A knock sounded faintly through the small office and Shawn looked up from the bag of chips he was trying to open. He heard the TV being muted in the next room over.

"Shawn?" Gus asked quietly. "Please tell me you knocked."

"No," the pseudo-psychic said, frowning slightly. "That came from the front door."

Almost immediately Gus stood next to him, holding a mini bat in hand. He looked slightly disheveled from the last half an hour he'd spent watching Spider-Man 2 on the couch. "What sicko comes here at 10 PM? I swear to God, Shawn, if this is some assassin to kill us because we came too close to him for comfort or something, I'm going to kill you!"

"Dude, calm down," Shawn said, grinning amusedly. "It's probably just Jules or something. Maybe they made a break in a case and need us."

"At 10 PM?" Gus asked sceptically. "Go get the door, I'll give you cover." He raised the mini bat defiantly.

"Gus," Shawn laughed. "Could you at least use something better than a small bat? Like this knife, for example?" He waved to the stack of kitchen knives they were standing next to.

Gus lowered the bat and glared at his friend. "Just go get the door!"

"Fine, fine, calm your horses," Shawn gave up and snatched a handful of chips out of the now opened bag. He shook his head when he heard his friend walk into the junk on his desk in his attempt to hide behind the wall. "You better have not stepped on my copy of Personal Jesus, dude." A grunt followed along with some shuffling.

Shawn peered through the blinds of the Psych office, fully expecting to see Jules standing behind it, or maybe Abigail if her parents-teacher-conference went badly. What he saw instead was way worse.

"Uh, buddy," Shawn called, trying to lose the uncertainty in his voice. "It's fine, you can go back to the movie. I'll catch you up in five."

"Who is it?" Gus appeared in the door frame, frowning. "Juliet?"

"No, it's... just an old friend," Shawn answered and smiled at him. "Really, it's fine. I'm gonna take it."

"Are you sure?" Gus stepped closer, trying to get a look at the outside of the office. Shawn snapped the blindfolds shut immediately.

"Yeah," he said, smiling brightly. "Just gonna go catch up. You better get back - I know how you complain when you miss the bank scene."

Momentarily distracted, Gus raised his voice in annoyance. "You can't blame me for that, it's movie gold!"

Shawn raised his hands in surrender, smile tugging at his lips. "I'm not, I swear."

Gus watched him for another moment, not convinced. "Sure," he finally said, moving back into the next room. "See you in a few."

"I'll call you if he wants a hot chocolate!" Shawn shouted after him. He laughed when he heard Gus yell "You sure won't!" back. When the TV started playing again, he opened the door and quickly slipped out.

"Took you long enough," a deep voice greeted him.

Shawn looked up to the face of his old mentor, eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here, McCoy?"

The moon shone brightly on the pier and illuminated the pair of men walking away from the Psych office, out of sight. The water was calm and the air quiet, perfect for their conversation.

"We need you down in LA, Spence," McCoy said seriously, leaning on the railing and staring over the water. "This case is difficult to say at least. If the FBI knew -"

"If?" Shawn interrupted him. "Rob, what are you talking about? Is this about your grudge with the Bureau?" The older man didn't answer and Shawn pinched his nose. "Look, you guys don't need me," he said, voice a little bit more friendly. "You didn't need me the last four and a half years. Frankly, I don't even know why you keep paying me -"

"A leave is ending someday, Spence," McCoy sighed. "King's still hoping you'll come back."

"Well, you can tell him I won't," Shawn answered harshly. "I wanted to quit but you wouldn't let me. I'm happy here, Rob. I have Gus with me, a girlfriend, friends..."

"You do realize the truth about your little business is going to come out some day, don't you?" McCoy narrowed his eyes, his voice adopting a sharp edge to it. "Frauding the police is a criminal offense and your badge won't get you out of that."

"I don't want your stupid badge!" Shawn said angrily. "Or the gun or the checks or the calls I still get from Chris! I knew from the start the Academy was a bad idea."

They stood quietly for a few minutes, lost in their own thoughts and listening to the sounds of the night. McCoy pulled his dark coat tighter around himself when a civilian walked by them, beer bottle in hand, hoping his face was hidden.

"Look, I need to get back," Shawn finally said and turned around. "Gus is gonna be worried. It was nice seeing you again."

"Shawn, you can't walk away from this," Rob told him, shaking his head. "Believe me. Hear me out and decide for yourself. I won't bother you after."

Shawn hesitated, silently judging the older man's expression. "Fine," he relented. "What is it?"

"Drugs, probably," McCoy said, lowering his voice. He looked around, checking that no one was near. "Three weeks ago, a body showed up in a dumpster on the other side of town. John Doe, shot through the head and instant death. Probably a druggie, judging from the mixture of drugs running through his system."

"Doesn't sound so spectacular to me," Shawn grumbled and crossed his arms.

McCoy ignored him. "Two other bodies were found across town, a businessman named Dewey Stafford and another druggie."

Shawn frowned. "Connected?"

McCoy shrugged. "Maybe. All three had the same drug cocktail in their systems, really high dosed stuff. Stafford died through a knife wound out in the street. He was robbed clean, though, excluding his identification. Druggie was shot in the heart."

Shawn raised an eyebrow, silently asking him to continue.

"Norris heard some rumors about a drug dealing gang involved in the whole thing," McCoy told him. "A deal gone bad, I guess." He paused. "But I don't buy it. It doesn't add up with the record of Stafford."

"I don't see why I should care," Shawn said coldly, leaning with his back against the railing. "It's obvious you're missing something about Stafford. Looks like a cover up to me."

"That's what I thought too," McCoy retorted. "But we can't find anything. And I mean it. He appeared on the map ten years ago, no traces further back on him." He hid his smile when Shawn raised his eyebrows, intrigued. "So we went to find out about who he might've been before. Turns out he had some connections to a gang in his late teens. Left them not soon after and started a new life."

"So they found him and killed him?" Shawn asked doubtfully. "Sounds a little sketchy to me." He uncrossed his arms and turned his head back to McCoy. "And it still doesn't explain why you need me. Sounds like you've come far enough by yourself."

"Hear me out, Spence," McCoy said annoyed. "The gang from back then is moving town. Things got hot for them, I guess. We were able to send in someone, undercover, while they are distracted with moving. We found out they've got an outpost in LA, one in Oxnard..."

"And one in Santa Barbara," Shawn finished, realization dawning upon his face. "Jules told me there were some problems with drugs around here, but nothing worth a case for Psych, apparently."

"Exactly," McCoy nodded. "So we looked into the history of the gang a little and it seems those places weren't chosen without a reason. Two other guys left the gang with Stafford and settled here and in Oxnard. And guess what?"

"Are they dead?" Shawn asked, rubbing a hand over his face.

McCoy nodded. "One of them, that is. Wilson Reese went missing three days ago and showed up dead in a dumpster not far from the port in Oxnard. No drugs in his system though. Died from a knife wound."

"What about the other one?"

"That's the thing that might interest you, Spence," McCoy smiled. "He, too, started a new life and we need you to find him."

"Oh, please," Shawn snorted. "You can go to Chief Vick of the SBPD and you'll find him in half an hour. That's not what this is about."

"That's true," McCoy admitted. "But you might not want the SBPD to send their detectives after this one."

Shawn turned to him, frowning. He stood uncomfortably, clearly confused by his words. "What do you mean?" His eyes searched his. "Rob?"

"It's Sam, Shawn," McCoy said quietly. "He's the last one. And you don't want the SBPD to find a connection between a potential murder victim who once was an LAPD detective and their local 'psychic'," he mimicked air quotes to the word, "who happens to be a LAPD detective under the covers, do you?"

Shawn stared off into the distance, the reality of the situation finally crashing down on him. "Oh shit," he breathed.