Chapter Text
Veronica sat in the driver’s seat of her red Infiniti Q60. The same car she’d been driving since she traded living in Neptune for a globetrotting lifestyle six years ago. She’d occasionally considered repainting it, but along this stretch of the California coast, a car trying too hard to look invisible stood out far more than cherry red ever did.
A sleek dash cam sat nestled where the windshield met the dashboard, its only tell, a tiny red recording light pointed back at her. On her laptop screen, the live stream picked up the oceanfront parking turnout fifty yards ahead.
Right on schedule, a sleek black SUV pulled up alongside a beat-up sedan. Out of the sedan stepped Corinne Rory, a mid-level manager at LeVN Pharmaceuticals. The one Veronica was hired to observe. From what Veronica had managed to uncover so far, Corinne was playing the noble whistleblower, leaking internal memos to environmental regulators about LeVN's toxic waste dumping. Normally that would have been something Veronica could get behind. The problem was, all signs pointed to it potentially being a slander campaign. What seemed to be the more likely scenario was that Corinne was a disgruntled employee who knew layoffs were coming. Veronica suspected sensitive information was going to be sold today, and her job was to capture the hand off.
Veronica ran the plates for the black SUV and, not surprisingly, they came back to a Warren Obert, head of security for Northstar Biopharma, one of LeVN’s more vicious competitors. She didn’t envy Warren once the head of Northstar figured out it was bogus information Corinne was selling, but Corinne didn’t even know it was faulty information yet and she was likely going to run with the six figures Northstar was paying her. Either way, when the information became public, Veronica would be at least three cases away from this one.
Through her long lens, Veronica watched Corinne slide a thick manila envelope through the SUV's passenger window to Warren. After a long moment filled with the sound of Veronica’s quiet snick of her digital SLR, a fat envelope slid back through the window, just the right size to hold a wad of cash. Veronica snapped a few more still shots and waited for the SUV to leave and for Corinne to get back in her car. After it was all complete, Veronica reached over and tapped the laptop’s spacebar to save the footage from the dash cam.
Case closed.
Mars Investigations was hired by LeVN’s internal security team to trace the leak, and Corinne Rory had just handed her paycheck on a silver platter. It was clean, lucrative, and dull enough to make her miss the days when her crises involved stolen school mascots and secret society initiations.
Her phone buzzed in the cup holder.
The caller ID displayed a 951-area code, the rough border where Northern Neptune bled into Riverside County. She sighed, tapped the screen, and brought the phone to her ear.
“Mars Investigations. If this is about my car’s extended warranty, I’ve already decided to let it die with dignity.”
A moment of silence hung on the line. “Is this… Ms. Veronica Mars?” The voice was strained, high-pitched, and meticulously polite but also confused by her casual greeting.
“That’s me. How can I help you?” Veronica shifted into her professional voice, bright and receptive.
“My name is Sunday Miller, Ms. Mars. I need help finding my son, Curtis. He’s nineteen. He’s been gone three days, and the sheriff’s department said because he’s legally an adult, they can’t do anything without evidence of a kidnapping. But we know… we know he didn’t just run off. He’s a good boy. A quiet boy.”
Veronica resisted the urge to roll her eyes. In her experience, the quiet ones were usually the ones with the most alarming search histories.
“Mrs. Miller, nineteen-year-olds ‘disappear’ into music festivals or a girlfriend’s dorm room every weekend. What makes Curtis different?”
“Curtis isn’t like that,” Sunday said, a quick flare of defense cutting through her tone before settling back into desperation. “He was seen leaving with… a man.”
Veronica raised an eyebrow. Her mind immediately leaped toward strict, conservative parents tracking down a closeted son.
“A man with a skull tattoo on his throat, Ms. Mars,” Sunday continued, her voice trembling slightly, sounding scandalized. “Curtis called him Jones. That’s the only name he ever used. We’re certain he’s involved with that gang… the Breakwaters.”
Veronica sat up straight. The Breakwaters were a ruthless crew operating north of Neptune, and they didn't do voluntary youth outreach that Veronica was aware of.
“Mrs. Miller, I’ll need a recent photo of Curtis, his last known location, and every detail you have on Jones,” Veronica said, pulling the memory card from her camera and sliding it into its place in her laptop to initiate a backup. The Breakwaters were no joke, but Veronica still wasn’t convinced Sunday wasn’t an overprotective mom, assuming what, she thought, was the worst. “I’m wrapping up a case right now. If you can make it into Neptune by five o'clock, I can meet you today. If you’re North of Neptune, I can schedule time to meet tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Ms. Mars,” Sunday breathed, relief washing through her voice. “I can meet you by five.”
Veronica stepped onto the landing outside of the Mars Investigations office door, the glass door with the familiar logo, open wide in a welcoming gesture to potential clients. A soft breeze from the air conditioner units they had running inside brushed past her and down the stairs behind her.
She was three steps into the reception area when her father strode out of his office, on the way to the coffee maker judging from the empty coffee cup in his hand. When he spotted her, a grin lit up his face. “My wayward daughter, coming home to roost!” He moved toward her and wrapped her in a hug.
“More like a fly-by, Pops. Got another case up north.” she answered, hugging him back and setting her camera bag down by the couch.
He squeezed her shoulder and then continued his mission to refill his mug. “A father can dream.”
“I did bring you all the paperwork you love to do,” she said with a sarcastic grin on her face as she pulled her laptop out of her bag and waggled it in his direction.
Keith Mars looked good. Sharper than he had a few years ago when he was fighting with the brain fog and healing from hip surgery. Clyde Pickett, one of her father’s more questionable friends, had set him up with some excellent doctors, and for all of Clyde’s faults, she had to give him credit for helping her dad return to the man she’d known him to be while she was growing up. The sheer weight that lifted off her shoulders knowing her father was healthy again… that he no longer needed a cane… it had earned enough goodwill from Veronica to forget how likely it was he’d been mixed up in the tanking of the property values along the beachfront seven years ago.
“Christmas? In June? You shouldn’t have.” His voice was mockingly excited at first and dropped to a flat tone by the last statement.
“You’d get bored if I didn’t bring you anything to do.” She said, taking both the camera bag and her laptop over to Matty’s desk. Veronica pulled the camera’s memory card out of her laptop and handed it to her. “Hi Matty.” She said, grinning at the younger woman who watched their banter without interrupting.
“Hey Veronica. Big download this time?” Matty Ross had joined them during the series of bombings seven years ago. Matty’s dad’s motel, the Sea Sprite, was the first place that had been hit and her father had died in the attack. It had all been a ploy by Dick Casablancas, “Big Dick”, to buy up the beach front property at a low price. It had gone terribly wrong when the bomb had gone off too early, resulting in the death of Matty’s father, and a second man, the nephew of El Despiadado, a powerful Mexican crime lord.
The first bombing had also inspired Penn Epner to become a copycat bomber, which resulted in the death of Logan Echolls, the man she’d loved and married just a few short hours before a bomb had gone off in her car.
Big Dick had died under mysterious circumstances, and the men from the cartel had disappeared after that. But the damage was done. Veronica really only came into Neptune to check in, but she spent more time out of town than in. At least Epner was in jail, and she rarely had to hear his name anymore.
"So, this one is both a whistleblower and trying her hand at corporate espionage?” Matty asked, opening the files.
Veronica nodded. “Can’t say she’s not efficient.”
“Imagine what her to-do list looks like.” Matty said, printing off a couple of files.
Veronica laughed and carried her camera bag and laptop over to her own desk, across the way from her dad’s office. The whole office was set up in a T-shape from the entry. Matty’s desk sat under the large window that overlooked the street below. Veronica’s office sat directly across the reception area from her dad’s, both with twin frosted glass doors displaying their names and titles as private investigators. They had filing cabinets in both offices, but Veronica was the one that did most of the leg work anymore, and her dad took the bulk of the office work. With Matty’s help, that is.
Matty didn’t need the work here, but she seemed to like it. And they liked her. Somewhere along the way, Veronica had gained her as little sister, while Matty kept an eye on her dad as if he’d become her surrogate father.
At twenty-two, though, Matty owned the Sea Sprite and, after the reconstruction a few years ago, it was doing great. It remained a popular spot for spring breakers. Neptune didn’t get the same wave of vacationers as it had when Veronica was Matty’s age but for those who wanted to vacation here, it was a much more affordable option. It was either the Sea Sprite, which honestly Veronica preferred anyway, or the ‘peak of luxury’ at the Neptune Grand, and likely break the bank for those who weren’t the wealthy elite.
There was no middle class to speak of in Neptune. Sure, there were a few exceptions, like the population in this room, but most in Neptune were the extremely wealthy and then there was the section of the population they supported. Or rather, that supported them. So, maybe things hadn’t changed all that much. The wealthy got wealthier and when they burned through one batch of people, they brought in another to wait on them.
Veronica made her way toward the printer and picked up the papers Matty had printed. Matty slipped an ear bud in one of her ears and pulled up a video of something she’d already gotten part way through. Veronica paused, watching her for almost ten seconds before Matty realized. She paused the video and looked up, curious.
“Kid, you may need to lay off the caffeine for a while. Dark circles under your eyes at your age?”
Matty laughed. “Too many rabbit holes.” She shrugged. “I start pulling on a thread and the next thing I know it’s three in the morning.”
“We may need to find you a different hobby.” Veronica said as she read the headline of the video she was watching. It was some commentator on the recorded feed of a trial. “Or some friends outside this office.”
“Find the ones who are getting bullied or hazed,” a familiar voice sounded behind her without missing a beat. “They’re usually the good ones.”
Veronica whirled around to find Wallace Fennel standing in the doorway, a paper bag in his hand. She had met Wallace in high school, their first introduction being the moment she’d cut him down from the school’s flagpole. The local motorcycle gang, the PCHers, had put him up there in retaliation for him talking to the cops about two of the members shoplifting. Ironically enough, the whole incident had led her to befriend the leader of the gang, but a lot had happened since then.
Wallace was one of her best friends. She never would have made it through high school or college without him. He was married to another one of Veronica’s favorite people, Shae, and they had a son together. Noah was likely getting close to ten years old now if she’d done her math correctly.
“Wallace!” She practically squealed his name as her hands splayed opened from her excitement. A couple of steps forward and they gripped each other in a hug. “How did you know I was here?” She asked, taking a step back and holding him at arm’s length so she could look at him.
“I didn’t.” He said, grinning. “I have a delivery for your dad.”
“My dad has you running errands? How did he manage that?” she asked, laughing in disbelief.
“Not your dad. Shae. I will do anything that woman asks.” He said, smiling.
Keith poked his head out of his office. “Is that Wallace I hear?”
“Hey Mr. Mars.” He held out the paper bag, “Shae sends her regards.”
“You tell her I think she’s an angel.” Keith stepped forward.
Veronica watched the exchange with a lifted eyebrow, “What’s in the bag?”
Keith pulled the bag to his chest, backing toward his office. “Preciousssss” he hissed in his best Gollum impression.
“The missus likes to stay in the good graces of the local PI,” Wallace said, watching Keith with an amused grin. “I’ve probably told her too many of our horror stories from back in the day.”
Veronica’s eyes stayed fixed on her father, who was already ferreting away the brown bag into his desk drawer. She turned back to Wallace, observing him in silent suspicion.
“Maple muffins…” Wallace admitted.
Veronica raised her eyebrows, holding his gaze, and waited. She knew there was more to it.
“…with bacon in them,” Wallace added.
“Dad!”
Keith hissed at her from behind his office door, and a second later, the sharp click of the lock sounded, Keith now safely inside with his stash.
Wallace laughed, turning back to Veronica. “You guys wanna join us for dinner? I’m supposed to pick up Szechuan on the way home tonight. I could just double the order. Shae would love to see you.”
Veronica sighed, regret plain on her face. “I’d love to, but I’m meeting a new client. Her son is missing. He’s been gone for three days, so the clock is ticking. Raincheck? We can try to plan it before I get pulled out of town again.”
Wallace watched her skeptically. “You better try hard, Mars. I know people who can track you down.”
Veronica sent the address of the Sea Glass Café to Sunday as she was leaving Mars Investigations. She wanted to arrive about fifteen minutes early, giving herself time to find a quiet spot near the window and, more importantly, choose where they would sit. It was best if Veronica could control as much of this interaction as much as possible.
She was still a little unsettled about the phone call. Something in her gut was telling her it was probably going to be a waste of time. Still, a case was a case and there was enough here to at least look into.
Veronica sipped on the hot latte in her cup. The spice of the chai in her cup pleasantly wrapped around her as she sipped and watched people pass by the building. Her phone buzzed on the table, and she looked down to see a text from Wallace.
About to order. You sure you don’t want to join?
Veronica smiled softly at the message, sadness tugging in her chest.
Already have food. Sorry. Next time.
She didn’t want to avoid Wallace. Or Shae. But slowing down… seeing their family reminded her of how much she’d lost. How much she missed Logan.
She tapped the power button, darkening the screen and flipping it face down onto the table. Her hand was beginning to tremble, and she could feel the muscles tightening around her lungs. She took a deep, sudden drink of her tea, the liquid scalding her tongue and her throat as it went down. The pain snapped her back to the moment and she forced her thoughts away from anything to do with her past.
Her tongue hurt, and she’d not be able to taste anything properly for a day or two. That was better than the alternative. Of having a full-blown panic attack here in public. She checked her watch and Sunday still had a few more minutes before it reached five. She took one larger gulp, focusing on the pain in her cheeks.
Then a woman who looked like she’d stepped directly out of a 1950’s ad aimed at housewives stepped through the door. Her dark brown hair perfectly coiffed around her head, a blue calf length dress cinched at her waist and her back ramrod straight into a posture so rigid it made Veronica have the sudden urge to sit up straighter. She held a small envelope of paper tucked into one hand and she looked around the café as if searching for someone.
Veronica stood. “Sunday Miller?”
The woman’s ice blue eyes snapped to Veronica’s at the sound of her name. There was a moment of registration while the woman took her in, a slight wrinkle to one side of her face, before a smile covered it all and she reached out her hand toward Veronica. “Ms. Mars?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you for meeting me so quickly.” She said as she slid into the chair opposite Veronica’s. She placed her small purse in her lap and held the small pile of papers out to Veronica.
Veronica took them and flipped them over to the front. The first was a handwritten note, the handwriting meticulously clear. It was a list of observations, with dates, places Curtis had been, when she suspected he’d seen Jones, and locations where motorcycles had been spotted. Veronica didn’t know how helpful it would be, but she’d look closer at it after their meeting. The other item was an old, worn photograph of a young man. It had to be at least a few years old if Curtis was now 19. The boy had blond hair that was cropped short, his blue eyes the same as the woman in front of her. He was thin, with dark serious eyebrows, and there was a sadness in his eyes that the forced smile on his face didn’t touch.
“When was the last time you saw your son, Mrs. Miller?” Veronica asked looking up.
“He was at home, doing chores, while his father and I went to mass. That was four days ago now. When we got home, only a couple of the things he was supposed to do had been completed. But his father and I went looking for him. We couldn’t find him anywhere. By morning he still hadn’t gone to his bed and that’s when I went to the police.”
“Was anything of his missing? His phone? Keys? Changes of clothes?”
Sunday shifted a little and Veronica thought she was bristling, but the expression shifted quickly, replaced by concern. “He doesn’t have a phone, Ms. Mars. And we have the family car that his father and I were using that night. The box we keep all of our important papers in had been ransacked though. Things like his birth certificate, official documents… a handful of those had been taken. The rest were left in a disarray.”
“What has your relationship been like with Curtis? What is it like with his father?”
The worry in her face dropped for a moment, like a candle getting blown out. “My boy is good and obedient, Ms. Mars.” Her face suddenly softened, as if she were making a conscious effort to tuck away her fury. “He hardly ever gives us any issues. He’s very quiet. I’m sure he’s been taken. And I’m sure it’s this Jones he spoke about.” Sunday looked up from the table where her gaze had settled and drilled into Veronica’s. “He’s had bruises up and down his arms and legs ever since having met that man. I just want my son back, Ms. Mars. I want to keep him safe.”
“How did he meet Jones? Do they have any mutual friends?”
“No. Curtis convinced us he could get a job at the hardware store near our home. It was close enough Curtis could walk to it on the days he worked. He met Jones there but none of his co-workers will talk to me about him. Apparently, they are frightened of Jones as well.”
Veronica looked down at the papers Sunday had given her. “Alright Mrs. Miller. Our investigative rate is $175 an hour and with a four-hour minimum. We work against a $2,500 retainer but anything we don’t use will be returned. We bill for interviews and surveillance and if we need to purchase records, we’ll reach out and confirm the cost before moving forward. If that sounds good to you, we can email you the contract and I can get started as soon as it’s signed.”
Part of Veronica really hoped she’d balk at the price and that would be the end of this conversation. But Sunday didn’t blink an eye. She turned her attention to her purse in her lap, taking a moment to flick through something in there before pulling out $2,500 in cash and held it out to Veronica without a second thought.
Veronica’s eyes went wide at her abruptness, taking the money while trying to cover it with her hand before slipping it between the photo of Curtis and the written list. “Alright. I will have my receptionist email you the contract and I can get started tonight.”
“Please do Ms. Mars. Who knows what that man is doing to my son.”
Matty followed up with the contract to Sunday Miller after Veronica delivered the deposit back to Mars Investigations and tucked it securely into the safe. After that, a short list of known Breakwater hangouts popped into her inbox, courtesy of Matty and her knack for buttering up the Neptune PD, and Veronica got to work.
It was well after 9pm by the time she pulled into the gravel lot of the Jack Rabbit. It was a dimly lit, windowless dive bar about fifteen miles north of Neptune’s city limits.
The line of heavy motorcycles parked outside the building should have worried her. For any sane person, it would have been a screaming red flag. But somewhere deep in the crossed wires of her brain, the rumble of a motorcycle engine brought her comfort. It meant backup.
She knew better. She was far too north for these to be PCHers. Too far north for any of these to be Weevil’s crew. And even if they were, they owed her nothing. She’d learned that the last time she’d gone to PCH Body & Paint. Veronica had been grabbed by the ‘younger generation’ and Weevil had to threaten them with a bullet in their bikes to get them to leave her alone.
She hadn’t spoken to Weevil since Logan had died. Before that, even. Eli “Weevil” Navarro, the infamous leader of the PCHers, and someone who had once been her friend. He’d even shown up at Logan’s funeral. She’d seen him in the back, keeping his distance. Hector and a few others were there with him and she’d been glad he wasn’t alone. They hadn’t exchanged words, just a brief nod of condolences from Weevil before he vanished into the crowd.
She still needed to thank him. He’d shown up with his army of bikers and saved her and her dad from the cartel men. She and Keith had found where Epner had been hiding, gone up to the cabin to capture him, and apparently the two other men had had the same idea. Only they didn’t care if he was still breathing by the end of it. Or if Keith and Veronica survived the confrontation.
Out of ammunition and pinned down, Keith tried to make it back to the supply of bullets in the car.
Veronica had been literally a few heartbeats away from trying to charge out there with a knife. A knife against two of El Despiadado’s men, when the low thunder of the swarm of bikes had rolled toward the cabin through the night like a tide.
She still didn’t know how Weevil knew. How he’d figured out they were in danger. Or even how he’d made it there in time to save them. His voice shouted over the sound of the bikes, outside the cabin walls. The bullets stopped after that. The night got quiet and she went out the front door.
And then he’d waited. He’d shown up and waited to make sure she was still alive. Once he saw her, he closed his visor and took off into the night, the two cartel men seemingly swallowed into the darkness along with him.
After everything she’d said to him, the cruelty she’d thrown in his direction, she didn’t understand why he’d shown up at all.
A twinge of anxiety pulled at her lungs, twisting low in her stomach.
That was a lie. She knew why. Because that’s who he was. He always showed up. Except when he didn’t, which is why she had been so angry at him to begin with.
Her hands were starting to shake again, and she focused on the anger she could still hold onto as she reached up to where her shoulder met her neck, pinching hard and digging deep into her skin. It gave her something else to focus on.
Not the time for a panic attack.
She forced her mind back to the case and pulled her digital SLR, bracing it on the edge of her door where her window was rolled down. She snapped a series of quick photos of the parked bikes, zooming in on the custom tanks and any identifying features that set them apart.
The quiet snick snick of the shutter was comforting, and she got lost in the rhythm of the sound through her telephoto lens.
Two things happened at the same moment. The crunch of gravel sounded the heavy clack of a handgun cocked from behind her, right outside her window. Her blood froze beneath her skin.
“Out, blondie.” The voice was a low, steady growl. “I have zero qualms about splattering your brains all over your dashboard if you try to turn that key.”
Veronica lowered the camera from her eye, slowly pushing the camera out the window and raising her other hand into the air. She turned toward the man towering over her driver’s side door. He was deeply tanned with pale blond hair tied back behind his head. His eyebrows were so pale they blended into his skin, making the ridge of his brows that much more prominent. His eyes were deep set enough that they were hidden in shadow. He stood completely still, his voice calm and precise. He wasn’t bluffing.
The Jack Rabbit was nothing fancy but that’s why Weevil liked it. With all the advancements in tech lately, good meeting spots were getting harder to find. Bill, the owner of the Jack Rabbit, was an old-timer who liked that his dive had become neutral territory for both the clubs. He treated them well and in turn, they treated him well. Just their presence kept out the riffraff.
“It’ll take 2 hours to get the trucks from one side of Neptune to the other.” Weevil had a small, printed map between them on the scarred wooden table. He traced the road along the eastern side of the city, “It’s a little longer but the trucks will have less issues, less hills, and my boys will cause enough noise complaints in other parts of the city to keep the lights off your back.”
Harlan nodded, “That sounds solid.”
There was commotion in the front of the bar, pulling Weevil’s attention from their planning. Boone, one of Harlan’s higher-ranking crew, pulled a blond woman in from outside. He was holding her by the back of her jacket, shoving her forward into the tall bar top, pinning her against its ledge.
“Fucking hell…” Weevil exhaled, suddenly and profoundly exhausted. He was sure he was about to have a headache and he massaged his forehead.
“Who’s that?” Harlan asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Riffraff.” Weevil looked over at him. “Unfortunately, it’s riffraff I know.”
“She a problem?” Harlan asked it so nonchalantly he could have been fooled into missing the threat there. But Weevil knew better. And luckily, especially on Veronica’s part, he’d been here tonight to intervene.
“Mine? Yes. Always.” He shook his head. “But not to the crew.”
“I can have some fun then?” Harlan asked, a sharp smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.
Weevil watched him for a moment. Maybe this could be the lesson to finally get through to her. He moved his hand outward, a tired gesture of permission. He trusted Harlan. At least to a point. The man ran a disciplined crew that took care of their own, much like the PCHers. “No permanent damage, please.” Weevil added while Harlan stood. He didn’t miss the grin the large man threw over his shoulder at him.
“Found a tourist.” Boone announced, hoisting Veronica’s camera up as Harlan approached. “She was snapping photos of the bikes.”
“They’re just so sleek and sexy.” Veronica sniped, her voice muffled against the bar top. “I’ve been looking to get one for myself to show off how big of a bad ass I can be. I wanted to show my dealer what I like.”
Harlan chuckled as he sat down in the chair next to Veronica, her eyes tracking him.
Boone shoved her a little harder into the hard surface, her neck and cheek pinching under the pressure. Her hands found the ledge, and she bucked once against the larger man.
Harlan raised his hands in the air as if he were trying to soothe a wild animal. “Now now, we don’t need to be rude.” He gave Boone a look with a raised eyebrow. Boone eased back on the pressure but didn’t let her stand.
Harlan was a large. Both tall and broad. His hair was cropped short in the back and the sides and there was a little length along the top. At some point in his life, he’d had dark hair, but it had gone mostly gray, the original color still showing through in places. He was likely in his 60’s but Weevil had never cared enough to ask. Harlan’s movement was slow and calm, betraying his military background. Weevil knew he'd been out and in the wind for a long time, forgotten by the government like so many were. Which was a core trait among the Breakwaters and Harlan was no exception.
Veronica by comparison, looked that much smaller. The contrast of seeing them next to each other was a little jarring and something twisted in Weevil’s stomach at the thought of the fear she must be feeling. But… God… if she’d shown up on a night he hadn’t been here? He didn’t want to think about it.
Harlan studied her quietly for a moment, looking her up and down like she was some kind of equipment he was trying to figure out. Then he slowly leaned over, mimicking how she curved over the bar and bringing his face level to hers. “Odd place to go sightseeing, gorgeous.” His voice almost sounded playful. Friendly. “And such a strange time of the day too.” He paused for a moment. “This area’s better for camping. Getting lost in the woods… going back to nature to find yourself. That kind of thing. Is that what you were looking for?”
Veronica didn’t respond.
Eventually Harlan chuckled. “What’s your name darlin’?”
Veronica bucked against Boone’s hold again but to no avail. Her eyes shot daggers at Harlan. “Betty.” She spat, the word dripping with venom.
Harlan nodded, sitting upright once more. He reached down to his hip and a quiet metallic snap sounded where he undid a metal clasp and pulled out a large hunting knife he wore there. He brought the blade up to his hands, one elbow resting on the counter and started cleaning his fingernails with the tip. “Alright,” he hesitated, “Betty. You sure do have pretty hands. It’d be a shame if you couldn’t use them to take pictures anymore. Wanna tell me why you’re here?”
“Fuck you.” She growled.
Weevil had to admit she had guts. But then she always had. Even so, that tendency had led her to make some of the worst decisions.
Harlan made a rapid, tsk-tsk-tsk sound with his tongue, “Now, now,” he paused, “Betty. Manners.” He placed his hand on top of hers where she gripped the bar. “It’s what separates us from the animals.” He traced the back of his knife over the first knuckle of her pinky on her left hand. “Maybe we start with the little finger. See if your memory improves.”
“Enough.” Weevil said finally. “I’ll handle her.” He couldn’t take Veronica’s fear any longer. Oh, it came out as anger, but he knew her long enough and well enough to know the difference. He stepped forward where she could see him.
Her eyes grew wide when she spotted him and she went very still. They began to glisten in the low light.
Don’t you dare Veronica Mars. He silently willed her. Not here.
“You know our tourist, Weevil?” Harlan asked, his tone so friendly it even unsettled Weevil.
“Yeah.” He said moving forward. “Something like that. Someone I used to know.” Weevil reached out a hand for the camera, toward Boone and waited. Boone looked at Harlan for confirmation before releasing it to him.
Weevil turned the camera over in his hands, finding the slot that opened to reveal the memory card, then handed the memory card to Boone. Boone took it and he, again, looked at Harlan. Harlan closed his eyes and nodded. Boone pushed Veronica into the bar once more before letting go of her entirely, taking a few steps back.
A quiet pop followed as the memory card was snapped in half. Some of the other boys were still standing between them and the door.
Weevil stared them down. He didn’t bother looking back at Harlan. He didn’t need his permission. These boys weren’t his crew, but they still would respect his power if they wanted everyone to continue to play nice. He stared down the men between him and the door… the men that were challenging his own authority. “My crew walks if you hurt her.”
Harlan waved a hand and the rest of the crew moved, making a path for them.
Weevil looked back at Veronica, a cold glare on his face. “Come on, Betty.” He handed her back the camera and turned toward the door.
The muscles in Veronica’s jaw worked hard. He could hear her teeth grinding. Thankfully she had enough sense to keep her mouth shut as she walked through the door Weevil held open for her.
Gravel crunched beneath their feet as he followed her back out to her car. The silence out here was as oppressive as the chaos inside had been. They walked in silence all the way to her car, and he finally turned to look at her. “Why are you here, Veronica?”
She met his gaze, glanced back at the bar and then settled her attention back on him. “What’s the commission on a nineteen-year-old kid these days Weevil?” Her voice was acidic.
Weevil looked at her, eyebrows raised. “Excuse me?”
“Does it pay better than the ‘honest work’ you’re always pretending to do? Or did you miss the feeling of being someone’s errand boy?”
Weevil’s jaw tightened and he looked down at the gravel, a small, bitter smirk touching his lips. He let out a soft humorless laugh and ran his hand down his face, squeezing his jaw in disbelief. He let go and shook his head. “Yeah. There she is. That’s the Veronica I remember. You know, I might not have recognized you if you didn’t find the cruelest way to get your point across.” He held out his hands in a splayed gesture of resignation. “You win, Mars.” He opened the car door for her, and stared her down, waiting for her to get in.
A sharp sting of regret punched Veronica in the chest. She looked away, toward the tree line and took a few slow breaths. The silence hung between them and Weevil didn’t move. “I’m looking for a guy named Jones. He’s supposed to be running with the Breakwaters.” Her voice was softer now. “He might know where my client’s kid is. Curtis Miller.”
She met his gaze and he watched her, unmoving. Veronica finally sat down in her car.
Weevil closed the door, leaning against the window frame with both of his hands. “Hit the road Mars.” His tone was cold. “It’s dangerous here after dark.”
He pushed off her car, walking back toward the building. She expected him to look back. To turn at least once and give her one more glare. It was like she’d been slapped when he didn’t.
She sat there in the dark for a long time, her hands shaking. She thought about leaving. Thought about picking up her camera again or her phone. Even her laptop would have kept her brain busy.
Instead, she stayed where she was, watching the bar door, music and dim light spilling out from the walls. Two hours later, a little after midnight, men from both crews started filtering out and finding their bikes. Finally, the large man who had threatened her exited, Weevil following behind him. They shook hands and did a chest bump she recognized as a deal being struck. The men in the Breakwaters crew eyeballed her but no one else came up to her car.
Weevil spotted her and she could see the disapproval from this far away. He moved toward her, shaking his head.
The Breakwaters peeled away from the bar in pairs of two or three at a time, the rumble of all their bikes deafening, all heading north.
Weevil leaned against her car waiting for the rumble to die down. The sound of the bikes had turned into distant thunder by the time he finally spoke. “I told you to go home.”
“I’m workin’ ese,” Veronica said. Her voice had lost the tremor, and her hands had stopped shaking about an hour ago. Now she just sounded tired. “Can’t punch the timecard just yet. Besides, you let them snap a week’s worth of surveillance.” She lied.
Weevil’s eyebrows rose as his head began to bob, “And you get to walk away with your life.” He finally looked at her. “What a shitty consolation prize.”
“Yeah. Some days…” She scoffed, losing all the forced humor in her face. She tried not to glare at him. Instead, she aimed it at her steering wheel until she could control the muscles in her face.
Silence stretched between them until Weevil let out a quiet sigh. “I’ll ask about the kid.” He looked at her for a long moment. “Don’t come back to the Jack Rabbit.”
She finally met his eyes, hesitating, and nodded.
Weevil pushed off her car, and she watched him walk back to his bike. He followed her with four other PCHers, all the way back to Neptune. Slowly the others peeled off until she was a block away from home. From her dad’s house. Weevil was still there, a lone light following her in the dark.
She parked along the curb in front of the house and he moved up, alongside her, pausing in the road long enough to give her one more look. Then, just like years ago, he moved past her and continued into the night.
Veronica stood outside Mars Investigations, pressing the lock button on her car door, when her phone started to pulse. She pulled it out, looking at the ID. Her eyes went wide as a grin spread across her face. “Leo D’Amato. To what do I owe the pleasure for this call?”
“Hi Veronica, it’s good to hear your voice too.” The smile in his words was obvious, and maybe a little infectious. “It’s not good news though, I’m afraid.”
“I suspected as much.” She teased. “If it were good news, I don’t think you would have called.”
“Ouch,” he dragged out the word as if she’d hit him. “You wound me, Veronica.”
“I’m just saying, five years is a long time. You set a girl up with expectations when you work on an FBI case together and then, what, nothing? I’m sure it wasn’t my charming personality that drove you away because I am a beloved people person.”
His laugh fueled her grin. “Definitely not your personality. I happen to enjoy your personality immensely.” His voice was warm and she could hear his honesty in his words.
“And it’s not a favor,” she continued. “Because we have to exchange food for those. Oh wait…” She paused dramatically and looked around, “did you order me a pizza?”
Leo laughed. It was an easy and comfortable sound and she’d missed it. “No, I wanted to give you a heads up.” He paused for a moment, whatever he wanted to say was hard to get out. “On the Epner case.”
The words were a slap in the face. One case, above all others, that she tried not to think about.
“The Epner case is closed.” Her tone had gone flat and the playfulness was gone. “His trial was 4 years ago.”
“I know. There’s a guy… online—” Leo rushed on before she could respond. “—who has taken on an internet warrior stance to prove Epner didn’t do it. They’re trying to paint your dad as the “real” bomber. He’s got a bunch of videos up and he’s started a GoFundMe that’s starting to gain traction.”
Veronica froze, her hand resting on the handle of the door to Mars Investigations. “What?” She’d heard him perfectly but none of it made sense.
Epner showed them where the bomb was hidden. It was his backpack in her car that had killed Logan. Should have killed her.
“He’s got no real evidence to stand on. Just baseless claims. Skewed perspectives on the facts. At least the ones that were released to the public. This guy peddles in misinformation and it’s picking up some steam. There’s concern the videos are going to go viral and then it becomes its own can of worms.”
Her head was beginning to spin, the edges of her vision going dark. “I— I gotta go Leo.”
“It’ll be okay Veronica. I’ll keep you updated.” His words tumbled from the speaker as her phone dropped from her ear. She blindly tapped the screen to end the call and a buzzing in her ears began to drown out all the other sounds.
Nobody in their right mind would fall for that kind of garbage… right? Veronica shook her head, leaning against the door. The public could believe what they wanted. That wasn’t what scared her. It was having to drag that nightmare back into the light.
She didn’t want to go back there. Didn’t want to relive those moments again. Once was hellish enough. Having to be here in Neptune… walking down streets they’d walked together… seeing signs that triggered a memory… Neptune itself was a landmine of panic attack triggers. That was with Epner in jail and the case closed.
She had to keep moving. Keep functioning.
She forced a breath into her lungs, and it flowed into her with a stutter. Then a wall of white-hot resentment settled in around the edges of her fear. She pictured Penn Epner’s face and rage took over, pushing away the fear. He didn’t get to come for her father, not even by proxy.
Matty was already sitting behind the desk when Veronica walked in, dual monitors glowing in the late morning light coming into the windows behind her.
Keith was in his inner office looking over a stack of file folders. He looked up as she rounded the corner. “Morning kiddo.” He paused, his forehead furrowing when he picked up on the electricity in the air. “You okay? You look like you haven’t slept.”
“I just got off the phone with Leo,” she said.
“You guys fight over pizza toppings again? He’s a chill guy. If you tell him you like—”
“No, dad. Stop.” Veronica interrupted without even looking at him.
Keith and Matty looked at each other. “I don’t think you’ve ever let me not finish my witty retorts.”
“Matty, can you look something up for me?” Veronica asked, completely ignoring her father.
“Sure, Veronica.”
“Penn Epner. Apparently, there’s a group trying to prove his innocence.”
Matty looked up at her, confused. “But we’ve known that for a while.” Matty looked back at the computer, typing in the phrases in the search bar. “There’ve been nutjobs popping up ever since the documentary aired.”
“Yeah,” Veronica agreed, “but suddenly it’s loud enough to be on the FBI’s radar. Important enough for Leo to call me and give me a heads up.”
A moment later, a cluttered website with neon text over a pitch-black background filled Matty’s screen, proudly labeling itself ‘The Penn-Tagon’”.
“That’s a dumb name,” Matty sniped. “It doesn’t even make sense.”
The site was loaded with link after link of videos promising to expose the truth about a “corrupt former sheriff who calls the shots from a private investigator’s office.” It was absolutely ludicrous. A link at the top of the page pointed to a GoFundMe and showed the ticking tracker of how much had been raised so far. Twenty thousand dollars. It had been open for five months with barely a trickle, only to surge over the last few days.
Keith walked out of his office, looking over Matty’s other shoulder. He stared at the screen for a long moment, his expression completely unreadable, before letting out a short, dismissive huff. “It’s the internet, Veronica. If you look hard enough, you can find people convinced the earth is flat. This is just noise. It’ll blow over by the end of the month. Don’t waste your energy worrying about it.”
“Dad, they’re calling you a murderer.” Veronica pressed. “They’re crowdsourcing a ‘re-investigation.’”
“Let them.” The humor was gone from his voice. “We were all there, Veronica. They’ll find exactly what the FBI and the Neptune PD found. It’s a non-issue.”
Veronica shared a look with Matty, and she gave a subtle shrug, quietly saving a shortcut to her desktop. “I’ll keep an eye on it and let you know if anything weird starts happening.”
Veronica squeezed Matty’s shoulder. “Thanks. At least someone in this office has some sense.”
“Oh!” Matty said, making Veronica jump. “Wait—I found a lead on the guy.” She snapped her fingers a couple of times trying to remember his name. “Jones! Yeah. Well, maybe. I’m not sure it’s him yet since I’ve got such a small amount of info to go off of.” She dug around in a notebook and then tore out a page, handing it to her. “There’s a dispensary about fifty miles North of here. It’s supposed to be a frequent spot for the Breakwaters. Might be owned by a member. They don’t hang out there, but they’ve reported a lot of traffic through there.”
Veronica took the paper and looked at the scribbled address.
“The guy who runs it goes by Jones. It’s a thin lead, but maybe it’s something. I thought the coincidence was a little too much to ignore.”
“Yeah, keep looking.” Veronica said with a faint, appreciative smile. “It’s in the right area, but I’m not sure it’s worth the drive up there just yet.” The memory of the events from a few nights ago made the skin prickle on the back of her neck.
Her phone pulsed in her pocket and she pulled it out. She’d half expected to see Leo’s name on the screen, but it just said ‘Private’.
She tapped the answer button and held it up to her ear, “Mars Investigations.”
“I talked to Jones.” Weevil's voice was low and guarded, the sound of the shop's mechanics popping and whirring in the background.
“And?”
“Jones said the kid has no interest in being found. He’s where he wants to be, Veronica. Let it go.”
The anger inside her was still boiling and now it unexpectedly had a path to take. Weevil had a knack for stirring up her stubborn streak. She struggled but kept her voice steady. “Will you arrange a call? Just five minutes. I need to hear from Curtis that he’s okay so I can tell his mother to stop calling me.”
There was a long silence that hung on the phone. She would have thought he’d hung up, or they’d gotten disconnected if not for the background noise. She waited for the negotiation. The witty comeback… but it didn’t come.
“Weevil?” she asked into the silence.
Finally, she heard him sigh softly. “Goodbye Veronica.” His voice was strained and it made a different feeling of panic flare in her chest. Then the line went dead.
Veronica pulled the phone from her ear and stared at the Home Screen as it turned dark.
“Did you say Weevil?” Keith asked, surprise registering in his face. “Are you two talking again?”
“Apparently not. No more than two words at a time.” Her panic was still there but the burn of pure stubborn defiance pushed it to the background of her mind. She wasn’t going to sit in the office. She couldn’t. She had too much energy for that. The address Matty gave her suddenly felt much more interesting. “Message me if you find anything else?” She said, touching Matty’s arm.
“Of course.” Matty watched Veronica leave, a worried expression tugging at her eyes.
“Where are you headed?” Keith asked, making Veronica hesitate.
“Gotta get a new memory card. My last one got busted. And then a little information gathering.”
“Honey,” her dad’s voice stopped her for a moment, “are you going to harass the local gang leader again?”
“Every chance I get. I’m going to go shoot up in the alley too. Working on my track lines for the summer.” She adjusted her purse on her shoulder and slapped the inside crook of her arm for emphasis.
Keith gave her a long, unimpressed look.
“I’m doing my best to avoid him dad, don’t worry. He’s making it easy since I think he’s got the same goal.”
“Hmm…” he grunted. The judgement was loud even if he didn’t use real words.
She rolled her eyes at him and moved toward the door.
“Well, just a little bit of meth before bed.” Keith finally said. “Otherwise, it’ll keep you up all week.” She shook her head and was almost out the door when he called out one more time. “Remember, I won’t be at the house tonight. I’m taking the box of evidence to the lawyer in San Diego. I’ll be back sometime tomorrow.”
The drive north was fifty miles of coastal highway and an internal monologue that revolved around the various ways Veronica wanted to scream. By the time she pulled into the dust-choked lot of Canopy, her anger had settled back into something she could hold on a leash.
A small white pickup truck was parked at the edge of the dusty parking lot, closer to the back door than the front. Veronica took that as a sign that at least someone was there working. No bikes, no leather-clad sentries. Just a weathered shack that looked like a converted bait shop, bars lining the inside of all the windows. Matty was probably right, that it was a dead end. That knowledge further soothed her fears of a repeat of the other night.
Veronica checked her reflection in the rearview. Her eyes were still a little wild, but a swipe of lip gloss and a practiced “I’m a lost tourist” expression did wonders. Veronica wasn’t going to play PI today. She was going for the ditzy blonde angle. The best lockpick sometimes was a smile and a lack of spatial awareness.
The bell above the door gave a single lonely ting as she pushed the door inward. The interior was surprisingly high-end, cleaner than she’d expected. Well organized. The shelves and decoration were all reclaimed wood, glass counters and there was a heavy earthy scent that lingered but wasn’t overpowering. The whir of the ventilation system thrummed above her, sounding industrial and probably overkill for such a small building. Unless it was full of a bunch of weed smokers.
A man stood behind the counter, his head down while he read. He looked up as the door closed behind her. He was tanned, dark hair falling just above his eyebrows. Mid-twenties maybe, unless he had a baby face. His eyes were large and dark enough she couldn’t see the difference between his pupils and his irises from this distance. She saw a tattoo on his neck, just to the right side above his collar bone. It was a skull, or the top half of one at least, sitting in a pool of water. It was the same insignia she’d seen last night on the jackets of the Breakwaters.
Bingo.
“Can I help you?” He asked. He didn’t smile. Didn’t flirt. He was more business than she’d expected.
“I hope so.” Veronica said, leaning against the glass case, peering down at something called ‘Northern Lights’. “I’m on a bit of a road trip. A ‘find myself’ journey, you know?” Her top wasn’t super low-cut, but it was low enough that, from this angle, she was sure he was getting a decent view. “But so far, I’ve mostly just found traffic and bad radio stations. I was looking for something… new. Exciting. Something that says, ‘I’ve given up on conventional reality, but I still have a yoga class at four.’”
The man didn’t smile. He didn’t even blink. He just stared at her with a flat, unimpressed look. “If you’re looking for a discount, the only one we’re running right now is ‘buy three and get a 5% off’. If I did discounts for cleavage, I’d be out of business in a week.”
Veronica straightened, her cheeks burning.
“If you’re looking to try multiple options,” he continued, unfazed, “we have a sampler pack with 5 strains, which is probably your best bet.”
“I’ll… just look around for a bit.”
“Sure. My name’s Jones. Let me know if you have any questions.”
Despite the embarrassment she felt from him calling her out, the feeling she’d just scored a point streaked through her and she struggled to keep the smirk from getting too big on her face.
Gotcha.
He pulled out his phone and started tapping the screen while she looked around. Crystals tied with cords hung from stained pieces of driftwood. Beaded rings sported dangling pieces of sea glass that caught the artificial light as they moved. Chimes lined the back wall, and she tapped one with her finger, a soothing note emanating from it. She could see how this kind of lifestyle could be appealing. Veronica didn’t know how to relax anymore. Maybe she never did. If she slowed down too much the screaming inside of her got too loud.
A few minutes longer and she’d bow out. She wasn’t interested in anything here anyway. Curtis was nowhere to be seen, and she wasn’t sure how to bring him up. At least now she had a place to stake out and someone to tail.
A quiet click by the front door caught her attention and unsettled her. Alarm bells were ringing in her head, but she wasn’t sure why. She turned back to Jones, and he was watching her with an unimpressed expression. “You’re a long way from Neptune, Betty.”
Fear seized her and she couldn’t take a breath.
“Weevil said you were persistent, but I’m impressed you scouted me out as fast as you did.” He set his phone on the counter and tapped it a couple more times.
It rang once on speaker before a voice answered. A voice she recognized. “Go ahead.”
“Wanna come get your girl? If we find her again, no one else ever will.”
“Goddammit Veronica.” The line snapped off.
“I just wanted to talk to Curtis.” The fear constricted her throat, making her voice sound smaller than it usually did. “I just need to know that he’s alright.”
“You can know that if Curtis wants you to know that. Otherwise, it’s none of your damn business.”
“His parents are really worried.”
Jones laughed at that and shook his head. “Yeah. Sure.”
“I’ll just go.” Veronica said while making her way to the door. She tugged on the handle, but the door didn’t budge. A silent alarm. That was the click she’d heard earlier. She looked up. There were metal bolts both above the door into the ceiling and below, into the floor.
“You go out that door by yourself, my boys are gonna find a permanent place for you. I suggest you wait for your ride.”
Thirty minutes later, a familiar rumble rolled into the parking lot. It was a strange mix of relief and terror seeing Weevil getting off his bike. The windows were small enough she was confident he hadn’t seen her yet and she fought the urge to hide.
He knocked on the door and Jones locked eyes with her before releasing the lock on the door.
Weevil stepped through, pulling off his sunglasses. Seeing him in the daylight, she could see the toll the years had taken on him. His expression was angry, but more than that, it was exhausted. He looked at Jones first and Jones nodded a quick head tilt in her direction.
“Thanks man.” He said before turning his gaze on her.
“I’ll give you guys a minute.” Jones said, stepping through a door that led to the back of the building.
Weevil moved toward her, stopping just in front of her. If it had been anyone else, she might have flinched. He stood there for a long moment, his gaze burning holes into her with the fury that rolled off of him. Suddenly his hand clamped down hard on Veronica’s arm and he pulled her forward, toward the door.
She struggled against his grip, fueled by rage herself. Just before they got to the door, she pulled back hard, her arm slipping from his grasp. Weevil turned to face her, fury filling every corner of his features. “Have you lost your goddamned mind?”
“I was fine.” She snapped. “I’ve been in tighter spots than that.”
“No, Veronica, I don’t think you have.” He looked down, his hands coming up on either side of his head, shaking and flexing, before he covered his eyes with his palms. His hands quavered there for a moment before he dropped them, landing a glare on her that made her take a step back. “We’d never find your body. These guys would make you disappear. We’d never even know what direction to look in.”
“Sometimes my line of work is dangerous.” She growled, sarcasm oozing off every word. “And who are you to talk? The shit you do…”
“I know where the fucking lines are Veronica!” He yelled. “I don’t try to pull the shit you just did in here!”
“Maybe I’m just better at my job.” She spit. “I know what I’m doing. I don’t need a bodyguard.”
Weevil went still, watching her.
It was like watching a pressure pot go quiet. There have been very few times in her life that Weevil had scared her. But the look that crossed his face made her feel it.
His voice dropped low, much quieter than it had been only moments before. “It’s a special kind of hell to lose your spouse.” His words were a soft growl, but each one was a knife in her lungs. She couldn’t get in a full breath.
“I’m not going to say I know what you’re going through. I understand that saying it hurts doesn’t begin to get close to the pain of it.” He stepped into her space, “But I will tell you that losing a child is a whole new level of agony. All this grief and anger and dying inside you’re feeling…” he hesitated for just a moment, “Don’t do that to Keith. Don’t make him carry it too. He doesn’t deserve it, just like you didn’t deserve to lose Logan.”
Veronica stood frozen, staring at Weevil for a long moment, rage streaming from every inch of her body. The structure she’d built to keep her body moving, keep it functioning, through the loss of Logan, felt like it had just been hit with a wrecking ball. Blood rushed to her head, her ears filled with a ringing until everything around her was drowned out.
Her hand tightened into a fist, clenching the leather of his jacket so hard it hurt. She started shaking him, screaming, tears flooding down her face. The impact of her fist jarred her before she’d even realized she had drawn her arm back.
He pulled her into a hug while she continued swinging at him. Then the only thing she could do was scream. Her throat burned.
When her legs gave out from underneath her, she clung to him and he continued to hold her, holding them both upright, leaning against the doorframe. Her chest had cracked open, a split in the concrete she’d used to build her body out of. Everything it had been holding onto… or rather holding back… all the grief and pain, spilled out of her.
How could something spill out of you so intensely and still not leave?
She wailed. It was a bone-jarring, soul destructive sound and Weevil couldn't stand hearing it tear free from her. God, what he would have done to fix this pain.
He’d heard this sound before. He’d been there when Felix’s mother had been told. Told she’d lost another child. Felix was his friend… his brother… it was the kind of pain bodies weren’t built to endure. This was the sound of grief from the depth of someone’s soul and coming from her… it took everything in him to stand there and listen to it. He’d give up any part of himself to stop her from feeling this, but here it was happening… had happened, and there was nothing he could do but endure the sound of it.
When she’d finally spent her grief, she clung to him with what little strength she had left. She still stood, surprising him, but her legs were wobbly under her. Jones had come back into the building once she’d quieted, a look of understanding now on his face.
“Let me take you home.” Weevil said quietly. “I’ll have my boys get your car.”
She didn’t even look up, just nodded her head weakly. Weevil took her car key and quietly left it with Jones before leading her to his bike. He gave her his helmet, and she started placing it on her head. He snapped the clasp under her chin for her when she fumbled with it for far longer than it should have taken her.
She clung to him during the ride. He’d honestly been worried she’d fall off the back, given the state she was in, but she leaned hard against him, her grip tight. Better than he’d thought she’d had the strength for.
Once they reached her house, Keith’s house, her movements were zombie-like, and he was starting to worry about leaving her here, alone. He hadn’t seen Keith’s car out front when they arrived and the house was quiet when he used her keys to let them in.
They moved through the entry way, and he helped her pull her jacket off. She wobbled and he held her upper arm, steadying her. “Do you want to go to bed?”
She shook her head.
So, they moved to the couch, and he helped her settle in. When he started to pull away, straightening to stand, she caught hold of his wrist. “Stay? Please?” Her voice was raw.
Weevil nodded as he sat down on the couch next to her. She followed his movement and curled against him. Before they completely settled, he leaned forward and grabbed the remote from the coffee table. He chose some streaming movie that neither of them paid attention to. It was background noise to give her mind a break. Away from the grief.
Fifteen minutes into the movie he noticed her body had finally relaxed, and she was breathing in a slow steady rhythm. He glanced down and her eyes were closed. The blanket on the back of the couch slid easily, caught in his fingers, and he draped it over her shoulders and hips.
When he pulled out his phone there were a couple of messages waiting for him. They could wait. He sent a message to Charlie, asking him to get her car and telling him where it was and that Jones had the key.
Next, he messaged Keith. He told him Veronica was home and safe, but she was dealing with her grief. It wasn’t uncommon that he stayed in contact with Keith, but it would be strange for Keith to find Eli, in his house, without any notice.
She cried.
That might be a good thing.
Two steps forward hopefully…
The men didn’t share long winded messages, but Weevil had been grateful Keith hadn’t expelled him from his life in the same way Veronica had. Keith really had become the father he’d never had. He’d been there through the years his marriage had failed. He’d tried to give him advice about Valentina as she drifted further from him. The advice had failed but that wasn’t on Keith. That was just life as Weevil knew it.
He shifted to set his phone down, and she tightened her grip on him in her sleep. Weevil flexed his fingers on her upper arm, tightening his hold on her too. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere V.” His voice was a low and the quiet tone seemed to relax her. He leaned back and watched the movie quietly play out on the screen.
The sound of a car door shutting pulled him from his sleep. Weevil hadn’t even realized he’d closed his eyes. It was still dark out and the same movie was still running. He couldn’t have slept more than an hour. He heard the footfalls coming up the front steps and his phone buzzed. Charlie.
Want the keys inside the door or somewhere else?
Door’s unlocked. Drop the keys inside and lock the door before you close it.
Sure thing boss.
If he moved, he risked waking her. Charlie knew better than to give him too much shit. At least at the wrong times and it was common knowledge to not dwell on the blond P.I.
Weevil settled back against the couch as he listened to Charlie’s steps moving away from the house. A car door shut and they were headed back out into the night.
“I half expected you to try to sneak out.”
Her voice surprised him and he was quiet for a long moment before responding. “You asked me to stay.”
She made no move to put distance between them, and he felt the subtle movement of her jaw against his side as she spoke. “Since when do you do what I ask?”
A puff of breath escaped him in disbelief. “When have I ever not?”
She laughed. “Okay, maybe you’re right.”
A smile slid onto his face, and he rubbed her arm with his thumb. “Even a broken clock can be right once a day.”
“Isn’t the saying, twice a day?”
“Is it?” He asked, unable to keep the smile from slipping onto his face.
Silence crept over them and the low volume of the movie chattered in the background.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was soft, but it was the fragility of it that punched his heart. She sounded so small. He looked down at her head. She was still facing the tv, her head resting on his chest, and part of him doubted he’d heard anything. But he knew better.
He slid his thumb up and down her upper arm, where it had been resting and turned his gaze back to the tv. “Don’t worry about it, V.”
She lifted her head and pushed herself upright, just a few inches, but it was enough to face him. Their faces were inches from each other and Weevil’s heart stuttered. He needed to pull back, to put some distance between them, but the arm of the couch trapped him, and her gravity was doing the rest.
“I was in over my head. I was stupid for going alone. I’ve been taking my anger out on you. It wasn’t fair.”
His hand had slid across her back at her movement and caught on her other arm. The one she’d had tucked between him and the couch. He forced a slow, shallow breath into his lungs, watching her, then squeezed her arm gently, giving her a little nod. “Thanks, V.” His voice was barely louder than a whisper, but it was all he could get out.
Her gaze dropped for a moment, from his eyes to his mouth, and the air in the room was gone. When her eyes traveled back up, the look in them was terrifyingly clear.
Weevil’s lungs stopped working. For a solid decade, more if he was being honest, he’d buried the idea of Veronica Mars in a place where it couldn’t hurt him. He knew his place in her world. He was the muscle. The informant. The occasional friend. He was the one she fought with and blamed, and who pulled her out of the hole when everyone else was gone. He was never going to be… this… no matter how much he wanted it. And he’d accepted that.
She leaned forward, and he knew he should move. The rational part of his mind screamed for him to run just before their foreheads touched. His mind filled with static and he closed his eyes, the warmth of her breath ghosting over his lips. She had a magnetic pull. Truth be told he’d never known what it felt like not to have that pull toward her. It was just easier to ignore the more distance there was between them.
Her fingertips landed on the left side of his neck, right over the ink of his “familia” tattoo. Something in his chest wrenched.
His hand moved to his neck, closing gently over hers. “V—” he breathed, his voice a plea, her name the only thought clear enough for him to formulate.
“Eli—” her voice was throaty and full of want. The sound of his name in her mouth, his real name, made the pain intensify.
Her fingers made tiny movements against his neck that sent tiny lightning bolts through his body. The muscles in this forehead knitted together as he pushed against her hand, stilling her movements. “No.” It was barely more than a whisper, but he was able to angle his head away from hers, their lips now out of the path of destruction, but their foreheads still resting against each other. He opened his eyes to look at her. “I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and…” he searched for the words, “…have it be me… the one you’re angry at.”
A smile slid onto her face. Something flirty and irresistible. She thought he was playing. “You’ve survived me being mad at you before.”
He laughed, a short, self-deprecating sound that held his agony. He pushed her back far enough he could fully look her in the eyes. Breaking the contact of the skin on their faces seemed to help him think more clearly. “Yeah, but you’re like a small, angry tornado. Who knows what’s gonna get torn up in your path?” He said it with a smile but there was a truth so painful there he couldn’t really face it.
Her face filled with confusion, raw and vulnerable, as she looked back, hurt growing in her eyes.
He held on to her hand, slipping his fingers around the edge of her palm and pressing his thumb against her fingers. “You don’t gotta do anything to get me to stay, V. Aside from telling me you want me to.” He took in a breath, “But I can’t be your quick fix.” He pulled her hand away from his neck and brought the backs of her fingers to his lips, holding them there for a long moment. He didn’t kiss them, just held them against his face, in the space between his nose and chin, feeling the coolness of her skin on the inferno that was his face.
“I’ve wanted you since we were kids. You know that.” he turned his head slightly, closing his eyes, and a puff of laughter escaped him. “Hell, half the county knows that.” He looked back at her eyes and his gaze grew intense. “But I ain’t taking advantage of you when you’re hangin’ by a thread.” He tilted his head, hesitating. “You already have my loyalty, V. You’ve always had it.” He mumbled the words against her fingers, and it made Veronica’s stomach flip.
Her gaze dropped to his shoulder and Weevil pulled her down against him before she could pull away. Before she could hide her face from him. “Don’t you remember?” He asked suddenly, his voice less serious than it had been just a moment before. “Weevil love you long time.” He sucked in a lung full of air, now they’d finally remembered how to function. “Now,” he said, wiggling back and forth, making a big show of trying to get comfortable, “quiet. I wanna see how the movie ends.”
Veronica was quiet for a long moment, listening to the drumming of his heart go from erratic to slowly calming into a slower rhythm. She had known Weevil had a thing for her. She’d found him attractive too. But it was always in the background with Logan… and Piz. And even Leo. Even her dad had made his opinions on Weevil clear pretty early on into their friendship and they'd never explored the attraction. They'd flirted here and there but then their friendship had become… Veronica wasn’t sure she could find the word for it. Foundational? He'd never left. She’d come back to Neptune, and he’d become part of the stone here. She always knew where she could find him and she hadn’t been wrong.
She watched the screen while her thoughts swirled. It took her a minute to register it was a movie with people in it, and an extra one before she could remember the name.
“Galaxy Quest?” There was a note of bemusement in her voice
“What?!” He asked with over the top feigned shock. “Have you seen it already?”
“This movie is almost as old as we are.”
“So spoiled. Seeing movies while they’re still new.” He teased. “Besides, that one alien guy who’s the leader, he looks like your dad.”
“He does not!” She tried to sound offended as the man in question filled the screen and his staccato speech pattern filled the room. She watched for a long moment, quiet. She could feel Weevil holding back, his hand twitching as he wanted to gesture at the screen. She finally conceded, “Okay, maybe he does.
Weevil’s chest bobbed as he laughed and she felt the embarrassment of his rejection loosen from around them. She snuggled down a little further, tightening her grip on him just a little. Fear slid around inside her torso, poking her organs with its needles. Fear she was going to lose him even though he said she wouldn’t.
His fingers slid up and down her arm where his hand rested. His grip tightened on her too, just a little, in response to her movements. The pressure settled her some, and she tried to believe what he’d promised.
When Veronica woke this time, there was pale gray-blue morning light filtering in from around the curtains. She wasn’t sure if the sun had actually come up yet, but the TV was off and the room was quiet. The warm body that had stayed next to her all night was still there and she turned her face further into his chest, breathing him in. He smelled like his bike, like the open air of the road and the oil from the mechanic shop he owned. Those smells soothed her. It caused somewhere deep inside of herself to calm. A place that hadn’t been calm since a bomb blew up in front of her house. Blew up her life.
Her neck ached and her body felt stiff, but she didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to leave this bubble where everything felt okay. Because the alternative was to return to reality, where she’d lost someone so important to her, she wanted to die.
She waited in the quiet, staying in this moment where she could fool herself that life had played out a little differently. Logan was alive and somewhere else in the world. With someone else but at least he was still alive. She listened to the slow rhythmic movements next to her and realized the man she was holding onto wasn’t sleeping.
“Most people sneak out before the awkward morning-after part.” Her words mumbled against his chest.
He was quiet long enough she started second guessing her assessment.
“I ain’t most people.” She could hear the smile on his face, and it tugged one onto her cheeks too.
“No,” She shook her head gently, her words quiet. “You’re not.” Reluctantly she loosened her grip on him and sat up, stretching. “Want some breakfast?”
“Only if I’m cooking. I know some rumors about the Mars women.”
“Coffee counts as breakfast.” She countered.
Veronica made her way to the kitchen as Weevil took a few minutes to get cleaned up.
He came into the room just as she was filling the second mug with the steaming black liquid. “Did you get any sleep?” She asked, her voice soft and serious.
He sat in the chair next to her and nodded, wrapping his hands around the mug. “A bit. The coffee’ll help though. Thanks V.” He took a long sip and then nodded his head toward the front of the house. “Your car’s out front. Keys are on the counter by the front door.”
“Full service. Five stars. Would recommend.” She lifted her mug in his direction giving him a distant ‘cheers’.
Weevil smiled again but it didn’t quite wipe out the sadness in his eyes. His phone buzzed in his pocket and his brows furrowed as he dug for it. He took a quick glance at the screen before tapping the button and holding it to his ear. “Go ahead.”
There was a pause and he looked up at her. “Yeah. Just a minute.” He set the phone down, turning it on the speaker setting. “Okay. She’s here.”
“Hello?” It was a young man’s voice. One she didn’t recognize.
“Hello?” She asked back.
“You’re the P.I. looking for me?”
“Curtis? Curtis Miller?”
“Yeah.” He said, his tone clipped.
“Curtis, my name is Veronica. I spoke to your mom and she’s worried that you’re in danger. Is there a place we can meet to talk?”
“Veronica, I’m finally out of danger for the first time in my life. My parents… I finally escaped them. They’re lying to you. They’ve beat me and starved me my entire life. Isolated me. And now that I got out of their reach, they’re still trying to control me. You can tell them I’m dead. I am to them anyway. Ironic with how often they threatened me with that.” He scoffed.
Veronica looked up at Weevil and his eyes didn’t register any surprise. Just a grim understanding.
“I’m where I want to be, Veronica. They give you a story about my bruises? The cuts? The burns? All those… my wounds… that my parents tried to claim were proof of my ‘gang activity’… they gave them to me. I’d get whipped for breathing wrong. So no, I’m not going back and they don’t get to know where I am. And you gotta stop. Leave Jones alone. Leave the Breakwaters alone.”
The anger and irritation in Curtis’s voice when he spoke about his parents made her believe him.
“I gotta go. And Weevil?”
“Yeah man. I’m still here.”
“Jones said he’ll call you later.”
“K. Thanks for callin’.”
“Yeah.” There was a short pause and then the phone’s screen flicked to the home screen.
Silence drifted over them for a few moments before Weevil spoke. “He’s safe Veronica. I know this crew. Jones is a good dude. They don’t recruit. Not actively. But they protect their own. And that kid had it bad. I saw the bruises. His family is some sorta cult and some shit. It’s fucked up.”
She watched her coffee cup. The steam slowly curled off the dark surface. She nodded. “Okay. I’ll drop it.”
“Thank you.” He took another sip of the coffee before setting it back down. “I gotta head out. Is Keith not here?”
She shook her head. “He’s got a meeting in San Diego this morning. He stayed the night down there last night.”
“You gonna be okay on your own?” The question was out before he’d thought to stop himself from asking. He closed his eyes, as if that could have pulled the words back in, and waited for her retort.
She scoffed. “Me? I’m a bad ass who got to see Galaxy Quest the same year it came out.”
“My bad.” He smiled, holding out a fist. A hug suddenly seemed too personal. Like it was crossing some boundary or invading her personal space.
She hesitated for a moment, just a breath of time, feeling this new boundary slide into place. Then she matched his motion.
He left after that, only turning back once to look at her before he closed the door behind himself. Veronica stood, moving to a place she could see him leaving through the front window. She watched as he put on his helmet and kicked his bike to life. Something tightened in her chest the further away he moved. When he pulled away down the street, she turned back to her coffee.
Hours later, and after a long hot shower, Veronica picked up her order from the pick-up counter of the coffee shop she’d stopped at on her way into the office. She pulled up the contact for Sunday Miller as she stepped outside, settling at one of the iron mesh tables.
The phone rang three times before the woman answered, her tone clipped and expectant. “Hello? Ms. Mars?”
“Yes. Hello Mrs. Miller.” Veronica’s voice was even and professional. “I found your son.”
A sharp inhale came through the speaker. “Oh, thank God. Where is he? Is he okay? When can I—”
“He’s safe.” Veronica cut in. She let a moment pass before continuing. Veronica felt the tension shift. “He doesn’t want to come ‘home’.”
Another tense silence stretched across the line. Her voice was cold when it came through the line this time, the anxious mother act now gone. She sounded like a different person. “That’s not his decision.”
Veronica’s resolve hardened. Weevil had been right. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Miller, but it is. He’s an adult. I believe if you push this, you’ll destroy any chance at reconciling. You’ll only assure that he stays gone.”
“I don’t care what you believe Ms. Mars. You’re being paid to find him.”
“You’re correct Mrs. Miller. I was and I did. And now I’m done. Legally, I can’t force him to go anywhere he doesn’t want to go.”
“Then tell me where he is and I can bring him home.” Her voice was sharp and there was a low tone to it that scared her.
“I’m terminating our contract. I believe you weren’t completely truthful about the information you shared when hiring me and we don’t work with clients who withhold critical facts about a case. I appreciate your business but I’m calling to inform you I’m terminating our interactions. I am returning the remainder of your retainer to your address on file. Please keep an eye on your mail. Have a good day.”
Veronica ended the call before Sunday could get another word out. She’d had clients like this before. The argument that was loaded in her throat would just go round and round in circles. She had learned to put an end to them early, but she especially didn’t have the energy for it today.
Setting her phone to ‘silent’, Veronica flipped it face down and focused on the coffee in front of her.
Her mind drifted back to last night. To the early dawn. A ribbon of embarrassment tied its way into her guts. She’d wanted a relief from the pain of last night. Weevil had forced her to face her grief for a moment and she hadn’t wanted to. Hadn’t been ready for it.
She wasn’t mad at him though. Not really. She was grateful. He’d gotten her home. The reality of their last two encounters… she was realizing she likely wouldn’t have lived through the first one, let alone the second, if he hadn’t been there. Been who he is.
The reality was that she didn’t care if she died. Mostly. She knew that it would destroy her dad if she did. And she cared about that. Cared about him. That’s what kept her moving forward.
Veronica took a sip of her coffee and turned the cup slowly between her fingertips. She felt guilty for using him. That was what she’d done. Or tried to do. Truth be told she was a bit shocked that he’d pumped the breaks. And that truth made the guilt bite into her that much more.
He’d made a show of shrugging it off though so maybe that’s what she should do too. Pretend like it didn’t happen. The way he’d held her fingers to his lips though… the memory of it made something low in her stomach flutter.
Veronica took a long drink from her cup, focusing on the morning light and the birds chirping around her. Behind the gated table area of the coffee house, across the tables that were spread out in front of her, there was a quiet tittering of whispers that caught Veronica’s attention and fully pulled her from her thoughts. People were turning around, some pointing, and Veronica looked behind her but she didn’t see anything.
A woman two tables over didn’t even pretend to be looking at her pastry when she raised her phone, the distinct click of a camera shutter cutting over the whispering.
Veronica felt the uncomfortable prickle of being a specimen trapped under glass and she looked at her phone. Two missed calls from Sunday Miller and one voicemail Veronica had no intention of listening to.
But there was also a text from Matty.
Office. ASAP. It’s getting weird.
“Yo.” Her table groaned as a kid in his late teens slapped his hands down on her table making her jump. The metal beneath clattered. “Are you the bomber guys daughter?”
The kid had blond hair, cut into a shape that Veronica could only describe as mushroom like. He wore athletic wear that blended in with his two nearly carbon copy friends who flanked him, looking like cut-rate, stoned, security detail. “Did your old man really blow all those people up?”
Veronica looked him up and down, unimpressed, and picked up her coffee. “Are you having a medical event? A stroke? I hear words but you’re not making any sense.” Veronica stood, slipping her phone into her purse and adjusting the purse’s strap on her shoulder. “Might want to have your friends call you an ambulance.”
The kid lifted his hands up off the table, pointing a finger at her and laughing, “It’s absolutely her, dude!” he turned back to his friends. “Take a picture!” The brown-haired boy that flanked him had his phone out and was angling it toward her.
Veronica didn’t wait but heard the long stream of shutter clicks at her back. She turned and walked quickly toward her car.
Her phone buzzed again but she ignored it until she was safely locked inside her vehicle. She pulled it out and it was another message from Matty, this time with a link to a video titled, ‘THE REAL BOMBER? Neptune’s Biggest Cover-Up.’
It just hit 200k views. It’s going viral.
I’m coming in now.
Suddenly Veronica felt incredibly exposed. As if she’d just lost any semblance of anonymity. Panic crept into her chest.