A/N: Hey everyone, long time no see. I think some of you may have already heard that my Mentalist fanfics have been picked up by a publisher. This is the next one in the series. I'm posting it here first because my publisher has made a few changes that mean my drafts won't have as many eyes on them before publication and I'm nervous. I'd love if you could help me out and let me know what you think. I'm looking for any parts that are confusing, slow, or plot holes, plus overall impressions. The entire book will be posted by Sunday at the latest.
If you don't care to do that, no worries. Either way, I'm excited to be back here. This fandom is amazing.
Quick side note: I haven't given up on Rear Window-it's still in the works because it's one of the books that got picked up. That said, I have to finish a couple others and dig my way out of the hole I wrote myself in there. I'll have the end up probably around the first of second week of September at the latest.
Chapter One
Beginning of April
Cheers and jeers sounded from the kitchen at the 35th precinct as Detective Teresa Lisbon meandered in. Several officers, including Lisbon's partner, Kimball Cho, stared at a small box T.V. that sat on top of the avocado-colored Kenmore refrigerator.
"He's doing it again," Detective Spencer pointed at the screen. "This is the best part."
Detective Monroe hummed the theme song of the X-files, hushed seconds later by two other detectives at the back of the table. One of them slapped him over the head.
Cho at the front of the table facing the screen, behind him rested a half empty Tupperware container with his chops sticks resting perfectly straight atop the lid. Cho's mouth hung slightly agape, and he folded his arms tight over his chest. The entertainment had to be good to be getting that much of a reaction from her normally stoic partner and to be keeping him from the homemade roasted duck and dumplings his mother had sent with him after he'd visited her in Oakland over the weekend.
Two of her younger brothers, Stan and Tommy, lived in Oakland and often stopped by the Cho's house for dinner, and a time or two, she'd had the opportunity to sample Mrs. Cho's cooking. Yum.
Lisbon stepped further into the room and turned her attention to the screen. A handsome man, with curly blond hair that someone had tried to tame back with gel, stood on a brightly lit stage with his eyes closed. He wore an expensive, slightly shiny gray suit and had a hand outstretched in front him, fingers splayed; in his other hand he held a microphone. He kind of looked like a stock broker.
"I see them—your mother, father, and brother… twin brother." The man's kept his voice light and airy.
The shot panned out to a theater with stadium seating filled with an audience of hundreds of people, all seemingly holding their breath. The camera panned back to the stage, but instead of showing a close up of the man, it now showed him standing next to a woman. Her hands covered her mouth.
He opened his eyes, showcasing the prettiest blue-green irises Lisbon had ever seen. He faced the woman and reached for one of her hands. She took it.
"They're glad you weren't with them when their car crashed." She gasped, and he continued, "Your mother left something—something you keep on your person. A pendant?"
The girl's eyes widened.
"No, a locket."
She grabbed at a necklace hanging under her shirt, visible only by the chain.
"She's glad you're wearing it. She wants you to be happy and live a fulfilled life."
The tears the woman held back spilled down her face, and she hugged the man.
Lisbon pulled her chin back. What on earth?
The audience erupted into applause at the same time the detectives started to boo and hiss. The man ran his hands up and down the woman's back and whispered something in her ear. Lisbon frowned.
Pretending to talk to a person's deceased relatives was just about as low, especially considering the amount of money he was raking in, if you considered the number of butts in seats. Still, he'd been pretty convincing. The girl had been legitimately surprised that he'd known about the locket.
A detective leaning against the table to Cho's left, grabbed the paper towel from the hands of his partner, wadded it and chucked it at the screen. "What a scam!"
Detective Spencer pointed at him. "Come on, admit it, it's convincing."
Another of her colleagues got up and knocked into Spencer as he passed. "So was your penalty shot and look where that got us."
Spencer came out of his seat. "We did not lose that game because of my penalty shot!"
"Keep telling yourself that," said another detective as he opened the fridge.
Spencer was new to their precinct. He'd been a cop for several years, and now at the ripe old age of thirty, he'd finally become a detective. He was still being worn in. He seemed so young considering he was four years her senior.
The Serious Crimes Unit had played the SCU of the 15th precinct two weeks ago in a game of basketball and the 35th had lost by one point. If even one of Spencer's penalty shots had sunk, they'd have won, and no one would let him forget it. The day after, their unit had pelted him with miniature basketballs when he'd arrived at work. Since then and in the last two weeks, he'd opened his desk drawers to find the small balls filling them, had his lunch replaced with them in the refrigerator, and had been pelted once again while using a urinal.
He took it all in stride.
Lisbon faced Cho, and the two exchanged glances. He shrugged.
Lisbon pointed at the T.V. "What's this?"
Spencer smirked. "Only the greatest psychic on the west coast."
"Right." She shook her head. Crossing the room to the table, she grabbed the remote from it and turned the T.V. off. "War room's ready, gents, but if you'd prefer to stay here and watch the pretty-boy psychic instead of catching bad guys—"
The detectives marched past her to the bullpen.
"Pretty boy, huh?" One of the detectives teased as they all marched past.
Another whistled to add to the effect. "Hear that, Lisbon likes pretty boys."
She shook her head. Men.
Cho put his leftovers in his lunch bag and placed it in the fridge.
"I'm surprised you let them rope you into watching that." She nodded toward the T.V. as they headed to the bullpen.
"As soon as they heard the Feds sent a psychic to consult on the Tourneau Cartel case, they came in here and pulled this up—"
She turned on Cho. "The Feds are sending us a psychic?"
Cho blinked down at her, his dark brown eyes appearing black in the dim lighting of the precinct. "You didn't know?"
"On this case?" She pointed over her shoulder toward the bullpen.
"They're concerned with how often the Tourneau's have avoided us. They told Bosco they wouldn't interfere if we agreed to work with their man. He'll be here for the briefing."
"When did you hear about this?"
"This morning."
Well, perfect. Why hadn't anyone told her? Why hadn't Bosco? She placed her hands on her hips. "How did I not hear about this?"
Cho breathed out and walked past her, calling over his shoulder as he went. "Talk to Bosco."
#
Sergeant Bosco stood at the front of the room, going over the logistics of the sting operation. He stood under six feet, had broad shoulders and a muscular build. Not someone you wanted to mess with. Lisbon stood at the back of the bullpen with Cho and decided she might want to mess with him, anyway. Bosco often made a habit of keeping her and Cho in the dark about things. Being the youngest detectives in their precinct made Bosco over protective. Except this time, it hadn't been them, it'd just been her.
Bosco cocked his head to the side, exposing the top of his balding head as he pointed to a building in the center of a map pinned to a board behind him. "Our confidential informant tells us that the major heads of the cartel will be in this building tonight at ten p.m. We'll be moving in shortly after that."
"How many men will be there?" one of the detectives asked.
Bosco shook his head. "The Tourneau brothers will be there, as will Wood and Krauss, and five or so of their head traffickers."
The Tourneau's lead the cartel with Wood, though Wood was believed to be the real man in charge, and Krauss was their go to man for when they didn't want to get their hands dirty.
"With the heads there, we can expect anywhere between fifteen and twenty armed guards, so use extreme caution. We're placing Civvies on every road leading away from the building." Civvies were plain clothes cops. Bosco signaled to several red tacks on the map. "We'll also have officers stationed on top of all the surrounding buildings. Spencer and Monroe, you'll be leading a team through the front entrance, Grayson and Taylor, you'll take your team through the door on the west side of the building, Jacobs and Norman the service entrance at the back of the building, and Lisbon and Cho will take the escape landing at the east side of the building. Any questions?"
No one spoke.
Bosco went on. "Assistant District Attorney Stephanie Striker plans on trying this case herself and wants these men…"
Spencer leaned toward her and Cho. "Wait for it."
Bosco cleared his throat. "Dead to rights."
Spencer pumped his fist at the term Striker always used, a legal term meaning just what it sounded like. A case with so much evidence, you'll be dead to rights. Lisbon and Cho grinned at him.
"One strike, Striker, strikes again," Detective Monroe said and everyone groaned except Spencer, who gave him a high-five.
Being the only woman in the DA's office, Striker had a reputation for being tough but fair, and for winning. She'd worked hard to earn her place, and Lisbon understand that. It'd taken years and a lot of pushing for her to achieve her calling.
"Is our information from her C.I. or ours?" one of the detectives asked.
"Ours," Bosco said. "But he's an extremely reliable source and we're confident his Intel is correct."
Lisbon nodded. Too bad, Striker's C.I. had a perfect record, but it's not like the guy would have an in on every cartel out there. Besides, their C.I. had always been reliable in the past.
"All right, suit up." Bosco clapped his hands together. "And everyone come back in one piece."
#
Climbing the escape ladder to the second floor, Lisbon and Cho kept their footsteps light. It was moments like these, in over twenty pounds of Kevlar vest, that Lisbon was glad she and Cho hit the weight room every morning. Being the binky squad meant the two of them always got the hard jobs. Not that they ever complained. Being in good shape made teasing their elders all the more fun.
The other teams waited for the signal they were in place, already stationed below. They reached the small landing on the second floor where the door stood and stopped. A big chunk of glass had been knocked out of the window they had to crawl through, leaving one jagged piece hanging dangerously from the top. Lisbon signaled to the hole so Cho would know they couldn't radio in.
Cho nodded, took a few light steps down to the first landing, and leaned out over the side. He gestured to the teams below and returned. Lisbon meanwhile, hunkered down and eased past the window, then lifted it slowly. The shard left in the window wobbled precariously until she'd opened it all the way.
Cho stopped on the step just below the landing. She signaled with two fingers for him to go right, and she'd go left. Gripping the piece of glass so it wouldn't fall, Cho ducked through first. He did a quick sweep left to right then grabbed hold of the glass for her to slide through too. She moved in to the left, careful to drop quietly on the concrete floor.
Loud angry voices wafted from down the dank and rusty hallway and into the rafters above. A light flickered on and off about halfway down, near a junction. Easing their way down the hall to the T-bend, they stopped and listened. The voices increased with proximity, but the sound echoed too much to tell which hallway they came from. Cho nodded toward the bend and headed off in that direction. She continued straight.
Why weren't the other teams here yet? They should've been flooding the building by now.
At the end of the hall she came to another hall and took it.
"This is our business, not yours and we'll run it as we see fit." A scratchy male voice reverberated from the room at the end of the hall.
Another person began to speak, but too quiet to make out the words. The tone, unlike the other voice, shrilled around her.
Lisbon paused, wanting to use her radio to contact Cho, or anyone, but the echoing was too loud, too much. She stopped at the door, her back to the wall to the right of the handle. Going in there alone was a bad idea. Too dangerous. There could be any number of people in there with any number of different kinds of weapons. She had to find the rest of the teams.
Taking a deep breath, she took a step back just as a loud pop blasted through the building. The echo of the gun's report bounced around and forced Lisbon to cover her ears. Not two seconds later, four more in rapid succession followed.
Lisbon gripped her gun and pulled the door open. The teams would be on their way now. She moved to the side and looked right and left. Hundreds of crates filled the room. At the back, a shadow crossed in front of several of the crates.
Gun held aloft, she moved with ease through the containers and toward the back of the room, checking around her for people as she went. She squeezed between one of the crates and an I-beam, the rusted metal scratched over her sleeve. Then she saw it; a small colorful painting of a pond with lily pads and a bridge over it leaned against a container.
She furrowed her brow and stepped out from her cover into the open space.
A crate stood open, the contents laid out on a folding table. Semiautomatic and automatic weapons, a sniper rifle, and several grenades lay toward the end of the table close by where she stood. On the butt of one of the larger guns, the serial number had been scratched out. Around the table lay four bodies, each shot once in the chest, except one that had a shot to the body and one to the head.
A man in a hooded coat hunched over that body facing away from her.
"Hands on your head," Lisbon ordered, "or I shoot to kill."
The man jerked up, as though surprised, and raised his hands.
Lisbon tapped her ear piece. "Upstairs, at the end of the hall. I have four dead and one in custody."
As she spoke, the man spun around gun in hand. A sharp pain exploded at the base of her skull and then a brilliant pale blue green light engulfed her.