TO CATCH A RED EYE

by Agent M

Jane finally gets his showdown with Red John, but not before he solves a murder that involves ice cream in a BIG way! Possible S6 spoilers regarding the identity of Red John ( depends whether my theory is correct!) A LOT of BLOOD, SWEAT and TEARS went into this one, so pleeeaaaaaase REVIEW. Rated M just to be sure.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, they are all Bruno Heller's. I just borrow them for inspiration.

Author's Note: This story is the follow-up to A VISION IN RED. I don't do chapters, I prefer to use a separate story name, just like the episodes in the show. They are all connected and follow on from each other.

Thanks to: The cast and crew of The Mentalist, past and present, especially Mr Heller (I bow down to you, sir!) and the enormous talents that are Simon Baker and Robin Tunney. Without you I would just be doodling!

TO CATCH A RED EYE

Recap: During the course of a high-profile investigation, Jane has a minor accident which leaves him with disturbing visions. Some might claim it has unleashed some form of real psychic ability, although Jane would be the first to deny it, and is therefore keeping it to himself. The vision that disturbs him the most is the one of small-booted feet protruding from a dumpster in a dark alley. A nearby wall is decorated with the all too familiar red smiley, and on the floor there is a blood-covered ID badge with only the word Agent and the letters T, O and N visible. During the case, Jane and Lisbon also discovered a card from Bret Stiles in Van Pelt's desk that read: 'Glad to have been of service'. Lisbon is concerned, Jane is intrigued.

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CBI HQ, Sacramento, CA

Lisbon wandered into the bullpen and glanced around. "Anyone seen Jane?" she inquired. The few agents that were around and paying attention shook their heads.

"Think he went up to the roof," replied Ron, holding the phone handset between his ear and his shoulder.

"Great!" was Lisbon's sardonic response. She pulled out her cell phone and hit speed dial. There was no reply. Lisbon rolled her eyes and stomped off towards the stairwell.

She found Jane perched on the edge of his makeshift bed, as if he had just woken up abruptly and realised he was late for something. She couldn't be certain, but she thought she detected a few beads of perspiration on his brow. He certainly seemed distant – had done for a couple of days now - until he realised she was there, and then tried to brush his apparent edginess under the rug.

"I was wondering when you would show up." He spoke lightly, whilst his fingers tapped the pocket of his vest, having just replaced his phone after rejecting Lisbon's call.

"Well, you're not exactly hard to find when you've got something on your mind these days," replied the brunette. She searched his eyes for some clue that he would drop the secretive charade of the last few days and tell her what was bothering him. He just dropped his gaze slightly and then allowed it to drift to his wall of thoughts – an adjacent wall that was covered in maps, photos and documents connected to his search for Red John. He shrugged resignedly, as if she had caught him out. Lisbon probed further, realising that he wasn't about to spill of his own volition. "You come up with anything new?" Her eyes scanned his wall.

Mysteriously, Jane stood up and walked closer to the board. "I'm so close, Lisbon…and he knows it." He glanced back at the brunette and his troubled gaze seemed to linger on her for longer than usual.

Lisbon raised an eyebrow. "How close? Have you narrowed down the suspect list any further?" she asked. Jane smiled enigmatically. Lisbon immediately cocked her head, "You have, haven't you?" An excited grin began to spread across her face. She stepped to his side and stared at the board. "So, I'm listening."

When he finished telling her his list of three, the excited look had been replaced by one of fear and she stared at him open-mouthed.

"Really? Bertram, Stiles and Partridge?"

Jane's nod was almost imperceptible. His gaze was adamant; he was sure.

"Okay…" Lisbon tried to digest the information. "Maybe Bertram and Stiles I can understand…but Partridge? He's too much of a wimp, surely?"

"A wimp with an in-depth knowledge of forensics – a man who knows how to kill and get away with it," added Jane.

Lisbon conceded, "Well, when you put it like that." She let the ideas sink in. "Oh my god…we could be working with Red John!"

"Quite possibly," replied Jane. The pupils of his eyes were wide, though not because of the darkened room. It seemed his thoughts were searching for and formulating a plan; the final plan.

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Industrial area, South Sacramento, CA – The following day

"That's odd," stated Jane as he and Lisbon joined Rigsby at the crime scene.

"You're telling me!" responded Wayne, looking back up to the roof of the capsule-shaped diner in disbelief. The tall, dark-haired agent was waiting for the coroner to climb back down a ladder that was propped up against what looked like a silver train carriage - but was in fact, according to the sign, an ice cream diner.

"No way! You have got to be kidding me!" exclaimed Lisbon, whose jaw had dropped slightly at the sight of the victim – a young male dressed in street-combat cargo shorts and a vest top. He was impaled on the large chocolate flake of a ginormous ice cream cone that dominated the roof of the diner, advertising its wares. A blood pool had formed atop the cone and begun to drip down the sides like a gruesome serving of raspberry sauce. She shook her head as she took in the over-sized scuba goggles and skis that adorned the dead man's face and feet. "Tell me this is a joke, right?" She looked at Rigsby, who held a small notebook in his hand, ready to report to his two colleagues.

Rigsby shrugged, "Sorry boss..." He gestured seriously towards the dead body. "Harlequin Willis, aged 22. Owner of the diner ID'd him. Apparently he was an employee."

"Hmm, yes, very odd indeed… I mean, who puts an ice cream diner here?" interrupted Jane, continuing with his train of thought. "Look around," he pivoted slowly taking in the barren surroundings beneath the overpass. "It's not a residential area. Where are the customers?" Rigsby gave him an incredulous glance. Lisbon just shook her head again and turned back to see the coroner make it safely back to ground level.

"Hey, Pat! Good to see you," she greeted.

The proficient black woman smiled warmly, "Hey T!" She glanced back at the victim. "Good one, huh? I really thought I had seen everything, but this…"

Jane left the two professionals discussing the coroner's findings so far and stepped away from the group. He wandered over to the ladder and began to climb up, only so far as to get a closer look at the victim's position. The jagged and torn flake had skewered him through the middle of his torso causing his head and shoulders to slump against the ice cream ball. His legs, with skis still affixed to his feet were spread on either side of the giant cone in a grotesque cartoon-style crash position – both skis stuck up into the air in a large V shape. Jane cocked his head to one side and peered at the lifeless male in front of him. He studied the victim's injured face, his hands and clothes, noted the tattoos and the skis that had small wheels attached to the bottom of them. Then he glanced up at the overpass that over-looked the area. Satisfied that he had seen enough, he descended the ladder.

Lisbon was just thanking Pat, who was heading back to recover the body and take it back for autopsy, when Jane strolled up. He was licking an ice cream cone.

The brunette frowned, "Really? You're gonna eat that now?" She shook her head disparagingly and rolled her eyes.

Jane frowned innocently, "What? It's ice cream." He shrugged in response to her disapproval, and then pointed a finger at a small group of people – the diner owner and a couple of others - who were standing nearby. "We should go and talk to her," he stated and moved towards a young woman, dressed in urban street clothes, hovering near to the overpass supports. She was standing a little away from the others.

Lisbon glanced over. The question 'why her?' hung on her lips as Jane had already moved out of earshot before she had a chance to speak. She huffed and followed after him.

The woman was not much more than a girl; in her late teens, Jane guessed. She was stepping from toe to toe and trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. Her fingers played nervously with a pendant that hung on a delicate chain around her neck, before pushing it down inside her vest top, hidden from view. Her hand remained close to her chest though; with her index finger gently tapping the hidden charm. There was almost a glazed expression in her eyes as she stared, like she was desperately trying to think of a way out of the situation. Jane stood motionless about five feet away. His head cocked to one side as he observed her and then he trailed her eye line over to a group of young guys who had arrived at the crime scene tape. No matter how remote a crime scene, mused the consultant, word always seemed to get out and there was always a small group of looky-loos.

Lisbon had just reached his side and was about to speak again, her notebook in her hand ready to take notes, when he set off again, this time in the direction of the small group of youths. Open-mouthed, she stared after him. A crease of confusion was etched on her brow. She turned back to the young woman and gestured for her to wait for a moment and then stomped off to find out what Jane was playing at.

Her 'what's going on?' questioning look was answered almost immediately.

"Just hangin' here with my homies…isn't that right, boys," responded Jane in a street-like tone. His comment was met with derisive looks from the group of young men.

"Whatever, old man," spat one of them. Jane feigned a brief look of shocked hurt.

"Yeah, whatever, dude…" The consultant rolled his eyes, dismissively brushing aside the unpleasantries. "What can you tell me about the victim?" he asked, more seriously, eyeing each of them up in turn.

"Nothing, man. Didn't know him," came the reply from the same guy that had just insulted him.

Jane jumped right in to contradict him. "Ah-ha, you said 'didn't know him'. As in the past tense. If you were being truthful you would have used the present tense, 'don't'." He peered at the home-boy expectantly. "So, you want to try again?"

There was an uncomfortable expression on the young man's face; a mixture of indignation at being called out, confusion about Jane's grammatical theorising, and the hint of fearful hesitation about what he should say.

He glanced at his friends, took in a breath and then turned his attention back to Jane and Lisbon. "Okay, so I've seen the dude around. That don't mean I know him."

"But you've spoken with him on occasion," pressed the consultant, allowing his eyes to take in the deep purple bruising around the man's tattooed knuckles.

"Yeah, we talked. On occasion, maybes. But we're not 'homies' or anything." He snickered at his friends, allowing their amusement at his mockery of Jane to feed his confidence and swagger.

Jane simultaneously rolled onto the balls of his feet and leaned backwards slightly, "Oh, okay." He said nothing else, just looked closely at the group in front of him as he finished his ice cream. His gaze made a couple of them bristle a little. One of Lisbon's eyebrows was raised as she waited for Jane to say something else. When he didn't, the silence felt a little awkward. Jane just continued to glance at each of the group members in turn. Lisbon became concerned that the grin on his face would provoke one of the men into action; judging by the gang tattoos on display, she felt they wouldn't be shy about retaliating if offended.

"Jane?" she said quietly and gestured with a side nod of her head, wanting the consultant to step to one side so she could find out what the hell was going on. As he was tunring to look at her, he did a double-take at the road behind the group. Without saying a word, and without taking his eyes off his new target, he pushed through the group, leaving Lisbon open-mouthed again. She quickly apologised to the men and asked them to give their details to Rigsby, whom she shouted over. Then she hurried after Jane, once more.

Jane had made his way to the curb-side and was standing at the side of a limousine, leaning in towards the open rear window. Before Lisbon could reach him, the door opened and Jane slid inside. Lisbon stopped in her tracks with her hand hovering over her holster. When the vehicle didn't move away, she was satisfied that it wasn't an abduction attempt and relaxed her position, deciding to wait for him to return.

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"It's so nice to see you again, Patrick," grinned Bret Stiles. "You know we really should keep in touch more often, don't you agree?"

"What are you doing here, Bret? I wouldn't have thought this was your neck of the woods," replied Jane. He peered intensely at the older man sitting beside him in the limousine.

"Well, of course, you'd be right, Patrick. It is a little bit lacking on the salubrious side for my liking." He took a breath and looked straight ahead. "No, I was just returning from a conference and my driver took a wrong turn. You simply can't get the staff these days, can you?" He turned and grinned again. "What brings you here?"

It took a moment for Jane to reply. He seemed lost in his thoughts as he weighed the enigmatic cult leader up. "Oh…uh…crime scene…murder..." He pointed back through the window and then with a mischievous side-nod playfully added, "…ice cream."

Stiles was amused. Jane was curious. He didn't believe that Bret Stiles just happened to be in the area due to a wrong turn. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" He nodded towards the window again.

"Me? Why on earth would I know anything about a young hoodlum's murder?" Stiles made a dramatic show of feigning his disgruntlement.

"Not your style?" probed Jane.

Bret smiled thoughtfully and raised a mischievous eyebrow. "Definitely not. But then you'd know that, wouldn't you, Patrick?"

There was a brief silence. Then the older man took in a deep breath.

"Well, much as I would love to sit here and chat, I'm afraid I have places to go and people to see. It's been nice, Patrick. Let's do this again soon." Stiles held out a hand. Jane looked at it and then shook it. He reached down and pulled the door handle, letting the mid-morning light stream into the darkened interior of the vehicle. Before sliding back out into the sunshine, he paused thoughtfully. He seemed to be about to say something, but then changed his mind. He exited the vehicle and watched as the limo pulled away.

Lisbon stepped up to him. "You wanna tell me what that was all about?"

Jane stared after the car. "Bret Stiles," he stated simply. Then he turned and began to head back towards the crime scene.

Lisbon's head swung around to look after the limousine that had just left. "That was Stiles?!" She had to jog to catch up with her colleague. "What did he say? Did you get a read on whether he's Red John?"

Jane inhaled pensively, "Not yet." He held up the crime scene tape so that she could duck under it in front of him, "Shall we?"

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CBI, Sacramento, CA

Wayne Rigsby replaced the handset on his phone and looked up. "Boss? Think I may have something." The unit boss made her way over to the agent's desk. She had just meandered into the bullpen holding a much-deserved coffee.

"What is it?" she asked.

"The victim, Harlequin Willis[?] He's got a record." He paused.

One of Lisbon's eyebrows rose slightly. "Not surprising considering his gang affiliations. Though it could explain possible motive. What did he do?"

"Mostly minor drug offences…but was recently arrested on assault charges," reported Rigsby. "I ran the other employees through the database. Get this, the employer, Michael Jennings? Served time in Folsom."

"For what?" quizzed the brunette, picking up a folder from Rigsby's desk and running her eyes over a printout.

"Felony possession with intent to sell. Got caught with 2 kilos of cocaine hidden in his vehicle when pulled on a routine traffic stop."

"Figures," stated the diminutive boss, "Seems like Traffic have more success catching the bad guys than we do these days. Have Cho pick him up. I'm betting he knows more about our victim than he's letting on."

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Grace Van Pelt sighed and hummed gently to herself. Life was so good right now. She had a job which she loved; a man who loved her; and she had finally regained control over the anger that had enveloped her since she had shot and killed her former fiancé, Craig O'Laughlin. She inhaled deeply and allowed the breath to escape slowly. An enigmatic smile played at the corners of her mouth as she thought about the man who had made it all so possible.

As she reached for her coffee cup, she glanced over at Rigsby's desk. He was deep in conversation on the phone and scribbling notes down at the same time. By jiggling her mug around, she managed to get his attention. He dropped his pen momentarily and held up his own empty mug, grateful that she had asked. Grace retrieved his cup, smiled and headed for the kitchen area, still softly humming to herself.

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Interview Room, CBI

Agent Kimball Cho entered the room and placed a buff folder on the desk in front of Michael Jennings. Then he sat down in the chair opposite and rested his loosely-clasped hands on top of the file. After a moment of eyeing up his suspect, who was casually leaning back in his chair with his legs stretched out, the Korean flipped the folder open and began to read. "So, Michael…you served 12 years in Folsom. How'd that go for you?"

Jennings leaned forward in his seat cockily, "Best damn time of my life," he answered.

Cho stared straight at the fortysomething man and exhaled a breath. He'd seen this routine too many times before. Every time, the perpetrator would act like they didn't care, had no worries and were being wrongly subjected to an interrogation, and every time Cho would break them. Some of them even ending up blubbering like babies, confessing to everything from stealing from their grandmothers when they were kids, to premeditated murder. The short, but stocky, agent never understood why word never got round that the cops had seen it all before, and that maybe the bad guys should try a new strategy; this one definitely was not working. Cho didn't intend to go through the whole routine, so he cut to the chase.

"Harlequin Willis. Talk to me about his murder." The experienced agent's tone was serious.

Jennings was coolly defensive. He placed a palm down on the desk. "Alls I know is I had nothin' to do with it."

Cho's calm demeanour didn't change, nor did the tone of his voice. He tried some reverse psychology, "Yeah? So why you looking so guilty? What are you hiding?"

Jennings shrugged a shoulder and his mouth simultaneously. "Don't know what you're talkin' about, man." Though it was evident from his tapping fingers that his bluff exterior was beginning to show some cracks. Cho had a knack for making people doubt themselves; it was something he'd picked up from Jane, and it was proving to be a useful technique.

The seasoned agent nodded and breathed out as if accepting the man's denial. He changed tack. "Okay, so you're innocent… Willis was a gangbanger with drug convictions. You telling me you knew nothing about that? As an employer?"

Jennings shifted in his seat. He began to relax a little bit again, though was still a little hesitant. After a short pause he decided the question was benign enough to answer truthfully. "Well, yeah, sure I knew…but I mean, if an ex-con ain't gonna give an ex-con a second chance, then who the hell will, right?" His confidence grew with Cho's seemingly genuine nod.

"How long had he been working for you?" asked Cho.

The ex-con looked upwards. "Let's see…about a year, just over maybe. He was still a punk back then, thought the world owed him, y'know? But after a few months he brought trouble so I had to let him go."

Cho made a note in his book. "What kind of trouble?"

Jennings twisted his mouth, "You know…gangbanger stuff…arguments, fighting yada, yada,yada." The man waved a tattooed hand dismissively. "It wasn't good for business, so I threw him back into the pond."

"But you gave him his job back?" questioned the agent. "Why?"

Jennings nodded. "Yeah, was about eight or so months back. Kid said he wanted to change his life, got cleaned up, said the past was behind him so I gave him a break. As far as I know he kept out of trouble." He sniffed and pushed himself back into his seat, obviously pleased with his good deed.

"Yeah, you're a real Samaritan," acknowledged Cho. "Any idea why he wanted to change?"

Jennings leaned forward in his seat as if sharing a tasty titbit of information. "I got the impression he was trying to impress a girl. Even went so far as to join some program or something – he said he'd met some people, a group, claimed they were gonna 'cleanse his soul' and 'show him the true path to enlightenment' or somethin' or other." The roll of his eyes and the tone of mockery in his voice showed that he obviously had no time for that sort of thing.

Cho's glance over his shoulder at the two-way mirror was barely noticeable. "This group? They have a name?"

Jennings scratched his head, "Yeah…Vision, visual…somethin' like that"

"Visualize," stated Cho, matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, that's them. A bunch of crazies if you ask me!"

Behind the glass of the mirror, Lisbon's jaw dropped. She glanced over at Jane, who was leaning against a table observing the interview. He had a smirk on his face which she wasn't particularly happy about.

"I'll get Cho and Rigsby to bring him in," she uttered, knowing full well that Jane would know she was talking about Bret Stiles.

Jane stood up. "No need," he said. "I'll take Grace."

Lisbon looked at him and shook her head. "No. I know what you're thinking and the answer is no. I won't allow you to use one of my team as bait. I thought I made that perfectly clear to you. No."

"Lisbon," he drew out her name as he said it. Placing both hands on her upper arms, he looked down into her greeny-brown eyes. The brunette already felt herself waning. "Come on, you know it makes sense. You saw the card. We need to know if Grace is with Visualize, you said it yourself. Now's our chance… I'll be there with her."

Lisbon took a step back. "That's what I'm worried about."

Jane shot her a patronizing look. "Don't worry, Lisbon. It'll give you wrinkles," he grinned, and smoothed his thumbs softly across her temples, adding, "You don't want to ruin that lovely complexion." Before she had chance to respond to the veiled compliment, he exited the observation room and headed off to look for Van Pelt.

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Visualize HQ, CA

Bret Stiles stood to greet his visitors. "I know I said we should do this again, Patrick, but I wasn't expecting it to be quite so soon." He grinned. "Nevertheless, here you are…and you've brought the lovely Grace with you, too. How lucky for me." He winked at Van Pelt, who looked relaxed in the cult leader's gaze. Stiles gestured for the pair of them to sit down. Jane watched closely at the non-verbal interaction between his red-haired colleague and the charismatic man before him, then he sat, crossing his left leg over his right and leaned back into the chair.

Stiles reluctantly pulled his gaze from Grace and turned his attention to Jane. "Hmmm, I get the feeling this isn't a social visit…So, how can I be of service?"

Jane smirked at the turn of phrase. A brief flash of the card in Van Pelt's desk flitted through his mind's eye; 'Glad to have been of service – Bret Stiles' it had read. The consultant's eyes glanced sideways at Grace. He was sure that he could see the flicker of a smile begin in the corners of her mouth, but it disappeared again before it could form properly.

"Well, let's see…maybe you could start by telling us about Harlequin Willis," offered Jane.

Stiles' grin turned into an expression of innocent inquisitiveness. "Who?" He directed the question towards Grace.

"He's been a member of Visualize for the last 8 months," she responded.

A crease formed above Stiles' nose and wrinkles formed around his eyes as he squinted, trying to recollect. There was a long pause before he retrieved the correct information. "Ahhh yes. You'll have to forgive me. The old grey matter isn't what it used to be, I'm afraid. It takes a little longer to retrieve certain information these days." He took a breath. "I believe you are referring to Brother Harley…at least that's the name I know him by…Is he in some sort of trouble?"

"He's dead…murdered…this morning," interjected Jane, bluntly.

Stiles' eyes widened at the news. "Oh I'm sorry to hear that." He paused again as a thought popped into his head. "Oh dear, was that the poor chap from earlier today? The one from the less than salubrious neighbourhood?" he asked.

Jane gave a closed smile as confirmation and continued to stare thoughtfully at the cult leader. Grace pulled out a notebook and sat with pen poised. "Any information you could give us would be helpful," she said softly.

Stiles' exhaled a breath. His eyes did a slight double-take as he noticed Jane's incessant stare. "Of course, Grace. Anything for you. A troubled young man I believe. He was just about to complete another of our detoxification and rehabilitation courses. I didn't have much to do with him but I'll have Brother Thomas bring you his lifebook."

"Thank you. That would be great." Grace stood up to leave. Stiles gave her a brief hug and kissed her gently on one cheek. Grace blushed, lowered her gaze and then wandered over to the door, where a young man in chinos and a pale blue polo shirt was waiting. She looked back at Jane. "You coming, Jane?"

The consultant was still reclining in his seat, elbows resting on the arms of the tub chair, and his hands clasped loosely in front of his mouth. He tapped both index fingers against his lips pensively. "I'll catch up," he replied, not taking his eyes off Stiles. Grace shrugged an eyebrow and left with the young man.

The enigmatic leader turned back to Jane. "Something troubling you, Patrick? You seem a little preoccupied." He sat down in the chair that Van Pelt had just vacated.

"You tell me," answered Jane, mysteriously.

Stiles laughed. "And how would I know what is going on in that complicated mind of yours?" He held Jane's gaze for several moments. "This is about Red John, isn't it?" he probed. He continued to look into the consultant's eyes. "You're getting close…In fact…" He stared closer, squinting, "You've narrowed it down to a few names, haven't you?"

"Have I?" tested Jane.

Stiles laughed again. "Goodness! I hope I'm not on your list. That would be amusing." He chuckled to himself, and then noticed a glint in Jane's eye. "Surely not! Me? Now why would you think that I was Red John?"

"Are you telling me that you're not?" pushed Jane.

Stiles stood up and smoothed his hands down his thighs to un-crease the wrinkles on his trousers. He was contemplative, "It would be an intriguing twist, wouldn't it?"

"You haven't answered my question," replied Jane.

Bret Stiles smiled enigmatically. He raised an eyebrow, "No… I haven't, have I?" He exhaled a breath. "Well, it's been nice, as always, Patrick." He gestured towards the door, as Jane stood up. "I expect the lovely Grace is wondering what's keeping you." He extended a hand. As Jane shook it, the older man stepped in to give him a hug. A soft smile played on his mouth over Jane's shoulder, before he patted him firmly on the back and stepped back. Jane cast one last, long look and then left in search of Van Pelt.

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CBI HQ, Sacramento, CA

Lisbon strode purposefully into the bullpen. She had been waiting for Jane and Van Pelt to return. "Well?" she inquired, slightly impatiently.

Jane glanced at her and then, without speaking, headed into the kitchen area to make a cup of tea.

Van Pelt fed back the conversation she had had with Brother Thomas about the victim. The younger Visualize member had been friends with Willis and was happy to give her some background. It had helped that she'd told him that Bret Stiles had asked that he be totally honest with her. He'd informed her that Willis had had a troubled past; his childhood had been one of drug dealers and beatings from unloving parents. His older brother had joined a gang at the age of 12 and so Willis had been indoctrinated into the unforgiving world of gangbangers, drugs and territory disputes from an early age.

"So why the sudden change eight months ago? Why join Visualize" asked Lisbon.

Grace held up a book. "According to Willis' lifebook, he wanted more out of life. He mentions a person with the initials KT who appears to have had a dramatic effect on him."

"Like a girlfriend, maybe? Like Jennings said," interjected Cho. He and Rigsby had wandered over to hear the update from their colleague.

"Maybe," repeated Lisbon. She looked at Wayne. "Rigs, didn't you talk to that girl at the crime scene? The one in the street clothes?"

Rigsby nodded, "Yeah…she also worked at the diner. Said she didn't know the victim that well, she'd only been working there for a couple of days."

The brunette didn't seem convinced. "What was her name?"

Rigsby pulled out his notebook and flicked back a few pages. "Uh…Kelly Thurston…damn –"

"KT," nodded Lisbon, confirming what she already suspected. "Go pick her up again. We need to know what her real relationship with the victim was, and what she knows about his joining Visualize."

Rigsby grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, as did Cho. "I'll come with," announced the Korean agent.

"O-kay," responded Wayne a little hesitantly. He wasn't quite sure why Cho thought it would take two of them to bring in a 110 pound girl, but he was willing to go along with it. At least he would have someone to talk to.

Lisbon turned back to Van Pelt. "Did Stiles give you anything else to go on?"

Grace shook her head, "Not really…just the lifebook. I guess he assumed everything we needed would be in there." She turned back in her seat and began thumbing through the pages of the book, then as an after-thought added, "Maybe Jane got more out of him after I left."

Lisbon could have sworn there was a hint of defensiveness in the younger agent's tone when she spoke about Stiles. Her mind pondered whether Jane had discovered anything about the link between her and the older man, but she brushed it aside when she heard that Jane had been alone with the cult leader again. She immediately looked over at the kitchen area. "Okay. Keep going through the book. See if anything else stands out or if he mentions anyone who might have borne a grudge." Although her direction was to Grace, her attention remained on the kitchen, where she could see the back of Jane's suited form as he poured hot water from the kettle onto the teabag in his blue cup and saucer. Having issued her orders, the team boss strode up behind the consultant and spoke in hushed tones so that Grace wouldn't overhear.

"So…what did Stiles have to say?" she asked.

Jane turned, dipping his teabag in and out of the water. He exhaled audibly. "Not a lot, actually."

"Come on, he must have said something. Grace said you two were alone. What did you talk about?" pressed the diminutive brunette.

Jane cocked his head to one side and breathed out again, then sipped his tea. "Well, if you must know, I asked him if he was Red John," he announced, calmly.

Lisbon's mouth fell open. "You asked him? What, just like that?..." Jane nodded in reply. "…And what was his answer?"

"He didn't give one." Jane turned his attention back on his tea.

Lisbon seemed exasperated at his willingness to seem to accept Stiles' response. She flung her arms upwards. "Oh well, that's that then…case closed. Guess we can strike him off the list," she hissed in a loud whisper.

Jane gave a disparaging look at her display of sarcasm. "No need to be like that, Lisbon. I've got a plan." And with that he marched off towards his couch.

Lisbon rolled her eyes even more. "Oh, that's okay…he's got a plan," she mimicked under her breath after he'd gone. She closed her eyes and shook her head, letting out a deep sigh. Whenever Jane had a plan, Lisbon's heart sank. Taking a momentary pause, she exhaled another breath and headed towards her office.

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Industrial area, South Sacramento, CA

Having struck out at the first address they had for Kelly Thurston, Cho and Rigsby had discovered that she might be found at the ice cream diner.

"Surely they wouldn't have opened so soon, even if forensics have released the scene," said Wayne, though it was more of a statement than a question. Disgust registered on his face at the thought of blood dripping down the side of the ice cream cone. Cho barely responded and continued to drive.

A blacked out SUV was parked in front of the diner when they pulled up. As they made their way over, Cho recognised the figure of Michael Jennings leaning in through the window of the vehicle. Immediately they became aware of the agents, the car screeched away. All black-tinted windows zipped up tight, but not before Rigsby recognised one of the passengers from earlier that morning.

The two agents reflexively reached back and drew their weapons, but the car was long gone. Instead they turned their attention to Jennings.

"Don't move!" shouted Cho. "Down on the ground. Now!"

Jennings complied, waving his arms around to show that he didn't have a weapon and wasn't resisting. Whilst cuffing him, Cho asked for Kelly's whereabouts, applying more pressure to the man's back with his knee than was actually necessary. Jennings grimaced with pain and gestured towards the diner with his head.

Rigsby moved stealthily with his weapon lowered slightly. As he reached the side door of the diner, he could hear what sounded like someone putting things away, but extremely clumsily. He yanked the door open and raised his gun. "Freeze!" he shouted.

Kelly Thurston's arms shot up into the air, having just drop-closed the lid of a large freezer chest. A wry look formed on her lips, "No shit, Sherlock!" was her sardonic reply.

Rigsby ignored the barbed comment and gestured for her to step away from the freezer. He cuffed her and then opened the chest. Underneath tubs of ice cream he noticed the edge of a large plastic baggie. He pulled it out. It contained several smaller baggies of white powder. "And I'm guessing these aren't sprinkles," he said, grabbing her cuffs and pushing her towards the door.

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Interview room, CBI

Lisbon was losing her patience, but she remained calm and professional. "Kelly, we know you've worked at the diner longer than two days…and we know that you've known Harlequin Willis for at least eight months. Why're you lying to us? What have you got to hide?"

The girl shrugged her shoulders, persisting with the tough bravado act, but there was a slight flinch in her eyes when Lisbon mentioned the victim's name, and her fingers drifted up to the pendant beneath her vest top.

Lisbon exhaled and closed the file in front of her. "Look…if you don't cooperate, you're looking at 5 years at least… the DA doesn't take too kindly to people who deal in drugs – "

Kelly's head snapped up. "I told you they were nothing to do with me! Just like Harley's death had nothing to do with me!"

"And I want to believe you, Kelly," assured the brunette, "But you're not giving me any reason to."

At that point, the door from the observation room opened and Jane stepped over to the desk. He pulled up a chair and sat down, eyes firmly fixed on the girl.

"Tell me about your necklace," he requested, gently.

Kelly was taken by surprise, both by Jane's arrival and his seemingly random question. "What?"

Jane continued, "Harley bought it for you, didn't he? Can I see it?" He leaned forward reaching out a hand, palm upwards.

Kelly's eyes bounced between Lisbon and Jane for a few moments before resting on Jane's extended palm. She pulled the necklace out from its hiding place and placed the pendant on Jane's fingers. It was a set of angel wings joined in the middle by a heart. Jane glanced back, surreptitiously showing the pendant to the brunette beside him. Lisbon's mouth fell open slightly at the familiar V shape; although she had only previously seen it in tattoo form on the back of an earlier Visualize murder victim.

Kelly's shoulders slumped and her head hung low, looking down at the pendant. Her bravado now depleted, she began to speak through tear-filled eyes. "He said it was a symbol of how I made his heart flutter every time he saw me." She smiled sadly as a tear trickled down one cheek.

Jane sat back in his seat. Lisbon began anew, "You loved him. And he loved you. And he wanted to change for you…" She waited to let Kelly continue.

The girl let out a stifled sob. "Very much…but it was difficult, you know? Life was too complicated." She fingered the pendant and more tears rolled down her face. "I guess he was right," she stated simply.

"Who was right?" asked Lisbon, "Harley?"

Kelly looked up. There was sudden fear in her eyes as if she'd said too much. Jane immediately rested his warm hand on top of hers; his thumb gently stroked the indentation between her thumb and index finger. "It's okay, Kelly. You're safe here. You want us to catch Harley's killer," he assured her. Kelly looked at a nodding Lisbon, and feeling strangely comforted by the tone of Jane's voice, began to tell them everything.

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Lisbon stood in front of the crime board briefing the rest of the team about their main suspect. "Jay Thurston. Member of the Oak Park Bloods and brother of Kelly Thurston. Kelly told us that she and the victim, Harlequin Willis, also a member of the OPB, were in a serious relationship and that Willis wanted to jump out of the gang life. As you can imagine, her brother wasn't too happy about this. He and other members of the OPB put out a hit on Willis. They abducted him, beat him, tied him to the back of their SUV and dragged him around the streets on roller-skis until one of them cut the rope whilst going over the overpass and Willis plunged to his death. They then threatened Kelly into keeping quiet and forced her to take part in their dealings with Jennings."

There were intakes of breath from some of the other agents that had been drafted in for this take down. Lisbon wasn't taking any chances – she had enlisted the services of the Gang Task Force.

"Why the skis?" asked Rigsby. "What's that? A form of humiliation?"

Lisbon nodded, "In a manner of speaking…Kelly said that Willis had dreams of working by the beach, maybe one day owning a water sports equipment hire shop, hence the skis and the scuba mask. I guess the OPB were sending him a message." She looked out at the team. "Okay, people, let's do this." As she stepped to exit the bullpen, she noticed that Jane hadn't made any motion to move from his spot, seated on the leather couch. "You coming?" she asked.

Jane looked up from his pensive stare at the air in front of him. He took a breath. "Me? With all that firepower?" He gestured towards the members of the GTF who were carrying MP5A3 sub-machine guns. He shook his head. "I think you've got this covered." He gave a tight-lipped smile and lowered his gaze again.

Lisbon shrugged an okay and left.

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CBI HQ, Sacramento, CA – the following morning

Lisbon stepped out into the fresh air. She took in a deep breath and cricked her neck. The air was cool and refreshing. She had been stuck in her office for hours already, tying up the paperwork that went with yesterday's arrest. And there was a lot of it. Not only had they charged Jay Thurston with Willis' murder, but when they had arrived at his house, they discovered several other members of the gang and large amounts of cocaine. There were multiple arrests, which in turn brought lots of paperwork. Lisbon had arrived extra early to get a head start on it. She took another deep breath and looked over to the coffee cart, debating whether she needed any more caffeine in her system. She waved at Jane who was standing next to a pretty young brunette. He finished speaking to the young woman and headed over to Lisbon.

"Finally surfaced for air, I see, Lisbon." He stood beside her, gazing up at the cloud-covered sky. "For a moment there I thought we'd lost you." He grinned.

Lisbon pulled her tongue out at him. "You know, it would be a lot more useful if you helped out with the paperwork from time to time."

Jane looked at her. "What possible help could I offer? I'm not a copper, I don't have the authority to – "

"You could help with the filing?" interrupted Lisbon, hopefully.

Jane's incredulous expression and "Meh…where's the fun in that?" in response told her that it was a foolish request to start with, and pointless to try and argue the fact. The brunette yawned and let out a loud sigh, allowing her shoulders to slump.

"Well…" she began reluctantly, "I suppose I better get back to it." She began to turn and step towards the stone stairs that led into the CBI building.

"No rest for the wicked," uttered Jane, playfully. Then he, too, took a deep breath, allowing it to escape slowly, and then bounded up the stairs after her.

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Later that day

Lisbon had just pressed send on the final email of the reports from the Thurston bust. She allowed herself to slump in her chair, eyes closed, for a few short-lived seconds. She heard her door open.

"Boss?" It was Van Pelt.

Lisbon inhaled slowly through her nose and opened her eyes. "What is it Grace?"

Van Pelt realised that Lisbon was looking a little peaky from exhaustion and immediately felt guilty for interrupting. "Sorry. But that was Director Bertram's office on the phone. He wants you to attend a Multi-Agency press conference on the Thurston arrests at 4 pm and then would like to see you for an update on any open cases." Grace grimaced slightly at the look on her boss' tired face.

"Today?" groaned Lisbon, incredulously. She looked at her watch; it was 3.30 pm already. She exhaled a loud sigh and waved a hand. "Okay, thanks." Grace was dismissed.

Lisbon looked over at the pile of filing she still had to do: hard copies of the reports she had just entered onto the computer. It would have to wait; as would the lunch that she hadn't yet gotten around to eating. She stood up and grabbed her jacket, meandering through the bullpen to grab a file that she needed. She noticed that Rigsby was missing from his desk, just as Jane was from his usual spot on the brown, leather couch. Without giving either a second thought, she headed off to stand around mundanely at the press conference whilst Bertram took all the credit for the significant arrests, as usual.

As she waited to step onto the elevator car, a tiny shiver ran down her spine at the thought of being alone with one of Jane's Red John suspects. She pushed it aside. Even if Bertram was the notorious serial killer, she figured she'd be safe in the State Capitol at least.

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CBI HQ, Sacramento, CA - evening

"Anyone seen Lisbon? She's not in her office," asked Jane, stepping into the bullpen.

Grace looked up from her computer. "Uh…yeah. She had a press conference and then a meeting." She looked at her watch. "Guess she's not back yet…which is strange, I guess, 'cos her meeting was hours ago." She shrugged nonchalantly, dismissing the boss being stuck in endless meetings as one of the drawbacks to the job.

Jane moved towards his couch, cup and saucer in hand, "Meeting with whom?" he asked, as he slurped a mouthful of tea.

Van Pelt inhaled. "Director Bertram," she stated and continued tapping on her keyboard. Jane stiffened momentarily, mid-step. Grace noticed. Her brow creased. "Problem?" she asked.

Jane offered a weak smile and continued towards his thinking spot. "No, no problem. None at all." He sat supping his tea, staring at nothing. The cogs in his brain were whirring and a deeply unsettling sensation began to rise in the pit of his stomach. He closed his eyes briefly, and instantly regretted it. The dumpster ; the bloodied badge ; the small, booted feet. The disturbing images seemed to mock him, each of them flashing before his eyelids in a grotesque carousel.

The consultant opened his eyes and became aware of the insistent rain hitting the glass pane behind him. He sprang to his feet and was just about to speak when Cho put his phone handset down firmly and stood up, urgently grabbing his jacket. Both Jane and Van Pelt looked over to him. His tone was grave, "SacPD found a Red John crime scene on K Street Alley. Rigsby's already en route."

"That's close to the State Capitol," declared Van Pelt. "I bet that's where Lisbon's at," she added confidently, "It's only 2 blocks from Bertram's office."

Jane was already half-way to the elevator before she had even finished speaking, leaving his cup and saucer spinning on her desk. Cho caught up with him just before the doors glided shut.

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K Street Alley, Sacramento, CA

Jane's eyes froze in their sockets as he came upon the familiar scene. He winced, wanting to pull his gaze away, but unable to. "Where's Lisbon?" he demanded. When he didn't get an immediate answer, he glared at Rigsby and repeated his query.

Rigsby frowned at the urgency in his colleague's voice. He wasn't sure why Jane was acting so weird. He shrugged his shoulders, "On her way, I guess." But before his words finished coming from his lips, Jane had pushed past him and was moving towards the dumpster. He stopped a few feet away from the small boots and looked down at the ground.

There it was – right where he had envisioned it to be. An ID wallet, open and smeared with blood. His eyes snapped back up to the smiley face and he steeled himself. His lower lip trembled slightly as he forced himself to move purposefully towards the body – he needed to see what that bastard had done to her.

Only the lower half of the body was visible; forensic techs had placed a plastic tarpaulin over the torso from the waist upwards. Jane had to step slightly over the slim, skinny-jean clad legs to get into a position where he could lift the tarp.

Biting the left side of his lower lip and breathing through flared nostrils, he fought to keep the bile from rising in his throat. He stretched out a hand. As his fingertips brushed the edge of the cold, plastic sheet, a voice from a few metres away startled him.

"Jane?" Lisbon's eyes drifted down from the smiley face towards the consultant, who was looking decidedly shaky, like a rabbit caught in headlights. "You okay?" she queried as she noticed the lack of colour in his face. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Jane recovered himself quickly. A smile of relief flickered at the corners of his mouth. "Lisbon!…Glad you made it," he said, surreptitiously gulping down the lump in his throat and letting out his stifled breath as quietly as he could so that the brunette wouldn't notice.

Jane lifted the tarp slightly and peeked under. He grimaced at the serial killer's handiwork. He was just about to look away, but did a double-take.

Lisbon noticed, "What is it?"

Jane stared sorrowfully at the dead woman's face. "She's a tea drinker," he stated simply.

Lisbon's brow creased, "Wha-?"

"I bought her a cup this morning. She was at the stand outside the CBI."

They had been joined by Cho and Rigsby. "That's because she was one of us," Rigsby announced, holding up a blue latex-gloved hand containing the bloody ID – it was a CBI badge. "Agent Toni Gibson – aged 28. Transferred from SacPD. Today was her first day."

Separately, but simultaneously, both Jane and Lisbon closed their eyes briefly. Jane exhaled loudly. "He was watching," he stated quietly.

Lisbon looked at him questioningly.

"Red John saw her with me at the coffee stand."

"But only CBI employees and law enforcement officials are allowed in that area…" uttered Lisbon.

Jane nodded as his gaze stared into nothingness in front of him. Slowly he drew his eyes up to meet Lisbon's. "Precisely," he responded.

"But why would he take her? Someone you barely know? And why strike so close to home?" posed Lisbon, not wanting to believe, but fearing that Jane's tormentor really could be walking amongst them.

"All good questions, Lisbon. He's sending me a message – the fox can easily get into the chicken coop…and he's getting hungry." He glanced from Lisbon to Rigsby to Cho and back again to Lisbon. Then he stepped back across the body. "Shall we?" he gestured, brushing past them. Suddenly, he wore the hint of a self-satisfied grin, as the cogs in his brain clicked into place and he strode determinedly towards Lisbon's Suburban.

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Undisclosed location, CA

Red John knew his reign of terror was reaching the final act. There were just a couple of loose ends he needed to tie up before he went out in a blaze of glory of his own making. From the darkness of his shadowy lair, inside the hangar, he allowed his blood-soaked black-gloved fingers to caress the smooth edge of the sharp blade.

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The roof space, CBI HQ, Sacramento, CA – later that night

Jane was sliding open the metal door of the roof space even before Lisbon could raise a hand to knock. He slid the door closed behind her.

"Okay, come on, spill," demanded the brunette. "I know you've figured something out. You were too damn quiet in the car coming back."

Jane pulled up his chair and gestured for Lisbon to sit. He perched on the edge of his make-shift cot in front of her. "Think about it, Lisbon," he said, grinning excitedly.

A crease formed on Lisbon's brow and she cocked her head slightly. "You know who Red John is, don't you?"

There was an almost imperceptible nod of Jane's head. Lisbon's eyes widened, expecting him to tell her. But Jane being Jane, he was going to make her work for it. She inhaled a deep breath and began to think out loud.

"You said Red John saw you at the coffee stand. That means it has to be a CBI employee or a law enforcement officer…" There was a pause as one of the missing puzzle pieces slipped in to place. The flutter of a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. "That rules out Stiles!" she declared. "He wouldn't have had access…So that just leaves Bertram and Partridge…both of whom could easily blend in unnoticed." Lisbon began to share in the excitement. Jane nodded but then motioned with his hand that she should continue the train of thought, causing her to frown.

"Go on…you'll get there," he said, not really meaning to sound condescending, he just wanted Lisbon to work it out herself. "Meantime, I just need to run an errand," he stated, moving quickly over to the heavy door. Before she had chance to move, he had opened and slid through the metal door, closing and padlocking it from the outside. "Sorry, Lisbon," he muttered as he turned and made a hasty retreat.

Lisbon banged on the door and shouted, though she knew it was pointless; no one would hear her. As she went to pull out her phone to call for help, she remembered she'd placed it on her desk before coming to find Jane. "Dammit Jane!" she yelled. She glared around at his makeshift office and froze as a sudden realisation dawned on her. She spoke her abrupt insight aloud as if to confirm it, "It couldn't have been Bertram because he was with me." She turned and pounded the door again.

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McClellan Airfield, Sacramento, CA – the early hours

The dark vehicle pulled up just outside the large open hanger, and waited. For a few moments, there was no movement, then suddenly the driver's door opened and out stepped a young man, dressed appropriately as a chauffeur. He adjusted his peaked cap and then moved to the rear door of the limousine.

A somewhat irritated older man stepped out. "Remind me, Brother Knowles, just how long have you been a chauffeur?" asked a peeved Bret Stiles.

The young man bowed his head. "Sorry Brother Stiles, sir, it won't happen again."

Bret stared at the submissive form before him. His toned softened, "Yes, well, it better hadn't. Or you'll be for the chop…it's just as well we're not taking the scheduled red eye." He waved a hand at the car and then gestured towards a stationary private jet parked up on the apron. "Get the bags out and put them on the plane then, that's a good chap." The chauffeur scuttled to the trunk and retrieved the baggage. Stiles shook his head at the young man's eager-to-please, but completely incompetent, half-gallop over to the jet. Then he turned to greet the footsteps that had just meandered out of the shadows of the hangar behind them.

The surprise was evident on Stiles' face. "What are you doing here?" he gasped.

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Jane spoke into his phone as he drove out of the CBI compound. "Hi, this is Patrick Jane of the CBI. I'm looking for one of your forensics techs, a..uh… Brett Partridge. He has a report I need to collect." There was a pause as the voice on the other end eventually announced that Partridge was in the field and unable to come to the phone. Jane responded, trying to sound disappointed, "Oh…could you give me his location? Only it's kind of urgent and my boss is gonna give me some serious grief if I don't get it to her." There was another pause. Then Patrick repeated the information he was being given. "McClellan Airfield. Great. Thank you." He snapped his phone shut and pressed down on the accelerator.

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CBI HQ, Sacramento, CA

Lisbon's throat was almost hoarse by the time Cho discovered her. He'd been calling her cell phone and was surprised when he found it continuously ringing out in her office, but no Lisbon. Rigsby hadn't seen her and Van Pelt had stepped out to take care of some personal business. Cho had figured the boss was probably with Jane and so had decided, fortuitously, to head up to Jane's roof-top lair.

"Oh Cho, thank god!" came his boss' muffled yell. "Open this damn door!"

Cho looked at the heavy duty padlock. He pulled out his cell phone and called Rigsby, telling him to grab the largest bolt-cutters he could find and make his way to the roof immediately.

A few minutes passed before he arrived and Lisbon was freed. She burst past the two of them. "We need to find Brett Partridge right NOW!"

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McClellan Airfield, Sacramento, CA

"I heard you were going away, possibly for a very long time…and I wanted to say good-bye." Grace Van Pelt bit her lip shyly.

A broad smile beamed from Stiles and he held out both arms. Grace stepped into his embrace, returning it. Then she stepped back.

Stiles admired her. "How lovely of you. But you shouldn't have, I mean, we aren't even supposed to be talking together…aren't I supposed to be the Devil, or something? What would Lisbon say?"

Grace shrugged. "There's nothing to say. You haven't done anything wrong and neither have I. You helped me get through a difficult time in my life. That's all. Those strategies really worked."

Bret nodded and raised a fatherly eyebrow, "You know that and I know that… though I fear I am losing my touch somewhat…" He took a breath and picked up her hand. "You know you can still join us. It's not too late…what do you say? I can make all of the arrangements." He winked at her.

Grace exhaled a closed laugh. Her smile was appreciative, but her lips closed. "No thanks, I think you already have enough members."

"Children, Grace, they are all my children, each and every one of them!" He chuckled and glanced back at the jet behind him.

Grace dropped her hand from his. "I should let you go. I need to get back before Lisbon misses me, anyhow." She hugged him quickly again and watched as the older man wandered over to the small set of steps that led into the plane. When he turned to wave she had already gone.

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The ice-blue Citroen swung through the gates of the airfield and, by-passing the Administration building, headed for the nearest large structure. Jane immediately saw the limousine parked at the nose end of a mid-sized Hawker 850XP jet. The licence plate caught his attention. What was Bret Stiles doing here? Jane knew from experience that it couldn't be coincidence. He pulled up alongside the elongated road vehicle and got out of his classic car.

Stiles was just preparing to board the jet. Jane moved swiftly, raising his voice across the tarmac, "What? You're leaving without saying goodbye? That's a little rude, don't you think?"

Stiles paused with his foot about to ascend the first step. He turned, "Patrick! What on earth are you doing here? Well, well, tonight is just full of surprises." He descended the steps again and made his way over to greet the striding consultant. "Missing me already?" he chuckled as they met up.

Jane nodded towards the jet. "Where you going at such a late hour, Bret?"

Stiles was playfully indignant, "Well, I think that's my business, don't you, Patrick? And technically speaking, I think you'll find that it's actually such an early hour." He cocked an eyebrow, mischievously.

"Touché," conceded Jane.

The sound of a door closing in the hangar caused them both to squint into the darkness of the empty building. A moment passed and then Stiles held out a hand. "Well, Patrick, I must be going. It's been a pleasure. But now I really must say goodbye."

Jane shook the older man's hand. "Of course," he agreed. Despite all of the things that he knew Stiles must have done, and got away with, over the years, he couldn't help but hold a little bit of admiration for him. Jane had always had the utmost respect for competent con artists, and Stiles was the best he had ever encountered. He took a few steps to the side and looked back into the hangar, as Stiles made his way back to the jet.

When he was about level with the mid-section of the fuselage, Jane looked back at the jet, which now had its engines running and flight lights on, and his heart began to pound. From this new angle he was able to make out the tail design.

Staring at him, larger than life, was a red smiley face, bedecked in a pulsating crimson glow.

Jane's eyes instantly snapped back to Stiles, who was just about to reach the steps. The older man turned and waved, completely unaware of the black-gloved figure that had just appeared behind him at the open doorway of the aircraft.

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Lisbon's hand tapped furiously on the top of the steering wheel. Her foot was pushed down as hard as it was possible but the Suburban wasn't going fast enough for her. "Come on!" She yelled, slamming a palm against the dash. Beside her, Cho sat stone-faced. Rigsby's face was deadly serious, too, as he gripped the seat behind Cho. The boss had filled them in en route and they were seriously concerned for their friend and colleague.

"Dammit Jane! I'm gonna kill you!" yelled Lisbon. She hunched over the wheel and willed the car to go faster.

As they reached the open gates of the airfield, she tried to focus her frustration. She pulled up at the Administration building and all three agents leapt out, not even stopping to shut the car doors behind them.

Van Pelt was almost knocked to the ground as they burst through the doors. "Boss!" she yelled in surprise as they stormed past her. They all cast her astonished looks, but it was only Rigsby who paused, skidding to a halt.

"Grace?! What are you doing here?" he asked, shocked to see the love of his life at the airfield.

Grace was unsure what to say. "I…uh…Never mind… What's going on?"

Rigsby turned to see where Lisbon and Cho had gone. Lisbon was slamming a badge-clenching fist on the check-in assistant's desk, whilst Cho was pacing a few feet from her staring out of the glass windows. "Come on, I'll fill you in on the way," said Rigsby. They both set off running towards their colleagues.

The source of Lisbon's further frustration became evident as the assistant repeated herself. "I'm sorry but there isn't anyone by that name here. As far as I know, you're the only cops here."

Lisbon cursed under her breath. She turned as Rigsby and Van Pelt ran up to join them. Just as she was about to ask what Grace was doing there, Rigsby interrupted her. "Boss, Stiles is about to board a jet outside hangar 3!"

A quizzical expression creased the brunette's brow. Her mouth opened to ask how he knew that, when she noticed the fearful look on Grace's face. She knew instantly. "We'll deal with this later," she hissed at the red-haired agent, then turned and shouted over to the assistant. "I need hangar 3, NOW!"

The young woman was about to raise her arm and point them in the right direction, when Cho suddenly shouted. He was pointing out of the wall-to-wall glass window that overlooked the apron and runway. "There!" he yelled, and the team sprinted towards double-fronted glass doors that led to the tarmac.

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"It's over, Partridge! I win!" yelled Jane, as the armed figure quickly descended the steps of the plane; swiftly wrapping an arm around a shocked Stiles and pressing a hook-shaped blade to the older man's throat with the other.

Red John chuckled. In his familiar, nasal tone he mocked Jane. "Finally figured it out, huh, Patrick? Took you long enough."

Stiles' fearful eyes locked onto Jane's, though he tried to summon up some bravado. "Now, now boys…do you really need me to play this game?" he croaked, hopefully.

Red John squeezed him tighter and pushed the knife edge to breaking point on his skin. He hissed loudly. "It's all his fault, isn't that right?" The words were directed to Stiles' ear, but loud enough for Jane to hear. He raised his voice further. "You hear that, Patrick. It's all your fault! All of it!"

Despite being aware that he should negotiate the older man's release, Jane felt a twang of indignation. It was true, he did feel somewhat responsible, especially for the deaths of his wife and child…but Red John had killed several times before then, and Jane didn't see how he could be held accountable for those deaths. "Well, let's be fair here, Partridge…not all of it." He replied and took a step towards the two men.

Stiles was incredulous. His life was on the line and Jane was arguing with his potential killer. His eyes widened, and he tried to quell the forensic technician's rage before it surfaced and got out of hand. "Well, really, Patrick…I think that's something we can discuss later on, don't you? Hmmm?"

Jane shrugged a conceding shoulder. Despite finally being face-to-face with the monster he had been hunting all these years; a monster that had slaughtered his family in their beds; a monster that had carried out a campaign of unstoppable terror throughout California; despite all of that, when he should have been filled to the core with unstoppable rage, Jane actually felt a strange calm running through him. It allowed him to think more clearly and try to devise a plan of attack. Smirking, he took another step forward.

Partridge flinched slightly at Jane's advance. The conceited consultant was now only a few feet away. Stiles felt the slight hesitation in his assailant's body. He immediately took his chance and tried to wrestle himself free, falling to his knees. But Red John wasn't about to let this fish off the reel. He tutted loudly and grabbed Stiles by the hair, and before Jane could respond, the serial killer sliced the blade across the cult leader's throat.

Jane was stunned at the sudden sight of blood spurting from Stiles' open neck wound. The charismatic man open-mouthed at Patrick and fell forward, coming to a rest on his back. Jane's gaze snapped from the dying man to his attacker.

"You coming, Paatrick?" tormented his long-standing enemy.

Jane watched as Red John disappeared into the jet… and he knew the time had come.

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Lisbon was screaming Jane's name even before the glass doors had swung shut behind them. The sight of his empty Citroen parked in front of the jet Stiles was supposed to be leaving on sent shivers through her.

A sharp breath forced its way, cutting into her lungs as she witnessed the scene unfolding several hundred meters away: Jane advancing towards Stiles, who was being held at knifepoint. She couldn't hear a thing over the sound of jet engines, and she knew that Jane couldn't hear her either; yet still she screamed his name.

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As Jane advanced towards the doorway of the Hawker, Stiles reached out a bloodied hand and grabbed his leg. Patrick glanced down, and keeping one eye on the plane, crouched beside the desperate man's head. He was trying to speak. Jane glanced at the door of the jet, and leaned his ear closer to Stiles' mouth. Droplets of aspirated blood spattered against his cheek as he strained to hear the cult leader's dying words.

"Little… lamb… I'll … tell … thee," sputtered Stiles, then his eyes glazed and his clenched hand suddenly became slack.

Jane closed the older man's lifeless eyes and stood with his full, unflinching attention back on the doorway. He moved to ascend the steps, but paused and glanced back when he heard a familiar shout from behind.

"JANE! NO!"

Lisbon and the team were bearing down on the jet, guns raised.

Jane inhaled a breath and stepped inside the doorway. Almost immediately, the jet began to move.

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Lisbon's heart stopped. "NOOOOOOO!" she screamed and chased after the jet which was moving at a consistently increasing speed along the tarmac. The team followed, but to no avail. There was no way they could keep pace with it. Lisbon eventually pulled up to a stop. Tears streamed down her face as she stared hopelessly after the departing plane.

Cho caught up to her and stood silent beside her. He wasn't a man who showed emotion, but he had to force the saliva down his throat at the sight of the rear lights of the aircraft. Jane was gone.

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Van Pelt knelt silently at Bret Stiles' side, and wept gently. She stroked his lifeless hand and then stood, turning into Rigsby's comforting embrace. He gently reassured her, all the while looking over her shoulder and trying hard to swallow as he watched the silhouette of Cho placing a hand on Lisbon's shoulder.

For a moment there was silence, then came the roar of the Hawker jet as it trundled down the runway, which ran parallel to where the team stood. The sun was also beginning its ascent, and Rigsby was the only one who watched as the plane passed several others parked on the tarmac, and began to rise up from the ground…

But something was off. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. He struggled inwardly to figure out what was wrong with the sight, but his thoughts were interrupted as the jet exploded into a huge fireball, knocking them all off their feet.

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The jet had started to move the second Jane had reached the inside of the doorway. The movement had knocked him off-balance and he fell to one knee, hitting his head on the corner of a small table, causing him to pass out briefly.

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Partridge knew that his flight training would come in useful one day. He pushed the throttle forward and the plane began to move. He heard a clatter and glanced back over his shoulder, pushing aside a thick curtain, to see Patrick Jane sprawled on the floor of the jet's passenger cabin. Red John chuckled to himself; this was going to be easier than he thought. He knew he didn't have much time before the dirty money-grubbing fraud regained consciousness, so he pressed on heading for the runway. His plan was working, so far.

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When he regained his senses, Jane sat up abruptly and cast his eyes around warily. There was no sign of Partridge in the cabin of the plane. Jane thought quickly. There was only one other place he could be. Slowly he raised himself up and began to make his way towards the curtain that separated the passenger area from the flight deck.

Becoming aware of the presence behind the curtain, Red John gripped the knife in his hand. As quietly as he could, he shifted in his seat and plunged the knife through the curtain. There was a loud yelp and the staccato footsteps of someone staggering backwards. Quickly, he secured the throttle in place and then rose from his seat, thrusting the curtain out of the way.

Jane was hunched over, holding his stomach with bloody hands. Pain-filled hatred tinged with fear filled his eyes as he glared at Red John. His gaze dropped to the hooked knife, almost childishly believing it to have been the cause of the agony in his side, not the monster who held it. Red John cackled.

From a moment they stood, enemy-to-enemy, face-to-face. All the while the jet lurched onwards. Jane never took his eyes off the figure before him. He stared closely into his nemesis' eyes, then allowed a smirk to pull at his lips. He stood up straight, trying hard to ignore the tearing sensation in his abdomen, and confidently stepped towards the armed figure.

It was barely imperceptible, but Jane noticed as Partridge flinched; a nostril flared and began to twitch ever so slightly. Jane took another step forward. The plane lurched sending Jane crashing into Partridge.

The body blow almost knocked all of the breath out of Jane. He felt as is his internal organs had all just exploded within him, but he wasn't about to give up. Red John had lost his blade. Jane could see it as it rested beside the base of the seat to the side of them. He grabbed for the knife, but missed by millimetres as the serial killer grabbed a handful of his cinnamon-blond hair and slammed it into the interior wall of the jet. Jane lay dazed and bleeding. His hand rested over the open wound in his abdomen. Red John grinned and picked up the fallen weapon. He crouched over the exhausted consultant and pressed the edge into his throat, softly tracing it across the skin, but not deep enough to slice.

"Patrick, Patrick, Patrick…I thought you had more game than that," he teased.

Jane lay unmoving, trying to regain some strength for his final effort to wreak revenge on this monster. Before he could muster the energy to make a move, Red John had bound his right hand to the base of one of the seats, using the cord from one of the curtains that covered a window.

Jane kicked out with his legs, but Red John just laughed. He pulled down another cord and did the same thing to Jane's left hand. The consultant lay in the aisle, arms spread in some crude form of crucifixion. He spun his head around, desperately looking for a way out of this cruel twist of fate.

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Partridge re-seated himself in the pilot's chair. He didn't put the requisite headphones on because he didn't want to hear the control tower screaming in his ear that he didn't have permission for take-off. He finished checking the controls and re-checked his position. Fortunately for him, McClellan Airfield's taxi-ways and runway were long and parallel to each other. If they had been at any other airport, they would have crashed by now. Glancing back into the cabin, Partridge grabbed hold of the control column and turned onto the runway. He pushed the throttle and the jet began to gain speed.

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With the increasing thrust of the engines and the sensation of increasing velocity, Jane realised there was more urgency to his situation than he'd hoped there would be. Frantically, his eyes bounced around the cabin, desperately looking for something sharp enough to cut through the ropes that bound him. As he tilted his head backwards, he noticed a parachute on one of the seats. Then his eyes landed on something that shook him to the core.

Stacked behind the final seat was a pile of C4 explosives, all primed and ready, except for the block nearest to him. It was connected to the pile, but not yet to the detonator lead, which rested on the seat alongside a remote device. Presumably, Red John was going to use the remote detonator to blow Jane and the plane up, after he had parachuted to safety…and the chance to continue killing.

Jane wasn't about to let that happen. If only he could find something… As he brought his gaze forward again, a glint on a low table near to his right foot caught his eye, and a smile appeared on his face.

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The sirens screamed as every fire truck at the airfield swung into action. The debris field was far and wide, with flaming bits of aircraft strewn all over the tarmac, apron and runway; and the grassy verges that ran alongside. There was barely anything left of the jet. The only thing that was remotely recognisable was the tailfin. It lay, jaggedly broken in two at the edge of the runway; its chilling design fractured right down the middle, splitting the red smiley face into equal parts.

The team remained in stunned silence even as the paramedics tended to their cut and bruises on the apron where they had fallen. There were flashing lights everywhere. More fire trucks made their way to the scattered areas of detritus.

Radios blared as the first responders reached the various scenes. Lisbon exhaled a weighty sigh as she joined the others. They huddled in a small group, subconsciously linking each other's hands, watching the services go about their duties. No one had any words. For once in her life, Lisbon didn't know what to do next or what orders to give out. Cho squeezed her finger. She offered a weak, weepy smile in return.

A burst of static on one of the fire fighter's radios broke into her grief. The words 'survivor' and 'paramedics now!' grabbed her attention. All four agents immediately made eye contact with each other. Lisbon broke away and marched over to the fire fighter whose radio had burst into life.

"What did they say?" she demanded.

"Uh…rapid response found a survivor ma'am, just a little ways down the runway," he pointed a hand to the area just past the destroyed tailfin.

Lisbon didn't wait for any more information. She set off at top speed in the direction of the outstretched arm. At her sudden burst of movement, the rest of the team didn't need someone to tell them what to do next. All three of them set off in pursuit of their boss.

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Lisbon displayed her athletic prowess with ease. The slim brunette sprinted over to the gurney which was surrounded by paramedics, all of whom were completing a variety of checks and placing extra dressings on top of already blood-soaked ones. She instantly recognised the battered, brown shoes sticking out from under a dishevelled blanket. A mixture of relief and fear surged through her. "Is he okay?" she shouted to anyone who was listening. Then she pushed her way to the head of the gurney, calling his name, "Jane!... Jane! I'm here! You're gonna be okay…just stay with me." She squeezed his clenched hand, causing what looked like a small remote control to fall from his grasp. She threw it to the ground, and focused on his unmoving body.

He lay unconscious. An oxygen mask covered his nose and mouth and the paramedics had already attached him to a saline drip. She could see superficial burns to his face and hands, but the sight that concerned her most were the crimson-coloured dressings over his abdomen. She turned and spoke urgently to one of the paramedics. "He is going to be okay…isn't he?" She couldn't bear the thought of losing him again. Not when he was so close to being able to start a new life.

Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt arrived to find Lisbon refusing to let go of Jane's hand as the paramedics placed the gurney into the back of an ambulance. The agents returned the hopeful, yet desperately worried, smile that Lisbon had cast at them just before the doors shut and the vehicle pulled away, sirens blaring.

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Willow Wood Cemetery, CA – one week later

Jane perched on the edge of the substantial tombstone that was perfectly placed as a seat to rest his battered frame. In his hand he held a small book of poems that he had been reading. He read the words once more, 'Little lamb, who made thee? … Little lamb, I'll tell thee…' He thought back to Bret Stiles' unsettling last words and then his mind drifted to the events of the previous week. He smiled sadly and closed the book. Tenderly, he looked at the two smaller gravestones in front of him. Tears threatened to well up in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he muttered quietly. He stared for a long time; the little boy lost.

Lisbon watched hesitantly as her friend wiped away what she assumed to be a tear. She so wanted to comfort him, yet at the same time she felt like she was intruding. She was just about to turn and leave when she heard his voice call out.

"Hey Lisbon…I guess you found me." He was referring to the fact that he wasn't at the hospital, which was where he was supposed to be.

The brunette shook her head incredulously. How does he do that? He hasn't even turned around to see that I'm here, and I was so quiet! she thought to herself. She stepped towards him.

"Hey yourself! Thought I might find you here when the doctors said you stomped out." She joined him on the tombstone seat, gently shoving him over a little.

Jane sighed. "It was more of a hobble actually…but it made my point," admitted the melancholic consultant, with a weak smile.

Lisbon smiled at him. She squeezed one of his fingers. "You okay?" she asked, tenderly.

Jane stared ahead at his family's resting place. He exhaled a slow breath. There was a vulnerability in his words, "Yeah… I'm just not sure…" He paused.

"Not sure about what?" asked the brunette.

Jane took a deep breath and there was a break in his voice as he spoke. It pained him to admit it. "…About where I go now…"

Lisbon squeezed his whole hand this time. Confidently, she announced, "I do."

Jane looked up at her for the first time since she'd arrived. Lisbon was nodding enthusiastically.

He gave a quizzical look and then beamed at her buoyant reply. "Now? Now we go for ice cream!"

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CBI HQ, Sacramento, CA

Lisbon paused as she came out of the kitchen area and surveyed the bullpen. She was exceptionally proud of all of her team and would gladly lay down her life for any one of them. She smiled at the sight of them all going about their work in the aftermath of the Red John case.

Jane had told them about the on-board struggle and about the explosives and how he had somehow managed to throw himself out of the open doorway of the moving jet before it had lifted off the ground. But she had the distinct feeling that he wasn't telling her everything.

Still, there were a lot of reports to write and a lot of other paperwork to chase up, mostly from the forensics team and the NTSB who had been working around the clock to piece together Partridge's final moments. The wreckage of the jet had been collected and was being reconstructed in an unused hangar, and, best of all, the forensic team had managed to retrieve Red John's deadly weapon from the debris field. It was the test results from that particular piece of evidence that she was currently awaiting. Director Bertram wanted absolute proof that Partridge was indeed the notorious Red John before he stood in front of the cameras later that day, at a national press conference. She could see him preening himself already, ready to take all the credit and bask in the glory of the spotlight. A smirk played on her mouth as she shook her head slightly at the image.

She looked over at the familiar figure snoozing quietly on the brown leather couch by the window. His slate-coloured suit jacket rested, crumpled over his face, in a make-shift attempt to recreate the darkness of night. She couldn't stop the grin from spreading across her face. Over ice cream, she had managed to convince him to come back with her and get some rest, amongst friends, before making any rash decisions. He'd agreed, more readily than she'd expected. Still, that was Jane; always doing the unexpected. Happily, she made her way to her office.

Her contentedness was short-lived. About an hour later, Cho opened the door to her office.

"Boss, you got a minute?"

Lisbon gestured him inside. Carefully, he closed the door behind him.

"The forensic report just came back in on the bloody knife from the airfield." He paused. "There were traces of Agent Gibson's blood on it."

"That's great. Now we have definitive proof Partridge killed her. Bertram'll be over the moon." She was feeling good, but Cho's serious look began to make her feel uneasy. "What is it?"

Cho seated himself in the seat in front of her desk, placing a buff folder on top of her keyboard. He continued to speak as she slowly pulled it towards her and opened it. "There were also three other blood sources: Jane, Stiles and Partridge," he reported.

Lisbon wanted to feel relieved, "O-kay…That's not surprising considering they were all in contact with it. Tell me something I don't know." Instantly, she began to regret her words.

Cho hesitated to speak. His eyes dropped to the report which had been revealed when Lisbon opened the file. Fearfully, Lisbon looked down and began to read.

There was an appalled expression on her face. "No! This has got to be a mistake!"

"That's what I thought. I had them triple check it. It's true."

"Oh my god!" muttered Lisbon. She could not believe what she was seeing, there in black and white, right in front of her eyes.

Lisbon closed the file and reflexively placed it into the drawer in her desk. She looked at Cho, suddenly furtive. "You can't say anything about this. Not to Rigsby, or Van Pelt, nobody. Not until I decide what to do with this information."

Cho spoke quietly, "But Jane has to know. You can't keep that from him."

Lisbon shook her head vehemently. "Nobody has to know, especially Jane. Not now."

Cho stood up. "I think you're wrong. He needs to know. He'll find out one way or another…better from you than him finding out and discovering you knew and you kept it from him."

There was truth in his words and Lisbon considered the obvious flaw in her plan. But she remained adamant, for now. "Look, I know I'm asking a lot, and ordinarily I wouldn't… but I need your word on this, Kimball. We never saw this information…right?

Cho's jaw muscles twitched, he hated dishonesty. It took several moments, but reluctantly he agreed. He opened the door and went back to his desk.

Lisbon opened her drawer again and opened the file once more. Her eyes bore into the report, hoping fervently that she had read it wrong the first time and Cho was mistaken. But the graph was clear. It showed the DNA profile of each of the blood sources. She read the summary beneath it:

each sample shows 13 alleles in common with each other.

Though she was no forensic expert, she knew what that meant; Jane, Stiles and Partridge were all related to each other…

A lot of blood, sweat and tears went into this one! PLEASE REVIEW.

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