A/N: I'm back! Had a great trip to Washington State. It's beautiful country there, and nerdy me actually got to see some "Twilight" filming locations, lol. Very cool. But now I return bearing a new chapter. The action will definitely start picking up a bit. Hope you like it…

Chapter 7

The ride home was a quiet one. Teresa didn't feel embarrassed exactly, but she had the sinking feeling Jane was regretting their interlude beneath the eucalyptus tree. He hadn't said more than "I'm sorry" since he'd found his own pleasure. Those two words had hurt her more than she wanted to admit, and she could think of nothing to say in return. She wasn't sorry. She'd shared the most beautiful experience of her life with this man, and all she wanted was to savor the memory for the time when she was alone again, for the long nights when Patrick Jane had moved on to another town, another lonely spinster. But that was self-pity, and Teresa wanted no part of that.

In front of her house, Jane helped Teresa down from the cart, and the electric charge at his touch still made her heart leap. She could tell he was equally affected, and she felt perversely satisfied by this. He wasn't as immune to the experience as he'd seemed.

"I uh, need to get the horse back to the stables," he muttered, not meeting her eyes. She nodded, and watched him drive away…

Jane's mind was a riot of emotions, foremost being the all too familiar feeling of guilt. While he hadn't taken Teresa's innocence, he'd certainly manipulated it, used her for his own fulfillment. He tried not to think about how good it had felt to be touched by a woman after two years, how giving her pleasure had been almost as wonderful as what she'd given to him. But it wasn't right, no matter how he could justify the rightness of how it felt physically. He didn't have time for this, didn't need the distraction she posed that would only leave them both bereft and hurting after he'd gone away in pursuit of the man who'd taken away the only other women he'd cared about.

He should leave now, while her virginity and his desire for vengeance were still intact, before he fell more deeply under her spell and couldn't leave her at all. She is my lotus flower, he thought with a sudden grin that faded almost as quickly as it had come. It would certainly be the selfless thing to do, leaving her.

But Jane needed to stay in Sacramento until he heard news of Red John. He couldn't shake the feeling that Sacramento was going to be a milestone for him, in more ways than one, and he contemplated this with a mixture of fear and anticipation. He couldn't take his eyes off the prize now, not when Rigsby's purloined telegram had only confirmed his gut feeling that Red John was nearby. He couldn't leave Sacramento, so he'd just have to avoid Teresa from now on. No deep conversations over tea. No more riverside picnics. And he'd definitely have to start locking the bathroom door. Jane's smile to himself was bittersweet, so he reluctantly pushed those moments of bliss to the back of his mind where they couldn't cloud his judgment.

With a sigh, he drove on toward the stables, wondering if he'd still be welcome to kill some time in Cho's saloon. Maybe a drink of sarsaparilla would take away the pervasive taste of ripe strawberries that lingered on his tongue.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Teresa sat motionless in the empty downstairs of her house, her tea growing cold on the parlor table. She'd tried to read, to knit, to prepare Monday's history lesson, but she ended up setting all aside and staring into space on the settee, reliving the excitement of Jane's body next to hers, the smell of the leaves, the gentle lapping of the river at its banks, the sounds of heavy breathing and soft cries.

"This won't do, Teresa Lisbon," she said aloud to the quiet room. Resolutely, she got up and headed for the stairs. She would straighten the upstairs bedrooms, set out new toweling in the bathroom. She wasn't fooling herself, however; venturing into Jane's living space would only make her feel closer to him. But she found that she couldn't resist, didn't want to resist. She stood outside his room, told herself that she had every right to enter, then slowly turned the doorknob.

His room was neat as a pin, his toiletry items assembled on the bureau. She walked over to them, looking guiltily back at the doorway, half expecting him to mosey in with that knowing grin of his. A small bottle contained his sandalwood toilette water, and she removed the cork and inhaled his essence. A man's silver comb and brush set, expensive and monogrammed with his initials, lay on the crocheted doily. She was tempted to steal a bit of golden hair from the brush, but she restrained herself and turned to the bed. He'd made it as neatly as it had been the first day he'd arrived, but she found herself drawing back the quilt and bringing his pillow to her face. It smelled of him, and she closed her eyes a moment, imagining herself laying on it beside him. She was about to replace the pillow when she noticed there had been a folded paper beneath it.

It wasn't like her to be so prying into her boarders' personal effects, but she felt very proprietary over Jane, and was desperate for a way to understand him better. Her hand shook a little as she picked up the paper and unfolded it. She recognized the handwriting immediately, having had to decipher many a theme paper written in just this way. It could only be the messy, slanted hand of Wayne Rigsby. It was a telegram, she realized, but it wasn't on an official Western Union form. Wayne had made a copy, and she understood right away that her former student was helping Jane to seek his vengeance. She read through the message with a sinking heart.

Sherrif LaRoche:

Be advised that the outlaw known as Red John has been seen in your area, and his gang may be bent on robbing businesses in Sacramento in coming days. Consider him extremely dangerous, and take extra security measures with your local banks, train depot, and Wells Fargo deliveries. If caught, notify the US Marshal Service immediately. Again, I advise extreme caution.

Sincerely,

Levi Hildred, US Marshal Service

Teresa read the telegram through again, then refolded it and replaced the pillow on top. Mechanically, she remade the bed, all romantic feelings about Jane's room overridden by her sudden flash of anger. He was going to use this information to take matters into his own hands, she just knew it. He'd put himself in danger, probably even get himself killed to exact revenge on this outlaw who likely didn't even remember killing his wife and child. She felt a chill run down her spine, fear making her want to run and find him, lock him in this room and keep him from doing something reckless. But with a twinge of pain she remembered that he wasn't hers, and all she had of him was the sensuality he had awakened in her on a blanket by the river.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By ten o'clock, Teresa was forced to face the fact that Jane was avoiding her. She'd disregarded the notion that he might have left town, since his belongings were still in his bedroom, but that didn't ease her troubled mind much. She lay on her bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. Her hands skimmed over her lawn nightgown, remembering how he'd touched her, made her shiver with ecstasy with his hands and his hot mouth. She wondered if he was drinking away those memories, much like her father had those of her mother. She wondered if Jane had sought out one of Miss Hightower's girls to pay for what she would have gladly given him for free.

When she'd been of a more marriageable age, her virginity had been an asset, but now, as a confirmed spinster, it was not something she cherished anymore, especially since Jane had rejected her because of it, and she had the feeling he might well be her last chance. He was feeling guilty about what they had done, while she was left wondering what more there could be between them, if only he'd let go of his obsession with Red John and allow himself to love again. She lay in bed contemplating these things, waiting to hear the sound of the key in the door, worry lining her brow that he had somehow found himself in trouble again.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane had indeed been welcome back at Kimball's, but with a few conditions.

"No fighting," warned Cho. "And no cheating at cards. You cause any more trouble, and they'll be dragging the river for your body."

Jane bit his lip to keep from laughing at the man's deadpan expression, but managed a solemn nod and a mostly respectful, "Yes sir."

At first, no one would play cards with him, but Rigsby took pity on him and sat down at the table across from the peddler. Jane let him win the first two hands, which was enough to instill confidence within the deputy and the saloon at large to have a few more players join them. Soon, the table was lively with Jane's stories of the road and his time with a circus sideshow, so that the players didn't noticed so much that Jane was winning about every other hand.

Hours later, when Jane fished out his pocket watch, he saw that it was already ten o'clock. That was the time Miss Lisbon usually went to bed, so he figured he could head back to the boarding house and not have to face her.

"Well, gentlemen," he said, sliding his winnings toward him, and downing the last of his umpteenth sarsaparilla. "Off I go, I'm afraid."

"It's early yet," complained a weathered cowboy, glancing at his own meager stack of coins.

"Early to bed, etc.," he said with a wry grin. "But please, continue without me, boys; no amount of beauty sleep is gonna help you ugly sons of bitches."

They laughed good-naturedly and Jane was able to leave them with a smile, as any good showman should. He dropped several coins on the bar for Cho, evaded the seductive smile of Miss Madeleine, and headed for the door. Rigsby was waiting to escort him out. They stood outside in the shadows of the awning.

"Just thought you'd like to know, Jane," he said, his voice just loud enough to carry over the tinkling of the piano. "Wells Fargo is coming with a load of gold from San Francisco Monday. I'm thinking if Red John has plans for Sacramento, that'd be the time he'd strike."

Jane's eyes took on the intense gleam that made Rigsby immediately regret telling him. "What time, exactly?"

Rigsby hesitated, but knew Jane would just snoop around until he found out anyway. "Eight in the mornin'. But you ain't gonna be near that bank, ya hear me? If Red John attempts anything, the sheriff and me got it covered. Stay out of it and leave matters to the professionals."

"Two men isn't enough to stop Red John, Deputy."

"No, that's why we've got help comin' in from Stockton, and the wagon from San Francisco will have its own guns. We'll get that bastard and his gang, you wait and see." His hand went to the six shooters at his sides.

Jane shook his head at the man's overinflated confidence. "The only thing that's gonna get Red John is overwhelming numbers and fire power, something you don't have, even with help from Stockton. What you need is a plan to outsmart him. He knows all the tricks, Rigsby. You boys will be walking into an ambush."

Even in the dim light, Jane could see Rigsby's skepticism. "You think you could come up with a better plan?"

"Almost certainly," he replied. "If you think the sheriff would listen to me."

Rigsby laughed. "He don't even listen to me. Just forget about it, Jane. Sit tight in Miss Lisbon's parlor and let her make you some tea to pass the time." He raised his eyebrows suggestively, and damned if Jane didn't feel himself blush. Good thing it was dark. He cleared his throat.

"I'm not gonna interfere," Jane lied. "I just want to be around when you catch him."

"Just make sure it's a safe distance away, and remember, you never heard this from me."

"Naturally, my friend," assured Jane, holding out his hand. "Thanks." Rigsby shook his hand, but Jane knew he was rightly suspicious. "Now," he yawned, "I best get on home to bed. I'm sure Miss Lisbon must be worried." His wicked grin caught the light from the saloon as a cowboy came through the swinging doors. Rigsby chuckled and went back inside. Jane headed down the deserted boardwalk toward Teresa's house. Neither of the men noticed the cowboy watching their parting of ways with narrowed eyes.

Jane stopped walking when he stood before Mills Bank. He stepped back to get a better look at the white-washed, wooden facade, then peaked in the window, hoping to see someone working late with a light on, but he was disappointed to be staring into blackness. He looked both ways, then shuffled sideways through the narrow passageway that led to the alley behind the building. In the moonlight, Jane saw that a ramp led from a small loading dock up to a heavy door with no doorknob. When the Wells Fargo wagon arrived, it would surely go here to unload its precious cargo. Monday morning, he'd be waiting for it too.

The sarsaparilla seemed to have caught up with him, and he unbuttoned his fly to relieve himself. His hand at his crotch, Jane suddenly overheard at least three voices coming from outside the office building next door. An attorney's office, if he remembered correctly. He tried to hurry up his business, but he'd drunk a lot of soda. When the whispered words from the men reached his ears, he pressed closer into the shadows of the bank's back wall to listen.

"…and it'll be here at eight, so you better be ready."

"They'll be lookin' for us to arrive on horseback, but we'll already be here waitin'. You got that deputy's badge I asked for?"

"Yeah," answered the first man with a low chuckle. "One less deputy in Stockton now. I don't think his widow appreciated what I gave her in return though. I thought it was a fair enough trade myself."

There was more soft laughter, and flippant remarks about the other man's lack of prowess. The smell of tobacco smoke accompanied the glowing red cigarette tips he could see bobbing around them like fireflies in the night, and Jane's heart pounded a mad tattoo against his chest. These men could be working for Red John, and he had to get to Rigsby and LaRoche to warn them that this would be a trap, just like Jane had predicted.

He didn't even hear the man who had snuck up behind him, but his last thought before he hit the dirt was to wonder how many times a body could get hit on the back of the head before it would do permanent damage.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Jane came to, it was even darker than before, and it took him a few disoriented seconds to realize he'd been blindfolded. His tongue was dry as cotton, probably because his mouth was stuffed with it, held fast by a bandanna that tasted of old sweat. Jane tried to stop himself from gagging so he wouldn't choke to death, but it was a tough proposition, especially lying on his side this way, hands and feet bound with scratchy rope. His head throbbed painfully. He could tell he was inside, lying on a wooden floor, and the familiar voices wafted in from a room somewhere behind him. Their boot steps were coming closer, and in a moment he could detect a faint light from behind the thin blindfold, and the steps paused before him.

"So," said the soft, almost effeminate voice from Jane's nightmares. "This is the man you found listenin' in with his dick in his hand."

The men laughed heartily at Red John's joke. Another voice had joined them, this one more refined, better educated. Jane would bet his life (and he was afraid he was about to lose that bet either way) that this man was a lawyer. Jane began to perspire profusely, wondering if these were his last moments on this earth. He thought of Teresa, of her warning that seeking revenge would only hurt him in the end. He wondered if she would be sorry she was right. Then he thought with renewed sadness of Angela and Charlotte, how he'd failed them once again. There would be no one left to make this madman suffer for what he'd done to them.

"Take off his blindfold," Red John was saying. "He looks familiar to me."

Jane blinked a few times at the lantern light , then looked up into the face of the devil, who was at that moment shaking his crimson head in confusion. "I can't quite place him…he look familiar to you, Todd?"

"Can't say he does, Red," replied the outlaw's companion.

Red John turned back to Jane. "You know who I am, Goldilocks?"

He knew his reply could mean his death, but at this moment in time, Jane found himself incapable of lying. He nodded, eyes wide with fear.

"Take off his gag, Jared," he ordered the man standing nearest Jane. The scruffy cowboy pulled down the bandanna with dirty hands. Jane spit out the cotton wadding, his eyes never leaving the murderer.

"Well, tell me how you know me, and maybe that'll jog my memory."

"You killed my wife and child," he said, his voice raspy and shaking.

"No," said Red John, considering, a gloved hand tapping his bottom lip. "That's not it. It'll come to me. Put the gag back on him. I hate it when I can't remember something.' I'm pretty good at faces usually."

Jane shook his head violently, trying to resist the gag's return. The man called Jared didn't put the cotton in again thankfully, but instead tied the reeking bandanna more tightly around his bruised jaw. Jane flinched and quit fighting.

"What do you want to do with him, Boss?" asked Todd. "I woulda shot him, but that deputy at the saloon woulda come runnin'."

"Let's just slit his throat," suggested Jared, pulling out a knife from a scabbard with an expression akin to glee.

"We have no way to dispose of the body without some busybody seeing us. This town is full of them." It was the lawyer talking, and Jane tore his eyes from Red John long enough to look the man in the face. He recognized him as the attorney who'd represented Sam Bosco. In that same instant, the lawyer remembered him too.

"I know who this is," he said to Red John. "His name is Jane. He was involved in a saloon brawl the other day. Just passing through town, I heard. If he disappears, no one will miss him."

Red John shook his head. "Don't jog my memory none. Keep him here and quiet until we leave. Then you can kill him." The men filed back out the way they'd come, leaving Jane shaking and nearly sobbing on the cold, hard floor.

A/N: And so, they meet again. I know on the show they are nemeses, but I thought it might be even more tragic if Red John didn't know who the hell Jane was. Please sign in and let me know your thoughts!