Conning his way into the after-party was almost laughably easy. He befriended two lovely season-ticket holders with VIP access who were only too happy to allow him to escort them into the event. He walked in with a woman on each arm, both pleased as punch to have such a handsome young man to show off to their friends. The first one, Mrs. Carter, told him he reminded her of her grandson. The second, Mrs. Abramson, gave him a lascivious wink and told him he reminded her of her first husband.
His eyes found her right away. A flock of admirers was grouped around her, but she stood out from the crowd, the satin of her emerald gown eye-catchingly bright among all the black and white that dominated the attire of the other party goers. He watched her, filing away small observations. She wore no jewelry but a simple gold cross around her neck. It had sentimental value for her—perhaps a gift from a deceased relative? Someone close to her, that was certain. She disliked being the center of attention, but she hid her discomfort well. She smiled and joked, putting the other guests at their ease. She told a story, and the admirers hung on every word. Despite her reluctance to stay in the spotlight after the show had ended, she commanded attention and held it.
She stopped a passing waiter with a hand on his sleeve. She ignored the tray of champagne flutes the young man carried. She leaned in and asked him a question under her breath, concealing the nature of her inquiry from those surrounding her as the waiter doled out glasses of champagne. Patrick watched as the young man smiled and whispered in her ear, in turn.
Whatever he said, she wasn't happy about it. She made a face and he laughed. A gentleman standing next to her took a glass of champagne from the tray and handed it to her. She looked down at the glass in her hand as though surprised to see it there. She held it loosely in her hand and rejoined the conversation around her. A moment later, she absently took a sip of the champagne. She wrinkled her nose before she could stop herself.
Patrick found himself smiling at the sight. When he realized he was smiling foolishly at a woman half a room away, he paused in wonder. He couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled without it being a specifically calculated action designed to fool those around him into believing he was a fully functioning member of the human race. He gazed at her, amazed that a complete stranger had the capacity to elicit such a response from him. Even if she did scrunch up her nose in a way that some people might say was adorable.
He turned back to his companions, a little discomfited by the thought. But a moment later, when the waiter she'd spoken to a few minutes earlier passed by with a fresh tray of champagne, Patrick caught the young man by the arm.
The waiter looked at him quizzically. "Can I help you, sir?"
"Yes. That woman in the green dress," Patrick said, nodding in her direction as the young man handed out more champagne. "You spoke to her a few moments ago. What did she say to you?"
The waiter followed his gaze. "Teresa? She wanted to know the score of the Cubs game."
"What did you tell her?"
"I told her they were down seven to three in the bottom of the ninth."
"She didn't look too happy about that."
"She's from Chicago. What'd you expect?"
"You know her?"
"Only a little. When she comes to these things, she's always stuck talking so some bigwig or another and can't get away to check on the games. Me 'n some of the guys, we keep her updated on the sports scores."
"That's good of you."
He shrugged again. "I work these events pretty often. A lot of the people at these things, they look right through you if you have a serving tray in your hand. She's not like that."
"What is she like, then?" Patrick asked curiously.
He shrugged. "She's nice."
"Nice," Patrick repeated, staring at her again.
"Yeah. Nice. Kind of sarcastic, though."
"Interesting." Patrick turned his attention back to his informant. "What's your name?"
"James."
"Thank you, James," Patrick said, tipping him lavishly. "This has been most enlightening."
James finished handing out champagne glasses and returned to the bar to exchange his tray of empty glasses for full ones. Patrick, for his part, turned his attention back to the group he was with, attempting to maintain the illusion he was fully engaged in their conversation. In truth, his attention was divided. He kept an eye on Teresa Lisbon the whole time.
He filed away observations about her mannerisms, her bearing, cataloguing her reactions to those around her and theirs to her.
A bony finger jabbed him sharply in the ribs, jostling him from his reverie. He winced and turned his attention to the source of the interruption.
"You just going to stand there all night?" Mrs. Abramson demanded.
Patrick blinked, startled. "Excuse me?"
"Are you going to just stand there all night?" she repeated. "Or are you going to go talk to her?"
Patrick feigned innocence. "Talk to who?"
"I may be old, but I'm not that old, young man," Mrs. Abramson said severely. "I'm talking about that young woman you've been staring at ever since we walked in here."
"I haven't been staring," Patrick protested feebly and untruthfully.
Mrs. Abramson wasn't buying it. "You haven't taken your eyes off her all night."
Patrick let his gaze drift back over to the intriguing figure of Teresa Lisbon. "You think I should talk to her, huh?"
"Absolutely," Mrs. Abramson said firmly.
He took a sip of his champagne. "All in due time."
"What the hell does that mean? What are you waiting for?" Mrs. Abramson demanded.
"I can't just walk up to her and try to chat her up," he protested.
"Oh, yes, you can," Mrs. Abramson insisted.
"The situation requires a certain finesse."
"Finesse," Mrs. Abramson said dismissively. "You don't need some smooth line, not looking the way you do. Just flash that smile of yours at her and she'll be putty in your hands."
He shook his head. "That won't work on her."
"Well, then, what do you intend to do about it?" Mrs. Abramson huffed in annoyance.
He smiled. "Don't worry. I have a plan."
Xxx
Shortly thereafter, Patrick decided it was time to put his plan into action.
First, he made it his business to drop a gentle hint to the event organizer about the possibility of the chair of the fundraising committee making some kind of speech or another. The guests probably expected that kind of thing, and wouldn't it be better to do it before they got too drunk to sign their checks legibly? He left the woman in charge to consider the question and headed to the bar to execute the next step in his plan.
He exchanged his half full glass of champagne for two bottles of water. Then he waited.
Once the committee chair was a few minutes into his speech, Patrick made his move.
She stood a little to the edge of her group now, listening to the speech politely. He was about to change all that. He sidled up alongside her, leaned in, and murmured, "Trade ya."
She turned to look at him. "Excuse me?" she whispered, raising her emerald eyes to his.
Patrick felt as though a tidal wave had just slammed into him. A green tidal wave. He blinked. Those eyes were even more captivating up close.
He collected himself and covered his momentary lapse with a roguish grin. He extended a water bottle towards her. "I'll trade you," he repeated, nodding to her champagne.
She looked down at the water in his hand. "You want me to trade you a glass of champagne for a bottle of water?"
"That's right."
She raised her eyebrows. "You know they give this stuff out for free at these things, right?"
"True, but that's hardly the point."
"What is the point?"
"The point is, you're extremely thirsty."
She lifted her glass. "I have a drink right here."
He shook his head. "No good. The champagne is only making you thirstier."
"How do you know that?" she asked, startled.
"I saw you take a sip a minute ago and you made a face."
"I made a face?" she repeated.
"Yes. It was clearly a classic, 'I'm dying of thirst and the beverage in my hand isn't getting the job done' face."
"Oh, really?" she said, amused. "How did you even know I was thirsty in the first place?"
"You're always thirsty after a performance. The lights on stage are hot, and making extraordinary music is more strenuous than it looks. I bet you didn't have a chance to take a breath after the performance before the music director hustled you out here to make nice with the donors. You haven't been able to get to the bar to ask for a glass of water because you've been stuck over here entertaining your many admirers. I'm sure James would have brought you one, if you'd asked, but you squandered the one opportunity you've had to ask about the score to the Cubs game instead, and then your attention was demanded elsewhere. Every time you try to escape, someone new claims your attention. You're far too kind and polite to blow them off for the simple imperative of assuaging your own thirst, so here you are, thoroughly parched with nothing but a glass of champagne to show for all your trouble." He grinned at her. "How am I doing so far?"
"How the hell do you know all that?" she demanded. "Don't try to tell me you're a psychic or something."
His grin widened. "Of course not. Just paying attention."
"Seriously, how'd you know about the Cubs thing?" she asked suspiciously.
"Pretty obvious, isn't it?" Patrick said. "Bribery, pure and simple."
"You bribed James?" she said, aghast. "Why?"
"It's only sensible to arm oneself with the best available intelligence when pursuing one's objectives," he informed her.
She raised an eyebrow. "And what objective required the intelligence that I'm a Cubs fan?"
He shrugged. "I wanted to meet you."
She faltered. "You wanted to meet me?"
He kept his gaze fixed steadily on hers. "Yes."
She flushed. "So the water…?"
He smiled at her. "Approaching you was a tricky proposition. I figured my chances of success would be improved if I had some tangible benefit to offer you."
"Success at what?" she asked, still wary.
He flashed a charming grin at her. "Getting you to talk to me, of course."
"Do you always have such complicated schemes for such simple objectives?" she asked, exasperated.
"Ah, you are mistaken, my dear. This wasn't a simple objective at all. In fact, if I may say so, it required more cunning than I've bothered to expend in quite some time."
She blew out an incredulous laugh. "Yeah, right."
"You don't believe me?"
She shook her head. "Sounds like you're overcomplicating things."
"No. Believe me, the cunning scheme was absolutely necessary."
She shook her head. "Just to introduce yourself to someone? I don't buy it."
"Not to introduce myself to someone," he corrected her. "To introduce myself to you."
She threw him a skeptical look that told him that despite her crowd of admirers, she was largely oblivious to the power of her own charms.
Which of course made her that much more charming.
"Think about it," he continued. "I was in a difficult position. I don't know anyone here, so I couldn't presume on an acquaintance for an introduction. You were quite literally the star of the show, so you were bound to have a long line of people clamoring for your attention after the performance. Attempting to charm you wouldn't work, for obvious reasons, so I had to come up with an alternative strategy to win the favor of your attention."
"Obvious reasons?" she echoed. "What reasons would those be, exactly?"
He gestured vaguely at her with the bottle in his hand. "You're talented and beautiful. An enticing combination. You undoubtedly have to endure men constantly attempting to charm you into bed on the basis of those qualities alone, without ever bothering to learn anything else about you. I imagine it gets tiresome, dealing with that all the time. You're too practical to be taken in by such attentions, so charm is not a viable strategy for engagement with you."
"I may not be entirely immune," she muttered under her breath. Aloud, she said, "If I'm so much work, why were you so determined to meet me in the first place?"
"Because I've never heard anyone play the violin like you just did," he said. "I'm not easily impressed. But tonight… I was more than impressed. The music you created was extraordinary."
"I think the composers deserve most of the credit," she demurred.
"Only some," he contradicted. "You were the one who brought the pieces to life. I've heard those pieces played a hundred times before and never felt like this. Your performance moved me. Believe me, that's not easy to do. I wanted to tell you personally how much your performance meant to me."
She stared at him, clearly at a loss. "Oh—just give me the damn water, then," she huffed.
He took her champagne glass from her and handed over the bottle of water. He deposited the half full glass of champagne on the tray of a passing waiter, then turned his attention back to her.
She raised the bottle to her lips and drained it in under ten seconds.
When she finished, she looked at the bottle in her hand as though surprised to find it empty already. Patrick took it from her wordlessly and handed her the second bottle.
She accepted it gratefully. She twisted the top off and took another sip. This time, she drank at a more sedate pace. She rewarded him for his trouble with a smile. "I guess I really needed that," she said ruefully. "Thank you."
He found it difficult to look away from that smile. It was most captivating. "You're welcome."
"And, uh, thank you for what you said. Before," she said, not meeting his eyes. "That was very kind of you."
"It wasn't kind," he responded. "It was the truth."
She raised her eyes to meet his. "Well, thank you for saying it."
He smiled at her. "The pleasure was entirely mine."
"Teresa Lisbon," she introduced herself.
"Patrick Jane," he returned.
"Nice to meet you," she said, taking another sip of her water.
He watched her mouth. Having earned one smile, he discovered a desperate urge to earn another. He opened his mouth to deliver a clever observation designed to win the coveted reward, but before he'd fully formulated the thought, an unwelcome interruption derailed it.
"Teresa," boomed a rich tenor voice. "There you are."
Teresa turned towards the voice. It was the conductor. The serpent in white tie and tails. She plastered a polite smile on her face. "Michael," she greeted him.
She couldn't stand the man, Patrick realized gleefully.
Michael leaned in and kissed her cheek. Teresa controlled the urge to flinch away, but Patrick spotted the instinct.
Big mistake, Michael, he thought. This woman obviously didn't appreciate having her personal space invaded by overly familiar colleagues.
"Excellent performance tonight," Michael said, fixing his eyes on hers with what Patrick considered an unnecessary degree of intensity.
"You too," Teresa said smoothly.
Oh, yeah. He had definitely propositioned her at least once, Patrick observed. Likely more. But apparently Michael was one of those men who only wanted something more when he couldn't have it, because he clearly hadn't given up.
Patrick could have told him he was wasting his time. Every fiber of her being was telegraphing her distaste for the man.
Keep dreaming, buddy, Patrick thought. She's already shot you down at least twice. It's not likely she's going to suddenly change her mind based on a few sweet nothings, no matter how much you wish it.
Michael moved to place his hand at the small of her back, but Teresa anticipated the movement. She shifted closer to Patrick in a bid for escape, subtly enough that it wasn't obvious that her primary motive for the move was to avoid the other man's touch.
He wondered briefly why she hadn't reported Michael the sleaze bag for sexual harassment, but then dismissed the thought. Teresa didn't need bureaucracy intervening – she could take care of herself. She could turn this guy into a box of toothpicks if he annoyed her too badly.
Patrick took advantage of her newfound proximity to breathe in her scent. She smelled amazing – spicy. Cinnamon, he guessed. He inhaled deeply.
"Michael, have you met Patrick Jane?" Teresa asked.
"No, I don't believe we've met," Michael said, clearly uninterested. He turned his attention back to Teresa after the briefest flick of his eyes in Patrick's direction. "Are you all ready for your trip, Teresa?"
"All packed," she confirmed.
"When's your flight?" Michael asked.
"Tomorrow morning."
"Paris for three months," Michael commented. "Nice work if you can get it, huh?"
Patrick started. She was leaving?
Of course, her leaving didn't affect him, he reminded himself. He'd just met the woman, for God's sake. It was just—well, it was a shame that he wouldn't have the opportunity to hear her play again. He'd only just discovered the presence of this extraordinary talent in his own city. Surely that was the cause of the sudden pang in his chest at this news.
"Yes, I'm looking forward to it," Teresa answered. "It's such a beautiful city."
"Say hello to those French ballerinas for me," Michael said with a leer.
"If I come across any, I'll be sure to pass on your regards," Teresa answered dryly.
Michael's eyes strayed across the room. "Speaking of French beauties, I see the delectable Mademoiselle Altier over there. If you'll excuse me, I really ought to say hello."
"Certainly," Teresa said graciously.
Michael left them, much to Patrick's satisfaction.
Teresa exhaled a tiny sigh of relief.
"What a blowhard," Patrick said mildly.
She let out a startled laugh. "He is a bit of a blowhard, now that you mention it. Not many people have the guts to point that out."
"How do you put up with him?"
"Michael's harmless," Teresa said dismissively. "He's an ass, but he's a good conductor."
"If you say so," Patrick said with a shrug. "So… Paris, huh?"
"Yep," she confirmed.
"What happens after Paris?" Patrick asked, endeavoring to keep his tone casual.
"I'll be back here for the fall season," she answered. "I signed a five year contract with SFS. I've only been with them since September. They're just loaning me out for the summer."
He didn't know why he should feel so relieved at that. Suddenly he found it much easier to breathe.
He made a mental note to purchase season tickets next year. "And how do you feel about being loaned out?"
She shrugged. "I'm used to it. It's pretty normal in the music world."
"You must travel a lot."
"Yes," she agreed. "I'm very lucky. I've had the opportunity to visit some amazing places. But to be honest, I'm glad to have this contract with SFS as an excuse to stay put for the most part. Five years will be the longest I've stayed in one place since I was a kid."
"But it sounds like you'll still be traveling over the summers, won't you?"
"Probably," she said ruefully. "Sometimes I think about taking a summer off, but I don't know, somehow I never seem to get around to it."
"That's because you're a workaholic," Patrick told her.
"Excuse me?" she said, laughing a little at his presumption.
"You're afraid you wouldn't know what to do with yourself. That's why you've never taken the summer off."
"Okay, seriously, how the hell do you know stuff like that?"
"Cold reading," he replied.
"Cold reading?" she repeated. "How does that work?"
"It's nothing complicated. It's just making educated guesses based on observations of people's reactions and behavior."
She shook her head. "You're a hell of a guesser."
"It's always been a talent of mine," he agreed. "For example, I bet your idea of taking the summer off still involves working at least part of the time."
"Well, yeah," she admitted. "I thought could do some teaching. And I'd still have to rehearse every day, obviously. And I'd probably end up doing a few concerts here and there."
He arched a brow. "So what part of that exactly is 'taking the summer off?'"
"I'd be in one place," she sighed. He watched her mouth form an unconscious and extremely attractive pout. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from it. "And I wouldn't have to stay up late all the time going to things like this."
"You could stay up late eating ice cream and watching old movies, instead," he said, guessing her preferred past times.
She made a face. "I guess that makes me pretty boring, huh?"
"No," he said, still transfixed. "I find it difficult to believe that word could be applied to you in any circumstances."
"Even if all I want to do is stay home when most people dream of the opportunities I've had to travel the world?"
He considered his answer. "I think to a traveler, a peaceful home is the most treasured dream."
Their eyes met again, but before she could respond, they were interrupted again.
"Oh, Teresa, thank God," a tall woman with light brown hair sighed, appearing at Teresa's elbow. "I need you to hide me from Tork."
Teresa chuckled, a delightful low, throaty laugh that Patrick felt like a jolt to the stomach. "Poor Tork," she said, her eyes teasing and mischievous. "He's really not that bad, you know."
He felt his heart rate tick up a notch at the discovery that she had a mischievous side.
The other woman glared at Teresa. "I'm half a foot taller than him."
"Some guys like taller women," Teresa said.
"Apparently so," the woman muttered. "The height difference is the least of my worries. If it were just that, I'd be able to handle it. But he's so damn earnest and hopeful. He brought me daisies."
She stopped, appearing to take note of Patrick for the first time. "Hello," she said. "Who are you?"
"Kim, this is Patrick Jane," Teresa said. "Patrick, Kim Fischer. She plays in the orchestra with me. First cello."
"Nice to meet you," Patrick said politely.
"You, too," Kim said, sizing him up. She smirked at Teresa. "I can see you're having a much better night than I am, Teresa."
Teresa blushed. "Oh, hush."
"So," Patrick said, tearing his eyes from Teresa's blush with some difficulty. "Who's Tork?"
"Kim's not-so-secret admirer," Teresa answered. "We played a benefit concert at a hospital about a month ago and that's where we met him. Tork is a pediatric surgeon there. He met Kim at the after party and developed a bit of a crush on her."
"He's a doctor?" Patrick asked.
"Yes," Kim said sourly. "I'm sure my mother would be very pleased."
Patrick shook his head. "You'd do well to steer clear of him, then. Never trust a doctor, that's my motto. Frauds in white coats, the lot of them."
"Really," Kim said, amused. "And what is it that you do, exactly?"
"Oh, I'm a con man." He flashed his most charming grin. "Retired, of course. Now I'm a member of the idle rich. Living off the proceeds of my ill-gotten gains."
"A con man?" Kim repeated. "What kind of con man? Land deals in Florida, that kind of thing?"
"That's never been my particular gambit," Patrick said. "But if you're interested in that sort of thing, I have a few acquaintances who would be happy to fleece you for all you're worth at your earliest convenience."
She laughed. "I think I'll pass, thanks."
Teresa raised her eyebrows at him. "So what is your gambit, exactly?"
"Simple trickery, for the most part," he said. "A little charm thrown in for good measure. That's it, really."
"Doesn't sound like much," she said dubiously.
He shrugged. "That's how I got into the party tonight."
"You crashed the party?" Teresa said, exasperated.
"Believe me, I had good reason," he answered. "Tabitha and Ruth were only too pleased to assist me."
"Tabitha and Ruth?" Teresa repeated.
"My dates." He sought out the eyes of the ladies in question and winked at them.
They both waved, blushing and smiling like schoolgirls. Then they bent their heads together to talk. Probably to discuss what an incorrigible rapscallion he was. Well, it was true. He was an incorrigible rapscallion.
Teresa looked like she was fighting laughter. "Looks like you have your hands full with those two."
"Undoubtedly," Patrick agreed. "What mere mortal man could aspire to be worthy of such jewels?"
"You didn't become a member of the idle rich by crashing parties," Kim said.
"You'd be surprised," he told her.
"Come on, spill," she persisted. "What's your deal? Did you really used to be a con man?"
"Sadly, yes. I used to pretend to be a psychic for a living."
"Seriously?" Kim said, dumbfounded. "You got rich doing that?"
He shrugged. "I was very good at it."
"Huh," Kim said, clearly still skeptical.
"Take you, for example," Patrick said. "You're strong, confident. Men should be lining up to take you out. But you come off as brusque, unapproachable. You wish you could change that about yourself, but you're more shy than you let on." He leaned closer to her. "You want my advice?"
She looked wary. "Okay, I'll bite. What's your advice?"
"Tomorrow, when you're at the gym and you see that guy you've been eyeing there for the past few weeks, smile at him."
"Smile at him?" Kim repeated. "That's your great advice?"
He smiled at her. "Try it."
"Maybe," she said doubtfully.
"I'll bet you five bucks that if you do, by this time tomorrow, you'll have a date for next Friday night," he said confidently.
"You're on," Kim said.
Yet another well-wisher came to congratulate Teresa on her performance, distracting her from Patrick's conversation with Kim.
Kim glanced at Teresa and lowered her voice. "Be careful with my friend, here."
"What do you mean?" he asked, puzzled.
She glanced at Teresa. "Teresa is wonderful. Smart. Funny. Kind. She's an amazing friend. But she doesn't do commitment. A word to the wise—don't get too invested."
Patrick went very still. "I just met her."
"I know. And you're already looking at her like the sun rises and sets by her."
He was dumbfounded. Clearly, she'd gotten the wrong end of the stick. "I'm not—I'm really not looking for anything like that right now," he said, unease pricking at his skin.
She shot him a sympathetic look. "That's too bad. Because it looks an awful lot to me like you found it anyway."
Patrick frowned. He thought he'd played the part of the charming charlatan rather well. What on earth had given Kim the idea that he had the slightest interest in commitment?
Kim drained her champagne glass. "I'm going to head home," she announced. "I've had enough fun for one night."
She reached out to shake his hand. "It's been very… interesting, meeting you."
He returned the handshake. "Likewise."
She went to Teresa and touched her on the arm to regain her attention. Teresa turned, and the well-wisher drifted away to greet someone else. "I'm heading out," Kim told her.
"Are you?" Teresa said, her voice colored with disappointment and a touch of envy.
"Yeah. If I'm going to entice some poor guy to hit on me at the gym tomorrow, I guess I'd better get my beauty sleep," Kim said dryly. "Have a great trip."
"Thanks. You're still planning to visit me in August, aren't you?"
"Wouldn't miss it," Kim confirmed. "I'll email you, okay?"
"Sounds good."
The two women said their good-byes and Kim slipped away in the crowd.
"She seems nice," Patrick commented.
"Kim? Yes, she is. She's been a good friend to me."
"Have you known her long?"
Teresa shook her head. "Just since the fall, when I started here."
"Really?" Patrick said, surprised. "I would have guessed you'd known her longer. You seem very comfortable with each other."
She shrugged. "Some people are like that. Even when you've just met them, you still feel like you've known them forever. You know?"
Patrick looked into her eyes again. "Yes. I know what you mean."
Another man joined them then, appearing at Teresa's elbow so silently Patrick almost started in surprise. Almost.
"Lisbon," the man greeted her, unsmiling.
Her face lit up. "Cho!" she said in genuine pleasure. She kissed him on the cheek. "You made it!"
"Yeah," Cho said tersely. He looked at Patrick. "Who are you?"
"Patrick Jane," Patrick said, tamping down the flare of jealousy in his chest and trying to get a read on the dynamic between them. They were close, that much was obvious. But not a romantic relationship, he thought. Kindred spirits, perhaps. More like siblings than lovers.
"Patrick, this is Kimball Cho," Teresa introduced him. "Cho works for a private security firm based in Oakland."
"Nice to meet you," Patrick said.
Cho apparently wasn't inclined to say the same. "Uh-huh," he said, flicking his eyes at Patrick briefly before turning his attention to Teresa. "Great performance tonight."
"Thanks, Cho," she said. "I'm really glad you could come."
He shrugged. "Job got cancelled, so thought I'd stop by."
"I'm glad you did," she said. "I would have been sad to leave for three months without having a chance to say good-bye."
"Yeah," Cho said, face expressionless. "Me, too."
Another man ambled up to them, a hulking figure of a fellow carrying a heaping plate of hors d'oeuvres and making them disappear at an alarming rate. "Hey, Lisbon," he said amiably, his mouth full of crab puff.
Cho looked pained. "Lisbon, you remember Rigsby, don't you?"
"Of course," Teresa said. "How are you, Rigsby?"
"Good," Rigsby said around another mouthful of crab puff. "This food's 'mazing."
"Glad you're enjoying it," Teresa said with a laugh. "I'll pass along your compliments to the catering staff."
"Fanks," Rigsby said around his crab puff. He nudged Cho with one elbow. "Did you ask her yet?" he said in a clearly audible whisper.
Teresa raised an eyebrow. "Ask me what?"
Cho grimaced. "He wants me to ask you to introduce him to someone."
"Really?" Teresa said curiously. "Who?"
Patrick, who had been watching Rigsby's eyes dart across the room in a very specific direction, answered. "The flautist, isn't it?" he guessed. "The red-head."
"Grace?" Teresa asked. "Sure. I can introduce you to her, if you'd like."
Rigsby beamed. "Awesome."
Patrick shook his head. "Bad idea."
"What?" Rigsby said, crestfallen. "Why?"
"Introductions through a third party are a dime a dozen at things like this," Patrick said dismissively. "You want her to remember you tomorrow, don't you? You want to stand out in her mind."
Rigsby flushed. "Well…yeah."
"So introduce yourself. Makes a stronger first impression."
"Introduce myself how?" Rigsby asked.
Patrick raised an eyebrow. "Seduction, of course."
"Seduction?" Rigsby repeated. "That's not really my strong suit."
"It's very simple. What are you offering a woman when you seduce her?"
"Uh…" Rigsby said, cutting his eyes to Teresa and blushing, clearly uncomfortable holding this conversation in mixed company.
"Love and affection," Patrick informed him. "Who doesn't want love and affection?"
"Love and affection," Rigsby repeated doubtfully. "That's it?"
"Hey, that's nothing to sneeze at, if you can manage it," Patrick said.
Rigsby still looked dubious.
"If you're nervous, I'll give you a head start," Patrick offered.
"A head start?" Cho said. "At what?"
"At winning her heart," Patrick said. He looked at Rigsby. "What do you say? You interested?"
Rigsby swallowed. "I guess, yeah. What have I got to lose, right?"
"Your heart, your dignity… your sense of self-worth as a man," Cho suggested.
"Hush," Teresa said. "I think you should go for it, Rigsby. She broke up with someone recently, but I think she might be ready to get back out there again. And she likes tall guys."
Rigsby drew himself up to his full height. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Teresa confirmed.
"Okay, I'll do it," Rigsby decided. He turned to Patrick. "Okay, what's the hint?"
Patrick leaned close to him and spoke into his ear in a low voice.
Rigsby drew back, giving him a skeptical look.
"Trust me," Patrick said.
Rigsby sighed. He fixed his gaze on the red-head across the room. "Here goes," he said, squaring his shoulders.
Patrick clapped him on the shoulder. "Go get her, killer."
Rigsby tensed his jaw and didn't answer. He handed his plate to Cho and set off determinedly through the crowd. Cho eyed the plate of leftovers with distaste and disposed of it as quickly as possible.
"What'd you tell him?" Teresa asked Patrick curiously.
"I gave him a foolproof opening line," Patrick told her. "He can't miss."
"What kind of line?" Teresa asked, amused.
"One tailor-made with her specifically in mind."
"But you don't even know her," Teresa protested.
"Meh," Patrick said. "I know enough."
Cho raised his eyebrows. "This a line you've already tried out on Lisbon? Is that why you don't want to tell her?"
Patrick shook his head. "No, that line wouldn't work on Teresa."
"Why's that?" Cho asked.
"Well, Teresa doesn't get excited about onion rings, for one thing," Patrick said mysteriously. "She's more of a pizza and red wine kind of woman."
"How do you know?" Cho demanded. "Didn't you just meet her?"
"That's right."
Cho's eyes narrowed. "You some kind of stalker?"
"No," Patrick answered, noting the serious line of tension along the other man's heavily muscled shoulders. "Just a good guesser."
Cho stepped forward, a hint of menace clear in his eyes despite his impassive expression. "She's had to deal with creeps before. You one of them?"
Teresa put a restraining hand on his arm. "Relax, Kimball. He's not like Volker."
Cho's jaw clenched. "You sure?"
"I'm sure," Teresa said firmly.
Cho didn't budge. "How do you know?"
She shrugged. "I can tell, that's all."
"You really think you can trust him?" Cho asked, still regarding Patrick suspiciously.
Teresa glanced at Patrick. "I'm pretty sure he's not to be trusted at all, actually. But I don't believe he intends to hurt me."
Patrick felt sick to his stomach. "Who's Volker?"
"Tommy Volker," Cho informed him, stone-faced. "Rich guy who saw her perform and started following her around. Leaving her creepy notes. Waiting for her at her house at the end of the night."
"How awful," Patrick said, appalled. "What happened to him?"
"He broke into her house. Tried to put his hands on her," Cho said, voice tight. Teresa put a soothing hand on his arm and he relaxed a degree or two.
"And?" Patrick said, glancing at Teresa.
"Lisbon broke his jaw," Cho said, a hint of pride evident in his voice despite the tension still strung across his shoulders.
"Good for you," Patrick said approvingly. "I hope he's rotting in jail somewhere."
"He is," Teresa said. "Turns out, he's a pretty bad guy. Mixed up in rumors of genocide in a village in South America. The police couldn't find any proof of that, but eventually they were able to tie him to several murders here in California."
"Thanks to Lisbon," Cho said. "She worked with the police to get him to expose himself."
"A woman of many talents," Patrick said admiringly.
Cho scowled at him. "He had to be hospitalized. Jaw wired shut. For all I know, he's still drinking his meals through a straw."
"Ah, in case you're interested, I happen to believe that a man has no right to lay a finger on a woman unless her consent has enthusiastically been secured beforehand," Patrick said, resisting the urge to take a step back.
"Good," Cho said. He looked at Lisbon. "I should have been there," he said gruffly.
Teresa sighed. "We've been over this a thousand times. You and Rigsby did me a favor looking out for me those couple months, but you couldn't be there twenty-four seven. Volker waited to make his move until after you left on purpose."
"Still," Cho grumbled.
"Hush," Teresa said firmly. "This is my last night here for three months. I won't have you ruining it with misplaced guilt. We're all safe and Volker's in prison, so everything's turned out just as it should, hasn't it?"
"I guess," Cho said grudgingly. He glared at Patrick. "Just remember what I said about the broken jaw."
"Duly noted," Patrick said, aware that if Cho became convinced that he posed even a hint of a threat to Teresa, the stocky man wouldn't wait for her to break his jaw. He'd do it himself.
Cho turned back to Teresa. "I've got to go," he told her. "Early morning tomorrow. I just wanted to say good-bye before you left."
She gave him a hug. "Thanks for stopping by."
"I'll see you in the fall," he said when she'd released him. "We'll go see the Giants when you get back. My treat. It'll be your welcome home present."
She smiled at him, happy and warm. "That would be great. Take care, Cho."
He jerked his head in acknowledgment. "See you," he said to Teresa. He ignored Patrick.
"Nice meeting you!" Patrick called as he walked away. Cho didn't respond. Then again, Patrick hadn't really expected him to.
"Sorry about that," Teresa said. "Cho's been a little overprotective since that whole thing with Volker went down."
"Don't worry about it. He obviously cares for you a great deal."
Her expression softened. "He's a good friend."
"How do you know each other?" Patrick asked curiously. "He doesn't seem like he quite fits the bill for classical music groupie."
"Cho and I have known each other forever," Teresa told him. "When I was twenty-two, I did a fellowship out here for a year. I didn't know anybody out here so I joined a rec softball league. Cho was the catcher and I was the second baseman. We hit it off right away and became good friends. We kept in touch when I moved away, and he always let me stay with him when I was in town for a concert. It's been great to reconnect with him since moving back here."
"And Rigsby? He's Cho's partner, correct? At the private security firm you mentioned."
Her jaw dropped. "How did you know that?"
He flashed her a smile. "Just another good guess. Have you known Rigsby a long time, too?"
"No, I only met him this year," she said. "He's nice. A good guy."
He wanted to ask more. He wanted to hear more about her life and the people in it, but before he could, they were interrupted again, this time by the music director. He wanted to introduce his star to several potential fat cat donors. Patrick bit his tongue to keep from lashing out at the man. He listened to him coax Teresa away and controlled the urge to hypnotize him into thinking a barrel of live frogs had been released into the room.
Teresa turned to him apologetically. "Sorry, I've got to go make nice with the donors. It was nice talking with you, Patrick."
Patrick's face fell before he could put any thought into masking his reaction. He hastily schooled his features into a neutral expression, hoping she hadn't seen how crushed he was to hear he would be deprived of her conversation so abruptly. He'd been hoping to talk to her longer.
"Of course," he said smoothly. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Teresa."
She looked as though she would have liked to say something more, but the music director, eyes fixed on the group of donors, pulled her away impatiently.
Patrick watched her walk away, feeling unaccountably bereft.
He returned to Mrs. Carter and Mrs. Abramson, intent on thanking them for their kindness before taking his leave. He shook his head at himself, cursing himself for a fool. He'd gotten what he'd come for, hadn't he? He'd spoken to her. Told her how much her music meant to him. That was all he'd wanted to do. Just to meet her. There was no reason he should feel this unpleasant ache in his chest at the thought of never seeing her again. He was being ridiculous. He would stay a few more minutes, for appearance's sake, and then he would leave.
He spoke to Mrs. Carter and Mrs. Abramson, intending to say his good-byes and leave directly. But he didn't leave. He lingered. His gaze kept going back to Teresa.
She smiled and nodded to the fat cats politely, surreptitiously glancing at her watch every couple of minutes. She looked bored out of her mind. Also, there was obviously some place she'd rather be.
Well, that was it, he decided. Clearly, she needed him to rescue her.