With the harsh thud of the door, and Logan's brisk steps, Piper asks, "Who was that?"

"Nobody," he replies, clipped, swallowing back the tone that just escaped his throat when speaking to Veronica. His head spun with her there, right there, knowing she was standing on his porch, her car in his driveway.

In Montana.

"It didn't sound like nobody," she looks at him, eyebrows raised, "Dad, who is she? If you don't tell me, I'll just go out there and ask her."

Logan spins on the spot, "You will not," he pauses, "Her name is Veronica, Veronica Mars. We went to school together."

"Clearly you weren't best friends?"

"You know what, I don't want to talk about this, Piper. I asked her to leave, it's over now."

Years he's spent training himself in calm indifference, in suppressing those feelings when they come bubbling up. How many sessions of court-ordered anger management did it take to stomp down those ticks of rage when they flare?

In Montana, on his ranch, he felt in control, but it floats away with one bite from his past.

Walking to the back door, Piper follows him, doggedly, continuing with her questions. He's a closed book, a mystery novel she can't solve because he never gives out a single clue, and suddenly today, she's thrown a tiny morsel and she pounces on it.

"You don't speak like that to just anyone, you clearly had a past, what happened? Did she know mom?" Piper asks, clinging to any scrap about her mother she can find.

Logan stops and takes steady breaths, "I'm sorry Piper, I just can't talk about this right now. I'm going to the stables," he says, walking to the back door, sitting down on the stool, pulling his boots on roughly. He's trying to grip them, pull them over socked feet, but they're tight and his hands are shaking.

He's not stupid, she's a teen with access to the internet. She must know about the past, surely. About Aaron, about Lilly, about him. But if she does, she has never mentioned it to him or asked him about it. It had been years here now, the two of them nestling into the closest thing to anonymity. They built their bubble, stayed within its walls, and Veronica Mars of all people was the one to pop it.

He needed to find calm; he knew he could find it in the horses. Saddle up, gallop as fast as his horse would take him, feel the mountain air in his lungs.

Piper outstretches a hand, laying it on his shoulder, "Dad, are you okay?" she asks, concern lacing her tone.

"I'm fine," he places his large hand on hers, "I just need a breath. Seeing her here, just took me a little by surprise."

"Dad, was she a friend once?"

He nods.

"Maybe you should talk to her, hear what she has to say? She's come a long way." She says, fifteen years old and with more wisdom than he ever possessed.

Logan kisses Pipers head as she releases his shoulder and he walks into the yard.

The fresh air on his face calms him, bringing him into the present, bringing him back from the train wreck that just unfolded on his front porch. From the words he said, the anger that he was so certain had dissipated after all these years that erupted from within, catching him by surprise. Sure, she called first, but that was a call, a voicemail, nine seconds of voice separated by what he thought was twelve hundred miles. As it turns out, it was significantly less. Only a matter of feet separated them, and those feet made all of the compressed past, come tumbling back.

In between his long strides, he hears the beat of feet on the gravel behind him.

"Piper, just leave it," he sighs, turning.

But it's not Piper, it's Veronica.

"Logan," she starts.

"Are you kidding me?"

"You need to hear me, Logan. You didn't listen to me in high school. Whatever. You were going through a lot so I left you alone, but I need you to know this now."

He turns and starts walking away, his stride long, moving toward the stables. Of course she's still on his heels, brisk feet to keep up. Unlocking the gate and walking inside, a few long faces appear in unison out of the stable doors, roused by the sound of their owner, the sound of potential food.

"I've said this before, and I'll say it again, it wasn't me," she says.

Logan stops, turns towards her, a foot separates them. Veronica's cheeks are tinged pink, she's breathing heavily from running to catch him, her eyes are pleading with him to hear her, and he wants to hear her, he does. He just doesn't know how it will fix the past.


It was third period journalism class that he first noticed her. She wore her hair down and long on a Tuesday, in braids on a Thursday. She would play with the ends, flicking them back and forth in her fingers as Miss Davies spoke. Veronica was smart, always a step ahead of the others in the class, including Logan. She wasn't popular; she didn't stand out. She was short, snappy and occasionally awkward. Her sole claim to fame in the highschool hierarchy was that she was the Sheriff's daughter, which earned her a fair amount of distanced respect. Fear of fatherly retribution for bullying is one thing, receiving it from the Sheriff was another thing entirely.

He wanted to talk to her, to ask her a question, but he didn't know how to broach it with her. Regular nights he'd spent mulling his plan over in his mind, but the time to strike was approaching and he didn't want to delay any further.

He first spoke to her in the winter, in a year of strangely heightened seasons. Where Neptune saw days of rain, and a battering of cool winds that blew down from the North, rendering Californians searching for warmer jackets. She was sitting in the quad, at a table by herself, not eating her pizza square and picking at her baby carrots. Logan approached, sliding onto the seat beside her.

"I hear you're a regular Nancy Drew?"

She looked at him, a crease in her brow, unsure why Logan Echolls, an '09er, was speaking to her.

"If you're hearing things about me, I should probably be worried."

"You help your Dad, right? With surveillance and stuff?"

"I'm hardly on the force. Sure, I do my homework at the department, sometimes help out with some line up photos when they're in a bind," she took a sip of her soda.

"I hear you helped Scott Gooding find his brother?"

Veronica didn't admit to anything, rolling her hand over, "Get to your point, Echolls."

"I have a proposition for you, Nancy," he waggled his eyebrows.

"Sounds dubious. Especially coming from you."

"Fear not. I come to seek your services."

"Now I'm really worried."

"I need some surveillance."

"From me?"

"Yeah, why not, you've got the fancy camera and I think you've secretly got the skills."

He'd been thinking about hiring an actual PI for this task, however the fact that it gave him a reason to talk to Veronica Mars was reason enough.

"Pray tell, what do you want surveilled?"

"Well, that's where things become a tad tricky," he leaned in close, whispering, "It's my Dad."

"Aaron Echolls? The Aaron Echolls?" she eyed him speculatively.

He nodded, matter of fact.

"Why?"

"Because the Aaron Echolls is not all that he seems. I believe that he partakes in certain… late night activities with various females of which he isn't married to, and I need photographic proof."

"Gross."

"True."

"What are you going to do with the pictures?"

"My Mom knows this is happening, I think at least subconsciously she's aware, but she refuses to acknowledge it. I think if she has physical, undeniable evidence before her she will leave that sack of shit," he rubbed the spot on his shoulder, the spot where just last week the sharp edge of his staircase met skin, hard. The spot his father held him down, knee pressed into his ribcage until his skin blackened and bruised.

Veronica pushed out her tray, swung a leg over her chair, "Yeah, sorry. That's a no from me." Slinging her backpack on her shoulder, she began to walk away, but Logan was fast, catching her in seconds, leaning close again.

"Does five hundred sweeten the deal?" She stopped mid-walk, and he continued, "That's for the surveillance, you get good, clear photos of him in flagrante , then a two hundred bonus."

She crossed her arms, "Why would you pay me that?"

"Because the rate for a real PI would be at least double that. You get my cash and I save money. Win-Win. I may be a rich boy, but my frugality surprises some."

"Don't want to blow the entire trust fund at once?" she teased.

"It's all about pacing," he winked.

"Sorry, I've got bio homework, I've signed up for the Model United Nations, I'm kinda short on spare time. You'll have to spend your bucks on a real PI, I hear Vinnie Van Lowe is terrible, feel free to see him."

She shot him a Broadway smile and departed towards the gymnasium.


It was the LeBaron's fault.

Two weeks later the incessant clunking had morphed into a screeched groan each time she turned the wheel.

She found Logan beside his locker with an armful of classic literature, Edgar Allan Poe resting on top, "Okay, I'll do it for six hundred. But I'll only commit to four nights, I'm sixteen, I can only get away with so much evening absence without the raising of alarm bells."

"Well, well, well, whatever made you change your mind? Was it my freshly frosted tips?" he closed the locker door, resting the side of his head against the yellow paint, brown eyes teasing.

"As tempting as your tips may be, a set of new ball joints on the LeBaron will set me back 350, plus labor. I'm lacking access to a trust fund such as your own, so I'm kind of in a bind."

"Sheriff Mars won't spring for repairs?" he pouted.

"The Sheriff sprung for a new set of spark plugs and brake pads last month. I was advised if I required any further repairs, I would best be seeking out employment."

"Ahhh, so this is me, hiring you as an employee then?"

Veronica shook her head, rolled her eyes, "Lets not get ahead of ourselves."


Lynn Echolls was in Madrid for six weeks, filming a supporting role in a medium-budget thriller. There were only two more weeks left before she returned, the time gap quickly closing. Trina was in LA reading for any role available for a female under 21. Logan told Aaron that he was staying at Duncan's. Aaron thought he was all alone.

Logan gave Veronica a rudimentary map of the property, including suggested places for observation. He placed a ladder against a vine, behind an old magnolia. He marked a spot on the fence with an x. A spot he has used frequently himself, climbing in and out at a whim, a place with an easy footing on the roadside. His very own secret entry.

The first Saturday Veronica sat perched in the low branches of a tree to the right of the pool house. It gave her a good vantage point of the pool and through the windows into the lounge and kitchen. The leaves were waxy and wide, forming a canopy, allowing her to shrink from view, and there it was darker, away from the hundreds of carefully placed spotlights. Inside the house all the lights were on, the pool was lit to a sparkling blue as she watched Aaron at the kitchen counter, slicing something.

Digging the camera from her bag, she played with the zoom, taking a series of test shots. From her viewfinder she could see that he was finely slicing tuna, dipping it into a bowl. She pulled down the lens, snuggling her backside into a v-shaped wedge in the branches, and settled in for his tuna-eating guest to arrive.

She sat for fifteen minutes before she could hear the hum of the electronic gate behind her opening up. The gentle rounding of tires and a flash of headlights. Alerted to an arrival, Aaron departed from view. She took a bag of gummy bears from her bag and popped one in her mouth, her legs swinging back and forth, waiting.

When a hand grabbed her foot, she nearly fell. She swiveled around to spot Logan beneath her, eyes looking up from the brush.

"You're lucky I didn't kick you in the head," she growled, heart racing.

"There's still time," he stood right in her shoe line, kicked up a knee, pressed on his left thigh, propelling himself onto the branch beside her.

"What are you doing here?"

He shrugged, "Came to check out the action."

"I don't need an assistant."

"I know, Duncan was boring the shit out of me, so I bailed."

"Well, go to Dick's or something."

"Nah, this is more fun," he said, "I'm guessing nothing yet?"

"Preparing food is the highlight of the evening so far, but someone's just arrived."

He picked at the tree branch for a while, a collection of bark fragments piled in his hand before letting them fall to the ground with an open palm.

Veronica kept her eyes on the kitchen, watched Aaron reappear with a tall brunette. She wore a crimson bodycon dress, matching pumps. Her hair was big and high, like a soap opera star. Veronica pulled the viewfinder to her eye and snapped away furiously.

"Who's that? Do you know her?" she asked.

"That's Annette, she's his manager's ex-wife," said Logan peering through the leaf canopy, watching Aaron with narrowed eyes and set jawline.

"Do you think he's sleeping with her?"

Logan reached for her bag of gummy bears and laughed with contempt, "Of course he's sleeping with her, he's sleeping with everyone," he said, taking a fistful from the packet.

"Maybe they're just having dinner?"

"Maybe they're just having dinner before they fuck?" The way he said it was crass and harsh and Veronica turned her head back to the scene. She felt like James Stewart in Rear Window , equal measures excited and terrified of what she might see behind those pristine glass panes.

Aaron poured Annette a glass of white wine, they clinked glasses; he resumed his position prepping the tuna. His guest attempted to sit on the stool gracefully, but she was thwarted by the tightness of her dress, and simply settled onto the side.

"Are all famous people like this?" Veronica asked.

"Like what? Human scum? Pretty much."

"Do they all cheat?"

"Best I can tell," Logan spoke with the kind of jaded lethargy that could only come with a life of being surrounded by fame. Veronica couldn't even comprehend his existence in the spotlight. His father and his mother, being recognized down the street, known from birth, every bar they went to, every time they pumped gas, people always watching.

"If we can get photos, do you think your Mom will really leave him?"

Logan played with his puka shells, rubbing them between a thumb and forefinger as he spoke, "He has conditioned my mom to this kind of behavior for years. He gaslights her, telling her she's imagining things, conjuring relationships that aren't there, then turns the tables and says she's cheating. She is convinced that she's the crazy one. But if I come to her with real, physical, touchable proof, I think she will leave. I hope so, anyway." He opened his mouth, as if he was going to say something else, but hesitated, closing it again.

Veronica snapped more photos while Aaron fed Annette off a fork. The display reassured her that this would be easy money.

They couldn't hear the exchange, but Veronica could imagine the sound of Annette's giggle. Throwing her head back, red lipsticked mouth open in an o, Logan's eyes narrowed as Aaron mercilessly flirted back with her.

"Shouldn't you be hanging with your girlfriend instead of bothering me?" Veronica tried to get rid of him. Watching his father cheat in real-time was hardly a good idea.

"If you're referring to Lilly, she is not my girlfriend."

"Sure looks like it," she said, not taking her eyes from the viewfinder.

"She's just my best friend's sister. She hangs around here when Duncan comes over, likes to lie by the pool, says mine is bigger, something about better afternoon light."

Veronica laughed, baffled by how clueless boys could be, "Yeah, that means she's into you."

Even through the viewfinder she can feel him make the shrugging motion.

"Does the Sheriff know you're doing this?" he asked, going back to picking bark off the limb.

"He thinks I'm in a study group."

"Scandalous! Lying to the Sheriff. Tsk Tsk. What will he say when he realizes you have money to fix your car?"

"How about we worry about what your dad is doing right now, instead of what my dad might do when he realizes what I'm up to?"

"I'm just making small talk, seeing as we're hanging out now."

"We're not hanging out buddy, I'm working for you, remember. You've just come to pester me because you're bored."

Logan threw a leaf at her, and she swatted it away with a giggle. The second that giggle left her mouth, she swallowed it right back up.

Aaron dined Annette, oblivious to the eyes watching them, the legs swaying from the branches of the tree. He draped his arm over her shoulders and they laughed and drank, but she left with nothing but a kiss on the cheek and Aaron retired to bed. Their three-hour date seemed to pass in rapid speed, Veronica pulled in the lens on her camera, storing it away in her bag. The chance at easy money was swiftly shut down, but she didn't mind. She'd just come back again next week, see what happened then.

Logan swung down, long arms outstretched like an orangutan, dropping the short distance to the stone pathway beneath them. He waited as she climbed down the long way, carefully finding her footing, and walked her to her car.


Things didn't go as planned.

Aaron didn't behave as anticipated. After his one night with Annette, the other nights that Logan had exited stage left had been busts. They spent a weekend trailing him, learning his movements, studying his interactions. Veronica found herself wholly disappointed. She imagined endless red carpets, lunch dates with Tom Hanks, hair coiffing appointments, the reality was far sadder. In the mornings they watched him sit in a corner booth at Java the Hut, reading a newspaper over a double espresso, waiting to be noticed. Eventually a few girls would approach, seeking his autograph, giggling, asking him to mimic the lines of his most famous movies, which he did willingly. He'd then spend the rest of the morning in the gym, equal amounts of time lifting weights as observing his reflection in the floor to ceiling mirrors. This was followed by a light lunch, a meeting with his agent, then home to swim laps in the pool, make himself dinner and fall asleep in front of Friends reruns by 9.30pm.

Logan didn't behave as anticipated, either. Spending all this time with him left her with a slew of feelings that she hadn't signed up for. When he asked her to do this job, that was all it was, a job. Quick cash from a bottomless trust fund of a somewhat hot '09er, who otherwise would never have spoken to her. Veronica found she didn't really mind if she caught Aaron at all; she didn't even care about her $200 bonus. She cared about Logan. He could match her wit, sometimes even outsmart her, and he had an uncanny way of making her feel at home, sitting in his tree, exchanging unwarranted photography tips while eating from her endless stash of candy.

But it had come to a close, this arrangement, she had fulfilled her end, four nights. They parted that Saturday with the exchange of the agreed six hundred dollars. A handshake seemed like a strange way to complete their transaction, but they did it anyway, and they each went their separate ways.


Logan surfed, he cruised to the mall in his newly minted Xterra, he strolled the halls of school, he begrudgingly did his bio homework. And while he did this, he definitely wasn't thinking about Veronica. The way she took extra long strides to keep up with him. The way her eyes sparkled, tossing sarcastic comments right back at him with casual ease. He wasn't thinking about her every day in the shower, or every night when he lay awake staring at the ceiling.

Except of course, when he was. Which was all the time.

It snuck up on him. Sure, he liked her before, she was feisty, cute and smart, but he never had really talked to her, and now that he did, it made things so much worse. He found himself gravitating to those places he knew she may be. He didn't even mind if she didn't talk to him, of course, that was preferred, but at this point he'd take a mere glimpse of her just to get him through the monotony of another school day.

It was a Thursday morning when Logan appeared at Veronica's locker. Thursdays meant long braids down her back and hands jammed in his pockets to keep from gently touching one.

"Can you give it one more try?" he tilted his head to the side with pleading brown eyes.

"I've wasted precious study evenings on this and dad's starting to suspect something's up."

"Another $200, just for one night, then you're done, I promise never to darken your doorway, or locker again."

Veronica smiled, "Well, with those kinds of promises, how could I possibly refuse?"

"How's Saturday?" He asked.

"I think I can make that work."

Logan slept easily that night, knowing that Saturday was two sleeps away and in those two sleeps she would be back at his house, in his tree, so easily found. The air lingered with palpable promise for the first time in a long time.


Under the guise of a night at Dick's, Logan declared his departure. Aaron waved it off like he could care less where he was. He packed his bag and exited with a dramatic "Au revoir," and a door slam to really cement his absent status for the evening.

Logan dropped his bag in the Xterra, drove around the block, parked on a side-street and then scaled back over his own fence, crawled the limbs of the tree and waited for Veronica.

A more level-headed person might have looked upon the questionable surveillance of his own father in a negative light. He might have felt an ounce of guilt, something, anything for encroaching on a parents' right to privacy. But that person wasn't Logan Echolls. His father was an abusive, manipulative bastard who deserved no such rights or privacy. That measly excuse for a human would be left divorced, disgraced, and he and his mom, and maybe even Trina, could move on.

Veronica met him in their tree. She wore jeans, a pink fluffy sweater, her hair tied in a ponytail low on her neck. Scurrying up the tree with her messenger bag, she positioned herself on her favorite limb, took out her camera, pulled two bags of Cheetos and threw one at him. He almost missed the catch, but recovered it last minute by the top of the plastic packaging.

They sat in that tree and talked until long after their fingers were tinged orange with Cheeto dust. Aaron Echolls lounged the couch, watched a baseball match, drank multiple beers and fell asleep by nine-thirty. The night was a bust, another waste, another nothing. Logan wondered if he was wrong all along, if maybe some cosmic universe existed where his father didn't cheat, and maybe he'd imagined it all. Sad to see the night he'd looked forward to all week come to such an abrupt and disappointing end, he took a chance and offered to take Veronica out for ice-cream.

She said yes.

He took her to Dante's Ice-creamery, because according to Veronica, it was the best. She had claimed herself an aficionado in such matters and Logan didn't dare argue. He had a scoop of double fudge, Veronica two of mint chip in a waffle cone. She shouldn't have gotten two scoops. She spent more time talking than eating and Logan had to watch the way her tongue kept interrupting her words to slide around catching the melty drips of soft green before they landed in her fingers.

Somehow, she finished it all and while driving her back to the LeBaron they stopped at the beach, sitting on the hood of his Xterra. Because while he wanted a lot of things in life, his father gone, world peace, a new Channel Islands longboard, the thing he wanted most right in that moment, was for the night not to end.

She reached into her bag, pulled out a large bag of Skittles, ripped the edge, tipping a rainbow of candies into her hand, their sugar crusts chiming, and passed him the open bag.

"Didn't we eat ice cream not twenty minutes ago?" he asked in jest, but with a complete acceptance that he would happily eat junk food with her until he exploded.

She shrugged, staring into the pile of colors for the answer to the universe. Apparently the answer was yellow. She picked it up and deposited it in her mouth with a pop.

He opened the top of her messenger bag and glanced inside, "Just wondering if maybe you have a small terrier in here too?"

She smiled and looked out to the sea. A piece of hair fluttered out from its tie in the breeze and whipped around her head. The night was cold, the ocean wind prickling his cheeks, but he didn't feel it.

"Is your dad really as bad as you think he is?" she asked, then selected an orange orb.

"He's worse," Logan answered matter-of-factly.

"I'm sorry."

Normally he would stop the conversation right there, a full stop, no need to elaborate, but he felt something akin to trust with Veronica. Not only did he want to tell her more, he believed that maybe, one day, he could tell her everything . It was a feeling he was wholly unfamiliar with.

"Imagine the entire world loves someone, but you know that deep down they're dead inside, a festering black soul. And you would tell the world, but no one would believe you, they'd call you crazy. So you go home and you live with that black soul every day, and he does his evil things and you get to sit back and watch them all unfold, all while the world cheers him on."

"Only a few more years and you could move out?" She offered a positive spin, finally collecting the stray piece of hair, snuggling it behind her ear in a quick swipe.

"Six hundred and sixty-five days, give or take."

"Not that you're counting."

"Not at all."

"Maybe he is as bad as you say, and he's just not having an affair?"

"The likelihood of him not having an affair is the same as me being struck by lightning, juggling bowling pins, wearing a bikini."

"Now, I'd pay to see that," she says.

"I know you would," Logan smiled at her while the waves met the shore in the background, making their incessant roar. He placed an entire handful of Skittles into his mouth.

"We can't all win the parent lottery like you," he said, struggling through a cheekful of candy. Veronica kicked her head back and laughed dramatically. The curve of her exposed neck stopped him mid-chew.

"Are we playing compare the shitty parent?"

"We could, but you need to know, I will win."

"Sure, my dad can be somewhat cool when he's not wielding his uncanny knowledge of 70s rock bands but let's not discount my mom in this situation. We're talking capital A alcoholic, with a thing for hiding her glaringly obvious addiction and using the guise of Wednesday nights at AA to start up an affair with Paul Pesanello, owner and operator of First Fitness, franchised across ten states. She up and left last year, presumably with him, I say presumably because it would require actual contact with her daughter or husband in order to confirm such details." She took a deep breath, ran her hands over her jeans, scrounged in her satchel for more snack foods but found none. Logan passed her back the Skittles bag.

"Shit, Veronica, I'm sorry, I didn't know."

She waved it off, "Whatever, things are better now that she's gone. We don't walk on eggshells anymore. There's considerably less yelling. Dad's oddly stoic, which makes me worried that he's repressing everything. You know, just the usual kids worrying about their parents when it should be the other way around."

"Do you think she'll come back?" he asked.

"Maybe, maybe not."

"Do you want her to come back?"

"Some days I want her to just come back into the kitchen and make waffles and sing out of tune and make dad smile again, other days I want her to come back so I can push her into wet concrete, build a house over the top."

"I understand that feeling," he said, realizing for the first time that they may share more similarities than differences. Solid ground is an illusion, people, families are always in flux, the only certainty is uncertainty. Even the ones you should be able to trust most in the world, let you down.

They passed that red Skittles packet back and forth between them, half for the actual candies, half for the opportunity presented by the brush of fingers on the pass. As it continues, Logan takes less and less, just to keep the movement in perpetuum.

She looks at him, "How about I give it one more go? One last try before your mom comes home?"

"You are a determined little bobcat, aren't you?" he smiles, realizing she's doing this for him, trying to repair in his life what she can't with her own, "I'm going down to Dick's beach house in Ensenada for the break, so I won't be able to come, but I guess I could cancel?"

"That's okay, I'm sure I can sit in a tree and snap photos by myself."

"But who will annoy you?" he asked, making a grin that took over his entire face.

"I will simply have to annoy myself," she smiled back.

"It's a thankless job," he added.

She laid against the windshield, looking up at the stars. He let his eyes track her, studying her in profile, the gentle curve of her nose, the way it swooped down and met her lips, her tiny chin. They disappeared into the abyss of the night together.

Logan knew she knew he was watching her, but he didn't care.

"Stop looking at me," she said, a featherlight smile creasing her mouth.

"I'm not looking at you, I'm admiring that lovely tree behind you."

She chuckled, "Good, I mean, it's bullshit of course, but good."

"That tree is really beautiful," he said, voice softer.

"Good to know."

He stopped looking at her, turning his head away, peering out across the dunes, all black. There was barely a moon, just a banana-like sliver behind them, hardly enough to see five feet ahead, even with eyes adjusted. All the while, the constant wind against them.

He tried to think of something to say, small talk, words of some kind, any kind, but he can't seem to access them. Instead, he kept his head turned, running his hand across the hood, drawing circles with his fingertips.

She moved beside him, readjusting on the hard surface, closer to him, close enough to make him turn his head, look at her. What he saw was her lifting her hands, taking his face within them, bringing her lips to his and kissing him.

Logan froze.

It took a few seconds to register, the night, the cuffs of her sleeve scratching his jaw, the warmth of Veronica's lips on his. When his brain finally towed the line, she had pulled back, eyes wide, and immediately laid back upon the windshield.

He sat there, numb for what seemed like an eternity before he coaxed his brain back to life. Veronica Mars kissed him and now she lay beside him on the hood of his Xterra, eyes clenched closed.

He leaned over her, laying a gentle palm against her face, so as not to shock her. Her eyes flickered open. He bent his body down and kissed her this time. Properly.

He kissed her until he tasted the yellow and purple Skittles, the best flavors. And best of all, she kissed him back.


He floated to Dick's house that night, unsure how he got there, not quite sure why he couldn't feel his cheeks except when he realized he couldn't stop smiling. That had never happened before.

Dick didn't understand the concept of these odd sleepovers where Logan would appear at 11pm or later and just fall into the spare bed, but he let it fly. Because he knew Aaron Echolls, he'd seen his tortuous blind rage once. That was enough.

Logan was beyond caring what anyone thought of his late night activities. A series of kisses on a dark car hood had propelled him into the clouds.


The house was dark, Aaron nowhere to be seen. She told herself she'd wait until ten o'clock, but the minutes dragged by with no Logan to chat with, no Logan to pester her, no Logan to kiss.

The air was cool and the wind wild that night. The tree she'd come to find comfort in, a strange connection to its tangled smooth limbs, was in riot. Just as she was about to pack away her camera and climb down, she saw movement in the dark kitchen. A figure, two figures, moved across the black. She pulled the lens back to her face, zooming in, but could see nothing. Trained on them, she followed the movement but the tree's waxy leaves flapped in the invisible chaos, swooping into her lens, obscuring her vision. They were fighting her that night. They were telling her that her time was up, get out, go home. This was no place for a teenager on a school night. Pulling her jacket tighter around her, she felt the goosebumps settle on her skin.

She moved back and forth, scanning each room, finding nothing. Until a lamp flicked on in Aaron's bedroom. With the curtains drawn wide she could identify the figures, Aaron, and an unknown woman. The woman was slight, blonde hair pulled off her face. Kissing furiously, he pushed her against a wall, removing her bronze colored shirt. Veronica brought the lens back to her eye and zoomed in, snapping as many pictures as she can with shaking fingers. She feels an uneasiness rise through her chest, this intimate moment, observed by her from amongst the leaves. It felt wrong, her the voyeur, watching an old movie-star about to have sex. She felt a tug to leave, to run away. So she took as many snaps of them kissing as she could wanting desperately to scurry out of the tree, slip back into the darkness and not have to observe the final act.

Unbuttoning his pants, Aaron slipped off his belt. The woman came into view and Veronica hammered the shutter, a series of clicks, and she was done. She flung the camera into the bag, dropped from the branches and scurried past the pool, down the drive and climbed the spot of the high fence where Logan's ladder sat.

Out on the road, she pulled the camera back out of her bag, flicking through the photos on the video screen. Her fingers quivered, hitting all the wrong buttons. She knew what she thought she saw, but it wasn't until she zoomed in, seeing it in thousands of pixels before her, she knew she was right.


Veronica slunk into the Balboa County Sheriff's office before school, armed with a USB stick and a side of trepidation. All the officers smiled and waved, asking how she was doing. She threw back hellos and walked through like she owned the place; she knew every scratch on each crappy desk, each chipped coffee mug. Half of those crappy desks were currently piled up against the wall, awaiting replacement. Mayor Burano had generously given the department the money they'd been asking for for years to upgrade the department. Replace the perilous three wheeled chairs, new desks, a splash of paint on the walls. The rag-tag bunch of mostly rookies stood around, drinking their morning coffees, excited about the impending changes.

Peering through the bent blinds she saw Keith behind his desk, pen in hand, the familiar wad of yesterday's traffic tickets before him being signed-off.

Veronica came here because she didn't know where else to go. A night spent tossing and turning in her sheets, and then, because she couldn't leave well enough alone she went back to Logan's house. Aaron, obviously feeling safer with his son firmly planted in another country, was not alone.

She needed an adult. She needed her dad.

"How's the best Sheriff in the contiguous United States?" she asked, opening the door, swanning into the seat before him. It felt nice to sit down, to rest her tired body.

"I don't know, you'll have to ask him," said Keith, looking up smiling, a dimple on the right cheek.

"What could my daughter possibly want with an opening line like that? A pony, a diamond… bail money?"

Veronica smiled sweetly and masked her nervousness as best she could, "There's an old proverb. It's better to beg forgiveness than ask permission."

He leveled his eyes, "That's not a proverb Veronica, that was Admiral Grace Hopper."

"Damn you and your impeccable general knowledge. How are the new digs coming along? Are you getting a new coffee machine?"

"No new coffee machine, unfortunately we will have to deal with drippy a little longer. But the majority of the fitout will be done this weekend."

"Exciting!"

He dropped his pen, "Stop changing the subject, spit it out Veronica, what are you asking for forgiveness for? I'm nervous now, it sounds bad."

She shuffled in her seat, "Gotta be honest, it's not great, consider this your warning."

"Give it to me on a scale of 1-10."

Veronica outstretched her hands for a measurement, "It depends on the scale you're using. The good news is that the scale doesn't necessarily apply to me. I'm not hurt or pregnant."

"Well, that's a bonus. I feel a but coming on…"

"I think this is one of those things you need to see to comprehend."

She stood, whipping the USB from her bag, leaning down to plug it into his computer.

"Oh, a USB, this should be fun."

She opened the file, pressed the little yellow folder and waited for the images to appear. One by one they filled the file box. Clicking on the most recent, she began flicking through them. Keith squinted at the pictures, she stopped at Aaron Echolls and Jessica Baranowski pressed against the wall.

"Jesus Veronica, you took these?" he asked.

"Allegedly."

"Why are you taking photos of Aaron Echolls?"

She shrugged, "Logan paid me to."

"Can I assume that your recent Saturday night study sessions were pure fabrication, then?"

"Possibly," she looked away.

"You can't just go in and take photos of people, Veronica! What Aaron Echolls does in his own property is his own business, even if it is morally questionable."

Veronica leaned forward, pointing to the side profile of the girl, "Dad, this is Jessica Baranowski, a junior from Neptune High, she's fifteen."

Keith's mouth pursed and his eyes narrowed. Veronica flicked through a few more photos, landing on the brunette she snapped late last night.

"And this is Britany Mills, she turned sixteen last month, I know because her parents gave her a pastel pink Mercedes as a gift."

"Jesus," said Keith, head in hands.

The door to the office cracked open and Deputy Sacks let his mustache peer in, Veronica closed the open files with lightning speed.

"Oh, hey Veronica," he said, lifting a hand in wave, "Sorry Keith, we've just brought Andrews in, he's sitting in the break room, not sure how long we can keep him there?"

Keith nodded, "Sure, no worries, I'll be there in a moment."

Sacks smiled, pulling his head out as quickly as it came in.

"The interrogation room is full of all the filing cabinets ready for painting tonight, so the break room has been repurposed."

"Criminals next to the coffee pot?"

"Something like that."

Veronica opened up the photos again for effect, before starting her speech, "He's a predator, Dad. Something needs to be done about this. I saw him at Java the Hut. He sits there every morning, he waits for girls to ask for autographs. I saw him with Jessica a few days earlier," she went to continue but Keith held out a hand, stopping her.

"You're right, he is and something will be done, but Veronica, where are these photos taken from?"

"The tree outside their pool."

"On his property?"

She nodded, Keith shook his head.

"That's bad, you're trespassing and taking unlicensed photos of Aaron Echolls. If you had a warrant, sure, but you don't. Even a Private Investigator can't take photos of a person on their own property, especially from inside that property."

"But Logan let me in, he asked me to."

"Logan is a minor, Veronica, according to the law, he has no say in anything unless his name is on the deed."

"So I'm the bad guy here? Dad, that's felony statutory rape! Minimum two years."

"That's only if we have a complainant. We need one of them and more , Aaron Echolls would have lawyers on standby, he's not going to take this kind of accusation without a fight. That's why we need to be very careful." He pointed to the screen, "You haven't shown these to anyone?"

"No."

"Not even Logan?" he asked.

Veronica shook her head, staring at the carpet. She couldn't explain why she hadn't called Logan yet, she didn't quite know herself.

Keith pressed his spine against the back of the chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, " Why Veronica? Why did Logan want you following his Dad? Did he know about this?"

"No, he just wanted to catch his dad cheating."

"This isn't about the ball joints on your car? Is it? You did it for the money?"

"Maybe."

"I said I'd pay for them, Veronica, just next week after my check comes in."

"I don't care about the stupid car anymore, what are we going to do about that ?" she leveled a finger at the screen, at a 44-year-old man, and a 15-year-old girl.

" We are going to do nothing. You are going to go home and stay in the house and do your economics homework or hang at the mall and buy junior prom dresses like a normal teenager…"

"But," she interrupted.

"Veronica. I will deal with this, I will need to get authorized surveillance on him, legit, by the book, and then we will assess the proper avenues to take against him."

"Can you give me the weekend?" she pleaded.

"What? Why?"

"I need to show Logan, explain everything, but he's away until Sunday night."

"You can't call him?"

"I think it's better in person, he needs to see the pictures."

Keith nodded and looked at the clock, it was late on a Friday. Very little could be attained over the weekend and he needed time to work out his angle on this one.

"I'll give you until Monday morning. First thing. When I'm here, I will start the process. We can't let this drag on, the longer it takes, the more girls this might happen to."

"Okay."

She pulls out the USB and hands it to him, "You keep this, I have the printouts."

He took the little blue stick from her hand with a sigh, "I didn't even know you were friends with Logan."

"I'm not, not really."

"Probably a good thing," said Keith as he turned and placed the USB into his shirt pocket, picking up his pen, shuffling his stack of traffic violations.

Veronica collected her bag, slung it over her shoulder, moving toward the door.

"I'm sorry," she said and meant it. She always hated lying to her dad.

"It's okay."

"I'll make some of those mozzarella stuffed meatballs for dinner to make up for it," she offered, and his face brightened a little.

"And garlic bread?"

She nodded, "and for dessert your very own selection of choice tubs of ice cream, fresh from the freezer."

"Okay, that's fair."

Veronica drove home, divulging her sins to Keith made her feel marginally better. But a ball of terror still sat in her gut, she needed to tell Logan.


The pounding on the door came on Sunday afternoon, just after she'd gotten out of the shower, legs moisturized and hair still wet. Keith was out doing the weekly groceries, so she opened it, assuming he'd forgotten his keys.

"Oh, hey Logan," she stood back to let him in, but he didn't move, feet frozen outside. He threw a tabloid toward her and it fell to the floor. Crouching down, she picked it up. Across the front was a picture of Aaron Echolls and a blurred face, her photo of Aaron Echolls and a blurred face she knew to be Jessica Baranowski. A photo that could have only been taken from a spot in the tree, her spot in the tree.

"Logan, I … " she started.

"Page two," he interrupted. She took a breath, looked down, turned the page.

There she sees the series of photos she'd taken, the night Aaron was with Annette, the night Logan teased her in the tree. Then the photos of Aaron and the young girls with the headline ECHOLLS' MINOR AFFAIR .

His voice was level, but she could see he was mustering every ounce of strength for composure, "I asked you to take photos, Veronica, I didn't ask you to sell them to the highest bidder. My mom had to be sedated. Why didn't you just come to me, call me, tell me, show them to me? I realize you need money, fuck I would have given you more money if you just fucking asked for it. Send him to jail for all I care, but don't do it like this!"

"Logan, it wasn't me, I didn't sell those pictures!"

" Who then, who did?"

Veronica scrambled, going back through her day desperately in her head, "I don't know."

"Was it your Dad?" he asked.

"Absolutely not," Veronica replied, adamant.

"I was going to show you, to explain."

"I don't even care that the world knows about that piece of shit, what I don't understand is why my mom, my sister, why I had to learn about it in the fucking paper," he's yelling now, Veronica can see his eyes glistening and she prays he doesn't cry right now.

"Please, Logan, I'll find out who did this."

"Don't bother," he said, pivoting on his heels and walking away.


Her eyes are the same seventeen years later, pleading with him, a desperate blue. Blonde hair falling over her shoulders, boots dusty from her brisk walk following him to the stables.

Opie, Piper's mare whinnies, clearly agitated, a direct response to the tension in the air.

The sight of Veronica agitates Logan, clouded by a years old betrayal and the strange, sweet taste of Skittles on his tongue.