CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Pam had gone home almost immediately after her pregnancy test reveal. She'd downed the rest of her glass of wine, thanked Veronica for listening, and then said if she still wanted a DNA test, she'd gladly have one done. "It's the least I can do for you, Veronica, after everything you've done for me."
Veronica had demurred. It had somehow seemed cruel to subject Pam to confirmation of her worst fears. It was something she would have to discuss with Logan. Unfortunately, she hadn't gotten the chance until much later, after the kids had gone to sleep for the night, and by then neither of them was in the mood for serious conversation.
Veronica sipped her coffee. Clouds churned overhead, and streaks of orangey-pink ate the indigo sky with the first light of dawn. She huddled deeper into her robe to ward off the morning chill. The world was quiet, and she tried to enjoy the silence from her corner of the deck. Too bad her brain wasn't cooperating; her thoughts were loud and intrusive in the stillness.
"Couldn't sleep?" Logan asked from the doorway. He was leaning on the jamb, cradling his own cup of coffee.
"Not really."
"Are you okay?" It was the same thing he'd asked her last night right after Pam left. She was… or at least she thought she would be- eventually. She just needed her head to cooperate; the inability to turn it off was a curse.
He crossed the deck to her, lightly touched her hair, and then stroked gentle fingers through it. Veronica offered a wan smile. It did little to reassure him, as evidenced by his slight frown.
"I'll be fine; it's Pam you should be worried about. We need to get her away from Shenanigans."
Logan kicked a chair closer to her and sat. "How do you plan on proving to Sam she didn't steal from him without returning to the club?"
"I'm going to find a still from the video cameras of Siobhan wearing those heels the night of the party, and you're going to give it to him along with the shoes and cash. I'm hoping this will make you a valued and trusted employee."
"So I can do what?"
Veronica shrugged. "Stay on as bouncer and find evidence to bring him down." It wasn't the greatest plan, but it was all she had at the moment. The idea of Logan being in the club alone was the stuff of nightmares, and a big reason for her lack of sleep. She understood better why he didn't want her to continue playing Amber, but hopefully, since he was a man, he would be safer with Sam and Joey.
"Any suggestions on how I can do that?"
"Not yet, but I'll come up with something. In the meantime, I'll try to track down Chloe- the girl who quit"-she threw air quotes around the word quit- "after Karen was killed, and I'll talk to Bill Gant's girlfriend."
"Be careful there; we're not sure how involved Gant is with Sam, and I don't want anything getting back to him."
She nodded her assent. "Also, I've been thinking about the high-end video and the numbers in Sam's desk calendar. What if they're a key to a website of some kind? An auction site on the dark web?"
"If Mac can't find anything, I have a friend who might be able to help you." At her look of surprise, he chuckled. "I know people too. He's an intelligence analyst for the Department of Defense."
"And why have I never met this so-called friend?" Veronica's face scrunched in mock-outrage, making Logan laugh again.
"Because you, my love, ask a lot of questions, and he has a security clearance he needs to protect."
She batted her eyes. "Are you implying that little-old-me could be a threat to national security?"
"If anyone could take down a government, single-handed, it would be you," he said dryly, but with more than a measure of pride in his voice.
"Sweet talker."
They smiled at each other before sipping their coffee in unison. Veronica sobered first; her mind returning to Pam, and the conversation she didn't get to have with him last night. "You know I can't ask Pam for a paternity test now, right? Not just because of the circumstances, but also…" Veronica frowned. "There shouldn't be any official test- no paperwork trail."
Logan paused mid-sip and lowered his cup. "Why not?" Veronica explained the rules for terminating a rapist's right to his child, and watched his face darken with rage. "You're shitting me."
"I wish I was. You press charges, he learns you're pregnant, and if he doesn't get convicted, he can be in your life forever- demanding joint custody and shared holidays. It's disgusting."
His eyes clouded over, and he went to that dark place in his head where it was so hard to reach him. Veronica watched him stare at the mostly-planted garden, but she was sure he wasn't really seeing it. He was miles away.
She chewed her lip. There were things they could do to protect Pam. More important, to protect Tyler. She just wasn't sure she was ready to suggest them. It would ensure the change she'd feared. Her frown deepened. But would it really? If it was just a favor and not the truth?
"You're right, we can't make Pam take a paternity test," Logan said, leaving his troubled thoughts and coming back to her. "You should call Oscar when the lab opens."
She didn't want to ask, but she also didn't want him to regret the suggestion later. "Are you sure?"
"We should know." His use of the word 'we' made Veronica smile. They were definitely back on the same side. A fact he solidified by taking her free hand in his, and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'll take the kids to the Botanic Garden so you can comb through the videos unimpeded."
"Wyatt will love that." The children's garden had a treehouse and grass maze. There was also a fort, blocks, and an art garden, but, best of all, it was an entire morning with Daddy. "Just don't come home with some grand ideas for our yard, okay? It's a day with your daughters, not a master planning course on landscape design."
"I don't know, Veronica… a pond with a stream and a butterfly sanctuary might be nice." She rolled her eyes, and he wagged a finger at her. "Wyatt's already starting, and Bailey will be next. Do you want to have to deal with two teenage girls who do nothing but roll their eyes and speak in sarcasm?"
"And don't forget the smirking, which they were born with, thanks to you." She shuddered. "I think it's inevitable that they'll be horrible teenagers. I mean, look at us-we were NOT model children."
His eyes widened, expression guileless. "Speak for yourself, I was an absolute joy."
"Yeah, okay," Veronica scoffed. "Maybe when they turn thirteen, we can release them into the wild?"
"Solid plan." He brushed the hair from her face and kissed her forehead as he stood. "In the meantime, we should probably make sure they're well-fed and cared for- we don't want them going feral too soon."
"That's what I love about you, Echolls- you're always thinking ahead."
"And right now I'm thinking- breakfast quesadillas? Eggs, sausage, some Monterey Jack, and a little sour cream with salsa for dipping?"
"Perfect, but you better make Wyatt's with mozzarella." They were fast running out of triangle-shaped food they could call 'pizza', along with accompanying sauces. If the 'pita and dippy' stage didn't end soon, they were all going to starve.
Logan nodded once before disappearing through the french doors, and Veronica sipped the dregs of her mocha latte.
It was the last peaceful moment she had; the rest of the morning was swallowed by toddler and baby noise. First came cries for help with potty time, then demands for food, and finally the epic battle of staying naked verse getting dressed, with all its attendant screeching.
By the time Logan bundled them into the mom-van for their trip, Veronica was seriously reconsidering the idea of more children, and thinking of ways to send the current ones into the wild sooner. There was probably a Disney movie about it.
But then Wyatt reached through the open back window for one more hug, and 'Mama kiss-kiss fish', and Veronica forgot her complaints. Kids were tricky like that. Tiny terrorists one minute, who took over the house and held you as unwilling hostages, and in the next, they were angels, who filled you with joy and made life complete.
Veronica sighed. Logan was probably going to end up with his passel of kids and a damn dog. Curses, foiled again.
She bypassed the mess of the living room, and ignored the hazardous kitchen while she made another cup of coffee. Waiting for it to brew, she reviewed her day's agenda: Oscar, Mac, videotapes, a visit to Chloe, and then a trip to Gant Publishing to meet Bill's girlfriend. Not necessarily in that order.
Armed with caffeine and her cell, she padded into the dining room. The financials Gil had given her contained employee records. She thumbed through them in search of contact information for Chloe. Fingers crossed it was there, because, if not, she'd have to call Pam for the address, and she was not prepared for that discussion.
Yahtzee.
Veronica got her Thomas Guide from the office and found the apartment complex on the map. It was in the UTC area not far from the 5, north of the railroad in a section filled with students and singles...and with any luck, one disgruntled ex-stripper who had a story to tell. She scrawled the address on a post-it, stuck it on the map, and shoved the entire wire-bound guide into her messenger bag.
Gee, procrastinating, much?
The folded sheet of legal paper with Oscar's phone number was safely tucked into the same pocket of her bag as the old tabloid articles about Logan. She should probably get rid of them...or maybe she should show them to Logan first. Veronica mentally shrugged. It was a decision for another day. She punched in the number, and was surprised to find it rang straight into the lab.
"Sheriff's Crime Lab, Sisino," answered a pleasant, young-sounding woman.
Veronica asked for Oscar and was put on hold. While she waited, she booted up her laptop, and connected Pam's video player to the HDMI input.
"Jimenez." Guess everyone at the lab used their last names as greetings.
She skipped the pleasantries, and got right to it. "This is Veronica Mars, Agent Townse-"
He cut her off. "Hold, please." She frowned at the abruptness. If he didn't want calls about off-book paternity tests on company time, maybe he should tell Gil to give people his personal number instead of a probably-recorded line at the County Operations Center. There was a click in her ear, and Oscar was back. "The results are negative."
"Meaning what? He's not the father?"
"That is correct." A profound sense of relief flooded through her. Upon hearing Pam's story, she'd tried to convince herself there was no need for further proof, but if her reaction to the test results told her anything, it was that she'd been deluding herself. Trust, but verify. "Did you need something else?" Oscar asked in a tone which suggested her answer be no.
"I'm good." Great. Wonderful. Fantastic. She thanked him and hit the red 'end call' icon. Tyler was NOT Logan's. This was the best news she'd gotten in weeks.
Veronica flipped through the DVDs, humming.
After locating all the ones labeled with the date of the party, she whittled down her choices to cameras with a potential view of Siobhan in the hollow heels. The gate entrance wouldn't do, and it was unlikely any of the girls had danced in the main club on a party night. She started with the dressing room, fast-forwarded to six p.m. —an hour before the caterer had arrived—and then let it play in real time.
There was nothing happening on the screen.
She called Mac, who by way of greeting, said, "Are you still trying to avoid your dad?"
"Me? Avoid someone or something? Hardly. It's like you don't know me at all, Mac. I'm a people person."
"Oh sorry, I thought this was Veronica Mars: Misanthrope, guess I'll have to change my contact list."
Veronica fake-laughed. "So since you have all this time on your hands to update your phone, I'm going to assume you're done looking into Sam's cloud accounts?"
"You can assume that, but you'd be wrong." Mac launched into a speech about firewalls, dedicated servers, and something called zero-knowledge proof.
Veronica listened with only half an ear. On her laptop, Reina had entered the dressing room. She was already dressed for the night's festivities, wearing a three-piece purple outfit of lace camisole, matching panties, and stockings. There were intricate strings crisscrossing her body to hold the entire tiny confection together. Her stilettos were ombre, starting with a pastel lavender at the toe and darkening to a deep eggplant color at the heel.
She glided across the room with more grace in the ridiculously high heels than most women could muster in a pair of ballet flats, and stopped at the tabletop water cooler.
In Veronica's ear, Mac was explaining the acronym PAKE -a password authenticated key exchange- and how it utilized an 'EKE.'
Siobhan entered the room and joined Reina at the water cooler. Not for the first time, Veronica wished there was sound to accompany the video. What did water-cooler talk inside a strip club, right before a prostitution party, involve? So how many guys are you going to screw tonight?
Veronica froze the picture. "Huh?"
It was a perfect still of Siobhan in the heels, but… there was something else. Something not-quite-right, but Veronica couldn't put her finger on it. She frowned at the screen. Her brain unable to retrieve the memory that would explain what she found disconcerting.
Mac thought her confusion was about their conversation, so she elaborated. "EKE stands for encrypted key exchange, and it-"
The word 'encrypted' refocused Veronica's attention. "I have a string of numbers." She explained her desk-calendar find, and her secret website theory. "Could they be a key?"
"Wait- you think Carlucci is auctioning women on the internet?"
"Yes. His entire import/export business is finding women here with no close family connections, who have no loved ones to miss them, and selling them overseas. Then bringing women from other countries here to sell to his rich cronies."
"Veronica, that's…"
"Disturbing? Abhorrent? Revolting?" Sadly, it was all those things and worse, but it was also the ethos of business- see a need and fill it. "In the 90s, close to a half a million women were trafficked from Ukraine as part of the 'Natasha' trade to countries like Turkey, Greece, Canada, even- obviously Sam thought the U.S. needed to catch up."
"And we're going to nail this sucker to the wall, right?"
"You bet." Veronica told her about Logan's friend who could help her with the computer stuff. "Text him for the info. He's at the botanical garden with the girls, but he should have the phone number with him, and I'll send you the picture of the page-a-day calendar as soon as we hang up."
Veronica asked her to prioritize the search for the missing dancers over studying Sam's finances, but only after working on the encryption of the cloud account, obviously. Then she ended the call. As promised, she sent the numbers to Mac, then used AirPrint to get the still of Siobhan.
After collecting the printout from her office, she showered and dressed, but her gaze kept returning to the image of Reina and Siobhan standing near the water cooler. What the frack? Why was she having such a hard time identifying what was wrong with this picture?
She slid the screenshot into her bag and left the house. Avoiding Amber's car, she took the BMW instead. There was no point in getting on the parking lot known as the freeway; surface streets would be faster. Veronica turned left at the end of the block, then made the right onto LaJolla Blvd.
The condos where Chloe lived were relatively new, and featured a long list of amenities. Now that she was here, she recognized the complex. She'd looked at these apartments with Wallace when he was house hunting, but they were not affordable on his salary, even after factoring in his extra income from tutoring and teaching summer school. Apparently, strippers made more than lawyers, private investigators, and teachers.
Mature palms and jacaranda trees softened the white stucco walls of the terraced building, and sunshine poured off the red-barrel tiled roof in glistening waves. The entire effect shouted SoCal by way of Hollywood, right down to the courtyard with its impossibly-blue swimming pool, and bikini-clad women stretched out on lounge chairs.
Veronica skirted past the potted bougainvillea and entered the coolness of the lobby. An oak reception desk, plus white marble floors with deep-grey veining, were designed to make you think, 'luxury hotel', but all she could imagine were wet swimmers sliding across the slick surface, and slamming head-first into the counter.
"Can I help you?" The uniformed guard wore a look of bored disinterest.
Veronica considered walking right past him, but a black-laquered plaque with gold-leaf lettering clearly said: All Visitors Must Sign In/No Exceptions, and she didn't think his disinterest would extend to her ignoring the rule. "I'm here to see Chloe Warren."
"Is she expecting you?"
"I'm a friend of hers from work, and I just stopped by to see how she's doing." His frown said he wasn't going to accept her non-answer, but she gave it another shot. "So I'll just head on up, unit 283, right?"
He started to shake his head, and Veronica gave him a full-wattage smile. "You know, you should come by the club where we dance sometime- I can leave your name at the door." She glanced at his name tag. "Jimmy…"
His expression rapidly changed to very interested, as he gave her his last name. "Gallo, Jimmy Gallo."
"Tomorrow night, maybe?" She took a few steps in the direction of the elevator banks, and when he didn't make any move to stop her, kept going.
A lewd grin spread across his face. "I'd like that."
I bet you would. "I'll make sure you have a really good time- just ask for Amber." She wiggled her fingers in a flirty little wave, then turned her back to him and jabbed the call button for the elevator. The car was waiting on her floor, and the doors slid open with a muffled whoosh. Veronica ducked inside, sparing a quick peek at Jimmy. He wasn't on the phone, which was a good sign- maybe she could still surprise Chloe.
This visit was a little tricky. If she continued her Amber ruse, it would be near-impossible to ask the questions she wanted. But if she confessed to being a private investigator, there was definitely no going back to Shenanigans in any way, shape, or form. Veronica pegged the time lapse between her leaving Chloe's apartment and Chloe telling everyone who she was, at under five minutes.
The halls smelled of fresh paint and new carpet. No artwork adorned the walls, but every few feet there were wire-cage light sconces, giving the walk a warm, welcoming feel. She rapped on the door of Chloe's apartment.
There were no answering sounds from within.
Veronica frowned. The big production Jimmy had made about announcing her arrival had made her think Chloe was at home, but now she wasn't so sure. One of the amenities of the condo was a semi-underground, private parking lot for the residents. Maybe there was a way out of the building without having to pass the front desk?
She tried the knob, and the door swung open on silent hinges. "Hello?" Veronica stepped from the carpet to the wide-planked wood floor of the living room. "Chloe?"
The apartment felt vacant. There was a stillness to the air, which was unachievable with people present. Veronica closed the door behind her and tried again. "Chloe? It's Amber- from work- are you home?"
No response.
A quick cursory search through the four rooms-living, kitchen, bath, and bed-confirmed her initial impression- Chloe was gone. Veronica pulled open the two side-by-side bedroom closets. The first was filled to capacity with 'work' clothes, lacy bits matched on their velvet-covered hangers with accessories like garters and stockings. A parade of shoes on the floor were neatly aligned beneath each corresponding outfit.
The second closet was barren. Empty hangers swung on the rod and lay scattered on the floor. No regular street clothes had been left behind at all. Veronica checked the dresser and found its drawers equally bare.
So did Chloe hightail it out of town, or was she taken?
That question chased Veronica from the apartment, followed her down the hall, and stayed with her as she located the stairs to the garage. She called Mac the second she was back on the street.
"Twice in one day? What happened?" Mac asked, concern evident in her tone.
Veronica filled her in and gave her the address of the apartment complex. "Could you check their surveillance video? Focus on the camera in the garage; I want to know if she left under her own steam, or if she had help."
"On it. I'll call you as soon as I have it."
"Thanks, Mac." Veronica disconnected, and then retraced her path to the BMW. Things were happening, and none of them were good. Was Sam cleaning house? After first Karen's murder, and then Siobhan's, the police had to be taking a hard look at Shenanigans, and maybe Sam was feeling the heat? His ownership was so well-hidden, it wouldn't be surprising for him to cut and run, leaving Joey and Pam holding the bag.
She took several turns in rapid succession, navigating her way to the southbound 5.
Gant Publishing used to be housed in the historic Spreckels Building, with its Chicago-style architecture and concrete gargoyles, but a developer had purchased the property to turn it into luxury residences, forcing the commercial businesses to move. Now the publishing house sat across the street from its former location in a modern steel-and-glass tower.
Veronica made the turn down First Avenue toward Broadway. When she reached the building, she availed herself of the valet parking, and headed inside. It was another elegantly-appointed lobby, but this one held about as much warmth as Antarctica during the coldest winter.
The directory said Gant Publishing occupied the top four floors of the tower itself. She headed that way, and enjoyed a silent, rapid ascent in a chrome cube with zero personality. However, all the bland decor disappeared the moment the doors opened into the suite.
A mahogany-paneled wall with brushed-silver lettering, which read Gant Publishing, rose from the floor to the twenty-foot ceiling, serving as the backdrop for the wood reception counter. The other walls were all floor-to-ceiling glass with panoramic views of San Diego Bay, the Pacific Ocean, and the Coronado islands. It was stunning.
Too bad the sour looking receptionist ruined the view.
Veronica crossed to the desk. "I'm here to see Bill Gant."
"Do you have an appointment?" The woman's gaze fell to the book open in front of her, eyes scanning the names on the list.
"No, but-"
"Mr. Gant is very busy today. Perhaps if you tell me what this is in reference to, I can schedule something for you later in the week? Friday maybe?"
"What about his assistant? Sorry, but I can't seem to remember her name- young, tall, blonde-is she available?"
A moue of distaste puckered the woman's lips. "Darina Kozak."
"Right, that's it." Veronica filed away the information for later. "Can you see if she's got a few minutes for me?" She supplied the woman with her name and claimed she was a literary agent.
"If you'll have a seat, I'll try her office." There was no mistaking her opinion about Darina, or the fact that she had her own office. She waved toward a grouping of steel-framed, boxy, leather chairs, and Veronica did as instructed.
A matching steel credenza held a carafe of what she assumed was coffee, considering the sleek ceramic mugs on the tray next to it. There was also a proper sugar bowl, glass creamer, and silver spoons. Veronica squeezed her eyes closed to prevent the inevitable eye roll, and then immediately popped them open.
On the end of the counter was a water cooler.
It was a clear glass egg, more decanter than cooler, and definitely fancier than the Poland Spring bottles at Shenanigans, but… It finally came to her. "The caps!"
"Excuse me?" asked the Ice Lady from the desk.
"Sorry," Veronica apologized, moving back to her.. "Will Darina be able to see me?"
"She's not in." A frown accompanied the statement. "Which is…" Her sentence trailed off, prompting Veronica to repeat the words in hopes that she'd continue. Ice Lady considered, then answered, dropping her volume to a whisper. "It's strange because she's always here with Mr. Gant. They arrive together, leave at the same time, and her office…" Her brow furrowed. "It's right across from his, and she never shuts the door. That's weird, right?"
"Very." Veronica agreed out loud in an effort to keep her talking, but silently she thought this made sense- Gant was keeping an eye on his investment. "Are you sure he's in? Maybe they went somewhere, and-"
She started shaking her head. "No. He's in an important meeting-one he prepared for all last week. He would not miss it."
Gil had said the FBI would look into Gant's mistress; could he… "Has anyone else been in to see Darina this morning?"
Her mouth opened in a small 'o' of surprise. "As a matter of fact, a woman was here first thing, also claiming to be an agent." The way she emphasized 'claiming' told Veronica Ice Lady hadn't believed her ruse. "And she didn't ask for Mr. Gant at all; she specifically wanted to see Darina."
Veronica nodded. "Well, I guess that means I'm out of luck."
"Do you still want to set that meeting for Friday?"
"Uh, sure." She scheduled the appointment she'd never keep for ten a.m., thanked Ice Lady for her help, started to leave, and then changed her mind. "If you see Darina, can you have her call me?" Veronica found a business card-one without the private investigator designation-and placed it on the day planner.
"Of course."
This time Veronica did leave. She checked her phone while waiting for the valet to retrieve her car. There was a text from Logan: Someone found the water AND the chalk. A picture of a drenched Wyatt, hair covered in chalk dust, squatting next to a frog near the bamboo pond, was included with the message. She smiled. Better Logan than me.
There was also a voice mail from Mac.
Veronica waited until she was in the car to play the message via the BMW's speaker system. "Checked the garage and it looks like Chloe left on her own, toting two large suitcases. There was no one with her, but she was hurrying. Call me back if you want to see for yourself."
There was no need; she trusted Mac's take on the video. Part of her was relieved to find Chloe was okay-if only a little fearful-but a smaller part was disappointed by the dead end. Strike two.
Unless she added 'no word from Gil' in her swing count, then it was strike three and time to return to the bench.
She sighed. In her case, 'the bench' meant a dining table filled with boring paperwork. Grr. If there was one downside to her profession, it was the amount of time spent behind a desk, combing through reams of documents.
The traffic on the 5 crawled along at a pace slightly faster than walking. She could check her tap on the camera in the club's VIP room to see if she was right about the caps. It wouldn't provide her a view under the sink, but maybe she'd get lucky, and tune in just as someone was changing out the water, in prep for the re-opening of the upstairs.
She tapped the hands-free button on the steering wheel. "Call Logan," she shouted at the dashboard, half-expecting it to call Lohman's, or give her the definition of a brogan, but she was pleasantly surprised when her husband answered.
"We're still here, but I'm slowly luring her away from the rope ladder with the promise of a swim and a poolside movie."
"If you add s'mores to that bribe, you might have a winner."
"Are those for her, or for you?"
She shrugged. "You can't deny the appeal of marshmallows and chocolate." The knot of traffic loosened, and she accelerated to the speed of a bicycle at the Tour de France.
"Is that mom-logic?"
"Sure, I totally aced the bribery section in my Bad Parenting 101 class."
"Veronica-"
Before he could launch into his reassurances about her mothering skills, she cut him off. "And speaking of bad moms…do you remember when we were investigating Mac's accident, and you were tracking the trophy wife for me? You said something about being able to dissolve cocaine in nasal spray?"
"You can dissolve it in a lot of things- I hear smugglers have been using wine to get it across the border." His answer was followed by him patiently telling Wyatt, "You can't climb on that, Jellybean."
"So it could be dissolved in say a three-gallon water jug?"
It took him less than a second to see where she was going with this line of questions. "They didn't flush the coke."
"Exactly. I found a picture of Siobhan in the heels, standing next to the water cooler in the dressing room- it's the same machine as the VIP room- but the spare bottles had the white and green Poland Spring caps." She merged left to take the LaJolla Parkway, and continued straight toward Torrey Pines Road. "The ones I saw under the sink upstairs had blue replacement caps."
"Do you think Siobhan was smart enough to pull that off?"
"No, but a chemistry major who used to make meth would, and he'd know how to reconstitute it." The pieces were all clicking together now. "Mickey is the one who arranged the buy, which gave him plenty of time to plan."
"Whoever comes to you with this Barzini meeting- he's the traitor," Logan mumbled in his best Brando. Then asked, "But how did that unholy alliance happen? Was Siobhan sleeping with him too?"
Veronica frowned at the windshield. "Maybe?" She recalled all his aliases- Mickey Burns, Mickey Burn- that was how you pronounced Siobhan's last name, Byrne. It wouldn't be a stretch to imagine some overworked cop spelling his name phonetically on a booking sheet. "But I think they might actually be related?"
"Save that explanation for when I get home. I've managed to wrangle Wyatt into her stroller, and we're heading toward the car."
"You realize this means the coke is still in play. That's why Karen wanted to be cut in on the deal, even though she already had the cash- she wanted her share of the drugs too." Veronica made the final turn and slowed as she approached their house.
"That turned out well for her."
She could hear the smirk in his voice, and almost called him on it, until she saw Pam pacing in the driveway. She was smoking and furiously punching numbers on her cell phone. "Logan, Pam's here at our house, and I think something's wrong."
No sooner had she finished speaking when Pam rushed the car, frantic. "Tyler's missing. They took him, Veronica. He's gone!"