Decode

by SilverLining2k6

Two-shot. Early S2. Plays nice with canon up through around Ahoy Mateys. Expect canon V/D and self-denial at first. "Logan presses the box into my palm and curls my fingers around it. I run my thumb over the nap of the velvet. "What's this?" "Birthday present. I had it custom-made, so it can't be returned." He shrugs, ducks his head. "Toss it if you want. Or keep it. Whatever."

3. 3 - There Is Something I See In You

Quick reminder before reading. The version I post on AO3 has the text messages actually encoded (to be decoded using Rot13 site). Since this site doesn't allow text copying, I post here with the messages as they would be after decoding. If you like your fics interactive, I encourage reading on AO3.

36.

Mars Investigations is about as clean as it's going to get – dusted and polished, swept and mopped. I've scraped off the sticky residue from some long-forgotten takeout container in the mini-fridge. And I finally got around to evicting Gary, the two-inch beetle who kicked the bucket in Dad's overhead light fixture six months ago. Homework is long completed and all paperwork has been filed.

Still, no sign of my father, and I'm starting to worry. Did something go wrong on his field trip out to the bus crash site?

I check in with Logan, not bothering to invent a pretext. I feel like we turned a corner last night. Like we're almost – dare-I-say? – friends now.

Veronica Mars 12:31 PM
How are you feeling? Any bleeding or swelling? Need anything from me?

Logan Echolls 12:33 PM
Now that you mention it Florence, how soon will you be here to give me my sponge bath?

Oh, how I wish. I've spent way too much time today indulging myself in memories of last night. His body in those clingy jersey shorts. The V-shaped dips around his hips. The smooth texture of his skin under my fingertips as I tended to his wounds. It would serve him right if I took him at his word and showed up with a loofah.

Unfortunately, that's not my particular brand of bold. And even if it was, he hadn't seemed too eager to horn-in on his best friend's ex.

Veronica Mars 12:35 PM
Somewhere around never?

Logan Echolls 12:37 PM

Bubble bath?

Veronica Mars 12:38 PM
Nope

Logan Echolls 12:41 PM

Steam bath? I'll bring the steam

Veronica Mars 12:42 PM
Nice try.

Logan Echolls 12:44 PM

Flea bath and a tummy rub?

Veronica Mars 12:45 PM

Denied. Back to the dog house for you

Logan Echolls 12:45 PM

Woof!

I'm chuckling when the office door opens with a faint whine. Dad enters, followed by my favorite ambulance chaser.

"Cliffy! How's tricks?"

"Interesting choice of words." Cliff takes a seat on the corner of my desk, shoulders slumped and his expression proving even the shameless can occasionally experience minor regret.

"Don't answer that." Dad cuts him off before he can speak. "Or at least leave out the sordid details."

"But I like sordid." I poke out my bottom lip.

"Veronica..." Dad sighs.

Cliff drops his head slightly, using the thumb and middle finger of one hand to rub circles on his temple.

"Wait. Let me guess." I give the air an exaggerated sniff. "Would this sordid story have anything to do with hookers?"

Cliff holds up one finger without raising his head. "They prefer the term, sex workers. And what led you to that conclusion?"

"Simple. Your suit smells like a brothel. Old school Tabu, if my highly-sensitive nose is correct."

"Her name was Daphne..." Cliff lifts his ugly geometric tie to his nose, inhales with a wistful little smile. "I thought she was a scantily-dressed gynecologist, but alas…" He sighs.

Hanging his jacket on the coat rack, Dad fills me in. " I had to liberate Cliff at the Neptune Grand after the young lady stole his briefcase."

"Liberate?"

Cliff rubs at his wrists, wincing.

"Eww." I scrunch my nose. "Forget I asked."

"She registered with a fake name and credit card, but…" Dad holds up a VHS tape. "I have the security footage from the hotel lobby and elevator, and Lamb recognized her as somebody he's picked up for solicitation on multiple occasions."

"So…a hooker," I walk around the desk and pat Cliff on the back. "Cheer up, pal. It could be worse. She could've collected in advance."

Cliff groans and hangs his head.

"Then again, why didn't she?"

He slides his eyes to the left. "Because…she was pretending to be a gynecologist?"

"Right. But she makes a living as a sex worker. If you didn't pay her, then somebody else must have. What's in the briefcase?"

"Nothing worth stealing."

Dad, drops his own attaché on my desk, pops the locks, and hands me a yellow steno pad with a list.

KNOWN CONTENTS OF CLIFF MCCORMICK'S BRIEFCASE

Address book – personal and clients

August 2005 issue of Elle Magazine (pregnant Britney Spears on cover)

Keys

Home

Office

Storage locker

Case Files

Bradley Tuell – drunken assault

Glenda Curtin – public nudity

Lori Jeffries – fraud

Raul Boulanger – divorce

Logan Echolls - murder

I stiffen. "Logan's murder case?"

Cliff shrugs off his jacket, draping it over his arm. "If the perpetrators are aiming to sabotage the Echolls case, the joke's on them. Everything in that file was already public record, and the originals are back in my office – where the locks are being changed as we speak. Also, it won't come as any big surprise that Logan's doing a bang-up job at sabotaging it on his own. I'll be lucky if I can find any character witnesses."

Fuck! I need to clear his name immediately.

"What do they want with Logan?" I walk to the kitchen doorway, back again. To the kitchen and back. "It's the Fitzpatricks, I presume. Since Weevil Navarro now believes in Logan's innocence."

Cliff raises a skeptical brow. "Since when?"

Since my little visit to his auto shop last night, when dad thought I was at the penthouse watching over Logan. "I talked to him this morning. We're on the same page." Technically, it was after midnight, so…

"Hold up." Dad drops a hand on my shoulder. "How do the Fitzpatricks tie into this?"

"According to Mr. Echolls, the false bridge witness was officially reprimanded for an off-the-record pool table operation at the River Stix." Cliff answers, aiming a too-knowing glance my way. "But I can assure you, there's nothing of interest to the Fitzpatricks in that case file."

Dad shakes his head, releases me. "It doesn't feel right. If anything, I'd wager the key to the Echolls' storage locker was the real target. With Aaron's trial coming up, fans and murder junkies alike will be scrambling for souvenirs and memorabilia."

Echolls storage locker? The keys?

"That's it!" I grab Cliff's arm. "Do you have the inventory of the storage locker's contents?"

"No, but if I did," Cliff begins carefully, "That would fall under attorney/client privilege."

I wave him off. "Logan has no privilege from me." I circle back around my desk, ignoring Dad's scowl, and jab the speaker button on the office phone, dialing his number by heart.

"Wow, she calls instead of texting. Must be important." Logan's voice projects through the phone. "Change your mind about that sponge bath? Cause I—"

I cut him off. "Keep dreaming. And while you're at it, say hello to my dad and Cliff. You're on speaker phone."

A moment's pause.

"Afternoon, gentlemen. Is Veronica volunteering YOU for my sponge bath? Cause you should know, I require L'Occitane Almond Shower Oil, and bamboo muslin wash cloths. My skin is far too sophisticated for bargain brands."

Dad takes a seat on the office couch, bemused, but trying his best to hide it. "Not today, Logan. Sorry to disappoint."

"And you wonder why you're so unpopular," Cliff mutters.

"Forget the bath, Logan," I say, before he escalates the sarcasm. "We have a problem."

"Well, that's a given. You wouldn't have called me, otherwise."

Ouch. Back in the good old days – those idyllic weeks before Tad Wilson named Logan as his GHB supplier – we'd whisper in the dark for hours, until sleep took us. Has it been that long?

"This is important," I say. "I need to know if there's an inventory of your family's storage locker?"

"That's random," he says. "I guess?"

Cliff interrupts, "Before we go any further, I have to remind you that attorney/client privilege does not extend to Veronica or Keith. Legally, they can repeat anything overheard in this room."

"Fine," Logan sighs, "But when you sell the tabloids the sordid details of my shower habits, switch the almond oil to Jack Black, or Old Spice, maybe. Something in a dark, manly bottle."

"Why stop there?" I ask. "We can just say you bathe in liquid testosterone."

"Acceptable."

Cliff waits us out, checks his watch. "If you two are done flirting, was that a 'yes' on speaking in front of Veronica and Keith?"

"Yeah, sure. I don't care what they hear. I trust Veronica. Mostly."

"Mostly?" I bristle. "Falsely accuse a guy of murder one time, and…"

Cliff cuts in. "The storage locker, Logan. Do you have an inventory?"

"It sounds familiar, but I'd have to check with the lawyer that handled my emancipation. Why?"

I lower back into my desk chair. "Somebody hired an escort to steal Cliff's briefcase."

Logan chuckles. "I hope he at least got his happy ending first. This affects me, how?"

Cliff's head rolls back on his neck, eyes circling up to the ceiling.

"It matters, because it's likely their objective was to get the key to your storage locker." I doodle a heart on my desk blotter. "Remember our discussion the day Lamb locked you in a cell with your father?"

Dad looks up, surprised, then shakes his head, muttering something under his breath.

Logan takes several seconds to think. "You think my dad's behind this. Like it's part of his plan to frame Duncan for Lilly's murder?"

"That's exactly what I think."

"Wait a minute," Dad interrupts. "Can somebody fill me in?"

I doodle more hearts while Logan recounts the jail cell conversation, and Aaron's insistence that he'd come across Duncan standing over Lilly's body and raving like a lunatic.

When he finishes, Dad sits back, crosses a foot over his knee. "Logan, do you think you could repeat that story for the D.A.?"

"Yeah. Sure. Whatever it takes to keep Aaron behind bars."

"Okay, I have a plan," I say. "Logan, call your other lawyer when we hang up, and have him fax that document to us. Then, swing by our office and drop off your copy of the key. Dad and Cliff can head over to the locker and compare the existing inventory to the current contents – make sure nothing's been stolen already. Cliff, you're still a notary public, right?"

"In good standing."

"Great, make sure to notarize the finalized list. While you're there, Dad can install some hidden cameras."

"Veronica…" Dad begins.

"Relax! Logan will pay your usual fee. I'll even draw up a contract, if it eases your mind." I stare at my father, entreating him not to object.

He sighs his assent, and slouches back on the couch.

"Um…Not that I have any problem supporting the local private dick…" Logan begins, and that wasn't pointed at all. "But wouldn't it be a whole lot easier just to change the locks?"

"Easy? Sure. But Aaron's people aren't going to give up on their scheme to frame Duncan. They'll just move on to plan B."

"She's right," Dad stands, approaches the desk, and leans closer to the phone, pressing his palms to the wood surface. "This is better. Let them think they've won, and they'll get complacent. We'll bide our time, and when it counts, we'll produce the video footage, proving their evidence is manufactured."

Logan takes a few moments to think it over. "Fine. We'll do it your way, but I'm coming with you."

Dad sighs. "Logan…"

"Look. It's not that I don't trust you. You're the last honest man in Neptune, as Veronica's so fond of telling me." His voice loses its hard edge, becomes vulnerable. "But…my house burned down. And if there's anything left of my mom in this world, it's in that locker. I can't risk it being stolen."

Sympathy creeps into Dad's expression. "Fair enough. Have your lawyer fax the inventory, and then we'll see you when you get here." He pushes the button, disconnecting the call.

After texting Logan the office fax number, I set to work filling out a contract.

Cliff moves to one of the filing cabinets on the right-hand wall, opens the third drawer down, snagging a pair of rocks glasses and the bottle of scotch Dad keeps hidden behind the 'S' files. He pours two cups, hands one to my father, and takes a seat in the visitor's chair opposite my desk.

I enter the "Friends and Family" rate on the contract, despite my earlier assurances. It's only fair, considering I brought the case to Logan, and it was only necessary due to Cliff's poor judgement.

The fax machine screeches. I give it a minute to print, then roll my chair to the corner, retrieving the printouts, and bringing them back to my desk, where I verify the page count versus the cover sheet, before handing them over to Cliff.

"While we're waiting, did you find any clues out at the bus crash site?" I ask.

Dad sips his scotch, then sets down the glass on my desktop, using a memo pad for a coaster. "Actually, we did find something. This is big, Veronica."

"Good-clue big? Or cracking-the-case-wide-open big?"

He scrunches up the right side of his face and rotates his hand in a 'that remains to be seen' gesture. "We drew a perimeter of about a quarter-mile before and after the site of the bus crash."

"And?"

"Only NEXTEL phones get coverage on that stretch of road. We were able to rule out every other phone carrier."

"Could it have been the phones you were using?"

"No, my buddy does this for a living. He brought multiples. The killer could only have been carrying a NEXTEL."

"Well, that excludes me. And Duncan, I suppose." I stand, and walk into the kitchen, returning with a can of Skist. "Who has NEXTEL, anyway? Won't that be like finding a needle in a haystack?"

"Not at all." Dad says. "Twelve phones pinged that cell tower within the ten minutes before and after the crash. Of them, we can rule out the victim, Rhonda Lambert and Jerry Sacks."

"And what of the ten remaining?" I sit, wedging my fingertip under the can's tab, and prying it open.

He grins. "I'm expecting a call tomorrow."

Cliff stands, adjusts the pleats in his trousers. "Excuse me, while I use the little boy's room."

Dad waits until he's out of earshot. "Is there something you want to tell me, Veronica?"

Alarm bells go off in my head. What does he think he knows?

"Fine you've caught me." I recline back in my chair, lace my fingers together on my stomach. "I ate the last Hot Pocket. But in my defense, I was famished, and that chicken/broccoli/cheddar was just calling my name."

"Veronica." He gives me the look. "My friend on the Neptune Grand security team tells me you stopped visiting Duncan weeks ago."

"And this is a problem, how? Don't pretend you've ever liked him."

"It's a problem because you neglected to tell me you two were broken up last night when you were asking to spend the night in the suite with Logan."

"Hey, I never lied. I just didn't correct your assumption. I knew you wouldn't let me stay."

"Are you positive you never lied?" Dad slides a hip up onto the desk. "Because when I showed the lobby footage to Lamb, he took great joy in pointing out my teenaged daughter, sneaking out of the hotel and then returning later."

"Crap. Okay, I did leave after Logan fell asleep, but only for a little while."

"Thirty-five minutes, according to the footage. Where'd you go?"

"To see Weevil."

Dad raises his voice. "Alone? Are you crazy?"

"He went too far. I couldn't let him get away with what he did to Logan!" I yell back, then, chastened, I modulate my tone. "And I took Backup with me. I picked him up and dropped him off when I was done."

"You're a teenage girl, Veronica! When will you ever learn?" Dad runs a weary hand over his face. "So, what's going on with Logan? Are you two back together?"

I meet his eyes. "No. And that's the truth."

"But you want to be."

"Logan and I are friends. Nothing more." I cross my arms over my chest. Daring him to suggest otherwise.

"If you're just friends, why did you doodle his name inside a dozen hearts?" Dad sweeps a hand over my desk blotter.

I look down. Well, shit. My blotter looks like the slightly more adult version of a Trapper Keeper.

And Logan's on his way here.

I quickly rip off the top calendar sheet, crumple it, and toss it in the garbage.

"Veronica?" Dad's voice is gentle.

I lift my eyes to his. "Fine. I do care about Logan. I care about him very much."

"Honey, he hurt you. I'll never forget coming home to find him screaming at you. And I don't ever want to witness something like that again."

"Well then you'll be happy to know my feelings are unrequited. If anything became obvious last night, it's that he thinks of me like a sister." I hold off his response with my hand. "As for last summer, I never wanted to end things with him. I just wanted him to stop being a reckless idiot. He freaked out before I could give him my ultimatum."

"That should tell you everything," Dad says. "Any guy who loses control while you're having a discussion—"

I cut him off. "Don't. He's not 'any guy'. He's been neglected by one parent, and violently abused by the other. His first love was murdered, his mother committed suicide, and his dad was revealed to be a murderer. Then, after being brutally attacked by seven gang members, resulting in multiple broken ribs, he was treated as the suspect instead of the victim." I pause to take an overdue breath. "Oh, and last night, he was tied up and tortured via Russian Roulette."

Dad rubs his temples as if he has a migraine. "And the lesson to be learned, Veronica, is that violence follows this kid everywhere he goes."

There's a lot I could say right now. Like how every ounce of goodness in Logan was self-trained, because all his parents cared about was fame and public image. But what's the point? Dad's already made up his mind.

"If you ask me, Logan is one positive role model away from becoming a genuinely good man. Hopefully, he'll recognize what positive looks like when he sees it." I break eye contact, disappointed by Dad's inflexibility, spend a moment gathering the loose papers on my desktop into a neat stack, before looking back up. "This discussion is pointless, anyway. He's not an option for me, so I'm asking you, as a favor, not to waste your time with lectures, veiled threats, or poison when he gets here. Unless you're actually hoping to humiliate me."

"Oh honey. I thought you knew better." Dad's lips twitch, amused, and he ruffles the top of my hair like I'm nine. "Poison is a woman's weapon."

I heave an exhausted sigh. "Dad…"

His shoulders slump in acceptance, or more likely, resignation. "Fine, since you asked so nicely, I'll take it easy on Logan."

"Did somebody say my name?" Logan flounces through the open doorway.

His brows are lifted, because the entire world is here for his entertainment, but his shirt sleeves are pulled low, covering his knuckles. A sure sign he's more nervous than he's pretending to be.

My heartstrings tug, and there's nothing I can do to make it better.

I need to exonerate him immediately.

37.

I won't be able to exonerate Logan immediately.

Dammit!

Veronica Mars 10:02 AM

So, I know I promised to clear your name, but life has other plans for me. Give me a week or so?

Logan Echolls 10:04 PM

Clear my name, and I'll give you anything you ask for. (please ask for something dirty)

My intentions are honorable, my plan is solid, but time is a luxury I can't afford.

It begins with Vice Principal Clemmons. You remember him, right? Tall, droll, sees a lot more than he lets on.

Well let's just say, he's letting on now. In a big way. In a call-me-out-of-class-to-give-me-five-days-of-after-school-detention sort of way.

I'm a private investigator. Why wouldn't I possess keys capable of opening his filing cabinet and office door? They're tools of the trade. As a hypothetical, let's say I have used said keys to gain access to his office and files. That would have been months ago, and with zero evidence left behind. Hypothetically.

No, old Van C is up to something sketchy, and I intend to find out what it is.

As if that wasn't enough to sink my Cheerios…

"Veronica! There you are!" Gia catches up to me in the hallway.

"Here I am!" I force a smile. Not that I don't enjoy Gia, I'm just in no mood for her particular brand of enthusiasm right now.

"I've been looking everywhere for you." She's carrying a large plastic-handled contraption that looks suspiciously like a baby's car seat. It's covered with a pink throw, two shades brighter than her shirt, and as I'm puzzling-out the implications, a mewling sound comes from within.

"Gia! Is that what I think it is?" Grabbing her arm, I pull her into my bathroom office.

"Depends on what you're thinking." She hoists the carrier up on the bathroom sink.

"I'm thinking you snuck a puppy into school under a blanket."

"No, silly, I'm allergic to dogs. Except for Bichon Frises and Portuguese Water Dogs." Gia shakes her head, and peels back the cover. "Meet our daughter, Veronica."

"Say what?"

I stare open-mouthed, at the creepy, life-sized baby doll.

"It's called 'Baby Think It Over'. Ms. Hauser passed them out after you were called to the office. That's why I was looking for you." Gia fishes through her tote, and hands me a glossy instructional folder. "Shelly and Duncan were already coupled-up when I volunteered to be your partner. Don't worry though, I'm sure he only accepted so he wouldn't hurt her feelings, or something."

"Or something."

"Anyway, I think it's cool that we get to be some kind of progressive, two-mother family. Did you know that same-sex adoption has nearly doubled since 2000? My cousin Jen, and her partner, Jenny, are trying to adopt a baby from Russia. Or was it Congo? I can't remember." She pauses, face screwed up in thought. "Or should we say we had some kind of in vitro thing done? Like my egg and your…"

"Sperm?" I suggest. "I've been accused of being butch, but…"

Gia stares, mentally translating my words, then laughs. "You're so funny, Veronica."

"That's me, a regular comedian." I check my watch. "A comedian who's running late. Come on, Gia, talk while we walk."

She follows me out of the bathroom. "Anyway, I was thinking I could keep her today, Wednesday, and Friday, which would leave you—"

"Tuesday and Thursday?"

So, if I want to clear Logan, I'll now have to work around detention, my shifts at The Hut, a fussy animatronic baby, and Weevil's schedule at the body shop.

Speaking of Logan, ahead of us, he stands at his locker, exchanging one text book for another.

I need to ask him how last night's field trip with my father and Cliff went. When Dad stopped by my room to say goodnight, all I could get out of him was a cryptic, 'if Logan ever does become 'an option' for you again, I suppose I'd be willing to give him a chance before throwing him out of the apartment.' He'd refused to elaborate further.

I turn back to Gia, but before I can make my apologies, Dick zips past, wearing his blue-suited robot baby around his neck like a boa. The feather variety, unfortunately, not the constrictor. "Yo! Logan! Check out my Bro Bot!"

Gia drops her voice to a whisper. "Nobody wanted to be paired with Dick, so he's a single dad."

"Don't feel too bad for him. I'm sure he'll follow in the family tradition and find some hot middle schooler to help him raise the brat."

Gia giggles. "So, I was thinking, we could get together after school, to choose a name."

"Can't. I have detention. You really want to name it?"

"Of course. We can't just call it Baby."

Logan and Dick peel away from the locker, moving off toward their next class. The blue baby stares back at us, over Dick's shoulder, like something out of a Stephen King novel.

Note to self: check if these things were manufactured in China or Derry, Maine.

"Personally, I'd go with something like Hell Machine or Soul Stealer, but you can go ahead and name it, Gia. Whatever you decide is fine."

"You're so sweet, Veronica." She says. "I already have a list of my top three."

She clearly wants me to ask. "Give it to me."

"Okay, well my top two are Chloe and Jessica. But I kinda like Jane, too. After my grandmother."

"With a name like Jane, she's just asking to be called Plain by the other kids on the playground." I shoot her an apologetic look. "As for Chloe, have you ever met one that wasn't an unapologetic bitch?"

"Both solid points, Veronica," Gia says, not offended in the least. "Jessica, it is. Would you like to choose the middle name?"

"Nope, all yours."

"Okay, well I'll choose…Joan," she says, "Jessica Joan Mars-Goodman."

"Oh." I say. "We're hyphenating, I see."

"Is that a problem?" She looks stricken. "As far as I'm concerned, love is love. But if it makes you, uncomfortable…"

"Not at all, Gia," I reassure her with a pat on the shoulder. "If I ever do decide to become a lesbian, it's all you, girl."

Ahead, Logan screeches to a halt and turns around, while Gia smiles widely. "Thank you, Veronica. That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me."

"Did I hear what I think I just heard?" Logan asks.

Ugh. Men.

I roll my eyes, no longer eager to talk to him. "Go to class, Logan."

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

38.

I take my time parking my car and gathering my possessions. I'm supposed to meet Gia in ten minutes to retrieve the robo brat, but I have other things on my mind.

I arrived for yesterday's detention, prepared to think of it as an extra study hall.

Clemmons had other things in mind. Like shutting me in the dusty, mildew-scented cold storage room. Because there's nothing a part-time receptionist loves more than unpaid filing work. Seems our school janitor had a little mishap with the dolly, leaving me to restore the mixed-up files of Neptune High School.

When I came across the LIANNE REYNOLDS file, I thought it might be fun to see what kind of person my mother was before meeting my father.

A mean girl, apparently. One who was suspended (along with my Health teacher) for spreading salacious rumors about another student.

Deborah Hauser makes sense as a school gossip – it's hard to imagine her ever being anything other than the angry, bitter woman she is now – but the (sober) Lianne Mars of my childhood radiated warmth and affection. She taught me to be kind to other children, no matter how they looked or where they came from.

Do high school bullies reform?

Dumb question. I only have to look at Logan for my answer. And if his recent warmth is enough to render his former behavior forgivable, why does Lianne's suspension bother me so much?

I catch up to Ms. Hauser in the parking lot on the way in, but it's a pointless conversation. She's outgrown her gossiping ways and refuses to elaborate on their long-ago infraction.

Vice Principal Clemmons' office is my next visit on the 'Clear Lianne's Name' tour, and while he seems fixated on stopping me from investigating – has that ever worked before? – he does provide me with two more names. I'll have to catch up with them later.

Gia waits at my locker, the infant carrier at her feet. "Hey, Veronica."

I'm not very religious, but a quick glance at our robot spawn makes me want to cross myself. Or find religion.

My "wife" apparently, went shopping. A rhinestone and lace headband now encircles the baby's head. The plain pajamas have been replaced by a pink Bo Peep-esque dress with golden embroidery. Layers of tulle lifts the skirt, and the puffy sleeves are cuffed in gold. White lacy socks cover the tiny feet.

"Morning, Gia. JonBenet."

"Close, but it's Jessica Joan," she corrects. "Don't worry. You'll get used to the name. Look, I packed a diaper bag to hold all the baby supplies." She holds up a quilted Lilly Pulitzer type zipper tote with a pink print.

Please let there be a change of clothing in that bag.

"Thanks, Gia. I'll take good care of it."

"Aren't you going to tell me what you think of Jessica's new outfit?"

"Yeah, of course." I take another long look, and I swear the baby's painted eyes are screaming for help. "It's very…um…sophisticated."

Gia bounces on her toes, excitedly clapping her hands. "I'm so relieved that you like it! I was a little nervous. So anyway, if she starts crying, there's a bottle and diapers in the bag. If that doesn't work, try rocking her. It's all spelled out in the instructions."

"Sure thing, Gia. I guess I'll see you in Health class."

I pray nobody sees me on my way to first period, but wouldn't you know it, Logan appears on my left side. "Hmm…Lolita look? Bold choice for an infant, but I'm sure the pedophiles will love it."

I cut my eyes his way. "I will murder you in your sleep."

He chuckles, as Dick slides up on my right. "Whoa. You guys are banging again?"

I sigh. "We are not, nor were we ever banging, Dick."

"Well you should probably start, if you want to commit sleepicide." He scrunches his nose and makes a twisty motion with his fingers. "Just makes the whole logistics thing easier."

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

"Every. Single. Year." Ms. Hauser gives me a nauseated head shake, as we converge at the Health class doorway. "You kids have more disposable income than sense."

Hello! Working two jobs. Nothing disposable about my income.

She heads into the room, not giving me the opportunity to shift blame for the sad appearance of my animatronic baby.

While Gia's clothing selection was certainly the most frou frou, she's not the only classmate who went a bit overboard on the infantwear. A quick glance reveals babies in tiny Ed Hardy shirts, wide-legged skater jeans, itty-bitty Air Jordan's, and at least one pair of Timberlands.

Currently, at least four baby bots are crying, while frazzled students desperately try feeding, diapering or rocking them into silence.

Dick arrives, and carefully extricates his cooing Bro-Bot from a front-facing Baby Bjorn. Surprising nobody, the baby's white onesie is emblazoned with 'BYOB'. In smaller print, the caption reads: Bring Your Own Boobs, and a fake tribal arm-band tattoo peeks out from under one of the short sleeves.

Stay classy, Dick.

Gia scoops up Jessica Joan, and I move out of her way so she can go play show-and-tell with two 09ers at the back of the class. I turn back to my seat, and my bag catches the edge of the table, knocking books and folders to the floor.

Sighing, I crouch down to retrieve them. Just as Duncan and Shelly arrive. Familiar suede sneakers pause next to my green folder, and I glance up into my ex's icy eyes.

"Duncan." I acknowledge him a tight smile. Tucked in one arm, his baby wears a thick white V-neck sweater, a crisp white collar, and beige pants (clearly Shelly's doing). Attempting to lighten the mood, I address it directly. "Looking good, young Wentworth. Will Muffy and Bitsy be arriving soon?"

Without even a hint of a smile, Duncan steps right over my folder and continues to his seat.

What the hell, Donut? So that's how you want to play this?

"Hi, Veronica." Shelly bends down, helping me gather papers. "Hey, I wanted to check with you and make sure you're okay with me and Duncan being partners? Because if you're not, we can totally switch."

Poor girl. Between her healthy fear of my wrath and her lifelong crush on Duncan, she's a nervous wreck.

She hands me my last folder, and we stand. "Thanks for helping, Shelly, and I think it's great that you two are working together. In fact, I think you should let him handle the lion's share of work. He needs all the baby practice he can get."

Across the room, Duncan's head swings in my direction, jaw tight, and eyes cold enough to cause frostbite.

Oops. Guess I broke the sacred 'Ignore it until it goes away' rule.

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

I find Mary Mooney on the lunch patio, and it takes me a moment to realize she's deaf. Luckily, I know a bit of sign language. At least, enough to make out that my mom was a horrible monster, who bullied her.

Only Principal Moorhead gives me a definitive answer. The Lianne Mars he remembers was unequivocally vicious.

Great genes I've inherited, huh? Guess being adopted is quite the advantage for little Jessica Joan Mars Goodman (who's currently suffocating under a baby blanket, so nobody blames me for the dress).

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

A hot ball of fury burns in my gut as my quarry peels off from the laughing pack of PCHers. "Catch you guys later."

How dare he have fun!

The group continues around the corner, and I make my approach. "I know what you did to Logan."

Thumper pauses in the act of spinning his combination lock, releasing it so it clangs down against his locker. He looks me up and down, leers. "And you're here to deliver a little elven justice?"

I cross my arms over my chest. "Short jokes. How original."

"What do you want, Veronica?"

"I want you to leave Logan alone. Don't look at him. Don't speak to him. Don't go near him."

"Does he know you're fighting his battles for him? Or did he put you up to this?" Thumper picks up his lock again, eyes lifting to the ceiling, as if trying to recall where he left off.

"Forty-two."

"Pardon?"

"Your combination. Sixteen, twenty-nine, forty-two. You looked a little lost there."

He eyes me now. Wary.

"To answer your question, Logan has no idea we're having this conversation, and he doesn't need to find out. In fact, that would involve you speaking to him, which, as I've already mentioned, is off-limits."

Anger flickers in Thumper's eyes. He moves closer, trying to intimidate me. "I have a better idea. I'll tell Logan how you earned him an ass-whooping while he's curled-up on the ground, trying to cover his face. Kinda like that night on the bridge."

"Stay. Away. From. Him."

He takes another step closer, crowding me against a neighboring locker. "You're ninety pounds, soaking wet. What do you think you can do to me?"

I bend my arm at the elbow, easing my taser out from my jacket sleeve. It's not necessary to press the button. Thumper backs up, both hands lifted in a 'no-harm-no-foul' gesture.

"Answer something for me. Was it you? Are you the one who shot out Logan's back window last August, while we were parked in front of my apartment?"

"Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't." Thumper's lips twist in a sneer. He leans forward, tucks a strand of hair behind my ears, and I have to fight against my gag reflex. "But if you think I'm willing to go that far, shouldn't you treat me with a little more respect?" He knocks once on the locker next to my head and walks away.

"555-9535," I call after him.

Thumper freezes, then turns back around.

"Yeah, Einstein. I have your cell phone. You should be more careful when dumping people I love in out-of-the-way ditches."

Genuine fear glimmers in his eyes momentarily, and I make a mental note to inspect his call history. There's something there.

"Who cares?" Thumper regains his bravado. "I already got me a new phone. It's all yours."

"Possession is nine tenths of the law. So anyway, how long do you think it would take to bring the Secret Service to your doorstep with this thing? I'd guess twenty-four hours, but that could be optimistic. Should we start a pool?"

"Fine!" he hisses. "I'll leave your boy alone."

"Make sure your boys get the message."

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

I do manage to fit in some quality Echolls-time. It's about what you would expect – high drama, wild hand gestures, oily smarm, with just a hint of genuine warmth.

Oh, you thought I meant Logan?

I haven't been that lucky. But Trina's back, and assisting the drama department with their production of Hamlet. If there's a positive, it's that Evan Rachel Wood is the front runner to play me in the Lilly Kane Murder movie. If they'd hired Tara Reid, as rumored, I may have been motivated to shut down that production.

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

The girl stands next to Logan's truck. Tall, slender, blonde. I'm not close enough to make out her features, but it has to be the elusive Hannah.

Logan leans casually against the X-Terra, stroking one hand over the vehicle's curves, and planting sexy subliminal messages in the poor girl's head.

Or at least that's what it's doing to me.

Hannah's body language is easy enough to interpret. A sort of giddy bashfulness in the face of his overwhelming sexuality. Inexperience. Hero worship.

They haven't slept together. Yet.

But that won't last long. If she's this flustered when he's barely trying, she stands no chance against a full seduction attempt.

If only I had time to get closer. Not to meddle, of course, I just want a closer look at her face. Unfortunately, I'm already running late for an appointment. Hannah retcon will have to wait.

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

39.

Patty Wilson was my mom's high school lab partner. She agrees to meet me at The Hut before my shift, and boy, does she drop a bombshell on me.

It seems Lianne and Jake's relationship was as volatile as Lilly and Logan's. The summer before Senior year, during one of their "off" periods, Jake began dating Celeste. It didn't last long, and he eventually reunited with my mom.

They spent the next two months working out their relationship issues, culminating in their grand romantic Homecoming coronation. Lianne confided to her girlfriends that their relationship was on solid ground. Better than ever. Nothing could possibly come between them again.

She'd underestimated Celeste 'Pregnant with Jake's Baby' Conathan.

I press for more details, but she doesn't have much. Celeste transferred to Pan High not long after, and Patty never saw her again until the following Spring, at Senior Prom.

Back at home, Dad humors my fixation on Mom's high school years, but he can neither confirm nor deny whether Celeste Conathan delivered, miscarried, or aborted Jake's child.

He does come through with another juicy tidbit, however.

It seems a baby was abandoned in the women's rest room during Prom. That same prom Celeste attended seven months after transferring away from Neptune High.

Does Duncan have an older sibling out there somewhere? And if so, why didn't Jake and Celeste search for their child after they married? Wouldn't they want to care for it?

I laugh out loud.

Right. Jake believed I was his daughter for seventeen years, and never provided a penny of support.

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

40.

It appears that trouble is brewing in Penthouse Paradise. It's morning, I've delivered the shrieking nightmare to Gia, and I'm on my way to first period when I catch sight of my two exes.

Duncan leans against a neighboring locker while Logan retrieves his books. I'm not close enough to hear their words, but their body language is a rare role-reversal.

Logan's expression is angry and judgmental, his words seem clipped. Duncan, on the other hand, appears defensive and just a bit guilty.

"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is wing'd cupid painted blind." A voice speaks dramatically from my side.

"Huh?" I turn my head. "Trina. You scared me."

"You looked a bit mesmerized, there. My baby brother sure has grown up handsome."

That's putting it mildly.

"I suppose. If you squint."

Trina smirks in a way that – seeing as she's adopted – can only be nurture. "I always hoped you two kids would reunite. Logan was so nauseatingly in love with you last summer."

That's not a punch in the gut, or anything. "Was he? He seemed more in love with driving around with his friends and acting like a maniac."

Trina shrugs. "You know how it goes, Veronica. Boys will be boys."

"And girls will cut them off."

Her eyes twinkle. "Well anyway, you were a lot better for Logan than that woman he's sleeping with now. She's like forty or something."

"You've met Kendall, I see." I flash her a tight smile. "She's actually twenty-five. Or so I've been told."

"Whatever her age, she had her tongue in Duncan's eardrum when we walked into the penthouse yesterday." She shivers, disgusted. "Then she bounced right over and glued herself to my baby brother, as if nothing were amiss. What is a grown woman doing messing around with children, anyway?"

It beats me, but explains the tension between Logan and Duncan.

I wasn't worth fighting for, but apparently, Kendall is.

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

Mrs. Mahnoviski, projects the warm kind of demeanor you would hope for in a foster parent. She's taken in a number of children over the years, but immediately remembers the prom baby – a little girl, as it turns out. It's not exactly the kind of thing you'd forget.

I tell her that the birth parents have no desire to interfere in the child's life, they only want to provide for her well-being. Financially.

Turns out? Not so necessary. The Prom baby was placed with an extremely wealthy local family. One with a spate of recent tragedies – mother commits suicide, father in jail.

Holy Shit!

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

Veronica Mars 5:34 PM
So, hey. Not to alarm you, but Trina suffered a fall during play rehearsal today, and was taken to Neptune General with a sprained ankle.

Logan Echolls 5:37 PM

A FALL? Or a conveniently-timed swoon?

Veronica Mars 5:38 PM

She tripped on poor Yorick's skull.

Logan Echolls 5:40 PM

Ahh. Good guy. I knew him well.

Veronica Mars 5:41 PM

So, Trina was adopted, right?

Logan Echolls 5:42 PM

Yes. Luckily, there are no Echolls genes in her kiddie pool.

Logan Echolls 5:41 PM

I take that back. I'd gladly hand over ALL Echolls genes, if it meant I could be free of them.

Veronica Mars 5:42 PM

Did she ever try searching for her birth parents?

Logan Echolls 5:43 PM

No. Why bother, when my parents gave her everything she wanted? Except for talent. Is there a reason for your sudden interest in my sister?

Veronica Mars 5:45 PM

Just curious.

Logan Echolls 5:43 PM
Right.

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

"Let me guess. Veronica showed up here and, out of the kindness of her heart, volunteered to help you locate your birth parents." Logan leans against the hospital room door frame, one ankle crossed over the other, and lips twisted in a smirk. "Am I hot or cold?"

Well, shit.

"Logan! Join us." Trina lounges in her bed, dressed in a champagne satin peignoir. She lifts one dramatically pleated sleeve, waving him inside, then gestures to me. "You never should have let this one get away. She has a devious mind."

"Devious. I'll just mark that down under 'traits your family might encourage in a romantic partner'." He enters the room, giving Trina a tepid hug. "How are you feeling?"

"Not bad, but my doctor wants to keep me until the swelling goes down."

He scrunches his forehead, conspicuously glances over his shoulder. "What? No cameras, today?"

"You tease baby bro." Trina smiles, indulgent, then annunciates slowly, as if speaking to a simpleton. "But you do realize I don't always have camera crews on call, right?"

"Obviously." He snorts through the right side of his mouth. "I mean, I figured you wouldn't be caught dead wearing mom's robe from her post-Botox press conference, but…" Shrug.

"Mom wore this during a press conference?" Panic-stricken, Trina clutches at my wrist. "Quick, Veronica! Grab the copper silk robe from my closet."

Logan chuckles, and he couldn't possibly look smugger. "Copper? With that hair?"

I set my laptop on the bedside table and rise. "What are you doing here, Logan?"

"Um…visiting my injured sister? Since you texted me that she was lying injured in a hospital bed. How about you?"

"Same." Trina's 'closet' is a tall Ikea-style armoire. I sift through her hospital wardrobe collection of faux fur, leather, and silk – how long does she think she'll be here? "I was there when she had her accident, and I just wanted to check up on her."

Of course, no sooner do the words leave my mouth, than my video editing software completes its rendering cycle and begins to autoplay.

Trina's voice issues from my laptop speakers. "I don't need hope. I need bone marrow. My doctor said only a blood relation can save me. I'm adopted. Unless the mother who abandoned me comes forward, unless I find out who I really am...it's over for me."

Logan looks at me, one brow lifted. Which either says a lot about his instinct for bullshit, or his concern for his sister.

I wave a hand at the computer. "Oh. Right. We recorded that while I was helping her run lines." I pluck the orange robe from a hanger, tossing it in Trina's direction. "Actually, I need to get going. It's almost time for my shift at the Hut."

"So soon?" Trina pouts.

"I'm afraid so."

The baby carrier sits on a table, a bottle propped in JJ's mouth, and while I'm waiting for the video to finish saving to mpeg, she starts to yowl.

Trina stares, horror-struck. "Please make it stop!"

Before I can set down my laptop again, Logan scoops up the baby bot, lifting it to his shoulder and giving it a few thumps on the back. The crying slows, ceases, and changes into happy coos as he lightly bounces the baby in his arms.

Okay, I can't help it. My ovaries do that thing. You know the thing – like bursting from a near-comatose state to stand at attention – and I imagine I'm staring at him much like Backup does when I hold a Beggin' Strip just out of reach.

"What?" He asks, with a nervous laugh. "I've been taking care of Duncan's spawn every time it starts squawking in the middle of the night. It's not that hard."

Jeez. Get a grip, Veronica.

I transfer the saved video to a flash drive, which I place in Trina's palm. "Here's your footage. We'll talk again tomorrow, okay?"

"We definitely will, Veronica." Trina winks. Her media contacts should be here within the hour.

I pack my laptop into my bag, swinging the strap up over my shoulder. My phone buzzes, and I scan the incoming text. "It's from my dad. About your case."

"What case?" Trina asks.

Logan cuts me off with a glance before I can answer. Good thing, because blabbing to Aaron's darling devoted daughter about our plans to thwart his get-out-of-jail schemes would be categorically stupid.

"Nothing interesting." He places JJ in her carrier – even going to the trouble to secure the straps. "Mr. Mars is helping me track down an artist from one of mom's paintings. I was thinking about buying more of his work."

Trina makes a face. "Why would you do that? Mom had terrible taste."

"Except in robes." Logan winks, then turns his attention my way. "I'll walk you out."

"Sure. Okay." I wave to his sister. "Bye, Trina."

"Goodnight, Veronica. Have fun, you two."

Logan picks up the carrier and follows me through the open door. "Running lines, huh?"

I shrug. "Peace offering for refusing to join her crappy play."

"Liar." His eyes slide in my direction. "Why don't you tell me the real reason you're so interested in Trina's biological parentage?"

"School project?" My sneakers screech against the linoleum floor as I pick up speed.

"Try again. That only works on your dad."

"Fine." I grab Logan's elbow, dragging him into the stairwell, and dropping my voice. "Senior Prom, 1980. Somebody abandoned a baby in the girl's bathroom."

"Classy. Trina was born in 1980." He skips down three stairs, then turns back. "Wait…"

I meet his eyes and nod.

"So, this bone marrow thing…you're trying to smoke out the real parents? Like an appeal to their good nature or something?"

"Well, if the mother is who I think it is, she doesn't possess any goodness. But it's worth a try." I hold up a hand before he can speak. "Don't ask. I'll let you know once I have an answer."

He mulls this over as we finish descending the stairs. At the bottom landing, he holds the door for me, then follows me through the lobby and out to the parking lot.

"So, what was your dad's update about?" Logan asks, as he straps the baby carrier into my back seat.

"Right." I bring up Dad's text and open the file attachment.

Logan peers closely at the photo. A burly looking man, with a salt-and-pepper beard. "I don't know. There's something familiar about him, but I don't know from where or how."

"Get in, and I'll call my dad."

Logan circles the car and climbs inside. Wrestles with the lever to push his seat back, while I dial Dad on my cell.

"Hello?"

"Dad. You're on speakerphone. Logan and I were just visiting Trina in the hospital."

"Hey, Mr. Mars." Logan says.

"Logan. How's your sister?"

Logan smirks as a Channel 9 news van pulls up to the hospital's main entrance, followed moments later by one from Channel 5. Slouching low, he answers, "She's fine now."

"Good. Good." Dad says. "You two are alone?"

"In my car. So, what's up?"

"As we suspected, somebody accessed the Echolls storage locker today with the stolen key. I have it all on video."

"The guy in the photo?" I ask. "What did he steal?"

"Yeah, that's him. In the footage, he headed straight to the box labeled '47', stuffed an Oscar statue in his messenger bag, and locked-up on his way out."

"Yes!" Logan fist pumps for some reason.

I aim a questioning look his way. "I thought your dad's Oscars burned in the fire?"

"Fakes. Dad was crazy paranoid that somebody would steal them, so he had copies made up to display at the house." Addressing my father, he asks, "So? Don't keep me in suspense. Where did it end up?"

"Video footage won't tell us that," I say, trying to manage his expectations. "Unless my dad was surveilling the property, we'll just have to wait for it to turn back up again."

"Well…" Logan's mouth stretches into a wide grin. "Then it's a good thing your father and I switched the real Oscars with another set of fakes. These ones, embedded with tracking chips."

I beam at my phone. "And people wonder where I get my brains from…"

"Actually, this was all Logan's idea." Dad says.

Logan humbly wipes his knuckles on his shirt.

"So, you two ready for the smoking gun?"

"Born ready," I say.

"According to the GPS, the statuette is currently located at 368 Ochre Road. It's a small office building, and I think we can safely rule out the dentist, the dermatologist, and the eyebrow aesthetician. Which leaves, Douglass Green, who happens to be an investigator for a law firm."

"Let me take a wild guess…" Logan fiddles with my gear shift. "Lavoie, Stern and Pope?"

"Does he always take the fun out of everything?" Dad asks.

From my experience, Logan adds all kinds of fun, but no father wants to hear that, so I say, "He doesn't make the denouement any easier."

He smiles down at his hands.

"Out of curiosity," I address Logan. "There were hundreds of items on that inventory list. How were you so sure they'd take one of the Oscars?"

"They're the only thing that would fit the criteria. Identifiable as belonging to my dad, and important enough for him to chase after. His most treasured possessions."

"Chase after?" I ask.

"When we were locked up together, he admitted to following Lilly home, but never mentioned the tapes. I got the impression…" Logan trails off, eyes unfocused, as if picturing the moment. "Hold on. I think that's why the guy in the photo looked so familiar."

"The photo I sent Veronica?" Dad asks.

"Yeah, I'm not positive, but that might be the same guy who was locked in the cell with Aaron and I."

Dad sounds excited when he speaks again. "If Veronica brought you by the office, would you have time to watch the video footage?"

"Can't. I have a shift at The Hut in thirty minutes."

"How about I pick up a pizza, and then meet you there in forty-five minutes?" Logan asks.

"I'll see you then," Dad says, and then disconnects the call.

I sigh. Why is the wrong Mars getting all the Logan time?

41.

The bike leans heavily to the left as we make the turn onto Charles Street, and I cling for dear life to Weevil's leather jacket. It's the third time he's put us at an unnecessarily horizontal angle today, and I'm beginning to think he's not quite over that little taser situation.

Ahead, a convertible Corvette idles at the side of the road, deep crimson, like Lilly's special-occasion lip gloss. Strobe lights from a sheriff's cruiser bounce off the glistening surface, and a deputy looms over the driver's door.

Weevil glides to the curb and cuts off the motorcycle's engine.

Yanking off my hot, suffocating, helmet, I hop off and hand it to him.

He secures it to the bike and joins me. "You ready?"

I smooth down my tee shirt and jacket, tighten the straps on my backpack, and run fingers through my sweaty hair. "Let's do this."

The deputy watches our approach, impassively.

"Hey," I say.

"Hello." There's a hint of a smile.

A tall, middle-aged man sits behind the steering wheel, blandly handsome, and bespectacled. He stares, bewildered by our presence at a routine traffic stop, then recognition sets in, and his eyes narrow. "I know you."

"Well, that's a bit of an understatement, Tom," I tease.

Right on cue, the deputy points at a brown paper package on the passenger's seat. "What's in the bag?"

"That?" Fear flickers in the man's eyes. "Just some cold medicine I picked up at the pharmacy. Why?"

"You're telling me, if I take a peek inside, I'm not going to find cocaine?"

The driver's gaze darts between the deputy, myself, and Weevil. "Don't you need a warrant to search my vehicle?"

"Not if I have probable cause."

"What probable cause? You said my tail light was out."

That part is true.

"I received a tip that you were involved in an illegal drug buys."

"An anonymous tip? How can you even...?" Tom nervously thumbs at the cruise control button on his steering wheel.

"Not quite anonymous." I lift my hand with a tepid wave. "Tom, I caved, and told him everything."

His eyebrows pull together. "What are you talking about?"

"Are you going to make me say it out loud?" I shake my head, eyes lifted to the sky. "I confessed to the friendly deputy here, about how you offered to score some blow for me when I visited your office for a consultation. Said it would give me the energy to juggle school, homework, and my two part-time jobs."

"I'm a doctor, and I would never—"

I interrupt him. "I also informed him how we met up at your office this morning, and you drove us over to the cigar shop. You know the one, on Ocean Avenue, where I witnessed you purchasing drugs in the back room." A sudden wail erupts behind my head. "Perfect. Just give me a sec."

I slide the backpack from my shoulder, handing it to Weevil to hold while I liberate my howling animatronic baby (dressed today in an apple green, miniature Juicy Couture velour track suit, Thanks lots, Gia).
All three men stare at me in silence, while I stuff a bottle in her mouth. "What? It's a school project. Remind me to never reproduce."

"This is ludicrous, Deputy. I've met this girl once in my life." Tom Griffith finds his voice, tugs at the knot on his tie. "A couple weeks ago, I advised her strongly against getting work. I even gave her literature on Body Dysmorphic Disorder and sent her on her way. Now, maybe that made her angry, or made her feel as if I was standing in the way of her dreams, but that's the only contact I've ever had with this girl. I swear."

"Really, Tom?" I slide Jessica Joan – I mean, mechanical hell spawn, what's wrong with me? – into the crook of my elbow, leaning the bottle against my chest to free up a hand. "I've never ridden in your convertible? You never procured drugs for me?"

"Of course not. I have a daughter your age, and I wouldn't dream of corrupting a minor that way."

I turn back to the deputy. "You'll want to fingerprint the car interior - door handle, dashboard, and the seat belt buckle. And of course, you'll find his prints all over that bag of cocaine I agreed to turn over to you."

"This is a setup!" Dr. Griffith's eyes grow desperate. "She's lying! She's a very disturbed girl who needs professional help."

I point to myself. "I'm crazy? Well, what do we have here?" My hand slides into my bag, extracting a small envelope of 4x6 prints from the One-Hour Photo, and balancing them on the baby. I hand them over, one at a time, to the driver. "That's you, inside Liberty Cigar shop, you speaking to the proprietor, and there's me browsing the selection, a few of you and I together in the cigar shop." I pause to address Weevil. "Great thinking, by the way, getting today's newspaper in the frame. Can't have him claiming these were taken some other day. Of course, the metadata would prove that as well. Oh, and here we are, heading into the back room."

The deputy turns back to the driver. "That's all the probable cause I need. Please step out of the car."

All hope of reprieve dies in the man's eyes. He opens the door, gets out, and follows instructions to place both hands on the hood.

The deputy quickly verifies the contents of the paper bag, with the tip of a pen. "Exactly as you said, Veronica. Thanks for the tip."

"Anytime." I lean back against the car door, enjoying the show while he frisks Tom Griffith, handcuffs him, and reads his Miranda rights.

"Why?" Tom's voice cracks and he addresses me directly. "Can you at least explain that to me? I haven't done anything to you. I don't even know you. Why would you be so malicious, as to ruin the life of a complete stranger?"

Malicious. There's that word, again. Like mother, like daughter.

"Ruining the life of a complete stranger…" I repeat. "That would be pretty awful. Reprehensible, even. If it were true."

It's the tiniest of straws, but Griffith grasps at it. "Look, you obviously went to a lot of trouble to set me up. Following me around a store to make it look like we were together, and I don't know how you planted my fingerprints. But we can end this now. Tell the truth, and I promise I won't press charges."

"Guess it's my word against yours, Doc." I shrug, watching him with pity. "Kind of like it's your word against Logan Echolls."

Comprehension dawns in the doctor's eyes and he looks to the deputy to see if he's going to let me get away with this.

Leo is absorbed in reading the fine print on his ticket pad.

Griffith turns back to me. "And if I recanted my witness statement about Logan Echolls?"

"Well...I'm just a silly girl with body dysmorphia, so I maybe I got a little confused." I shrug again. "I'll follow you to the station."

The doctor nervously exhales. "If I agree, this goes away forever?"

"As long as you stick to your end of the bargain, I'll forget where I stashed that evidence."

Weevil joins the conversation. "Out of curiosity, who put you up to it?"

Griffith glances again at Leo, who's blatantly checking out a college-aged pedestrian in short-shorts. "It was Liam Fitzpatrick."

"Did he say why?" I ask.

"He's not exactly the kind of man to explain himself."

"Which member of the PCHers is he working with?" At the doctor's confused expression, Weevil clarifies. "PCHers. Mexican Bikers."

"Oh. I wouldn't know that. I stay away from the River Stix as much as I can. So, can we get this over with?"

"Yeah."

Weevil taps the door as we walk away. "You should get that tail light fixed," he calls over his shoulder.

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

Veronica Mars 4:41 PM

What do you want first? The good news or the bad news?

Logan Echolls 4:42 PM

The bad news, I suppose. Just punch me in the face and get it over with.

Veronica Mars 4:43 PM

Okay. The bad news is, you owe me a favor, and I'm collecting tomorrow night. Clear up your schedule

Logan Echolls 4:45 PM

You said bad news, not devastating news.

Veronica Mars 4:46 PM

Your wit will take you far in life

Logan Echolls 4:47 PM

And the good news? Wait. Let me guess. You're planning to grant me the honor of feeding you, while we handle whatever it is you need my assistance with.

Veronica Mars 4:48 PM

I said good news, not delightful news. The good news is you're a free man. I watched Dr. Cokehead recanting his witness statement just fifteen minutes ago. Deputy Leo's on his way to your place to remove that sexy ankle bracelet you've been rocking.

Logan Echolls 4:48 PM

Bummer. It was such a hit with the ladies.

Veronica Mars 4:49 PM

Don't worry, you still have your money to fall back on

Logan Echolls 5:01 PM

Veronica? Words cannot express my gratitude. Anything you want - my money, my car, my LIFE - it's yours.

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

42.

"One super chocolate chunk cookie and one slice of coconut cake for the lady." I place dessert plates on the table between the two laptops, making a mental note to sample some of that cake after my shift.

Beaver lifts a hand in thanks, too absorbed with his computer to look up, but Mac smiles. "Thanks, Veronica."

Is that perfume I'm detecting?

"Okay. Well, I'll let you two get back to your web design…thingy. If you need any refills, I'll just be over there, jamming an icepick into my ear canal." I back away, nodding at the karaoke stage, where a blond guy yodels and awful rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody.

"Lars is at it again, huh?" Mac asks. As if this wasn't his seventh turn onstage tonight?

"Superstar in the making." I trace a star shape in the air with my pointer fingers.

I'm detecting a direct correlation between Mac's diminished powers-of-observation and the amount of time she spends with Beaver. They're working on some super-secret project together, and it's the third time this week, I've encountered them together at The Hut, heads bent together, all sparkling eye contact, shy smiles and dimples.

It's kind of adorable.

My closest girl friend is hardcore crushing on the less-vile Casablancas brother, and there doesn't seem to be anything unrequited about it.

Speaking of vile…

Three tables over, Dick sprawls, knees spread wide, and flips through the karaoke songbook. Bro-Bot, lays on the table, wearing an "I WAS THE FASTEST SWIMMER" cotton onesie. If you're picturing an accompanying sperm-with-a-smile image, you're dead on.

Gross.

Luke sits at his right, flirting with our server, Alyssa. Or…just being friendly. It's hard to tell with him.

Opposite, Logan stands next to his chair, idly emptying his jacket pockets, while staring at Lars with a lowered brow.

"Hmm…" I slide up on his left. "There's something different about you."

"Would you believe I lost my virginity?" He flutters his lashes at me. "Why? Am I glowing?"

"Nah." I touch my bottom lip, and then point down to his ankle. "There used to be a bulge down there, right?"

"Ahh." He nods, sagely. "I switched to boxer briefs. They keep everything nice and contained."

I groan and hip check him. "First night of freedom, and you came here, of all places? I figured you'd skip school tomorrow and head straight to Tijuana."

"And miss out on this performance?" He waves a hand at the stage, then leans close. "That's all an act, right? Like somebody dared him to go up there and sing like that?"

"Sadly enough? No. He's a regular."

"Anyway, I already promised to help you out tomorrow, so I told Dick we'd have to go to TJ some other weekend."

"You're as whipped as before, and you're not even getting any." Dick leans across the table, and nudges Logan. "Your stalker's here."

"Stalker?" I scowl at him. "Wow, I can't tell if that's a promotion or demotion from last week when you called me a Succubus."

"Way to be hostile, Ronnie. I was talking about Fatal Affectation over there." He does that thing where he scrunches one nostril, and points stage-left, where a tall-ish teenaged girl waits on deck for her turn on the mic.

She's the kind of girl who might legally change her name to Raven – evidenced by her black everything. From her long, cheap wig, to her heavy eyeliner, her flowy, corset-bodiced dress, fishnet stockings, and tall combat boots.

Wow.

"Dude, knock it off." Logan shakes his head. "That girl is harmless."

"Harmlessly obsessed, maybe." Dick elbows Luke. "What do you think, Haldeman? Ronnie versus Stalkerella in a death match for Logan's magic Johnson?"

Luke scoffs. "Come on, dude. Haven't you learned? Always bet on Veronica Mars."

Um…thanks? I think.

"It's hard to say, man," Dick gestures to me. "Ronnie's got that perma-rage thing going, like she probably inflicts pain just for funsies, but is she any match for pure batshit crazy?" He nods at the other girl.

Guys!" Logan smacks Dick on the back of the head. "Shut the fuck up."

"Yeah, sure." Dick shrugs, like it's no skin off his back. "But you know I'm right."

"If anyone's right, it's Luke. Don't bet against Veronica. For any reason." Logan says. "But your premise is seriously flawed."

"Come on, dude. Everybody knows Ronnie has anger issues. When's the last time you saw her smile?"

What's he talking about? I smile all the time. I'm a virtual ray of sunshine.

"No, I meant, in what world would she fight for me? Or any other guy?"

Wow, it's been three hours Logan, and you've forgotten already?

I smile, tight and irritated. "I think Weevil and Dr. Griffith might say otherwise, but hey, what do I know?" I shove my memo pad in my pocket and turn to leave.

Logan grabs my shoulder. "Wait, Veronica. Listen, I'm grateful for everything you did. I owe you my life and my freedom. But I think you can agree there's a big difference between you fighting on my side and fighting for me like I'm some kind of prize."

He doesn't mean it as an insult. He knows I'd rather die than appear needy or pathetic over a boy. Yet, his comment makes me feel defensive.

Maybe the censure is my own internal voice and regrets, yet I feel compelled to lash out anyway. "I guess we have that in common, then. Why fight when there's a sea full of fish to choose from? Or a country club full of step-mommies in your case?"

Logan's eyes flash, and I brace myself for a different kind of fight, but Lars mercifully, finishes his performance, and the karaoke tech's voice echoes through the speakers. "Next up, we have…Della!"

Stalkerella…er…Della shuffles over to the microphone, adjusts the height, then clutches it in both hands, and lifts her eyes to Logan's face.

How can you see into my eyes like open doors?

It takes a measure of self-control to keep my groan on the inside. She isn't awful-awful, but Amy Lee won't be inviting her on tour any time soon.

Leading you down, into my core
Where I've become so numb

"Dude…" Dick snickers. "She wants to lead you down into her core."

Logan rolls his eyes and shifts a questioning glance to me.

What? Are you wondering if the doors are open to my core? Because…yes, wide open. For you.

Or is he just looking for my two cents on poor Della's crush?

And why am I standing around wasting time with Logan, anyway?

Without a soul
My spirit's sleeping somewhere cold
Until you find it there, and lead it, back, home

"Hey, Veronica." My manager Lisa approaches. "Your dad's on the phone. He says it's important."

"Tell Dad I said, 'Hey'," Logan says, as I turn to follow her.

I examine his face, but my sarcasm-detector tells me he's sincere. "Yeah. Okay."

I still don't know why my father and my ex are suddenly getting along, or what happened at the storage locker, but who am I to complain?

I pick up the extension behind the pastry display to avoid interruptions. "Hello?"

Wedging the phone between my shoulder and my ear, I remove the coconut cake from behind the glass, and cut off a tiny sliver, transferring it to a dessert plate.

"Veronica." Dad sounds out of breath, and I hear other voices in the background. "How soon do you get off work?"

"About thirty minutes. Where are you calling me from?" I take a bite of cake, and squeeze my eyes closed in pleasure. Yes. This is good.

"Sheriff's Department. There's been a break in the bus crash case."

I set down my fork. "Tell me more?"

"You'll remember there were twelve phones that could have possibly made the call that detonated the bomb?"

"Right. Eleven phones with NEXTEL carriers." I take another bite of cake, before tossing the rest in the trash.

"Well, I was able to exclude ten of them. The remaining two phones were prepaid models."

"So, another dead end." I sigh.

The espresso machine screeches and hisses, as Alyssa starts making a latte. I stick my finger in my other ear, in order to hear.

"Actually, it's not a dead end. Both were purchased by the same person."

"One to use as the bomb, and the other to detonate?"

"Exactly. He used a fake name, but I was able to view security footage from the cellular store. Lamb's getting an arrest warrant as we speak."

"Well? Don't keep me in suspense. Who was it?"

"I'm sorry, honey. It was the Casablancas boy."

"Dick? No way." The idea is almost preposterous. "If he's playing stupid, it has to be the most successful long con in history. He's been that way since elementary school."

"No, honey. The younger brother. Cassidy."

"What?" My blood runs cold, and I want to protest. Cassidy is sweet. Neglected by his parents and abused by his brother. He's too pathetic to be a killer. Too sad.

Or would that be too wily? Manipulative? Diabolical?

And flirting with my closest girlfriend as we speak.

"Dad." I whisper. "He's here right now."

"Dammit. Don't confront him, Veronica."

"I wouldn't dream of it." And that's the honest truth. I'll leave this one to the authorities.

Dad's voice muffles, as if he's moved the phone away from his mouth. "My daughter says the Casablancas boy is at Java the Hut right now."

Lamb's voice. "Sacks and Carson, go pick up Cassidy Casablancas at the coffee shop on Seventh and Adams. Try not to spook the kid."

I hear a shuffling sound and then Dad speaks to me. "I'll see you when I get home. And Veronica?"

"Hmm?"

Is Beaver staring at me? Can he read lips? He can't possibly have overheard from this far away, right?

"I love you. Be careful."

"I always am."

My hand shakes as I hang up the phone receiver. What do I do now?

Across the room, Mac speaks animatedly to Beaver – hand gestures and dimples. He in turn, appears antsy and distracted.

Oh man, this is going to devastate her. How can I get her away from him, without alerting Cassidy or making him feel cornered?

If I tell her she has a family emergency, she'll want to call home and check in. If I say her parents want her to meet them at the hospital, Beaver might offer to give her a ride.

Girl problems, it is.

"Hey, Mac?" I approach the table with an embarrassed smile. "I hate to interrupt, but could you possibly meet me in the Ladies' room?"

"Oh…I don't think I have…" She reaches for her purse, but I wave a hand.

"Could you actually…" I tilt the top of my head, and slide my eyes toward Logan, as if I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of him. "…just meet me in there? I'll only take a minute of your time."

Beaver watches the exchange, lips flattened together, and I can't tell if he's paranoid or I am.

Were his eyes always this sinister?

"Yeah. Sure. I'll be back in a second." Mac smiles apologetically at Beaver, then rises, closes her laptop and follows me to the restroom.

"Alright, what's going on, Veronica?" She asks, as the bathroom door swings closed behind us. "Your bag is a Boy Scout's Handbook of preparedness, and you're the last person who would want to talk about boy problems."

I crouch, peering under both stalls. Empty. "Listen, Mac. You need to stay in here for a while. I can't explain why, but you can't go back out to that table."

She crosses her arms over her chest, levels a blank stare at me. "You want me to ditch Cassidy, on your say-so, without giving me a reason."

"Yes. That's exactly what I want." I quirk the left side of my mouth, but she's not amused. "I asking you this for your own good."

"No, Veronica." Her jaw sets, obstinately. "You're asking me to be rude and disrespectful to somebody I like very much. Somebody who's paying me for my time."

"I hope he paid you in advance," I mutter.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." I can't tell her the truth – not until he's behind bars – too much could go wrong. She might warn him in time for him to get away. He might take her hostage. Or hurt her. No, I'm doing the right thing by keeping her in the dark.

Regardless, I'm not proud of my actions.

Mac's handbag sits, unzipped, on the edge of the counter.

Leaning close to the mirror, and pretending to check my appearance, I "accidentally" knock it off the edge, spilling contents all over the floor.

"Oops!" I cover my open mouth with both hands. "I'm so sorry about that."

Mac gasps, outraged. "You did that on purpose!"

"No, I just kind of bumped it with my elbow."

"Yeah, I saw that. And I also saw the thump you gave it when your first bump didn't work."

Together, we crouch down, and begin gathering items. Thankfully, Alyssa already cleaned the bathroom tonight, and she's compulsive about cleanliness and hygiene.

I pick up a silver case with a popped latch, containing a stack of business cards:

Mackenzie Technical Solutions
Web Design / Research / Hardware Support
Reasonable and Discrete

"These are new," I say.

"Cassidy's suggestion." She holds out her hand. "He thought they'd help me get more jobs."

"How…clever." Pretending to hand it over, I give my wrist a little flick, and the cards spill everywhere.

"VERONICA! I saw that!"

"It was an accident! That hinge is sharp." I bring my finger to my mouth as if sucking away the pain.

"Accident, my ass."

Mac turns, collecting the cards behind her, and I quickly pop the clasp of her coin purse, flinging pennies, dimes and nickels in every direction. "Shit! I'm sorry! I don't know why I'm so damn clumsy tonight. I'll go grab a broom."

In my defense, I have warned her about the dangers of carrying around that much change. It can't be good for the posture.

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Halfway to the broom closet, I halt in my tracks.

Beaver's gone.

Shit. Shit. Shit. What do I do now?

As disturbing as it was being in the same room as him, having him unaccounted-for is even worse. Why wouldn't he wait for Mac's return?

I'd ask Dick if he knows anything, but he's currently on stage with his BroBot, taking a turn at karaoke. He sings with an affected raspy quality, and while I can't quite place the song, it's vaguely familiar.

Luke pauses from flirting with Alyssa to heckle him with two thumbs down. Dick lobs the baby at him, underhanded, and Luke catches it, against his chest, and tosses it back.

BroBot gurgles and coos.

As for Logan…

Oh, fuck! Where's Logan?

My mouth goes dry and my heart hammers.

Did Beaver somehow find out about his imminent arrest? Did he lure Logan away to use as a shield? As a 'fuck you' to me?

One table over from the one Beaver vacated, sits Logan's admirer, legs crossed, sipping a cappuccino, and thoroughly unimpressed by the 'entertainment'.

I step in front of her. "Excuse me? Is it Della?"

"Sure." She sneers, disgusted. "Pretend you don't know me, Veronica Mars."

I tilt my head. "I'm sensing hostility. Remind me how we know each other, again?"

"If four years at the same school doesn't jog your memory, there was the tenth-grade dance team tryouts. You weren't very encouraging to me, you know."

Well, if you dance anything like you sing…

"Listen, I'm sorry if I said or did anything to upset you. I actually wanted to ask you about the guy who was sitting at this table." I point behind me.

"Cassidy Casablancas? What about him?"

"Do you know where he and Logan disappeared to? I expected them to still be here."

"Cassidy got a phone call. Good news, apparently, because he looked pretty pleased when he hung up."

Crap. If Beaver is behind the bus crash, he's surely capable of making people see what he wants them to see. So, the question is, did his phone call actually make him happy? Or did he intend for Della to report back to me? A tactic to make me lower my guard.

"Did he mention a name on the phone?"

"Sorry, I don't eavesdrop on people." The insinuation being that I do. "All I know is, he packed up his girlfriend's computer, asked the manager to hold on to it, and then took off."

"And Logan? Did he leave with Beaver?"

Della rolls her eyes, flings a hand out. "Logan's right over there."

I turn, to find him returning to his table, wiping his hands on the outside of his jeans. My shoulders sag with relief.

Thank God!

"Well, thanks for your help." As little as you provided. "I'll just…"

"Help? You can stop pretending, Veronica, I know you only came over here to warn me away from Logan."

I laugh out loud. She thinks I'm threatened by her? That I'm here to scare away the competition?

"Listen, Della, if you think you have the grit – the determination – to handle him, feel free to try your best." I lean closer, lowering my voice. "But take it from somebody who knows, Logan Echolls is not for the faint of heart."

Belatedly, I realize my whisper is echoeing and amplified.

Dick is in my face, singing and lewdly rolling his pelvis.

If you want my body and you think I'm sexy
Come on, sugar, tell me so

Can this day get worse? I stick a finger down my throat, pretend to vomit, and he swings his attention to Della.

Her eyes go wide, and she blushes, as he lifts her hand from the table and rubs it all over his chest. Ewww.

If you really need me, just reach out and touch me
Come on, honey, tell me so

I take advantage of the distraction to slip away and clock-out.

My shift is over, Dad's waiting for me, and I probably just shot myself in the foot as far as Logan goes. Still, I'd rather brave it out with him, than head out to that parking lot alone.

"Sexy?" I approach him from behind. "Does he mean that ironically? Like when you call a dumb guy Einstein?"

Logan grins down at me. "Dick watched some eighties program on VH1, and is now convinced Rod Stewart is his Spirit Guide."

"Guess that explains the pleather pants, and the gratuitous ass shaking."

He's back on stage now, thrusting his hips. Della watches from her chair, cradling the BroBot, and staring at him like he's the new Logan Echolls.

"So, hey…Buddy." I drop a hand on Logan's shoulder and flutter my lashes at him. "Walk a girl out to her car?"

He visibly shudders. "A hot blonde flirting with me shouldn't fill me with dread like that. Why don't you tell me what you really want?"

"Um…the pleasure of your company?" I pretend to be offended.

Logan lifts a single brow.

I sigh. "Some guy was hitting on me earlier and didn't want to take no for an answer. He was getting a little aggressive."

"And you didn't zap him with your taser?" Logan asks, but he's already out of his seat and ushering me toward the exit.

"This guy really creeped me out, Logan. Something about his eyes." Not exactly a lie.

"Well, you've spent enough time around psychos. I'll trust your judgement." Logan pushes open the door, motioning for me to proceed.

It closes behind us, shutting out all but the sound of our footsteps. One overhead light illuminates the dozen or so vehicles in the parking lot – the others having burned out long ago.

Why can't I remember what Beaver drives?

I huddle closer to Logan – arm to arm – longing to take his hand, instead. "Thanks for not laughing at me. I'm probably just being paranoid, but…"

"I should be thanking you. You spared me from having to pretend I enjoyed Dick's performance." His lips turn down. "Not to mention, Lars put his name in for another turn. And I thought your boy, Duncan, was bad."

"I don't know who's worse," I say, "I think I'd have to give the edge to Duncan's rendition of Swing Low Sweet Chariot. It was truly the stuff of nightmares."

"Hey, just so you know, we didn't purposely exclude him tonight." Logan shoves his hands in his pockets. "He said he had to study."

"Well, you know how he loves over-achieving" Did he honestly believe Duncan would want to be in the same building as me right now?

We pause next to the LeBaron. "Well…here we are." Logan gives my trunk a double-knock, triggering a wailing from the inside.

We both jump, momentarily startled.

"You left your baby in the trunk?"

"Oops. I hope nobody calls child protective services on me." I hold out my cell phone in invitation. "They might try taking her away or something."

"I wouldn't worry. This is Neptune. Just throw some cash at them, and you can lock your baby anywhere you'd like." He lifts one shoulder and drops it. "So, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

I lower my eyes to the ground. "Um…before you go, can you check the back seat?"

"This guy must have been a real piece of work to spook the unspookable Veronica Mars." Logan opens my car door, tilts the seat forward, and makes a show of checking all the nooks and crannies. "Nobody there. It's all safe."

I smile my thanks and switch places with him, but paranoia takes hold before I have a chance to climb inside.

Why would Beaver hide in my back seat when he could just plant a bomb under my car and wait around the corner?

"Hold on a sec." I extract a mini flashlight from my purse, shining the beam over my tires, back bumper. Should I check under the hood? My car's been out here for hours. Plenty of time to tamper with it.

I bite my lip, indecisive, glance over my right shoulder and then my left.

"Hey, are you okay to drive?" Logan asks, concerned by my behavior.

"Um…" I hesitate. "Maybe I should head back inside and call a taxi."

"Veronica." He toes at my foot. "You only have to ask. I'll give you a ride."

"But what about your boys inside? I wouldn't want to deprive them of your company."

"They'll survive."

"Okay." I smile. "Well, then I would appreciate a ride home. Thank you."

"Hey. I'm sorry, Veronica. For what my dad did to you last year." Logan waits while I rescue Jessica Joan from the trunk and shove a bottle in her mouth. "I didn't realize you still thought about it. But why wouldn't you? It's not the kind of thing you'd forget."

"This isn't that. I promise." I don't bother arguing about his culpability for his dad's crimes. He's never listened before. He won't now.

Logan has the decency to check his own back seat. He opens the door, peers inside, then steps out of the way, watching over my shoulder while I conduct a more thorough inspection of the interior and cargo area with my flashlight.

I turn around to find him standing a little too close, one forearm braced on the roof. My heart thuds and I take a deep breath before looking up into his eyes.

"Hmm. Why does this seem so familiar?" He smirks and takes a step back.

If I wasn't a paranoid wreck right now, I'd drag him inside the truck and remind him what familiar feels like.

"It makes a certain sense, considering how many blondes you've had back here."

"Jealous?" Logan's lip quirks up on one side, and he lifts a hand, like he wants to push my hair behind my ear. Drops it again. "That number is probably a lot smaller than you think it is."

Only because his current bed buddy prefers luxury suites and Egyptian cotton sheets.

"Hey. About what I said in there…" I gesture to the coffee shop. "About you not being for the faint of heart…"

"No need to explain. I get it, Veronica. I'm a nightmare walking."

"No, you're not." I'd go with an entirely different sort of dream. "You'd have to understand the context. I was asking her about another customer, and she accused me of being territorial over you."

"Where would she get that idea?" He answers, straight-faced, but his eyes sparkle. "Think she's been talking to Jackie Cook?"

I groan. "You ever plan on letting me live that down?"

"Nope."

"Anyway…" I begin, pointedly. "It seemed like a nicer response than telling her she's not even blip on your radar."

"I don't know, she'd probably be loads of fun at a beach party," Logan muses.

"Well, black absorbs sunlight, so at least she'd never get cold." I shove the baby bottle in my bag, and rearrange JJ against my shoulder, giving her a few solid whacks on the back. "You should know, though. What I said about you wasn't meant to be an insult."

"Imagine if you'd tried."

"It wasn't a lie, either. Between your poor decisions, your idiot friends, and the paparazzi, you're not an easy guy to date. You're not a smart choice for any woman who considers herself delicate. Or fragile."

"Thanks for the advice. I never would have guessed." Logan lets out an upwards-aimed, self-deprecating, exhale.

I settle JJ down on his back seat, then take Logan by the wrist. "But…for a woman who's strong enough, and gutsy, who's capable of going head-to-head with you, and balls-to-wall for you – she's going to see you for the prize that you are." I smile up at him. "A genuine diamond in the rough."

I hear Logan's sharp intake of breath. Like it's the last thing he expected to hear from me. He swallows. "Balls to the wall, huh?"

"Balls to the wall." I enunciate each word.

Logan takes a step closer, drapes an arm over the top of the car door, and shifts his tone into that guileless little boy voice he uses on occasion. "Whoever she is, she's going to have some pretty big shoes to fill. At least, if she wants to outdo tasering the leader of a motorcycle gang."

That's nothing. You should see the masterful way I planted evidence and blackmailed a plastic surgeon.

I have no response, and he doesn't seem to require one, so we merely stare at each other.

We stare so long, I can feel my heartbeat picking up speed. The air prickling between us.

He was wearing this black and white jacket the day I broke up with Duncan. The same day he pulled a gun on the Fitzpatricks to save me.

Impulsively, I gather both sides in my fingers, running the pads of my thumbs over the smooth leather, imagining how it might feel gliding across the rest of my skin.

Logan watches my hands, so still, I can't tell if he's breathing. He must be wondering what I'm doing.

To be honest, so am I.

Months ago, I would have dragged him in for a kiss. You might say it was my signature move, and boy did he love it when I played rough.

I look at his lips now, a fluttering in my belly as I mentally weigh the pros and cons.

So many pros.

But I can't.

I've done enough harm to his relationship with Duncan. If we cross that line again, there's no coming back for them.

And let's be honest, he needs his best friend more than he needs me. Duncan talks him down, stabilizes him. As for me? I get captured by undercover ATF agents and Irish thugs, forcing him to resort to violence.
It's not like Logan is lacking for romantic prospects. Who knows how far things have progressed between him and Hannah, but, as of Trina's visit to the penthouse, he's still sleeping with Kendall.

His expression lingers somewhere between expectation and wariness, and the space between us tingles like static electricity.

It's too late to joke my way out of this, but maybe I can salvage my dignity.

"It's chilly tonight." I draw his jacket closed, inserting the pin into the zipper box, and dragging the pull halfway up.

"Can't have me shivering, huh?" His lips quirk, but his eyes search mine, as if trying to puzzle me out.

Good luck with that. I can't figure me out, either.

"I owe you a belated 'thank you'." I smooth out the top of his jacket, ostensibly making the zippers align. "I shudder to imagine what Liam Fitzpatrick had in store for me that day, if you hadn't shown up to save me, and I'm sorry I was so rough on you in the car."

"Don't be."

"But—"

"But nothing." Logan shifts, leaning his right hip against the vehicle. "I sulked for maybe an hour after you stormed off that day. Then, when I realized why you were so angry, it was honestly kind of gratifying."

"Gratifying?" I snort, giving him a sad shake of my head. "What's gratifying about being scolded by a crazy woman having an emotional meltdown?"

He lowers his eyes to the ground, exhales. When he lifts his head, his eyes are bright and a tiny smile tilts the corners of his mouth. "Realizing that one person on this godforsaken planet gives a shit whether I live or die."

The timbre of his voice steals my breath, reminds me of that moment right before our second kiss, when he told me he was ready to move on.

So, it's not surprising it takes me a moment for my brain to catch up.

Wait a second…

"Logan." I smack him on the sternum. "Of course, I give a shit if you're alive. How could you even think I wouldn't?"

"Well, I mean, there was a while there. After you broke into my house, ripped me a new one for Kendall, and then blamed me for being shot at and gang-jumped. You just seemed a little…done."

"Logan…I'm—"

"In hindsight, I may have been missing the larger pattern."

"Yeah? And what's that?"

"You get so angry at me because you give a shit."

"And that's a newsflash, genius?" I drop my forehead to his chest. Oh, Logan.

He's warm and solid, smells of leather, soap and coffee.

And I love him.

He waits a few beats, then laces his fingers behind my back, pulling me close. Runs a hand over the top of my hair. "Thanks again, Veronica. For whatever you did to exonerate me, and for caring enough to do so."

"Eh, you'd do the same for me." I press my cheek to his jacket, listening for a heartbeat.

"I'd at least give it serious thought."

Is he for real? I lift my head, but his body rumbles with restrained laughter. Asshole.

"Guess you two are hot and heavy again, huh?" The voice comes from somewhere in the darkness, making my heart leap to my throat.

Logan releases me, and whirls around. "Dammit, Beav, you can't just sneak up on people like that."

"Sorry."

FUCK! Why is he here?

"Nah. It's nothing." Logan releases a self-deprecating laugh. "Veronica just has me paranoid."

"Paranoid?" Beaver's cold, dead eyes flick to me. "About what?"

I curl my fingers around Logan's forearm – tight enough to bruise – but, to his credit, he doesn't even flinch.

His body and the car door stand between myself and Beaver. Still, a ripple of fear runs through me.

Not enough to make me keep my mouth shut, though. "The usual. Psychos in the back seat. Of course, there are other ways to murder innocent people in moving vehicles, so Logan has graciously volunteered to give me a ride home."

I watch Beaver for a flicker of guilt. Nothing.

Logan watches me.

He senses something's up, but from the warmth in his eyes, he probably thinks this is a garden variety 'Mars grudge of the month' situation.

How does one silently communicate 'Your harmless, tagalong friend of years is actually a psychopath who murdered ten of our classmates'?

Logan steers the conversation back to shallow waters, speaking out of the side of his mouth while grinning indulgently at me. "Veronica has bewitched another hapless patron with her beauty and effortless charm. Only this one might be dangerous."

I drill Beaver with my eyes. "You know how I get with my Spidey senses."

He sneers and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. "I know they're not infallible."

"No. Not always. That's why I like to back up my hunches with evidence. I'm pretty good at it."

He angles his chin at our position and proximity to each other. "So, what do you think Duncan would say about this?"

Who gives a shit? He doesn't get an opinion.

Logan, apparently. His lowers guilty eyes, and I can see him preparing his denial. We were just talking. Nothing happened.

I squeeze close, so that my right-side presses to his left, and distract him from speaking by grabbing a generous handful of his ass. Hopefully, he'll get my message.

He always was a quick study. Other than a momentary widening of the eyes, he catches my pass, returning the favor by sliding a hand in the back pocket of my jeans.

I bite my lip, approximating an expression of shame. "How long were you standing there?"

I can't articulate why, but my instincts tell me not to deny. That allowing Beaver to believe he caught us mid-makeout might be my best strategy for stalling.

"Long enough." There. That look in his eyes. Not only is he bluffing, but he's convinced he's tricked me into an admission of guilt. Which can only mean he just now returned.

"And exactly what did you see?" I ask.

"Everything."

I share a look with Logan. You still in on this little gambit?

He bobs his brows in acknowledgment, slings an arm around my neck, and squeezes. "So Beav, can you maybe keep this to yourself for a while? We're waiting to tell Duncan until—"

Beaver cuts him off. "What makes you think I haven't told him already? Maybe I texted him a photo"

Logan blinks, taken aback. Finally beginning to comprehend that this is more than a momentary feud.

Now I give him a reassuring squeeze. "He hasn't said a word to Duncan, and he won't."

"You sure about that, Veronica?"

"Ninety percent sure, yeah. You have no loyalty to Duncan, and he's ambivalent at best to your existence." Or anyone else not currently in a coma or sharing a penthouse suite. "Logan, on the other hand is your ticket to everything 09er. Anything you're included in, you do so at his whim. And it can be just as easily be revoked."

Pure malice permeates Beavers gaze.

I shiver. "Whatever you're thinking right now, let me remind you of Logan's fake birthday party last year. Force him to choose, and you're not going to like the results very much."

Logan doesn't say a word, but his jaw flexes angrily inside his cheek.

That was too far. Way too far.

He could blow me out of the water, right now. Remind me how his romantic declaration was before I accused him of murder, refused to help clear his name, and then dumped him at the lowest point of his life.

When will I ever learn to hold back?

"Why so aggressive, Veronica?" Beaver takes a threatening step forward. His hands are still in his jacket pockets, the right one bulging significantly more than the left.

OH FUCK! Does he have a gun!

I slide my arm back around Logan, waist level, leaning into him like I want to cuddle. My hand slips up under his jacket, his shirt, and I frantically sketch letters on his spine with my index finger.

S-O-S S-O-S S-O-S

"No aggression." I speak cautiously. "Guess I'm just a little frustrated at having my alone time with Logan interrupted."

G-U-N-?

Logan glances down at me, eyes soft, while he traces a '10 – 4' on the back of my neck with his thumb.

"Well Beav, it's been fun, but I promised Veronica's dad I'd get her home within the hour. He worries about her."

"Wait!" Beaver takes another step closer, his pocket jutting more. "Can we talk for a few minutes? I could use a ride home."

Logan moves forward, carefully easing me behind his body. "Go back inside, and we'll talk about it once I get back."

"Yeah, it really can't wait," Beaver answers, crowding us back against the vehicle. "Let's go for a ride."

Logan's body pulls taut, and his focus zones in. "What are you hiding there, Beav?"

"Want me to show you?" Beaver's hand shifts, drawing out of his pocket.

Asphalt crunches, and light falls on Logan's face – red, blue, red, blue.

Two sheriff's cruisers swing into the lot, blocking half a dozen cars with their sloppy parking jobs.

Beaver retreats three steps, hands now visible and empty. I could probably get away with kicking him in the balls now that he can't shoot me, but Logan's in my way.

I settle for flipping him off.

He's not amused.

Deputy Carson exits his vehicle first. He's tall and blond, like a Nordic giant, and strolls our way with his thumbs tucked into his pockets. "Cassidy Casablancas?"

"That's me." Like magic, Beaver's face transforms into the harmless, beleaguered kid we're accustomed to seeing. "How can I help you, officer?"

Carson gives him a disbelieving once-over, surprised such a little guy is responsible for so much mayhem. "Sheriff Lamb sent us to escort you to the station."

Logan steps aside for me and closes the car door once I'm out of the way. He leans close, whispering. "Were you planning on filling me in?" I raise an eyebrow, and he snorts. "Why did I even ask?"

"Am I under arrest?" Beaver asks Carson.

"Not if you come willingly. Sheriff just has a few questions he wants to ask you. Shouldn't take long."

The static sounds of a police scanner carry through the open window on the second cruiser. Deputy Sacks finishes reporting in, signs-off, and gets out of the car.

I meet him halfway, Logan following behind.

"You okay, Veronica?" Sacks looks me over.

"Am now. Glad you're here, Deputy."

He shoots a scathing glare at Beaver, which feels out-of-character for the usually placid deputy.
Then again, he was there at the crash site. Knows how many kids died that day.

"Any clue to what Lamb wants to ask me about?" Beaver holds up his cell, wiggles it side to side. "Should I call my lawyer?"

"I'll let the sheriff answer that. I'm just here to retrieve you," Carson says.

Addressing Sacks, I drop my voice to a low hiss. "Get that phone away from him, now! And check his left pocket. He may have a gun."

Logan seems baffled, but Sacks immediately moves into action, plucking the phone from Beaver's hands. "I'll hold on to this for now. You can contact your lawyer from the station. Now please place your hands on the patrol car."

I never get the opportunity to find out if he's actually armed.

A small crowd has gathered outside the building. Standing alone, at the edge of the parking lot is a very confused, and rightfully furious Mac.

"Oh fuck."

"What's wrong?" Logan slides a reassuring hand over my back.

"My only female friend wants to punch me right now, and I can't say I blame her."

Logan follows the direction of my eyes. "I'd say her intentions lay more along the line of murder. You need backup?"

"Tempting, but I'd better handle this one on my own." I scan the other bystanders, but Logan's friends are still inside. "You should probably go tell Dick about his brother. I'm fine to drive myself home now."

"You sure? Cause it's no problem."

"I'm sure."

"Okay." Logan nods. "But I'll be expecting a full explanation during our outing tomorrow."

"It's a deal." I smile.

He smiles back, and then turns to leave.

"Logan." I grab his shoulder, impulsively lifting up on my toes, and pressing a kiss to the center of his soft cheek. "Thank you. You really came through for me tonight."

Logan pretends to swoon, presses his hand to the spot. "I'm never washing my face again. And no thanks are necessary. That's what friends do."

Friends. Right.

I nod my agreement, Logan salutes, and heads back into The Hut.

Mac holds up a hand as I approach. "Don't, Veronica."

I stop in front of her, forming my features into something a bit more repentant. "I was an asshole in there, and I'm very very sorry."

"But you had your reasons, right? You always have your reasons." Mac sighs, waves a hand over to where Sacks is guiding Beaver into the back seat of his cruiser. "This was you?"

"Tangentially. I knew it was about to happen. Which is why I—"

"Managed me?"

"Wait. No. That's not what—"

Mac cuts me off. "That's exactly what you did. Whatever's going on with Cassidy, you didn't trust me to react in a Veronica-approved manner, so you took the choice out of my hands."

"Mac, it's so much more than that. I did it for your sake."

"Is that what you told Wallace before he left?"

Ouch. I recoil as if she'd physically slapped me.

A flicker of guilt passes over Mac's face, but she squares her shoulders. "We're still friends, Veronica. But I'm going to need some time to get past this."

I swallow and nod. She walks away.

-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-:¦:-

Logan Echolls 11:03 PM
Forget something?

The text arrived five minutes ago, while I was showering. I take a minute to pull on my flannel penguin pajamas before responding.

Veronica Mars 11:18 PM
Did I? Refresh my memory

Logan doesn't answer right away. While I wait, I moisturize my face, squeeze the excess water from my hair with a towel, and comb a leave-in conditioner through the ends.

I'm just climbing in bed when my phone finally buzzes with an incoming message – no words.

I click to open the video attachment, then flinch at the cacophony of wails issuing from my cell's speaker.

Onscreen, Logan gives the camera a withering glare. He turns the phone around to show a howling Jessica Joan, laying on the couch, her unwanted bottle propped on a red decorative cushion. Beside her, lays a second, equally distressed animatronic baby in the default blue pajamas. Duncan's presumably.

I laugh and bite my tongue. Poor Logan.

His hand enters the frame, transferring the bottle and the pillow from JJ to the other brat, and reducing the noise by half. He sets down the phone, providing a tantalizing upwards view of his torso, as he swings JJ up to his shoulder and gives her enough thumps on the back to make her cries change to coos.

He picks the phone back up, speaks to the camera. "If your boyfriend is there, tell him he owes me for an entire week of this shit. And I need you both to promise me now – no matter how much in love you think you are – that the two of you will never ever reproduce. Uncle Logan needs some goddamn sleep." He blows a kiss to the camera and the screen goes dark.

Yeah, that warning is about seven months too late, but nice try, Logan.

And why hasn't Duncan told him about the breakup?

Veronica Mars 11:25 PM
You and Duncan don't communicate very well, do you?

Logan Echolls 11:27 PM

Well, I suggested couple's counseling, but he just accused me of being a nagging fishwife.

Veronica Mars: 11:30 PM

Gaslighting? How unlike him.

Veronica Mars: 11:30 PM

Can you drop the baby off at Gia's locker tomorrow morning?

Logan Echolls: 11:31 PM

I'll address the trouble in paradise later. But for now, I may have misread that, but it looked like you were asking me to walk around school with a fake baby dressed like a fairy princess. That couldn't be right.

Veronica Mars: 11:34 PM

Good old Gia. I've been there, and it's humiliating. Luckily, there's a second option.

Logan Echolls: 11:34 PM

I'm all ears.

You certainly are. Yet, somehow, it doesn't detract from the pretty.

Veronica Mars: 11:35 PM

Leave for school before Duncan wakes up. Little JJ is just fine wearing blue jammies, despite what her other mom thinks.

Logan Echolls: 11:36 PM

Remind me to also circle back to that hot 'mom-on-mom' thing. Are you suggesting I leave Duncan to carry around a robot baby in fairy drag?

Veronica Mars: 11:38 PM

Who, me? Would I do a thing like that?

Logan Echolls: 11:38 PM

Unequivocally. Although, rarely to Prince Charming.

Veronica Mars: 11:39 PM

Not my fault he's an inconsiderate roommate. Get some sleep, Logan, because you're all mine tomorrow, and I can't have you dozing off.

Logan Echolls: 11:40 PM

If that's the case, why wait for tomorrow? I'll shotgun a Red Bull and be there in twenty.

Veronica Mars: 11:41 PM

Slow your roll, Perv. I meant for a stakeout.

Logan Echolls: 11:42 PM

You're no fun.

Veronica Mars: 11:43 PM

Red Bull? So much for that famous endurance.

Logan Echolls: 11:45 PM

Having my stamina questioned by somebody whose sole example is Duncan? That's rich.

Veronica Mars: 11:45 PM

Are you suggesting I sleep around? Get a few more notches?

Logan Echolls: 11:46 PM

Would I do that?

I fumble for a snarky response, but, to my great regret, he wouldn't. He's painfully loyal to Duncan. Whether he deserves it or not.

But a girl can dream.

Veronica Mars: 11:48 PM
Sweet dreams, Logan. I'll see you tomorrow