CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

The following night, Veronica and Leo stepped out of the Mercury, and found themselves in the lights and noise at the heart of the Strip.

Drunken tourists staggered up and down the street, sipping on foot-tall frozen drinks. To the south she could see the Luxor’s spotlight piercing up through the murky sky; north was the Stratosphere’s glowing protrusion. Every inch in between flashed, sang, glittered, and roared. They made their way toward the corner, maneuvering past a crowd of tourists buying official CSI merchandise at a sidewalk kiosk. Just past the crush they had to wedge through a gauntlet of card-snappers. Veronica didn’t glance right or left, but Leo looked startled as one persistent guy shoved a card right into his hand. Veronica pushed him forward, and as they came out the other side, he looked down at what he’d been given. Blushing red, he fumbled and dropped it.

“What the hell?” he asked, staring back at the crowd behind them.

Veronica bent down to pick up the card. It showed a girl with large fake breasts, her nipples covered with Photoshop stars. CALL MAI, said the print along the top. AT YOUR DOOR IN 20 MINUTES.

“Pretty ballsy,” he said, frowning at the men who were still shoving their cards at everyone who passed them.

“They’re out of your jurisdiction, Detective,” she said. “Besides, we’ve got an appointment. Let’s stay on track.”

He made a face, then shrugged and followed her. She threw away the card in a trash can as she passed.

Desert Bluffs was Vegas’s newest golf course, open just a few months. Tucked behind the Mercury, it was a stretch of green fringed with palms and acacia trees that boasted eighteen holes, a half-dozen water features, and the biggest sand trap in North America. Leo and Veronica arrived at the clubhouse a few minutes before ten. Two people were waiting for them, a man and a woman.

Leo was back in a suit and tie, his beard gone. Today he was back to being Detective Leo D’Amato. As far as the SDPD was concerned, he’d been in the middle of a long weekend in Vegas, using a few hard-earned days of vacation to play the slots and watch Cirque du Soleil when Veronica’s tip came in. Convenient, because he’d be able to assist the Las Vegas police with their investigation, which seemed to be connected to the rape case he’d just been looking into back in San Diego.

“And a good thing too,” he’d told his CO when he’d taken the call. “I already lost my shirt at the craps table. Time to get back to work.”

He shook hands with the woman first. “Detective Garcia. Thanks so much for your help.” She was in her mid-forties, threads of gray weaving through her short dark hair. She was dressed for manual labor in heavy canvas work pants and boots. “This is Veronica Mars, the PI I told you about on the phone.”

“Pleasure to meet you, D’Amato. Mars. This is the property manager, Kevin Cornell.” She gestured to the man, sallow and slender in an English-cut suit. He cast Leo a fretful look.

“How long do you think this’ll take? Our earliest tee off tomorrow is at eight thirty. If we could just get this taken care of before then…”

Garcia laughed. “I keep trying to explain to him that this golf course is now a crime scene, but he doesn’t seem to get it. No one’s teeing off at eight thirty, Kevin.”

“We’ll try to be as efficient as we can,” Leo said. “But Detective Garcia’s right. You’ll probably need to cancel tomorrow’s clients. At least those before noon.”

Cornell gave a feeble little groan, but didn’t argue.

“The dogs definitely reacted out there, but we haven’t been able to pinpoint the exact spot,” Garcia said to Veronica and Leo. “It looks like it could be a long night.”

They all climbed into a golf cart, Cornell at the wheel, and took off into the darkness, headed toward the seventh hole.

The ride was dreamlike, surreal. The cart’s rising and falling movements as it passed over rolling terrain felt like a night flight in a glider. Straight ahead was an even darker horizontal swathe formed by a row of trees. Above them the lights of the Strip pulsed like the aurora borealis.

Even by night it was obvious the course was incredibly lush. Man-made lakes spread out on either side of them, dense with cattails. The grass looked velvet-soft. All in the middle of a desert, Veronica thought. Water crisis be damned.

Floodlights came into view ahead, a few people moving around beneath them. The sand trap, nicknamed “the Little Mojave,” stretched out across twenty-five thousand square feet of the green, just surpassing “Hell’s Half Acre” at New Jersey’s Pine Valley as the new standard-bearer for sand trap grandiosity.

“How exactly did you get this lead again?” Garcia turned to glance at them in the backseat.

Leo glanced at Veronica. Veronica gave a brisk smile.

“Can we call it an anonymous informant and leave it at that?”

Garcia grinned. “I’m a Vegas cop, honey. That’s how most of our work gets done.”

They pulled up just outside a perimeter of police tape, then ducked underneath it. Four people in coveralls were digging, scraping, and sifting. Cornell covered his eyes and moaned.

“Relax, Mr. Cornell.” Veronica smiled brightly. “You’ll be able to put it right. I’m pretty sure this is what hospitality insurance was made for.”

Garcia handed Leo a shovel. Veronica picked up another from a small pile of implements. Silently, they got started.

The work was slow. They didn’t know how deep to dig, so forensics had been loath to bring out a bulldozer. Something that big could accidentally destroy evidence. But the trap was over a half-acre wide, a sprawling area to explore by hand. The dogs had helped to narrow the search, but not by much.

Veronica’s back ached, her hands starting to blister from the shovel. She thought about what she’d learned the night before, after she’d turned off the video at the point when Sweet Pea shed his coat and advanced on Bellamy. Plausible deniability had something to do with her decision not to watch, but mostly she just didn’t want to see what came next. She’d gone down to the bar, back in her wig, and met Sweet Pea an hour and a half later. He’d taken a seat on a stool next to her and ordered a Coke.

“I’d have thought you’d be ready for a drink after all that,” she said, not glancing at him.

“Not me. I’m eight years sober.” He took a sip. Then he turned to face Veronica and told her what she needed to know, his voice soft but distinct: “The Little Mojave.”

She was surprised at how unruffled he looked. His jacket was neat and crisp, and there was no blood or sweat, no smell of iron, no bruises. You would have thought he’d come straight from the office.

“What?”

“The Little Mojave. It’s a sand trap on the Desert Bluffs golf course. It was under construction in December, back when Maddy went missing.”

Veronica had been surprised to feel her heart sink. She’d known since first meeting with Sweet Pea and Isabella that Madelyn Chase—or Molly Christensen, or whoever she really was—was most likely dead. But hearing it stated so matter-of-factly made her shoulders sag.

“And Bellamy…”

“He’s en route to the ER. Iz told the front desk she’d heard screaming from the room. I saw an ambulance pull up about five minutes ago.”

The thought should have chilled her, but it didn’t. She’d made her choice. She’d known exactly what the result would be.

Sometimes, that was the job.

It was just after three a.m. when Garcia let out a shout. The rest of the team hurried toward her. Veronica moved slowly, setting down her shovel. There was no hurry. Not anymore.

A partially mummified foot protruded from the layer of soil below the sand.

They’d finally found Madelyn Chase.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Veronica stepped into Miki’s Diner, just after the lunch rush. Dick Dale’s sixties surf rock played over the speakers, the rampaging tempos and twanging guitars an uneasy match for the afternoon quiet. The tables were mostly empty. Veronica lingered in the doorway for a moment, waiting.

Then she caught sight of the person she’d come to meet: Grace Manning, dressed in the diner’s boxy pink uniform, her ticket pad tucked in her breast pocket.

Grace looked up at her and gave a little wave, motioning for her to take a seat wherever. “I’ll be there in a sec. Just got to clock out for my break.” She was already untying her apron, draping it over one arm. Veronica took a seat under the fiberglass statue of a cartoon surfer on a cresting wave, the same one she’d sat in with Keith while waiting for the verdict in Weevil’s case. She slipped out of her jacket and placed it on the seat beside her.

Grace hadn’t been able to make tuition that fall. She’d dropped out of Hearst, picking up as many shifts as she could at the diner. Veronica had only heard about it that morning, when she called Grace to tell her they’d busted Bellamy. She’d been so busy with the details of the case that she hadn’t thought to ask the girl about school. Grace, prickly and private, hadn’t offered the information until now. The news triggered a pang of dismay. Veronica and Keith had spent years on the brink of poverty but they’d always been able to make ends meet. She’d never been faced with a reality like Grace’s—a world in which she had no money and, even worse, no family.

“Hey!” A moment later, Grace appeared at the side of the booth. She set a tray on the edge of the table; it held two cups of coffee and two pieces of pie. “On the house,” she said. “One of the perks of working here.”

“Thanks.” Veronica looked the girl over. She’d expected to see Grace looking more hostile than ever, assumed she’d take the loss of her education hard. But she actually seemed, if not deliriously happy, at least amiable. Her cheeks were fuller than they’d been the last time they’d met. Her demeanor was calmer, less high-strung. “How’re you doing, Grace?”

Grace sat down across from her. “Well, my feet hurt, and some klutz spilled orange juice on me first thing this morning, but I’m doing okay.” She poured two creamers into her coffee and stirred with brisk, delicate movements. Then, in a slow, measured voice she asked, “So…this guy. He’s in jail?”

“Not yet. Right now he’s in the hospital. But as soon as they can move him, yeah, he’s going to jail.”

“In the hospital?” Grace frowned.

Veronica took a sip of coffee. “Yeah, I guess someone roughed him up pretty good. The cops formally arrested him at the hospital but the shape he’s in—they won’t be able to take him in for at least another week or so.”

“Roughed him up” is probably an understatement, Veronica thought. Sweet Pea’s fastidious attentions had left Bellamy with two broken fingers, four broken ribs, a ruptured spleen, and a collapsed lung. Veronica was glad there was no one to ask if she felt at all bad about her role in the confession. She generally didn’t like violence, but she felt that Bellamy had earned a special exception.

Apparently she wasn’t alone in this judgment. A cold smile spread across Grace’s face as she cradled her mug between her hands.

“It’s hard to say just what’ll happen next,” Veronica continued. “They’re still looking at the evidence. But the victim we found in the sand trap had strands of hair on her that match Bellamy’s.”

The body had belonged to eighteen-year-old Kimberly Weir of Odessa, Texas—otherwise known as Madelyn Chase. The scraps of human skin under her fingernails were still at the lab, but Veronica had a feeling they’d match Bellamy’s DNA too. Between that, Rachel Fahy’s testimony, and the semen sample they’d found on Grace, the prosecutors would have a strong case for conviction.

“So it’s not really over,” Grace said, looking down.

Veronica placed her hand over Grace’s. “It’s never really over.”

For a moment, they sat in silence. But there was more to say. Veronica steeled herself and continued. “I have to warn you, Grace, it’s possible you’ll face public exposure when this goes to trial. Technically, they’re supposed to keep victims anonymous; in practice it doesn’t always work that way.”

The girl nodded. “I know. I figured.” She gave a little shrug. “I told Lizzie on the phone the other night. She’s in New York now—she’s a chef, did I tell you?” She laughed softly. “I hadn’t told her any of it. I don’t know why. She’s the only member of my family I’ve ever been able to talk to. Well…her and Meg.” Her voice dropped slightly when she said her oldest sister’s name. “Anyway, I guess I was embarrassed. Not just about the job, but about…about the attack. I didn’t want her to have to know what’d happened to me. I know that’s stupid.”

Veronica thought about how long she’d kept her own secret. She’d never told her father about the night at Shelly Pomroy’s party; a part of her had wanted to protect him from that knowledge. “It’s not stupid. But I’m glad you told her. It’s a lot to go through on your own.”

Grace nodded. “It wasn’t a fun conversation. But she knows the whole thing now, and she’s the only person left whose opinion I cared about. It was good for me too. I was starting to feel myself get just a bit too casual about lying. Too inattentive to the point where selling a necessary lie turns into…losing yourself in the part.” She smiled ruefully. “Kind of an occupational hazard for me, I guess. But, Veronica, I still cringe when I remember how fucking sanctimonious my performance was when I looked you right in the eye and falsely accused a man I’d never even met.”

“Well, Grace, I know a lot about your family history,” said Veronica. “Compelling lies were a constant theme. All things considered, I’d say your grip on reality is remarkably strong.”

“Hey! Speaking of…” Grace gave another sudden, savage grin. “I am totally relishing the idea of my parents finding out what I used to do for a living. I’d love to see my mom’s face. But I already know exactly what they’d say.” She leaned forward, a wild, zealous gleam entering her eyes. “ ‘And the daughter of any priest, if she profane herself by playing the whore, she profaneth her father: she shall be burnt with fire.’ ”

“Nice,” said Veronica, offhand. “I’d have gone with stoning, myself.”

“That’s for witches,” Grace said. “But if you’re feeling left out, I’m pretty sure they’ve been praying for your demise too. At least since Faith went missing.” She set her mug down and looked up at Veronica, her expression suddenly hard to read. “Veronica?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you tell me if you knew where she was? Faith, I mean?”

Veronica hesitated. She’d made a promise, a long time ago. She’d kept her silence for years. But now Grace watched her with hopeful, desperate eyes—this girl with almost no one in her life, with a mattress on the floor, a legacy of trauma and loneliness and fear she was only now coming to terms with.

“All I know,” she said, “is that Duncan renamed her Lilly.”

Grace bit the corner of her lip. For just a second Veronica thought she might be about to cry. But then she nodded, and picked up her fork.

“Anyway,” Grace said, an abrupt signal to change the subject. “I’m working here five days a week now. More or less full-time, depending on how many hours they have for me. It’s not so bad.”

“I’m sorry. About, you know…Hearst. I can’t believe they wouldn’t find you any aid.”

Grace shrugged. “It’s all right.” She speared a bite of pie on the end of her fork. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—I don’t see this as some kind of awesome character-building situation that God has favored me with. But I’m not going to let it stop me. Either I’ll find the money to go back to school, or I’ll figure out a different way to get where I want to go. Hell with it, maybe I’ll just go straight to New York or London, and Hearst College can just go fuck itself.”

“Hear, hear,” Veronica said, lifting her mug in a toast. They clinked ceramic lightly over the table.

Grace’s face softened. She looked down at her pie, her lower lip sticking out in a thoughtful pout. When she looked back up, her face was pink.

“How often do people say thank you to you?”

Veronica swallowed her mouthful of coffee and cleared her throat. “ ‘Thank you’ ranks just below ‘You ruined my life’ and just above ‘When I get my hands on you.’ ”

“I mean, if you hadn’t kept at it, the Grand would’ve settled, and I’d still be at Hearst. I don’t know exactly why I’m grateful to you and your stupid integrity,” Grace said wryly. Then she smiled. “But Veronica…thank you.”

Veronica wasn’t sure what to say. She held the girl’s gaze for another moment, then Grace smiled, shrugged, and headed back toward the kitchen. Veronica took another bite of pie. And as she delighted in the sugary goodness, she had an epiphany. She knew in that moment she’d never be rich. Veronica found comfort in being jaded. She could imagine no greater shame than to have her emotions manipulated. To get played. So why did this “thank you” from a girl who’d lied to her, who’d tried to game the system, mean more to her than the big check from a corporate client that had been wholly in the right? Figure that one out, she thought, and maybe I can help my kids understand why their mom resigned herself to a lifetime of truck-stop pie and coffee—just like Granddad.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

“Honey, could you take the nachos? I need to get these stuffed mushrooms into the oven.”

Veronica took the tray from Keith’s outstretched hand. “You got it.”

It was a week after Veronica’s return from Vegas, and they were in her dad’s kitchen, putting the finishing touches on an array of party snacks that could’ve fed the Union Army at Gettysburg. Plates of veggies, mini quiches, and chips and dip sprawled haphazardly across every surface. It was election day, and Keith had put out an open invite to anyone who needed a little emotional support while the votes came in. Now he crouched over the stove in an apron that said “Kiss the Cop,” fumbling with a pan of breadcrumb-and-Asiago-filled cremini mushrooms.

Veronica pushed through the kitchen door. The living room and dining room were full to bursting with friends and neighbors. There were plenty of familiar old faces—retired deputies, friends Keith still had in the fire and EMT departments. A few of their neighbors from their old apartment. Inga waved at her from where she sat in her father’s armchair. Lisa stood in the doorway, sharing a plate of strawberries and Gouda with her wife, Lindsay. Mac and Wallace sat on the sofa, eyes glued to the election reports, Mac absently stroking Pony’s ears as she watched.

The dining room table was already brimming with cheese platters, wine bottles, veggie dip, and a tower of chocolate cupcakes Veronica had baked that afternoon. She made room for the nachos and had just set them down when Cliff sidled up to her.

“How’s it looking?” she asked, moving aside as he picked up a paper plate. He shrugged.

“Still too close. It could be a long night.”

The polls had closed three hours earlier, and while a lot of the ballots had already been called, the sheriff’s race was far too tight to project a winner. She sighed.

“Well, at least we’ve got enough food to survive tonight’s scheduled apocalypse.”

“That’s cheerful. Any word from our friend, Judas?”

Veronica gave him an admonishing look. “Dad invited him to stop by tonight, no hard feelings, but I doubt he’ll show. He seemed pretty ashamed when I talked to him.”

“I tell you what. If Lamb loses tonight, I will forgive and forget. No harm, no foul.” Cliff popped a cherry tomato in his mouth.

She smiled. “And if he wins?”

“Four more years of Lamb would be plenty punishment for all of us,” Cliff said. “And I won’t invite Eli to my birthday party.”

Veronica watched Cliff lope back into the living room, his plate laden down with food. She hadn’t forgiven Weevil, per se. But earlier that week he’d texted her a simple photo, no accompanying words. It showed Jade and Valentina burying him to his neck in the sand on the beach, all of them laughing.

His voice came back to her suddenly. You know what it’s like to have people counting on you and to let them down? What would she do to take care of the people who counted on her? How far would she compromise? She thought about Bellamy, handcuffed to his bed at the hospital. She thought about Grace’s expression at the diner when she told her he’d be charged for his crimes. She was less able to answer the question than ever.

A knock came at the front door. Veronica shook off her reverie, and went to get it. Leo stood on the porch, wearing a black leather jacket over his shirt and tie. He held a bottle of wine. They hadn’t seen each other since Sunday, on the long drive back to Neptune. Then, they’d both been keyed up from their discovery, jittery and sad and excited all at once. They hadn’t talked much, but at a rest stop just outside Joshua Tree State Park they’d sat at a picnic table and eaten burgers and greasy french fries. The sky was a stark, steely blue over the desert, the landscape as dry and saturated as autumn leaves. The east coast can keep its fall colors, she thought. We’ve got landscape of our own.

“You know, Veronica, we’re really good together.” Leo spoke suddenly in the midst of the silence. Veronica felt her cheeks burn, remembering the shared kisses of a decade before. She’d be lying if she denied feeling Leo’s affection for her as they’d worked on the case. She’d be telling herself a worse lie if she refused to admit that she enjoyed it. But the dirty little secret, the one that pained her in the wee hours when she couldn’t sleep, was that she felt something similar for Leo.

Until this moment, she’d buried it deep. It was not unlike the way she’d turned off the camera when Sweet Pea went to work on Bellamy. She was anxious to maintain plausible deniability. Leo was here. He hadn’t chosen to leave her. Her dad adored him. Keith didn’t have to figure out a way to “develop a healthy relationship” with him. Veronica’s feelings became jumbled, and she was just trying to figure out how to articulate them. I’m with Logan, and I love him more than I thought I could love a man, and we have an opportunity to be happy in spite of everything and I can’t throw all that away for something more convenient. But then she realized that Leo was still talking. “You ever think about going legit? You’d have to start on a beat, but you’d make detective in no time. The academy’s testing in December.”

She smiled then. Her confused thoughts went still. She was certain she was blushing, something her dad often compared to a Halley’s Comet sighting. There were already so many complications to her life; why did her brain seem so eager to invent more?

“Me? On the force?” She laughed. “Can you imagine me reporting to a CO? Come on, D’Amato. I’m a loose cannon. A cowboy cop. A maverick. Besides, just because I’m not legit doesn’t mean we can’t work together. I think this arrangement worked out pretty well for both of us. And I’m not sure Detective Veronica Mars, SDPD, would’ve been quite so willing to play fast and loose with the criminal element.”

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure Detective Veronica Mars would be plenty willing. And that might be a problem.” He grinned. “But fair enough.” He grabbed one of her fries and dipped it in the ketchup. “Let me know if you ever start dreaming of a pension and actual benefits. It’s not all bad, playing by the rules.”

Now she opened her dad’s front door wider to let him in.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said to the group. “We win yet?”

“Not yet. But we haven’t lost yet either. Thanks for coming.”

“Hey, thanks for having me. Nice spread.” He waved at Mac and Wallace as he entered, setting the wine bottle on the table just as Keith burst out of the kitchen with his mushrooms.

“Detective!” he said, spying Leo. “Welcome, welcome. Hope you brought your appetite.”

“I never leave home without it, sir,” Leo said, grinning.

Keith slapped Leo on the shoulder and went into the living room to offer the hors d’oeuvres around. Leo turned back to Veronica, looking suddenly more serious. “How you doing?”

“I’m doing all right. Apart from the fact that we’re about to get four more years of Lamb, I mean.”

“Yeah, well. That just means you’ll have four more years to give him hell.” His eyes sparkled.

A hubbub rose up in the living room, overridden by Lisa’s authoritative “Shhhhh!” Veronica hurried to the doorway to see what was happening.

On the screen, a stiff-haired Martina Vasquez stood on the steps outside of the courthouse, microphone in hand. “It seems we’re only a few moments away from hearing the results from the Balboa County sheriff’s race. And if you’re wondering why we haven’t projected a winner it’s because, so far, no clear leader had emerged when the last precinct results came in. But the head of elections just informed us that they’ve finished counting the ballots and are preparing their announcement.”

Inga had her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide. On the sofa, Mac pulled her knees to her chest in a protective hug.

“No whammy, no whammy, no whammy,” said Keith. Nobody laughed as they stared at the screen.

The newscaster seemed to be listening to something for a moment. Veronica’s knuckles were white as she clutched the doorjamb, braced for the news.

“These numbers are subject to final certification, of course, but it appears that political newcomer Marcia Langdon has edged ahead—largely on the strength of votes from precincts in the predominantly minority Eastside. We’re projecting she will win the race by fewer than two hundred votes.”

The room erupted. Wallace leapt from the sofa, doing a modified touchdown dance in the middle of the living room. Lisa threw her arms around Cliff, then turned and kissed her wife. Drinks were exultantly chugged, pots and pans were pounded with ladles, and Pony bolted maniacally around the room on an interspecies contact high.

Veronica stared at the TV. Marcia Langdon was coming out to the podium to deliver her acceptance speech, surrounded by falling balloons and cheering supporters. Even her victory smile was grim; she waved at the crowd with a satisfied, no-nonsense set to her chin. For a moment Veronica let herself imagine what it could be like, this world without Lamb. Would Langdon be able to whip a long-corrupt department into shape? Would the wealthy of Neptune tolerate a sheriff who didn’t pander to their every need? Or would they just find another way to get what they wanted anyway?

She took a flute of champagne from the platter Keith was passing around, lifted her glass, and toasted the new order. Surely things couldn’t get worse.

—

Veronica drove home a few hours later, after helping Keith make a dent in the mess. Pony was asleep in the back of the car, one enormous paw dangling over the side of the seat.

The celebration had gone on far later than anyone had planned. They’d opened a bottle of champagne that Cliff had brought, just in case. Inga got giggly after her third glass. Keith proposed a toast. “To Marcia,” he’d said, holding up his red plastic cup. “To our new sheriff.”

Cliff raised his cup in assent and hoarsely added, “And to the citizens of Neptune, for voting her riveted-on, steel-plated ass in!” The group had shared a final Hear, hear! and clapped their PVC chalices together.

So Lamb was out. Veronica entertained the thought that perhaps she’d been wrong; maybe things could change in Neptune, slowly and against the tide. She wasn’t sure what kind of sheriff Langdon would be, but at least she’d be different. That was a start.

Other than that, things were set to get back to normal—or what passed for it in her life. In a few weeks she planned to drive to Tucson to spend her first Thanksgiving with her little brother. She wouldn’t see him for Christmas. That she reserved for Keith, forever and always. But Lianne had found a used guitar, and Veronica had arranged for him to take weekly lessons with a local teacher.

She’d have to start finding more paid gigs. Some would be with people she didn’t respect or like. Some would be seedy, dirty, and as crooked as Neptune’s black heart. But some of them? Some would matter.

First things first, though. Tonight she had a date.

She pulled into the parking lot of her complex. Pony was on her feet the moment they parked, wagging wildly. Upstairs, she turned on the lamps and checked her reflection. Then she opened her computer.

She didn’t have to think about all the time she and Logan spent apart, all the distance their lives might put between them. Not tonight, anyway. Right now, all she had to think of was him. The fact that he was alive. The fact that he was doing something that made him proud and strong. The fact that she loved him. In this moment, that was enough.

The computer chimed. She clicked Accept, and Logan’s face appeared on-screen. His eyes lit up at the sight of her.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d make it,” he said.

She smiled.

“I’m here,” she said.

ALSO BY

ROB THOMAS

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 651