Title: Free at Last
Author: Peregrine
Characters: Logan, Duncan, Veronica, Aaron, Lester family.
Spoilers: Through Episode 22.
Rating: M for language, violence, and sexual situations.
Word Count: 13,023
Summary: This is a sequel to The Adventures of Nancy and Joe. Logan takes a trip of discovery that changes his life forever.
Disclaimer: Veronica Mars and all its characters belong to Rob Thomas and UPN.

Chapter Four: Ghosts

Just when I think I'm winning
When I've broken every door
The ghosts of my life
Blow wilder than before

Logan

Monique is taking them to the cleaners and as we move from table to table, I feel them watching us with growing interest. "Maybe we should leave," I suggest with a subtle nod of my head.

She stares openly at the suits that hover near the bar and waves. "Not till I'm good and ready."

The larger of the two guys talks into a radio. "Umm, I think they have other ideas."

"One more game, OK?" Monique dumps some chips on the table and queues them up in front of her. I watch the action and the advantage is hers in short order.

"How do you do it?" I mutter as she brushes her hair out of her eyes.

Monique grabs her booty and we head for the cashier's window. "The money doesn't matter, so I play for the fun of it."

"You make it sound so easy," I scoff, watching the clerk's eyes widen as she dumps out a mountain of chips.

Her smile flickers like a jack-o-lantern's and is quickly snuffed out as she hands over her ID. "There's a madness to my methods," she quips dryly. With a brief return of her tight smile, she nods at the clerk and pockets her check.

"Not in a sharing mood?" I snark.

"What are you going on about?" Monique retorts, fishing in her purse for a butt and only lighting up when we hit the sidewalk.

"You really don't get it, do you?" My throat chokes with emotion and I turn my face away in disgust.

She drags on her Gitane and stares through the smoke. "No, but I'm sure you'll enlighten me."

I spot the Camaro and throw a ten at Bruno. "Thanks, big guy," I simper, watching the red creep up his neck as I vault over the door and bounce into shotgun position, momentarily forgetting my pissiness as I lean back against the seat and flash my biggest smile.

Monique opens her wallet and tucks a wad of bills in Bruno's vest pocket. "Some people have no manners," she comments acidly.

Bruno shrugs and they huddle together for a moment. She pats both his shoulders and kisses him on the cheek. "Call me when you get back into town," he urges before sending us on our way.

I roll my eyes. "Didn't think he was your type."

Monique stubs out the cigarette and guns the engine as we return to Route 80. "Are you always such an ass?"

"Only for you," I reply with cloying sweetness. After a long beat, I ask, "So, Money, are you one of those bleeding hearts that bends over backwards for harbor seals but won't give your own family the time of day?"

The car swerves and she cuts across three lanes of traffic to a left exit. She's running close to 70 when we hit the off-ramp and forces her way into traffic. After three sharp turns, we squeal into a Bank of America parking lot and she growls, "Come with me."

"And watch you deposit your winnings?" I say bitterly. "Thanks, but I think I'll skip that little drama."

The radio is playing my favorite song and I reach over to turn up the volume, but her hand stops me in mid-air. "Out of the car," she orders coldly.

Something stops me from lashing out at her and I stare at her for a second before falling into line behind her. We parade into the bank and when the manager spots her, he coos, "Monique, I'm so glad you called ahead. Everything is ready to be activated."

"Excellent." She jerks her head toward the manager's office and my mouth opens slightly.

"What's this about?"

The manager extends his fingers. "I'm Herb Flowers, Mr. Echolls." I shake his hand and take the nearest seat. He pushes the papers at me and explains, "I've marked all the signature lines. If you'll just sign, the account is all yours."

Women have that thing called intuition, but it missed men by a country mile. Even so, I begin to get an inkling that I've really put my foot in it when she signs over the check and Herb asks me to add my signature. "Mine?" I ask foolishly.

"Yours," Monique snaps as Herb hands over a live ATM card. "Happy Birthday, Logan."

Duncan

The pool beckons me with its watery arms and I quickly realize that poet-in-residence is not in my future, though I do the beatnik thing really well. But none of that matters as I dive to the bottom and stay suspended for a few minutes, eyes wide open as I inspect the sea foam green sides and bottom that hold me captive. When I finally come up for air, I am relieved to see that I am still alone. For a moment, I let my mind wander down that dark path that we all take when we're pissed at the world. Poor, poor, pitiful rich boy with his overly solicitous Dad and a doting Mom who dopes him to the gills. Wall all that up and mix it with Oxcarbezapine and some Valium and you turn out a good little Donut. Only, I'm not so good anymore. I actually plotted revenge against my best friend and only stopped when my dead sister showed up. And there was the part where I tried to steal his girlfriend away from him, though I have to admit that I'd try it again if I thought it would work. But anyway, back to that road I mentioned. What would it be like if everyone was gone? What if I was on my own for the rest of my life? Could I even manage to take care of myself after having my every need catered to? I suppose I should try to put myself in Logan's shoes, but I don't dare walk down that road, because I'm afraid that I might not find my way back. Because while Logan has perfected his Cleopatra routine, I'm sure that I'll never again be the Queen of Denial. After a year of blotting out everything, I'm ready to live again.

I climb out of the pool and start to dry off. Before I can return to my favorite post on dead Lilly's lounge chair, my cell phone chirps and I am surprised to see that Monique is text messaging me.

Logan said you needed the name of a good neurosurgeon. Suggest you call Dr. Deschamps at Sloan-Kettering.

I send back a quick thanks and stare at the words. Why the hell would she recommend someone at a hospital that specializes in cancer? The phone falls onto the pavement and the crack of its casing is suddenly echoed by a stab of pain in my right temple. I blink rapidly and that's when the vision in my right eye flickers to black.

Aaron

He walks into the rental store and is instantly drawn to a DV camera. "How much to rent that for a few days?"

The clerk is a twerp with bad skin and an attitude. "More than you can afford, Pops," he sneers.

Aaron shows him Ben Franklin's face. "Will this cover it, Poindexter?"

The kid flushes and his Adam's apple bobs so many times that Aaron thinks he'd be a shoo-in to play Ichabod Crane. "Yeah. But if you break it, you pay the damages."

The clerk shoves a pen and a grease-stained form at Aaron. With a few sweeps of his pen, he lays down an illegible scrawl and a made-up phone number. He palms the camcorder and heads straight to the dive where he's hanging his hat. He shoves in Logan's tape and jabs at the Play button with impatient fingers. As his son's little drama unfolds, the leathered skin on his face tightens with rage. By the time Logan seals the deal with his piss, Aaron is ready to go after his kid with a shotgun. But that would be conduct unbecoming, and he can't risk his upcoming trial over something so trivial.

The tiny part of him that hasn't been completely tarred over by malevolence feels a twinge of remorse over harboring such ill will, but it fades quickly as the slow simmer of his anger burns away the good and lets the evil rush in. A memory niggles at him and a name comes to his mind. Aaron rewinds the tape and as he watches the flames devour his love nest, an idea starts to take shape. He turns on his phone and is happy to see the name at the very bottom of his list. With a wide grin, he pulls up the guy's number and is even happier when he gets a live person. "Hey, Mack, it's Aaron Echolls. I have a proposition for you. Can you meet me tonight at the Krispy Kreme on 14th Street?"

"What time?" Mack belches in rich stereo and Aaron holds the phone away from his ear.

"10 sharp. Don't disappoint me, Mack."

Logan

"It's not my birthday."

"September 12th isn't so far away, and as you so kindly pointed out, you really do need the money," she says casually.

I am beyond stunned. Not only have I totally misjudged her, she actually knows my birth date. "Thanks," I say, always the master of understatement. We move out of the manager's office and the amount of that staggering check continues to leave me breathless. I want to ask if this is all a joke and that 25,000 dollars didn't just migrate into my name.

Monique's laugh has a nasty edge. "It's nothing, right If I can donate millions to the Save-a-Seal project, then I can easily throw a few pennies at my nephew."

We get back to the car and I can barely meet her eyes, but when I do, I see a quick flash of hurt that scurries behind her anger. "I'm sorry."

Her fingers clench the wheel whitely as she glares over at me. "That didn't work the first time you said it, and it sure as hell isn't working now."

I run my fingers through my hair. "Fine. I'm a complete asshole and an ungrateful brat. Does that make it better?"

She shakes her head as she starts the car. "Besides overstating the blindingly obvious? Not a bit."

The thing is, I really am sorry this time, but she will never believe that. "So what do you want me to say? That I'll change into a model citizen overnight?"

Monique snorts. "Hardly. But the least you could do is try."

I retort, "Why should I do that? Because you dropped a wad in some bank account?"

"I don't know, because it's the right thing to do?"

We hit the highway and I decide that she's won this round. "Look, next time I start going off on you, you have my permission to kick my ass."

Her expression doesn't quite make it to a smile, but it is definitely a few degrees south of glacial. "All right."

"So where is the road taking us now?"

"South Dakota, by way of Wyoming."

Badlands. FBI agents with cool-looking shoes that didn't quite fit. Snarky cops with broken down motorcycles. OK, so maybe I've seen Thunderheart a few too many times, but it was the last place I wanted to go. "Why?"

"To pay our respects." And with that cryptic comment, she maneuvered the car to the middle lane and jacked in her iPod. With the top down and the breeze roaring in my ears, I didn't expect to hear much, but her superlative speakers soon proved me wrong. Crystalline shards of sound defeated the wind and ensconced itself in my head. And somehow, I knew I would forever remember the day we rode with the top down and blasted Sonic Youth at teeth-rattling volume.

Veronica

Call me later.

My fingers hover over the keypad and I hang up at least half a dozen times before I let the call go through. He picks it up on the fourth ring.

"Hey. Where are you now?" I ask lightly.

Logan sighs. "Somewhere in East Bumfuck, Wyoming."

"Doing lots of touristy stuff?"

He snorts and I wonder if he's leaning against something. "Yeah. I think we've hit every gift shop between here and Neptune."

"Really?" Monique doesn't strike me as your typical shopper.

He starts laughing. "Nope. She cleaned their clocks at Harrah's and we've been on the road ever since. Right now she's arguing with some Indian guy about Little Big Horn."

"Who's winning?"

Logan drawls, "We-ll, he's got a bigger knife, but I think Monique could take him in a fight."

"She treating you OK?" Monique was a bit of a cold fish, and who the hell knew what her agenda was?

He hesitates for a beat. "Yeah. I suppose it's better than collecting food stamps and lining up in the grub line."

My mind swoops back to that crazy looking guy in the parking lot. "Funny you should mention that. I did my first tour of duty at the food bank."

An apology hovers between us but it never finds verbal fruition. "Lucky you."

"And you'll never guess who I ran into."

His laugh is tinged with bitterness. "Was Trina whoring it up for the press again?"

"Not this time. It was Becky James."

"Wow, that's a whole different kind of whore."

I know what he means, but Rebecca James doesn't deserve his anger. "I think she's actually sincere."

He coughs to hide a giggle, but I know the smirk has come out to play. "Don't you find the timing just a bit too coincidental? One of the town's biggest scandals hits the news and there she is, offering her help and handing out her business card."

"I didn't see any cards."

Logan's laugh sounds less forced this time. "What? She didn't give you one? You ought to break down her door in protest."

"Maybe I will. Hey, I need to ask you something. Is it true that you made some sketches of me?"

His response is mostly unintelligible, but I pick out Duncan's name from his blue streak. "Umm, yeah, that's true."

"Why?" I hug my knees and feel a shiver works its way down my spine as I remember the eye of that video camera over the bed.

"It's not what you think, Veronica." His answer is a little too fast to reassure me. "I'm not like my father."

His already shaky foundation is crumbling and I have to prop him up before he breaks apart completely. "I know you're not, but why did you hide that from me?"

"Drawing is one of the only things I'm good at, and you looked so peaceful that night. I figured if they were sending me down the river, I'd have something to remember you by."

I am not prepared for the upwelling of emotion that closes my throat and tears up my eyes. "I see."

"I'm sorry I didn't say anything. It's always been my private thing that I don't share with anyone, and when DK stumbled across it…well, you can guess the rest."

"Yeah. Did he call you?" I wonder if any of us could ever make amends.

"This morning. He was freaking out about Stella representing my…" Logan cuts off his words and finally adds, "I think he's been drinking too much. Maybe you can check on him or something."

There is genuine concern in his voice. "I'll think about it."

"Promise me you'll stop by his house and make sure he's OK."

I am only doing this for Logan. "I promise. Why are you so worried?"

"I can't be sure, but I think Duncan's off his meds. He was so pissed at his mother that he talked about stopping all his medication. For some reason, he thinks his parents made up that stuff about epilepsy."

I wouldn't put anything past Celeste Kane, but epilepsy seems like a bit of a stretch. "Do you believe that?"

"Not really, but I asked DK to get a second opinion. My aunt knows a guy at Sloan-Kettering, and she sent him the guy's name."

"But that's…Duncan can't have something like that, can he?"

"Monique thinks he should get it checked out. It seems kind of extreme, but some of the symptoms she described hit a little too close to home."

A car door slams and I hear my father laughing with Alicia. Time to ditch the phone and play the dutiful daughter. "Hey, I have to go, but I'll check up on Duncan as soon as I get a chance."

"Let me know what you find out. And Veronica? If you see Aaron…"

I interrupt, "There's been no sign of him."

"That you know of. Veronica, the guy is dangerous, and his disguises are a helluva lot better than his acting." He is already distancing himself from Aaron, and that can only be a good thing.

"I'll be careful."

"OK. Take care, and about all that stuff I didn't get to say…"

"I know. Bye."

The door opens and my smile is almost convincing enough to wipe the worry from Dad's face. But I still see it hovering behind his cautious smile as he leans over to hug me and places some groceries on the counter. "You up for some lasagna, sweetheart?"

"Thought you'd never ask." I leap up to give them a hand and push aside my troubles for at least the next few hours.

Aaron

Ian Mackenzie enters the donut shop and looks for the Aaron he once knew. His gaze skates past the motley crew of seniors, bag people, and pimply teenagers with powdered sugar lining their lips. But he never once looks at the skid row bum with the ghetto aesthetic.

Aaron gives a tiny wave with his fingers and grins at Mack's discomfited expression. He walks over and mutters, "Where's Aaron?"

His smile grows wider as he points to himself. "Right here, son. Sit down and take a load off."

Mack's eyebrows disappear into the thinning fringe that shadows his face. "What's the deal?"

Aaron places his palms on the table and says, "Just trying to lie low."

The younger man sighs, "Whatever you say, dude. So why am I here?"

He takes a folded paper out of his shirt pocket and slides it to Mack. "Think you can help me with this?"

His eyes widen slightly as he reads Aaron's instructions. "I know you're pissed, but isn't this pushing your luck?"

A familiar stirring of anger tightens his jaw as his gaze drills into Mack's. "It wasn't a problem last year when you took care of my wife's little friend, so why is it an issue now?"

Mack wads the paper into a ball and shoves it in his pocket. "That guy was an upstate nobody, but taking out locals is not my style."

Aaron opens his briefcase and lets Mack get a look at the pile of cash inside. "I'm betting this will change your mind."

The killer knots his fingers. "What's it worth to you?"

"50,000 up front, and a matching amount when the job is completed."

Greed flares in Mack's eyes and Aaron knows he has him. "By complete, do you mean…"

Aaron interrupts, "Confirmed dead."

"Look, what you're asking…there's no guarantee I can get them in the right place at the right time."

He slams the briefcase shut and gets to his feet. "Not my problem, Mack. Can you do the job or not?"

Ian stares up at him and finally nods tersely. "I'm in."

Logan

Monique has been uncharacteristically silent since she sent over that medical referral to DK. She chews on her lip and in profile, she looks so much like my mother that I feel my eyes tear over. When she finally senses my gaze and glances over her shoulder, the resemblance falls away and I feel like an idiot. "What is it?"

Duncan doesn't top my list of worries, but he's pretty close to the front of the line. "You really think it's cancer?"

She shrugs in that patented Gallic way she has about her. "I cannot say, but it should be ruled out."

"And this guy is that good?"

Monique smiles. "She is the best in her field."

"And you know this because—"

"She saved my life."

The air goes out of my lungs as I gawk at her. "How many close calls have you had?"

"Too many."

I know I am encroaching on her privacy, but I have to ask, "Does Aaron fall into that category?"

Monique sighs and there is a sob hiding behind her ragged exhalation. "It was a long time ago."

I jerk the wheel and steer the car to the side of the road. "Tell me what he did to you, Monique."

Her fingers ball into fists and silvery tears start dripping down her cheeks. "I cannot…it doesn't matter…"

My father has cut a wide swath of destruction and I decide that it has to stop. If I can make a difference in one person's life, then it will be worth it. "It does matter, Monique. Whatever you might think, he's not above the law."

Her green eyes harden into emerald chips. "Aaron came to the island twice. On his first visit, he came to meet the family. Whenever Lynn wasn't looking, he would give me the eye. I was 12 at the time. Can you believe that?"

Aaron is a pig of the first order. Ogling children was the least of his sins. "Yeah."

"His second visit was three years later. There was this big party for your second birthday and the booze was flowing. I was hanging out with my friends when he knocked at the door. They all asked for his autograph and ran out on me. He acted all friendly, but I never cared for him. Aaron started touching my arm and asking me why I hated him. He said my behavior was hurting Lynn and forcing our father to take sides. I didn't dare tell him that my father despised him from the moment he met him. Then he stroked my hair and said he knew I was really a nice girl and was there to help me prove it. And before I could stop him, he threw me on the bed and was forcing his tongue down my throat."

Her words pound at me like Thor's hammer and the acid wash of hatred and resentment overwhelms me. "He raped you?" I intone ominously.

Monique nods quickly and rubs her hand across her eyes. "And threatened me. He held me down with his arm and cut off my breath as he fucked me."

"And I bet he thought you liked it, right?" I snarl, hurling my words across the car like a heat-seeking missile and willing it to find my father and destroy him.

She answers after a long beat and her words are strangled with emotion. "You know, there was this boy I liked, and I thought my first time would be with him…little did I know that I'd throw it away on that asshole."

"God, I'm so sorry." I don't know what else to say, but it seems to be enough. Her fingers find mine and squeeze them slightly before she withdraws back into her shell.

"Let's drive on. We have a lot of miles to cover before nightfall."

I start up the car and ease it back into traffic, but my thoughts are deeply troubled by this information. No one else will stand up to him, so it has to be me.

Veronica

Alicia and Dad are so busy canoodling that they never notice when I slip out the door. I'll never hear the end of this, but I need to know that Duncan is OK. The familiar twists and turns to the Kane mansion seem to take forever and when I finally arrive, the house is pitch black.

I walk slowly up the tarmac and try not to notice how the mansion looms over me. Duncan's SUV is parked near the door, but his parents are obviously out. With a sigh, I reach over to ring the bell and stop when I hear a twig snap.

"Duncan?" My frightened voice sounds very small in the vast ocean of the night and my only answer is the whisper of the sea breeze fanning my hair against my neck. I step away from the portico and as I round the carefully pruned hedges, I see a shadow dart down the hill to the back of the property.

I hug my arms around myself to quell the sudden rise of goose bumps and trot back to the front door. With a determined finger, I push in the bell and lean on it for a good five seconds. When the door is finally yanked open, I am practically nose-to-nose with a bleary-eyed Duncan.

Duncan's boozy breath washes over me and I manage not to shrink away. "What do you want?" His tone is unnaturally loud and my glance over one shoulder catches his attention. "Veronica, is something wrong?"

My smile is stretched as tight as a drum. "I was about to ask you the same question. Can I come in?" I practically shove him aside in my haste to leave that shadow behind.

He looks out for a few seconds before staring over at me. "Sure, why not? Not like you interrupted my sleep or anything."

"Sorry." A quick glance at my watch confirms that it's a shade past 11. It might be late, but it's summer, and Duncan is a night owl.

Duncan finally closes the door and shuffles over to me. He ruffles his hair and flops down on the couch. "So why are you here?"

"To check up on you."

A muscle in his cheek twitches. "I'm fine."

Part of me hopes he is only pissed and not about to fall at my feet in a seizure. With a raised eyebrow, I say, "Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

His blue eyes darken to navy and I see he is one shade beyond annoyed. "Now you sound like my mother."

"I'm only trying to help."

He laughs bitterly. "Really? So you're here to what, force me to shave and shower and go out and get a real job?"

I'll never admit this in a million years, but Celeste and I actually agree on something. "Wish it was that simple, but that won't solve your problem." My finger goes to my head and I see that I finally have his attention.

"So what's this really about?" Duncan asks quietly.

"That doctor in New York. You going to call her?"

He rubs at his right eye and stares through his fingers. "Christ, does the whole world know about this?"

I shake my head. "Logan is worried."

"He's good, isn't he? I used to believe him too. Truth is, the only thing bugging Logan is that I'm about to steal his throne as King Cuervo." He holds up a bottle of tequila and swigs a quarter of it down without flinching.

This is a side of Duncan that's been hidden away and I wonder if it's always been there, hidden behind the wall of drugs. "Look, I know I'm not your favorite person right now, but you really should have this checked out."

"Aw, didn't know you cared," he snapped.

"Damnit, Duncan, you can't let this go." My voice cuts like broken glass and catches him in the middle of a gulp. He coughs violently and I shove my water bottle in his face. "Drink this."

The water is gone in three swallows and the bottle clatters to the floor as he sits back. "I'm flying out to Manhattan in the morning."

Damn. "Do your parents know?"

He shakes his head. "No way I'm telling them."

"But…"

Duncan holds up a hand. "It's cool, Veronica. They think I'm going to visit my cousin in Queens."

I sigh and lace my fingers together. "Wouldn't the truth be easier?"

He rolls his eyes. "Not for me. Mom will run the show and Dad will give in to keep the peace. You know how they are."

I nod in commiseration and get to my feet. "Call me if you need anything."

Duncan follows me out to the door and touches my arm gently. "Umm, when I booked my tickets, they had this great 2-for-1 deal, so I…"

"Want some company?" I ask with a falsely bright smile.

He knows what he is asking of me. "Yeah, that would be nice."

I think my Dad will understand in time. "OK. What time are you picking me up?"

Duncan hangs his head slightly and when he finally meets my gaze, I see he's looking slightly to the left of my face. "I was hoping you could drive."

What would I do without my trusty LeBaron? It's hanging together by a thread, but it will do in a pinch. "All right. What time?"

He smiles sheepishly. "6 sharp."

"Is that AM or PM?"

Duncan laughs and opens the door. "See you in a few hours."

I feel him watching me as I traipse down to my car and that's when I remember the shadow. With a nervous wave, I pick up my pace and am immensely relieved when I slip behind the wheel and lock out the night. My car churns to a start and as I begin driving home, I am certain that Duncan is hiding something from me. One way or another, I'll get to the bottom of it.

Duncan

The booze knocks me out and when I wake up, it's inching toward 5 AM. My suitcase is packed and stashed under the stairs. My parents are hours from waking up and by the time they realize I'm gone, I'll be halfway to the East Coast.

An afghan is pulled around my shoulders and I recognize my mom's intervention. It's hard to hate someone who loves you to the point of obsession. Logan always teased me about being a mama's boy and I guess he has a point.

I stagger blearily to the bathroom and groan at my rather scary reflection. It's one thing to piss Mom off, but it's quite another to turn into the Wild Man of Borneo. You know you've gone too far when you look as bad as I do. A hot, steamy shower clears my head and a complete shave does even more to lift my spirits. What the hell? If I have cancer, they're going to cut off all my hair anyway. Might as well save them the trouble. Wow, did I make a joke? Yeah, that's what I thought. It's like all my jokes. They fall flat before I even start, because everyone's already heard them before. When Logan tells the same exact joke, everyone laughs their asses off. It's always been that way and even though I've accepted my eternal fate as the sidekick, that part has always bugged me.

My Dad said a funny thing on the night that my life was blown apart at the seams. He was raving and I swear I saw drool fly from his lips, but what he said makes perfect sense now. "It's your turn to step up to the plate, Duncan. It's time to show them what you're made of." He went on in that vein for a good half hour before Mom sedated him, but his words stuck with me. I'm guessing that's what propelled me into bed with Logan's aunt, and I'm even assuming that it infused me with strange notions about revenge. Dad was definitely referring to school and supplanting Logan as BMOC, but I chose to ignore that part.

Dad doesn't get it…doesn't get me. I don't want to be in charge. Stanford Law is not in my future. It's gotten to the point where I don't even want to go to college. Why can't I slack off like all the other 09ers that take a year off before they head off to school? Why can't I have that year in Europe or that hot summer on the French Riviera? Good questions, right? My Dad is a billionaire but he won't even cut me any slack. The whole thing is a matter of principle. I don't really want those expensive trips, but I'd at least like them offered up like a brass ring.

The only thing I've ever really wanted is Veronica, and now that she's beyond my reach, I want her more than ever. Yeah, I know it's a lost cause, but the hunger is still lurking in the wings, reminding me of all that I've lost. My sigh is broken by the honk of a horn and I hurry out to the car with my suitcase firmly in hand.

Logan

I stare up at the Wounded Knee memorial and shake my head. "This is paying your respects?" My whispered words gust away on the whipping wind as I watch Monique lay a few sprigs of flowers on a grave.

She seems to sense my unease and stares over her shoulder for a moment. "Let's go." The keys appear in her hand and she's in the car before I can do more than blink a few times. I look between the graveyard and her car and get one of those weird déjà vu feelings that strike at the oddest times. The ground seems to rush up at me and I only regain my equilibrium at the last second. Monique lights up and calls, "You OK, Logan?"

OK no longer appears in my vocabulary and I suddenly feel the weight of all those dead Indians. "Get me out of here."

Monique revs the engine and leaves a cloud of dust in her wake. "You felt it, didn't you?"

"Yeah." I huddle lower in the seat and ignore the raven stares of sullen Lakota youth as we make our way down the main track at Pine Ridge. "Why are we here?"

"I already answered that question." Monique waves and I see the upturned hands of a few smiling women in front of the post office.

"Really? So what you're telling me is that we came all this way to put some dried up flowers on some nobody's grave?"

Her jaw flexes slightly and her reply is a measured cadence of tightly controlled emotion. "That nobody was James Yellow Hair."

"And I'm supposed to care about this because…" I let my voice trail off and am rewarded by an angry flash of her verdantly green eyes.

"He was the great uncle of the guy who saved my father's life in Korea."

Damn. My fingers find the lighter in my pocket and tighten around it protectively. I've really put my foot in it again and an apology forms on my tongue. "I didn't know, I'm…"

Monique cuts me off with a downward chop of her hand. "Don't, OK? I don't buy the act, and neither will these people."

How am I supposed to react when she keeps taking me by storm, throwing down her not so little surprises at every turn? "Should I stay in the car until they say I can come in?"

She grounds out her butt and sighs. "Nice idea, wrong tribe."

Can I help it if my only immersion into Indian culture comes from Dances with Wolves and Tony Hillerman novels? "Will you just tell me what I need to know so I don't completely fuck this up?"

Her smile warms me with its easy familiarity and I am almost lulled into grinning back, but then I remember my place and shrug off her sometimes uncanny resemblance to my mother. "Think you can channel Montgomery Clift?"

Monique is totally onto my game and I don't like it one bit. "Sure."

She nods and pulls into a gravel driveway that fronts a shabby looking cement house. "I'll hold you to that."

Veronica

The ride to the airport is a silent affair, and the hushed atmosphere starts to get on my nerves. "So what's up?" I ask as we pull into the parking garage and luck out when a battered Toyota gives up its spot near the elevators.

Duncan looks like he's waking up from a long sleep. "Huh?"

"Why'd you ask me to drive?"

The suggestion of a smile flits across his face as he taps his forehead. "Hung over."

He's the worst liar ever. "But you still managed to shower and shave," I remark, watching as he expertly hoists both carry-on bags over his sturdy shoulders and walks into a pool of watery sunshine that paints his pallid face in citron and peach.

We cross the corridor into the darkness of the elevator and I know that his reasons for playing passenger have nothing to do with booze. Duncan punches the button for the main concourse, his breath hissing out in annoyance. "Do me a favor?"

"Anything." The elevator bumps along slowly and I'm hardly encouraged by the lack of an inspection certificate.

"Stop interrogating me. This isn't a case, and I'm not one of your suspects. I know that channeling Nancy Drew is what you do, but could you please just pretend that we're friends for the next few days?"

The raw pain in his voice stabs at me and I look away so he won't see the tears that dot my cheeks. The back of my hand removes any trace evidence of caring and I harden my voice slightly. "I always sucked at pretend play, but I'll do my best."

Duncan

I fall asleep on the plane and we're hovering over JFK when she digs her elbow into my side. "Almost there."

Six hours of oblivion, and I still feel as crappy as ever. "Umm, I'm sorry about the other day."

Her ash blonde eyebrows rise slightly as she looks over from her magazine. "For what?"

Damn. Veronica obviously swept it under the rug and here I am, yanking it aside and tripping myself up in the process. "For everything."

Her eyes darken and I haven't realized I've been holding my breath until she nods and it comes streaming through my pursed lips. "We're cool. Just…don't let it happen again."

My teeth bite down into my lower lip and I swallow a coppery trail of mucous and blood as I look at my twisted fingers, unable to meet her eyes and confirm that she's hammered the final nail on our relationship. "No problem," is all I can manage as the plane plummets from the sky and bounces off the tarmac.

Aaron

Aaron watches the hired gun trip over his own shoelaces and mutters to himself about incompetent fools. When Mack finally manages to dust himself off and find his way to the table, he's nearly ready to call their deal off. "What took you so long?"

Mack glances at his watch with a careless shrug. "My watch is slow," he states nonchalantly.

Is that the best he can do? Aaron feels the red simmer of rage and wonders what it would feel like to crush Mack's windpipe. With a forced calm, he swallows his bile and decides there is more than enough time for that. "What do you have for me?"

Mack looks around nervously and leans forward. "Piece of cake to get in and out of there. There's hardly any security and what little I saw will be easy to disable."

"Did anyone see you?" The kid is far too casual about the business of death, and that makes Aaron doubly nervous.

"Don't think so," Mack blurts quickly before adding, "Maybe. The son had a visitor."

"Anyone we know?"

"Yeah. It was that girl that's been on the front page of every paper. What's her name…Veronica Mars."

Aaron's anger boils over and he nearly snaps his coffee stirrer in half as he glares at Mack. "Then we have a problem. Here's how you're going to fix it."

Logan

Charlie Yellow Feather is a wizened prune of a guy who makes death warmed over look like Miss Universe. His jaundiced skin matches his rickety, piano-key teeth, but when he shakes my hand, I am stunned by the strength of his grip. "So you're the movie star's kid," he comments in a wine dark voice that hints of unimagined pain and agony.

"Yeah." I look at my feet, sure that the wrath of Aaron isn't far behind.

Charlie skates over my unease and asks, "How's Dave doing?"

"I have no idea. But they tell me he lives the good life. Is that true?" The collective they is none other than Aunt Money, who is embroiled in a political debate with Charlie's youngest grandson, Jimmy Thinks Twice.

The old Indian's infectious laugh almost gets a smile out of me. "Could be, but I haven't seen the old bastard in almost ten years."

Now there's gratitude for you. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he was talking about Aaron's sweetheart of a father. "Figures," I mutter sarcastically.

Charlie waves his hand like it's nothing. "Doesn't matter. Monique more than makes up for it."

"Really?" My eyebrows are on full alert as I stare at Monique and Jimmy.

The creases in his face fold in on themselves as he guffaws. "Follow me." Charlie shuffles away from his red Barcalounger and his faded jeans slide halfway down his skinny butt. He hitches them up and looks over his shoulder with dancing lights in his onyx eyes. "You coming?"

I follow at a safe distance and stop at the sight of his battered old BMW motorcycle. "You expect me to get on that?"

"Unless you want to take your fancy ride." Charlie smirks at Monique's hot rod and adds, "It looks a damn sight better than the day she took it off Dave's hands."

I am nonplussed by this new data splice. "That was my grandfather's car?"

"Sure was. He bought it off the scrap pile and started restoring it. But after his first heart attack, he wasn't able to finish the job, so she took it over. Don't think I've ever seen anyone better with an engine than that girl. She fixed up this old bike so it runs like the day it came off the showroom floor. So what if it looks like crap?"

Yeah, I'm a total snob, but at least he's not calling me on it. "Sorry."

His laugh makes me feel like an even bigger idiot and my mouth starts to form another apology. "You gonna stand there catching flies all day?"

I close my mouth with a snap and slide onto the cracked leather seat. "Where are we going?"

"Here and there," Charlie answers lightly. "Try not to fall off."

My snarky response is torn from my throat as he guns the engine and roars into the road with the engine at full throttle. When I finally catch my breath, we are charging down the main drag and he's chuckling as I clutch the back of the seat and glare at his crinkled face in the rearview mirror. We make a sharp turn and I almost collide with a sad looking pine that hangs over a rusted out Chevrolet. The ride continues at an uncomfortably rapid pace and to my dismay, his laughter swells and seems to drown out the engine. When we finally come to a stop and I slide off in an ungraceful heap, I am forcibly reminded of the old chief from Thunderheart who spent his time laughing at the dumb white guy. That was a movie and this is real life, and I start to see how Hollywood totally got that one right.

Veronica

I view the world from little more than five feet, so everything looks super sized. But on that morning when they slide Duncan into the MRI ring, he seems small and still. His head is covered with an immobilizing helmet and he's draped with a sheet that matches the deathly white of his face. His blazing indigo eyes are in stark contrast to his pallor and I see the fear that he's tried to keep at arm's length.

"You have to leave now," the technician reminds me, touching my arm with a gentle tug when I don't respond.

"OK," I murmur, backing out and nearly colliding with the wall on my way out. "Umm, where should I wait again?" She's told me all this information, but most of it escaped into the vacuum that typically takes over at times like this.

The woman directs me down the hall and I finally slump on a lumpy chair with a bunch of sober-faced people. The TV drones away in the background and it's only when the name Kane registers that I stare at the screen in horrified fascination.

There is smoke and chaos everywhere, but I quickly discern that the Kane mansion has burned to the ground. Jake and Celeste are hanging by a thread in the local burn unit and their son is nowhere to be found. The talking head speculates on motives and her local expert stridently states that arson is strongly suspected. When they start insinuating that the son's convenient disappearance puts him at the top of the list of suspects, my terror turns to anger.

"Damn" I mutter, ignoring the stares of the knitting granny to my left and the surly, cud-chewing teenager on my other side. My phone comes out and I start running for the nearest exit. When I finally emerge into the murky New York air, I speed dial my Dad and when I hear his beloved voice, the words rush from me in a torrent, not stopping until I provide every detail of Duncan's whereabouts and my reasons for accompanying him.

His questions are mercifully quick and he promises to pass this information to the authorities, cautioning me to take care and keep him updated on Duncan's condition. My next call lands on Logan's voice-mail and I quickly recount the events of the past 24 hours, only stammering when I tell him that I miss him and hope he calls soon.

I somehow find my way back upstairs and face the interminable wait for the results from radiology. Duncan has been transferred to another room for further tests and hours seem to pass before someone calls my name. A nurse leads me into an examining room where Duncan is tying his shoes. My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth as I stare at him helplessly, wondering how I'm supposed to broach the subject of his parents. He looks up at me, blue eyes overwhelming me with a flood of concern that is oddly misplaced. "You OK?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that question?" I quip. His lips quirk slightly but never quite make it to a smile. "Maybe."

The suspense is killing me. "What did the doctor say?"

"Oh, is that what you're all spun up about?" Duncan's attempt at levity falls as flat as my earlier comment.

"It's not cancer, is it?"

"Nope."

"That's great news…right?" I'm not encouraged by his frown and I cross my arms and wait for his explanation.

His laugh is colder than the tundra. "Not exactly. They found a large tumor on the right side of my brain. It's intertwined with some critical structures and has already caused damage. If they operate, there will probably be further damage when they try to remove it. But if they leave it intact, it will eventually kill me."

"There must be some other options. You can get a second opinion."

Duncan is trying to hold it together, but I see his teeth chattering as he tries to contain himself. "Too late for that. They want to operate tomorrow. All I need is parental consent and they can proceed."

I start shaking my head wildly and by the time I cross the room, the tears are spilling from my eyes. "They can't."

"Why?"

Time seems to slow down as my brain scrambles to find the right words, shoving the information at him in a rapid staccato that only ends when his hand closes over mine and draws me up to the gurney to sit next to him.

Duncan

This can't be happening. It can't be true. I am really epileptic and the burn unit thing is some journalist's idea of a sick joke. There isn't an ugly growth crowding out my optic nerve and I am perfectly fine. God, don't I wish? But the truth is, my life is even more fucked up than Logan's. On any other day, that would be funny—even ironic, but all my smiles are out on strike.

No one ever believes it will come to this. Everyone has an occasional run of bad luck, but this nightmare is way beyond coincidence. It's not some preordained thing, slated to punish the Kanes for their lavish lifestyle and high status among the '09ers. Rather, it's the machinations of one man. I know this with every fiber of my being. There's no proof in the world that will make me believe otherwise. Aaron has set out to destroy us. It wasn't enough to take Lilly; now he wants us all to suffer. No one sues him and gets away with it. And no one takes away his family without paying the piper.

We are all in danger. Veronica. Me. Logan. Maybe even Monique. I'm not the most intuitive guy, but this is pretty clear, even to a dullard like me.

I continue to sit there, saying nothing but plotting my course as I stare at Veronica in seeming shock. There's no question. I have to go to my parents and protect them. My own problems will have to wait. No one else cares what happens to them. Everyone who might have given a damn is gone, so I am it.

She starts to reach for me and I shrug her off. "It's OK, Veronica. I'm flying back as soon as I can get a flight."

"B-but what about your operation?"

A tiny part of me is flattered that she cares, but I have to push that away and do what's right. "I can't think about that right now." With a tight smile, I gather up my stuff and push past the nurse without another word.

Logan

Charlie stops in front of a modern, one-story building and watches me with his enigmatic eyes. "This is our new school."

Big fucking deal. The place is a dump compared to Neptune. "So?"

"Monique gave us the money."

So now she's a saint? "That's sweet."

He shakes his head at my sarcasm and looks up at the puffy white clouds that barely obscure the burning hot sun. "Some things never change."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"You remind me of Dave…only, you're an even bigger jerk than he is."

Same old song and dance. Whatever. I look around at the desolation that surrounds us and snipe, "If she's so great, then why hasn't she helped you? You live in a crappy house and your liver has obviously drowned in alcohol."

"Don't forget my teeth," he crows, pointing to the gaps in his rotting mouth. With a smirk, he adds, "You have all the answers, don't you?"

Damn straight. "Where do you hide your stash? I'm thirsty."

"You're also an idiot." He straddles the bike and I start to think he might leave me in the dust. "I got hepatitis in the hospital, and that damaged my liver. As for the booze, I've never touched a drop."

"And I suppose you've never smoked the pipe either," I comment, knowing he's enjoying this as much as me.

"Or had a vision. And forget the sweat lodge. It puffs me up like a blowfish and stinks my family out of the house."

My laugh ripples out of me and skips into the sultry air. "Damn, I was hoping for the full experience. Maybe next time?"

"You'll have to see Johnny for that."

I raise my eyebrows. "Is that your tenth or eleventh grandson?"

"He's my youngest boy. If you pass through New York City, you might find him shooting up in the Bowery and pounding his bass drum on the streets."

Charlie turns his head away from the sun and for a moment, his silhouette is the epitome of the noble old Indian chief. He looks back at me and I suddenly know he is far more than he appears to be. "Heroin?"

He nods sadly. "The Horse got him after the Gulf War and he's never been the same. Monique managed to break away from that life, but Johnny is too weak."

Wait a fucking second. My aunt was an addict? "When was this?" I ask flatly.

"Over a dozen years ago."

Johnny wasn't the only one who'd been through a war. "And now?"

Charlie shrugs. "She's clean."

And fucking crazy, but that's picking nits. "Why won't you take her money? She's got buckets of it."

His face tightens. "I don't want her charity. It is enough that she helps the tribe."

I check my watch and sigh. "We should probably get back. Thanks for the tour."

"Anytime. Y'all come back now, you hear?"

I roll my eyes and get back on the bike. "Sure, Jethro."

Veronica

Duncan is practically running for the stairs and I only catch him when he hits the sidewalk. "You can't do this," I cry breathlessly, feeling my heart quail when I see that stubborn look cross his face that meant his mind was irretrievably made up.

"Who's gonna stop me?" he challenges as he flags down a taxi.

My short legs can barely keep up, but I manage to jump into the back seat before the cab rolls away from the curb. "It's not what your Dad would want."

He rubs at his eyes like a cranky toddler. "And you should know. Tell me, what do your files say about my chances of surviving the next few days? Am I a long shot or the clear winner?"

I'm not sure of much anymore, but I'm damned sure that Jake wants his son to fucking live. "You know I'm right," I insist.

Duncan turns on me and snarls, "Who's going to protect them, fucking Lamb? You think he gives a crap about my family?"

This is the time to offer some placating advice and get him to see reason. It's the moment where I should convince him that this is nothing more than a tragic accident, that his parents were in the wrong place at the wrong time. And I really try hard to find the words, but I suddenly remember the shadow from last night and I know he's right too. "There might be another way," I blurt as my brain starts to work on a plan.

"What, you're going to save us from the Big Bad Wolf?" he snarks, sounding far more like Logan than the sweet boy I remember from two years ago.

"No," I counter, "But my Dad can definitely help."

Duncan snorts, "Thanks, but I can handle this myself."

My window of opportunity has now closed. "Then I'm coming with you," I insist firmly.

He sighs and starts to open his mouth, but that's as far as he gets. His features twist as he grimaces in pain, hands flying to his forehead as he falls forward. "Ver--," he starts, grabbing onto my hand as he loses consciousness.

"Take us back to Sloan-Kettering," I yell, startling the driver out of his Iron-Maiden-fueled reverie. When he hesitates, I shout, "Now!"

Logan

Cell phone service sucks up here, and I start cursing as Veronica's voice breaks up in my ear. "What was that again?" I ask, spinning in circles as I spiral my way toward Monique and her apo.

"It's Dun…operation…can you come?" That last part is real clear and I halt in mid-circle as she sobs uncontrollably. I've never heard her break down like this and it's definitely a bad sign.

"Of course. Soon as I can get a flight out, I'll be there."

Veronica takes deep breaths and says tearily, "Thank you."

I sigh. "See you soon." The phone clicks off and I watch Monique and Charlie exclaim over some celestial object that nearly sends them into orbit. With another intake of breath, I trudge over to a nearby rock and wish for the hundredth time that I had the guts to tell Veronica my true feelings. Something always holds me back, and I start to think that she's not the only one with trust issues.

Monique walks over to me. "Come take a look."

Charlie is hunched over a notebook and he gestures at me with rapid hand movements. "This is freaking awesome."

He is curiously modern for an old fart with sagging pants. With a small smile, I glance through the eyepiece and whistle through my teeth at a swarm of stars. "What am I looking at?"

My aunt brings over a star chart and flashes a red light on a white blob. "M31. The Andromeda Galaxy."

"How did I miss that?" I plunk my forehead with a phony smile and mutter, "Duncan is real sick. I have to get out of here. Think you can drive me to the nearest airport?"

Her chestnut brows furrow and she nods briskly. "Of course. Then I'll drive across and meet up with you in New York."

I look over at Charlie with a jab of my thumb. "Why don't you hire one of his grandsons to do it for you?"

Monique's smile flashes like red neon as she waves the flashlight in an arc. "All right. Hey Charlie, is Jimmy free? I have a job for him."

And so it's done, paying our respects and all. I find that all my Hollywood illusions about Indians have been dashed, replaced by the grim reality of how they really live. With a half salute, I nod at Charlie and watch as Monique packs up the scope in record time. She hoists it onto her shoulders and ignores my offer to help with the rest of her gear. As we get to the car, I think about giving the lighter to Charlie. He was the catalyst for getting Dave and the others out of prison camp, but in the end, can he really say he's free?

Veronica

Duncan is rushed straight to an operating room and I guess that parental consent is the least of his worries right now. Shortly after the doors close on his gurney, a tall, athletic looking woman jogs down the hall in squeaky Nikes. She flies past me and I wonder if this is Monique's miracle doctor. Let's hope she has better bedside manners than Dr. House.

I return to the waiting room, where the same group of people is killing time in hard plastic chairs that do nothing to improve their collective mood. Malaise practically shrieks at me as I grab a seat in the corner, safe from Granny's knitting needles and the noxious whiff of unwashed boy. A tiny girl stomps on my foot and flashes a toothless grin as she makes her way to a teetering stack of dusty medical journals that have been thoughtfully provided for our reading pleasure. Should I want to immerse myself in the pleasures of cell division and barium enemas, the world is at my feet.

My harried phone call to Logan was hardly my red badge of courage. Between the flood of tears and the river of snot that deluged my face, I was definitely not the poster child for Miss Teen USA. A stronger person would say they are better now, ready to take the world by the tail. But I am not and never have been that girl. That show I put on last year? Was all a fucking act for the benefit of 09ers everywhere. Hell, I was so convincing that I almost bought my own charade. Even my Dad believed it. But it all came crashing down on my head, and now everyone knows I'm a sham.

So here I am, waiting for a guy who may decide to blow me off. Yeah, Logan said he'd be here, but it goes back to those trust issues. Will he really wing his way to me at a moment's notice, or pay me back for betraying him? I know he loves me, but can he really forgive me? Can he ever forget that I thought he was capable of murder? He's buried all that anger in his haste to move on, but emotions shift like a quake, and I know they'll eventually come crashing down like a tsunami. The question is when. I hope to God I'm not there when it happens. As for now, I will play pretend, choosing to lose myself in the carnal haze that surrounds him like smoke, because only then can I forget the darkness that hovers over us all.

Logan

We jump on an early morning flight and find seats in the very back of the plane. Monique squeezes between me and a leering git with a horrific comb-over. Florid patches of his scalp peek through oily black strands and I turn away with a belch, tasting last night's overcooked burger with a side of curly fries. My aunt grimaces and we both smirk when the greaser starts sawing logs. She starts to reach for her iPod and I stop her with a raised hand. "Why didn't you tell me about the smack?"

Monique rubs at her arms and crosses them in a classic defensive maneuver. "It didn't seem important."

Maybe she's right. Maybe none of it matters now, but I can't help but feel that the past is far more important than the here and now. "What's Johnny's story?"

Her eyes close slightly and she starts shaking. "We were close friends in college. I went to NYU and he was over at Columbia on a scholarship. He was fucking brilliant, and he threw it all away on a needle."

"And you?"

"I dabbled and got hooked in my junior year. It was a 24/7 party for a few months, until that night when someone spiked my drink with angel dust and I stepped off the roof. Good thing a car stopped my fall, or I'd be dead."

My fingers dig into my palms and it feels like a rock has lodged itself in my throat. "You ever find out who did it?" I croak with growing guilt, thinking that I'm not so different from the asshole that sent my aunt flying to the hospital. OK, maybe my friends aren't dead, but I'm certainly responsible for their loss of innocence.

"It was John. He was pissed that I was thinking of quitting dope, and this was his way of dragging me back in." There's an odd little catch in her voice that jangles my nerves and sets me closer to the edge than I care to be.

"Is that when your doctor friend saved your ass?" Roofies are a sore point with me, and I'll do anything to move the subject along to something else.

"Yeah. I almost died on the table, but she brought me back. And after that, I walked away from the drugs…and Johnny." She extends her left arm and I see the tracks on the inside of her elbow. "Hell of a tattoo, don't you think?"

My smirk lacks its usual bite as I look away and stare down at my feet. "Charlie wants you to go after him."

"Yeah," she replies flatly. "But what's the point? Johnny doesn't want my help."

"What, you're not going to sponsor him?" I spout in mock outrage.

"I'm not even sure I can find him. Most of my connections have dried up."

"Then let me go with you. Maybe the two of us can figure something out." The words fly out of my mouth and quite shockingly, I have no desire to take them back.

Her eyes open wide. "All right. But first we take care of Duncan."

"Right." I rub my temple against the oncoming migraine and suddenly remember why I hate flying. Between the crappy food and the constant changes in cabin pressure, there's nothing to recommend it. But it's the fastest way to get from A to B, and I know my friends need me.

Aaron

"You fucked up, Mack." Aaron takes his roles seriously, and since he knows that his man on the street days are numbered, he is beyond annoyed that the Kanes aren't even close to pushing up the daisies. "They're recovering nicely."

"B-but third degree burns," Mack sputters, stopping when Aaron slashes his hand down.

"It's what they want you to believe, you moron."

Mack's pockmarked face flushes at the insult, but he takes it in stride. "Maybe you're right."

"Maybe?" Aaron echoes in disbelief. "So you think maybe that's the reason Keith Mars and Lamb have ICU locked up tight as a drum? You think maybe they sense a threat?"

"Yeah. I guess."

He clamps down on his temper and bares his teeth at the younger man. "Sounds like you scoped the place out."

"Sure did," Mack said proudly. "Told you I was on top of things."

"So you did." Aaron's smile is more genuine and it clearly puts Mack at ease. "And I bet I don't even have to ask about the girl's car, do I?"

Mack gulps nervously and looks away. "Couldn't find it."

"What?" Aaron lowers his voice when he sees people staring from the counter. "How is that possible?"

"Dunno, but the car's not at home or at any of the addresses you gave me. I'd say she's out of town."

"Hmm. Not likely. She does some kind of community service and I doubt the judge will let her skip town."

"Whatever. The point is, the car is gone."

That was hardly reassuring, but Aaron let it go. "And the son?"

"Nowhere to be found. The cops are looking for him and every journalist in the state is jonesing for a scoop."

"Of course they are." Aaron knows it's time to close this deal. With a well-rehearsed sigh, he pushes a valise across the table. "This is for all your hard work."

Mack looks inside and frowns. "Where's the rest of my money?"

The kid has cajones and not much else. "It's all there. The deal was, you get the rest of the money if you complete the job. You didn't do what I asked.

"I did my best!" Mack whines.

Aaron touches Mack's elbow to reassure him and almost smiles when Mack jerks his arm away. "Of course you did, son. And now it's finished. So take your money before I change my mind and go live the good life."

The kid grumbles something and shuffles off into the dark, never noticing when Aaron slips out behind him with a determined stride.

Veronica

I've lost all track of time in this windowless space. Part of me remembers nourishment of the vending machine sort, and I'm pretty sure I splashed water on my face at some point, but that's pretty much it. The TV has lost all of its already limited appeal and the stale atmosphere has moved from noirish to nightmarish. The operation ended hours ago, but Duncan is still out cold. Nurse Peggy has been the only bright spot in the grayish-green dankness of the Big C ward, coming down every so often to give me updates and inviting me to an empty bed around the corner. I smile gratefully, but sleep won't come until I know he's OK.

My mind has gone around the bend and back, blaming myself for his condition and the state of his family's affairs. If I hadn't found the culprit, maybe none of this would have happened. But deep down inside, I know I am not culpable for everything in Duncan's fractured life, nor can I take complete responsibility for totally messing up Logan. But I am certainly the catalyst in all these events, and for that, I may never forgive myself.

Things are not as horrible as they seemed before Duncan collapsed. My Dad is protecting his parents and says they're recovering quickly. They blanketed the press with misleading reports and locked up the emergency ward. So no one comes in or out without proper authorization. I reported my suspicions about Aaron and Dad says he has Lamb trying to shake him down.

I start to put my head down when I see someone striding down the hall with a familiar swagger, looking like he owns the place already. When Logan finally spots me, my mouth opens in shock. "You're really here? I'm not imagining you?"

Logan smirks and opens his arms wide. I nearly fall off my chair in my haste to launch myself at him and he giggles when I stumble into his arms. "Don't think so. You look like shit."

My fingers find his spiky hair and pull a little harder than necessary. "Now, is that any way to greet your girlfriend?"

He grins that fuck-me smile that nearly melts me into a pile of goo. "You have something else in mind, Mars?"

I whisper in his ear and am delighted when his face actually reddens. "Umm, not sure I can accommodate you."

"Maybe not, but the hospital sure can." Nurse Peggy will be happy to see me get some shut-eye. So maybe I'll leave out the small detail where Logan joins me for some fun.

Logan smiles uncertainly. "Really?"

"Yeah." I walk a few paces and see that he's still a bit flummoxed, stuck to the floor like his shoes are nailed down. "You coming?"

That could be taken any number of ways and I see that he immediately latches onto the sexual aspect of that comment. Logan moves up to me and rubs his hand down my arm. "I sure hope so. Lead the way."

Duncan

Consciousness returns slowly, drifting in and out like the ebb and flow of the tide. My eyes open to a watery, gray-green world and it takes a few long seconds to realize that I can see out of both eyes. I turn my head and see a blurry shape in a chair, immediately thinking of Veronica and the cab ride to the airport. "'Ronica," I murmur, reaching out my fingers and finally meeting bone and sinew as someone looms over me.

"Down the hall sleeping. Want me to get her?" asks a wine-dark voice with a rich French accent.

"Doctor?" I slur sleepily.

A laugh trills in my ear and her identity suddenly registers. "Also sleeping. Can I get you anything?" What the hell is Monique doing in my room?

My mouth is dryer than Death Valley. "Water."

Her hands are surprisingly gentle as she helps me sit up. After I gulp down half the pitcher, Monique asks, "Do you need anything else?"

My mind is still fogged by anesthesia, but a question burns through the haze. "My parents…are they OK?"

"Yes. Veronica's father called last night and said they are doing fine."

"B-but…" I stammer, wondering why Keith Mars would go to bat for my family. "Are you sure?"

Monique touches the side of my face and kisses my forehead. "Yes. Please don't worry. You need to focus on getting better."

Her empathy is so unexpected that my eyes start tearing up. This is not the way it's supposed to be. Monique is a cold, unfeeling bitch who fucks little boys for her own amusement. She rides around in borrowed sports cars and shoots people when she doesn't get her own way. And she definitely doesn't spend time rotting in a hospital ward fetching water for brain-damaged kids. So who the hell is this person? Am I seeing one of her many personalities, or was her kindness always hiding in plain sight?

I stare up at her and my vision suddenly sharpens, revealing the glitter of tears in her emerald eyes and the way her lower lip trembles with fear. For a moment, I am thrown back in time to the Echolls mansion where a quivering Logan awaits his latest punishment, cowering in the corner as Aaron goes to fetch the belt. With a slight smile, I refocus on the present and croak, "Thanks."

Logan

I am not used to this version of Veronica that knows what she wants and takes it. She pulls me along in her wake and shoves me into a tiny closet of a room that is way too close to the nurse's station for my comfort. Her suggestion still burns in my ears and it's only when I'm suddenly horizontal that I realize it's more than a little like something Lilly would say. The frame of the bed presses into my skull as she goes down on me and chases away all rational thought. When I can finally breathe again, I see the desperation in her sapphire eyes before she shutters her emotions and turns away. "Was it good?" she asks flatly and I swallow hard before nodding.

"Yeah. But it's not…" My voice falters for a second before I add, "You're not going to lose me, Veronica."

Her fingers trail down my cheek and the smile she forces out is belied by the sadness in her eyes. "You say that now, but what happens when they send you away?"

When your life is as fucked as mine, you grab at every ray of sunlight that comes your way. Maybe that's why I can push away the rage and feelings of betrayal and just let things be however they are meant to be. I know I have to deal with my payload, but now is so not the time to get into it with her. "I don't know," I admit, rolling away slightly and pulling off my shirt. The rest of my clothes follow in short order. With a lazy smile, I say, "But I'm here with you now. Let's make the best of it."

Veronica smiles tremulously and shrugs off her jacket. The translucent tank underneath is skintight and clearly outlines her wares. She flushes as I drop my eyes and memorize every gorgeous inch of her. "Please," she whispers.

"Please what?" I say huskily, returning my gaze to her face and nearly swooning at what I see in her eyes. Everything she's been telling me is true. Yeah, I'm talking about that love thang. That platitude you hear every Valentine's Day, screaming from every Hallmark card and box of chocolates. Oh, sure, there's the raw need that practically shrieks fuck me from her every pore, but it's tempered by that other very real emotion, one that I never thought I'd see again…from anyone.

"You know," Veronica says coyly, flashing a sensuous smile that hits me with its best shot and goes straight to my groin. With a shimmy, she pulls her shirt over her head and exposes herself to me. Another slide and her pants are pushed aside, leaving her tanned and golden in nothing but a thong. With another smile, she stands up and puts my hands on her hips. "Will you do the honors?"

"Of course." I follow the course of her G-string to her feet and slowly let my eyes and hands travel up her legs before stopping at the luxuriant thatch of gold between her legs. "Matching colors and everything," I drawl with an evil grin as I hook her legs over my shoulders and go to town on her raspberry swirl, almost giggling as the Tori Amos song plays out in my sick little mind. Her hot little clit jumps and jerks under my tongue and she gasps out my name and comes before I get to the end of my personal soundtrack. I kiss and lick my way to her breasts and soon have her so hot and bothered that she begs me to put her out of her misery. The sex itself is hot and twisted, forcing us down into that hard iron bedstead and its lumpy mattress, creaking loudly with every rotation and thrust of our sweaty torsos. When I feel the approaching wave, I clamp down on my tongue and bury my face in her hair. When we both stop shaking, I nuzzle her neck and whisper, "There's something I need to say."

And wouldn't you know it, Monique chooses that very moment to push through the door and call, "We have business to attend to. Put your pants on and get your ass out here."

I groan in frustration and say, "For Christ's sake, can't a guy get any privacy around here?"

Her snicker is her only answer as she closes the door and leaves me to say my farewells to Veronica. "I kind of promised I would help her find someone."

Veronica smiles in understanding. "It's OK."

It is totally not OK, but I know that what we're doing here is not completely kosher. I am dressed in a wink and before leaving, I feast on Veronica's luscious mouth, scissoring back and forth as I deepen the kiss and pull her hard against me, branding her so completely that her legs buckle. I finish with a kiss to each corner of her lips and say, "I love you, Veronica. And I will be back."