Standard disclaimer applies. I don't own the VM world, I just play in it...

Prologue

The disappearance of Veronica Mars made national headlines. Within days of the case making headlines, the nation had forgotten about her. Private eyes – amateur and professional alike – across the nation came up with hundreds of theories, even after her name had disappeared from the media.

The leading theory was that she had been murdered and her body disposed of in a number of locations. Suspects ranged from Logan Echolls to Jake Kane to Weevil Navarro and even her own father, not to mention a lengthy list of people she'd caught in her brief career. Conspiracy theorists reasoned her murder had been covered up by the Neptune Police Department.

But those who knew Veronica Mars knew that she couldn't be dead.

Keith Mars knew that if she were dead he would feel it in his gut.

Duncan Kane thought her too invincible to succumb to murder – at least without leaving any clues behind.

Logan Echolls believed she was dead, but then again, most days he felt like he never knew her at all.

Weevil knew she wasn't dead. He alone knew what happened to Veronica Mars. At least a kernel of the truth. He knew she left. Of her own free will. For him, the great mystery was why, and where. From the moment he learned she was gone he'd known he had to find her. No matter how long it took.

December 3, 2013

It had been five years since he'd seen her. Five long years. And in those five years, not a single day had gone by where he hadn't been consumed by thoughts of her. To most people it would be pure insanity to still lust after someone after five years with no contact. But to have the feelings he had for her, after five years, when they were never even involved? That my friends, was truly pathetic.

Pathetic. That is what badass Weevil had become.

Sweat poured off his body as he hit the heavy bag he'd hung in a corner of his living room. Logically, he knew that beating inanimate objects until he collapsed would not bring her back to him. But then again, logic had never really applied to Veronica Mars.

When he'd finally exhausted his pent up agression he unrolled the wraps from his hands and got a cold Corona from his fridge.

The trilling of his BlackBerry alerted Weevil to a new message. Every time he heard the gadget beep, a little piece of him died as he was forced to remember how far removed he was from the days when his biggest concern was whether or not his bike had enough gas to cruise the PCH. It seemed like another lifetime to him now. And in many ways it was.

Pressing a few keys he saw the new message was from a private investigator in the Midwest.

It seemed that the tale of Veronica Mars' disappearance had become a bit of a legend amongst the PI community. She'd already been notorious for her involvement in high profile cases at a young age and had been singled out as a rising talent. All of that made the fact that she literally vanished without a trace one afternoon a veritable mystery – like where was Jimmy Hoffa buried. Everyone wanted to know what happened to Veronica Mars. And while almost all believed her to be dead, there were some still willing to keep an eye out for clues to where she might be.

Weevil quickly scanned the message on his BlackBerry and found that the investigator thought he might have a lead on Veronica. There was an article attached to the email and Weevil devoured every word.

"She is enigmatic, quiet, and extremely reclusive despite her young age. Little is known about this petite photog phenom. Evelyn Pierce arrived in West Michigan nearly five years ago. Pierce declined to be interviewed for this article, refused to sign a photograph release of her image and was quite insistent that this piece not be published at all. What little is known of her is that she is about 25, a transplant from Georgia, and is always accompanied by an extremely large pitbull – the frequent subject of her photography.

"While artists are notoriously quirky, her desperation for anonymity is what makes her so intriguing. Her latest series of photos entitled 'Left Behind' tell a hauntingly beautiful story of the history of Michigan's west coast through abandoned buildings and decrepit ruins. 'Left Behind' is currently on display at Grand Valley State's Steelcase Library through the end of the year. The rest of Pierce's artwork can be seen in the DeVos Gallery at 3619 Division in Grand Rapids, where Pierce is also employed."

Mierda. It had to be her. After so many years, he'd found her. In Grand Rapids, Michigan of all places.

As quickly as relief and joy had washed over him, it was replaced with terror. If the PI over in the Midwest had put two and two together than others could too. He had to get to her before anyone else did.

As much as he wanted to call Keith with the lead, he knew it was very likely that the information could get to the wrong person. He also knew that the Fitzpatrick's still kept tabs on him. Quickly tossing some clothes in a bag along with a few other items, he was out the door and on his way to LAX in under five minutes.

Luckily, he'd arrived at the airport in time to catch the last flight to Chicago for the night. While it would have been quicker to fly direct to Grand Rapids, he knew that the airport was too small and gave away her location too much. From Chicago he could easily make it to Grand Rapids in around three hours (according to the GPS unit he'd tossed in his luggage).

He was settled into his seat, somewhere over Oklahoma when he was hit with the realization that there was a very good possibility he'd find himself face to face with Veronica Mars in just a few hours.

And he had absolutely no idea what he was going to say.

Chapter One: Getting Away with Murder

July 27, 2007

In the course of routine surveillance on a suspected counterfeit electronics operation, Veronica Mars, being the girl that she is, had stumbled upon something she wasn't supposed to see. A dozen Asian girls were being unloaded from a shipping container. She adjusted the zoom on her lens and began to shoot. The girls couldn't have been much older than fifteen and none looked too willing to go with the men herding them into a delivery truck. Shifting her focus, she caught a series of snaps of Fitzpatrick goons behind the wheel of the truck. One of the girls was refusing, fighting tooth and nail to get away from someone. Then she saw Finn Fitzpatrick, Liam's younger brother who was twice the trouble. He had a hold of the girl who fought, threatening her with a gun. A shot rang out and the body went limp. She continued to capture the images as he yelled for a stooge to come help her. The underling picked up the girls legs and helped Finn wrap her in a tarp which was attached to a set of cement blocks. Everything was rolled over the side of the dock. One of the men picked up a hose and began to wash the blood away.

Human trafficking. And murder. She had it all on camera.

Suddenly, the ring of her cell phone cut through the air. She quickly reached to silence it, but it was too late. This folks, is why you leave your phone on silent during covert ops.

"Oi! Finn! Looks like 've gots a peepin' tom!" A thick Irish brogue cut through the air. Through the zoom of her camera she saw a finger being pointed at her.

This was very not good.

They would come, smash her camera and phone, and the evidence of what she'd just seen would be gone. Thank god for microSD cards, it was a quarter of an inch long and easy to hide. Now where to hide the evidence. Now would be a great time for that fake hollowed out tooth that she'd been meaning to get. Think Veronica! Alright. She had a clear plastic baggie, a pen and a roof top. Well, obviously the first step is to protect the memory card. At least wrapped in plastic it would be safe from the elements. She scanned the rooftop for a rock to hide the chip under. No sooner had she found one then she heard the heavy thuds of someone climbing the stairs to the secluded roof.

"'Ello, love." She looked over to the door and saw none other than Finn Fitzpatrick. The devil himself. Cursing herself for leaving her bag (and the taser it contained) in her car, she braced herself for the blow that was sure to come.

Weevil scanned the quad for his favorite blond coed. Where the hell was she. Sure V was late time to time, but four hours and no call? He had a bad feeling about this, one that became sickeningly bad when she didn't answer her phone. She had said something about an electronics smuggling ring. It should have just been some surveillance photos, an hour tops. Wiping sweat from his brow, he cursed the sweltering California heat and made a note to arrange their next covert meeting in an ice arena.

Sighing heavily he scrolled through his phone to find someone to call. Veronica Mars was going to be the death of him. He was absolutely certain of it.

Knowing he was actively violating his parole by calling Fox, the newest leader of PCH, and coincidently his nephew, he dialed the number anyway. He may have cut most his ties with PCH, but family is family and Fox owed him. He could trust anyone to scour the city quickly it would be PCH.

"Fox, it's your favorite tio. Listen, remember that time I saved your skin from tu madre? Time to pay up..."

Oh god. Let it be a nightmare. Please let it be a nightmare. She couldn't move. She couldn't breath. Trapped. So small. There was no room to move. Aaron was going to kill her. He killed Lily. Any second she'd smell the gas and hear her father being beaten. Then their would be smoke and the walls would begin to heat up. Why wasn't she waking up. Her head didn't usually hurt so much in these dreams.

The beating of her heart seemed loud enough to echo in the small metal prison. Each minute that passed seemed to make it beat faster. And faster. And faster. And faster.

She shivered as she pressed into the cold metal walls that surrounded her. Cold. Why was it cold in her small prison. More importantly since this obviously wasn't a dream, how much air did she have left...