7pm. The bullpen is deserted.
Just Lisbon at her desk. Eyes glued to her computer.
I stroll over and stand in front of her. She glances up.
"Drippy J, huh?"
"Not funny, Jane," she says.
"C'mon, it's a little funny." I sit on the edge of her desk for a moment and watch her work.
She's wearing high-heeled sandals with her usual pantsuit and has applied a fresh spritz of Eau D'Hadrien.
I could inhale her and look at her little peasant feet all night. The three equal length toes next to the big toe of the classic peasant provide the sturdiest base for standing en pointe for ballet. How I'd love to see Lisbon in a tutu.
I notice she's wearing a pin in the shape of a deformed heart.
The Open Heart designed by Jane Seymour and the janitorial staff at Kay Jewelers. Pike strikes again.
"Lisbon," I say, "I'm glad to catch you still here, there's something I've been-"
I hear footsteps behind me.
Crap.
This has to be Marcus Pike.
And I must say Marcus is looking a bit blue tonight.
I slay myself sometimes.
"Patrick Jane, this is Marcus Pike." Lisbon makes the introduction grudgingly. She's worried that I'll make trouble.
We shake.
He seems like an ok guy. Handsome, solid. Doesn't try to crush my hand.
Either he's not an asshole or he doesn't view me as a threat or both.
Why doesn't he view me as a threat?
What portrait of a eunuch has Lisbon painted?
His clothes are execrable. As Churchill said, "Only a cad would wear a brown suit."
He doesn't appear to be a cad.
Withholding, overpowering, paranoid, dramatic, adolescent, fragile, yes.
And with impeccable taste in women.
Before we can perform the obligatory licking of each other's faces, Pike gets a text.
He turns ashen. Which in his present state is a pale blue-grey with flecks of periwinkle.
He reads, "A two-story blue donkey on the façade of the Lyndon Baines Johnson Memorial Library. Still wet."
"Him?" Lisbon asks.
"There are copycats. I'm the only one who knows his spray patterns," Pike says. "If it is, he's taunting me." He leans over and kisses her cheek. "Sorry," he says to both of us.
"At least he got the political party right," I call to his disappearing back. Lisbon gives me a sashimi knife of a look.
Pike's gone.
We stand around for a moment.
"So…Drippy J, huh?" I say.
"He's a dangerous criminal, Jane."
"But what a boon for the dry cleaning industry."
"His daughter was teased at school. It took her and her mother a week to get the paint out of their hair!"
I love Lisbon's righteous stance. Fists clenched, legs apart.
I grab her hand.
"Come on, grumpy. Your date is cancelled. Why don't you and I grab a bite?" I drape her handbag over her shoulder.
I take her wrist and lead her toward the exit.
She stops dead.
"What did you say, Jane?"
Her brow is knit. Her teeth are bared.
"Why don't you and I grab a bite?"
She cocks her little head. Her eyes are burning bright.
"You know, Lisbon. You. Me. Food. Eat." I give her my soothing smile and pull her down the corridor.
My arm gets yanked almost out of its socket. I'm cheek down on the floor, arm twisted behind me. Lisbon is kneeling on my back.
"Tell me what's wrong with what you just said, Jane."
This hurts like hell but I'm enjoying her menacing voice in my ear.
I shiver.
So strict. I like that in a woman.
