Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Gilmore Girls, actors, characters, plots, etc, that would be the wonderful people at WB. Although if I did, I'm pretty sure they'd be some big changes coughChadcough. Anyway if you do feel inclined to sue me, some people have strange urges and we must accept them for who they are, I'm currently flat broke so all you will get is a used textbook, on organic chemistry.
AN: Thank you to:
Rish
LoVe23
Rockrose
FairyGirl07
Mrmp: at the moment, this could swing either way, maybe a Rogan, maybe a Trory
I die without you
Karahbella
Sparxx27
Cali
Sweet-little-devil-one
:D
TuggyAngel08
PDLD-LIT-TRORY-ELIXIR-OF-LIFE
Cosmopolitan
Crissy
Bethany Inc: I want to apologise for my atrocious behaviour in the pm/review response I sent you. I was totally out of line. I hope you will forgive me. All I can say is that much in the way of drama summaries set of a red alert for you, I see Atlantic and me in the same sentence and I'm overcome with the desire to hyperventilate and do the chicken dance at the same time. Nothing against the Atlantic, it's just I'm a little protective of where I live (Australia), we may not have many people, so sometimes we have to (figuratively) shout to be heard and occasionally I deafen bystanders. Sorry again
Ladybug Jess: I did not know that tidbit about the G-G of Canada, very interesting. Thanks
Holy Cross Baby
This chapter is dedication (OMG! (Home Alone impression) , there's a dedication!)… for Bethany Inc. To make up for the impromptu and some-what uncalled for geography lesson…
Chapter 3She drummed her fingers lightly against the cool granite bench top, unconsciously pressing the phone closer to her ear. With each ring, her nervousness grew and the drumming increased. Finally the ringing stopped to be replaced by a recorded message.
"You've reached the Gilmore-Danes House of Pleasure and Pain," a woman's voice rang out, "Your pain is our pleasure, but right now – "
"Lorelai, what on earth are you doing!" a male voice interrupted, "What if you're mother hears this?"
"Oh please, since when does Emily Gilmore call me?" the first voice replied flippantly.
"You mean like the way she hasn't called you for the last thirty years," the second voice returned sarcastically.
"Whatever cowboy."
"I'm cowboy now, am I?" the tone of his voice changed to mild amusement and perhaps something else she really didn't want to know.
"Flannel shirt, jeans and boots, and not to mention certain boudoir behaviours," the first voice was definitely flirty now and she cringed hearing it.
"Those behaviours don't have to stay in the bedroom, you know."
"Well then what are you waiting for, cowboy?"
The voices paused, and the sound of material rustling filled the line.
"Wait," the male voice said, the rustling stopped, "Why are you still holding the phone?"
"Mmm, no reason," the tone was coy.
"Are you still recording this!"
There was a shriek of laughter and then the message ended abruptly and in the split second before the beep, she almost hung up.
"Mom, hi, it's me, Rory," she began, nervously and hating how nervous she sounded, "I really need to talk to you. I… – Logan's missing and I don't know what to do. And… please call me…"
As soon as she hung up, she wished she hadn't left a message. Burying her head in her hands, she sighed heavily. The relationship between Rory and her mother had become increasingly strained over the past few years and for months she had been telling herself to try and mend that bridge. This was certainly not the way she wanted it to be, but the Huntzbergers didn't seem all that concerned despite the fact that Logan was the sole heir to their million-dollar empire and they seemed even less concerned about her welfare.
She didn't want to call her friends in New York, because as much as she loved them, they really weren't her kind of people and anyway most would probably leak it to the press. Harry insisted on using every one of his contacts to keep a lid on Logan's disappearance, but even he admitted that it would only be a matter of time before the press hounds are camped outside the apartment building.
"Where are you, Logan?" she whispered into the empty apartment.
As if on cue, the doorbell rang and she rushed to answer it. But as quickly as her hopes were lifted, she was filled with disappointment, as it was not her fiance on the doorstep, but rather another blonde man she was quickly beginning to despise again.
"You came back?" she asked, not bothering to hide her disbelief at the sight of Tristan.
"I have a job to do," he waited until she moved out of the doorway before sidling into the apartment.
Automatically, he assessed the interior of the apartment. When he had been inside previously, the place had still been in a state of partial disarray, but now the place was almost pristine. Any trace of broken glass or ceramics had been collected by the police along with a few select pieces of furniture, leaving behind an awkward emptiness. Rory had managed to get rid of most of the fingerprinting powder residues that had been dusted over every conceivable surface. The cleaning had kept her calm, allowing her to pass time without breaking down with worry each time she thought of Logan being missing.
"Well, after last night I had serious doubts that you cared enough," Rory continued.
"I get paid to look for people, it's what I do," he shrugged slightly.
"So you're in it for the money?" she scoffed, recalling their brief conversation the night before.
"Just doing my bit for world peace," his lips twisted into a cool smirk.
"Maybe I should tell Harry that this is a bad idea," Rory sighed, more to herself although she did want Tristan to hear her dig at him.
But Tristan had turned his back on her again, stalking across the room, he took up his post by the window, staring at the New Yorkers below, who were going about their usual business. It unnerved Rory a little the way he seemed completely disinterested in finding Logan. He was supposed to be the star of the company he worked for. Each second that ticked by, she felt like she was loosing her grip on her life. Oh God, please let Logan be alright.
"You're not going to ask for a list of people who might have a problem with Logan?" she prodded Tristan after a seemingly endless silence, it had been one of the first things the police detectives had asked.
"He's a Huntzberger," Tristan shrugged again, "It would probably be quicker to write a list of people who actually like him."
"Do you have something against my fiance?" Rory frowned, not appreciating Tristan's hostility.
"Nothing," his voice was neutral, not giving anything away.
Then again he seemed to only have three emotions, neutral, sarcastic or indifferent and of the three, Rory preferred neutral. At least then, she could pretend that Tristan did really want to find Logan, he just had trouble expressing himself.
"Nothing?" the doubt apparent in her tone.
Tristan didn't respond, instead taking a sudden interest in following a business man zigzag across the street as if he couldn't decide which side of the road he needed to walk on.
"I will however ask for a list of people who have access to his apartment?" he asked finally, ignoring her earlier question.
"That's easy, just Logan and myself."
"That's all?" he turned to face her, eyebrow cocked, beyond surprised, "No spare key?"
"No," she shook her head slightly.
Tristan frowned slightly and Rory wanted to drag whatever he was thinking out of him. She needed to feel like she was doing something, anything, to help find Logan. He sensed this need, but put it aside. This was his case and he decided what he revealed to whom. He had read the initial police report, the only entry into the apartment, the front door, had not been forced and the double glazed windows were floor-to-ceiling and sealed.
Either the intruders had somehow gotten their hands on a key. Logan's kidnappers, might have tossed the place after taking him, but that was if Logan had been kidnapped. Or maybe Logan had done this himself, making it look like a break-in and then disappearing. A third option was the most sinister, maybe Rory herself had orchestrated the whole thing, having her fiance kidnapped and ransacking their apartment to throw the police off track. Despite how outrageous the last option sounded, in Tristan's line of work, he had seen plenty more crazier things.
"What are you thinking?" Rory asked finally, Tristan's silence had become unbearable.
"Statistics show the most of these cases end up being the guy ran off the another woman and he just forgot to tell anyone," he informed her without the slightest hint of sympathy for her.
"Logan is not like that," she shook her head adamantly, "You on the other hand…"
She trailed away, letting the insinuation hang.
"And what do you know about me?" he smirked, not in the least bit offended, "I'm just a glorified police officer."
She was beginning to hate his memory, didn't he forget anything?
Inwardly he smiled, seeing her face contort into a grimace. Too many times, people had complained that his memory was inhuman and annoying, no one should be able to remember things the way he did, but it wasn't his fault he had a photographic memory. Most of the time, it was an invaluable characteristic, it had helped him ace every test and exam without so much as a few minutes of study. However there were times he wished he could just forget. His talent and burden.
"Look, I know the two of us have our differences," Rory changed the subject, "And despite your denial, you do have something against my fiance, but that's not going to change the fact he is missing and I want to find him. You say that it's your job to find people, well find him."
"Firstly, I have nothing against your fiance," Tristan countered, "And secondly, I never said I wouldn't find him."
"Well what are you waiting for?" Rory demanded.
He wanted to say so many things to her. This was his job, no it was more than that and dammit, he was good, brilliant even, at it. He could feel anger and annoyance build up inside of him, but he reined in his temper. Throwing a tantrum wasn't going to help the situation.
"There are going to have to be some ground rules," Tristan said finally, "Firstly, no answering the door unless you're sure of who is on the other side."
"Do – " Rory began, but Tristan ploughed on as if she had never spoken.
"Secondly, when you answer the phone, don't say your name, just say 'hello'. Thirdly, if you're unsure about anything or anyone, don't answer the door or the phone. Understood?"
"Yes," Rory replied, tight-lipped, barely resisting the urge to add a mocking 'Dad'.
"Finally, if you have any suspicions about your safety, call this number," he handed a business card from his jacket pocket.
Printed on one side of the heavy, white paper were several digits and apart from that, the card was completely blank.
"What is it for?" she asked.
"The Agency," Tristan replied simply, "Don't write anything on it, not your name, not mine name, nothing. Got it?"
"Yes, dad," she couldn't help it, the name slipped out and in return Tristan's eyes narrowed.
"Ten minutes ago you were so concerned about finding your boyfriend, and now you're mocking me? This is serious business. One wrong move at the wrong time could get you killed. Do you understand?"
"Fiance," Rory said quietly, ignoring his question.
"What?" Tristan frowned.
"You said 'boyfriend'. Logan's my fiance."
"Whatever," Tristan muttered dismissively, turning his back on her, he went back to his thoughts.
Recognising she had been dismissed, Rory went back into the kitchen. Maybe she would try ringing her mother again. Even cringing at the record message was better, and easier, than dealing with the broody, blonde man who is supposed to find her fiance.
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