Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Thanks to Ancholia for the lovely review.

Chapter Three:

Sunday, June 16th – 12:53pm
O'Malley's Pub
Brooklyn, New York

Back pressed low against the wall, legs crossed at his ankles, and hands tapping to an imaginary beat against his thighs, Logan waited impatiently a few buildings down from O'Malleys. Not a moment too soon, Johnny emerged from the pub, a cigarette pressed tightly between his lips, his strides hasty along the concrete sidewalk. Hands moving to clench at his side, Logan followed closely behind the man, his shirt collar pulled up around his neck in a futile attempt to hide.

Taking advantage of the brief moment Johnny stopped to take out his lighter, Logan grabbed Johnny by the back of the neck and forced him into the dark alley next to a thrift store.

"What the—"

A sharp blow to Johnny's jaw cut his protest off, the force of the punch strong enough to bring him to his knees.

His reflexes fired up, Johnny rose to his feet and swung a fist into Logan's stomach. Caught off guard, a grunt escaped Logan's lips as he hunched over in pain.

Rising fast in order to gain control, Logan delivered a solid punch to Johnny's left cheek. Crouching low, loose stones embedded Johnny's palms as he fought to remain standing, hands scraping along the ground. Vision blurry, he tried straightening his back to face his unknown attacker.

Body tense, Logan flexed his knuckles, a faint shine of blood slowly appearing on his ripped skin. Without pause, he took a hold of Johnny's jacket collar, threw him hard and raised him high against the rough brick wall.

"Where the fuck is she?" Logan growled, his face contorted in anger.

With one forearm pressed against Johnny throat, making sure not to cut off his circulation, Logan brought his other arm back, bent at the elbow, ready to continue his assault.

"I don't- I don't know," Johnny rushed out.

His voice was too calm. Logan knew the man was lying through his teeth. Pulling his arm back further, Logan geared up to deliver another hit, his first threat obviously not intimidating enough.

Eyelids dipped low from exhaustion, Johnny's cheek had already begun to swell and blood trickled down his chin in a thin line. Flinching under Logan's constraints, Johnny brought his free arm up to protect his face.

"Okay, Okay!" he begged. "Just put me down and I'll tell ya."

Logan's hold loosened, but he didn't let go. He wasn't going to let the guy disappear that easily. As soon as he got answers, he'd let the man run free.

"I like you more when you can't really move. Now talk."

Logan watched as Johnny's face fell in resignation. It looked like he'd lost all ability to defend himself. The energy seeped out of Johnny's skin, feeding into Logan as he held the man firmly against the wall, showing no sign of wavering.

Glimpsing a gun inside the man's business jacket, Johnny figured his attacker was a Fed. He was sure he'd seen the guy around and he definitely wasn't one of Larkin's men. Larkin preferred brawn over brains, psychotic drop-kicks rather than hit-men. No honourable mob boss required the help of a professional.

Johnny relented without hesitation after seeing the gun. There was only one girl that would bring a man to attack him for information on her whereabouts. If the guy was a Fed, he could help Veronica in ways Johnny never could.

"She's in Miami, going after Larkin. She took off straight after I told her she was being followed."

Logan's eyes widened in shock. Her cover had been blown, and not long after he'd arrived in New York. His need to find Veronica suddenly became stronger with the possibility that he was to blame for her exposure.

Mind caught in a struggle to calm down, Logan stayed quiet as Johnny continued to speak.

"Shit, I tried to warn her. I don't know who she's gone with, but I haven't heard from her in days."

"You dumb shit! You let her go by herself? Why the fuck would you do that?"

The pressure on Johnny's neck increased for a second before Logan managed to control his anger. Cutting off Johnny's airway was not going to have any desirable effects.

"What the hell was I supposed to do? She told me to lay low and wait for a call. Promised to get me into police protection and all. No way was I gonna defy her."

Frustration barely kept at bay, Logan slowly spoke through gritted teeth. "Where exactly did she go?"

"I swear I don't know," Johnny admitted in defeat.

Realising he wasn't going to get anymore information, Logan quickly pulled his arm away, making Johnny drop to his knees and grimace from the jolt of pain that shot through his legs.

Teeth grinding together, all his patience gone, Logan left Johnny with a final warning. "Get the fuck out of my sight, leave town, and grow some cojones while you're at it. I don't wanna see you anywhere near Veronica ever again, you hear me?"

Johnny just nodded, swallowing the nervous lump in his throat with his head held low in shame.

"Keep her safe, will ya? I don't want anything bad happening to her."

"It's too late for that," Logan said in a hostile tone.

Wiping the blood off his knuckles onto his clean white shirt, Logan left Johnny to nurse his own injuries in the alley.

A good distance from the pub, Logan's cell phone began to vibrate in his back pocket. His fast strides slowed down as the sharp tone on the other end of the line ordered him back to the office immediately. A meeting had been called in light of new developments in the O'Malley case.

DEA New York Field Division
30 minutes later...

"Logan, nice of you to join us. Take a seat," Rodriquez ordered, without bothering to glance up, his attention focused on the notes in front of him.

Clearly Logan was the last to arrive, his superior officer sensing his late arrival into the room. Tentatively, he took the last seat available at the end of the long conference table.

With the exception of Rodriquez, the instant Logan had entered the conference room, all eyes turned to take in his ragged appearance. His shirt was torn at the sleeve, blood smeared across the front, and patches of broken skin covered his knuckles.

He'd done his best to get rid of the blood and bruises, using the bathroom in the Starbucks across the street before stepping foot in the building. There was only so much he could hide, only so much water and rough recycled paper could remove.

Slouched low in his seat, Logan saw a mix of emotions cross his boss's face. There was anger, suspicion, a little intrigue, but most obvious was the twitch of a smile. That meant only one thing, there had been a major development in the case.

Ignoring his fellow officers, Logan kept his eyes on the front of the room, ready to take in all Rodriquez had to say, doing his part until he could make the escape to the airport in time for the next flight to Miami.

"It has come to light that the DEA are not the only ones investigating the O'Malleys. Surveillance has established a mole amongst the crime family," Rodriquez began. A generic photo of Veronica appeared on the screen behind Rodriquez with her FBI code written below the words 'Special Agent'. "26 year old caucasian female, goes by the name Veronica Mars. After completing mandatory training, Ms Mars entered the academy as a rookie in 2010. An instant hit in the field, she was promoted to Special Agent January 2012, at the age of 24."

Logan let out a quiet groan and slouched as low as he could in his seat. The smile he'd seen on Rodriquez's face when he'd first arrived was a victory smirk. He'd figured out the connection between Logan and Veronica. Logan sensed he'd be restricted to mundane office work for months to come if Rodriquez had any say in the matter.

The new information Logan had received only an hour before could keep him out of the doghouse. His urgency to get out of the conference room and to the airport drove Logan to interrupt Rodriquez as he resumed Veronica's character profile.

"I know where she is and it's important to the case," Logan blurted, as he abruptly stood, grabbing the attention of everyone in the room.

"Care to indulge, Echolls?" Rodriquez questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Two days ago she caught a flight to Miami, Florida. If my memory serves me right, the only connection Larkin has to Florida is with Jacob Fisher, the CEO of Sandpiper Beverages. Sandpiper supplies the O'Malley's with some of the finest spirits in the country. Its a little suspicious for a dive-of-the-day pub to offer its customers fine-dining alcohol, don't ya think?"

Logan took a deep breath and pushed his hand through his hair before continuing. "Having discovered the connection, I believe Veronica came across some vital information in the form of a coded pocket book, took the risk of following Larkin, and has put herself in some serious danger."

Satisfied with the information, Rodriquez stopped Logan by holding up his hand.

"And what do you propose we do about it? Without substantial evidence, I can't just send a unit down there to investigate thin air. You get me something solid, and then we'll start discussing our options. I'll get a search warrant for you and Philips to investigate Sandpiper's New York warehouse."

Pointing his finger at Logan, Rodriquez continued. "I don't care what you did that has left you in such a mess, but don't you dare think about following her. You're on probation and the last thing I need is to explain to head office how I let a barely qualified agent defy orders and let his emotions compromise the entire operation. Get yourself cleaned up and meet me in my office in an hour. In the mean time, there's something you need to read."

Rodriquez held up the collection of notes he had used in the brief presentation and tucked them away into a file.

Holding off firing abuses and objections at the man standing at the head of the table, Logan diverted his eyes to the file in question, curious as to its content and relevance to Veronica and the case.

His boss could threaten him all he wanted. Nothing was stopping Logan from chasing after an errant Veronica. He was going to show Rodriquez where he could stick it and prove to those that matter just what he can do. Nothing stood between him and saving the girl who'd been such an integral part of his life for so many years.

After dropping the thick file in front of Logan and shooting him a sharp look, Rodriquez made a hasty retreat into the hall, speaking in a gruff tone to the silent room over his shoulder. "Meeting effectively over. Everyone get back to work."

The moment the room was clear of DEA personal, Logan grabbed the file, walked straight past his desk, took the elevator down to the street, and flagged down his fourth taxi of the day.

Formulating a plan as the taxi maneuvered through the busy Manhattan streets, Logan proceeded to call the one person he could depend upon, that he could rely on to get the job done, regardless of the consequences his actions may cause.

Sunday, June 16th – 6:40pm
Miami, Florida

Her mouth was dry and the taste of copper stuck to the back of her throat. The thin tank top and black shorts she wore stuck to her body in the stifling humid heat, the smell of sweat and dirt permeating the air.

She couldn't see; eyes covered by a thick, dark cloth. Coarse rope wound tight around her wrists, cutting into her skin as she feebly attempted to pull herself free. Sweat seeped into the open wounds, stinging, as blood fought its way past her injured wrists in an attempt to relieve her numb fingers.

Her ankles were tied to the legs of the chair and her arms were stretched taunt behind her back. Secured in place by a thick leather belt around her midriff, Veronica struggled to breathe as the binds put pressure on her ribs.

Concentrating on her wrists did nothing to alleviate the pain radiated from her jaw and head. Her whole body ached, but her face had taken the brunt of the attack as she'd struggled with her captor.

There was no telling how long she'd been tied to the chair; whether she'd been unconscious for more than twelve hours. Slipping in and out of consciousness, the faint show of light through the blindfold had been her only indication of time passing. By Veronica's calculations, she'd been restricted to the chair for two days, nothing more than a glass of water passing her lips.

Hunger pains tore at her. She hadn't eaten in three, maybe four days. Each breathe of air felt harsh against her sore throat as it travelled down to her lungs. Her vision blurred at the edges, unable to focus on a single object in the dark room.

Three days into her search for Larkin, Veronica had reached an abandoned warehouse a few blocks in from the Port of Miami. It was last on a long list of known locations associated with Larkin and Jacob Fisher, the building owned by a close associate of Fisher's. It'd been last on the list because Veronica had no desire to set foot in an abandoned building alone, no matter how much bravado she emanated.

Having walked across the tall overgrown grass, she'd only gone as far as to brush away the dirt and dust from a low window before her arm was forced up high behind her back, drawing a sharp cry from her in the unexpected attack. Given no chance to defend herself, the last things she remembered were a hard blow to the side of her head, and the sound of bone hitting solid wall. She was knocked out cold.

Veronica awoke hours later, dazzled and confused, a menacing voice whispering taunts in her ear. A high pitched ringing rang loud in her ear and warm blood ran a line down her neck. Slowly she regained consciousness, the man's deep words full of arrogance and disgust, and barely concealed hatred, pulling her out of her daze.

"Now look what we have here. She's just a little one, ain't she?"

A hand grabbed Veronica's hair near the scalp, forcing her head back, bringing her face to face with the taunter.

"Larkin, please," a quiet voice pleaded.

The nervous plee coming from the corner of the room was a female voice, a voice Veronica recognised immediately, and one who owed her the world. Right now she'd settle for her help in escaping.

"Shut up," Larkin gritted, head turned to face the woman, his impatience showing clear. "She's my business- I'll do whatever the fuck I want with her."

Veronica hadn't been gagged, which meant she was somewhere a good distance from civilisation, possibly the basement of the abandoned building she'd been staking out, or someplace with soundproof barriers to block out her cries for help.

Jaw locked tight, it's movement confined by the swelling, Veronica hadn't managed to uttered more than a weak whimper, her voice hoarse from lack of use and water.

As the numbness in her body spread, her attention refocused. Convinced she'd be able to appeal to the woman's soft side without the presence of Larkin, Veronica tried using her strongest weapon: annoying the fuck out of him until he left in frustration. Either it worked or Veronica would be committing a reserved version of suicide-by-cop.

"It almost sounded like you were trying to convince yourself there," Veronica snarked, her voice slowly gaining strength with every word. "I think you should take the lady's advice. Be a real man and do as the woman says."

A harsh laugh, then a foot connecting with the seat between her legs, and the chair skidded across the floor, toppling backwards. The impact of Veronica's arms and back slamming hard against the concrete ground sent white hot pain through her torso to the tips of her toes, the sudden jolt torture to her body.

"You think you're so smart."

Her breaths short and loud, Veronica pushed further. "Smart enough to fool you for months and attract the attention of your impressionable nephew."

She heard a quick shuffle of feet before her chair was set upright and her jaw was clasped harshly between Larkin's thumb and fingers.

"You listen here, you little shit. You've caused me enough trouble as it is. There's no way I'm letting you go. You're lucky I have more important shit to deal with and I like to see the way your face scrunches up in pain with just the faintest movement."

His voice got lower, mouth only centimetres from her ear. "You're not going anywhere for a while, and when you do, it's not gonna be pretty."

Surprised by her own reaction, Veronica had let out a panicked whimper, Larkin's words hitting her hard.

A firm forcing of her head back and he was out of the room, barely a minute after she'd gained consciousness.

He'd left her alone for hours. The lone sound of trickling water driving her insane. She'd given up hope on a potential release by the lone female voice she knew to be Larkin's wife. Veronica had invested so much, given up just the same, only for the lady to leave her to her own devices. If it hadn't happened to Veronica most of her life, she'd have been offended, even disgusted by the weak portrayal. Now, all Veronica did was ignore those who abused her trust, hitting them back tenfold. Larkin's wife was going to pay for the hell she'd put her through.

She was alone in an unfamiliar city, tied up so tight only the slightest of movements brought her teeth down hard on her bottom lip. She had no weapon and her injuries were severe enough to keep her effectively immobile.

And so she sat, mind foggy and fragile, praying her plan had worked and help would arrive before her body shut down in defeat.

Sunday, June 16th – 2:02pm
San Diego International Airport
San Diego, California

Cell phone glued to his ear and a duffel bag in hand, Keith Mars walked through the automatic doors and into the American Airline terminal. Escaping the smelting dry heat of Southern California, his steps were fast and solid as he marched straight for the check-in counter.

The phone at his ear failed to ring, going immediately to voicemail, signalling his daughter's phone was either out of range or turned off. It was the fifth time he'd called since leaving Neptune, and the 30th attempt he'd made at trying to contact her in the last two days.

Not once in the three years Veronica had lived away from home had he failed to get a response within twelve hours; if not a direct answer, a rushed call back to let him know she'd talk at a more convenient time.

Some would call his decision, to fly across the country when it had barely been 24 hours, drastic and insane, but Keith knew his daughter and he knew the trouble she had a habit of getting herself into.

He'd spent the entire morning calling the short list of friends and acquaintances Veronica had emailed just two months prior. Unsatisfied with just her home and cell numbers, Keith had pestered Veronica to send a more detailed list, going as far as to call in the middle of the night, disrupting her sleep in a moment of protective panic.

His connections in New York had turned out useless too. No one had seen his daughter in months. Her sudden disappearance off the radar caused Keith's concern to rise to the surface. Out of options, Keith had booked the first flight to the East Coast.

Volume set to the loudest setting, the generic sound of Keith's ring tone disrupted his thoughts.

Ignoring the 'Unknown Number' message that flashed across the screen, he answered the call.

"Veronica?"

"Mr Mars? It's Logan. Logan Echolls."

"Logan? Why are you-" Cutting himself short, Keith knew exactly why Logan was calling. In the years Logan and Veronica had dated, Logan only ever called when Veronica had put herself in a compromising or dangerous position. Something must have happened to his baby girl.

"What happened? Where is she?" he asked, stopping dead in his tracks and blocking the flow of foot traffic. Ignoring a 'hey, watch it old man' and the disgruntled protests as people were forced to sidestep around him, Keith focused on the worried voice coming through his phone.

"She's in Maimi, but I don't fucking know where." Logan was struggling to keep it together. "All I know is she didn't check in for her return flight this morning, her apartment has been ransacked, and no one has heard from her in days."

"What? I don't- What is she doing in Miami? Logan, listen to me, I need you to start from the beginning."

As Keith strained to keep his attention focused on their conversation, Logan began explaining the O'Malley case. Obviously keeping what he revealed to a bare minimum, he spoke of a crime family with notorious violent tendencies, their large-scale drug trafficking ring, and the undercover operation Veronica had been conducting under the alias Samantha for four months now.

Keith had no idea his daughter had been working undercover, or even that she was involved in such a high level case. They didn't talk about her career anymore, not since he'd faced a week of the silent treatment after making an offhanded enquiry regarding her partner. He hadn't pushed the matter any further. They'd always found comfort in minimal information sharing. He knew she'd mastered the art of straight faced lies and avoiding confrontations years ago. Ignorance was sometimes bliss in their line of work.

"I-I don't understand. Why would the FBI send a lone agent along to investigate a known criminal? It doesn't make any sense."

"Keith, I'm sorry, but-"

Keith could hear the hesitancy in Logan's tone. "Just say it."

An audible sigh, a moments pause, a deep breath, and Logan finally spoke up.

"Back in December, Veronica was let go from the FBI on account of reckless endangerment and defying orders, only narrowly escaping prosecution. She's been working at a PI office in Brooklyn for almost six months."