"May I know the problem?"

Veronica whipped around, handkerchief in hand and earpiece safely tucked behind her skirt, at the sound of the high but firm male voice. One glance of the man beside Chris's tall form triggered her instant mental search engine. Medium-height, crew-cut hair, with slight and subtle wrinkles on an all-American face - Phil Morris, owner and manager of The Marines. She had seen him plenty, but never face-to-face.

"Chris, could you explain what's going on?" Morris repeated.

"Mr. Lester had me let her in, sir," Chris spoke before she could.

Why is he covering for me?

Morris looked over at her, brows raised. "I think I remember you. You're new - Shannon, am I right?"

"Yes, sir." She responded simply. "I - I've been serving Mr. Lester, sir."

"Serving?"

"Yes, sir."

They would think otherwise. You need them to think otherwise.

"In more ways than one, Mr. Morris," she added.

A slow nod accompanied the unsurprised expression that emerged on Morris's face. "And I reckon we were having a little - rendezvous?"

"No, sir," her voice jumped higher at the agitation. "We were supposed to, sir; but he - he's gone."

Her fingers wrapped tightly around the small square of white fabric.

"Gone?"

"Yes, sir," Chris cut in. "When I brought Miss Mayfield in, Mr. Lester had disappeared."

"Is there any way - any way you could help us find him?" For a moment, Shannon and Veronica were one and the same.

"Maybe he's at the office upstairs."

No more than a minute slipped by before the three unlikely companions tumbled into the dark-walled office upstairs. Using whatever recollection she had from previous peeks and pictures, Veronica rapidly scoured each nook and corner amongst the mahogany furniture, determined to find the smallest trace of any clue. The men stood their ground near the door.

"Who was he with, Chris?"

"Ms. Elise Donavan, sir."

"A woman? Were they - uhm, friendly?"

"I have no information," came Chris's curt reply.

No, she is a murdering millionaire heiress who could be killing your investment partner right this very instant.

What could she say? Veronica's knuckles flashed white as she twisted the fabric in her hand, her heart ready to burst through her flesh.

"I'll look her up."

Morris could look up a customer? How high-security was this place?

Veronica braced herself instinctively behind the manager, peering over his shoulder as his fingers danced across the track pad. A few taps later, a list of profiles popped up in neat lines within the browser window on the LED screen.

"Any guest that visits above three times is given a basic background check," Morris explained, apparently sensing her unspoken question. "We don't want to be liable for any kidnappings and the like."

Good luck with that now.

Morris typed in the name and ran the search engine. Another double-click yielded a pop-up window with Elise's picture and a bullet list of information.

"Elise Donavan, age 28. Daughter to Richard Donavan, owner of Diamants Luxury Corp. Travels in white limousine. Family property in Los Angeles include Donavan Estate and three warehouses by San Pedro Bay. Favors tequila and scotch," Morris read mechanically.

And how much do they check their employees?

Veronica swallowed the lump in her throat. Even if Logan's whereabouts could be narrowed down to two locations, one question remained. "How did she get him out of here?"

"Probably the same way you'll go after him."

Her eyes narrowed as she cocked her head. "Sorry, sir?"

Morris slid his hand underneath the desk. One loud beep later, one third of the ceiling tiles receded to reveal the urban night sky. Clear sounds of steel blades whisking through air pervaded the small office.

Veronica breathed in. "A helipad, sir?"

Morris nodded. "I'll have someone check the estate, but you should probably head for the bay."

"Should we call the police for escort, sir?" Shannon's high voice returned.

"I'll accompany you, madame." Chris stepped up with his words.

"Miss Mayfield, I will contact LAPD immediately," Morris efficiently took charge. "I know you are anxious. Mr. London here will make sure we stay in touch."

As she nodded, Veronica's hand flew back to make sure, for once, that her line with Seth stayed on.

Skyscrapers morphed into little more than dotted squares divided by lines of bright yellow highways as the powerful helicopter surged into the California night sky. Five cases, seven identities, and over a dozen arrests under her belt - but none had prepared her for the chase she faced tonight. Glued together solely by the urgency of the moment, Veronica buried her fingertips into the leather seat.

He's going to be okay.

She scoffed to herself.

Lying to others is a hundred times easier.

"Miss Mayfield." Chris's emotionless voice barely made it past the merciless chopping above them. He placed an unexpected hand on her shoulder. "We'll find him."

She nodded as he let go.

She'd never doubted that they would find him. She knew they would. Even without LAPD, professional bodyguard, or getaway helicopter, she would find him at the end. The question was - in what condition?

She fixed her eyes on the hazy city sky.

Should've never let him help.

The slow sensation of awakening by discomfort roused Logan from his sedation. He shook his head once, twice. His mind ticked off the possible sources of pain one by one before settling on the tight knots around his wrists - wound behind him on the cold metal chair.

He breathed deep. The rusty smell of unkempt metal mixed undeniably with a whiff of ocean air. His eyes wandered, barely perceiving anything past the circle of light created by the sole light bulb dangling above his head. His limbs and his chest felt tired, heavy.

Tied up in a deserted warehouse all alone under a lamp - geez, it's right out of Aaron's sick movies. Creativity, anyone?

A series of rhythmic taps echoed from the cement floor and reverberated throughout the large enclosed space. Someone was with him - someone with heels.

Bile churned in his stomach as he recollected the devilish glint in Elise's eyes as she had pressed the drugged handkerchief against his face the very moment he'd collapsed from the tase. Femme fatales had never wandered far from him.

"Are we comfortable, Mr. Echolls?" Elise's face emerged into the light the same time her voice cut the air.

Logan growled in response.

"I take it not so much?" Her lips curled up in gleeful defiance.

"What do you want?" He hissed, his fingers deftly testing the ropes around them.

Elise laughed, her vocals multiplied by the abundant concrete surfaces. Her hands perched haughtily on her generous hips. "You tell me, Echolls. You march around the club every other day, oozing out your brooding charm. You never speak to anyone outside of that mysterious Red Room. Then one day, all of a sudden, you start pulling yourself into corners with your little blond waitress, pretending no one hears the gasps and giggles. Then you have the audacity to call me up for a pretend tête-à-tête?"

Logan bit inside his mouth as he struggled with the knots.

Unless she's a girl scout gone bad, she must've had some other muscle.

"I apologize if my invitation offended you, Miss Donavan." He kept his tone cordial.

"Your invitation offended me?" Her eyes narrowed, her smirk remaining. "You have quite an imagination, Mr. Echolls."

"And reality would be?"

Three more clicks of her heels brought her right in front of him. She leaned down at the waist, posing her nose centimeters from his. Her green eyes glowed, teased. "Reality is that I've figured you out, Echolls; but I minded my own business as you did yours. But since that little girlfriend of yours showed up, you seem to have changed your mind."

Logan kept his eyes level, unflinching.

"And she's going to learn her lesson the hard way." With premeditated ease, she pressed her index finger against his chest, winked, and walked away.

Logan glanced down.

His mouth dried.

Strapped firmly against his chest was a sprawling, square mechanism laced with a thousand wires. Right in the middle, besides the button Elise had pushed, three bold digital numbers blinked red-on-black - the 8 minutes he had left to live.

"Don't try to move. If you carry that package anywhere past the light," Elise turned around as she singsonged, "it'll be kaboom instantly."

Her gloved fingers danced in the air at her mock pantomime of an explosion.

Gloved hands. Fingerprint. Veronica.

Maybe he could do her one last favor.

Logan breathed deep. "It's a shame we didn't get acquainted under different circumstances, Elise; I believe we wouldn't made good - companions."

"Oh?" Her voice was half menace and half flirtation.

"I much prefer the company of heiresses over little gold-diggers."

Smile, Logan - forget the bomb ticking your life away.

"And perhaps that shall be your regret, Logan." Her voice sounded firm, but her face had begun to relent.

"Maybe it shall," he stated. "But I could always use one less."

"One less regret?"

"Give a dying man his last kiss?"

She pursed her lips, openly considering.

Come on, Echolls charm. At least one more time.

Logan batted his eyelids.

With a caustic laugh, she sauntered over, grabbed his face in her hands, and kissed him squarely on the lips.

Logan reciprocated instantly, kissing her fiercely, his masterful lips hooking hers between his own.

Come on, move those hands.

Almost in response, her fingers ghosted down the sides of his face, her thumbs anchoring on the side of his lips.

"Ouch!"

Elise pulled back at the bite on her fingertip. Eyes in a haze, she numbly pulled off her glove, exposing her pale arms. She licked unceremoniously at the small wound.

It took extreme effort not to spit away the drops of blood by his mouth, but Logan held his own. "Are you okay? I'm sorry. It was simply too - electric."

If I survive this, I'm gonna have to wash this mouth a few hundred times.

Elise shook her head, obviously annoyed. She glanced at Logan and started at the apparent number she saw.

He looked down - five minutes.

She marched over and grabbed his face in her bare palm, angst in place of tenderness. She stared at him; he stared back.

"You know what's electric, honey?" She barked, her hand trailing down to his chest. She pointed firmly against the black screen. "This."

With that, she whisked around and disappeared.

DE1908.

Veronica ran towards the cluster of warehouses, Chris at her heels.

DE1908 - why does it sound so familiar?

She halted, almost losing her balance. Her eyes burned as she stared at the white vehicle - an awkward contrast to the surrounding drab.

DE1908.

She glanced down at the fabric in her hands, then at the warehouse beside the car. Of course it had to be the farthest one. Ignoring the direction Chris took, she sprung towards the door partially hidden by the sunset shadows.

"Seth, northeast warehouse."

She was running before the coarse whisper made it out of her mouth.

For someone dying in five minutes, I sure have very little pleasant flash-backing to do.

Decidedly refusing to glance at the clock of doom on his chest, Logan threw back his face. The lightbulb blinked - as much as his very life did. He closed his eyes. Here he was - the one and only Logan Echolls - tied to a chair in an empty warehouse with a bomb attached to his body. He never did look for drama in his life; but it always hunted him down.

For a moment, Logan scoffed at his own rashness. What's the point of retrieving a fingerprint that would be blown to unrecognizable smithereens in a handful of seconds? He couldn't even really explain to himself what had spurred him to pull the little stunt on Elise, other than an impulse to die as meaningful of a death as possible for the orphaned child of two actors long fallen from grace.

I guess everyone wants to die a hero.

A small beep alerted him to another minute gone by.

He looked down - four minutes left.

I love you, Veronica. Thank you for the beautiful memories.

He tried to inhale deeply in spite of the constrictions against his chest. At least this time, he wasn't the one being accused of murder. Guess everyone deserved a turn at being the victim.

"Logan!"

He jerked up his head at the sharp cry.

Now I'm hearing things.

"Veronica?" He didn't dare hope.

"Logan! Logan!" A series of pattering footsteps brought his pixie blond into sight. The emotions that contorted her features hurt him as much as if they'd been his own.

"Logan, they - " she fell on her knees before him and clasped his knees. One hand started to wander up to the black screen, its numbers jittering faster than either would care. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

"Listen, hon, I got this." He fought to stay clear-headed. "You got that print-lifting paper you talked about last night with you?"

She looked up, seemingly slow to understand, and nodded slightly.

"Good. I currently have a perfect fingerprint of Elise right on this screen on my chest. I need you to lift the print and get yourself out of here - immediately, you understand?"

If she understood, she didn't show it.

"Veronica!" A high male voice echoed from the corner entrance. The couple looked up.

"Seth, over here!" Veronica stood up.

Seth nodded, his eyes quickly scanning the situation. Soft sirens grew in the background. He huffed as he spoke, "We didn't bring a bomb dude."

Veronica looked back at the screen, as did Logan - three minutes left.

"Veronica, please," Logan found his voice again. "Just take the print and go."

She blinked at him for a second, before vehemently shaking her head.

In one motion, she slipped out a pocket knife, ran behind him, and sliced off his knots.

"If I go, we go together." She tried to heave him up.

He gripped her arm, his fingers numb and sore. "No, this thing can't move past that door without killing all of us. Please, for the both of us - just go."

She looked up at him, resolve in her face. He knew the only way to melt it.

Careful to avoid the contraption on his chest, he leaned forward and captured her lips in a strong, passionate kiss. For a fleeting second, all felt right with the world. But things weren't right, and he pulled back, sudden fear and tenderness burning in his throat. He pressed her hands between his raw ones. "Please, for us."

With a bite of her lip, Veronica nodded. She swiped out a packet, tore it open, and pulled out a soft, blue sheet that shimmered even under the weak light. With trained precision, she pressed the material over the panel. When she lifted it off, a short gasp escaped her.

Logan looked down - 30 seconds sure flew fast.

"Seth, take this and go."

She said what?

Logan looked up to see Seth taking the re-sealed packet handed him. The two men shared a glance before the agent shook his head.

"Seth, go!"

She was in full command mode, apparently.

"Agent Mars - "

"I'll stay. Just go."

A short beep alerted everyone present to the 2-minute mark.

Still shaking his head, Seth patted Veronica's shoulder - and backed out towards the door.

Alone again, Logan re-focused on Veronica's face. Why was she still here?

"Veronica, please. You don't have to be a hero in this. I love you, sweetie. Please - don't do this." His hands wandered across her face as he spoke.

The emotions that reflected back to him in her eyes almost floored him. If only circumstances were - different.

The same eyes also communicated a determination he knew he could never even try to thwart.

"Look, Logan." Her voice stayed a sturdy, incorrigible calm. "I don't believe in letting anyone else sweep into my life and be my hero - much less a martyr. So if you think you're going to sacrifice your life to save your damsel in distress, think again; you've got the wrong damsel. This one would rather die with you than live with your life on her conscience."

A/N: I'm sorry for the delayed update. Writing drama and dialogue are ten times easier for me than writing action; and this chapter was almost exclusively action. I hope I communicated the situation sufficiently. My special thanks to kerali, irma66, hansongirl14, Dramamomma19, Bondopoulos, Angelpete87, Laetitia, nikatsu, kayte, palmbeach, C. Elder, here's wonderwall, Sunkissu9, hugsandpuppies, LoVefan4ever, and all the dear people who've read, reviewed, or even added this story to their favorites. Your support is priceless!