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Patrick Jane was pissed. Lisbon was supposed to wait.
Damn that woman sometimes. He couldn't remember the last person who was as fucking stubborn! They agreed to take down Dumar Hardy after Red John showed up and then capture them together.
She was supposed to wait!
He rolled his eyes again when he thought about her passionately spoken words
Can't you see there are people who care about you? Who need you?
Yeah, right. He couldn't believe she'd tried to use such sap on him. By now she should know better. After all, if anyone could know him, it would be her. They had grown remarkably close, considering she was a cop. Maybe the world needed a wonderful person like her, but nobody cared about a shiftless con artist like him. He certainly didn't need anybody. Did she still take him for some kind of mark?
Well, he was willing to be a dead mark, so long as they got Red John and ended his murderous crime spree.
Still, she was right. They'd saved a life that day. A young woman who could go back to her family and live into old age, the chance his daughter Charlotte would never get.
He paced the room, occasionally glancing up at the surveillance cameras that Red John had used to watch everything that happened. Forensics techs were wandering around the room, removing anything that could be used as evidence, dusting for prints, generally going through the motions. They wouldn't find anything. This was Red John! Why were they bothering? Waste of tax-payers' dollars.
Angrily he climbed the stairs to exit the cellar. Before him was the room Red John had locked himself in while watching the video feed. He had been right there. Dammit, dammit, dammit!
He didn't know how long he stood there, staring into the room. Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady his roiling emotions and suppress the trembling in his limbs. He twisted his wedding band a few times and the familiar warmth enveloped him.
Go get some fresh air. You need to be outside.
He smiled slightly at the memory of Angela's voice whenever she could feel his tension about a hard day. She always said the same thing. And she was right because she knew him more than he did himself. The wind in his hair, the sun on his face…it always made him feel better.
Too bad it was dark outside. He desperately needed the sunshine to drive the cold ache from his soul.
With a resigned sigh, he shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and turned to follow an evidence tech carrying the rifle Hardy had been holding on him before Lisbon showed up to take the crazy sheriff down. He stopped on the porch, watching the usual third stage of any crime scene: the aftermath. The controlled chaos of people doing their jobs with intensity. Police photographers using flash to capture images out of the dark night. Technicians in Tyvek coveralls combing the area for anything that could be used in court. The perpetrator in the back of a squad car to be taken in for questioning.
Or in this case, Hardy's unconscious body on the gurney waiting to be loaded in the ambulance and transported to the hospital.
A little voice in his head nagged at him. There should be guards on Hardy, the man who was going to lead them to Red John. He was the only one in custody who could.
Closer to Jane, Lisbon stood with the victim Maya Plaskett, asking gentle questions, offering reassurance that everything would be fine.
That was something she was good at that, he thought. She was five feet four inches of tough, badass female cop, but half of her entire being was taken up with a woman's heart so full of compassion she could be her very own charity organization.
She was her own charity. Hadn't she taken him in as a homeless waif and put up with his bullshit from time to time? Truly, it was unfair to accuse her of thinking of him as a mark – even internally like he had. Her selfless actions had brought him out of a dark place, the one he inhabited when they first met more than a year ago. Her faith in him was healing. Yes, Angela would have approved of their friendship.
Patrick! PATRICK!
It happened so fast, he didn't even think about it.
Hardy was loose! He shot a highway patrolman with the officer's own gun. He pointed it at Lisbon! Before she could move, there was a loud retort, and Hardy was gurgling blood from his mouth, falling to the ground.
Jane's nostrils filled with sulfur and his hands buzzed from the shock of firing the rifle that was in his grasp. He was shaking like a frightened child. He didn't know quite how Hardy's rifle got in his hands but he threw it away immediately. Then he crossed to Hardy and fell to his knees, swallowing hard at the bile tainting the back of his throat.
It wasn't supposed to happen this way. Hardy was supposed to be brought to justice!
But Teresa Lisbon wasn't supposed to be shot dead either. Patrick Jane made his choice. It was life. Her life.
TBC...Blood for Blood - Letting Go