Chapter Four
On Saturday morning two days later, Logan is left to his own devices when Veronica heads into the office to catch up on some work. He spends the morning surfing with Dick, then heads downtown to see if she's free for lunch.
"Logan. Hey."
Mac looks up from one of the five computer monitors on her desk, giving him a small smile when he taps on the door and steps inside Mars Investigations.
"Ah, so it's back to Logan now, is it?" he says. "Just when I was growing fond of 'Not-Piz'."
Mac has the decency to look embarrassed. "Yeah, sorry about that. It was just a joke, you know."
"So Veronica tells me," he says, as he moves inside the room, taking a seat on the sofa and making himself comfortable. "She's not around?"
Mac shakes her head. "Sorry. She stepped out; she's looking into a possible lead." She glances at the clock. "Should be back soon, though."
Logan nods. "That's okay. I'll wait."
"If you're sure." Mac shrugs, turning back to her laptop screen.
Silence falls across the office, the only sound being Mac's fingers tapping on the computer keyboard. Logan spends a moment looking around, taking in the high ceilings, the mahogany desks, the shadows spilling across the room, then picks up a real estate magazine that is laying haphazardly across the sofa and flicks through it lazily.
When he eventually gets bored, he snaps it shut and focuses his attention on Mac, still typing away. She looks serious and concentrated, but there's something else in her posture too: she looks tense, tired, her face pinched.
"Everything okay?" he asks, breaking the silence.
Mac looks up with a slight frown. "Yeah, why wouldn't it be?"
"I dunno." He shrugs. "You look like something's bothering you."
"It's nothing," she dismisses quickly.
"Okay."
She bites her lip, thinking something over, before she sighs. "Okay, it's not nothing. It's…"
She levels him with a considering look.
"How much do you know about the Sinclairs?"
What?
"Sinclairs? As in… Madison Sinclair?" His stomach drops, memories of freshman year at Hearst coming back. "What kind of knowledge we talking here?"
"About me and the Sinclairs, specifically."
He frowns, slowly shaking his head. What is she talking about?
"What about you and the Sinclairs?"
Mac sighs, and it sounds an awful lot like relief. "She didn't tell you."
Logan is confused. "Who didn't tell me what?"
"Veronica."
His face scrunches up. She's lost him. "Why would Veronica tell me anything about you and the Sinclairs?"
Mac looks down. "I dunno, I just figured maybe you knew."
"Knew what? Mac, I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh." Mac exhales heavily. "Well, okay, here's the thing: back in high school, I asked Veronica to do some digging into my family, because I didn't feel I fit in with them, and she found out I'd been switched at birth."
"What?" Logan sits upright in the chair, barely able to comprehend her words. "Wait… you… I mean…you're saying that you and Madison Sinclair…?"
She nods. "Madison and I were born at the same hospital, one day apart. There was a mix-up. Her parents took me home and my parents took her home."
"Seriously?" Logan blinks, trying to process that. "That's some messed up shit."
"Tell me about it." Mac lifts her eyebrows. "My biological parents are Charles and Ellen Sinclair, and Madison's are Sam and Natalie MacKenzie."
"No shit." Logan whistles softly. "And they never even realised?"
"Oh, they did, when we were four years old," she says. "Sued the hospital and everything, got a million dollars each out of the lawsuit, but in the end they decided not to switch us back. It'd been four years, after all. If I hadn't asked Veronica to look into it, I might never have found out."
"Geez…" he mutters, before a thought occurs to him. "Wait, does Madison know?"
Mac shrugs. "I have no idea. I don't think so."
Logan nods, thinking back over what she's just told him. He frowns. "You said you found this out in high school?" She nods. "So, what's causing the stress now?"
"Ah, see, that's the thing." Her mouth lifts to one side as she raises an eyebrow. "It appears Charles Sinclair is involved in Veronica's latest case. As in, he might be a potential suspect."
"Involved?" He frowns. "It's a rape case, right? Does that mean…?"
"I hope not," says Mac quickly. "All we know right now is that the victim was meeting her boyfriend at the Grand that night—her married boyfriend—and my, uh, Charles Sinclair may have been said boyfriend."
"Well, fuck." Logan sinks back into the sofa cushions, taking that in. He looks to Mac with concern. "Are you all right?"
She shrugs. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, it's not like he's my father, you know, not really. I barely even know him. It's just…"
"Oh, I get it, believe me," Logan says. "I'm the poster child for fucked-up fathers."
"Yeah."
"Well, I hope for your sake he's not involved in this."
"Me too," she agrees. "I mean, he's not the greatest human being alive, but we do share DNA."
"I know the feeling." His thoughts are dangerously close to turning to his father, so he scrambles to steer the conversation in a different direction. "You thought I knew, that Veronica had told me… why?"
Mac looks down, gives a shrug. "I dunno. You guys were pretty tight back then. I figured you probably shared a lot of stuff."
Yeah, right. She only ever told me what she absolutely had to.
He frowns. "You know she wouldn't do that, right? She wouldn't gossip about your private life."
Mac looks thoughtful for a moment. "No, I guess not."
"Hell, it was hard enough getting her to tell me stuff about herself, let alone anyone else." He scoffs. "It was like drawing blood from a stone."
Mac snorts a chuckle at that. "You're not wrong."
Logan sits forward, pressing his palms together. "She's different now, though. More open."
She nods. "She is. She's grown up; we all have."
"Yeah." Logan looks down at his hands.
"I mean, look at you, Mr. Navy-man," she says, her tone light. "Off saving the world, one air-to-surface missile at a time."
Logan looks up to find her grinning at him. "Yeah, guess so."
"So, you and Mac seemed friendly this afternoon," Veronica comments that evening, reaching for a knife and chopping carrots for dinner.
"Yeah." Logan shrugs from his position beside her, where he's making a salad. "I guess."
"What'd you guys talk about?"
Logan frowns. "Does it matter?"
Veronica turns her head to look him, looking puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, why do you need to know?" He doesn't mean for it to come out snappy, but it does all the same. "Maybe it was a private conversation."
"Was it?"
"No," he says immediately, then thinks about it and amends, "I mean, I don't think so. But that's not the point."
She puts down the knife, turning to him fully, her eyes narrowing. "What is the point?"
"Nothing. Never mind."
"No." She shakes her head. "Tell me."
Logan sighs. "I'm just saying, you don't have to know everything your friends talk about. They have every right not to tell you."
She huffs, looking offended. "Well, excuse me for being interested."
She picks up the knife again and goes back to chopping, with slightly more force than strictly necessary. Logan just watches her, salad forgotten for the moment.
He sighs. "You can be interested, but you also can't expect everyone to tell you everything about themselves."
"Fine. I won't."
"Fine." He turns back to the salad.
It's the first argument they've had—if you can even call it an argument—since he got home almost three months ago, and as stupid as it is, Logan can't help feeling a flicker of excitement, of anticipation, growing in response to it. It's almost like old times, when they would rile each other up so much that everything would eventually come to a head in an explosive fashion… and not necessarily in a bad way.
They stand together, side-by-side, chopping in silence, until Logan says quietly. "She told me about her and Madison."
"What?"
"Mac. She told me about the whole 'switched at birth' thing."
Something flickers in her expression, before she frowns. "Oh, so now you're in share mode?"
Logan struggles not to roll his eyes as he carries his salad-filled chopping board over to the salad bowl. "Oh, just forget it."
"Hang on…" Veronica's tone is sharp. "She told you about Madison? About her real parents?"
"Yep." He pops the 'p', knowing it annoys her.
"So, I take it she also told you why it's bothering her."
"Yep." He does it again.
"And that means you know things about the case."
"Some, but not many," He faces her again. "Only that Charles Sinclair might be a rape suspect."
"Shit, Logan." Her expression is a mixture of anger and disappointment. "I didn't want you knowing the details."
Logan blinks, holding his hands up in surrender. "Hey, I didn't ask for any, okay? I just wanted to know if something was bothering her, and she told me."
He pauses, matching her pissed-off expression as the frustration—and anticipation—builds. He takes a step closer to her.
"I don't understand what the big deal is anyway; why does it matter if I know?" he asks. "Why are you so intent on shutting me out all the time? Maybe I could help."
Her jaw clenches. "I don't shut you out."
"Yeah, fucking right you don't," he retorts. "You did it all the time back at Hearst, and I thought maybe things were different now, but no, it's back to the same old Veronica. Miss Independent, keeping everyone at arm's length."
Veronica turns away for a moment, before snapping back around, bracing her hands on the counter behind her, knuckles going white from her grip on it. "Don't you fucking dare, Logan. You know that's not true; I'm fucking trying and you know it."
"Yeah?" he taunts, advancing on her, feeling a weird, twisting sort of pleasure from fighting with her like this again. "I thought maybe you were, but I guess not."
"Fuck you!" she spits, eyes shooting daggers at him.
He clenches his jaw, breathing heavily as he glares down at her. He can feel the knot of anticipation, of arousal forming in his stomach as his body reacts to her, and he can only give into it. He opens his mouth to counter, but no words come out. Instead, he swoops down and kisses her, eagerly, urgently. It takes a moment for her to respond, but when she does, it's like a switch has been flipped; her hands are everywhere, in his hair, clutching his shoulders, cupping his cheeks, pulling him closer. She jumps up, wrapping her legs around his hips, and he reacts quickly, hoisting her up onto the counter.
He pulls back, just long enough to tug his shirt over his head and to reach for hers as well. She unclasps her bra as he unfastens her jeans. Her hands come up to his chest, pushing him away with some force, and he stumbles back in confusion. For a moment, he thinks she's going to stop him, but then she's hopping off the counter, discarding her bra and pushing her jeans and underwear down, stepping out of them.
"Come on," she demands, reaching for his zipper and sliding it down, then tugging his pants over his hips. "Off."
They only make it halfway down his thighs before he grabs her again, urging her legs around his as he turns around, pushing her up against the wall. He reaches down, fumbles in his pocket for a condom, then doesn't hesitate in pushing into her. She's already wet—this must be turning her on as much as it is him—and she moans in satisfaction, pressing herself against him.
They don't speak as he thrusts into her, slowly but forcefully, making her feel every second of it. Her breaths are coming in short, sharp pants, in time with his movements, and she's clutching at his hair with one hand, twisting and tugging at whatever she can get hold of, as the other slides over his shoulder, her nails digging into his flesh.
God, this feels… fucking amazing. It's like old times—not the crappy, heartbreaking times, but the times when things were good, when the sex was fast and furious and incredible.
Veronica arms wrap tightly around his neck as she uses his shoulders for leverage, moving against him, twisting her hips until a low moan escapes her lips and he feels her inner muscles fluttering around him as she cries out. A wave of heat starts in his stomach and flows downwards, until he feels the tell-tale tightening, the rush of white-hot pleasure. He buries his head in her shoulder as he comes. Her hands cup his neck again, holding him to her as they catch their breath.
"Fuck. Me." she mutters in appreciation.
Logan can't help but chuckle throatily against her clammy skin. "Sorry, just did that."
She responds with short, breathless laugh, her fingers playing with the hair at the base of his neck. He shivers under her touch.
They don't speak again for several long moments, until Veronica says quietly, "I'm sorry. I overreacted."
Logan lifts his head to look at her. "I did too."
She shakes her head. "It's my fault. I'm stressed over this case and I took it out on you."
He supports her with one hand as he reaches up to brush the hair out of her eyes. "And I baited, made things worse. On purpose."
At that, her eyebrows rise, her expression incredulous. "Seriously?"
He shrugs sheepishly. "Yeah. I was trying to get a rise out of you."
She makes a face. "Why?"
"I dunno… maybe 'cause arguing with you turns me on?"
"Oh my God…. seriously?" she repeats. "And here I thought we were doing things the grown-up way this time."
"We are," he says. "It's just, don't you remember what it used to be like? When we'd make each other so mad and we'd be yelling and screaming until we had nothing left. The make-up sex was out of this world."
"Hang on, let me get this straight." She frowns. "You picked a fight with me, on purpose, so you could have 'out of this world' make-up sex?"
He nods guiltily. "That's about the gist of it."
"Geez, you could have just said so." She shakes her head in disbelief. "I would have been more than willing."
"Really?"
"Yes. I remember the make-up sex too, you know." She grins. "It was fucking fantastic."
"That it was."
He returns her grin as he carries her to the bathroom so they can get cleaned up.
Later, when they're eating dinner, as Veronica shoots him wide smiles and heated looks every now and then, he still has the niggling feeling there really was something to their argument. Sure, he was being combative on purpose, but her reaction to him chatting with Mac in the office earlier had still rubbed him the wrong way and his initial reaction hadn't been an exaggeration.
Veronica is in the kitchen making pancakes, and while the act of making pancakes is not unusual in itself, what is unusual is that she's doing it at ten a.m. on a Friday morning. With Logan.
It's been a slow week at the office, waiting for Charles Sinclair's DNA results to come back, and not even the pawn-shop owner feud she's been working on in the meantime has captured her attention. So when Logan informs her he has to do some late-night aircraft testing Thursday night, which means he doesn't have to be on base on Friday, she jumps at the chance to take a day off and spend it with him.
After making the most of not having to get up early, they finally dragged themselves out of bed a few minutes ago and Veronica set about collecting the ingredients for pancakes while Logan quickly fried some bacon. As she finishes mixing the batter, she's all too aware of Logan leaning against the counter, watching her intently.
"Let's do it."
His voice is sudden and unexpected in the peaceful quiet. She looks over to find him smiling at her with that little half-smirk she loves.
"Again?" She can't help returning the smile. "It's been ten minutes. I need some breakfast if you expect another performance like that."
It's true; their morning activities earlier had been… rather energetic, leaving her tired, yet extremely relaxed.
Logan's smirk widens. "Not that. Though, now you mention it, check back in with me on that front in just a minute."
He reaches for a piece of bacon and takes a bite.
"No," he says when he's swallowed. "Let's get a puppy."
What? He can't be serious… right?
She stops mixing, turning to face him, her mouth dropping open as she stares uncomprehendingly at him.
He chuckles. "Huh. Veronica Mars, speechless. I'll have to write this one in my feelings journal."
She can't believe the words 'Let's get a puppy' just came out of his mouth.
"Are you serious? You're… I mean, it's a huge commitment, and…"
Sure, since she moved back to Neptune, she's missed having a dog around the house, especially in those six months Logan was away, but every time she's brought it up, Logan has been hesitant. She can understand why: they both work, they're both busy people, and they're only just finding their feet together. It wouldn't be practical.
"So what?" he counters. "So's everything worth doing."
And the surprises just keep on coming, she thinks. Who is this guy and what has he done with the real Logan Echolls?
"Come on," he says, his tone almost urgent. "You can keep doodling dog faces on every blank pad in this apartment, or we can just take the leap. Why not?"
Why not, indeed? For once, the counter response that would normally be on the tip of her tongue is nowhere to be found. He's looking at her intently, something in his expression, something… important, maybe?... and her mind goes blank.
Why not?
She grins, dropping the whisk in the bowl of pancake batter as she steps towards him, rising up on tiptoes, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her mouth to his.
Logan chuckles against her lips, pulling back slightly so he can ask, "So, I take it that's a yes?"
Veronica grins, rubbing her nose against his playfully. "Yes."
"So…" He returns her grin, eyebrows wiggling suggestively. "Ready for round two?"
She kisses him again, a combination of excitement and an emotion she's hesitant to identify just yet flowing through her. "God, yes."
She reaches for his hand and drags him back into the bedroom, where she proceeds to show him exactly how thankful she is.
Afterwards, they lie together, side-by-side, bedcovers pushed to the floor on one side of the bed. Veronica turns her head toward him.
"Are you really serious about this? About getting a dog?"
"Yes." His expression is serious as he looks back at her.
"But you've never had one before, what if you don't like it? And we're not even officially living together… maybe it's just too big a step?"
"Veronica." He turns onto his side, reaching out to stroke her cheek. "Do you want a puppy?"
"Yes, but—"
"Then stop overthinking. Just go with it."
"But—"
She doesn't get any further because his lips are on hers, his arm sliding around her bare waist, tugging him against his naked body, and she can't bring herself to say no.
It's just after lunch when they arrive at the animal shelter and Logan finds himself studying Veronica much more than the puppies themselves as she makes her way past the enclosures, her expression softening as she stops to coo over the puppies. This is a side of Veronica he hasn't seen for a long time, not really since before Lilly died and she became hardened to the world. He's seen a similar look on her face when he's caught her doodling and dropping hints about getting a puppy over the last few weeks, the latest being two nights ago, when a documentary about dog rescue shelters was showing on the TV.
He hasn't admitted it, but he's been warming to the idea of getting a puppy, of sharing something that's theirs, for a couple weeks now, but it was that look on her face during that documentary on Wednesday night that made up his mind.
He's ambling along the aisle, considering the different dogs, when Veronica stops suddenly and he almost crashes into her.
"This one."
Logan looks down at the puppy she's pointing to. It is adorable: a tiny, black ball of fur. It's looking up at them both intently, head cocked to one side, big brown eyes staring up at them. He kneels down, looking at the puppy seriously, sizing her up. It lifts a paw, pressing it against the chain, as if to say hello. Its short tail starts wagging eagerly, and Logan just about falls in love.
"This is seriously threatening my hardboiled persona," says Veronica then, "because I have never wanted to squee so badly in my life."
He looks up to find her watching both him and the puppy, a soft smile on her face. He grins, then turns to look at the information flyer pinned to the enclosure, heart sinking just a little when he sees what it says.
"It says here she's going to be between 90 and 100 pounds. Where are we going to put her?"
"I lived in a two-bedroom with a territorial pit bull," she says. "I'm pretty sure we can make it work."
She crouches down beside him, slipping her fingers through the wire. Logan observes the puppy as it looks at Veronica consideringly, eyes wide and round, before its tongue darts out to lick one of her fingers. Veronica smiles happily, which makes him grin in return.
She looks at him with pleading eyes, and says softly. "This one."
Logan slides his arm around her waist, squeezing gently. "Okay. This one it is."
They fill out the paperwork and bundle the new puppy into the back of Veronica's SUV. As Veronica drives up the PCH, Logan can't help watching the dog in the rearview mirror. She's so tiny and young, and all this must be so scary and unfamiliar to her. He has no experience with dogs, other than hanging around Backup when he was a teenager; what if they aren't supposed to just sit on the backseat like that? What if he messes this up and feeds it chocolate or something?
Well, at least I know I'm not supposed to give it chocolate.
He tears his gaze away from the mirror, forcing himself not to panic over it, and glances over at Veronica. She looks pensive as she drives, a slight frown marring her face.
"What should we name her?" she asks then. "Athena? Joan of Arc? Christiane Amanpour?"
"Those seem a little… aspirational," he comments. He can't help turning his attention to the puppy again, who is now rolling around on her back, playing with a squeak toy. "I'm thinking something more like Doodlebug."
Veronica's nose scrunches up in distaste. "No way. The other dogs will tease her. How about Havoc? Or Mayhem?"
Logan suppresses a smirk, raising his eyebrow. "Is she a puppy or a supervillain? Sugar Cookie. That's my final offer."
By the time they get home, after stopping by Mars Investigations to show the new addition off, they're still no closer to deciding on a name.
The first few days, Logan struggles to adjust to having the new puppy around. She's eager, always on the move, slipping and sliding across the hardwood floors of Veronica's apartment, and he doesn't really know what to do with her. He knows Veronica has noticed his skittishness around their new pet, but so far, she hasn't said anything about it.
Until now, that is.
"You're not regretting it, are you?" she asks on Monday morning as she places a bowl of puppy food down on the floor, which the small dog scampers towards and starts eating noisily, then pours a cup of coffee for each of them.
"Regretting what?" Logan looks up from the newspaper spread out on the counter in front of him.
"The puppy."
He frowns, not looking up from the paper. How can she think that? Getting her was his idea.
"No, why?"
She shrugs, sliding one of the coffee mugs over to him. "You just don't seem very comfortable around her."
"She's adorable." He turns his attention toward Veronica. "But I've never had a dog before, Veronica. I have no idea what I'm doing with her."
"So, just ask," she says simply, taking a sip of coffee. "We're in this together, right?" He nods. "Anything you're not sure of, let me know."
"Okay." He nods again.
It's stupid, really. Of course he should ask her. Unlike him, she does know what she's doing.
"Hmm." She doesn't look convinced. Her expression turns thoughtful. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you've got some weird military pride thing going on right now, like you don't want to show any weakness."
"No," he denies feebly, trying not to wince.
"Yeah, okay." An amused smile plays on her lips. "So, we still don't have a name yet. We should really get on that."
Logan sighs. "I don't know, Veronica. You veto everything I come up with."
"I can't help it if none of them fit her," she says, glancing down at the dog. "You know, when I was a kid, all I wanted was a pony. Of course, I was never gonna get one, but she's the next best thing, don't you think?"
"Uh, sure." He's not sure how she got from pony to puppy, but okay.
"So, until we come up with a better name, she's gonna be my 'pony'."
Seriously?
"Ok-ay…"
Her eyes narrow and she points a finger at him. "You mock, my friend, but I'll have you know, she's the culmination of a life-long dream."
"Right." He nods, looking down at the puppy—pony?—who has finished eating and is now looking up at him with a longing expression. Longing for what, he has no idea, but if she isn't just fucking adorable… "Well, I have to get going, but you and your pony have a lovely day together."
He bends down to pet the puppy, who eagerly licks his fingers. With a smile, he stands up, leaning over and giving Veronica a quick kiss.
"Bye."
"You're quiet tonight," comments Logan as they sit curled up together on the sofa on Wednesday evening, Pony—as she is now officially called—sprawled across their laps, fast asleep.
Veronica shrugs, running her fingers through the puppy's soft, silky fur, her attention focused on the movie playing on the TV.
"Just thinking."
"About me, I hope," he jokes, though Veronica struggles to smile in response.
Truth is, she is thinking about him; well, more that she's thinking about the argument they had last week. While Logan claims he was picking a fight on purpose, since that evening, she's wondered if there really was some truth in his accusations. Is she shutting him out? Does he really feel that way?
The main reason she's been avoiding talking about her case with him is because it's her work, and she's trying to keep some kind of balance between her work life and her private life with Logan, but if she's completely honest, at least part of it is because she's used to working alone, to being independent, to keeping the various different parts of her life separate.
She thought it had been working, that by keeping the details quiet, she and Logan could live in blissful domesticity, but they're supposed to be getting closer, sharing more—they have a dog together, for God's sake—and perhaps she's wrong, perhaps by not talking to him, she's unintentionally driving a wedge between them.
"This case is kicking my ass," she says suddenly, her voice soft.
"You mean the case you won't talk about?"
"Yeah… but maybe I was wrong about that."
"About what?" He sounds confused.
"Not talking about it." She sits up carefully, trying not to disturb the sleeping puppy, and faces him. "I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping work and home separate, but what you said last week about me shutting you out—"
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I told you, that was just—"
"I know." She tilts her head up towards him. "But can you honestly tell me there wasn't some truth to it?"
He's silent, which she takes as a no.
"So, here's the thing. I'm stuck. I'm out of leads. And maybe another perspective could help."
"You're asking me for help with your case?" He sounds amused.
"Maybe?"
She expects a smug retort, but he just flashes a smile, looking pleased to be asked, and shifts, sliding out from under Pony and sitting so he's facing her, the puppy lying on the sofa between them.
"Okay, hit me."
She nods. "Okay, so you know it's a rape case, and that we were looking at Charles Sinclair."
"Yeah."
"Turns out his DNA sample wasn't a match."
"Wait." Logan frowns. "How did you get his DNA? It wasn't from Mac, was it?"
"Oh… no," she says quickly. "That was our last resort. No, I paid a visit to his office last week, posed as an art student going for a job interview."
"Oh, dear."
"It was going fine until Madison walked in and almost blew my cover." She makes a face at the memory. "Anyway, I managed to get out with a sample." When Logan raises an eyebrow in question, she elaborates. "A sweaty hand towel."
"Right."
"I got it tested, but it wasn't a match," she adds. "So I'm back to square one."
"Okay…" Logan looks thoughtful. "Well, if I'm going to be any help, I'm gonna need some more backstory."
"Right." Of course. "Okay, so back in March, the victim was raped and beaten and found dumped in a field about 12 miles out of town. She'd been at the Grand that evening, in the Eagle's Nest, waiting for her boyfriend. When he cancelled their plans, she headed out down the stairwell and was attacked. She doesn't remember anything else."
"Okay." Logan nods, taking that in. "And the boyfriend was Charles Sinclair."
"No." Veronica shakes her head. "At least I don't think so. His DNA didn't match any of the samples from the victim, and… I don't know, something's just not adding up here. She got real cagey when I asked about her boyfriend. Too cagey."
She sighs, running a hand through her hair. "The first lead I went after—one of the hotel staff members—was a dead end, and when we went through the security footage from the Grand and the list of guests, Charles Sinclair was the only one that fit. So, now I have no idea where to look."
"Hmm, yeah… not sure I can help either," Logan says, regret in his voice. "I was gonna suggest maybe hotel staff, but sounds like you already covered that."
"Yeah, we did. Everyone checks out."
"And no other possible IDs on the boyfriend?"
"No, nothing." Veronica lets out a groan of frustration. "I hate this, not knowing where to turn, and nothing makes any sense."
"You seem pretty invested in this case," Logan observes. "Emotionally, I mean."
She looks down at her hands, the crime scene photos of Grace's mangled, beaten body flashing through her mind.
"Yeah, it's hitting a bit close to home." She glances back up at him. "I sort of know the victim."
"Seriously?" Logan's eyes widen in surprise. "Who is it?"
"I'm not really supposed to say," she says, "but it's Grace Manning."
"Grace Manning?" Logan frowns, trying to place the name. "As in Meg Manning?"
"Yep. Grace is her little sister. She's 19."
"Wow." Logan lets out a low whistle. "Shit, that sucks."
"Yeah. I don't know how she survived the attack and came out okay. It was pretty brutal."
"There's more to this than just her being Meg's sister, isn't there?" Logan asks, ever the intuitive one. "She must have only been, what nine, when we graduated high school?"
"There is." She nods. "Back in senior year, before everything with the baby, Duncan and I were looking into reports of child abuse of one of the kids Meg babysat for. It turned out it wasn't someone else's kid being abused, it was Grace."
"Shit." Logan's expression turns stricken, and for a moment, Veronica wishes she hadn't brought this up.
"Yeah. It wasn't physical… well, I don't think it was. But we found her locked in a closet, being forced to write lines and study for some kind of religious testing." Veronica shudders at the memory. "We tried to help her, but Mr. Manning walked in and called Lamb, and next thing we knew, we were the ones being hauled off into the cop car, while Grace was just left here with her father."
"Fuck."
"My thoughts exactly," she agrees. "Before she died, Meg made me promise that the baby wouldn't be raised by her parents, so when it looked like they would get custody, Duncan and I came up with a plan to get him and the baby out of Neptune. Which we did, as you know. Only problem was, Grace kinda got left behind—I have no idea what happened to her after that, or what she's been through in the last ten years."
Logan doesn't say anything for a moment; he seems to be processing everything.
"Wow…" He murmurs eventually. "That's some fucked-up shit."
"Tell me about it."
"I wish I could help, you know, with the case, but I'm as stumped as you are."
"Yeah, well, it was worth a try." She shrugs. "Now you know what I've been working on."
"Yeah, but seriously, Veronica, you could have told me all this sooner, you know? It's a lot to deal with on your own."
She shrugs. "Guess I'm used to it."
"You know you don't have to, right?" He reaches across Pony and takes her hand. "If you just need to unload, I'm here. I don't have to know all the details, but whatever you need to talk about, just go ahead."
Veronica smiles, a familiar warmth spreading through her chest in response to the way he's looking at her, expression tender and open. What was she thinking, trying to keep him out of all this, trying not to let casework spill over into their time together?
"Okay. Maybe I will."