LOGAN
It's a good way to wake. Veronica's warm body nestled snug against him. His fingers slightly under the bottom edge of her shirt. Smooth skin, the indent of a navel. His idea of Heaven.
Except...that can't be right. Veronica hates him now. Thinks he's some evil monster capable of murdering her best friend in cold blood.
Which means...this ain't Veronica.
Nausea rolls through him, twisting his belly into knots.
He cheated. He fucking cheated. Veronica hasn't even agreed to give this thing a go, and he's already betrayed her.
He can't open his eyes. Doesn't want to know.
It must be that girl who followed him home. Zoe? Zelda? Who gives a shit?
She was gorgeous, and no other single man would've turned her down. But he would've. If he'd been in his right mind, that is.
She shifts, pressing tighter against the length of his body, and he catches a familiar whiff of shampoo. Veronica?
Oh thank God. Thank fucking God.
Which creates an entirely new dilemma. How the hell did he end up in here? And how ugly will things get if she finds him in her bed?
Opening his eyes, Logan gingerly rolls away from her and climbs out of bed. Fuck. His head throbs and he smells like a distillery.
He tiptoes into the bathroom, grabs a fresh towel, and turns on the faucet. Water jets out in spirals, like the sprinklers in his yard back home. Huh. He switches it back to a straight spray, adjusts the temperature to hot and steps inside.
He skips his usual shower whack-session. There isn't time, if he wants to be out of the stateroom before she wakes. Also, fearing Veronica's wrath isn't wonderful for the libido.
He washes his hair, conditions, drags a scratchy mesh pouf over his body.
What happened last night?
He remembers a bar. Drinking. A diamond-clad hand on his thigh, and a much-needed rescue. Oh there you are. Come on. I got us a table. More booze. Blackmail. A low-speed golf cart chase. Veronica, slamming a door in his face. Duncan's goofy expression when he lost his stateroom. Vodka. The couch. And...blackness.
Whatever confrontation is coming, he'd rather it take place anywhere but their bedroom. Her bedroom now.
What's left to say, anyway? She called him a murderer, for fuck's sake. And a man whore.
Logan rinses away the last of the lather, then turns off the water and wraps a fluffy towel around his hips.
He nearly jumps out of his skin when he opens the enclosure door to find Veronica squinting into the bathroom mirror and patting down her bedhead.
Her reflection meets his eyes, offers a sleepy smile. "Good morning."
He freezes. "What are you doing in here?"
"Don't tell me you've suddenly discovered modesty?" She turns around, an amused tilt to her head. "Relax, the door was all fogged up. I couldn't see anything."
What?
He runs a hand over his face, and exits onto the cold ceramic floor. "I'm sorry, but...how?"
"Condensation, Logan. Basic third grade science." She steps close, fiddling with the sides of his towel, as if to tug it up higher on his hips.
"No." He shakes his head and exhales, reaches blindly for a hand towel on a ring and misses by six inches.
Why are you pretending there's nothing wrong?
"Hangover?" She opens the medicine cabinet, and retrieves a bottle of Excedrin, shaking two pills out on her palm.
Logan takes them and dry swallows.
Veronica hands him his orange toothbrush, and he holds it, while she squeezes a bead of toothpaste onto it.
She notices something in his face. "What's wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with me?" He laughs, harsh and ugly. "Hmmm, last I checked, you called me a murderer. And a man whore, and wanted me to get the fuck out, so I'm a little confused why you're assisting me with my oral hygiene and acting like everything is normal."
"You don't remember?"
"I remember you lovingly welcoming me home by slamming the bedroom door in my face - or sliding, I suppose - and I remember cracking open the Gray Goose. Everything else is a blur."
Veronica's face seems to wilt, her easy affection chilling into something cold.
Guess that was the wrong answer.
She turns back to the mirror, reaches for her own toothbrush. "I don't think you murdered Lilly. Which we already established last night, when you came in to grab clean sheets."
The tightness in his chest loosens. Slightly. "And I stayed for the ambience?"
Pointedly avoiding his eyes, she squeezes toothpaste onto her brush.
"What? Did we argue?"
"A little. Mostly about you bringing home your little bar-buddy." She speaks calmly, but her jaw does that thing it does when she's pretending not to care.
"Veronica, that wasn't what it looks like. I didn't-"
"We discussed that, too. She's a con artist."
Something is wrong. Other than the whole blackmailer thing. "And what else happened?"
"Nothing."
She's lying. Disappointed in him for not remembering. "Right. Because you always undergo rapid-mood-fluctuations for no reason. How about giving me a summary? Did we discuss anything of consequence?"
"Not really. Just your very...profuse...apology. "
What did I have to apologize for?
"Drunk and pathetic?"
She nods with a cryptic grin.
Oh fuck. It all makes sense, now. I told her I'm in love with her.
Veronica avoids further questioning by aggressively brushing her teeth.
He must've spilled his feelings while begging for forgiveness. And that confession must have contributed to her decision to let him stay.
Setting his toothbrush down on the counter, Logan moves behind her, sinking down in his knees and propping his chin on her right shoulder. "Veronica?"
"Hmmm?"
He pokes out his bottom lip, sets his eyes to maximum hound dog, and tries to catch her gaze.
Veronica can poker-face with the best though, even when confronted with his full puppy-dog onslaught.
"Just because I can't remember saying something doesn't mean it's not true."
She arches a quizzical brow.
"For instance, if I got wasted and admitted my reverence for your round little ass, it wouldn't be a lie."
And there it is. The left side of her mouth quirks. She spits toothpaste into the sink, swishes water around, and spits again.
"Or if I told you that you're everything to me, and I'd do anything not to lose you. That might be true, also."
Her face goes soft. She rinses her toothbrush and puts it away, then takes his hands from her hips and pulls them all the way around her.
He kisses the top of her head. "So where do we stand?"
"Same place we stood yesterday morning."
"Yesterday morning when you didn't think I killed my girlfriend?"
"Ex-girlfriend. And I still don't. I believe you, Logan."
"Or did you mean yesterday morning when you teased me mercilessly until I was forced to run for the sanctuary of the shower?"
"Teased you mercilessly?" Veronica turns around, fingers playing connect-the-dots with the water droplets on his chest. "Whatever could you be implying by that?"
Logan groans. "You are pure evil"
She chuckles, softly, strokes her thumbs over his hip-bones. "Did you mean-"
"Don't you dare." Logan cants his hips away from her.
"I like seeing you flustered."
"Back, Temptress."
She laughs aloud, eyes crinkled and tongue between her teeth.
"Hey." Logan cups her face in his hand. "Thank you. For letting me stay."
"Thank you for coming back." She bites her lip. "I was worried for a while."
He skims his fingers over her temple. "I made you a promise, didn't I? I'm not going anywhere until you tell me to go."
Veronica meets his eyes. "And why would I ever tell you to go?"
"I don't know." He shrugs. "Maybe you'll fall for some pretty boy punk who doesn't want me around."
"I would just have to tell him we're a package deal."
Logan leans back, glancing through the open door. "Were going to need a bigger bed."
Veronica rolls her eyes and shoves at his shoulder, and he supposes the conversation is over.
He squeezes past her, grabs his toothbrush from the counter and turns on the water, letting it run while he brushes.
"Wasteful." Veronica reaches around him, fills a cup, and then shuts off the tap. A moment later the shower fires up.
He continues brushing, watching the mirror as she sets the temperature and tucks a towel on the inside bar. Obviously, she'll toss him out of the bathroom as soon as he's done.
Except, she doesn't. She steps into the enclosure and closes the door. Her shirt flies over the top, landing on Logan's shoulder. Her shorts land at his feet.
He dares a peek at the stall door door.
Fuck. Technically, she was right, condensation prevents him from glimpsing any tits or ass. But there's no doubt the skin colored form behind the glass is female. And utterly naked.
He finishes brushing, rinses his mouth, and leaves his brush in the sink until it's safe to turn on the water. He's seen enough television to know that turning on a faucet in one place can scald someone using water elsewhere. Of course, none of those shows took place on a luxury yacht, but he's not going to be the one responsible for damaging Veronica's (luminous, touchable, probably-delicious) skin.
"Hey, Logan. Do you see my shampoo and conditioner out there anywhere? I thought I'd left them in here, but they're missing."
He checks the shelves and counters. "I don't see them. Where else could they be?"
"No idea. Can I use yours?"
"Go for it."
He dresses in the stateroom - khaki cargo shorts and a black tee-shirt. Back in the bathroom, the skin colored shape behind the glass is less distinctive. Small miracles.
Logan starts on his hair, smoothing product through the strands and finger-spiking the top. He's overdue for a haircut, but he can probably go another week.
The shower turns off. Veronica emerges, wrapped in a towel, and no, he is not going to give her a taste of her own wicked medicine. Somebody needs to be the mature adult in this relationship.
She winds a smaller one around her hair, and leaves the room.
Logan rinses his toothbrush and puts it away. He squirts blue shave gel onto his palm and lathers up his face.
So, assuming he confessed his feelings to her, how had she responded? Had he missed a reciprocal confession? Probably not. Veronica keeps her emotions close to the vest. She's not admitting anything unless she's forced to.
She returns to the bathroom, wearing only a mint green cotton bra and matching underwear. Logan cuts his neck shaving.
He glares. "Really, Veronica?"
"Oh? Does my partial nudity bother you?" She touches a hand to her sternum. "Because I distinctly remember telling you to put some clothes on, just about...every single day."
"You positve about that? Because ever since yesterday morning, you seem more intent on getting me out of my clothes."
She shrugs. "A girl has needs."
Grabbing his styptic pencil from the medicine cabinet, he wets the tip, and presses it to the bleeding nick.
Veronica peers at the damage. "You know, most men just rip off a piece of toilet paper and stick it to the wound."
"Peasants." Logan shakes his head, sadly. After rinsing foam from his razor, he lifts it to his skin.
"You sure you'll be okay with that thing? I'd hate to see you mar that pretty face."
"Not my fault you caught me off guard with your...cleavage...and thighs." He tsks her. "I think I can manage. Besides, as much as I'm down for the sexy, shaving-your-man montage, that would require you allowing me be your man."
"Bummer. I was really looking forward to running a blade over your throat."
"Let's start with non-lethal trust exercises and work our way up."
While Logan finishes shaving, Veronica combs her wet hair straight back, securing it with little pins that match her hair color.
Logan washes, exfoliates, and tones. He applies serum with his fingertips, and moisturizes.
Veronica lathers some Neutrogena junk over her face, rinses, and calls it done. Bending forward, she gets as close as she can to the mirror, carefully inserting dark brown contact lenses. Logan scopes the edge of her bra for nip slips, but it's not meant to be.
Veronica leaves the bathroom, returning with the long blonde wig, and wiggling it onto her head. She tries patting it smooth, and makes a face. "It looks a little..."
"Texas?" He supplies.
"Yeah, I'll have to pick up a flat iron when I go out."
"You want me to grab one of the other wigs for you?"
She shakes her head. "No thanks. I actually need to stick with blonde today."
"Why is that?"
"Just...because." That's it. No explanation. She grabs her hairbrush, dragging it through the voluminous layers until it lays a bit smoother.
Wow, Veronica. It's so unlike you to be cryptic.
While Logan wrangles his unruly brows with a clear fixative, Veronica applies a black eyeliner pencil, subtly making her eyes appear smaller and closer together. She uses some kind of dark powder, to make her forehead and chin wider.
Finished grooming, Logan follows Veronica back into the stateroom.
Is that extra oomph in her hips truly necessary? Or is she just torturing me?
He straightens the bed, while she dresses in a conservative brown knee-length skirt and a pink button-up shirt with short, puffy sleeves and an all-over print of tiny flowers.
"Lookie here. Veronica one-dot-oh makes an appearance."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"You tell me." He glances up from under his lashes. "I liked her and everything, but that girl would never strut around in her underwear for me."
"Only because you never asked." Veronica steps close, wraps her hands around his neck. "That girl was always showing off for you. You were just too blinded by the glow of Lilly Kane to notice." She kisses his cheek, and releases him. "Let's go eat breakfast."
Logan's head reels, and he would love to delve into the implications of that comment, but Veronica's opening the stateroom door, and...Oh shit.
VERONICA
His bewilderment is almost comical. Veronica turns away, and bites her lip to keep from laughing. Was he honestly that blind to her crush on him?
She slides open the bedroom door.
"I see you two fucked and made up."
The smile slips from her face.
Logan's stalker is perched atop the galley counter, one hand buried deep inside a box of Cap'n Crunch. A half-gallon of milk sits at her side.
Oh, hell no!
So much for denial. Since waking, she's been preparing for this moment. Telling herself she'd inflated the other girl's beauty. It's only natural, after lying in bed for who-knows-how-long, imagining Logan doing terrible things, like kissing the girl, putting his hands on her. Who wouldn't exaggerate the threat level? Except...she hadn't.
She looks younger without the black makeup. Around her own age, if Veronica had to guess. She's showered, and her long, wet hair hangs from a high, tight ponytail. From her blue eyes to her delicate bone structure, there's a fey-like other-worldliness to her appearance that makes Veronica feel plain and unattractive in comparison.
Logan doesn't seem to notice. With his blank stare and crossed arms, he seems entirely unimpressed.
If you're hoping to score points with me, it's working.
Veronica sets her back teeth. "Why are you here?"
"And a good morning to you too, roomie." The girl hops down, wipes cereal-crumbs on her hip and holds out her hand. "We didn't get a chance to meet last night. I'm Zadie."
Veronica side-steps her, snatches the cereal box and dumps the entire thing in garbage.
Is that my shampoo I smell?
Caffeine first. Engage later.
She sets the empty glass carafe under the faucet, turns on the water, and gathers coffee and paper filters while it fills. Only once she's measured out the grounds and pushed the orange power button, does she turn around. "Logan, make her go away."
"Trust me, I tried my hardest last night. She's tenacious." Arms filled with the remnants of last night's booze-fest. Logan sets three glasses in the sink, half a bag of chips on the counter, and drops an empty vodka bottle into the trash with a clink.
"Your hardest? Really?" Veronica asks, with a tight smile. "Did you try insulting her mother? Slashing her tires? Smashing her headlights?"
"Um...No." He lifts one finger, mouth half-open and rotates toward the girl. "So Zadie, tell me about your mother. And by the way, where are you parked."
"Cute!" Zadie steps to him, pinches his cheek. "But I fight back."
Logan jerks his head out of reach.
From the couch comes a muffled groan. "Is it really necessary for you guys to bicker so early in the morning?" Duncan tosses back his blanket, sits up, and rubs at his eyes.
Logan flicks his hands toward Zadie. "Convince that...riff-raff to go back to the trailer park, and I promise you, all bickering will cease to exist."
Duncan lets out choked laugh. "Right...because you and Veronica never bicker."
"Who, us?" Veronica touches her chest. She moves to Logan's side, clamps her hand on his shoulder, and glares. "We're a united front."
Standing, Duncan bows his back in a deep stretch. "So, I guess you two made up?"
"It helps having a common enemy," Logan says.
"They were curled-up together like two half-naked newborn kittens when I went in there." Zadie nods at their stateroom. "It was kind of adorable."
"Dude. No." Logan shakes his head repeatedly. "She's trying to start shit. Veronica was in her pajamas and I never even changed out of my jeans last night."
Duncan sighs, gathers up his bedding, and wads it up into a bundle. He presses a button, and the couch retracts with the hum of a motor.
There had been lot of bare skin in that bed, but Veronica's more concerned with the other implication of the statement. "What the hell were you doing in our bedroom?"
"Finding something to change into, obviously." Zadie gestures down to her green tee-shirt and black yoga pants.
Veronica's favorite black yoga pants.
A prickle in her temple foretells an oncoming headache. "Did I say you could wear my clothes?"
Zadie either misses the implied threat, or chooses to ignore it. "Oh dear. You thought I was joking last night about sharing clothes?" She turns to Duncan. "Explain this blackmail process to her, because I don't think she quite gets it."
"Do it yourself. I'm going to take a shower." Duncan trudges off to his stateroom, sliding the door closed. A moment later, the water starts up, the bathroom door slams, and locks.
A litany of threats form in Veronica's mind. Against Zadie, her future offspring, and her offspring's offspring. She swallows it down - for now.
Behind her, the coffee pot gurgles, hisses, and begins to drip.
Logan opens the dishwasher drawer, extracts two mugs and sets them on the counter next to the machine. He unloads the remainder of the clean dishes to cabinets and drawers, tentatively, as if playing Jenga.
Veronica sidles-up to him. "Up for some French toast for breakfast?"
"I vote yes," Zadie says. "That's my favorite."
"Excellent!" Veronica turns around, claps her hands together. "That'll make it so much more satisfying when I don't make any for you."
Zadie pokes her lip out in a juvenile pout. "Is she always this pleasant in the morning?"
"She was vastly more pleasant yesterday morning." With his back turned to the room, only Veronica witnesses the dirty little smile flitting across Logan's features.
Her cheeks warm. Yesterday morning was a game changer, but that was merely a prelude to last night's...pleasantness. How could he have forgotten? She'd known he was drunk when he climbed into bed with her, but shouldn't he have sobered up after a couple hours sleep? Assuming that much time had passed.
She needs to fess up. But first she needs to get past her mortification.
One problem at a time. She fixes her gaze on Zadie, sitting on one of the stools at the end of the counter. "What's it going to take to get rid of you?"
The girl pretends to think about it, shrugs. "Me, being ready to leave."
Veronica speaks in her iciest tone. "You don't want me as an enemy."
Zadie flutters her lashes. "Actually, I was hoping we could become besties!"
Veronica sighs, suddenly sympathizing with anyone she'd ever unleashed her 'Amber' persona upon. She turns to the fridge, gathering the cardboard egg container and a stick of butter. "So what do you want from us? Money? We don't even have bank accounts, and we left our credit cards behind."
"Relax. I'm not after your money." Zadie says. "I'd have to be heartless to leave you three bumbling and broke."
Bumbling? The entire country is looking for them, and they've managed to elude everyone. How's that for bumbling?
Veronica gathers a loaf of fresh white bread, a bottle of vanilla, and a jar of cinnamon. She roots around through the cabinets, producing a shallow storage container and a frying pan. "So how can I convince you to go? Name your price."
"You can't," Zadie answers, a note of finality in her tone.
That's what you think. I've beaten better than you.
Veronica cracks an egg on the edge of the counter. A small portion of shell lands in the bowl, and she tries scooping it out with the tines of a fork.
The coffeemaker completes its cycle with a series of shrill beeps. Finally! She wipes her hands on a dishtowel.
Zadie swoops in, snags one of the two mugs and steals the first cup of coffee.
Veronica's nostrils flare, and her fingernails bite into her palms.
"Big mistake, Dodger." Logan steps between them, somehow managing to snatch the mug from Zadie's greedy hands, and passes it to Veronica. "Never stand between V and her caffeine." He pours a second cup, hands it to Zadie, and retrieves a third mug from the cabinet for himself.
Zadie leans forward, peering into the bowl. "You got shell in the eggs."
That's it.
Veronica steps back from the counter, hands snapping upwards. "Think you can do better? You make breakfast."
"Maybe I will. Consider it a peace offering of sorts." Zadie pulls the container toward herself.
"Fine," Veronica drops her fork in the sink. "It's all yours." She makes a show of stomping as she heads into her stateroom.
She collects yesterday's To-Do list from the nightstand drawer as footsteps approach from behind. Logan's arms slide around her waist, and he leans in, whispering, "When we look back on this, we'll realize, this was the moment she began slowly poisoning us."
Veronica shoves the list into her pocket and turns around in his arms. "Have I mentioned how attractive you are when you put me first?"
"That explains why pulling your pigtails never worked as a seduction strategy." He seems surprised to see her smiling. "I'm sure it'll get old after a while."
"It's okay, Logan. I'm fine."
"But what about...?" He gestures back towards the galley.
"New plan?" Veronica shrugs. "She doesn't want our money, and she's not impressed by our fame. So why is she here?"
"I don't know. She said something about her place being infested."
"Gross." Veronica drops her voice to a whisper. "That may be true, but it's only half the story. She's here for a reason, and once we've figured out what it is, maybe we can use it as leverage to get her out of here."
"And we're going to find out by allowing her to poison us?"
"By observation, Logan. We learn everything we can about her. If she thinks she's smarter than us, we gain the advantage. She'll lower her guard, and we'll find some way to nail her." She kisses Logan's cheek, and leaves the bedroom.
Back in the living room - saloon (only pronounced as salon, because that makes sense?) - Logan turns on the television, setting it to their favorite news channel. Onscreen, the on-the-scene reporter chats with us Cincinnati zookeeper about their new Tiger twins.
Zadie roots through an open utensil drawer. "Don't you guys have an egg separator?"
"How would I know? I've cooked exactly one meal in that kitchen." Veronica takes a seat on the center portion of the couch, setting her mug down on the shelf behind her, and raising the shade to let in more light.
Zadie improvises with a slotted spoon, catching the yolk, while the whites strain into a second bowl. She repeats the process with two more eggs.
The bathroom door opens and Duncan emerges, clean, dressed, and rubbing at his head with a small towel. He casts a curious glance at Zadie.
"She's making us French toast." Veronica sneers. "Peace offering."
"Oh...could you make mine with the sprouted bread? And egg whites only?"
Zadie turns around, mouth hanging slack. "That's offensive."
Logan snickers, and Veronica shoots him a desist-immediately glare. Traitor.
Zadie slides the second bowl to the right. "I don't use the whites in French toast. If you want garbage food, get over here and make garbage food."
Obedient as ever, Duncan moves to the counter, and peers into the container. "What do I do with it?"
She splashes vanilla and cinnamon in Duncan's bowl. "Stir it like I am." She demonstrates, slashing her fork through the yolks. "So which one of you is going to drive me to pack up my clothes."
Logan drops onto the couch next to Veronica, lifting one socked foot to the cushion. "Get your own damn clothes."
"Oh no. I'm not giving you guys an opportunity to pick up and sail away without me. One of you will have to go with me."
"Not a chance," Veronica says.
"Not if you were wearing shredded rags," Logan adds.
"Guess that leaves you, Blue Eyes," Zadie says. She pulls a colander and a third container from a cabinet.
Duncan glances up from his stirring, alarmed. "I have to be at work in an hour."
"After work, then." Zadie pours the whipped yolks through the strainer, gives it a quick rinse, and strains back into the first bowl. She adds vanilla and cinnamon, a splash of milk, and turns to Duncan. "Have any Grand Marnier?"
Duncan crouches and searches through the liquor cabinet, finally producing a dusty bottle.
"Just show the boozehound where we keep the stash, why don't you?" Logan grumbles.
"Please. I figured that out already." She measures the liqueur into the egg mixture, and resumes stirring, her fork tinkling against glass.
Veronica pulls the notepad from her pocket, giving it a once-over. It's time to start thinking about getting a job, but she needs to handle something of a more personal nature today.
Logan leans in, peering at the page. "So what's left for us to do?"
"Well, while you were off carousing and picking up loose women last night, I managed to get the Wi-Fi turned on, tracked Liam's Barracuda to Illinois, and taught Duncan how to budget. I also called my dad, who really insists on speaking to you."
"He just wants to remind me about Rule number one."
She tilts her head in question.
"Keep my hands off his daughter."
"Well, you're certainly having no problem sticking to that agreement." She shoots him a pointed look.
"If only Papa Mars knew that it was my virtue that was in jeopardy." Logan smirks. "Should I tell him his little girl can keep her hands off me?"
"Sure. If you want to be murdered in your sleep." Veronica smiles sweetly.
Logan chuckles. "So what's the plan for today?"
Veronica breaks eye-contact. "I have to run some errands on the mainland, so I'll need the truck."
"I'll go with you."
"You can't. Duncan's working, and we can't leave her alone on the boat. So that leaves you for babysitting duty." Not to mention, she can't have any company for what she plans to do.
Logan scowls in Zadie's direction. "I haven't read my Babysitters Club books in years. Refresh my memory. Is it okay to motor out to the middle of the ocean and drop her overboard?"
"Sounds like competent childcare to me." Veronica shrugs.
He leans closer, examining the notepad. "Since I'm stuck here, anything else I should handle?"
"Well, Duncan's volunteered to be Boat Treasurer, but you seem vaguely qualified for this one." Veronica double taps her index finger on the word 'Romance'.
"Vaguely qualified, huh?" Logan's lips stretch in a challenging grin. "I would argue that I'm imminently qualified."
"Oh yeah? I'm going to need some kind of demonstration of those qualifications before I can entrust you with such an important job."
"Oh my God. Do you two seriously believe anyone is buying your 'we're not fucking' act?" Zadie laughs at them over her shoulder.
Did she really just...?
"I certainly hope not." Jaw clenched, Veronica raises her fist, flashing Lynn's diamond. "Since we're actually trying to convince people that we are."
"But we're not. Fucking." Logan hurries to add.
Veronica frowns at him. Well, aren't you eager to look single?
"Why not?" Zadie slides a large glass baking dish into the convection oven, sets a timer, and leans back against the counter, looking genuinely curious. "I don't get it. I mean I don't need to be Dr. Ruth to recognize foreplay when I see it."
Duncan cringes. "Just...drop it."
She turns to him. "You're not seeing this?"
"No. I don't know." Duncan sighs. "What I do know, is that if you keep this up, Veronica 's gonna decide this is Logan's fault for being too Logan, and he's going to remember why they were fighting in the first place. She'll yell 'jackass', and he'll yell 'bitch', and one of them - probably both of them - will storm off. And then later, they'll be best friends again, and I'll be the asshole stirring up trouble when I question it."
"Wow. That's just uncalled-for," Logan says.
Veronica twists her mouth. "Yeah. Tell us how you really feel, Donut."
He rolls his eyes. "Oh. We're accelerating straight to the 'blame Duncan' portion of the program."
Zadie blows off his concerns. "So, no sex? Pretty girl. Two hot guys. Motels and bed-sharing, and..." She glances at Logan and makes air quotes. "'Selling the romance'? And the lines never blur?"
Veronica's cheeks warm, but Logan - with his acting genes - stares straight at Zadie, mouth quirked in an amused smirk. As if she's the crazy one.
"Not even a single 'it-doesn't-count-as-gay-as-long-as-the-girl-is-in-the-middle-and-we-never-speak-of-it-again' sort of night?"
Veronica can't stop herself from imagining the logistics of something like that. Would it be a 'taking turns' thing, or...?
Zadie chuckles. " I don't know whether to admire your resistance, or pity your lack of creativity. If it were me stuck in a motel room with these two, I'd have them talked into it by the second night. Third at the latest."
Over my dead body.
"Dude, she's my sister!" Duncan's voice holds a note of hysteria.
"Oh." Zadie's eyes go wide, and her mouth forms an O-shape. "Plot twist."
"I only found out two days ago," Veronica says, "But good to know our personal tragedy is entertainment for you."
"Tragedy? Let me guess. You tried to fight it, but when your evil grandmother locked you in the attic, and your mama started poisoning you with powdered sugar donuts to secure her inheritance, you gave in to your forbidden passion? Because that's tragic."
"We have different mothers," Duncan says, and Veronica doesn't bother to explain.
She turns to a fresh page in her notepad, starts a new list for today.
In her periphery, Duncan retrieves his laptop and takes a seat on the left-side end of the U-shaped couch.
Logan stands, pushes the button to lift the motorized table from the floor. He crosses to the galley, opens the dishwasher, and begins loading each dish after Zadie rinses it.
It's such a tiny, inconsequential thing to be jealous over, but bile rises in Veronica's throat, and her fingers tighten on the memo pad.
Drying her hands on a towel, Zadie sits on the end table to Duncan's left, peering over his shoulder at his computer screen. Logan gathers breakfast supplies and returns to the table.
"Can we maybe skip the disposables?" Duncan asks. "The landfills are-"
"No." Logan slaps a paper plate, a napkin and a fork down in front of him. "I didn't know what you wanted to drink. Oatmeal juice or whatever that stuff is?"
While Logan sets out three more place settings, Duncan gets up, heads to the refrigerator, and leans in, moving things around to locate his beverage.
Zadie steals his spot on the couch, picks up his laptop, and begins reading aloud in an exaggerated Southern drawl.
"In preparation for the 58th Annual Blushing Belles of Bluebell Debutante Ball, we gathered Sunday at the Percy estate for the traditional Mother-Daughter Tea. The Percys outdid themselves this year, with their lovely peaches-and-cream decor and mini-croissant sandwiches. Alas, not everyone in attendance embodied the gentility and grace of a Bluebell Belle. I'm not naming any names, but, two of this year's crop of debutantes were hung-over when they arrived, while a third, bless her heart, still smelled of cheap whiskey and the cheaper cologne of a certain Rammer Jammer bartender. Good heavens, my mama would have clutched her pearls if I'd embarrassed her that way. It wasn't until Miss Esther May Tisdale - in attendance for her customary etiquette lessons - threatened to cancel the ball, that the debs started comporting themselves with the dignity befitting their station."
Veronica pulls her lips inside her mouth. Not gonna laugh. Not gonna laugh. Cannot laugh.
She makes the mistake of meeting Logan's eyes as he drags two chairs to the table, and a derisive snort escapes.
Duncan rushes over, snatches the machine from her, and slams the lid. "Who said you could read that?"
"Who's AnnaBeth?"
"Nobody."
"It said 'AnnaBeth's Bluebell Blog', so she must be somebody." Zadie smiles up at him. "I'm just curious what planet she lives on, because that didn't sound much like Earth to me."
Duncan looks as if he wants to argue, but the timer dings, and Zadie's attention returns to breakfast.
VERONICA
"Well?" Zadie asks, as Veronica finishes the last bite of breakfast. "Was it good, or was a goooood?"
"It wasn't the worst I've ever tasted." Veronica admits. More like heaven on a plate. "But I still don't want you around."
Zadie grins, overly pleased with herself. "That's only because you haven't tried my Stroganoff."
"Well, I'd better get to work." Duncan collects the empty plates, tossing them in the trash. "I'll see you guys later."
"For my part, I have a long day ahead, of accomplishing absolutely nothing." Logan kicks back on the recliner, picks up the remote, and starts flipping channels. "I can finally catch up on my shows. Although, I have to say, if crazy Jan Spears is still holding Shawn Douglas Brady in that cage to keep him away from his true love, Belle, I'm done."
Veronica shakes her head, refills her coffee and returns to their stateroom.
She takes a moment to check her laptop, smiling to find a new email on her secret account. It's Tuesday now, and she hasn't talked to Wallace since last Friday. So much has happened in the interim.
From: PapaBear04
Subject: Checking in
To: vm911
Supafly,
I haven't heard from you all weekend. Is everything okay? Is PJ behaving himself?
I caught footage of your Great Mall Escape on the news. Incidentally, so did The Gumshoe. You and PJ looked pretty cozy together, and I had to bend over backwards to convince my employer that LoVe was merely a ploy. That's what they're calling you and PJ now, by the way. It's nauseating.
I hear things, answering phones for the Gumshoe. He's pretty frustrated in his inability to help you, and he's channeling that frustration into the investigation of the Fallen Princess's death. He got The Patsy released from prison, which I'm sure you've heard by now.
Rosco P Coltrane - I could to better, that idiot is not even worthy of my creativity - has opened an investigation into the Royal Family. The Gumshoe is convinced they obstructed justice in order to cover for The Prince, and that your association with him, puts you in mortal danger.
Crazy happenings this weekend in the case of Snow White. I took your advice, and tailed The Understudy. You'll never believe where I found her. Maybe the 'with whom' is more interesting.
She was steaming up the windows at Lookout Point with Froggy the tech adviser. The Very Adult tech adviser. The guy with all the email passwords.
A few snapped photos, and The Understudy confessed. She was jealous, and tired of playing second-fiddle to Snow White.
Grumpy tried crawling back with his tail between his legs, but Snow White is too smart to fall for that. She just might be more interested in my apples now. Homecoming is coming up, and Papa Bear is in need of a Princess.
After what you admitted to me last week, I know that mall scene between you and PJ was more than just stage magic. I'm a try to give him the benefit of the doubt, but if he hurts you, I'm going to track him down.
Hope to hear back from you soon,
Papa Bear.
Neptune, California. As crazy as always. Man, she misses Wallace.
Her dad already gave her an earful about the mall shenanigans. If he knew about Zadie, he'd probably come looking for them. No, she should probably keep that information to herself. Why burden Wallace with more secrets, when Zadie will gone within the week anyway?
From: vm911
Subject: Re: Checking in
To: PapaBear04
Papa Bear,
Much apologies for the radio silence. The morning after my last email, our car broke down overnight in a small town. Unfortunately, our lodging didn't have WiFi, so I never had a chance to get online.
You ever hear of a phenomenon called Heat Wave Fever? We witnessed it firsthand. Bar brawls, and pet alligators, and town drunks on roofs. I know it sounds awful, but I can't remember the last time I had so much fun.
We've made it to our final destination. At least for now. PJ thinks we can get three months of safety before anyone tries to use the place. Long enough to find jobs and a more permanent living situation.
The Prince already has a job. As for me, I have a plan, and I'm putting it into motion today.
Sounds like you did some pretty competent detective work for Snow White. She's a wonderful person, and I sincerely hope your Homecoming plans come true. But can we not mix fairytales, please? There's a certain squick factor to the words "Papa Bear is in need of a Princess."
It means the world to me to know you're keeping an eye on The Gumshoe. It's probably for the best that he doesn't know we're communicating, but don't let him work too hard. Make sure he eats, and gets at least a little bit of sleep.
Roscoe P. Coltrane, huh? I always thought his name was Roscoe Pekoe Train. You learn something new everyday. I can tell you, without a doubt, that old RPC is a bad guy, and is passing information on to our pursuer. Some of Roscoe's deputies are still loyal to the Gumshoe. Keep an ear out and let me know if you learn anything new about the investigation.
As for PJ, things are indeed cozy. Aside from squabble here and there, we grow closer every day, and he's constantly challenging my perceptions about him. Things are complicated between us, but looking up.
Always thrilled to hear from you, and don't hold back on the Neptune gossip. Stay in touch.
Supafly.
Before leaving the yacht, Veronica grabs a large zipper tote bag from a cubby, stuffing it with enough items to create an alternative 'look' for the day.
LOGAN
The schliiiick of a sliding door nudges at Logan's consciousness. Shit! Did he fall asleep watching TV?
Footsteps thump up the stairs, and he jumps from the couch, catching only a glimpse of a woman before she moves through the deck hatch and out of sight.
Veronica would've woken him if she'd returned, and anyway, the figure had been skinnier than her. Light brown hair floated in waves around the shoulders, rather than black. Which can only mean one thing. While Logan dozed, Dodger discovered the disguise trunk, and decided to play dress-up.
Veronica is going to kill him. Wasn't the entire point of him staying behind to keep an eye on Zadie?
The footsteps move across the deck and down to the dock.
She's leaving.
Veronica's phone goes straight to voicemail. What was she up to today, that she had to be so cagey about? He doesn't leave a message, he knows damn well what she would want him to do.
Logan dashes into his stateroom. Exchanges his cargoes and tee shirt for preppy chino shorts and a polo. He slips on his wraparound shades, a straw panama hat he'd purchased to prevent his nose from burning after surfing, and finishes up with his fake mustache.
Zadie has a good lead, but she's still visible when Logan makes it out to the dock. He power-walks to close the distance, but she passes the marina office and disappears from sight.
Ahead of him, a golf cart pulls from one of the side docks onto the main pier.
"Duncan!" Logan jogs over to him. "Dude, I need your cart!"
Duncan stares at him placidly. "You're cart-jacking me?"
Logan jumps into the passenger seat and points. "Catch up with Zadie. She can't be too far past the office."
Duncan presses the gas. "Why are you following her?"
"Veronica wants us to get dirt on her. Anyway, I owe her for following me last night" He scowls. "Are you even trying? These things go faster than this. V had ours zipping around the island yesterday."
Duncan rolls his eyes. "One, we're on a pier, and you know...safety? Two, do I look like Veronica?"
Logan makes a show of examining him. "Maybe there's a little family resemblance. Eye color? Tiny heads? What am I supposed to be comparing?"
"You're a dick."
"So I hear. Daily."
"There she is." Duncan points to a spot in the distance where a golf cart pulls out onto the main thoroughfare. "Looks like she rented her own cart."
"Damn. Keep following her."
"Can't. I'm on the clock."
Shit! "Okay. Just get out at the office then, and I'll go without you."
Duncan laughs derisively. "You're not taking my cart."
"Just go rent another one!"
"You rent one. This one is marina property. Did you even notice the toolbox in back? The supplies?"
Congratulations, worker bee. I get it, you're a productive member of society and I'm...a babysitter. An incompetent one at that.
"I don't have time for that." Logan flings his hand out to the empty road. "I'm losing her."
Duncan sighs. "If you insist on this cloak and dagger stuff, there's a bicycle you can borrow at the office. Do you remember how to ride one?"
"No, but from what I hear, it's just like getting back in the saddle." He pictures himself astride something black and sleek, with wide tires for hitting the trails.
The reality is something different entirely.
"Dude, this is older than my dad! Did Beaver Cleaver refuse to hand over his lunch money or something?"
The Western Flyer has been lovingly maintained since Norman Rockwell's days, but it's aquamarine, for Christ's sake! He points, wrinkling his nose. "It has a basket!"
"Take it or leave it, man." Duncan climbs back into the golf cart and speeds away. Yes, speeds. Without a goodbye or anything.
Logan catches up with Zadie ten minutes (and one harrowing brush with death) later. She pulls into the shopping district surrounding the inland marina and parks. In the golf cart's mirror, she applies lipstick, a pair of the same giant sunglasses his mom wears when she doesn't want to be recognized by fans, and ties the wig back into a loose, messy, knot.
Logan finds a bicycle rack, pushes down the kickstand and, when Zadie exits the cart, follows from a distance.
She moves in her usual aggressive, ground-eating strides, but as she rounds the corner into the plaza, she transforms before his eyes. Her center of gravity shifts to her heels, her pace slows, and her hips develop a swish. It's like watching Sabrina "Type A" Fuller morph into Carrie "The-Queen-Hurries-for-No-Man" Bishop.
Zadie passes a jewelry store and a luggage store, then stops in front of Wink Boutique and opens the door.
Logan gives it a count of thirty, smooths down his mustache, and follows her inside.
The boutique's interior is larger than it appears from the outside, with high ceilings and a second-floor loft area. The décor combines luxury with playfulness, and a silver and white color scheme ties everything together, from the signage to the displays to the upholstered couches and ottomans throughout. The scent of apples and cinnamon envelopes him and makes his nose itch.
It's the kind of place his mother would shop at, despite marketing to a younger demographic.
Zadie is perusing the denim section, and Logan scans the space for a men's department, or anywhere else he could lurk without sticking out like a sore thumb.
"You look seriously uncomfortable." A husky voice speaks from his side.
The woman appears to be in her forties, tall, with dark chestnut hair, a hawk nose, and - he can't believe he's even thinking this - amazing eyebrows.
Logan gives her a bashful smile. "Is it that obvious?"
"Only if you've been doing this as long as I have." The woman holds out her hand. "Don't worry, I'm here to help. I'm Gina. The owner."
"Nolan." He shakes." Nice place, here."
"It pays the bills." She tilts a head. "So, what brings you in today, Nolan?"
The reason is across the room, standing in front of a full-length mirror, and holding a pair of jeans up to her waist.
"Umm...I guess I'm just looking for something for my wife."
"Well, I'm sure she'll love you for that." Gina's eyes flick to his empty ring finger.
"No, it's not like that." Logan expels an amused breath and holds up his hand. "I wore my ring for one day and my finger swelled. It's getting resized now, while we're on our honeymoon."
"No explanation necessary." She makes a waving gesture. "So, you're a newlywed. Congratulations. What's the lucky girl's name?"
"Vickie." Like an actor playing a role, he forms a picture in his mind. Yesterday morning - Veronica on the edge of the bed with her legs wrapped around his waist. Veronica, looking at him with those eyes, daring him to make a move. "Her name is Vickie."
It must do the trick, because Gina's smile turns soft and indulgent. "Well, I'll be thrilled to help you find something for your new bride. Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee?"
"That sounds great."
She motions for him to follow. "Tell me more about Vickie. Do you know what size she wears?"
Logan trails her up a wide, silver staircase. "Umm...small? Extra-small? Tiny? I don't know. She's barely five feet, and probably weighs a hundred, soaking-wet."
"Tiny. I can work with that."
The second story loft is devoted to handbags and shoes - paired off in cubbies, arranged on shelves, hanging on pegs.
She leads him to a counter in the back corner, where she places a mug in a fancy brewer, inserts a coffee pod, and presses a button.
"So, what did you have in mind for Vickie? Casual? Formal? Something for a night out? A night in? "
"Casual, I think." Logan gives a helpless shrug. "Something she can relax in. She's had a rough month, with all the wedding stress."
"She's lucky to have such a considerate husband. Are there any colors she prefers to wear?"
"That's what I keep saying. She wears a lot of black, army green, brown, red. Oh, and she's started wearing pink lately."
The brewer finishes dripping, and Gina hands Logan the mug. "Cream and sugar are right here." She points unnecessarily at a tiered organizer. "Go ahead and fix your coffee, and then come back downstairs. You can have a seat on one our loungers, and I'll start rounding up some fashions for you."
"Actually..." Logan points to a conversation area set up next to the railing. "I hate to ask, but would you mind bringing my selections up here? Cinnamon candles always play havoc with my sinuses, and the scent is less...potent up here."
"I'd be happy to." Gina's voice lowers to a conspiratorial whisper. "I keep dropping hints to my assistant manager that she's overdoing it with the scented oil, but she doesn't seem to catch on. Okay, I'll be back momentarily."
Coffee in hand, Logan takes a seat on a button-tufted love seat in a luxe silver fabric. The balcony railing provides perfect cover from below, while giving him a view of the entire store.
Zadie flits from rack to rack, draping occasional items over her left forearm.
Why is she even here? She'd refused to go pick up her own stuff, because she thought they'd sail away and leave her behind. Yet her first opportunity to steal some alone-time, she comes to a boutique? Did she find their cash? Did she clean them out?
Gina returns with an armful of clothing, draping them on the railing and blocking his view as she explains how the pieces can be mixed and matched.
Logan picks up each item, setting them on the cocktail table. "Too serious...too silly - she would never wear a logo on her butt...too Boho...too skimpy."
A handful of the items are lingerie - not quite La Perla, but still quality stuff. Veronica would look incredible in any of these numbers - legs cut high, skin gleaming through strategic cutouts, straps where no straps are needed.
Fuck. What are you doing, idiot?
He concentrates on an image of Liam Fitzpatrick's ugly mug, until the tingling in his nether-regions stops.
"These are...awesome, but Vickie doesn't really do the whole sexpot thing" Not to mention, Veronica would murder him if he brought any of these back for her.
"Sure thing." She gathers up the selections and leaves.
Logan sips his coffee, while Zadie surrenders an armful of clothing to a sales person, who carries them to the fitting room, and emerges empty-handed.
She continues browsing, holding some items up to the light, slipping others into her handbag.
He could turn her in for shoplifting - that would certainly get her out of their hair - but he has a feeling she'd drag them down with her.
Gina's second haul, is more promising. Logan dismisses several pieces, but reaches for some gray yoga pants. "Cashmere?"
"Aren't they wonderful? Here's a matching hoodie." She places it on the table.
"I'll take these." Below, Zadie disappears into the changing room , and, since she'll probably be in there a while, he adds, "She'll need some kind of top to wear underneath."
"Great. I'll find something. How are these for sleepwear?" Gina lays out a selection of tiny nightgowns. They're less likely to cause him bodily harm from Veronica, but they're still a bit too sex kitten, with their matching G-strings and fabrics so sheer they couldn't possibly conceal anything.
"Hmm...they're definitely nice, but..."
"Your wife has the rest of her life to sleep in over-sized tee shirts. It's your honeymoon. Buy her something beautiful."
"Okay, you're right, but Vickie's not really a nightgown person. She sleeps in those tiny shorts and the tops with the skinny straps." He pinches his thumb and forefinger together to demonstrate width.
"Got it." She walks away, and from her expression, she already has something in mind.
Logan resumes scouting the dressing room doorway, but Zadie hasn't yet returned.
He rejects Gina's three selections for wearing under the hoodie. "Too pistachio-pudding green...too Ed Hardy-esque...too short." Would that even cover her breasts?
She drapes a selection of pajama-sets on the table, shorts and tops, each in silky-slidey fabrics. Hot pink with cream lace, champagne with black lace, red with black lace, black with black lace, entirely lace. Fuck.
The styles seem about right, still he's not sure what kind of message he'd be sending by bringing home sexy pajamas.
When Gina lays down the final pair of shorts, he picks them up. They're feminine, but in that sassy, Veronica sort of way. Clusters of light pink five-petal flowers made out of some shiny ribbony stuff attached to a black background.
They remind him a little of the flowers he picked for Veronica that morning Duncan woke from his stupor. Mere hours before they kissed for the first time. Only time, if you're not counting closed-mouth kisses.
"Aren't those stunning?" Gina asks. "They're 100-percent silk charmeuse."
"Yeah. I think she would love these. Is there a top?"
"Not with the ribbon embroidery. There's a robe. But this camisole is from the same product line." She takes the top from the black-on-black set, and places it next to the shorts.
Downstairs, Zadie emerges from the changing room, and heads toward the cash register.
Logan stands up. "Great. I'll take them. And the cashmere set, too."
Gina looks surprised at his abruptness. "Should I keep looking for a tee-shirt?"
"That won't be necessary. I'm sure Vickie has something back on the boat."
"Okay. Well then, I'll go wrap these up for you."
The checkout area is hidden from view under the loft, but the stairs curve in a way that allows eavesdropping. Logan creeps down slowly, thumbing at his cell as if sending a text message.
"Put it on my account," Zadie is saying. She hands over an Island Pass.
Veronica took the guest pass with her to the mainland, and - Logan pats his pockets - he still has the main pass. So where did Zadie get her hands on one?
The cashier looks contrite. "Oh! Ms. Quartermaine. I didn't recognize you in your sunglasses!"
Zadie, lowers them enough to peer over the top, grunts 'Hangover' and pushes them back on her nose.
"Oh. Sure. I understand." The girl laughs nervously, swipes the card through a magnetic reader and hands it back, along with a bag. "Have a wonderful day, and thank you for shopping at Wink."
Zadie heads for the exit.
Logan hesitates. Should he just leave and follow her? What if he needs to shop here again?
Gina waves him over to a register, and there goes that idea.
"I pulled this for you, in case you're interested." She holds up a short, black silk robe with a pink tie, and the same ribbon flowers as the shorts."
A bell dings, and Logan glances over his shoulder as Zadie leaves the store. "Yeah. Sure. I'll take it."
"Vickie will be so thrilled." Gina folds the robe, places the pajamas on it, and wraps them up in a tissue paper package. "That'll be...Six hundred forty-two and sixteen cents."
Well shit. Veronica's not going to be too happy about this. He has no credit cards, and he's not carrying enough cash.
Well, it worked for Zadie. He pulls out his Island Pass, hands it to her, and prepares himself for humiliation.
Gina glances at the card, gives him a we-offer-the-utmost-discretion smile, and swipes it through the reader. No alarms go off, no bars come down over the doors and windows. Nothing happens. She hands him his bag. "You have a wonderful day, and be sure to bring that wife of yours by before you head back home."
"Sure thing."
Out in the plaza, three forty-ish women, compare perfume purchases. A middle-aged couple strolls by, hand-in-hand, eating ice cream. Two CEO-types in golf clothes, sit on a bench, stuffing their faces with sub-sandwiches. An angry model in her thirties trails a much-older, and ridiculously toupeed man, suspiciously resembling Donald Trump. He reaches back for her hand, but she slaps it away.
Tool.
No sign of Zadie, anywhere.
Logan sits on a wood-slat bench, and tries Veronica's number again. Straight to voicemail. What could he say anyway? I was tailing Zadie, but lost her when I chose jammie-shopping over the job? And by the way, what was our clothing budget again?
Speaking of...he takes a moment to remove the tags from his purchases, doing his best to refold the tissue correctly.
Across the plaza, an elderly woman exits a coffee house, and there, behind her, is Zadie. Veronica's wig is gone - probably tucked in that over-sized handbag - and her black hair hangs loose to her elbows. She's changed into her newly-purchased low-rise jeans, a halter top (designed to look as if it had been cut from a vintage biker tee) and short, pointy-toed boots with silver heels. The picture of a rich girl pretending to 'slum it'.
(Maybe)Trump hurries forward to hold the door, using the opportunity to lecherously ogle her. He says something to her, and she responds with a contemptuous sneer, leaning around him to speak to his female companion before walking away.
Logan grins and follows, thankful he hadn't left a message on Veronica's voicemail.
Outside a café named Mortar and Pestle, a man steps away from the wall, embraces Zadie and kisses her cheek. "You made it."
"I did." She smiles, but without a lot of sincerity. "How's she doing today?"
"The usual." The man shrugs and swivels his wrist in an 'iffy' gesture. He seems to be in his early twenties, and reeks of East Coast money - from his white shorts and polo combo, to the expensively-textured haircut falling casually on his forehead. He looks familiar, somehow.
They converse in quiet tones. The man is a toucher, and quite enamored of Zadie, but she skillfully evades his roving hands without ever outright rejecting him.
Is that what Veronica and I look like to outside observers?
Zadie's phone chimes, and she checks the screen. "That's her. She's already inside."
"I told her to meet us at the entrance." The man sighs, and, with a hand pressed to her lower back, leads Zadie into the restaurant.
Logan waits a few beats, and enters the establishment.
"Hello!" A perky hostess calls out, startling him. "Will anyone be joining you today, sir?"
"No, I'm alone." Logan scans the room, finally spotting Zadie and her companion through a large picture window, as a waiter leads them to a table on the patio. He turns back, smiling. "But can I be seated outside? My wife always says I don't get enough fresh air."
"Certainly. Follow me."
The patio is small, red brick in a herringbone pattern, with a low stone wall for privacy. There's an intimate feel to the space that makes him wish Veronica were here with him.
Would it be weird to ask her out on a date?
A date where they can't kiss goodnight, yet still undress and climb into bed together? He snorts. Yeah, that would be weird.
Zadie sits beside her male friend, facing away from the door. Opposite her, a woman speaks with animated gestures.
College-aged - give or take a few years - she wears denim micro-shorts, a strappy white top in some floaty fabric, and short black boots. Or... Logan squints. Black sandals and an ankle monitor?
What kind of company are you keeping, Dodger?
The hostess seats him at the two-seater right behind the trio. He orders a Coke, and then eavesdrops from behind his menu, while the unknown girl describes her wild evening, the people she partied with, and why she couldn't possibly have left in time to meet Zadie at the Beach Club.
Don't feel too bad. She found other entertainment slash people-to-torture.
The girl is pretty, in a nineties heroin-chic sort of way, with a heart-shaped face, sharp nose, small mouth and long teeth. She shares the same golden-brown hair and blue eyes as the man. Also like him, she seems familiar.
A cell rings, and the man checks the display. "I have to take this. Be right back." He stands and heads into the restaurant, giving Logan an enigmatic smile as he passes.
Once he's out of sight, the girl leans forward, and reaches across the table. She clutches Zadie's forearm like one does when they're telling a secret, but her fingers caress, as if to seduce. Lowering her voice, she describes - in explicit detail - the man she brought home last night, the drugs they consumed, and sex that followed.
Somehow, it's like listening to Lilly speak, yet not at all. Lilly did bad with a wild sort of joie de vivre, like she was squeezing every drop of pleasure from it. With this girl, it feels more performative, as if the intent is to titillate or incite jealousy in Zadie.
If that's the case, it doesn't seem to be working. Even from his limited view of Zadie's profile, his overall impression is one of pity.
Logan lifts his menu higher as the guy rejoins his party.
"Sorry 'bout that. Father, trying to get me to take that internship again."
"What did you say?" the girl asks.
He sighs. "I told him that it could wait. As long as you're stuck here, I'm not going to leave you alone. How much longer is your house-arrest, anyway?"
She shrugs. "Three or four months? I think?"
"He can wait that long."
A waiter sets a soda in front of Logan. "Have you decided what you're having?"
"Um...yeah. Sure. I'll have the chargrilled chicken salad, minus the tomato wedges and black olives. That's all."
"Great choice. I'll bring that right out to you." The waiter holds out his hand, and Logan reluctantly surrenders his menu/shield.
When he looks back at Zadie's table, it's to find the brunette staring at him. She smiles, flirtatious, and twirls a strand of hair around her finger.
"Harper, you slut. Who are you hitting on now?" the guy asks. He and Zadie both turn their heads.
Busted.
Zadie breaks into a delighted grin. "Nolan? Why are you hiding over there? Come sit with us."
"Um...? That's okay, you look like you're doing fine."
"Nonsense. You can sit here." The girl - Harper? - moves her Louis Vuitton bag to the back of her seat, smiles, and pats the chair next to her.
Oh hell. Eavesdropping unobserved is a lot more fun, but Veronica wouldn't hesitate to take this opportunity to learn more about their blackmailer. He stands, picks up his glass, and accepts the offered chair.
Zadie eyes his mustache with barely-contained amusement.
What? I look awesome.
She gestures to his face. "That's quite the noon-o-clock shadow you've got going on there, Pal."
"Huh?"
"The mustache. Weren't you clean-faced this morning?"
"Testosterone." Logan shrugs and lifts helpless hands. "What can you do?"
"Right..."
"Personally, I've always found mustaches sexy," Harper says. "Of course, I'm batshit, so it's probably some kind of Oedipal Complex or something."
Opposite them, the man dry heaves and gives an exaggerated shudder.
Harper continues, the barest hint of jealousy in her tone. "So how do you two know each other?"
"Only since birth." Zadie grins and reaches across the table, covering Logan's hand with her own. "This is my cousin, Nolan, and he's staying with me on Daddy's yacht. I guess we double-booked, somehow."
Daddy's yacht? So that's your game?
Zadie narrows her eyes, daring him to contradict her. "Nolan, meet Harper and Harley Quartermaine."
Okay, that makes sense. If he remembers correctly, the Q-Twins share a great-grandfather with the equally immoral, yet slightly more circumspect branch of the Quartermaine family. They're regular fixtures of the gossip columns - infamous for wild partying and out-of-control drinking - but Logan doesn't really pay attention to that stuff.
Zadie's eyes are an icier shade of blue than Harper's, and she has the healthy, yet ultra-thin frame of a dancer, while Harper appears almost undernourished. Otherwise, they're relatively the same size and shape. With her hair tucked up under Veronica's wig, and wearing the oversized sunglasses, it's not a stretch that Zadie's impersonation was successful.
"I know you." Harper examines his face. Up close, her dark circles are prominent. "Two years ago, in Aspen, at Nicky Hilton's winter party."
"Possibly?" He lifts one corner of his mouth. "They all sort of run together."
"Yeah, my brother spent like an hour trying to seduce this blonde." She cups the air in front of her chest, indicating voluminous breasts, and her brother reaches across and tugs her hands out another inch. "You swooped in, and stole her right out from under him."
"She was probably too young, anyway." Harley sips at his drink. Vodka and cranberry, from the look and smell of it. "And to be fair, I'm pretty sure she was his girlfriend." He hooks a thumb at Logan, eyeing him with that same stupid smile from before. "What was her name, again? Lilly?"
Does he know? Or does he just like fucking with people?
"Maybe? Lilly is a common name. I've dated a one or two." Logan shrugs.
Harley glances at Zadie, and there's something in his expression, as if two and two aren't adding up to four. "So how are you two related again? You said cousins?"
He knows. Not just that Logan moves in the same circles like Harper, but his actual identity. And there's nothing Aaron Echolls loves more than bragging about his blue-collar roots. His can-do American spirit, and all that B.S.
Logan answers before Zadie can get a word out. "We're actually second-cousins. My mom and her dad are first cousins. Grew up together on Connecticut's Gold Coast."
Go ahead smart guy, Google Lynn Lester.
He's not overly concerned about Harley reporting them to the authorities. Like he'd told Veronica, nobody on this island wants media attention drawn to their secret playground.
It does occur to him to wonder why he'd provided the save for Zadie. He should've just allowed her to fuck up. The sooner she bungles whatever grift she's running on these twins, the sooner they'll be rid of her. She wouldn't exact revenge for her own failure. Would she? Just in case, he'll just keep this little tidbit from Veronica.
The waiter arrives, placing entrees before the other three, and promising to return momentarily with Logan's.
"So how do you guys know my cousin?" he asks, once the others have tasted their food.
"We met at the Revolution Room a month or two ago. Zany pretty much save my life that night," Harper turns adoring eyes on Zadie. "She noticed some asshole slipping a roofie into my drink, and kicked his ass right out of the bar. Literally. Her foot to his ass. We've been like besties ever since."
Ten to one, the entire scene was staged, but Logan merely lifts an eyebrow. "Zany?"
Harper giggles. "She hates when I call her that, but I think it's cute."
"That's our Zadie. All kinds of adorable."
"It must run in the family." Harper looks up from under her lashes, bites her lip, and tries to do the sexy calf-rub move on him, but her electronic monitor clunks against his ankle bone, sending a sharp, reverberating pain up his leg.
"Owwww." Logan sucks air through his teeth and grasps his foot.
"Sorry about that." She giggles and strokes his arm. "I'm so clumsy with that thing."
Zadie laughs. "Give it up, Harper. He's engaged."
"He's married," Logan amends, still rubbing at his aching bone.
The correction may be pointless. He is, verifiably, too young to get married. But he has to at pretend he doesn't know that Harley knows his identity. And since they're bound to run into the twins again on an island this small, it's best to stick with a single story.
Harper pouts and Zadie lifts a brow. "Married? When did that happen?"
"'Bout a week ago."
"And I wasn't invited to the wedding?" She pretends to be insulted.
"It was a very intimate event." He gives her a pointed stare. "Just close friends and family, and honestly, we're just not that close."
"We used to be. Before..." she trails off with a sigh.
"Before what?" Harley asks.
"Our parents caught us practicing our kissing skills when we were...what? Eleven? Twelve?" Zadie exhales, saddened. "After that, we never spent Christmases together again."
Logan has to fight his lips to keep them from smirking.
Harper eyes her, one nostril lifted. "But...you're cousins?"
"Yeah? So?" Zadie plays innocent, points back-and-forth between the twins. "Don't tell me you two have never kissed."
"No!" Harper shrieks, plucks a strawberry from her salad, and tosses it at Zadie. "Although I did catch him making-out with one of my boyfriends, once."
"Please...like you didn't steal two of my girlfriends." Harley lifts his eyes to the sky. "That I'm aware of."
Logan meets Zadie's eyes, and this time he laughs.
"We are terrible, aren't we?" Harper holds up her glass.
Harley winks, clinking it with his own. "Utterly wretched."
Conversation ceases as their waiter arrives with Logan's meal and a refill for his soda.
The salad is...lettuce, but the chicken is perfectly chargrilled and the provolone melts in his mouth.
"I like you, Nolan," Harper says, between bites. "You look like you know how to have fun."
"Life of the party, that's me." Ever need somebody to do body shots off an unconscious girl, I'm your guy.
"You should come over and hang by the pool. Any time." She reaches for a napkin, and jots down the numbers, '8-2-6-4'. "That's the gate code. I'm assuming you know where the house is."
He nods. "Of course."
"Bring the wife, too. Did you marry that same girl? The sassy blonde from the party?"
"No...she's not in my life anymore." An icepick of grief stabs at his heart, and he sips his drink until it passes. "Different blonde. Just as sassy."
"Well bring her, anyway. Harley and I are alone up in that mausoleum. I can't leave the island, and I'm literally dying of boredom." She points to her ankle monitor.
"How about my brother-in-law, Declan?" Logan spears a bite of chicken with his fork. "He was just mentioning yesterday how much he'd like to see your mansion. I guess it was featured in some house magazine a while back, or something?"
"Sure. Bring him along, and we'll give him the tour." Harper waves a hand. "The more the merrier."
Harley lounges insolently in his chair, but his eyes are sharp. "Is he stable? Emotionally?"
"Is anyone?" Logan counters. Harper lifts her glass and Logan dutifully clinks it. "But yeah. I mean, he's pretty chill."
"He's fine," Zadie says, picking up on the undercurrents. "I've only just met him, but he seems very quiet and well-mannered."
"Oh." Harper pokes out a lip. "Bummer."
"If anything, he could use a little corrupting," Zadie touches her lip, pretends to think. "Now who do I know who could accomplish something like that?"
Harper perks back up, raises her hand. "Me! Me!"
Logan snorts. "Keep dreaming. If me and his sister couldn't corrupt him, nobody can."
Zadie doesn't speak a word, merely pats her mouth with her napkin, but if the gleam in her eye is any indication, Duncan's in for a world of trouble.
The worst part is, Logan's not sure if he should stop her, or sit back with some popcorn and watch it play out.