Free At Last

by Peregrine2

Alternate Universe: This is a sequel to The Adventures of Nancy and Joe. Logan takes a road trip with his aunt, Duncan fights for his life, and Veronica tries to help Logan put the last nail in Aaron's coffin. Completed.

5. The Scent of Magnolia

Title: Free at Last
Author: Peregrine
Characters: Logan, Duncan, Veronica, Aaron, Lester family.
Spoilers: Through Episode 22.
Word Count: 20333
Rating: R for sex, language, and violence.
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 Five: The Scent of Magnolia

Here comes the gun, there goes the flash
Once the bullet leaves it's never coming back

Logan

Monique practically yanks my arm out of my socket as she drags me past the nurse's station. "What the hell is your problem?" I snipe, rubbing my shoulder and glaring at her back.

"You're the problem," she intones. "We fly all this way to see your friend and you can't even keep your pants on for two seconds."

"You should talk." Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. "Two seconds after I met you, you kidnapped Duncan and had your way with him." I wouldn't dare do this with Aaron, but I'm still testing the waters with Aunt Money.

"Apples and oranges," Monique mutters with a shrug. "But no matter. Duncan wants to see you before we head out."

I don't get the impression that Money backs away from too many fights, so the fact that she continuously steps away from going at it with me speaks volumes. Even so, I'm still not ready to completely put my trust in anyone right now. "OK." Without sparing her a glance, I shove past her and stride to my friend's room. The sight of Duncan watching TV and laughing at some idiot on a sports channel surprises me so much that I almost trip over his IV cart. "Hey, dude," I say with a stupid grin.

"Hey," Duncan says quietly as he mutes the volume and nods over at the chair near his bed. "Guess you heard about my parents."

"Yeah, man, that totally sucks." The nurse had broken that bit of good cheer to Money and me when we checked in at the desk. "Did you call them?"

He shrugs. "I tried, but Dad was in no shape to talk."

"What about Celeste?"

Duncan turns and looks out at the curtain of night. "She's already been discharged."

That's fucking news to me. "Thought they were both in a bad way."

He sighs. "So did I."

I suppose I should ask the obvious question. "How are you doing?"

Duncan grimaces like he's tasted something nasty. With a rude gesture at his bandaged head, he says, "They ripped a baseball-sized tumor out of my brain. How the fuck do you think I am?"

I pretend to peer through the bandages. "I think the hole matches your complexion."

His laugh sputters like an egg on a hot griddle. "Thanks, man."

"Don't mention it. So how long are they keeping you here?"

He makes another face. "A few weeks, maybe longer. Deschamps said I'm lucky to be alive."

"Ah, the invincible miracle doctor. What's she like?"

"Besides the blue scrubs and the face mask?"

"Yeah." I know what she did for Monique, and it appears she hit a home run with Duncan as well.

"Who knows? Her assistant's been driving me crazy with all these tests and every time I turn around, some nurse is doping my IV line with morphine."

I giggle. "No wonder you're smiling. That stuff could stop an elephant in its tracks. Just ask Aunt Money."

His eyes crinkle with confusion. "Huh?"

"She used to be a dope fiend, and get this, we're going to shake down some dude who spiked her drink and almost killed her. Ain't that a kick?"

Duncan looks a little sick and that's when I hear the tap of boot heels. When I crane my neck, Monique's green eyes are shooting daggers at me. "It's time," she says icily.

I hang my head for a long beat and finally get to my feet. With a nod at Duncan, I follow Money and decide that keeping my trap shut is the first and last order of business.

Veronica

"Celeste is coming here?" I plop into the chair next to his bed and sense the dismay that he's trying to hide from me.

He sips at his water and nods sharply. "That's what she said."

"So soon?"

"Mom checked herself out. She said she wasn't going to lie in a bed when she's perfectly capable of resting elsewhere."

Damn. The moment Duncan gets a break, his Mom is back on his case. The last thing he needs right now is a perpetual thorn in his side. My thoughts jump to Logan's outspoken aunt and I think of the possibilities. "Maybe Monique can keep her at arm's length."

Duncan's laugh has a nervous edge. "We're so not gonna go there."

Is he afraid that Money will spill the beans about their little fling, or does he actually fear for Celeste's life? Because truth be told, if it came to a knockdown, drag-by-the-roots kind of spat, it was no contest. Nobody could dethrone the Queen Beeyotch, and I ought to know after going ten rounds with her. "Do you have a better plan?"

He shakes his head with a tense smile. "Does there have to be a plan?"

I'm a little disappointed that he's caving back into Mama's boy mode. "I suppose not, but do you really want your Mom camping on your doorstep?"

"Do I have a choice?" Duncan asks tiredly.

Life is supposed to be about choices and free will, but that doesn't apply to minors. "No," I admit reluctantly. "When does her flight get here?"

"She called me from the plane, so…any time now," Duncan says dully. With a sigh, he adds, "Umm, Veronica, you're not exactly my Mom's favorite person. You might want to make yourself scarce."

Logan and Monique are on a mission, and I bet they could use another set of eyes, especially the private kind. "You're so right."

"Sorry."

I wave off his apology. "Call us when the coast is clear."

Duncan doesn't miss the collective us and he barely manages a smile before turning back to the TV and focusing his complete attention on a Yankees game.

Logan

We arrive at a Soho art gallery filled with pretentious wine and cheese types and the kind of bland jazz that makes Muzak seem like cutting edge radio. I yawn widely and let my jaw crack as Monique meets and greets her cadre of Tisch alums. Their nattering buzzes in my ear like an out of tune mosquito as I wend my way through waving palm fronds and pimped-out primadonnas in stilettos.

Cool air wafts against my face and I am drawn to a squarish room off the main corridor. Inviting couches and alcoves promise a welcome escape, so I dive into some cushions and drag out my sketchpad. Hey, what better place to practice my craft?

"Ha," I mutter to myself as I start forming out nightmarish shapes that morph into artsy-fartsy snobs with torturous heels. My snicker echoes off the high ceilings and lingers like the cry of a wounded animal. As my pencil digs into the paper, I wonder why Monique was in such a hurry to leave the hospital. We're supposed to be searching crack houses for Tonto, not eating finger foods and mixing with the eliterati.

"Not bad," a deep voice says.

My pencil jags across the page as I stare up at an Armani-clad guy leaning on the arm of the settee. "Who are you?" I croak, snapping the pad shut and sidling away from the intense chocolate gaze of my newest fan.

Mischief dances in his dark eyes. "A friend of Monique's."

I start to ask how long he's been fucking her, but snap my mouth shut when she walks into the room. "I see you found each other."

That was an odd way of putting it. "And it's love at first sight," I snark with a simpering tone that makes him laugh. His smile is so disarmingly genuine that I almost smile back, only catching myself at the last second. "Am I supposed to know this dude?" I look in Monique's direction and roll my eyes at her Mona Lisa smile.

"Logan, this is Rick Hamilton. He owns the gallery." Her tone is so sweet that I decide she's definitely fucking him.

Rick shakes my hand and points at my sketchpad. "Have you seen Logan's drawings? He's got some real talent."

Damn, I guess he really wants to see my etchings. I'm totally crushed. "It's nothing," I demur. "Just something I do when I'm bored."

"Which is like…all the time," Monique opens her hands and demands, "Give it here." I keep forgetting that my aunt is majorly talented, and probably the last person who should be critiquing my meager sketches.

"Don't think so," I mutter, digging the pad further under my arm and stepping out of reach. But it's not fast enough for Monique, who moves at blinding speed and rips the notebook from my hand. "Hey," I protest indignantly, but it falls on deaf ears as she and Rick start paging through my crappy portfolio. With a pout, I dig my foot into the floor and start tracing a formless design that's on a par with the shitty modern art on the walls.

"Oh.my.god. Will you look at Ginny?" Rick giggles and the sound brings my head up at the oddly familiar jangle. I stare at him with my mouth open and finally look away when Monique throws me a withering look.

Monique turns back to the drawings and I see her eyes start to widen as Rick guffaws over a few more caricatures. Her porcelain jaw tightens as she looks between her friend and me. "Rick," she says raggedly, tugging at his sleeve like an errant toddler. "Remember those studies that Rob did back in '89?"

Rick's smile falls away and he nods solemnly. "Of course."

"Show them to Logan." Monique hands the pad back to me, jade eyes glittering brightly with tears.

"But they're—"

Monique interrupts, "Please, Rick. For me?"

He sighs unhappily. "Very well. This way."

We fall in behind him as he winds his way around the crowd and down the hall to a set of stairs. I jog down two steps at a time and collide with Monique at the bottom of the stairs. She sways sideways and I catch her with my hands. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I ask harshly.

Monique shakes off my grip and looks away. "You have to see for yourself," she intones, tripping after Rick as we move into an off-limits room used for private viewing.

My eyes are instantly drawn to the walls and I can't believe what I'm seeing. With a wooden face, I start viewing a series of amazing black and white sketches that parody the same sort of people clogging the gallery above us. Shock stabs through me as I read Rob Hamilton's name on every print, realizing that I've always known this name from my mother's past and that I'm intimately familiar with his work. Half my mother's art collection has this guy's name scrawled on it. And not just ordinary prints for Lynn Echolls. No, they are one of a kind, unnumbered prints. This guy is deservedly famous, and I guess I've unconsciously copied his style. "This is amazing," I say hoarsely, moving faster and faster around the room as I drink in the paintings by osmosis, memorizing every detail for later consumption. And when I make my last tour of the room, I am struck by the knowing look on Monique's face. She reels in shock and her mouth opens in a silent cry. "Money, what is it?" I move in her direction but she is already gone, slipping and sliding down the hall and tearing up the stairs with a clatter of her boots.

I start to follow but am halted by Rick's hand. He turns me to face him and says, "Give her a minute."

"For what?" I still don't get it. What the fuck is going on and why can't someone clue me in?

Rick pulls a straight chair away from the wall and motions for me to take it. When my butt is firmly entrenched, he takes up the pacing I just finished and drags his fingers through his thick shock of black hair. "You know it's not a coincidence," he says quietly, flashing me a look and indicating the prints with a wave of his hand. "It's one thing to copy someone's style, but what you've done…it's extraordinary."

"Look, dude, I'm no Michelangelo, so don't get any ideas." I look at the ceiling and grimace, "There's no fucking way you'll get me up there."

His laugh has a painful edge that translates to an equally crushing grip on my shoulder. "Don't you see? It's all in the blood. Yours and his."

Forget the fucking Indian. This guy is the one on crack. "His?"

Monique hovers in the door like a wraith and drops her bomb with perfect precision. "Don't you get it? This proves once and for all that Aaron Echolls is not your father."

Aaron

He stares up at the six-car garage and knows that his baby is impounded inside, uselessly rotting in its stall. What good is a Ferrari if you can't drive it? Aaron smashes his fist in his palm and stalks down the twisting road that leads to his house. He's still in street drag, completely ignored by the '09er crowd that frequents this area. His trash bag is looped around his wrist and he picks up a can or three to cement his disguise. The good citizens of this town might hate bag people, but they are a common sight as they scour the hills for salvageable garbage.

When he gets to the bottom of the hill, he slips into the dusty Taurus and throws his bag on the floor. For a moment, he sits and stews over the downhill trajectory of his life. It's all gone to shit, and it's all their fault. He has to blame someone, because blaming himself is just not done. He paints the world with many colors, but guilt is a foreign sensation that doesn't live in his emotional palette.

Aaron looks over at his valise and pats it absently, stroking its finely tooled leather and thinking about the money inside. He is 50,000 dollars richer and the world has one less scumbag to deal with. If the local police ever got their collective heads out of their asses, they'd realize that he'd done them all a favor. With a sneer, he thinks that it gives street cleaning a whole new meaning.

He opens the glove compartment and opens a crumpled map of New England. With the sureness of long memory, he traces the route in his mind and knows he'll enjoy the surprise on her face when she opens the door. "See you soon, babycakes."

Duncan

I don't know what to say to Mom when she arrives. Her neck is bandaged with a plaster that clashes horribly with her yellow pants suit. If Lilly were here, she would remind Mom that saffron is so not her color, but I'm not that heartless. And I'm sure Lilly would also say that there's nothing that can't be cured by a flawless make-up job. Clearly, Mom has been neglecting her Lancôme collection. "Doesn't Mom get it? Lancôme is so last week. Sephora is where it's at." Yeah, Lilly could say that kind of nonsense and somehow make it funny as she pretended to make up her face. Celeste's make-up case had become an urban legend in the Kane family. Never mind her kids and husband, if the make-up somehow got left behind, she'd turn it into a national day of mourning.

But that's neither here nor there, is it? Mom looks like shit, and I'm hardly helping the situation. Worry flares in her eyes as she touches my head and asks, "How are you?"

Obviously better than her. "I'm fine," I say. "Turns out that the epilepsy was a brain tumor."

Her lips tighten. "How could the doctors miss something like that? They did numerous brain scans and nothing showed up."

Her concern is real, and I start to feel like a complete drip for believing that she drugged me. "Dr. Deschamps says that tumors aren't always detectable in their early stages, and even then they can cause problems."

She frowns at my shaved head. "How did you find this woman?"

Nothing good will come of telling her the complete truth, so I lay out a tiny white lie. "Logan's mom needed some surgery a few years back and he remembered the doctor's name."

Mom's eyes narrow and I wonder if she's having problems with my story or the fact that it was Logan who came to the rescue. "Did she get the whole thing?"

I nod. "But she can't assess the damage right away."

Her voice quivers oddly. "Damage?"

My fingers form into a ball. "It was this big, Mom. The structures in my brain could only take so much compression before something gave."

She sinks into the chair and closes her eyes for a moment. When she finally speaks, I know the news will be bad. "Your father might not pull through."

Black spots dance before my eyes as I ask, "B-but I thought…they said he was OK."

"He seemed to be rallying and then had a relapse this morning. Once I check you out of here, we'll go straight to him."

"That's not going to happen." We both look up as Dr. Deschamps plows through the door. "Duncan isn't in any shape to travel, and neither are you, Mrs. Kane."

Mom raises her hand in protest but it falls weakly back into her lap as she sighs. "But my husband…you don't understand…he's dying."

My mouth opens at this revelation. It's one thing to say he's not doing well, but quite another to voice my worst possible fear. "No-o," I cry, hands reaching out blindly and bumping into Mom's as she wraps her fingers around me.

We sit there in stunned silence as the doctor says, "I'm so sorry," and leaves us to our grief.

Veronica

Logan and Monique could be anywhere. They don't know I'm looking for them, and neither one of them is answering their cell phone. It's been an hour and I'm rather sick of Logan's not so inspirational message. In fact, the next time I see him, I'll remind him to change it.

I find a Starbucks and hook up my laptop. Nobody is online and it seems like everyone is out of town for the summer. With a sigh, I wonder if I should just hang it up and go home. Duncan is recovering and Logan doesn't really need me. I look at my watch and decide to try his phone once more before leaving town.

"H'lo?" he says on the first ring.

"Hey. Where are you?"

"Umm, Soho?" Logan sounds distant and I can almost swear that he's been crying.

Soho sounds like a pretty unlikely place for a drug addict. "What's going on? I thought you were going to find that Indian."

His laugh is splintered with jagged edges. "Damned if I know. We stopped here to see some fuck buddy of Monique's, and next thing you know, this pansy is critiquing my art."

Logan has softened a bit in the past few months, but he'll never completely stop with the asshole routine. It's a defense mechanism that he erects when he's upset. Rather than pointing out the contradiction in his statement, I snark, "Ooh, and I'll bet he just loved that picture of me."

His breath hisses in and out before he whispers, "He had other things on his mind, Ronnie."

Right back at ya, OPJ. "You know what, Logan? I think I'll hang up now. You obviously aren't in the mood to talk, and I've got a plane to catch."

"No, wait, I…please don't leave." He covers the phone and mumbles a question to someone. "This place is off West Broadway. It's called The Hamilton Gallery. I think we'll be here for awhile."

The raw pain in his voice slips a knife between my ribs. "All right. I'll get there as soon as I can."

"Thanks," Logan says. "And Veronica? It can't be soon enough for me."

Logan

I'm supposed to feel relief or whatever that emotion is that Hollywood does so well on those movies of the week. And maybe I should feel empty, or angry, or jubilant at this 11th hour news. But as I sink to the floor in a sodden heap, I feel an upwelling of grief that I've shelved for most of a year. Monique and Rick are keeping their distance, sitting in polite bemusement at the opposite side of the room, heads bowed in a conference that effectively walls me out, leaving me as bereft as I've always felt. And of course, Veronica chooses that very moment to ring through and I dumbly answer, wondering how my cell managed to turn itself on.

Her concern is only slightly reassuring, and I find myself trying to push her away, if only to save her from the train wreck of my life. But right before she rings off, I panic and beg her to stay, knowing I can't bear it if one more person dumps me.

I rub at my eyes and call, "So when can I meet this Rob guy?"

Their whispers stop and Monique's eyes burn into mine with a green neon rush. "You can't."

"Why not?" I wait for an answer and when none is forthcoming, I shake my head and say, "Let me guess. He's one of those antisocial types that think all humans are the scourge of the planet."

Rick's fingers are back in his hair and I realize that it's the equivalent of nail biting. "It's not that simple."

"Sure it is. You pick up a phone, and let him know that his son wants to meet him." I feel like giggling at the insanity of it all, but am stopped by the deadly serious expression on Rick's face.

Monique touches his shoulder and shuffles over to sit down next to me. "Rob died last December."

I nod like this makes complete sense. And maybe it does in a way, because just about everyone in my life that matters is dead. Why should this guy be any different? "How?"

She cocks her head at my question. "They found his body on the beach. It was just after his San Francisco premiere."

Alarm bells peal like claxons in my skull and I stare at her in horror. "W-when was that?"

"The weekend before Christmas. It was quite the event."

The walls start closing in on me as I remember my parents packing and my mother reassuring me that they'd be back on Sunday and was I sure that I didn't want to come. And it was shortly after that when her drinking and trank addiction sent her spiraling into a funk that never left her. "Christ," I say in a low tone, jumping to my feet and wanting to hit something with all my might. When I turn to face them, I growl, "Was Rob suicidal?"

Monique shakes her head. "Never."

"And this premiere was a success?"

Rick answers, "It was the highlight of his career. Everything changed overnight for Rob. First he was with us, accepting all the accolades, and then he was gone forever."

My chest tightens as bands of anger and outrage course through me. "My parents were there."

Monique confirms this with a solemn nod. "Did Lynn ever tell you what Aaron did?"

Mom never talked about any of that stuff with me. "Nope."

"He managed to steal Rob's thunder by showing his face. There were more headlines about Aaron Echolls offering his patronage than Rob's success as an artist."

That sounds just like Aaron. "Mom came home without him. Said he made all these new friends and wanted to hang out in the Gay City for a few days. Those were his exact words."

Monique's face grows very still and her eyes narrow to slits. "He knew."

I'm a bit slower on the uptake than she is. "Knew?" I echo.

"About Rob and Lynn. It went on for years. Maybe it was still going on when he died, and maybe that's why he died."

My fingers dig into my palms at this horrifying news, and without a doubt, my aunt is right about everything. What's more, Aaron might not have been on that bridge when my Mom jumped off, but he's responsible for her death. And so help me God, if I ever see him again, I'll make good on that long ago promise and kill him.

Veronica

The cab driver grunts when I tell him the destination and barely spares me a glance when I throw down a ten and race into the gallery, knowing that something is terribly wrong but not having the slightest idea how to fix it. The surroundings are modern and tasteful, a concept which seems to escape most modern designers. It's the kind of place that usually invites you to stay for awhile, and if I were in a lurking mode, I'd certainly partake of the free food, which looks fifty times better than the crap from the hospital vending machine. But never mind. The people are stacked like cordwood and Logan is nowhere to be seen.

I ask an official looking woman (Estelle) if she knows where the owner and Monique are hiding. Her imperious eyebrow raises at my slightly mocking tone, but she punches a number into her Nextel and mumbles something in a decidedly ungracious tone. "Some girl is here to see you. Want me to send her away?" She listens to a response that transforms her already unpleasant face into a Lovecraftian moue that radiates pissiness. "Very well." With a jab of her thumb, she points to a set of stairs and strides away. Wow, Estelle obviously failed charm school.

The thickly carpeted stairs mute my footfalls, so they are completely unaware that I'm standing in the doorway, assessing the situation and deciding how to approach Logan. They're all shell-shocked, but he is completely devastated. Seeing him huddled on the floor is like turning the clock back to that night at the Sunset Regent. He's chewing on his nails and staring off into space. Monique is twisting fistfuls of hair around her hand and jabbering in French on her cell phone. The owner looks like death warmed over and I wonder if he'll cast a reflection when he passes the mirror. With his white skin and dark hair, he resembles one of those dramatic stage actors that is destined to play Dracula. He spots me first and motions me over. "You must be Veronica. I'm Rick Hamilton."

I smile faintly and look over at Logan. "How's he doing?"

"Crappy." Logan's voice cuts in rudely and he snarls, "Stop talking like I'm not here."

Rick rolls his eyes and gives me a set of keys. "You two can stay at my place while Monique and I look for John."

"But..." I stop in puzzlement and wonder why a perfect stranger would offer us his digs without reservation. "You don't even know us."

He laughs. "My nephew and I have a lot of catching up to do."

WTF? I stare at Logan and though he smirks back at me, his emotions are shuttered behind the blankness of his dark eyes. "How about it, Veronica?" He comes to life and snatches the keys from my hand with a giggle. With a nod at Rick, he adds, "See you later, Ricky."

Logan

Rick owns an impressive brownstone in Chelsea that smacks of wealth and privilege. "Wow, guess I lucked out," I crack, knowing that Veronica is dying to know what the hell I'm yammering on about. I do a pirouette and spin her around on the sidewalk before pushing through the black iron gate and running my fingers through the tiny fountain.

Veronica taps her tiny foot and rearranges her carrier bag with fidgety fingers. "What's this about, Logan?"

I spin around again and unlock the massive front door. "Tra-la-la. It's gay Par-ee." She looks baffled and I guess she doesn't know about Chelsea's thriving gay population. I play hopscotch on the pristine black and white checked tile in the front hall and giggle when I spot a Streisand CD and a poster of a heavily muscled Chippendale's model in Rick's living room. "Guess I was wrong about Ricky and Money."

She raises an eyebrow and stares up at the cathedral ceiling and the walnut wainscoting that surroundsthe handsome room."Is he really your uncle?"

My hand finds my forehead and I look down for a few seconds as I try to gather my wits. "Yeah," is all I manage to say as I sink into a decadent chair made from buttery leather. With my hands behind my head and my feet up, I pretend I'm the lord of the manor, though it's only a temporary illusion that is shattered when Rick's sleeping cat hisses at me from a nearby couch and runs into the shadows. "Nice to meet you too, buddy."

"Spill." Veronica thumps down her purse and takes up position on the arm of my borrowed chair.

"Well, it's like this. I guess my Mom had a little action on the side all these years and somehow managed to pass me off as Aaron's son. Damn the Academy! She was a way better actor than they gave her credit for."

Her smile wavers uncertainly at my quip. "So your father...who is he?"

I lean my head back and see a family gallery on the far wall. With a leap, I come flying out of the chair and skip over to the artfully arranged pictures. A quick assessment leads me to believe that the slightly older Rick lookalike must be my long lost parent. "This dude," I say flatly, eyes stopping on a graduation shot with three laughing faces. Lynn Lester, Rob Hamilton, and someone named Jane. "And here he is with Mom."

Veronica's hand rests on my arm as she scans the wall. "It started in high school?"

"Looks that way, but I'll be sure to give Money the third degree when she gets back from her drug raid."

Her fingers tighten on my bicep. "How could she not tell you about this, Logan?"

I hear the anger that hides behind the worry, but it's definitely misplaced. "She didn't know, Veronica."

"And you believe that?" she retorts.

With a sigh, I turn her sideways and fold her into my arms. "You didn't see her face back at the gallery. I mean, yeah, she definitely knew Mom was stepping out on Aaron, but that's about it."

"But surely she must have suspected..." Veronica wants to blame someone, but Monique was never part of Mom's life, and there's no way she could have known.

"Don't think so, Veronica."

There's a finality to my tone that closes the subject and shifts it to the next series of questions that any normal person would ask. "Does he know about you?"

I shrug. "Maybe he did, but none of that matters now."

Veronica frowns at my use of the past tense. "What do you mean?"

I gather up all my courage and decide to lay it all out for her. "He died last year. Monique and Rick seem to think he was murdered, and I think they're right. In fact," I stab my finger in the air and continue, "We know who killed him. Can you guess?"

Her perfect features are frozen with fear and she crumples to her knees with a tiny whimper. "Oh my God, Logan. It couldn't possibly be..."

"But it is," I proclaim with glee as I help her to her feet. "And you know what? I'm totally going to return the favor."

Veronica

I'm having a hard time with this. It's killing me to see the pain in Logan's eyes, because even while he's laughing, he's dying inside. And what proof is there that any of this is true? Isn't logic supposed to dictate what is actually fact?

Fact: Lynn was cheating on Aaron.That doesn't mean this guy is Logan's father.

Fact: This guy is dead. Could be natural causes. There's no proof that Aaron did it, even if he was in the vicinity that night.

You can't go on supposition. That might be Logan's M.O., but it's not going to hold up in a court of law.

I'm totally going to return the favor.

His last words scare me the most, because he means what he says. I remember when he came barging in my office about Dylan Goran and he said the same thing. If Aaron hadn't finished the job for him, Logan would have happily stepped in and kicked the guy's ass. Wipe away the smirk and you're left with a deep well of bitterness and a thirst for revenge. And who can blame him? Aaron has destroyed virtually everything in Logan's life. But playing vigilante buys you nothing except possible jail time, and I want be with Logan in real time, not holding his hand through the bars of a jail cell and counting the days till he's out on parole.

I know how he'll react if I test my theories on him. He's a go-by-the-gut kind of guy. Act first, and damn the consequences. With me and Dad, it was easy. He stole one of my hairs and discovered that detective work really is in the blood. But with a dead guy, nobody's going to exhume him or sift through the ashes for evidence. Yeah, I suppose Logan could get a court order, but what's it going to buy him? Peace of mind? A new and improved family? OK, maybe I spoke too soon. Anything would be an improvement over the Echolls clan. Because the way I see it, things can't get much worse for Logan than they are now.

Logan

Veronica's brain is churning at warp speed. Even as she surrounds me with her arms and tucks her head under my chin, her mind is working on a solution. I want answers, and I know she can help me get them, but I need to absorb all these hard changes at my own pace. And if that means drowning myself in suds and sex, then that's the way of things. It's not her way, though. No, she'll keep at this until someone bends and maybe breaks under the pressure. And I'll be damned if I'll let her attack Monique, who is as much a victim as me. Veronica wasn't there; she didn't see Money's face when the shit came down. Why I feel the need to protect my stranger of an aunt is a question I'm not ready to answer.

I spot a familiar looking bottle on the sideboard. "Hey, Courvoisier. Want some?" She shakes her head as I splash a generous amount into a snifter. I gulp it down and sigh as the warmth spreads to my extremities. "You sure?"

"Yeah." That last is said with a disapproving shake of her head.

"What?" I counter defensively, wrapping the bottle under my arm and heading for the stairs.

"Nothing." Her voice is a dull thud that interrupts my pity party and jerks me back to her side.

I brush her hair away from her face and cup her cheek with my left hand. "You can't solve this one, Nancy." My voice is petal soft as I lean over and kiss her forehead. "C'mon. It'll be OK."

Veronica hunches her shoulders and steps out of reach. "Do you really believe that?"

I place the cognac on the steps to the second floor and proclaim, "I have to believe that, Veronica. Because without hope, what do I have?" Veronica can't be my salvation—not anymore. If I can't stand on my own two feet, then what good am I to her? I've been a crutch, dragging her down into the endless pit of my own despair. She doesn't seem to mind now, but I know how quickly things can change. Look what happened with Lilly. She didn't step out on me because I sucked in bed, and at some level, she loved dating the son of a famous movie star. But she couldn't take my mood swings, vacillating between joyful mania and dark depression that stretched on for days. And when I wasn't skipping down halls, I was terminally pissed off at the world, blaming everyone but myself for my problems. And then I got jealous and possessive when she pulled even further away from me, following her around until we reached the final breaking point.

So we ended, and when I saw her at the car wash, I knew she had already moved on. It wasn't even a question of some other guy; it was more of an emotional shift. And to this day, I still don't know what happened to that letter I wrote. Maybe I don't need to prove anything to Veronica, but I still want to find it and salvage some truth from the perpetual garbage of my life.

Veronica

His perfectly sculpted body is etched in golden candlelight as he hovers over me, dark eyes gazing at me with adoration as he moves slowly inside me. "Is this OK?" he whispers, knowing I am slightly weirded out by fucking in front of Rick's giant fireplace, in full view of the front entrance.

"Mmm—" I murmur, but lose my train of thought as Logan's mouth closes over my left breast. His tongue dances around my nipple and teases it to a turgid peak. He releases it with a toe-curling suck and moves to my right breast while his hips rhumba with mine, rotating more forcefully as he pounds into me. "Yessss," I scream when his thumb flicks my clit.

"You sure?" His smile makes me glow all over as he stops and brushes his lips against mine. This is a game where I don't know the rules, but Logan seems happy to instruct me. His fingers slide inside in tandem with his cock, and I nearly choke as an orgasm jolts through me. My limbs flail as I spasm against him and before I can thank him, he follows me into nirvana, hoarsely crying out my name as he comes.

He kisses my shoulder and rolls sideways. "Wouldn't want to hurt you."

No, that is my specialty. "Thanks," is all I can manage as he tightens his hold on me and gives me a breathless bear hug.

"You're welcome." Logan brushes the hair away from my face and is kissing the corner of my mouth when the front door bangs back against the wall.

We both sit up and meet the startled eyes of Monique and Rick, who stumble into the room with a tall, raven-haired guy between them. "Hey," Monique says as she settles the guy onto the couch and starts pulling off his boots. Rick walks away with an embarrassed apology and disappears into the kitchen.

"I don't fucking believe this," Logan mutters with a strangled laugh as he covers us both with a blanket. With a louder tone, he says, "Could your timing suck any worse?"

Monique flips back her mass of red hair and grins. "Let me know when you're decent. I'll be just down the hall."

Logan

Veronica is collapsed on a bed upstairs and Monique is talking to Rick about John's future. Her softly accented voice floats out to the corridor as I creep toward the kitchen for a snack. I duck my head through the door and see them in the breakfast nook at the far end of the large room. The refrigerator is directly across from me and if I make like the fog on little cat's feet, maybe I can sneak away before they spot me.

I am halfway across the floor when Monique says, "Join us, Logan." She beckons toward the platter of food on the table and shoves over to make room for me. I nod gratefully and catch a flash of black and blue before she ducks her head.

"What did Tonto do to you?" I growl, remembering my anger at Dylan Goran when he beat up Trina.

Her laugh tinkles unexpectedly and she turns her face and exposes her black eye. "John was in no shape to hurt anyone, but I guess his dealer didn't like the color of my money."

I raise my eyebrows at Rick, who shrugs and says, "She made me stay in the car."

Monique giggles and asks me, "Want something to drink? We have water and orange juice, but the booze is off limits."

I'm about to admit that it's too late for that, but Rick shakes his head. I watch Monique limp across the floor and I murmur, "What did this guy do to her?"

He sighs. "She won't tell me, but I have a feeling that he didn't walk away from that fight."

"Are you saying that Monique--" My voice falters as she arms herself with a pitcher of OJ and a few bottles of water.

"Better that you don't know," Rick whispers as he stages a bright smile and accepts a bottle from Monique. She tosses the other one at me and proceeds to guzzle juice from the pitcher, completely ignoring my look of mock shock at her appalling lack of manners. She has the nerve to call me out on my rudeness? What a fucking joke that is. When I smirk at her, Monique mugs back at me for all it's worth.

Veronica

My eyes flutter open as a bright ray of sunlight stabs through the wooden blinds. I am alone, but a Logan-shaped imprint still marks the spot next to me. My fingers trace its edges and for a moment, I can smell the faint musk of his cologne. A few minutes is all I have to wallow, for today is the day when I return home.

I can't believe that it's been 3 days since Monique dragged a junkie through the front door. My time here has been almost surreal, filled with sporadic bursts of happiness and manic romps through Central Park at midnight. Between club-hopping, Broadway, and the bums of Times Square, I feel like I've seen and done it all, tearing through the hours like a whirlwind and finishing with last night's grand bang. My legs bend like pretzels as I try standing up and collapse on the floor with a frazzled grin.

With a grimace, I fold my legs into lotus position and think about Logan's behavior over the past few days. He's still crazy and a bit twisted, but damn if he isn't happy. The sarcasm has been flying hard and fast, but Monique is clearly capable of lobbing it right back at him. As for Rick, he is quiet and thoughtful, maintaining his distance until Logan is ready to deal with the shocking news that Aaron is not his father.

I've had a change of heart after seeing them together. Some of the mannerisms are so strikingly similar that it catches me up short when I see Rick hanging his head in that way Logan has when he's embarrassed or befuddled. Who needs DNA tests when there's living proof that the two are genetically linked? Even if Rick is only an uncle, it's clear that Logan didn't pick up this habit by studying someone's art.

And then there's Duncan, stuck in a hospital bed while his Dad lies dying on the opposite coast. Celeste flew out yesterday after the doctor assured her that Duncan was well on the road to recovery. In fact, they think Duncan can go home next week. He'll need a lot of physical therapy and may never play sports again, but his vision is 20/20 and he's healing fast. He's trying to be brave, but I can see the worried little boy behind his almost 18-year-old mien. I leave him with a promise to visit Jake and call with a report as soon as I get home.

So I am flying home this afternoon and Logan and Monique are moving on. I hobble over to the window and look down at the sports car that was delivered last night by a laughing Indian (Jimmy Thinks Twice) with huge white teeth shining out from his face like a beacon. His arrival was heralded by a great shout of welcome that probably woke up half the street.

I flounce back on the bed and stare at the ceiling, feeling refreshed and almost...euphoric. Damn, is it even possible to feel this way after all I've been through? And can I trust that it's real and lasting and not some teenage delusion? After Lilly died and Duncan dumped me, I never thought I'd find it again. And now that I have, with Logan of all people, I don't know how to proceed. This boy that I love is like a partially read book with folded over pages for all the good parts and blanks for the rest of his life. Whatever happens, I hope I can help him fill in the empty pages.

Logan

I toss my backpack into the trunk and look over at John and Jimmy as they hover in the doorway. John is so anemically thin that he barely casts a shadow and has so many interlocking tracks on his arms that he looks like a Chinese puzzle. "Is there any hope for that dude?" I mutter.

Monique shrugs. "Perhaps. I signed him up for rehab and Jimmy's going to make sure he shows up."

Wow, someone is actually more fucked up than me. "Bet that'll go over well."

She makes a face. "He's at the end of the line, Logan. If he doesn't kick this time, he'll be pushing up the daisies by year's end."

My foot kicks at a conveniently placed stone. "Ever the optimist, aren't you?"

Monique raises her hand and waves at the two Indians. Only Jimmy acknowledges her gesture with a half-hearted finger salute. With a heavy sigh, she puts the car in gear and says, "I wish I could call Charlie up and tell him that everything's cool, that John is clean and will be coming home soon. But I can't lie to the old man. John doesn't want to get better. They can keep him penned in, but the moment they let him out, he'll be right back to his old tricks."

She flashes me a look and I know she's thinking about my upcoming turn at the bat. "I won't blow this," I whisper to myself.

"I know you won't." My head whips around to stare at Money, but her eyes are glued to the road, seemingly oblivious of my presence. The muscle car purrs under her capable hands and I find myself lulled into a deep sleep that doesn't lift until she shakes me awake and points to a ferry. "We're almost home," she crows triumphantly.

Duncan

Mom hugs me so hard that I can barely breathe. "Mom, it'll be all right." I need to believe this, and I need her to believe it too. "Dad will pull through. Didn't the doctors say that he's rebounded?"

She scrubs at her eyes and nods tearily. "But that's what they said the last time...and look what happened."

It's out of her hands now, but there's no point in stating the obvious. And I can't throw down the God card and urge her to pray, because she's a hardcore atheist. So all I do is take her hand and squeeze, showing that I'm here with her in every way that counts.

Mom glances at her watch and sighs, "I have to go, or I'll miss my flight."

I pat her hand. "Call me when you get in, OK?"

"Of course. And make sure your doctor calls me every day," she demands, sounding more like the Celeste of old, a fact that makes me very happy.

"Anything else, Madame?" I raise my eyebrows dramatically and grin when she shakes her head at my comment.

"Get better, Duncan." Her fingers grip my shoulder hard and then she's gone, leaving a cloud of Issey Miyake in her wake.

Aaron

His new disguise is one of his best. No one will look twice at a doddering gent with a cane and double hearing aids. He smiles at his cleverness, but his smug grin is hidden by his luxuriant chin whiskers. Aaron steps out of the car and stares at the house he hasn't seen in fifteen years. It looms on the edge of a steep hill, looking ready to tumble into the ocean at the slightest tremor.

He despises this place with its perfectly tended gardens and expansive lawns that sweep down to the sea. It smacks of old money and lace curtain Irish Catholic snobs who look down their noses at common folks from Michigan. But as much as he loathes his dead wife's legacy, there's no one he hates and fears more than Lynn's little sister.

That bitch has the power to destroy him. She's smart, canny, and strong and has developed a sixth sense about guys like him. And now she's turned his son against him. Lynn was the one that got away, but Logan won't be so lucky.

Veronica

I shoulder my messenger bag and bump against a seat on my way to the back of the plane. Its occupant grumbles and my attention is forced away from the one remaining seat in the last row. My brows raise in alarm as I stare down in shock into Celeste Kane's icy blue eyes.

What are the odds? I force a frozen smile onto my face and am about to mouth some pithy comment when the asshole behind me shoves into me. "Get moving," he whines in my ear. That could be taken any number of ways, but I see it as an escape. With an apologetic shrug, I push past Celeste and only breathe a sigh of relief when I settle into my seat. The lady next to me is already immersed in the latest airport bestseller (V. C. Andrews) and has walled herself off with an oversized set of headphones. The shover settles across the aisle and thankfully focuses on the Barbie Doll lookalike that is shoved between him and a grouchy looking guy with a permanent scowl etched on his face.

My own laptop comes out and when they give the head's up, I shove in a pirated Lost DVD and lose myself in Sawyer's dimples for a while. We switch planes in Chicago and Celeste is long gone when I deplane. I wonder why she is slumming on American when the Kane corporate jet is at her beck and call. Perhaps it has too many reminders of Jake and is the last thing she needs right now.

I wonder what drives her now; there is nobody left to resent. My mom is long gone and I am out of Duncan's life. Lilly is busy pushing up the daisies and Logan is on the Kane's blacklist. As I watch scores of passengers making their connections, it suddenly hits me. The same flame that burns in Logan and Duncan is probably eating away at Celeste too, only hers is a cold, guttering candle on a rain swept windowsill, dying from the inside out and waiting for the world to notice.

Logan

Monique grows quieter with each mile and when we finally swing through the gates of the Lester domicile, her hands are clutching the wheel with a death grip. She sweeps her fingers through her chestnut mane and steps out of the car. With a heavy sigh, she stares up at the cottage and mumbles, "So here we are."

The house has that claustrophobic, shuttered look that broadcasts empty house to any would-be cat burglars. "Wow, they really rolled out the red carpet," I comment sarcastically

"Only thing missing is Joan Rivers."

Her snark lacks its usual bite and prompts me to ask, "This place wig you out or something?"

She kicks her foot in an idle motion and shrugs. "Maybe. Look, I don't think anyone's here. I thought Dad and Sally would be home by now, but apparently they were delayed."

Or they never intended to come back.

Neither one of us says what we're thinking, but it hangs in the air between us like a cloud of exhaust. "Whatever. We can always go to your place."

Monique considers my idea for a long beat. "I guess. It's not...I mean, it's a mess and I'm not really set up for...guests."

Is that what I am to her? OK, I can deal. Money never intended to take me in. She was going to dump this on Dave and make it his problem. I suppose I can see her point. Can I honestly say I wouldn't do the same in her shoes, especially with her history? I'd seen the way she dumped John on his nephew and hightailed it out of there, and I was starting to see the same pattern here. Once an addict, always an addict. Doesn't matter if you smoked it, snorted it, or drowned yourself in it. "This was your idea, remember?"

She swings her other leg like she's ready to dropkick me. After muttering something in French, she points at the car. "Let's go."

And with that, she 180's the car and roars off in the opposite direction at a punishing speed, pushing the car to its limit as we snake around a curve and almost colliding with an old man shuffling on the side of the road. As we scream past him, he looks straight at me and waves. I flip him the bird and giggle as Monique lights up and throws me a disgusted look. With another laugh, I throw out my arms dramatically and decide that even if I'm going straight to hell, I might as well enjoy the ride.

Veronica

The plane ride is uneventful and I am back in my dented car before I know it. Duncan's request to check on his father is ringing in my ears as I head out to the PCH. It won't be my first stop, but it's definitely on my agenda. My phone rings and I smile at the sight of Logan's name. "Hey, how's life on the Island?"

He snickers. "It sucks. You home yet?"

"Not quite. So what's Grandpa Dave like?"

I hear this weird sound and wonder if he's grinding his teeth in frustration. "He's still on the continent. Money found a postcard that said they were having such a great time in Tuscany that they decided to extend their stay."

Poor little rich boy. Damn, I know it's a cliché, but it's completely true. This is one of those 'I don't know what to say and whatever I say will be inadequate' types of things. "Is that so bad?" is all I can offer after an uncomfortable silence.

Logan giggles nervously. "Umm, well, that depends. Dave's been described as a dog loving psycho with a fondness for old malt."

I roll my eyes. "Sounds like it's right up your alley."

"Thanks." He starts to say something else but is interrupted by static. "You still there?"

"Yeah. You were saying?"

Logan snarks, "Nothing. Just bitching about Money's house."

"What, a multi-million dollar home isn't enough?" I tease.

"Money's home is nothing more than a fishing shack. One strong breeze and this place will be history."

I'm sure he's exaggerating. "Sure it isn't one of those cute little cottages that sell for a half million a pop?"

His response is part cough and part laugh and I'm pretty sure there's a fuck thrown in there for good measure. "More like three quarters, but who's counting?"

"So what's the problem?" I ask sweetly, trying to maintain a straight face as I take the Neptune exit.

"Besides the gas lights and the lack of indoor plumbing? I can't think of a thing."

Now I know he's completely bull shitting me and I throw some double talk back in his face. "Aww, I think those little half moons are kind of cute."

"You talking about my ass or the privy?" he jokes.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I simper.

"Actually…" Logan starts, then stops when Monique says something in the background. "Hey, we're going for steamers. Call me later?"

"Sure. And Logan?" I want to remind him that I'm here for him, but the already tenuous connection chooses that moment to cut us off. When I try calling him back, it goes straight to voicemail and I hang up with a hiss.

Logan

I'm not sure of many things, but I am sure of this. Steamers are probably the grossest thing I've ever seen in my life. Even worse is watching people downing them with their guppy mouths. When Money offers me some, I fold my arms and snark, "Didn't you know? I'm allergic to shellfish."

She shoves the menu at me. "So what? There's plenty of other stuff on the menu."

I sniff like I'm offended and eye the greasy paper. "No thanks. I'd rather starve."

Monique rolls her eyes. "Look, I know you're pissed about…"

"Don't even start with me, Money. You live like you're one step away from the street, and for what? Do you think anyone cares about all your good works? Your martyr act isn't fooling anyone!"

Her fingers clench and unclench, but that's the only sign that I've gotten to her. "Maybe you're right," she says hoarsely, standing up so abruptly that she knocks over her iced tea. I start to follow her but she's already off at a dead run, leaving her keys in the sand as she barrels down the pier and heads for a nearby sailboat. She grabs the rope and tosses it in the boat. By the time I get to the end of the dock, she is already out of earshot and headed for the open sea.

"Fuck!" I turn abruptly and nearly knock a tiny old woman off her feet. "Sorry." My voice is cross and I'm madder than a hornet, but none of that fazes her.

With a gracious smile that crinkles her eyes, she declares, "It's OK. She's impossible to deal with when she gets in one of her moods."

My mouth opens and closes. "You know my aunt?"

The woman grins widely and sweeps off her sun hat. "Of course. I practically raised her." With a courtly bow, she adds, "Sally Lester. And you must be Logan."

Now I am really out of my element. With a bemused smile, I do a little hop and ask, "So where's Grandpa Dave?"

Her eyes cloud up. "He was rushed to the hospital last night. We came home a little earlier than expected and he complained of chest pains."

"Is he all right?" I ask quietly.

Sally offers a faint smile. "As ornery as ever."

"Can he have visitors?" It's the right thing to say, but it's probably the last thing I want to do.

"Sure. But I have to warn you, he'll have nothing good to say about your parents."

I shrug like I don't give a shit. "Whatever. So what brings you down here?"

She laughs guiltily, "He asked for steamers with butter, and this place is the best clam place on the island." It's not the kind of thing that a cardiac patient should be eating, but it's none of my business.

Crap. I feel like kicking myself for being such an ass to Monique, but it's too late. She has set sail and is headed toward god knows where, and judging from the sky, a storm is brewing in her wake. "What about Monique?" I ask with a nod at the darkening sky.

Sally tucks her hat under her arm and gazes at me thoughtfully. "She can take care of herself. You coming?"

"Sure." It's not like I have anything better to do. We walk back to the parking lot and I wait in the car while she fetches her steamers. When she finally emerges, she surprises me by jumping into the passenger seat. "Hope you don't mind me riding shotgun." "Not at all. Where to?" "Oak Bluffs. And then home." I don't want to read anything into that, but if that's an invitation, then I'll definitely take her up on it.

Veronica

"How is Jake doing?" I ask as my father takes me aside and hugs me hard.

"A little better," Dad reports with a sigh. "If he makes it through the night, he'll probably pull through."

"Thank God. Duncan will be so relieved."

He sighs again. "About that..."

Damn. "Let me guess. Celeste dropped by for a little chat."

His face flushes at my ever sharpening detective skills. "Don't you think it's time to let go?"

Now it's my face that's flaming, but not with chagrin. "He's my friend. And I promised I'd call."

Dad touches my shoulder with a gentleness that is belied by the resolute set of his jaw. "I think Celeste has it covered."

Wow, I should find Celeste and shake her hand. She's completely solved my ex-boyfriend problem, and now I can move on with a clear conscience. Only...why do I want to punch her in the face and tear her hair out? Why do I want to stomp on her instep and eat her Pradas for lunch? Becky James would have a field day with this, but I don't plan on cluing her in anytime soon. She'd say the right things, but she'd be jotting her secret notes about Veronica Mars being a total fuck-up. With a gooey smile, I say, "Does she now? That's so sweet of her."

He raises his eyebrows at my sarcasm and shakes his head. "She appreciates everything you've done for Duncan, but she made it clear that she wants you to back off."

Ah, passive-aggressive behavior at its very best. Do an end-run around Veronica and fall on Keith's tender mercies. It's not her usual game and only shows how close to the bottom she is. At any other time, I would confront the bitch to her face, but there is little to gain from beating someone when they're down. And so I let my father believe I'm taking his advice and gracefully backing away from the Kanes. "All right."

His eyebrows do another dance before settling into a reflective rumba. "Really?"

I nod to emphasize my acquiescence and decide that my acting skills are at least on a par with Aaron Echolls when Dad smiles in relief and claps his hand on my shoulder. "Ready for some lunch, kiddo?"

God, he hasn't called me that in years. "Sure thing, Pops."

Logan

I look up at the portal and watch Sally walk ahead of me for a second. The very last thing I need right now is another hospital or reminders that the people close to me are dropping like flies. If I did one of those Kevin Bacon things, the only people left alive would be one degree of separation. And even that is being blissfully optimistic.

Sally waits patiently near the elevator and only pushes the button when I get close. "Dave can't wait to meet you."

I offer a hesitant smile, but as soon as she turns away, I look at the ground and roll my eyes "Why don't we get a mirror?"

Her blue eyes crinkle like she's not sure how to take that comment. "What for?"

God, can the world stand another joke killer? "Umm...aren't I just a reflection of him?"

Her features shift like blowing sand. "You'll have to wait and see."

"Wow, a grandmother and a comedian," I crack as I shift my weight back and forth, feeling the pit of my stomach plummet when we reach the fifth floor.

Sally stops me with her hand. "If he says something nasty, try not to take it personally."

"Will do." Obnoxious is my middle name, so why should a cranky old bastard bother me?

Duncan

There is an unhappy note in Veronica's voice as she discusses my Dad's condition. "So you actually got to see him?"

She hesitates. "Not exactly."

Now that the fog has lifted from my brain and the God of Clueless is nothing but a broken idol, I completely know the score. "Mom got to him first."

Her laugh has a nervous edge. "In more ways than one," she answers cryptically.

I skirt past her weird answer and say, "Don't worry. Mom called me about an hour ago and gave me an update."

"Good."

"And she really appreciates what you've done…"

Veronica interjects, "Now where have I heard that before?"

I've always been caught in the middle, staving off battles between Lilly and Mom. When Veronica came into my life, it took the focus off my sister, but my role never wavered and I'm kind of tired of playing peacemaker. But more than that, I know that nothing good will come out of this. What happens if she goes after Aaron? The odds are stacked against her and I might just lose it completely if he takes someone else away from me. "Look, Veronica, I know what you're thinking, but you have to let this go."

She mutters something that rhymes with duck. "Don't you see, Duncan? It will always be this way. It doesn't matter who you go out with because they'll never be good enough."

Part of me wants to shout back at her and tell her she's wrong, that she doesn't know my mother, but then I remember when I brought Meg over for the first time and later heard her referred to as 'that Manning girl with the slutty sister'. "And you're mentioning this because?"

"You're my friend, and I'm trying to help."

Her version of help is interrogation and torture for the unlucky soul who crosses her path. Logan may think that her Nancy Drew routine is scorching, but it's always left me cold. "So what do you want me to do, call my Mom and beg her to give you access to my Dad?" I ask flatly.

"That would be a start," she replies eagerly.

It's a waste of time, and we both know it. "Sorry, but it's not going to happen. The best thing you can do right now is stay away from my parents."

She sputters, "B-but, you don't understand..."

"I have to go. The doctor's here," I lie, clicking off the phone and staring out the window with a tight smile. With grim resolve, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and pull myself shakily to my feet. My clothes are folded neatly over the back of the chair across the room and it seems to take forever to get there, but when I finally arrive, I know what I have to do.

Logan

Meeting Dave is a non-event, because he's passed out in his bed, drool hanging like an icicle from the corner of his lip. Sally frowns and wipes it away with a tissue, but he never stirs. I take a good long look at this guy who is supposed to be my clone and decide that he looks great for a geezer in his 70s. Perhaps his state of preservation is closely tied to his alcohol intake and I make a mental note to blow off my rehab and get right back off the wagon. If I do half as good as Dave Lester at his age, I'll be doing damned good. He's been married three times and has sired an equal number of gorgeous daughters and still has a way with the ladies. How bad can that be?

I sigh at the worry on Sally's face that disappears when she looks back at me. "Guess we should let him rest," she says quietly.

"We'll come back in the morning. Let me take you home." I grab the bag of steamers from her lifeless fingers and she never notices when I chuck it in the trash on my way out.

We drive in silence and she directs me back to her house by the sea. All is dark and I feel a little creeped out by the silence, broken only by the distant hissing of the waves. "You sure you want to stay out here by yourself?"

Sally shakes her head and opens the door. "Of course not. You're staying with me."

Damn, the invitation was real, though I wonder if it was initially offered out of politeness instead of need. "All right, but just for tonight."

She frowns at my suggestion. "Don't be ridiculous. Monique has no room in that tiny house, and you'll be at each other's throats before the day is out."

Been there, and totally done that. "Yeah, I see your point."

She fumbles for her key and I follow her into the quiet tomb of the Lester mansion. As she flips on some lights, it occurs to me that this is a prime opportunity to pump her for information. Since Monique is MIA and runs away at the drop of a hat, Sally is the perfect candidate for my Joe Hardy routine. That I am preying on a lonely old woman is beside the point. She knows Rob Hamilton and she was there all those years ago when my mother came home to announce her engagement. This might be my last chance to find out what really happened.

Aaron

The bitch is off the grid. No listings in the phone book and no signs that she even exists in this place. He finds his way into town and warms up a seat at the Black Dog. The fabled tavern swims with life and he sees a few familiar faces from back home. His hand starts to lift as Ted Danson walks by with his wife Mary but it drops when he remembers his disguise. With a shake of his head, he sips at his ale and plots his course.

He is about to pay his bill when he spots a sun-speckled golfer with a pink scalp that matches his Izod shirt. He doesn't remember much, but he remembers that Dave Lester loves to golf and has an inner circle of cronies that are regulars on the course. This guy fits the profile and has to know the old fart. Aaron shuffles up and taps him on the shoulder.

Izod guy turns abruptly and nearly deposits his malt down Aaron's front. "Yes?" he says impatiently.

"Pardon me, are you a friend of Dave Lester's?"

The man's eyebrows rise slightly. "I know him. Why?"

"I'm looking for a photographer, and I understand his daughter is in the business. Trouble is, I have no idea how to get in touch with him. His house is still closed up and his kid isn't listed in the phone book."

Izod guy's eyes start thawing. "Her studio is out on the point. You can't miss it. If you follow the twisty road out of town, it's the last driveway before the road dips south."

Aaron dips his head in thanks. "I'm sure I can find it. Thanks."

He shuffles out with the baggy-butt stride that is common to the over 70 set and never sees Izod guy reaching for his cell phone.

Veronica

I sit on my hands and work on my frown lines. It beats feeling sorry for myself and adds years to my face. I didn't even have to light up a cigarette or work on a perpetual tan to look 30. Dad is out chasing bad guys and me…I'm just waiting on the telephone. But he never calls, and it's been four days since I last saw him. I know he's checking voicemail, because the inspirational greeting changes every day.

Here's what I don't get. The two men in my life don't want my help. I get off on helping other people and they've hamstrung me six ways to Sunday. Duncan says I have to let go and Logan says I can't solve this one. Don't they have faith in me? Don't they know I'll do the right thing? I always get my man, and this time is no different. The bastard is out there killing people and he has a good chance of beating this rap.

No one can prove that he lit the match that burned down the house of Kane. And no one can prove that he hit a home run with Lilly's head. And certainly no one can link him to Rob Hamilton's mysterious death upstate. Only…maybe I can.

My knee rustles against a pile of newspaper and I stare down at last year's headlines from the San Francisco chronicle. Rob Hamilton's handsome face looks up at me and I suddenly see bits and pieces of Logan in that smile. With a determined frown that makes my other creases cower in the folds of my forehead, I stab in a few numbers and get Dad's travel agent on the phone. "Hey, Sheila. Can you find me a cheap flight to San Francisco?"

She asks a few questions and I am soon booked on an afternoon flight. I fold up my papers and place them at the bottom of my suitcase. I repack all my New York clothes and am on the road in under 15 minutes. A hastily scribbled note is the only indication that I've skipped town, and by the time Dad gets it, I'll be in the air. I suddenly remember that I'm due downtown for some f2f at the food bank, but that obligation quickly disappears when the social worker hears my fake cough.

"Hope you feel better, dear," she says.

"Thanks."

I cough again and she murmurs sympathetically. "Why don't you take the rest of the week off? I'm sure that Miss James will understand."

Becky James is in charge of the food bank? Is the sky falling or something? "What happened to Consuela?"

"Gone out on maternity leave."

"And Becky just happened to step in?"

"Yes, isn't that great? We are so fortunate to have her on staff."

I roll my eyes and say sweetly, "That's awesome. Tell her I'll come by as soon as I'm…as soon as my cough goes away."

"Sure thing, sweetie."

Logan

Sally brings me coffee and is about to sit down when her cell phone rings. She listens intently for a moment and walks over to a set of French doors. "I have no idea where she is. Why do you ask?" Her face pales slightly and she finally nods. "Thanks for the warning." She rejoins me and sips carefully at her iced tea, smiling every so often but making no attempt to explain that rather odd conversation.

"So what has Monique done now?" I ask lightly.

Sally sighs. "That was our friend Bill. Someone was asking for her down at the Black Dog."

My hand jerks and coffee sloshes all over her wicker table. "Who?"

She hands me a pile of napkins. "Nobody we know."

"So why call you?" I tighten my grip on my mug and hope she doesn't notice that the blood has left my fingertips.

"She's not in the book, and I guess this guy wants to hire her."

My left hand is shaking so bad that I bury it in my pocket. "What's so strange about that?"

Sally knots her fingers together. "Not much, except Bill thought something was off with this guy."

I jump to my feet and start pacing. "Off how?"

She touches my arm as I pass by her chair. "Well, Bill couldn't really put his finger on it, but he said everyone on the island knows Monique and how to get in touch with her. And most of her work is through referrals from other clients, not people showing up out of the blue."

On my second trip past her chair, I pause for a second and ask, "So he sent the guy packing?"

Her lips twitch slightly. "Bill directed him to a local fish and tackle store. Monique lives on the other side of the island."

I should feel relieved, but I'm not at all reassured. Money is still missing and my faux Pa is very likely staging another performance, only I suspect he's inching ever closer to the ultimate denouement. The curtain may close on us both, but you can be damned sure I'll take him down with me. "We have to leave," I blurt, widening my circles until I reach the room's perimeter.

"But we just got here," she counters gently.

I stop in front of her chair and stare down at her. "Don't you get it? He's coming for me, and he'll hurt anyone who gets in his way."

Sally's brow crinkles in confusion and I realize how crazy I must sound. "Who's coming for you?"

"Aaron." The words slither from my lips like parseltongue and surround us with twining malevolence.

Her eyes widen. "He's out of jail?"

My head bobs like a marionette. "His fucking fans bailed him out."

She's not the least bit phased by the f word. "But why would he come here? Surely it violates his parole."

A giggle escapes before I can rein it back in. "Sure, but he's not about to let a little thing like the law get in his way."

"Perhaps we should call his parole officer."

I shake my head in frustration. Sally comes from a time when people believed in the system and the system actually worked. Now it's nothing but petty bureaucracy and rampant corruption. "Too late for that, Sally. I know we can't prove it, but that guy in the bar was Aaron in disguise."

Her lips form an O. "You're his son. Why would he want to hurt you?"

I smirk and hang my head for a second. When I raise my eyes, I suddenly focus on the graduation photo that graces the mantle. It's the same one I saw in Rick's house, and I'm mesmerized by the way my mother practically leans into Rob, seeming to sway in the breeze like a hothouse flower. Without thinking, I sweep the picture into my hands and nearly throw it at Sally. "Because of them. I know they were lovers, and I know…it never stopped until the day Aaron murdered Rob."

Her iced tea crashes to the floor and splinters into a zillion pieces. I look down at the ruins and think it's a rather fitting conclusion to my little drama. With a tight smile, I crunch through the glass and return to my seat. "There's more."

Sally is fully focused on me and once I start talking, the dam breaks and the vitriol pours out of me. I leave nothing out and when I finish, I realize that the sun has stolen the night away and a new day is upon us.

Veronica

My life is a big fat lie. I sneak around and spy on my friends and use them when I have to. There's a price to pay for doing the right thing, and I know that nobody but Dad truly understands. Wallace goes along with it, but there's always that element of uncertainty hovering over him. And Logan? He thrives on breaking the rules, so what's a little B&E between friends? But Duncan doesn't get it. I piss him off, and while he may still be attracted to me on some level, we've been over for a long time. I can't be the girl he wants me to be. I can't return to the halcyon days of our puppy dog romance, all hearts and flowers and sickly sweet endearments. And even if a remote part of me remembers what it's like to want him, I don't think I can ever forgive me him for fucking me and leaving me alone.

I stare up at the Pyramid building and decide to take the tour. It's not like I have anything better to do in the next few hours. There are four hours to burn between now and my downtown meeting at a trendy art gallery. The owner is one of those crazy busy types with phones in both ears and a PDA jammed in his back pocket, but when I mention Rob Hamilton's name, he clears an hour in his busy schedule so we can chat. I always used to despise sycophantic name droppers, but now that I see how many doors I can open by uttering the right syllables, I'm all for it.

The tour starts and the guide drones on in a bored baritone. We get to the top of the town and I marvel at the view. The place is bristling with security, but when I pull out my digital camera and make like a tourist, they completely ignore me. It's a pretty cool building, but the end of my visit still leaves me with three hours. If I had any money, I could have some real fun here, but I'm on a tight budget and can only afford a quick hotdog from a street vendor. My phone has been ringing every fifteen minutes and I've logged at least a dozen calls from my Dad. He's ripping mad at my taking off without a word, and says that my note isn't going to cut it. When he gets through with me, I'll be grounded till I turn 30 (his estimate is higher, but I'm an optimist).

I'm tempted to turn my phone off, but I might miss Logan's call when he gets around to me. I know he's not blowing me off on purpose and has a lot of shit to deal with. But you know, my patience only goes so far and I'm starting to prickle with annoyance. The boy has a way of getting under my skin, and now that he's holding my heart hostage, I'm putty in his hands. Can't let that little tidbit get out or my reputation is ruined.

Aaron

He stares at the bait shop with hands fisted at his sides. Anger blows through him like a gale force wind and leaves him quivering with rage. When it finally subsides, he shakes his head at his own stupidity. Never trust the locals, especially the kind that live in a cloistered community like the Vineyard.

Aaron finds his way back to his car and decides to return to the Lester estate. Sooner or later, his luck is going to change and someone's going to lead him straight to Monique. And when he gets there, he's going to finish what he started all those years ago, only she won't be walking away from this one.

Logan

Sally puts me in Monique's old room. It's on the third floor, and light pours through a floor to ceiling expanse of glass that spans the entire length of the house.

Her head cranes around and she tugs absently at her necklace. "This is where they worked."

"They?"

"Monique and Rob." She frowns slightly as she asks, "Didn't she tell you?"

I snort. "It never came up." Damned if I know what it is, but the mystery is soon cleared up when Sally gestures at a line of oil paintings that dot the walls. My eyes widen as I recognize Monique baring her soul in a variety of back-breaking positions. "No fucking way," I swear as I get to the last picture. Dots of sweat bead her brow and her exquisite body is so realistically flushed that I realize he must have fucked her before he painted her.

Sally hangs her head. "Monique loved him from the moment she laid eyes on him. It never mattered how he treated her; she always came trotting back to him when he showed up."

Jesus Christ, he was doing my Mom and her sister? I want to scream at Sally and ask how she could let this happen, but I know it's not her fault. Money is cut from the same cloth as me. We both fall head over heels and never look back. Doesn't matter if the object of our affections shits all over us. We're both starved for affection and will take whatever we can get. "What, my mother wasn't enough for him?" I crack a smile, but the bleakness in my heart is surely reflected in my eyes.

"I'm sorry." She starts to reach for my shoulder but I step out of reach.

I'm supposed to assure that everything is cool, that it's all water under the bridge and I'm totally over it. But Sally wisely withdraws when I turn my back and stare out at the ocean, effectively cutting her off from my deep well of misery. Why infect someone else with my pain? I haven't even begun to process the recent changes in my life, yet every time I turn around, I'm assaulted by yet another nasty twist of fate. How can I make it stop? Was this how my Mom felt when she threw herself off the Coronado Bridge? Did she feel trapped by her existence, encased by the silken prison that Aaron Echolls had spun around her?

My forehead touches the cool glass and I look down on the churning swells as they crash on the rocks. Should I repeat history and fling myself off a cliff? I almost think it might be worth it if it means the knife will stop twisting in my gut. But then I think of Veronica, and a smile works it way to my face. She is the only thing standing between me and oblivion, and even if I can't believe in myself, Veronica sees something worthwhile. I have to hold on to that, because it's all I have right now.

Duncan

I've done stupid things, but leaving the hospital is probably the dumbest. The morphine wears off too quickly and by the time we cross the Bourne Bridge, my vision is swimming with black dots and the pain is starting to shut me down. I can barely talk when we arrive at the dock, but I manage to throw a wad of cash at the driver and stumble to the ticket counter. The ferry is mostly empty and I sit on a hard bench and squint at the rain lashing against the windows. The boat ride seems interminable and I'm relieved when we arrive in Vineyard Haven. The storm has driven everyone inside and I find safe haven at the Black Dog, where I order tea and toast and hope I can keep it down long enough to pay my tab.

An hour passes and I order a second cup of tea with one hand and hit the redial button with the other. But after my battery nearly runs down, I decide that Logan and Monique aren't in a talkative mood. I dig in my wallet and a folded five falls onto the table. When I open it up, a battered business card slides into my palm. The words are hard to make out, but I finally decipher a number and a street name. I shove back the chair and run smack into a waitress as she tries to do an end run around me. Bone hits sinew as her elbow connects with my rather flaccid 6-pack and I mutter a few inventive curses when I land face down in a basket of red-hot steak fries. "Fuck," I yell, throwing her fingers off my arm and tossing her tray like a Frisbee. It clatters against the door to the kitchen and startles a young waiter with a tray full of drinks. He sidesteps the flying missile but loses his balance, dumping a half-liter of Coke and an iced tea into the lap of a woman nursing her baby.

"Oh my God," I moan as the mother and baby start screaming in unison. "I'm so sorry." With a bent head, I stuff some money into the waitress's hand and manage to sidle past the chaos and stumble out through the bar.

"Wait," the waitress calls as her sneaker-clad feet carry her swiftly to my side. "You're in no shape to drive."

A laugh works its way through my humiliation. "I'm not drunk."

Her hand touches my forehead and comes away with a rusty coating. "No kidding," she says earnestly.

I squint at her through a haze of pain. "Can you get me drugs?" I croak, only half-joking as I sag against the doorway.

Her lips twitch slightly. "No, but I know someone who can." She wraps her rather strong hand around my forearm and guides me out to the parking lot. Rain splashes against my face as she stuffs me into a Mini Cooper and swears at the leak in her sunroof. "By the way, I'm Valerie."

"Duncan," I slur, leaning back against the headrest and barely noticing when she floors it and squeals out of the parking lot in front of a taxi and a pissed off kid on a bike.

She wakes me up when we get to our destination and I blink at the sight of another hospital. "Not going in there." I shake my head, but she's already coming around to my side of the car and I know there's no choice.

"Come on, big guy." Valerie's arm goes around my waist and when I turn, our faces are only inches apart. My eyes drop to her lips before returning to her dark eyes and I'm struck by something deeply familiar.

"Have we met before?"

"Nope."

Valerie propels me forward a few feet and I cast a sideways glance that takes in her tall, dark beauty. My body tightens like a bow and my pants feel three sizes too small. With a disgusted shake of my head, I let her lead me to the emergency room and sit meekly in the corner when she takes my insurance card and says, "Down, boy."

Veronica

The gallery owner (Jeff Locke) barely glances at my phony badge before turning his back on me. "Is this really necessary, Detective?" he says stiffly.

His stoop-shouldered build belies the unlined planes of his face. I move to the window and force him to turn his gaze on me. "I'm sorry to put you through this, Mr. Locke, but we've uncovered some new information."

Locke folds his hands together and sinks into a chair. "Forgive me if I find that a little hard to believe. For the last year, all I've heard is that it's a cold case and would I please stop calling."

I scrape a chair away from his worktable and make myself at home. Ignoring his raised eyebrow, I pull out my folder and pretend to scan a dozen lorum ipsums before offering a falsely bright smile. "Then I'd say it's your lucky day."

He sniffs like he smells something rotten and leans back slightly. "Let me save you some time, Detective Drew. Everyone who knew Rob loved him, and I can't think of anyone who'd want to hurt him."

That's what they always say…until someone dumps their universally loved one into the drink. As for the lame handle, it was all I could think of when I bought that fake ID from Cliff. I peer down at my notes and ask, "Not even Aaron Echolls?"

Locke looks at me like I've lost my mind and shakes his finger at me. "You've been reading the Star."

I shrug like he's caught me in the act. "I'm well aware of his generosity…"

He sweeps out his hand dramatically to encompass the large room. "This happened because of him. Our internship program was only possible with his contributions. So if you're implying that he had something against Rob…I don't buy it."

Aaron was a wolf in sheep's clothing, and he'd clearly hoodwinked his adoring flock. "I'm sure it seems that way, Mr. Locke, but as it turns out, Mr. Echolls had plenty of reasons to go after Rob."

Locke leans forward and hisses, "I suppose this is the part where you'll tell me about Lynn and Rob's affair, right?"

I'm slightly puzzled by his animosity but decide to roll with it. "Among other things…"

His voice cuts in stridently, "It's old news. Everyone knows they were lovers back in the day."

I consult my cut and paste notes and rattle them ominously. "Did you also know that their affair never ended? That in fact, Lynn Echolls made regular visits to the city…without her husband? And that shortly after Rob died, she took her own life?"

Locke dismisses my comments with a wave of his hand. "That's pure speculation."

My fingers reach under my fake notes for one of Logan's sketches and I toss it across the table. "What about this?"

He takes out his glasses and his eyes narrow when he takes in the bold lines of Logan's sketch of Aunt Money, so eerily similar to Rob Hamilton's work that it is surely creeping him out. "Where did you get this?" he asked stonily.

A tight smile stretches my mouth as I drop my next bomb. "From Rob's son."

Locke practically spits out his response. "Rob doesn't have a son." He rifles in his drawer and shoves a photo at me.

I stare down at an attractive older woman and two young girls who sit stiff-jointed at her feet with pasted on smiles. It's an ordinary photo, but the sardonic look on the older girl's face is one I'd know anywhere. It's leered at me drunkenly from car windows and smirked at me from across the school newsroom. My hands start shaking as I push the photo back at him and ask, "When was this taken?"

He turns the photo over and smiles fondly at the inscription. "Just after Valerie's tenth birthday, so that had to be what…ten years ago?"

"Sounds like you know them well," I comment idly, hoping to draw him out a little more.

His nod jerks his head like a marionette's. "Used to fly out to the Vineyard every summer, but since Rob passed away, Allie has distanced herself from everyone."

I mutter a half-hearted apology, all the while watching his reaction as he returns his attention to Logan's drawing. When he finishes his inspection, Locke reiterates, "Where did you get this?"

"Rob's son drew it," I state simply.

Locke rolls his eyes. "It's like I said, Rob has…"

My voice cuts him off. "You want to bet?" I open my wallet and fish out a wacky picture of Logan taken at the carnival. He's mugging for the camera and his expression is a mirror image of the older girl in the photo.

He pales as recognition sets in. "Omigod." Locke compares the two pictures and shoves them aside with a sick grimace. "I've seen enough."

It's not enough that he believes me, because Locke is the type that watches the world pass him by. "Is there anyone else I should talk to?"

Locke sighs heavily and runs his fingers through his thinning hair. "I don't know…maybe." He flips through his Rolodex and stops at an entry. "Bill Pasternak. Want his number?"

I nod my head and jot down a local exchange. "What's his connection to all this?"

He sighs again. "Bill is Aaron's #1 fan. If anybody knows what happened in those last few days, it's him."

"Thanks." I tuck my papers away and extend my hand, which is reluctantly shaken by Locke. "You've been very helpful."

Locke follows me to the sidewalk and stops me by saying, "You might want to lose the ID along the way, Miss Mars." I whirl around and see him pointing at a newspaper kiosk with my face plastered all over it. "You're not the only one who reads the tabloids."

Logan

An entire day passes before I turn my phone back on. There is only one message from Veronica, and it's almost more than I can take to hear her voice cracking as she tells me about the Hamiltons.

Logan, I know you told me...to stop investigating Aaron, but I can't let this go.

My lips curl into a smile as she throws down a brief summary of her visit to San Francisco. If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend that she's here with me, surrounding me with a comforting blanket of snarkiness. But then she loses the 'tude and drops her only bit of news on my unsuspecting head.

Looks like Rob was married with children. Might want to ask Money about Allie and her two daughters.

My snort nearly drowns out Veronica's uncertain declaration of love and her promise to try me again tonight. Fucking Monique was as good as dead to me. Gone three days now without a trace. Just like all the others.

I look up at her erotic paintings and tear them off the walls. Without the slightest remorse, I drop kick a half dozen canvases across the room and fist the center of every last one of them. Before I can start in on her photos, the door swings open and Sally looks around with a sigh. "She's back."

My mouth opens and closes with a snap. "What? When?"

Sally motions me over to the window and points at a low white building near the water. "This morning. Try the lower level, but watch your back. She's got both barrels blazing."

With that advice ringing in my ears, I trot down to the dock and hear the muffled pop of a gun. It bangs six times on my way down the stairs. When I round the corner, I see Monique with pistols in both hands. Her eyes flick slightly in my direction before she tears a target in half, drawing a line down the center with her rapid fire. I grab some ear protectors and shuffle to her side, checking her motion with a downward swoop of my hand. She mouths a swear at me and engages the safety. Her wild red hair surrounds her head like a frightwig as she throws down her headset and makes a grab at her bottle of hooch.

"No fucking way," I yell, swatting at the bottle and watching it fragment into agate smithereens. "Oops." My hands come up to my face in mock horror and I giggle at her slightly insane glare.

Monique looks down at the pile of glass and sighs. "That was a very good year."

I roll my eyes. "Whatever. "

She sags down to her haunches and shoves her guns into a corner. "Aw, I missed you too."

"Where the hell have you been?" Better to start small and work my way up to the big stuff.

Now it's her turn to look at the ceiling. "Here and there."

My retort sounds nastier than I intend. "Boning your way up and down the coast?"

Her mouth twists into a faint smile. "Don't I fucking wish." She straightens to her full height and lights a Gitane.

"You could have called. I know you don't give a shit about me, but Sally was worried."

Monique shakes her head. "You're wrong."

I nod my head in mock agreement. "Yeah, that running away thing gets me every time. Nice to know you're totally there for me."

Her face flushes and before she drops her eyes, I catch a weird mix of anger and sorrow. "You don't understand."

"So enlighten me," I counter flippantly.

Monique's lips twist oddly as she drags deeply on her cigarette. "This thing I have...when I go spiraling down, I need to be alone."

I pick up a glass fragment and sniff at it. "With a little help from your friends, right?"

"Nope." Her eyes are clear and I realize she couldn't possibly have released that spray of bullets in perfect precision if booze were part of the equation.

"So what is this, some kind of pacifier?" I should fucking talk. My hip flask used to never be far from my side, and I still mourn its loss.

Money's laugh crackles like kindling. "Naw. It's one of Dad's secret stashes. When Sally gets pissed at him and dumps out all his booze, he comes out here and wallows."

The place has the air of neglect and I'll warrant that dear old Dave hasn't wallowed in a long time. "Not so much anymore," I comment flatly, sensing that I've hooked her with my cryptic comment.

Monique cocks her head like a curious bird. "He's always sulking out here."

"Not today. In fact, he's flat on his back in Vineyard Haven."

Her eyes widen dramatically. "What?"

I should take pity on her, but that nasty part of me wants to strike like a cobra. "Heart attack."

She wrings her hands, and I see that despite her earlier malaise at seeing her family estate, deep concern is flooding her eyes. Money loves the old bastard, but she would never admit that to anyone. "Again?"

I shrug like none of this matters to me. "Apparently."

Monique lights up another cigarette and inhales it absently as she picks at her cuticle. "Christ, will he never learn?" She adds a few choice words in French that are punctuated by 'bah' and 'asshole'. "I should go to him."

"And do what, watch him drooling into a pillow?" There I go shooting off my mouth again.

To my amazement, she chortles and says, "Hold that thought, because that'll be you in about fifty years."

I still want to punish someone for the sins of my parents, and it might as well be her. "Haha, that is fucking hilarious. Want to hear another one? There's this artist who liked to fuck two sisters before he went home to the little wife and kids. Talk about having your cake and eating it too."

Her green eyes harden at my tone. "I was going to tell you."

"Yeah? In what lifetime?"

She lowers her head and digs at the floor with one foot. The gesture is so familiar that it takes me a few seconds to recognize it as one of my own. With a shudder, I push that revelation aside and watch as she digs her fingers into her hair and starts pacing. "In case you haven't guessed..." pace, pace..."I suck at this heart on a sleeve crap."

"And you think that excuses you for turning your back on me?" It sounds like the spoiled whine of a poor little rich boy, but she instantly picks up on the pain that percolates through my complaint.

Money shakes her head. "Absolutely not." Again her fingers go into her hair and only stop when I grab her hand and stop its agitated motion. She looks at this rather tenuous connection and squeezes back fiercely before dropping her hand to her side. "I should probably go see Dave."

"Want me to drive?"

"Thanks, but I need to clear my head." Monique picks up the guns and hands them to me. "Lock up when you're done?"

"Sure." I watch as she sashays to the stairs, throwing me a tiny smile before disappearing from view. A door opens and I wait for the inevitable sound of it closing again, but that moment never comes. The old wood floor creaks overhead and I hear a muttered curse before something falls heavily to the floor. The guns fall from my hands as I take the stairs two at a time and stop dead at the sight of Monique's sprawled body, blood pooling on the floor near her head. She is very still and in dread, I start to reach for her. But I am stopped by a shadow falling across my arm. I look up with a squint and see a dark shape outlined against the window. "Who are you?" I growl hoarsely.

A low laugh rumbles through the dusty air and my hackles rise in instant recognition. "Hello, son. Miss me?"

Aaron

Logan rushes at him blindly and doesn't see Aaron's outstretched foot and helping hand. With Aaron's guidance, Logan flies headlong into the wall and smashes his arm with a satisfying snap, crackle, and pop. When his son looks up at him in the murky light, his ebony eyes are darker than a moonless night. With a disgusted sneer, Logan tries once again to go to Monique but Aaron thwarts him with his bulked out physique. "Get the fuck out of my way," Logan blusters, trying to elbow his way past Aaron and only stopping when his left arm refuses to obey him.

"Payback's a bitch," Aaron says with a widening grin as he surveys his captive audience. "But don't worry, the best is yet to come."

Logan glares at him with the blistering heat of a thousand suns. "Who left the cage open?"

Aaron shakes his head with a beatific smile. "My wonderful fans."

Logan smirks and folds his good hand to his chest. "Ah, all that heartfelt sincerity. Truly an Oscar-worthy performance."

Aaron's smile slips slightly. "Did you really think you could escape from me?"

His son's smirk never wavers. "Never gave it much thought, dude."

He almost feels hurt at being relegated to dude status, but Aaron figures that it's a notch above asshole. Things are definitely looking up. Aaron looks down at Monique and back at Logan. "All of this could have been avoided, you know."

Logan nods like he totally gets it. "Here it comes," he says drolly.

The lightness in Logan's voice is more than a little unsettling. "I could have helped you, Logan." He looks around at the dusty room and spares another glance at Monique's unmoving frame. "It should never have come to this."

Logan starts giggling like a lunatic. "God, do you hear yourself? This is a hundred times worse than that script you wrote for Mom."

Aaron's fingers tighten and he wonders what Logan's face will resemble after he rearranges it. "Leave her out of this, Logan. This is between you and me."

The first blow takes him by surprise and blood spills out of his nose, but he's ready for Logan when his fist comes arcing back. Aaron's hand shoots up and catches Logan under the chin, followed by a flurry of perfectly timed kicks and jabs that sends his son crashing into the solid oak bulkhead. Blood bubbles from Logan's mouth as he stares up defiantly and snarls, "Is that all you got, asshole?"

Logan

My vision is going black, but I have to get to Monique, have to know that she's all right. Everything I touch… everyone I know, fucking dies on me, but it's not going to happen to her. She's already had her share of close scrapes and I figure she's used up most of her nine lives. Monique's all I have left…my only link to my real parents, and I'll be damned if I let some crazy ass bastard take her away from me.

I stay hunkered near the wall and decide to throw some of my own acting skills in his direction. When I sway back and let my skull clack into the wood, only part of it's pretend play. Aaron raises his leg to kick me in the head, but is thrown off balance when my hands whip out and toss him to the floor. It's only a momentary advantage, because like the predatory snake, he quickly slithers back into attack position and strikes at my mid-section. Next thing I know, I'm flying through the air and time seems to slow down when I crash into Monique, teeth biting down into the tender flesh of my tongue. I spit away the acrid taste of blood and scrabble around for her wrist so I can check her pulse. But Aaron thwarts me again when he stomps on my hand, waiting until I go all Rice Krispies on him. With a laugh, he shakes his head and waggles a finger at me. "You never learn, do you, Logan?"

I try getting to my knees, but he hooks his foot under my leg and grins when I fall onto my broken fingers and loose an inadvertent howl of pain. It quickly gets worse when he puts all his weight on my back and snickers when I writhe in agony. I'm about to roll off my stomach when I feel a faint tug on my shirt. When I look down, I see Monique's finger moving imperceptibly and that tiny movement fills me with the hope that maybe this will turn out all right. But my delay has cost me dearly, for Aaron is at me again, rolling me over and crouching over his prey with a feral grin. "You got something to say to me?"

My throat tightens in rage and prevents me from speaking for a few seconds. He leans closer and when he's within biting distance, I spit out, "I hear you like to hold them down."

Aaron shoves his forearm across my windpipe and I start to see stars. "Like this?" My lungs burn with the need for oxygen, and I push him off with only the force of my will for a weapon. "Is that how you took Lily out, or was it one of your sick fantasies with you as the star?"

He leans over and whispers, "She was as much a player as me, son."

That three-letter word is the final straw, fueling my anger as I twist my neck and head butt his nose with all my might. A crimson tide gushes from his nose and I butt him again as I yell, "I'm not your son, you motherfucker."

Duncan

My head lolls back against the seat as I ask blearily, "Where we going again?"

Valerie half laughs and reaches over to ruffle my hair. "To find your friend Logan."

"Oh, right." It's hard to focus on anything other than the pain, so I put my head in my hands and blot out the light with my fingers. She turns the radio on to some soothing jazz station that makes me want to crawl out of my skin. After an interminable melange of farting trumpets and lightly brushed skins, I groan, "Are we there yet?"

She doesn't answer me for a moment and I turn to see that she's on a cell phone. With a frown, she looks over at me and says, "Sally and Dave aren't answering."

My eyebrows rise slightly. "Sally and Dave?"

Valerie closes the phone with a sigh. "They're Logan's grandparents."

"Maybe they're still on travel."

Her luxuriant dark hair sways from side to side as she shakes her head. "They've been back for a few days. Dave came down for a few beers the other night, and Sally's in for breakfast most mornings. And even when they're not in, somebody always answers the phone."

"Maybe we should check on them," I suggest, wanting to allay the fear that she's trying to keep at bay.

"Would you mind very much?" Valerie asks anxiously. "We can stop by Monique's right after that."

"Not at all." It's not like I had anything else to do, right? With an odd little laugh that resonates mockingly, I add, "And who knows? Maybe we'll run into Logan after all."

Veronica

The #1 fan is a first class nut job. Aaron's pictures are plastered all over his walls and one hideous floor to ceiling poster from Beyond the Breaking Point oozes menace. I turn my back on his smoldering malice and decide that standing is better than braving Bill Pasternak's greasy looking Barcalounger. He spits out stringy tales of Aaron's glory days through mouthfuls of Parmesan and pepperoni. As he tears into his third slice of Domino's finest, I ask, "I understand he was friends with Rob Hamilton?"

"Friends?" He raises a lint-flecked eyebrow and stares at me like I'm from Mars (haha).

I mirror his expression with a half smile. "Yeah. Word on the street is that they were really tight."

Bill snorts. "That's one word for it."

My eyebrows rise even higher. "What would you call it?"

His grin fades slightly. "Good publicity."

Wow. Total honesty from a BNF is completely unexpected. For a moment, I waver between phony sympathy and sardonic laughter and finally settle for the compromise of a strained smile. "But all that money he donated…"

He cuts in on the trailing edge of my suggestion, "Looked good on his tax return."

"Ah." I nod like it suddenly all makes sense and complete my illusion of the clueless blonde bimbo. "Hot, and financially savvy." My hand waves at my face like I'm about to faint and I know I've passed go when Bill beckons me over to his Aaron shrine. I make the appropriate noises in all the right places and nod my head like a marionette. But inside my stomach is churning and I only manage to avoid barfing by turning my head away from the picture of Logan, Lily, and Aaron posing at Mann's Chinese Theatre.

Bill offers me a soda and I accept it from his slippery fingers. "You need anything else for your article?"

I'm posing as a journalism student writing about celebrity crime. "What about Lynn Echolls?"

He sighs. "A lost cause."

"In what way?"

Bill sniggers at my feigned ignorance. "In every way. When she wasn't drinking or getting off, she was fucking the help."

My pencil scribbles some gibberish on my pad. "And the son?"

"Doesn't fall far from the tree."

Anger hovers at the periphery of my show of teeth. "Think he'll beat his rap?"

"Which one?" He jams his fingers into his comb-over and looks at a yellowed headline from Neptune that features side-by-side photos of Logan and Aaron.

I cap my pen and wind it through the metal spirals of my notebook, realizing that my question is open to interpretation. "The umm…murder thingie?"

"Probably. As for that private dick and his daughter, the most he'll get is a slap on the wrist and a few months in the cooler."

That's hardly a comforting thought. "When's the last time you saw him?"

Bill scratches at his ear. "I dunno, maybe a week ago?"

Fuck! I have to warn Logan that Aaron is on the loose. With a mutter that approaches thanks, I excuse myself and part ways with Aaron's repulsive BNF.

Logan

His dark eyes glare at me like dull chips of anthracite as he covers his broken nose. "You'll pay for that, son."

This is a moment for a dramatic show of hands and a skip, but I might fall over and never get up again, so I pass on the dramatics and taunt, "Something wrong with your hearing, dude? I'm not your fucking kid."

Aaron ignores my jibe and snorts when I shuffle out of reach. "What's the point, Logan? You can't escape. I cut the phone lines and slashed everyone's tires. No one's going anywhere."

I snarl, "Then I'll take you down with me."

"Sure you will." He gestures at my useless hands and cracks a grin. "Take your best shot."

Aaron expects a frontal assault, so he never sees the blur of explosive movement at his left flank. He turns and Monique's red hair whips his face as she jumps straight up and kicks him in the head. "Bastard," she yells.

His neck snaps back and I hear something crack when her other foot catches him under the chin. I stumble forward to help but her palm stops me in mid-stride. "Guns," she hisses in my ear and before I can protest, she shoves me in the direction of the stairs. "Now."

I make the mistake of looking back and see a flash of steel in Aaron's hand as it arcs to meet her face.

Aaron

Aaron has waited for this moment for years. He's plotted it down to the placement of hands and feet, choreographing every act and movement.

In Act Four, Scene Two, he slices through her fine silk shirt and admires her gorgeous tits. And in Act Five, Scene Three, he fucks her senseless and buries his knife in her chest as she climaxes, her green eyes dimming as the life drains from her.

But Monique is following a different script, and he barely moves his arm before her left hand comes up fast and sends the blade spinning out of reach. When he starts to bend toward his other knife, she kicks him in the groin and does a happy dance when he falls to his knees.

He holds up one hand in mock surrender and smiles broadly, knowing this is his finest moment. "I give up. You win." His other hand curls under him and fetches his pistol from his boot.

She rolls her eyes and mutters, "Enculé." In the split second that she shifts her attention toward the ceiling, he raises his hidden hand and pulls the trigger.

Logan

I'm halfway down the stairs when the gun goes off. In one of those strange moments when time seems to stand still, I keep moving down, only stopping at the bottom when a second shot ricochets off the bulkhead ceiling.

It's pitch black down here, but when I half stumble over Money's cache of elite weapons, I figure my luck must be changing. With my two good fingers I lift up a Glock and brace it under my armpit while I shove in a clip.

I shamble back toward the main drama and feel something vibrate on my left hip. It sure ain't my pocket rocket, so that leaves my trusty Sidekick. And wouldn't you know, it's Veronica Mars on the other end, with her usual impeccable timing. I know I can't talk, but maybe she can listen in and gather some evidence. My pinkie jams painfully against the Talk button as I weave my way up the stairs to my ultimate destiny. In yet another instance of impeccable timing, the door in front of me bangs back against the wall and Duncan steps in, staring at my shaking gun hand with bemusement.

Duncan

I don't know what the fuck we've walked into, but it's bad. Sally is lying in a jigsaw puzzle of glass and blood and just barely manages to point toward the ocean and say, "Aaron...hurry."

Valerie stays behind to call 911 and take care of Sally.

I follow a rocky path down a steep incline, stumbling and swearing as I slip on the wet stones. My feet skid to a halt when I hear a gun go off at close range. There are a few buildings on the vast property, but I'm pretty sure the sound came from a modest white building near the dock.

There is only one door, and I start to rush through it, only stopped by the sight of Logan staring back at me in horror. Blood is streaming from multiple wounds on Logan's face and his fingers are twisted at weird angles around a fucking cannon that would make Dirty Harry proud. "'Bout time," he mutters, tossing the gun at me and sliding to one side, letting me take the helm for the first and possibly the last time.

Veronica

Listening to gunshots and the muffled sound of Logan's bruised voice is beyond fucked. It's the kind of surreal that would only be at home in an Escher painting.

The good guys are losing, and there's nothing I can do about it.

And it only gets worse when I hear Duncan's low murmur of assent.

"Talk to me," I cry desperately, not caring that the frumpy woman on the aisle is giving me the evil eye.

The line cuts out and I throw in a 'fuck' for good measure, smiling tartly when the woman hisses her disapproval and finds her way to the back of the bus. My next call is to the only person who can make a difference...but it's all for nothing because Dad isn't picking up.

Logan

DK stares at me for the space of a few heartbeats and then grabs the gun. He is wobbling like a drunk, but at this point, just about anyone is in better shape than me. With two ruined hands, my best shot will probably ricochet off the wall and paint a perfect circle on my sweaty brow.

If things were different, and I could lapse into mise-en-scène mode, I'd remark on the general murkiness and the way his azure eyes cut through the haze like a light saber, taking in the entire situation with a quick pan and scan.

There are two shadowy figures engaged in a deadly dance, one muttering and cursing in French and the other laughing maniacally.

Aaron and Monique, fighting it out to the end.

DK decides to cut in, drawing Aaron's attention with a Spanish curse that rolls off his tongue with the easy familiarity of long use.

Aaron starts to say, "Well, look who the cat…" but he never gets to finish that thought.

The gun's muzzle flashes multiple times and I watch through crimson-stained hands as bullets carve a third eye in Aaron's forehead and drill an extra set of nipples in his heaving chest.

His mouth opens and closes, but gravity wins out and steals the show.