CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Just throw it away, it's not important anymore. Veronica couldn't decide what he meant with those words. A year of writing letters he never sent had peeled away all his layers of snark and sarcasm until there was nothing left, but raw emotion, much like the look in his eyes during last night's Skype date. The one page letter was a heartfelt plea for forgiveness, a declaration of love, a marriage proposal, and a promise of forever. Veronica read it again:

Dear Veronica,

You know those movies where one small decision changes the entire course of your life? What if I'd turned here or did this or said that would you still be here with me? I've fucked up so many times even if I went back I'm not sure I'd ever be able to find the right words to make you stay. I do know that I don't want to be without you another year, a day, an hour, or a minute longer. I want to marry you Veronica Mars. I'm so sorry that I hurt you and I want to spend the rest of my life making up for the moments that made you leave me.

You are my heart. It kills me that I'll never be able to hold you again and that the only thing I have left of you is a memory. I miss your sass and your random questions. I miss everything about you. Most of all I miss your faith in me and your belief that I could be a better man.

This past year has been hell. I've achieved new lows that would surprise even you. I want to change for you, but I'm not sure how to do that without you here to tell me and call me on my bullshit. You're the only person left who means anything to me at all and without you there doesn't seem to be a point to it. Life. My life anyway, is worthless without you in it. God, Veronica, I love you. But this isn't about me, right? It's about what's good for you and I'm afraid I'll never be the man you deserve.

This is the last letter I'll write to you Veronica. I'll resign myself to the fact that I won't ever know if you're happy. I'll never know if your life is the way you want it. I'll never know if you think about me or us the way I think about you. Please be happy Veronica and know that if you ever change your mind, I'll always be here for you. I won't just love you for the rest of your life; I will love you for the rest of mine.

Logan

Just throw it away, it's not important anymore. What wasn't important anymore? Yes, they were back together and all the reasons for their separation certainly didn't matter, but what of the rest of it? Veronica knew he loved her. It was clear in the way he touched her, the way he held her. There was a tenderness, a certain softness, to Logan that he revealed only when they were alone. It was the Logan that belonged only to her.

Face it Veronica, when you question what isn't important anymore, you want to know if he still wants to marry you.

In her last conversation with Piz over breakfast burritos and recriminations, she told him, I don't want the life you want. He wanted marriage and kids with a house in the suburbs and a family dog. But did she really not want that life at all, or did she not want that life with Piz. There was a big difference between the two.

If she was truthful, she'd been thinking about marriage ever since Dottie first called her Logan's fiancé. It was the constant nagging thought in the back of her brain; did she want to marry Logan? The weeks they spent together before he shipped out weren't about her falling in love with him again, they were recognizing that she was still in love with him, had always been in love with him. If their countless fights, numerous breakups, and nine year separation weren't enough to change her feelings, nothing was ever going to change them. I will love you for the rest of mine. Ditto, Logan, ditto.

Did she want to marry Logan Echolls? Yes. You know the answer is, yes. There was no chalking the answer up to pregnancy hormones or how much she missed him. It was what she wanted. Well if you plan on living that mostly-happily-ever-after in a house by the beach instead of from behind bars maybe you should get out of bed, Veronica.

It was still dark when she left the house. The stars were just beginning to fade as the sky turned from midnight to sapphire. By the time she ordered a "California Sunrise," a fresh crepe stuffed with egg, bacon, cheddar, and avocado, it was actually sunrise.

Veronica ate her breakfast in front of Manny's Flower Hut while waiting for them to open. Without the Kane billions there were going to be no orchids, monkey faced, or otherwise. She ordered a large non-exotic bouquet of multicolored tulips and purple irises, no card. Once outside, she double-checked the flowers to ensure there were no clues to the location of the florist. She laid them on the backseat and drove to the office.

The closet was reorganized, but she eventually found what she wanted, a pink uniform shirt and matching pink ball cap with the name "Zuzu's Petals" in script across the front. Veronica pinned up her hair and tugged on her black wig before donning the uniform. She used the basic word processing software to create delivery receipts with the florist name at the top and a background picture of rose petals. Using her left hand she signed for the first two floral deliveries, Mary Hatch and Sam Wainwright, and then tacked the receipts on her clipboard. Back in Logan's car, she checked the rearview mirror, made a few minor adjustments to the wig and added a pair of slim-framed, black camera glasses.

If she was going to follow the man around Neptune, she needed to get a look at him first. She parked at an oblique angle to the hotel with a good view of the front entrance and then circled around the block on foot to approach from a different direction. This time there was no pausing in the lobby. Veronica went directly to the elevator and headed for the twelfth floor. Room 1210 was a corner suite. She knocked on the door and waited. When there was no response, she knocked a little louder. A muffled, "coming," was barely audible. The door swung open, "what?"

Channeling Cher from Clueless, Veronica launched into her best 'Valleyspeak." "Like, I've got a delivery for, like, Lev, um," she glanced at the clipboard, "Sorokin." She intentionally mangled his last name. Receding hair line, sunken eyes, and prison pallor, he reminded her of the actor who played porn director, Dino Velvet in the Nic Cage film, 8MM.

Lev made no move to take the bouquet. Veronica thrust the flowers at him and he grabbed them before they hit his chest. With her hand free, she readjusted her glasses and hit the button on the side of the frames. "You like, need to like sign for them, duh." She held out the clipboard.

While he was scrawling his name, Veronica hit the button on the frames again. He shoved the clipboard at her. She held out her hand, palm up, and waited for her tip. Lev Sorokin slammed the door in her face. Kills people and he's rude.

When she returned to the car she found her father sitting in the passenger seat. "That's the trouble with convertibles; they don't keep out the riff raff." She slid in behind the wheel, "how did you find me?"

"How did you find me, she asks the best private investigator in Neptune."

"Best?" She waggled her hand, "eh, maybe second best."

"I taught you everything you know."

Veronica grinned, "and the student has now become the master."

Keith patted the dashboard, "she's a really fine automobile, but she's a real easy to spot." He dropped the cheesy Italian accent. "I saw you pull up, but I didn't want to interrupt the subterfuge, figured you could use the practice, since your skills are a little rusty."

"As if. But seriously folks, what are you doing here?"

"See? Rusty. This is what you call a stakeout." Veronica tilted her head and waited for him to continue. "Lev Sorokin, room 1210. I've been tailing him since yesterday afternoon."

She frowned at him, "you are supposed to be home resting."

"Put my feet up, have a beer and watch the game while my daughter stands accused of murder?"

"Exactly."

He considered it, "well, maybe if the Padres had made the playoffs."

Veronica shook her head, "flower delivery?"

"Pizza and he was both, rude and a bad tipper."

"You got a tip? Now I'm offended." She handed him the glasses, tossed the wig and the hat in the backset and pulled the pins from her hair. "Has he been anyplace interesting?"

"Around ten last night he drove to this house in the sticks. Whoever he was meeting was already there and inside. I was too far away to get a clear shot of the car and license plate."

"What about the house?"

"Mac ran the address, but it's a vacant foreclosure."

It was possible his late night rendezvous was with Nico Benedetti, but Veronica didn't think so. Nico was the type to conduct his meetings on home turf where he could play master of his domain. "Have you been here all night?"

"Lev got back to the hotel around midnight and I packed it in an hour later."

"So it's possible he paid a late night visit to someone else?"

Now it was Keith's turn to frown, "give me a little credit Veronica. I put a tracker on his rental car. He hasn't moved from the hotel since I tucked him in."

Her phone chimed alerting her to an incoming text. It was a number she didn't recognize, but the message read: California Love Truck at one. Still three hours away. "Looks like I have a lunch date. Do you want to go home for a while and come back around twelve thirty?"

"I think I'll stretch out right here and keep you company."

Veronica suspected his reluctance to leave was her proximity to Lev Sorokin, but she didn't call him on it. "Just keep your snoring to a minimum."

"I make no promises." He reclined the seat, made himself comfortable and closed his eyes. Veronica figured it was only a matter of minutes before he fell asleep. Instead he surprised her with, "so tell me about Logan saving your life…more than once."

Of course he wouldn't let that detail escape his attention. He couldn't focus on the 'I love him and he makes me happy' part, no, he had to focus on the saving me from death part of the conversation. "Aren't you a little old for bedtime stories?"

"You have what? Seven, eight years of bedtime stories in your future? Might as well start now."

A picture of Logan snuggled in bed with a towheaded toddler reading her Dr. Seuss made Veronica smile. Of their own volition, her eyes traveled to the roof of the Neptune Grand and her smile withered. If Logan hadn't come to her rescue that night on the roof… "Let's concentrate on one life threatening situation at a time, shall we?"

"You're the one that brought it up."

"Yesterday. Sorry you missed the Q&A portion of my speech, but the floor is now closed." Veronica softened her refusal, "at least for now, okay?"

Keith nodded and closed his eyes again. Logan was right; stakeouts in the movies were sexier than this. In a movie there would have been at least one gunfight and car chase by now possibly even a gunfight during the high speed chase. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Time was moving so slowly she could practically hear each second tick by, plus she was hungry and she needed a bathroom break. Someone needed to add "stakeout Russian mobster" to the list of things not to do when pregnant.

Lev Sorokin remained ensconced in his suite for every tedious and boring second of the three hours. Probably eating cold pizza and tiptoeing through the tulips. Veronica woke up Keith who returned to his car with a promise to let her know when he was on the move. On her way to the beach, she stopped at the first gas station with a bathroom. One problem solved, now only a million more to go.

Norris was already waiting on the park bench. Veronica decided to try the Love burger with guacamole and cheddar on a toasted bun, plus the carnita fries. Once she had her food, she settled on the bench next to him, "the eagle flies at midnight."

"Cute."

"You suck at this spy stuff. The answer is, but only if it's Thursday. Should I go back and we can try again?"

Norris shook his head, "do you take anything seriously?"

"Lunch, I take lunch very seriously." She adopted a stern expression as she bit into her burger. Norris sighed and slid a manila clasp envelope across the bench to her. "That was pretty good, very covert. Next time you might try hiding it inside a newspaper first."

"I hope the inmates appreciate your sense of humor."

"I'm sure I'll have my fans."

"Yeah, you'll probably be real popular."

"Oh good, it'll be just like high school." She finished her burger and started on the fries. "Uh, Norris? Thanks for helping me with this."

"You're welcome." They fell silent while she finished her fries and he ate his taco. When he was done eating, he tossed his garbage and said, "the ballistics test was inconclusive. It could be the murder weapon, but they can't say with any certainty. Worn barrel, misshapen bullets."

Veronica imagined their deformity was due to the impact with the stainless steel refrigerator. It didn't matter to her. Inconclusive, or not, she knew the gun found at Dick's was the murder weapon. Why bother to plant a gun if it wasn't the one used to shoot Piz? She supposed it might help at trial in the 'reasonable doubt' department, but she was hoping things never got that far. "Any luck tracing the gun?"

"Not yet. A routine trace can take five days. If the shop that sold the gun is out of business, it could take weeks, or longer."

"You know if this was CSI: Neptune they'd already know exactly where and when it was sold and who purchased it."

"Yeah, but it wouldn't be necessary 'cause you would have offered a tearful confession once Lamb confronted you with the evidence."

"In this scenario is Lamb Gary Sinise or David Caruso?"

"Why insult either of them?" She smiled. "I have to be getting back, take care of yourself, Veronica."

Once he was gone, she opened the envelope and slid out the single sheet of paper. A photocopy of the letter Piz included in her boxes.

Dear Veronica,

You asked me if I was from Brigadoon, but it's more like you are. Well I'm coming to Neptune before both it and you disappear for a hundred years. In case you were wondering that makes me Tommy and you Fiona. I have a new job as an investigative journalist for a radio station out there so the next few weeks will be all work and no play. I'm shipping your stuff like your dad asked, but mine won't be too far behind it. When you get this letter Veronica please come see me so we can talk. You'll know how to find me; it won't be as hard as cramming for exams. Besides, I know how much you love the chase.

Love, Piz.

Nice. Veronica smiled. Well done, Piz. It would take Lamb a hundred years to conclude the letter meant anything more than it said. She used her phone to search for the nearest place to obtain passport photos. A place called Fast Foto was the closest. She had them take two sets of photos and then went shopping for the additional supplies she would need.

A few years back, California changed the look of their driver's license in an effort to make counterfeiting harder they added additional security measures. A company back east now manufactured them with a raised birth date, hidden images revealed by ultraviolet light, and a perforated outline of the California brown bear- visible when a flashlight was pressed to the back of the card. Veronica didn't have the time to perfect such an intricate fake, but she doubted a hotel clerk was going to run all those security checks just to turn over a left behind suitcase.

It took her several stops to collect everything she needed and, even with all the fancy new gadgets at the office, several hours before she was satisfied with the results. She put the new license in her wallet and folded the death certificate into a business envelope.

It was way past dinner and way past time to relieve Dad. She stopped for meatball subs and plenty of snacks on her way back to the Neptune Grand. There was a spot a few cars beyond his. She put up the top and locked the car before joining Keith. "Dinner."

"Do you know how hard it is to get a pizza delivered to your car?"

"From the lack of sauce on your shirt, I'm guessing impossible?"

He peered into the paper sack, "I only see one hero, where's yours?"

"That's just for you and you're taking it to go. You need to go home and get some rest."

"Oh, am I pregnant too?"

She bit back the quip about it being possible considering his appetite since he wasn't trying to be funny and was genuinely concerned. "I promise. If mister night owl doesn't go anywhere by midnight, I will go directly home and to bed."

"I know you too well to believe that, but I'll pretend ignorance and let you have your way." Keith unplugged the tablet from the cigarette lighter and handed both it and the charger to Veronica. A blinking red light indicated Lev's car was still parked in the hotel garage. "Its boundaries are set for just the hotel; it will give you an alert as soon as the car leaves."

The boundary settings on the new GPS trackers came in handy for following family and friends. If you knew where they were supposed to be, like their usual route from home to work, you could set those as a safe parameter, and then you would only be alerted if they crossed out of that area. It was like a virtual playpen. Briefly, Veronica wondered if she could sew tracking devices into all the baby clothes she just bought. The words overprotective mom flashed in her head like a bright neon sign.

Back in Logan's car she got comfortable, but not too comfortable. This falling asleep at inconvenient times needed to stop. She made a mental note to ask the doctor if it was normal for her to be so tired all the time. She was trying to take Dottie's advice and stay away from Google. Her last search about weight gain and what size her stomach should be left her feeling alternately too fat and too small.

As Keith predicted, midnight came and went and Veronica told herself, one more hour. At a quarter to two, she was ready to give up when the alert sounded and the red dot started to move. At this hour there wasn't enough traffic for her to blend, but the tracker had a long range. She let Lev have a four block head start before she followed. The red dot moved at a nice steady pace and when it turned on Camino, Veronica knew where he was heading.

Nico's jazz lounge closed at two. The lights were off, but there were a few people lingering in the front of the bar. Most noticeably this one guy, who was more than a little drunk, and still trying to get lucky with this girl he must have met inside. Her friend was rolling her eyes and trying to pull her away, but she seemed reluctant to leave. Veronica thought there was a good chance a walk of shame featured prominently in her future plans.

Lev's car circled around back and Veronica stayed put. She called the bug in Nico's office while watching the desperate end of night scene unfold on the sidewalk. The friend finally quit tugging on the girl's arm and made the universal call me signal with her thumb and pinkie. Drunk guy and lonely girl half-walked, half-stumbled down the street to his car. Veronica sighed. "I'm sorry kid, but your father is never going to allow you to date."

Through her phone, she heard the door to Nico's office open.

"Nico."

"Lev." The curt greetings spoke volumes about their relationship. Definitely not an employee, employer situation and there was no love lost between the two.

"Our mutual friend sends his regards."

"Regards won't pay the bills." There was no response from Lev. "Did you take care of our problem?"

"I sheared your sheep." Now that was how code speak was done, she'd have to make a note of it for Norris. "He won't be taking matters, or anything else, into his own hands again for a long time." The possibilities were endless. Killing Sacks, shooting Piz, framing Veronica, being an all-around idiot.

"He's a necessary evil."

"He's a putz. Too bad Van Lowe wouldn't play ball." Hmm, that could explain his short tenure as sheriff. Good for you, Vinnie.

Silence. "Are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow. Unless there's something else you need me to take care of?" The, because you're incapable of doing anything on your own, was implied. Ouch.

"Have a nice flight." Veronica silently tacked on the unspoken expletive apparent in Nico's comment. Tomorrow was suddenly looking bright, Lev Sorokin would be gone and she would be stopping at the station for a glimpse of Sheriff Lamb. It might be her own personal TwitPic of the day.