Lisbon went straight to the coffee cart. Its presence was a small mercy, her nerves were already shot and nothing was happening yet. She was stirring some sugar into the warm brew when Pike appeared at her elbow.

He held out a folded newspaper. "He works fast."

Lisbon took it delicately. She had to put down her coffee to open it. She was greeted by a picture of Jane wearing his full suit, smiling at something off camera like he was greeting an old friend. The headline read "Billionaire Patrick Jane Stepping Down as CEO." Her eyes skittered over the text of the article. It read like a thank you note to the city of Los Angeles. It was ambiguous about what his next venture would be.

"He's getting ready to run," Pike inferred. "Did you tell him?"

She bristled. "Of course not. And why would he announce this if he was running?"

"Did you know about it?"

She looked away and picked up her coffee. The memory of Jane's intensity as he offered to go anywhere with her warmed her cheeks. She shrugged, trying to play it off. "It was mentioned. Didn't expect this."

"He wanted you to go with him, didn't he? Rookie mistake."

"It was his past that gave me pause, not his future. Anyway, I'm here."

"That's the job," he jabbed. It hurt. "You did the right thing, Agent Lisbon. He did it, and we're finally going to get him."

He held her conflicted gaze as he backed away, centering himself in the Museum Security Control Room. It was full of police officers, some in uniform and others in plainclothes. He clapped his hands to get their attention.

"Listen up, people!" he called out. "We only get one shot at this. The museum opens in 15 minutes. We're on the lookout for Patrick Jane. Yes, that Patrick Jane," he gestured to headshots posted around the room. "We suspect he will be possession of a stolen painting and we need to catch him with it. Don't approach unless instructed. We want to give him room to fully engage his plan.

"The area of interest is the Impressionist Exhibit. Today it is completely closed to visitors. We don't want anyone visible in that area, including museum security. We have a full crew watching the monitors here. And we've canceled all deliveries today, there won't be anyone getting in to secure areas — not even a pigeon."

There were a few laughs at that.

"Okay. You all have your assignments. It could be anytime today, stay alert. All commands will come through me, you've got your radios. Let's go!"

Everyone started to move, some filing out the door. Lisbon closed her eyes for strength. She didn't agree with Pike's plan, she would have gone with something more subtle with a select few well-trusted colleagues. But she had no say, it was only a courtesy that she was here at all.

She didn't have a job to do, she was just a fly on the wall. The prospect of waiting here with Pike for an undetermined amount of time made her stomach sour. After a quick deliberation with herself, she took the chance to slip out with the plainclothes cops. She would come back later and check in.

She took her time, appreciating the art as she went. It felt different today. These high ceilinged hallways, and spacious galleries were a fitting setting for these fine pieces. She glowered back at the stoic renaissance paintings, smiled at the absurd modern displays. Today, the paintings told her their stories.

The museum filled with more people as the time passed. She didn't have a radio to monitor the situation. As she passed through, she gauged the energy of the security officers. So far there was no sign that anything was out of the ordinary.

As she left the ancient art exhibit, a student walking with a friend bumped into her, hard enough to knock her back. He was instantly contrite, coming to check on her. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

She stepped aside, putting space between them. "I'm fine."

"As long as you're sure."

She nodded and kept moving, it was hardly worth her time.

She found herself in the hallway outside the Impressionist Gallery. She stopped. The security gate was down, a sign apologizing for the inconvenience. She stepped closer, drawn to it. She could just barely see his donated painting from this side of the bars. She missed him.

Something in her blazer pocket vibrated. Surprised, she drew out an unfamiliar compact flip phone. There was a text.

Airplane Hangar 4pm -u no hoo

Jane? Her mind raced back to the collision. She had dismissed it so quickly, she couldn't recall any faces. Apparently Jane needed an untraceable way to talk to her. Her thumbs hovered over the keys. Nothing had been resolved, he was presuming too much.

It's too soon

4:30?

Not what I meant

Ah, that. Got it under control

How much did he know? She felt guilty about betraying him, but it was a mess of his own making. He got himself into this, he could try to get himself out.

They'll look for you at your properties

Nothing to hide, dear. You have a better suggestion?

Train station

Too busy. The garden with overpriced figurines. Meet me there.

She paused. That wasn't a place with a transit system. What was he suggesting? It felt too intimate. She needed to stay in the present, keep her feelings in check. He hadn't done anything to convince her to meet him anywhere — not yet.

What are you planning at the museum?

You have a front row seat. Watch and see

She felt a spike of adrenaline. She glanced around, but there was no one watching her, no one looked suspicious. Of course he was keeping tabs on her. That's how he got the phone to her in the first place. The question was, how much did he know?

She wished he had told her more, but looking back at the locked exhibit, she knew there was no way he was getting in there today. And if he somehow did have a way around that gate, it would only implicate him further. Suddenly tired, she let her forehead rest against the cold metal.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, this exhibit is closed," a gruff voice stated.

She turned. "I didn't hear you coming. Maybe they should get you a bell," her mood made her jumpy. It was the security officer, LaRoche.

"You're with them — the feds," he recognized her.

"Sort of. I thought they asked the security team to stay clear of this area."

"I know how to be inconspicuous. I've heard rumors, you're still going with the theory that Patrick Jane did this."

She crossed her arms and glanced away. "Fraid so."

"Respectfully, that's a pile of bat guano."

"I wish I had your confidence in the matter, Mr. LaRoche. I like him too," She smiled sadly. So tired. "If you'll excuse me." She stepped away.

"I won't believe it unless I see it with my own eyes. And I'll be watching, Agent."

"He's a slippery one, Mr. LaRoche. Make sure you don't blink."

X

When she got back to the control room there were a few slices of cheese pizza, cold and congealing in a box by the coffee cart. She hadn't eaten, but she left it alone. With her team, pizza was reserved for closed cases.

There were fewer people standing around now. Some more uniforms must have gone into the museum, ready to react when things starting happening.

"Where'd you go?" Pike was suddenly by her side, trying to sound casual.

She nodded to the monitors. "You tell me. Anything interesting happen?"

"Not yet." He smiled at Lisbon. "It's got to be soon." His phone rang and he excused himself to answer.

She told herself that the text messages on the burner phone didn't give any new information. No one else needed to know about them. Lisbon tried to hide her anxiety by bouncing on her toes. She didn't know where to look, monitors were everywhere.

"Hey," Hightower put a calming hand on her shoulder. "It'll be all right. Everything is still secure. It's all a waiting game now, and we're ready."

Lisbon nodded and flashed an unconvincing smile. Pike came back, shaking his head. "He got away," he informed Hightower.

"Shame. It would have cemented the case."

They weren't invested enough to be talking about Jane. "Who got away?" Lisbon asked.

"The forger. Turns out, Wagener did have a son. He was the minor who came back with Jane." At Lisbon's questioning look, he continued. "Things were getting messy with Wagener, maybe he planned to join them later. Anyway, looks like Jane took the kid — he was 17 — and looked after him for awhile. Got him settled, kept him out of trouble."

"He did?"

"Well, relatively. Of course, it turns out he was an excellent forger like his father. Good chance he's the one who copied the Monet. And who knows what else. We sent a unit to pick him up this morning, but he's cleared out. It's a shame, he was hiding in plain sight this whole time."

"Who was it?"

"The butler. You remember —"

"Luther Wainwright?"

"That's the one. 'Wainwright' is English for 'wagon-builder.' Hold on, here we go."

Lisbon processed this new information while Pike talked into his radio. Jane had been protecting Wainwright this whole time. Got him out of a bad situation and gave him a job and a home. It was admirable.

She looked up at the main monitor, showing the entrance to the museum. Jane smiled back at her. He opened his arms wide for the camera, announcing his presence with a grin. He turned in a slow circle, showing a portfolio hanging at his back.

"He wants us to see him," Hightower commented. "Did you tell him?"

"No." Lisbon said, too fast. His appearance had surprised her. What was he doing?

"Guy's too confident for his own good," Pike answered, then spoke rapid fire into his radio again. "We got eyes on the target. Front lobby. Everyone stand by."

On the monitor, Jane pulled something from his pocket and put it on his nose, some sort of ball. He outstretched his other hand and a top hat appeared. He patted it down on his head and winked.

"What is that?" Pike squinted into the monitor. "What's he wearing?"

"A clown nose," Lisbon noted, recalling the dare he had suggested at the carnival. She had teased him early on about being a clown. He looked so pleased with himself. Her heart rate sped up.

"Great." His radio came up again. "Be advised, the subject is wearing a clown nose and top hat. Heading towards the west wing now, possibly going towards the Impressionist Gallery."

Lisbon watched the monitors with increasing anxiety as they tracked Jane. It was her fault they were here. She wished he had run.

Another clown crossed his path.

"Hold on, what's this?" Pike exclaimed. Clowns were trickling into the museum, through the main doors, from the bathrooms, out of the gift shop. No two were alike, except they all wore a red clown nose, a top hat, and a portfolio slung across their back.

"Who has eyes on Jane?"

Pike's radio crackled in response. "Things are getting confusing out here."

On the monitors there was no pattern to it. The foot traffic had doubled in the last two minutes. One clown cleared a path and started to juggle, blocking an entrance.

"Right. Start picking up some clowns. It's getting to be a madhouse down there. Looks like a damn flash mob," he muttered. "We need to cover all exits, and —"

"You're not going to believe this, Agent Pike," his radio crackled.

"What's going on?"

"They're setting up roadblocks on the road out front. Looks like a parade is coming through."

Pike shot a questioning look to Hightower. "That's a main road."

"It says it's sponsored by P. Jane Acquisitions."

"Son of a — shut it down." A parade meant people would be concentrated on the walkways outside, making it easier to slip away unnoticed. They were losing control.

"It'll take some doing, sir. A marching band is coming now."

Some music came through the speaker. "Wait. What song are they playing?" asked Lisbon.

"Is that relevant?" Pike asked.

"Yes, very relevant," Lisbon asserted.

He hesitated, then spoke deliberately into the radio. "What song is the band playing?"

"Hold on. Sounds like… the Spice Girls. Do marching bands play the Spice Girls?"

Lisbon smiled for the first time all day.

X

It was true chaos in the museum as clowns started to overwhelm the hallways. Regular patrons paused to take pictures or videos and talk animatedly to their friends, trying to puzzle out what was going on. Police officers started to round them up, but there were too many.

The clowns, embracing the comedy of the situation, didn't make it easy for the cops. During a brief struggle, one of the portfolios broke open, dumping printed copies of various clown paintings along the hallway.

Some clowns played tricks on the officers, doing funny walks or squirting water from flowers. They refused to break character.

Jane removed his own nose and hat and dropped them in the closest trash can. He slipped into the crowd and went to the hallway outside of the Impressionist Gallery.

Two clowns raced through, one honking an oversized horn. He stepped aside as two officers chased them, thinning the crowd.

The security gate was closed, but that didn't phase him. He set the portfolio aside near the hall camera, and pulled two spherical objects out of his pockets. They were slightly bigger than his fists, with one protruding bit sticking through the rounded mesh cage. He flicked a switch on each one and they whirred into life, tiny propellers spinning. He put them through the bars of the gate and tossed them into the gallery.

They stabilized as their cameras found their anchor points and moved further into the room. They made their way to his donated painting, and hovered by the corners of the distinct frame.

Jane doubled back and slipped into the crowd watching the antics of the police rounding up the clowns.

Back in the gallery, the drones aligned and engaged with the frame, their screwdriver bits spinning at hidden screws. After a short time the frame canted a little. The drones pulled back and the entire front — including the donated painting — fell away, clattering to the floor.

Impression Sunrise was left in it's place, intact, hanging on the wall, in the very spot it was first taken from. No worse for wear.

Lisbon watched in amazement. The hallway camera was scrambled, but she had a front row seat to the painting reveal. Now she understood the reason for the other copy of the Monet Cliff Walk. He knew it wouldn't be scrutinized, it was a temporary installation.

Pike peered closer to the screen. "Is that —? All hands, he's outside the Impressionist Exhibit. Bring him in."

"The area is clear," LaRoche's voice came over the radio.

Lisbon grabbed Pike's hand to bring the device closer to respond. "What happened?"

"I got distracted by that clown nonsense. I didn't see. But the painting… it's back."

"It was already in the museum this whole time," Lisbon mused. "He donated that painting before I ever talked to him." The stress lifted from her shoulders. It really had been a game.

An alarm went off.

"What's going on now?"

A security tech looked up from his equipment. "The Violets display. I need people over there right away."

"What's going on?"

"Something triggered the security gate."

"Are your cameras working?"

He flipped some switches. "Negative."

Pike turned to Lisbon accusingly. "What is he doing?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

"On my way," he told the security guy. Lisbon followed him out.

The area in front of the Violets display had been cleared and Michelle Vega came to meet them as they approached.

"Everything is secure. Two suspects are caught inside the exhibit."

"Suspects? What happened?"

"Attempted theft, sir."

"Any civilians involved?"

"Negative. These two cleared it out, they got three paintings down before the alarm triggered."

Pike moved closer, "And they're still in there?"

"Yes sir. I called for a senior security officer, they have the keys."

Lisbon's mouth dropped open as she stepped forward and the two thieves came into view.

"Who's this?" Pike asked in disbelief. "Who are you working for?"

"You mean you don't recognize her without her slinky dresses and pouty makeup?"

"You know them?"

"That's Krystal Markham. And her accomplice, Aaron."

At her identification, Krystal stepped forward, all damsel in distress. "This is all a mistake."

"Aaron Pulaski." Pike realized. "Yeah, I know you. My team has been following you, you work with the smash and grab thieves."

"You were casing Jane's house that night." Lisbon's eyes went wider as the pieces came together. "He's got a lot of great art. But then you figured out he had bypassed the museum security and tried to recruit him to your team. When he refused, you stole the paintings from his bedroom. You thought you could use them as leverage."

"Some of Jane's paintings were stolen?" Pike asked in surprise.

"He didn't tell me either. That's why we had to rush back from the island. An intruder he said. But it was a rough job. A smash and grab," Lisbon accented the words.

Krystal flinched. "We needed to take our time with those safes. That was a finesse job. Not worth it, as it turns out."

"There she is." Lisbon said coolly. "She's their leader."

Pike's eyes narrowed. "Jane did this? Set you up?"

"They tried to manipulate the wrong guy." Lisbon felt light. It all made sense now. She wished he would have told her, but he really had handled it in his own way. Nice and clean, he had solved two problems at once. And gotten away with it.

Pike processed that for awhile, his jaw clenching. He turned to Lisbon. "I'm gonna need their stash. The case hinges on it."

"You're getting nothing from me," Krystal called out. "Let us out of here."

"Jane is invested in this case, he'll want his paintings back. You think he'd help us? He seems to have a knack for this sort of work."

Lisbon stared at him, anger building. After everything they had gone through, the agony of her choices and he thought they could just swing back and act like nothing —

"Excuse me? Did you say she stole Mr. Jane's paintings?" Vega broke in. "The ones from his bedroom?"

"Yes."

"Only, it's strange, but… Jason — you remember Jason? Computer guy? He was at the painting lesson that morning? Anyway, Mr. Jane bought this sketch he drew awhile back. And Jason said that later he had him put a tracking device on it, real thin, you couldn't even see it. And he put the sketch up in his bedroom with all these way fancier, nicer paintings. He told me about it, because it was so strange, ya know?"

"A tracking device? Was it taken too?"

"It wasn't on the wall. He must have kept them together."

Pike looked towards Krystal in triumph. "Jason… Wylie, isn't it? Can he access the tracker? Where is he right now?"

"Yeah, he's…" Vega checked her watch. "He's in class right now. But he'd be glad to help."

Lisbon checked her watch, also. It was past 3pm. She would have to hurry to meet Jane. And after what he just pulled off, she very much wanted to meet him. The possibilities opened up again.

"Teresa," Pike said softly, but the intrusiveness to her thoughts made her head whip up. "It's okay. The painting is back, that was the most important thing. We don't need to pursue Jane."

"It was here all along. It was all a wild goose chase."

"Woulda been nice if he'd told us that sooner, but he had his fun. I guess it really was about the challenge. Listen, I know you like this guy. I'm… I'm going to take that job in D.C.. With this smash and grab case solved, I don't have anything holding me here." He looked slightly pained at that admission.

Lisbon smiled sadly. He was setting her free in more ways than one. She was grateful to this kind, lovely man. He really was a good guy. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, Marcus."

"You better clear out of here before we have to start filling out paperwork," Hightower teased from across the room. She came in with some officers and LaRoche went to unlock the security gate.

"Thank you. I — thank you." She didn't have words, she just felt the urgent need to catch up with her new life, whatever would come of it.

She gave one last glance to Krystal and hurried out, past a large group of clowns, around the parade playing pop music. All reminders of the man she was anxious to make amends with.

She had to run a couple blocks away to catch a taxi. She told them to step on it.