A/N: First of all, you are all wonderful. Thank you so much for your messages last week. They helped a lot.
A/N2: We're finally closing in on this thing! Only two chapters to go after this one. Thanks for sticking with my long-windedness yet again.
xxx
When Lisbon got home from work the next evening, she met Montrose at the front door, on the point of knocking. "Hey," Lisbon greeted her, stepping past her to open the door. She gestured for Montrose to enter. "Come on in."
"We have a problem," Montrose announced before she'd even crossed the threshold.
"Another one?" Lisbon said in dismay, stepping back to let Montrose in. Her heart stopped. "Not—with my brothers? The team?"
"Nothing like that," Montrose assured her as she entered. "This is about you."
"Oh," Lisbon said, relieved. She shut the door behind Montrose. "What is it?"
"Is that Montrose?" Jane called from the kitchen. "Don't keep whatever bad news she's brought to yourself, Teresa. Bring her into the kitchen so we can all appreciate the latest dire development properly. Together, with a cup of tea—"
Lisbon snorted.
"—and cookies," Jane finished.
"What is it with him and tea?" Montrose asked Lisbon in an undertone. "Why can't he just drink coffee like a normal person?"
Lisbon shook her head. "Don't ask."
Montrose walked into the kitchen. "What kind of cookies?"
"Oatmeal chocolate chip," Jane answered.
Montrose looked at Lisbon, who had followed her to the kitchen. "I guess I can live with the tea thing."
Lisbon took one of the cookies for herself and sat down at one of the kitchen bar stools. "So what's up?"
Montrose helped herself to a cookie and sat down next to Lisbon. "Your article's going to be picked up by one of the nationals."
"What?" Lisbon said, perplexed.
"Your article on Dorothy Ramseth," Montrose said, taking a huge bite of cookie. "It's going to be run by one of the national papers."
Lisbon frowned. "Isn't that—well, old news by now?"
Montrose shook her head. "This publication does a monthly round up of excellence in reporting across the country."
Lisbon straightened in her seat. "Really?" she said, pleased.
Montrose looked at her, exasperated. "This isn't good news. It's a potential compromise to your cover."
Lisbon deflated with a frown. "How?"
"They're planning to run a photo with your byline," Montrose said gloomily.
"Ohhh," Lisbon said, realization dawning. She knew most publications did this as a matter of course, but the one she worked for in Salt Lake was small and old-fashioned enough that it didn't typically print photos of the reporting staff along with their features. But if Red John happened to read one of the major papers and came across her article with her photo displayed along with her fake name…yeah. Not the best means of keeping her cover intact.
Jane started to laugh. "I told you this would happen," he said to Montrose, shaking his head.
"What do you mean?" Montrose said, frowning at him.
"She can't help it," he said, gesturing to Lisbon. He looked at her affectionately. "She's too heroic for her own good. But really, what'd you expect when you stuck an over-achiever with an overdeveloped need to help people in a profession that contains a platform to oust corruption and take down purveyors of injustice?"
"This is serious," Montrose said, frustrated.
"Maddeningly inconvenient, isn't it?" Jane said to Montrose sympathetically. His eyes, soft with affection and somewhat exasperated, stayed on Lisbon.
Lisbon threw a wadded up paper napkin at him. "Hush."
Jane shrugged. "Just sayin'."
"So what are we going to do?" Lisbon asked Montrose.
"What's the big deal?" Jane asked, coming around the table and taking a seat next to Lisbon. "Can't you just ask them to publish the story without the photograph?"
"Not without raising suspicion," Montrose said. "What reason could Teresa give for not sending a photo of herself along with the article when they ask for it?"
Jane shrugged. "She can tell them she was horribly disfigured in an accident and now rather camera shy as a result."
Lisbon shot him a look. "Horribly disfigured?"
"Focus, dear," Jane said soothingly.
"I don't think so," Montrose said. "They're going to make the request through the paper. The people you work with know you aren't horribly disfigured."
"They're going to make the request through the paper?" Lisbon repeated. "How do you even know about this, then?"
"We have a source at AP who tipped us off," Montrose explained.
Lisbon thought of Heather, who excelled at altering images with graphics software. She'd done one of Givens the week before that had had the entire office in stitches. "What about Photoshop?" she suggested. "Can't you have the techs make me look, you know, not like myself?"
"That might work," Montrose said slowly. "It would have to be subtle enough that the people you work with would recognize you as you, but drastic enough that someone reading the paper wouldn't recognize it as you."
Jane frowned. "That's a fine line to tread. Can't you just—switch out the photo for a complete stranger? Then claim it's a mix up?"
"I don't think we'll be able to control a switch at the last minute like that," Montrose said. "I think the Photoshop idea could work, though."
Jane's frown deepened. "It seems awfully risky to me."
"Let me check with the techs," Montrose said. "I'm sure they can come up with something."
Lisbon slipped her hand into Jane's. "Don't worry. It's gonna be okay."
Jane looked down at their joined hands and let out a sigh. "If you say so." But he did not look reassured.
Xxx
Lisbon was pleased with the photograph the techs came up with. In her opinion, she looked thoroughly unlike herself. In the photograph they'd sent, she had red hair, brown eyes, and wore trendy looking black-framed glasses. They'd also put her in flashier clothing than she normally wore and altered the image to make her lips a bit thinner than they were in reality; her nose, a shade wider. Mostly, though, she was pleased that she was prepared when Hollis announced that the article was going to be picked up for the series and asked her to send the photograph by noon that day.
The article came out the next day, to much fanfare at the office that Lisbon found thoroughly embarrassing.
"Whoa, Meyers," Kirby said with an idiotic grin, looking back and forth between the photo in the paper and Lisbon herself. "You got some work done since this was taken, huh?" He gave her the 'a-okay' sign. "You tell your doctor he did good." He shook his head, still grinning idiotically. "Damn."
Lisbon bit back a scathing retort and turned her attention to Heather, who looked highly amused.
"Nice bit of Photoshop work," Heather said under her breath, pulling Lisbon away from Kirby before he incited her to violence. "You have to do that for your cover?"
"Yeah," Lisbon muttered back, shooting a glare at Kirby over her shoulder. "I got the idea from you, actually. You're really good at that stuff."
"Aww, thanks," Heather said with a grin. She eyed her own copy of the paper critically. "You know, you look good as a redhead. You ever think about dyeing it?"
Lisbon grimaced. "I'm lucky if I can manage to get it cut at all, the hours I work."
Heather's grin faded. "In your real life, you mean."
"Well—yeah," Lisbon said awkwardly.
Heather looked at the photo again, her expression downcast. "You said the trial's in a couple of weeks?"
Lisbon nodded.
"Bet you can't wait," Heather said wistfully.
Lisbon raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, I'm really looking forward to having two killers compete over who gets to kill me."
Heather gestured dismissively. "Come on, you know what I mean. Going back to your regular life. Your real friends."
"I don't know," Lisbon said, looking down. "Part of me wants to go back. I hate lying to everyone about who I really am. That part will be a relief." She bit her lip. "And I do miss my job. But there are definitely things I'll miss about here." The little house she shared with Jane. The less manic, obsessive version of Jane she'd been graced with since they'd left California. She felt a pang in her chest. He'd been so wonderful. But she couldn't shake the fear that the minute they got back to their old lives, Jane would revert to his usual obsessive self. Retreating to the attic and brooding over how to outwit Red John.
She shook off her gloom and mustered a smile. She put her arm around Heather and gave her a one-armed hug. "I'll miss you the most, you know."
Heather turned into her and wrapped both arms around her, burying her face in Lisbon's shoulder. "I'm gonna miss you so much," Heather said, sniffling a little into Lisbon's shoulder. "And you're going back to your old life and you're going to forget all about me."
"That's not going to happen," Lisbon said firmly, hugging her back. She lifted Heather's chin and looked her in the eye. "What about that beach vacation, huh? I can at least take you to the riverbank. I can't say the Sacramento River generally draws a lot of tourists. You might be the first one."
"Yeah," Heather sniffed, drawing away and wiping her eyes. "Okay."
"It's a deal then. As long as I'm still alive in a few months, you'll come visit," Lisbon joked.
Heather looked stricken rather than amused. "God. It didn't really seem real, before. It all felt like something out of a movie when you first told me, you know? I think part of me assumed the Hollywood ending was a given. But you really have people trying to kill you." She swallowed hard. "You could die. You're risking your life to put that Scalzi guy in jail and catch a serial killer."
"I'm a cop," Lisbon said. "I know what I signed up for. For me, the risk is worth it to keep them from hurting anybody else. And I have a lot of good people on my side." Montrose. Soren. Her team. And Jane. Most of all, Jane. She gave Heather an encouraging smile. "I wouldn't bet against us."
Xxx
"Where have you been?" Jane demanded when she got home that night, accosting her in the entry hall.
Lisbon glanced at the clock on the wall. It wasn't that late. "Heather and I went for a drink after work. We don't have a lot of time before we're leaving Salt Lake, so I wanted to spend some extra time with her before—"
"Never mind that," Jane said impatiently. He thrust a newspaper in front of her. It was the reprint of her article. "Did you see this?" He tapped his finger against the photo they'd printed next to her byline.
Lisbon glanced down at it. "What about it?"
"It looks too much like you."
"Montrose and the techs thought it was fine," Lisbon said soothingly.
Jane pointed at the photo again, still radiating anxiety. "They forgot to edit out the freckle on your neck."
Lisbon rolled her eyes. "First of all, that photo is tiny. No one is going to be inspecting it for freckles. Secondly, even if they did, no one is going to recognize me based on a single freckle."
"It's a very distinctive freckle!"
"Patrick, you're being ridiculous."
"I know what I'm talking about," Jane said stubbornly. "I've spent a lot of time admiring it over the years."
"Well, you've always been addled in the head," Lisbon muttered.
A knock on the door interrupted them before Jane could build up a good head of steam on the subject.
They looked at each other, then Lisbon turned back to the door she'd just walked through a moment ago. "Must be Montrose," she said, laying her hand on the door handle. "Probably more bad news."
"Wait," Jane said, panicked. He laid a hand over hers and shouldered her out of the way so he could look out the peephole. "It's not Montrose," he said, his voice tight.
Lisbon tensed. "Well? Who is it?"
Jane ignored this. "Do you have your gun on you?"
"Yeah, of course—"
"Draw it." His tone brooked no argument.
Alerted by his tone, Lisbon drew her weapon without further argument and positioned herself to the side of the door so she would be in the best place to take down an armed intruder.
"I'm going to open the door now," Jane said, his voice flat.
"Are you crazy?" Lisbon hissed. "If it's someone you suspect of being dangerous, why the hell would you open the door?"
Jane waved her off. He turned the handle.
Lisbon drew back to put herself in the shadows so she could take whoever it was by surprise if needed.
When Jane pulled the door open, a man in brown shirt and brown shorts stood on the other side, a large envelope in his hand. "Express delivery," the man said in a bored voice.
Lisbon lowered her weapon and silently cursed Jane. The mailman? Seriously?
The delivery man extended the envelope towards Jane. "Need you to sign for this."
Jane looked at the envelope suspiciously, then back at the delivery man. "Do you have any identification?"
The man blinked. "Identification?"
"Yes. Something that proves you really work for this delivery service," Jane said tightly.
"Uh, sure," the man said, looking confused. He produced a badge and handed it to Jane.
Jane inspected it carefully. "How long have you worked for this delivery service?"
"What the hell, man?"
"Answer the question," Jane said sharply.
"Six years," the man answered, staring at Jane like he had two heads.
"What's your mother's name?" Jane demanded.
"Donna," the man said, even more confused now.
"Got a girlfriend?"
The man cleared his throat. "Not, uh, not at the moment."
"What's your favorite video game?"
The man edged backwards. "Uh…Call of Duty, I guess?"
Jane leaned into his personal space. "Give me your wrist," he ordered.
The delivery guy drew his hand to his chest protectively. "Why do you want my wrist?"
"I want to feel your pulse so I can tell if you're lying," Jane said severely.
"About my favorite video game?" the man said, bewildered.
Lisbon decided this had gone on long enough. She stepped forward. "That's enough, Patrick," she said firmly, pulling him away from the man. "Leave him alone." She offered the man an apologetic smile. "Sorry about this," she said, jerking her head towards Jane. "He gets carried away sometimes."
The delivery man relaxed a fraction. "That's okay," he said, tentatively returning her smile. He looked back and forth between them. "Do you, uh, want your letter now?"
"I'll take it," Lisbon said, before Jane could decide to hypnotize the poor man.
He handed her the letter, casting a wary glance at Jane as he did so. Jane, still holding on to his badge, glared at him.
Suddenly, he darted around Lisbon and seized the other man's wrist. "Where'd you pick this up from?" he demanded.
"From central processing, downtown," the man said, his eyes wide. He leaned away from Jane as he possibly could while Jane still grasped his wrist.
"Patrick, let him go," Lisbon said, exasperated.
Jane abruptly let the man go. "He's telling the truth," he said curtly.
The man stumbled backwards, then righted himself. "Can I have my badge back now?" he said, drawing himself up with as much dignity as he could muster.
Jane pointedly studied the badge a moment longer, then reluctantly handed it back.
"You said you needed us to sign for it?" Lisbon reminded the delivery man.
The man cast a frightened glance at Jane. "Yeah." He extended a clipboard to Lisbon, keeping a wary eye on Jane the whole time.
Lisbon signed the receipt and handed the clipboard back to him. He tore off the carbon copy underneath it and handed it back to her in turn, still watching Jane, who had his arms folded across his chest and met his gaze with a stony stare.
Lisbon elbowed him in the ribs and gave the delivery guy another smile. "Thanks!"
"Have a good one," the man muttered, and retreated hastily back to his truck.
Lisbon turned to Jane and smacked him in the arm with the envelope. "What the hell was that about? Can't you even answer the door like a normal person?"
Jane ignored this. "Does that envelope have a return address?"
"What? I—" Lisbon glanced down and frowned. "No. Hang on," she said slowly. "Who's sending us mail? Nobody has this address."
"Exactly," Jane said grimly.
The buzz of a text alert on her phone in her pocket distracted her before she could open the envelope. She pulled her phone out, but there were no messages. No, it had been the other pocket—the one with the burner.
Dread pooled in her stomach.
She pulled out the burner and flipped it open. A single message from the number she recognized as belonging to Cho's burner flashed on the screen. She opened it. Our smiling friend broke LM out of jail this morning. We're looking, but so far no sign of either of them. They're in the wind.
The dread curdled in her stomach, making her feel ill. Lisbon looked up at Jane.
"What's it say?" Jane said, defeat in his voice.
Lisbon swallowed. "Red John broke Lorelei out of jail this morning."
Jane shook his head but didn't look surprised. "We'd better open that envelope."
Lisbon looked at the front of the envelope, stamped with a blazing red seal indicating 'same day delivery.' The article had just come out that morning in the national paper. "Oh, no," she breathed. She opened the envelope with shaking hands.
A copy of the article fell out. Along with it, a sheet of paper with a type written note and a postcard.
Jane stepped closer to her and they read together.
The photograph of Lisbon in the article was outlined in a heart drawn with a red marker. Beneath it, scrawled in the same red marker, were the words, 'Nice try.'
The type written note read as follows:
You didn't really think you could hide from me forever, did you, Mr. Jane? Not to worry. I'll allow you to pass your remaining time in Salt Lake together without any interference from me. Please do make the most of these last couple of weeks of your honeymoon. It will be good for you to have some fond memories to look back on once you've joined me, after your return. Think of it as my wedding gift to you. My regards to Teresa. Tell her I look forward to getting better acquainted with her soon.
The familiar signature followed: the red smiley face, drawn in the same red marker.
Jane and Lisbon exchanged a look, heavy with despair, then turned their attention to the card.
The postcard was printed on plain white card stock. On the side where a photo would normally be printed was a lipstick print in blood red. The other side contained only a single line.
See you at the trial, lover.