I do not own The Mentalist.

My name is Melanie McAllister.

Yeah, that's right. His daughter.

So how did I become an FBI agent? That's not the story I feel like telling right now. But I'll tell you some things about myself. I'm thirty-three and single. I transferred to Austin from D.C. about six months ago to join Abbot's team. And what a strange team it is. Especially Patrick Jane. More on him later. The most unforgettable character I've ever met, as they used to say in the old Reader's Digest. Don't ask me how I know this. I'm a gold mine of useless information.

This story is mostly about Special Agent Teresa Lisbon and me. We really hit it off from the beginning. She's like the sister I never had. I liked the way she didn't take shit from any of the men, and how she was by far the best agent on the team. I felt that I could learn a lot from her. I admire her. She's a role model. And I like her a lot. She's been great about praising me to Abbott and asking for me to be assigned to partner with her.

I realized right away that she and Patrick are involved, and that they have a love-hate relationship. Sometimes more love, sometimes more hate. I guess that's normal with a lot of couples. [I wouldn't know. I've never been in a serious relationship. Haven't met the right guy yet, and I have to say there's not a great selection at work unless you like young nerds with pale blond eyelashes or boring career agents beginning to get soft around the middle.] Anyway, Teresa and I have to put Patrick in his place sometimes when he's being an arrogant bastard, which is often. I don't know how she stands it. I mean, OK, I can't help liking the guy. He's very hot and has a great smile, and he's very smart. But he acts like a little kid who's always being mischievous and gets away with it every time because he's so charming and clever.

As you might expect, Patrick's not thrilled about me being Red John's daughter and Teresa's best friend. I get that. It's like my father had one more evil game to play with poor Patrick and waited until after Patrick killed him to spring it on him. It was a very dirty trick, even for him. But all kidding aside, I can't help who my father was. I didn't ask to be the daughter of a serial killer.

Now, don't get the idea that I enjoy it. Most people don't know about it, actually, and I'd like to keep it that way. Thomas McAllister was a monster, and I'm lucky that Mom left him and took me with her when I was just a baby. So no cute father/daughter relationship, in case you were wondering. I never even knew him, but I knew about him. Mom told me. I even hoped I'd get the chance to take him down myself, even before I got into law enforcement. I wanted to stop him from killing any more people.

But I didn't know about Patrick.

When I heard that McAllister had finally been killed by the husband of one of his victims, naturally I was ecstatic. I would have done the same thing as the husband did even though it meant I'd have to be a fugitive. I really couldn't blame him. I'd heard that the man's name was Patrick Jane, and that his wife and child had been murdered by my father. But that was all I knew. It was from Teresa that I learned the saga of Patrick Jane and how he came to work for the FBI. And although he hates me because I remind him of his nemesis, I feel sorry for him because of the unspeakable suffering he had to bear for so many years. I wish I could tell him, but he's rejected all my attempts at friendship. He's told Teresa not to trust me and that he wants her to stop being my friend. But Teresa doesn't take orders from him. She doesn't hold my parentage against me. It's damn well not my fault that I was fathered by a sick, twisted, sadistic psychopath. I didn't inherit his diseased mind, for God's sake. At least I don't think so. I get my kicks by arresting bad guys, not by killing innocent people. So I think I'm normal. It's going to take some work convincing Patrick, though.

The case before us now is some neo-Nazi high school kids who were planning to blow up their high school with a homemade bomb until somone tipped off the police. (Nice normal wholesome kids. Bet their parents are real proud.) The ringleader has disappeared and is believed to be hiding in the woods (he's a survivalist and the kids say he has a cabin full of food and ammo but no one knows where it is. Or more precisely, no one's saying.) The kid's name is Tim Carter. He's sixteen, and we have a photo and full description of him. His cold eyes glower from a hollow-cheeked, hollow-eyed face. His head is shaved and he has a prominent swastika tattooed on his bare scalp. So very attractive and tasteful. You have to wonder about what kind of parents would allow their kid to do this. (Oh, I forgot: his parents were psychos and they're both dead now.) We're going to be talking to the foster parents tomorrow. Can't wait.

Teresa and I are at our favorite bar after work, munching on wings and drinking beer.

"Where's Jane?" she asks nervously. (It's so funny how she can't get out of the habit of using his last name.)

"Don't know. Wylie said he was interviewing the kids today."

She sighs. "They aren't going to rat on this guy."

"Oh, don't be too sure. Patrick knows how to get info out of people. Even teenagers. But I'm surprised he hasn't called you."

"I'm going to try him again." She picks up her phone and begins punching the screen.

"It went to voicemail. I swear to God, if he's doing something he hasn't told me about, I'll shoot him."

"Well, you know how he is. You're not going to change him."

"I'm sure he'll call." But she didn't sound sure.

"Let me know when he does. I'm going home to get some sleep."

"Me too. I'll text you." She gets up to leave and I hear her car's tires crunching on the gravel a few moments later.

Teresa has that look on her face with a scrunched-up brow and a frown. I'm feeling a little worried myself, but in the six months I've known Patrick, he's pulled a lot of stunts like this. Each time she gets mad, and each time he manipulates her into forgiving him. And oh, I almost forgot: They're engaged. Crazy, huh?

She told me that he never took off his wedding ring for well over a decade after his wife died. Then he finally got the courage to take it off, telling her she deserves to be Number One with him. Um, maybe I'm stupid or something, but dude, a woman isn't going to like you wearing a wedding ring from another marriage. Get over it. Of course she started to date Pike (whom I happen to know, but that's another story) She figured, he's never getting over his dead wife and he only loves me as a close friend. (Well, fuck me, how did she ever get that impression? Excuse my language. Teresa's a little shocked by it, but she's sarcastic like me.) I always wonder how people who are geniuses like Patrick can be so stupid when it comes to their own relationships. Not that I'm lacking in sympathy for the poor bastard. I mean, can you even imagine the horror of discovering…and then blaming yourself for opening your big mouth and poking the snake with a stick?

Patrick hates sympathy, so I'm careful not to hint or imply that I'm sorry for him. Still, he read me the first time he met me (he rudely refused to shake hands) so he knows I pity him and that makes him hate me more. Actually, I'm not sure he hates me. At least, it's not personal. It's just what I represent in his mind. He has too much pride to endure being pitied by Red John's daughter. At least that's how I read it. I'm not bad at cold reading myself. I guess to be a good detective you have to be. I didn't have the opportunities he had to develop my craft by being in the con biz. But I have to say: My father was an evil bastard, but he was smart. Brilliant, even. And I think I got some of his smarts. Not to be conceited or anything, of course.

I remain at the bar for a few minutes after Teresa leaves, musing as I swallow the dregs of my Guinness. It's not my job, of course, to know where Patrick is at all times, but I think I have a pretty good idea. The bartender looks at me from the chest down, eyes lingering a bit on my cleavage before moving up to my face. (I don't overdo the cleavage on a work day. Women have enough trouble being taken seriously at the office without exposing the goods to every moron out there. I've adopted Teresa's uniform of shirt, dark jacket and pants, and the shirt's never unbuttoned past the second button.) This bartender is about to put the moves on me and I'm not in the mood. He knows I'm a cop, for God's sake.

"You're not going home?"

"Got any better ideas?" I shoot back, putting my hand ever so gently on my gun.

" Uh…no…just wondered if you want another one."

"No, I'm good." I smile my sweetest homecoming queen smile.

"Well, looking forward to seeing you tomorrow night," he says weakly, aware that his moment has passed.

"You bet." I throw some bills on the bar and turn to leave.

I get into my car and head off to Patrick's Airstream. He's taken to sleeping there sometimes when he "has to be alone to think." I never saw a guy pretend to sleep so much at work. I still can't believe the FBI gave him back his couch after they impounded it when they broke up the CBI. And the Airstream. And Teresa. He must have had a hell of a lot of leverage when they made that deal with him. According to Teresa, he tricked them into thinking he had the names of higher-ups in the Blake Association which might prove embarrassing if released. Abbott dropped the whole issue like a hot potato and caved. I have to admire the finesse. Like Teresa, I used to be a by-the-book agent until I learned that going by the book is for suckers, or as Patrick might say, marks. What I mean is, I have respect for the law and I'm pledged to enforce it. I take my job seriously. But when you're dealing with bad cops on all levels as with the B.A., you can't go by the book. Frankly, I'm surprised that the Bureau seems to have dropped the investigation into my father's personal Mafia. No, I take that back. Not surprised at all. I even thought at first that Abbott might have been involved, but I'm convinced he's clean. Though that doesn't protect him from having to testify should any of the higher-up perps be brought to trial.

Teresa hates it that Patrick spends nights in his trailer instead of at her place, the home they are sharing. I don't blame her. I don't know what Angela was like, but if he wants to get married again, he can't expect it to work if he runs away from conflict. Maybe she tolerated it, but Teresa won't. Not for long. She has to believe that he'll come around and be willing to face his issues with her, or she'll just fall apart. She's not a woman who falls apart easily. But she's invested way too many years in him, way too much love and forgiveness for what she's getting in return. I'd be willing to bet that she knows he's in the trailer right now. I don't like to interfere, but something has to be done. So I'm going to give him a piece of my mind. At least, that's the plan.

How's this for an idea? Let me know if I should continue this or if it's just a load of crap. There will be more back-and-forth between Teresa and Melanie and some suspense in the crime investigation…I don't have it all planned out yet but I was intrigued by running with an idea from one of my rare Mentalist dreams.