LOGAN (The Innerworld Affairs Series, Book 5) (11 page)

He reminded himself that he was only allowed to do that sort of thing in his fantasies. This was real life, and it wasn't personal. She was a nurse, caring for a patient, just like before. Nothing else.

Tarla could see by his clenched jaw that he was still in pain, though somewhat more comfortable. A wicked thought briefly crossed her mind that he probably deserved whatever pain he was in but she immediately banished it. Who he was or what he had done didn't matter at the moment—only that he was ill and needed her attention.

It occurred to her that she could massage his neck and shoulders better without his shirt in the way but she cancelled that idea. As unreasonable as it was, in spite of everything, she was still having a hard time ignoring the fact that Logan was a man. He was just so big, so hard-muscled... so incredibly masculine.

Of all the men she had treated, most of whom she had seen completely nude, he was the only one who had ever made her want to forget that he was a patient. For that reason, she had always been extra careful when she changed the dressing on the wound in his thigh and
never
helped him bathe. Somehow that would have been too intimate with him.

To distract herself from thoughts of his body, she moved her fingers to his face, spreading all ten fingers to evenly apply a web of pressure.

Instantly an avalanche of images and sounds filled her mind. She was curled protectively on the ground, vomiting up blood as she was kicked and pounded to within an inch of her life.

No, it wasn't her body being brutalized. It was Logan's.

And she was seeing the scene through his eyes.

She pulled her hands away from his face so abruptly, he jerked upright. As he grimaced in pain, she pressed his shoulders back down onto the cot. "I am so sorry, Logan. I... I thought I saw a spider on the pillow next to you and... anyway it was just a leaf. Nothing to worry about."

She moved her attention to his hands and he closed his eyes again. As she massaged the areas at the bases of his thumbs, she allowed herself to analyze what flashed in her mind.

Although many Noronians were capable of reading another's thoughts or watching a remembered scene by placing their fingers on that person's temples, she had never had that ability. And yet, she had just had a ton of random information instantly downloaded into her brain from Logan's mind.

Tarla kept massaging Logan's hands while desperately trying to untangle the mess of data in her head, but it was too new. Given time, she would probably be able to sort it all out but since Logan hadn't given her permission to invade his personal memories, she would do her utmost to forget it or at least keep all of it locked away.

However, the memories connected to the one image that rose out of the heap insisted on being looked at before being shelved.

Logan was being beaten by other soldiers... because he'd tried to turn them in.

Out of the hodgepodge of data, Tarla came away with one important fact.

Logan had been framed.

* * *

Robin picked up two pillows and a stack of linens and headed for where she had last seen Geoffrey.

When Tarla unexpectedly left her alone with him, she had thought it was a nice bit of luck. Then the oddest thing happened. She couldn't think of anything to say. Not even one funny joke to entertain him. And he hadn't helped the situation any, sitting there with his perfect posture, eating dinner with his perfect manners. As soon as his plate was clean, he excused himself, very politely, and set about organizing work details to get everyone settled for the night.

That was when she realized the only way she was going to get to know the major better was by working with him... and she
really
wanted to know him better.

After circling the big house, she finally spotted him helping Willy erect a tent.

"Hi, Willy," she said cheerfully. "Did you get linens yet?"

Willy grinned. "Sure did. But if you run into the guys distributing cots, I could use one here."

"You got it. Geoffrey, do you need anything for your tent? If you point it out, I'll be glad to make sure you're set up."

Geoffrey smiled... politely. "I haven't gotten to mine yet, but thank you for the offer." He returned his attention to the stake he was pounding into the ground.

Robin wasn't willing to give up that easily. "In that case, just point out where you'd like your tent to be and I'll see to it that it's set up. I have nothing else to do. The linens are all distributed."

He finished setting the stake and stood up. "All right then." He looked around the area a moment. "I think it would be best if I were in the midst of the men. Any place you pick will be fine."

Robin nodded and took a few steps away when he spoke again.

"Robin? A moment please."

She turned and faced him with a soft smile that she knew disarmed the average male.

Geoffrey's gaze darted away from hers and he cleared his throat. "I, uh, was wondering if we should check on Tarla and McKay."

Robin arched an eyebrow at him. "
Check
on them?"

He covered his mouth and coughed as if it would help him get his words out. "Yes, um, I mean he seemed ill and I sensed some antagonism between them, and—"

"And
nothing
, Major," Robin interrupted defensively. "Tarla is a dedicated nurse, who would take care of Attila the Hun if he was in pain. If anyone can get your bodyguard back at your side, it's her." She thought she saw Geoffrey's fair cheekbones darken and regretted her choice of words. "I'm sorry—"

"It's quite all right," he said quietly. "I didn't make myself clear. I was concerned about your friend's welfare... being alone with him for such a long time."

Now it was her turn to blush. "Oh. Well there's no need to worry. Tarla can handle the worst of them. And believe me, she has."

"She does seem very capable."

Robin laughed. "If the war had gone on any longer, she probably would have made general!" His smile seemed more genuine this time, so she hoped he had forgiven her rash comment. "Well, I guess I'll go see about your tent now." She walked away, but at least she had the satisfaction of knowing he was watching her for several long seconds before getting back to work.

* * *

"Geoffrey!"

He turned to see Tarla hurrying toward him. "What's wrong? Is McKay—"

"No, no," she said waving her hand quickly. "He'll be fine, eventually. He has a bad migraine though and, from what he told me, without his medicine, it could last for days."

"
Days
?"

Tarla nodded. "But it's not necessary. Duncan gave me some medicinal powder they use for minor discomfort. He said that in cases where the powder isn't enough, the injured or sick person is sent to the fairies for treatment."

"Yes. I was told the person goes into the barn and comes out cured, but with no recollection of how it happened."

"Right. It also sounds like the fastest route to whoever's in control here. So, why not test it ourselves... with Sergeant McKay? Who knows how long it might be before someone else legitimately falls sick? And if someone
is
observing us, they would know he's truly ill."

Geoffrey rubbed his chin. "If he was in good enough shape to defend himself, I wouldn't think twice about sending him into unknown territory, but under the circumstances..."

"McKay already volunteered," Tarla said, putting a quick end to Geoffrey's vacillation. "In fact, as soon as I mentioned Duncan's fairies to him, he came up with the suggestion himself. Not only does he want to find out what's going on here, he said he'd try anything that might get rid of the migraine."

The expression on Geoffrey's face made it clear that he hated having to make the decision but he did it anyway. "All right. I'll get McKay and help him to the barn while you find Duncan."

Ten minutes later the four of them were standing in the open doorway of the tack room at the back of the huge barn.

"How does it work?" Tarla asked Duncan.

"He just goes inside, closes the door and tells them what's ailing him."

"Tells who?" Geoffrey asked.

Duncan almost looked exasperated. "The fairies, of course."

"You mean you can see them when you're in there?"

"No. They're invisible. Like the wall."

"What if—" Logan pressed his temples to shut out the excruciating pain uttering those two words had caused. Taking a slow breath and maintaining the pressure, he tried again. "What if someone goes in with me?"

Duncan shook his head. "They don't help the sick person unless he's alone and the door's locked tight from the inside." His smile faded as an old memory came to him. "Tried that myself once... a very long time ago."

"Okay," Logan said, stepping into the room. "Let's get on with it."

As Geoffrey and Tarla backed away, Duncan said, "Just throw the bolt on the door and say your problem out loud."

"We'll wait for you right here," Geoffrey added.

Although Logan thought the idea of telling a bunch of farm equipment that he had a migraine was completely ridiculous, he locked the door, turned around and voiced his complaint. When nothing happened immediately, he sat down on the floor to wait. It was all he could do to keep from closing his eyes but he didn't want to miss whatever was coming despite the pain.

Several minutes later, a hissing sound, like the air being let out of a tire, drew his attention upward but it stopped before he could discern what had caused it.

* * *

The ping of the transmitter next to Nadia's bed surprised her. It was rare for her to receive a call in the evening. She touched the red button on the top of the small white box. "Hello?"

"This is Simone in Observation."

Nadia's attention perked up. "Yes?"

"By coincidence, not long after you called, something occurred."

Though she was tapping her fingernails impatiently on the table beside her, Nadia replied with only slight interest. "Can you tell me about it?"

After a slight hesitation, Simone spoke again. "Not really. Too many ears, if you know what I mean. I get off in half an hour. Why don't you come by for a visit?"

"That sounds fine. See you shortly." Nadia touched the red button again then bounded from the bed to her closet. She didn't bother to call Fulton to help her dress. She needed to hurry and he didn't know the meaning of the word.

What could possibly have happened to prompt Simone's call so soon? She had called the woman earlier and requested that she be kept up to date regarding the new crossovers. Nadia had insinuated that there could be a problem that might reflect badly on Parisia and any small occurrence could be important. Fortunately, Simone was one of the women who believed that Nadia would eventually be in a position of great power, which could personally benefit her later, if she proved ingratiating enough in the meantime.

Unfortunately, Simone was nearly as ambitious as Nadia herself, which could eventually become a problem, especially when Simone had a natural advantage. Nadia was tall, large-boned, dark-haired and mocha-skinned, with a prominent nose that openly proclaimed her hawk-like disposition. Simone was petite and fair with tiny ringlets of honey-colored hair framing an ivory, innocent face. She was femininity and grace personified, the ideal of every Heart woman.

Nadia managed to reach the Observation Room as Simone was signing out for her break, but she still had to wait a few more minutes until they walked out of earshot of the relief operator.

"One of the crossovers came in for medical treatment," Simone said in a conspiratorial tone even though no one was around.

"Male or female?" Nadia asked in the same voice.

"Male. Rather dangerous looking too."

"Oh?" Nadia's interest increased another notch. "Can you describe him?" As soon as Simone began, Nadia was positive it was the same man she had been intrigued by that morning. "What was the problem?"

"He said, 'migraine' and was holding his head. He did look uncomfortable."

"Were normal procedures followed?"

Simone nodded. "He was anesthetized and taken to the sanatorium. I happen to have a friend who's on duty there tonight. If you're interested, I'm sure she wouldn't mind filling us in on his condition and treatment."

Nadia managed to conceal her excitement beneath an indifferent façade. "I have nothing better to do this evening."

At the sanatorium, Simone's friend, Olympia, informed them that the man had a headache caused by a severe chemical imbalance in his brain and, though there was no way of determining what had caused it, the medic was able to correct the problem. She could not be certain however that the imbalance would not reoccur. As a precaution, vital signs and brain activity were being monitored for two more hours before returning him to the commune.

"He is unconscious, isn't he?" Nadia asked.

"Of course," Olympia replied.

"Would it be possible for me to get a look at him?" Nadia asked as casually as possible.

The woman pressed a key on the numerical board in front of her then turned the monitor toward Nadia and Simone.