Chapter 25: The Sick Rose
Omaha, NE
Lisbon and Jane slid into the booth, glad to be out of the car, glad to be still after eleven hours on the road. They placed their drink orders while perusing the menu. Lisbon removed her glasses then put them back on after a look from Jane. Neither liked wearing them, but they made a big difference in appearance.
"Saigon, huh? Leave it to you to find a Vietnamese restaurant in Omaha."
He looked up. "We can go elsewhere if-"
"–It's fine. Just surprised it took Nebraska to give it a try." She took a sip of her beverage.
He looked at her glass with dismay. "I'm all for your drinking tea, but Thai iced tea? It's almost syrup," he shuddered. "With condensed milk and–" he sniffed, "anise, cloves, and – cardamom?"
She grinned, "Mr. Adventurous."
Stiffly, "There's a reason why classic tea is classic, my dear."
Lisbon looked at him fondly as he leaned back and sipped his classic hot tea with pleasure. Softly, "Like old times." They'd worked cases for the Austin FBI, but this was the first extended drive she and Jane had shared. She said, "Missed you," as he looked up.
"And I you. You have no idea how much." Out of detention for months, he still sometimes woke in panic, afraid his bed was warmed by tropical climes instead of the woman he loved, that dawn would expose dream to be nightmare as it had daily for two years.
They paused while their food was served till they were alone again.
Almost whispering, "Your letters gave me a clue." Looking up she swallowed a lump born of 700 days of loneliness. "I don't know how I would have managed otherwise. I–" She looked aside to regain her composure.
"Hey." His hand closed over hers and his thumb soothingly stroked her wrist. "You have me in person now. Lucky you," he flashed a cheeky grin and his hand slid down to caress her fingers. Randomly, "I like the location of the diamond."
She lifted her hand and peered at the engagement ring. –Prop, just a prop, she reminded herself. "What, an unusual setting or-"
Jane clarified, "On your finger, my dear. That location." A moment later he cleared his throat and spoke at normal volume. "Sorry – lousy timing. Excuse me." He rose and left for the men's room.
She shook the daydreams from her head. Damn man always has me off balance. -He's right. Neither time nor place. She had eaten much of her entree and sampled his by the time he returned.
He reseated himself and resumed their conversation with a tight smile. "Traveling around together is nice."
She frowned, "Except for the conspiracy."
His smile fell, "That is a worm in the rose."
She looked at him, fathomless green pools drinking him in. William Blake's poem. Why's he thinking about Red John? The implication didn't strike her till later. Quietly, "What if Abbott doesn't recover, can't clear us?" Cho's call weighed on them.
Jane pressed his lips together. Clipped, "Makes it harder."
"'Harder'? Not impossible?"
"Harder," tone certain. "Cooper will know who infiltrated Visualize, who's Blake."
"Why would he tell us? Why would the FBI believe us?"
Jane gave her a piercing look. "He'll tell us because I'll read what he wants and give it to him."
Pushing him, "Money? Freedom? What if he wants Visualize back?"
Jane shook his head slightly. "Anyone will do anything if you meet his greatest desire. I can get him money, engineer an escape."
With a pang she realized he had done these things.
He exhaled, irritated at the thought, then continued. "It would take time, but I could get control of Visualize."
She sat back, swallowed and looked away. "I know you could, Jane." She slumped at the thought of another protracted quest, of more years of living dangerously instead of living. "And the FBI?"
Jane sipped his tea, calming himself. "The FBI is the easiest option but not the only one. We could publicize the names - newspapers or just the internet. Blake's greatest asset is secrecy, the veil of respectability. It would be messy and incomplete, but publicity would break the back of the conspiracy. Legitimate authorities would be forced to act."
She sighed, "If we don't get them all, we're still in danger. Us. Our friends."
Evenly, "Which is why we see Cooper and hope Abbott recovers."
"Yeah."
They ate in silence for awhile. Jane's mood turned melancholy.
Hesitantly, "What if we just - quit?" his expression wistful and tired and hopeful all at once. "Teresa, we could disappear, live anywhere. We don't need to work. We could just ... live."
Seconds accumulated into minutes before she answered. "One flaw: Us. Neither of us can sit idle. We'd be looking over our shoulders the rest of our lives-" He opened his mouth to object, but she overrode him. "–Or we'd live someplace without extradition and never feel at home. What about Cho, Van Pelt and Rigsby? My brothers and their families? Sam and Pete and Danny? They'd be in danger and we'd never see them." She reached and held his hand tightly. "The team is your family now. You were lonely in Venezuela, had no reason to get up. I won't say never, Patrick, but it isn't something I want. ... Do you?"
He shifted to relieve the strain. Resigned, "No. I want to build a life together here." Determined, "We'll have to succeed."
Finished, they rose to leave. Jane left cash to pay the bill. She put an arm around his waist, he, her shoulders. "Together we can do anything, Jane. C'mon. Long day tomorrow."
FBI, Austin
"Wylie–" Wylie startled as he left the building at day's end.
"Cho. What's up?"
"Rooming together. Starts now."
"Wh-what?"
"Keep up, Wylie. One week, six dead bodies, two attempts. Let's not increase the tally."
Equal parts reluctant and eager, "You mean–"
"Yeah. Joined at the hip outside the building."
Wylie looked around, puzzled. "Uh, what about your partner from California?"
"On a plane. Protect his wife and kids."
"Oh."
It proved surprisingly workable. Wylie's idea of a fun evening was spending hours communing with computers, relieving Cho of the need for small talk. Computer nerds were rapidly rising in his esteem (aside from Grace Van Pelt who had always been a special case). It didn't hurt that Wylie had decrypted another three names.
Brackenridge Hospital, Austin
The tall woman pulled a chair as close to the bed as possible. Her husband was a silhouette against white, white sheets, still and vulnerable. Utterly unlike him. The white bandage was stark on his head, though a soft fuzz was already showing on his shaved scalp. She held his hand, just waiting. Hoping. Praying.
His world was pain and phantasms – fleeting images, sounds, thoughts, feelings. He had been shot once, was it 2007?, and recognized the sensation. The pain was there, but so remote it was insignificant: He was drugged to his eyeballs with painkillers. Dennis Abbott had always been straight-arrow, but this almost – almost – made sense of drug addiction. He frowned and instantly regretted even that slight movement. It was a wonder his head didn't explode. Found the limits of painkillers. Okay, his head was messed up. Concussion? But why does everything hurt? He turned that thought over for awhile. It eventually occurred to him to open his eyes, maybe ask – someone? ... Someone was holding his hand, rubbing his arm. He gradually reconnected with his body, his senses. Perfume. ... Lena's perfume! That motivated him to undertake the grueling effort to open his eyes.
He instantly regretted it. Daggers of light stabbed his eyes.
"Dennis?"
He groaned. Why is she shouting?
"Talk to me, Deni." He realized she actually was whispering. "It's okay to wake up."
He grimaced - doubtful – but tried anyhow. This time the light was merely an assault. Lena Abbott noticed him wince and hurriedly turned off the room lights. She flipped on the bathroom light but pulled the door almost closed, plunging the room into twilight.
"Water?" he croaked. She poured a small amount and held it to his lips. The top half of the bed was raised slightly.
"How you doin', Baby? I leave the country and you get hurt." She kissed his cheek.
His smooth skin wrinkled in a grimace. Clearer now, "M okay. –Whahappened?"
"A bullet grazed your head. Doctors say you'll be all right."
Dennis mulled that. "What else? Somethin' more."
"Oh, Dennis," she swallowed roughly, determined to remain calm. "Someone tried to poison you, but it's okay. The doctors got here in time."
That didn't make a lot of sense. He was in a hospital. Doctors were always here. Poison? Who, why? Dammit, there should've been a guard. His irritation required too much energy. He let it go and slid back into sleep.
Relieved tears fell with soft taps onto the sheet.
Hotel Deco XV, Omaha, NE
The door clicked shut cuing Lisbon's umbrage.
"Geez, Jane. You pick the most expensive hotel. We could've stayed at a HoJo's or something reasonable that–"
Patience exhausted, "First, there aren't any in this city. Second, it's Omaha. I couldn't splurge if I tried!"
Urgently, "We don't even look like we belong here." She gestured at her shorts and flip flops.
He sighed, dropped the luggage and pulled her into a hug. "Will you relax?! We look like every vacationing couple in the country. Newsflash – the affluent care about comfort. They don't give a damn what anyone thinks." He smothered any further objections with kisses. He turned them so she could see the suite beyond.
"Nice, don't you think?" he teased gently.
Grudgingly, "Guess so. –You don't think this place ups our risk of being made?"
"Not at all," he murmured. "Opposite of where cops would look." He gave her a final kiss and released her. "I think we have a date with a long shower and that lovely bed."
She suppressed a huge yawn. "Sounds good." Anxious again, "What's the plan when we reach Sioux Falls?"
He nudged her toward the bathroom. "Showers first. Then we'll talk."
This time the yawn prevailed. "Okay." She dug nightclothes and toiletry kit from her suitcase and made her way tiredly into the bathroom. He timed it so room service delivered ice cream, fresh fruit, espresso, and tea after they had both showered. Lisbon was so caffeine addicted that it wouldn't keep her awake.
It was pushing midnight by the time Lisbon crawled into bed and clicked off the light. She snuggled up to Jane, head on his chest with one arm and one leg thrown over his body. Her hand idly stroked his chest. He had gotten used to sleeping in just boxers, though he warned her the pajamas would be back in cold weather. She relished the greater skin-to-skin contact.
Drowsing and relaxed, she blinked, suddenly realizing his slip at dinner. He said 'a worm.' 'A' worm, not 'the' worm, meaning there's more than Blake bothering him. What? And that led led directly to the flashing neon fractures in Patrick Jane's life. His family's murder. Perhaps killing Sheriff Hardy and Timothy Carter. Killing Thomas McAllister. And where does Kim Fischer fit into this –Jane pushing down hard, blood and gore smeared midway up his forearms, shirt and pant legs soaked with blood, scent of blood and crap heavy in the air–
"Jane?" She was pretty sure he was awake.
"Mm?"
"What freaked you out about Kim Fischer?" She could feel him instantly tense.
"Why do you ask?"
She sighed, "You were out of it for hours. Something's going on."
Curt, tone and muscles tense, "I don't like blood. You know that."
"I know that," she agreed calmly. "But this was more. Your family? McAllister? What's the connection?" She could hear him swallow.
Throat tight, "Can we just drop it?"
She turned over and clicked on the bedside lamp. Propped on an elbow looking down at him, "Jane – Patrick – it's not good to bottle stuff up–"
"Pot to kettle," eyes closed, avoiding her gaze.
Deliberately low key, "Exactly. I know personally it's not good. We're doing well. Don't want to go back to masks and hiding."
He puffed his cheeks out and slowly exhaled. "Teresa, it's after midnight and we have a lot riding on tomorrow. I really don't want to talk about this."
She looked down at him, still propped on her elbow, wondering what had thrown him so off balance. His past would be enough to unhinge most people, except he wasn't "most" people. A dozen years since their murder, countless bloody crime scenes, two years since he killed McAllister. What's going on, why now? She finally said, "We don't have to deal with this now. But it's important we do sometime." She leaned over and kissed him tenderly. "I love you. And I'll figure it out eventually." She clicked off the light and lay back, nestling against him.
He figured she was asleep when her breathing slowed and evened out. He whispered to himself, "That's what I'm afraid of."
Her eyebrows furrowed. One more clue.