Disclaimer: I claim no responsibility for the characters and creations of Joss Whedon and Rob Thomas. I claim no rights to their copyrighted material. I'm merely having fun, and I make no money from this endeavor.
Notes: Thanks to Elisabeth and Lisa for the betas. But any errors are all mine.
Timelines: Takes place post-series for Buffy and does not follow the comic at all. At least, I don’t think it does. I haven’t read it yet. For Veronica Mars this is set vaguely somewhere towards the end of S2, I guess, although I’ve played rather fast and loose with things.

It's my first crossover, so if you like it, let me know. I might be inspired to write more. Actually, if you hate it, let me know that as well. I'll never get any better if someone doesn't tell me where I've gone wrong.




The Lion and the Lamb


It was a long, boring drive back to Los Angeles, but the conference Willow had just attended had been fascinating. The key note speaker, Amanda Wicker, was a witch who worked with local police and other law enforcement agencies, using her unique talents to help solve crimes that otherwise would never have seen resolution. Willow wasn’t sure what her future held, but using her magic in a way that helped people seemed like a worthy goal. She hoped that someday she, too, would be able to help people in a more one-on-one way than she did right now.

Sure, saving the world was great and all, but helping find a serial killer who had left a dozen victims in his wake sounded exciting too, on a much more personal level.

This stretch of highway was beautiful, but deserted, and Willow’s mind continued to wander as she watched the landscape roll by. She was on autopilot, thinking about the things that would need to be done once she got back home. Getting away was great, but there was always so much to do upon returning.

A strange pile of...something...laid by the side of the road, and Willow’s attention was caught. She slowed her speed, gazing as she drove by, wondering if...no, this wasn’t Sunnydale, and that wasn’t a dead body. It couldn’t be. But the spill of blonde hair that stood out plainly had her slamming on her brakes and pulling off to the side of the road.

The area was quiet, consisting mostly of farmland. A few houses could be seen far off in the distance, smoke rising lazily from their chimneys. It was late fall, and there was a definite nip in the air. Pulling her coat from the back seat, Willow slipped it on before running across the road.

“Hello?” she called out.

There was no reply to her query, so she reached out tentatively to touch the body, brushing the blond hair away from the victim’s face.

A pretty young woman stared back at her, eyes open but unseeing. Willow’s hands went to her neck, looking for a pulse, but knowing she wouldn’t find one. The girl was dead, a fact that was confirmed when Willow could find no signs of life. The bruises around her throat were a pretty decent indicator of how she had died, and Willow found herself unable to look away from them.

Murder was always evil, in her book. But to physically wrap your hands around someone’s neck and squeeze the life from their body? That was such an intimate crime; the killer had to have felt strong emotion in order to kill their victim in such a way. She shivered, pulling her coat tighter around her, and looked around uneasily, as if expecting to see the perpetrator lurking nearby.

Taking her cell phone from her pocket, Willow flipped it open, her fingers poised to dial 9-1-1. The signal strength was weak—no bars at all—and she knew she’d never get a call out. “Damn it, why do things like this always have to happen in the middle of nowhere?”

She debated several options: bundle the girl into her car and drive her into town; leave her here and drive to one of the distant houses and use their phone to call the police; preserve the evidence by driving into town and making her report there.

None of these possibilities were great. As she went back and forth in her mind, another car appeared in the distance. It seemed to be driving unusually slowly. As the red and blue lights on the top of the car became visible, Willow thanked whoever was responsible for her incredible luck. Knowing it would get their attention, she jumped up and down, waving her arms as the car slowly approached.

Willow was surprised to note that the car was from the Sheriff’s department, but at least that meant she wouldn’t have to deal with the small fish. All the advice that she’d heard from Amanda Wicker that weekend ran through her head; as unlikely as it seemed, maybe she’d be able to work with the police to solve this mystery. The thought sent her adrenaline surging.

The car rolled to a stop and a young man with short brown hair stepped out, eyeing her suspiciously. Suspicion moved quickly to anger, and he bent over and muttered something to his partner before straightening up and turning back to her.

“Trina, what the hell are you doing here? If this is some publicity stunt for your new movie-of-the-week crap-fest, I’m gonna toss your ass in jail so quickly there’ll be skid marks.” He glanced pointedly at her ass, as if trying to imagine how it would look naked with the aforementioned marks.

Willow wasn’t sure who this Trina was, but she had to admit that things weren’t going quite as she had expected. This sheriff seemed to be an idiot, and he’d mistaken her for someone named Trina.

“My name is Willow Rosenberg. I’m not Trina, whoever she is. I was just driving along and found this body. I was trying to figure out whether to take her into town or not when you came along.” She kept her voice low and even, trying to make a good impression even though she sensed that it was probably a waste of time.

The sheriff glanced over at the body skeptically. “Just driving along, huh? It’s a pretty story, but how dumb do you think I am? Wanna hear my version, Trina?”

Willow stayed silent. That ‘how dumb do you think I am’ comment was begging for a response, but she knew better than to give one. People who asked questions like that never actually expected an answer. And chances were good that any answer she could give would really piss him off. More. Because he already looked kinda pissed, and she wasn’t sure why.

“Playing the fool, huh? That’s fine. Here’s my take on what happened. You were drunk. Stinking drunk. You plowed into someone and panicked. Left her by the side of the road, then got some gigolo to call in the 9-1-1. Only you just couldn’t help returning to the scene of the crime, could you? And lucky me, I was able to catch you. Get ready for those B-movie prison rape scenes you’ve acted out to become a reality. And trust me...in the *real* big house, wardens don’t bother with foreplay.”

Willow’s eyes grew round as she listened to the sheriff spout out a lot of stuff that didn’t make any sense to her. And the bit about rape in the big house was just...ookie. Although the thought of all the possibilities for girl-on-girl sex did get her a little tingly. But *so* not the point.

“Sheriff, I’m not this Trina person,” she insisted, anger making her voice sharper than usual, even though she tried to hide it. “My name is Willow Rosenberg. Here, let me get my driver’s license.”

She opened her purse and began rummaging. When she came up with her wallet and dropped her purse on the ground, she was surprised to see that the sheriff had a gun trained on her. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I don’t have a gun. Could I possibly look less harmless?”

The sheriff frowned at her, then reluctantly put his gun back in its holster. His eyes never left hers, though, and his expression was unchanged.

“See, I’m me,” she announced with forced cheerfulness, handing him her driver’s license and then stepping back.

“And I’m supposed to believe this is real?” he asked snidely. “C’mon, Trina, we both know how easy it is to get a fake driver’s license. Hell, Veronica was selling them cheap, not too long ago. This one—it doesn’t even look real.”

Shaking her head, Willow held her hand out for her license, but the man just shook his head, a smirk marring the reasonably handsome features. “You’ve got to be kidding. I’m not going to give you back an obviously fake license.”

Willow was really starting to get pissed off. First he accused her of drunk driving and murder, and now he was telling her that her driver’s license was a fake. AND he was trying to take it from her. “Damn it, I’m Willow Rosenberg,” she insisted, stamping her foot for emphasis. Then she realized how silly that must’ve looked, and flushed red. She glared at the sheriff, impotent rage boiling inside her with no outlet in sight.

Well, no outlet other than the man in front of her. She toyed with the idea of giving him a terribly painful case of boils, or an even more embarrassing venereal disease, but she knew she would never abuse magic like that again. It sure was tempting, though.

“Uh huh. Got any *real* proof?” he asked snidely.

Opening up her wallet, Willow pulled numerous pieces of identification out, some more official than others. She handed them over one at a time, keeping up a running commentary as she went. “Here’s my library card. See my name? This one is my Frequent Taffy Eater’s card at Jaffe’s Taffy. Yeah, I know, it’s not really as official as a library card, but Jaffe could definitely identify me. Um...okay, this is my Visa card. See the name? And here’s Macy’s. I don’t really shop there much, but it’s nice for when I hit my limit on my Visa and still need to get stuff. Oh! And here’s a picture of me with my parents. Sheila and Ira Rosenberg. And Willow. That’s me.”

It looked like the overwhelming amount of evidence was beginning to convince the sheriff that she was who she said she was. “So, if you really are Willow Rosenberg of Los Angeles—and I’m not saying that I believe you, just covering all the possibilities—then what are you doing in the town of Neptune?”

Willow glanced around the countryside, looking for any sign of a town. Best not to antagonize the man, especially since she’d finally gotten him to admit that she might possibly be who she said she was. “I was heading home. From a seminar. I saw that,” she pointed to the body, “and stopped to check it out. I was going to call 9-1-1 but my cell phone couldn’t get a signal. Then you came along,” and acted like a jackass, she added to herself, “and now we’re here arguing about some girl named Trina.”

“Watch it,” he muttered, looking curiously at the body. Finally giving in to curiosity, he walked closer, looking down at the girl’s face. “Crap,” he exclaimed, as he recognized the face of Hannah Griffith, daughter of the very connected Dr. Tom Griffith, favorite doctor of the Fighting Fitzpatricks. Oh, yeah, this was going to be a fun one.

He was silent for a moment, seemed to be thinking about something, and Willow remained quiet as well.

“Sacks,” he yelled, motioning for his deputy to come over, “you stay here and guard the body. I’m taking the perp—uh, suspect—to town. I’ll radio for a crime scene investigation team to meet you here. Watch them, okay? I don’t trust those guys any further than I can throw them.”

Willow couldn’t believe that he’d actually called her a suspect, after backing away from halfway calling her the perpetrator. What sort of backwater town would have a sheriff this stupid? She shook her head disgustedly but kept her mouth shut. The last thing she needed was more trouble.



~~~*~~~



“I know my rights. I get a phone call before you start with the hot paperclips under the fingernails.” She was in some sort of interrogation room, seated in an incredibly uncomfortable chair, the world’s stupidest sheriff standing next to her. Things kept getting weirder and weirder, and for a moment she was tempted to check for a hidden camera and Allen Funt. Except that he was dead, which would make everything a whole lot creepier if he was there.

“All you people and your ‘I know my rights.’ It makes me sick. Fine. There’s the phone. No long distance calls allowed.” He pointed to a phone and then left her alone in the interrogation room.

No long distance? That limited her options severely. Then again, most of her friends were too far away to be of any real use. Besides, it wasn’t as if there was any real danger that she could wind up in jail. Sooner or later, the idiot who was holding her would have to bow to the legal system and let her go. All she really needed was a lawyer.

And lookie here, someone had helpfully left a list of local attorneys and phone numbers. Willow picked one at random. She wasn’t about to ask the advice of Sheriff Lamb, and wasn’t that a misnomer. There wasn’t anything remotely lamb-like about that guy, other than possibly his smell. Honestly, fighting crime was a busy job, but the guy smelled like he’d been on an all-night stake-out without the benefit of soap and water.

Shaking her head, she reached out and dialed a number, crossing her fingers that the attorney she was calling actually knew the difference between pro bono and pro forma.



~~~*~~~



“Cliff McCormack to see Ms. Willow Rosenberg.”

Willow sighed her relief. It had only taken ten minutes between when she talked to Mr. McCormack’s secretary and when he had arrived at the jail, but paranoia had her in its grip, and her mind was swirling with possible scenarios, and ways that this might not end well. It was silly, because she hadn’t murdered anyone, and she knew it, and eventually everyone else would too. She just needed to wait for the sheriff to find the real killer and put them behind bars.

She said as much to her new lawyer, who laughed uproariously at the idea. “Don Lamb, catch a killer? Solve an honest-to-god case? Oh, you’re precious.” He wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes before getting down to business.

“The only way you’re going to get yourself out of trouble is if you solve this case yourself. Or, if the guilty party walks into the sheriff’s office and confesses. Although, now that I think about it, that’s not a sure deal, either.”

“He’s really that bad?” Willow asked sadly, although she wasn’t terribly surprised.

Cliff nodded. “Worse. I could tell you stories...” He stopped, looking around the room suspiciously. “Maybe I’ll wait until we’re in my office. Walls have ears, and all that.”

“Great. I’m going to jail for life.” She bent over, clonking her head on the table and putting her arms over her head.

“Hey, you’ve got Cliffie on your side. Cheer up. I hardly ever lose a case. Well, the ones that go to trial, at any rate.”

Willow wasn’t sure if she trusted the lawyer—he was a lawyer, after all—but he seemed harmless enough, and something about the warmth in his eyes had her believing in him.

“Okay, Cliffie,” she sighed, sitting up and looking him in the eye, “what do I do now?”



~~~*~~~



“Bail granted,” the judge announced, and Willow gave Cliff a big hug, excited that very soon now she’d be able to go to a hotel and take an honest-to-god warm bath. The facilities at the jail had been lacking, to say the least. Cliff had assured her they’d be able to get her out on bail, should the sheriff be stupid enough to charge her, and she’d be able to take a real shower soon enough.

Lacking anyone else to charge, the sheriff—or, as Cliff had dubbed him, the Little Lost Lamb—had charged her immediately, despite the lack of any real evidence. Apparently he had decided that means was all that he needed, eschewing motive and opportunity altogether.

Cliff had mentioned that everybody in the courtroom with two working hands had means, a fact that the judge had to agree with. Finding out that the girl had been killed elsewhere and then dumped later had been welcome news to Willow, since that put the time of death much earlier. Cliff was working on establishing an alibi for her based on the time she picked her car up at the hotel garage, and soon she hoped to have an airtight alibi that would get her cleared of all charges.

Willow eyed the crowded courtroom curiously. The judge had ejected several men who had shared the last name Fitzpatrick for contempt of court, and Willow wondered if they’d also have the pleasure of spending the night in Neptune’s jail. She was unsure what the connection was between Hannah—the murder victim—and these Fitzpatricks, but hadn’t wanted to ask while court was in session. Besides, at the moment she had bigger things to worry about.

Because if Cliff couldn’t secure that alibi for her, there was a possibility that she could go to prison for life for a murder someone else had committed.



~~~*~~~



The Neptune Grand definitely lived up to its name, and Willow had enjoyed the long bath she’d promised herself. But before long nervousness crept in and relaxing was no longer an option. She needed to hire a detective; someone to prove she was innocent, just in case the alibi Cliff was working on didn’t cover as much time as she hoped. Cliff had suggested the idea of a detective, and mentioned a man named Keith Mars whom he’d worked with before. Apparently Mr. Mars had been the sheriff before Don Lamb, and in her opinion—and Cliff’s as well—the town was definitely the worse for the change.

The detective’s office was dark and cluttered, and a young blonde—similar in age and appearance to the one who had started all of her problems—sat on the phone, fingers clacking away at a laptop computer as she spoke.

“No problem, Wallace. I’ll be there at 8 tonight. I promise.” A pause, as Wallace spoke, and then, “Yeah, I know, I promised that time, too. But how was I to know that that was the night that Mr. West was going to off his wife and try to blame it on the pizza delivery boy?” A pause, and then, “So, what, I was just supposed to let Lamb put some poor kid in jail because he had the bad fortune to be delivering a Pizza Hut Meat Lover’s pizza? Not that that pizza isn’t a heart attack waiting to happen, but still...”

The blonde looked up and noticed Willow. Her nose scrunched up in distaste, and for a moment Willow wondered if maybe her recent bath hadn’t gotten her as clean as she thought. Maybe she still had jail-smell on her.

“Gotta go, Wallace. See you at 8. I promise.” She hung up the phone quickly and looked at Willow.

“What’s the problem, Trina? Someone steal your self-respect? Because you couldn’t have much if you’d show up here.”

Oh, that again, Willow thought with dismay. This Trina didn’t seem to have many friends. “My name is Willow Rosenberg. I’m not Trina, although I’ve been told that I do have a fair resemblance to her.” She handed over her driver’s license, which Lamb had grudgingly given back, and waited for the blonde to look it over. “I’m here to see Keith Mars. Cliff told me he might be able to help me.”

The blonde’s eyes grew large as she studied the license. “Wow. I mean, I’d heard that Trina had a double walking around out there, but you...” She was silent for a moment, looking Willow up and down, taking her time. The perusal was bordering on rude, and Willow wondered if she should just leave and come back later.

“Anyway, yeah, you don’t just resemble her. You look *exactly* like her. Down to the hairstyle, even. Sorry for the rude. I just...yeah.”

“Does Trina have *any* friends?” Willow asked, curious about this double of hers. “’Cuz nobody I’ve met yet has said a nice word about her.”

The other woman thrust out her hand. “I’m Veronica Mars. Keith’s daughter and part-time receptionist. And I’m sure you could find someone who had a kind word about Trina. Maybe Logan, if he’s in a generous mood. But she’s not *really* that bad. She just has a way of putting people’s defenses up. Which you don’t, I’m happy to say.”

Willow was surprised by the quick about-face, but she was a go-with-the-flow kind of gal, so she just shook Veronica’s hand and let it go. “I’m glad to meet you. The last couple of days have been kind of...nightmarish. I just don’t know what to do.”

“Well, the first thing we need to do is get dad. He’s the best.”

Veronica stood up and led her to a back office, knocking lightly on the door and then opening it. A balding man with an open and friendly face sat behind a desk, reading a magazine that he quickly shoved into his middle desk drawer. “I keep reminding you, honey, it’s knock first, then wait, and then open the door.” He glanced at Willow and gave her a smile. “She always forgets the ‘then wait’ part.”

There was pride in his voice, and a bit of self-deprecating humor, and Willow found that she liked the man instantly. “I apologize for taking up your time, Mr. Mars, but apparently I need a detective. Cliff suggested your firm.”

“That’s because I pay him well,” Keith joked. “Just kidding,” he added, in case she didn’t get that it was a joke. “He mentioned you might be coming by, so I did take the liberty of brushing up on the facts of the case.”

“Before you guys get started, can I bring you anything? Tea, coffee, water?” Veronica was still perched by the door.

“I’m good. How about you, Ms. Rosenberg?”

“I’m fine. Thanks, though. And can you both call me Willow? Ms. Rosenberg makes me feel old.”

“Fine, Willow,” Keith said. When Veronica took a seat next to Willow, he added ruefully, “Why don’t you sit in on this one, honey?”

“Thanks, dad.” She smiled back at him and grabbed a pen and note pad from his cluttered desk. “I’ll take notes.”

Keith sighed and shook his head. “Kids.”

Willow smiled, the affectionate banter between father and daughter making her feel immediately comfortable. She had always hoped to have that sort of a relationship with her father, but by the time she was in her early teens she had known it wasn’t to be. The memory of that epiphany made her a little sad, but she pushed the thought aside and got back to the reason she was there.

“So,” Keith began, “why don’t you tell me how you ended up in this mess?”



~~~*~~~



Three hours later Willow was almost hoarse from all the talking, but she felt much more optimistic than she had. Keith and Veronica had taken her case. The cost would almost certainly have her living off of her Visa for the next six months—assuming she didn’t still end up in jail—but hopefully it would be worth the cost.

Willow left Mars Investigations with a lighter heart and a grumbling stomach. The price of room service at the Neptune Grand was probably obscene, if the cost of the rooms was anything to go by, but the thought of going to a restaurant where she would be pointed at and whispered about was even less appealing. In the end, she headed for a grocery store, deciding to take advantage of the hotel room’s kitchenette and microwave herself a frozen dinner. If she added some fresh fruit and maybe some carrot sticks, it would be close enough to a real meal. The slice of key lime cheesecake was added to her basket under the guise of mood altering substance. She loved key lime anything, and after the last couple of days she could surely use the pick-me-up.

In her rush to get back to the relative peace and quiet of her room, she slipped into the hotel’s elevator just as the doors closed, not paying much attention to the other occupant.

“Trina?”

Here we go again, she thought. She turned around, finding herself face to face with a handsome man only a few years younger than she was. He had light brown hair and lips that looked like they could go from sensual to snide in zero seconds flat. She wondered what Trina had done to piss *this* one off.

“Oh, you’re the other one,” he said, curiosity sparkling in his eyes. His tone changed from annoyed to amused as he continued. “Boy, is Trina pissed at you. She’s alternating between threatening to sue you for impersonating her, and trying to find someone to write your story so that she can play you in the TV movie. Not sure which way she’ll go yet, although I’m rooting for the TV movie. At least then she’d have some money and stop trying to mooch off of me.”

Willow’s eyes got wide as she listened to her companion. “She...what? She can’t sue me! If anything, I should be suing her. Everybody I’ve run into so far has wanted to scratch my eyes out. Maybe I should accuse her of defamation of character or something.”

All that got her was a deeply amused laugh. “Oh, yeah, I’ve *got* to get you two together.”

She frowned. “I don’t think I want to meet her. Not after all the things I’ve heard. Only one person has had anything remotely nice to say about her so far.” And really, what Veronica had said wasn’t all that nice, just not very mean.

Willow remembered something else Veronica had said, and went out on a limb. “You must be Logan.”

“I must, must I?” he replied, teasing her. He put his hands in his pants pockets and leaned back against the wall of the elevator, eyeing her with amusement.

“Veronica said you might be one of the few people who would have something nice to say about Trina.”

“Ah, the brilliant detective, Veronica Mars,” Logan said, then his expression turned somber. “Well, I suppose she’s right. Trina’s my sister. Blood’s thicker than water, and all that crap.” He frowned. “Not that there’s actual blood involved. She’s adopted. But still...”

He fell silent, and Willow thought a quick change of subject might be a good idea.

“If you know Veronica, then did you know Hannah?” Willow was curious about the dead girl, and so far she’d had no opportunity to ask anyone about her. Veronica had mentioned a couple of things about her, such as the fact that she’d gone to school with her. Other than that, Veronica had remained unusually quiet on the subject.

Logan’s expression had turned dark and angry, and Willow sensed that she’d somehow taken a misstep, although she had no idea why or how.

“Did Veronica tell you to ask me that?” he demanded, restrained anger evident in the clench of his jaw and the way he held his body tense, as if waiting for a physical attack.

“No, I just...she mentioned that she and Hannah went to school together, and I’m assuming you did too, so I thought...”

The elevator bell dinged, a blessed distraction for Willow as she hoped to avoid a situation that had turned ugly in record time. To her surprise, Logan got out after her, following her into the hallway.

“Well, I knew her. And now I don’t. So tell Veronica to leave me alone, or she might not be happy with the way things end up.” Without another word he turned on his heel and headed down the hall away from her, leaving her to watch him go in stunned silence.

Whether he had been mad at her because of Veronica, or because he felt she was prying when she’d asked about Hannah, she wasn’t quite sure. All Willow knew for sure was that something weird was going on, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it.



~~~*~~~



“The sheriff has no real evidence against you,” Keith told her, leaning back in his office chair. “The fact that Hannah was strangled put an end to his drunk driving theory. Now all he has is a strangled girl, dumped by the side of the road by whoever killed her. Your only crime was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the last time I checked, that wasn’t a punishable offense.”

“Then why did he arrest me?” Tired of sitting alone in her hotel room and watching bad sitcoms, Willow had ventured out to check in with Keith and Veronica, the only people in this town she’d met that she could actually claim to like, other than Cliff. And she wasn’t really 100% sure about him.

Keith smiled at her, and the expression on his face told her that he thought the question was endearing, in a naive sort of way.

“Because you’re an easy target. And Lamb is scared.” Keith leaned forward, elbows on his desk. “See, Hannah was a sweet girl, from what Veronica says, but her father knows some very scary men. And he’s not above making some threats to ensure that his daughter’s killer is brought to justice quickly.

“Now, Lamb might be a first-class idiot,” Keith waited while Willow nodded her agreement, “but he more than makes up for his lack of intelligence with a highly tuned sense of self-preservation. And arresting you makes him look good. It gets Hannah’s father and his goons off Lamb’s back, and it has the added bonus that he doesn’t need to look for the actual killer. And if justice manages to save the day and you get set free, he can go back to Hannah’s father and blame everything on the D.A. for not making the case strong enough.”

He frowned, and then added, “It might be a good idea for you to lay low for a bit. I’m not saying that you’re in any danger, it’s just...a good idea.”

Willow thought about telling him that she could take care of herself. But to someone who didn’t know about magic, she was really just a young woman who looked completely non-threatening.

She’d thought about admitting to Veronica and her father that she could do magic, and perhaps could help them solve this case. After all, it was the idea that had brought her to that seminar in the first place. But as much as she liked them, she wasn’t sure whether she could trust them with something this big.

“Maybe I should just make it easier for everyone and plead guilty,” Willow joked bitterly.

“Sure would make my job easier,” Keith agreed, grinning. “But before you try something so drastic, why don’t you let me find the real killer first.”

Keith’s good humor was infectious, and Willow found herself smiling as well. “I’m just so bored. There’s nothing for me to do here except mope and worry. And fight with everyone who thinks I’m Trina. Or, even worse, people who know I’m me and think I’m a murderer.”

“Sorry, Willow. I’m working as fast as I can, but these things take time. If I think of anything you can help us with, I’ll let you know. Until then, max out the pay-per-view. Maybe you should start writing your life’s story,” he added with a wink. “I hear Trina would love to play you.”



~~~*~~~



With little else to do, Willow was wandering the streets of Neptune. Long, tree-lined drives led to houses kept safe behind tall, ornate fences. She wondered why these people thought they had to hide behind tall fences and fancy security systems. Any vampire worth his salt could outwit both of them. Shaking her head at the opulence and wasted money, she turned to head back to the hotel, accidentally walking into the path of a jogger.

He hit her hard, sending her back onto her ass, the wetness of the freshly watered lawn seeping into her pants quickly as she sat there, trying to catch her breath.

The man who looked down at her stared in shock. She’d seen his picture before—more than once. He was Tom Griffith, the late Hannah’s father.

“You,” he whispered, his eyes widening in shock. “What are you doing here? You—you shouldn’t be here. Were you...following me?”

She got to her feet, wincing at a sharp pain in her ankle, but refusing to let it stop her from confronting this man. “I was just walking. I was going stir crazy in that hotel.” Unsure what to say to him, she just stared at him in silence, waiting for him to speak.

The silence went on, becoming more uncomfortable by the minute. Finally, she spoke again. “I’m very sorry about your daughter. I...I didn’t kill her. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I really didn’t. I’d never even met her. I’m...I’m so sorry.”

He stayed silent, looking down at her. Instead of the hatred she expected to see when she chanced a look in his eyes, she saw pity. “You’d better get back to the hotel, Ms. Rosenberg. If the press were to find you, it’d be a three-ringed circus. I’m...I’m sorry.”

That said, he jogged away, leaving Willow, stunned and surprised, staring after him.

As she watched him go, she pondered his words, trying to make sense out of them. She had expected to be confronted by the rage and pain of a man who had lost his beloved daughter. But instead, he’d felt sorry for her. He’d even apologized, although for what she did not know.

There was definitely something wrong with this picture.



~~~*~~~



“What do you know about Dr. Griffith?” Willow asked Veronica, breathless after running most of the way back to Mars Investigations.

She collapsed into a chair and pulled it to Veronica’s desk, waiting for the blonde to stop typing before she spoke again.

“I know he’s not as lily white as he would seem. He’s in bed with the Fitzpatricks—oh, not literally, just figuratively. But they’re bad news. Drugs, murder, assault...not good people to be in bed with. Literally *or* figuratively.”

“I met him today,” Willow announced, watching as Veronica’s eyebrows rose in curiosity. “I was just walking. He was jogging. I didn’t see him, and he knocked me down. Then...when he realized who I was...” she trailed off, unsure how to explain his reaction.

“Was it bad?” Veronica asked sympathetically. “I know it was probably hard, but you have to grow a thicker skin.”

“No, that wasn’t it at all. He was...sorry, almost. Like he knew what I was going through, and felt bad about it. Right before he ran off, he said, ‘I’m sorry.’”

“I’m sorry?” Veronica asked sharply, all of her attention focused on the girl across the desk from her. “He said he was sorry?”

“Yeah. And he sounded like he really meant it. It was...weird. And it made me wonder...”

“What he was hiding,” Veronica finished. “Oh, this is good.”

“Good?”

“Yes. Very good. Dr. Griffith is feeling guilty. And the only reason he has to feel guilty is that he knows who the killer is—and that’s not you. Probably one of the Fitzpatricks, because if it was anyone else, he’d be screaming bloody murder.”

“Okay. So, what do we do next?” Willow was getting caught up in Veronica’s enthusiasm. After a scary couple of days, it seemed like there was finally a lead. She didn’t want to get *too* excited, but maybe this whole ordeal was nearing an end.

Of course, chances were it wouldn’t be as easy as that. Things never were. Now that he’d met her, the doctor would probably be much more careful about what he said, and who he said it to. Whatever move they made next would need to be well thought out.

“There’s no ‘we’ here, Willow. I know you’re bored. I don’t blame you. But you need to lie low and let my dad handle this. These are big-time bad guys we’re talking about. Killers. If you say the wrong thing to them...” her eyes took on a haunted look that made Willow wonder if Veronica had had more experience with the Fitzpatricks than she’d admitted. “There are a lot of them, and only one of you. So be careful. Go back to the hotel, read, watch TV, whatever. Just stay out of trouble, okay?”

Willow nodded. “Okay, I’ll chill out at the hotel. But Veronica, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

Veronica sighed. “I know how you feel. I really do. Usually dad’s the one giving this speech to me. But we don’t have the manpower to watch you *and* the Fitzpatricks, so you’re going to have to stay out of sight. Just for a couple more days.”

“Okay. Just...let me know if there’s anything I can do.” Willow got up and headed for the door, trying to figure out what she was going to do for the rest of the day.

The sun shone down warmly, a light breeze blowing her hair lightly across her face. She hadn’t been to the beach yet, and the nice weather made that seem an enticing possibility. But then Veronica’s warnings came back to her: stay in the hotel. Don’t be visible.

Maybe she could hit the beach *after* she was cleared of all charges.



~~~*~~~



It was day five of her captivity, and Willow was almost out of her head with frustration. The Mars father and daughter team were keeping 24-hour surveillance on Dr. Griffith, but so far they’d come up with nothing. They urged patience, but Willow was done with that. She’d been patient for five days now and all she had to show for it was a severely dented checking account and fingernails that were bitten down to the quick.

It was time for her to fix this.

Last night—actually, early this morning—she’d had an idea. It had no guarantee of success, but it was a hell of a lot better than doing nothing.

Glamours were easy to produce and keep up, and the karmic blot on her soul would be minimal. She’d seen enough pictures of Hannah—before and after her death—that she thought she could create her image closely enough to fool even the dead girl’s closest friends. The tricky part was getting her voice down.

She found the answer to that problem by looking online. One of Neptune’s TV stations had an online archive, and an interview that Hannah’s father had given on the benefits of plastic surgery for burn victims had also included a couple of sentences from Hannah. It wasn’t much, but it would do.

After an additional day of practice, and then another twelve hours of worrying that she was doing the wrong thing, Willow decided she was ready to give it a try. After all, if things went bad, she could always teleport herself to safety. That might raise a few eyebrows, but people here seemed pretty oblivious to the whole ‘magic’ thing, so she figured she could get away with it.



~~~*~~~



Willow had thought about going to see the good doctor at his office, but in the end she decided to tackle him at home. There would be fewer witnesses, and no distractions, so, saying a quick prayer to whomever might be listening, she snuck into the house, after disabling the alarm system. Well, she’d actually melted the control panel down to a heap of metal and plastic, but after all, that was a pretty disabling thing to do to an alarm system.

The house was empty; she’d made sure of that before she went inside. But she had a feeling that Dr. Griffith would be back soon, so she took advantage of the time to look around Hannah’s room to see what she could find.

She flicked a switch to illuminate the room, a sudden swell of sadness coming over her as she imagined the girl who had lived in this room. Posters of teenage crushes hung on the walls, and stuffed animals covered the large bed. The nightstand held a small framed picture of Hannah and Logan, probably taken in one of those photo booths that gave you six frames for a couple of bucks. Logan looked like he was humoring her, but Hannah looked truly happy, her eyes sparkling with excitement and an emotion that might have been love.

Now Willow had a better understanding of Logan’s attitude the other day. He and Hannah had been happy together—at least, when this snapshot had been taken they were. She wondered why neither Logan nor Veronica had mentioned the romance.

The front door slammed shut, and suddenly it was show time. Heavy footsteps traveled up the stairs, and Willow gave a quick look in the mirror to make sure the glamour was in place, then sat herself down on the bed, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

She could hear Dr. Griffith walk down the hallway, stopping suddenly when he saw the light spilling into the hallway from his daughter’s room. “Hello?” he called out anxiously, and then Willow heard footsteps, slow and heavy with dread, as they approached the open door.

When he saw her face the blood drained from his. “Hannah?” he asked, his voice shaky. “Is that you? It...it can’t be you, I know that. You’re dead.”

As much as she felt the pain in his voice, she felt something else as well: fear. Dread. Responsibility. Hating to do it, but knowing it was the only way, Willow put on the persona of his dead daughter.

“Hi, daddy. Why are you so sad?” She kept her hands in her lap, and when she met his eyes, her expression was one of puzzled curiosity.

“Honey,” he cried, running into the bedroom and pulling her into his arms. “I’m so sorry, Hannah. I am. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You know that, right?” His voice was frantic, and his eyes and hands roamed her body, looking for any sign of the trauma she had experienced. When he saw none, he hugged her tighter, tears of happiness falling down his face.

“I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, daddy. But you did,” Willow said, her voice gentle and soothing. “And now you’re going to ruin another girl’s life. She’s gonna go to prison because of us, and that’s not right.”

He snuffled into her hair, the tears wetting her hair and scalp. “I know, honey. But it was an accident. A terrible accident. I was...on drugs,” he admitted. “It was wrong, but there was just so much pressure. You and Logan, the Fitzpatricks, the coke. I didn’t know what to do. Then I came home and you were crying for him. I was so angry at him for hurting you, and at you for letting him into our lives. I just...I lost it. I didn’t really know what I was doing until...and it was too late. Too late.” He began crying again, unable to keep his pain and regret under control. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Hannah.”

Willow felt terrible poking the open wound on his soul, but this had to end. “Daddy, I want you to go with me to the sheriff’s office. We need to make sure that girl doesn’t go to jail for something you did.”

He released her, stepping back and looking into her eyes. “You’re right, sweetheart. I know you are. I’d—I’d have confessed eventually. I just needed some time.”

While she doubted that that was really the case, Willow kept her mouth shut, nodding solemnly as she led him downstairs and into his car.

The ride to the police station took an eternity. Dr. Griffith kept looking over at her, as if he expected her to disappear before his eyes. She supposed she couldn’t blame him, considering the circumstances. But those deep, searching gazes left her uncomfortable, and probably feeling almost as guilty as he was.

As they crossed the threshold into the police station she started to get nervous. Sooner or later, she’d have to be “her.” And if the doctor saw her and decided not to follow through on his confession, she wasn’t sure what she’d do.

“I need to see Sheriff Lamb,” he yelled out, raising a few heads. As he waited, fresh tears began to fall from his eyes as he stared straight ahead.

Willow quickly knocked off the glamour, red hair and green eyes back the way they should be. Lamb poked his head out of his office, noticed who was in his waiting area, and hot-footed it to the front desk. “Tom, what are you doing here?” he asked sharply, shooting a venomous glance at Willow. “Is she bothering you?”

Closing his eyes without looking at Willow, he nodded his head. “Hannah haunts me. Every day I see her face, and every night I hear her voice in my dreams. I killed her, Lamb. I’m the one who should be in jail. Not that girl you arrested. She was just in the wrong place. I...I want to confess to my daughter’s murder.” Fresh sobs racked his body as he said the words, and all eyes in the office were now on him.

Lamb quickly grabbed a pen and paper, apparently unwilling to let this chance slip away.

‘Probably knew he never had a chance to convict me,’ Willow thought bitterly. She quietly left the police station, reasonably sure that justice would finally be done.



~~~*~~~



“All charges against you, Ms. Rosenberg, have been dropped. Case closed.”

The judge’s words were music to Willow’s ears, and she hugged Cliff happily as Veronica and Keith came up to join them.

“So, Willow, how does it feel to be a free woman?” Cliff asked. “Or do I need to ask? That hug you gave me nearly bent me in half.”

“Oh, Cliff, you’re such a drama queen,” Veronica teased, giving the lawyer a gentle punch on the arm.

He grabbed his arm, grimacing. “Keith, tell your daughter to pick on someone her own size.”

They all grinned, the verdict sending their spirits sky high. The only blot on that happiness was when Willow looked over and saw Tom Griffith’s haggard face. It was hard not to think about his fate. Although the man would have happily seen her sent to jail for the rest of her life, she couldn’t feel any anger towards him. He was damaged, and when she looked in his eyes she saw that he was just as dead as Hannah was.

“Any idea why he confessed?” Cliff asked Willow, jerking his head over to the doctor. “Lamb said you were the one who showed up at the police station with him.”

Willow shook her head. “Must have been a guilty conscience working overtime, I guess. He just asked me to meet him there. I did, and he went in and confessed. I was pretty shocked.”

It was a bald-faced lie, used solely to misdirect, but Willow didn’t feel too bad about it. She’d begun to think of Keith, Veronica and Cliff as friends, but even so, she didn’t think they’d ever believe her if she told them what had really happened.

“I’m just glad to be free again,” she told them. “Just think...tonight I’m actually going to be able to sleep in my own bed.” Her small apartment in Los Angeles had never seemed like such a prize, but suddenly all she wanted was to be home, puttering away in her small kitchen, or sitting out on her deck, watching the sun set.

She would never take that small luxury for granted again.


End