Now:

Lisbon was surprised when she entered the CBI office that morning to find that Patrick Jane hadn't arrived yet. He was normally the earliest, for reasons she decided not to speculate on, and yet he wasn't there. The sight of the couch without his long, indolent form on it was just too odd. She went into her office and started on her pile of paperwork—which, surprise, surprise, was a good portion made up of complaints against Jane.

She could say how effective his methods were until she was blue in the face, but it wouldn't change the fact that his methods were as far removed from police work as they could possibly be.

An hour later, the workplace was beginning to spring to life. She looked up to see Rigsby enter, his eyes immediately going to Grace's face. He smiled and mumbled a shy hello. Lisbon smiled and returned to her paperwork.

It was only half an hour later, when she was done and going to check up on the team, that she realized her consultant still wasn't there.

"Has anyone seen Jane?" She asked, irritated. Her three team members looked up, shaking their heads as they, too, looked at Jane's empty couch.

"Heard from him?" She prodded, but was only met with more silence.

"Do you want me to call his cell, boss?" Rigsby asked, reaching down for his phone. She waved her hand.

"I'll do it. Get back to work."

She walked back to her office, shut the door, and brushed her bangs out of her head in frustration. Sure, it was a slow day, but not even Jane and his near-psychic abilities could predict that. She had been planning on giving him a brief talking-too—his obsession with Boscoe and the Red John case was beginning to interfere more than ever in his work—and the only free chance she had, he wasn't there. Typical.

Lisbon pounded in his number manually, even though she knew he was on speed dial. She waited for him to pick up, tapping her finger on the desk.

He didn't answer.

That was unlike Jane, but she pushed away the faint stirring of unease that began in the pit of her stomach. It was possible Jane was sick. Or a tire on his junky car had blown out.

Three hours later, she had pushed Jane to the back of her mind as the workload picked up. It wasn't until lunchtime and Cho poked his head into her office that she remembered.

"Hey, boss, we're going out to pick up something to eat. Do you want anything?"

"No," she said, looking up briefly. "Thanks."

"Did you ever hear from Jane?" He asked, his stoic face creased just a little with concern. Lisbon put her pen down.

"No," she began. "But it's possible…he could be sick."

Cho made a disbelieving face that Lisbon didn't appreciate.

"Jane doesn't get sick, boss."

"Then he's skipping," she said, her voice becoming a bit shrill. Cho wisely ducked his head and dropped the subject. She called Jane again, but there was no answer.

At four o'clock, Minelli called her into his office. His lined face was unnaturally serious as he ushered her in. Lisbon stood awkwardly within the door as he walked with heavy steps to his desk before turning around to face her.

"What's this about, boss?" She said impatiently. He held up a finger.

"I wasn't sure if you wanted to handle this or not, so I'm giving you the benefit of a choice. We can always turn it over to local LEOs if you feel too…emotional."

Lisbon raised an eyebrow.

"Emotional? What are you talking about?"

Minelli sighed. "Police station in Malibu got a call an hour ago. Some lady reported that her neighbor's house had been broken into, or so she thinks. Door was wide open. Police station sent two officers over, found a big mess and the floor smeared with blood."

"…Okay?" Lisbon said. "We've handled the like before. What is it? Theft? Murder? Kidnapping?"

"I don't know," Minelli said. "But once the police found out whose house it was, they called us."

"Whose house is it?"

Minelli looked down at his hands, and then met her eyes. "Jane's."

*