The older man had been following the blonde man for over a week. He took photos and compared them to the photos his son had sent home. There were minor differences. Of course, a few years had gone by. His son would have known the man at first sight but his son was no longer alive to help him.
The man being followed has no reason to suspect anyone is following him, stalking him, hunting him. He no longer works for the FBI, and the only person who'd had an implacable hatred, an enduring will to do him harm, is no longer alive.
The man being followed parks his car in front of a baby store and enters. Two female employees warmly welcome him, recognizing the good, repeat customer (not to mention handsome one). He heads toward the baby girl outfits. The women look at each other.
"That will be the best dressed child in the world. I'm surprised his wife hasn't put a stop to it. Even if they dress her in a new outfit every day, she'll outgrow those clothes before she has a chance to wear them all."
The gentleman in question returns with two pink dresses and devastates the women with his best smile. Minutes later he leaves the store and tosses the bag of dresses in the back seat of his car. A car is parked behind his. He notices - he notices everything after all - that its driver is in trouble, coughing and choking. The blonde man rushes over and yanks the driver's door open, grateful it isn't locked. Before he can say a word, the driver zaps him unconscious with a taser. The older man pushes his rescuer off and gets out, no longer coughing or choking. The driver opens the back door and, within minutes, has the man in his back seat. He ties the blonde man with the ease and skill of a rodeo cowboy and throws a light blanket over to hide the still figure. A quick look around confirms nobody saw his actions. The driver gets in and drives away.
A car pulls up to the beautiful cabin that Patrick Jane had fixed for his wife and their new baby. When the car stops, FBI Agent Wiley exits the driver's side and hurries to the passenger side. He opens the door and helps FBI Agent Lisbon out. She smiles. "Thanks for driving me home. Jane got carried away shopping for the baby again."
"Do you want me to stay until he gets home?" He walks her to the front steps of the house and takes her elbow to help her up the stairs. She unlocks the door and they go in.
"No, thanks. I'll just lie down and take a nap until he gets here. This is your weekend too, so go enjoy what's left of it," she says while shucking shoes from from her swollen feet. Most of the team had worked Saturday and part of Sunday.
"See you Monday," Wiley says as he leaves, making sure to lock the door on his way out. Jane would feed him to the bears if he left the house unlocked with Lisbon home alone.
Lisbon goes into the kitchen for a glass of juice, returns to the living room and sinks down on the couch with a sigh. She finally is done with work, finally is home, finally can relax. She is more than ready to start maternity leave. It turns out she is more than ready for that nap, too.
Blinking sleep from her eyes, Lisbon wakes, surprised the room is dark except for the plug-in nightlight. The windows look out onto the black of night. She sits up and turns on the lamp by the couch. Her watch confirms that hours have passed and it is indeed late evening. Frowning a little, she rises, goes to the door and flicks the porch light on, looking outside for Jane's car. Not there. He said he'd be home with dinner at seven - two hours ago! She grabs her purse and walks to the kitchen while taking out her cell phone and hitting a button. While waiting for her husband to answer Lisbon drinks a glass of water. The phone rings and rings. When it goes to voice mail, she leaves a message: "Patrick where are you? Call me!"
Jane wakes. It's dark. Not a dim dark, but the black utterly without light. With effort, he controls his breathing and pulse till calm enough to use his other senses to learn as much about his surroundings as possible. He is lying on a small cot, so far so good. But he has no memory of how he got there. He feels his clothes and knows that somehow his clothes are different from what he dressed in that morning. Whatever they are, they aren't enough to ward off the chill of wherever he is. He assures himself that the shiver that passes through his body is from the cold, only the cold.
Two people are alone that night. One is scared something has happened to her husband. And the husband is trying to figure out where he is, a bit scared himself.