2. THE STORM

"What do you mean, you gave him LaRoche's list?"

Her voice was flat and hard. She had been pleasantly surprised when Virgil Minelli had called her for lunch. She heard from him rarely and saw him even less, though she knew he kept tabs on her. She had really been looking forward to this. He was alert, and his eyes were clear. When she had seen him a few months earlier, he hadn't looked so good.

"Teresa, don't go off—"

"What do you mean, you gave him LaRoche's list?"

She was getting better at controlling her temper after all these years. Not long ago, so close to the boiling point, she would have been yelling at him by now instead of that low, controlled growl. Maybe Jane had been good for her, at least in some small way.

"He came to me around Christmas. He was desperate—," Virgil ignored her scoffing, "—said he couldn't go to you."

He watched the hurt flit across her features. "Teresa, he said it would put you at risk."

"What, Virgil? What about my knowing he wanted the list could possibly put me at risk?"

"It's not the list itself." He paused, putting off having to say it as long as he could. He still found it hard to believe, but Jane had sounded so positive.

"He said Todd Johnson was part of Red John's operation."

She froze, her expression unreadable, her hands still where they rested on the tabletop. He rushed on before she could interrupt with questions or recriminations.

"He said Red John or one of his associates murdered Johnson, probably to keep him from talking. He wanted the list so he could investigate on his own."

She was still trying to process Jane's theory that Johnson was connected to Red John. Could that be possible? It would explain Jane's moodiness after the E.M.T.'s death. She brought her attention back to what Virgil was saying.

"Look, I knew it wouldn't get him very far. His name was on it. Rigsby's name was on it, for heaven's sake!" He toyed with his fork. "He just looked so keen, so . . . earnest." Even as the word left his mouth, he realized how stupid it sounded.

"Had you been drinking?" Her voice was low again but without the growl.

He looked up at her as he leaned back in his chair, his tongue rolling against the inside of his cheek. He had called her so he could come clean.

"Yes."

"But you're not drinking now?"

"No."

Her shoulders relaxed some, and he realized she had noticed and been worried but hadn't wanted to say anything.

"Jane introduced me to someone. May . . . lovely woman." He was toying with his fork again, relaxing against the table.

"May . . . Nelson?"

Lisbon remembered her. She was the AA group leader for the Santa Claus that was murdered just before Christmas. Poor woman had been in love with the man, but his obsession with the suit he wore and everything it represented had kept them apart. She saw that a lot in her work—lives gone wrong, out of balance, with their loves following after. She watched the almost silly smile form on Virgil's lips. He was obviously still seeing her.

"Well, I guess Jane's good for something besides closing cases."

His eyes jerked to hers in surprise. Her gaze hadn't left him, hadn't shifted away since he brought up the list. Well, since the beginning of the lunch as a matter of fact. He was really off his game. This slip of a girl that had wormed her way into his affections over the years, who he thought of as something close to a daughter, had been studying him, reading him. He knew it wasn't a coincidence she had used just those words. Jane's strong suit was subtlety, but Teresa possessed a quality of stealth that was just as formidable—even more so in a way when combined with her proclivity for keeping secrets rather than making a show of what she knew. He was glad he'd decided on complete honesty today.

"What else?" She was resigned now. All business, like she was questioning a cooperating witness.

"He's called a couple more times, wanting help with some other things. Once with questions about some kind of behavior prediction model the Feebs have been using, run by a woman named—"

"Montague?"

He drew back again and turned his head slightly, his eyes moving up and down her.

"That's right . . . Montague. Apparently she gave him a report on Red John."

He watched as irritation rolled over her.

"She assisted on a case a while back." When he bought the couch for me. "He spent quite a bit of time with her in the field, showing her how he did things, letting her watch him work his magic."

"He ditch you?"

"Yeah, but it gave me time to actually work the case. Ended up saving his butt."

He nodded his understanding. Jane and Teresa's working relationship had been more than somewhat beneficial for both of them over the years, but he knew which of the two had gotten the most out of it. Jane really was an ass. So was he.

"A few days ago, he called looking for May."

Her brow quirked at him, and he was glad to see the bemused smile on her lips.

"No, she's not living with me, but when she's not at work we do usually spend a lot of time together. Jane called the clinic first then my place."

"Wanting . . . ?"

He inhaled deeply, steeling himself to continue. This next part would be painful for the both of them.

"May enjoys practicing privileges at several hospitals and clinics around the state. That's what Jane called about. May told me to call you when she found out, but I'd already decided to do just that. I don't want her dragged into all of this."

"What did he want, Virgil?" Her tone was flat and harsh again. She didn't want to beat around the bush.

"He wanted access to a psychiatric patient . . . Kristina Frye."

The look on her face was a mixture of question and something else that made him hurry to reassure her—he wasn't exactly sure of what or why.

"I don't think there was ever any real interest there. He was too . . . "

He let the sentence hang, studying her for a moment. There were too many ways to fill in the blank, one just as troubling as another.

"I think he believes there's still something she could tell him about Red John; that if he could just talk to her, have the freedom to do whatever he wants without interference from the bureau—"

"Or from me?" Now the hurt in her eyes was unmistakable. Although he was happy to see her, he had dreaded this meeting because he knew how angry she would be and how unpleasant it would be for him. Now he would give almost anything to have not been even partly responsible for that look in her eyes. He hated it that he wasn't finished.

"There's something else."

She watched him with trepidation as he pulled an envelope out of his pocket.

"This came in the mail day before yesterday. She wanted me to give it to you. I figured she must be pretty desperate to get a message to you if she was willing to trust me. Probably knew I wouldn't say anything, wouldn't want it to look bad for you. Anyway, you may be able to get some answers there, some direction."

She took the sealed envelope from him. The outside was blank, and her fingers trembled as she opened it, suspecting the sender's identity. Teresa curved across the top left corner of the page in strong, almost regal script. She would know that handwriting anywhere. Overwhelming curiosity, relief and need pulled her eyes down the paper, the tale of deception, intrigue and escape unfolding in a few paragraphs. Madeleine wrote the way she talked. Lisbon had to smile over the comforting familiarity of it, evidence that she had never been wrong about the truth of the whole unsavory matter. The last line brought her back to the reality of the present and its own dilemmas.

I thought you should know.

Virgil could only guess at the contents of the letter. Judging from her expression, he hadn't been too far off the mark.

"What do you intend to do?" He didn't know if she'd had time to formulate a plan.

"Everything I need to do. Everything I should've done." Her determination didn't surprise him.

There was more he felt he should say, but as if sensing the direction of his thoughts and not wanting to hear them spoken aloud, she gracefully and almost imperceptibly shifted the conversation to safer things—May, his retirement, changes at the CBI, but that only briefly. He felt guilty about all of that. While he had known it had to be, he had often thought he shouldn't have left her.

After a while they stood to say their good-byes. She hugged him and started to move away, but he pulled her back to him and wrapped his arms all of the way around her holding her to himself as tightly as he could. He had really not wanted to lose this connection. Her arms circled around his waist, and she turned her head sideways to lay it against his shoulder, breathing in the clean, fumeless scent of his jacket. He knew what she was doing, and he let her, glad he didn't have to be ashamed. It was like a punch to the gut when he realized why she hadn't come around after the last time. She pulled back after a few minutes and rose up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek and felt him savor the contact before she leaned back to look him in the eye.

"I'll call you—"

He nodded at her, knowing she meant it, as well as the slight hint of a threat. You better not have given him anything more without telling me.

"—and you call me if you think you should."

"Loud and clear," he said pointedly, wanting to make sure she knew he understood her meaning. He jostled her in his arms affectionately before letting her go. "And you the same."

He watched her walk away, her heels kicking up little puffs of river sand. The wind was picking up, making waves on the usually calm water. He didn't know why he had chosen to meet her at the same riverfront café where he had met Jane. Returning to the scene of the crime. He hoped he hadn't just committed another.