Fic: All the PI’s Men (Logan/Veronica, Ensemble) NC-17 (2/7)
Title: “All the PI’s Men”
Author: em2mb
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica, Mac, Keith, Weevil, Wallace, Piz, Sacks.
Word Count: 10,135
Rating: NC-17, some of the good kind, some of the not-so-good kind.
Summary: “He just didn’t seem like the type,” Mac said flatly. Finally, she allowed her boyfriend to wrap his arms around her. “Right?”
Spoilers: Through 3x20, “The Bitch is Back”
Warnings: Violence, language, sex, character death. Even Cliff McCormick probably wouldn’t defend this one in a court of law. Not that I blame him. As those of you who read the first part already know, this one is dark.
Author's Notes: If they were mine, then the third season would have ended differently, and I wouldn’t have felt compelled to write this. No, Rob owns Veronica-I just borrow her and return her in less-than-stellar condition. Special thanks to the usual suspects, lazaefair, jayiin and earth2mars, as well as everyone that’s stuck around to read more.
Chapter One
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Everything on Sacks’ desk was arranged in neat piles-a stack of unpaid traffic violations, a request for testimony in a burglary case, and photos of vandalism at the high school. In contrast, his notes on the Mars murder investigation littered the floor.
He thought of them as pieces of a puzzle, one he both wanted and didn’t want to solve. He’d arranged the evidence chronologically across the room. On his left, he’d placed sworn statements taken the week between Veronica’s disappearance and the discovery of her body. Contradictions in Echolls’ testimony were flagged, the results of the DNA test still pending.
The autopsy results followed those early statements, but Sacks tried not to think about them. Knowing Veronica had been murdered was bad enough. Considering the gruesome extent of her injuries was more than the sheriff could take. He didn’t dwell much on the knife in evidence lockup, either. Those results were also still pending, but it’s not like he expected an infinite number of weapons matching Veronica’s wounds to turn up.
Next came the case files from the break-in, when Echolls had been caught snooping around Mars Investigations after hours. Sacks paced the room, remembering the day they’d officially entered Echolls as a suspect. Keith had turned over one possible explanation after another, but ultimately, he’d accepted the accumulating evidence.
A box of neatly labeled cassette tapes contained Loretta Cancun’s testimony. Usually, Sacks wouldn’t have bothered taking a statement from a prostitute trying to plea bargain down from assault. But she’d known about the bruises on Veronica’s arm, an injury that seemed so superficial compared to multiple stab wounds it had never been mentioned in the press.
That’s when Keith had arrested Echolls, stepping down not an hour later. Sacks had been obtaining a search warrant for the boy’s hotel suite when he’d gotten the news, and he’d gone with Gills to investigate. He’d half-expected Echolls would be released within forty-eight hours, but that was before they’d found the gun.
A ballistics report confirmed a match between Echolls’ gun and the bullets that disabled Veronica’s car on the PCH occupied the next spot on the floor.
Every file, every photo, every note littering the office made it harder for Sacks to think of Veronica as a little girl in pigtails and her soccer uniform. The evidence made him remember a beautiful young woman reduced to a mangled body under a sheet in the morgue, and he didn’t like it one bit. His doubts about Echolls’ guilt had been squelched with the ballistics test. Now, he feared the DNA results that would prove just how much more suffering he’d inflicted on the poor girl before ending her life.
Sacks glanced at his watch. They were due within the hour. He began to go over the chronology yet again, becoming so engrossed he nearly jumped out of his skin when Inga finally entered. She gave him a grim smile as she handed off a large envelope. Somehow, though he’d tried his damnedest to keep the semen stain on the backseat under wraps out of respect for Keith and Veronica both, the entire station knew exactly what kind of test he was anticipating.
With a nod from the sheriff, Inga slipped out of the office. Sacks eagerly tore into the cardboard envelope. His eyes skimmed the cover letter.
Two matches. The blood on the knife was Veronicas; the semen on the seat, Logan’s.
He could practically hear the district attorney-motive, murder weapon, no alibi, and now ballistic and forensic evidence indicting Logan Echolls in the kidnapping, rape and murder of Veronica Mars.
It wasn’t as reassuring as he hoped it would be.
* * *
Friday, December 14, 2007
A tiny moan escaped Veronica’s lips as Logan suckled at her pulse point. He grinned as she pulled him by the collar into another kiss, not minding much the discomfort of the gear shaft poking against his hip. One expert move and he was certain he could land her in the backseat, and he wrapped an arm tighter around her back.
“Come back to my suite,” he breathed. “You said yourself your dad half-expects you to spend another night at Mac’s.”
“I... really... should... mmmm,” Veronica muttered between open-mouthed kisses, pressing her hands against his chest at last. “...go home.”
Logan disagreed. “You should stay with me.”
“My dad will worry,” Veronica said, her eyes half-lidded. Even as she said so, she scooted as close as she possibly could to him.
“Let him worry,” Logan growled recklessly, resuming his assault on her neck. He gave up trying to prop himself up with one hand and slipped it to the front of her button-down blouse. He stretched the four syllables of her name, blowing lightly on her hot skin. “Veronica.”
“You can’t be comfortable,” she challenged, her hand grazing the front of his pants. If he hadn’t been rock hard before, her double entendre would have served him well. Logan tried to ignore the sensation of her small hand against his jeans and finally unbuckled the damn seat belt she was still wearing. His hand grazed her breast. “L-Logan.”
“You’re the one that agreed to another go,” he reminded, gazing at her intently as he pushed at the soft cups of her bra.
Veronica shuddered slightly. “I didn’t mean in the front seat of my car.”
Logan leaned in for another deep kiss. He dragged his lips across her cheek and brushed against her ear. “If you don’t want this, then tell me to stop.”
She trembled beneath him again. “I don’t want you to.”
He had two hands on her smooth skin now. “Because you know I would,” he continued. “I’d do anything for you, Veronica. I love you so fucking much, even when you’re being stubborn and hot headed and digging into-”
An urgent kiss silenced his grumbles. That was it, he decided, pulling back just enough so he could anchor his feet on the floorboard. He picked her up easily and maneuvered her into the backseat. She scrambled almost frantically onto his lap when he joined her, and he made short work of her blouse as she unbuttoned his jeans. He smirked at the determined look in her bright blue eyes.
“Don’t,” she said, and Logan withdrew his hands immediately from her breasts, confused. Veronica shook her head, hands sliding beneath his shirt and pulling it over his head. She pushed him down against her backseat, straddling him. “I meant don’t joke.”
Logan pretended to look hurt as he propped himself up on his elbows. Veronica unhooked her bra. His eyes drew in her slight curves-perfect, as far as he was concerned. “I was going to tell you how beautiful you were,” he said, grinning mischievously, and not just because his hands had returned to her chest. “Especially when you’re so resolute in your attempts to get in my pants.”
Veronica cupped his cheeks. “You’re getting lucky, Echolls. Don’t make me change my mind.”
“Twice in one night,” Logan murmured, her lips falling on his again. “No complaints from me.”
Working her jeans down her hips, he ignored how cramped his legs were growing beneath her. He cupped her ass beneath her soft cotton underwear, moaning as her hand slipped into his boxers. She palmed the length of his erection, and his hips rose to the sensation. He kicked the window slightly as he struggled to get his pants down, and she glared.
“I offered my suite,” Logan said indignantly, but a moan stifled his defense as she resumed her ministrations. He’d always prided himself in knowing just what turned her on, but in that moment he realized she knew him just as well. She elicited responses from him unlike anything Lilly had ever prompted and knew how to shut him up ten times more effectively than Kendall.
Veronica was probably the least experienced girl he’d ever been with, and somehow, she still knew him the best. He moaned again as her fingers danced across his shaft, his boxers finally pushed down to his thighs, and he wished they weren’t trapped in her cramped backseat. She fisted him more tightly, and he wished the angle were different so he could get his hands back on her.
“Is this okay?” Veronica asked, still stroking him. Logan coughed, muttering something incoherently before stammering a reassurance. It was clearly the reaction she’d been hoping for, and a small smile spread across her face. She scooted back, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, but he grabbed her arm, shaking his head.
“You don’t have to,” he said shakily. “I just-”
Veronica pulled his boxers down further down, then off. “You just what?” Her movements quickened.
Logan coughed. “I want to be inside you.” His hands finally connected with her hips, pulling at the damp cotton. The entire night was screwing with his perception. He was losing himself in her, letting go of control completely. He wanted to chide himself, critique his stamina and criticize himself for not making this better for her, but all he could focus on was her, her beauty, the sweat starting to gather on her pale skin.
Veronica’s eyes locked with his. “Okay,” she muttered softly, and her hands joined his at her hips, pushing at her underwear. He’d barely had a chance to touch her, but when his fingers brushed against her folds, she was surprisingly wet. She smiled nervously at his lustful gaze. “I guess it’s thrilling to know what an effect I have on you.”
“God, you have no idea,” Logan murmured, finally dipping a finger in her. He pushed gently against her clit, and she shuddered.
“Condom,” she breathed. “I want you inside me, too.”
“In my-” Logan stopped short. There weren’t condoms in his wallet, not anymore. He’d decided he was done with random hookups after the Madison Sinclair fiasco and stopped carrying protection. Her hand continued to travel his length, and he wished he’d let memories of the ice bitch serve as deterrent enough. “Fuck, Veronica, I don’t have one.”
Her blue eyes flashed with a mixture of hurt and longing. She started to pull back, but then she pressed against him again, his erection pushed against her flat stomach. “Were you ever with Parker?” she breathed.
This time, Logan’s eyes flickered in hurt. He started to push her off of him. “What the hell, Veronica, I-”
“I’m still on the pill.” She pressed her hands against his chest. “And I wasn’t lying when I told you Piz and I didn’t have sex in that video,” she said. “I haven’t been with anyone since you, Logan. This is-I guess this is my way of saying I trust you.”
Logan sucked in at the friction she was creating between them. “I-I haven’t been with anyone either,” he said honestly. Veronica nodded, and a second later, he was sitting up, pulling her into his lap and burying his length in her.
She gasped, and his brow furrowed in concern. “I’m not hurting you-”
“Oh no,” Veronica shuddered, and after giving her a second to adjust, he pushed her onto her back and began to thrust into her. Logan couldn’t help but grin-not just at the small sounds she was making, but also at the windows fogging up around them. Her legs wrapped around him, and he knew this shouldn’t come as easily as it did, not while crammed in the back of a car.
Veronica’s arms tightened around his neck. Her eyes, half open, remained focused on him. One of her hands left to gaze his cheek, and Logan couldn’t help but feel bad for the stubble rising on his face. And-
“I love you.”
At first, Logan was sure he’d said it. Those three little words belonged to him; she never returned them. Yet, somehow, her lips moved instead of his for a change.
“I love you, too,” Logan whispered, dropping a hand between them, determined to bring her over the edge with him. He wasn’t quite fast enough, but a second later, Veronica cried his name. He collapsed exhausted against the seat, but she had already started to scramble back into her clothes.
“Thank you,” he said as her bra and underwear made their way back on her tiny frame. He knew he should get dressed, too; he knew he’d already pushed his luck (and, for the most part, succeeded) for the evening already. But-
“Do you mean it?”
Veronica stopped, her arms extended to pull her shirt back on. She gave him a shy half-smile. “It’s hard for me to find the words sometimes, Logan,” she said, brushing her thumb against his bruised cheek as she delivered a chaste kiss. “But yeah, I do.”
Logan had hoped she’d say it again, but he was content with her confession. He would have been content to stay there forever if she had not poked him hard in the ribs and told him to get going. He pulled his clothes on slowly, loving the blush that rose to her cheeks every time he caught her eyes on his flesh.
“It’s nearly two,” he said, pulling her against him again when they were both fully clothed. “Come on, Veronica, come back to the Grand with me. We don’t have to do anything. I just want to wake up with you, okay?”
She bit her lip. “Logan, I can’t.”
He sighed, letting go of a fistful of her shirt. “Right.”
“No, really, Logan, I’m going straight home,” Veronica said. “And I’ll call you in the morning, I promise.”
Logan smirked, trying not to feel hurt. “Should I wait by the phone?”
“Logan,” she said, and he wondered how tonight she could make his name sounded like a promise when she’d laced it with disappointment so many times before. “I mean it. I’m going home now so my dad doesn’t worry, and tomorrow you can take me to lunch or something.”
“Oh, I get it. You just wanted me to feed you.”
“Hey, I put out. The least you can do is take me out on a date,” Veronica said. Pulling her way back into his lap, Logan clung desperately to her, for some reason afraid to let go. He supposed he could drown in her, but what a way to go.
Finally Veronica reached around him, giving the door handle a tug. The door to her car swung open, and they nearly toppled out of the Saturn. Logan pulled her out of the way before slamming the door shut, leaning with one hand above her head against the vehicle. He kept peppering her jaw with light kisses, suckling at her pulse point to elicit the little moans he loved.
“This is so wrong,” she muttered.
“Yeah,” Logan responded, “so wrong it’s right.” He nibbled lightly on her ear. “That’s my line, Mars.”
Recognition sparked in her eyes, and Logan finally pulled away. “You’ll go straight home?”
“Mmmhmm,” Veronica said.
“You’ll avoid anything involving the Fitzpatricks until I’m sure they’re not trying to kill you?”
“You betcha.”
“And be careful on the PCH?”
“Of course, Dad.”
Logan shuddered, but Veronica’s smile was teasing. She gave him one last peck on the lips. He stared at his hands after letting go of her. “Do you really think it can be different this time?” he wanted to know.
Veronica just shrugged. “There’s still some things I have to work through, Logan. But if I can, then, yeah, it can be different.” She glanced back in the direction of the Fitzpatrick’s bar and corrected, “It will be different.”
He waited until she’d climbed back into the driver’s seat to give her a little wave, and once she’d started to back out, he trotted to the Range Rover. He could probably think of a million reasons why this wouldn’t work if he tried, but Logan decided to be optimistic for a change.
Whistling, he pulled out of the alley behind the River Styx.
* * *
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Back when he’d been a lowly reporter for the Neptune Tribune, he’d start writing his stories before he even returned to his desk. He’d dictate the perfect lead, the perfect sandwich for a quote, record it in his mini-cassette player as he drove from assignment to assignment. When he broke into broadcast, he hadn’t felt the same need, but now that he was gunning back towards the station, all Mark Jarvis could think about were passages from the book he’d surely be able to option about the Logan Echolls murder trial.
It was only fair that he got to cover this story, after the Aaron Echolls verdict hadn’t panned out and Keith Mars had already scooped the book angle with Big Murder, Small Town. At the time, Jarvis had cursed the hours he’d spent commuting back and forth to what felt like no avail.
But now Logan Echolls was in deep, and Mark Jarvis was in Neptune with the story.
His lips curled upwards as he thought about anchor Elizabeth Buchowski doing the lead-in on the six o’clock. He clucked his tongue and cut off a teenager in Volkswagen, giving the girl the finger as he passed. That’s the thing about the anchor job, Lizzie-you just don’t get the hard news anymore.
There was a chance Jarvis was still bitter about getting passed over for promotion. But seriously-who gave a damn about Buchowski’s degrees and experience? She’d lived in California for less than a year, and as far as he was concerned, she had no idea how to address its concerned citizens.
Or, as he liked to call them, dirty hippies and the starlet obsessed.
Jarvis tapped his foot impatiently, revving the engine of his Lexus. At any rate, he had a lead in what was possibly the biggest story in Southern California, but if traffic didn’t clear soon, he wasn’t going to make the five-thirty break. In the cup holder, his Blackberry started vibrating-the station manager was calling again. He’d been purposefully vague when he’d checked in an hour before, saying there was a break in the Echolls investigation and to hold the top story.
Definitely bigger than the multi-million dollar plastic surgery malpractice suit, Jarvis had assured. But he’d refused to fax the station his notes. He didn’t have much B-roll, so he’d been damned if one of the anchors got to do this read.
Police had found a gun, registered to Echolls, in the boy’s suite in the Neptune Grand. It wouldn’t be much of a story, not since the gun was properly licensed, but the ballistics tests had matched the gun to the casings that disabled the Mars girl’s car and the bullet lodged in her shoulder.
And for all his incompetence, the small town sheriff had managed to keep the findings from the press for at least a week.
Not any longer. As far as Jarvis was concerned, the public had a right to know. He switched lanes quickly, this time cutting off an old woman in a Buick, before speeding past three ridiculous hybrids to the open road. He floored it, humming lightly.
“In late February, the Neptune Sheriff’s department made its first solid connection in the Echolls case. The interim sheriff discovered a handgun-” Jarvis frowned, deciding it would be more effective to include the exact make and model of Echolls’ gun, and he reached for his notes in the passenger seat. A second later, a series of honks outside his vehicle made him realize he’d inadvertently switched lanes “-a insert-model-of-handgun-here registered to the young man in his hotel room...”
He continued his narrative all the way to Los Angeles, creating a scintillating blend of noir and stardom, murder and romance gone awry. He was certain the trial would have it all. Forget the anchor job. Hell, forget the reporting gig-one more juicy turn in this case, and he’d have a movie deal before the novel even went to press. The buzz would be about whichever young star (Chad Michael Murray or the troubled blonde kid from The O.C., Jarvis predicted) decided to prove himself portraying Logan Echolls, and whether there was a “sensitive” way to portray the Mars girl onscreen.
Jarvis couldn’t wait for his cameo.
* * *
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
She gently placed her laptop in its protective sleeve on the table, a movement in sharp contrast to the thud with which she sent her book bag to the floor. “Honey, I’m home!” Mac hollered.
Max poked his head out of his room, grinning. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, and he wore only a towel around his waist. “Hey babe,” he called. “Just a sec.”
Mac’s eyes narrowed, but she was smiling, too. “Are you just now showering?”
“Busy day,” Max replied, kissing her lightly. “Had to get about six new passwords. The new criminology professor changes hers like, every twelve hours.”
“Oh,” Mac said, watching as Max disappeared into the bathroom again. This time, he came out in shorts and a Flogging Molly shirt.
“How’s this for an idea?” Max murmured, wrapping his arms around her. “I generate passwords for the Hearst electronic reserve system and sell them for half of what the bookstore charges.”
Mac pulled back. “Can you do that?”
Max released her, starting towards the kitchen. “Give me a weekend.”
“Forty-eight hours and the student population of Hearst is scammed out of even more of their hard-earned cash,” Mac sighed. “Meanwhile, while you enjoyed your schedule of two classes which meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays only, I had lecture and two labs.”
“Shame,” Max said. “Hungry?”
“Starved. Do we still have any of the Thai?” Mac asked, yanking the door open.
Max had already pulled out his cell, flipping through the carryout numbers he kept on speed dial. “One of us should learn to cook. Chinese?”
Mac shook her head, still standing with the refrigerator door open. She could practically hear her mother shriek about wasting electricity and letting food spoil. “We had Chinese food on Sunday, and my vegetable lo mein came with chunks of chicken.”
Max continued to scroll through his cell phone. “Italian? We haven’t had Luigi’s in-” He stopped abruptly. “Right. Mexican? You liked the spinach enchiladas from-”
But Mac had slammed the refrigerator door and stalked out of his kitchen. “I’m not hungry,” she said abruptly.
Her boyfriend plopped down next to her on the couch, scooting closer when she folded her arms across her chest. “Yes, you are. The way you threw your book bag down earlier screamed, ‘Careful, I haven’t been fed recently and I’m grouchy.’”
“Are you sure it didn’t scream, ‘My boyfriend is an insensitive cheat who’s managed to mention my dead best friend twice in five minutes?’” Mac simpered. She dodged Max’s arm and grabbed the remote, switching on the TV. Onscreen, an anchor was wrapping the five-thirty news with an update on two missing girls from Encinitas.
Max’s face fell. “Wait, twice? Luigi’s and-” recognition dawned in his eyes “-the criminology thing. Seriously, Mac, I’m sorry. It’s not like I meant to-”
Tears had begun to pool in Mac’s eyes. “I know,” she said shakily, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s just… I had to spend all day listening to people gossip about Logan. I didn’t even get my lab finished on time I was so distracted.”
“Still think he’s innocent?” Max asked. Quickly, he added, “Not that he couldn’t be. I mean, I only really met him once, but he seemed really into Veronica at the time.”
“Exactly!” Mac exclaimed. “And besides, all they have so far is circumstantial-”
In front of them, the TV switched from commercial, blaring the call sign for the six o’clock news. A young blonde woman smiled, flashing perfect white teeth as her co-anchor offered the standard greeting. The camera focused on her.
“Good evening. Tonight’s top story is breaking in Neptune, California, where the son of the late movie star Aaron Echolls is awaiting trial for the murder of his ex-girlfriend, Veronica Mars. Our own Mark Jarvis learned today that the Neptune sheriff has been withholding evidence related to Logan Echolls’ arrest. Mark?”
In studio, Jarvis smiled. “Thanks, Elizabeth. Somber news in Neptune tonight-unlike his father, Logan Echolls might be guilty after all. The young man was arrested two weeks ago after an eyewitness placed him in Mars’ company shortly before she disappeared in December. Tonight, our station has learned of solid evidence linking Echolls to the kidnapping and murder of Veronica Mars. A gun registered to Echolls, found in a search of his room, fired the bullets that disabled Miss Mars’ car along the PCH. Further-”
Grabbing the remote gently from his girlfriend, Max turned off the TV. Mac scrambled for it immediately, but he shook his head. “You’ve got to stop obsessing,” he said lowly.
“I’m not obsessing. I’m trying to figure out what really-”
“Finding the gun is pretty concrete evidence, Mac,” Max said. He ran his hand through his hair, looking as shaken as Mac felt. “Look, I liked the guy too, but-”
“He just didn’t seem like the type,” Mac said flatly. Finally, she allowed her boyfriend to wrap his arms around her. “Right?”
* * *
Monday, December 17, 2007
After seventy-two hours in a near constant state of search for Veronica, Mac finally left the sheriff’s station. She hadn’t wanted to go, but Keith insisted. He told her to go home and get some sleep; instead, she drove aimlessly around Neptune.
It had been almost four days since anyone had last seen Veronica. They were out of leads, and the search so far had been futile. Mac had watched, hand clutching Logan’s arm, as deputies searched every abandoned building in Balboa County. She’d waited, downing stale cups of coffee and the occasional hot tea from Sacks, as Keith brought in Neptune’s usual suspects for questioning. For three days, she’d been utterly convinced that with so much manpower, they’d have Veronica home in no time.
Now, she wasn’t so sure. Even the sheriff, so determined to find his baby girl, seemed to be tiring of the grind. She knew Keith wanted nothing more than to bring Veronica home safe, but with every resource exhausted, reality had set in. Tears caught in Mac’s throat as she tried to push aside the little voice that reminded her best friend might not be coming home.
Today, she thought, had been the hardest yet. Logan had muttered his apologies the night before as he slipped out of the station, apparently unable to take it any longer. Mac hadn’t seen him since, and she worried about the dead look in his eyes as he’d departed. Automatically, she piloted her car towards the Grand, ignoring the fatigue threatening her every move. If he didn’t still believe, she’d make him.
Wearily, Mac clambered out of the parking garage, taking the elevator to the top floor. She still hated the hotel and all its foul memories, but she decided now wasn’t the time for her hang-ups about dead ex-boyfriends. Resolutely, she lifted a fist and knocked on Logan’s door.
No answer. She tried again, pounding a bit more firmly. Still, no one came. Mac tried a third time. Her heart sank a little when Logan ignored this too, but she turned to go.
The door opened.
Mac whirled around. “Hey,” she said. “How are you?”
Logan didn’t invite her in. Actually, he hung back, clutching the doorframe for support. He reeked of alcohol. “Now’s not really a good time,” he mumbled.
“We missed you today,” Mac said. She shoved her hands in her back pockets. “We’re going to find her, Logan.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, but his words lacked conviction. Concerned, Mac stepped closer. Logan continued to hang his head, avoiding eye contact.
“I get it,” she said gently, trying to draw his gaze upwards, “it’s starting to get hard. It seems like giving up would be easier, but you know that’s not what she’d do if one of us were missing.”
Logan snorted. “Yeah, maybe for you.”
“She’d be pretty upset if you disappeared, too, Logan.”
“Right.”
Mac sighed. “Don’t be like that.”
“Like what?” Logan finally lifted his head. Mac’s eyes grew wide, taking in the fresh welts replacing fading bruises. He looked like his face had gone one-on-one with some guy’s fist-or a two-by-four. “Wherever she is, I can’t do a damn thing about it.”
“Logan, what happened?” Mac demanded, trying to push the door open further with her foot. The lighting in the hall was low, and she wanted to get a better look at him. What could he have possibly spent the last twenty-four hours doing?
He blocked her attempts to enter. “It’s not really a good time.”
“Who did this?” Mac wanted to know. She was still trying to get past him, and he surprised her by pushing her back. He wasn’t overly firm, but he wasn’t gentle, either. He clearly didn’t want her in the suite. “What’s going on, Logan?”
Logan shifted uncomfortably. “Like I said yesterday-I had some business I had to take care of.”
“Let me see your face,” Mac urged.
He shook his head. “It’ll heal.”
“You still haven’t told me what happened.”
“No,” Logan agreed. “Look, Mac, just call me if they find anything?”
Mac folded her arms across her chest. “You should be there,” she said stubbornly. “You shouldn’t give up on her.”
Logan’s voice was low. “I haven’t.”
“It seems like you have.” Mac turned, pretending she was about to leave. When she heard Logan turn back around, she quickly changed directions and pushed her way into the suite. “What the-”
Most of the chintz furniture had been uprooted, torn upholstery and down feathers resting on splinters of broken wood. The couch leaned crookedly on three legs, a pile of bloody towels near the only remaining throw pillow. Logan was clearly nursing the fifth sitting on the marred end table. Her eyes turned accusingly, demanding an explanation.
Instead, Logan caught her arm and dragged her out of the suite. Her elbow stung as he wrenched her away from the upheaval. “Get out.”
“You’re drunk,” Mac said bravely.
“What gave me away?” Logan’s eyes flashed as he released her arm. “Just go, Mac. Go back to the station, help Keith, and leave me alone. There’s nothing left for me to do.”
“Sober up,” she replied automatically, unsure why she was so quick to plead with him in his intoxicated state. “Come on, I’ll help you get this place cleaned up, and we can-”
Logan slammed the door in her face.
* * *
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Logan never thought he’d see the day when he’d tire of contact with the outside world, not when he was confined to a tiny jail cell in the Balboa County Sheriff’s Department. He’d only had a handful of visitors since entering lockup two weeks before, but even meetings with his disgusting lawyer were an improvement over games of count-the-ceiling-tiles. At least he’d managed to escape the disdain of the general public-at least until the news media had reported his gun had the shots that disabled Veronica’s car.
Deputy D’Amato, who Logan would accuse of carrying a torch for Veronica still if only (if only if only if only) she were still alive, was on duty, and he kept “accidentally” mistaking angry citizens of Neptune for Logan’s relatives. An old woman had actually tried to beat him through the bars with her purse for doing “such hideous things to such a sweet-looking girl.”
When Sacks came back on duty at five, Logan was relieved, though not an hour passed before the sheriff called back that he had another visitor. Wearily, Logan looked up to appraise his assailant, relieved to see Mac starting towards him. He scrambled to his feet, clutching the bars.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” he joked. His tone was light, but he hoped she could tell how desperate he was. No way in hell could Mac actually believe he stabbed Veronica to death. No way in-
“Let me guess,” Mac said, her voice breaking. “You’re excited about this opportunity to tell me the gun was planted.”
Logan’s face fell. “Not you, too,” he asked, staggering backwards. He felt like his legs couldn’t support him.
“I bet you’re pissed as hell she made you register the gun after the whole fiasco at the River Styx senior year,” Mac said bitingly. “Another weapon you could have passed off as planted, stolen, something-but they found your gun. Did you really think you could get away with it, Logan?”
Cinderblocks swam in Logan’s vision. His tiny cell was spinning, and he grasped blindly, wishing he hadn’t backed away from the bars. He hit the cement floor on his knees, knowing he’d be bruised to hell in the morning. “I never would have hurt Veronica!”
Mac shook her head. “Then why is all the evidence against you?” she asked softly.
“Do you know what you’re accusing me of?” Logan croaked. “Of killing Veronica, sure, but do you have any idea what that means?”
“Logan, you have to admit-”
“No!” he shouted, uncaring if Sacks came back and led Mac away. He had to make her see. She had to know he’d never do the things they were saying. He pulled himself off the ground and gripped the bars again. “I loved Veronica. When you love someone, you don’t shoot out her tires on the PCH. You don’t clip her in the shoulder at point-blank range. Do you know what I have dealt with all day?”
Mac looked hesitant, but she shook her head. “What?” she whispered.
“An old woman, beating me with her purse because she thinks I killed the love of my life. Fans of my father, telling me how ashamed he’d be of me. A sociopath, asking what if I slit Veronica’s throat because she wasn’t dying fast enough from the stab-” Logan broke off, choking. “I think he’s in the other holding cell now, actually. Do you know what that’s like, Mac? Not only are they asking me to relive the last moments of Veronica’s life, they’re accusing me of causing that pain.”
“Logan, I-”
“There’s something else, not on the news yet,” Logan said shakily. “There’s-there’s DNA. Do you know what else they’re saying I did, Mac?” She didn’t respond. “They’re saying I raped Veronica. I know I’m a lot of things, but a rapist? A murderer?”
Logan had gripped the bars so tightly his arms were shaking. Mac’s sobs were wracking her entire body. Finally, she nodded. “S-she said you really helped her, after Cassidy.”
“You believe me, then?”
Mac shook her head. Logan’s heart dropped; he swung away from the bars. He had to get this out of his system, had to hit something, had to make this feeling go away.
“But I could,” Mac said. “You need to tell me exactly what happened.”
* * *
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Dick threw his arm around Logan’s shoulders as they left their evening history class. The blonde whistled happily as they walked out into the crisp air. “Dude, class is over. We don’t ever have to worry about the royal family ever again.”
“Never again?” Logan questioned, quirking an eyebrow.
“No, man, last class!” Dick said, pumping an arm in the air triumphantly.
Logan stopped short, wearing an amused smile. It took Dick a second to realize his friend wasn’t following any longer. “Yeah, man, I think you mean ‘last class before the final’.”
Dick’s face fell. “Dammit,” he swore, but he recovered quickly. “Thirsty Thursdays! Are we going out? I met this totally slutty sorority girl who said she was going to be at Field House tonight with her sisters.”
“Don’t think so, Dick,” Logan muttered. They were fast approaching the parking lot, and he seriously hoped Dick didn’t remember catching a ride from him until after a thorough search for the Maserati. It would give Logan plenty of time to pull away. “Look, there’s somewhere I have to be.”
The blonde groaned. “Whatever, man. You’re no fun since you stopped partying and gave up hot chicks.”
“Since I gave up hot chicks?” Logan asked, unlocking the Range Rover. Dick didn’t move to get in.
“Yeah, man. You’re like, surrogate.”
“I’m carrying someone else’s baby?”
“What?” Dick asked, confused. “You’re not having sex.”
“Ah, celibate.”
“Isn’t that what I said?”
Logan gave Dick a hearty pat on the back. “Just wanted to make sure there wasn’t a reason you were only giving me ‘hot’ chicks.”
Dick looked exasperated. “It’s not like you ever did ugly chicks. Fine, go mope-I’m going to spend the night with a hot babe on each arm. D’you remember where I parked?”
“Somewhere down there,” Logan said vaguely, waving his hand. He hopped in his car. “See ya, Dick.”
“Later, man. I’ll let you know if I find your balls. Maybe you could get ‘em reattached somehow.”
“I assure you,” Logan called cheerfully out the window, “my manhood is still firmly in place.”
He watched Dick grow smaller in the rearview mirror, scratching his head while muttering, ‘Dude, where’s my car?’ and laughing at the joke he’d just made. Logan shook his head, reaching for the glove box. Just as she’d promised, Mac had left a receiver in his car, complete with instructions on how to tune into Veronica’s tap. He decided not to dwell on however she’d managed to break into his car, somehow completely bypassing the alarm and keyless entry.
‘PS,’ Mac’s note read, ‘I couldn’t spare my GPS, so I linked your nav to the chip in Veronica’s cell phone. You should be able to track her that way.’
Logan fiddled with the controls on the Range Rover as he left campus. Sure enough, his car’s satellite navigation system opened automatically to a map of streets in south Neptune, where Veronica’s car appeared to remain parked-right outside her apartment.
“Good going, Mac,” Logan muttered. He’d spent most of the day worried sick about whatever illicit activity Veronica was potentially throwing herself into, and instead, his ex was probably at home, studying for finals and singing along to Fiona Apple. Still, instead of heading back to the Grand, he decided to roll through the In-N-Out drive thru before calling it a night. He was about to toss his trash and call it a night when the red dot onscreen began to move.
It took ten minutes for him to pick up Veronica’s Saturn, which was heading towards downtown Neptune. His heart sank as her course took her closer and closer to the River Styx. Mac had been right-whatever was going on had everything to do with the Fitzpatricks. Still, Logan took his time weaving through town. The last thing he needed was to get caught playing Amateur vs. Spy, and he had to adjust the receiver, anyway.
As chords of “Relief Next to Me” echoed through the Range Rover, Logan had to smile. He turned onto Sunset. “That’s my girl,” he muttered, as Veronica chimed in with Tegan and Sara, “just a little butch.”
He tried not to let his heart sink as the Saturn rumbled to a stop in the alley behind the River Styx. He heard Veronica shut off the radio, still humming, and rummage through something in the car. He was still circling the area, wondering where to park within range, when the red dot blinked out on the satellite.
“Of course,” Logan said, throwing the Range Rover into park. He knew he should be paying closer attention to the sounds coming through the receiver, but mostly, he grumbled. “Best idea ever, Veronica. Turn your cell phone off so there’s no way to track you when you run headlong into the Fitzpatricks’ bar.”
He unbuckled his seatbelt and settled in. At first, he listened intently to what came over the wire, white noise and the occasional frustrated sigh. He wondered how the hell Veronica managed all those long nights in high school, finally reaching for one of the textbooks he’d thrown to the floor. He hadn’t made it to the Jacobites when he decided he really, really didn’t care about British history. Yawning, he flipped the page, and the amount of static over the wire increased tremendously.
Logan, slouched against the door, bolted upright. He knew the bug was on the pendant Veronica often wore, and he wondered for a second if she’d discovered Mac’s wire. At any rate, his worst fears were confirmed in seconds when Liam Fitzpatrick’s voice sneered over the wire. “We’re going to have to take care of the girl eventually, Danny!” he shouted, pounding a fist hard on a table. In the background, Logan could hear the cracking of pool balls, and he could just imagine Fitzpatrick’s flunky folding his arms across his chest before responding.
“I just don’t know, Boss,” Danny Boyd said. “It doesn’t seem like-”
“Like hell it doesn’t!” Fitzpatrick roared. “Your name isn’t on everything! Your ass isn’t on the line! Mine is, and I say let the little bitch suffer!”
“C’mon, Liam, don’t you-”
“Don’t I what? What’s this about? What, Danny? Have you made a deal with the little cunt? Are you turning on me? You’re like a brother to me, Danny. I can’t imagine having-”
“It’s not like that, Liam,” Boyd said quickly. “I’m just not sure if we’re ready to-”
“You better not be going soft on me,” Fitzpatrick threatened, and a glass shattered in the distance. Logan’s hand was hovering on the door handle, waiting. “Because we’re going to kill the bitch.”
“Right,” Boyd said, though his tone was hesitant.
Fitzpatrick laughed maniacally. “Don’t worry, Danny,” he said, downright affectionately. “We’ll chop Mars into pieces so small they’ll never-”
Suddenly, he heard a woman gasp, and another glass shattered.
He was out of the Range Rover in seconds, gun snatched from below the seat. Logan sprinted towards the bar’s entrance. Veronica had been upset when he pulled a gun on the Fitzpatricks before, but this time, he’d make her understand. What had she been thinking, running into the bar like that? Tucking the gun in his pants, he just hoped Fitzpatrick didn’t also pull a weapon. He may have spent plenty of time at the firing range with Dick Sr., but he wasn’t sure such experience would matter much in a draw with an Irish mob leader.
Logan barely had time to consider how bizarre this all was, rushing in to save a girl from mobsters when she’d booted him from her life for interfering. He burst through the door.
“Where is she?” he demanded, hand at his back. His eyes flashed. “Dammit, where the fuck is she?”
Boyd didn’t answer, just licked his lips as he attempted to ram the intruder with a pool cue. Logan was too fast for him, swinging sloppily but still landing a punch. A fist flew into his stomach, and he grunted. He swung again, this time connecting solidly with Boyd’s face. A second man, older and more wizened than either Fitzpatrick or Boyd, charged as if he were coming to the rescue. Logan ducked. His eyes darted frantically around the room as Fitzpatrick came at him. He didn’t see Veronica.
Pain exploded across his jaw as a pool ball hit him in the face. An elbow slammed into the side of his head, and Fitzpatrick grabbed for a barstool. Logan felt another crack against his chest, and he reminded himself it was three on one as he went down. The room spun around him, but he managed to pull himself back up and connect with Fitzpatrick’s gut.
“Echolls!” Fitzpatrick screamed, dropping to the ground himself. Boyd had grabbed the barstool and moved to throw it again.
While Logan reached for his gun, Boyd turned at the last second and hurled the barstool at the door. For a second, Logan was confused, but as he leveled the gun at Fitzpatrick, he heard a very familiar shriek. Veronica was standing in the doorway, trembling slightly, broken wood behind her. It only took him a second to realize he had screwed up very, very badly.
“Are you okay?” Logan wheezed, a few drops of blood trickling down his hairline. Veronica looked properly horrified, but she nodded. He turned his head to spit more blood, still unsteady on his feet. “Now-what the hell were you talking about?”
Fitzpatrick sneered. “What the hell gives you the right to storm my bar, Echolls?” He lifted his chin in Boyd’s direction. “Grab the girl.”
Logan couldn’t turn the gun fast enough, and he watched Boyd pin Veronica’s arms behind her back. Her blue eyes widened in fear. “Let go,” he growled. He cocked the gun. “I said, let go!”
Boyd dropped Veronica’s arms, backing away from her with his hands up. He stepped away from the door, and Fitzpatrick shoved him hard. The old drunk was still on the ground, crawling away from the mess. The rest of the bar-a handful of rough-looking Irishmen-stared.
“Get out of my bar,” Fitzpatrick said, his voice eerily calm. Logan keep the gun trained on him. “I said, GET OUT OF MY BAR!”
Logan glanced at Veronica, still frozen on the stairs. “Get out of here,” he said.
“Logan, we have to leave,” she said, finally stepping towards him. Fitzpatrick threw up an arm to keep her from getting any closer. “Logan, come on!”
“Why don’t you listen to the little lady?” Fitzpatrick sneered. His hand curled around Veronica’s forearm, drawing her towards him. His other hand clearly dropped to her ass. “How are you, sweet pea? Tell you what. I’ll let you go. Clean break.”
“Let go of me,” Veronica said, which only prompted Fitzpatrick to tighten his grip. She pleaded silently with Logan. “Come on, Logan, let’s just get out of here.”
Logan’s eyes flashed. “They’re not going to just let you leave, Veronica. They were just talking about how they planned to kill you. There’s no clean about getting chopped up into little pieces!”
“Never said anything about choppin’ anybody up,” Fitzpatrick said quickly, releasing Veronica, but Logan didn’t like the look he traded with Boyd. “I might be fucking tired of the two of you and your little games, but ain’t nobody getting chopped up.”
“I know what I heard,” Logan said, matching the mobster’s eerily calm tone of earlier. “But you’re right. Nobody’s getting chopped up. And you won’t lay a fucking hand on Veronica, do you hear me?”
Suddenly, the gun wasn’t in Logan’s hand anymore. He panicked, unsure who to punch in retaliation-except the hand on his bicep was distinctly feminine. Veronica threw the safety back on the pistol and tugged on his arm firmly. Fitzpatrick looked amused, if not a little impressed.
“We’re leaving, Logan,” she said, pulling on his arm again. “Come on, what are you doing? Do you want to get killed?”
“They were talking about you,” he said lowly, digging his heels into the concrete floor to no avail. He knew not to underestimate Veronica’s strength, but this was ridiculous. How could he not hold out against someone a foot shorter than him? “Dammit, Veronica, they were threatening you!”
“Let’s just go, Logan,” she said, having already hauled him to the stairs. He had little choice but to follow, but he kept glancing back at the Fitzpatricks, ready to grab the gun from her if they made any sudden movements.
When they were safely standing in the street, Logan simply reacted. He instinctively gathered Veronica in tight embrace, enveloping her tiny frame. His hand snaked through her blonde hair, and he breathed in the familiar scent of her shampoo. For a second, he just held her-and she let him.
Before she kicked him in the shin and promptly wriggled away. “You idiot!” she raged, tucking the gun into her bag. “Were you trying to get yourself killed?”
“Veronica, I-”
“No!” she yelled. “I don’t care what you were doing or you thought you were doing. You were following me, Logan, you had to have been! We still haven’t worked our way back to lunch dates at the food court, and you think it’s okay to follow me?”
Every time she emphasized a word, she slammed a tiny fist into his broad chest. Usually, Logan would have laughed because she’d be tussling with him in bed, but under the circumstances (and given the damage already done by the Fitzpatricks), it sort of hurt. She finally stopped, choosing instead to drag him again, further away from the bar and in the opposite direction of where he’d left the Range Rover. He figured he was about to discover where she’d parked.
“Look, Veronica,” he panted, stopping her fifty or so yards from the Saturn. “Mac figured out what you were doing, all right? She knew whatever security work she’d done for you had to do with the Fitzpatricks, and she was scared.”
“And she called you?” Veronica demanded. “I find it hard to believe out of all the people I actually like, Mac would choose someone I didn’t to go in as muscle!”
Logan flinched. Veronica glared. “You don’t-”
“And seriously,” she interrupted, “what purpose was storming the bar supposed to serve?”
“I thought they had you,” Logan said numbly. “Mac-she set up a tap, and I heard them talking about taking care of someone, and your name, and a woman, and I thought-”
“She set up a tap on them?”
“On you,” Logan said numbly. Veronica’s hands immediately began patting at her clothing, trying to figure out where the bug could possibly be. He just reached forward, lightly reaching for the necklace Lilly had given her. A tiny wire snaked down the pendant from the chain. “She replaced the chain a few days ago.”
He wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Veronica as angry as she was as she ripped off the necklace, freeing her pendent and throwing the chain in his face. “How dare you follow me,” she hissed. “Did it ever occur to me that you were picking up my tap on the Fitzpatricks?”
“Excuse me, Veronica-even if it had, their discussion of how to kill you had me a little hotheaded!”
Veronica threw up her hands. “That’s it!” she exclaimed. “That’s always it, isn’t it? You’re always a little hotheaded, always ready to rush in and save me. Tell you what-next time, don’t bother making the trip because you will never be able to make this right, Logan.”
She turned on her heels, but Logan wasn’t ready to let her go so easily. He lunged forward, grabbing her wrist, dragging her back to him. “No,” he said. She tugged against his hold, trying to pull away. “You are not storming out on me again, Veronica Mars.”
“Let me go, Logan.”
“Can we talk about this?” he asked, still holding her wrist. “For once, can we approach this like adults? Because I’m not sorry, Veronica-I’m not sorry I burst in on your surveillance, I’m not sorry I beat the shit out of that Gory character. Someone has to look out for you, you know!”
She continued to struggle against his grip. “I can take care of myself.”
“Not if you’re swimming with the fishes,” he countered. Tears were stinging her eyes. He couldn’t let go of her, not now. If he did, the best that would happen is she’d walk out of his life, for good. The worst, no one would be there to protect her if the Fitzpatricks made good on their threats. “I love you, Veronica. It’s been months, and I know it’s been months, but I can’t let go of you that easily.”
Veronica stopped squirming. She reached up, tenderly, touching his swollen cheek. “You look terrible, Logan.”
“Yeah, well, as it turns out, the damsel didn’t need saving,” he muttered. He let go of her, and she winced, rubbing her wrist. Logan paled. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
Shaking her head, Veronica returned her hand to his bruised cheek. “No, you didn’t. Come on-let’s take you back to the Grand. You’re in no position to drive.”
It wasn’t any kind of admission. It wasn’t even an agreement that the talk he so desperately wanted to have with her would happen. But Logan found himself following her back to her car.
* * *
Monday, March 10, 2008
Keith stumbled into his apartment, attempting to throw his keys on the counter and missing. Backup only whined half-heartedly. Damn dog, Keith thought, somewhere between binge and hangover. Probably relieved himself in the bedroom again.
The bartender had been a petite blonde, and Keith had drunk until she bore more than a passing resembling to his dead daughter. Someone had escorted him out of the bar when he started calling her Veronica.
He saw her everywhere these days, especially in the month since he’d quit the force. Had his mindset been more rational, he would have realized his Veronica sightings were directly proportional to the amount of whiskey he’d had.
Thrashing through the living room, he stopped in front of her picture, sitting on its little wall shelf. Tears blurred his eyes as he remembered the day she’d tried to install said shelf, desperately trying to find a stud in the cheap plaster wall. He’d come home to find Backup in a frenzy, Veronica elbow-deep in spackle, trying to repair the damage while sucking on the thumb she’d banged with a hammer.
With one smooth motion, Keith plucked the eight by ten from the shelf and slammed it into the wall. Glass flew everywhere, sending the pit bull into a panic. “Backup!” Keith roared. “Get out of the way!”
Even as Backup scampered away, his tail between his legs, Keith knew he should sweep up the glass and try harder not to take it out on the dog. But he’d probably have to sober up while he was at it, and he was going on three days and absolutely certain a fourth would make Veronica’s memory finally, finally disappear.
Not that he hadn’t had similar delusions before. It didn’t matter how much he drank; he couldn’t forget his little girl so easily.
Collapsing on the sofa, he slipped in and out for hours, Backup’s muted whimpers and the ticking of the wall clock lulling him into a fitful sleep. He saw Veronica as he tried not to remember her-bound, gagged, pleading desperately with Logan as he ended her life.
Keith woke up just in time to empty the contents of his stomach into a potted plant. His double vision had disappeared, and he realized it was no longer night. Someone clucked her tongue disapprovingly. Across the room, Veronica tucked her legs beneath her in the armchair. She looked like she had in life for a change, clad in jeans and a button-down blouse, no obvious injuries.
“Go away,” Keith said wearily, deciding to clean up his mess later. “You’re not her.”
“If we’re leveling accusations,” she quipped, “you’re not him either. Who are you and what have you done with my dad?”
“My little girl is dead,” he said stubbornly, padding in the kitchen. Sunlight poured through the windows, disorienting him. He promptly shut the blinds. “I lost her months ago.”
“Yeah, well, I lost one parent to the drink years ago, but apparently, that wasn’t enough,” Veronica muttered, pushing herself out of the armchair. She crossed the kitchen and flung open one of the cabinets. Her movements were quick, angry-she filled a glass with water and slammed it down in front of Keith, shoving two Excedrin in his hand a second later. “Here. You’re going to have to sober up eventually.”
“You’re not her,” Keith said, but he accepted the pills without question.
Veronica glared. “Like I said, you’re not him, either. My dad never hit the bars from three to three. Not even as a rookie do I think he had to be thrown out after last call.”
“Yeah, well, as a rookie he had a pregnant wife to go home to,” he muttered. “And after that, a wisecracking teenager to raise.”
“So that’s it, then?” Veronica asked, throwing her hands in the air. “I die, and you get to give up? Way to follow your own advice, Dad.”
“You’re not her. You’re not my daughter.” Keith folded his arms across his chest.
Veronica matched his stance. “Am too.”
“Logan killed you,” Keith returned hoarsely. “Logan killed you, and I had to bury you.”
Veronica frowned. “Do you really believe Logan could do this to me?”
Blood had started to soak her shirt, and Keith backed away, shaking his head violently. “No,” he begged. “No. If you’re really her, don’t leave me again. Don’t go, Veronica. Stay with me, baby. I’ll save you this time-”
“Too late, Dad,” Veronica said sadly. “But get out of the bottle, okay? Save yourself before it’s too late.” She stepped forward, pressing a light kiss to her father’s cheek, and she disappeared.
* * *
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
The bark on the other side of the door as he turned the key in the lock told him Backup-and Veronica-were waiting up for him. Keith sighed wearily as he pushed open the door, dropping his eyes to avoid his daughter’s disproving stare as he took off his jacket and removed his gun holster.
“That’s it?” Veronica demanded, watching him lower the belt to the counter. “You’re just going to take it? After how they treated you?”
Keith started to raise his hand but thought better of it, keeping it firmly pressed against the island. “Veronica, we have been over this. They had every right to remove me from office after what I did.”
Shame flickered in her eyes, if only for a second. “You tried to tell them, though,” she said stubbornly. “You tried to tell them what the Castle was and what it was trying to do, and they’d have none of it. All they cared about was your wiping some rich guy’s DVR!”
“Yeah, well, I think it becomes a little more complicated than some rich guy’s DVR when it records you breaking into the Kane mansion, honey!”
“I did what I had to do, Dad!” Veronica replied hotly.
“No, Veronica,” Keith said, unable to keep his voice from rising. “You did something stupid, and I paid the price!”
His daughter looked like she’d just been slapped, and it took all of his resolve to keep from wrapping his arms around her right there and apologizing. In all honesty, he didn’t blame her for what happened, not really. Hell, he’d even take a portion of the responsibility for her actions, given how he’d raised her. But her stormy silence since he’d first entered into talks with the city to take over as interim sheriff again had become unbearable.
“So after months of silence, you blame me?” Veronica wanted to know. “Fine, Dad, side with them. But this town does nothing but hurt you, and you know it!”
“No, Veronica,” Keith said again, “that’s you.”
She recoiled a second time, shaking her head, visibly holding back tears. “So I’m a disappointment now, huh?”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said, realizing at once how deep the hole he was digging had become. You can’t expect her to change in a day, not after letting her get away with this kind of stuff for years, he reminded himself. The thought was hardly comforting.
“No, I think it’s exactly what you meant. Who needs me and a lowly PI job when Balboa County is in too deep?” Veronica laughed bitterly. “Do you honestly think they’d want you back if Vinnie hadn’t disappeared?”
“Maybe,” Keith said stubbornly.
“Yeah, right. Is that why they pulled your license? They wanted you all to themselves?” Veronica harrumphed. “I mean, I have to admit, it was pretty genius of Fuller-maybe he thought he might want you back someday and made damn sure you didn’t have any other options.”
“Maybe so, Veronica, but a job’s a job, and your tuition isn’t exactly cheap now that Jake Kane yanked your scholarship!”
Keith watched in vain as his daughter disappeared into her room, slamming the door so hard that the upstairs neighbor hollered for them to keep it down. A few minutes later, Veronica emerged, bag packed.
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
Veronica’s eyes flashed. “Out.”
“Can I ask when you’ll be back?”
“Can I ask how long you’ll have a job after you find Vinnie Van Lowe?” Veronica said sweetly. Her fake smile quickly dropped into a frown, and she slammed the door on her way out.
Chapter Three
* * *
More notes: The entirety of this fic was plotted out way back in April (though it has undergone serious modification since), so I know exactly what will happen when. That said, though I have a substantial amount written so far, the next few updates might not come quite as fast. I keep going back to add things and fix little details. I’m writing as fast as I can. I’m not a huge fan of WIP, so I want this beast done.
Field House, the bar Dick mentions, is actually a popular bar in my college town. It’s “Thirsty Thursday” here; I have no idea if that’s universal or just a Mizzou thing.
Tegan and Sara, whose music was featured on the Veronica Mars soundtrack, released their fifth album about a week ago. It’s called The Con, and it’s excellent. I actually had it in my notes all along that Veronica would be listening to their new album, but then it came out, and “Relief Next to Me” felt very true to Logan and Veronica’s situation.
Thanks for reading!
Elle
Author: em2mb
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica, Mac, Keith, Weevil, Wallace, Piz, Sacks.
Word Count: 10,135
Rating: NC-17, some of the good kind, some of the not-so-good kind.
Summary: “He just didn’t seem like the type,” Mac said flatly. Finally, she allowed her boyfriend to wrap his arms around her. “Right?”
Spoilers: Through 3x20, “The Bitch is Back”
Warnings: Violence, language, sex, character death. Even Cliff McCormick probably wouldn’t defend this one in a court of law. Not that I blame him. As those of you who read the first part already know, this one is dark.
Author's Notes: If they were mine, then the third season would have ended differently, and I wouldn’t have felt compelled to write this. No, Rob owns Veronica-I just borrow her and return her in less-than-stellar condition. Special thanks to the usual suspects, lazaefair, jayiin and earth2mars, as well as everyone that’s stuck around to read more.
Chapter One
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Everything on Sacks’ desk was arranged in neat piles-a stack of unpaid traffic violations, a request for testimony in a burglary case, and photos of vandalism at the high school. In contrast, his notes on the Mars murder investigation littered the floor.
He thought of them as pieces of a puzzle, one he both wanted and didn’t want to solve. He’d arranged the evidence chronologically across the room. On his left, he’d placed sworn statements taken the week between Veronica’s disappearance and the discovery of her body. Contradictions in Echolls’ testimony were flagged, the results of the DNA test still pending.
The autopsy results followed those early statements, but Sacks tried not to think about them. Knowing Veronica had been murdered was bad enough. Considering the gruesome extent of her injuries was more than the sheriff could take. He didn’t dwell much on the knife in evidence lockup, either. Those results were also still pending, but it’s not like he expected an infinite number of weapons matching Veronica’s wounds to turn up.
Next came the case files from the break-in, when Echolls had been caught snooping around Mars Investigations after hours. Sacks paced the room, remembering the day they’d officially entered Echolls as a suspect. Keith had turned over one possible explanation after another, but ultimately, he’d accepted the accumulating evidence.
A box of neatly labeled cassette tapes contained Loretta Cancun’s testimony. Usually, Sacks wouldn’t have bothered taking a statement from a prostitute trying to plea bargain down from assault. But she’d known about the bruises on Veronica’s arm, an injury that seemed so superficial compared to multiple stab wounds it had never been mentioned in the press.
That’s when Keith had arrested Echolls, stepping down not an hour later. Sacks had been obtaining a search warrant for the boy’s hotel suite when he’d gotten the news, and he’d gone with Gills to investigate. He’d half-expected Echolls would be released within forty-eight hours, but that was before they’d found the gun.
A ballistics report confirmed a match between Echolls’ gun and the bullets that disabled Veronica’s car on the PCH occupied the next spot on the floor.
Every file, every photo, every note littering the office made it harder for Sacks to think of Veronica as a little girl in pigtails and her soccer uniform. The evidence made him remember a beautiful young woman reduced to a mangled body under a sheet in the morgue, and he didn’t like it one bit. His doubts about Echolls’ guilt had been squelched with the ballistics test. Now, he feared the DNA results that would prove just how much more suffering he’d inflicted on the poor girl before ending her life.
Sacks glanced at his watch. They were due within the hour. He began to go over the chronology yet again, becoming so engrossed he nearly jumped out of his skin when Inga finally entered. She gave him a grim smile as she handed off a large envelope. Somehow, though he’d tried his damnedest to keep the semen stain on the backseat under wraps out of respect for Keith and Veronica both, the entire station knew exactly what kind of test he was anticipating.
With a nod from the sheriff, Inga slipped out of the office. Sacks eagerly tore into the cardboard envelope. His eyes skimmed the cover letter.
Two matches. The blood on the knife was Veronicas; the semen on the seat, Logan’s.
He could practically hear the district attorney-motive, murder weapon, no alibi, and now ballistic and forensic evidence indicting Logan Echolls in the kidnapping, rape and murder of Veronica Mars.
It wasn’t as reassuring as he hoped it would be.
* * *
Friday, December 14, 2007
A tiny moan escaped Veronica’s lips as Logan suckled at her pulse point. He grinned as she pulled him by the collar into another kiss, not minding much the discomfort of the gear shaft poking against his hip. One expert move and he was certain he could land her in the backseat, and he wrapped an arm tighter around her back.
“Come back to my suite,” he breathed. “You said yourself your dad half-expects you to spend another night at Mac’s.”
“I... really... should... mmmm,” Veronica muttered between open-mouthed kisses, pressing her hands against his chest at last. “...go home.”
Logan disagreed. “You should stay with me.”
“My dad will worry,” Veronica said, her eyes half-lidded. Even as she said so, she scooted as close as she possibly could to him.
“Let him worry,” Logan growled recklessly, resuming his assault on her neck. He gave up trying to prop himself up with one hand and slipped it to the front of her button-down blouse. He stretched the four syllables of her name, blowing lightly on her hot skin. “Veronica.”
“You can’t be comfortable,” she challenged, her hand grazing the front of his pants. If he hadn’t been rock hard before, her double entendre would have served him well. Logan tried to ignore the sensation of her small hand against his jeans and finally unbuckled the damn seat belt she was still wearing. His hand grazed her breast. “L-Logan.”
“You’re the one that agreed to another go,” he reminded, gazing at her intently as he pushed at the soft cups of her bra.
Veronica shuddered slightly. “I didn’t mean in the front seat of my car.”
Logan leaned in for another deep kiss. He dragged his lips across her cheek and brushed against her ear. “If you don’t want this, then tell me to stop.”
She trembled beneath him again. “I don’t want you to.”
He had two hands on her smooth skin now. “Because you know I would,” he continued. “I’d do anything for you, Veronica. I love you so fucking much, even when you’re being stubborn and hot headed and digging into-”
An urgent kiss silenced his grumbles. That was it, he decided, pulling back just enough so he could anchor his feet on the floorboard. He picked her up easily and maneuvered her into the backseat. She scrambled almost frantically onto his lap when he joined her, and he made short work of her blouse as she unbuttoned his jeans. He smirked at the determined look in her bright blue eyes.
“Don’t,” she said, and Logan withdrew his hands immediately from her breasts, confused. Veronica shook her head, hands sliding beneath his shirt and pulling it over his head. She pushed him down against her backseat, straddling him. “I meant don’t joke.”
Logan pretended to look hurt as he propped himself up on his elbows. Veronica unhooked her bra. His eyes drew in her slight curves-perfect, as far as he was concerned. “I was going to tell you how beautiful you were,” he said, grinning mischievously, and not just because his hands had returned to her chest. “Especially when you’re so resolute in your attempts to get in my pants.”
Veronica cupped his cheeks. “You’re getting lucky, Echolls. Don’t make me change my mind.”
“Twice in one night,” Logan murmured, her lips falling on his again. “No complaints from me.”
Working her jeans down her hips, he ignored how cramped his legs were growing beneath her. He cupped her ass beneath her soft cotton underwear, moaning as her hand slipped into his boxers. She palmed the length of his erection, and his hips rose to the sensation. He kicked the window slightly as he struggled to get his pants down, and she glared.
“I offered my suite,” Logan said indignantly, but a moan stifled his defense as she resumed her ministrations. He’d always prided himself in knowing just what turned her on, but in that moment he realized she knew him just as well. She elicited responses from him unlike anything Lilly had ever prompted and knew how to shut him up ten times more effectively than Kendall.
Veronica was probably the least experienced girl he’d ever been with, and somehow, she still knew him the best. He moaned again as her fingers danced across his shaft, his boxers finally pushed down to his thighs, and he wished they weren’t trapped in her cramped backseat. She fisted him more tightly, and he wished the angle were different so he could get his hands back on her.
“Is this okay?” Veronica asked, still stroking him. Logan coughed, muttering something incoherently before stammering a reassurance. It was clearly the reaction she’d been hoping for, and a small smile spread across her face. She scooted back, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, but he grabbed her arm, shaking his head.
“You don’t have to,” he said shakily. “I just-”
Veronica pulled his boxers down further down, then off. “You just what?” Her movements quickened.
Logan coughed. “I want to be inside you.” His hands finally connected with her hips, pulling at the damp cotton. The entire night was screwing with his perception. He was losing himself in her, letting go of control completely. He wanted to chide himself, critique his stamina and criticize himself for not making this better for her, but all he could focus on was her, her beauty, the sweat starting to gather on her pale skin.
Veronica’s eyes locked with his. “Okay,” she muttered softly, and her hands joined his at her hips, pushing at her underwear. He’d barely had a chance to touch her, but when his fingers brushed against her folds, she was surprisingly wet. She smiled nervously at his lustful gaze. “I guess it’s thrilling to know what an effect I have on you.”
“God, you have no idea,” Logan murmured, finally dipping a finger in her. He pushed gently against her clit, and she shuddered.
“Condom,” she breathed. “I want you inside me, too.”
“In my-” Logan stopped short. There weren’t condoms in his wallet, not anymore. He’d decided he was done with random hookups after the Madison Sinclair fiasco and stopped carrying protection. Her hand continued to travel his length, and he wished he’d let memories of the ice bitch serve as deterrent enough. “Fuck, Veronica, I don’t have one.”
Her blue eyes flashed with a mixture of hurt and longing. She started to pull back, but then she pressed against him again, his erection pushed against her flat stomach. “Were you ever with Parker?” she breathed.
This time, Logan’s eyes flickered in hurt. He started to push her off of him. “What the hell, Veronica, I-”
“I’m still on the pill.” She pressed her hands against his chest. “And I wasn’t lying when I told you Piz and I didn’t have sex in that video,” she said. “I haven’t been with anyone since you, Logan. This is-I guess this is my way of saying I trust you.”
Logan sucked in at the friction she was creating between them. “I-I haven’t been with anyone either,” he said honestly. Veronica nodded, and a second later, he was sitting up, pulling her into his lap and burying his length in her.
She gasped, and his brow furrowed in concern. “I’m not hurting you-”
“Oh no,” Veronica shuddered, and after giving her a second to adjust, he pushed her onto her back and began to thrust into her. Logan couldn’t help but grin-not just at the small sounds she was making, but also at the windows fogging up around them. Her legs wrapped around him, and he knew this shouldn’t come as easily as it did, not while crammed in the back of a car.
Veronica’s arms tightened around his neck. Her eyes, half open, remained focused on him. One of her hands left to gaze his cheek, and Logan couldn’t help but feel bad for the stubble rising on his face. And-
“I love you.”
At first, Logan was sure he’d said it. Those three little words belonged to him; she never returned them. Yet, somehow, her lips moved instead of his for a change.
“I love you, too,” Logan whispered, dropping a hand between them, determined to bring her over the edge with him. He wasn’t quite fast enough, but a second later, Veronica cried his name. He collapsed exhausted against the seat, but she had already started to scramble back into her clothes.
“Thank you,” he said as her bra and underwear made their way back on her tiny frame. He knew he should get dressed, too; he knew he’d already pushed his luck (and, for the most part, succeeded) for the evening already. But-
“Do you mean it?”
Veronica stopped, her arms extended to pull her shirt back on. She gave him a shy half-smile. “It’s hard for me to find the words sometimes, Logan,” she said, brushing her thumb against his bruised cheek as she delivered a chaste kiss. “But yeah, I do.”
Logan had hoped she’d say it again, but he was content with her confession. He would have been content to stay there forever if she had not poked him hard in the ribs and told him to get going. He pulled his clothes on slowly, loving the blush that rose to her cheeks every time he caught her eyes on his flesh.
“It’s nearly two,” he said, pulling her against him again when they were both fully clothed. “Come on, Veronica, come back to the Grand with me. We don’t have to do anything. I just want to wake up with you, okay?”
She bit her lip. “Logan, I can’t.”
He sighed, letting go of a fistful of her shirt. “Right.”
“No, really, Logan, I’m going straight home,” Veronica said. “And I’ll call you in the morning, I promise.”
Logan smirked, trying not to feel hurt. “Should I wait by the phone?”
“Logan,” she said, and he wondered how tonight she could make his name sounded like a promise when she’d laced it with disappointment so many times before. “I mean it. I’m going home now so my dad doesn’t worry, and tomorrow you can take me to lunch or something.”
“Oh, I get it. You just wanted me to feed you.”
“Hey, I put out. The least you can do is take me out on a date,” Veronica said. Pulling her way back into his lap, Logan clung desperately to her, for some reason afraid to let go. He supposed he could drown in her, but what a way to go.
Finally Veronica reached around him, giving the door handle a tug. The door to her car swung open, and they nearly toppled out of the Saturn. Logan pulled her out of the way before slamming the door shut, leaning with one hand above her head against the vehicle. He kept peppering her jaw with light kisses, suckling at her pulse point to elicit the little moans he loved.
“This is so wrong,” she muttered.
“Yeah,” Logan responded, “so wrong it’s right.” He nibbled lightly on her ear. “That’s my line, Mars.”
Recognition sparked in her eyes, and Logan finally pulled away. “You’ll go straight home?”
“Mmmhmm,” Veronica said.
“You’ll avoid anything involving the Fitzpatricks until I’m sure they’re not trying to kill you?”
“You betcha.”
“And be careful on the PCH?”
“Of course, Dad.”
Logan shuddered, but Veronica’s smile was teasing. She gave him one last peck on the lips. He stared at his hands after letting go of her. “Do you really think it can be different this time?” he wanted to know.
Veronica just shrugged. “There’s still some things I have to work through, Logan. But if I can, then, yeah, it can be different.” She glanced back in the direction of the Fitzpatrick’s bar and corrected, “It will be different.”
He waited until she’d climbed back into the driver’s seat to give her a little wave, and once she’d started to back out, he trotted to the Range Rover. He could probably think of a million reasons why this wouldn’t work if he tried, but Logan decided to be optimistic for a change.
Whistling, he pulled out of the alley behind the River Styx.
* * *
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Back when he’d been a lowly reporter for the Neptune Tribune, he’d start writing his stories before he even returned to his desk. He’d dictate the perfect lead, the perfect sandwich for a quote, record it in his mini-cassette player as he drove from assignment to assignment. When he broke into broadcast, he hadn’t felt the same need, but now that he was gunning back towards the station, all Mark Jarvis could think about were passages from the book he’d surely be able to option about the Logan Echolls murder trial.
It was only fair that he got to cover this story, after the Aaron Echolls verdict hadn’t panned out and Keith Mars had already scooped the book angle with Big Murder, Small Town. At the time, Jarvis had cursed the hours he’d spent commuting back and forth to what felt like no avail.
But now Logan Echolls was in deep, and Mark Jarvis was in Neptune with the story.
His lips curled upwards as he thought about anchor Elizabeth Buchowski doing the lead-in on the six o’clock. He clucked his tongue and cut off a teenager in Volkswagen, giving the girl the finger as he passed. That’s the thing about the anchor job, Lizzie-you just don’t get the hard news anymore.
There was a chance Jarvis was still bitter about getting passed over for promotion. But seriously-who gave a damn about Buchowski’s degrees and experience? She’d lived in California for less than a year, and as far as he was concerned, she had no idea how to address its concerned citizens.
Or, as he liked to call them, dirty hippies and the starlet obsessed.
Jarvis tapped his foot impatiently, revving the engine of his Lexus. At any rate, he had a lead in what was possibly the biggest story in Southern California, but if traffic didn’t clear soon, he wasn’t going to make the five-thirty break. In the cup holder, his Blackberry started vibrating-the station manager was calling again. He’d been purposefully vague when he’d checked in an hour before, saying there was a break in the Echolls investigation and to hold the top story.
Definitely bigger than the multi-million dollar plastic surgery malpractice suit, Jarvis had assured. But he’d refused to fax the station his notes. He didn’t have much B-roll, so he’d been damned if one of the anchors got to do this read.
Police had found a gun, registered to Echolls, in the boy’s suite in the Neptune Grand. It wouldn’t be much of a story, not since the gun was properly licensed, but the ballistics tests had matched the gun to the casings that disabled the Mars girl’s car and the bullet lodged in her shoulder.
And for all his incompetence, the small town sheriff had managed to keep the findings from the press for at least a week.
Not any longer. As far as Jarvis was concerned, the public had a right to know. He switched lanes quickly, this time cutting off an old woman in a Buick, before speeding past three ridiculous hybrids to the open road. He floored it, humming lightly.
“In late February, the Neptune Sheriff’s department made its first solid connection in the Echolls case. The interim sheriff discovered a handgun-” Jarvis frowned, deciding it would be more effective to include the exact make and model of Echolls’ gun, and he reached for his notes in the passenger seat. A second later, a series of honks outside his vehicle made him realize he’d inadvertently switched lanes “-a insert-model-of-handgun-here registered to the young man in his hotel room...”
He continued his narrative all the way to Los Angeles, creating a scintillating blend of noir and stardom, murder and romance gone awry. He was certain the trial would have it all. Forget the anchor job. Hell, forget the reporting gig-one more juicy turn in this case, and he’d have a movie deal before the novel even went to press. The buzz would be about whichever young star (Chad Michael Murray or the troubled blonde kid from The O.C., Jarvis predicted) decided to prove himself portraying Logan Echolls, and whether there was a “sensitive” way to portray the Mars girl onscreen.
Jarvis couldn’t wait for his cameo.
* * *
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
She gently placed her laptop in its protective sleeve on the table, a movement in sharp contrast to the thud with which she sent her book bag to the floor. “Honey, I’m home!” Mac hollered.
Max poked his head out of his room, grinning. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, and he wore only a towel around his waist. “Hey babe,” he called. “Just a sec.”
Mac’s eyes narrowed, but she was smiling, too. “Are you just now showering?”
“Busy day,” Max replied, kissing her lightly. “Had to get about six new passwords. The new criminology professor changes hers like, every twelve hours.”
“Oh,” Mac said, watching as Max disappeared into the bathroom again. This time, he came out in shorts and a Flogging Molly shirt.
“How’s this for an idea?” Max murmured, wrapping his arms around her. “I generate passwords for the Hearst electronic reserve system and sell them for half of what the bookstore charges.”
Mac pulled back. “Can you do that?”
Max released her, starting towards the kitchen. “Give me a weekend.”
“Forty-eight hours and the student population of Hearst is scammed out of even more of their hard-earned cash,” Mac sighed. “Meanwhile, while you enjoyed your schedule of two classes which meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays only, I had lecture and two labs.”
“Shame,” Max said. “Hungry?”
“Starved. Do we still have any of the Thai?” Mac asked, yanking the door open.
Max had already pulled out his cell, flipping through the carryout numbers he kept on speed dial. “One of us should learn to cook. Chinese?”
Mac shook her head, still standing with the refrigerator door open. She could practically hear her mother shriek about wasting electricity and letting food spoil. “We had Chinese food on Sunday, and my vegetable lo mein came with chunks of chicken.”
Max continued to scroll through his cell phone. “Italian? We haven’t had Luigi’s in-” He stopped abruptly. “Right. Mexican? You liked the spinach enchiladas from-”
But Mac had slammed the refrigerator door and stalked out of his kitchen. “I’m not hungry,” she said abruptly.
Her boyfriend plopped down next to her on the couch, scooting closer when she folded her arms across her chest. “Yes, you are. The way you threw your book bag down earlier screamed, ‘Careful, I haven’t been fed recently and I’m grouchy.’”
“Are you sure it didn’t scream, ‘My boyfriend is an insensitive cheat who’s managed to mention my dead best friend twice in five minutes?’” Mac simpered. She dodged Max’s arm and grabbed the remote, switching on the TV. Onscreen, an anchor was wrapping the five-thirty news with an update on two missing girls from Encinitas.
Max’s face fell. “Wait, twice? Luigi’s and-” recognition dawned in his eyes “-the criminology thing. Seriously, Mac, I’m sorry. It’s not like I meant to-”
Tears had begun to pool in Mac’s eyes. “I know,” she said shakily, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s just… I had to spend all day listening to people gossip about Logan. I didn’t even get my lab finished on time I was so distracted.”
“Still think he’s innocent?” Max asked. Quickly, he added, “Not that he couldn’t be. I mean, I only really met him once, but he seemed really into Veronica at the time.”
“Exactly!” Mac exclaimed. “And besides, all they have so far is circumstantial-”
In front of them, the TV switched from commercial, blaring the call sign for the six o’clock news. A young blonde woman smiled, flashing perfect white teeth as her co-anchor offered the standard greeting. The camera focused on her.
“Good evening. Tonight’s top story is breaking in Neptune, California, where the son of the late movie star Aaron Echolls is awaiting trial for the murder of his ex-girlfriend, Veronica Mars. Our own Mark Jarvis learned today that the Neptune sheriff has been withholding evidence related to Logan Echolls’ arrest. Mark?”
In studio, Jarvis smiled. “Thanks, Elizabeth. Somber news in Neptune tonight-unlike his father, Logan Echolls might be guilty after all. The young man was arrested two weeks ago after an eyewitness placed him in Mars’ company shortly before she disappeared in December. Tonight, our station has learned of solid evidence linking Echolls to the kidnapping and murder of Veronica Mars. A gun registered to Echolls, found in a search of his room, fired the bullets that disabled Miss Mars’ car along the PCH. Further-”
Grabbing the remote gently from his girlfriend, Max turned off the TV. Mac scrambled for it immediately, but he shook his head. “You’ve got to stop obsessing,” he said lowly.
“I’m not obsessing. I’m trying to figure out what really-”
“Finding the gun is pretty concrete evidence, Mac,” Max said. He ran his hand through his hair, looking as shaken as Mac felt. “Look, I liked the guy too, but-”
“He just didn’t seem like the type,” Mac said flatly. Finally, she allowed her boyfriend to wrap his arms around her. “Right?”
* * *
Monday, December 17, 2007
After seventy-two hours in a near constant state of search for Veronica, Mac finally left the sheriff’s station. She hadn’t wanted to go, but Keith insisted. He told her to go home and get some sleep; instead, she drove aimlessly around Neptune.
It had been almost four days since anyone had last seen Veronica. They were out of leads, and the search so far had been futile. Mac had watched, hand clutching Logan’s arm, as deputies searched every abandoned building in Balboa County. She’d waited, downing stale cups of coffee and the occasional hot tea from Sacks, as Keith brought in Neptune’s usual suspects for questioning. For three days, she’d been utterly convinced that with so much manpower, they’d have Veronica home in no time.
Now, she wasn’t so sure. Even the sheriff, so determined to find his baby girl, seemed to be tiring of the grind. She knew Keith wanted nothing more than to bring Veronica home safe, but with every resource exhausted, reality had set in. Tears caught in Mac’s throat as she tried to push aside the little voice that reminded her best friend might not be coming home.
Today, she thought, had been the hardest yet. Logan had muttered his apologies the night before as he slipped out of the station, apparently unable to take it any longer. Mac hadn’t seen him since, and she worried about the dead look in his eyes as he’d departed. Automatically, she piloted her car towards the Grand, ignoring the fatigue threatening her every move. If he didn’t still believe, she’d make him.
Wearily, Mac clambered out of the parking garage, taking the elevator to the top floor. She still hated the hotel and all its foul memories, but she decided now wasn’t the time for her hang-ups about dead ex-boyfriends. Resolutely, she lifted a fist and knocked on Logan’s door.
No answer. She tried again, pounding a bit more firmly. Still, no one came. Mac tried a third time. Her heart sank a little when Logan ignored this too, but she turned to go.
The door opened.
Mac whirled around. “Hey,” she said. “How are you?”
Logan didn’t invite her in. Actually, he hung back, clutching the doorframe for support. He reeked of alcohol. “Now’s not really a good time,” he mumbled.
“We missed you today,” Mac said. She shoved her hands in her back pockets. “We’re going to find her, Logan.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, but his words lacked conviction. Concerned, Mac stepped closer. Logan continued to hang his head, avoiding eye contact.
“I get it,” she said gently, trying to draw his gaze upwards, “it’s starting to get hard. It seems like giving up would be easier, but you know that’s not what she’d do if one of us were missing.”
Logan snorted. “Yeah, maybe for you.”
“She’d be pretty upset if you disappeared, too, Logan.”
“Right.”
Mac sighed. “Don’t be like that.”
“Like what?” Logan finally lifted his head. Mac’s eyes grew wide, taking in the fresh welts replacing fading bruises. He looked like his face had gone one-on-one with some guy’s fist-or a two-by-four. “Wherever she is, I can’t do a damn thing about it.”
“Logan, what happened?” Mac demanded, trying to push the door open further with her foot. The lighting in the hall was low, and she wanted to get a better look at him. What could he have possibly spent the last twenty-four hours doing?
He blocked her attempts to enter. “It’s not really a good time.”
“Who did this?” Mac wanted to know. She was still trying to get past him, and he surprised her by pushing her back. He wasn’t overly firm, but he wasn’t gentle, either. He clearly didn’t want her in the suite. “What’s going on, Logan?”
Logan shifted uncomfortably. “Like I said yesterday-I had some business I had to take care of.”
“Let me see your face,” Mac urged.
He shook his head. “It’ll heal.”
“You still haven’t told me what happened.”
“No,” Logan agreed. “Look, Mac, just call me if they find anything?”
Mac folded her arms across her chest. “You should be there,” she said stubbornly. “You shouldn’t give up on her.”
Logan’s voice was low. “I haven’t.”
“It seems like you have.” Mac turned, pretending she was about to leave. When she heard Logan turn back around, she quickly changed directions and pushed her way into the suite. “What the-”
Most of the chintz furniture had been uprooted, torn upholstery and down feathers resting on splinters of broken wood. The couch leaned crookedly on three legs, a pile of bloody towels near the only remaining throw pillow. Logan was clearly nursing the fifth sitting on the marred end table. Her eyes turned accusingly, demanding an explanation.
Instead, Logan caught her arm and dragged her out of the suite. Her elbow stung as he wrenched her away from the upheaval. “Get out.”
“You’re drunk,” Mac said bravely.
“What gave me away?” Logan’s eyes flashed as he released her arm. “Just go, Mac. Go back to the station, help Keith, and leave me alone. There’s nothing left for me to do.”
“Sober up,” she replied automatically, unsure why she was so quick to plead with him in his intoxicated state. “Come on, I’ll help you get this place cleaned up, and we can-”
Logan slammed the door in her face.
* * *
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Logan never thought he’d see the day when he’d tire of contact with the outside world, not when he was confined to a tiny jail cell in the Balboa County Sheriff’s Department. He’d only had a handful of visitors since entering lockup two weeks before, but even meetings with his disgusting lawyer were an improvement over games of count-the-ceiling-tiles. At least he’d managed to escape the disdain of the general public-at least until the news media had reported his gun had the shots that disabled Veronica’s car.
Deputy D’Amato, who Logan would accuse of carrying a torch for Veronica still if only (if only if only if only) she were still alive, was on duty, and he kept “accidentally” mistaking angry citizens of Neptune for Logan’s relatives. An old woman had actually tried to beat him through the bars with her purse for doing “such hideous things to such a sweet-looking girl.”
When Sacks came back on duty at five, Logan was relieved, though not an hour passed before the sheriff called back that he had another visitor. Wearily, Logan looked up to appraise his assailant, relieved to see Mac starting towards him. He scrambled to his feet, clutching the bars.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” he joked. His tone was light, but he hoped she could tell how desperate he was. No way in hell could Mac actually believe he stabbed Veronica to death. No way in-
“Let me guess,” Mac said, her voice breaking. “You’re excited about this opportunity to tell me the gun was planted.”
Logan’s face fell. “Not you, too,” he asked, staggering backwards. He felt like his legs couldn’t support him.
“I bet you’re pissed as hell she made you register the gun after the whole fiasco at the River Styx senior year,” Mac said bitingly. “Another weapon you could have passed off as planted, stolen, something-but they found your gun. Did you really think you could get away with it, Logan?”
Cinderblocks swam in Logan’s vision. His tiny cell was spinning, and he grasped blindly, wishing he hadn’t backed away from the bars. He hit the cement floor on his knees, knowing he’d be bruised to hell in the morning. “I never would have hurt Veronica!”
Mac shook her head. “Then why is all the evidence against you?” she asked softly.
“Do you know what you’re accusing me of?” Logan croaked. “Of killing Veronica, sure, but do you have any idea what that means?”
“Logan, you have to admit-”
“No!” he shouted, uncaring if Sacks came back and led Mac away. He had to make her see. She had to know he’d never do the things they were saying. He pulled himself off the ground and gripped the bars again. “I loved Veronica. When you love someone, you don’t shoot out her tires on the PCH. You don’t clip her in the shoulder at point-blank range. Do you know what I have dealt with all day?”
Mac looked hesitant, but she shook her head. “What?” she whispered.
“An old woman, beating me with her purse because she thinks I killed the love of my life. Fans of my father, telling me how ashamed he’d be of me. A sociopath, asking what if I slit Veronica’s throat because she wasn’t dying fast enough from the stab-” Logan broke off, choking. “I think he’s in the other holding cell now, actually. Do you know what that’s like, Mac? Not only are they asking me to relive the last moments of Veronica’s life, they’re accusing me of causing that pain.”
“Logan, I-”
“There’s something else, not on the news yet,” Logan said shakily. “There’s-there’s DNA. Do you know what else they’re saying I did, Mac?” She didn’t respond. “They’re saying I raped Veronica. I know I’m a lot of things, but a rapist? A murderer?”
Logan had gripped the bars so tightly his arms were shaking. Mac’s sobs were wracking her entire body. Finally, she nodded. “S-she said you really helped her, after Cassidy.”
“You believe me, then?”
Mac shook her head. Logan’s heart dropped; he swung away from the bars. He had to get this out of his system, had to hit something, had to make this feeling go away.
“But I could,” Mac said. “You need to tell me exactly what happened.”
* * *
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Dick threw his arm around Logan’s shoulders as they left their evening history class. The blonde whistled happily as they walked out into the crisp air. “Dude, class is over. We don’t ever have to worry about the royal family ever again.”
“Never again?” Logan questioned, quirking an eyebrow.
“No, man, last class!” Dick said, pumping an arm in the air triumphantly.
Logan stopped short, wearing an amused smile. It took Dick a second to realize his friend wasn’t following any longer. “Yeah, man, I think you mean ‘last class before the final’.”
Dick’s face fell. “Dammit,” he swore, but he recovered quickly. “Thirsty Thursdays! Are we going out? I met this totally slutty sorority girl who said she was going to be at Field House tonight with her sisters.”
“Don’t think so, Dick,” Logan muttered. They were fast approaching the parking lot, and he seriously hoped Dick didn’t remember catching a ride from him until after a thorough search for the Maserati. It would give Logan plenty of time to pull away. “Look, there’s somewhere I have to be.”
The blonde groaned. “Whatever, man. You’re no fun since you stopped partying and gave up hot chicks.”
“Since I gave up hot chicks?” Logan asked, unlocking the Range Rover. Dick didn’t move to get in.
“Yeah, man. You’re like, surrogate.”
“I’m carrying someone else’s baby?”
“What?” Dick asked, confused. “You’re not having sex.”
“Ah, celibate.”
“Isn’t that what I said?”
Logan gave Dick a hearty pat on the back. “Just wanted to make sure there wasn’t a reason you were only giving me ‘hot’ chicks.”
Dick looked exasperated. “It’s not like you ever did ugly chicks. Fine, go mope-I’m going to spend the night with a hot babe on each arm. D’you remember where I parked?”
“Somewhere down there,” Logan said vaguely, waving his hand. He hopped in his car. “See ya, Dick.”
“Later, man. I’ll let you know if I find your balls. Maybe you could get ‘em reattached somehow.”
“I assure you,” Logan called cheerfully out the window, “my manhood is still firmly in place.”
He watched Dick grow smaller in the rearview mirror, scratching his head while muttering, ‘Dude, where’s my car?’ and laughing at the joke he’d just made. Logan shook his head, reaching for the glove box. Just as she’d promised, Mac had left a receiver in his car, complete with instructions on how to tune into Veronica’s tap. He decided not to dwell on however she’d managed to break into his car, somehow completely bypassing the alarm and keyless entry.
‘PS,’ Mac’s note read, ‘I couldn’t spare my GPS, so I linked your nav to the chip in Veronica’s cell phone. You should be able to track her that way.’
Logan fiddled with the controls on the Range Rover as he left campus. Sure enough, his car’s satellite navigation system opened automatically to a map of streets in south Neptune, where Veronica’s car appeared to remain parked-right outside her apartment.
“Good going, Mac,” Logan muttered. He’d spent most of the day worried sick about whatever illicit activity Veronica was potentially throwing herself into, and instead, his ex was probably at home, studying for finals and singing along to Fiona Apple. Still, instead of heading back to the Grand, he decided to roll through the In-N-Out drive thru before calling it a night. He was about to toss his trash and call it a night when the red dot onscreen began to move.
It took ten minutes for him to pick up Veronica’s Saturn, which was heading towards downtown Neptune. His heart sank as her course took her closer and closer to the River Styx. Mac had been right-whatever was going on had everything to do with the Fitzpatricks. Still, Logan took his time weaving through town. The last thing he needed was to get caught playing Amateur vs. Spy, and he had to adjust the receiver, anyway.
As chords of “Relief Next to Me” echoed through the Range Rover, Logan had to smile. He turned onto Sunset. “That’s my girl,” he muttered, as Veronica chimed in with Tegan and Sara, “just a little butch.”
He tried not to let his heart sink as the Saturn rumbled to a stop in the alley behind the River Styx. He heard Veronica shut off the radio, still humming, and rummage through something in the car. He was still circling the area, wondering where to park within range, when the red dot blinked out on the satellite.
“Of course,” Logan said, throwing the Range Rover into park. He knew he should be paying closer attention to the sounds coming through the receiver, but mostly, he grumbled. “Best idea ever, Veronica. Turn your cell phone off so there’s no way to track you when you run headlong into the Fitzpatricks’ bar.”
He unbuckled his seatbelt and settled in. At first, he listened intently to what came over the wire, white noise and the occasional frustrated sigh. He wondered how the hell Veronica managed all those long nights in high school, finally reaching for one of the textbooks he’d thrown to the floor. He hadn’t made it to the Jacobites when he decided he really, really didn’t care about British history. Yawning, he flipped the page, and the amount of static over the wire increased tremendously.
Logan, slouched against the door, bolted upright. He knew the bug was on the pendant Veronica often wore, and he wondered for a second if she’d discovered Mac’s wire. At any rate, his worst fears were confirmed in seconds when Liam Fitzpatrick’s voice sneered over the wire. “We’re going to have to take care of the girl eventually, Danny!” he shouted, pounding a fist hard on a table. In the background, Logan could hear the cracking of pool balls, and he could just imagine Fitzpatrick’s flunky folding his arms across his chest before responding.
“I just don’t know, Boss,” Danny Boyd said. “It doesn’t seem like-”
“Like hell it doesn’t!” Fitzpatrick roared. “Your name isn’t on everything! Your ass isn’t on the line! Mine is, and I say let the little bitch suffer!”
“C’mon, Liam, don’t you-”
“Don’t I what? What’s this about? What, Danny? Have you made a deal with the little cunt? Are you turning on me? You’re like a brother to me, Danny. I can’t imagine having-”
“It’s not like that, Liam,” Boyd said quickly. “I’m just not sure if we’re ready to-”
“You better not be going soft on me,” Fitzpatrick threatened, and a glass shattered in the distance. Logan’s hand was hovering on the door handle, waiting. “Because we’re going to kill the bitch.”
“Right,” Boyd said, though his tone was hesitant.
Fitzpatrick laughed maniacally. “Don’t worry, Danny,” he said, downright affectionately. “We’ll chop Mars into pieces so small they’ll never-”
Suddenly, he heard a woman gasp, and another glass shattered.
He was out of the Range Rover in seconds, gun snatched from below the seat. Logan sprinted towards the bar’s entrance. Veronica had been upset when he pulled a gun on the Fitzpatricks before, but this time, he’d make her understand. What had she been thinking, running into the bar like that? Tucking the gun in his pants, he just hoped Fitzpatrick didn’t also pull a weapon. He may have spent plenty of time at the firing range with Dick Sr., but he wasn’t sure such experience would matter much in a draw with an Irish mob leader.
Logan barely had time to consider how bizarre this all was, rushing in to save a girl from mobsters when she’d booted him from her life for interfering. He burst through the door.
“Where is she?” he demanded, hand at his back. His eyes flashed. “Dammit, where the fuck is she?”
Boyd didn’t answer, just licked his lips as he attempted to ram the intruder with a pool cue. Logan was too fast for him, swinging sloppily but still landing a punch. A fist flew into his stomach, and he grunted. He swung again, this time connecting solidly with Boyd’s face. A second man, older and more wizened than either Fitzpatrick or Boyd, charged as if he were coming to the rescue. Logan ducked. His eyes darted frantically around the room as Fitzpatrick came at him. He didn’t see Veronica.
Pain exploded across his jaw as a pool ball hit him in the face. An elbow slammed into the side of his head, and Fitzpatrick grabbed for a barstool. Logan felt another crack against his chest, and he reminded himself it was three on one as he went down. The room spun around him, but he managed to pull himself back up and connect with Fitzpatrick’s gut.
“Echolls!” Fitzpatrick screamed, dropping to the ground himself. Boyd had grabbed the barstool and moved to throw it again.
While Logan reached for his gun, Boyd turned at the last second and hurled the barstool at the door. For a second, Logan was confused, but as he leveled the gun at Fitzpatrick, he heard a very familiar shriek. Veronica was standing in the doorway, trembling slightly, broken wood behind her. It only took him a second to realize he had screwed up very, very badly.
“Are you okay?” Logan wheezed, a few drops of blood trickling down his hairline. Veronica looked properly horrified, but she nodded. He turned his head to spit more blood, still unsteady on his feet. “Now-what the hell were you talking about?”
Fitzpatrick sneered. “What the hell gives you the right to storm my bar, Echolls?” He lifted his chin in Boyd’s direction. “Grab the girl.”
Logan couldn’t turn the gun fast enough, and he watched Boyd pin Veronica’s arms behind her back. Her blue eyes widened in fear. “Let go,” he growled. He cocked the gun. “I said, let go!”
Boyd dropped Veronica’s arms, backing away from her with his hands up. He stepped away from the door, and Fitzpatrick shoved him hard. The old drunk was still on the ground, crawling away from the mess. The rest of the bar-a handful of rough-looking Irishmen-stared.
“Get out of my bar,” Fitzpatrick said, his voice eerily calm. Logan keep the gun trained on him. “I said, GET OUT OF MY BAR!”
Logan glanced at Veronica, still frozen on the stairs. “Get out of here,” he said.
“Logan, we have to leave,” she said, finally stepping towards him. Fitzpatrick threw up an arm to keep her from getting any closer. “Logan, come on!”
“Why don’t you listen to the little lady?” Fitzpatrick sneered. His hand curled around Veronica’s forearm, drawing her towards him. His other hand clearly dropped to her ass. “How are you, sweet pea? Tell you what. I’ll let you go. Clean break.”
“Let go of me,” Veronica said, which only prompted Fitzpatrick to tighten his grip. She pleaded silently with Logan. “Come on, Logan, let’s just get out of here.”
Logan’s eyes flashed. “They’re not going to just let you leave, Veronica. They were just talking about how they planned to kill you. There’s no clean about getting chopped up into little pieces!”
“Never said anything about choppin’ anybody up,” Fitzpatrick said quickly, releasing Veronica, but Logan didn’t like the look he traded with Boyd. “I might be fucking tired of the two of you and your little games, but ain’t nobody getting chopped up.”
“I know what I heard,” Logan said, matching the mobster’s eerily calm tone of earlier. “But you’re right. Nobody’s getting chopped up. And you won’t lay a fucking hand on Veronica, do you hear me?”
Suddenly, the gun wasn’t in Logan’s hand anymore. He panicked, unsure who to punch in retaliation-except the hand on his bicep was distinctly feminine. Veronica threw the safety back on the pistol and tugged on his arm firmly. Fitzpatrick looked amused, if not a little impressed.
“We’re leaving, Logan,” she said, pulling on his arm again. “Come on, what are you doing? Do you want to get killed?”
“They were talking about you,” he said lowly, digging his heels into the concrete floor to no avail. He knew not to underestimate Veronica’s strength, but this was ridiculous. How could he not hold out against someone a foot shorter than him? “Dammit, Veronica, they were threatening you!”
“Let’s just go, Logan,” she said, having already hauled him to the stairs. He had little choice but to follow, but he kept glancing back at the Fitzpatricks, ready to grab the gun from her if they made any sudden movements.
When they were safely standing in the street, Logan simply reacted. He instinctively gathered Veronica in tight embrace, enveloping her tiny frame. His hand snaked through her blonde hair, and he breathed in the familiar scent of her shampoo. For a second, he just held her-and she let him.
Before she kicked him in the shin and promptly wriggled away. “You idiot!” she raged, tucking the gun into her bag. “Were you trying to get yourself killed?”
“Veronica, I-”
“No!” she yelled. “I don’t care what you were doing or you thought you were doing. You were following me, Logan, you had to have been! We still haven’t worked our way back to lunch dates at the food court, and you think it’s okay to follow me?”
Every time she emphasized a word, she slammed a tiny fist into his broad chest. Usually, Logan would have laughed because she’d be tussling with him in bed, but under the circumstances (and given the damage already done by the Fitzpatricks), it sort of hurt. She finally stopped, choosing instead to drag him again, further away from the bar and in the opposite direction of where he’d left the Range Rover. He figured he was about to discover where she’d parked.
“Look, Veronica,” he panted, stopping her fifty or so yards from the Saturn. “Mac figured out what you were doing, all right? She knew whatever security work she’d done for you had to do with the Fitzpatricks, and she was scared.”
“And she called you?” Veronica demanded. “I find it hard to believe out of all the people I actually like, Mac would choose someone I didn’t to go in as muscle!”
Logan flinched. Veronica glared. “You don’t-”
“And seriously,” she interrupted, “what purpose was storming the bar supposed to serve?”
“I thought they had you,” Logan said numbly. “Mac-she set up a tap, and I heard them talking about taking care of someone, and your name, and a woman, and I thought-”
“She set up a tap on them?”
“On you,” Logan said numbly. Veronica’s hands immediately began patting at her clothing, trying to figure out where the bug could possibly be. He just reached forward, lightly reaching for the necklace Lilly had given her. A tiny wire snaked down the pendant from the chain. “She replaced the chain a few days ago.”
He wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen Veronica as angry as she was as she ripped off the necklace, freeing her pendent and throwing the chain in his face. “How dare you follow me,” she hissed. “Did it ever occur to me that you were picking up my tap on the Fitzpatricks?”
“Excuse me, Veronica-even if it had, their discussion of how to kill you had me a little hotheaded!”
Veronica threw up her hands. “That’s it!” she exclaimed. “That’s always it, isn’t it? You’re always a little hotheaded, always ready to rush in and save me. Tell you what-next time, don’t bother making the trip because you will never be able to make this right, Logan.”
She turned on her heels, but Logan wasn’t ready to let her go so easily. He lunged forward, grabbing her wrist, dragging her back to him. “No,” he said. She tugged against his hold, trying to pull away. “You are not storming out on me again, Veronica Mars.”
“Let me go, Logan.”
“Can we talk about this?” he asked, still holding her wrist. “For once, can we approach this like adults? Because I’m not sorry, Veronica-I’m not sorry I burst in on your surveillance, I’m not sorry I beat the shit out of that Gory character. Someone has to look out for you, you know!”
She continued to struggle against his grip. “I can take care of myself.”
“Not if you’re swimming with the fishes,” he countered. Tears were stinging her eyes. He couldn’t let go of her, not now. If he did, the best that would happen is she’d walk out of his life, for good. The worst, no one would be there to protect her if the Fitzpatricks made good on their threats. “I love you, Veronica. It’s been months, and I know it’s been months, but I can’t let go of you that easily.”
Veronica stopped squirming. She reached up, tenderly, touching his swollen cheek. “You look terrible, Logan.”
“Yeah, well, as it turns out, the damsel didn’t need saving,” he muttered. He let go of her, and she winced, rubbing her wrist. Logan paled. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
Shaking her head, Veronica returned her hand to his bruised cheek. “No, you didn’t. Come on-let’s take you back to the Grand. You’re in no position to drive.”
It wasn’t any kind of admission. It wasn’t even an agreement that the talk he so desperately wanted to have with her would happen. But Logan found himself following her back to her car.
* * *
Monday, March 10, 2008
Keith stumbled into his apartment, attempting to throw his keys on the counter and missing. Backup only whined half-heartedly. Damn dog, Keith thought, somewhere between binge and hangover. Probably relieved himself in the bedroom again.
The bartender had been a petite blonde, and Keith had drunk until she bore more than a passing resembling to his dead daughter. Someone had escorted him out of the bar when he started calling her Veronica.
He saw her everywhere these days, especially in the month since he’d quit the force. Had his mindset been more rational, he would have realized his Veronica sightings were directly proportional to the amount of whiskey he’d had.
Thrashing through the living room, he stopped in front of her picture, sitting on its little wall shelf. Tears blurred his eyes as he remembered the day she’d tried to install said shelf, desperately trying to find a stud in the cheap plaster wall. He’d come home to find Backup in a frenzy, Veronica elbow-deep in spackle, trying to repair the damage while sucking on the thumb she’d banged with a hammer.
With one smooth motion, Keith plucked the eight by ten from the shelf and slammed it into the wall. Glass flew everywhere, sending the pit bull into a panic. “Backup!” Keith roared. “Get out of the way!”
Even as Backup scampered away, his tail between his legs, Keith knew he should sweep up the glass and try harder not to take it out on the dog. But he’d probably have to sober up while he was at it, and he was going on three days and absolutely certain a fourth would make Veronica’s memory finally, finally disappear.
Not that he hadn’t had similar delusions before. It didn’t matter how much he drank; he couldn’t forget his little girl so easily.
Collapsing on the sofa, he slipped in and out for hours, Backup’s muted whimpers and the ticking of the wall clock lulling him into a fitful sleep. He saw Veronica as he tried not to remember her-bound, gagged, pleading desperately with Logan as he ended her life.
Keith woke up just in time to empty the contents of his stomach into a potted plant. His double vision had disappeared, and he realized it was no longer night. Someone clucked her tongue disapprovingly. Across the room, Veronica tucked her legs beneath her in the armchair. She looked like she had in life for a change, clad in jeans and a button-down blouse, no obvious injuries.
“Go away,” Keith said wearily, deciding to clean up his mess later. “You’re not her.”
“If we’re leveling accusations,” she quipped, “you’re not him either. Who are you and what have you done with my dad?”
“My little girl is dead,” he said stubbornly, padding in the kitchen. Sunlight poured through the windows, disorienting him. He promptly shut the blinds. “I lost her months ago.”
“Yeah, well, I lost one parent to the drink years ago, but apparently, that wasn’t enough,” Veronica muttered, pushing herself out of the armchair. She crossed the kitchen and flung open one of the cabinets. Her movements were quick, angry-she filled a glass with water and slammed it down in front of Keith, shoving two Excedrin in his hand a second later. “Here. You’re going to have to sober up eventually.”
“You’re not her,” Keith said, but he accepted the pills without question.
Veronica glared. “Like I said, you’re not him, either. My dad never hit the bars from three to three. Not even as a rookie do I think he had to be thrown out after last call.”
“Yeah, well, as a rookie he had a pregnant wife to go home to,” he muttered. “And after that, a wisecracking teenager to raise.”
“So that’s it, then?” Veronica asked, throwing her hands in the air. “I die, and you get to give up? Way to follow your own advice, Dad.”
“You’re not her. You’re not my daughter.” Keith folded his arms across his chest.
Veronica matched his stance. “Am too.”
“Logan killed you,” Keith returned hoarsely. “Logan killed you, and I had to bury you.”
Veronica frowned. “Do you really believe Logan could do this to me?”
Blood had started to soak her shirt, and Keith backed away, shaking his head violently. “No,” he begged. “No. If you’re really her, don’t leave me again. Don’t go, Veronica. Stay with me, baby. I’ll save you this time-”
“Too late, Dad,” Veronica said sadly. “But get out of the bottle, okay? Save yourself before it’s too late.” She stepped forward, pressing a light kiss to her father’s cheek, and she disappeared.
* * *
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
The bark on the other side of the door as he turned the key in the lock told him Backup-and Veronica-were waiting up for him. Keith sighed wearily as he pushed open the door, dropping his eyes to avoid his daughter’s disproving stare as he took off his jacket and removed his gun holster.
“That’s it?” Veronica demanded, watching him lower the belt to the counter. “You’re just going to take it? After how they treated you?”
Keith started to raise his hand but thought better of it, keeping it firmly pressed against the island. “Veronica, we have been over this. They had every right to remove me from office after what I did.”
Shame flickered in her eyes, if only for a second. “You tried to tell them, though,” she said stubbornly. “You tried to tell them what the Castle was and what it was trying to do, and they’d have none of it. All they cared about was your wiping some rich guy’s DVR!”
“Yeah, well, I think it becomes a little more complicated than some rich guy’s DVR when it records you breaking into the Kane mansion, honey!”
“I did what I had to do, Dad!” Veronica replied hotly.
“No, Veronica,” Keith said, unable to keep his voice from rising. “You did something stupid, and I paid the price!”
His daughter looked like she’d just been slapped, and it took all of his resolve to keep from wrapping his arms around her right there and apologizing. In all honesty, he didn’t blame her for what happened, not really. Hell, he’d even take a portion of the responsibility for her actions, given how he’d raised her. But her stormy silence since he’d first entered into talks with the city to take over as interim sheriff again had become unbearable.
“So after months of silence, you blame me?” Veronica wanted to know. “Fine, Dad, side with them. But this town does nothing but hurt you, and you know it!”
“No, Veronica,” Keith said again, “that’s you.”
She recoiled a second time, shaking her head, visibly holding back tears. “So I’m a disappointment now, huh?”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said, realizing at once how deep the hole he was digging had become. You can’t expect her to change in a day, not after letting her get away with this kind of stuff for years, he reminded himself. The thought was hardly comforting.
“No, I think it’s exactly what you meant. Who needs me and a lowly PI job when Balboa County is in too deep?” Veronica laughed bitterly. “Do you honestly think they’d want you back if Vinnie hadn’t disappeared?”
“Maybe,” Keith said stubbornly.
“Yeah, right. Is that why they pulled your license? They wanted you all to themselves?” Veronica harrumphed. “I mean, I have to admit, it was pretty genius of Fuller-maybe he thought he might want you back someday and made damn sure you didn’t have any other options.”
“Maybe so, Veronica, but a job’s a job, and your tuition isn’t exactly cheap now that Jake Kane yanked your scholarship!”
Keith watched in vain as his daughter disappeared into her room, slamming the door so hard that the upstairs neighbor hollered for them to keep it down. A few minutes later, Veronica emerged, bag packed.
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
Veronica’s eyes flashed. “Out.”
“Can I ask when you’ll be back?”
“Can I ask how long you’ll have a job after you find Vinnie Van Lowe?” Veronica said sweetly. Her fake smile quickly dropped into a frown, and she slammed the door on her way out.
Chapter Three
* * *
More notes: The entirety of this fic was plotted out way back in April (though it has undergone serious modification since), so I know exactly what will happen when. That said, though I have a substantial amount written so far, the next few updates might not come quite as fast. I keep going back to add things and fix little details. I’m writing as fast as I can. I’m not a huge fan of WIP, so I want this beast done.
Field House, the bar Dick mentions, is actually a popular bar in my college town. It’s “Thirsty Thursday” here; I have no idea if that’s universal or just a Mizzou thing.
Tegan and Sara, whose music was featured on the Veronica Mars soundtrack, released their fifth album about a week ago. It’s called The Con, and it’s excellent. I actually had it in my notes all along that Veronica would be listening to their new album, but then it came out, and “Relief Next to Me” felt very true to Logan and Veronica’s situation.
Thanks for reading!
Elle