DISCLAIMER: All DARK ANGEL characters belong to James Cameron and Charles Eglee (Cameron Eglee Productions) and DARK ANGEL itself belongs to FOX.

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Photo courtesy of Still Frame

"Hey, Logan," Max said warily. "You paged me?"

I wasn't sure you'd answer, the voice on the other end of the phone line said.

"Now why would you think that?" she said gently to the man she hadn't heard from in weeks.

I need your help, he said, ignoring the opening she'd just given him. I've been trying to contact Asha's mother, Margaret Curran, for over a month. She won't return my calls or answer my messages.

"Why don't you just ask Asha?" Max wondered.

I did. She heard a heavy sigh. She says her mother's gone out of town ... on a long vacation ... and that she doesn't want to be disturbed.

"So?" Max said. "Sounds reasonable. The lady was locked up for years. She probably wanted to get away from Seattle and all the bad memories."

But both Asha and Margaret know how important it is to Eyes Only that we bring down the corrupt Sector Police who are running that prison. That night we freed Alec and Margaret we left a lot of people behind. I want to get them all out, Max, and for that I need Margaret's help.

"You think Asha's stonewalling you?" Max said.

I don't like to think so, but yes. I hate to ask you to do this, but every time I try to see Asha she ducks me. Maybe you'll have better luck. Would you check it out?

"I can do that," Max said carefully, not really seeing the harm in helping a good man do a good deed.

Thanks. Oh, and Max--

"Yes?"

Have you heard from ... him?

"No. Why?"

So, he's really gone?

"Looks like," Max said.

Good. Then he hung up the phone.

*****

Max pulled her Ninja into the parking garage of Asha Barlow's apartment building. The girl's digs weren't as fancy as Logan's, but they were a step above what Max had once shared with O.C., and a whole flight above the hole-in-the-wall she now occupied in Terminal City.

Money did have privileges.

Swinging her leg off the bike, Max pocketed the key and turned toward the stairs leading up into the main apartment complex. There were several other cars in spaces surrounding her -- most of them old models with fading rusting paint, bald tires, and cracked windows, but a couple that looked slightly newer. Over in the corner there was even a motorcycle, mostly covered with a dusty tarp but with its handlebars sticking out.

Mildly curious -- because Max loved nothing more than a good bike -- she wandered over to take a better look, which is when she saw the flash of green paint.

Green. Alec's Duke had been green but--

Shaking her head and telling herself she was nuts, Max's heart rate still increased slightly. Alec's bike wouldn't be here. He'd ridden it out of the city and out of her life weeks ago. Still--

She tugged back the tarp and unveiled a lime green Duke motorcycle. Its license plate was missing. However, there was a black backpack strapped to the passenger seat.

Now, Max's heart really was racing. Her hands trembling, she worked open the straps on the backpack, reached in, and pulled out a pair of jeans ... a couple of t-shirts ... underwear (boxers) ... and at the very bottom a brown corded sweater that she recognized as well as she'd recognize a piece of her own clothing. Rummaging further in the pockets, she found toothbrush (green), a shaving kit, and an envelope containing several photos taken by Sketchy including ones of herself, Joshua, and the gang in the control room at Terminal City.

However, it was the final piece of evidence that convinced her beyond a doubt who's bike this was: a crumpled second envelope containing a newspaper clipping: Rachel Berrisford's funeral notice.

"Alec," Max whispered. "Oh, God, Alec ..."