At the sound of gun fire Lisbon instinctively looks around noting the whereabouts of her team. Each where they should be, but one. Curse that consultant. As she races in to the home she tries to close down images flooding her mind. A curly blond headed man, lying on the floor, blood staining his beloved waistcoat. What did he do? He's standing up, alive, very much alive!
Not as bad as it looks! He's right because it's not him in the pool of blood. But if this mess is his fault she will tear him apart with her own hands.