Chapter 3 of 5

xxx

The following weekend, Jane was at the grocery store when, apropos of nothing, he wondered what Lisbon was doing at the moment. Weekend chores? At this time tomorrow she'd be at Sunday mass, but today was Saturday. Perhaps she'd slept in. Was enjoying a leisurely morning reading the newspaper in bed. His brain paused here. Wearing a Bears jersey. Bare legs folded beneath her and drinking coffee slowly. Looking up with a grin when he brought her a fresh pastry. Smiling into his mouth when he bent to claim a kiss as his reward for a successful mission as hunter gatherer. Her mouth soft beneath his—

"Sir?"

Jane started. "Huh?"

The young woman at the cash register gestured to his basket. "Are you ready to scan your items?" Her tone suggested she'd been trying to get his attention for some time.

"Of course. Sorry about that." He looked down at his basket. He'd come to the store to buy tea and deodorant. His basket contained six green apples, an economy size jar of applesauce, and a pack of cinnamon chewing gum.

He paid for the lot and left.

Xxx

The next week passed without major incident. His experience at the supermarket troubled Jane. Not buying the incorrect items—he did like applesauce, after all—but his foray into fantasy land without his brain's permission.

Jane had never been blind to the fact that Lisbon was an attractive woman. On the contrary, he knew that he, Patrick Jane, was particularly—perhaps uniquely—susceptible to her attractions. But he never allowed himself to fantasize about what it would be like to actually be with her. Such daydreams were pointless and dangerous. He had a mission of revenge to fulfill. His future included three possibilities: death, incarceration, or exile. He didn't want Lisbon to have any part of any of those fates. So he'd trained himself to section off certain types of thoughts about Lisbon. An iron vault, to keep treasured memories safe, but not to be taken out on a routine basis.

Only it was as though that kiss—that brief, chaste kiss—had been a key to that vault. Now the vault was wide open. Thoughts and memories and daydreams were escaping at an alarming rate. Taking up permanent residence in other parts of his brain.

Jane decided he needed to take the matter in hand. To do so, he adopted a policy of non-avoidance avoidance towards Lisbon. He couldn't actually avoid her. She'd figure out something was wrong and harangue him until he confessed what was troubling him. Since he had no intention of confessing that what was troubling him was his increasing preoccupation with Lisbon herself, the policy of non-avoidance avoidance seemed the only possible solution.

The concept of non-avoidance avoidance was simple. He would not alter his routine. He would remain physically present as much as possible. But he would stop the lingering looks. Keep the teasing of Lisbon to a dutiful minimum. He'd considered eliminating teasing altogether, judging that it posed a significant threat to the continued security of the vault, but in the end, he'd had to accept the risk. If he stopped teasing Lisbon entirely, she'd be even more suspicious than if he left the country. The key thing was that he should be present, but not too deeply engaged. No wheedling her into ice cream breaks (okay, it was December, but it was California), no tricking her into spending extra time with him in the evenings or coaxing her into sharing emotional truths she'd otherwise bury in a vault of her own, never to see the light of day.

At first, the policy of non-avoidance avoidance seemed to be working rather well. Oh, there had been a few slip ups. He'd underrated the risks inherent in the teasing, and he didn't seem to be able to cure himself of the inclination to let his gaze linger on her, but all things considered, he'd adopted the policy of non-avoidance avoidance with impressive discipline.

The problem was, non-avoidance avoidance took a lot of mental energy to maintain. Apparently it had been eroding more of Jane's self-control than he'd realized, because a week later, he slipped up and undermined the whole effort.

He and Lisbon had gone to the office of real estate agent James Whitford to interview him about the death of his neighbor, a man named Tilghman Foley. Later, Jane wasn't sure what the tipping point had been. Perhaps it was the scent of Lisbon's shampoo. Or the fact that Whitford was tall, dark, and handsome and cast an appreciative gaze at Lisbon when she entered the room. Or maybe it was just the ongoing strain of the non-avoidance avoidance. But when Lisbon extended her hand to introduce herself as Senior Agent in Charge Teresa Lisbon of the CBI, Jane stuck out his hand and pre-empted her.

"My wife and I would like to buy a house," he heard himself say.

Lisbon shot him an annoyed look but didn't contradict him.

"I think I can help you out with that," Whitford said with an easy smile. They introduced themselves and Whitford asked, "So what are you in the market for?"

"Nothing too fancy. A nice yard, a good school district." Belatedly he thought to add, "We're interested in Forest Knolls." This was the name of the neighborhood where the victim had lived. "Do you know it?"

"As a matter of fact, I live there myself," Whitford said. "It's a great neighborhood."

"Is it safe, though?" Lisbon interjected. "We saw on the news that there was a murder there a couple of days ago."

"Yes, it was actually my neighbor that died," Whitford said. "A real tragedy. But I assure you, that's not a common occurrence. I've lived there for ten years and this is the first time anything like that has happened."

"I'm sure you understand we can't move anywhere we don't feel our kids will be safe," Jane said, taking Lisbon's hand in his. She cast him a sidelong look but didn't pull away, willing to go along with his play for the time being.

"I'll do my best to put your mind at rest," Whitford assured them. He gestured to the small loveseat opposite his desk. "Please, won't you sit down?"

Jane sat down and pulled Lisbon down next to him. Off balance by his enthusiastic tugging, Lisbon sat down next to him a little closer than she might otherwise have done. She pulled her hand free and folded her hands demurely in her lap. She was still close, though.

He yielded to the impulse to take advantage of the opportunity and put his arm around her.

Later, he realized that had pretty much been the beginning of the end.

"So how many kids do you have?" Whitford asked once they were all seated.

"Two," Jane answered absently. The ends of Lisbon's hair brushed against the back of the hand he had around her shoulder. How was it possible for anything to be that soft?

"What are their names?"

Lisbon glanced at Jane, clearly expecting him to fill in the details. Jane gazed into her eyes. The taste of apples, crisp and sweet—

Giving him a look that communicated she felt he'd taken leave of his senses, Lisbon turned back to Whitford. "Natalie and Lucas," she supplied.

"Nice names. What ages?"

"Uh," Lisbon said with another glance at Jane. "Six and nine."

"Sounds like you've got your hands full," Whitford said.

"Tell me about it," Lisbon muttered.

Jane rubbed her arm comfortingly.

Lisbon shifted. "Tell us more about Forest Knolls," she said to Whitford, her tone overly brusque.

"Sure. What would you like to know?"

"What's the community like?" Lisbon asked. "Neighbors get along?"

Less interested in Forest Knolls than the experience of having Lisbon's soft curves pressed against him, Jane let his arm drift lower until his hand rested on Lisbon's hip. She squirmed a bit, but rather than prompting Jane to let go, this had the effect of bringing them in even closer contact with one another, their sides pressed against each other. He slid his free hand into hers to settle her.

Lisbon shot him an alarmed look and tried to recover the thread of the interview. "Uh—barbeques, huh?" she said in response to something Whitford had said. "So the neighbors know each other pretty well, then?"

"Oh, yeah," Whitford said. "People watch out for each other there. You'll see."

Nobody had been looking out for Mr. Foley, Jane thought, but he was far too distracted by Lisbon's warmth and softness to bother pursuing the thought. That soft mouth brushing against his—

"So tell me what kind of place you are looking for," Whitford said, eager to get off topics related to murder.

Jane roused himself. "Well, the kids need their own rooms, of course. A guest room, for when Teresa's brothers visit. A garden for me and an office for Teresa. She's a bit of a workaholic," he confided to Whitford. "Ideally a Jacuzzi bath in the master bedroom. Teresa rather has her heart set on one." He squeezed Lisbon, reveling in all that sweet softness. He looked at her fondly. "And I want her to have everything her heart desires." He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Lisbon's hair to emphasize his point.

Good God. The cinnamon was only the beginning. There was something else underneath—something uniquely her. He recognized it, but he'd only ever caught fleeting hints of it before. Now he was mainlining it. It was going straight to his brain, heady and dizzy-making. He nuzzled closer, burying his nose deeper in her hair to get closer to the source.

Whitford was talking, but Jane had no idea what he was saying.

To his utter shock, Lisbon placed her hand on his knee. Jane's brain nearly shorted out. She squeezed. Hard. A warning. She'd tolerated the hand holding with reasonably good grace, but now he'd crossed the line—gone so far past the line that the line was barely visible in the distance behind him.

Lisbon's hand on his knee jolted him back to reality. He coughed and hastily withdrew his arm from around her and his brain from a dangerous daydream involving Lisbon and a Jacuzzi. He crossed his legs and angled himself away from Lisbon, deeming it prudent to remove himself from temptation.

Somehow he made it through the rest of the interview without yielding to the overwhelming impulse to ravish her on the couch. Lisbon ended the interview, thanked Whitford, and stood to leave. Jane followed. As they left the room, his hand found the small of Lisbon's back automatically and unconsciously.

Lisbon shook him off once they were outside. She rounded on him, eyes flashing. "What the hell, Jane?"

Jane took half a step back, in some fear for the continued safety of his person. "What?"

"What was with the octopus routine in there?" she demanded.

"I, uh—"

"I hope you at least learned something useful from that act," she huffed.

Jane seized the out. "Of course."

She put her hands on her hips. "Well? What did you find out from that little charade?"

Jane was in a quandary. In truth, he'd paid very little attention to Whitford or anything he'd said. He'd learned that Lisbon's pulse sped up when he nuzzled her hair, but while he found this fact downright intriguing, he didn't think Lisbon would appreciate this piece of information. Finally, he went with an old standby. "Patience, Lisbon. All will be revealed."

Lisbon growled in frustration and stalked away.

Jane decided he'd better figure out who killed poor Mr. Foley post haste. Perhaps a closed case would put Lisbon in a forgiving state of mind befitting the spirit of Christmas. In any case, it would probably be wise to steer clear of Lisbon while he regained his equilibrium. Solving a murder would be a convenient excuse.

He was going to have to think of a solution for the Lisbon situation while he was at it. The policy of non-avoidance avoidance was clearly not a sustainable solution. The vault's security was now under attack from all sides. Not only was the vault door standing wide open, but the rear wall had been blasted into pieces.

He set off for Forest Knolls with mistletoe on his mind.