A/N: Hello, my wonderful readers! So, a couple weeks ago, I found this wonderful TV show, Psych. OH MY GOSH, I'M IN LOOOOOVE. So of course I started looking up fanfics to read and planning my own.

I know there's a few kidnapping fics out there, and even an episode with Shawn getting kidnapped, but almost all just seemed too... easy (I mean, in that episode, the guy lets him make a freaking phone call!). So, I set out to write a fic where the struggle would be real. With a horse thrown in. Becuase, I freaking love horses, and why the heck not?! :D

This takes place around season 2, which is where I was when I wrote this fic. And I haven't gotten past season 3 yet (besides that one season 4 episode) so no spoilers!

I also learned a lot of stuff while making this fic, from what to do if your kidnapped (Wikihow) to medical advice from my aunt, who's a nurse.

Anyway, enjoy!

It was a hot Tuesday afternoon when Shawn first saw her. He had actually been having a pretty good day so far, breakfast with Gus in the Psych office, a walk down the pier eating ice cream, and now, lunch at the cafe at about... 4 o'clock. It was nearly empty, the only other customers an elderly couple who couldn't stop bickering about something or another. Maybe a lawnmower?

Shawn gave a quiet groan as the door swung open, letting in a wave of heat. He took another bite of his burger, wondering why no one had ever suggested putting pineapple as a topping. After all they did it with pizza? So why not burgers?

"Hey there."

Shawn looked up and swiped a hand across his face to get rid of a glob of ketchup. A smile creased his lips. "Hey."

A young woman had just slid onto the chair across him. Despite the heat, she was dressed in a dark, smart-looking business coat that accented her curves nicely, Shawn had to admit. A pile of papers with the words "THE THIEF'S DAWN" printed across the top of each page was clutched in her sweaty hands. Her long dark red hair tumbled about her freckled face as she stuffed the papers in her bag, seeming not to noatice how crumpled they were getting. The woman closed the bag with a loud snap and let out a loud huff, slumping forward to rest her chin in her hand. The sunlight from the window almost made her hair look like fire.

"You would not believe the day I've been having," she muttered, her gaze flicking towards Shawn.

"Your manuscript get rejected again?"

The woman jerked upright, her eyes wide. "H-how did you know?"

Shawn let loose a wide smirk tapping his temple knowingly. "I'm a psychic."

"Really now. You?"

"Hey, haven't you ever heard of the saying, 'Don't judge a book by it's cover'?" Shawn said. "Uh, sorry."

"No, no, it's fine," she said, but her smile dropped. "Anyway, I'm sorry, I don't think I've properly introduced myself. My name is Brienne."

"I'm Shawn. And you're new to this town."

"Now, how'd you divine that?" Brienne asked, looking at him with teasing eyes.

"Well, you obviously haven't heard of the famous SBPD psychic Shawn Spencer. Been working there for almost a year now, figured out quite a few cases for them. The only thing I can't figure out is why they would turn down a manuscript from such a pretty, talented young woman such as yourself."

Brienne simply blushed.

They talked for almost an hour, first in the cafe, and then just walking down the pier. The sun beat down mercilessly, but the ocean spray was cool and refreshing. At first Shawn was the one asking most of the questions, some of which Brienne answered, and some which she just raised her eyebrows at. But as time when on, she grew more talkative, telling Shawn all about her dreams of one day becoming a journalist or novelist. She also asked him all sorts of questions about his job, his agency, the cases he'd worked on and how he solved them, was he really psychic?

"Well," Shawn finally said. "I'd better be getting back, or Gus is going to have my head for 'slacking off' during a case. Here's my number, and the address of my office, Psych, in case you've got a little something that needs to be solved." He wiggled his eyebrows and Brienne laughed.

"Oh, wait a second." She held up a hand and dug around in a bag with the other. She pulled out a piece of paper, scribbled something on it, and looked away, blushing. "In case you... ever want to, y'know." She thrust it into his hands, then nearly took off down the pier.

Shawn turned the small scrap of paper over. On it was her phone number, and the words call me.

Score.

"So how long have you two been dating again?" Gus asked.

Shawn spared his friend a sideways glance before returning his gaze to the road. "Eh, almost a week now."

"And you didn't tell me... why?"

"You never asked. We're kinda taking it slow, nice and easy, y'know?" Shawn flipped on the blinker, pulling into the Santa Barbra police office parking lot.

"Look, Shawn." Gus held up a hand. "I'm happy for you and all that, but since we started Psych, how many of your girlfriends have turned out to be involved in some shady case? Murders, thieves..."

Shawn snorted as he swung open the car door, the stench of baking asphalt rising up to greet him. "Gus, don't be such a half-baked slice of blueberry pie. We've been dating for a whole week. I think that's a new record. And come on, yours have been all perfect? Remember the not-dead-guy's wife?

"But this one? She's nice, really sweet. Plus, she has absolutely nothing to do with the case we're working on right now." He wrinkled his nose. "I'm really craving a smoothie right now. Pineapple mango, preferably. We should pick one up on the way back."

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Shawn," Gus said with a sigh, slamming the car door shut behind him.

Shawn burst into Lassiter's office, gasping for breath. "Lassie, L-lassieface, I'm getting something." He inhaled sharply, then stepped back as his eyes landed on none other than Brienne. "Bree?"

"Oh hey, Shawn." She greeted him in that soft voice of hers, raising her hand in a small wave. "I was just explaining some things to Detective Lassiter here. About the case you're working on. Turns out, apparently I was a witness." She gave a small laugh. "Who knew?"

Gus elbowed fake psychic could almost hear his "I told you so."

"She was in the middle of her statement, before I was so rudely interrupted," Lassiter said, giving him a look that clearly said: Get out. Now.

Shawn simply grinned. Perfect. Just the woman to see his magnificent skills in action.

"Well, Lassie, you just never know when-" he stopped, lurching forward, gulping down air.

"Oh my gosh, are you okay?" Brienne said, raising a hand to her mouth.

"He's fine," Lassiter said.

"I known who did it, I know who murdered him," Shawn gasped. There's a man. Long, tangled brown hair, a long scar down his cheek. About six foot... even? S... C... starts with a - He's grabbing me." His hand flew to his throat. "Pushing me down, pushing my head underwater, c-can't - breathe - can't-" Shawn collapsed to his knees, struggling to draw breath, both hands at his throat now. After several struggling seconds his hands dropped, and he heaved in a huge breath, coughing and hacking. Man, his throat was going to hurt tomarrow.

"Incredible," Gus said, who had been watching from the corner.

Shawn felt a warmth tingle through his limbs, and he had to keep himself from bursting into a grin. Good old Gus. Always got my back.

But Lassiter simply shook his head. "That can't be. Miss Anderson's report here doesn't mention a man with a scar anywhere. It does, however mention a Robert Nicolson, who I have to say as a questionable alibi and a strong motive."

A tickle of cold burst in Shawn's stomach. No, that wasn't right, that couldn't be right. Everything he had found pointed to the man, Stephen Conners. The fake psychic dropped his gaze, his mind flicking over the steps he had taken. Had he read one of the clues wrong?

"But..."

"Maybe you just go mixed up," Brienne said. "A different spirit or something."

"Sorry, Spencer," Lassiter tossed the file down in front of him. His tone was anything but apologetic. "Sometimes we just have to take hard evidence over... questionable psychics."

Shawn frowned, chewing on his lip. For once, he didn't know what to say.

Shawn scrubbed a towel over his face, feeling the still-warm metal of the handlebar underneath his other palm. He leaned his bike against the wall of the office and glanced over at the rain beating down onto the windowpanes of Psych. Yep, there was no way he was riding home in that. Well, it wasn't like he hadn't crashed here before.

Droplets of water flew from his hair as he shook his head, then scrubbed it vigorously with the now-damp towel. With a sigh he flicked off the lights and collapsed on the couch, pulling the ratty old blanket over himself. The smell of must and sweat reached his nose, and he made a mental note to make a trip to the laundromat sometime soon. Or just ask Gus to clean it.

The rain outside beat a pleasant rhythm against the pane, thunder grumbled like a old, deaf cat. Shawn closed his eyes, letting his mind drift over the now-closed case. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, Brienne's statement still bothered him. It had to be Steve, who else could it be?

The first knock was almost lost in the beating of the rain. Shawn groaned and threw an arm over his face. Couldn't they see he was closed?

The knock came again. And then again, and again. Someone was banging on the door with all their might.

"Shawn! P-please, let me in!"

Shawn bolted upright, throwing the blanket to the floor. The door swung open, and there stood Brienne, arms wrapped around herself, her wet clothes clinging to her shivering body. Her shoes were covered in mud, and leaves were tangled into her hair. Her hands were scratched.

For a moment, Shawn just stared at her, his expression blank. Then he jerked. "Bree. Um. Come in."

He stepped aside and she hurried through the open doorway to sink down on the couch. Shawn flicked on a lamp, then handed her the blanket, which she took with a quiet "Thank you."

"Hey, no problem," Shawn said, wrapping an arm around her shaking shoulders. "But... uh, what's wrong? What were you doing out in the woods?"

"Someone was chasing me," Brienne whispered, seeming not to notice his "divination". "I-I think it was that man you mentioned earlier. The one with the scar."

"I knew it," Shawn muttered. "Why would he be chasing you, though?"

"I d-don't know. M-maybe some-something I said? At the police station?" Her voice lifted ever so slightly to form the question, her perfect lips curving. Shawn had to resist the urge to reach over and kiss her, and opted to squeeze her hand instead.

"Please." She lifted her eyes, bright with tears, to meet his. His heart thumped. "Can... can I have some water?"

Shawn blinked. Um. Well. That was a bit anticlimactic.

"Sure." The fake psychic heaved himself to his feet with a groan and stepped over to the small sink at the other end of the room. He grabbed a cup and began filling it with water, letting his eyes drift to sink handle. At that moment, a bolt of lightning flashed, turning the sink into a mirror. In that mirror, he saw the blurry form of Brienne standing behind him, something shiny clutched in her hands.

Shawn turned.

In that moment, something seemed to shift. Brienne drew herself up. All the kindness, all the softness seemed to drain away, leaving a face that was burning, with a curled lip, narrowed eyes. In her hands was a syringe. Shawn's heart dropped all the way to the floor.

Slowly, he began backing away, holding up a hand. "Um... Bree? What are you doing?"

"This might hurt," she said.

And she stabbed the needle into his arm. White fog began to clog his brain, everything began twisting before his eyes. Shawn's legs dropped underneath him, his head smacked into something hard, but he barely felt the impact. Then the ground tilted, and something wacked his side, driving what little air he had left out out of his body. Since when did everything come in pairs?

Then Shawn saw her, syringe still held tightly in her hands, looking ready to stab him again. Shawn threw his arms over his head and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the impact.

It never came.

The floor melted beneath him, and he fell.

A/N: Rveiews always make my day! I always love seeing what people think. :)