LOGAN (The Innerworld Affairs Series, Book 5) (4 page)

Also standing apart, but quite alone, was Logan McKay. He looked bored, leaning negligently against the post of a horse stall, yet Tarla had the distinct feeling that he was absorbing everything and simply waiting for the dust to settle before committing to one group or another. She looked away for fear he might catch her staring, but then her gaze darted back to him as another realization came to her. He wasn't wearing cuffs or shackles! A glance back to the four convicts confirmed what she feared—the prisoners were just as free as she was.

Her concern escalated as she noted that the two military police officers were now unarmed.

"It doesn't matter where we are or how we got here!" Corporal Gianni shouted to be heard over the multitude of speculations being thrown back and forth. "Everyone just break off and try to find a way out."

"Hold it!" yelled a man from behind Tarla.

She turned to see that the small group of convicts had approached. Their spokesperson was a tall, muscular man with a blond buzz cut, who had a very threatening demeanor. He instantly commanded everyone's attention. The crowd parted as he pushed forward, followed by his three companions. Corporal Gianni stood his ground and tried to appear taller than his medium height.

"What do you want, Wilkes?" Gianni asked defensively.

"Nothin' much, 'cept I was wonderin' who the hell put you in charge?"

Tarla swore she could actually feel the tension gripping the people around her as everyone began inching away from the two men. No words were spoken for several seconds, during which the crowd seemed to divide into two distinct sides.

"The way I figger it," Wilkes said, "I outrank you."

"Like hell," Gianni countered. "You were stripped of your rank at the court martial, and everyone here knows it."

He looked from side to side at the people he referred to as if hoping for a show of support.

When he didn't get it, Tarla guessed that the corporal wasn't much more popular than Wilkes. Accustomed to being in a military environment, however, the soldiers were prepared to obey the orders of the superior officer whether they admired that person or not. They simply needed to know who was in charge.

It looked as though Wilkes and Gianni were about to resort to physical violence to answer the question of command, when another man spoke up.

"Excuse me, gentlemen."

The voice bore a British clip and belonged to a nice-looking man with short, ash blond hair. As he strode into the center of the ring of people, Tarla could see that he was nearly as tall as Wilkes but considerably leaner. She recalled seeing him on the plane mainly because Robin had made a comment about personally helping him relax before they reached the States.

"I believe this matter can be settled without fisticuffs," the Brit stated politely but with supreme authority. "I am
Major
Geoffrey Cookson... and I outrank you both."

Wilkes snorted. "That's easy to say while you ain't wearin' no bars to prove it. You ain't even American."

"Since we have no idea what country we're in, the matter of my birthplace is irrelevant. However, if it will ease your mind, I am a naturalized citizen of the United States as well as an officer of its armed forces. Now unless someone outranks me, I—"

Wilkes gave the major's shoulder a shove. "Not so fast, limey. You may have the rank but I got somethin' more important...
strength
." His three friends took a step closer to his back to emphasize his point. "I'll be givin' the orders from now on."

Major Cookson had no intention of backing down or using violence to maintain his authority.

"This is really quite unnecessary under the circumstances. Until we determine the logistics of our situation, arguing over power is a waste of time and energy that could be better spent investigating our surroundings."

A subtle stir among the people behind him was followed by the four convicts easing back a bit. For a moment it appeared that they were giving in to the major's rationale but their attention was focused on someone behind him.

Tarla's breath caught in her throat as she watched Logan McKay position himself to Cookson's right. His additional inches of height and shoulder breadth might have been threatening enough to a bully like Wilkes, but the look of promised danger in McKay's dark eyes cinched the matter.

"I think you're right about wastin' time, Major," Wilkes said. "We'll let you do the orderin'... for the time bein'." His last words were accompanied by a narrow-eyed glare at McKay.

As Wilkes and his cohorts backed away, the major finished the sentence he'd begun earlier. "I suggest you all do what Corporal Gianni ordered. Check every inch of this building for the exit. That includes inside the animal stalls. If they got in, there has to be a way out. In the meantime, the flight crew should report to me for a debriefing."

Logan turned to walk away but the major murmured, "Stay, please," so he stayed. Logan wondered how the man could look so damned dignified standing at attention in a pair of pajamas. Personally, he felt ridiculous.

The pilot, co-pilot and navigator walked up to Cookson and saluted.

"At ease," the major said, returning their salute without relaxing a muscle. "Name and rank, please."

An African American man about Logan's age responded first. "Nathan Boswell, Second Lieutenant. I was the pilot."

"Jeremy Fleischer, Second Lieutenant, co-pilot."

Logan thought he didn't look old enough to be weaned from his mother let alone be trusted with an aircraft.

The third, a young man with a glazed look in his eye, had to clear his throat twice before any sound would come out. Even when it did, it was barely audible.

"Edward Smith, Airman First Class, flight navigator."

"What do you remember?" Cookson asked Boswell.

The pilot delivered a concise report that ended with the plane being sucked through a hole in the clouds toward the sun.

"It was as though someone else was flying the plane. I had no control whatsoever at the end."

Fleischer and Smith confirmed his statements.

"Thank you," Cookson said with a nod at Boswell. "Let me know if anything else comes back to you."

As soon as they walked away, the major turned to Logan, with the same no-nonsense expression he had used with the men. "I hope a verbal thank you for your timely intervention will suffice. I believe prostrating myself at your feet in gratitude might diminish the troop's confidence in me."

Logan was caught off-guard by the man's admission and dry humor, and almost smiled before getting control over it. With a face as serious as Cookson's, he replied, "Let's just save that show for when morale gets really low... say, about an hour from now." Logan hesitated then asked the question on his mind. "Why the honesty with me, Major?"

"Please call me Geoffrey and, since I might need your support again in the future, I thought it best to be truthful with you. Mind you, I'm not a coward. I'm simply a realist. That man, Wilkes, would have attacked me and, given his greater size, undoubtedly would have caused me considerable pain. I'm an engineer, not a fighter, but my stepping forward seemed to be the best way of maintaining order until we find out what's going on. You apparently carry a lot of weight with Wilkes and his pals, yet you chose to support me. In case my leadership is required for more than the next hour, I hope you will consent to continuing to back me up."

Logan decided the man's honesty deserved the same in return. "I get the idea you don't know who I am, so let me introduce myself. The name's Logan McKay. I was a Chief Master Sergeant before they sentenced me to life at Leavenworth. Want to know why?"

Geoffrey met Logan's challenging stare. "Not particularly. For the moment I know as much about you as I need to."

Logan was about to tell him how wrong he was when Captain Yan walked up to the major and saluted. Logan's chest muscles immediately contracted but outwardly he controlled any reaction. He couldn't help but notice how she kept her eyes fixed on the major and hadn't even spared him a glance as she'd approached.

"Major Cookson, I'm Captain Tarla Yan, formerly head nurse at the fifty third mobile hospital unit. It seems that I'm the second highest ranking officer here, so I wanted to put myself at your disposal. The nurses have spoken to each of the patients and I assume you want a status report."

"Of course, Captain. I welcome your assistance."

"It makes no sense," Tarla said less formally. "But every single patient has had a miraculous recovery. There's not even a scar to show that any of them were recently wounded or burned."

Logan automatically touched the scar over his eyebrow. It was still there, which proved once again that he couldn't come out ahead, even in Wonderland.

Geoffrey slowly rubbed his jaw. "I've heard a number of suppositions about what happened but they were all from men. Since I've always been a believer in feminine intuition, I'd like to hear your opinion, Captain."

Tarla had to smother a smirk as she wondered what he'd think if he knew just how strong her intuition was...
and why
. She shifted her balance from one foot to the other. "Well, sir, it sounds a bit crazy but when I first came to, I thought we might all be dead. After seeing the patients, that idea doesn't seem so far-fetched."

Logan had had the same thought but it wasn't until she said it aloud that he came up with a way to test it. He had been so relieved to be free of his restraints, how it had come about wasn't all that important to him.

While Tarla and Cookson discussed the possibilities, Logan walked over to a post, picked off a thin splinter of wood, and peeled away a few slivers until one end came to a sharp point. Squeezing the middle finger of his left hand with his thumb and ring finger, he brought blood to the surface of the fingertip then jabbed it with the splinter before he chickened out. He had been knifed and shot without a whimper, but needles had always made him queasy.

As blood oozed out of the tiny puncture, he swallowed hard and returned to the two officers. "Sorry to have to blow a hole in the death theory but I'm pretty sure people stop bleeding once they're dead." He held out his hand to show the fresh wound.

Though Tarla looked at his finger, she had yet to look at his face. Logan knew he should let it go but he just couldn't. "If you still have doubts, Captain Yan, I'd be happy to give you a prick." Her gaze lifted abruptly and he was treated to a rosy flush across her perfect cheekbones. "Then again, maybe you'd rather do it yourself." He held out his makeshift needle.

"No, thank you," she said, ice dripping from her words. "One
brave
soldier shedding blood for the cause is quite enough."

Logan raised one eyebrow, as his stomach twisted beneath her sarcasm. "Maybe you would have preferred me to slash an artery or two."

She raised her chin a notch. "Maybe I—"

"
Ahem.
" Geoffrey noisily cleared his throat. "Without jumping to any rash conclusions, can I assume you two are acquainted?"

"Barely," responded Logan.

"Hardly at all," answered Tarla.

"I see," Geoffrey said with a nod. "Then I don't need to worry about any personal conflicts getting in the way here. Until we get to the bottom of this situation, you are second in command, Captain Yan, but Sergeant McKay will act as my adjutant."

Logan was certain she wanted to protest but all she said was, "Yes, sir. If I may be excused now, sir?" As soon as Geoffrey nodded to her, she turned on her heel and strode away.

Tarla restrained the urge to feel her cheeks. She didn't really need to touch them to know they were warm. Nor did she need to check her pulse to know that it was racing. Logan McKay was not the first man to make a suggestive remark to her, but for some reason, he was the only one whose comments she couldn't ignore or laugh off.

Besides the fact that she had made the mistake of caring too much, there was another reason he managed to embarrass her. Where most men used sexual innuendo to make a safe pass, Logan used it like a sharp weapon, poking it at her to make sure she kept her distance. She had misinterpreted it to mean that he was actually needier than the average man she dealt with. Her caretaker skills automatically had her trying harder to get through to him in spite of the blows he repeatedly delivered.

She had thought he wouldn't remember her but it was quite clear that he did. And even though she had made a point of not speaking to him, he still found it necessary to provoke her. Before she could give it more thought, Robin walked up to her.

"Hey, what's with the face?" Robin asked quietly. "Did you find out we really are dead or is it something worse?"

Tarla smiled despite her dismal mood. "Something worse than death?"

Robin shrugged. "Sure. It could be that Private Higgs is right—that we were snatched from the plane by aliens and taken to their planet on a spaceship."

Tarla rolled her eyes as though she truly believed that explanation was even more ridiculous than their being dead. "How does Higgs explain the fact that there are Earth-type horses and cows in here with us? Did the aliens abduct them also?"

"Absolutely," Robin said with exaggerated seriousness. "The aliens wanted to create an environment similar to what we humans were accustomed to. Apparently Higgs's aliens are a little fuzzy on certain details. Anyway, he says this barn is actually like a cage in a zoo and alien tourists are watching us through the one-way windows at this very moment."