Shawn watched her enter the precinct, his eyebrow instantly arching in interest. She walked with a determined, purposeful stride across the station, her dark green blazer a stark contrast to her pure white blouse and brown hair. She strode right up to Buzz, tapping him on the shoulder.
"Excuse me," she smiled confidently when he turned around. "I'm looking for Detective Lassiter."
Buzz nodded. "Well, that's his desk," he told her, pointing at the vacant seat. "I'm not sure where he is. If you want to wait for him to get back…"
"Thanks," she smiled, pulling up a chair.
She's definitely a reporter… Shawn realized, watching her pull out a small spiral notebook and a pencil.
Probably doing a story on Lassie…
An evil grin lit up his face as he remembered the incident a few months back when Lassiter had hi-jacked his own reporter after Shawn had single-handedly saved the city from an exploding bomb.
Of course, he had activated it first… and he hadn't actually diffused it himself…but who was counting?
The point was, Lassiter took credit for it…and now it was time for revenge.
Shawn grinned, but quickly let it fade from his face as he walked up to the reporter, assuming the gruff air of a seasoned detective.
"What the hell do you want?" he snapped, much like he imagined Lassiter would in his position. The reporter looked up at him, surprised.
"Are you Detective Lassiter?" she asked.
"Well, I'm sure as hell not a psychic," Shawn scowled, grabbing the gray suit jacket Lassiter had left draped over his chair and putting it on. He hoped the reporter didn't notice that it was way too long and that it looked odd with the blue t-shirt and jeans he was wearing. "Who are you?"
"I'm Nancy Jayne," she answered, extending her hand in a friendly greeting. "I'm the reporter from the Sun. I'm here to follow you around for a few days, get an inside look at the SBPD."
"Oh, right," Shawn grunted, snatching a file off the corner of the desk and pretending to look through it. "I forgot you were coming today."
"That's okay," she smiled, withdrawing her hand when Shawn didn't accept it. "Do you mind if I ask you some questions before we get started?"
"Go ahead."
"Okay…" She opened her notebook and took the pencil out from behind her ear, flipping through the pages until she found the right one. "First, what made you want to become a detective?"
Shawn leaned back in his chair, his face softening as he pretended to contemplate the matter deeply. "I've always had a deeply-embedded love of handcuffs."
She looked surprised, hesitating before she wrote down the response. "A what?"
"A deeply-embedded love of handcuffs," he repeated, actually allowing himself to grin this time. "And you can quote me on that."
"Okay…" she shrugged, jotting it down. "Anything else?"
"I like to yell at people," he continued, his grin growing by the moment. "And I have the most extensive collection of antique wooden spoons on the West Coast. Plus, I love musical theater. I sing Oklahomain the shower."
Her face remained placid and completely professional as she continued to scribe every word he spoke, but Shawn knew she was laughing on the inside.
How could she not be?
Shawn opened his mouth to add something else, but at that moment Lassiter walked into the station. He saw Shawn sitting in his desk, and immediately began to storm over to them. Shawn quickly stood up.
"Uh…Excuse me one moment," he mumbled, already going to head-off the clearly fuming detective before he reached the reporter and blew his cover. "Duty calls…"
He reached Lassiter in about four strides.
"Spencer!" Lassiter snapped, glaring at his jacket the psychic was wearing. "What the hell are you doing? Why are you at my desk wearing my jacket?"
"Nothing," Shawn grinned innocently, jamming his hands into the pockets. "I just thought you might want your jacket warmed up for you…besides, it fits so nice. It's like a giant, poly-cotton blend Lassie-Hug."
Lassiter's eyes narrowed, and Shawn knew he didn't believe a word of it. "Spencer…" he growled threateningly.
"Excuse me, Detective Lassiter?" Nancy interrupted them, looking at Shawn as she approached cautiously. "I don't have a lot of time today. Do you think we could start the ride along soon?"
"Lassiter?" Lassiter growled, glaring at the psychic. "Why the hell did you just call him-?"
"Uh…" Shawn stammered, but never had a chance to come up with a witty excuse, because Nancy turned to Lassiter next.
"Oh, I found him, Chief Vick. Thanks for your help outside."
Shawn turned to the now scarlet-faced Lassiter, his eyes flashing as his lip curled up into a victorious grin.
"Chief Vick?" he laughed, raising an eyebrow. "Dude. Seriously?"
Lassiter grabbed his arm and dragged him a few feet away, turning them so their backs were to Nancy.
"Look," he growled quietly, glancing back at the reporter. "I met her outside. I knew she was a reporter. I have five cases to close, and I don't have time to babysit the damn press! The Chief thought it'd be good publicity…but I don't give a damn. I'm not doing it! But she was outside looking for me, anyway…I didn't know what else to do…"
"So you told her you were a woman?" Shawn laughed, enjoying the situation immeasurably.
"No!" Lassiter snapped. "She doesn't know Chief Vick is a woman! I just…gave myself a little well-deserved promotion."
"Yeah…" Shawn snorted, rolling his eyes. "A promotion to Woman!"
"I'm not a woman!" Lassiter shouted, then instantly lowered his voice when at least five people stopped working and looked over at them. He grabbed Shawn's shoulder again and dragged him another five steps away from the reporter.
"You told her you were me!" he accused, glaring. "You impersonated an officer, Spencer! I could arrest you right now!"
"Then you'd have to explain to the Chief about your little promotion," Shawn pointed out, grinning broadly. "And you'd have to tell her you pretended to be her because you were trying to get out of following an order. Face it, Lassie. You're stuck. As far as that reporter knows, I'm Detective Carlton Lassiter. So I'm going to finish my interview. Come on, Lassie! It'll be fun!"
He pushed past Lassiter and headed back to Nancy, who was watching them, looking apprehensive.
"Is everything okay?" she asked. "What's going on?"
Shawn sighed, shaking his head sadly from side to side as Lassiter came up beside him, still glaring at him. "Okay…you caught us," he admitted, as if it were a painful admission. "He's not really Chief Vick."
"I didn't think so," Nancy nodded, appraising them both.
"He's Shawn Spencer!" Shawn added happily, clapping Lassiter on the back. "The great psychic detective."
"Really?" Nancy looked impressed, pulling her notebook out again. "You're a psychic?"
Lassiter scowled, but one look at Shawn and he knew he was trapped.
There was no way in hell he was telling the Chief he ignored her order.
There was no way in hell he was going to admit to a reporter that he allowed a psychic to run amuck in his precinct, impersonating officers on a whim.
"No," he muttered bitterly, crossing his arms across his chest. "I'm just a giant pain in the ass."