Bertram? "Oh my god. How am I gonna face him?"
Jane rolled his eyes, white-framed marbles of sarcasm and dismay. What had he just said? He didn't want to tell her his list of seven Red John suspects because she would start acting different around the ones she knew and give the game away. He gave her the first name, her immediate boss Gale Bertram, and what was her reaction? Gawping shock, and wondering how she can ever look at him normally again. No guile, no deception. Just as he'd said.
He asked her to pull to the side of the road. They needed to talk. Now. "Look at you! You can't even hear Bertram's name and you fall apart! 'How am I going to face him?' How did you get out of the academy, Lisbon? You couldn't have passed Undercover 101!"
"I never really worked undercover much."
"I wonder why. Suspects must spot you a mile away, Pepper!"
The back of her neck heat like second-degree sunburn. "There's no need to get nasty about it, Jane." He had put more ridicule into the remark than his carnie friend, Sam, when she had first given Lisbon that nickname. Sam had spotted her as a cop in a blink and had named her "Pepper," right then and there, saying she was like Cagney and Lacey'd had a baby. It was insulting! They all laughed at her expense. And now Jane was throwing it in her face! "When the time comes, I'll do fine, don't you worry."
"Oh. 'Don't you worry.' That's supposed to take care of everything. You do realize what we're dealing with here, Lisbon? Red John himself, and he may even have cohorts or minions on that list. If you can't do better than that, you'll get us all killed." Jane's face was red and his voice had taken a menacing tone.
"Yes, Mr. Jane. I realize what's at stake. Like you haven't screwed up getting Red John, time after time, even killing the wrong man!"
"That's low, Lisbon. At least I was doing something to find him and catch him! And what I've done in the past has nothing to do with narrowing the list and getting him this time. It's apples and oranges. A fallacious argument. A damned straw man. You don't justify your actions by pointing out someone else's! You should know better."
"Oh, and I haven't tried to find Red John. The team hasn't. You arrogant jackass! You're a big enough idiot to team up with his mistress, the lovely Loralei, thinking she would turn him over to you! How stupid was that, big shot? How'd that work out? Maybe what I'm pointing out is that I need to think twice about advice from someone with your record of success!"
"All right! All right! You've resurrected Lorelei more often than Jesus! Let's just keep it to Bertram. You're going to see him all the time and probably very soon. He's your boss. What are you going to do, Lisbon? Gawk at him with pool ball eyes and your mouth hanging? You've got to get a different mindset with this."
Lisbon tried to deep breathe her way to some calm. "Such as . . . ?"
"Well, for starters, you can't really think of him as your boss for this, you're not his underling. He's the cobra and you're the mongoose. You have to be sly and still and stealthy until it's time to go for the kill."
This was crazy. He was Jane. He could pull off these little mind games. But she was Lisbon, not a damned mongoose! "You want me to be Riki-Tiki-Tavi. Okay, Rudyard Kipling, that ought to catch Red John."
"Can you forget the sarcasm? We aren't getting anywhere with it."
Lisbon had stopped the discussion, lost in her own thoughts. The look on her face showed a dawning horror and he wasn't sure where it was coming from.
"Lisbon! We need to talk about this!" Something was going on with her that he couldn't quite grasp.
Lisbon thought of her mediating influence on Jane. No one else could keep Jane from losing perspective in his single-minded pursuit. Jane held himself back, cooperated with Lisbon for the sake of the partners relationship he'd finally been able to understand and create with her. But if she was out of the picture, who would do that? There was no one Patrick Jane cared that much about. No one but her who cared that much about Jane. What did that mean? She meant, no one else Jane would listen to, didn't she? That no one else but she would put up with him? Lisbon had stopped worrying about Bertram. She wasn't sure what was bubbling up in its place.
"Lisbon. What is it? What are you thinking?"
"Shut. Up. Jane!" She was shouting. Emotion had taken Lisbon completely over, radiating like steam throughout her body. It allowed her only to breathe, not think. She was desperate to block out Jane or anything else so that she could stay just afloat on its roiling power.
Jane wasn't sure he had ever seen Lisbon so close to losing control and attacking him with every muscle in her body, should he persist. Her nails? Were they long? He had never really thought to notice them as a weapon, certainly not against himself. Suddenly it seemed like important knowledge, confined in a car with her. But she made no move to touch him at all.
Lisbon tried to imagine the next time she sat in front of Bertram's desk, seeing him as Red John, a serial killer. Imagining herself as probably his most desired target. What would happen if Bertram – or whoever Red John was – killed her? What would happen to Patrick Jane? Red John would have nothing to torture Jane with. Or what if she lived, and Patrick finally got too close to finding the serial killer? Red John would lose interest in Patrick Jane as a plaything. And then he would just … . kill him. And everything would just be … over.
That's what she was afraid of, not Red John, and not Bertram. Now that the list of suspects was so short, the consequences seemed more real, imminent. The emptiness inside her was total, a black hole of numbing pain. All lost. Patrick Jane dead. Lisbon felt as if she would vomit. She felt dizzy and clammy, hot and cold at the same time.
"I'm not afraid of Bertram! I'm not afraid of Red John, damn it! I'm afraid I'll do something wrong and he'll kill you! All right? It destroys me to think that he may kill the man I love. And I'd be here without you, Jane."
Jane froze, staring at her. Lisbon had just told him she feared losing him more than she feared Red John, or even what Red John might do to her. But more than that, she had said she loved him.
Lisbon didn't have time to notice Jane. Her stomach cramped and she exited the car, retching not two feet away, moaning when she wasn't heaving.
Jane opened his door and ran to Lisbon, putting his hand on her back, catching her hair to pull it out of the way, like tending to a child. "It's okay, Lisbon. It's going to be okay. You'll see. There, now." All the things one says to help a friend just make it to the other side of whatever it was. When she was through vomiting, Jane helped her to sit in the back seat, her legs at the open door. "Sit. Just sit there. I'll get you some water."
Lisbon was pale and clammy. Truthfully, Jane thought she looked shocky. "Here, Lisbon. Wash out your mouth and just take a couple sips." He took the water when she was through, poured some in his hands and blotted her face with it, her forehead, her cheeks, her neck. He made her stretch out on the seat, then got in and elevated her legs by placing her calves on his lap. There were a couple of throws back there and he put one under her head and threw the other one over her body, then took each hand in turn to pat her wrists.
"I love you, Patrick. God help me. I love you."
He absent-mindedly stroked her jean-clad legs, his own thoughts racing now. He didn't have to wonder whether he loved Lisbon.
"Yes. Well. I know what that feels like."
Lisbon must have been coming around because she laughed weakly, and ribbed him a little. "Oh, you know what it feels like to love you that much, too, huh? Why do I find that so easy to believe?"
Clarity. Absolute clarity. "No, Lisbon. To love you. To love you, Teresa."
The two sat quietly for a few minutes.
Teresa really didn't want to risk his answer to her next question, but now that they were talking, she just wanted to get it out of the way. ""Patrick . . . is it Platonic? For you, I mean." She took a deep breath. "Because it's not, for me."
"No." He looked into her beautiful clear green eyes. "Just unexpressed. Unconsummated."
Teresa smiled and reached her hand. Patrick held it quietly.
"I'm glad you said it, Teresa."
"Yeah? I'm not so sure I am. I thought it would be the last thing you'd want to hear. What just happened was so strong I couldn't control it."
"No. It's better. I thought admitting love would make things worse."
"Patrick. How could that be? That doesn't even make sense. I feel stronger, more grounded, knowing you love me."
"Yes. It feels that way for me. It's a relief. There's a big hole where there used to be pain and trouble. Now, there's love there, your love, the only kind I wanted. You're just smarter than me, Lisbon."
"Sex. Now, sex might be a problem. One hell of a distraction, I'd say." Teresa giggled and wagged her feet distractedly and Patrick caught one, squeezing it lightly through her shoe.
She raised her head and Patrick looked at her slyly. "Yes. Once we started, I don't know when we'd come up for air. Plus, it may draw Red John sooner than we're ready."
"Hmmmmmm. Maybe as soon as we're ready to draw Red John . . . ?"
"You have a very dark sense of humor, Teresa. You'll have me retching next to the car in a minute."
"Ugh. One of us is enough for today. I know it's not funny. I just feel so trapped. It makes me think of crazy ways to get out. I want to end that bastard!"
"Welcome to my world."
"I really do need your help about Bertram, Jane." She was willing to do just about anything.
He saw she was sincere and patted her hand. He wasn't sure there was anything he could do, short of hypnotizing her, perhaps. If she would allow it. "I know. We'll figure it out."
"Let's get moving again."
"I'll drive. You rest."
Lisbon was more than happy to let him. She allowed herself to put her hand in his for a few miles, and he allowed himself to hold it.
"Can we stop and get some gum, Patrick?"