I own nothing! I am not worthy to walk in the shadow of Bruno Heller and writing company. I make no money from the stories I upload.

The next day

His sick call hadn't fooled Cho one bit. Unfortunately it was for the wrong reason.

Not that it mattered.

"Listen, Cho, I won't make it in today. Tried a new restaurant last night, and I think I picked up a bit of a food infection."

"Uh huh. You know, if you miss this deposition, we're just going to have to reschedule it. You might as well come in and get it over with."

"No, seriously. I'm sick. In fact, transfer me to Lisbon's office. We had dinner together. I want to check if she got it too."

"I saw her this morning. She got here before me and looked fine. In fact she was smiling broadly, which doesn't make sense if she spent last evening with you."

"Aw, you wound me, Cho. And here I am, sick on my death bed."

"The appointment with the D.A. is at eleven. See you then." The phone connection went dead.

Dammit.

He pulled up Reza on his phone contact list and texted her. "Tell Cho I'm sick."

In a moment, his phone dinged. "He just called, big baby. Go to Dep at 11"

Dammit again.

There was a terrible temptation to call Cho back and threaten to vomit all over his desk. Instead he rolled his eyes before glaring at the phone. Cho was proving to be as good a handler as Lisbon had been. Perhaps he'd met his match. Especially if they were going to double-team him.

He started to reply to Lisbon with an explanation that it had nothing to do with the damned deposition but he erased it. Instead he sent "Personal day. Important."

It was a few minutes before she answered. "Dep rescheduled – tom at 3. You better be there" A moment later it was followed by "Need me?"

Warmth spread through him at the sight of her compassionate message. "Always, but not for this. Love you, Reza. –P"

In a few seconds, his phone dinged. "Love you, Patrick. –R"

He grinned. Someone cared about him. This was something he could get used to.

Because of the heavy events in the afternoon, they'd spent the evening eating Chinese take-out, watching classic movies on cable and snuggling together. When they went to bed that night, they went to sleep, warm and secure in each other's arms.

Waking up in her bed that morning had been wonderful. The light of dawn left them in a better mood that was improved by the quickie in the shower. Then she went off to work and he returned to his hotel room for a change of clothes.

When he got there, he realized the depressing rut he'd dug himself into.

Entering the room was like seeing the place for the first time. Although not exactly a dump, it certainly looked dead-end and lifeless. Whatever soul it may have once possessed had been bound, gagged and dragged to hell. Everything was shades of brown: brown carpet, brown bedspread, brown wallpaper… It was all one big brown study. His plan to get out of there took on additional importance.

First he called several premier full-service realtors of Malibu properties and picked one which would handle all aspects of preparing and selling his old house, still abandoned since the murders.

Next he tracked down his old financial adviser and reestablished their relationship. His money had done some crazy things while he was 'gone', but for the most part his accounts were still ahead of the levels they'd been when he'd left them, especially the off-shore stuff. He understood his tendency back in the day toward caution, if not straight-out paranoia, but looking in retrospect, he now saw how far he'd been willing to go to hold onto every dollar he could get. He'd gone to great, convoluted lengths to protect his accounts from taxation or being seized should he get caught for the fraud he'd committed to get most of the money.

Part of him knew how ugly it would be to face the associated guilt. That was why it took twelve years to even consider doing so. How many times had he told himself that hoarding wealth was for Angela and Charlotte while deep down knowing it was really for him? At the time he denied that he'd been listening to a very ugly voice urging him to get more money, to fleece another crowd, to sell out another show, to garner more attention to his 'psychic skills'. It was complete madness and it led to the death of the two most important people in his life.

No, he couldn't think that way. A madman had killed his family. Despite his extreme greed, they didn't deserve murder for that. No one did.

But he did have to admit that most of his war with Red John was a matter of colossal arrogance on both their parts. If the universe had any random mercy left to spare him, he would try to attract it by not nurturing his ego into such a looming mountain. So many people had been hurt or died in the battles over the years. He had to accept his part in how long it had lasted and how far it had gone.

It would never happen again.

Deciding life was too complicated at the moment, he kept the off-shore money where it was, as well as Charlotte's long-neglected, woefully over-funded 529 college savings plan, unsure what to do with either. The rest he consolidated, except to set aside a good portion with plans to purchase a condo somewhere close to the CBI headquarters. It made him a little giddy to fantasize about getting help finding one with his best friend and lover Reza. Maybe she would even share it with him. He wouldn't push her but she'd always know the option was available to her. Even if it was just on the weekends they weren't on call with the Bureau.

Finally he contacted the exotic car dealership, consigning them the task of finding him another Citroen. He missed his old car.

Then he settled back with his tea and reveled in the sensations of having – and planning – a future. It was frightening, yes, but with Teresa Lisbon in his life, the unknown was now a bracing challenge instead of a dark abyss.

TBC: Red Mahogany Casket