Chapter Fourteen

Cops hustled around the bullpen of the 35th precinct, walking suspects to and from interrogation, working their individual cases, and shouting across the room to one another. After yesterday, Patrick found he was a little nervous to walk back into the lion's den. He knew why Bosco didn't like him, but the rest of the detectives seemed to think poorly of him as well, and it wasn't just because their superior officer didn't like him. It had to be the psychic thing. Most cops frowned on or were suspicious of anyone claiming to be a psychic, and rightfully so.

Detective Cho sat at his desk across the bullpen. The empty desk across from his sat empty—Teresa's. Keeping his head high, Patrick meandered across the floor as though he belonged.

"If anyone sees you, it's not going to be pretty," Teresa said. "These are tough men and after yesterday—"

"Let me worry about that," he said.

"Just hurry."

Cho stared intently at his computer and didn't look up as Patrick pulled Teresa's chair out and sat down. Patrick kept his gaze on him and waited. Cho kept busy on his work—either ignoring him or so caught up he was completely oblivious. Patrick guessed the latter.

Teresa glanced around the room, her posture taught, her hands on her hips. Patrick thought she looked like she was about to take down a suspect—then immediately regretted he'd never get to see her in action. He bet she'd been a great detective.

Patrick cleared his throat.

Cho glanced up and went back to his computer, then whipped his gaze back to him.

"Hi." Patrick waved.

The muscles in Cho's jaw clenched. He slid his rolling chair closer to his desk and to Patrick in the process. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm on your side." Patrick raised his hands palms out. "I want to help."

"You can't be here." Cho glanced toward Bosco's office door.

"We need to talk," Patrick said. "Please."

Cho clenched his jaw and then gave one quick nod.

#

Teresa followed behind Patrick as Cho lead him in the direction of interrogation room three. Out of the three rooms on this floor, it was the less trafficked. Cho opened the door and held it for Patrick to pass first. She rushed through before the door closed. She didn't like things passing through her, or passing through things.

They each pulled one of the metal chairs out from the table and sat. Cho placed his hands on the table clenched into fists. Patrick leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. Neither spoke—just appraised one another.

She stood at the head of the table, glancing from one to the other. She swallowed hard, then again, and then took a deep breath even though she didn't need it. Just the mere act of doing something she'd have done when she were alive was enough to calm her down. Habit was a wonderfully calming thing.

"You can't just jump in with him, like you did with Zak," Teresa said. "He requires more finesse."

Patrick's gaze went to her face briefly and then dropped back to Cho. To her, the message was clear. He wanted her to butt out. But Cho was her partner, her friend. As much as she'd come to like Patrick the last few days, he didn't know Cho.

"Ease him in," she said.

Cho's dark gaze never left Patrick's face, his stoic expression giving nothing away.

Patrick took a deep breath. "Are you a superstitious man, Detective Cho?"

Cho leaned back in his chair and rested one of his fists on his leg. "Did you come here to ask me that?"

Patrick grinned. "Are you?"

"He is," Teresa said, "but he'd never admit it."

Once, almost two years ago, they'd investigated a girl who'd claimed to be a witch. Cho hadn't wanted to go into her home, had constantly been looking over his shoulder, and had refused to give her his full name when she'd asked for it. Teresa didn't think he'd ever been so glad to get off a case as he'd been on that one.

"No," Cho said.

"Are you religious?" Patrick asked.

"Are you?" Cho returned, calm as ever.

Patrick shook his head. "No, but of late, I'm starting to rethink some of preconceived notions."

Teresa stared at him, a happy little flutter forming in her chest.

"Why's that?" Cho asked.

Patrick grinned. "I met a girl."

"Good for you." Cho stood and headed for the door. "You should go talk to her. I don't have time for this."

Teresa groaned. What had she been thinking? She'd known this wasn't going to work.

"I met Teresa," Patrick said.

"Patrick!" She hissed.

Cho froze at the door, his hand hovering over the knob. He turned to Patrick. "You don't know Teresa. The night she…" Cho cleared his throat. "She'd never heard of you."

Patrick turned in his chair to face him. "I met her after that."

Cho crossed his arms; the muscles bulged against his sleeves. "Is that right?"

Patrick nodded. "I met her last week."

Cho breathed out long and in deep. "Mr. Jane, the Feds may believe in your psychic abilities, but I don't. And I don't have time for this."

"I'll prove it," Patrick said. "You can talk to her."

Cho dropped his arms and took a step toward the table. "Let me talk to her? Like you let that woman at your show talk to her mom?"

Patrick lowered his gaze almost imperceptibly. "No, not like that. That wasn't real. I'm not a real psychic."

Teresa whipped her gaze to Patrick. "What are doing?"

"I'm a fraud," he continued.

"Patrick, he'll never believe you now and he'll probably arrest you," Teresa threw her hands in the air. "For crying out loud."

"Fraud?" Cho repeated.

Patrick nodded. "Yes."

Teresa dropped her head to her hands. "You're supposed to be good at this. How have you managed to stay in business all this time?"

"Relax, woman." Patrick glanced at her.

"Don't 'relax woman,' me." She signaled to Cho. "We need his help, and you just ruined our chances."

Patrick signaled to Cho. "He's still here, isn't he?"

Cho's gaze narrowed slightly. "I suppose that's her you're talking to?"

Patrick signaled to her with his hand flat and pointing in her direction. "And arguing with me. She thinks for a successful fraud that I stink at it."

"Mr. Jane," Cho said. "I'm not going to ask you again. Leave or I'll arrest you." He headed for the door again.

"I told you!" Teresa said.

Patrick turned to her. "Tell me something about him only you would know."

She shook her head, panic welling in her. "He has a scar on his left butt cheek."

Patrick turned to Cho. "You have a scar on your left—" Patrick shook his head and faced her. "Wait, how do you know that?"

Cho turned around again. "What?"

"I was there when he was shot," Teresa said.

"She was there when you were shot," Patrick said.

"Everyone in the station knows that," Cho said, but they seemed to have his full attention now.

She bit her thumbnail. "Right. After he was released from the hospital, the guys were making fun of him for getting shot there, and he mooned them all. Thankfully I wasn't there for it, but someone took a picture and his scar and butt cheeks were tapped all over the bullpen for weeks. I know more about that man's butt than I or ever wanted too."

Patrick closed his eyes for a second. "I need something that only you would know."

Teresa paced the floor—she knew him better than just about anyone. There had to be something. Cho's gaze darted between Patrick and where Patrick was looking at her. He made no move to leave, his mouth hung slightly agape.

She wasn't sure it was because he believed what was happening, but they were giving show enough. Maybe he was deciding whether Patrick was on drugs. On drugs… On drugs!

She stopped in her tracks and turned to Jane. "The first time we found a dead body, it was of a teen girl—Karen Lewis—she'd overdosed." It was after her case that the two of them starting getting really close. It'd also been the first time they'd ever hugged.

Patrick repeated her.

Cho's eyes widened.

"For months after we closed that case, Cho dreamed about a white dragon and the number four. He thought it was bad luck and that one of us was going to get killed. He never told anyone that, but me."

Patrick told Cho what she'd said, then said, "That's an interesting dream. Isn't white symbolic of death in Asian culture?"

"Yes. The white dragon is symbolic of death and rebirth. It was an omen." Cho sat down. "She's really is here, isn't she?"

Patrick nodded. "Yes. She is."

Cho scrubbed a hand down his face and cussed under his breath.

A lump formed in Teresa's throat. He believed. "My brothers," she choked out. "Ask him about my brothers."

Patrick leaned on the table. "She wants to know about her brothers."

"They're safe—in protective custody." Cho glanced around.

Patrick pointed to where she stood.

Cho faced her. "I don't know what you remember or know from that night. The Tourneau brothers, Wood, and Krauss are all dead along with a few of their lackeys. They were gunned down."

Patrick glanced at her.

She nodded, remembering the bodies she'd seen and now suddenly their faces. It had been those men.

"She knows," Patrick said.

"After that night, several of the lesser members tried to take over," Cho continued. "We don't know who shot those men or you, but thought it'd be safer to get your brothers out of here until the civil war ends. They've rounded up most of the remaining influencers. That's all I know. We don't have the case anymore."

Teresa sucked in a breath. That's what Cho had been keeping from Patrick yesterday.

"What happened?" Patrick asked.

Cho shook his head. "Assistant DA Striker recommended the case be reassigned to another precinct because of how close all of us are to the case. I don't blame her—we're all pretty sure that this was an inside job, so it made sense to transfer it. We don't know who's dirty."

"Why do you think it was an inside job?" Patrick laced his hands together.

"Whoever killed those men was able to do so and get out before we got there—that wasn't luck," Cho said.

"I agree," Patrick said.

"What do you need from me?" Cho asked.

"Teresa saw a painting before she was…" Patrick fidgeted in his seat. "Do you know what happened to it?"

"A painting?" Cho furrowed his brow. "I never saw a painting, but I was more focused on Lisbon and getting her to the hospital. Have you looked at the evidence manifest?"

"Yesterday, before your boss kicked me out," Patrick said. "It wasn't on there. Can we ask the team that has the case?"

"We don't know who has it," Cho said. "But I know who does know. Striker. This was supposed to be a career making case for her. If anyone knows what's going on, or about a painting, it'll be her. She's kept close tabs on it. She'll be hard to get to though. She's been refusing to talk to anyone from our precinct about this case."

Teresa turned to Patrick and made eye contact, his blue-green gaze boring into her. "We've got to talk to her."

"Don't worry about that," Patrick said. "I have contacts. We will."

They were getting close now. Soon they'd know what happened to the painting, and after that they'd find who'd killed her. And she equally wanted and feared it.