chapter 15: Thanks for the Memoir (part b)
Chapter 15: THANKS FOR THE MEMOIR
Title: All Fall Down
Pairing / Character: Veronica/Logan, Keith
Rating: PG-13 to R
Words: 121,942 to date
Summary: In Neptune, the brighter the summer sun, the deeper the shadows.
Spoilers / Warnings: Seasons 1 and 2 / Language and adult situations.
Chapter 15: THANKS FOR THE MEMOIR
Authors: Mastermia and Rindee
Additional Characters: Casey, Mac and Cliff
Words: 11,500
Authors’ Note: All Fall Down is a collaborative effort by 20 writers. You can learn more about this project here. A huge special thanks to herowlness who rocked her beta, even though it was the day before her birthday. You are awesome and happy birthday!
Also, thanks to truemyth and kantayra for their comments.
Rindee and Mastermia want to thank each other because we are just like that.
X-posted to veronicamarsfic, fic_from_mars, Rindee and Mastermia.
All Fall Down
Chapter 15 - Part B
THANKS FOR THE MEMOIR
Too exhausted to face the drive back to Neptune, Keith got a room for the night. After grabbing a quick pizza and glass of wine at Santoro’s, a local place he remembered fondly, he lugged his file-laden brief case into the motel and spread everything out on the queen-sized bed. Something about O’Conner’s story didn’t feel right. On paper, the Neptune kidnappings mirrored Leah O’Conner’s; but was there really a connection, an accomplice Keith and Frank never knew about, or was it merely a coincidence? If Frank was dirty - and, based on Felicity and Lianne’s stories, it was evident he had been - had he actually been involved in Dina Clark’s kidnapping scheme? No - it wasn’t possible. And it didn’t make sense. If Frank had something on Dina, why he would have shot her?
Henry had said neither Dina or Frank ever mentioned a partner, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t had one. Of course, Henry’s memory clearly wasn’t what it once was, and there was no telling if his version of events was true. But if Dina had been working with someone else, there is no way for the unknown accomplice to suspect that Frank or Keith was even aware of his/her existence, unless Frank had been in on the kidnapping from the very start. And there was just no way Keith could believe his old partner was capable of that.
Frank had always maintained Henry had been the one to kill her. But what if Frank had been lying? It seemed he’d been less-than-truthful about other things, so why not this too? So … what was Frank lying about? Who shot Dina, or whether Dina was dead? And there was the curveball - what if Dina Clark hadn’t died? What if she had survived, and paid Frank to keep it quiet? If that were true, why would she have wait nineteen years to come after Frank - and Keith? What could be so important that she would still regard Frank and Keith as threats? Sure, there was an open murder case, but it had been open for nineteen years. So, why off Frank now? And why come after Keith when, as far as she knew, he didn’t know anything?
When he’d poured over all of their old cases, Keith had identified only two, Leah’s and the Milano gang’s drug distribution ring, that could have resulted in payoffs like the ones Lianne and Felicity described. If it was the Milano case, the only former gang member not dead or in prison was Patrick Fitzpatrick, who was a priest and hadn’t recently associated with any known criminals outside his own family. If it was the Leah O’Connor case, he still didn’t know who would want him and Frank dead, unless Dina Clark was either still alive or had had an accomplice. When he finally fell asleep, Keith’s head was swimming; when he woke the next morning, he was convinced that, no matter how illogical it seemed, Dina Clark must have survived the shooting nineteen years ago.
Looking at his watch and noticing their appointment had been set for ten minutes earlier, Logan shifted in his chair for the millionth time and glanced at Cliff. He envied the older man’s calm, until he realized Cliff’s eyes were closed. Glancing at the assistant sitting across the room, he unobtrusively used his elbow and was rewarded with a snort as Cliff’s eyes popped open. He looked around as he straightened his tie and glanced at his watch.
“Time for us to go in?”
“No,” Logan shook his head. “I can’t believe you fell sleep.”
“Some late night debauchery kept me tied up, if you know what I mean.” Cliff said conspiratorially.
Logan thought briefly of Veronica and their conspicuous absence of late night debauchery, or any debauchery for that matter. “I wish I had a more recent understanding of the concept.”
“Well, there is this store on Garnet…” Cliff’s voice trailed off as the door to Simon Foster’s office opened and the sound of raised voices cut through the room.
“Fix this, right now,” a man said harshly from the entrance.
They could hear another voice from within. “Gordon, as I said, we are taking all precautions.” Realizing the man at the door was Gordon West, Logan scrutinized him; mid 40’s, regular features, handsome, lean and well manicured, he would pale next to the pretty boys in Hollywood, but would turn heads in Iowa. He appeared to be doing well though, if the two-thousand dollar suit he wore was any indication.
“Fuck your precautions,” Gordon said, pivoting to stare at the man behind the desk. “One more leak, and she’ll have me by the balls. Sharon’s using the stuff in the tabloids to get a hearing, and if that happens, I’ll pull the manuscript and use my advance for legal fees.”
“Gordon, be reasonable, there’s no reason to think it was -”
“Don’t even try. Someone here is ruining my life, and I will not be fucked with. Just fix it, Simon.” He turned on his heel, without even acknowledging Logan or Cliff, and stormed out.
Mouth ajar, the young assistant at the desk looked between the open door and the waiting visitors; she appeared to be at a loss.
Cliff stood and winked at her. “We’ll introduce ourselves.” He gestured for Logan and walked through the door.
Simon Foster’s office was decorated in contemporary corporate and shades of cherry wood. The walls were hung with book covers and family pictures - one of Foster with the requisite trophy wife and two towheaded kids. He was pushing 50, but he fought the battle with plugs, a fake tan, and a gold Rolex worth enough to feed a starving African nation. Logan had a pretty good idea what had attracted Mrs. Foster, and it wasn’t her husband’s personality.
Collecting his thoughts, Foster looked at them for a minute, and then the mask snapped back into place. Logan found himself glad handed and urged to refer to the older man as ‘Simon.’ He accepted the offered water and was surprised when Foster buzzed his assistant to bring it. Apparently, Gant Publishing was old school, and having a secretary to fetch and carry was still allowed.
“Sorry about that. My client was a little upset.” Simon waved away the incident with an airy hand.
“A little?” Cliff raised an eyebrow. “I was tempted to give the man a card, because someone that angry is going to be worth a great deal of money to a good lawyer.” Cliff smiled disingenuously.
Foster paled but held on to his practiced smile through sheer will. “Really, it’s nothing you need be concerned about, and there is no way this will get to litigation. He was just blowing off steam. I’m sure you know how it is,” Foster replied, equally oily.
“Of course,” Cliff said smoothly. “However, I’m sure you can appreciate how concerned I am that my client’s privacy be maintained. If Gant Publishing cannot guarantee us that, I’m sure there are other houses that would be more than happy to do so.”
“I assure you, all of your work product will be kept in the strictest confidence. I’ve been here almost 20 years, and we’ve never had anything like this happen before. “
“Have you ever had a book as high profile as mine?” Logan’s question appeared to irritate Foster, who seemed off his game on the heels of his confrontation with West.
“I, and my staff, have an excellent reputation, and, for a small house, we have had our share of provocative and exciting offerings.” As he trotted out his press release answer, he seemed to find his stride. “Our new executive Vice President, Mr. Gant, brought us a new client and made certain promises to him concerning his privacy. Unfortunately, Mr. Gant neglected to ensure the information was not already known by someone outside of Gant Publishing. I can wholeheartedly assure you someone outside this building is to blame for our client’s distress. You, however, can fully trust us with your story. You have my word.”
Logan made a show of looking to Cliff for guidance. “It’s very difficult for me, Mr. Foster -”
“Simon," the older man corrected him.
“Simon,” Logan amended. “But I feel, with the death of my father, there are things I need to get off my chest, to set the record straight.”
Foster nodded reassuringly, as his secretary came in with a tray of drinks and placed them in front of the men. “Of course. That’s why many decide to write an autobiography.”
Logan nodded, warming up to the subject. “The press has made him into a hero, but he was far from it. Plus, the truth needs to be told about some of his…predilections.”
“Oh,” Foster leaned in, trying to keep the prurient interest off his face. “I am sure you’ll feel better once you’ve told your story.” Logan wondered for a second about people’s base need people to know the secrets of their heroes, to uncover their feet of clay, and to destroy the very individuals they supposedly loved.
“From all the press coverage, you would expect to find him home, cleaning his guns, instead of prancing around in one of Liberace’s more, uh, colorful capes.” Logan played at earnestness, leaning forward in his chair for emphasis. Cliff placed a hand on his arm, as if to remind him not to oversell it. He sat back with a self-satisfied smile, content that Foster had been hooked.
“Well, I had no idea.” Foster said, trying not to look as if he was adding up in his head the sales the story would bring. He failed miserably. “The world needs to know the real story, and you seem to be the only person who can write it. If you are ready to go forward, we can set you up with an editor and you can begin to work immediately.”
Cliff nodded. “Well, there are a few, small, financial details we would need to work out first. My client is very eager to tell his story, for the truth’s sake, but it’s my job to worry about his future. If you know what I mean.” They shared a moment of understanding and twin images of dollar signs.
Foster suavely replied. “Of course. I am sure we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement. I’m free this afternoon. If you'd like to come in, we can work out the business end of things. Logan needn’t concern himself with anything but his story.”
Logan smiled, as if reassured by Foster’s concern for his delicate sensibilities. “I really appreciate your time, Simon. Assuming everything works out, I’m sure Gant Publishing will be able to help me tell the world what my father was really like.” He stood up, Cliff behind him, Simon following.
Foster put his hand on Logan’s shoulder as he ushered him to the door. “I look forward to working with you, Logan.”
“Thanks, Simon. Me too.” Hands were shaken all around; outside the inner sanctum, Cliff stopped to chat up the assistant. As they left, Logan said, in an undertone “Got ‘em.”
Cliff nodded sagely, hitting the elevator button. “We certainly did.”
The next morning Logan was awakened by his cell phone. Still half asleep, he put the phone to his ear, closing his eyes again when he heard Cliff’s distinctive voice.
“Kid, are you sure you don’t want to write your memoirs? I had no idea how much the market could bear until I put some weight on it. You could do quite well. We’re talking serious money here.”
Logan sat up, running a hand over his face. “Cliff, this was just for the case -- I have no interest in airing my dirty laundry.”
“I know, but, I’m just sayin’, people will pay a fortune to see your BVD’s. You could make a killing, even after my substantial, but not unreasonable, cut.”
“Good to know. Sorry to disappoint you, but I think I’ll keep my underwear private for now.”
“Think of the fans. Think of the money. Think of me,” Cliff wheedled.
“Really not interested, but if I change my mind you’ll be the first to know.”
“I certainly will, since Gant Publishing thinks I’m your manager.” The only response Cliff got was Logan’s groan. “Fine, Madeleine O’Rourke had time in this afternoon for a meet and greet. I told them you didn’t know what format you’re interested in, so she’ll give you some options.”
“Sounds good, thanks Cliff.” Logan hung up and fell back asleep.
The first surprise Logan had in Madeleine O’Rourke’s office was that her assistant was male. He introduced himself as Mike Shay and offered something to drink, which Logan declined. Unlike her boss, O’Rourke kept her schedule; at the stroke of two, Mike showed Logan into the office. Once again, he was surprised by the woman he’d come to meet. He’d expected New York sophistication, instead, the woman before him was grandmotherly. Her liberally graying black hair was falling out of an untidy bun, and glasses hung from her neck on a chain made of stones of all colors and sizes. Her jacket looked like an old kimono, and it clashed with the green print of her pants. But her eyes were sharp and direct, and her handshake firm and professional.
“Mr. Echolls, I understand you are considering writing an autobiography,” she said, gesturing to a chair as she took the one facing him. Behind her, the desk was thoroughly stacked with paper, and he could barely make out her keyboard underneath the mess.
“Logan, please.” At her nod, he began, “Yes, I’ve been thinking about it since my father’s death. Once he was cleared of Lilly’s murder, and then murdered himself, the press practically canonized him. I think the real story needs to be told.”
Her eyes were sympathetic. “Logan, I’m sure this is difficult for you, but I want to make sure you’re comfortable with whatever format we pick. Taking care of you is my job.” She sounded so sincere Logan found himself hoping she wasn’t the culprit.
“I appreciate that. I really do.” He dropped his eyes and looked at his hands clenched in his lap. No matter how nice she seemed, he had a job to do and he needed to get it done. “There are many things that will be hard to talk about.” He paused and looked at her through the screen of his eyelashes. Instead of being anxious to know what he would reveal, O’Rourke seemed content to wait and see what he would say. “One of the biggest was that my parents were never really married. It seems Aaron and his first wife were never officially divorced, so I guess all those people who called me a bastard were right.” The edge in his voice was not feigned, even though the information was. For some reason, Logan was feeling worse and worse about lying to her. When he lifted his eyes, she was still looking at him calmly and seemed completely unfazed by his information.
“Logan, I’m not sure you’re ready to do this right now. I may be wrong, and if I am, then I am here for you one hundred percent, but maybe you should rethink the timing.”
He was shocked; she laughed at his expression. “Logan, it’s my job to know people. To know how to get the truth, even truths they might not know, onto paper. Unless you need the money right now, my advice is to wait. Your father’s death is still recent and you need time to deal with it.”
Logan nodded, looking again at his knotted fingers, and realized she was right. He hadn’t dealt with his father’s death, not really. He could continue to shy away from reality, but at some point it was going to catch up with him. Especially if this woman could recognize it just from meeting him.
Taking in his silence and body language, Madeleine briefly placed a hand on his knee. “Logan, I’ll write up some notes and my assistant will file them. Think about what you want to do. If you decide to go forward, call. If not, they will be there when you're ready.” She smiled reassuringly as she stood up and opened the door. “It was very nice to meet you, Logan, and good luck.”
“And you.” He paused for a moment. “And, thanks.” Logan left, nodding to Mike as he walked out and down the hallway to the elevators.
“So, Mars, what’s the occasion?” Logan asked genially as he insinuated his lanky frame into the back booth at Mama Leone’s. He smiled cautiously, not wanting to appear too happy about meeting Veronica out for dinner. Lately, her mood had been unpredictable, and he was certain she was hiding something. He’d had a gut feeling something was wrong, had returned early from San Francisco because of it, and nothing in their recent conversations yet had successfully dispelled it.
“Logan.” Veronica smiled, avoiding his eyes. “I just . . . I wanted to thank you for being such a good sport about Gant Publishing. I know it couldn’t have been easy to talk about Aaron, but I heard you were brilliant."
Ignoring the remark about Aaron, he wasn’t ready to talk about him with her, he kept it light. “I take it you’ve been checking up on me again, Mars?” His tone was neutral, but his eyes sparkled. Veronica blushed a bit and looked down. It had been a while since she and Logan had enjoyed dinner together, just the two of them.
“So, Veronica,” Logan picked up the menu, grinning at her over the top. “What else did Mr. McCormack tell you?”
Veronica stared for a second, clearly focused on something other than his words. “What? Oh, Cliff. Not much, just that you were … 'masterful'.”
“Hmm. I’m masterful?” Logan queried, staring into her eyes. Feeling her body break out in a sweat, she hid behind her menu. “Veronica. Why are you reading the menu? It’s not as if you haven’t got it memorized, and, anyway, you already know what you’re going to order. Hell, I already know what you’re going to order.”
“You think you know me so well, Logan,” she snapped, her eyes shining. “I might surprise you, one of these days.” Logan didn’t reply; he merely reached across the table and snatched the menu from her hand.
“Logan,” she protested, as he dangled it just out of her reach. “Give it back.” He laughed. She rose and lunged toward him; he jerked backward, smirking. “It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind,” she added, slumping back into her seat.
“Is it, now?” He waggled his eyebrows indecently. “Tell me more, Mars,” he murmured, pretending to read the appetizer list. “How do you feel about oysters, Veronica?” he tossed out smugly. Veronica exhaled deeply.
“You should have told me you were planning to get lucky later,” she dead panned, an indefinable look in her eye.
Biting his lip to keep from laughing, he scanned her face, trying to assess her intent. “No, but I was thinking you might be hoping to, Veronica,” he slowly drawled, an obscene smirk on his face as he stared at the indentation just above her collarbone that had, in the past, given them both so much pleasure. He reached out and brushed an errant wisp of hair from her face. She bit her lip, trembling as his light touch grazed her temple.
“Lo. . . Logan,” she breathed her voice husky. “I thought. . . .” She hesitated, cleared her throat, “I thought we were going to be just friends,” she finished, her voice firm and business-like.
“You can always change your mind.”
“But you were the one who wanted it that way,” she said accusingly. “It wasn’t my decision, remember?”
Logan shrugged it off casually. “You never know, Veronica, I might surprise you, one of these days.” Unsettled by her wounded look, he dropped his eyes. “So, oysters?”
“Sure, why not?” she said, matching her nonchalance to his. “Mmm, can we get some clams casino too?” Logan chuckled, diverted by her unconditional enthusiasm for food, especially Italian.
Once their orders arrived, they fell into a more relaxed, easy banter; Logan gave her an amusing version of Gordon West’s departure from Foster’s office, and a hysterical recounting of Cliff’s smarmy attempts to hit on Foster’s secretary. He told her about his afternoon session with Madeleine O’Rourke, his sense of her sincerity, and her ‘unusual’ male assistant who, like Simon Foster’s more traditional assistant, fetched and carried. He saved the best material, his ‘masterful’ enticement of Gant Vice President Simon Foster, for dessert, which he insisted she order even though he was certain she couldn’t possibly consume another bite.
“Have the tiramisu, Veronica,” he demanded. “I know you want some.”
“Are you going to have something?” she asked coyly.
“I will if you do.”
“Okay,” she bounced happily. “I’ll have the tiramisu, and some espresso,” she shot a questioning glance at him.
“By all means, Mars,” he agreed with a flourish of his hand. “You realize I’m going to have to roll you out of here?”
“You’ll probably have to carry me up the -” she began gaily, stopping abruptly when she realized what she’d said.
“I’m sure I can manage, Veronica,” he assured her with a wink. “You can’t have gained that much weight from one meal, even if you did eat enough for three.”
Later that night, sleepily snuggled in her bed, her tongue still savoring the warm, mocha flavor of tiramisu, espresso, and Logan, she wondered longingly whether or not they’d ever get it right. When she was in his arms, everything seemed right, but outside their shelter, she was besieged by doubts that kept her up night - doubts and longings.
He walked her to her car, shoulders bumping companionably as they strolled beneath the velvety night sky. Saying goodbye, he hugged her tightly, resting his chin atop her scented blonde locks. Feather-soft, he kissed her forehead and temple, his hands roaming aimlessly across her back, fingers drawing circles. When she tilted up to gaze into his chocolate eyes, his lips moved lower, caressing her ear and cheekbone, until, finally, he pressed his lips against hers, his tongue flicking delicately against her lips until she let him in.
She sighed, faintly, sucking gently on his tongue as she arched into his firm, muscled chest. His mouth became more insistent as he slid one hand beneath her sweater and began languidly bedeviling her skin with his fingertips. His other hand dug into her hip as he drew her closer. Shivering with anticipation, she buried her hands underneath his jacket, clutching his tee shirt as their kiss deepened.
Within a minute, she was pinned to her car door as Logan’s roving hand slipped from her back to her waist and thrummed against her ribcage. Gasping - for air and from the pressure of his hard-on throbbing against her belly - she broke the kiss, leaning back, her chest heaving. “Lo - Lo-gan,” she stuttered, breathless and aroused. “What . . . what are you doing?”
He didn’t answer, but hummed against her neck as he licked a path from her ear to her neck and down to the vale of her clavicle. Eyes closed, she shuddered, twisting and turning, but his mouth was everywhere, wet and rough and. . . . She raised her hand to try to push him away and encountered . . .… coarse spikey bristles. Groggily opening one eye, she found herself face to face with Backup’s inquisitive amber ones. He licked her again, his cold, wet nose nudging her chin.
Sunlight streamed through her bedroom window. and; her clock said it was seven a.m. She heaved a sigh of disappointment and shoved the covers off. It was time to catch the Gant Publishing mole.
Casey paced in front of Veronica’s desk, agitation showing on his usually placid face. “Veronica, where are we?”
Veronica held her hands up in defeat. “Casey, I told you, I don’t think it is Simon or Madeleine. If either one was only in it for the money, one of Logan’s ‘secrets’ would have been leaked. But so far, nothing. I think it’s Gordon’s partner, his ex.”
Casey shook his head. “I looked into that. The quote from the last article came directly from the manuscript. The same wording, everything. And Gordon swears no one saw his draft outside of my company. His next chapter is due early next week and he refuses to deliver it until we can guarantee his privacy. The next chapter is his affair with Suzy, and he’s convinced the details would ruin his contract negotiations.”
Veronica chewed on her cuticle in frustration. “Well, either Simon is smart enough to hide his payoff somewhere other than his regular accounts, or Madeleine is stupid enough not to hide it at all.”
Casey looked at Veronica. “Actually, Madeleine gave her notice this morning. How does that affect your reasoning?”
Veronica perked up, but then felt a pang, remembering about how much Logan seemed to like O’Rourke. “So it looks like she took a payoff and no longer needs the job? That’s a good sign.”
Casey stopped pacing. “She had a death in the family. She said, after shepherding so many untalented authors, she wants to see if she has the chops to write the great American novel. We’ll probably promote her assistant. He’s young but ambitious, and has a degree from NYU, so he’s qualified. In fact, he was overqualified for his position, but Madeleine seemed to like him.”
Something clicked in Veronica’s brain. “The assistant, he probably knew Madeline was giving notice. He would, working so closely with her.” She stared across the room, but her eyes were unfocused as she reviewed what Logan had told her. “The assistant, Mike, right?” Casey nodded. “He would have access to the same information Madeleine had. She even told Logan that Mike files her notes. I wonder what his bank statements look like?” Smiling to herself, she picked up the phone.
“You think it was Mike?” Casey seemed confused by Veronica’s logic.
“Mac should be able to tell us. Mac, can you run another name for me? We have another suspect, actually two.” Veronica noticed that once she said Mac’s name she had Casey’s full attention. She gave Mac both names and received a promise for information within the hour.
Veronica hung up and smiled at Casey. “I think I’ll have your problem solved this afternoon. Mac is on the case, and I’m pretty sure I know what she’s going to tell me.”
“Great. I have a meeting now, but I’ll drop by after.”
“Sure. I should have something in a few hours,” Veronica promised as he took his leave.
Walking in later, seeing Veronica’s self-satisfied look, Casey could tell she’d cracked the case. Before she said a word, he was shaking his head in awe. “You did it, didn’t you?”
Veronica smiled hugely. “Well, with a little help from my friends. I told you, this isn't a one woman show.”
He sat on the edge of her desk, one long leg swinging. “So, were you right?”
Her smile got bigger. “Yup, and better, I have proof. There were deposits in Mike’s accounts that just happened to coincide with withdrawals from Sharon’s. It seemed the ex, bitter about West cheating with Suzy Majors, made a deal with Mike. To strengthen her case, she paid him to tip off the tabloids with bits from the manuscript. She figured if she made things expensive enough for Gordon, he would settle even though she didn’t have much of a case. Mike got paid by the tabloids and was hoping Madeleine, as the editor, would be the scapegoat and be fired. With her gone, he would get the promotion he wanted. Basically it was a win-win for everyone but you.”
Casey’s relief was evident on his face. “And you have proof?”
“The bank statements should be enough to make Mike spill. You can assure Gordon his confidential secrets are still secret, and you’ll look like a genius when his book comes out and immediately goes to number one on the New York Times best seller list.”
“Before I worry about the Times, I need to get this damn book published. Gordon is an ass, and with Madeleine leaving, I need an editor.”
Veronica snapped her fingers, “I can solve that problem too. There seems to be a very nice editor at a rival house; Dad met with him a few times when his regular editor was unavailable. He might be willing to switch houses if you offer him a good enough reason.”
“So you are both a PI and a head hunter?” Casey said appreciatively.
“Well, we try to be a full service institution.”
Casey looked down for a second. “I’m so grateful to you and your hacking operative. You’ve saved my career. Let me buy you and Mac dinner to show my appreciation?”
Veronica paused, thinking about Mac’s reaction to Casey. Casey, misreading her silence, held his hands up. “Just friends - I swear. Tell Logan his woman is safe. Actually, tell him he’s invited. We wouldn’t have been able to solve this without his help.”
“Oh, that’s not it. Didn't I tell you that Logan and I aren't …” Veronica hated feeling the blush high on her cheekbones.
“Right, because I frequently pose as a potential author and reveal family secrets, even if they are fake, for people I don’t care about. You two will work this out,” he said optimistically.
Veronica smiled. “I think I’ll pass along your thanks to Logan personally, but let me give you Mac’s number. You can thank her in person.” She handed him a piece of paper.
He took it and smiled charmingly at her. “I think I might do that.” He started to walk out of the office. “Thanks again.”
“Casey.” At her words, he paused and turned back. “Take it slow,” she nodded at the paper in his hand.
He tipped his imaginary cap, “I will, promise.” Veronica silently wished him good luck as he left the office.
Knocking on Logan’s door, not knowing what to expect, Veronica took a long, deep breath and braced herself for whatever she might find. When he opened the door in nothing but jeans and a welcoming smile, she breathed a sigh of relief. Clearly, he wasn’t entertaining anyone tonight; thank God, because she wasn’t sure what she would have done. Her answering smile was less sure than his, but no less earnest. He looked good - he looked amazing; no shirt, no shoes, the snap of his jeans undone and his hair all bedheady.
She held up bags of Chinese and waggled them in his face. “I brought Wong’s.”
“I love to start the evening with a hot blonde and Chinese,” he quipped, swinging the door wide. She could feel his assessment as she brushed by, his eyes lingered approvingly on her ass, and she was glad she’d taken the time to shower and put on makeup and her shortest mini. When she turned to say something, Logan was still holding the doorknob, a telling smirk on his face.
“Logan,” she said sternly. “The hot blonde would like to eat the Chinese while it’s still hot.”
“Hmm. What did you say, Veronica?” he teased, his eyes traveling up and down her slender frame. “You want to eat something ... hot, was it? I think that can be arranged.”
She tried not to blush, but the intensity of his stare was too much. “Food.” She tilted her head toward the paper sacks. “I said I wanted to eat the Chinese while it was still warm.”
Logan grinned sheepishly, his eyes dancing. He slammed the front door and flipped the lock. “Oh, is that what you meant?” he remarked dryly. “You want me to get some plates?”
Shrugging indifferently, she told him, “Whatever you want. Plates are optional as far as I’m concerned.”
“What’s the occasion?” he called as he padded into the kitchen to grab glasses, a beer, a soda, and napkins.
“What?”
“What’s the occasion, Mars?” He repeated. “To what do I owe the unexpected surprise and pleasure of your company?” he finished, depositing the items on the coffee table.
Veronica titled her head, her lips twitching. “I brought you dinner to thank you for all your help. We stopped the leak and saved Casey’s career.”
“I guess that’s good for Casey,” he answered impassively. “And it’s good for me, too.” He indicated the bags, “Is all this for me, or are you going to have some?”
Pretending to be indignant, she smacked him on the arm. “I got two of everything, so I won’t have to share.”
“You got two of everything so you could eat yours and finish mine too.”
“No.... Well, okay, maybe.”
“How many egg rolls?” Logan leered, secure in the knowledge that egg rolls were a weakness he could exploit.
“Enough for both of us,” she insisted hotly, hand on hip.
“So we’re going to divide them evenly?” he persisted, a wicked glint in his eye.
“I didn’t say that, Logan. I said I got enough. When did you decide to join the communist party and divide everything equally? I brought the eggrolls, I get more than you.”
Logan snatched up one of the bags from the table and peered in. “Looks like I get all the egg rolls,” he crowed, dangling the bag high overhead.
“Lo-gan,” she pouted, arms crossed, her face scrunched in a pitiful, woe-is-me expression. “Please,” she coaxed, moving tentatively toward him.
“Nuh uh,” he warned, shaking his finger. “Come any closer and they’re all mine.” She stopped moving, but pleaded with her eyes. His face lit up. “What’re they worth to you, Veronica?” he baited gleefully. “What are you gonna do for me, for these egg rolls.”
Sizing up the situation, she eyed him and lunged, catching him around the waist and tickling his ribs. Anticipating her assault, Logan had the presence of mind to set the package on a chair before grabbing her up and flinging her over his shoulder. She pounded on his back as he walked her to the front door, taunting her by biting at her bare thighs.
“Alright, alright. I give,” she panted, breathless with laughter as he set her down. “Whaddya want, Logan?”
“A backrub.” His hand pushed at the back of his neck. “After we eat. C’mon.”
He clasped her in his and led her back to the den where the food sat waiting. They plopped onto the couch and began opening cartons, wrappers flying as they picked up chopsticks and dug in. Giggling like schoolchildren, they flung packets of soy sauce and sweet ‘n’ sour at each other, and swiped bites from the other’s box, all the while grinning like they hadn’t in a long time.
After they’d finished all the food, Logan opened another beer and they settled in to watch, by consensus, It Happened One Night, on AMC. Sometime before the first commercial break, Logan leaned back and slid his arm around Veronica’s shoulders. Shortly after the second set of commercials, Veronica’s head slipped onto his chest and she curled into his side, his nose buried in her fragrant hair. By the time Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert realized they were in love with each other but afraid to admit it, Veronica was asleep. Smiling down at his sleeping beauty blonde, Logan toasted Gable, Colbert, and Frank Capra.
To Be Continued
Click here for chapter 14.
Click here for all previous chapters.
Title: All Fall Down
Pairing / Character: Veronica/Logan, Keith
Rating: PG-13 to R
Words: 121,942 to date
Summary: In Neptune, the brighter the summer sun, the deeper the shadows.
Spoilers / Warnings: Seasons 1 and 2 / Language and adult situations.
Chapter 15: THANKS FOR THE MEMOIR
Authors: Mastermia and Rindee
Additional Characters: Casey, Mac and Cliff
Words: 11,500
Authors’ Note: All Fall Down is a collaborative effort by 20 writers. You can learn more about this project here. A huge special thanks to herowlness who rocked her beta, even though it was the day before her birthday. You are awesome and happy birthday!
Also, thanks to truemyth and kantayra for their comments.
Rindee and Mastermia want to thank each other because we are just like that.
X-posted to veronicamarsfic, fic_from_mars, Rindee and Mastermia.
All Fall Down
Chapter 15 - Part B
THANKS FOR THE MEMOIR
Too exhausted to face the drive back to Neptune, Keith got a room for the night. After grabbing a quick pizza and glass of wine at Santoro’s, a local place he remembered fondly, he lugged his file-laden brief case into the motel and spread everything out on the queen-sized bed. Something about O’Conner’s story didn’t feel right. On paper, the Neptune kidnappings mirrored Leah O’Conner’s; but was there really a connection, an accomplice Keith and Frank never knew about, or was it merely a coincidence? If Frank was dirty - and, based on Felicity and Lianne’s stories, it was evident he had been - had he actually been involved in Dina Clark’s kidnapping scheme? No - it wasn’t possible. And it didn’t make sense. If Frank had something on Dina, why he would have shot her?
Henry had said neither Dina or Frank ever mentioned a partner, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t had one. Of course, Henry’s memory clearly wasn’t what it once was, and there was no telling if his version of events was true. But if Dina had been working with someone else, there is no way for the unknown accomplice to suspect that Frank or Keith was even aware of his/her existence, unless Frank had been in on the kidnapping from the very start. And there was just no way Keith could believe his old partner was capable of that.
Frank had always maintained Henry had been the one to kill her. But what if Frank had been lying? It seemed he’d been less-than-truthful about other things, so why not this too? So … what was Frank lying about? Who shot Dina, or whether Dina was dead? And there was the curveball - what if Dina Clark hadn’t died? What if she had survived, and paid Frank to keep it quiet? If that were true, why would she have wait nineteen years to come after Frank - and Keith? What could be so important that she would still regard Frank and Keith as threats? Sure, there was an open murder case, but it had been open for nineteen years. So, why off Frank now? And why come after Keith when, as far as she knew, he didn’t know anything?
When he’d poured over all of their old cases, Keith had identified only two, Leah’s and the Milano gang’s drug distribution ring, that could have resulted in payoffs like the ones Lianne and Felicity described. If it was the Milano case, the only former gang member not dead or in prison was Patrick Fitzpatrick, who was a priest and hadn’t recently associated with any known criminals outside his own family. If it was the Leah O’Connor case, he still didn’t know who would want him and Frank dead, unless Dina Clark was either still alive or had had an accomplice. When he finally fell asleep, Keith’s head was swimming; when he woke the next morning, he was convinced that, no matter how illogical it seemed, Dina Clark must have survived the shooting nineteen years ago.
Looking at his watch and noticing their appointment had been set for ten minutes earlier, Logan shifted in his chair for the millionth time and glanced at Cliff. He envied the older man’s calm, until he realized Cliff’s eyes were closed. Glancing at the assistant sitting across the room, he unobtrusively used his elbow and was rewarded with a snort as Cliff’s eyes popped open. He looked around as he straightened his tie and glanced at his watch.
“Time for us to go in?”
“No,” Logan shook his head. “I can’t believe you fell sleep.”
“Some late night debauchery kept me tied up, if you know what I mean.” Cliff said conspiratorially.
Logan thought briefly of Veronica and their conspicuous absence of late night debauchery, or any debauchery for that matter. “I wish I had a more recent understanding of the concept.”
“Well, there is this store on Garnet…” Cliff’s voice trailed off as the door to Simon Foster’s office opened and the sound of raised voices cut through the room.
“Fix this, right now,” a man said harshly from the entrance.
They could hear another voice from within. “Gordon, as I said, we are taking all precautions.” Realizing the man at the door was Gordon West, Logan scrutinized him; mid 40’s, regular features, handsome, lean and well manicured, he would pale next to the pretty boys in Hollywood, but would turn heads in Iowa. He appeared to be doing well though, if the two-thousand dollar suit he wore was any indication.
“Fuck your precautions,” Gordon said, pivoting to stare at the man behind the desk. “One more leak, and she’ll have me by the balls. Sharon’s using the stuff in the tabloids to get a hearing, and if that happens, I’ll pull the manuscript and use my advance for legal fees.”
“Gordon, be reasonable, there’s no reason to think it was -”
“Don’t even try. Someone here is ruining my life, and I will not be fucked with. Just fix it, Simon.” He turned on his heel, without even acknowledging Logan or Cliff, and stormed out.
Mouth ajar, the young assistant at the desk looked between the open door and the waiting visitors; she appeared to be at a loss.
Cliff stood and winked at her. “We’ll introduce ourselves.” He gestured for Logan and walked through the door.
Simon Foster’s office was decorated in contemporary corporate and shades of cherry wood. The walls were hung with book covers and family pictures - one of Foster with the requisite trophy wife and two towheaded kids. He was pushing 50, but he fought the battle with plugs, a fake tan, and a gold Rolex worth enough to feed a starving African nation. Logan had a pretty good idea what had attracted Mrs. Foster, and it wasn’t her husband’s personality.
Collecting his thoughts, Foster looked at them for a minute, and then the mask snapped back into place. Logan found himself glad handed and urged to refer to the older man as ‘Simon.’ He accepted the offered water and was surprised when Foster buzzed his assistant to bring it. Apparently, Gant Publishing was old school, and having a secretary to fetch and carry was still allowed.
“Sorry about that. My client was a little upset.” Simon waved away the incident with an airy hand.
“A little?” Cliff raised an eyebrow. “I was tempted to give the man a card, because someone that angry is going to be worth a great deal of money to a good lawyer.” Cliff smiled disingenuously.
Foster paled but held on to his practiced smile through sheer will. “Really, it’s nothing you need be concerned about, and there is no way this will get to litigation. He was just blowing off steam. I’m sure you know how it is,” Foster replied, equally oily.
“Of course,” Cliff said smoothly. “However, I’m sure you can appreciate how concerned I am that my client’s privacy be maintained. If Gant Publishing cannot guarantee us that, I’m sure there are other houses that would be more than happy to do so.”
“I assure you, all of your work product will be kept in the strictest confidence. I’ve been here almost 20 years, and we’ve never had anything like this happen before. “
“Have you ever had a book as high profile as mine?” Logan’s question appeared to irritate Foster, who seemed off his game on the heels of his confrontation with West.
“I, and my staff, have an excellent reputation, and, for a small house, we have had our share of provocative and exciting offerings.” As he trotted out his press release answer, he seemed to find his stride. “Our new executive Vice President, Mr. Gant, brought us a new client and made certain promises to him concerning his privacy. Unfortunately, Mr. Gant neglected to ensure the information was not already known by someone outside of Gant Publishing. I can wholeheartedly assure you someone outside this building is to blame for our client’s distress. You, however, can fully trust us with your story. You have my word.”
Logan made a show of looking to Cliff for guidance. “It’s very difficult for me, Mr. Foster -”
“Simon," the older man corrected him.
“Simon,” Logan amended. “But I feel, with the death of my father, there are things I need to get off my chest, to set the record straight.”
Foster nodded reassuringly, as his secretary came in with a tray of drinks and placed them in front of the men. “Of course. That’s why many decide to write an autobiography.”
Logan nodded, warming up to the subject. “The press has made him into a hero, but he was far from it. Plus, the truth needs to be told about some of his…predilections.”
“Oh,” Foster leaned in, trying to keep the prurient interest off his face. “I am sure you’ll feel better once you’ve told your story.” Logan wondered for a second about people’s base need people to know the secrets of their heroes, to uncover their feet of clay, and to destroy the very individuals they supposedly loved.
“From all the press coverage, you would expect to find him home, cleaning his guns, instead of prancing around in one of Liberace’s more, uh, colorful capes.” Logan played at earnestness, leaning forward in his chair for emphasis. Cliff placed a hand on his arm, as if to remind him not to oversell it. He sat back with a self-satisfied smile, content that Foster had been hooked.
“Well, I had no idea.” Foster said, trying not to look as if he was adding up in his head the sales the story would bring. He failed miserably. “The world needs to know the real story, and you seem to be the only person who can write it. If you are ready to go forward, we can set you up with an editor and you can begin to work immediately.”
Cliff nodded. “Well, there are a few, small, financial details we would need to work out first. My client is very eager to tell his story, for the truth’s sake, but it’s my job to worry about his future. If you know what I mean.” They shared a moment of understanding and twin images of dollar signs.
Foster suavely replied. “Of course. I am sure we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement. I’m free this afternoon. If you'd like to come in, we can work out the business end of things. Logan needn’t concern himself with anything but his story.”
Logan smiled, as if reassured by Foster’s concern for his delicate sensibilities. “I really appreciate your time, Simon. Assuming everything works out, I’m sure Gant Publishing will be able to help me tell the world what my father was really like.” He stood up, Cliff behind him, Simon following.
Foster put his hand on Logan’s shoulder as he ushered him to the door. “I look forward to working with you, Logan.”
“Thanks, Simon. Me too.” Hands were shaken all around; outside the inner sanctum, Cliff stopped to chat up the assistant. As they left, Logan said, in an undertone “Got ‘em.”
Cliff nodded sagely, hitting the elevator button. “We certainly did.”
The next morning Logan was awakened by his cell phone. Still half asleep, he put the phone to his ear, closing his eyes again when he heard Cliff’s distinctive voice.
“Kid, are you sure you don’t want to write your memoirs? I had no idea how much the market could bear until I put some weight on it. You could do quite well. We’re talking serious money here.”
Logan sat up, running a hand over his face. “Cliff, this was just for the case -- I have no interest in airing my dirty laundry.”
“I know, but, I’m just sayin’, people will pay a fortune to see your BVD’s. You could make a killing, even after my substantial, but not unreasonable, cut.”
“Good to know. Sorry to disappoint you, but I think I’ll keep my underwear private for now.”
“Think of the fans. Think of the money. Think of me,” Cliff wheedled.
“Really not interested, but if I change my mind you’ll be the first to know.”
“I certainly will, since Gant Publishing thinks I’m your manager.” The only response Cliff got was Logan’s groan. “Fine, Madeleine O’Rourke had time in this afternoon for a meet and greet. I told them you didn’t know what format you’re interested in, so she’ll give you some options.”
“Sounds good, thanks Cliff.” Logan hung up and fell back asleep.
The first surprise Logan had in Madeleine O’Rourke’s office was that her assistant was male. He introduced himself as Mike Shay and offered something to drink, which Logan declined. Unlike her boss, O’Rourke kept her schedule; at the stroke of two, Mike showed Logan into the office. Once again, he was surprised by the woman he’d come to meet. He’d expected New York sophistication, instead, the woman before him was grandmotherly. Her liberally graying black hair was falling out of an untidy bun, and glasses hung from her neck on a chain made of stones of all colors and sizes. Her jacket looked like an old kimono, and it clashed with the green print of her pants. But her eyes were sharp and direct, and her handshake firm and professional.
“Mr. Echolls, I understand you are considering writing an autobiography,” she said, gesturing to a chair as she took the one facing him. Behind her, the desk was thoroughly stacked with paper, and he could barely make out her keyboard underneath the mess.
“Logan, please.” At her nod, he began, “Yes, I’ve been thinking about it since my father’s death. Once he was cleared of Lilly’s murder, and then murdered himself, the press practically canonized him. I think the real story needs to be told.”
Her eyes were sympathetic. “Logan, I’m sure this is difficult for you, but I want to make sure you’re comfortable with whatever format we pick. Taking care of you is my job.” She sounded so sincere Logan found himself hoping she wasn’t the culprit.
“I appreciate that. I really do.” He dropped his eyes and looked at his hands clenched in his lap. No matter how nice she seemed, he had a job to do and he needed to get it done. “There are many things that will be hard to talk about.” He paused and looked at her through the screen of his eyelashes. Instead of being anxious to know what he would reveal, O’Rourke seemed content to wait and see what he would say. “One of the biggest was that my parents were never really married. It seems Aaron and his first wife were never officially divorced, so I guess all those people who called me a bastard were right.” The edge in his voice was not feigned, even though the information was. For some reason, Logan was feeling worse and worse about lying to her. When he lifted his eyes, she was still looking at him calmly and seemed completely unfazed by his information.
“Logan, I’m not sure you’re ready to do this right now. I may be wrong, and if I am, then I am here for you one hundred percent, but maybe you should rethink the timing.”
He was shocked; she laughed at his expression. “Logan, it’s my job to know people. To know how to get the truth, even truths they might not know, onto paper. Unless you need the money right now, my advice is to wait. Your father’s death is still recent and you need time to deal with it.”
Logan nodded, looking again at his knotted fingers, and realized she was right. He hadn’t dealt with his father’s death, not really. He could continue to shy away from reality, but at some point it was going to catch up with him. Especially if this woman could recognize it just from meeting him.
Taking in his silence and body language, Madeleine briefly placed a hand on his knee. “Logan, I’ll write up some notes and my assistant will file them. Think about what you want to do. If you decide to go forward, call. If not, they will be there when you're ready.” She smiled reassuringly as she stood up and opened the door. “It was very nice to meet you, Logan, and good luck.”
“And you.” He paused for a moment. “And, thanks.” Logan left, nodding to Mike as he walked out and down the hallway to the elevators.
“So, Mars, what’s the occasion?” Logan asked genially as he insinuated his lanky frame into the back booth at Mama Leone’s. He smiled cautiously, not wanting to appear too happy about meeting Veronica out for dinner. Lately, her mood had been unpredictable, and he was certain she was hiding something. He’d had a gut feeling something was wrong, had returned early from San Francisco because of it, and nothing in their recent conversations yet had successfully dispelled it.
“Logan.” Veronica smiled, avoiding his eyes. “I just . . . I wanted to thank you for being such a good sport about Gant Publishing. I know it couldn’t have been easy to talk about Aaron, but I heard you were brilliant."
Ignoring the remark about Aaron, he wasn’t ready to talk about him with her, he kept it light. “I take it you’ve been checking up on me again, Mars?” His tone was neutral, but his eyes sparkled. Veronica blushed a bit and looked down. It had been a while since she and Logan had enjoyed dinner together, just the two of them.
“So, Veronica,” Logan picked up the menu, grinning at her over the top. “What else did Mr. McCormack tell you?”
Veronica stared for a second, clearly focused on something other than his words. “What? Oh, Cliff. Not much, just that you were … 'masterful'.”
“Hmm. I’m masterful?” Logan queried, staring into her eyes. Feeling her body break out in a sweat, she hid behind her menu. “Veronica. Why are you reading the menu? It’s not as if you haven’t got it memorized, and, anyway, you already know what you’re going to order. Hell, I already know what you’re going to order.”
“You think you know me so well, Logan,” she snapped, her eyes shining. “I might surprise you, one of these days.” Logan didn’t reply; he merely reached across the table and snatched the menu from her hand.
“Logan,” she protested, as he dangled it just out of her reach. “Give it back.” He laughed. She rose and lunged toward him; he jerked backward, smirking. “It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind,” she added, slumping back into her seat.
“Is it, now?” He waggled his eyebrows indecently. “Tell me more, Mars,” he murmured, pretending to read the appetizer list. “How do you feel about oysters, Veronica?” he tossed out smugly. Veronica exhaled deeply.
“You should have told me you were planning to get lucky later,” she dead panned, an indefinable look in her eye.
Biting his lip to keep from laughing, he scanned her face, trying to assess her intent. “No, but I was thinking you might be hoping to, Veronica,” he slowly drawled, an obscene smirk on his face as he stared at the indentation just above her collarbone that had, in the past, given them both so much pleasure. He reached out and brushed an errant wisp of hair from her face. She bit her lip, trembling as his light touch grazed her temple.
“Lo. . . Logan,” she breathed her voice husky. “I thought. . . .” She hesitated, cleared her throat, “I thought we were going to be just friends,” she finished, her voice firm and business-like.
“You can always change your mind.”
“But you were the one who wanted it that way,” she said accusingly. “It wasn’t my decision, remember?”
Logan shrugged it off casually. “You never know, Veronica, I might surprise you, one of these days.” Unsettled by her wounded look, he dropped his eyes. “So, oysters?”
“Sure, why not?” she said, matching her nonchalance to his. “Mmm, can we get some clams casino too?” Logan chuckled, diverted by her unconditional enthusiasm for food, especially Italian.
Once their orders arrived, they fell into a more relaxed, easy banter; Logan gave her an amusing version of Gordon West’s departure from Foster’s office, and a hysterical recounting of Cliff’s smarmy attempts to hit on Foster’s secretary. He told her about his afternoon session with Madeleine O’Rourke, his sense of her sincerity, and her ‘unusual’ male assistant who, like Simon Foster’s more traditional assistant, fetched and carried. He saved the best material, his ‘masterful’ enticement of Gant Vice President Simon Foster, for dessert, which he insisted she order even though he was certain she couldn’t possibly consume another bite.
“Have the tiramisu, Veronica,” he demanded. “I know you want some.”
“Are you going to have something?” she asked coyly.
“I will if you do.”
“Okay,” she bounced happily. “I’ll have the tiramisu, and some espresso,” she shot a questioning glance at him.
“By all means, Mars,” he agreed with a flourish of his hand. “You realize I’m going to have to roll you out of here?”
“You’ll probably have to carry me up the -” she began gaily, stopping abruptly when she realized what she’d said.
“I’m sure I can manage, Veronica,” he assured her with a wink. “You can’t have gained that much weight from one meal, even if you did eat enough for three.”
Later that night, sleepily snuggled in her bed, her tongue still savoring the warm, mocha flavor of tiramisu, espresso, and Logan, she wondered longingly whether or not they’d ever get it right. When she was in his arms, everything seemed right, but outside their shelter, she was besieged by doubts that kept her up night - doubts and longings.
He walked her to her car, shoulders bumping companionably as they strolled beneath the velvety night sky. Saying goodbye, he hugged her tightly, resting his chin atop her scented blonde locks. Feather-soft, he kissed her forehead and temple, his hands roaming aimlessly across her back, fingers drawing circles. When she tilted up to gaze into his chocolate eyes, his lips moved lower, caressing her ear and cheekbone, until, finally, he pressed his lips against hers, his tongue flicking delicately against her lips until she let him in.
She sighed, faintly, sucking gently on his tongue as she arched into his firm, muscled chest. His mouth became more insistent as he slid one hand beneath her sweater and began languidly bedeviling her skin with his fingertips. His other hand dug into her hip as he drew her closer. Shivering with anticipation, she buried her hands underneath his jacket, clutching his tee shirt as their kiss deepened.
Within a minute, she was pinned to her car door as Logan’s roving hand slipped from her back to her waist and thrummed against her ribcage. Gasping - for air and from the pressure of his hard-on throbbing against her belly - she broke the kiss, leaning back, her chest heaving. “Lo - Lo-gan,” she stuttered, breathless and aroused. “What . . . what are you doing?”
He didn’t answer, but hummed against her neck as he licked a path from her ear to her neck and down to the vale of her clavicle. Eyes closed, she shuddered, twisting and turning, but his mouth was everywhere, wet and rough and. . . . She raised her hand to try to push him away and encountered . . .… coarse spikey bristles. Groggily opening one eye, she found herself face to face with Backup’s inquisitive amber ones. He licked her again, his cold, wet nose nudging her chin.
Sunlight streamed through her bedroom window. and; her clock said it was seven a.m. She heaved a sigh of disappointment and shoved the covers off. It was time to catch the Gant Publishing mole.
Casey paced in front of Veronica’s desk, agitation showing on his usually placid face. “Veronica, where are we?”
Veronica held her hands up in defeat. “Casey, I told you, I don’t think it is Simon or Madeleine. If either one was only in it for the money, one of Logan’s ‘secrets’ would have been leaked. But so far, nothing. I think it’s Gordon’s partner, his ex.”
Casey shook his head. “I looked into that. The quote from the last article came directly from the manuscript. The same wording, everything. And Gordon swears no one saw his draft outside of my company. His next chapter is due early next week and he refuses to deliver it until we can guarantee his privacy. The next chapter is his affair with Suzy, and he’s convinced the details would ruin his contract negotiations.”
Veronica chewed on her cuticle in frustration. “Well, either Simon is smart enough to hide his payoff somewhere other than his regular accounts, or Madeleine is stupid enough not to hide it at all.”
Casey looked at Veronica. “Actually, Madeleine gave her notice this morning. How does that affect your reasoning?”
Veronica perked up, but then felt a pang, remembering about how much Logan seemed to like O’Rourke. “So it looks like she took a payoff and no longer needs the job? That’s a good sign.”
Casey stopped pacing. “She had a death in the family. She said, after shepherding so many untalented authors, she wants to see if she has the chops to write the great American novel. We’ll probably promote her assistant. He’s young but ambitious, and has a degree from NYU, so he’s qualified. In fact, he was overqualified for his position, but Madeleine seemed to like him.”
Something clicked in Veronica’s brain. “The assistant, he probably knew Madeline was giving notice. He would, working so closely with her.” She stared across the room, but her eyes were unfocused as she reviewed what Logan had told her. “The assistant, Mike, right?” Casey nodded. “He would have access to the same information Madeleine had. She even told Logan that Mike files her notes. I wonder what his bank statements look like?” Smiling to herself, she picked up the phone.
“You think it was Mike?” Casey seemed confused by Veronica’s logic.
“Mac should be able to tell us. Mac, can you run another name for me? We have another suspect, actually two.” Veronica noticed that once she said Mac’s name she had Casey’s full attention. She gave Mac both names and received a promise for information within the hour.
Veronica hung up and smiled at Casey. “I think I’ll have your problem solved this afternoon. Mac is on the case, and I’m pretty sure I know what she’s going to tell me.”
“Great. I have a meeting now, but I’ll drop by after.”
“Sure. I should have something in a few hours,” Veronica promised as he took his leave.
Walking in later, seeing Veronica’s self-satisfied look, Casey could tell she’d cracked the case. Before she said a word, he was shaking his head in awe. “You did it, didn’t you?”
Veronica smiled hugely. “Well, with a little help from my friends. I told you, this isn't a one woman show.”
He sat on the edge of her desk, one long leg swinging. “So, were you right?”
Her smile got bigger. “Yup, and better, I have proof. There were deposits in Mike’s accounts that just happened to coincide with withdrawals from Sharon’s. It seemed the ex, bitter about West cheating with Suzy Majors, made a deal with Mike. To strengthen her case, she paid him to tip off the tabloids with bits from the manuscript. She figured if she made things expensive enough for Gordon, he would settle even though she didn’t have much of a case. Mike got paid by the tabloids and was hoping Madeleine, as the editor, would be the scapegoat and be fired. With her gone, he would get the promotion he wanted. Basically it was a win-win for everyone but you.”
Casey’s relief was evident on his face. “And you have proof?”
“The bank statements should be enough to make Mike spill. You can assure Gordon his confidential secrets are still secret, and you’ll look like a genius when his book comes out and immediately goes to number one on the New York Times best seller list.”
“Before I worry about the Times, I need to get this damn book published. Gordon is an ass, and with Madeleine leaving, I need an editor.”
Veronica snapped her fingers, “I can solve that problem too. There seems to be a very nice editor at a rival house; Dad met with him a few times when his regular editor was unavailable. He might be willing to switch houses if you offer him a good enough reason.”
“So you are both a PI and a head hunter?” Casey said appreciatively.
“Well, we try to be a full service institution.”
Casey looked down for a second. “I’m so grateful to you and your hacking operative. You’ve saved my career. Let me buy you and Mac dinner to show my appreciation?”
Veronica paused, thinking about Mac’s reaction to Casey. Casey, misreading her silence, held his hands up. “Just friends - I swear. Tell Logan his woman is safe. Actually, tell him he’s invited. We wouldn’t have been able to solve this without his help.”
“Oh, that’s not it. Didn't I tell you that Logan and I aren't …” Veronica hated feeling the blush high on her cheekbones.
“Right, because I frequently pose as a potential author and reveal family secrets, even if they are fake, for people I don’t care about. You two will work this out,” he said optimistically.
Veronica smiled. “I think I’ll pass along your thanks to Logan personally, but let me give you Mac’s number. You can thank her in person.” She handed him a piece of paper.
He took it and smiled charmingly at her. “I think I might do that.” He started to walk out of the office. “Thanks again.”
“Casey.” At her words, he paused and turned back. “Take it slow,” she nodded at the paper in his hand.
He tipped his imaginary cap, “I will, promise.” Veronica silently wished him good luck as he left the office.
Knocking on Logan’s door, not knowing what to expect, Veronica took a long, deep breath and braced herself for whatever she might find. When he opened the door in nothing but jeans and a welcoming smile, she breathed a sigh of relief. Clearly, he wasn’t entertaining anyone tonight; thank God, because she wasn’t sure what she would have done. Her answering smile was less sure than his, but no less earnest. He looked good - he looked amazing; no shirt, no shoes, the snap of his jeans undone and his hair all bedheady.
She held up bags of Chinese and waggled them in his face. “I brought Wong’s.”
“I love to start the evening with a hot blonde and Chinese,” he quipped, swinging the door wide. She could feel his assessment as she brushed by, his eyes lingered approvingly on her ass, and she was glad she’d taken the time to shower and put on makeup and her shortest mini. When she turned to say something, Logan was still holding the doorknob, a telling smirk on his face.
“Logan,” she said sternly. “The hot blonde would like to eat the Chinese while it’s still hot.”
“Hmm. What did you say, Veronica?” he teased, his eyes traveling up and down her slender frame. “You want to eat something ... hot, was it? I think that can be arranged.”
She tried not to blush, but the intensity of his stare was too much. “Food.” She tilted her head toward the paper sacks. “I said I wanted to eat the Chinese while it was still warm.”
Logan grinned sheepishly, his eyes dancing. He slammed the front door and flipped the lock. “Oh, is that what you meant?” he remarked dryly. “You want me to get some plates?”
Shrugging indifferently, she told him, “Whatever you want. Plates are optional as far as I’m concerned.”
“What’s the occasion?” he called as he padded into the kitchen to grab glasses, a beer, a soda, and napkins.
“What?”
“What’s the occasion, Mars?” He repeated. “To what do I owe the unexpected surprise and pleasure of your company?” he finished, depositing the items on the coffee table.
Veronica titled her head, her lips twitching. “I brought you dinner to thank you for all your help. We stopped the leak and saved Casey’s career.”
“I guess that’s good for Casey,” he answered impassively. “And it’s good for me, too.” He indicated the bags, “Is all this for me, or are you going to have some?”
Pretending to be indignant, she smacked him on the arm. “I got two of everything, so I won’t have to share.”
“You got two of everything so you could eat yours and finish mine too.”
“No.... Well, okay, maybe.”
“How many egg rolls?” Logan leered, secure in the knowledge that egg rolls were a weakness he could exploit.
“Enough for both of us,” she insisted hotly, hand on hip.
“So we’re going to divide them evenly?” he persisted, a wicked glint in his eye.
“I didn’t say that, Logan. I said I got enough. When did you decide to join the communist party and divide everything equally? I brought the eggrolls, I get more than you.”
Logan snatched up one of the bags from the table and peered in. “Looks like I get all the egg rolls,” he crowed, dangling the bag high overhead.
“Lo-gan,” she pouted, arms crossed, her face scrunched in a pitiful, woe-is-me expression. “Please,” she coaxed, moving tentatively toward him.
“Nuh uh,” he warned, shaking his finger. “Come any closer and they’re all mine.” She stopped moving, but pleaded with her eyes. His face lit up. “What’re they worth to you, Veronica?” he baited gleefully. “What are you gonna do for me, for these egg rolls.”
Sizing up the situation, she eyed him and lunged, catching him around the waist and tickling his ribs. Anticipating her assault, Logan had the presence of mind to set the package on a chair before grabbing her up and flinging her over his shoulder. She pounded on his back as he walked her to the front door, taunting her by biting at her bare thighs.
“Alright, alright. I give,” she panted, breathless with laughter as he set her down. “Whaddya want, Logan?”
“A backrub.” His hand pushed at the back of his neck. “After we eat. C’mon.”
He clasped her in his and led her back to the den where the food sat waiting. They plopped onto the couch and began opening cartons, wrappers flying as they picked up chopsticks and dug in. Giggling like schoolchildren, they flung packets of soy sauce and sweet ‘n’ sour at each other, and swiped bites from the other’s box, all the while grinning like they hadn’t in a long time.
After they’d finished all the food, Logan opened another beer and they settled in to watch, by consensus, It Happened One Night, on AMC. Sometime before the first commercial break, Logan leaned back and slid his arm around Veronica’s shoulders. Shortly after the second set of commercials, Veronica’s head slipped onto his chest and she curled into his side, his nose buried in her fragrant hair. By the time Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert realized they were in love with each other but afraid to admit it, Veronica was asleep. Smiling down at his sleeping beauty blonde, Logan toasted Gable, Colbert, and Frank Capra.
To Be Continued
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