The Last Chapter - L/V - NC-17 - Rindee
Title: The Last Chapter
Author: Rindee
Characters/Pairing: Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 17,131
Rating: NC-17, sexual situations, implied violence, language
Summary: AU future fic: Veronica and Logan broke up near the end of their junior year at Hearst, and have gone their separate ways ever since. Spoilers through 3.16.
A/N: Written for the vm_library Alternate Ending/Roll Your Own challenge, and cross-posted to veronicamarsfic. Beta’d by the most patient, kind, and annoyingly persnickety: taken_with_you, moire2, and mastermia, all of whom get karma points just for putting up with me and my inability to spell or use spellcheck. I’m so sorry, guys. All remaining mistakes are mine.
He heard her shuffle into the bathroom, the sound of running water raising thoughts of Veronica, naked and soapy. Yanking the pillow over his head, he twisted into the frame of the couch, pressing his legs together, trying to will away his arousal.
Twenty minutes later, when she emerged from her bedroom humming lightly, she was dressed in a luxurious olive wool suit, complete with a cream-colored silk blouse and the pearls he’d given her, once upon a time. Leaning over the padded arm, she blew in his ear and taunted, “Rise and shine, sunshine.”
“When did you become a morning person?” he grumped, flopping on his back and looking up at her.
“I’m going to put some coffee on, and I’m outta here,” she replied, chuckling. “Stay as long as you need to, but when you call me this afternoon, I expect you to be at the Art Institute, or the Shed, or maybe even Watertower Place.”
“Uh huh,” he muttered. “I hear and obey. ... Wait!” he blurted, bolting upright. “You can’t go out there - I should go with you, at least as far as the El.”
“I don’t have time, Logan,” she said impatiently, glancing at the clock over the stove. “I have to go now.”
Flinging the quilt off his lap, he stood, unabashed despite the obvious evidence of his hard-on straining the cotton of his black boxer-briefs. “Just give me a minute to put on my jeans.”
“One minute,” she hissed, trying not to stare as he turned his back and shucked into his pants. “I’ve seen it before, you know,” she chirped sardonically.
“So why are you staring?” he rejoined, zipping up as he turned and glanced around the room. Wordlessly, she held out his sweater. “Thanks, baby,” he mocked, grinning as she blushed, stomped to the coat rack, and snatched her things.
Instead of taking the El, Logan cajoled Veronica into a cab. Whizzing downtown in comfort, they arrived at 7:45 a.m., earlier than expected. Seeing her inside with a lingering glance, he ordered the driver to the Drake. By 8:13 a.m., he was in his room, showered and shaved, and was simultaneously at his computer and on the phone to New York. “Ray, it’s Logan. I need some information, and a local contact here in Chicago.”
Within an hour, he’d assembled backgrounds on the men being investigated by the U.S. Attorney’s office, as well as one on those doing the investigating. Not surprisingly, gambling wasn’t the only thing they were into, and they appeared to be far more dangerous than Veronica had let on. Rudy’s crew, the men still at large, were impressive, if by impressive one meant, they had long, colorful-in-a-bad way criminal histories, and associated with other, storied gangs operating both in and outside the confines of the United States.
As far as Logan could tell, from the information he’d obtained from his research and the Times internal files and archives, the bookmaking was headquartered in the Bahamas, although they had local operations in Chicago, New York, Tampa, and San Diego. The drug distribution operation, which, in a way, fed into the sports book, was mostly steroids, uppers, and the mysterious Human Growth Hormone (HGH), currently undetectable in blood or urine. It was unclear whether the distribution ring was street-level or whether they dealt through middlemen, but in either case, between the dope and the gambling, the amount of cash generated was staggering. Lots of people, even respectable ones, would kill to protect that kind of income stream.
His next call was to a local detective, to find out whether or not he could get a rush on a concealed weapons permit. Upon learning Illinois did not issue so-called carry permits, except to law enforcement officials and the like, he decided to take his chances, and, with a few more phone calls, made arrangements to purchase a gun through a dealer in Gary, Indiana. Ringing up the concierge, he arranged for a car to take him.
He glanced at his watch. It was almost ten. If he left now, he could be back before two, and would have plenty of time to plan their date. Tonight, he intended to sweep Veronica off her feet, maybe even lure her back to his room for a ‘nightcap’ and some full-on sex, or, at least, something more than a mere good-night kiss in the hallway.
He missed her. That simple. And it killed him, especially the way his traitorous body never failed to respond to her, instinctively. But they weren’t kids any more. He had overcome a lot to get here - she had too - and one night with the woman he still dreamed about wasn’t going to cut it.
&&&&&&
The ride to Gary took longer than he expected, but he was back by two-thirty, which wasn’t bad, considering.
“Hi. Where are you?”
“In my hotel room. Where are you?”
“In my office. I thought I told you to go out and do something?”
“I did, but I’m thinking about taking a nap now.”
“A nap? What did you do this morning that you need a nap now?”
“Nothing. None of your business. And, anyway, it wasn’t what I did this morning; it was the lack of sleep from the night before.”
“I warned you about my sofa....”
“Honestly, ‘Ronica, I don’t think it was the couch - the couch was fine.”
“So ... what was it, then?”
“Knowing you were in the next room....”
“Oh,” she paused, the silence stretching over the line. Dammit, I blew that one, didn’t I? “I ... I think I had ... the same problem, Logan.”
“Your balls were blue, too, huh?”
“Logan!” she protested. He could hear her blushing.
“So, uh, think you can sneak out early today?”
“How early?”
“Like, maybe, four?”
“Yeah, I can do that. Why?”
“Well, our reservations aren’t until seven-thirty, but I figured you’d want time to get dressed up. I’m thinking, slinky little dress, strappy shoes,” he lowered his voice, “something sexy, a bit sassy....”
“Where are you taking me?” she asked suspiciously. “I can’t really wear little strappy things in this weather.”
“Don’t worry. You won’t get cold.” He chuckled, his tone telegraphing his intent. “I’ve got a limo. So, I’ll pick you up outside the Dirksen at four, okay?”
&&&&&&
Still damp and glistening from his shower, Logan dumped the packages on the bed, ripped open the boxes, and removed both handguns. He laid them on the coffee table and examined both. Although sleek, the .9mm was big and heavy. Hefting the smaller, snub-nose .38, he slipped it into his waistband, to see if it felt right. Shaking his head, he took it out and slid it into its little leather ankle holster and strapped it on, walking around the room before putting on his charcoal gabardine slacks and indigo dress shirt. Examining himself in the mirror, he noted the Smith & Wesson was virtually invisible. Even Veronica wouldn’t be able to spot it.
&&&&&&
Instead of lolling in comfort on the tuck-pointed upholstery behind the smoked glass windows, Logan got out and walked around, mingling with the masses as he waited for Veronica. Except, of course, he wasn’t really mingling, and he wasn’t enjoying the view. On his second circuit of the perimeter, Logan had spotted the guy; today, he looked decidedly more upscale, in an Eddie Bauer down jacket, black, and heavy-weight camo chinos. The drastic change in gear and appearance did more to convince Logan the dude was bad news than anything the guy had actually done so far.
The only reason to change up like that would be because he’s been doing it for a while now. Who knows how long the thug’s been out here, watching her.
Chest suddenly constricted, Logan felt sick.
A body slammed into him from behind. He whirled, fist clenched. “Hey, stranger. What are you doing out here? It’s cold....” She smiled, rose to kiss his cheek. “Where’s this limo you’ve been bragging about?”
Cursing to himself because he knew the punk was watching them, Logan threw an arm over her shoulder and led her to the quiet Lincoln Continental idling at the curb. She slid over the bench seat and, patting the space next to her, looked at him with bright, eager eyes. He got in and slammed the door, leaning forward to mutter her address to the driver.
“So,” she began, conversationally. “I mentioned my stalker - not you, the other one - to Dave.”
“Dave?”
“My boss.”
“Oh. And what did ‘Dave, your boss’ have to say about him?”
“He didn’t think it was related, said most of our targets are either already locked up, or have gone underground because they know an indictment’s coming.”
“So, the stalker you claim not to have can’t be related to the work you’re doing, because Dave, your boss, who, by the way, has never even seen the dude, says it’s unrelated? I hope Dave’s not as careless with his investigations as he is with his employees, or there’s gonna be some bad dudes walking free in a few months.”
“Don’t be like that,” she wheedled, batting her lashes and tilting her head. “I’m not saying he’s not out there, but I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. I still have my taser, just in case.” She patted her fancy messenger bag comfortingly.
“No gun?” he asked bluntly, disbelief apparent. “I thought you law enforcement types carried guns?”
“If I had a gun,” she flashed a pixie smile, “and I’m not saying I do, I wouldn’t bring it here because I’d only have to lock it up in the Marshal’s safe. No guns in the federal building.”
“But at least you’d have it for the trip to and from work, Veronica,” he groused.
“It’s okay,” she soothed, pulling off her glove to take his hand. “I’m fine. No one’s gonna hurt me, Logan.”
&&&&&&
“You have any champagne glasses?” he yelled, banging through her cabinets one after another. Veronica stuck her head out of the bathroom, a towel wound ‘round her body, her hair up in hot rollers.
“Do they have to be champagne glasses? I have wine glasses, in the cupboard over the stove.” Sidling over, Logan flipped the door open and was confronted by plain, two-dollar glasses, dusty and obviously unused since the Reagan administration. “Find ‘em?”
“Yeah, I got them. I take it you don’t entertain much, do you?”
“I told you,” she began, padding into the kitchen in a deeply vee’d, dark coral cocktail dress. Satin ribbon outlined the empire waist and flowed down the front of the filmy skirt. Logan’s wolf whistle precluded her rejoinder; she twirled, glowing under his admiring gaze.
“You told me?”
“I told you, I don’t have time for a social life.”
“We’re going to remedy that tonight, Sweetheart,” he announced with glee, popping the cork and letting the bubbles spill. Pouring into one of the two glasses he’d just polished, he handed it to her and lifted the other. “To you,” he said, clinking rims. “My favorite prosecutor, and the most beautiful woman in Chicago.”
&&&&&&
“This is wonderful,” she murmured, snuggling into the curve of his side as the boat bobbed and rocked. “I can’t believe I’ve lived here for almost a year, and have never done this before.” She squeezed him. “Thank you, Logan. I didn’t know the skyline would look so beautiful from the water.”
“I wish I could take credit, but it was the concierge who suggested the dinner cruise,” he confessed. “It is pretty great, though, isn’t it?” He shifted to stand behind her, tucking his chin atop her glossy curls, and sighing. “Wanna dance? There’s no one out here but us,” he coaxed.
“That’s because it’s freezing, and all the sane people are inside.”
“True, but you’ll be much warmer if you pressed your body against mine.”
“I want to,” she admitted. “I do....”
“But?”
“Okay, dance with me,” she implored in a hushed voice. “Convince me.” Placing his hands lightly on her hips, he twirled her to face him, pulling her to his chest.
“You don’t have to twist my arm, Mars,” he said gruffly, burying his face in her hair. They swayed in the moonlight, her fingers dancing against his neck, his hands cradling her slender waist. “Come home with me, tonight, please,” he whispered into her ear. “We don’t have to .... Just let me wake up with you.” That way, at least I’ll know you’re safe.
&&&&&&
It amazed him, every time. Awake one moment, snoring the next. Usually when he least wanted her to be sleeping. The driver offered to help; of course, Logan declined. As if he’d let someone else carry her to his bed. On the elevator, she giggled, blew softly in his ear, all warm and cuddly-soft on his chest.
Kicking shut the suite door, he glided into the bedroom, laying her gently on the bed. She lolled, tried to sit, cheeks still ruddy from the cold air and her body heat. He knelt on the floor beside her, breathing heavily. Shifting to her side, sleepy-eyed, she wiggled her fingers and reached for him.
“Take your coat off, beautiful,” he murmured, catching her hand and kissing her fingertips. She shot him a look, pure kitten-coquette, unbuttoned the soft wool and pulled it off one shoulder, rolling it like a stripper. Grabbing his wrist, she brought him closer, rosy lips opened, inviting. He cupped her face in his chilly hands, the heat of her flushed cheeks tingling his skin. His lips slid over hers, she sighed contentedly.
Releasing her, he stood, hastily divesting himself of his jacket, cuff-links, watch, and shoes. A soft huff caused him to turn; bemused, he watched her topple and come to rest on the snowy white sheet. Unhurried now, he hung his suit jacket and pants, brushed his teeth, and tugged on a pair of gray, Hearst sweat pants.
With gentle hands, he slid her coat from beneath her, hanging it in the closet next to his suit. Plucking the jeweled clips from her shimmery locks, he let it fan out behind her. Her shoes came off next; he debated the dress, decided she’d rather he would. As he undressed her, she woke briefly, had a glass of water, gave him another kiss, and curled up under the covers, dropping back into a deep slumber almost immediately.
Finding a blanket in the armoire, Logan wrapped up and lay down next to Veronica, atop the covers. She stirred, blinked, and slipped her hand into his, mumbling softly. He kissed her forehead, draped a hand over her quilt-covered hip, and simply watched her sleep until Morpheus claimed him.
Just as he nodded off, he recalled another night, another hotel bedroom, a less quiet ending to an evening.
&&&&&&
“I saw you kiss her,” she hissed, eyes so dark they glittered like sapphires in the low light of his bedroom. He swayed drunkenly, grabbed for the edge of the bureau.
“That isn’t what - you didn’t see what you think you saw.”
“I know what I saw, Logan. You kissing Parker.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He staggered along the wall, a blind man feeling for the bathroom door. “Except, it’s not what you saw - not all of it.”
“Oh?” she shrilled, sheets twisting beneath her fingers. “There was more? D’I miss part of the show? Was it better than the part I caught?”
Mumbling indistinctly, he stumbled into the bathroom and fell to his knees. “...was saying goodbye ... leaving for Italy....” The sound of retching filled the room.
Mildly worried, Veronica waited, fuming. “Fuck!” he groaned. She heard the flush, water running in the sink, and a very pale Logan stumbled to the foot of the bed. He crashed forward, barely avoiding cracking his knees on the footboard.
With a huff, she threw off the covers, fetched a bottle of water from the mini-bar, and aspirin from her purse. Tugging his shoes off, she heaved him sideways, leaving him on his back, lying diagonally across the king-size bed. Shaking his shoulders, she woke him long enough to feed him two pills and water before he passed out.
In the morning, he found a note, his room key, and a pile of CDs. It was weeks before she’d even take his calls. She never let him explain.
&&&&&&
He woke suddenly, chest heaving. In sleep, she’d encroached, snuggling her head onto his arm, her body pressed against his hip. Breathing deeply, trying to control his racing heart, he curled his fingers through her silky locks. Marveling at her beauty in repose, he couldn’t help remembering another horrible night, when she thought she’d lost Keith, and he thought he’d lost her.
Brushing his lips over her forehead, he gathered her in his arms and tried to remember the good times, the nights they fallen asleep limbs entwined, skin to skin, so close it seemed nothing and no one would ever come between them.
&&&&&&
“Are you sure?” he whispered, the flat of his hand stroking slowly up and down her ribcage. Shuddering, she looked up at him, blue eyes filled with desire. “You don’t have to, Veronica. I can wait, I’m not going anywhere.”
“I want to,” she murmured, breathless, trembling. “I want to be with you, Logan.” As if to convince him, she trapped his hand and brought it to her mouth, kissing each knuckle in turn. Already sheathed with a condom,, his cock twitched against her leg. Bending to take her mouth, he pressed gently until she was on her back, and he was hovering over her. Spreading her with his knees, he settled between her legs, rubbing against her damp flesh.
She gasped, her fingers tightening on his arms. “Are you sure?” he asked again, studying her flushed face. She nodded wordlessly, slipping a hand between their bodies to fondle him. The minute her hand touched him, he was inflamed, consumed, past the point of return.
“I want this,” she said, with emphasis, drawing her hand maddeningly up and down his length. “You do, too, don’t you?”
&&&&&&
Despite the sheet and two layers of blankets between them, he could feel her slumber-heat, making his cock twitch. Facing her, he laid his hand on the curve of her hip and finally willed himself to sleep. He felt it immediately, when she woke at 5:30 a.m. and slipped out of bed.
“... Um, ‘Ronica,” he mumbled. “Car’s waiting to take you home and back to work, ‘kay?”
Tiptoeing to his side of the bed, she brushed her lips over his shoulder, the only naked swatch of skin she could find. “I’m sorry I crashed last night, Logan,” she cooed, absently stroking his back. “I’m a wuss. I’ll make it up to you tonight.”
“Mmm,” he breathed, rolling to catch her hand. “I had a wonderful time.” He pressed his lips to the palm of her hand, reeling her in for a languid kiss.
“Me too,” she concurred, smiling against his lips.
“I’m serious about the car, Veronica.” He squeezed her hand. “I already made the arrangements, and paid for it, so please don’t take the El.”
“I ... I won’t,” she agreed, trying to remove her hand from his.
“Promise me,” he demanded, holding tighter. “I mean it. I’m not fooling around, here.”
“Okay, okay. I promise.” He reached up and brought her down for a deep, last kiss before releasing her. As she slipped away to get dressed, he continued to watch intently. When she got into her shoes, he said, “Your coat’s in the closet.” Startled, she looked up, puzzled. “I put it there last night.”
“Thanks,” she said nervously, flushing under his scrutiny, suddenly realizing he was more alert than he’d seemed.
“Don’t ... forget ... about the car,” he repeated, his voice clear and direct. She nodded obediently, waved, and disappeared into the sitting area and out the door. Ten seconds after he heard the door click, he was on the phone to the concierge, making sure the car was ready, and Veronica was in it.
Five minutes later, her cell trilled. “Hey! Are you stalking me?”
His warm chuckle filled her ear. “Maybe. Just a little. I only called to say ‘thank you’... for everything.”
&&&&&&
He briefly considered blowing off the opening day of the seminar, but decided against it. His boss would be upset; it would be more hassle than it was worth. When Veronica called to check in, he was standing in a two-person-deep scrum, trying to get close enough to the coffee urn to get a refill. She sounded fine, but he was anxious nonetheless. What was I thinking? What am I doing here? I live in New York ... have a once-in-a-lifetime job, killer apartment, and more women than I could ever fuck at my disposal, on my terms. She’s difficult - and that’s putting it mildly - obstinate, and we’ve never been able to make it work before. What the fuck am I doing?
As the lecturer droned on and on, he snuck a peek at his Blackberry. It was only one in the afternoon - too early to call her again. His stomach churned, he shook his head impatiently, ran his hand through his hair. Why’m I so nervous? The possibility of sex? You’d think we’d never ... done it before. When the conference broke at three for refreshments, he gave in and called. Voicemail. Irritated, he called the U.S. Attorney’s main number, asked for her secretary. Marie said she was on another line. Sliding back into his hard, uncomfortable banquet-chair seat, he shot off a quick, teasing text before turning his attention to the panel discussion.
He called again, at 4:25 p.m. This time, Marie told him Veronica’d left early, implied it was because she was planning a special evening. But when he tried her cell, she still didn’t answer. His counterpart at the Chicago Tribune, the nice guy who’d hooked him up with local police department contacts, asked if Logan wanted to grab a beer - or something stronger. Politely, Logan begged off, citing a prior engagement, and hurried back to the Drake to get ready.
At 5:15 p.m., when he still hadn’t heard from Veronica, he began to get worried. Deciding to head out for her apartment, he left one last message, then called for his driver.
There were no lights on in Veronica’s apartment. The skin on the back of his neck prickled. She could still be shopping - but why wouldn’t she answer her cell when she saw his number? Telling the driver to wait, he got out, mashed all the buttons until someone let him in. Racing to her door on the third floor, he pounded, hollered, listened. Nothing.
He banged on the across-the-hall neighbor’s door; a thirty-ish guy, with round, frameless geek glasses and a scruffy cardigan, answered, said his name was Joe. Joe said he hadn’t heard Veronica come home, but added she was usually so quiet he wasn’t sure he would have. Logan asked if she’d left a spare key, just in case. Joe admitted she hadn’t, but indicated he had one anyway, because he was the building manager. Of course, he was reluctant to hand it over, but when a truly panicked Logan told Joe he’d either pick the lock or come back with the police, Joe agreed to let Logan take a look around.
Joe stood in the door as Logan poked through Veronica’s apartment. It was clear she hadn’t been home since morning. Last night’s dress was flung on the bed where she’d discarded it, along with the bath towel she’d used only hours earlier. Her strappy shoes, which had made him so happy the night before, were tumbled on their sides. And, there was no food in the fridge.
Pacing, cursing, Logan wracked his brain. What to do? What would Veronica do - if it were him who’d gone missing? Brushing past Joe, he shouted ‘thanks’ and galloped down the stairs. As he flew out the vestibule door, something caught his eye. A glove. A red leather glove. Veronica’s, lying beside the stairs, between the shrubs and the brick balustrade, atop a bag of trash. If she’d simply dropped it, it would be on the stairs, wouldn’t it?
He staggered, heart pounding, and leaned against the banister. Someone’s got her, I know it! Oh, God. OhGod. What’mIgonnado? He pulled out his Blackberry, but didn’t know who to call. At a loss, he stared vacantly before bending to retrieve her glove. His hand brushed against the brown paper bag - it had handles, was filled with ... groceries. Prime rib, two potatoes, a smashed carton of sour cream, fancy lettuce, and hot-house tomatoes. His heart sledge-hammered into his stomach, he tasted bile and turned, heaving his stomach’s contents onto the sidewalk. She’d been shopping....
When the blood stopped rushing and he was able to stand, he noticed the rhythmic thud of a basketball bouncing on concrete. Craning his neck, he noticed a group of teenage boys going three-on-three in the driveway of the house next door. Snatching up the glove, he jogged over.
&&&&&&
Groggy and limp, Veronica came to with a gasp, strapped into the backseat of a truck, or an SUV, she couldn’t tell which. She tried to swallow, but couldn’t get past the grapefruit-sized lump. Her temple throbbed; she surmised she’d been hit there, or possibly had her head bumped when she was loaded into the vehicle. Although her hands and wrists were free, she couldn’t really move them; she’d been bound in her seat with what felt like duct tape.
It was dark outside, and even though the streetlights were on, she was unable see anything but shadows and forms through the heavily-tinted side windows. Jiggling and straining at her restraints, she struggled to see out the front windshield. Even without a glimpse, she could tell, from the sound, they were traveling on surface roads rather than a highway. Without knowing the direction, however, the information didn’t mean much.
“Who are you?” she croaked, just to see if she could talk. “And what do you want?”
“Hey, girl,” a masculine voice replied. “Glad you could join the par-tay.” He laughed, an evil-sounding chuckle that filled her with dread. Of all the times she hadn’t listened to Logan, now was the one time she wished she had.
&&&&&&
“Hey, guys,” Logan began, wallet in hand. To his surprise, following his quick, impassioned explanation, the kids cooperated without a cash bribe. They’d been outside for well over an hour, and knew Veronica on sight - the Banker Lady, they called her. She’d walked by with a bag of groceries - the next thing they knew, she was limping to an SUV.
A black guy helped her get in. He was ‘an older dude,’ at least thirty, wearing super baggy jeans, a white kuffie, and a leather jacket - not solid black, but black with a yellow, green, and red stripe on the back, like pieces of pie radiating from the shoulder down. According to the boys, the dude was short, about five-ten, and not too big, a hundred-and-sixty, sixty-five, tops.
The SUV wasn’t new, wasn’t fancy. A Ford, or maybe a Chevy Blazer, it was definitely American-made, and dark - blue or green. Definitely not a Caddy or a Hummer. No plates on it, either, which was weird.
Profusely thanking them, Logan handed the tallest a fifty, told ‘em to have one on him. Running back to the Lincoln, still idling in front of Veronica’s apartment, Logan climbed in, told the guy to take him to CPD headquarters on State Street. Punching buttons as fast as possible, he got a hold of the Tribune beat writer, Jason, who had the after-hours numbers for the CPD gang crimes unit. When Logan explained the situation, Jason, smelling a story, agreed to meet Logan at CPD, District 1, to help ‘persuade’ them to help.
As the limo hurtled toward downtown Chicago - Logan’d promised the guy an extra Benjamin if he made record time - Logan tapped out frantic notes, trying to remember everything he’d seen, everything she’d told him about the investigation. When Logan arrived at 16th and State, Jason Begge was already there and had primed the pump for him. Instead of immediately launching into the story, Logan asked if he could print his notes from one of their computers.
Five minutes later, one of the gang crime officers, LeMont Caldwell, looked up from Logan’s summary. “This is - I know who these guys are - they’re the ones O’Reilly and McMahon are after, the Southside Bankers, they call themselves.” Seeing Logan’s baffled expression, Caldwell explained the crew wasn’t a traditional street gang, but made most of their money off of loans to other gangs, front money for large quantity drug purchases. It was believed the Southside Bankers had their hands in every major drug deal made within the city limits. Too insular and compartmentalized for CPD to crack, the feds had stepped in and created a joint task force, headed by Assistant U.S. Attorney David Fitzgibbons.
“That’s him, that’s her boss,” Logan practically shouted, biting his tongue to keep from spitting venom across the room.
“Yeah, but, that don’t mean that’s who’s got your girl,” Caldwell reminded him.
“It’s gotta be them,” Logan argued, frustrated and half-crazed by the lack of action. “How ‘bout if I make a positive identification of the guy who was stalking her? You have any pictures of their known associates?”
“How ‘bout if we call her Fitzgibbons,” the Tribune reporter calmly suggested. “Tell him what happened, see what he has to say?”
“Yeah,” Logan quickly agreed. “Call him, get him down here. I want to meet the jackass.” Begge and Caldwell exhanged glances; Caldwell nodded imperceptibly. “What are you waiting for?” Logan demanded. “My - Veronica’s life’s at stake.”
Jason stepped away, and, consulting his notebook, began dialing. Attempting to distract Logan with a sheaf of photos, Caldwell offered to find a sketch artist, too, in case the stalker’s photo wasn’t in the file. Heaving great, deep breaths, Logan tried to compose himself and focus on the black and whites in front of him. Displaying admirable self-restraint, Logan methodically perused the stack, one by one, then started over again. Fifteen minutes later, he triumphantly held one aloft.
“This is the guy.”
“You’re positive?” a strange voice called out. Whipping around, Logan was confronted by a tall, gracefully-gone-gray older man wearing an expensive, obviously tailor-made suit and a sneer. “You Logan Echolls?” he said gruffly, holding out his hand.
“You must be the high and mighty Dave Fitzgibbons,” Logan replied, fist clenching reflexively as he ignored the out-stretched hand. “So, Davie, tell me again how it couldn’t be related, you dickhead,” he grumbled.
“We still don’t know if there’s really a connection,” Fitzgibbons replied mildly, unperturbed by Logan’s invective.
“You may not know,” Logan growled, stalking closer, jabbing his finger into Dave’s chest. “But I do! She’s out there,” he made a sweeping gesture toward the bank of windows, “somewhere. She’s probably scared, maybe hurt, while you’ve sitting on your ass somewhere, probably having a congratulatory TGIF cocktail. You even smell like a bum, you know that? But don’t worry your pretty head, Davie, ‘cause I’m going to find her. You got that?” He glowered at the taller, older man, daring him to ....
“I don’t need to listen to your crap, Echolls. We’ll find her, and when we do, I suggest you say ‘goodbye’ and go back to wherever you came from. She doesn’t need you here.”
“Funny, I don’t see you doing anything right now, Davie. And by the way, you don’t know anything about me, or Veronica, for that matter, so just mind your own business and Find My Girlfriend!” he gritted, taking a step back as if to swing on Fitzgibbons.
“Logan,” Jason cautioned before Fitzgibbons had a chance to response. “C’mon man, let’s take a walk.” He grabbed Logan’s jacket and propelled him into the hallway. “Relax, man,” he advised, still gripping Logan’s arm. “Fitz’s no favorite of CPD. I got some addresses we can check out, see what’s what.”
Huffing, Logan shook free. “You got ... addresses? What’re we waiting for? Let’s go.”
“Not so fast, Mr. Echolls,” LeMont called out, joining them in the corridor. “Before I turn you loose to scour the city on something that’s exclusively a police matter, I need to establish some ground rules about - ”
“Ground rules? I’m a civilian - a reporter chasing a story,” he snarled. “You’ve got no jurisdiction over me.”
“Listen to me, Echolls. I’m sure you got enough money, and enough lawyers to get you out of trouble if you ‘n’ me get sideways, but I’m the least of your trouble tonight. These guys, the Bankers, aren’t known for violence, but it’s obvious they ain’t playing around, either. You do nothing - nothing - without us, a’ight? You got it? NO-thing.”
Cutting him off before he could argue, Jason Begge stepped between Logan and the Lieutenant. “Fine, fine. Give us a number we can get through on. We’ll keep you posted, check in every hour or so.”
&&&&&&
“Where am I?” she murmured, rubbing her forehead. Her arms were no longer bound she realized, sitting up on the cold, clammy stone floor. Squinting in the murky light, her gaze swept over her surroundings. Clearly a basement, the room was filled with stacks of cardboard boxes and metal barrels. She sniffed, and was met with the tangy, spoiled scent of stale beer, and the musty odor of damp earth. Her head throbbed again, she pushed at it, studied her fingers. Blood. Her blood, apparently. Leaning heavily on the wall, she struggled to rise to her feet. The effort required was tremendous, but she succeeded, finally. Slumped and panting, she surveyed the dungeon again, searching for some indication of a way out.
The only noise she could hear was from above, a steady thump, like music, maybe.
“Finally,” a gruff voice, laced with sarcasm, greeted her. “‘Bout time, Goldilocks. I been waitin’ for you.”
Blinded by the sudden light, Veronica shrank back on the wall, flattening her palms behind her. “What do you want? Who are you?” she demanded, trying to be fierce and unafraid.
“I want a lot of things, Blondie,” the disembodied voice rumbled. “And you, Veronica Mars, are going to give them to me.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about, and I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re got the wrong person, mister.”
A low, malevolent chuckle filled the room. “I think you do, Miss Mars,” he said, stepping forward, her leather encased AUSA badge dangling from his fleshy fingers. He held up her purse in his other hand. “I know exactly who you are, Assistant U. S. Attorney Mars, and I know all about the case you’re currently working, so start talking. I’ll let you know when you get to something I like.” His menacing words belied his casual attitude, and as he approached, Veronica felt a chill run down her spine.
&&&&&&
“Okay, up there, take a right,” Jason announced with conviction.
“Tell me again, why we’re in a conspicuous limo, rather than your beater?” Logan asked, on edge and unable to be quiet for more than a moment.
Jason sighed and patiently repeated, “Flash is currency in this neighborhood, and limos are an everyday occurrence. In fact, I’m afraid we’ll stand out because we’re not flashy enough.”
“Okay,” he grumbled. “What’s the name of the place, again?”
“No Exit. Should be up the block, on the left.”
“And you expect the club to be open on a Wednesday, at two-thirty in the morning?”
“Oh, yeah. They’ll be open. I don’t know if they’ll let us in, but they’ll definitely open.”
“What makes you think they’d take her to a club, anyway?”
“Process of elimination. There was nothing doing at the dope spots, no one was home at the boss’s residence, plus, the club’s part of the money laundering racket, and someone usually checks in, late, each night. Let us out here,” he directed, tapping the driver on the shoulder. “Keep it running, and - do you have a cell phone?” When the chauffer held it up, Jason continued, “Take this number, and if anything happens, call Lieutenant Caldwell, tell him where we are. Got it?”
“C’mon, we’re wasting time,” Logan urged, stretching out kinked muscles he got out. “Take a walk,” he asked, eyeing the alley on the west side of the drab, non-descript building.
Jason gave him a startled glare. “You heard what Caldwell said. We’re just here to check it out, Echolls.”
“If that’s the way you want it,” he drawled, arching an eyebrow for emphasis. “You’re free to hang out in the club, do the hokey-pokey with the natives, but I’m pretty sure they’re not hiding Veronica in plain sight. If she’s here, she’ll be in a backroom, closet, or basement. And that’s where I’m going to start looking for her. But, hey, if you see a tiny blonde, big blue eyes, annoying and stubborn, watch out for her taser, okay?” With that, Logan slouched off down the alley, turning at the last minute. “Coming?”
They circled around to the back door, which was unguarded and propped open. A butcher-aproned, tee-shirted busboy bustled out, an enormous sack of garbage dragging behind. Watching from behind the door, they saw the boy vanish inside and return, several long moments later, with another bag. He went back in again, and, after thirty seconds, when he didn’t come back, Logan jerked his head at the entrance, his unspoken question unmistakable in his expressive eyes.
Casually, as if they always came in the back door, the two men strolled inside, finding themselves in a walk-through store room. A quick sweep was all Logan needed to know there were no other, connecting rooms, so they continued forward, into the now-empty back kitchen. Examining the walls, floor, and ceiling, Logan noticed a small hallway leading off to the side. At the end of the dead-end hall, set flush into the wall, was a narrow, almost invisible door.
Motioning to Jason, he crept down the wall to the door. Gently pressing his ear to it, he heard two voices, a faint, tremulous female one, and a louder, threatening one, clearly a man. Logan’s eyes widened, glinted hard and dangerous. Leaning down, he slipped his .38 from the ankle holster, and tiptoed back to where Jason waited, at the junction of the corridor and the kitchen. The two had a brief, whispered conversation; Jason imploring Logan to call CPD and wait for their arrival, Logan insisting they - he - needed to do something, now.
Finally, Logan won the argument, and a plan was hatched. After calling CPD, Jason slipped down the hall to join Logan at the door. Handing his snubnose S & W to Jason, Logan pulled his nine and listened again. Waiting until the man’s voice rose, Logan softly jiggled the doorknob. Finding it unlocked, he slid it opened and, gun in hand, ushered Jason ahead.
Tucking his hand, and gun, in his pocket, Jason clomped loudly down the narrow, dimly-lit staircase. “Hey, who’s there,” he hollered.
“Get outta here, right now,” the male voice shouted. “You’re trespassing on private property, and, unless you’re a cop with a warrant, you have no business down here.”
“My name is Jason Begge, and I work for the Chicago Tribune,” he answered, proceeding to the bottom step. “And I believe you are holding captive an Assistant U.S. Attorney, Veronica Mars. Veronica? Are you there?” Glancing up to make sure Logan was right behind, Jason slid off the bottom step and turned the corner. “You’re Veronica, right?”
“Ye - yeah, I am. How’d you know?”
As Logan watched, Jason, still talking, inched into the room, toward the large black man holding Veronica in front of him, a shield. “Dude, you need to let her go. Her boyfriend’s right behind me, with a big gun, and CPD is on the way.”
“Bullshit,” the man spat. “If you was with anyone, they’d be down here b’now. And if five-oh was on they way, you would’na’ come alone. So get your bony white ass outta here, NOW!, brotha.”
With a quick sideways feint, Jason darted for Veronica’s purse, half-spilled on the floor. Flinging Veronica to the ground, the man lurched for Jason. At that precise moment, Logan leapt in, brandishing the nine. “Hold it right there, brutha,” he shouted, training the gun on the dude’s forehead. “Veronica?” he croaked, temporarily overcome. “You okay? Can you walk?”
One eye on the thug, he glanced quickly at his ‘girlfriend’ ungracefully sprawled, face down, on the cement. “Say something,” he implored, his voice hushed and raw. “Please.”
“I - I’m good,” she said, picking herself up. “Logan. Thank God! How did you find - where did you get the gun?”
“We can talk about it later,” he snapped, nostrils flaring. “Get over here, behind me. Jase? You good?”
“Fine and dandy,” Logan’s newest BFF replied, dusting off his pants. “Got any rope?”
“There’s duct tape behind the chair,” Veronica chimed in.
Logan growled. “Please leave, babe, before I say something I might regret. There’s a limo outside, in front. Go! Now!”
Without another word, Veronica scampered up the stairs. Carefully securing the thug to the chair, Logan and Jason backed up the stairs and, in a flash, were out the door and pounding up the alley to the street. When they reached the open limo door, Jason pulled up, halting a few feet away. Logan shot him a quizzical look.
Panting, Jason stuck out his hand. “Man, what a story, Echolls. I can’t thank you enough.”
“No, man. I should be thanking you. You saved her life. I owe you,” he added, clasping Jason’s hand in his, pumping it enthusiastically. “I take it you’re not coming with?”
“Nah,” Jason shrugged. “CPD’ll be here any minute. I gotta get the details. Okay if I call you in the morning, for your statements?” He angled his head toward Veronica, huddled in the limo.
Instantly, Logan’s face clouded. He leaned inside. “Baby? You okay?”
&&&&&&
Once more, he carried her into his suite, cradling her like a baby and ignoring her protests. Gently settling her on the edge of the bed, he knelt and carefully removed her serious, lawyer pumps. “You don’t have to do this,” she murmured softly, her cerulean eyes brimming with tears.
“Yes, I do, Ms. Mars,” he said briefly, sliding his hands beneath her ‘sensible’ skirt to roll her tattered stockings down her slender, bruised legs. “Don’t you understand, I would do anything for you?”
“Logan,” she breathed, trembling, the tears finally tumbling down her grime-streaked cheeks. Rising on his knees, he gathered her into a soft embrace.
“You’re safe now, baby. I’ve got you.” He kissed her arm where it lay against his shoulder, hiding his teary eyes in the blue serge of her jacket. They held each other ... until Logan raised his head. “Let me run a bath for you, ‘Ronica,” he pleaded. “I need to see if you’re hurt or - ”
“I’m just banged up, a couple of bruises,” she assured him. “But I’d love a bath.”
He grimaced. Standing, he strode into the bathroom and began filling the granite-encased jacuzzi tub with steaming water. Returning to where Veronica sat frozen, he carefully removed her suitcoat. Crawling to sit behind her, he pulled her into the safety of his embrace, working the buttons of her silk blouse as he whispered soothingly in her ear. Shuddering as he drew it down her shoulders, she turned suddenly, arms flung around his neck.
“I want to kill you, you know,” he choked out, squeezing her tightly.
“I know; believe me, I know. ... How did you know where to find me?” she inquired, a hint of curiosity lightening her eyes and the mood in the room.
“I cannot reveal professional secrets to a mere federal prosecutor,” he retorted in mock outrage. “Not even one as cute as you.”
“Not even me?” She leaned back, lip quivering, but both knew it was an act.
“Time to get you out of the rest of your clothes,” he scolded, pretending to be affronted.
“So,” she baited, “you really are just trying to get in my pants?”
“Guilty, again, Madame Prosecutor,” he mumbled, pressing his lips into the valley of her breasts. “I did it all ... just to sleep with you,” he smirked, looking up at her from beneath her jaw.
Shivering again, but for a different reason, she relaxed in his arms. His lips smoothed up her collarbone and over her pale throat, to the spot just under her ear. Licking delicately, he teased her skin with tender nips until she gasped with pleasure. “Bathtub? Please,” she begged. “I need to feel clean before we ....”
Shifting around, he threw his legs over the side, lifted her in his arms and swept her into the gleaming, steamy bathroom. Briefly setting her down in front of him, he spun her toward the tub and nuzzled in behind, wrapping his arms around her slight waist.
“Mmm, you feel good,” she murmured, grinding against him. “You feel so good.”
“Strumpet,” he hissed, bending her forward to kiss the back of her neck. “Time to get you wet,” he coaxed, lips traveling down her spine as his hands working the zipper of her skirt. It fell to the floor with a whoosh, leaving her standing in her demure pink-lace bra and bikini panties. Immodestly, hands at her sides, she spun to look at him, letting him get a good look at her. “God, Veronica,” he murmured, leaning back to take her in. Under the delicate lace, rosy nipples stood at attention; his eyes journeyed down her body, following the curve of her slim hips to the tawny curls at the apex of her thighs.
Despite the scratches, dirt, bruises, and dried blood, she was as beautiful now as she’d been at sixteen. And he knew, at that moment, he’d never stopped loving her.
Rising with a growl, he picked her up and deposited her in the hot, fragrant bath. “Logan!” she whined. “My ... I’m not ... I’m still wearing my - ”
“I’ll get ‘em in a minute, baby,” he promised, whipping his shirt over his head and fumbling with his fly. “Just stay right there, okay?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she reminded him, her voice warm and energized for the first time all night.
Peeling his jeans down his long legs, he ripped his socks off, tossing his Rolex on the vanity counter, and stood, entranced, at the edge of the tub. “Mind if I join you?”
“I wish you would,” she said quietly, the play of her fingers rippling the surface.
Assessing the situation, he eased in opposite her. Flexing his knees, he slid her toward him, reaching around to unclasp her sodden bra before smothering her with a wet kiss. Giggling, she splashed at him as he tried to pull the straps off her arms, feigning modesty as she wiggled ever closer to him.
When, at last, the offending garment was removed, he twirled it overhead and launched it across the room, guffawing when it landed with a loud splatter. “C’mere, you,” he cajoled, hand on the back of her neck. Dutifully, she arched forward, eyes closing as her lips parted. Mouth slanting down over hers, he cupped her face in his strong hands, moaned her name as his tongue stroked into her warm invite.
Fingers digging into his shoulder muscles, she quivered, brought him nearer. Her taut nipples brushed his chest, burning where she arched against him. Though their mouths were still fused, he dropped his hands below the water, boosting her astride his thighs, crushing her body to his. Heart racing, he bowed up into her, his cock stiff and throbbing against her belly.
“Please, baby,” she groaned, hips rolling as she rubbed her body on his. “I need you, now,” she implored, her voice hoarse and desperate. Shoving the wet lace aside with frantic fingers, he plunged into her, pumping deep and sure.
Panting, head thrown back, she humped his hand wildly, calling his name as she shook. “Ohgod, Iwantyousobad,” she gasped, heaving. “Please, baby, ohgodnow.”
Ripping the fabric with a single flick of his hand, he steadied her hips and lunged into her, mashing his mouth on hers to swallow her cry. “Ohfuckinghell, Veronica,” he grunted, driving harder and deeper with each thrust. “OhgodIloveyou.”
“Lo-gan,” she screamed, biting his lip and coming in with breathless, messy shudder. Squeezing her ass, he jerked, hips stuttering as he spurted, thick and hot inside her.
“Goddamn,” he hissed in her ear. “Veronica Mars, you’re gonna kill me yet.”
&&&&&&
They slept ‘til noon, Veronica having called in the night before, while still at the police station. When the eggs and bacon, strawberry waffles, and chocolate croissants arrived, they were accompanied by the newspaper. On page one, below the fold, was Jason Begge’s byline, with credit to Logan Echolls, and the heading: Rookie Fed Prosecutor Brings Down Gang - Before Indictment. Fortunately, no picture was available.