Temptation Bound: Part 1

~*~

The damn kid had no sense.

That was the only explanation. Why else would she pick *him*??

Of all the rough characters in the world, she took a liking to him.

And damned if he knew why.

The kid had no sense.

~*~

Someone was hovering just outside the small ring of light the campfire was throwing into the clearing. It was chilly, one of the first nights so far that he’d enjoyed basking in the warmth of the fire as his dinner bubbled and burped above the flames.

A warm fire, a hot meal and a cold beer. Twelve cold beers, actually. It'd been looking like a nice, peaceful evening.

And now there was someone hiding in the trees, watching him. It was irritating.

“Might as well just come on out, I know you’re there.” He didn’t say it to be friendly, and his tone conveyed that. Little did he know that wasn’t going to matter, now or in the future. He’d already been chosen. He just hadn’t figured that out yet.

Enough noise to wake the dead. Christ, it sounded like an entire fuckin’ army was crashing around in the underbrush out there. He rolled his eyes and leaned forward to stir the stew in the cast iron pot. Good meat, not cheap. Lots of potatoes, carrots and onions. It was almost ready.

The noise reached a crescendo right before the army finally stepped into the clearing.

Not an army. A girl.

A young one. Jailbait, it looked like. Huge eyes, tangled hair, dirty clothes.

Trouble.

Wonderful. Just wonderful. If there was one thing Logan already had no shortage of, it was trouble.

“Hi.” She said it as confidently as she could, which was a good deal more confident than she looked. A little shy, a little uncertain, a little wary. But not at all afraid.

Well, wasn’t that just a kick in the ass?

He leaned back against the huge log that was serving as his backrest and took another drink from his beer. Looked her over, taking his time in his appraisal. She stood silently and let his eyes roam over her. Tried really hard not to stare at his dinner.

The first thing he noticed was that she was a mutant. Which probably explained the whole orphan-chic thing she had going. She was wearing a hooded sweatshirt that had seen better days, two or three t-shirts, a dirty pair of jeans. A pair of gloves, peppered with holes. Sturdy boots that were, as far as he could tell, her wisest clothing choice. She was carrying a backpack on her shoulders and an impressive set of dark circles under her eyes.

Well, enough of that crap. Time to find out what the hell she was doing here.

“Whaddya want?” His brusque inquiry snapped her attention back to him, reminded her that there was something else in the world right now besides steaming beef stew.

She shrugged, looked away, shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Then her stomach, apparently frustrated with her reticence, took it upon itself to answer the question by growling loudly. Those big eyes wandered back to him, but he spoke before she could.

“You’re hungry.” Not a question.

She nodded again, had the nerve to look hopeful. He sighed and moved over, made room for her next to him, waved her over with one hand as he reached to stir the stew with the other.

She wasted no time in taking him up on the offer, plunking her overstuffed backpack down between them. Not an entirely accidental placement, he assumed. Still not scared, but still wary. The backpack was a good sized one, with a metal frame and a sleeping bag strapped to the bottom. She settled next to it, cross-legged. Looked up at him with huge dark eyes, looked at him like he was her goddamn hero for offering her a hot meal.

He filled a plate and handed it to her.

She accepted it with a grateful look. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me ‘til after you taste it, kid.”

~*~

She ate more than he did. Three huge servings of the stew, which was damn good even if he did say so himself, and half the loaf of bread he’d bought to sop it up with. Drank two bottles of water along with it, the only beverage he had besides beer.

He ate silently, filling her plate again and again without being asked. Once he got a good look at her, saw how thin she was, he couldn’t begrudge her the food. It had evidently been a long time since she’d had a good, solid meal.

She wasn’t healthy. Mixed in there with all the other things that made up her scent was the distinct odor of the human body fighting off illness. It was fading, indicating that she was over the worst of whatever it was, but it was still there.

He waited until she had eaten her fill before he tried to make her talk.

“How long you been out here?” He pulled a cigar from his pocket, prepared to light it.

She reached into one of the pockets on her backpack and pulled out a tiny calendar, the kind gas stations gave away for free. She looked at it, frowned. “What day is it?”

He reached for the stick he’d been using to stoke the fire, brought the bright red glowing end to the tip of his cigar, puffed on it a few times until he was sure it was burning properly. Used the time to recall what day it was. He’d been out here a few days himself. “Wednesday,” he finally answered on an exhale.

“No, the date.” She reached into the backpack again, produced a pen. It was pink and sparkly and had some kind of cartoon on it.

“The thirteenth.” He prodded the fire with the stick, puffed some more, watched her out of the corner of his eye.

A pause as she scribbled on the calendar, evidently crossing off days. “Three and a half months, then.”

That took him aback. He’d thought she looked pretty rough, pretty bad off. Like a young city kid would look after a couple weeks. Three and a half months? She looked *good* for three and half months. How she'd survive the tail end of winter was a mystery.

She was putting the calendar back in her bag, zipping it up. “I got sick a few weeks ago. I kinda lost track of what day it was,” she said by way of explanation, looking a little embarrassed by the admission.

He nodded. He knew what it was like to come to your senses one day and have no idea how much time had passed. He’d once lost a lifetime that way.

“How old are you?” He didn’t want to know, he realized after he asked. But he had to know. A look came over her face, the look of someone who is preparing to give an answer that is untrue. “And don’t lie to me.” He gave her a hard stare, just so she’d know he wasn’t fucking around about that.

She swallowed, seemed to shrink back from him a little bit. “Fifteen.”

Aw, hell. Fifteen. Fif-fucking-teen and probably being looked for by every state trooper and convenience store clerk from one of end the country to the other.

“Your parents lookin’ for you?” A father with a shotgun, maybe?

She shook her head. “No.” She said it softly, and he believed her. Knew without a doubt that there were no parents to look for her, and that was probably why she’d run. “I’m on my own.”

Her voice and her body language and her scent told him everything he needed to know about how she felt about that fact. It was very similar to the way he felt about it. Like it had been a relief at first, but wasn't so much that way anymore.

~*~

He let her clean up in the camper's bathroom, after warning her about how tiny the water heater was. She opted for a bath anyway, from the sound of it. The half-tub wasn't nearly big enough for him, but she probably fit just fine. He approached the narrow door that divided the bathroom from the rest of the camper and could practically feel her stiffen on the other side, wondering what he was going to do. Still, she smelled better already. Cleaner, and also happier.

“Hey, you got clean clothes to wear?” No use putting dirty clothes on a clean body.

“No.”

"I can give you something. A shirt or something."

"Okay."

He returned to the door a minute later with one of his flannel shirts, the cleanest one he could find. It was probably big enough to fit her like a dress. It’d do. “Here, you can wear this,” he called through the door. It opened a few inches and a hand snaked out to take it from him.

When she came out, shy and slightly embarrassed in the shirt and a pair of socks, he gestured toward the bedroom at the other end of camper. "You can sleep in there." She looked toward the bed, then back at him, then back at the bed. "I was gonna sleep out by the fire anyway, " he added, aware of what she was probably thinking. He preferred to sleep outside when he could anyway, so it was really no hardship. She could have the bed.

"Are you sure? I can sleep there," she said, gesturing toward the couch with the ball of dirty clothes she was carrying. Her other hand pressed the shirt against her thigh in an attempt to keep as covered as possible. It was kind of cute.

"Nah, you take it." He waved a dismissive hand to show that the discussion was over. She'd get extra points if she took the hint and let it go.

"Okay." Good girl.

She turned and headed for the bedroom, hand creeping around to hold the shirt down over her butt, and he almost smiled. Her legs were thin and pale. The palest skin he'd ever seen.

"Hey."

She paused in the doorway and looked back at him.

"What's your mutation?"

Surprised her there. "How—"

"Got a sharp sense of smell 'cause a mine," he said, tapping his nose once with a finger.

Her eyes got wide. "Oh." He could see it, some of the wariness dropping away. One less secret she'd have to keep.

"So?"

"My skin. It's—it hurts people if I touch them."

"Like how?"

"I don't know, exactly. It's hard to explain. It's like they—like I take them into my head or something. Their thoughts and memories. And if I touch another mutant I get their power. Not forever, just for a little while or whatever."

"Huh." He'd never heard of a mutation like that. Pretty shitty one, if you asked him. "Alright then. G'night."

He took his sleeping bag outside and settled near the fire. As he took off his boots, he thought about her mutation. As unfortunate as it was, it made him feel a little better. If the girl couldn't be touched, no one could accuse him of doing anything to her he shouldn't be. It would be okay, he thought, to maybe help her out some, give her a chance to get her strength up.

All the same, a grown man traveling with a teenaged girl was still a pretty questionable situation. Maybe it'd be better to send her on her way tomorrow.

He lay there in the dark, listening to the dark sounds of the woods around him, wondering what the hell he was going to do now.

End Part 1

Temptation Bound: Part 2

~*~

Logan made a huge breakfast the next morning, expecting the kid to eat heartily, which she did. After he had eaten his fill, he leaned against the log and sipped at his coffee. He hadn't slept well, and as a result was feeling tired and surly. She'd coughed a lot during the night, a sound that had only added to his restlessness. There was something in her lungs that wasn't right; she was sicker than he had originally thought.

She spent the next two days at the campsite with him. She didn't make any move to leave and he didn't ask her to go, so they simply co-existed. She slept a lot, curled up like a kitten on the bed. No matter how deep her sleep, the smell of a meal cooking never failed to rouse her. The kid ate well and often, and immediately began to look less haggard.

Aside from the fact that her name was Marie and she was from Mississippi, she was not forthcoming with details about herself. Logan figured it was just as well, as he wasn't much into sharing personal information either.

After the second day she ceased to be nervous around him at all, and by the morning of the third day she was teasing him about his fondness for bacon. He was still under the impression that he hadn't yet made up his mind what to do with her when he reached for his coffee and said, "I figured we'd move out today. Head for Cut Rock."

She nodded, and bit into her toast. "Okay."

~*~

He wasn't sure how he'd feel about traveling with her, but the first two days on the road were surprisingly non-stressful. She didn't demand things of him, was more than willing to help with any chore, and seemed to know when to best leave him alone. Which was pretty often, truthfully. She was respectful of his pet peeves, and he rarely had to tell her anything twice. Best of all, she was someone to play cards with in the laundromat.

Logan hated the laundromat. Hated the hard chairs that hurt his ass. Hated the smell of fabric softener. Hated the insipid dialogue of the daytime soap operas, guaranteed to be playing on a TV somewhere in the place. Hated the also-obligatory screeching kids that made him want to tear his over-sensitive ears right off his head.

But laundry was a necessary evil, and one that really needed to be faced. Soon. Most of the kid's clothes were so dirty as to be completely unwearable, and he was rapidly running out of things to loan her. To his delight, the endless minutes of a dryer cycle were much more tolerable when they were spent teaching Marie how to play 5-card stud. She'd never be able to beat him by bluffing—no one could—but when she got a good hand she was perfectly capable of wiping the table with his ass.

It took three days to reach Cut Rock, and they were all much the same as the first days they'd spent together. He cooked, she ate. He slept under the stars, she slept in the camper. She had found a book in the laundromat, and she spent a good portion of her waking hours reading it, which was fine with him. He was considerate of her, if not particularly friendly, and she seemed satisfied with that. Being a guy who had a distinct dislike for demands being made upon him, this sat well with Logan. His life was running smoothly, just the way he liked it.

Which meant, of course, that it wouldn't last.

~*~

They arrived in Cut Rock a day earlier than necessary, which was exactly how Logan had planned it. He had business to attend to, but some recreation to squeeze in beforehand. Marie, who had taken to propping herself against the door of the truck while she read, straightened and looked around when they pulled into the parking lot of the motel.

"Thought we'd get a room. Cable TV, big water heater, free soap."

She nodded, excited by the idea, and reached behind the seat to cram her book into her backpack. The dark circles under her eyes were almost totally gone, he noticed.

She waited in the truck while he checked in, which was a relief, once he began the process. Not that the guy behind the desk looked like he'd give a shit if he knew, but Logan couldn't help feeling like anyone who laid eyes on him would automatically know that he was paying for a motel room for himself and fifteen-year-old girl who was most definitely not his daughter.

Even as he plucked the key from the counter, he was weighing another night in the woods against the allure of ESPN and unlimited hot water. It was with those thoughts in his mind that he returned to the truck. He pried his small duffle from behind his seat and dropped it in her lap, and she cast an uneasy glance his way, as if sensing his troubled thoughts.

He nearly groaned when she opened her mouth to speak, so strong was his desire to not be asked what was wrong. She surprised him. "Do they have donuts in the morning here?"

That question he was willing to answer. He'd seen a small sign advertising a free "Continental breakfast" on the folding table in the corner of the lobby. "Yeah. From eight to ten." All the stale donuts and weak coffee a person could ask for.

"I haven't had a donut in ages," she sighed, obviously looking forward to the morning's feast much more than he was. "I hope they have jelly ones."

"Those go pretty fast," he informed her. "Better get there early."

~*~

She lugged their bags to their room while Logan unhitched the camper, backing it into one of the parking spaces right outside their door. As he propped the hitch up on a cement block, he could already hear her flipping through the cable channels. They were going to have to have a talk about who controlled the remote, he could tell already.

She was sprawled at the foot of the first of the two double beds, watching some kind of music video, and didn't even look up when he shut the door behind him. His duffle bag occupied the other bed, he noted with a touch of irritation. He thought about telling her they'd have to switch, because he liked to sleep by the window, keep an ear open for anyone messing with the camper. Then he decided that, if he was lucky—and he was fairly confident he would be—he wouldn't be sleeping in that bed much anyway. It wasn't worth mentioning.

The music on the TV got worse as he removed his boots. What *was* that crap? He got up and headed for the shower, then turned back to fetch his bag from the bed. This wasn't like the camper, where Marie poked at the fire or picked wildflowers while he showered and dressed. He couldn't come barging out of the bathroom without a stitch on and dig around for some clean clothes. This was a whole new situation that would require a whole different set of rules, and it seemed a little much on top of all the adjustments he'd made to his routine already.

Suddenly, getting a room was looking like more trouble than it was worth.

She sat up and watched as he dug around in his duffle. "Is that why you keep stuff in that bag? For when you don't sleep in the camper?" She'd obviously noticed that he'd carefully re-stocked it with clean clothes after their trip to the laundromat.

"Yeah."

"That's a good idea." It was. Saved him from having to traipse out to the camper in his boxer shorts to get his toothbrush.

"Yeah," he replied, almost automatically.

She flopped back onto her stomach and went back to her videos. He glanced at her briefly, then retreated to the bathroom.

~*~

He took a seriously long shower. One thing he loved about hotels was the abundance of hot water, and the abundance of space in the shower. No need to worry about knocking his elbows on the walls.

Rather than reveling in the luxury, however, he found himself in an even fouler mood once he was done. The bathroom was hot and humid, even with the fan running, and as he shaved he found himself wishing he could stand at the sink naked and have the door open at the same time. When he could take it no longer he grudgingly secured a towel around his hips and swung the door open. The cool air of the room was wonderful on his heated skin.

He swiped a clear patch in the condensation on the mirror and raised his razor to his cheek. Movement behind him caught his eye. He could see Marie in the mirror, still on the bed. She had looked his way when he opened the bathroom door, then glanced quickly back at the television. Now her eyes continued to dart to him as he finished up one rough cheek, her unease apparent. It irritated him. He was covered, for chrissakes, and he wasn't planning on trying anything with her.

He wasn't some goddamned pervert, and he hadn't gotten the room with the intention of seducing her. He wasn't a child molester.

Best left untouched was the knowledge that he vaguely felt like one anyway. That this situation would appear suspect to almost anyone. He had every intention of getting laid tonight, but it in no way included the young girl who was scooting backwards on the bed, out of his line of sight.

He had no choice but to close the door while he dressed. His clothes stuck to his damp skin, and he started to sweat almost immediately, the tiny bathroom far too humid. Jeans and a T-shirt were all he could manage before he had to get out, bursting into the more comfortable climate of the room with a scowl.

She didn't say anything as he tied his boots, but he could feel her eyes on him and it sent his already substantial annoyance up another couple dozen notches. The honeymoon was definitely over, as far as he was concerned. Driving during the day, setting up camp at night—that had been easy. A pattern they followed that required little thought and presented little opportunity for conflict.

And now, Logan was seeing a definite conflict. He was used to doing what he wanted, when he wanted. Having to include another person in his plans was suddenly a reality, and he was feeling the true weight of it for the first time since she'd joined him. The thought of making that effort for the next month, week, day, whatever, was unpleasant, chafed at him.

"What?" he snapped, knowing he was looking for a fight.

He could feel her shrink from him, confused by his tone. "Nothing."

He stood and buckled his belt. "I'm goin' out." As he picked up his jacket he remembered that there'd be no entertaining overnight guests in the room. Not with her here. "Be back by morning," he added.

"Okay." He voice was small, and the tone was a familiar one, her posture telling him that she was trying to be as little trouble as possible. A manner he recognized. He hadn't even realized that she'd had it and then lost it. Hadn't realized it until right now. Now that it was back.

He shot an irritated glance her way as he passed between her and the TV. She had her knees pulled up to her chest and was staring at a stain on the knee of her jeans, tracing it with a gloved finger. As he strode to the door, he knew that she'd be gone when he got back.

"Have a good time," she said softly as he dug his keys out of his jacket, and he wondered if she was really saying goodbye. He stood in front of the door, doing a rapid mental inventory of his options. Then he considered her options, for tonight and tomorrow and beyond.

She hadn't done anything but ask him for a meal. Everything that came after that he'd done of his own free will. It seemed neither fair nor justified to treat her this way. He turned around as he pulled his wallet out and extracted a twenty-dollar bill, which he placed on top of the television. He didn't look at her. "Here. Get a pizza or something. Whatever."

"Okay," he heard her say as he shut the door behind him.

~*~

There were four slices of pizza in the mini-fridge, carefully wrapped in napkins, when he returned to the motel just before dawn. She was still there, a small, motionless lump in the bed. Pretending to be asleep.

He gobbled the pizza, washing it down with his last beer. Another quick shower, an even quicker tooth brushing, and under the sheets he slid. There was a note on his pillow.

He sighed and plucked the crinkled paper from under his head, sincerely hoping it wasn't some sniveling apology. Or, even worse, a pitiful request to just ask her to leave if he didn't want her around. He sat up and turned on the small bedside lamp.

Please wake me up in time for jelly donuts. – Marie

He spent several minutes fumbling with the cheap alarm clock bolted to the nightstand before he finally got it set for what he hoped was 7:45am. He noted with a grimace that 7:45 wasn't that far off, and then, after beating his pillows into submission, fell asleep almost immediately.

End Part Two

Temptation Bound: Part Three

~*~

Logan woke to the soothing sound of the alarm clock shrieking in his ear. He groped for it without opening his eyes and pushed any button his fingers came across until it stopped. "Get up if you want yer donuts," he snarled before sandwiching his head between his pillows and trying his damnedest to go back to sleep.

Marie was relatively quiet as she dressed and slipped out of the room, but it seemed like she was back again almost immediately. He heard the click of the TV coming to life, and then Katie Couric's voice. Christ. He couldn't deal with Katie Couric this early in the morning. All that perkiness. And her smile reminded him of The Joker from that Batman movie. Nice legs, though. But not nice enough to justify the hour of the day.

Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He lifted a pillow and cracked an eye. The kid was propped up on her bed, munching away.

"Hey." Marie looked at him, one cheek full of donut. "Why don't you go find somethin' to do? Come back in a couple hours."

She began to reluctantly scoot off the bed, swallowed, and then asked, "Can I go read in the camper?"

"Whatever. Keys are over there." He waved a hand toward the dresser that also served as the TV stand.

A few seconds later, the TV clicked off, and she closed the door quietly behind her.

~*~

Two more hours of sleep made a big difference, and his shower was much more pleasant with the bathroom door open. After making sure he'd secured the chain on the door, he ambled happily around the room, naked as a jaybird, digging through his bag for clean clothes, paying a cursory visit to his razor. The solitude was a relief.

Before long, though, his stomach spoke up and reminded him it was time for breakfast. A nice greasy one, with extra toast. Maybe Marie wanted something, too. Time to get his boots on and get moving.

On the dresser, next to his wallet, he found a jelly donut, carefully wrapped in a paper napkin. And just in case he couldn't figure out why it was there, Marie had written his name on the napkin. With that sparkly pen of hers, he assumed, because the ink was an obnoxious shade of pink. There was a little smiley face next to his name and everything. No question, it was Logan's Donut.

He picked it up and sniffed it. Blueberry. Huh. He'd obviously given her the impression that he liked jelly donuts as much as she did, but the truth was that all that sugar didn't appeal to him at all; he wasn't big on pastries in the morning. He wrapped it back up in the napkin and chucked it in the trashcan next to the dresser on his way out the door.

~*~

He stuck his head in the camper and found her curled up on the couch, reading her book. It crossed his mind that she might be a little sore at him for kicking her out of the room, but it was too late to do anything about it now.

"Breakfast?"

She looked down at her wrist, checking an imaginary watch.

He grinned at her. "Okay. Lunch?"

She smiled back at him, and he knew everything was okay between them. "Sounds good."

~*~

"Mornin', hon."

The waitress at the greasy spoon was the standard issue for a place of that type--he was convinced that they were all bred in a central location and distributed across the country as needed. She gave them the table he requested, off in a corner, behind the waitress station.

Marie seemed a little more excited than was necessary, until he remembered that this was the first time they'd eaten in a restaurant together. Until now they'd prepared their meals themselves. Well, *he'd* prepared them. Marie didn't have many cooking skills.

He was brought of out his contemplation of their eating habits by a question.

"Did you have fun?"

"What?" He stared at her, totally lost.

"Last night. Did you have fun?" She opened up her calendar and crossed off another day with her sparkly pen, then looked up at him, waiting for an answer.

It took him a second to register that she was asking a sincere question. He stifled a laugh. "Uh huh." And that was all he was going to say about *that*. The waitress made a mercifully well-timed appearance at their table, saving him from elaborating.

The kid surprised him with the size of the breakfast she ordered. A Belgian waffle, scrambled eggs, toast, hash browns, fruit juice. He sipped his coffee and raised an eyebrow at her after the waitress trudged away with their order. Despite the fact that he was a man who generally kept his observations to himself, he'd recently found himself voicing them when the mood struck. Maybe because he had someone to listen to them.

"I'd have figured you'd still be full of donuts."

"Donut," she corrected. "I only had one. You were right, about the jellies going fast. There were only two left."

He was already tucking into his fried eggs and bacon when the math caught up with him. His fork slowed, then stopped completely. He set it down and looked at her across the table. She was cutting her waffle into precisely sized pieces, using the little squares on it as a guide.

His attention caught her attention. "What?"

"Nothing. Just thinking."

He picked up his fork again, but the thoughts didn't go away. He thought about how excited she'd been about something as simple and stupid as jelly donuts--so excited that she'd left him a note to wake her up in time to have some. He thought about how, when she'd discovered there were only two, she'd still set one aside for him.

Mostly, though, he thought about how he'd thrown it in the trash without a second thought.

~*~

Logan finished first, excused himself, and made his way toward the pay phone, in the hallway by the bathrooms. He dialed a number from memory, and was pleased when the female voice he was expecting answered.

"Yeah. It's Logan," he informed her.

"Logan. It's nice to hear from you," said The Voice. And she sounded like she meant it. The Voice was warm, with a touch of whiskey, and always sounded like he was the only person in the world she cared to talk to at the moment. He loved The Voice. Had a bit of a crush on her, actually.

Hearing The Voice always sent a flutter through his stomach, straight to his crotch, and he sincerely hoped he'd never, ever meet the owner, because he already knew what he wanted her to look like, and chances were slim she'd live up to the fantasy. He'd once picked up a woman in a bar simply because she sounded a little bit like The Voice, and he'd found that irresistibly attractive.

He sometimes wondered how many guys there were out there like him, doing someone else's dirty work just so they could hear that voice on a regular basis.

"Were the fish biting?"

"Damn straight, darlin'."

She laughed, a sound that made his spine tingle. He really had it bad, and he was grateful no one but him knew it. Sadly, their conversation was short. Now that he'd verified his identity and location, she gave him an address, which he didn't bother to write down, and then there wasn't much else to say.

"Call me again, Logan," she purred. Jesus. If she kept saying his name like that, he was going to need some alone time in the john after he got off the phone.

"You know I will." Sometimes talking to her was the highlight of his day.

"Goodbye." A tinge of amusement. She had to know what she was doing to him.

"Yeah. Bye." He shook his head as he returned the handset to its cradle. Hard to believe, sometimes, that a grown man could get so worked up over a woman's voice. He was living proof that it was possible.

Marie was done with her breakfast when he returned to the table. He slowed down enough to grab the check. "C'mon. I'll drop you off, and then I gotta go somewhere."

~*~

The address The Voice had given him was a hardware store, and the guy behind the counter was expecting him. A short conversation about fishing took place, and Logan left with an envelope shoved in the back pocket of his jeans.

He opened it in the truck. A single sheet of paper with a few vital statistics, and three photos. The same person had prepared the envelope, as always. He wondered, not for the first time, if they did that on purpose, if they didn't want to give him any more scents than necessary. Which always led him to wonder how many people there knew who he was and how to get in touch with him.

Yeah, he was a little paranoid. Even unkillable guys had to look out for number one.

~*~

When he got back to the room, Marie was watching TV again, hair wet, just out of the shower. She didn't look very happy to see him, probably expecting to be banished to the camper again. He found that rather amusing, that they were traveling together, yet seemed so disinclined to each other's company.

The beds were made and his towel had been picked up, so that meant the maid had been and gone. He casually made his way over to the dresser and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest. He glanced down at the trashcan, noting with relief that it was empty. Hopefully, it had been that way when he'd dropped Marie off. No point in her knowing about the donut.

That matter resolved to his satisfaction, he moved on to more important things.

"Listen, I'm gonna be gone 'til later tonight."

Chances were slim it would be overnight, so he didn't even mention that possibility. There were three things Logan knew he was really, really good at: carpentry, oral sex, and convincing people to tell him what he needed to know. That third skill was going to make this job a breeze.

"Okaaay," she said slowly. She was curious, and he didn't really blame her. She could tell this wasn't the same as his little excursion last night.

"I'll leave you some money for food or whatever. Get another pizza. Stay in the room. Got it?"

She tilted her head, obviously intrigued by his instructions. She opened her mouth to speak.

"Don’t ask me where I'm going," he snapped, before she could get a single word out. Then he remembered the thing about the donut, and felt a little guilty for being so curt with her. "Business. That's all you need to know."

She nodded. "Okay."

~*~

Later that night, his mission accomplished, he walked into a bar on the outskirts of town, set a small wooden box on the bar, and received another envelope in exchange--this one full of cash. The bartender, who happened to be the same guy from the hardware store, offered him a beer, but he declined. The less he gave people to remember about him, the happier he was. He pocketed the envelope and left.

Marie was asleep when he got back to the room. He lifted a foot and planted it on the edge of the bed, bounced her up and down. "Wake up. Movin' out."

She sat up and blinked at him sleepily. "Now?"

"Yep." He didn't like to stick around after a job. "I'm gonna check out and hitch up the camper. Be ready to go when I get back."

She grumbled something in reply, but he shut the door behind him, cutting her off.

~*~

It went on like that for another two weeks. They'd travel a little, then he'd do a little work. She seemed to enjoy their days in the towns the stopped in, if for no other reason than it meant restaurant food and cable TV.

After a few motel stays, he noticed that it felt strange to sleep outside, where he wasn't within earshot of her, falling asleep to the sound of her soft breathing.

~*~

"You're a day late, Logan," said The Voice.

"Aw, it's sweet of you to notice." He knew they noticed, and they probably knew he did it on purpose. Being predictable made him nervous, and he'd made it clear from the get-go that if they didn't like it, they could fuck right the hell off.

This time the destination was familiar, and so was Jorge, who was at his usual corner table. He stayed there as much as possible; he may have looked human up top, but from the waist down was a completely different story.

They exchanged greetings while Logan waited for his beer, and when the waitress brought it over, the way she looked at Jorge made it obvious that they were sleeping together. Logan's thoughts briefly turned to what type of equipment a guy like Jorge had down below, but he quickly steered them back to less disconcerting territory.

Once they'd dispensed with the pleasantries, Jorge slid the envelope across the table. Logan opened it immediately, as there was no need to play games with Jorge. He knew why Logan was there. They went way back, and had worked together a number of times, not all of them initiated by The Voice.

Three photos again, and a sheet of paper with what they thought he'd need to know to get the job done. He shuffled through the pictures, and nearly fell out of his chair. All three of them were fairly recent photos of the girl who was currently watching a Jim Carrey movie in a motel room he'd paid for.

"She looks young," was all he said. He set the photos down on the table as if they didn't interest him that much, careful to keep his face expressionless. He pretended to study the fact file. "Jesus. She's a kid."

Jorge said nothing. That was his job.

Logan tried to be casual about it, but the fact that he was asking at all would be a dead giveaway. "Where'd this come from?"

Jorge was silent for a second in his surprise. They both knew that asking questions was against the rules, and they both knew that Logan was a stickler for the rules. Those rules, anyway. But Logan let him think it through, confident that Jorge would eventually come to the conclusion that it was in his best interest to answer the question. Which he did.

"Creed."

Logan grimaced before he could stop himself. "Should have fucking known." He looked at the photos again, spreading them out on the tabletop with a finger. "I don't even wanna know why he's looking for her."

Jorge nodded and sipped at his drink. "Good. He'd cut your nuts off just for asking."

Logan snorted. He had little fear of Victor Creed. The guy was a gigantic pain in the ass, but not even that pile of fur had been able to inflict any lasting damage on him. He picked the paper and the photos up and shoved them in the envelope, slid it back across the table. "Not interested."

Jorge's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline. "You sure?" This was very unusual, and he wasn’t even trying to pretend it wasn't. "Not like you to turn down a job."

Logan knew that everyone had the option of turning down a job, but he never did. Never.

Until now.

"Yeah. I ain't about to spend my time huntin' down Creed's jailbait. That sick fuck can do whatever he wants in his spare time, but I'm staying out of it."

Jorge nodded, but reminded him, "It's a large sum of money."

"Don't care. I don't do that kind of work. No kids." Which wasn't a rule he'd had until just now, but if anyone wanted to check, they'd notice that he'd never been offered a job that involved kids, so that story would probably stick. Hopefully, it would stick long enough for him to figure out what to do next.

"Hmm." Jorge tapped his fingers on the table next to his drink, thinking. "Perhaps order did not come from Creed, but through Creed," he suggested.

Interesting. He was trying to tell him that the situation wasn't what he thought it was. That he even mentioned it was just as surprising to Logan as Logan's questions had probably been to Jorge. The fact that they'd both breached etiquette was a good sign, though. It told Logan it was possible that Jorge just might forget to mention that he'd asked questions he shouldn't have asked.

He threw a couple bucks down on the table. "Don't care. I'm out."

"I will relay that to all interested parties," Jorge said. Which went without saying. Logan knew that as soon as he pulled out of the parking lot, Jorge'd be on the phone, reporting this interesting development.

He got up and walked out, wondering what The Voice was going to make of this.

~*~

Later on, Logan couldn't even remember driving back to the motel. He was that pissed.

"Wake up." He grabbed her shoulder through the blanket and shook her. Her eyes fluttered open. "Up. Now. Wake the fuck up, Marie."

She squinted at him, sleepy eyes trying to adjust to the light. "What's wrong?"

He paced in the small space between the beds. "When were you planning to tell me that Creed's looking for you?"

"Creed?" she repeated, trying to follow along.

"Victor Creed? Big shaggy psychopath?" She started to come out the brain fuzz, her eyes widening as understanding began to dawn. "Sabretooth?"

Instant terror. Her eyes darted to the door as if she expected him to come busting through it. "Is he—is he here?"

"No. Not yet. Get up."

She didn't move, which surprised him. He was used to people listening to him when he used that tone of voice. Her own voice shook a little when she asked, "Are you taking me to him?"

That was a good question. "No." He turned toward his bag and began to toss his belongings into it. "Get your stuff. We're leaving."

~*~

In the truck there was silence. Marie stared bleakly out the window. Logan was deep in his thoughts, trying to figure out what should happen next.

Creed wanted her, and Logan's natural reaction to that bit of information was smug satisfaction. He had something Creed wanted, and he was, coincidentally, one of the few people in the world who could keep him from having it. Just the thought of how much that would piss the shithead off cheered him.

And he had no doubt that Creed would eventually discover she was with him. Hell, it was possible he already knew. Maybe he'd hoped that he would turn her in for the money. It *was* a lot of money. Enough to make him spend a fair amount of time considering his options, anyway.

He'd spent the past few weeks operating under the assumption that this was a temporary situation. It still could be. He didn't really owe her anything. He could just let her off at the next gas station and wish her good luck. Someone else would bring her in sooner or later. On her own, she had little chance of avoiding that.

With him, her chances improved considerably.

Too bad he wasn't sure he wanted to help her.

As much as he relished the thought of throwing a big, huge monkeywrench into that fuck Creed's plans, he was equally apprehensive. Once he decided to help her, changing his mind would be nothing short of disastrous for her.

Tired of thinking about it, he decided it was time to drag some information out of her. "How'd you get mixed up with that guy anyway?" he asked.

He wasn't at all prepared for her response.

She turned and met his eyes. "He killed my parents."

"Aw, shit." No wonder she'd reacted that way when he mentioned Creed. "How'd you get away?"

"I used my skin."

She closed her eyes, and for a few seconds everything about her changed. Her body got taller, curvier. . .and bluer. Then, with a shimmer, she was back, looking like she always did.

Mystique. "Goddamnit." He brought his hand down on the steering wheel, hard. "God-fucking-dammit."

He pulled off the road, skidding to a stop on the gravel shoulder. Up until now he'd tried to tell himself that maybe it was personal, maybe Creed had an interest in the girl, but he knew that wasn't it. If they were paying people like Logan to look for her, she was probably important for a reason other than Sabretooth's twisted personal life. This latest bit of information proved it. If Mystique had been involved with the Creed thing, the girl was definitely important. Those two were never up to any good, and they didn't work cheap.

This was bad. Once they knew he knew they wanted her, it changed the situation, and not in his favor. From now on, he wasn't merely traveling with her by sheer coincidence; from now on, he was hiding her from them. Having both Creed and Mystique out for his ass was going to be seriously inconvenient, and make the rest of this trip a lot more work than he had bargained for.

He poked a finger at her. "You're mixed up with some really bad people, kid. Worse than me."

If he'd been worried he was going to scare her, he would have been wrong. She leaned toward him, and he retreated a little, much to his own surprise.

"You think I don't know that? When strangers break into your house in the middle of the night, kill your parents, and haul you away in a body bag, they probably aren't taking you out for milk and cookies."

He slumped back against his door and ran his hand through his hair. "Shit."

"Yeah," she agreed. Not quite so defiant now, but she'd showed him it was there.

"Do you know why?" he asked, after a minute.

She shook her head and turned away from him, staring out into the dreary field beside the road. She tilted her head a little more, and her hair fell across her cheek, obscuring her face. She was done talking.

He sighed and put the truck back in gear, but didn't pull out onto the road. He looked at the gray expanse of highway disappearing into the horizon in his side mirror. Creed was out there, somewhere, looking for this girl.

The question was, was Logan going to let him have her?

~*~

The miles whipped by, and he thought about what to do next. That thing about Mystique might come in handy, if the kid could actually use it. If she could change her appearance, it would help considerably. Creed'd sniff her out in a minute, but it'd at least make it impossible for just about anyone else to spot her.

She'd only changed her form briefly, but she evidently knew at least a little bit about how Mystique's mutation worked, and if she could apply that knowledge. . .she had told him that she absorbed the thoughts of the people she--

Jesus fucking Christ. He was an idiot.

The fact that it took him so long to think of it worried him more than a little. He wasn't the kind of guy who made mistakes like this. But when the thought came to him, he once again steered the truck off the road, where it lurched to a halt. Marie, taken by surprise, jerked in her seatbelt. One arm flailed out and hit the dash with a thump as she tried to brace herself.

She turned confused eyes on him, and then confusion became fear, when she saw the look on his face. He got that reaction a lot.

"I'm gonna give you one chance to be straight with me. You keep shit from me after this, you're out, you got it? On your own. So you better think real hard about what you say next, because without me, you don't have a chance in hell. I kick you out of this truck, Creed'll snatch you up so fast, you won't even see him coming. You understand me?"

She nodded and twisted her hands in her lap. "What do you want to know?"

"I wanna know how in holy fuck I'm supposed to believe that you just happened to find *me*, and that I just happen to know the people who tried to kill you."

She looked away. "I don't know."

He fought the urge to shake her. "Did you hear me when I told you I'd boot your ass outta this truck if you didn't stop bullshitting me?"

When she looked at him again, the defiance was back, just a little. "Yes, I did. And I can't explain it. But I did--I did kind of recognize you. I think Raven--Mystique--I think Mystique knew you, right?"

"Yeah, she did." And that was what was bothering him. That she'd known who he was when they met. He'd been duped.

He hated being duped.

"You should have told me," he said.

She shrugged. "What was I going to say? 'Hello, mysterious stranger. You don't know me, but I kind of know you, and I'm being chased by some people who might kill us both if they find me'?"

"It would have been a start."

"Would you have taken me in?"

Now it was his turn to look away. And that was all the answer she needed.

"I didn't think so."

Stung by her disappointment in him, he struggled to pick up the thread of the conversation, to remember why he was angry. "You could have gotten us both killed. I was walking around with a target on my back. You were just gonna let me swing in the breeze, and if they had gotten to me, you'd be dead."

"I'm dead either way," she said quietly.

Her cold logic took him aback. And also bought her a little respect. She was right--for all she knew, she was dead either way. That she could be so ruthless was a little surprising, and changed things a little. Maybe. . .

"You're right," he said. "But if there's anything else, I want you to tell me now. I understand why you were keeping secrets, but that one could have gotten you killed. So now's the time. I want to know what happened, everything you can remember."

She took a deep breath. "Okay."

~*~

She didn't elaborate much, just gave him the facts as she knew them. Her voice was even as she relayed her tale, like she was reciting baseball stats. Then she waited for him to say something.

He didn't, though. He stared through the windshield and processed what she'd told him, tried to figure out why she was so important that someone had paid Creed and Mystique to collect her.

A few minutes later, she surprised him with a question of her own.

"How do you know Victor?" The way she referred to him by his first name caught Logan's attention. Must be Mystique's influence, he decided.

"We used to. . .work together," he said.

"Doing what?"

"None of your business." She was already terrified enough, without knowing about all *that*.

"I thought we were being honest."

"You were. I get to be however I want to be."

"That's not very fair."

"Nope." And he didn't really care.

~*~

She was restless in the passenger seat, dozing and waking, shifting. She had her sweatshirt balled up and was using it as a pillow between her head and window. It didn't look very comfortable, but he decided that was the least of her worries right now.

The miles inched by, Logan obsessively checking the trip odometer. One hundred, two hundred. He told himself they could stop when it hit five hundred, but five hundred came and went, and he didn't stop. He was too busy planning, thinking. First he needed to buy some time, make sure that Creed wasn't trailing them.

Decide what to do with her.

Getting rid of her--and soon--would be the easiest thing to do. And he was under no obligation to do anything more for her than he already had. She was just another person, like countless others he'd located in exchange for pleasantly large sums of money. She was just a person.

She was just a girl.

A girl who liked jelly donuts and sparkly pens and the longest showers he'd ever witnessed. A girl who thought his company wasn't half bad, except when he insisted on controlling the TV remote.

A noise from Marie brought him out of his thoughts. She was twitching. No, she was crying. Crying in her sleep. Talking about what had happened to her had made it fresh for her again, he suspected. She half-roused, eyes fluttering open, and then curled up in a ball against the door. He could hear her sniffing, a hitching breath now and then.

His eyes darted from her to the road to her, and he thought about how small she was, and how young. An orphan. And the only person she had on her side right now was a borderline psychopath mutant hit-man who was anything but loving and nurturing. Which seemed like a pretty crappy deal to him. She was too young to shoulder all this. Too young to feel like it was just her against the world.

It wasn't so hot at any age, actually.

Later, when he thought back on it, that was the moment when it all changed. When he made his decision. He wouldn't always do his best to stick to it, and there was still plenty he had to learn, but he knew, in his gut, right then, that he would keep her with him.

"Hey." He reached over and grabbed her upper arm. It felt fragile and delicate under his hand, and when he pulled her toward him it was like moving a bag of leaves. Nearly weightless, no resistance. It occurred to him that he hadn't really touched her before this, even accidentally, and that he wasn't so sure how she would react.

He got a quick glimpse of her face, tear-streaked and drawn, before he pulled her down next to him. She folded into him without hesitation, and he was surprised by the reaction it provoked in him, which he filed away for later analyzing.

She curled on her side, facing the back of the seat, and buried her face in the fold of his hip, damp cheek pressed on the top of his thigh. One bony arm reached across his stomach and held on tight. He settled his hand on the back of her head and stroked her hair as she held onto him and cried.

It was the two of them now, he knew. She wasn't just a hitchhiker anymore.

The miles continued to add up as the sky lit up with a new day. Logan drove, and soon Marie slept.

End Part Three