Disclaimer: Grace is my character, but as for the rest, I don't own them. I just have fun with them.

This story begins the morning after the raid in AJBAC ….

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CHAPTER 1

It was late morning when the fifth-floor nurses called to say they needed Grace's help with a John Doe ... yes, it had to be right now, no, it couldn't wait till after lunch. Hanging up the phone, Grace sighed. She'd been at the hospital since dawn, consoling a distraught family; annual budgets were due today, and of course she hasn't eaten breakfast. Her head ached, her stomach rumbled. What was the rush? John Doe wasn't going to get any more anonymous if she took five minutes to grab some vending machine junk, she thought miserably. Still, she went straight to the fifth floor, because that was the kind of thing a hospital chaplain did these days, after the Pulse, with no money for luxuries like social workers.

Nobody was at the nurses' station. Sounds of commotion came from a nearby room, where a patient was apparently in a full-blown screaming rage. This wasn't unusual. The fifth floor took in the crazy, the drugged, and the drunk of the city. After a moment the door banged open and a nurse leaned out into the hallway, searching frantically through a supply cart. Noise poured into the hall. An orderly paged Security.

Grace shouted over the din, "So what's the deal?"

The nurse was exasperated. "If I had time to figure that out, would I be calling you?" She glared over her shoulder at Grace, pointing to a nearby room. "No ID. Incoherent, but not drunk. Or drugged."

"Crazy?"

"Could be."

"Is he awake now?"

"Not last I checked."

"And you expect me to get a phone number out of him ... how?"

The orderly winked at Grace over the telephone. "Aw, go on in there. He may be mental, but he's clean. And hot too, if you get my meaning."

The nurse snorted. "Don't get your hopes up, honey. This one's got a boyfriend. Keeps calling for some guy, Mack or Sam or something like that." She disappeared back into the screamer's room and the orderly began to argue into the telephone. With a sigh Grace pushed open the door of John Doe's room.

After a moment she felt slightly ashamed of her impatience, and not just because he actually was very good-looking. Someone or something had hit him hard, that much was plain from the dark purple bruise and stitched cut on his right cheek. He was restless, mumbling a name. When she spoke quietly, he did not respond.

Though she wasn't supposed to, she flipped through his chart. Interesting. Apparently this wasn't Mr. Doe's first misadventure. Extensive post-surgical scarring on the back, lower extremities unresponsive to stimuli, all indicating pre-existing severe neurological injury. Car wreck? Gunshot? Grace set the chart down and moved closer to the bedside. People banged up like this tended to have unsavory pasts, but this guy just didn't have a street look, even in his current condition. A pair of glasses lay on the beside table. Bent and scratched, yes, but expensive. No, he wasn't a street guy. Psych problems, then. Off his meds? Family frantically combing the city for him? It happened all the time.

The closet held the clothes he'd been wearing when he was brought in, but the pockets were empty. When she turned back to the bed, his eyes were open and he was watching her. Keeping her distance from the bed, she spoke softly, cautiously. "Hey. You're in Metro Medical. My name is Grace, I work here." He said nothing, so she continued, "You came in without ID, so we haven't been able to contact anyone. Is there someone I can call for you?"

He started to speak, cleared his throat, tried again. "Where's my ..." He groped around the bed and Grace slowly moved closer, handing him the glasses and then a cup of water. After a sip he was able to ask, "Where are my clothes?" He seemed fairly well oriented, Grace thought. She relaxed a bit, though she still didn't quite get what was going on here. Awake, he didn't seem much like a psych patient. She handed him the clothes from the closet and he went through the pockets quickly, then tossed them aside, obviously disappointed, and turned his face toward the window.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

He didn't answer. "Were you here when I was brought in? Was anything else found with me? A phone, anything?" he asked impatiently.

"No, I wasn't here. As far as I know, this is it. Do you remember what happened to you?"

Again, he did not answer her. "Nobody found a ... a leg brace, or something like that?"

"I'll ask, but right now I need to tell the nurses you're awake. So, is there someone I can call for you?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." He took the pen and paper Grace offered, quickly scrawled something, then lay back and closed his eyes. Clearly he was hoping she would go away. No doubt he'd be alert the moment the door closed behind her. Well, it wasn't like he could even get out of the bed, not with those legs, but for some reason she lingered in the hallway, watching the room until she saw one of the nurses enter.

She was relieved. As long as someone answered the call she was about to make, this would all be over in five more minutes. Not a bad outcome. Other than the ugly bruise and a few missing possessions, he'd been lucky. Unlike the typical fifth-floor customer, he even had a friend to call. Probably the boyfriend, Grace decided. Looked like the nurse had been right about that one, except he hadn't been calling for Sam. He'd been calling for Max. The boyfriend's name was Max.

Grace kept her word. She checked around emergency admissions for John Doe's missing property, but nothing turned up. By the time she found a moment to look in on him again, he had already signed out. She had been able to reach someone at the number he gave her, a deep-voiced man she assumed was Max-the-boyfriend, who thanked her for contacting him but asked no questions. He must have come to the hospital immediately after her call. Maybe this wasn't the first time he'd waited up all night for the phone to ring, spoken to a stranger, rushed to the hospital or the police station ... laughing at her melodramatic little soap opera, Grace left the fifth floor and went back to work.

Three days later, however, one of the emergency nurses called to say that a plastic hospital bag with a broken cell phone and some other electronic gear had turned up and hadn't Grace been looking for something like that and did she want to take a look at it? Grace retrieved the bag and took it back to her office. She had no idea what most of the electronic stuff was, but it seemed like the kind of thing a mysterious injured rich guy might carry around in the dead of night. So once again she called the John Doe phone number and spoke to the same man, who asked whether he could stop by later that day to claim the items. It would have been simpler to leave the bag at admissions or emergency, but Grace was curious. She wanted to see this Max-the-boyfriend, so she directed him to her office.

If he thought it strange that a hospital chaplain was running a lost-and-found, he didn't show it. He was a tall black man, with a shaved head and an air of quiet strength. He quickly examined the equipment lying on Grace's desk and nodded in satisfaction. "This is it. May I take it? Is there anything to sign?"

"No, just take it. I'm sorry, though, we didn't find everything. No leg brace has turned up."

"Leg brace?" He looked puzzled, then smiled. "Ah. Thank you, but please don't worry about that. It's been found."

"Good!" said Grace encouragingly, then waited. Most loved ones, at a time like this, were eager to spill their feelings to Grace, their relief or their anger or generally both. But this guy was all business. Quickly gathering the equipment from her desk, he thanked her courteously and left. A few minutes later, watching from her window, she saw him hail a cab and vanish into traffic. Goodbye, she thought, feeling let down, until she turned back to the desk and realized that he had forgotten something. It had once been an earpiece, one of the little ones that fitted over and into your ear. Now it was just shattered black plastic and wire.

Later Grace thought back many times to that moment, and always wondered why on earth she hadn't done something sensible, like calling the John Doe number again or even just throwing the obviously useless remains in the trash. Why, for some strange reason, had it seemed like a good idea to follow Max-the-boyfriend? She would never understand it. She'd had some crazy notion that if she could just find the cab - which wouldn't be hard, since the same drivers lined up in front of the hospital every day to pick up departing visitors and newly discharged patients - she could spare "Max" and "John" the inconvenience of another trip to the hospital. Obviously, they were having a bad week. Surely two rich guys had a doorman. She could just stop on the way home and leave the earpiece with the doorman. Simple.

Which was how she ended up two hours later in the very cab used by Max-the-boyfriend, heading into the richest sector of the city. Even in late-afternoon traffic at the sector checkpoints, it felt like an adventure. Once the cab had left her at the apartment building, however, Grace discovered that there was no doorman or concierge, and no directory of tenants. In other words, no way to locate Max and John. Crap, she sighed, thinking of the long ride back across town. Guess this was a pretty silly thing to do after all. She turned to leave, only to find an elderly woman struggling at the door with several large shopping bags. Grace held the door open and reached out to help.

"Why thank you dear ... it's very kind of you to help an old woman out. I don't know you, do I?" she added as Grace lifted the last bag into the lobby. "Are you a visitor here?"

"Just dropping something off for a friend, but I, ah, forget the apartment number."

"Oh, I know everyone in this building, dear. What's your friend's name?"

"He's, ah, Max." The woman frowned a bit and Grace hurried on, "Tall black man? Shaved head? Has a white ... friend. Blue eyes, glasses?"

The woman broke into a smile. "Oh, you mean Logan, dear. Isn't that lucky. He lives right below me. I can show you right where to get off the elevator."

Grace hadn't meant to go anywhere near the apartment, but now she couldn't very well leave the old woman to manage all these heavy bags herself, so she grabbed the two heaviest and reluctantly followed the woman into the elevator. She was beginning to feel very uncomfortable, acting like some kind of a stalker. Well, maybe she would just help the woman upstairs and then get out. Figure out something else to do with the earpiece. Like dump it in the trash can across the street.

Of course it took forever to get the woman and the shopping bags to her apartment door, and even longer to see her safely inside, then to politely end the conversation, which the woman was apparently enjoying very much. Finally, the door closed and Grace heard the bolt lock turn. The wait for the elevator was interminable. After a minute Grace rummaged in her bag, found a dusty pen and some slightly crumpled paper in her bag, improvised an envelope and wrote on it: "One last thing. Good luck. Grace at Metro Medical." If the hallway was deserted when the elevator doors opened on the floor below, she would quickly drop the package at the door and forget the whole thing.

The hallway was empty and silent. She stepped out, saw the apartment, bent down to place her package at the door. Whew! Time to get the heck out ...

Before finished the thought, someone grabbed her forcefully from behind and something cold pressed against the side of her head. It all happened so quickly that it took her quite a long time to realize that there was a gun to her head. When she finally got it, she was terrified and, weirdly, furious with herself. Hadn't it been clear enough that John Doe was involved in something dangerous? Why, oh why, had she interfered?

"Who are you?" asked the man quietly.

"Uh ..." Grace found that her throat was so dry that she could not speak. She tried swallowing a couple of times. "I'm from ... Metro Medical ... trying to return ..." She stopped to clear her throat again and the arm that pinned both of hers to her sides spun her around. To her amazement Grace saw that her attacker was none other than Max-the-boyfriend, or rather Logan-the-boyfriend, who seemed equally astonished when he recognized Grace. But he did not lower the gun. Or release her.

"How did you find this place?" he demanded.

"The cab ..." Grace croaked out. Her knees were beginning to shake.

"You followed me here? What do you want?"

"Just returning ... this ..." Grace slowly opened her hand to reveal the now-crumpled little packet, her words smeared by her furiously sweating palm. Logan released his grip, pushed Grace back against the wall, and took the wad of paper, all the while pointing the gun at her. Grace wanted to close her eyes but didn't dare. She supposed she should be figuring out a way to escape or knock him out or something, but truthfully, she was simply too frightened to think.

Finally, when he had unwrapped the paper and looked inside, he slowly lowered the gun, keeping a close eye on Grace. Before either of them spoke, however, the elevator doors slid open, and John Doe, seated in a wheelchair, rolled out into the hallway. He looked at Grace, then raised his eyebrows at her captor. "What's going on here?" he asked calmly as the doors closed behind him.

"Grace, whom I believe both of us have met at Metro Medical, was just returning this to you." Logan handed the paper and its contents to John Doe, and Grace saw him close his eyes quickly as if the sight of the smashed earpiece hurt him. Then he dropped the packet in his lap and looked steadily at Grace. "Thank you," he said coolly. After a moment, Logan put the gun away.

"Sorry we scared you," he said apologetically.

"We've had some trouble lately," said John Doe. "Nothing personal. Just a precaution."

"Uh, I'm gonna, uh, go now," Grace whispered. Her knees were shaking so hard she wasn't sure she could cross the hall to the elevator, but to get out of there, she'd crawl if necessary. Besides, now that the immediate danger was over, she felt her face burning red with embarrassment. "Look, I'm very sorry ... I don't usually follow people to their homes ... I just thought ..." Oh, shut up, idiot, she told herself, as Logan pressed the elevator button for her. There was total silence until the elevator doors whooshed open. Grace felt the two men watching her as she stepped in. "Goodbye," she said stupidly, then sank to the floor in pure relief as the doors closed behind her. It wasn't until she was outside and across the street desperately hailing a cab, any cab, that her head began to spin and she leaned over the trash can to be very, very sick.

When she felt steady enough to stand up again, she was alarmed to find John Doe next to her, arms folded, watching her with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"I just want to go home," Grace said miserably. "Honestly ... I'm leaving."

"Tell you what. I can give you a ride home -- if you don't mind explaining to me how you ended up here this afternoon."

"Oh no, I can't ask you to ..."

"You didn't ask. I offered. Do you want a ride or not?"

"You're not going to shoot me or something, are you?"

He smiled just a little. "No more guns, I promise."

"Well ... " Grace looked up and down the empty street. "All right," she said reluctantly. After all, she probably did owe the man an explanation.

"This way." He indicated the garage under the building across the street, then held out his hand. "By the way, I'm Logan."

"You're Logan?"

"You sound surprised."

"Your friend ... I thought the woman from upstairs said he was Logan." Grace sighed. "Nice to meet you. I'm Grace ..."

".... from Metro Medical," they said together. Oh, her head ached.

"So you met my neighbor, Mrs. Moreno," he said as they crossed the street.

"She was very nice."

"Apparently so. I'm going to have to tell her to be a little more careful about who she lets into the building from now on. Come on. Here's my car."

Working at the hospital Grace had long ago become used to the idea that (except for the ones who left feet first) you rarely found out what happened to the people you met. You shared a few intense hours with them at a crisis in their lives and then they were gone forever. Sometimes there would be a card or a thank-you note, but usually -- nothing. Which explained why she was so startled one afternoon three weeks later when, hearing a quiet tap on her half-open office door, she looked up to see Logan in the hallway. "Hi," he said.

Now what is he doing here? Grace thought suspiciously. For a lot of reasons, he wasn't high on her list of patients she'd love to run into again. Her reaction must have shown pretty clearly on her face because he quickly went on, "I was here to see my doctor and I thought I'd stop by." There was just the slightest hint of mischief in his voice as he added, "You seem to have recovered from your misadventures."

"So do you," Grace replied, realizing as spoke that she meant it. The bruise was gone, the cut was nearly healed, and his eyes had lost the exhausted, frantic look of their previous meetings. In fact, she noticed for the first time that they were very nice blue eyes. But somehow her words seemed to have hurt him; the look of pain that had crossed his face when she returned the earpiece was back. "I'm getting by," he replied tightly, and Grace realized that although his body was healing, his spirit was not. Again she felt slightly ashamed of herself. "Would you like to come in?" she asked, thinking that he didn't look so menacing after all, here in her territory, with that expression on his face. And she could always call Security if he pulled out a weapon, she told herself wryly.

"Do you have a minute? There is something I want to say." He tried to enter but this was the oldest part of the hospital, dating from well before the turn of the century, and the doorway was too narrow to allow the wheelchair through. It bothered Grace to watch him maneuver so determinedly; quickly she stood up and said, "Hey, it's nice out for a change. Let's not hang around in here. There's a place we can talk outside." He nodded.

At the end of the hallway a door led to a courtyard formed by the two wings of the old building and two wings of the more modern buildings. Brick paths wound around old trees that shaded grass and benches where hospital staff, patients, and families could escape the hospital sounds and smells for a while. Grace often came here to think. Sometimes, it was a good place for people to talk. She took the path that led to the corner of the courtyard enclosed by the old building, where under a tree there was a bench set a little apart from the others, and the only sounds besides distant traffic were the rustle of leaves and the ring of wind chimes someone had hung from a low branch. On a rare sunny day like today, it was one of Grace's favorite places, but Logan seemed not to notice his surroundings. As soon as Grace sat down on the bench he said, "I, ah, I definitely owe you an apology for my behavior -- no, wait," he said, holding up a hand as Grace began to object. "You've been kind to me, and I've been rude to you. It's been ... a very bad time. Which is not an excuse for you ending up with a gun to your head."

"I'm the one who's sorry," Grace said, feeling her face redden at the memory of her impulsive behavior. "Like I said, I really don't go around sneaking into people's homes ..." There it was again, that look of pain! Later, when she knew him better, she understood what she had done to cause it, but there in the garden she had no idea why she was upsetting him. As if he hadn't heard her, he went on, "I also want to thank you for returning what you did. It once belonged to .. a friend. I'm grateful to have it back. Sentimental reasons." He looked away, across the courtyard. His eyes were shadowed.

"You're welcome," was all she could think of to say.

"Anyway, this is entirely up to you, and please say no if you're not interested, but I've been lucky enough to get my hands on some nice food. Kind of a get-well present. I'm a decent cook and I'd like you to share it, to say thanks for what you've done for me."

Dinner? Grace thought in astonishment. Is he hitting on me? One of the very few things she had learned about him during the ride home from his apartment was that the man she had mistaken for his boyfriend was in fact no such thing, nor was he named Max. His name was Bling and he worked for Logan in some unspecified capacity. And Grace had been around the hospital long enough to know that even the kind of injury that had put Logan in his wheelchair wasn't necessarily a showstopper when it came to sex. Besides, it was her policy not to become personally involved with patients, especially not the ones who were dumped on hospital doorsteps in the dead of night and who employed armed bodyguards. No, she had to turn him down ...

She opened her mouth to politely refuse. At that moment a breeze stirred, gently sounding the wind chimes and moving sunlight and shadow over the man next to her. A shaft of light gleamed silver on one wheel of the chair; another momentarily highlighted the scar on his cheek. Grace was unexpectedly moved. A lot of suffering for such a young man. Maybe he meant her no harm at all; maybe he was just reaching out. Maybe responding to that was something she was meant to do. So before she could change her mind, Grace said yes.

Dinner, as it turned out, was very good. Logan did cook well and it was fun to eat elegant food and drink a glass or two of good wine. But afterwards, when she found herself outside in the darkness, walking to the bus, Grace felt strangely let down. Somehow she'd expected more -- a midnight confession, secrets revealed. Instead, the evening had reminded her of nothing so much as the kind of thing you did to welcome new neighbors or pay a duty visit to a relative you hardly ever saw. There was obviously so much that was hidden from her and was meant to remain that way, even though on the surface everything was perfectly gracious and welcoming. Even the normally enigmatic Bling had made an appearance, smiling, friendly, joking a little. Yet it all left Grace unsatisfied. Perversely, after her initial fears, she found this Logan far less interesting than the man she'd first met. And worst of all, they had simply said goodnight. To be honest, she actually felt a bit rejected. Professionally, of course, she told herself. Not personally. Don't even think of going there.

So she was flattered (and secretly pleased) when he continued to show up at her hospital office regularly. It was never a big deal - a quick hello, a cup of coffee, sometimes a "walk" around the block. Usually, he said he'd been visiting his doctor.

Little by little she learned more about him. He was from wealthy family, which accounted for the huge, elegant apartment. Once or twice, he hinted that lately there had been some financial setbacks. He was an investigative journalist, he said, though he never asked her to read any of his writing (which was quite out of character for any writer Grace had ever known). The injury that had put him in the wheelchair was somehow connected to his work, but he never gave details (and Grace didn't mention her surreptitious peek at his chart that first day at the hospital). Bling was both an investigator and an assistant to Logan personally. On the surface, that was the sum of his entire life. Of course, Grace knew better, but her few glimpses into his other world were never acknowledged in any way.

Mostly, he encouraged her to talk about her life at the hospital. He was curious about anything and everything having to do with her work; she guessed it was the journalist in him. But he hardly ever questioned her about the why of her work, or about her religious beliefs, and once or twice when she ventured just a little in a spiritual direction, he gently turned the conversation back. Sometimes, describing scenes from the hospital, she'd touch on certain topics, just to gauge his reaction: death, illness, disfigurement, grief, separation, loss. He never seemed to be especially affected ... except one for morning when she could hardly keep her eyes open, having been up all night tracking down a priest so a dying patient could confess and receive absolution.

"Does that happen a lot?" he asked.

She was yawning so hard her eyes were filled with tears. "Yes," she said finally, sniffling sleepily. "Most of them tell the nurses, though. They're afraid to wait for someone else to come."

He was silent for a moment, then asked, "What do they say?" Something in the sound of his voice caught Grace's attention and she tried to focus a little better. "It's funny," she said thoughtfully, "they hardly ever confess some deathbed secret. It's almost always about regret. Regret, and guilt, for the things they didn't do, things wish they had done. A lot of them want to say I love you to someone. All they want is to make sure the message gets to the right person." She hesitated, then added, "'Every man is guilty of all the good he didn't do.' I think Voltaire said that."

He turned his face away then, and after a moment said abruptly, "I have to go. Late for a meeting." Before Grace could even stand up he was halfway down the brick path, and suddenly she was wide awake. Wondering.

Predictably, though, the subject never came up again, and Grace was baffled. What exactly was this man looking for anyway? In the end she decided it was simply companionship. Despite his mysterious life, or maybe because of it, he was alone. And here she was, kind, unthreatening, willing to play by his rules and respect his privacy, always there to talk and listen. She began to suspect that her line of work was partly what made him comfortable with her. He probably assumed that she was off-limits sexually. He didn't want sex and he didn't want religion, just a quiet little haven in what seemed to be a rather troubled life.

Finally Grace gave up the idea that he would ever tell her his true story, and after that, she began to enjoy his visits on their own terms. He was very intelligent and had a sly sense of humor that revealed itself little by little; he was becoming less serious and more lighthearted. It wasn't long before Grace found herself anticipating his arrival and feeling anxious and disappointed on those days she didn't see him. She never tried to contact him, however. Some instinct warned her that he trusted her not to ask questions. Only if she honored that trust would he keep coming back.

Of course, once Grace no longer expected anything to happen, everything changed.

One chilly afternoon they sat together in the courtyard outside Grace's office, sharing a lukewarm cup of coffee. Logan was almost jubilant that day; a piece of his investigative work, he told her, had just put a corrupt official in jail. Without thinking Grace teased, "Oh, so you're actually a crimefighter posing as a mild-mannered journalist. Maybe someday you'll reveal your secret identity to me." He looked so startled that Grace panicked, thinking that she just crossed some kind of a forbidden line, and then he said quite seriously, "Well ... I could tell you, Grace, but then I'd have to kill you."

For a few seconds Grace almost believed him. Then she saw a little twinkle of mischief in his eyes and they burst out laughing together. They laughed for such a long time that Grace knew somehow they had turned a corner. It suddenly seemed absurd and silly that he was keeping so much from her. When they finally calmed down and he invited her to dinner that night, she began to believe that one of these days he might just open up to her after all.

But her lighthearted mood evaporated later that evening. Bling left when Grace arrived. It was raining so heavily that the windows were dark mirrors reflecting back the flames of the candles she and Logan had quickly lit when, without warning, the power went out after dinner. Neither of them had been very hungry anyway. It was clear to both of them, Grace thought, that something was different tonight. After the table was cleared Logan gestured to the living room. After Grace seated herself on the couch Logan rolled to the window and sat watching the rain. Grace said nothing. Shortly Logan smiled at her, but she sensed he was grateful for the barrier of the couch between them. And then he began.

"Her name was Max," he said. "That's her picture in there." He indicated a framed photograph on the computer table in the other room, and in response to Grace's unspoken inquiry, nodded. She walked into the other room and picked up the photograph. It took her breath away. Max had been a startlingly beautiful young woman. Unexpectedly Grace felt tears come to her eyes. Gently she set the photograph back on the table, returned to the couch, and sat down. And for an hour he talked, and he cried, and Grace listened.

It started, he said, a year and a half ago. She'd had a nightmare childhood, orphaned, subjected to a series of foster homes, some better, some unspeakable. But she had somehow survived it, even thrived in some ways. She had been working in a menial job, alone, supplementing her income with the occasional theft. This was no shock to Grace; a lot of good people had been forced to steps they never would have taken had it not been for the Pulse, and of course she still suspected that not all of Logan's activities were entirely on the straight and narrow.

They'd met, he explained, when she tried to break into his apartment to steal some art work. He'd hired her to do legwork for him, helping with the investigations. They'd fallen in love. And then she'd been given a tip that she could locate a member of her family. She had pursued it instantly. Having a family had meant so much to her. He had tried to stay in touch with her that night, but she was in a dangerous area, and she'd been shot. He found her, but too late. She died in his arms. And then he'd blacked out, to awaken in Metro Medical the next day, when Grace entered his room.

Then came the hardest part. He had held Max at arm's length for a long time, he said. He'd thought he needed to be out of the wheelchair, on his feet, to love her properly. He'd tried everything, expensive treatments, leg braces, anything. He'd thought they had forever, that he could wait until everything was perfect. And then, the night she died, there hadn't even been time to tell her he loved her.

By this time he was crying. Grace did what she always did in these circumstances. She brought tissues and water and listened and brought more water and waited until he had talked himself out. Then, when exhaustion overtook him she extinguished the candles, gently touched his shoulder, told him to take care, and that she would call him in a day or two. Then she quietly let herself out.

At home, she sat awake in the blackout dark for a long time. So Max had died. Tragic though it was - well, these days, the world was a dangerous place. A damaged life, an early death; they saw it all the time at the hospital. But he suffered over it. Grace felt freshly ashamed of how cavalier she'd been that morning at the hospital, how little she had understood and how quick she had been to judge Logan that day. She hated to think what he must have felt the afternoon he caught her outside his apartment, in some sort of grotesque replay of his first meeting with Max. Later, she realized with a little shock that the earpiece she had returned that day must have been used by Max the night she died. In some way it made her feel a little better, that she had done one thing to help him, and then she was able to sleep for an hour or two until the alarm rang and it was time for work.

It was awkward between them for a little while. Logan still came to visit, but he was far more moody and emotional than Grace had ever known him to be, and spending time with him wasn't always fun. She didn't try to cheer him up; she knew it was good for him to grieve for a while.

After a while the sadness was replaced by restlessness. Logan was no longer content to simply visit her at the hospital. Trouble was, there wasn't much to do in Seattle these days, and neither of them could afford what little there was. Parks and other public spaces had been taken over by shanty towns, and much of the waterfront was fenced off and patrolled ceaselessly by hoverdrones and sector police. Grace, for reasons she didn't want to examine too closely, preferred not to spend a lot of time in his apartment, and her apartment was unfortunately off-limits, since it was on the top floor of a walk-up tenement building, and the lack of an elevator presented the obvious complication. Sometimes he picked her up at the hospital and they would take a scenic route (if anything in Seattle these days could be called scenic) before he dropped her off at home. Usually, though, they were outdoors, wandering the streets side by side, sometimes talking, sometimes just watching everything around them.

Grace lived near a stretch of waterfront that even in better days had been run-down, and one weekend afternoon, exploring on her own, she found a loose section of ancient fencing which she could pull aside. Cautiously stepping through the hole, she discovered a short stretch of what had once been a waterside promenade. Now it was less than a quarter-mile long, but it seemed sturdy, and amazingly, occupied only by seagulls and other wildlife. To her great delight the loose fencing opened wide enough to allow Logan's chair through, which gave them a little private place to wander. That was a rare luxury, though Logan always seemed amusingly apprehensive about the stability of the old walkway. One afternoon he was so timid Grace couldn't resist teasing him.

"Look! it's perfectly safe," she called, arms high, bouncing along the edge the promenade as if it were a trampoline. Meanwhile, he had rolled back as far as he could into the corner formed by the inner fencing and the dilapidated old building that formed one end of their little space. He looked extremely nervous.

"Easy for you to say!" he called back, frowning until Grace gave up and jogged over next to him, leaning against the wall to catch her breath. "You weigh a lot less than I do, and don't forget my wheels here" -- indicating the chair - "you don't - what?" he broke off as Grace began to laugh. "I'm serious, Grace -"

"You're chicken, is what you are," Grace laughed, still breathless, and punched him lightly in the arm. Unexpectedly he reached up, grabbed her wrist, and slipped his other arm around her waist. The next thing she knew she was sitting on his lap, her arm around him, his arm encircling her waist. "I'm not chicken ... I'm very serious, Grace," said softly, and kissed her.

It was hard for Grace to do, but after a moment or two she gently broke their contact and rose from his lap. The promenade seemed unstable under her feet and she stood for a moment with her hands on her hips, trying to catch her breath and her balance. What she was feeling was every bit as strong as she had long feared it would be. But somewhere in her mind she had expected this moment, and finally she said, "Are you sure ... I mean, this isn't ..." She thought she sounded like an idiot.

"Grace, stop. I know what you're thinking. Come here." He reached out, took her hand, and drew her back to his side. "What about Max, isn't that right?"

"Uh, well, yes .."

"Max is gone. I don't have to tell you ... it took me a long time to accept that." He glanced out over the water but his eyes didn't stay there; he looked directly at Grace, and he was smiling. "If there was one thing Max wanted from me, it was for me to live. Not hide. Not run away." He sighed. "I'll always regret that I didn't do that with her when I had the chance. But I won't make the same mistake twice." When Grace said nothing, still standing irresolutely next to him, he took both her hands in his. "Grace, if Max were here right now ..."

"She'd kick my ass," Grace said, hating the little quiver in her voice. Now it was her turn to look away over the water, across to the horizon.

He smiled. "Maybe so. But if she knew I had this chance and passed it up -- for sure, she'd kick mine."

She looked back from the water, their eyes met, and then she thought, Well ... he has a point. She sat back down again on his lap and this time when he kissed her she responded with all her heart. They stayed that way until the sound of a boat, coming closer, disturbed them.

"Let's not get caught here," Logan whispered in her ear. "My place?"

On the way to his apartment Grace wanted to reach over to him but he needed both hands to drive so she sat saying nothing, glancing at him now and then. By the water everything had seemed so clear but now here in the city she felt waves of doubt. There were too many good reasons that this was a bad idea, not the least of which was Grace's sudden shyness at the thought of how she would compare to a girl as beautiful as Max. At the apartment she tried not to glance at the photograph in its usual place next to the computers.

Then they were in the bedroom and Logan was removing first her sweater, then his own. He went to the bed and Grace watched with pleasure as he moved himself smoothly on to it, pushing the chair away. He took off his glasses. Then she was lying next to him, holding him, touching him, almost unable to believe what was happening. "Just tell me ... I mean, I've never ...it's the first time .." She waved a hand in the general direction of the wheelchair and he chuckled, reaching up to stroke her face. "Know what? Mine too. We'll learn together. Might take some practice .."

"I'm up for it," Grace smiled back just before their lips met, and that was the last thing anyone said for a long while.

And so began a time of great happiness for both of them. But like all such times, it didn't last.

One evening Grace was leaving the hospital alone. Logan had called earlier to tell her that he would be working that night, and Grace was very tired. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep, with a hot bath beforehand if she could get the water. So of course traffic was horrendous, her bus route was running hours behind schedule, and the line at her stop was long and angry. Grace decided to begin walking. If she went the right way she might catch the bus line at a less crowded point, a trick she had used successfully before.

After a few blocks she noticed that a fellow passenger, whom she'd seen waiting in line, either had the same idea or liked hers, because he was trailing about half a block behind her, crossing the same streets she crossed and turning the corners she turned. It was almost as if he was following her ... but don't spies and undercover cops keep themselves better hidden? Grace thought. He stayed with her until she found an uncrowded bus stop and boarded the same bus, though he remained seated when she got off. Afterwards she wished she'd had the presence of mind to get off a stop early or a stop late ... just in case he was some kind of creep... and then she forgot all about it.

Several days later she returned to her office from a meeting to find the door ajar. She was certain she had left it closed. Her first happy thought was that Logan was lurking nearby, waiting to surprise her with a ride home or even better, a ride back to his place. She pushed the door open and felt her heart jump unpleasantly. Everything looked normal except for the flowers, a gift from Logan, that stood on the windowsill. When she left for the meeting they had been in perfect condition. Now petals, a lot of them, had dropped to the windowsill and the floor, and Grace saw that they were bruised brown. Something or someone heavy had bumped, not just brushed, against them. Someone had been in her office. Well, it was scary, but it served her right for not locking the door. With the local crime rate and the constant traffic in and out of the hospital, she should be far more cautious. She meant to tell Logan about the next time they saw each other, but by then she had other things on her mind, and again, Grace forgot.

But there was no ignoring what happened on the Friday afternoon she left work early. She and Logan planned to spend the weekend together, and she was excited.. But when she reached her landing, something seemed wrong, and then she saw that her door was open.

This time she didn't mess around. She went back outside immediately and called Logan. As soon as he heard her story, he dispatched Bling to the scene. Grace met him outside the building and together they crept quietly up the stairs. On the fifth-floor landing Bling motioned to Grace to stay in the hallway, but Grace was too nervous to wait alone. Silently she followed him through the door. A quick survey of the apartment revealed nothing amiss except for an open fire-escape window, and after checking every room Bling lowered his gun and shook his head at Grace. "You must have surprised them, coming home early. Let's get back to the apartment," he said, glancing out the window.

"Shouldn't we call the cops?"

"At the apartment." Grace began to gather some of her belongings, but Bling shook his head again. "Not now." He moved to the front door, looked up and down the hallway, and nodded that it was clear. He continued to watch the hallway, alert, while Grace locked the door behind them.

In the car, Grace was full of questions. Why hadn't they just called the police? Why go back across town to Logan's place before she could at least file a complaint? Grace had an unhappy feeling that she knew all too well what had just happened. Bling and Logan suspected that the break-in was somehow connected to their secret world, a subject she hadn't thought about in a very long time. By the time they reached the apartment she was in a confrontational mood. She knew Bling would tell her nothing. But this time, Logan wasn't getting off so easy.

In the apartment Logan was seated at the computer table, simultaneously speaking into the telephone and watching something on screen. He held up a hand to Grace, finished his conversation, and removed the telephone headset. Grace saw immediately that he was all business. He made no move to kiss her; she stood where she was. Moving away from the table, he said, "Grace, we need to talk."

"Let me guess. There's something you haven't told me."

He raised his eyebrows, looked at her appraisingly over the top of his glasses. "There are a lot of things I haven't told you," he said evenly. "Come sit down."

They went into the other room, and he spent the next few hours telling her the most incredible story she had ever heard.

When Logan finally finished speaking Grace rose without a word and went to the kitchen for something to drink. She stayed there for a while, then returned to the other room where he waited by the window. Grace stood stiffly next to the couch and said, "So let me see if I've got this straight. Max was a genetically engineered soldier raised to become a member of an elite killing force. She died in a raid on the headquarters of ... Manticore, right? And you -" Grace stood up and began to pace around the room, "- you are actually the guy who does the Eyes Only cable hacks, minus your glasses. Have I got this right so far?

"Yes."

"And now you think these ... people are following me? Breaking into my office and my apartment?"

"Yes."

"And you were going to fill me in on all this ... when? Never?"

"Grace, I don't blame you for being angry -"

"Oh, well, I appreciate that -"

"Hey, give me a chance," he said. Grace folded her arms and waited. He went on, "Grace. Except for Eyes Only, these are not my secrets. They are Max's secrets."

"Max is gone."

"But Manticore isn't. Oh, we blew up one facility. But the people behind it, not to mention the people we worked with that night, are still out there. It's my responsibility to protect Max's brothers and sisters, even if she is gone."

That was true. Grace felt some of her anger dissipate. "Do you know where they are?"

He shook his head. "There has been absolutely no sign of them since that night. And believe me, I've tried everything. Wherever they are, they're well hidden. And we need to keep it that way."

Grace shook her head. "Okay, so much for the good guys. But if Max is gone, and this happened months and months ago, why are they showing up now?"

"I don't know, and that's what worries me."

Grace flopped back on the couch, her head spinning. So her first instincts had been right after all. But had she listened? No, and now here she was in the middle of a lot more than a romance. Restlessly she stood up. '"I'm going home," she told Logan abruptly.

"I don't think it's safe for you to go back to your apartment. Not tonight."

Grace sighed Was he just trying to scare her? "Can I borrow your couch then?"

"Sure, but - you don't have to do that, you know." This was supposed to have been their weekend, Grace remembered sadly. And in some ways at least this was not his fault. She softened enough to smile at him, though she made no move towards him. "Look, I just need to think. It's a lot."

"I understand," he replied, and without saying anything more he brought Grace a pillow and blanket. As he turned away Grace impulsively reached out and pulled him back towards her for a kiss. Later, she was very glad about that.

She slept more soundly than she would have believed, exhausted by the evening's events. Sometime during the night, she heard a noise that brought her wide awake, heart pounding. She opened her eyes just a slit and saw the dark figure of a man silhouetted against the window. Terrified, she barely dared to breathe, and then the man moved. Logan? Relief swept over her. Logan couldn't be standing there in front of her, so this must be a dream. When he came towards her he was smiling. Nice dream, she thought happily.

The dream Logan bent over her. "Shhh ... go back to sleep," he said softly. Suddenly Grace realized she wasn't dreaming, and sat up in alarm. "What-" she began.

"It's okay. I told you about this." He took her hand and placed it against his knee, where she could feel hard plastic and metal. "Right now I'm going out. I'll be back. We'll talk more in the morning, okay?"

"This is so crazy," Grace said, and rolled over to sleep again.

In the morning he was back in the wheelchair and she thought again that maybe she had been dreaming. "Last night - was that the leg brace you asked me about at the hospital that day?" she finally asked.

"Yes." Grace hesitated, then said, "Why don't you ..."

"A lot of reasons. Wear and tear, for one. It's secondhand, and kind of unpredictable. These days I can't afford new parts, so I try to pick and choose my times." He looked down at his hands, then said, "And ... I told you, I was trying to make myself perfect for Max. I couldn't believe it when I got my hands on this. I thought it was the answer to everything. And of course it wasn't. So now, I don't try to pretend I'm someone I'm not. At least not like this." Grace saw that he looked very tired. She wondered where he had gone last night, but right now she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer. She wasn't sorry when he left again, saying he would be back in two hours. She wanted to think. Alone.

But not five minutes after he left, she heard a key in the lock, had a moment of panic, and was relieved to see Bling look cautiously in the door. "Hey, Grace," he greeted her. They had become pals, she and Bling, something she never would have believed that day in the hallway with the cold gun barrel pressed against her head. But today he sounded tired and distracted. Grace wondered if he had been with Logan in the night. She assumed he would head into the kitchen, but to her surprise he stood in the entryway as if he were undecided about something. Then he said, "Grace? Could we talk for a minute? There's something I want to run by you."

"Sure," she said. Apparently she had nowhere to go.

He went to the kitchen and returned with two cups of coffee, one of which he handed to Grace. "You know nobody's happier than I am about you and Logan," he began.

"Uh oh," said Grace lightly, "this isn't starting off well." Despite her tone, she suddenly felt very uneasy.

He smiled. "I'm serious. He ever tell you that it was my idea to have you here for dinner that night? I knew you'd be good for him." Then the smile faded and he said abruptly, "Which is why I hate to say this ... but have you ever considered the possibility that Max might be alive?"

Grace was so taken aback she couldn't speak for a moment. Then she said incredulously, "How could that be? She died in Logan's arms, didn't she?"

"So he thought." Bling looked thoughtful. "But Grace, you work at a hospital. Doesn't it happen sometimes? That someone looks like a goner, then comes back? He doesn't know what happened to her after he blacked out. Nobody knows."

"Why are you thinking about this?"

"You're being followed. Last night we confirmed that someone is watching this place too. But why now? That raid happened months and months ago. There hasn't been a single sign of any of them all this time. And as you know -" his eyes twinkled at Grace "-- we've been pretty careful around here. So there's only one explanation that makes any sense."

"Which is?"

"Someone has reason to believe that at least one X5 is trying to contact Logan. That's why we're all being watched. To set a trap when the time comes."

"Wait. Why on earth would it be Max? Why not her brothers and sisters? You said they're still out there."

"It could be. But the only ones who knew about this place are gone. Dead. The others who worked with us that night never came here. Only to the rendezvous place."

Grace shook her head. "There has to be a simpler explanation than bringing Max back from the dead."

"Well." Bling hesitated again, then said, "What makes me wonder, Grace, is you. Not just that they've been watching you. But that they've searched your office, your home."

"So? They've seen me with Logan. They're just covering all the bases."

"Or ... they're expecting her to maybe show up at your place. Or thinking that she already has."

"My place? She doesn't know me!"

"But she may know about you. If Manticore knows who you are ... what better way to bring Max out into the open, get her back on the radar, than to make her jealous?"

There was a long silence. Then Grace said, "Have you talked to Logan about any of this?"

"No," said Bling. "I wanted to run it by you first."

Abruptly Grace stood up. "I have to get out of here for a while. I won't go back to my apartment. I'll be back later."

She knew it was risky, but she went down by the waterfront. The wind and the smell of salt water always calmed her. She didn't venture down to the beach but walked instead on the streets nearby, going over everything that she had heard in the past day. In the end for her it all came down to one question: was there any real possibility that Max was still alive? Oh, how could she know that? There were so many facts she didn't have, no way for her to judge. In the end she realized that the only choice was to lay Bling's argument out to Logan and let him decide. And if he thought Max might be alive - well, she knew the answer to that too, even if she couldn't bear to think about it right now. Weary, she headed back to the apartment.

When she entered Bling's eyes met hers. Grace nodded slightly. Together, they sat down with Logan and began to talk.

That night, Logan offered Grace the bedroom. She accepted, but despite her weariness she tossed and turned, unable to sleep. She couldn't bear the touch of the bed. Eventually she got up, paced, looked out her window, paced again. Once she heard sounds in the living room and looked out. Logan sat by the window, hands in his lap, still and silent. Grace quietly closed the bedroom door and stood by her own window until the sky lightened to gray. She already knew what she had to do. She was just looking for the strength.

Finally she went to the kitchen, made coffee, brought him a cup. Then she said quietly, "I'm going home today."

He continued to look out of the window for a long time, then turned to her and said, "I'm sorry." At this confirmation of what she had feared all night, her eyes began to fill with tears, but she held up a hand and said as steadily as she could, "I thought you weren't into regret any more, right?"

"I dragged you into this," he began.

"Stop it. You're not God. I chose to be with you. And I choose to leave now." Despite her best efforts, the tears began to run down her cheeks, but her voice was strong. "You can't stop me ... so go find out the truth. If ... if there's any chance that she's out there somewhere, she'll need you. She's still believing in you, just like she always has. Go find her." Then she was crying too hard to talk any more. After a while Logan said, "I'm worried about your safety, Grace. I have friends in the police department, and other friends too. I'm going to ask them to watch you."

"Okay." Grace sniffled, wiped her nose on her sleeve, and then said, "There's one more thing I think we should do."

"What?" he asked gently.

"Let me explain."

Two hours later, the Sunday morning quiet was broken by the sound of Logan's apartment door slamming and a man and a woman shouting loudly. The argument moved into the elevator, rang down to the ground floor, and spilled out into the front of the building, where anyone who was curious could see Grace stalking furiously into the street, followed by Logan, rolling as fast as he could after her. They continued to shout at each other for a few moments, then Grace screamed as loudly as she could, "I never want to see you again!" She turned and ran down the street, abandoning poor Logan who could not possibly keep up with her, and vanished around the corner.

Finally, blocks away, Grace slowed to a walk, trying to catch her breath. At home, she knew, her heart would break, but right at this moment she was exhilarated. What a scene! If, by some miracle, Max really was alive, they had now sent her a message. Logan was hers again, if someone, somehow, would find a way to let her know.

Grace stood waiting for her bus. She didn't know what the truth was, whether it was too crazy to believe that Max could possibly be alive. But as long as there was even a seed of doubt in Logan's heart, he had to find the answers. And if she really was gone ... well, maybe Grace would find him again someday. She climbed wearily on the bus and leaned her cheek against the cold window. Rain had begun, running down the glass like tears. Funny, she thought as the bus pulled into traffic, I've ended up just like Max. I've lost him without ever finding out whether he loved me.