CHAPTER ELEVEN
Wallace didn't want to come inside. He offered his assistance with the case, told her to call him, and waved goodbye from the safe confines of his car.
"Chicken," Veronica muttered as she let herself into the house. There were no warning beeps from the alarm system and she frowned at the silent keypad. Dropping the bags on the hall tree, she re-locked the front door. Logan's deep chuckle, mingling with Pam's tinkling laughter, drew Veronica into the living room.
The four of them were seated around Wyatt's play table, eating hot dogs and drinking fake tea. They'd gotten "dressed" for dinner with boas and tiaras. Even Tyler was willing to play along with Wyatt's demands for fancy tea.
Veronica stopped short.
It was like a glimpse of Logan's life if she'd never come back to Neptune. Married to another woman with a house and kids. And a dog. He'd probably have a dog, if she didn't keep saying no.
Her chest constricted. No not Logan's life, her life with someone else playing the role of wife and mother. She'd thought about all the ways Tyler might be included in their family, but she'd never considered the reverse. Logan taking Wyatt and Bailey to do things with Pam. The random trips to the museum or the beach while Veronica was working could now include Pam and Tyler. Happy family outings without Veronica.
"Please tell me you wear an apron." Pam's breathy delivery of the line and her hand on Logan's arm called to mind the silver screen. A classic black-and-white film with the voluptuous heroine seducing her leading man into doing a very bad thing.
"You didn't turn on the alarm," Veronica ground through clenched teeth.
Logan shifted in the tiny green chair, craning his neck to see her. "We were—"
"Mama!" Wyatt smacked her cup down on the table and grinned, interrupting whatever Logan was about to say. Her daughter's happiness at her arrival was infectious and an answering smile spread across Veronica's face.
"Hey, sweet pea." Circling the table, she kissed the top of Wyatt's head. "What's for dinner?" Hot dogs with a side of macaroni and cheese were on paper plates. Tiny pieces of cauliflower were mixed in the macaroni, hiding beneath the cheese, and there were bacon crumbles scattered throughout.
"Tyler picked tonight's menu; it's his favorite." With a smile, Pam lightly touched her son's head. "There's more in the kitchen for you."
Thanks for inviting me to eat in my own house, Pam.
Wyatt picked up her hot dog, squeezing it in her fist, and wiggled it in the air. "Me cook!" She bit the end of the frankfurter and then held it out for Veronica to have some.
"Oh you did, huh?" Instead of taking a bite, she kissed Wyatt's fingers. "Well, I guess I'd better go eat then." Wyatt nodded in agreement and Veronica beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen.
There were pots on the stove and dishes in the sink. The cheese grater was on the counter next to blocks of cheddar and fontina. Veronica peeked in the oven. A baking dish with the remains of the mac and cheese sat on the middle rack, strips of bacon across the top. She stole a piece and leaned against the warm stove, chewing the bacon and surveying the mess.
Logan and Pam had cooked dinner with the kids. Imagining the domestic scene turned the bacon to ash on her tongue. She tossed the uneaten half in the trash.
"Veronica Mars throwing away bacon?" Logan crossed the room and put a hand on her forehead. "Are you sick?"
She didn't want to tease and flirt with him. She didn't even want to engage in the snarky sarcasm they called foreplay. Edging out of his reach, she asked, "Where's Bailey?"
"Asleep in the laundry room."
Already in motion as she asked the question, she was gone by the time he finished answering, moving down the hall to check on the baby.
It was a trick Logan learned with Wyatt, putting her to sleep with the soothing white noise of the dryer. He would push the pack n' play tight against the front of the machines and the wash cycle would make the crib shake. But unlike her sister, Bailey needed more sound and motion. To compensate, Logan had the exhaust fan running, and he'd turned on the vibration unit attached to the crib. An entire parade could pass by the door and Bailey wouldn't hear it above the din in the laundry room.
Veronica leaned on the doorjamb to watch her sleep. Noise and motion were comforting for Bay, just like watching her babies sleep was calming for Veronica.
Logan walked up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist, and kissing her shoulder. The urge to relax against him was strong, but Veronica resisted, remaining stiff in his embrace. "You're driving Pam to work."
"That was your plan" —his arm fell to his side— "Not mine."
Jackass thought she was angry because of the ride? Her hands clenched. Angling her body away from him, she slipped from the room, and marched down the hall. There was no need to check over her shoulder, she knew he would follow. Run and chase. She pushed open their bedroom door, stalked to the center of the room, and spun around to wait for him.
He didn't disappoint, striding through the door right behind her. "So what is it this time? Not in the mood for hot dogs? The kitchen's messy? Or was I sitting too close to Pam?" He tapped his chin as if he was considering the problem. "Wait, should I have made her eat in the kitchen like the help?"
Veronica screwed her eyes closed and counted to ten - slowly. Anger hummed through her body making her vibrate like a string tuned too tight. "When you take Pam to work, you need to ask her about the VIP room; she's holding something back."
Nonplussed by the change in subject, he blinked. "That's it? We're just going to talk about the case?"
"It's the only thing we seem to agree on."
As usual, Logan had no trouble keeping up with her change of moods. Curse him. "Why do you think she's hiding something?"
Right, Perfect Pam would never keep secrets. "She gets cagey every time I ask about the party." He looked unconvinced and Veronica huffed. "There were eleven people in that room, Logan, and not one of them saw the money and drugs get stolen? That's an amazing trick."
The insinuation earned her a hard stare. "You could try being a little less judg—" He snapped his mouth closed, shook his head, and withdrew into himself; an unreadable mask slipping over his face and a cool, blank look in his eyes. The distance yawned between them.
Veronica took a step forward. "Logan, I didn't mean—"
The slap, slap, slap of tiny bare feet running down the hall signaled the imminent arrival of Wyatt. "Mewwos, Daddy!"
His features relaxed and a soft smile curved his lips. "I'm coming, Bean." He opened the door and Wyatt rushed his legs. Logan scooped her up and glanced at Veronica. "She wants marshmallows—"
"Toes-ed mewwos," Wyatt corrected.
"Toasted," he agreed, ducking his head and touching his nose to hers. "Apparently" —Logan kissed her and looked at Veronica— "you can't have hot dogs without them."
They grinned at each other over the top of Wyatt's head; their earlier acrimony fading beneath the cuteness that was their daughter, and Veronica nodded. "They go together."
"Like rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong?" Logan didn't sing the words, asking with a mock-serious tone, as if it was a real question. Wyatt tossed her head back to stare at him, screwing up her face in confusion.
Veronica's smile widened. "Remembered forever as shoobop sha wadda wadda yippity boom de boom."
Wyatt's head whipped back and forth between the two of them, her frown deepening. Finally she declared them both, "Silly," and started wiggling herself free from Logan's arms. He set her on the floor and she scampered down the hall.
"Where are you planning on 'toes-ing' these marshmallows?"
"The firepit. They've already scouted the backyard for sticks." Logan started from the room and Veronica followed. "Tyler taught her how to pick the ideal stick, demonstrating how it needed to be long enough to reach the fire from their chairs."
The mention of Tyler was a splash of cold water. Veronica stopped walking. "I'm going to get her a sweater."
Turning on her heel, she slipped into Wyatt's room, and shut the door behind her. She wasn't going to miss any more family time, but she needed a minute alone before seeing Logan with Pam and Tyler. Their presence was part of her new reality and, no matter how much it sucked, she needed to find a way to deal, if for no other reason than Wyatt and Bailey.
Good to know that change still has the ability to walk up and punch me in the face.
She grabbed a pink, ribbed cardigan from Wyatt's closet and then took her time returning to the kitchen. Pam was at the sink, loading the dishwasher. The cheese was gone, the leftovers packed in tupperware containers, and the counters were wiped down. She looked completely at ease, making herself at home in Veronica's kitchen.
Veronica walked past her to the pantry. Using the step-stool, she took down the graham crackers and chocolate bars hidden on the top shelf. She stepped out of the pantry to find Pam leaning against the counter, drying her hands. "When you go into work, I need you to get the footage from the security cameras at the front gate, specifically from the night of the party."
Pam's eyes widened with surprise. "How did you know there were cameras?"
"I drove past there today. Are there cameras inside?"
She nodded. "On the first floor only, in the main part of the club- not upstairs where we were."
"See if you can get me copies of that footage too; we can watch it together and maybe find the happy henchmen from a different visit."
Pam folded the kitchen towel and hung it on the handle to the dishwasher. Another one of those pesky social conventions would dictate that she thank Pam for cleaning the kitchen, but Veronica wasn't in the mood to do grateful. Instead she said, "Tomorrow afternoon you and I are going to pay Karen a visit."
"You found her?"
"Not yet, but I will." Taking Pam with her wasn't ideal —her questions would be limited by Pam's presence and their ruse— but it was her only alternative. A civilian version of a police welfare check. She would get her first look at Karen, hear what happened when Sam's goons came for a visit, and get a chance to snoop around the apartment. Not that she expected to find the coke and cash sitting on the coffee table, but maybe a lead on their whereabouts.
Veronica held up the s'mores fixings and Wyatt's sweater. "I should get these outside before they eat all the marshmallows."
A crooked smile from Pam. "Good call."
The only illumination in the yard was the fire itself and the clear string lights in the trees. Logan had turned off the pool and deck lamps along with the security floods, creating a warm and inviting space in the center of the lawn.
He was in one of the loveseats with Wyatt on his lap. Tyler was standing near the firepit, whirling his stick in the air, and telling Logan about the tornado chamber at the science center. " —kept putting her hands in it."
"Easy with that stick, Ty, before you hit someone or something," Pam admonished from behind Veronica.
"But Mom" —there was a slight whine to Tyler's protest— "I'm showing Logan how the tornado moved." A complaint, but he still did exactly as she asked, lowering the stick to the ground.
Wyatt looked up at Logan, grabbed fistfuls of air, and squeezed her hands tight. "Bye bye 'nado."
Veronica smiled. Tyler's 'kept putting her hands in it' now made sense. Wyatt wanted to touch everything. Their daughter was her own force of nature. There was no way she would be able to resist grabbing the wind funnel. Veronica was actually a little surprised Wyatt didn't try climbing inside the glass chamber.
The empty seat next to Logan was her usual spot. Briefly she considered sitting somewhere else. It would drill home the point that she was still angry, but it would also leave the space empty for Pam, and that would drive her crazy. Veronica held out the graham crackers and chocolate for him, and then glanced back at the house.
Without her having to ask, Logan reached next to his thigh, and picked up the baby monitor. "And I turned off the washing machine before I came outside."
Of course he remembered to check on Bailey and bring the baby monitor with him. When he said nothing was more important to him than his family, it wasn't smoke and mirrors. Being a dad —a great dad— was Logan's priority.
Veronica took her seat and watched him feed marshmallows onto the end of Tyler and Wyatt's sticks —two each— and then help them adjust to the right height for toasting, not burning. It didn't take long for Wyatt to lose interest in the cooking part, she was more about eating the s'mores than making them.
"Daddy do." She shoved the stick at Logan and stole one of the uncooked marshmallows from the bag, popping it in her mouth. Then proceeded to talk around the wad of sugar in her mouth, telling Logan about the floating beach ball. "No climb." Wyatt wagged her finger.
"She couldn't reach the ball and tried climbing on the table." Tyler grinned. "But it was cool; it moved up and down on its own."
Logan nodded. "That's Bernoulli's principle - a lot of people think that's how the wing of an airplane gets lift." He started explaining Newton's laws of motion and Veronica ducked her head, smiling. Advanced physics from the man who had to take the class twice in high school. Very intelligent, but needs to apply himself was certainly an accurate report card assessment.
Tyler was a rapt audience, but Wyatt was losing interest fast. She tugged on Logan's shirt. "Done?"
"Sorry, jellybean." He made her a s'more and Wyatt snuggled next to Veronica's side to eat the gooey sandwich. "Do you want one?"
Veronica shook her head. Now that the kids were busy eating, awkward silence settled around them. What do you talk about with your husband's ex? An ex who was in love with him and might possibly be the mother of his child?
She knew if she let herself she would probably like Pam. Just like once upon a time she'd liked Parker, respected Carrie, and, of course, loved Lilly. Logan didn't care about vapid and vacuous women. Maybe he dated them and slept with them —hello, Caitlin Ford— but his real feelings were saved for women of substance. And there was no doubt he had feelings for Pam, both back then and now. The only question was the depth of those feelings.
"What time do you have to leave for work?" Veronica asked.
Pam sucked chocolate off her finger before answering. "Soon. When we're done with these" —she held up the half-eaten s'more— "I'll get Ty ready for bed and he'll go to sleep at eight… without giving Veronica any problems, right?" She addressed the end of her sentence directly to her son who gave her a blank stare in return. "Right?"
Tyler's unconvincing nod caused a flutter of panic in Veronica's chest. Why had she suggested Logan drive Pam to work? Now she would have to do bedtime with Tyler. She had enough doubt in her skills as a mom, never mind as a stepmother. Just don't make him clean the cinders from the firepit, Veronica.
As if sensing her thoughts, Pam offered a reassuring smile. "A glass of water, a story, and one final trip to the bathroom, and he'll go to sleep without a problem."
That sounded way too easy to be believed. Veronica envisioned water in a cup the size of a Big Gulp, a book as long as War and Peace, and numerous trips to the bathroom in her very near future. "Hmm, maybe we should skip bath—" One look at Wyatt's chocolate covered face and hands put an end to that idea.
Logan followed her gaze to their daughter and grinned. "I'll take care of the little sticky one." He leaned in close to Wyatt. "Did you actually get any of that in your mouth or did you just rub it all over your face?"
Wyatt reached for him. Instead of blocking her arms, he let her squeeze his cheeks, and give him chocolate kisses. She giggled when she saw the handprints she'd left on his skin.
"Think that's funny, huh?" A big nod from Wyatt and he scooped her up, tucking her under his arm, and tickling her on their way inside. "Come on, Ty, you two can brush your teeth together."
Tyler popped out of his chair and scrambled after Logan. Pam watched them go and Veronica watched Pam. Her face was turned away and the light was too dim to read her expression, but Veronica had a feeling she wouldn't like what she saw. "Does Tyler get to spend a lot of time with his father?"
Pam's body jerked back as if she'd been slapped. "No, he doesn't," she snapped the words and immediately stood. "I should go take care of Ty."
"Okay." Veronica got up, gathered the leftover foodstuffs, and grabbed the baby monitor. "When you leave work tonight, take a cab to the decoy house. Walk through, turning lights on and off like you're getting ready for bed, and then slip out the back door and come here." She caught up to Pam at the stairs to the deck. "Have Logan give you the spare key and the code to the alarm."
"I won't get home until close to four-thirty; I don't want to wake everyone."
"It's fine." Veronica paused at the door. "Seriously, don't stay in that house alone. Walk through, front to back and leave immediately."
Pam blinked at the harsh tone and nodded. "I will."
Veronica left her standing at the foot of the stairs. After putting the food away and grabbing her messenger bag, she went in search of Logan and the kids. They were in the hall bathroom. Teeth were already brushed —evidenced by the glob of fresh n' fruity toothpaste in the sink— and Wyatt was in the tub. "Where's Tyler?"
On his knees washing Wyatt's hair, Logan didn't turn around. "Pam's getting him in his pajamas." He turned on the hand-held shower attachment and checked the water temp. "Head back."
Wyatt scrunched her eyes closed, tilting her face up. "No eyes, Daddy."
"No eyes," he agreed, kissing her nose before rinsing the shampoo from her hair.
"I can take over here if you want to go change." Her offer was rejected with silence. Veronica shut the toilet lid with a thump and sat down, kicking the bathroom door closed with her toes. "Pam said the dealers showed up and Sam bought the coke, exchanging a briefcase of cash for the five kilos. There was extra coke —Pam called it a party favor— which they shared with the dancers before the 'entertainment' started. I need to know—"
"I get it, Veronica; you want all the salacious details." He sounded resigned. Or maybe it was annoyed. She didn't know if his attitude was caused by the unnecessary reminder, or if it was prompted by his belief that she was looking for a reason to judge Pam.
Veronica stared at the back of his head. "Were you in love with her?"
His shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh. Instead of answering, he picked up the towel lying next to him and held it open for Wyatt. "Okay, Bean, pajamas and stories."
Without budging, she shook her head, and dumped her bucket of foam letters into the water. "This one?" She held up a bright orange letter.
Logan checked his watch, lowered the towel, and answered, "M for mommy and milk and money." It was their alphabet soup game. Wyatt dropped the letter and then stirred the water with both hands. She grabbed the next one and held it up for him. "S for slurp" —he made slurping noises— "and silly."
With the next letter Wyatt declared it was, "Mama turn," and Veronica came up with a list of things that started with an O. They did a few more letters and then Logan told her if she didn't get out of the tub he wouldn't be able to read any stories.
Wyatt immediately dropped the Z she was holding and stood, arms stretched out for Logan to carry her. He wrapped her in the fluffy towel and Veronica followed them to Wyatt's room. Pajamas weren't a struggle because they just let her wear what she wanted —a bathing suit, t-shirt, tutu, and fuzzy socks— and then they each read her a story.
Logan switched the lamp to its nightlight setting and they eased out of her room, leaving the door ajar. He turned on her. "Babysitting bedtime? Were you afraid I'd crawl through the window and rappel down the side of the house to escape your interrogation?"
"Rappel? Would that one story jump be too much for you? Wait, I know." She unbuckled her belt and slipped it through the loops. "Use this, and don't forget to tie it to the window handle for safety."
"Gee Veronica, you're always looking out for me." He started for their room and then spun around to face her. "Are you going to help me cross the border in Lamb's trunk, too? Or should I just ask Duncan? I'm sure he'd be THRILLED if I were to disappear."
She staggered back a step. It was like they'd time traveled to senior year. Logan's sarcasm was set on stun and he was throwing Duncan in her face. She simultaneously wanted to flee and cry, but she did neither, remaining rooted to the spot and staring at him.
Logan rubbed a hand over his face. "Veronica, I'm—"
"No need to worry about Tyler's bedtime," Pam said, walking down the hall to join them. "He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow."
Veronica gave her a tight, thin-lipped smile. "It was a busy day."
Pam's steps slowed and she looked to Logan. "Uh, we need to leave or I'm going to be late."
"We don't want that," Veronica said, inching down the hall and slipping past Pam. "I'm going to put Bailey in her room." She ducked into the laundry room, shut the door behind her, and leaned against it, closing her eyes. There was no way she wanted to watch Logan and Pam leave together.
Aware that she was being ridiculous by hiding out in her own house, she still shut off the exhaust fan, and waited for the sound of the front door. When the muted conversation ceased and the alarm beeped, her eyes popped open.
She left Bailey in the porta-crib —at least she'd learned to let sleeping babies lie, now if she could just leave the dogs alone— and went to check on Tyler. He was sprawled across the pull-out on his stomach, arms raised overhead and hands tucked beneath the pillow.
Cognitive closure. Veronica understood the concept. The human mind was averse to ambiguity and unanswered questions so it created plausible explanations. The danger lay in seizing information and accepting it as fact, without taking the time to look for the truth.
It annoyed her that Logan was doing this with Tyler. Pam said he wasn't the father and that was enough for him. No questioning, no demands for a paternity test, no verification. Yet Veronica was doing the same thing. She'd latched on to the belief that Tyler was his son and her mind wouldn't let go of the idea. It was playing through the scenarios of visitation schedules and child support payments like it was a foregone conclusion.
She needed answers.
Shutting her office door, she crossed the house, and retrieved her abandoned messenger bag from the hallway floor. First, she would find Karen for tomorrow's excursion, and then she would find a discreet DNA lab.
She donned her favorite flannel boxers and t-shirt before crawling into bed with her laptop. Karen was easy. Using the information from Mac's preliminary background check and a relative search on Accurint, she found an address for Karen's mother in San Diego.
The search for a DNA lab wasn't as successful. Actually finding a lab wasn't the problem. There were tons of labs willing to do the tests even without the standard buccal swab. Granted, the other samples increased result turnaround time and none of the tests could be used to establish legal paternity because there was no chain of custody for the collection. But those things didn't matter to Veronica. This wasn't about asserting parental rights; it was about knowing the truth. The problem was that all of the labs wanted signed consent forms from all the participants.
Veronica downloaded the sample form. It didn't require a notary, only a witness. She could sign the form for each of them and then be the witness to her forgery. The idea made her uneasy. Really? That's where we're drawing the line these days, Veronica? You'll steal his DNA, but not forge his signature? She closed the PDF, deleted it, and then emptied her recycle bin. For good measure, she also deleted her browsing history.
Opening the file from Mac on the bed next to her, Veronica spread out the pages. Basic background checks on the dancers —criminal records, wants and warrants, credit reports, and a motor vehicle report— along with the not-so-basic tax return transcripts and list of social media accounts. With more time Mac would also get phone records, emails, and credit card transactions, but this was a start.
Veronica lined up the tax transcripts. Reina's one hundred and eighty grand income was at the high end of the scale, but all five were making a six-figure salary. The lowest earner was Karen and she still showed an annual income of a hundred and forty. The disparity could be a less-than-truthful reporting of their tips or Karen could just earn less because she was younger. Or maybe the other girls were getting paid for doing things that Karen didn't.
She picked up the list of social media sites and opened a new browser window. Pam said that one of Sam's men —either Frick or Frack— had a thing for Siobhan Byrne. Veronica signed into her "Amber" Facebook account and searched for Siobhan. If the interest was mutual, Goon #2 could be one of her friends.
The alarm pad chimed with the open and close of the front door.
Siobhan's profile picture was her doing the skater pose on a stripper pole, wearing nothing but black boyshorts, a lace bra, and platform heels. Veronica clicked on the photos tab. There were more poses in the same outfit, each trick more complicated than the last. The ubiquitous 'to see what she shares with friends, send her a friend request' was at the top of the page. If this was Siobhan's idea of a privacy setting, Veronica wondered what she reserved for people who knew her.
She could feel Logan in the bedroom doorway, watching her.
Clicking over to Siobhan's friends, she absently scrolled through the alphabetical list and intentionally ignored Logan. Siobhan was a popular girl and this was a fruitless task, especially when Logan was here with —hopefully— useful information. Veronica snapped the laptop closed. "What did Pam say?"
He pushed off the door frame. "Things that make me want to take a shower." Grabbing the collar of his shirt, he yanked it over his head and tossed it on the chair. He shucked his jeans next. They landed on top of the tee. Clad only in boxer briefs and socks, he sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her. "The dancers were performing a live sex show."
Sex shows weren't illegal in California per se. The O'Farrell Theater in San Francisco's Tenderloin district was famous for its shows and its former owners were responsible for the hardcore porn movie, Behind the Green Door, with Marilyn Chambers.
The need for 'props' and a bed in the room now made sense. "Were all of the dancers… performing?"
"Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck. "And one of the dancers was having sex with the three drug dealers."
Veronica's gaze fell to the papers spread on the bed. "Let me guess, Pam's friend from Vegas, Reina?"
The bed shifted, Logan twisting his body to stare at her. "How did you know?"
"She makes the most money." Veronica gathered the papers, tapped them together, and returned them to the folder. "Did they take any breaks? What about the other three guys- Sam and his two associates? Were they just watching the show or…" She let her voice trail off, waiting for Logan to provide the answer.
He fell back on the mattress and stared at the ceiling. "Pam can't account for every minute. There were bathroom breaks and people eating; they stopped to do lines of coke, and get water. But there were definitely enough distractions to allow for the theft."
No alibis for any of them and they still needed to get the coke and cash out of the room. "I don't suppose anybody was drinking Big Mouth Joe's?"
"Not funny."
"Wasn't trying to be." She shoved the folder and laptop into her messenger bag and tucked it under the bed. "You know that money delivery I told you to stop? I've changed my mind."
He swung his legs onto the mattress, rolling on his side to face her. "Changed your mind about going undercover? You want Pam to give them the money?"
She shook her head. "That's still a bad idea." Tossing back the covers, she got out of bed. "Can you have Tomás bring over the cash? Not the full two hundred grand, but half?"
"Where are you going?"
"First class to Bora Bora? Know any good luxury resorts?" He frowned, forehead crinkling, and she stopped walking. "Oh, you mean now? To the kitchen- can't pack on an empty stomach."
And she was starving. That one bite of bacon was the first thing she'd eaten since last night's French dip and potato skins. She was existing on decaf and adrenaline.
The mac and cheese and hotdogs from dinner were a hard pass. There was Dottie's chicken parm, but she wasn't in the mood. Black bean soup from Sunday was also a no. She found the leftover bacon, pulled out a chunk of brie, and then went to the pantry for sourdough bread and apricot preserves.
"So you're still mad then." It wasn't a question.
She shrugged, assembling her grilled cheese sandwich and slathering the outside of the bread with butter. "What? You're the only one who gets to joke about leaving?"
Logan ducked his head as the words hit their mark. Their issues manifested themselves in different ways, but they both feared abandonment. Her leaving for nine years didn't help, but they'd finally gotten to the point where they understood this was it. They were committed to making it work and neither of them was going to run at the first —or fiftieth— sign of trouble. It gave them a sense of security in their relationship; an ability to openly communicate without fear. Threatening to leave undermined that.
"Okay, Veronica; you're right and I'm sorry." He fixed himself a cup of coffee and sat at the table. "What are you going to do with the money?"
"I need to see it —size and shape— so I can figure out how it was smuggled from the room." She joined him at the table with her sandwich. "And since I'm not actually going to buy five kilos of coke, got any suggestions?"
"Each one is about this big," he answered, framing it out with his hands. Leaving the table, he disappeared into the living room, and returned carrying five thick paperback books. "Maybe about a half inch longer, but these are close." He stacked them on the table.
No windows in the bathroom, the briefcases didn't disappear, the room was searched, and the dancers were naked- how did they steal it? There had to be a hiding place in the VIP room they missed. She got up and fixed some chocolate milk.
She finished her sandwich without tasting it and drained her glass. This was not a comfortable silence. Veronica didn't want to talk about the case and Logan didn't want to talk about Pam. It left them little to say. "I'm going to get some sleep before Bailey wakes up."
He held out an arm to stop her. "I wasn't in love with Pam." She didn't try to hide her skepticism, pursing her lips and arching an eyebrow. Logan smirked. "I was too fucked up to love anybody."
That might have been true at the very beginning of their relationship, but not for the entire time they were together. "You know she's in love with you, right?"
"God" —Logan shook his head— "now you sound like Carrie."
Her temper flared. "Do I? Well, I can see how it might be confusing, there's so many of us on your list."
"Right, my list." His lips flattened and he looked her over with a cool blank stare. "Remind me- who are you again?"
"Veronica," she enunciated each syllable. "I would have said 'mother of your children' but that's not exactly an exclusive club anymore, is it?" Pushing back her chair, she blindly grabbed her dishes, and dumped them in the sink. "You need to tell her—"
Concern darkened his eyes. "Tell her what, Veronica?" He moved in front of her, keeping her in the kitchen. "That I'm in love with my wife?" Logan stroked his thumb over her cheek. "Pam has known that since the day I met her."
You need to tell her you want a paternity test is what she wanted to say. But he was here and he was trying so hard to fix things. To make everything okay. He was offering reassurances and apologizing, and she was giving him nothing in return.
His hand cradled her cheek. She turned her face, kissing the center of his palm. "I love you, too, Logan."