"You're going to get me killed," Tasha yelled, stamping her foot to punctuate her words, frustrated that she had been caught.
Cuffs connected her to a wooden chair, which then had rope tied from the frame under the seat to the desk legs; the best they could do for an impromptu interrogation room in an office. Reade and Weitz sat across from her on the other side of the desk.
"Whatever it is, I want the whole story, Tasha," Reade demanded.
"There's no way this is official," Tasha noted, scuffing the floor, "this isn't you, Reade."
"I brought him here," Weitz indicated, then bragged, "I'm a good influence seeing you'd be off digging yourself deeper into this hole without us here."
Tasha glared at Weitz. "You can trust him," Reade explained, "he's going to help you."
"So you can lock me up? How hard did I hit you?" Tasha retorted.
"The whole story. And we'll see what we can do to stop this," Reade reiterated, staring down her eyes, "lie to me, and I'll end you myself."
She held his gaze, calculating whether she would comply with his demands. "We need to do this fast - I need to be in Canada or Burke will know I'm dirty," she reinforced, "I don't want to die."
"No one's going to die here," Weitz affirmed, glaring at Reade to pack his emotions away.
"The CIA promised me if I finished investigating Blake Crawford and getting them intel on HCI Global, they would clear my name so I could move on with whatever law enforcement agency I wanted," Tasha recounted, "but then Madeline Burke took over and things got very complicated."
"Go on," Weitz encouraged.
"I'm Burke's muscle; a fixer. The CIA wants to know her ultimate game plan, so I'm supposed to keep feeding them information. But Burke's demands keep getting loftier and loftier, and she has me killing the people I vowed to protect. Hurting the person I loved," Tasha explained, looking apologetically at Reade.
"Put that away," Weitz implored, pounding his fist on the table like a gavel, "you're one wrong move away from this going sideways; this isn't a lovey-dovey moment.
"We can take you back to New York now and put you into protective custody while we sort this out," Reade offered.
"I can't leave now," Tasha shook her head, "one of the subsidiaries of HCI Global has a very valuable asset: the Book of Secrets. It's somehow tied to the tattoo cases, but I haven't figured out how yet."
"Who have you been in communication with?" Weitz asked.
"Keaton, via a handler. But he's been silent," Tasha responded.
"He's in a coma," Reade explained.
"And he disavowed working with you," Weitz added.
"He did that to substantiate my cover. And now I need to go to Canada to keep my cover," Tasha reaffirmed.
"Stay put for a minute so Reade and I can consult," Weitz directed, walking with Reade out to the hallway and shutting the door.
On his way to the SUV, Rich caught two legs in his periphery as he rounded the far side of the parking garage. Looking closer, he could see Kurt tucked into the corner where the walls intersected at the end of an aisle where a car wouldn't fit.
Rich stood at the parking garage wall, ten feet away from Kurt, giving the man some space. "I can't imagine how you feel," Rich spoke softly and cautiously, "It's a rollercoaster of emotions when your loved one is very sick."
Kurt kept his head down, his hands resting on his knees. "I just want to hold my wife."
"We're doing everything we can to make that happen."
"I can't do anything to protect her," he admitted in defeat.
"Some days, like today, are going to be really rough, and your friends are going to be here to give you whatever support you need. Even if that just means letting it out."
Kurt nodded and rubbed his face, taking a deep breath to clear his head. When he looked up at Rich, Kurt's eyes had the realization of: if you're out here, who's with Jane? "Patterson took up the post. I'm punching out for a bit to get some sleep. Jane's resting comfortably if you want to go see her."
Kurt pushed against the wall, rising to his feet. "Rich? Thank you. This means everything," Kurt affirmed, stepping toward him and reaching out his hand to shake Rich's.
"I'm paying it forward," Rich replied and continued his walk to the SUV.
"Patterson," she answered from where she leaned against the wall at her post at the door.
"Have you ever come across anything in the tattoo cases related to something called the Book of Secrets?" Reade jumped straight to asking.
"Yes. It's…" she hesitated, "important. What does this have to do with Tasha?"
Reade ignored her. "What can you tell me about it?" he continued.
"We should do that in person," she hedged.
"Give me the TLDR," he pressed.
"We need it to save Jane," she admitted.
"What's the deal?" Weitz asked when Reade returned from his phone call.
"We need the book," Reade said definitively.
"Care to elaborate?" Weitz tipped his head in question.
"No."
"I think you missed my point. You're going to need to elaborate," Weitz pushed.
"Patterson indicated it is connected to the tattoo cases, and that it is very important to have. She wouldn't give any more details over the phone. We'll talk about it more when I'm back in New York," Reade shared.
"You mean we'll talk about it more when we're back in New York," he corrected, "we're a tag team duo, buddy, remember?"
That's what I was afraid of, Reade groaned, the only sound audible.
"Now how are we going to setup ongoing communication and get a tracker onto Zapata so I can turn her ass over to the CIA if she's lying?" Weitz asked, "she has a plane to catch."
Jane slept the bulk of the day with Kurt stationed at her side. "Jane isn't strong enough to proceed with the brain surgery," the doctor had explained, "so we're going to need to pursue less invasive methods while we wait for the infection to clear. We're going to start with an infusion Dr. Spears recommended to stabilize her confusion. It won't help with her memory, yet it will help her remain calmer until we can develop further treatments."
When Patterson relayed the treatment updates when Rich returned from his rest, Rich saw the surgical delay as a blessing in disguise: the only time it had been attempted it had killed the patient. Perhaps spending a bit more time evaluating alternative options would have a more promising overall outcome. One that wouldn't kill Jane.
"We need to tell him so he stops thinking that surgery is the only option," Rich told Patterson outside the door, trying to convince her they needed to share that they were looking for the Book of Secrets.
"Not today Rich," Patterson declined, biding time, knowing enough that Tasha had some sort of connection to it but not enough to actually share, "let's talk about this tomorrow when Reade gets here."
"We need to tell him. He needs to know there's some hope," Rich reiterated.
"But there might not be any," Patterson chided, "we might not find it."
"You are looking at the magnificent Rich Dotcom and the amazing Pattycakes; of course we're going to find it," Rich boasted, both of his arms held out to the side before he mimicked a bow with his head.
"Shut up," Patterson commanded, rolling her eyes and sitting back in the room with Jane.
Near the end of visiting hours, Kurt's phone rang. "I'm here - where should I meet you?" Allie asked.
"Head to my apartment. I'm on the way," Kurt instructed.
Kurt and Patterson checked in with Rich in the hallway before leaving. "I'm going to meet Allie and catch her up. Patterson, after you drop me off, go home and get some sleep. Rich, we'll be back first thing in the morning to rotate so you can get some sleep."
They both nodded in agreement. "We need to stay sharp," he encouraged, his leadership voice poking through, "once Reade gets here, we're going to need to be all hands on deck at my place to figure this out."
Allie was leaning against the wall outside his apartment when he arrived, her roller bag next to her legs. She pulled him into a quick hug. "Hi," she spoke.
"Thanks for coming," he responded, opening the door and ushering her inside, "get comfortable."
"That's some interesting redecorating," Allie noted the pictures and lamps that were still out of place despite Patterson's quick pass at cleaning.
"That's another story," Kurt dismissed, having more pressing things he wanted to discuss first.
Allie planted herself on the couch, and Kurt headed for the breakfast bar, pouring scotch for the two of them. He handed her one glass, then sat in the opposite corner of the couch and took a sip of the other. "The ZIP poisoning has gotten very serious," Kurt explained, "Jane has reverted to Remi."
"What does that mean?" Allie asked, her face giving away the puzzle she was trying to put together in her mind.
"She believes she is Remi and behaves like her…like a terrorist," Kurt stated, the cold words slowing and tumbling from his mouth, "It's been going on since she woke in the hospital a few months ago."
Allie swished the liquid in her glass. Medical anomalies had a way of leaving people speechless. "Kurt, I'm so sorry," Allie replied, "I don't know what to say."
He didn't know either, so he kept explaining the facts. "She was hospitalized with meningitis, and she's in the ICU. She's unstable and having hallucinations that are leaving her very confused."
"Hallucinations?"
"She has talked to Roman, thought I was Roman, thought she was Remi…" he trailed off, taking another sip of his drink. Once he collected his thoughts, he jumped to why he had asked her there. "I need your help. While Jane was Remi, she committed several crimes. Remi collaborated with Violet Park to free Shepherd. There are FBI and CIA surveillance and witnesses to two crimes. I don't know what to do."
"We have to bring her in," Allie said definitively, like that was an easy answer.
Kurt's displeasure made him stand from the couch and walk back to the breakfast bar, keeping his back toward Allie. "I know that isn't what you want to hear," Allie continued, "but you know we have to."
Kurt's voice was low and he struggled to keep the growl at bay. "After her health, the biggest thing I'm concerned about is someone trying to arrest her. We've had one of us posted at her door at all times to ensure she stays in and that doesn't happen."
"Kurt," she called, and when he didn't turn around, she called more firmly, "Kurt."
He spun, his knuckles gripping the countertop until they were pale. "You haven't seen her," he blasted and growled, "You /don't/ understand. Jane didn't do this."
Allie kept her voice level, not giving in to throwing matches at his ire. "But Remi did. You don't help her by getting yourself arrested."
"You're not helping," he accused, sulking away to the bedroom.
Kurt returned an hour later in sweatpants and a t-shirt, his hair wet from a shower, carrying fresh towels. "The guest bed is made up; you just need these," Kurt offered, handing Allie the towels, "I'm gonna go to bed."
"Thank you," Allie spoke and took them from his hands. She met his eyes, offering him caring support, hoping she could have a reasonable conversation again now that he had cooled down. "Please think about it. We bring her in or someone else will. Someone who doesn't have Jane's best interest in mind."
Kurt shook his head. "Let it go. Reade will be here tomorrow, at which point we should be able to brainstorm and come up with a better plan," Kurt dismissed.
Maybe then you could also hear out my ideas to contribute to the plan, Allie barely held her tongue. "Goodnight," she spoke, heading off to the guest bedroom.
"Ian? Ian?"
Rich entered the room at her calls and she was sitting up, looking around the room, more alert than she had been the entire time in the hospital. "Where's Ian?" she asked.
Rich stood by her side and took a shot in the dark. "Alice?"
She nodded, her curious eyes continuing to scan the room. "Where's Ian?"
"He'll be back soon," he fibbed. Ian is dead was an agitation not worth repeating in this daily déjà vu.
"Can you tell my mom I have a headache?" she requested.
"Sure," Rich said, pressing the button for the nurse to come in.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"I'm Rich. I'm a friend," he explained, and it occurred to him that this had become a regular routine of explanation.
"Can I have a drink?" she asked, looking toward the pitcher on the side table.
Rich poured water into her cup that already had a straw in it. He held the straw to her mouth, encouraging her to drink. She attempted to hold the cup and frowned when she found her wrists attached to the bed. "My hands…" she observed.
"We'll see if we can get rid of those soon," Rich dismissed the restraints and tipped the straw toward her, "here, have a sip."
She drank long pulls of water, then let the straw go, signifying she was done. "Have you seen Paul?" she asked.
That was new. "Who's Paul?"
"My cousin."
"Patty, Patty, Patty, Patty, Patty, I need you to look for someone," Rich rattled off energetically.
Several soft thuds of hitting a pillow and a scratch of clearing her throat greeted him. "Rich, it's 2:30AM, this sure as hell better be good," Patterson scolded.
"I need to you to start looking for someone," Rich instructed, his arms flailing in time with his excitement, "Jane woke up as Alice, and she's asking for her cousin Paul."
"What?" she was more alert at the news that Jane thought she was Alice, and then extra alert at the mention of the premise of a cousin, "we searched all kinds of records before and didn't find any other family."
"Look again."
"Okay," she thought a bit more, considering, "maybe it's a record we didn't find yet. One that's on another cache?"
"Then we better find that cache."
They both paused for a moment, mulling over the endless flywheel of ideas spinning through their heads. "I need all of the pictures we have of Jane's childhood," Rich decided.
We're gonna play tell me a story…