Thanks for the reviews so far, folks – and I suppose I should let you know that, while there may be a Logan/Veronica hookup somewhere along the way, it's not the main thrust of my fic. I don't write romance very well.

I suppose I also need to disclaim ownership of the characters and say that they're Rob Thomas'. See Mediancat disclaim. Disclaim, Mediancat, disclaim.

X X X X X

Sandwiched around the Echolls funeral, Dad had been helping the Neptune sheriff's department track down a serial killer. Yeah, there's a marriage made in hell for you. But it worked; the bad guy was taken off the streets, Dad got paid, and Don Lamb got to take most of the credit.

In the meantime, Logan had taken some time off school to run interference for his mother, who had holed up on the Echolls estate and was not seeing visitors. This kind of ticked off the mob of reporters clustered at the gate, but they quickly learned that without Aaron Echolls and his lust for publicity around, Logan had absolutely no compunctions about dealing with them his own way.

"His own way" included physical confrontations and verbal abuse. Pretty much par for the course with Logan Echolls, but in this case I kind of sympathized with him. Dad faced his share of nosy reporters when as sheriff he "botched" the Lilly Kane murder investigation and had been summarily booted from office and replaced by Lamb.

(Recalling Dad for incompetence and swapping in Don Lamb is kind of like firing a basketball player for blowing a few shots and replacing him with Gary Coleman.)

In any event, Logan wasn't at school, Lynn was doing her impression of a turtle in its shell, and Trina had hit the rounds of the talk shows. Last night she was on Larry King Live. This morning, the Today Show. When she got to talking about the movie she was trying to get made about her Dad's life I flipped it off.

That afternoon, I was sitting at the desk of Mars Investigations working on some calculus homework when I got a surprising phone call. Dad was busy tracking down a bail jumper from San Francisco, but for once it was a local job so he was sleeping home nights.

"Mars Investigations," I said cheerily. (Get that smirk off your face. I can fake cheery. I used to be on the pep squad, remember?)

"Veronica?" comes Logan's voice. "I need a favor."

"Is this a favor favor, or an I'll pay you favor?"

"I'll pay you. Whatever your Dad's going rate is." Wow, two sentences in and he hasn't taken one shot at me. This must be serious.

"$250 a day, plus expenses. What is it?" If he's going to be businesslike, I'm going to be businesslike.

"You've heard about this pack of vultures hovering over my father's corpse?"

"I've also heard that your way of dealing with them so far involves insults and repeated blows to the head."

Logan sighed and said irritably, "Look, Mars –"

"Hold on. No insult intended. Really. Just wanted to say that blows to the head might not the most effective way of dealing with the situation. You might want to hit them somewhere not made of solid granite."

He actually laughed at that one. Then he said, "I came to that conclusion myself. That's why I'm calling."

"You want me to hit them?" I asked incredulously.

"Don't sell yourself short, Mars. I've seen you use that taser." Then he got serious again. "No, I want you to find some way to distract them. Get them away from here. I want to sneak my Mom off the estate somewhere they're not going to be able to find her for a while. And you're the best person I can think of for the job."

"An actual compliment from Logan Echolls? Did the world come to an end while I wasn't looking?" It just slipped out. I swear.

"I can't think of anyone sneakier, more deceitful or Machiavellian. There. That live up to your expectations?"

"Absolutely. Hey, why aren't you calling the Neptune Police Department? Sheriff Lamb would bend over or kneel for most 09'ers."

Sighing again, Logan said, "Yeah, right. Lamb's a buffoon. And he hates me anyway. And according to this one deputy they're worried about lawsuits and the ACLU storming into town. They hauled off the one reporter who got onto the estate but otherwise there's nothing they can do. So, Ma—So, Veronica. You up for it?"

What the hell. We could use the money – and I liked the feeling of having Logan Echolls in my power for once. "Sure," I said. "I'll get right on it. First thing I'm going to need is a dead cow."

"A dead cow?"

"What else would you use to distract vultures?"

"Daddy Dearest left a pretty big corpse, Mars. I think you'll need at least a Minke whale." And there was more proof, as if I'd needed it, that Logan's public defense of Aaron Echolls had been just that: A public defense. And as Logan's never given a good goddamn about his own reputation, or his father's, for that matter, it had to have been to protect his mother. "Check the phonebook," he went on. "Look under "Ahab."

Now it was my turn to laugh. "I'll see what I can do. Word of warning: You may need to hustle her out of there at a moment's notice. Keep your eyes open."

"Aye-aye, cap'n. Echolls out." And he hung up.

So. What did one use to lure away reporters . . .?