A/N - I came here to post chapter 36, but realized I never posted chapter 35 last year, so here's two. My sincerest apologies for forgetting. I don't know if anyone still reads on this site, but if so, thank you for the years of support.

Logan

Day 13
The Cinzote Institute for Combat and Survival
Miami, Florida

The Cinzote Institute for Combat and Survival is a state of the art training facility built on the former site of a 1970s summer camp.

Inside the Welcome Center, a greenhouse-style front facade throws wide swaths of sunlight across the lobby's glossy teak floor like distorted picture frames for the dancing shadows of leaves and branches.

Logan lounges on an ivory leather club chair, flipping through a full-color brochure, and just about ready to cut his losses and leave.

It's almost funny. They'd spent twenty minutes this morning trying to convince Duncan to join them. Because…c'mon, murdering your enemy and falling into a fugue state is a less-than-ideal method of survival. But no matter how they pushed, his stubborn ass refused to come, citing his job as an excuse. It was only after he'd reminded them that somebody would need to stay home and take care of the puppy that Logan relented. Turns out, Duncan was the smart one after all. This is pointless.

On the bright side, it's barely 8:00 AM so, wasted trip or not, at least the day won't end up being a complete wash.

To his right, Veronica's gaze is focused on the area in front of the reception desk where her new BFF stands, arms crossed and chin lifted defiantly while she badgers the guy in charge. Again, it's pointless, but Logan appreciates knowing that Zadie's inability to take no for an answer isn't limited to interactions within their little family group.

He doesn't know what went on between the girls last night after he left with Duncan for their mandatory "bonding session", but suddenly, the two adversaries are acting like longtime friends. Veronica seems fully on-board to becoming Zadie's project, and he's not sure how to feel about that.

Sure, Dodger has knowledge and skills and that could help keep them alive and avoid capture — he'd even suggested as much to Veronica the other day — but can she really be trusted? Did she force her way into their lives simply for the purpose of securing a home base on the island while she runs her con on the Quartermaine twins? Or are they different marks in a different con? A con within a con? A Matryoshka doll of cons?

Does she honestly care whether FitzPsycho finds them? Or is this all a ruse to get them off the yacht? And what did she do or say last night to earn the trust of Veronica 'assume the worst, unless proven otherwise' Mars? Maybe that simple fact should be enough for him.

Either way, Logan wasn't taking any chances. This morning, while the girls bent their heads together making plans, he and Duncan surreptitiously collected all the cash and valuables from various hiding places around the yacht, and, under the pretense of walking the puppy, divided it up between three keyed marina lockers.

Zadie's whine carries across the room. "Come on, Vic! They're like newborn kittens. Do you really want their deaths or dismemberments on your conscience?"

Kittens? Logan's mouth falls open, but a sharp look from Veronica prevents him from interjecting.

"I'll show you kittens," he mutters under his breath.

Veronica pats his thigh in her oh-so-patronizing way. "Settle down, tiger."

Victor Cinzote could not be further from the aggressive, chest-thumping, loudmouth Logan's imagination had conjured up when Zadie described him as an ex-Navy SEAL, five-years retired, who trains combat techniques to other SEALS, law enforcement agencies, and wealthy civilians.

Instead, there's a quiet intensity to his manner that gives the impression of a deep thinker. A strategist.

He looks to be in his early-forties, with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair and deeply tanned skin that contrasts against his piercing blue eyes. He wears a standard gym wardrobe of long sleeved, charcoal gray tee and black training pants, yet somehow manages to make athleisure look crisp and tailored.

He regards Zadie now with a military-like posture. "I think your uncle used those exact same words to describe you, not so long ago."

"Absolutely not!" She stumbles back two steps and mimes being stabbed in the heart. "I was born lethal."

"Right." His eyes crinkle at the corners and he pauses to smile at his wife as she returns with their coffee.

Teresita Cinzote exudes warmth and acceptance. Somewhere in her mid-thirties, she looks a bit like Angie Harmon with her strong features, dark hair and eyes.

"You both said cream and sugar, right?" she confirms, handing Logan and Veronica each a mug.

"Yes. Thank you," they both respond.

She smiles. "My pleasure."

Victor's stiff bearing relaxes a bit as his wife returns to his side, one arm moving to drape around her waist. "Listen, I feel for the kids, honestly, but I'm booked solid through January."

"January? They'll be dead by then! Can't you work something out? After-hours training? Weekends? I'll owe you a favor."

"Can't be done. The program has evolved since you came through. It's more intensive. If my clients have anything left at the end of the day, I'm not doing it right."

"The program is grueling, Zadie." Victor's assistant, Chris — silent up until now — leans against the wall, tall and angular, with spiky black hair. "Even if we wanted to break it up, the loss of momentum would only make it harder."

"But what if…" She trails off, giving her mind a chance to catch up to her mouth.

Victor turns an apologetic glance to Logan and Veronica, as if to appeal to the sane people in the room, and Logan pinpoints the exact moment he discerns their identities. A furrowed brow. Slight tilt of the head. "Wait. You're those kids from the news. From California." It's not a question. "Veronica Mars and…" a momentary pause and a squint. "Logan Echolls."

Veronica smiles sweetly, the frantic gleam in her eye barely noticeable as she mentally concocts a cover story. "I don't know what—"

He stops her with a raised hand. "I don't need an explanation. I saw the news footage. I know what you're up against." He leans back, resting on the edge of the reception desk, his gaze troubled and turned inward.

Logan opens his mouth, fumbling for something to say, but Zadie's warning look stops him. He flicks a glance at Chris, and is answered with a tiny head shake.

Well then. Apparently, they want him to keep his mouth shut and let the man think.

This is good, though. Victor doesn't seem inclined to turn them in. Neither does his wife, who's looking at Veronica as if she wants to wrap her up in a blanket and make her cocoa. With marshmallows.

After what feels like an hour, Victor blows out a breath and moves closer, as if to include him and Veronica in the conversation. "Don't mistake my reticence for apathy. I run a free survival course several times a year to help at-risk kids. Street kids, like Zadie and Chris." He gestures to them, respectively. "But you two are something different altogether."

"In what way?" Veronica asks.

"You're soft and you don't have the ingrained killer instincts of somebody for whom fighting for survival is a regular way of life. What you need is the full program." He nods at Logan. "It's targeted toward guys like you. Rich, thrill-seekers without a lot of life experience."

A week ago, Logan would've copped an attitude over that assessment of his character, but he can't begrudge the man for believing what he sees on TV. Aaron's violence isn't exactly public knowledge. He stands up, running both hands down the front of his shorts to smooth out the creases. "With all due respect, sir, I think you'd be surprised by my grit and determination."

"Mine too." Standing, Veronica moves to his side.

Victor shakes his head, distractedly. "I don't want to turn you away, but I'm at a loss as to how to help you. Even if there were open slots in next week's session, or a last minute cancellation, you're too likely to be recognized by the other students."

Chris shoves off the wall. "Can I make a suggestion?"

"Please do."

"Counting today, we have three full days until our next group arrives. It's not enough time for our regular program schedule, but I think we could turn this into a win/win situation for all of us."

Interest flickers in Victor's gaze. "I'm listening."

"We can split them up and work with them one-on-one. Veronica can help you trial-run the woman's program you've been developing for the past year or so and I'll handle Logan's training. That will give me experience leading sessions and a chance to demonstrate I can be trusted with more responsibility around here."

Logan glances down at Veronica, silently asking if she's okay with this plan. With being separated from him. Her hand finds his and squeezes.

Victor studies their faces. "If we do this, it would require condensing a five-day program into three twelve-hour days. Before I agree, I'll need you to commit to that schedule. It'll be exhausting, and if you think there's even a chance you might give up, tell me now. Don't waste my time."

"I'll do it," Logan says. "I swear, I won't quit."

Victor nods, turns to Veronica. "And you?"

"I'm in." She seems less certain than Logan, but he's never known her to give up on anything.

Even jackasses like me.

"I'm sure Zadie filled you in on my philosophy, but let me explain it to you myself, just so there's no confusion. What we train here is not self-defense. It's not martial arts. People come here for quick fixes. I strictly train offensive moves. The kind of moves that disable your opponent every single time, and leave them on the ground gasping for breath while you make your escape. If you have any moral objections to this, tell me now."

Morals? What morals?

Neither Logan, nor Veronica object.

"I don't train bullies." His eyes lock onto Logan. "I didn't create this program so you can beat up the guy who stole your parking spot or looked at your girl the wrong way. I'll need your pledge that you'll only use these techniques to escape danger or neutralize it. If I see any red flags, you're out of here. I've sent home more than one millionaire and dozens of cops, and I won't hesitate to do the same with you."

"Yes, sir," Logan says, and instinct tells him that Aaron would not pass this guy's red flag test.

"You." Victor points to Zadie. "Since this is so important to you, you can stick around and help me with the first few lessons for Veronica. "

"Aye aye, captain." She salutes.

Victor crosses his arms, spends a moment in thought. "Logan will sleep in Cabin One. Veronica in Cabin Five."

At Veronica's worried expression, he continues. "I don't know what your relationship status is, but there will be no sex for the next three days."

"I'm not worried about sex," Logan begins, cautiously, "But I am worried about Veronica. She has nightmares when she sleeps alone."

"It's the rules of the program. I separate all couples – married, single, straight or gay. While you're here, all your focus should be on your training, not relationship drama. But if it makes you feel better…" He addresses Veronica. "…you'll most likely be too exhausted for bad dreams."

It doesn't make Logan feel better. "She has to sleep all alone in a creepy summer camp cabin?"

His eyes crinkle. "If you're picturing Friday the Thirteenth, don't. All cabins have been remodeled and modernized, and Jason Vorhees is banned from the premises."

"It's fine," Veronica says, but she doesn't look fine.

"I'll stay with her," Zadie aims a questioning glance at Victor, "At least for tonight. If that's okay?"

"It's fine." Victor nods his approval. "You'll be provided three meals a day. No special requests. If you're lucky, you'll get to eat together, but no promises." He glances at his watch and turns to Chris. "It's 8:40 now. How about you and Zadie give them a fifteen minute tour of the grounds and we can meet up in the Training Center at 9:00 AM."

"Sounds good."

Turning back to Veronica, Victor adds, "Your cabin has a half-bath, but unfortunately, the women's locker room in the Training Center is out of order due to flood damage, so you and Logan will have to take turns showering in the men's locker room."

"That's fine." Veronica looks as if she might be sick.

・・・・・・ ・・・・・・ ・・・・・・

The Training Center couldn't have been part of the original summer camp. The building is too new, too state of the art. Designed specifically for the purpose it serves.

Victor and Chris converse quietly at the front of the small classroom, presumably hammering out the details of their training plan.

Eight two-seater study tables fill the room, and for the first time in recent-memory, Logan sits in the front row.

They're lucky enough that Victor found a way to fit them in, the last thing Logan wants is to alienate the guy by inattentiveness. He's going to be the best damn student this guy has ever had.

Teresita enters the room, arms laden with office supplies. Approaching Logan with a smile, she sets two three-ring binders on the table before him and two more in front of the empty chair on his right. From a large messenger bag, she retrieves two steno pads, a box of pens, and two yellow highlighters, placing those on the table as well. "In case you want to take notes."

"Thank you."

"Sure thing."

"Terrie." Vic waves her over and with another smile she departs to join the others.

One binder, labeled "Survival School", is navy blue, the other, black, and thicker than the first, is titled, "The Cinzote Method". Logan flips through the latter, studying diagrams and reading captions, while he waits for Veronica.

She arrives a minute later wearing yoga pants and a tee shirt. Her brunette wig is gone and her short hair has been secured into pigtails at the nape of her neck.

"Look at you, teacher's pet." She drops into the chair on his right with a smirk. "Did you remember to bring him a shiny apple?"

"Jealous?" He lifts a brow. "I know that's your usual schtick, but…"

Before she can answer, Victor clears his throat. Teresita exits with a wave as he moves to the front of the classroom.

"Let's get started." He points a small remote control and a large video screen turns on, displaying the institute's logo.

Victor nods at the binders in front of Veronica. "You've probably noticed that we passed out the course materials for both programs. I talked things over with Teresita while you toured the camp, and while I still believe the full program is the better fit for the two of you based on your backgrounds, we agreed that your needs would best be met with a hybrid of the two programs. Out there…" He gestures through the open doorway, presumably toward the sparring rooms, and holds up the Cinzote Method binder. "…we'll split up for individual training and follow the guide as written. But in here, we'll do the classroom portions together, substituting certain Survival School lessons in situations where the full program's curriculum would be a waste of your time and mine."

Veronica tilts her head in a way that asks a question without speaking a word.

Victor's lips twitch as if holding back a laugh. "We haven't yet figured out where those substitutions will take place, but Terrie volunteered to evaluate the curriculum while we train and hopes to have recommendations in time for our next classroom session. Both binders are complete though, so you're welcome to study any skipped lessons on your own time. Any questions before we get started?"

Their silence is their answer.

"I'll start by explaining what the Cinzote Method is not. As mentioned earlier, we are not a form of martial arts." A slide loads on the screen. Rows of students in a dojo, wearing gis. "Don't get me wrong, I highly encourage my students to train in the martial arts long-term, but they take years to master and include mental and spiritual components."

The screen flips to a photo of the training center. "Our entire program is forty hours. Size does not matter. Athleticism does not matter. And there are no defensive moves." Victor pauses, a slight curl to his lips.

"I know what you're thinking. A self-defense course without defensive moves? What kind of scam is this?"

"The thought crossed my mind," Veronica admits.

"All will make sense soon. For now, understand that the 'stop and catch-up' movements of a defender will always take more time than offensive action. With my method, as you're deflecting the arms and legs of an attacker, you'll be delivering counter-strikes, aimed at specific locations on the body."

"The Cinzote Method is based on human anatomy. It's a study of the effect of force upon the vulnerable nerves, bones and organs of the body. Not only the damage that occurs, but precisely how the body reacts upon being struck." Onscreen, multiple sets of sparring partners demonstrate the same moves. Man vs. man, woman vs. man, woman vs. woman. "Every human body reacts to punishment the exact same way."

Logan jots this down on his notepad, like the model student he's pretending to be.

Victor notices the skepticism on Veronica's face. "Let's say for example, that you poke Logan in his right eye."

Let's not.

"A Cinzote fighter can predict the involuntary reactionary movements of Logan's head and torso, as well as where he would move each hand and one of his legs. Let me make one thing clear. These predictions aren't lucky guesses. These are reactions your opponent will be incapable of suppressing. Striking a nerve located right about here…" Victor's remote becomes a laser pointer, which he points at a practice dummy in the corner. "Will always result in the body recoiling in the exact same way."

He pauses, while Chris pulls up the supporting material on the laptop. On screen, the display changes to a dozen clips of real life boxing and mixed martial arts matches. Upon first viewing, they're mere flurries of motion. The reel then repeats in super-slow motion. Each example shows a strike landing in the same location – red circles demonstrate the point of impact – and each defender recoils in the exact same way.

"By having an awareness of these reactions, a fighter can anticipate which targets will next be exposed to attack." The reel repeats again, still slow-motion, while Victor points to undefended areas of the body with his laser. "A Cinzote fighter will have insight over every inch of the body, and can work his opponent like a puppet."

Logan purses his lips in a silent whistle and raises his hand. At Victor's nod, he asks, "You're saying that every body responds in the same way when you hit them in certain locations? What about people with dulled pain receptors? The PCP-users from the old anti-drug videos who could take six bullets and keep going, for example. Or, for a modern twist, how about a meth-head lunatic bent on revenge?"

Veronica kicks him under the table and rolls her eyes.

"That's a good question," Victor says. "With a few notable exceptions, the answer would be the same. These reactions are involuntary. They simply cannot be controlled or prevented."

"Good to know."

"Now, let me tell you a little about what we'll be doing this week." Victor says. "This is a forty-hour program, and as such, we will be spending twelve to fourteen-hour days together. Three meals will be provided, but, in order to make up time, we'll need to combine mealtime with seminars. During class time, we'll be studying anatomy charts, which pinpoint the nerves on the front and back of an adult male body. You'll find copies in your handbook. These same striking points are marked on the practice dummies in the grappling rooms.

"The bulk of Cinzote Method training consists of twenty-five combat lessons." The screen shows clips of trainees sparring. "Each of these lessons will consist of four or five consecutive moves or throws."

Victor allows the footage to continue running, presumably showing each of the twenty-five lessons. When the video fades out, he continues. "Your training will be much slower than what you just saw. You're not here to memorize a sequence of moves. My training style is total immersion. You'll learn to fluently and ceaselessly attack body targets. Those same vulnerable nerves, bones and organs we'll be studying in this room. Expect to get a little banged-up. If you don't, you're not doing it right."

Veronica shoots Logan a warning look.

"What?" he mouths, brows lifted, then turns at the sound of a light tapping on the door.

It opens and Teresita pokes her head in. "Breakfast is here."

Victor glances at a clock high on the wall, sighs. "Sure, send it in."

"He said to expect to get banged up." Veronica answers in a whisper, "That means no hovering. No babying me. No overprotective caveman BS"

"I would rather see you covered in bruises, if it meant that you could escape an attacker, than for you to half-ass your training, and end up being taken away from me"

"I think you mean that." Her gaze goes soft as Teresita wheels in a cloth-covered cart, parks it against the front wall, and leaves.

"As much as I've ever meant anything."

"Have you ever known me to half-ass?"

"Fair enough."

"Come on up and grab some breakfast," Victor says. "It's nothing fancy, but it's the best we could do at such short notice."

Logan stands aside, allowing Veronica to go first. "Be sure to save some for me."

Ann Marler

Day 13
Echolls Estate
Neptune, California

Lynn Echolls' home office is exquisitely decorated, French-style and feminine, with floral accents and pastel backdrops for her white furniture.

Ann tugs a brown leather portfolio from her tote as she takes a seat. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me on such short notice, Mrs. Echolls."

"Call me Lynn." Impeccably dressed in a pale blue suit, she sits poised and collected behind her antique, spindle-legged writing desk. "I've been impressed with your professionalism and sensitivity during these trying times. The kids likely agree, seeing as they gave you that exclusive with their video footage."

"Thank you." Professionalism is the last word Ann would use to describe her recent choices, but in her line of work, that's not always a bad thing. "I was happy to share their side of the story, and I hope they'll contact me again."

A maid enters the room, carrying a tea service on a silver tray. She places it on the console table next to the door, and pours two cups.

Ann confirms that she takes sugar and cream, and the maid places a bone china cup and saucer on the desk before her. The cup's handle is gilded, and…

Is that… She squints. Oh, dear God, that IS a scattering of Chanel logos!

"Thank you."

"That'll be all, Carlita." Lynn smiles benevolently at her employee. She sips her tea, and peers at Ann over the cup. "So how can I help you today, Ms. Marler?"

"Well, as you know, K-NOW maintains an alert-line for reporting sightings of the Neptune Three. Our viewers also email us their photos – sometimes hundreds a day – and, for the most part, false alarms."

"Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery." Lynn smiles. "I see young girls everywhere trying to emulate Veronica's style. Even my stepdaughter, Trina, for that matter."

"So, you can imagine how many cases of mistaken identity we receive." Ann unzips her portfolio, extracts a dozen or so eight-by-ten prints, and hands them to Lynn. "I believe these are the exception."

She'd carefully arranged the stack earlier, planting the clearest shot of Logan third from the top. Lynn's initial reaction to this photo is one of immediate recognition, love, and relief. She quickly rearranges her features back to polite interest, but it's too late.

"Where were these taken?" Lynn asks without glancing up. She cycles through the photos, one-by-one.

"A small town in Alabama, called Bluebell," Ann says, "Do you recognize Logan in any of those photos?"

"No…' Lynn begins, then repeats herself more confidently. "No, that person bears a passing resemblance to Logan, but he's too…" She seems to fumble for a lie. "…skinny?"

It's fine. She no longer needs Lynn's identification, because there is no doubt in Ann's mind that it's Logan in those photos.

She'd heard insinuations that Logan's relationship with his parents wasn't exactly loving, but while there are no signs of Aaron or Trina Echolls here in Lynn's inner sanctum, silver-framed photos of Logan have been given place of honor on the desktop and the built-in shelves to Ann's right. Logan as an infant, a toddler, a pre-teen, as well as recent photos. In each one, from birth to near-adulthood, a flesh-colored blemish dots his forehead. Just like in the Bluebell photos.

"Oh my." Lynn plucks a brass magnifying glass from a pen cup, and squints as she holds it over a photo of a bar brawl.

"Did you see Logan?"

"No." Her lips turn down, apologetic. She taps a blurry face with a lacquered pink fingernail. "I thought I recognized a very old friend in the background. I must've been mistaken."

Lynn cycles through the entire stack three times. Four. While she keeps her expression neutral, it must be killing her pretending not to recognize her child.

Each time through, she lingers on one photo, her brow furrowing. It's one of Logan and Veronica dancing. Staring into each other's eyes.

Why is she so drawn to that photo? Is she trying to discern Veronica's features under all that makeup? Or is it the naked emotion in Logan's gaze that so captures her attention?

With a sigh, Lynn hands the photos back. "I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help, Ann."

Veronica

Day 13
Cinzote Institute
Miami, Florida

"Can I ask you a question?" Veronica asks, as she follows Victor to one of the grappling rooms.

"Of course."

"Zadie mentioned that she trained as part of a mixed-gender class. What prompted you to want to create a women-only program?"

"There wasn't a specific incident, if that's what you're asking," He aims a knowing glance over his shoulder. "Women are simply better learners, and I found that mixed gender classes were holding them back."

"Really? I would've guessed the opposite. With men being stronger and more experienced fighters."

"That only means they have more to unlearn," Victor stops at the third door, unlocks it and motions for her to enter. "Most women are blank slates. You don't have a lifetime of bad habits to break you of. You listen better, and don't assume you already know everything."

Holding back a smile, Veronica enters the large room, glancing around as she breathes in the scents of bleach and rubber. A black gym mat spans the entire space and a handful of silicon dummies line one wall, targets marked on their surfaces in red.

"I won't insult you by pretending I don't know what happened to you back in California," Victor says, his expression grave. "When you complete this program, you'll have the tools to ensure that nobody hurts you again. But it's going to be difficult, and uncomfortable, and I'm not entirely convinced that you're ready."

Veronica starts to speak, but he interrupts her. "It's okay. You don't need to answer that question now, but I'd like you to choose a safe word. Nothing instinctive like 'Stop' or 'No'. Make it something deliberate, like…'pineapple'. Or maybe a word that reminds you of safety."

She considers. "How about 'Backup'?"

"Back up?"

"No, 'Backup'. One word. Like, 'always take Backup'." It's the name of my pit bull, back home."

"I'm sure Backup is a very good boy, and I think we can work with that," Victor agrees. "I weigh around two-fifty, and some of our lessons are going to require me to pin you down. Now, you will have the tools to knock me off before we even attempt something like that, and I want you to use those tools. But there's always the possibility that you'll panic. If you do, speak the word, 'Backup', and I'll get off of you immediately. No questions asked."

"And then what?' Veronica asks.

"That's up to you. We can start over, or if it makes you too uncomfortable, we can skip all the lessons with groundwork. We're not here to further traumatize you, Veronica. We're here to empower you. So, you call the shots, okay?"

"Okay." She inhales around the lump in her throat. "I appreciate that."

She manages not to embarrass herself for the first three lessons. The work is difficult and exhausting, but Victor's a great teacher, and she picks things up easily.

There's a rhythmic flow to the lessons. Strike. Twist. Duck. Elbow to the throat. Twist. Knee to groin. Strike.

Lesson four is her first real test. It requires her being taken to the ground. Pinned down.

He's too close. She can see the individual skin cells on his neck, and every breath carries the scent of deodorant and a hint of sweat into her lungs. He's a good man, authoritative, yet compassionate, but at this moment, heart pounding and adrenaline rushing through her veins, all she can think of is Ciaran Fitzpatrick, with his scabby face and rotten-teeth breath.

"Backup! Backup!"

Victor rolls away, putting space between them on the mat, then rises to his feet, offering a hand to help her up. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry." Veronica says. "I just…it took me back to that day."

"Not a problem." He walks to the mini-fridge, returning with a bottle of water, which he hands to her. "Would you like to try again?'

"Yeah. I think I would." If her opponent was some amorphous, maybe-someday bogeyman, she might feel safe knowing a few strikes and carrying a taser. But her enemy has a face, an ugly, malevolent face, and Liam Fitzpatrick isn't going to indulge her discomfort with physical contact.

So she tries again. Two more times. Three.

It's her sixth attempt. She's fumbling for the word.

Backup. Backup. She only has to speak the word. Backup. Her big, beautiful boy, who would protect her with his life.

An image comes to mind. Last summer. The day she found out about Duncan and Shelly getting back together. In her distraction, she hadn't turned back at the usual spot when she took Backup on his daily walk. She'd kept going, Far past the surfers and sun bathers. Past where sand gave way to scrub and rock. Night was coming on when her dog brought her back to reality. He must've caught the scent of something scary – a cougar, maybe, or a coyote – and he started whining, nostrils flaring as he tried to identify the source.

The scrub rustled behind a grouping of rocks to their left, and even now, she can see Backup in her mind, ears flattened back, and hackles raised. He'd been trembling, his tail tucked deep between his haunches, yet he'd inserted himself between Veronica and the danger, growling deep within his throat. Terrified, yet prepared to fight. Prepared to take any amount of pain in order to protect her.

Weight bears down on her, and her pulse still races in fear, but this time, she doesn't speak the word. She doesn't call out for her dog. She becomes him. The fear is still there, but she stops trying to fight it off. She acknowledges it, accepts it, and instead of it holding her back like a brick wall, it flows through her like water.

Like a fucking machine, she strikes at the vulnerable regions of his body. One. Two. Three. Twist. Roll. Spring up. Kick.

Victor lays on his back, eyes closed and tongue sticking comically out of the side of his mouth.

Veronica's chest heaves from exertion, but a smile inches slowly across her face.

From across the room, comes the sound of applause - Zadie first, with Teresita joining in, and finally Victor, himself, as he gets back on his feet.

"You did it!" Zadie jogs over and hugs her.

Veronica's still not sure how she feels about this 'hugging the grifter' stuff, but she laughs and squeezes back.

Veronica

Day 13
Cinzote Institute
Miami, Florida

Victor wasn't exaggerating when he described the training as grueling. Veronica might go as far as to call it the longest day of her life.

Under his tutelage, she completed the first eight lessons. First, by practicing the movements in slow-motion, then by striking silicon practice dummies, and finally by combining the moves against Victor. He'd taught her the correct way to strike, donned a flak jacket and had her beat him back across the room, until she could no longer lift her arms. Zadie assisted in the morning lessons, occasionally joining in on the sparring, before heading out to handle a few things for Veronica.

Her only opportunity to see Logan had been during the classroom sessions – anatomy lessons, mostly. Their dinner consisted of pizza, salad, and a surprisingly interesting video on "Leaving No Trace" - methods of minimizing or eliminating DNA, fingerprints, fibers, or digital evidence. There hadn't been time for idle chit chat, let alone discussing anything important.

Alone in her cabin, Veronica changes into pajamas and collapses onto her bunk, limp as a wet noodle.

Her gym bag sits by the door, but the task of getting back up and grabbing it seems insurmountable. She hadn't expected the mattress to be this comfortable.

As if summoned, the cabin's door swings open, and Zadie struts in.

"Hey." She tosses a handful of micro cassettes on the bed next to Veronica. "I just managed to get the last one on time. The building manager was trying to lock up. Had to pretend I left my phone up in my dentist's office."

"Thanks for handling this for me." Veronica bites her bottom lip, guiltily. "And…sorry for making you puke."

Zadie waves it away. "Karma. I made Chris puke the first time I practiced that move. How are you feeling?"

"Like I couldn't stand up even if the world was on fire. Speaking of…" Veronica makes a grabby gesture toward her duffel.

With an exaggerated eye roll, Zadie retrieves the bag.

"Thanks!" Veronica digs inside, pulling out her ear buds, a micro cassette player, and the package of Oreos her PMS has been craving all day. She holds up the latter in offer. "Want some?"

"No thanks. I ate while I was in town." Zadie gets comfortable on the next bunk over, stuffing a pillow under her head and pulls a book from inside her purse. "I figured you'd want to listen to your tapes, so I brought my own entertainment."

"Thanks." Veronica carefully opens the cookie package and partially slides the tray out, doing her best to keep it from crinkling too much — a sound that always sets her teeth on edge. She bites into her first cookie and gets to work on the cassettes.

She spends a little less than an hour listening to the tapes. Luckily, her bugs are voice activated, and she doesn't need to fast forward past dead air. As she listens, she takes notes: names, addresses and phone numbers, vehicle makes and models when available, as well as the reason that brought the client into the office.

When a loud yawn escapes her, she takes it as her cue to stash her items back in the bag and get some sleep.

Zadie glances up from her novel. "How are you even awake? Back when I did the program, I'd be unconscious the moment my head hit the pillow."

"It's weird without Logan. He makes everything…" She trails off, aware how pathetic she sounds.

"I get it. Anybody with eyes would get it. Except Duncan, for some reason, but I think that's more a case of willful ignorance."

"There's nothing to get. We're not together."

"Bullshit." Zadie rolls onto her side to face her. "Maybe you're not fucking each other, but there's definitely an emotional affair going on."

She can't really argue with that statement. "Well…from the way things are going, I doubt it will ever progress past that."

"Why not? It's simple. If you want Logan, just grab him and kiss him. Preferably, when you're alone, and it can't be misconstrued as part of your 'cover story'."

Veronica snorts. "You think I haven't tried that? I try that almost every day."

"Wait." Zadie pushes up to a sitting position, legs crossed, as if anticipating juicy gossip. "You're telling me that Logan isn't into it? I would've bet money that he was the one who was smitten."

"No, I'm not saying that. We just want different things. He won't cross that line unless I'm his girlfriend."

Zadie nods, knowingly. "He wants a relationship and you want a friend with benefits?"

"No! I want to be with him. We both want a relationship. It's like…" Veronica draws it out, searching for the right words. "This is all new for me. I just want to ease into things. Take it day by day and see what happens. But Logan is paranoid about things going wrong. It's like he wants us to exchange marriage vows or something before we even begin."

"Um…you're both wearing wedding bands."

Mentioning their pawn shop vows won't exactly strengthen her case.

"I guess he's just worried about my safety."

"Safety? Are you saying he likes things rough? Zadie waggles her eyebrows.

"I wouldn't know how he likes it."

"I'm still not understanding what his problem is."

"If we start a physical relationship, it might not work out. If it doesn't work out, we'd have to break up. If we break up, one or both of us will want to move out, resulting in us being alone and friendless in a strange place. And if I'm alone and friendless, without him there to protect me, Liam will find and murder me."

"That's…a possibility. And a little paranoid."

Veronica experiences a moment of vindication, before it fizzles out, replaced with a compulsion to defend Logan. "Is it really paranoia when past experience supports the fear? He believes Lilly would still be alive if they hadn't broken up a week before her death. That he would've been there that day to protect her."

"That's…a lot." Zadie's gaze fills with compassion. "Did he stop to consider—"

"I've tried." Veronica cuts her off. "But guilt isn't logical. He has this way of assuming blame for everything, regardless of whether it's rational."

"Picking up the slack for Duncan, I suppose." Zadie looks off into space, pensive. "It's fascinating the way those two present themselves to the world."

"How so?"

"Nobody has a bad word to say about Duncan. The quintessential All American Nice Guy. Kind to his peers and beloved by teachers. And he is nice. But he's also incapable of empathy." At Veronica's expression, Zadie clarifies. "Not like a sociopath. He feels guilt and remorse like anyone else. But it's like he's not wired to consider anyone's emotional journey other than his own. He needs to be guided step by step down the path, only to be shocked and horrified by what he finds."

"To be fair, yesterday was an extreme example."

"Fair enough." Zadie nods. "And then there's Logan. The bad boy. The bully. I think one of your classmates called him a psychotic jackass in an interview."

"Wallace." Despite the topic, a smile tugs at Veronica's lips.

"But behind that asshole persona, he sees everything. He watches and analyzes and tries to make sense out of people. He over-empathizes."

"Sounds like you've been watching and analyzing him."

Zadie smirks at her clipped tone. "Relax. I'm not after your man. We're too much alike. It could never work. Weird, though. I never would've pegged Lord Byron as the cautious one. He seems so impulsive."

"Shocking, huh?"

"So he just…vetoed your relationship? You don't get a say in the matter?"

"No. He just wants a blanket vow that we won't break up."

"Ever?" Zadie snorts. "Did he mention anything about a blood sacrifice? Ceremonial daggers? Moon rituals?"

Veronica rolls her eyes. "He wants some kind of assurance that I'll put the relationship first, and that I'll fight for it when I'd rather just cut and run."

"Want to know what I think?"

"Go ahead, but If I don't like it, I'll make you puke again."

"I think you're both idiots."

"Why am I shocked?"

"You're an idiot, Veronica. The answer is yes. Tell him yes. It's that simple."

"Weren't you telling me yesterday to cut him loose?"

"No, I said that your best chance for survival would be cutting the boys loose. Since that's never going to happen, you should at least make the best of things and try to be happy."

"I don't want to lie to him, okay? Or give him false expectations."

"How would it be a lie?"

"Relationships don't last. Somebody always lies or cheats. My mom, Duncan's dad, Logan's dad. Most of the people on those tapes." She gestures to her duffel bag. "Somebody always gets left behind. What makes me and Logan any different than the countless people who hire my dad or other P.I.s to catch their spouses in the act?"

"You're complaining because the boy you love wants a commitment." Zadie says. "But, from the sound of things, he's not actually asking you to predict the future. He's only asking you to problem-solve your issues instead of quitting. It's not a huge thing. You're already doing it, every time you have a disagreement."

"Nobody said anything about love," Veronica protests. "And that's different. We're not—"

"You didn't have to say the L word. I watch and analyze too. Ask me why you're an idiot. Why you're both idiots."

Veronica rolls her eyes. "Why are we both idiots, oh wise one?"

"Because you're both withholding what the other desires, out of some delusion that you're not already in a relationship."

"What?"

"He's your boyfriend, Veronica. You're his girlfriend. The two of you have set up this artificial barrier, but you would clearly cut a bitch for the crime of checking him out. You stand together against the world, he's faithful to you, you're faithful to him. You hug and kiss, and touch each other constantly, and he looks at you like you hung the moon. But for some reason, you've defined being a couple by whether or not you're fucking."

"Wow. Tell me how you really feel."

"Your solution could not be simpler: you both compromise. Tell Logan you're going to keep doing what you've been doing all along – protecting your relationship and your family. And in return, he needs to stop withholding that hot HOT bod."

"Excuse me?"

"Girl, I saw him in his underwear yesterday morning. He's clearly packing heat under those boxers."

Veronica's eyes narrow in warning. "I've made you puke once. Don't make me pull out lessons four through eight."

"Kidding!" Laughing, Zadie holds up her hands in a 'please don't hurt me' gesture.

Veronica rolls her eyes, fighting a laugh of her own. "You're an asshole."

"Yeah? What's your point?"

"God, you two really are alike." Veronica sighs. "Okay, at the risk of being rude, I need to get some sleep."

"You're going to need it." Zadie gets up and turns off the overhead lights. "Night, roomie."

Veronica lays in the dark, thinking about their conversation.

Is Logan already her boyfriend? Not her boyfriend-on-call, not her fake fiancé/husband/baby daddy, but her actual boyfriend?

She laughs in spite of herself.

"What's so funny?" Zadie whispers.

"It just seems so simple. Compromise by doing what I'm already doing." Veronica says. "I wanted to make out with Logan so badly the other day, that I tried coming up with a scheme to blackmail or frame Liam Fitzpatrick for a crime."

It takes a few seconds for Zadie to answer. "Yeah…no. I tried, but if there's any logical connection between framing Liam and getting laid, I'm not seeing it. But extreme horniness can cause people to do crazy things. Crazy things."