CHAPTER FOURTEEN
He always knew what she needed...except when he didn't. Case in point - one paternity test. On that issue he was being purposely obtuse. It wasn't that he was ignoring her need, he just didn't see it.
Last night was perfect in its ordinariness. They ate dinner, took care of bath time, and watched a movie before bed. They didn't talk about her upcoming audition, his job as bouncer, Pam, Tyler, or the case. It was a silent mutual agreement to shut out the world for the night. Unfortunately, she saw it as a suspension of things they still needed to work out, and he saw it as a resolution - a return to status quo.
Veronica knew he felt this way. Evidenced by his words right before they had fallen asleep, "We just need to keep this case separate from us, Veronica. From you and me and our family."
But this case was their family. Not the 'who stole the coke and cash' part, but the return of Pam and the existence of Tyler. Logan having a child with another woman would forever change their family and his blindness to that reality was frustrating.
She rolled onto her side to stare at his sleeping form.
He was half-sitting, half-slouching against a pile of propped-up pillows. Bailey was on his chest. Her pacifier —in danger of being washed away by the drool leaking from her open mouth— was clinging to the corner of her lips. Logan had one hand spread over the baby's back and in the other was an almost empty bottle. They'd clearly fallen asleep during Bailey's four a.m. feeding and not moved since.
Veronica kissed his shoulder and climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb them.
It wasn't that he was avoiding the problem, or pretending it didn't exist. For him the matter was settled. Pam said Tyler wasn't his. End of story. That left Veronica alone with this weight. She needed the results of the paternity test. If they came back negative, she could do exactly as Logan suggested- treat this like a regular case and compartmentalize, keeping their family life apart from the investigation. If they were positive, then…
She didn't know what would happen at that point, but at least she wouldn't be the only one trying to figure it out.
Keeping her shower short, she did her hair and makeup and dressed for her appointment, donning black leggings, an olive-green ribbed top with a handkerchief hem, and her go-to Rag & Bone leather booties.
Back in the bedroom, she checked on the baby. Her lips were puckered and she was sucking on air. She was patting Logan's chest in search of the now-missing pacifier and growing restless with her inability to find it, squirming and twisting her head. Logan was motionless.
Kneeling on the mattress, Veronica felt the sheets, and ran her fingers down his side, searching for the pacifier before Bailey started to cry. "Poking isn't my idea of foreplay, but I can work with it," Logan said, voice woolen with sleep and eyes still closed.
"You wish; I'm looking for her binky." She swore the thing was magical, immediately becoming invisible the second it fell out of Bailey's mouth. There had to be a hundred of them hidden around the house, mocking her and her inability to find them.
"More in the drawer."
Too late. Bailey opened her eyes, releasing a loud, plaintive cry. Logan jerked fully awake and bolted upright. He rubbed the baby's back, making soothing noises, to which Bailey responded by crying harder. "You'd think it was the end of the world."
"Mm-hmm, overly dramatic." Veronica stripped the covers from the bed, shaking out the blanket in search of the pacifier. "I wonder where she gets it from?"
"I'm just the right amount of dramatic, thank you very much." He pulled open his nightstand drawer. "Fuck," he hissed. "There are no more." As proof, he held up the empty MAM package. "Now what?"
"Gee honey, you'd think it was the end of the world." The sarcasm dripped. Getting on her hands and knees, she pressed her face to the floor, and scanned under the bed. Seriously, how far could the thing have rolled? It wasn't a ball.
"Why wabbit cwy?"
Great, now the entire house was awake, and she was going to be late. Getting up, Veronica bumped her head on the bed and muffled a curse. Wyatt stood in the doorway, clutching Cuddles and rubbing her eyes, waiting for an answer. "She lost her binky."
"S'okay, wabbit." Mimicking Veronica, Wyatt knelt on the floor and peered under the bed."Me get." She crawled into the darkness and returned with the pink and gray pacifier. Apparently, they were only invisible to adults. Don't trust anyone over thirty should be the company's slogan.
Logan held out his hand and Wyatt shook her head, holding it tight to her chest. "Me do."
Complying with the request, he sat on the edge of the bed so Wyatt could reach. She wiggled the binky into Bailey's mouth until the baby realized what is was and clamped down. Blissful silence followed. "Poor wabbit." An indictment of their parenting skills handed down by a toddler. She kissed Bailey's nose and patted her cheek.
An affectionate smile curved Logan's mouth. "Okay, since everyone's up, who wants blueberry pancakes?"
"Choc'ate chip?" Logan started to say no, when Wyatt tilted her head to add, "Pease?" And Veronica knew he was a goner. Sure enough, he nodded agreement, and Wyatt slid off the mattress, skipping from the room, singing to herself.
"Don't say it." He held up a hand to silence her.
"Say what? That you're wrapped… easy… a pushover… a soft—"
"Hey, it's not my fault she's almost as irresistible as her mother. Besides, the baby whisperer" —he waved his hand over a now-sleeping Bailey— "deserves her chocolate chips. I might even put bananas in them."
"Be careful, Echolls, it's a slippery slope to caramel sauce and whipped cream."
"That sounds like your kind of breakfast, not hers." He gingerly placed the baby in her co-sleeper. "But you know if you tilt your head and ask nicely, I might be persuaded to make it for you."
"Rain check. I have to leave, but Dottie will be here early so you can get ready." She tossed the blankets back on the bed and picked up the empty pacifier packaging. "I'll stop at the store and get more of these on my way home."
"Appointment?"
"I'm going to try and ID our not-so-friendly neighborhood drug dealers."
Stopping mid-nod, he frowned. She watched his expression shift as all the possible ways she might track down the dealers ran through his mind. Worry lines crinkled the corners of his eyes and his jaw clenched, lips thinning into a grim line; there was a little twitch in his left eyebrow, but he didn't say anything. Not with words. He stroked her cheek instead, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and kissed her nose. Roughly translated - I love you, please be careful.
"Don't worry, I won't be trolling dark alleys looking to score; I'll be in a nice" —she stressed the word— "safe office, staring at a computer screen."
"So I only need to worry about eye strain and carpal tunnel and" —his hands slid down her back and cupped her ass— "secretary spread."
She tapped a finger to her lips, pretending to contemplate his dilemma. "Too stressful for you? Because I could always strap on my gun and head down to the corner of Seventeenth and K."
"You could… if you wanted to kill me and make it look like natural causes."
Veronica smiled. "Since I'd rather keep you around, the office it is." Threading her fingers through his hair, she pulled his head forward for a kiss.
"Daddeee!" The impatient bellow from the vicinity of the kitchen broke them apart and sent them in different directions- Logan to get a pair of sweatpants from the dresser, and Veronica to the closet for a jacket.
They walked down the hall together.
Wyatt was sitting on the kitchen floor, a big mixing bowl squeezed between her legs. Measuring cups, wooden spoons, and a lone fork were scattered around her, and she was struggling to rip open the bag of organic, whole grain pancake mix.
"Guess she started without you."
Logan smirked. "I should know better than to keep a Mars waiting for food." He crossed the room, shutting cabinet doors as he went. "Need some help?"
Raising her face, Wyatt grinned at him. "I cook." He sat on the floor with her and she held out the bag. "Daddy do."
Veronica went to get her keys and purse and then returned to the kitchen to say goodbye. Wyatt accepted the kiss on her cheek, but was too busy pouring chocolate chips to acknowledge Veronica's leaving. Priorities.
It was only a twenty minute drive to the FBI building.
She'd considered taking the photos to Leo. The SDPD was at the forefront of facial recognition software. For years everyone in the department, from the regular beat cop to the top brass, had been using handheld devices to amass a huge database of photos. There had been challenges to the practice, by both regular citizens and civil liberties activists, but it still continued. So, for all of two seconds, Leo made sense. But then she'd decided there were already too many exes in their lives. Plus, she couldn't ask Leo for her other favor.
She made the U-turn necessary to reach her destination and parked in the front lot. The white-brick, windowed building was just as bland as she remembered. Fortunately, security moved faster this time around, granting her access to the lobby with five minutes to spare. Veronica cut across the tile floor toward the elevators and was stopped by a guard at the desk. "Can I help you?"
"I have an appointment with Special Agent Townsend; I know the way."
Standing, he shook his head. "Visitors need—"
"Veronica Mars." Gil Townsend emerged from the elevator with one long stride. "It's good to see you again."
"We need to stop meeting like this." She pointedly looked around the lobby. "Friends don't make friends wait for personal escorts through the building." They shook hands. "Haven't I earned a hall pass?"
An enigmatic smile crossed his face as he waved toward the elevator, allowing Veronica to precede him.
He'd sent a gift when Bailey was born, but they hadn't seen each other since Gina's shooting. Lamb had wanted to arrest her for killing Gina and Logan had immediately called Gil. He'd come to the house, surveyed the scene, and said it looked justifiable to him. A clear case of 'defense of others.' He didn't have jurisdiction, but his presence, and the ongoing FBI investigation of Gina's involvement with the Sinaloa cartel, were enough to smooth things over with Lamb. Veronica owed him one.
"How's Wyatt doing?"
Veronica waggled her hand in a so-so gesture. "A little wary of strangers, but no more bad dreams, and she's still swimming."
Gil nodded. "And you?"
"Working a new case that could use an assist." She knew his inquiry was about her mental state, but that was a subject better left for… never. "Specifically from the FBI's Next Gen ID System."
An arched brow and silence were his only responses.
Unlike most people, Veronica didn't rush to fill the conversational void, remaining quiet until the elevator doors whooshed open and they were walking toward his office. Same open bullpen, but instead of weaving left through the cubicles, he went right. "New digs?"
"New, but not improved." And he wasn't joking. It was an exact duplicate of his former office. Veronica didn't understand the point of the switch if it wasn't for more space. She shrugged. God and the government both worked in mysterious ways. "What do you have for me?" he asked, waiting for her to sit before taking his position behind the desk.
"Photos." She took the four printed stills from her messenger bag and laid them on the desk followed by a thumb drive with the digital images. "Can you run them through IPS?" The Interstate Photo System used the biometrics of facial recognition to comb through millions of images.
"These two won't work" —he pushed aside the pictures of the dealers taken as they walked up the back stairs of Shenanigans— "Not enough detail." The other two photos he moved closer and took his time studying. "I'm guessing these are not fine, upstanding citizens?"
"You got it in one." She touched the photo of Sam's henchman. "He works for Sam Carlucci, mobster and part-owner of a strip club called Shenanigans. I think his first name is Dom… Dominick."
A deep frown marred his brow.
Before he could voice his concerns about the mob and her safety, Veronica pointed to the other photo. "He's a drug dealer. I'm thinking low-level aiming for a promotion. He, and his associates" —she waved at the two discarded photos— "tried to sell five kilos to Sam at twenty grand apiece."
"Tried?"
Veronica nodded. "During the buy, both the cash and drugs went missing." She sat back. "I was hired to find out who stole it."
"You're working for Sam Carlucci?" He managed to sound both outraged and disappointed at the same time. It was such a good dad voice, Veronica almost asked if he'd been chumming around with Keith.
"Of course not." She sketched in the details of her case, omitting Pam's name and her prior relationship with Logan. "My client got me a job at the club —I start tomorrow— and before going in, I'd really like to know the names of all the players."
As he considered this, his pen started tapping a steady beat on the edge of his desk. "I'll see what I can do with these - ask around about Carlucci and his associates." The pen stilled. "What happens when you find the thief?"
"I turn them in to protect my client." The ramifications of that scenario were clear and unpleasant. Veronica just hoped she could find something to nail Sam to the wall before it came to that. Changing the subject, she asked, "Do you know anyone who can do some DNA tests for me?"
"There are plenty of private—"
Veronica cut him off with a shake of her head. "I've already collected the samples." Her statement let him know this wasn't your standard testing while still being vague enough that he could have deniability about pesky things like legality and consent.
An appraising stare from Gil. "I have a friend." Taking a legal pad from his desk, he wrote the name, Oscar Jiménez, a phone number, and an address. "He owes me a favor." He ripped the sheet from the pad, folded it in half, and held it aloft between his thumb and forefinger. "And now you owe me one."
Smirking, she said, "I think the line is: someday, and that day may never come, I'll call upon you to do a service for me."
A deep appreciative chuckle rumbled from his chest. "But until that day, accept this justice as a gift on my daughter's wedding day."
Veronica rolled her eyes, plucking the yellow sheet from his fingers. "Call me if you get anything from the photos."
"Will do." He stood and walked her back to the elevators. "Give Logan my regards." Leaning into the open elevator car, he pushed the button for the lobby, and blocked the door with his forearm. "And tell Wyatt Gilly said hi."
She nodded as the doors closed between them.
It was too early to pick up her lunch bags of DNA from Wallace's apartment. Veronica figured he was probably in the middle of teaching health class. Kids, this is what happens when you have unprotected sex - one day your future wife will steal your DNA for a secret paternity test. She could always use her key, but she needed to give Gil time to get in touch with his friend.
Starting the car, she turned her head to stare at the freeway.
She should go to the office. Mac would be done with the rest of the background checks by now, including the one on Sam. An outstanding warrant for a crime with a lengthy prison sentence would be too much to hope for, but his police record would make interesting reading. His and Joey's.
They also had to discuss Amber. She'd decided against asking Mac to create a backdated outcall permit. The request would draw too much attention to what she was planning to do and she didn't want Mac —or Keith— to know she was undercover as a stripper. Instead she'd make Amber's history follow her own. Replace Stanford with stripping at the Seventh Veil, exchange her gap year with a stint dancing in Reno, and swap Columbia for entertaining at bachelor parties in New York, and they were practically twins.
Now all she'd need from Mac was a way to link Amber to her deceased great-aunt, Anne. Veronica frowned. Maybe she could turn on the phone service at the decoy house and make the utility bills come in Amber's name.
Go to the office. That's what she should do, but what she wanted to do was see Logan.
Her eyes moved to the dashboard clock. Even after she factored in the half hour drive to his job, it was too early for him to take lunch. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Mac could always email the background checks. Taking out her cell, she sent Logan a text: You and me - lunch? What do you satay?
A few seconds passed and her phone chimed with: Your pad (Thai) or mine?
Smiling, Veronica tapped out her response: Yours, curry puff. Noon.
She sent one more text to Mac, asking her to email whatever information she'd gathered, and tossed her phone on the passenger seat. Putting the car in gear, she left the parking lot.
Proper weekly date nights weren't feasible. They only trusted four people to watch the girls and they didn't want to exhaust those babysitting options. It was easier just to meet for lunch. Sometimes Logan would come to her, but it made more sense the other way around. Her schedule was flexible.
Charm Thai Kitchen was a frequent haunt. Small, with raw wood walls, a quiet corner booth for two, and good food. Veronica could kill an hour drinking Thai iced tea (and reading her email from Mac) while waiting for Logan. Best part was, the staff would leave her alone, while silently refilling her drink and letting her hog the table without complaint. Being a regular had its privileges.
Veronica got her tea and an order of cream cheese wontons and took them to her table. Opening her laptop, she went right to Gmail. The message from Mac had six attachments and contained two words: call me. Wanting her call to fly beneath Keith's radar, she avoided Mars Investigations' main number, and dialed Mac's cell.
Without preamble, she said, "You need to open the PDF named Sam."
"Hello to you too, old buddy, old pal, old friend of mine." As she spoke, Veronica double-clicked the attached file. The first page contained a complicated flowchart. Half of the boxes were empty; the other half contained names like Carl Enterprises, SCE Holdings, and Prism Capital. "Want to tell me what I'm looking at?"
She scrolled through the pages of corporate records while Mac talked.
"I went back to the original incorporation papers for Shenanigans and noticed that shares of the club were owned by a company called Exotic Ventures with an address in the Seychelles." Her voice rose with excitement. "When I searched the address, I found thousands of hits for different websites and businesses linked to it."
"Thousands?"
Mac continued, "I used LexisNexis to identify owners and corporate officers, and looked on Who Is to see who registered the website domains. There's also an entire online database with leaked offshore accounts."
With a new understanding, Veronica went back to the flowchart and followed the arrows. "Exotic Ventures is owned by EM, Inc., which is owned by SCE Holdings - they're shell companies."
"Exactly. So far I've been able to tie five of them back to Sam, but there could be more; I'll keep digging."
Veronica frowned, unsure if she should have Mac continue to search. Sam owning shell companies was interesting, but in and of itself, the information meant nothing. There were legitimate reasons for shell companies and offshore accounts. "Instead of searching for more companies, can you see what other assets these entities hold? I doubt Sam put together this shell game just to hide his ownership of Shenanigans."
"I can try, but it might be easier if I knew how this all worked. Don't suppose you know any forensic accountants?"
"No" —she banged her forehead on the edge of the table— "But my dad does."
It was the same accountant who, back in the day, investigated the missing money from Logan's trust fund. Not only a certified public accountant, she was also a certified fraud examiner, and whenever Keith had to 'follow the money' on a case this was the person he called. If Mac went to Keith for the name, he would want details. Details Veronica didn't want him to have. She banged her head on the table again. "Scratch that. Let's wait a few days; see what you can find on your own before we get the accountant involved."
Mac chuckled. "In other words, don't tell Keith what I'm doing."
"I didn't say that - you did."
"Because I speak Veronica. Maybe not as well as Logan, but I get by." Mac paused for effect. "Aaand speaking of your dad, he's been looking for you."
"Without finding me?" Veronica hmphed. "I mean really, what kind of detective is he? Can't locate his own daughter. They should pull his investigator's license." She glanced up at the sound of the door chime and watched Logan approach the table. "I need to go, my assignation is here."
He smirked at the word choice, leaning over the booth to kiss her as she hung up the phone. "It's a very G-rated place for an afternoon tryst," he said, before kissing her again.
"I'm sure you could make it work." He dropped onto the bench across from her, his long legs invading her space. Veronica tucked her legs between his knees. "Of course, the Holiday Inn is just down the road." That was another frequent lunch spot for them.
"Good times." His gaze caressed her face, slid down her neck, and over her body, turning up the heat in their cozy booth. ""It would be worth getting fired to spend the rest of the day in bed with you."
"Okay" —she smiled— "But let's eat first; you're going to need the energy."
"Tease." Picking up her hand, he kissed her fingers, and directed a pointed look at her laptop. "Is this a working lunch?"
"No," she said, shutting the computer and returning it to her bag on the floor. "But I've got a question."
"When do you not?" An indulgent, amused grin toyed with the right corner of his mouth.
Veronica found it comforting that he could still be charmed by that quirk in her personality. "How did you set up the shell companies to transfer the ownership of our house?"
"There's a company in Wyoming that incorporates shell and shelf—"
"Shelf?"
Their food arrived. More cream cheese wontons for her, tom yum soup for him, and chicken pad Thai for two. Logan must have ordered on his way to the table. Veronica dunked a wonton in the plum sauce, waiting for their server to depart and Logan to answer her question.
"You create a company that remains inactive. It sits on a shelf aging until you need it for nefarious purposes, like hiding your millions from the divorce attorney." He poked at his food. "Aaron had one."
It was probably his insurance policy in case Lynn decided to leave him. She'd sold her soul —and her son— to the devil in exchange for botox and designer clothes. Logan's feelings about his mother were conflicted, but Veronica's not so much; Lynn had failed.
"Mac has uncovered six different shell companies connected to Sam." She outlined the ownership of Shenanigans. "Any idea what he's using them for?"
Shrugging, he speared a piece of chicken. "Maybe he's trying to avoid paying taxes."
And maybe they were serving sno-cones in hell. "I found Karen; Pam and I went to see her yesterday." A quick lift of his eyebrows beckoned for her to continue. "She was… off. I couldn't even tell if she liked Pam, one second she acted friendly and the next downright chilly." Veronica stared across the restaurant, mechanically eating her last wonton.
Logan called her name, undulating each syllable, and waving a hand in front of her face. She blinked. "Sorry, just trying to nail down what bothered me."
Reaching over the table, he used his thumb to free her bottom lip from her teeth. "That's no reason to maul my favorite lip; you'll figure it out."
She kissed his thumb. "It's not that… on our way to Karen's, Pam said that a few of the girls quit working when the parties degenerated. It was actually Karen who told Pam what was happening and then, during our meeting, Karen warned me away from Sam. Her exact words were, don't be alone with him."
Logan followed her train of thought without a problem. "You think Sam raped Karen?" She nodded and his expression turned grim. "If Pam hired her, put her in that situation, it could explain the iciness."
"That's possible." Averting her face, she focused on the ceiling fan. A confluence of events, impaired people, and a rape. It was a situation all too familiar to her. She hugged her chest. Pam could be the target of Karen's rage, just as Madison was the target of mine. Or maybe I'm just seeing shadows on the wall.
"Hey," he whispered, calling her back to the present. His face was ashen. "I don't like this, Veronica. The idea of you in that club, surrounded by scum. There has to be another way." Logan extended both hands, palms facing out, and Veronica pressed hers to his, interlacing their fingers.
"There isn't." She squeezed his hands. "But you'll be with me the entire time."
He shook his head. "I just don't understand your insistence… do you know they did a study and found that one hundred percent of dancers were physically assaulted inside the clubs where they worked?"
"Statistics, really? What did you do, search Google for ways to scare Veronica?"
"Yeah, it said: outlook not so good." He smirked. "No wait, that was the magic 8-ball." The sarcasm did little to mask his feelings; his doleful eyes gave him away. He stroked his thumbs over hers. "I can go undercover by myself —plant bugs, talk to the dancers, search the VIP rooms— and feed the information to you."
The memory of Gina holding a gun to his chest, threatening to kill him in front of their daughter was still raw. "And if something happens to you? How is that any better?"
"At least I won't have to live with myself."
She frowned at him. "Together, Logan; we do this together."