Some have it, some don’t.” He picked up the spanner again, and leaned over the engine. “So what is it you need to know?” he asked, his voice muffled a little.

Kate concentrated on pouring the wine. “Do you need the study tonight?” she asked.

“No. Help yourself,” Logan replied.

“Here,” she said, putting the glass within his reach on the bench.

“Thanks. Anything else, Kate?”

“David and Anastasia Morgan are having a farewell dinner next Saturday. Anastasia rang today to invite us. They’re back off to China next week. Do you want to go?”

“Do you?” Logan asked. He straightened, and picked up the wine glass, and sipped.

“Saturdays are fine for me, study-wise, and I like Anastasia,” Kate replied.

“Then we’ll go,” Logan replied.

“We don’t have to,” she said. “I think we’ve painted a pretty complete picture as the perfect couple by now.”

Logan shrugged. “As you like.” He turned back to the engine.

Kate stared at his back, frustrated. This wasn’t the way their conversations had once progressed. This wasn’t a conversation at all. “Is there anything happening with you that I should know about?” she finally asked.

Logan became still, although he kept his back to her. For a long moment Kate thought that he wouldn’t answer her at all, but finally he did, and his voice bounced chillingly from the underside of the bonnet. “I'll let you know when there is.”

Kate whirled away, and raced for the door to the stairs, hating herself for allowing Logan to cut her down like that. She had set herself up for it, and had no one else to blame.

“Kate, wait a minute,” Logan called out.

She halted, two paces from the door. Deliberately she kept her back to him just as he had with her. “What?” she asked hollowly.

“You were the one that curtailed any communication between us, remember?” His voice was soft, reasonable. “Isn’t that what you wanted? To go our separate ways?”

Kate bit her lip. “It’s what you wanted, Logan. It wasn’t me who got mad because I bowed to your needs and wishes.” She turned around to face him, to find him leaning against the workbench, arms crossed. “I can’t hide the fact that I need some -- at least a little -- human companionship in my life. I can’t live in a vacuum.”

Kate saw Logan’s chest rise and fall, slowly, as he took a deep breath. “Nor can I,” he said softly. It sounded like a painful admission.

“While we are living under the same roof, pretending to be man and wife, I can’t go outside the marriage to find that companionship,” Kate continued, deliberately ignoring his response. “So, you see, going our own way can only work if we have a common base from which to leave.”

Logan picked up his wine glass and drained it. “It hadn’t occurred to me before that this agreement meant we would have to rely upon each other for things that we got married to avoid in the first place.”

“Well, it’s done now, so there’s no need to look sour about it,” Kate said lightly. “I’m not that awful to talk to, surely?” She managed to add a smile, despite her heart beating hard enough to echo in her ears.

Logan grinned. “Awful is the last word that springs to mind,” he replied. “Though I might use it if I wanted to apply it in the old fashioned way.” He held out his hand. “Peace, Kate. Let’s start again, hmm?”

She walked over to take the hand that he offered, and smiled at him. “Peace.”

Logan shook her hand. He reached over for the glass of wine she had left sitting on the workbench, and held it out to her. “So, let’s talk,” he said.

An hour later, as they both climbed the stairs back up to the apartment, Kate felt a deep contentment at the peace she had managed to gain for them both. They were talking as freely and easily as they had before their “argument”, perhaps even more so, now that they had both acknowledged that as human beings, they needed this release. Their conversation carried on throughout dinner, and this time, when Kate went into the study afterwards, she went knowing that Logan accepted this part of her life with better grace, because of the understanding they had reached.

Life slipped back into a more even keel after that. Kate was content for it to be so, for that was how she had foreseen her life would progress under their agreement, when she had first considered it. She moved through her days, working hard, and her nights, learning even more -about Logan and about his world of business and high-stakes finance -- through their talk together each night.

Easter, two weeks later, was the first break she had in her studies, and Kate took advantage of the slight lull in scholastic demands to relax and unwind. She spent the Saturday of the break resting on a sun lounger Peter set up for her on the balcony overlooking the river. The balcony was one of her favourite spots, and she settled down in the warm autumn sunshine -probably the last for the year -- to doze or watch the world go by far below.

Logan found her there about mid-morning, and crouched down next to the lounger to bring his dark eyes level with hers. “Why aren’t you out shopping? You haven’t had the chance to do anything extravagant since you started the semester.”

Kate shook her head, turning off the CD player clipped to her belt so she could hear him properly. “I just want to relax,” she explained. “Shopping is too stressful.”

“Stressful?” Logan repeated, shaking his head as if he was amazed. “You keep defying all the stereotypes, Kate. I thought women were supposed to revel in unlimited shopping sprees.”

Kate shrugged. “I guess I’m not used to it,” she said. She looked down at her charcoal grey stirrup pants and fine black mohair jumper. “Unless you think my wardrobe needs improving?” she asked. It wasn’t an idle question, for Logan had been insistent from the first that she spend the money necessary to turn herself out as the suitable wife of a successful -- and rich -- businessman. Her wardrobe, now extended into a room by itself, contained a large number of evening outfits and accessories, but very little day wear. Most of her days were spent on campus, where she preferred to blend in with the other students as much as possible. She had learned very quickly that her marriage to Logan had made her notorious, and had built a reserve between her and other students, which she did her best to minimise.

Logan looked down at her trousered legs now, and she saw his gaze travel the length of one thigh before lifting back to her face. “It’s fine,” he said blandly, his face expressionless.

Peter arrived then, carrying a tray laid with a pot of coffee and a cup and some cake.

Peter never failed to provide some sort of delight to tempt Kate into indulging, but she remained adamantly health-conscious. Peter laid the tray on a small table next to her.

“I’ll leave you in peace, then, to soak up your sun,” Logan said. He rose easily to his feet, and walked back around the corner of the huge balcony to the side door that lead back into the lounge, and disappeared inside.

Kate watched him go, pleased he had been sensitive enough to know she wanted time to herself.

“Mr. Logan is a happy man since you came,” Peter observed softly.

Kate looked at him. Peter rarely offered an opinion or unsolicited comment, and when he did it was usually worth listening to. She studied his Asian features carefully. “Is he?” she asked.

Peter nodded, and straightened up, letting the tray fall to his side. “He carries a load ... a burden. You seem to make it lighter for him.”

Kate nodded. “Yes, that’s what I’m supposed to do,” she agreed, hiding her surprise.

Peter was being positively garrulous -- for Peter.

“Ahh...then you know about Malcolm Yates.” It was an assumption, Kate realised.

“That is why you understand and try so hard to please Mr. Logan.”

Puzzled, Kate held out her hand as Peter turned to go. “Who is Malcolm Yates?” she asked, trying to catalogue the many questions that sprang to mind at Peter’s unexpected statement. She was annoyed with herself over her surprise, too, for Peter was so much a part of the household, it was natural that he observe and understand most of the hidden nuances of Logan’s and her relationship.

Peter turned back, and his own surprise was quite plain. “Then you don’t know about Malcolm Yates?” he said. Kate could sense sudden caution flood him. She frowned.

Peter’s loyalty remained unquestioningly with Logan. If Malcolm Yates was a story Peter thought Kate would be better off not knowing, she would never find out who Malcolm Yates was -- even if she physically picked up the little man and shook him. Peter’s reaction told her she had to learn about Malcolm Yates. Something important was attached to his name, something that may unlock some of the mystery surrounding Logan’s past, and that still lingered into the present.

“Who is Malcolm Yates?” Kate repeated gently. “Tell me.”

Peter hesitated, and shot a glance over his shoulder, toward the dark polarised windows which hid the inside of the apartment from view. For some reason, he was afraid of Logan in connection with the story.

Kate was quick to use the leverage that gave her. “If you won’t tell me, Peter, I shall have to ask Logan.” It wasn’t a bluff, she realised. She really would confront Logan with this if Peter wouldn’t tell her. It was too important to be left alone.

Peter squared his shoulders. “Malcolm Yates was the man that Mr Logan put in hospital, six years ago.”

Kate felt her breath catch, and her heart close down for one sickening moment. “Put in hospital?” she repeated, her lips numb.

Peter looked almost apologetic. “Mr. Logan had a fight with him. He beat him up,” he added gently.

Kate felt her gaze become unfocussed as her mind scrambled to deal with this shocking information. Phrases and conversations from the past -- her past -- were tossed up, and fitted neatly into place with the suddenly whole pattern. Logan’s voice; “I have a temper, a bad one...I’m not the sort of person who should have deep relationships in their life.” And her own words: “... my first impression of you was that you weren’t a nice man.” Dear god, why hadn’t she listened to that tiny voice of reason?

Kate had to force her lungs to start working again, and found herself breathing harshly and heavily to cope with the oxygen depletion she suffered as a result of her shock. Logan had beaten a man badly enough to put him in hospital! No wonder he avoided all relationships.

What had he said?

Kate dredged her mind for the snatch of phrase that suddenly had taken on deep, horrifying significance; “I get angry with the people I care about.... I gave up trying to analyse why around the time my father died.” That would have been just over six years ago, too, Kate calculated. Logan gave up on relationships right after putting Malcolm Yates in hospital.

The curse of the Irish.

Kate felt sick. She swung her legs over the side of the lounger and stood up. She crossed to the corner of the balcony and leaned against the rail, her favourite spot, and turned her face into the light breeze, trying to loosen her stomach muscles. Peter had gone -- departed while she had been coping with her reaction to his revelation.

What was she going to do?

When Logan came looking for her, fifty minutes later, she was no nearer an answer. She looked up as he approached her, and she could feel all the colour draining from her face. This charming man had beaten someone? Logan, with his icy control?

Russell, her fellow student, had mentioned the nickname Logan had earned when he was racing ... and Bryan had spoken of his wild ways!

Logan rested one hand on the rail next to hers. Kate swallowed dryly.

“I feel like getting out,” Logan said. “Let’s go out to lunch. We can find somewhere with a garden, so you can keep soaking up your Vitamin D. What do you think?”

Kate couldn’t find her voice. Mutely, she shook her head.

Logan frowned. “Are you all right?” he asked. “You’re very pale.”

“I’m fine,” she croaked. “Just leave me alone.” It was all she could manage.

Logan didn’t reply. Kate kept her gaze out over the river, her mind screaming at him to leave.

Silently he left.

As soon as she thought enough time had elapsed for Logan to have traversed the lounge, Kate followed him in and crossed to her bedroom, and locked herself inside.

When Peter knocked on her door for dinner she told him to go away. She didn’t bother with an excuse. He knew what was wrong with her.

Within a minute of her curt dismissal, Kate’s door was assaulted by thunderous knocking that rattled the door in its frame. The latched was shaken. “Kate, will you open this bloody door, or do I need to break it open?”

Logan.

She knew his threat was real. Reluctantly, she crossed the room and unlocked the door, and opened it.

Logan stood in the doorway, looking as thunderous as his hammering on her door had indicated.

Kate found herself falling back a step or two, away from him.

“What is going on?” he demanded. “Why are you locking yourself away like this?”

Kate shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not yet.”

“Well, damn it, I do,” Logan shot back, moving toward her. “It obviously concerns me.

I have a right to know.”

Kate almost laughed, a bitter response that caught in her throat, and turned her voice dry.

“You already know.” She caught sight of Peter hovering in her doorway. “Peter had to tell me.”

Logan spun to face Peter. “Tell her what?” he demanded.

Peter flinched. “About Malcolm Yates,” he said quietly.

Logan looked away. Abruptly, all the anger drained from him. After a moment he looked back at Kate. “I see,” he said. His face wore the same expressionless, hard-to-read facade she had been confronted with the first time she had met him. Kate waited, hoping he would take the chance she was giving him to explain, to alleviate some of her horror and disillusionment.

Silently, he turned and walked out of the room again, softly shutting the door behind him.

Kate escaped the apartment shortly after dawn the next morning, driving up into the hills south of the city. She was desperate for time to think in neutral territory.

Why hadn’t Logan told her the full story before? Why hadn’t she asked him? She had spent the eve of the wedding wondering why he was willing to commit to such a friendless agreement. Now she had her answer.

Would she have agreed to the marriage if he had told her the full story?

What was the full story? What had happened, and what had driven him to do something like that?

She didn’t doubt that the story was true. Logan’s reaction last night confirmed it, as did Peter’s reluctance to tell her. It fitted in too neatly with the unexplained motives behind Logan offering her their unconventional bargain in the first place.

She found herself driving through shady, old Armadale, on the outskirts of Perth.

Bethaney Adams lived in Armadale, she recalled. The connection made Kate turn the car around, and head for the nearest public phone. If anyone knew the truth, Bethaney Adam would be the most likely person.

Bethaney answered the phone breathlessly. The sound of children in the background reminded Kate that it was Easter Sunday, a day when families usually gathered together.

Bethaney overrode Kate’s apologies and hesitant request, and warmly insisted that Kate come around to her house immediately.

Kate hung up the phone and went in search of a shop somewhere that might possibly have some Easter eggs to sell. She found one on Albany Highway, and bought enough eggs for Bethaney and her children, and then followed the careful directions Bethaney had given to reach her house.

Bethaney greeted Kate at the door of the small brick and tile house, and drew her into the lounge to meet her three primary-school aged children. They were deeply engrossed in a video movie, but were roused by the prospect of more Easter eggs to eat. After Kate had given out the eggs, Bethaney lead her through to the kitchen, where she seated Kate at the kitchen table, while she made coffee.

When Bethaney settled down at the table with two steaming cups between them, Kate took a deep breath, and plunged into the subject weighing down her mind.

“Does the name Malcolm Yates mean anything to you, Beth?”

“Malcolm....” Bethaney frowned. Then her frown cleared, and her mouth rounded in a silent “Oh”. She nodded slowly. “Yes, I know who he is,” she said. She grasped Kate’s arm where it lay on the table. “Oh, Kate, have you only just found out?”

Kate nodded miserably.

Bethaney sighed. “Men...they have no idea --” She broke off, and said briskly. “You want me to tell you what I know, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Bethaney thought for a moment, then said; “They didn’t charge Logan over the affair.

There was never enough clear evidence for criminal charges, although the papers had a field day speculating over it. This was...goodness, years ago.”

“Six years ago,” Kate supplied.

“Yes, that would be right. Six years ago. Not long after he retired from motor racing.

Logan caught Malcolm Yates sexually harassing Emma, and ended up fighting him. That’s the part the public saw, anyway. All the allegations Malcolm made afterwards hinged entirely on his say-so, and no-one disputed that he had an axe to grind.”

Kate shook her head. “Slow down. None of this makes sense. Who is Emma?”

Bethaney frowned again. “Emma Olson. Logan’s girlfriend. Some say she was unofficially his fiance, but what happened afterwards soured the relationship, and they ended up apart. Malcolm Yates was her employer. Logan arrived to pick her up from work one day, and found Malcolm had backed her into a corner in his office. Logan pulled Malcolm off her, and the others who came to see what the fuss was about say he looked ready to tear the man apart.

"Malcolm challenged him -- I don’t know how. Logan took him up on his offer, and dragged him out into the car park to sort it out. That’s all the witnesses saw. Malcolm Yates, when he was able to talk, said later they had fought. Not long. Logan had laid him out flat and walked away, as if the fight was over. Then, as Yates was getting back onto his feet, he heard footsteps behind him in the gravel, and was hit again, from behind, a number of times. He came to in hospital, and swore it was Logan who had come back to finish him.” Bethaney shrugged.

“It was that fact -- that he didn’t know that it was Logan, that left the whole thing open to speculation.”

Kate found her head reeling. “So no one knows who it was, really?”

“Logan does, if it was him. But he denied it then, and still does, although he can’t deny that he did fight Yates in the first place. The medical report on Yates said his injuries were all consistent with those a man in a serious fight might sustain.” Bethaney shrugged. “So whether Logan beat Yates hard enough to put him in hospital within the course of the fight, and Yates made up the second attack to save face, no one knows. But that’s it. That’s all of it.”

Kate threaded her fingers together, and squeezed. “Everyone believes that Logan came back to finish him off, don’t they?”

Bethaney hesitated. Her answer was cool, professional. “I don’t, but I’m one of the few people, I suppose, that has taken the trouble to read all the police reports and newspaper reports.

I did it when I first started working for Logan. I thought it wise to know all I could about him.

When you take away the speculation, the facts leave a mystery. They don’t point to Logan.

Think about it...why would Yates say Logan came back to finish him? Why didn’t he simply say Logan beat him to a pulp and leave it at that?” Bethaney shook her head. “I don’t know who did it, but I do know that Logan didn’t. I just can’t prove it.”

“But he did fight him,” Kate returned.

Bethaney laughed. “Men are like kids sometimes. They fight. They get angry. They throw tantrums when they’re hurt or don’t get what they want. Haven’t you ever heard of goofyfractures? Men who hit walls in sheer bloody temper, and fracture their hands?” Bethaney shook her head musingly. “I’ve never condoned Logan for fighting Yates in the first place.

Yates was a small time low-life who got his kicks out of picking on women in subordinate and powerless positions. He deserved everything he got, including the second beating.” Bethaney’s voice had grown strident.

“What happened to Emma Olson has happened to you, too, hasn’t it?” Kate speculated.

Bethaney shot a look at the doorway connecting the lounge with the kitchen and visibly forced herself to relax. She lowered her voice. “Yes. It’s happened to me.” She stood up and picked up Kate’s empty cup and moved back to the sink to rinse it out. “Not all bosses are as controlled as Logan,” she said over her shoulder.

Kate nodded. Controlled. That described Logan perfectly. A mind picture of Logan standing over another man, his knuckles bloody, sprang into her mind. It was just as easy to visualise as Logan’s icy control. She had always sensed the fine edge of danger in him, but until now she had never been able to identity it for what it really was. It was the element that had always kept her on mental alert, her body poised for flight, whenever Logan was provoked out of his urbane reserve. Kate shivered. Which was the real Logan?

Kate stood up from the formica table, and picked up her bag. “Thank you for telling me, Bethaney,” she murmured. “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer, but I need ... time.”

“Sure,” Bethaney replied. “Not a problem. Kate?”

Kate looked over her shoulder to the blonde woman, and raised one brow in query.

“I’ve worked for Logan for three years. I’d almost forgotten about Yates. Don’t let it spoil your marriage. Even if Logan wasn’t to blame, the lesson went deep for him.”

Kate returned home in the late afternoon, having spent the day driving and thinking. She had come to several conclusions and decisions during the day.

A lot of the blame for her shock rested squarely on her own shoulders. She had heard hints from several sources about Logan’s temper, well before she was married. She should have chased them up then, but she had been too eager to dismiss Logan altogether. Later, she had been too desperate to solve her financial problems to consider from all angles the only solution that had presented itself.

Anyone could have a temper. Most people did. Admittedly, they were able to control their tempers, but that didn’t stop them loosing them every now and again. Logan had been sorely provoked, Kate freely admitted.

What was most unsettling to Kate was the knowledge that had she been having a real relationship with Logan, this discovery would have stopped her from marrying him. She would have run far and fast, because Logan’s potential for anger created fear in her, which gave him power over her. That was exactly the relationship she’d had with Mickey before he’d disappeared with all her possessions and money.

But Kate’s relationship with Logan wasn’t normal. She had entered the marriage on the understanding that they would not have a relationship. Kate had agreed because of the scars Mickey had left, and Logan, as she now knew, because of Malcolm Yates. In exchange, Logan would support her while she studied, and she would keep all other relationships Logan might otherwise have been embroiled in at bay.

What she thought of Logan had nothing to do with that agreement. While Logan continued to maintain his half of the agreement, so must she.

Kate pulled into the garage, and saw that Logan’s Jaguar was gone. Logan was the only person permitted to drive it, therefore he must be out. Kate was relieved, although a small part of her grimaced at this relief. She would have to confront him sooner or later. She would also have to apologise for her reactions the previous night, if they were to try and regain balance back in their lives.

But Logan didn’t return that night, despite Kate sitting up until past midnight, waiting for him.

Nor did he appear on the Monday.

Kate wandered around the apartment, knowing she should study, but unable to sit still while the confrontation continued to loom large in her immediate future. Peter was avoiding her, too, so she didn’t even have that small distraction to help.

It was an endless day.

At sunset the phone rang, and Kate snatched it up, glad of the distraction.

There was a long silence at the other end of the phone, and Kate was on the verge of hanging up again, when Logan spoke.

“Kate. Where’s Peter?” His voice was quiet, and Kate thought she could detect some strain.

“He’s gone to the markets.” Kate clutched the phone. “What’s wrong, Logan?”

Again there was a lengthy silence.

“Logan?”

“How long is Peter going to be?”

“I have no idea. He’s avoiding me,” Kate added dryly.

“I don’t blame him,” Logan replied. He sighed. “Can you do me a favour, then, Kate?”

“What?”

“In my bedroom, in the side draw, there are some prescription analgesics. Could you bring them to the office?”

Kate looked at her watch. It was nearly six o’clock. Why couldn’t he come home and get them? “Now?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“All right,” she agreed. What else could she do?

The North Incorporated building was eerily deserted, and Kate found herself creeping through the echoing car park. The express lift was at the penthouse level, and she had to stand around for a few minutes, waiting for it to travel back down, and she shivered in the cold. Logan’s Jaguar was parked in his usual spot, looking forlorn and deserted.

Logan’s office was similarly deserted. There was paperwork spread all over the desk, and a coffee cup. Kate looked around, her hands pushed deep into the pockets of her coat, where her left hand curled over the small bottle of tablets. Now what? she

wondered. Her gaze fell on the far wall of the office. There were two doors set in the mellow jarrah panelling. One lead to a small bedroom, the other to a well appointed bathroom. Both bedroom and bathroom were interconnected with each other. Logan used both when he was keeping long hours. He probably used the bedroom last night, Kate suspected.

She crossed over to the bedroom door and knocked.

“Kate?” It was Logan’s voice. Without the filtering of the telephone, the strain was more definite.

Kate pushed the door open, and blinked at the unexpected darkness. The blinds had been shuttered, and the curtains pulled against the last of the sunset.

Kate could just discern Logan’s form on the bed. “Logan?”

“Did you bring them?” he asked, and his words ended on a gasp of pain.

Kate moved to the bed. “Logan! What’s wrong?” She pulled the bottle from her pocket, and fumbled with the lid, prizing it off.

“Migraine,” he muttered.

Kate put the tablets on the table next to him, and went into the bathroom to get some water. She placed the glass next to the tablets.

“Would you get two out for me?” he asked.

Kate tipped out two, and watched, alarmed, as Logan slowly lifted himself to one elbow and reached for the tablets and water. His features were drawn tight, and there was a deep furrow raked through his brow. With each movement he made, he stopped for a second or two and shut his eyes, obviously dealing with another wave of pain.

Kate bit her lip. She had only ever had one migraine in her life, and it was enough. The booming pain in her head, aggravated by the simplest of movements, had been enough to make her sick and had kept her immobile and helpless for hours, her body thumping in time to her heartbeat.

Logan was suffering a migraine that was severe enough to require prescription drugs to deal with it, and he had had them before, for the drugs were to hand.

Unconsciously lowering her voice, Kate said quietly; “How long have you had it?”

“An hour or so.” He opened his eyes to look at her, and she could see the pain in his eyes. “Sorry to bother you.”

“Don’t be stupid!” she said tartly. “Should I get the doctor here?”

“No.” Logan grimaced. “There’s nothing else he can do.”

“How long do they usually last?” Kate asked.

“Five, eight hours.”

“Then I’m taking you home,” Kate said firmly.

“No. The sun....”

“It’s almost fully dark now.” She considered him. “Can you stand? Walk?”

“In a while...when the tablets have taken effect.”

“Yes. I’ll wait.” Kate withdrew silently from the room, and crossed over to Logan’s desk, and sat in the reclining chair, with a sigh. She was familiar with the haunting characteristics of repeated migraines, as one of her fellow students suffered from them, and had painted an appalling picture of the life of a migraine sufferer for her. Kate knew that a migraine was brought on by certain foods, or by stress. She didn’t need to guess that it was stress that had brought Logan’s migraine on. She glanced at the cold coffee cup. Too much caffeine, too little sleep, too much work.

And her animosity.

Again, Kate sighed. She hadn’t needed to spell out the horror and disillusionment she felt after learning about Malcolm Yates. It had been plain by the way Logan had turned and walked out of her room that night that Logan understood exactly what she thought and felt about him. He had been whipping himself with it for the last forty-eight hours -- reliving old memories, reviving old guilt.

Thirty-five minutes later, Logan appeared at the doorway to the bedroom. He looked tired, drawn, and his face was white. “Kate,” he said quietly.

She moved to his side. “Has it subsided at all?”

“Enough. If I move slowly.”

Kate pulled out her car keys. “As slow as you like,” she promised. Impulsively, she slipped her hand under his arm, and gently tugged him forward. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

His other hand lifted to cover hers for a brief second. “Thank you.”

 

 

 

Chapter 6 Kate drove through the quiet streets back to the apartment, steering carefully to avoid any major bumps in the road, and braking and accelerating smoothly. She was preternaturally aware of the pain in the man sitting beside her.

Logan kept his eyes shut for most of the short journey, and occasionally Kate caught him grimacing against abrupt movements. It was clear the migraine still held him in its merciless grip. She was astonished he had been able to push himself into moving at all.

At the apartment, she went ahead into his bedroom to pull the covers back, to minimise the amount of action he would need to reach the comfort of his bed. Earlier, when she had collected the tablets for Logan, and now, were the first time she had ever crossed the threshold of his bedroom, but on both occasions her concern for Logan kept her from lingering over the novelty.

Once he was settled, Kate returned to kitchen to find something to eat. It was Peter’s night off. She didn’t know when or even if he had returned from the markets. At that moment, she didn’t care.

Hunger dealt with, Kate found herself heading for the study. She suspected that now she would be able to work.

Around midnight, Kate called a halt. She had made up for the day’s waste of time, and felt good about her progress now. Slipping on her sheepskin-lined jacket, she stepped out onto the balcony, and headed for the corner of the balustrade, to lean out into the fresh breeze, and let it ruffle the feathery ends of her hair. It had been a long day. Time, soon, for sleep.

“I thought you’d be out here.” It was Logan’s voice, from behind her.

Kate whirled, startled. “Logan!”

He was pulling on a heavy windcheater over his shirt and jeans, and crossing to the balcony rail. “Your favourite spot,” he said.

She studied his face. Some colour had returned, and the pain-caused furrows had disappeared, but there were still traces of the drawn look about him. His eyes were heavy. The last effects of the analgesic, she guessed. His step was light, though, and his manner alert. The pain had gone, then.

“You’re feeling better.”

“For now,” he agreed, “but I’m going to have to stay close to home for a few days.

When I get one, I nearly always get a series of them.”

She frowned. “No one else knows about your migraines, do they?”

Logan leaned against the rail, and looked out at the city lights. “No,” he admitted.

“Why have you kept it such a close secret?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t get them that often,” he said.

“Just when you’re under stress,” Kate shot back.

“I’m always under stress,” Logan said with a smile. “You’re not alive if you aren’t.”

“Extraordinary stress,” Kate replied. “If people knew, then they could make allowances --”

“That’s exactly why I don’t tell them,” Logan over-rode her. “It’s just a damned headache. I’m not going to fall apart.”

Kate held up her hand. “Okay. I’m sorry. None of my business.”

Unexpectedly, Logan straightened and turned to face her, his expression gentle. “No, don’t -- I’m the one that should apologise. You’ve been kindness itself, Kate.” He looked away.

“Especially considering what you already think of me,” he muttered.

Kate swallowed. She was right -- he had been flaying himself with old guilt. “What I think of you has nothing to do with it,” she said. “I reacted the way I did because what you did to Malcolm Yates reminded me of what Mickey did to me. I wasn’t condemning you personally.”

Logan looked back at her sharply. “Christ, Kate, I would never hurt you. Never!” He shook his head. “My temper gets away on me, I know that. That’s why I don’t have people I care about in my life. But I would never physically hurt you...and as for doing what Mickey did to you....” He shook his head again. “Never.”

“Why don’t you have people you care about in your life?” Kate pressed. “Isn’t it that you’re afraid that what happened to Malcolm Yates might happen again?”

“I didn’t beat him the second time, Kate.” Logan’s voice was bleak, as if he expected not to be believed.

“I know,” Kate said evenly. “You’re not the sort of person who would come up from behind like that. You like open warfare over the board-room table, not subterranean politics. I remember the trouble you took to avoid it, once before.”

She turned around to lean her back against the rail, and look at him squarely. “But you know that what happened to Malcolm Yates could have been done by you, don’t you? You suspect that if your temper had been just one whit more out of control, then you wouldn’t have stopped when you did, and people would be justified in thinking what they think about you.”

Logan closed his eyes for a brief second, and sighed. “If he’d done anything to Emma ... anything at all, I probably would have,” he said.

Kate nodded. She had been right. “I wish you had told me this before,” she said softly.

“Would it have made a difference?” Logan asked. “You needed my help, Kate.”

Kate sighed. “To tell the truth, I don’t know if it would have made any difference,” she admitted. “But it’s done now.”

“Yes, it’s done,” he echoed.

She studied the fine lines around his eyes again, and the drawn features. “You need to take a holiday, Logan. Get away, unwind, relax.”

He looked surprised. “I don’t take holidays.”

“Then you should. A week away isn’t enough to make the company collapse, and it might stop this series of migraines in its tracks.”

That made him pause to consider the idea.

“You could always claim it was our official honeymoon,” she pointed out. “They can’t protest over that.”

Logan relaxed, and turned to look out over the river again. “I’ll take you down to D’Entrecasteaux. I’ve got an old farmhouse down there. And I’ll take you to Bridgetown to see my mother. She would be highly offended if we didn’t drop by.”

He had accepted her suggestion, virtually without argument. Kate stared at him. “I couldn’t get away for another three weeks -- I have a study break then.”

“Good. That would work in well,” he agreed. “It will take me that long to free up the time.”

Kate felt a swell of happiness in her, and stiffened. Happiness? What was this? she asked herself. She looked at Logan sideways. She was happy, and he was the cause of it. Dear lord, what was going on?

Abruptly, she straightened, and turned away from the balcony. “I’m going to bed,” she said shortly.

“Night, Kate,” he called after her, oblivious to the chill that had settled over her.

Kate prepared for bed, her heart thumping, and her fingers icy cold. She slid into bed, despite knowing that sleep was going to elude her for another night, and lay back on the pillow, her eyes wide. She knew, now, why the story of Malcolm Yates had disturbed her so much.

Logan didn’t like having people in his life that he cared for. I wonder how he feels about people that care for him?

Logan stayed home the next day, despite it being an official business day. He lingered at the breakfast table, in casual jeans and jumper, the maps of the Southwest laid out in front of him, making plans for their holiday, while Peter calmly cleaned up the table around him.

Kate stayed at the table, too, interested in spite of herself. Logan pointed out D’Entrecasteaux on the map, and described the area and the national park that

bordered the old farm he had bought up in a fire sale some time ago. His manner was relaxed, as he told her stories about the area and points of interest that they might visit while they were there.

The old farmhouse sounded like the perfect retreat. Remote, virtually inaccessible except by four-wheel drive, it was the ideal get-away.

They were interrupted by phone calls from the office, from people trying to work around Logan’s absence. After the seventh call, when Logan returned to the maps, Kate said quietly;

“Why don’t you go in? If you’re worried about another migraine arriving, take the tablets with you. If you do get another one, call me. I can come and pick you up on some excuse or another, and no one need be any the wiser.”

Logan studied her for a moment, then grasped her hand where it lay on the glowing timber table top. “Not today. You’re right -- I need a break. Tomorrow I will, though, if you can be on standby.”

“I can always take my mobile phone with me to lectures,” Kate said. It would raise eyebrows, but that was too bad.

He smiled, and the expression lightened his features, and made his eyes glow. “Thank you.”

Kate shrugged, feigning casualness to cover her suddenly thready pulse, and the skin that burnt under his fingers. “You’re welcome,” she said.

Peter discreetly slid the coffee tray onto the table in front of them, and Logan turned back to the maps.

A week later, Logan returned from the office early. It was a Wednesday, and Kate’s lectures finished early, too. Logan came through into the study to find her there.

“Come for a drive with me,” Logan told her. “I feel like taking the Jaguar for a spin, and it’s a perfect day.”

Kate looked out the window. The late Autumn sunshine was strong and bright. There weren’t many days like this left in the season. She nodded. “I will.”

Logan nudged the car through the early peak hour traffic and onto the Kwinana Freeway.

It was the first time Kate had actually ridden in his beloved Jaguar, and she was enormously interested in the way he handled the car. “Doesn’t driving in metropolitan traffic send you crazy with frustration after racing?” she asked.

Logan shook his head. “It’s a different thing altogether. A different mind-set. I’m more worried about what the other idiots on the road are doing, than trying to beat them. Most people have no idea how to drive properly.” He pointed to a car that slid in ahead of him. “Like the driver of that Holden, for instance. He’s over-steering, and has to keep compensating.”

“But what about the speed limit? You used to be able to drive as fast as you could. I know this car can go very fast if you push it. Doesn’t it bother you having to creep around like this?”

Logan laughed. “I’m just enjoying the day. When you drive fast, you have to concentrate too much to take notice of anything but the car and the road.” He glanced at her, and his grin was suddenly full of mischief. “That’s not to say I can’t do whatever speed I like, if I choose to. There isn’t a police car or driver in this state that could out-drive me.”

“Not here!” Kate said, alarmed.

He shook his head. “Relax. I’d only indulge myself on the open road, when I don’t have to worry about what the other drivers are going to do.”

He took the Stirling Highway exit, and drove through Applecross and down towards the river, and turned onto Jutland Parade. Kate knew the street by reputation, and turned to stare at the row of fabulous houses they were passing.

“Nice, aren’t they?” Logan murmured.

Kate nodded, fascinated.

He stopped in front of one that caught his eye, bringing the Jaguar to a growling halt.

“Look at that one. With that 180 degree wrap-around window, up on the second floor, the view must be spectacular.”

Kate smiled, wondering if Logan was aware of the affinity he had for river views.

“What do you think?” he asked.

Kate studied the house. It was architecturally designed, a small mansion. But despite its size and conception, the house seemed to beckon. It had a warmth, a friendliness, that appealed to her. “I like it,” she pronounced. “I think happy people live here.”

Logan turned the engine off, and picked up her hand and uncurled the fingers. He dropped a key onto her flat palm. “Happy birthday, Kate. It’s yours.”

Kate stared at him. He had remembered her birthday, which was tomorrow.

Logan grinned. “This is yours ... our ... new home.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, truly confused. “What’s wrong with the apartment?”

Logan shrugged. “I got fed up fighting for space in my study. The apartment was fine while I was on my own, Kate. It’s different now. We need more space. Come and have a look inside.”

Logan deftly extracted her from the car, took the key from her hand, and led her up the gently winding path to the front door, where he inserted the key, and opened it. He took her hand and drew her inside, switching on lights. “This way,” he told her, crossing the impressive parquetry of the foyer to a set of double doors. He opened them, and stepped aside. “Our study,” he announced.

Kate looked inside. The room was large, airy, and bathed in the golden glow of the late afternoon sun, shining through the large picture windows. In the middle of the richly carpeted floor sat a large, very wide desk. A partners’ desk. Two executive chairs were drawn up on either side. Lining the room were bookshelves, waiting to be filled, and other office gadgetry, including filing cabinets and communications equipment.

Kate bit her lip. “Why?” she asked him.

“I told you, space.”

“No, why are you being so thoughtful? You don’t have to do this. Our agreement --”

Logan shook his head. “Our agreement was a starting point, Kate. A baseline. As unconventional as our marriage is, it is a marriage, and designed as a life-time commitment. At the very least, I don’t want you to ever regret your decision. I’d prefer it if within the bounds of our agreement, you are happy. If I can do anything to ensure that, I will. This is one simple way of helping me achieve that.”

Kate took a deep breath. “Well, you’d better show me the rest of the house, then,” she said with a smile, feeling a bubble of happiness lift her spirits and dispel her confusion and suspicions.

Logan proudly showed her the rest of the house. It was furnished, and Kate found herself confirming her original impression -- happy people had lived here. The place seemed lived-in, well used.

“They’re a family of diplomats, and they were suddenly posted to another country,”

Logan confirmed. “They left almost everything except personal possessions behind. We can change what we want, of course, but it’s nice to have it there to start with. The furniture and stuff from the apartment wouldn’t suit this place, and it would only fill one corner of the lounge, anyway.”

They returned to the Jaguar, and Kate found herself smiling. “It’s perfect, Logan,” she told him, swivelling to face him as he climbed in and inserted the key in the ignition. “Thank you.”

He rested a hand on the wooden steering wheel, and looked at her. “I’m glad you like it.

I did, as soon as I saw it. Happy birthday for tomorrow, Kate.” He leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

Kate felt her breath catching, as it always did whenever Logan came very close to her.

His lips barely touched her cheek, but the contact still sent sparks flitting through her spine.

He turned back to the steering wheel, and started the engine, apparently completely unaware of Kate’s shattered composure. They were back on the freeway, heading for home, when he spoke again, breaking the silence Kate had been unable to bridge. “Peter’s got a bottle of champagne chilling for us at home. Do you feel like a little celebration?”

“Well, yes ... but why tonight, instead of tomorrow?”

It was a moment before he spoke. “We never see each other in the mornings -- we’re both off out to our respective work. I didn’t want you to go through the whole day wondering if I intended to acknowledge your birthday, or not.”

His answer silenced Kate again.

* * * * *

Peter, with the telepathic timing he had displayed on more than one occasion, was placing the champagne in the ice bucket as they walked into the apartment. There were already champagne flutes, and a bowl of out-of-season strawberries, sitting on the table.

Kate looked out through the windows. The setting sun was turning the river pink, and dusting the evening sky with dusky reds and purples. “Let’s have it outside,” she suggested.

“On the balcony.”

Logan nodded. “Yes. Peter, would you help Kate take it out? I’m just going to phone the real estate agent to tell him the deal is definitely on, and put him out of his misery.”

Kate laughed. “So it wasn’t mine, lock, stock and barrel.”

Logan smiled. “Not irreversibly. I was pretty sure you’d like it, but there was always the chance I’d judged your taste wrongly. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Kate picked up the strawberries and glasses, and Peter, the ice bucket. Outside, Peter pulled over the little table they used, setting it next to the lounger, which stayed out all the time now. Kate put down the strawberries and glasses while Peter deftly began unwrapping the champagne cork. She returned inside for her jacket, and slid it on. The night was getting chilly.

Peter had poured her a glass when she returned, and Kate moved to the corner of the balcony rail, and took the glass he handed her, and leaned against the rail.

And abruptly, the rail gave a sickening lurch outwards, and then fell away altogether.

Kate shrieked as she felt her balance, which had been thrown outwards by her lean against the rail, pushing her out over the unprotected edge.

“Kate!” Logan’s voice -- a barely recognisable, tortured cry.

She lost her footing, and the fight to remain on the lip of the balcony with it. She plummeted over the edge.

To be suddenly brought to an agonising stop, two metres down, hanging in mid air by her wrist. Her breath was pushed out of her with a groan as the muscles in her arm, wrist and shoulder took the full impact of her weight, and the sudden stop.

Slowly, she lifted her head up, blinking to clear her vision. Peter had her wrist, in both of his small hands. The strength of his grip was painful, and she could see the effort it was taking to hold her by the engorged veins in his temples.

Logan appeared at the edge. “Hold her,” he told Peter grimly, stripping off his jacket.

“Hurry, Mr. Logan. Miss Kate is very heavy for me.”

“I will. Just don’t let go,” Logan assured him. He knelt on the broken edge of the balcony, and reached for her wrist, underneath Peter’s desperate grip. He couldn’t reach. Peter was lying on the concrete, his arms and shoulders stretched over the sharp edge. Kate could see his knee locked in behind the footing of the next rail support along from the now missing section, which had tumbled down to the hill beneath her.

Logan lay on his stomach, and reached down with his hand. “Reach up with your other hand,” he told her. “Go on.”

Kate swung her other hand up, but she couldn’t reach high enough to touch Logan’s arm.

The movement sent a sharp bolt of pain through her shoulder, and Kate heard herself give an anguished moan.

“Mr. Logan!” Peter wailed.

Kate could feel his grip beginning to loosen.

Logan swore, and drew himself further out over the edge. He lunged, and his fingers closed on her wrist. “Move out, Peter,” he said curtly.

Peter let her wrist go, and Kate felt herself swing sideways, until she was directly under Logan. She bit off another moan, clenching her jaw tightly shut.

Logan held her by one hand. Kate had no idea what he intended to do now. Peter was of no use. He lay, exhausted, where he had rolled out of the way, his eyes closed.

Then she realised that, inch by inch, she was being lifted. Logan was using his strength to pull her upwards, with no support and with only the leverage of his other

hand laid flat on the concrete. His eyes were twin orbs of ferocious concentration, and she could see the corded tendons of his neck, straining.

When her elbow was past the edge, Logan rested her arm on the concrete, and put his knee on her hand. “Sorry,” he said shortly, as she winced. With both hands free, now, he reached down her back and grasped the waistband of her jeans, where it hung loose at the small of her back. With a heave, he drew her up onto the concrete, and they both went rolling, away from the edge.

Kate lay for a moment on the cold concrete, too stunned to move. Her shoulder was on fire, but the rest of her body was chilled and shaking. She was gathered up into Logan’s arms, and held in a fierce grip, while his arms and body warmed her. “Thank god, Kate,” he whispered. His lips came down upon her temple in a soft kiss.

And the reality of how close she had come to dying finally made its impact upon her.

Kate felt the shivering turn to a deep tremble, and a small sob escaped her lips, muffled against the warm wall of his chest.

Kate was aware of a deep shake that ran through Logan’s frame, too. Even the hand that sooth her had its own tremor. His breath was harsh and ragged, but his arms were firm around her and Kate was deeply grateful for that. “Yes, go on,” he murmured, his voice reverberating against her cheek. “It’s all right. Cry if you want. I’ve got you, now.”

She did cry, in throat-tearing sobs that she tried to bury against him. She reached up with her good arm, clinging to him with a voiceless desperation that he seemed to understand, because he did not try to loosen her grip. Instead, his own settled more firmly around her, and she felt his hand soothing her, caressing her brow and cheek, until her tears subsided.

Kate wandered out into the lounge around midnight, pain-racked, and unable to sleep. She switched on the light, and was startled to see Logan turn away from the windows, his hands pushed into his jeans pockets.

“Logan! You startled me." She pulled her dressing gown around her more firmly, and winced.

"Your shoulder is bothering you," Logan observed.

Kate frowned. "Yes. I came out in search of some pain-killers, or something. What are you doing up?”

“Thinking,” he said succinctly. He crossed to stand in front of her, and Kate’s gaze fell on his shirt front. She had rested her cheek against him there. She could feel her face begin to flush.

Logan cleared his throat. “I looked at the balcony rail. It looks like the bolts just came loose, and the rail slipped out of the upright. With the sudden cold change in the weather, they could have contracted and worked their way loose. Your constant leaning against that particular section of rail must have helped.”

Kate nodded. “It sounds possible.”

Logan studied her face for a moment. “I could give you one of my analgesics,” he suggested. “And I have some embrocation -- it might ease the muscles….”

Kate swallowed. “Yes. Anything.”

“It’s bad, then?”

“Right now, I’m glad I have it,” she said. “It’s telling me I’m alive. I can’t get enough of that message tonight.”

Logan nodded. “I’ll get the tablets for you,” he said, moving toward his room.

Kate settled onto a sofa, and stared out the windows. With the lights on, she could see nothing but her own pallid reflection, the russet highlights in her dark hair the only hint of colour. Abruptly she stood and shut the curtains tight. She didn’t need the reflection to know her face was white, the dark arched brows contrasting oddly above her enormous eyes.

Logan returned and handed her the bottle of tablets. “Have just one, and if that doesn’t ease it, then have a second.” He showed her the tube of anointment he had in his other hand.

“Can you manage it yourself ... or shall I...?”

Kate wished she could say she could manage, but the truth was she could not. Slowly, she shook her head.

Logan stepped aside. “Sit down, then.” He waved to the sofa.

Kate sat, turning sideways so that he could reach her shoulder, and reluctantly lowered the sleeve of her dressing gown, easing it off her shoulder. She brought the

thin strap of her nightdress with the gown, baring her shoulder and back. She clutched the silky layers to her breast.

Logan sat down behind her, and she could feel the heat of his body radiating against hers.

His knee brushed her hip, and she gave a little start. Her body was reacting as it always did to his proximity, despite her pain.

“Here,” Logan said softly, his voice issuing from just behind her ear. He offered her a glass of water, which she took, and the bottle of tablets. “Take one now,” he told her.

Kate fumbled with the bottle, one-handed, until Logan’s hand snaked around her waist and took the bottle from her. She turned to look as he took one of the tablets out and handed it to her. He lifted his gaze up to her face. His eyes were as unreadable as always.

Kate swallowed the tablet, along with some water, and turned so her shoulder faced him once more.

“It might hurt a little, at first,” Logan warned.

She felt the touch of the cold ointment on her skin, and a shiver went through her. Then the firm touch of his fingers, spreading the ointment over her shoulder blade, and up across the muscles at the top of her shoulder. After a moment, he said;

“This gown is silk, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

There was a little silence. “Can you drop it off your other shoulder, too?” Kate thought he sounded slightly apologetic. “God knows what the embrocation will do to the material if I touch it -- it’s powerful stuff.”

Kate bit her lip, and, clutching the material firmly to her chest, gently shrugged the gown and nightdress off her other shoulder, leaving her back and shoulders bare almost down to her waist.

For a moment the silence was complete, as Logan made no move to continue with his task.

Kate began to turn, to look at him, but his hands came down upon her skin once more, the fingers rubbing the ointment in. “You should see the doctor in the morning,” Logan said briskly.

“You might have some serious damage.”

“No -- it’s just muscle injuries,” Kate said softly. “I’ve been swimming for years; I know the difference. Oohh!” She clamped her jaw tightly, as his fingers hit the spot where the pain seemed to be centred. Tears pricked her eyes.

“There?” Logan asked, his fingers smoothing over the area again.

Kate nodded.

Logan probed with his fingertips, gently. Despite his gentleness, sharp twinges of pain shot through her back and side, making Kate shut her eyes, and grit her teeth.

Logan applied more lotion. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I know this hurts, but I’ve got to rub it in properly.”

Kate nodded, voiceless.

For another aching minute he concentrated on the area. Gradually Kate felt the muscles warm up under his ministrations, and the massage became less painful. Kate let her shoulders relax again, surprised to find they had lifted and tightened in reaction.

Gradually, Logan’s hands worked their way across her entire left side, down past her shoulder blade, loosening up the strained muscles and tendons.

Kate could feel herself relaxing even more. She suspected that the tablet had begun to work, for she was lethargic, drowsy. As his hands worked their way across the base of her neck, she found her head falling back.

His touch became softer, distanced by the effects of the drug, she suspected. She could feel his hands stroking the skin over her shoulders, and the top of her arms. Kate closed her eyes. It was soothing.

The stroking continued, sweeping up from her waist to shoulders, including the tender skin of her side, exposed under the trailing neck of the gown.

Kate licked her lips, and arched like a cat, lazily, drowsily. Her shoulders bumped against him. His chest, she assumed, and his hands grasped her upper arms, steadying her. His breath blew hotly against the nape of her neck, and she realised with a little shock that it was unsteady, ragged.

Kate’s eyes flew open, and she straightened up, pulling away from him, all her senses alert.

Logan stood and crossed to the curtained windows, in quick long strides, driving his hands back into his jeans pockets again. “Go to bed, Kate,” he said, his voice low. He kept his back to her. “You’re almost asleep.”

Kate hastily drew her clothing back on properly, and fled to bed.

 

 

Chapter 7 Logan became a stranger.

Kate had seen him throwing up an invisible shield of reserve between him and people before. She had seen it at the many social functions they had attended just after the wedding, before she had learned to deflect people away from him herself.

She had never expected to see him slam that shield up in front of her.

Kate crept around the apartment for the next two weeks, knowing it was entirely her fault. She had let him see how much he affected her; the one thing she had promised not to do, both to herself, and -- by implication -- to Logan when she had agreed to marry him.

Now he was the icy stranger she had first met, and hated.

Grimly, Kate set about trying to repair the damage. She kept her contacts with Logan as impersonal as she could manage, and tried to intrude upon his life as little as possible. She became the intimate stranger he had once described and that she thought he wanted.

Logan continued to arrive home each evening, and they continued their custom of predinner drinks. However, the hour became one of the hardest to survive. Kate strove

to emulate the old, casual manner she had used when the cocktail hour had been one of her favourite hours of the day.

Her own reluctance made her wonder why Logan would continue to bother appearing, night after night. Whenever the pressure had been too much before, their conversations had been the first to suffer, but this time Logan continued to arrive home each night, in time to sit on the sofa in front of her, and pour her a glass of wine. His conversation was stilted, and Kate knew he had other things on his mind. His attention would wander, periodically, and his conversation would lapse.

Worst of all, Kate could see faint lines of strain appearing around his mouth and eyes.

His clear, keen features took on some of the characteristics she had noticed just before the onset of the migraine attack, some weeks back.

Kate began to take her mobile phone into lectures, and she kept a second bottle of the tablets in her bag.

The semester study break was drawing near when Kate plucked up enough courage to ask Logan about the holiday he had agreed to take. She tapped on the study door one night after dinner.

Logan was busy -- papers were spread across the desk, and he was tapping at the keyboard of the notebook computer that usually travelled in his briefcase. He glanced up at her, and frowned.

“Kate,” he acknowledged.

Kate leaned against the door, a deliberate imitation of Logan’s own casual pose. “I’m writing to Mary tonight. What date should I tell her we’ll be in Bridgetown?”

Logan’s frown deepened. “Damn,” he said. He rubbed his brow with his long fingers, and shook his head. “It’s impossible. I can’t get away. The holiday’s cancelled.”

“But you need the break,” Kate replied. “You agreed with me. I’ve already told your mother--”

“Damn it, I said no!” Logan snapped.

Kate flinched at the whiplash crack of his voice.

Logan shook his head. “Don’t do that,” he said, his voice flat.

“Do what?” Kate could barely keep the tremble out of hers.

“Kate, don’t do this to me. Don’t look at me with those big blue eyes of yours as if I was Jack the Ripper.” He threw down his pen. “I can’t get away right now. I’m right in the middle of a situation....” He shook his head. “I’ll spare you the details. Just don’t ask me to drop everything now.”

Kate nodded mutely, and turned to go, desperate to escape to the privacy of her bedroom before the tears that had flooded her eyes spilled over and betrayed her to him.

“Kate.”

She stopped, her head averted.

“I’m sorry. You were probably looking forward to the break.”

“Don’t let it concern you,” she said huskily, striving to keep her voice balanced and free of bitterness. “It’s not part of our agreement, after all.”

She fled to her bedroom, and locked herself away.

Hastily she pulled out her old rucksack, and begun stuffing clothes and books into it, while the tears scalded her cheeks. She would leave, get out. Go now, before she betrayed herself completely. She didn’t have to stay here. What point was there? Logan was never going to be anything other than a cold stranger to her. That was why he had married her. So he could remain a stranger. She was a fool for....

Kate sat suddenly on the bed, astonishment taking the strength from her legs.

Deliberately, she completed the mental train of thought. She was a fool for ever hoping that Logan would one day come to love her the way she loved him.

Fool, and worse.

She had fallen in love with another man like Mickey. One who didn’t care for her, that would never share his life with her in any significant way. A man who was just as capable of hurting her and leaving her broken and misused as Mickey had. A violent man.

A good man.

Kate frowned, her self--recriminations damned back momentarily by the tiny voice of reason. She had heard it before, and not listened. Now, her love for Logan made her consider it anew, eager to find any relief from the bleak outlook of her life. She grasped at the thought, for within it lay redemption for her pride. If Logan was a good man, then she wasn’t the fool she thought she was.

Why would her intuition be so positive about Logan in the face of all the evidence against him? Why should she be suddenly sure that she, and even Logan himself, were wrong to condemn him?

Kate put the heavy text book she was holding back on the bedside table. What should she do?

She sat, staring blindly ahead, trying to weigh her decision sensibly.

Any other woman would turn and run, she knew. Any other woman wouldn’t have entertained the notion of marrying him in the first place.

But she had, and now she had to see it through. Logan hadn’t broken any of the terms of his side of the agreement. If Kate remained silent about her feelings for him, she would be maintaining her side of the bargain too. Logan hadn’t said she mustn’t fall for him. He’d simply said he didn’t want a deep relationship. Any relationship.

Aware that her reasoning was logically weak, and designed to justify her desire to stay near to him, Kate set about unpacking her rucksack again.

Once, long ago, she had been a good judge of character. Mickey had changed all that, had taught her how inadequate her intuition was. She had never relied on her instincts about people again. She had always looked of proof, for evidence of their character before making a judgement. Yet here she was, gambling her pride, her self-respect, against great odds, on the little voice of her intuition. All for the sake of love.

The next day was Thursday -- the day of late lectures. Winter had arrived, heralded by thunderstorms and hail, and torrential rain. Although Kate always welcomed the rain, today she hated it, too. She dodged from one lecture to another, her clothes sodden, and her notes and paper damp and fragile.

The weather suited her mood, which was bleak enough that she found no comfort in the poetic appropriateness.

After the third shower had caught her stranded neatly between the two nearest places of cover, Kate gave up. She still had two lectures to go, but she was fed up. Enough was enough.

She was going home.

The decision to skip the last two lectures seemed to lift some of the miasma of gloom from her. It was already quite late, and Logan might be home.

Kate drove carefully through the suddenly chaotic streets. The first rains for the season always did that -- making roads that had been desert-dry and oil-coated all summer treacherously slippery, even for drivers of Logan’s class.

Logan’s Porsche was sitting next to the Jaguar when she pulled her car into the workshop, and it was nearly dry, so Logan had been home for a while. Kate found herself smiling, and shook her head at her foolishness. It seemed that now she had acknowledged how she felt about Logan, she was unable to remain the aloof, vaguely interested stranger. She was going to have to keep a tight rein on her words and actions.

The lounge room was empty and dim from the small amount of daylight battling against the storm and the late hours. For a brief bleak moment, she was disappointed. Then she shook herself. Fool. She crossed the room to the door that lead to her bedroom suite.

“Hello Kate.”

Kate whirled around, feeling her breath catch in her throat, choking back his name on her lips.

Logan sat in the high winged-back chair, which he had turned around to face the picture window, and he appeared to have been sitting watching the storm.

Kate turned to study him properly. He seemed tired. “Hello,” she said cautiously. “I thought you were in the study.”

He shook his head. “You’re wet,” he observed.

Kate waved a hand toward the windows. It was answer enough. The downpour outside was heavy, and enough to obscure most of the river view. She stood, wondering what she should do. On the one hand, she wanted to stay, but on the other hand, her welcome was uncertain.

Logan’s mood was very hard to define. He seemed tired, but quiet. Subdued. He seemed to have been waiting for her.

To test her theory, Kate waved toward her bedroom. “Well, I need a hot shower....” She turned to go to her room.

“Kate, we need to talk.”

Such simple words, and such a simple request, but Kate felt her whole body flinch. The phrase was loaded with the emotions of decades of people who had used it as a way of opening up discussions that usually ended in misery and pain for at least one of the participants. Here and now, it was she who would suffer from the discussion that would follow.

She turned back to face him again. “Now?” she asked.

Logan nodded. “I’ve told Peter to make himself scarce until I call him back again.” He waved toward the sofa. “Please. This is the best time to do this.”

“...to do this.” Kate shivered. His words seemed to say that the talk wasn’t going to be pleasant. Her first reaction had been a true one then.

She sat on the sofa, and slid her clasped hands between her knees, as a way of disguising their trembling. She cleared her throat. “All right. What do you want to talk about?”

Logan leaned forward. “Kate, I think you should leave,” he said softly, his tone mild.

It took her a moment to realise that his proposal was as bad as she had been expecting.

The words were mild compared to their combined meaning.

She sat, trying to think of what she should say, but the only thing that occurred to her was to apologise for getting it wrong, for breaking their agreement by falling in love with him. The silence stretched on.

“It’s not working, is it?” Logan said. “I know you’re unhappy. Christ, I’d have to be blind to miss how miserable you’ve been lately.” He surged to his feet, pushing himself upwards with both hands as if he were impatient, or uneasy. Even before he moved away, Kate knew he would go to the windows.

She watched him cross the room to the glass, trying to assimilate the unexpected turn in the conversation. What could she say? It was true she had been unhappy.

Logan continued speaking, his back to her. “I guessed the terms of our marriage would be difficult for you to live with sometimes, Kate. I was aware that it was a one sided agreement in my favour, but I never intended to make you miserable.”

He was driven by demons of his own. Finally, Kate realised that her feelings were not at issue here, except in that he had noticed them and was taking action. Her silence was goading him into speaking, and trying to justify himself. Why? What had changed?

“If I’m miserable, it’s entirely my own fault. You don’t have to feel responsible about my emotional well-being,” she said, speaking at last.

“But it is me that is hurting you.”

She shook her head. “Not you. It’s never you that hurts me, Logan.”

He looked at her then, and in the slightly better light by the windows she could clearly see the evidence of strain on his features. The skin was finely drawn over the high, hawk-like cheeks, and a small muscle flexed in the corner of his jaw. “So you say, Kate,” he replied. “But I saw your tears last night.”

Kate stood, too. “They were nothing. I had made the mistake of counting chickens too early. It hadn’t occurred to me that you would be too busy to go away. I had been looking forward to going. That’s all it was. Disappointment.”

Logan studied her for a long moment, in complete silence. He seemed completely unmoved by her explanation. It was as if he had already made up his own mind and was patiently waiting for her to finish having her say before going ahead with his original intentions.

“I think it would be best all round if you did leave,” he said finally, “Regardless of what really happened last night. It’s last night and all the other times I’ve see hurt in your face that tell me I’m no good for you. You wouldn’t have been hurt if you hadn’t married me.”

Kate shook her head. “No, I would have been destitute and starving, instead,” she replied. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion.” She was aware of her own heart beat picking up velocity. She felt like she was fighting both Logan and an invisible army at his shoulder -- an army made up of ghosts, past history, and his own

misconceptions about himself and his world. “What is it that you’re really trying to say, Logan? Why do I get the feeling that there’s something you’re not telling me? What made you suddenly decide I had better leave?”

“Last night,” he said simply.

“No -- if it had been last night that had been the last straw you would have done something about it last night. I know you, Logan. You’re always direct when you can be.”

Logan sighed. “You’re right, of course. There is something else, but I wanted to deal with this issue first. You won’t leave, then?”

Kate shook her head. “You’ve done nothing to break your side of the agreement,” she said. “Why should I?”

Logan quickly turned his head away, and Kate fancied she saw guilt and relief write themselves on his face before he turned it from her.

“Even if you leave, I will still support you through university,” he said. “I won’t have you suffer because I’m such a hard man to live with.”

Kate shook her head again. “I won’t leave.”

“Even though I make you unhappy?”

Kate shrugged. “You don’t seem to believe me, so just take my word for it. It’s not you that makes me unhappy, Logan. It’s ... to do with me. I’m sorry that you’ve noticed and worried about it, and I’ll try to keep it to myself from now on. I don’t want you to think that you’re responsible for how I’m feeling. It’s not your fault.”

He turned back to face her, away from the window. “If you are determined to stay, then I’m afraid that I am going to make you unhappy.”

Kate bit her lip. “Why?”

Logan walked back to the wing-backed chair again, and from the small table pulled up alongside, he picked up a manila folder. He put the folder on the coffee table in front of Kate.

“You don’t have to read it right now. I’m only giving it to you to show you that nothing I’m about to say is unfounded. It’s all been checked out by experts. Hell, I sat

up until three a.m. this morning checking it out for myself. This--” and he tapped the folder, “--is what I have been doing for the last three days.”

Kate stared at the folder as if it were a bomb. Inside was something so horrible that Logan had tried to avoid telling her by having her leave.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“It’s evidence that someone has stolen around twenty thousand dollars from one of the trust accounts I manage.”

“Stolen?”

Logan shrugged. “It’s all electronic, so it’s not as if they picked up and walked off with it in a loot-bag. They were clever enough to hide traces of their theft that might show up at first glance. That’s the reason why I’ve spent the last three days on this. I’ve been checking and cross checking, to make sure of my facts before I did anything about it.” He sat on the sofa next to her. “It’s deliberate, wilful theft, Kate.”

Kate didn’t doubt Logan was right. She only had to think of the scene last night -- of Logan in his study, the papers spread all around him, and the computer on. He would have checked his facts very carefully.

“Who was it?” she said softly.

Logan, unexpectedly, picked up her hand. “I’m sorry, Kate. It’s Bethaney.”

His manner softened the blow a little, but it still impacted upon her with some force.

Kate shook her head. “You’re wrong,” she said, knowing that he was right. “Bethaney’s not like that. She would never steal money from anyone. She’s too honourable ... too proud. She’s spent years paying off a tax debt because she refused to fudge her tax return. I don’t believe you.”

Logan remained silent, and the hand that held hers tightened a little -- enough to tell her that he understood why she was denying it. Bethaney was her friend, one of the few that she had found in her new life as Logan’s wife.

Kate let her eyes close briefly. “Damn it,” she said heavily. “Why did she do it?”

“I don’t know why,” Logan said softly. He looked at the ormolu clock on the sideboard.

“We’ll find out in about fifteen minutes,” he said. “I’ve asked Bethaney to come over tonight.”

“Now?” Kate asked, horrified. “What are you going to do?”

“Tell her she’s been caught, and ask her why,” Logan said. “Then have her arrested.”

Kate stared at him, appalled. She pulled her hand out from under his. “Arrested?” she repeated.

If Logan objected to her pulling her hand away, he kept it hidden. He leaned back against the corner of the sofa. “Theft is a crime. She’ll have to face charges.”

“Dear lord, no,” Kate said hurriedly. “Logan, you can’t do that. She’s got three children and a mortgage, and no husband.”

Logan frowned. “Bethaney should have thought of them first, then.”

“But you’ll leave those children without a mother ... they’ll have to go through the welfare system. Bethaney’s parents are elderly and her mother’s in a wheelchair -- they can’t look after them. Beth’s up to her ears in debt....” Kate found herself reaching for Logan’s arm, and didn’t stop herself. She knew it would look like pleading, and didn’t care.

She laid her hand on his forearm where it rested on the back of the sofa. The fine wool material of the jacket sleeve felt warm under her fingertips. “Logan, you can’t do this. You’ll destroy her life, and the lives of her children.”

“You’re not seriously suggesting I do nothing about this, are you?” His gaze was steady, and the blank, unreadable mask was back in place. Logan was wary.

Kate rubbed her temple. “Fire her, if you must, but don’t throw her in jail. Bethaney’s not a criminal.”

Logan threw himself up and onto his feet again, and walked a few steps. “I don’t believe you’re saying this, Kate. She’s your friend. A close friend. Don’t you have any of the feelings of betrayal that I have? She stole money. She betrayed our trust. Both of us.”

“You’ve got millions,” Kate said, trying to keep her voice even. “You’re not going to miss a few thousand.”

Logan came to a stop, and lifted his gaze to her face. “It was your money, Kate. It was your trust account from which she took the money.”

“My....?” Kate realised the pressure of her finger on her temple was starting to hurt and lowered her hand. “I don’t have a trust account.”

Logan gave a gusty sigh. “I was setting it up for you. Bethaney was helping me with the administrative side of it, and that was how she managed to drain off the funds -- with a bit of fancy footwork.”

Kate thought about the ramifications of that fact for a moment, then shrugged. “It doesn’t make any difference,” she said quietly. “Bethaney doesn’t have any money of her own.

She’s living from week to week. If her car breaks down she hasn’t money for repairs. You pay her well, but with three children, all in school, and after-school care fees, she’s working on a very tight budget. She was probably tempted by the nearness of the money in the trust account, and took it on the spur of the moment. I’m quite sure she would never do it again.”

“I can’t believe you’re advocating letting her go scott free, Kate,” Logan said.

“I’m not. I’m saying don’t have her charged with criminal offences,” Kate said evenly.

“I know what it’s like to be dirt poor. It’s just a mistake she made. Once. Don’t ruin her life over it.”

“Damn it, Kate, you went hungry rather than steal anything!”

“She did it for her children. She’s not going to ask them to starve.”

Logan strode to the window, and then back, restless. Kate watched him prowl, knowing he was considering her arguments.

“Forgive her, Logan,” she said quietly.

Slowly, he shook his head, and his eyes glittered as he gazed at her, trying to make her understand. “I can’t. There were other accounts from which she might have taken the money, yet she chose yours. I won’t forgive her for that.”

Kate stood, trying to bring her eyes nearer his level so she might be on equal footing.

There was a hot pricking at the back of her eyes, and she knew it heralded tears. How could she make Logan understand? If he pressed charges he would be saying more about his own character than he would be about Bethaney’s. If he went ahead, it would mean that Kate’s intuition about him was wrong, and that everything people said about him was true. It would be proof that Kate was a fool, and she had indeed fallen in love with a man like Mickey, who took and used, and left a trail of destruction and waste behind them.

Kate tried one last time, using a weapon that she wasn’t sure had any influence over Logan at all. She looked at him and lifted her chin. “Let her go for me, then, Logan.”

Logan turned from his pacing to look at her, and this time she saw surprise.

“Please,” she added softly.

Whatever his answer might have been Kate would never know for at that moment the door bell buzzed, startling them both.

“That’s Bethaney now,” Logan said. He moved to the telephone. “I’ll call Peter in.

Would you get the door?”

Kate stood her ground. She shook her head. “No.”

Logan paused with the phone in his hand, disconcerted. He lifted the phone again, and dialled and listened for a moment.

“Peter. Yes, I’ll need you soon. Thank you.” He hung up, and without speaking to her, skirted around her position at the foot of the coffee table, and went to open the door and bring Bethaney inside.

When he was out of sight, Kate closed her eyes, and rubbed tiredly at her temples. The tears had receded a little, but she could feel the tight restriction at the back of her throat and the ache in her skull that meant they hadn’t withdrawn altogether.

She turned to face the confrontation with Bethaney.

 

 

Chapter 8

Logan showed Bethany through to the lounge, and Kate’s first sight of her friend was an unanticipated one. Bethaney looked as drained and as harried -- almost exhausted, in fact -- as what Kate felt. Life hadn’t been too easy for Bethaney lately.

Bethaney greeted her warmly, and turned to Logan, laying her briefcase on the coffee table. “I’ve got the letters for you,” she said, opening it.

Logan shook his head. “I don’t need them,” he told her. “I never did want them.”

Kate saw Bethaney hesitate, and she caught the quick glance the woman gave Logan from under her lowered brow. Then she straightened up, lowering the lid on the briefcase. “I see,” she said levelly.

Her actions told Kate far more clearly than any words might have done that Bethaney was guilty. She was ready for this, and had been expecting it for some time.

Logan lifted the manila folder from where it sat next to the briefcase and handed it to Bethaney. Surprisingly, his actions were gentle. “It’s all inside,” he said.

Bethaney lifted the cover and looked at the top sheet, then shut it and put the folder down again. She looked at Logan. “If it’s of any consolation, I’ve been living in hell for the last few weeks. If I’d known how to go about putting the damned money back without someone tripping over it and tracing it back to me, I would have. I’ve been trying to figure it out -- it was sheer dumb luck that I managed to remove it without trace the first time around.”

“Not that lucky,” Logan said.

Bethaney shook her head. “I’m sorry, Logan. I know that doesn’t help, but I am. I’ve got the money sitting in a special account. I haven’t touched it. You can have it back in whatever way you want.”

“Why, Beth?” Kate asked, speaking to her for the first time since she had arrived. “Why did you do it?”

Bethaney looked at her. “Why?” She almost laughed. “Because the money was there, and I needed it. Because Logan has plenty and more besides. Because you don’t care for money, and never have, and would probably never miss it, even if you’d known about the trust account -- all you care about is Logan.”

Kate shot a quick glance at Logan to see how he greeted this observation. His gaze remained steady, trained upon Bethaney. Of course, Kate reminded herself, part of her

role had been to play the besotted wife. Logan would see Bethaney’s observation as nothing more than proof that Kate had fulfilled her allotted role.

Bethaney was still speaking. “I took the money because my ex-husband is taking me to court to fight for custody of my children, and if I don’t have the very best of legal representation he’s going to take them off me.” She began to cry -- silent tears cascading down her crumpled face.

Kate pressed her fingers to her temple. She looked at Logan, where he stood in front of Bethaney. His expression was neutral, but Kate saw the tell--tale ripple of his jaw. He crossed his arms.

“You betrayed my trust, Bethaney. You held a position of responsibility, and you have used it to further your own ends.”

Bethaney nodded, and wiped her eyes. “Yes, I know.” Her voice was a harsh whisper.

“I know all that. It doesn’t matter what you say or what you call me, Logan, I’ve already said it a thousand times already, and called myself names far worse than you could invoke. There’s no excuse.”

Behind Bethaney, Peter emerged silently into the room, taking up a position two feet away from her elbow. Kate knew that it was the classic bodyguard’s close surveillance position.

Peter was here to make sure Bethaney remained in the room.

Logan nodded, and turned toward the phone. He was going to call the police, now, Kate realised. She heard Bethaney sniff back her tears again, and from the corner of her eye she saw the woman reach into her pocket and withdraw a handkerchief. Kate looked back at her.

Bethaney looked resigned, almost stoical. She knew what Logan was in the process of doing, too.

Kate moved closer to Logan, so she could keep her voice low. “Logan, she’s never going to do something like this again. Look at her. She did it for her children, just as I thought. Please reconsider.”

Logan glanced at Bethaney before bringing his gaze to settle on Kate. “You don’t know that,” he said softly. “She’s done it once already. What if her children are under

threat again sometime in the future? You can’t guarantee that she won’t make the same choice again.”

Kate stepped closer to him. She lowered her voice even more, aware of Bethaney’s scrutiny. The other woman would know that Kate was pleading her case, and Kate didn’t want her to hear what she had to say to Logan. It was between Logan and herself. “Logan, if you had children, you would make the same choice. How can you penalise Bethaney for doing exactly what you would do in similar circumstances? I know you would have done the same thing, and you know that too, don’t you?”

Kate knew she had touched a chord in him, for his hesitation was visible. She could almost feel the dilemma slow his movements down, like brakes on the cogs of his mind. He turned his back on Bethaney, and stood with his head down, considering.

Kate felt her breath catch, and her pulse stop. Please, let him show mercy and understanding, her mind whispered.

Logan’s head came up, and he looked into her eyes. “We never will know what I might have done, do we?” he said softly. “I can’t judge Bethaney by my own standards. If everyone were to do that, anarchy would reign. She has to be judged by the law.” He reached for the telephone.

Kate felt the tears that had been threatening pool in her eyes, half blinding her. She had failed. And Logan had failed her.

Almost groping, she reached out for his arm, and felt the soft material under her fingers.

“Please, Logan,” she whispered, the tears making her voice tremble. It was the second time she had pleaded. She saw his gaze swivel to look at her once more, as he stood with the phone to his ear, waiting for an answer.

The tears spilled down her cheeks, clearing her vision. Kate didn’t wipe them away.

“Please,” she repeated softly. She didn’t add the final phrase; Do it for me. She knew she had already lost, and beggaring herself a twice would be a waste of time.

Logan looked back at Bethaney, standing stock-still at the foot of the coffee table. She might well have been waiting for her own execution, for an air of sad acceptance had settled around her. Peter stood stoically next to her.

Logan turned back to look at Kate. She remained silent. She had dealt her last card.

There was nothing else she could say. But suddenly her heart began beating -- hard fast beats that hurt, and pushed hot blood through her at a throbbing pace. Logan was hovering -skewered on the horns of a painful dilemma. The evidence was clear -- his hesitation, and the ripple of his jaw. He was staring into her face, as if he could find the answer to his dilemma there, his gaze roaming around her features, taking stock.

Abruptly, he closed his eyes, lifting his chin a little. He slammed the phone back down onto the base, and whirled around to snarl; “Get out of here.”

Bethaney’s face grew puzzled. “What?”

Logan pushed his fingers impatiently through his hair. “You’re fired, Bethaney. Get out of my sight. I don’t ever want to see you again. Peter, get her out of here.”

Bethaney’s face cleared, and happiness flooded it. Kate could feel the same lightening of spirit, as if a huge weight had shifted from her shoulders and the sun had suddenly come out from behind thick black thunderclouds.

Bethaney turned, and stumbled away, Peter’s hand on her elbow.

Logan turned back to Kate. “I hope that pleases you--” he began. Kate didn’t let him finish. Her joy was too great to contain while Logan tried to justify his decision. She needed to show him what she was feeling, and words would take too long and would never reach the point.

Kate propelled herself against him, throwing her arms around his neck, and holding onto him tightly. “Oh, Logan, I knew you would make the right decision. I knew you were a good man.

I’m so happy you let her go.”

Her impact against him brought his arms around her, as he tried to steady them both, and keep them upright. Kate could feel how startled he was by the catch of his breath, but she didn’t care. She lifted her chin to look up at him, letting her jubilation show. She wanted to let him know how pleased she was. He deserved it.

“Can’t you feel how right it is? Don’t you feel good about yourself now?” Kate asked him.

Logan’s face was guarded, as he stared down into her eyes, but she could feel the growing wonder in him. He slowly shook his head, disbelief warring with old instincts. “Yes, I do....” he said hesitantly.

Kate laughed, a carefree, joyous sound. She tried to give him a little shake, but couldn’t move his rock-solid shoulders. “Oh, Logan, you’ve done a wonderful thing. I’m so glad.”

Forgetting, she reached up and kissed him fully on the lips, trying to communicate all the bubbling good humour in her soul at that moment.

And her kiss was answered. After a fractional pause, she felt Logan’s lips come alive, and abruptly it was she who was being kissed. The elation in her fizzed, and became warmer, hotter. It fermented under the power of the kiss into a languorous, heady syrup that intoxicated her mind and blunted all her senses save taste and touch. She let her arms around him loosen.

Her fingers felt hot skin beneath them and followed the trail upwards, until they buried themselves in silky thick hair.

Unconsciously, she sighed under his lips. The small sound seemed to break the spell of the moment, for she felt his hands on her shoulders, steadily pushing her away.

Kate opened her eyes, and tried to bring her brain back on-line again. “Logan ...” She had intended to apologise, but bit the words back. She wasn’t sorry at all. Her lips were tingling with the after-effects of the kiss. She licked them.

Logan groaned, and shut his eyes. “Damn it, Kate, you’ve just had a perfect demonstration of how humanly fallible I am. Don’t test me again.”

Again? Kate frowned. “Then ... you do want me? I didn’t know.”

“Want?” Logan shook his head. “Why do you think I asked you to leave, Kate? I’ve done nothing but want you, for .... forever.” He sighed. “I’m a fool,” he said. “I thought I could live by the terms of our agreement. I had no idea how hard it would be.” Gently, he let her go, and stepped away.

“I suppose two people, under the same roof, living in close proximity, could aggravate physical needs....” Kate said slowly, choosing her words with care. She was walking on a minefield now.

Logan shook his head. “It’s not just physical need, Kate.” It was an impatient dismissal of her idea. He had obviously considered and rejected this idea before.

“You don’t know that. Perhaps with another woman -- someone very discreet, who you know wasn’t interested in anything other than a purely physical short--term

relationship....” Kate hesitated. It wasn’t as if she were a prude, but she had never had as intimate a conversation as this with Logan before, and she was trying to choose delicate words.

Logan laughed shortly and bitterly. “Do you think I haven’t already tried?”

Kate could feel the shock loosening all the muscles in her face, making her eyes and mouth round with surprise. He had tried. What a wealth of information that word held. He had tried and failed. He wanted her, and her alone. No-one else would do.

Logan’s face reflected grim humour at her reaction. “As I said, I’m a fool. I’m sorry to inflict you with that unsavoury fact, Kate, but I felt you deserved an explanation for what happened just then.” He shrugged. “It might even help you understand my mood over the last few weeks.”

It did. It told her that Logan had been remote and reserved with her because he was trying to contain his own needs. It had nothing to do with how she felt about him. He had been so busy dealing with his feelings that he had utterly overlooked all the signs and slips she had made that would have shown him that her transgression was far worse than his.

They had both travelled far from the original intentions of their marriage. It was time to take stock.

Kate moved to face him once more. “We’re both fools, Logan.” She took a deep breath, and reached up to smooth her fingers across his temple, and up into his hair. “Why not indulge our foolishness?”

His hand captured her wrist, the fingers iron bands. He pulled her hand away. “Don’t, Kate. You don’t want to get involved with me.”

“Why not?” she asked reasonably.

“I’m ... I’ll end up hurting you.”

She shook her head. “I don’t believe that for a moment, not after what has just happened.”

“You know about Emma and Malcolm Yates. I hurt people who get involved in my life - Emma, my mother, my father -- indirectly, as a result of...my temper. I’ll do the same to you.”

The reminder cost him some effort to voice. She could hear the reluctance in every syllable. He was being truthful now, in a way he had never been with her before. This was a truth that tapped the core of his being. Kate recognised the courage such honesty required. It merely confirmed her decision. “I tried to tell you to leave -- I gave you the option,” he added.

“I know,” she said softly. “But that was in the past. I only know the man standing in front of me now. I only want the man standing in front of me now.” She kissed him, her lips lingering on his. Her pulse grew thready. After such an abstinence as she had forced herself to endure, the smallest stimulus was enough to ruin her equilibrium.

The iron fingers around her wrist grew tighter. She could feel his whole body tighten, and stiffen.

“Kate....” he muttered, his voice rumbling. It was a warning, and also a plea. Kate knew he was asking her to apply the control that he was fast loosing. The thought that he was close to the edges of restraint made her breath escape in a hurried rush. The idea of Logan, out of control, wanting her...taking her….

Deep in the pit of her stomach, she felt something give, and slowly roll over, making her body ache with the powerful need to have Logan make love to her. Deliberately, Kate pressed herself against his unyielding body, and explored his unresponsive lips with her mouth and tongue, calling up and using the dusty, inadequate skills she had acquired, aeons ago, to try and make Logan want her beyond the limits of his restraint.

“Don’t do this,” he warned, his lips moving against hers.

Kate drew back enough to be able to look him in the eye. “I have to,” she said. “There is a picture in my mind -- I’ve seen it many times before. I see you, above me, holding me in your arms, and I can feel your body working with mine....”

She saw Logan’s pupils dilate wide in response to the image her words provoked. He swallowed.

“You’ve already listened to what your mind and body have been trying to tell you once tonight, Logan,” Kate continued. “You know how it feels. Listen to your soul again. How can doing what feels right be so wrong?”

He shook his head.

Kate reached up to kiss him again, and slid her free hand under the lapels of his jacket, feeling the silky material of his shirt under her fingers, and beneath it, the hot

hard wall of his chest, and the slight yield of skin and muscles. She slipped a button undone, and slid her fingers inside the shirt, feeling the satiny smoothness of his chest, the tips of her fingers brushing through downy, fine hair.

With a groan torn from deep inside him, Logan signalled the end of his restraint. His body came alive beneath her fingers, and her wrist was loosened. She was crushed against him as his arms came around her, and she welcomed the pain, for it meant that Logan was responding to her.

His lips came hard against hers, and his tongue probed her mouth. One hand buried itself in her hair, and the fingers spread against her head, holding her steady so that he might explore more carefully.

Pressed tight against him, Kate could feel Logan’s whole body trembling with the flow of undammed need. She guessed that he was fighting the desire to hurry, for his lips were moving with a slow, infinitely arousing motion against hers.

Kate let herself sink into the maelstrom of need within herself, knowing that there was no need to bank it, or disguise it, now. The relief added to the potent brew.

Logan tore his mouth away from hers with a gasp, and drew in a ragged breath. He held her face in his hands, and looked into her eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you....”

“You won’t.” Her voice was just as unsteady as his.

“I might,” he replied. “It’s been a long while -- too long.”

In answer, Kate pulled the jacket off his shoulders, and threw it onto the sofa behind her.

She slowly began undoing the remaining buttons on his shirt. “I’m not asking you to wait,” she said softly.

His hand came down on her wrist again, and he lifted her hand away from the shirt.

“Come,” he said, his voice low.

Gently she was tugged into following him. He drew her past the study door, and opened the door into his bedroom suite. It was dark, the curtains shut tight against the weather. He led her gently forward.

There was a click and the small, dim light next to the bed came on. Logan turned to face her. His face in the dim light was shadowed and difficult to read, but his hands as they drew her closer were gentle. “Let’s get these wet clothes off you,” he said.

Kate had forgotten her physical state in the ebb and flow of emotions that had occupied her attention for the last hour or so. She was still dressed in her student disguise, and Logan was busy dealing with the buttons on her waist coat. His hands were trembling.

Kate caught them in her own. “Let me,” she said. “I can do it faster.”

He let his hands drop away, and stood still. Kate, moving faster than Logan would have managed, yet still at a dignified pace, gracefully divested herself of her layers of clothes. She knew Logan was watching every movement with hawk-like observation, riding the last shreds of his control so he would not reach out for her, or rush her. She could sense the fine edge of recklessness in him. She wanted to see past it. She wanted to see the side of Logan that he had always hidden from her. She wanted to see Logan responding without control -- she wanted him responding truthfully.

When at last she was naked, she paused. She reached for the open edges of Logan’s shirt.

“Now your turn,” she whispered.

His eyes half closed. “I can be driven beyond any consideration and finesse,” he warned.

Kate swallowed on a throat suddenly gone dry. “Good.” She ran her hands along the muscled width of his shoulders, lifting the shirt away, and letting it slide off him. “I want you, not some sort of sex machine.”

She rested her hands against the flat pillow of muscles on his chest for a moment, feeling the warmth and ripple of the muscles as they involuntarily flexed at her touch. She lowered her hands to the belt of his trousers, and paused.

Logan gave a growl of frustration, and his hands circled her waist, smoothing their way up the skin of her midriff. “Enough,” he gasped.

Kate shook her head. “Not yet,” she said.

“Stop teasing.”

“I’m baiting, not teasing,” she replied. “I want to see the real Logan.”

“Then you shall have him,” he replied. He lifted her and placed her on the bed, and as she lay and watched, he shed his clothes. Logan’s body was a splendid example of lean, athletic symmetry, usually hidden behind the disguising lines of business suits. Kate knew he was broad shouldered, and that he was strong. Until the moment he took off his clothes, she’d never suspected that he might have such an impressive musculature. The slim waist framed an abdomen ridged with muscle, which undulated down to the hips. Long, powerful thighs moved sleekly beneath.

Kate found herself sighing over his perfection.

Logan lay down next to her, on his side, facing her. He drew her thigh to rest over his, high up near the hip. It brought her almost in contact with him, her torso a mere inch from his.

Her full breasts, with their taut, excited nipples, grazed his skin, sending ripples and flares of excitement through her.

His hand glided up her thigh, following her flank, until it swooped up her midriff, and cupped the swell of her breast. The thumb rubbed her nipple, making Kate groan. Deliberately, she tightened her thigh, drawing herself against him. She could feel the hot evidence of his arousal between them, making the empty core of her ache.

Logan closed his eyes, and swallowed.

“Let go,” she whispered.

And he did. Grasping her thigh, he rolled over her, bringing her with him, to face him.

She looked up into his face. This was the face she had seen in her dreams. The protective shield was gone, and she could see inside.

He drove into her, dispelling the ache of emptiness, and Kate could feel herself tightening up around him. She realised that she felt the need to hurry as much as he. Logan gathered her against him, and she could feel the frenetic thud of his heart.

Kate found herself matching his rhythm, driven by her own needs. She was swooped up into the building waves of arousal, caught in the swell and towed along to the distant crest.

Logan strove along with her, and as she reached the short, exquisite peak, she felt his own powerful climax shudder against her.

For long moments they lay still, together, listening to their hearts subside. Logan’s hand smoothed its way up and down her long flank.

“I was a fool to think I could hold you at bay forever,” Logan said quietly.

“Maybe you wanted it this way all along,” she suggested.

She could feel his subterranean chuckle. “At times it seemed like I did.” He lifted his head to look at her. “And still do,” he added, with a smile.

“What about our agreement now?” Kate asked.

He leaned down to taste the skin at her shoulder. “God knows. Let’s worry about that later.”

“Later?”

His lips trailed a hot path down the slope of her breast and hovered above the tight dark point. Kate could feel herself arching, her hips tilting, as the embers within stirred.

“Later,” he promised, his breath fanning her skin.

Kate let her eyes close, as his mouth captured the sensitive peak.

Three days later, the conversation was still tabled. Neither Logan nor Kate had stirred from the apartment. Logan cancelled his appointments, all of them, by phone and with no excuses, before returning to the bed to take Kate in his arms once more.

It seemed as if they would never be able to satiated themselves. After the first, frantic, need-fulfilling occasion, Logan became a tender, infinitely unselfish lover, responding to her needs, both spoken and inferred, and Kate found herself caught up in a sensual spell that grew stronger as time went on, rather than weakening. He could read her body, better than she, and knew exactly what she needed and complied with those needs.

Her education, soured and halted by Mickey’s insensitive handling, leapt forward, and Kate was surprised to find that she had a strong sensual nature. It took Logan to bring that dormant nature out, and teach her about her own potentiality.

Kate taught Logan about laughter. It was a potent weapon against the black Celtic temperament he had inherited. Kate was familiar with Logan’s macabre sense of humour, which seemed to reflect his outlook on life. Now she showed him the true meaning of humour, and when she found she could reduce him to a shaking mass of laughter, she understood a fundamental lesson about herself, too. Sometimes simple gifts were the most profound.

In the velvet blackness of night when they lay entwined, not asleep, but lingering in the half-aware, subliminally stimulated state of bliss, Logan revealed how driven he had been.

His voice issued softly by her ear, his breath warm on her cheek. “When we danced....” he groaned. “All those parties and dances, and each and every one of them was torture. The ultimate punishment for an agreement made with the devil.”

Kate remembered his silent lack of co-operation in maintaining the facade of a romantic couple of newly-weds when they had danced. Now she understood why. It seemed Logan’s icy control wasn’t as flawless as she had thought.

Later, he wondered aloud. “Why did she take it, do you think?”

“Bethaney?” Kate clarified.

“Yes. I remember all the reasons she gave, but why did she take the money rather than not take it? What tipped the balance for her, compared to other people who might not take the money?”

Kate traced the sharp corner of his jaw with her finger. “Were you ever kind to her, Logan?”

“Like you were kind to her?” he replied. “It was your money she took.”

“If she had asked me I would have given it to her, anyway. Interest free. Unconditional.

Anything to help her keep her children.”

“Unconditional?” Logan studied her. “Even I didn’t give you that.”

She smiled. “But the conditions you demanded have been thrown out of court, anyway.”

“You seem to have an infinite capacity to forgive, Kate. One day you’ll get your fingers burnt.”

“I already have,” she said softly.

“Yet you still do it. Why? It only took me one lesson to learn to get my licks in first.”

He turned his head to taste the skin of her palm, and the conversation was lost.

There were many words spoken in those three days, but none of them touched upon love.

Kate kept a careful guard on her tongue, for no matter how endearing some of Logan’s compliments and praises were, none of them hinted at anything like love in his attitude.

After the third day, they were forced out into the world of reality by the pressure of every day concerns. Kate had missed multiple lectures, and Logan was being sought by a number of associates and employees.

They ate breakfast together, which was another first in their lives. Kate wore Logan’s warm dressing gown, for her day didn’t properly start for a few hours. Logan was already dressed in a business suit, with a mobile phone at his fingertips. He was preoccupied, sorting priorities as he ate. Peter deftly kept the coffee and the breakfast plates out of Logan’s way as he flipped papers about the table.

When Logan went to leave for the office, he came around the table and picked Kate up by the waist, and sat her on the table top next to her plate. He pushed the dressing gown aside and ran his hand along the length of her thigh he had exposed, sliding his thighs between her knees.

A shiver of delight ran through her.

“I have to go. I wish it were otherwise,” he said.

“So do I,” Kate said truthfully.

“I’ll be back.” He looked around to see if Peter was in sight, then kissed her. His hand slid inside the dressing gown to cup her breast, the thumb rubbing her nipple, making her ache with a deep sweet/sour warmth. She gasped under his mouth, and he pulled away, smiling. “As early as I can manage,” he promised.

Kate adjusted the dressing gown as he stepped away, and watched him go, sliding off the table again. The day seemed to stretch indeterminably ahead of her.

By eight o’clock Logan had still not returned home. Kate stayed in the study, trying to fool herself that she was being productive, but between looking at the clock and staring into mid-air, she achieved very little.

She was in a rare mood of utter content and almost perfect happiness, and her dry text books held no charm for her at all.

She was toting up her assets. She was deeply in love with Logan, and now she no longer had to deny the physical need to hold and touch him because he wanted and welcomed it too.

She was financially secure, and her career was moving along steadily. She was healthy, glowing with the joy of living, and she had the rest of her life to look forward to.

The only fly in the ointment was the mystery regarding Logan’s feelings. The conversation regarding their marriage had been left in favour of more pleasurable and immediate activities, and now she was left wondering what it was that Logan would say when the conversation was opened.

Where were they going to go from here?

Kate was naturally optimistic. It was what allowed her to continue to forgive despite set backs, and now that optimism asserted itself again. Kate was content to let things run as they were for now, until Logan did open the conversation regarding their future.

So instead of studying, she spent her time taking stock of her happiness, and musing over the unexpected turn of events in her life.

Logan appeared in her doorway around nine o’clock, leaning casually against the frame, his arms crossed.

“Kate.”

It was a dry greeting, but his smile made up for it.

Kate scrambled up off her chair and raced around to the door. She threw her arms around his neck, and felt herself being picked up by the waist. She kissed his cheek and then his lips, and his arms tightened around her.

“Sorry I’m so late,” he murmured against her cheek. “Every man and his dog wanted to talk to me, it seems.”

“You’re home now,” she replied.

“Yes, and about four hours after I wanted to be,” he told her. He began walking towards his bedroom, carrying her. “What a waste of a day. I could barely concentrate on anything. I kept thinking of you.”

Kate felt her heart tip over and send a cascade of hot excitement through her. “You did?” she asked, trying to keep her voice more or less casual.

Logan kicked open the door of his bedroom, and carried her in, and placed her on the bed. “Constantly. I kept thinking of all the things I would do to you when I got home.” He smiled. “And here I am.”

Kate lifted up her arms. “Come here.”

Kate was woken by a soft tapping on the door. She blinked to clear her eyes of sleep, and glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was just past midnight.

The tapping sounded again. “Mr. Logan!” came a quiet call.

Peter.

Kate rested her hand on Logan’s shoulder where it lay across her own, and shook gently.

“I’m awake,” Logan said softly.

“It’s Peter. Something must be wrong to drag him out of bed at this time of night.”

Soundlessly, Logan rose from the bed and in the half-moon light streaming through the window, Kate watched him slide on jeans and fasten them, appreciating the display. She puzzled over what Peter might want. Given the time of night, it must be urgent and important.

As Logan threw on the shirt he had discarded a few hours before, she pushed herself out of bed and slid into Logan’s dressing gown, and belted it tightly around her. She

needed to find out when Logan did what it was that had Peter tapping on Logan’s door.

Peter was muffled to the neck in a dressing gown himself, a heavily quilted garment designed to keep in maximum warmth, for Peter had never acclimatised to Perth’s winters after growing up in Hong Kong. He stood in the dim light of the hallway, which to Kate seemed bright after the darkness of the bedroom. His hair was tousled from sleep.

“There are some policemen to see you, Mr. Logan,” Peter said, addressing Logan where he stood behind Kate’s shoulder.

Kate felt Logan’s hand on her shoulder. “You should go back to bed,” he said softly.

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t sleep, anyway.”

Logan brushed past her. “They’re in the lounge?” he asked Peter.

Peter turned and led them into the lounge room.

Standing around the sofas, looking wet and out of sorts, stood four men. Two were uniformed policemen. The others Kate assumed were detectives. All turned to look at them as they appeared, and their expressions were comfortless. Kate shivered. Bad news indeed, she thought.

“Mr. North, we’re sorry to pull you out of bed at this time of night, but the matter is rather urgent.” The elder of the two detectives spoke.

Logan nodded. “Of course.”

“I’m Detective Sergeant Gates, and this is Detective Smith.” Gates indicated the other detective. He didn’t introduce the two uniformed policemen.

“What’s the problem?” Logan asked.

“Could you tell me where you were at around 7.45 this evening, Mr North?”

Kate felt herself go cold. They wanted his alibi? Why?

Logan perched himself on the arm of the sofa. “Sit down,” he told them. He crossed him arms. “I suppose, since I didn’t get home from the office until just before nine, I must have been sitting behind my desk.”

All four faces were watching him, and none of them were giving so much as a hint as to what his answer meant to them. Kate found herself clutching her elbows inside the voluptuous sleeves of the dressing gown. It was an old mannerism she thought she had lost when she had finally got over Mickey. It was a mannerism she had once used to disguise her fear. She was very afraid, now.

“Did anyone see you there after, say, 6.15?” the same man asked.

“No -- everyone went home on time. I was alone from 5.30 onwards.” Logan didn’t frown but Kate knew he was puzzled, and a little concerned. “What is this about?” he asked.

Gates cleared his throat. “At around 7.45 this evening, Bethaney Christine Adams was discovered outside her home in Armadale, severely beaten. She is in Royal Perth Hospital, in a coma, and the doctors don’t know if she will regain consciousness.”

Kate felt herself gasp, and tried to catch it back, to remain silent and out of the way.

Bethaney had been beaten. Beaten. Just as Malcolm Yates had been beaten, not long after he had wronged someone important in Logan North’s life.

Logan sat very still for a moment, then shut his eyes, as if he were in pain. His chest lifted as he took a heavy breath. “Dear god,” he breathed.

“Her children told us you visited her late this afternoon, Mr. North, and that the visit wasn’t an amiable one,” Gates added.

This time, Kate’s cry was audible. It was a wordless expression of the horror, shock and pain suddenly delivered upon her by Gate’s announcement. Abruptly all the doubts and niggling worries she thought she had solved regarding Logan came rolling back over her, picking her up and tumbling her along in their wake.

“Kate!” Logan leapt to his feet, and strode across to her. “Kate, I didn’t do this....” He shook his head. “I didn’t do it,” he repeated with quiet emphasis. “I don’t care what the world thinks, but you must believe me.” He cupped her cheek with his hand, the long fingers tangling in her hair. His brow was creased, and the eyes were glittering with the fierce need to make her understand. “I didn’t do it,” he repeated again.

Kate swallowed dryly. “You went and saw her?”

He closed his eyes, briefly. “Yes, but only to sort out all the issues left over from the other night. She got angry, Kate. Not me.”

“Mr North, in light of your history, I mean concerning Malcolm Yates, we’re going to have to ask you to come down to the city station for a full interview.”

Logan swivelled to look at them. “You’re arresting me?” he asked. Kate could hear the disbelief in his voice, although she doubted any of the other people in the room could. When had she become so good at reading Logan?

The two uniformed policemen moved casually around to flank the detective. It was subtle, but unmistakable. They were here to make sure Logan went with the detectives, one way or another.

“We can make it official if you want,” Gates replied smoothly.

Logan expelled a short sharp breath. He turned back to face Kate. “Kate, you have to believe me.” His hand on her cheek was trembling. “I don’t stand a chance, not with the mystery surrounding Malcolm Yates, but I’ll live with it, with anything, if I know that you believe me.”

Kate bit her lip. “Oh, Logan,” she breathed. “I used to think I was good at understanding people, before Mickey ruined my life. In the last three days, you gave me back that confidence once more. But now, right now, I... just don’t know.” She could feel her voice beginning to grow rough through working past the constrictions of her taut muscles and tendons. “I want to believe you,” she added. “I would give anything to be able to say that I do.”

The icy stranger’s mask slipped across Logan’s features. As he withdrew from her, Kate felt tears gather at the back of her throat. She had just hurt him in a way she had never anticipated she would. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Logan nodded.

Kate saw a hand come down upon his shoulder, not roughly, but firm, nevertheless.

Logan turned his head a fraction. “One moment,” he said.

“One,” Gates agreed.

Logan looked back at her. “I told you, didn’t I, that getting involved with me would hurt you in the end,” he said softly. He sighed. “I just wish we’d ... had more time.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek, and Kate closed her eyes and opened up her other senses to their fullest.

The gentle caress scorched her skin and branded her soul, and the air that rushed in to take the place of his lips as he pulled away was arctic cold in comparison.

Kate felt a sob rise up within her, and held it back with a strength of will she didn’t know she had, but she was unable to prevent herself from reaching out for him. She caught a fold of his shirt in her hand, and Logan paused in the act of turning away to go with Gates.

Kate just looked at him. Words had flown from her mind. It would take too long to say it all, and she didn’t want all these people to hear. What would she say, anyway? There was so much ... her hurt, her disappointment, her love. The small seedling of regained confidence that had just been uprooted and was slowly withering inside of her. She couldn’t voice any of it.

Logan covered her hand with his. “I’ll be back when they’ve finished with me,” he said.

She nodded. He made it sound like he would be gone for an hour or so, but she knew it would be longer. Much longer.

 

 

Chapter 9 Kate saw the sun rise the next morning, from the same chair she had fallen into when everyone but Peter had left the apartment. She hadn’t moved since then.

Peter moved soundlessly about the apartment, bringing her a blanket to cover herself, lighting the gas heater to warm the room. When the sky began to pale around the edges and the scene outside the window took on depth and definition, he reappeared again, dressed and immaculate as always, to cook a breakfast and take care of her.

Kate felt physically ill. She could no more swallow food than she could fly. When she turned her head to look at Peter and tell him to take the food away, she could feel her neck creak with the unaccustomed movement.

Peter hovered. Kate knew he was worried about her, but couldn’t bring herself to reassure him that she was all right. Her energy was completely dissipated.

When the ormolu clock struck the half hour after seven, Kate forced herself to stir. There were things to be done. The most important task was to go to the police station and see if they were going to release Logan or not, and find out what she must do next. She had to inform his office that he would be away for a while, and try to take over Bethaney’s role.

She wanted to talk to Logan, too. If they weren’t going to release him, there were things she needed to know to keep his world ticking along smoothly.

These were all tasks a devoted wife would perform. She owed him nothing less than that.

For now she would concentrate on only those tasks.

When she rose to her feet, she found herself stiff and aching all over. Her joints seemed frozen from having remained locked in position for so many hours.

Peter appeared magically by her side, and offered a steadying hand. “You want some breakfast now, Miss Kate?” he asked.

“No, thank you, Peter. I have to get moving. I want to be gone from here within the hour.”

Peter’s face took on a look of dismay that was almost comical in its magnitude. “You’re not going to leave him, are you Miss Kate? Not now, not on top of all this?”

Kate stared at the little man, the trace of humour vanishing. The thought of leaving hadn’t entered her mind. How could she possibly leave? Until Logan was convicted of the crime there was always the chance that he was innocent, and she was pinning her entire future on his innocence. She couldn’t leave until she knew, one way or the other.

“I’m not leaving, Peter. I’m going down to the police station to see what I can do, but I’m coming back home.”

His relief was palpable. “I’m pleased that you aren’t,” he said mildly, with a shy smile.

“Mr. Logan would be devastated if you left, after all he has done to acquire--” Peter chopped his words short, and took a step backwards.

Warning bells and alarms sounded in Kate’s mind. “What were you going to say?” she asked quietly. “Finish it, Peter.”

He shook his head, looking guilty and mulish. Kate recognised the expression. He was closing up, buttoning his lip. She had got around him once before using Logan against him. She fell back on the tactic now. “There’s a good chance I will be able to see Logan this morning,

Peter. Shall I ask him about it? Or will you save him the bother of having to explain to me himself? What is it that you’re not telling me?”

Peter shook his head, and this time she could see fear in him.

Kate bit her lip. “Tell me,” she demanded. She found her hands were clasping her elbows, gripping tight.

Again, he shook his head. “I can’t Miss Kate. Mr Logan would be angry....”

She studied him. “Peter, you know that I’m as loyal to Logan as you are. I would never do anything to deliberately hurt him. I ...” She hesitated, then plunged ahead anyway. “I love him. If there is something I don’t know, you should tell me. How can I help Logan if you are holding back information? How can I decide what is the best thing to do?”

“You love him?” Peter repeated, sounding astonished.

Kate grimaced. “Yes, but you mustn’t tell him that. If I promise not to tell him I know what you are about to tell me, then you must promise not to tell him that I love him. Will you do that, Peter?”

He seemed to hesitated for a long moment. Then he sighed. “If you love him, then I must tell you,” he said. “About your car. And the banks.”

Kate nodded. “Go on. What about my car?”

“He knew about the accident before you told him, Miss Kate. I heard him making the arrangements with the banks. He called in favours all day. He knows the bank managers, you understand? He channels many thousands of dollars through their banks. After he had talked to them they refused to give you the money to fix your car.”

Kate found her fingertips pressing tightly against her temple, massaging the hard throbbing there. Her heart was clamped by cold fingers of horror. “That’s it?” she whispered.

“Is that all of it, Peter?”

He shook his head. “He talked to the owner of the Volvo, and to your employer. I don’t know what he spoke about. I only know he called them. Not long after that, you came to live here.”

Kate tried to clear her throat, but the hard lump was too large, too painful, to move.

Logan had been behind it all. She didn’t doubt that he had the financial clout to influence people like that, and she had endless evidence that he had the appropriate ethics necessary to carry out such a scam. Why, oh why had she ever thought Logan wasn’t the infamous scoundrel everyone secretly believed him to be? Had she been so blinded by love she was willing to ignore such wholesale verification?

Slowly she sank back down into the chair again.

Why? Why had he done it? Because she had refused his first tentative request to see her again? Because she hadn’t fallen heavily for his charm and power?

It didn’t matter. Whatever the reason, Logan had engineered their entire relationship with evil genius, and Kate refused to be a part of it any longer. Moving jerkily, she rose to her feet again, and walked towards her bedroom.

“Miss Kate?” Peter queried softly.

“I’m going to pack,” she said, through lips that felt rubbery and uncooperative. “You ring for a taxi for me.”

“Miss Kate!” Peter squeaked, alarmed. “You can’t leave!”

“I can, Peter.” She turned to look at him, trying to make her expression kind. “Surely you can see that I must? You said it yourself -- because I love him, I had to know. It wasn’t fair to let me continue to live here without knowing that.”

“But Mr. Logan--”

“He will manage to survive without me,” Kate said smoothly. Her voice sounded remote, and ethereal. “He’s managed the rest of his life quite nicely, after all.”

Peter was hovering near the front door of the apartment when Kate emerged fifteen minutes later, her old backpack over her shoulder. She had taken nothing she hadn’t brought with her when she had first shifted in. What little remained in the apartment that was still hers she would collect later. Somehow.

“Is the taxi here yet?” she asked Peter.

He shook his head. “I will drive you, Miss Kate. I will take you where you want to go, and deliver you safely. Mr Logan would want that.”

“Would he?” Kate felt her brow lift quizzically. “Well, thank you, Peter. It’s a kind gesture.”

“Please, I want to,” he insisted.

She sighed. Perhaps he thought he could absolve himself of some of the blame if he did this. “All right,” she said easily. “Could you take me to Royal Perth Hospital?”

“The ... hospital?” he said.

“I want to see Bethaney before I leave.”

“Leave? Leave where?”

“Perth. I’m going back to Sydney. Bryan will let me stay with him for a while, until I sort my life out.” She tried to smile. “So, if you’ll wait for me, you can take me to the airport after I’ve seen Bethaney.”

“She’s unconscious, Miss Kate, remember?”

“Yes, I know.” Kate didn’t bother to explain any more. She felt a degree of responsibility for what had happened to Bethaney. She needed to see the result of Logan’s machinations before she left, to ensure that the lesson was well and truly learnt this time. For the rest of her life she wanted a visual memory to warn her from ever trusting another man again.

Peter drove her to the hospital in the limousine, and as they pulled up at the front, Kate spied a camera crew and reporter hovering nearby. “Drive on, Peter. Go around to another entrance.”

Peter accelerated away from the curb, swinging back out into the traffic. Kate looked back at the news people thoughtfully. It could be coincidence that they were there, but

the news of Logan’s arrest and the reasons for it wouldn’t be contained for too long. She rather not risk confronting journalists and being questioned just now. It would be better if she could escape out of Perth without public comment.

The cold lump of stone that sat in her chest in replacement for her heart considered the matter impassively, and agreed with her reasoning.

Peter pulled the limousine up beside the entrance to the multi-tiered car park that connected by a walk-ramp directly to the hospital, across the road. “No-one here, Miss Kate.”

“Good.” She reached for the door handle. “You’ll wait for me?” she asked.

“Yes, Miss Kate. I’ll wait here.”

“I won’t be long,” she assured him.

Bethaney was in a private room in the intensive care wing. Kate checked with the nurses at the central observation station, and found that there was good news. Bethaney had regained consciousness during the night, and was now drifting in and out of sleep, gaining full consciousness and orientation. After explaining that she was a close friend, and only flinching a little at the exaggeration, Kate found the room she was directed to with little difficulty, and entered to find Bethaney’s bed surrounded by monitoring equipment. Bethaney was lying motionless in the bed, her arm outside the sheet with drip and monitor pads attached.

Kate walked slowly to the bedside. “Oh, Bethaney,” she breathed, appalled. What she could see of Bethaney’s body was a mass of bruises, welts and fine cuts. There was a graze across one cheek, and she had a black and swollen eye.

Kate picked up the limp hand, using gentle movements, and held it in hers. “Well, we’ve both been betrayed twice by men, now, Beth. This is a lesson neither of us will forget, I’m sure.”

The hand in hers moved a little, and Kate held her breath, her gaze raking across the other woman’s face. “Bethaney?” she said, more loudly.

The eyes under the battered eyelids were moving.

A nurse entered the room then, and slipped past Kate. She leaned over Bethaney, checking her face. Then Kate understood. Bethaney was waking again.

Pleased, and deeply relieved, Kate stepped back into the corner of the room, well out of the way of the nurse, as she placidly began recording vital statistics on the board at the end of Bethaney’s bed.

Slowly, Bethaney roused. Kate saw her gaze float slowly around the room, as she orientated herself, and then her eyes focused on Kate’s corner. The bloodshot eyes lit with recognition and a stubborn, determined expression crossed her face. Bethaney’s lips formed around Kate’s name, but nothing emerged.

Kate moved forward, and picked up Bethaney’s hand again. “Hello Bethaney,” she said quietly.

Bethaney’s gaze raked across Kate’s face. Her lips worked, then a name emerged, in a croak. “Logan.”

The confirmation drove the last nail home on the coffin of Kate’s life. Despite her strong suspicions, Bethaney’s croaked word brought deep, welling sadness to Kate’s soul. The hard lump of her heart dissolved down to an organ as battered and aching as the woman whose hand Kate held. Kate swallowed back the accompanying surge of tears. “It’s all right, Beth. We know already. They arrested Logan last night.”

The hand in hers tightened, squeezing hard, and Kate saw Bethaney wince, but the pressure on her hand didn’t ease. “No.” Bethaney shook her head, a little movement from side to side. “Wasn’t Logan. Wasn’t. Was Peter.”

Kate felt her eyes widening out, and her whole body halted, stepping outside of time for an endless moment, as all her senses and feelings shut down in reaction to the shocking news.

Peter. The devoted factotum. The silent right-hand. The man who had served Logan with loyalty ever since Logan had picked him up out of the Hong Kong sewers and taken him under his wing. The man who had stuck by him through thick and thin, success and sensation alike.

Kate found her voice. “You’re sure, Bethaney? You’re sure it was Peter?”

Bethaney tried to nod, then settled for shaking Kate’s hand instead. “Yes. Came from behind -- just like Yates. A little man, shorter than me, Peter’s after-shave. Very strong.”

Abruptly, Kate remembered the day the balcony rail had given way beneath her, and the strength that Peter had used to catch and hold her until Logan could pull her to safety.

“I scratched him -- his neck,” Beth whispered.

Last night Peter had kept his gown muffled up right under his chin, and the next time Kate had seen him he had been already dressed in his tie and jacket.

And Peter was at this moment outside the hospital, waiting for her.

Kate looked wildly around the room. She caught the eye of one of the nurses. “Where is there a policeman? Is there one waiting for Beth to wake up?”

The nurse shook her head. “We inform them when a patient wakes, and they come down then.”

Kate bit her lip. “Have you told them yet?”

“Not yet. We like to give the patient a chance to wake up properly."

“Then I’ll have to,” Kate declared. She reached into her bag for the mobile telephone, then remembered where she had left it. It was back at the apartment, along with all the other assets she had briefly possessed. Instead, Kate pulled out her purse. “Where’s the nearest phone?”

“There’s one down the hall, in the waiting room,” the nurse replied, pointing back down the hall Kate had first traversed.

Kate nodded, and looked back at Bethaney. “Thanks, Bethaney,” she said quietly.

“You’ve just saved my life, I think. I have to go. I’ll come back when I’ve sorted this out.”

Bethaney squeezed her hand again, and let it go.

Kate hurried down the hall, heading for the large impersonal waiting room entrance, which sat at the junction of two major corridors. Inside, there were banks of hot and cold food dispensers, and two public telephones against one wall. Kate went to the nearest one, and dialled 013 to get the number for the police station Logan was being held at.

The desk sergeant at the station was friendly, but firm. No, she couldn’t speak to Logan.

Detective Gates wasn’t available. After a minute Kate came up with the name of the second detective, and grimaced to herself. “Is Detective Smith available, then?” she asked.

“We’ve got two Smiths at this station. Which one were you after?”

Kate sighed. “The man that was with Detective Gates last night.”

“He’s gone home. He’s off duty until four o’clock this afternoon.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. “Damn it, this is urgent!” Kate snapped, the last of her patience completely eroded away. “I want to speak to Detective Gates now! Either him, or someone who can help me deal with the mess I’m in at the moment. The man you should be holding instead of my husband is waiting outside the hospital for me right now. You have to help me!”

“Calm down, Miss,” the sergeant crooned. “First, tell me your name.”

“Kate North. I’m Logan North’s wife.” Rapidly, Kate went through the details of Bethaney’s recovery, and startling claim. She tried to make it sound as dramatic as possible, but the bare facts didn’t need much embroidering. There was a small hesitation when she fell silent, and a new voice spoke;

“Mrs North, this is Inspector Gates. I heard most of that. I understand your concern.

Can you leave the hospital by another exit, and catch a taxi to the station? We can sort it out when you get here.”

Kate sighed again. “Thank you,” she breathed. “I’ll be there in five minutes. What about Bethaney, though?”

“She should be quite safe now, with all those people around her. If this Peter fellow really did do it, then he likes to do it under cover of darkness, or covertly. He’s not likely to try anything there at the hospital.”

“What do you mean, “if he did do it”? Don’t you believe me?”

“I believe you think he did it, but Miss Adams didn’t actually see him. Until we talk to the fellow, we can’t assume that your husband is entirely without blame. The man is his employee, and a long term one. Mr North could have directed him.”

“You mean told him to do it?”

“Yes.”

Kate clutched the phone. This possibility hadn’t occurred to her. “Dear god,” she murmured.

“Besides, he’s hardly big enough to swat flies, let alone assault an adult.”

“He’s stronger than he looks. He saved my life, once, when the balcony at the apartment collapsed.”

“What was that?” Gates said sharply. “When did this happen?”

“Not long ago. A few weeks. Why?”

Gates hesitated. Then he said almost jovially, “It’s probably nothing. A coincidence.

Get that taxi, Mrs North. We’ll talk about it when you get here.”

Kate made her bewildered and circumlocutious way to the major entrance of the hospital, following her nose and the labyrinthine corridors to the other side of the complex. There she felt sure that there would be a taxi waiting at a rank somewhere nearby. She couldn’t call for one, for she had used the last of her change on the call to the police station.

There was a taxi rank a hundred metres away from the entrance, and as Kate arrived there, the last taxi pulled away from the curb, carrying a passenger. There were no more taxis.

Kate sat on the low stone wall there, to wait for another taxi to show up. There would be one soon enough, she knew. The hospital would be a fairly steady point of trade for taxi drivers.

She had been sitting for three minutes, scanning the approaching traffic, when a dark elegant car pulled around the nearest corner, and slowly cruised up the road. It was the limousine, with Peter at the wheel.

Kate looked around her for a hiding place. There was nothing. With her heart in her mouth, she leapt to her feet and began to walk rapidly back toward the hospital entrance. Gates had said Peter didn’t like an audience for his work, so she must get back to where there were people.

She heard the limousine brake to a halt behind her when she was still eighty metres away from the entrance. The footpath took a sharp turn around a projecting building, and no one would see her from the entrance.

“Miss Kate!” Peter called.

Kate turned to face him, knowing she must bluff it out. “Peter -- there you are! I’ve been trying to find my way back to the car park for the last fifteen minutes.”

Peter bounded out of the car and came around onto the footpath next to her. It was the first time she had consciously taken note of his physical attributes. The man appeared to be a small package of pure muscle.

“You were longer than I expected, so I thought you must have got lost,” he told her.

“Are you ready to go, now?”

“No. Not just yet,” Kate began, prevaricating. What was she going to say now, she wondered?

“Kate!!” The cry was a ragged, and relieved one. Kate spun around, knowing it was Logan’s voice, and despite her better judgement, relief spilled through her, making her light headed and giddy when she saw him racing along the footpath toward her. Logan was here.

Following along in his wake was Inspector Gates. A patrol car was stopped at the curb, the front tyre mounted over the edge, and the doors still open.

Kate’s relief was short lived. She felt Peter’s hand close over her shoulder, and around the base of her neck, and bite in. Excruciating pain speared into her, making her groan, and hunch into a tight ball in reaction. Every muscle in her body seemed suddenly useless.

“Stop there, Mr Logan.”

Logan came to a slithering halt.

“I can hurt her, and I will if you try to come closer. In the time it takes you to reach me I could crack her collarbone and rupture her spleen. Don’t make me do it.”

Kate tried to focus her vision upon Logan, but her body wouldn’t respond to her needs.

The silver hooks of pain radiating from her neck were swamping her senses.

“I wouldn’t if I were you, Peter,” Logan said, and every word was dripping with menace.

“Right now, one of Kate’s shed hairs is of more importance to me than your entire worthless body. Let her go.”

Kate felt Peter shiver. “You don’t mean that, Mr Logan,” he said softly, his voice distressed.

“Let her go free, Mr Ho,” Gate’s voice spoke up. “Things will go worse for you if you don’t. Right now, we can still talk about it, but if you hurt her, then all bets are off. Let her go, now.”

It was as if Peter couldn’t hear anyone but Logan. “But I did it for you, Mr Logan. I did it all for you.”

“You did it for yourself,” Logan replied. “You did it for selfish reasons, to make yourself look good in my opinion. To keep everyone away from me.”

“Yes. I did it for you. So you would never be bothered by people again.”

“You tried to kill Kate. You would have let her fall over that balcony if I hadn’t been there in time to see her go over, while you just stood by and watched. Kate has tried to teach me how to forgive and forget, but you put Kate in danger, and that is unforgivable.”

“Mr Logan, I did it only for you. For you.” Peter’s voice was pitiful.

Kate felt his hand loosen, just a fraction. The depth of his despair had robbed him of his concentration.

And Logan took full advantage of the momentary lapse. Logan’s speed was blinding, honed from years of racing, and he managed to reach Peter before the little man could

do more than utter a startled cry. Peter’s hand was torn away from her shoulder, and she fell like a stringless puppet to the ground, her limbs useless.

“Damn you to hell, Peter,” Logan uttered, his voice savage.

“No, Mr Logan!” Peter pleaded.

Kate managed to roll over onto her side, and felt Gate’s hands under her shoulders.

Logan had Peter pinned up against the wall of the building next to the path. The little man was cowering in abject fear. Peter had the strength and stealth necessary to overcome women and men who were not ready for him, but faced with an implacable enemy towering over him, radiating fury, he cringed.

“Logan,” Kate husked.

Logan looked over his shoulder at her. His hand kept Peter firmly in place against the wall.

She shook her head. Don’t. “You’ll punish him enough by walking away,” she said.

She watched as Logan fought with the two extremes -- the primal need to avenge himself, and her silent request.

With a growl of impatience, he dragged Peter across the pavement and pushed him into the waiting arms of the other detective. “Get him out of here,” Logan said.

He turned back to face Kate, and crouched down in front of her. “Did he hurt you?” he asked.

“No. Nothing permanent,” she assured him. “But I understand now how he managed to overcome his victims -- I couldn’t lift a finger.”

“Peter’s had to contend with people being larger and heavier than him all his life. He’s learnt a trick or two -- including how to be sneaky.” Logan held out his hand. “Are you ready to go home?”

“You’re being released?” Kate asked.

Logan lifted his head to look at Gates, who was still crouched behind Kate. The detective’s voice issued past her ear. “Sure. There’s no reason to keep you at the station any longer. We’ll need to see you some time during the week to finish any paperwork, but that can wait. Take your wife home, Mr North.”

 

 

Chapter 10 Logan drove Kate home in the limousine and the trip was silent.

Back at the apartment, they found themselves in the lounge before either of them spoke.

Curiously, they sat down on the sofa, just as they had countless times before, for their cocktail hour. Only this time it was mid morning, and there was no music, no bottle of wine to share.

Kate looked at Logan quizzically.

“Time to talk,” he said, turning to face her. He pushed his fingers through his hair, and let the hand drop to the back of the sofa. “It’s a watershed day, isn’t it?”

Kate nodded, understanding only too well what it was that he was feeling. A lot had happened in the last twenty four hours.

“Kate, what did Peter tell you about me?” Logan asked. “I know he must have fed you a lot of information since you moved in here -- all of it designed to poison your mind against me.

You thought it was at least possible that I beat Bethaney up, and I’m sure that was Peter’s influence at work. I’d like a chance to refute some of it.”

Kate frowned, thinking back over the last few months. “Actually, he didn’t say much at all. Just a snippet of information, at just the right time. He’s a very clever man, in hindsight.”

“What information?”

“He told me about Malcolm Yates, of course.”

Logan nodded. “Why did he tell you then, I wonder?”

Kate chose her words carefully. “We’d just had a ... disagreement,” she said.

“Remember when we talked, in the workshop? We settled the problem that night, and Peter told me about Malcolm Yates a few days later.”

“If he was jealous, that would make sense. He wouldn’t have been happy with the idea that we were getting along better.”

“Logan, did Peter really set the balcony rail up to try and kill me?”

Logan sighed. “I think he did,” he said. “Gates seemed sure that he had -- at least, he was sure that one of us had done it deliberately. When he told me about your phone call, and what Bethaney had said, the two facts combined were enough to have us both racing for the hospital.” He dropped his hand on her shoulder. “Peter wanted you out of the way, so he engineered an accident for you to have. You always stood at the corner of the balcony, remember. It was a perfect set up for him. His bad luck, and my good luck, was that he was standing too close to you to let you fall and not try to save you, and that I happened to arrive in time to witness it.”

Kate shuddered. “It was so close...”

The fingers on her shoulder tightened for a moment. “After that ... after that night,”

Logan amended, “Peter would have seen both of us acting like strangers again, which took the pressure off him. As long as we stuck to the original terms of our agreement, his security wasn’t threatened. The moment we moved away from those initial intentions, Peter started scheming again.” Logan’s hand lifted to her chin, and gently turned her face so that she was looking at him. “The knowledge that we had become lovers must have tipped him over the edge. He couldn’t get rid of you, because that would only hurt me. So he found a way to discredit me in your eyes, and ensure that you left me. You were leaving, weren’t you, Kate? I saw your backpack on the back seat of the limousine. You were leaving.”

Kate nodded a little. “I was, but it wasn’t Bethaney’s assault that made me leave. It wasn’t enough. Peter had to give me a little extra push.” She looked down in her lap, remembering the scene. “Lord, but he played it perfectly,” she murmured. “I hadn’t even thought of leaving. He had to drop the suggestion into my mind. After that, with the extra information he gave me, leaving you seemed like the most natural thing in the world.”

“What information?” Logan said swiftly. “Tell me.”

Kate looked up at him then. “He told me that you set the banks up to knock back my loan to fix the car, and that you pressured George into firing me. Well, he never actually said it, but it was perfectly clear what he was intimating.”

Logan rolled his head back, and looked up at the ceiling. He swore, shortly and pungently.

Kate bit her lip. “He was lying, then?”

Logan lowered his head to look at her once more. “Oh, yes, he was lying. What a brilliant manoeuvre. Worthy of Machiavelli himself. Kate, I can’t disprove anything that he’s told you. The only way you are going to be sure he’s lying is to go and ask those bank managers and your old boss if I at any time contacted them, or pressured them in any way.”

She nodded. “If I hadn’t been in such a hurry to get out, I would have done that anyway.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment or two, and Kate reflected on the way Peter had orchestrated their relationship from the start. Even at their first meeting he had subtly tried to cow her with stand-over tactics, and power wielding, which had coloured her opinion of Logan before she had even met him.

“Logan, it’s not just me Peter has schemed against. He’s probably been doing it ever since he met you.”

Logan nodded. “I know. It’s a disturbing thought, isn’t it?”

“No wonder you thought your life was jinxed. Every time something good started happening, Peter would go to work, to sour it. That’s why he beat up Malcolm Yates after you had a fight with him. He wanted to discredit you in Emma’s eyes, and he was successful that time.”

““That time”,” Logan repeated. “Does that mean you still believe my character can be retrieved, Kate? So there is some hope for me?”

Kate felt suddenly shy. She looked away from Logan’s face, knowing that her own was probably too revealing.

Logan picked up her hand. “Let me tell you some things, instead,” he told her. “Peter was clever, yes. Definitely under-handed, and very sneaky. He was also obsessed. He’s done a lot to ruin my life. Thanks to him I’d sworn off any sort of relationships.

I’ll probably only understand the full extent of his influence over time. But he would never have been so successful if I hadn’t been less than perfect to begin with. I had the potential to be exactly the sort of man Peter tried to make you believe I was.”

“I never did truly believe all the stories I heard,” Kate confessed. “I suppose, because I was living under the same roof, and got to talk to you and see you every day, I was in a position to judge for myself. I kept wrestling with my intuition, which was trying to tell me the rest of the world was wrong about you.”

“Thank god for your intuition,” Logan said fervently. “It’s entirely thanks to you, Kate, that I began to doubt everyone’s opinion of me, too. But I could have been like that. I was heading in that direction once, at full speed. I found Peter around then, so he would have seen what I might have been like if my father hadn’t tried so damn hard to teach me about my alternatives. In the end, it took my father’s death to force the lesson on me, but I did begin to learn it then, and I’ve been working on it since then.”

He grimaced. “I still fall back into the old Logan every now and again. You really wouldn’t have liked me then, Kate. I was always angry, always suspicious of everyone. I’m glad you chose to turn up in my life now rather than back then. At least I stood a fighting chance.”

“Maybe not even then. It took the binding of our agreement to keep me in one place long enough to change my mind about you,” Kate confessed.

Logan nodded. “We can’t all be perfect. We can’t all do the right thing all the time like you do. People are human. They make mistakes. I was young, and I made one terrible mistake after another. Even now, I make mistakes. I’ve made one with Peter, and I made another one with you. You have to forgive me for that, Kate. I would like to think you could forgive me the way you wanted me to forgive Bethaney, for the huge transgression into another person’s life.”

“I don’t understand,” Kate said honestly. “Forgive you for what? What have you done to me that I should forgive you?”

“Peter had me convinced I was a scoundrel. You made me question it. You taught me how to trust my instincts again, and most important of all, you taught me to listen to my heart.”

Kate could feel her own heart picking up speed.

Logan smiled gently. “So I listened, and guess what I discovered?”

Kate shook her head, mute.

“I discovered I love you.”

Her breath pushed out of her in a rush, and Kate felt her head spin. “You love me?” she repeated.

“More than I can explain with simple words,” he replied. “Enough to know that I could cheerfully have killed Peter this morning, if you hadn’t asked me to let him go. I love you enough that I was driven mad trying to find some way of keeping my distance from you and obeying the original terms of that hellish agreement.”

“You’ve know that long?” she asked.

“I’ve known since Peter rigged the balcony how important to me you were. I probably loved you from the start, but my thinking was so skewed thanks to Peter’s meddling that I didn’t know it. And that’s what I want to apologise for. I think this whole crazy set up -- the marriage, our agreement, was my sub-conscious reaching out for what it wanted the only way it could. I wanted you, and this was the only way I could get you. And for putting you through it, I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven,” Kate breathed.

“I’ll know that when you throw yourself at me like you did when I let Beth go that night,” Logan said.

Kate complied, willingly and enthusiastically. She wound her arms around his neck, and held him tightly, feeling his arms encircle her in twin bands of warmth and strength. “I couldn’t stop myself that night,” she said softly, letting her lips touch the soft skin of his neck.

“Everything hinged on you letting her go, and you didn’t let me down.”

“Your reward was overwhelming,” he said, and Kate felt his chuckle reverberating against her. “Don’t stop yourself the next time the urge strikes, Kate. When you threw yourself into my arms I felt ... well, you know how I felt. I don’t think there could be a sweeter reward for any man alive.”

Kate felt bubbling happiness swell up inside of her. “I love you, Logan,” she said.

“I know,” he replied gently, his voice low. “I’ve been utterly blind, but not any more.

It’s amazing how clear things are. I’ve been sitting here trying to justify your love for me, Kate.

Didn’t you realise? I’m quite humbled to think that you do love me. I shudder when I think of the things I’ve done that might have killed your love. And as of now I intend to start earning it.”

Kate clutched at him as she felt him move beneath her. Then she was lifted up, and Logan came to his feet. “What are you doing?” Kate asked curiously.

Logan nodded to the bedroom door. “There’s a threshold over there that I intend to carry you over. I can’t show you how much I love you by marrying you--”

“You’ve already done that,” Kate said, smiling.

“--And there are many other ways of demonstrating it. This is the first way. For the rest of my life I intend to show you my love for you in as many ways as I can.”

“Please hurry,” she whispered.

“At once, Mrs North,” he replied.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A letter from the author.

Hello:

Did you enjoy A Dangerous Man? I hope so. I’m proud of the book, and are sure enough that you liked it to ask you a favour:

This is a complimentary copy, which means I, the author, did not receive any payment for it. If you genuinely enjoyed the book, and would like to read more of what I write,

then I strongly encourage you to support this book and my writing career in other ways instead. How?

It’s very simple: Tell everyone you know how much you liked the book. And perhaps they and you will be so pleased with my novels that you won’t hesitate to support my books financially in the future. If I don’t receive either money or word-of-mouth then my career is doomed to be short-lived.

Here’s some suggestions for what you can do to help me continue to be able to write:

Tell your colleagues, your friends, (your enemies?) about the new book you’ve just read, and where you can find more of the same. Talk about it over coffee, during phone conversations, on email discussion lists you belong to, etc.

Write a Letter to the Editor or mini-review for newsletters of appropriate organizations to which you belong.

Go to Amazon.com and write a 5-star review of my books...if you think that’s deserved, of course/

Does your favourite on-line bookstore carry my books? Ask them to stock them.

Buy a copy of the book as a gift (in print or e-book) to friends and relatives who might like it.

Ask me for promotional material (bookmarks, postcards) that you can give out to friends (I’ll even sign them for you). Put bookmarks into return envelopes and mailings.

Do you have a favorite romance reader site or romance review site, or popular fiction site? Does it have reader bulletin boards? Talk about me! List my titles, or add your own reader review.

Go to the Preditors & Editors poll. (http://www.critters.org/predpoll/). Vote for me and and all my books that you have enjoyed.

Add a link to your website.

Considering having me attend your annual convention as a keynote speaker or panelist.

Tell me! Tell me how much you liked the book. No, I don’t hear it all the time, and no, I never tire of hearing how much people have enjoyed my books. It’s why I write, and I like to know I’m achieving my goals.

This is a win-win situation for everyone—by helping me, you will gain the benefit of more novels that you enjoy.

Tracy Cooper-Posey.

May 2003

 

Go to the next page for a sneak preview of the historical romance Heart of Vengeance, which will be out in paperback in May 2004, from Medallion Press.

Heart of Vengeance by Tracy Cooper-Posey

Set in the last year of Richard I’s reign, this is the story of Helena, a Saxon noblewoman who poses as a Norman in the courts and great halls of England, in order to search for her father’s murderer, and exact her revenge.

Stephen, Count of Dinan, and dubbed “The Black Baron”, was once friend to Richard himself but fell from royal favor in circumstances shrouded in mystery. His life now without purpose, he amuses himself with investigating Helena's secret identity and finds himself, instead, drawn to the independent woman.

Their friendship and growing love will plunge them into danger, and threaten the throne of England itself....

About Tracy Cooper-Posey

Tracy Cooper-Posey is a national award-winning writer. An Australian, she brought her family with her to Edmonton, Alberta, Canada in 1996 to marry.

Tracy is a “net citizen”: She met and courted her husband on the Internet, and has coordinated discussion groups and teaching on-line. She also wrote and maintains her own web site. She teaches creative writing both on-line and at college, and entertains students and the public with anecdotes and insights into one the most antisocial professions in the world, and the peculiar industry it drives.

In 1994 Tracy won the Emma Darcy Award for novelists, for her novel Eyes of a Stranger, and repeated her success by placing fourth in the 1998 competition with Diana by the Moon. She has been nominated for the Carol Anne Sorel Encouragement Award for writers, and was awarded the Sherlock Holmes Society of Western Australia’s Best Pastiche Award for her Sherlockian novel Chronicles of the Lost Years -- a Sherlock Holmes Mystery. Recently, Diana by the Moon was nominated for Best Original ebook in the prestigious Frankfurt eBook Awards for 2000. Her short stories and articles have appeared in various Canadian and Australian magazines and periodicals, and on the Internet.

Hard Shell Word Factory released Tracy’s first book, Eyes of a Stranger, in August 1999. Turnstone Press published her second book (Chronicles of the Lost Years) that same month. Eyes of a Stranger reached #7 on the e-book romance new release bestseller list in its first quarter of sales, and has garnered rave reviews, including a four-star review by the internationally circulated romance industry newspaper, The Romantic Times. Hard Shell Word Factory released her third novel, and second romance, Diana by the Moon, in August 2000. It has also gathered rave reviews, and was chosen as one of the Romantic Times Magazine's Top Pick books for October 2001. June 2000 saw the release of her third romance, Dare to Return, a contemporary adventurous romance a set in Geraldton, Western Australia (Tracy's childhood home).

In the fall of 2001, The Case of the Reluctant Agent, the sequel to Chronicles of the Lost Years (which was completed in response to public and editorial demand) was released by Turnstone Press. December 2002 saw the release of an ultra sensual Regency Romance, entitled Forbidden, by Anastasia Black; Tracy writes under the pen name with co-author Julia Templeton, a romance writer. Forbidden is published by the on-line publishing phenomenon, Ellora’s Cave (www.ellorascave.com). Anastasia Black will be releasing a series of Regency and Victorian romances with Ellora’s Cave throughout 2003. The next scheduled Anastasia Black release is The Price of Love, the sequel to Forbidden. In March 2003, Tracy’s romantic suspense novel Red Leopard was also released by Ellora’s Cave, and in September 2003 saw the release of the Winter Warriors anthology, with Tracy’s novella “Solstice Surrender” included. May 2004, Heart of Vengeance will be released in paperback, by Medallion Press.

So far her life has encompassed an eighteen month stint on war-ravaged Bougainville Island in Papua New Guinea, and at various times she has been a secretary, office clerk, single mother, freelance writer, public speaker, columnist, law student, international traveler, writing teacher, advertising production coordinator (for a national newsmagazine), web-press production coordinator, and the first female

cinematograph operator in Western Australia. During the day she is disguised as the mild-mannered editor of WHERE

Edmonton magazine, and she also teaches creative writing at Grant MacEwan Community College. She currently lives in Edmonton with her husband and their blended family of three children. You can find her web site at http://www.sashaproductions.com.

About this book This book will be available for sale in May 2004, at all good book stores. This excerpt is an unedited, advanced review copy. The version available for sale will be similar in content. The front and end matter appearing in this excerpt will not be included in the commercial copy.

 

Chapter 1

Oxford, England, December 6, 1197

HELENA knew she took an enormous risk. She had lived and breathed caution for well over a year now, but still took painstaking care as she hurried through the busy streets. She must not be caught abroad at this late hour, when her proper place was at Lady Catherine’s side.

Every shout, every hail, every approaching horse startled her and set her blood churning.

Every third step produced another fright. She had gone no more than three streets from the manor, yet her mouth was thick with the coppery taste of fear. Her head pounded with it.

All of Oxford was in an uproar. Hubert Walter, the King’s Chief Justiciar, had returned from Normandy and called a meeting of the Great Council. Like ants returning to the nest, the barons King Richard had left in England were converging on the town.

Darkness had fallen and still they arrived in steady numbers. Their entourages clattered up the narrow streets. Their noisy progress echoed and bounced off house and shop walls, giving Helena plenty of warning.

She took great care not to be seen. If she were discovered outside the manor walls it would raise questions and suspicions about her. She could not afford an investigation into her activities.

The risk was outweighed by the potential reward. The thought of that reward kept her moving steadily along the streets, made her step back out onto the road after each group of horses had passed.

Ahead she saw a neat two story stone building that fit the description she had been given.

Aaron the Jew’s house. A dim light flickered in the upper windows. The lower windows were dark.

Helena pulled her cloak around her tightly and stepped across the street. With a last quick check over her shoulder, she tapped at the door.

Instantly, the door opened. A hand appeared around the edge and beckoned her inside.

The owner of the hand was too shy or too cautious to show himself in full. She slipped inside, grateful not only to be off the public streets. The evening air was rapidly cooling and inside, warmth fanned her cheeks. A banked fire emitted a dull red glow.

“A moment, my lady,” came a murmur.

She heard the door being shut and the bar lowered. For a moment she questioned the wisdom of allowing herself to be locked inside a room with strangers. Her blood was pounding again. This folly capped her foolishness of traipsing the streets of Oxford and her better sense screamed a silent alarm in her mind.

A single fact kept her standing where she was. The note that had led her here had been written by a most reliable man. The most reliable man Helena knew. She trusted him not to lead her astray.

A flame flared briefly, then settled. A tallow had been lit. A long, sorrowful-looking face stared at her over the flame. Dark eyes and a full, long beard. Then he smiled, showing good white teeth and the impression of sorrow fled.

“My lady, you are punctual.”

Relief dispersed the worst of her fear. He had been expecting her, as has been arranged.

“You are Aaron the Jew?”

“And you are the Lady--”

“No!” She held up her hand, silencing him. “There is no need for my name to be spoken. You know I am the one you expected for I have come at the appointed time.”

He nodded, his face grave once more. “Yes, you are right. These precautions are necessary.”

“I go by the name of Isobel.”

“Isobel.” He inclined his head.

“You have information about the Earl of Wessex?”

“Not I. Another knows a thing about this.”

“He is here?”

“Yes, I am sheltering him for now. It is a favor, you understand?” Aaron’s accent created an odd inflexion in the words. “For him and for the man he serves.”

“The King, you mean. The man he serves is the King.”

He nodded. “We share that allegience to the crown, he and I,” he explained.

“And where is this man you shelter?”

“Right ‘ere, milady,” came a graveled voice by her shoulder.

Helena whirled, fright spearing through her. She had failed to check behind her and cursed herself. She reached for her belt knife, plucking it quickly and raising it. It glinted a little in the poor light of the tallow.

The second man was a stranger. By his dress and aroma, a serf. He raised his hands when he saw the knife.

“I mean you no harm!” His teeth were black in the light.

Helena lowered the knife, breathing hard. “Then you should not have approached me from behind.” She spoke harshly, to disguise any tremble in her voice.

He lowered his eyes. “I am sorry, my lady. I am not used to the ways of Normans.”

She studied him more closely and noticed the tattered, mud-splattered clothes and the smell of animals and woodsmoke about him. It spoke of nights spent in dubious shelter and days of hard travel. “You have run away from your village.”

A brief flicker of fear passed across his face.

“I do not intend to accuse you, or see you returned to your place,” she assured him.

“What is your name?”

He hesitated, then muttered, “Ralf.”

“Tell me what you know, Ralf. Why did Lord Robert send you here?”

“Robin said you were looking for anyone who knew about the death of the Earl of Wessex.”

“And you know of this man’s death?”

He shook his head. “Not I. But a man from my village, he spoke of it.”

“Spoke of it?” Dissapointment circled through her. Robert’s note had stressed the importance of this serf’s information. Surely he would not have had her risk contact with the Jew and a runaway serf on gossip that had passed through at least two mouths?

Ralf nodded. “He told me the story, what ‘e’d seen that night.”

“Seen?” Helena repeated sharply and saw Aaron’s head lift, his attention pricked. “What did he see?”

“He saw his lordship -- the earl, that is, and the others in the field. Standing around in a circle.”

Helena’s heart began to beat hard again. It was not fear but dawning excitement that drove it. This was the closest she had come to proving the Earl of Wessex hadn’t died of exposure in a lonely field. This was an indication there had been others there, just as she had always maintained. “He saw the earl die?” she asked the man.

“He said he saw murder being done.”

Helena drew in a sharp breath. “He said that? Murder?”

“Aye.”

“Who was there? Who was standing in that circle?”

Ralf shrugged. “‘e didn’t say, m’lady.”

“What did he say? Precisely?” Her excitement added an unintentional snap to her voice.

Ralf shrugged, moving uneasily. “I just came here because ‘is lordship said I should. ‘e didn’t say anything about ‘aving to remember things.”

“Please try to remember,” Helena coaxed him. “I ask not just for my sake. A whole village struggles under the burden of this earl’s death.”

“The mulct?” Ralf asked.

“Yes, the fine for the murder of a Norman by an undisclosed Saxon.”

Ralf snorted. “The earl wasn’t Norman!”

“Exactly. Yet the village whose field he was found in was fined.”

“Aye and I reckon his murderers weren’t Saxon, neither. Most barons are Norman.”

“They were barons?”

“That’s what the man told me.”

Helena took a deep breath, suppressing the new surge of excitement. She must keep a clear head. Barons. This was confirmation of what she had always suspected and had claimed, too, in carefully chosen company. “Who is this man you speak of?” she asked, trying to gentle her voice.

But Ralf’s expression closed over. A mute, mulish look settled on his face. Helena knew from hard experience she would gain nothing more from him.

“Please,” she added gently.

Aaron spoke for the first time during the interview. “This villager you speak of. He is a wanted man, yes?”

A brief surprise, followed by a flicker of fear, crossed Ralf’s face. He had no experience in hiding feelings. The sullen silence was merely a learned response, a defense against overdemanding lords.

“He is wanted for poaching,” Helena guessed.

Ralf’s gaze dropped.

“I am only interested in talking to him, to find out more about the Earl’s death,” Helena assured him. “Even if he did not know the barons, there must have been shields, devices I might recognize, if only I am given the chance to talk to him.”

Ralf shook his head. “My lady, Normans like you speak of duty, but you act for your own interests.”

Normans like you. Helena longed to cry out the truth, but that would weaken the only defense she had: secrecy. Even if she trusted Ralf not to betray her, it would still be one more person who knew the truth. Every extra person who shared her secret added to the risk of the truth slipping out. She knew, better than many men, how quickly a man could betray even his own king if the incentive was strong enough.

Aaron stirred. “The Lady Isobel can be trusted in all things. Didn’t Sir Robert direct you to her? Would he guide you awry?”

“I trust Robin,” Ralf said reluctantly.

“Did he not tell you to cooperate with the lady?”

“Aye, but the name she wants belongs to someone else. It’s not my place to give it away.”

“Would you tell me the name of your village, then? That, at least, is yours to share.”

“And I’ll share it willingly, but it won’t do you much good, milady. He’s gone by now.”

“Then we are truly at an impasse,” Helena said with a sigh.

“You are done with me, then?” Ralf asked hopefully.

Helena nodded. “I am grateful to you for telling me what you could, Ralf. Thank you.”

“I did as Robin asked.” He reached inside his jerkin and pulled out a piece of parchment.

“‘e said to give you this. That it says you’re to give me two marks.”

Helena took the roughly folded note and opened it. It was dirty from handling and the parchment was cracked along the fold lines, but Robert’s writing was clear enough.

“Could you lift the light a little?” Helena murmured. Aaron raised the tallow so its light fell on the page.

“My Lady Helena,” it began. Helena frowned. Although Ralf could not read, it was possible for the note to fall into the hands of more literate people. “Pay Ralf the two marks I promised him. He will need it to reach Normandy, where I have arranged shelter for him. Do not concern yourself with extracting his companion’s name for I have already begun a search for the man as I am in the right place. I sent him to you as an inducement. You must arrange to travel to York. You will achieve nothing more of your quest until you do.” The signature below was an aristocratic flourish. Loxley.

You must arrange to travel to York. Fulfilling that task was harder than the scribing of it.

She must first think of an excuse, then next convince the Lady Catherine of the value of going to York, to say nothing of finding a way to influence her husband....

Ralf cleared his throat and Helena realized both he and Aaron were waiting for her to finish reading the note. She had been staring sightlessly at it while her mind raced.

She reached for her purse and removed two marks. Ralf’s dirty fingers curled around them quickly as she placed them in his open hand. “Go carefully, Ralf,” she told him. “This is a rich trove for a man who cannot fend for himself the way a knight or baron could.”

“I will.”

“Go back upstairs,” Aaron told him. “I will let Lady Isobel out first. You may leave when it is fully dark.”

“The town gates will be shut,” Helena pointed out.

“Just as they were when Ralf found his way here,” Aaron told her with gentle tact.

Helena smiled ruefully. “You must forgive my inquisitiveness.”

Aaron waved his hand, dismissing her apology. “Go back upstairs, Ralf,” he told the other man. “I wish to talk to the lady a little before she leaves.”

Ralf nodded and moved back across the room to the stairs, climbed them to the second floor and disappeared into the dark shadows the candlelight could not dismiss.

Aaron moved towards the door. “Will you be able to find Ralf’s man?” he asked.

Helena thought of Robert’s note. “If there is a way to find him, he will be found.” She pulled her hood up again and wrapped her cloak around her tightly, preparing to step out into the night.

Aaron opened the door, but as Helena prepared to step out into the street she was halted by his arm thrust in front of her.

“Wait,” he said shortly, but his word was almost lost in the loud clatter of many horses and the rhythmic clash of armor and weaponry. A large host was cantering along the street.

Helena stepped back quickly, for they were taking up the entire width of the street.

She looked for a shield and identifying colors, for all the riders were wearing the new full visors. Her gaze was drawn to a rider near the front of the pack. He sat upon a tall black destrier, carrying a shield with a griffin rampant, with inversed crowns, all on a black background. That was all she saw before the party swept past her.

“Do you recognize the shield?” she asked Aaron.

“Indeed. The griffin is very distinctive. That is Stephen, Count of Dinan, Earl of Northumbria.”

“The black baron?”

“Yes, that is he.” Aaron watched the horses traveling up the street and shook his head.

“That man is marked for a miserable future.”

“He did wrong by the king,” Helena said a little stiffly.

Aaron glanced at her and Helena recognized with a little shock that his expression held pity. “Perhaps he did do wrong, but Richard is not above holding that small wrong over Stephen for as long as it suits him.”

Helena could feel her cheeks burning from mortification at being corrected by this man.

He had less access to the royal court and the barons than she, yet seemed to understand more.

Indignant irritation prickled her. “Who are you to speak of the King’s faults in this way?”

“Me? I am no one. But my people have enjoyed the King’s protection for many years now. His protection failed us once. It could always fail again. It is prudent to understand the man who shields us.”

Helena nodded. Yes, it made sense to know Richard well. The failure that Aaron spoke of had resulted in the murder of hundreds of Jews by mobs rampaging the length of England.

“You are seeking to learn more about your father, are you not?” Aaron asked.

Helena jumped a little. “How did you know the Earl of Wessex was my father?”

Aaron spread his hands. “You are passionate in your search for answers. Such devotion is not found in a servant and you are too young to be a wife who cares enough to learn the truth.”

“You knew my father?”

“Yes, I knew your father. He came to me on matters of money sometimes. A kindly man. A good man. I wish you well in your quest, my lady.”

“Thank you.”

He looked out onto the street. “It is safe now.”

Helena stepped into the night air and hurried in the same direction as the Count of Dinan’s group.

Full dark shrouded all. The street was lit only by light from small windows of the houses on either side. There were many pockets of darkness, which Helena used to her

advantage all the way back to the grand town house where she was lodged. Their host, Peter de Lancey, knight baron and Count John’s man, was entertaining a collection of King Richard’s political opponents at a feast for Saint Nicholas’ day. That collection included her mistress and sponsor, Lady Catherine Fitzwarren.

Back to the enemy’s lair.

THOUGH Stephen kept his gaze steadily ahead, he knew even as he was passing them the people at the tables on either side were leaning towards each other and whispering behind raised hands.

If he had arrived at the correct hour, then he wouldn’t be walking the tables to his appointed place halfway through the feast, causing such a spectacle. It was only because of Hubert Walter’s summons of the Great Council on the morrow that he bothered being here at all.

While carefully keeping his shoulders squared and straight, he mentally shrugged. What did he care that they whispered about him? He was used to it.

He slid into the seat left clear for him and nodded stiffly to his dinner companions.

Without exception they were staring at him as if a cat had suddenly sat down amongst a covey of pigeons to share their crumbs. Nonchalantly, he served himself several slices of meat a sweating page offered him and called for the page with the wine pitcher with a simple flick of his fingers.

The lad scurried over and poured red liquid into the cup beside Stephen’s platter.

Stephen began to eat.

Around him, the others also returned hesitantly to their meals, with many quick glances at him.

Irritation pricked him. You’re accustomed to this, he told himself. And it was true.

Since his argument with Richard some years ago, he had been welcome nowhere except in the houses of Count John’s men, especially those who sought to recruit the rejected black baron to their ranks. So why do I grow more angry by the minute over this?

Perhaps he was just tired of it all. Tired of the endless days, the jousts and tournaments that were empty of purpose, the silly political intrigues. The

pointlessness of it all. He could not change it. He’d had proof of that tonight. He had dared to try asking for accommodation with the Baron de Guerre, one of Richard’s men who had stayed in England. De Guerre’s refusal had been shockingly frank.

Even after all this time, it appeared he was still very much persona non grata. The knowledge rankled.

But he was still a King’s man. That could not be taken from him. Even though Stephen had been rejected by the King his loyalty was not for sale.

Yet he must suffer the company of Count John’s barons with their petty conniving and whispered conversations.

With a barely controlled movement, Stephen thrust his platter away. His appetite had disappeared and his patience with it. He sat back and sipped the wine, letting his gaze wander over the jovial hall. He enjoyed the discomfort he caused whenever someone happened to catch his glance and realize he was staring at them. A cat amongst pigeons, indeed.

At the opposite end of the top table to where Stephen had been placed sat two women.

One of them he recognized: The Lady Catherine Fitzwarren, an ambitious woman whom Stephen had met several times before. Her husband Hubert, Lord of Worcester, had fallen under John’s domain when, at the beginning of his reign, Richard had gifted John with land. Hubert was an obedient, unhappy liege to John.

There was another woman sitting beside Catherine. Surprised, Stephen realized the woman was staring at him. Staring with open, curious frankness completely devoid of fear or furtiveness.

Their gazes met and locked. Her eyes were riveting, drawing attention in a way Stephen had never experienced before. Even Richard, who had a commanding, authoritative stare, did not pull one’s gaze the way this strange woman’s eyes did. Was this power part of her personality, as Richard’s was, or was it her eyes alone?

Stephen had a sudden urge to see those eyes from much closer.

Then, obviously remembering her place, the woman dropped her gaze, letting the edge of her veil shield the clear, fine features, and the sweet line of her jaw as she turned back to her meal.

Stephen continued to study her, courtesy be damned. She must not know who he was. It had been remarkably refreshing to have been studied with simple curiosity, instead of the fear and morbid wonder he had grown used to.

He addressed the man on his left. “My good man, you look to be a knowledgeable sort.

Can you name the gentle lady at the end of the table? The one beside the Lady Catherine.”

The man jumped like a startled rabbit. When he realized Stephen was not threatening him, he relaxed enough to look towards the end of the table. He squinted.

“That be the Lady Isobel. She’s companion to Lady Catherine.”

“Isobel?” Stephen repeated, astonished. “Where does she come from? Are you sure you have the name right?”

The man turned to his dinner companion. They conferred in whispers then the man turned back to Stephen. “Yes, it’s the Lady Isobel. Of Brittany. The Lady Catherine is sponsoring her return to the court -- she’s been in the abbey at Fontrevault since she was a child.”

“The daughter of Baron de Buerres of Brittany?”

The man checked with his companion. “Yes,” he confirmed. “Isobel de Buerres of Brittany.”

Stephen nodded his thanks. His gaze pulled back to the woman called Isobel of Brittany.

So the woman who stared at him so fearlessly was a fellow countryman.

Or was she?

For Stephen had played with Isobel of Brittany as a child. He would have remembered such an astonishing pair of eyes as those, even if he remembered nothing else of her.

If she was not Isobel of Brittany, who was she?

Author’s Note:

I do hope this excerpt of Heart of Vengeance has whetted your appetite for more! Please feel free to email me if you have comments (praise, even!) or questions about any of my books. I love email! (tracy@sashaproductions.com) .