For a brief, tense moment, Shawn wondered vaguely if he was actually about to get shot in the head.
Her deep blue eyes locked with his, brimming with a smoldering rage mingled with something resembling regret.
"What?" She whispered, her voice trembling.
At first, Shawn couldn't tell if she was on the verge of tears or a homicidal rampage. Her fingers had curled into loose fists, but something in her suddenly stony exterior seemed ready to crack.
"You heard me," he replied, closing the door again as he came back in and sat down on the cot.
"Yeah. I did."
"So…did it occur to you?"
He asked the question more gently this time. She blinked slowly, as if carefully considering her options before finally responding.
"Yeah." She said quietly. "It did."
"But you didn't stop," Shawn pressed on. "Not even after Darren died. The money was too good…the money for med school."
"Yeah."
"And it was so easy…" he murmured his eyes half-closed as his mind feverishly chugged away. "You already had connections at the high school…you knew what kids sold their Ritalin instead of taking it…and Darren Matthews and Simon Boyle were easy marks…working two jobs, going to the Academy…they were always tired…stressed…they needed something to get through the day…to stay awake…"
"They weren't marks." She argued softly. "They came to me. They asked me for something to help them stay awake and study."
"And you saw your chance to make some easy money."
"Yeah."
"Were they the only ones?"
Her eyes suddenly hardened again and her fists released.
"You can't prove any of this, you know," she intoned, the dark edge settling over her voice again.
"Not yet…" he admitted evenly. "But it's enough to get a search warrant."
"They won't find anything."
"They might not…but I think they will."
The silence hung thickly in the air as the two regarded each other coolly; both knowing what was coming next.
She slowly sat down in her office chair again, staring blankly at the floor by his feet.
"They weren't supposed to die, Mr. Spencer." She said quietly. "It was just supposed to be some easy money…"
Shawn nodded and stood up.
"We haven't gotten to this chapter in Investigative Procedures yet, but I'm pretty sure that's called a confession."
"Wow…" Jessie whistled when Shawn finished telling her the story.
The whole story.
"Yeah…" Shawn agreed, popping the top of his beer and taking a slow, contemplative sip.
"I don't feel so bad about bashing you in the face with the door now," she grinned. "It helped solve a case."
"Hey," Shawn shrugged; returning the smile as he gently rubbed his still tender nose. "It was all part of my master plan."
"'Master plan'?"
"Sure. I had to have some excuse to get sent to the infirmary. How else was I going to infiltrate the drug ring?"
"Right," Jessie nodded skeptically. "Was tripping over your own shoelaces part of the 'master plan', too?"
"Of course!" Shawn snorted, then gasped in fake horror as he pretended to suddenly realize what she must be thinking. "What? Did you think I was just a klutz?"
"Yeah." Jessie laughed. "Yeah, I did."
She thoughtfully spun her bottle on the table, watching the liquid slosh back and forth, something clearly weighing on her mind.
"Was I your suspect?" She asked finally, her eyes searching Shawn's face for even the slightest traces of hesitation.
She didn't find any.
"No," he said firmly without so much as a beat between the question and the answer.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. I'm sure….though there were bets going about how long it would take before you came at me with a machete."
"A machete?" She laughed. "Why would I come at you with a machete?"
"Hey," he shrugged. "It happens."
"Not to normal people, Shawn."
"Really?"
He seemed surprised by the revelation.
For a moment, they sat in comfortable silence, both sipping their beers and glancing at each other out of the corner of their eyes.
"Does this mean you won't be back at the Academy on Monday, Mr. Psychic Man?" She asked quietly. "Now that you solved your case?"
He leaned forward, his hand brushing past hers.
"I'll be back on Monday."