A/N: I continue to appreciate all the wonderful reviews. Thanks so much! I know many of you expressed concerns about what Lisbon might witness in the closet. Remember, this is a rewrite, so it won't follow canon—sort of the point, after all. So, without further ado, here's…
Chapter 3
Lisbon strained to listen over the sound of her heart pounding in her ears and the dull hum of the air conditioner unit. She took a few quiet, deep breaths, willing herself to relax. She was mindful of her cellphone in her back pocket, and she tried to remember if she had turned the volume down. She'd meant to, before she'd gotten out of her car earlier, but if she'd actually done it, she'd been so preoccupied with finding Jane that she didn't have a clear memory of doing it. Pressed against Jane's clothes in the closet, she didn't dare move, fearing the clinking of the wire hangers against the metal bar would give her away.
Calm down, Teresa, she said to herself. Focus.
After another deep breath, she willed her mind to still and strained to listen.
"Why would you do that for me?"
Jane was asking about her putting up his bail money.
"Because you seem like a good man whose lost his way."
They spoke some more, and Jane complimented her on the soup she'd brought.
Chicken soup, really? thought Lisbon. He has a black eye, not the flu.
Lisbon knew she was being catty, for until they knew for sure Lorelei worked for Red John, she could just be a nice woman who wanted to help a handsome man, down on his luck. If that was the case, Lisbon couldn't actually blame her, but still, this was Jane. Her Jane. He'd been her responsibility for so many years now, she felt understandably proprietary where he was concerned. Well, that, and she loved him to the brink of insanity, so yeah, she was jealous to her marrow.
Several minutes later, after idle small talk about the weather and the casino and his run-in with Oscar, Lisbon heard the creaking of the bed springs, and her heart picked up speed again. They were farther away from the noisy air conditioner, and closer to the closet, so she could hear things much more clearly. She didn't know if this was a good thing or a bad. She heard the rustling of clothing. Surely they weren't going to—
"You're such a beautiful man," Lorelei was saying, her voice full of sympathy and seduction. "You deserve so much more than this."
"I don't know about that," countered Jane. "After all I've done in my life, this is probably a lot more than I deserve, actually."
"Everyone deserves a second chance, though, Patrick. A chance to start again, with no one there to judge you. I could be that for you, if you'd let me."
"You don't even know me," said Jane.
"We share a strong connection; I know you feel it too."
"Maybe, but—"
And then Lisbon heard Jane's surprised inhalation, and the unmistakable soft smacking of lips against lips. Lisbon felt a sharp stab in the vicinity of her heart, so painful that she had to stifle her own gasp. The bed squeaked again as they moved, and she heard a feminine sigh of appreciation. Everything in Lisbon cried out to dramatically emerge from the closet and stop this, even if it ruined all that Jane had worked for, even if it put them both in mortal danger. She couldn't believe he was willing to go this far, that he could throw aside the connection he felt with her to sleep with Red John's whore. Her throat felt tight with hot, unshed tears.
The bed suddenly shifted violently, and over the sound of their heavy breathing came Jane's ragged protest.
"No! I'm sorry, but I—I can't."
"It's okay," Lorelei soothed. "I can help you out with that."
"It's not that. Well, not just that." He sighed, and Lisbon could imagine him running frustrated hands through his hair. His words came out in an uncharacteristic rush. "I'm exhausted, and I have a hangover and bruised ribs. And, to tell you the truth, it's been a long time since I—since I've done this." Lisbon wondered if he was faking the tremble in his voice.
"Sit down, Patrick," Lorelei said. "We'll take it slow." Her tone turned teasing. "I'll be gentle with you. Or not. Whatever you need."
"Listen…Lorelei. No, please…I-I appreciate what you're trying to do for me, believe me. You're incredibly beautiful and extremely tempting, and the soup was very good, but, I don't think I can give you what you want from me."
There was an awkward silence, and the bed creaked again.
"Don't you think it's time to move on, Patrick? Angela wouldn't have wanted you to punish yourself like this."
Lisbon could feel his shock through the closet door. Even Lisbon had never dared utter his dead wife's name, as if saying it aloud were uttering blasphemy.
"Who the hell are you?"
Lisbon had no doubt the cold anger in Jane's voice was real; on the few occasions she'd heard him like that, she'd gotten an icy chill down her spine then, too.
"Someone who wants to help you, Patrick. We have a mutual friend, you and I. He's concerned about you too. He sent me here to help you find your way out of this dark pit you've dug for yourself, to bring you into the lig-"
"Who?" Jane demanded dangerously, and Lisbon's heart stopped.
"Red John, of course."
He was right, thought Lisbon. Goddamn but he was right.
Jane paused in feigned surprise, then: "What the hell does he want from me? I've given up, just like Timothy Carter told me to. I'm out of the revenge business, and all I want is to be left alone—by everyone, understand? I don't need you, and I certainly don't need him."
"But Patrick, you do need him, don't you see? Red John's been watching you and your struggle to move on with your life. But you're drowning here. Let him throw you a line."
"You need to leave now," said Jane. Lisbon heard him opening the front door, heard Lorelei gather her belongings.
"I'll go for now. But you know where to find me when you've had time to think about this."
He shut the door on her, locked the dead bolt. Lisbon knew he must be watching through the peephole to be sure Lorelei had gone. Suddenly, the closet door slid open and Lisbon blinked in the bright light.
"She's gone," he said, and his face split into a wide smile. "You heard all that?"
Lisbon nodded, stepping out of the closet, her own face grim. She avoided looking at the bed.
"I told you she was Red John's girl."
Lisbon found she couldn't look at him either.
"Yeah," she said numbly, moving toward the door. "You did, didn't you?" She needed to get out of there, fast.
"You can't leave yet," said Jane, blocking her frantic egress. "As long as I'm here, they'll be watching. I'll go back to the casino in a few hours, then you can follow on your own."
She knew he was right. He was right about everything. They were the closest they had ever been to catching Red John, but all she could think about was that Jane and Lorelei had just been making out on his tacky red bedspread.
"Fine," she said, still avoiding his eyes. "I uh-I need to use the bathroom."
She brushed past him, ignoring the tingle at his warmth, and went to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her. She ripped off the blond wig and threw it on the dingy tile floor, then she turned on the water at the sink and splashed cold water on her pale cheeks. She buried her face in a rough white towel that smelled strongly of bleach, and tried not to be sick to her stomach.
She put the toilet lid down and sat upon it, trying to pull herself together. After about ten minutes, there came a tentative knock on the door.
"Lisbon? You okay? I'm making eggs…"
Yes, she thought caustically, because eggs make everything all right.
"I'm fine," she said, hoping she didn't sound as angry as she felt.
But Lisbon wasn't the kind of girl to hide in a bathroom (at least, not for long), so she neatly hung up the towel and, after brushing at her hair with her fingers in the mirror, she opened the bathroom door. Her expression was composed and resigned. Jane was indeed making eggs in an electric frying pan, and he'd even put the teakettle on. He sized up her mood in one glance, and his welcoming smile faded. He turned off the pan and watched as she sat stiffly on the chair by the table.
He was quiet now, deep in thought, but dished out her portion of scrambled eggs onto one of the two plates he owned. He brought their steaming breakfast to the table, returned for silverware and a napkin, and poured two mugs of strong English Breakfast tea, no milk or sugar.
He sat down across from her at the table, put the paper napkin in his lap.
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
She picked up her tea, sipped, burned her tongue, and set down the cup.
"For what?" she asked coolly, finally looking him in the eyes.
She wanted him to say it, to admit that it hadn't mattered that she was in the closet listening, he was going to get Lorelei's confession no matter Lisbon's feelings on the matter.
He sighed, then put it all on her. "You weren't supposed to be here for that." Instead of placating her, the fury and hurt she was trying to tamp down exploded in a hail of sarcasm.
"Oh, well. Sorry to have interfered with your plans. Tell me, if you had been able to get it up, would you have slept with her while I was a captive audience?" Shocked at her own words, she gasped and clapped one hand over her mouth, green eyes wide.
Instead of being offended, however, Jane laughed aloud.
"Oh, God! I'm sorry, Jane," she said, still so embarrassed at what she'd said she wasn't getting that he hadn't taken offense.
When his laughter died down to a chuckle, then a grin, he reached for her hand. She moved hers away and clasped both hands in her lap.
"Is that what you thought? That I couldn't—I guess I should be mortified by the assault on my male uh, pride, but-"
"I heard you kissing her," accused Lisbon, now annoyed at his amused reaction to what she had thought was deadly serious.
"No, you heard her kissing me. I played the shy maiden, I'm afraid," he said, and winked at her. "Believe me, I used all the biofeedback tricks in my bag, and I—well, I suppose that's not what you wanted to hear either."
Lisbon blanched, then took a sudden ravenous interest in her scrambled eggs. He watched her eat, and he was the one frowning now, suddenly at a loss as to how to comfort her in this situation. They had never spoken of such personal things before, and despite being his closest friend in the world, they'd somehow managed to keep things from crossing a certain invisible line.
For Jane's part, he had been without sex for so long it was almost a nonissue in his life. He'd long ago resigned himself to his celibacy, at first because the thought of sleeping with anyone else but his wife had made him feel like he was cheating on her; he'd still felt very married, and he had never been unfaithful. After some time had passed, it became easier not to think about sex; his desire for vengeance kept him warm at night. But having been away from Lisbon these past six months, he'd begun to think about it again, had thought of her in his most private moments in the shower, or as he lay in his lonely bed at night.
Kissing Lorelei only reminded him of what he would rather be doing with the woman hiding inside his closet, a few feet away. When her lips pressed invitingly to his, he was surprised to discover that he hadn't felt like he was cheating on his wife anymore; he was cheating on Lisbon. Had Lisbon not been just a few feet away, he might have convinced himself it would be worth it, that all it would be was sex. And so he had risked losing the whole game because he hadn't wanted to lose Lisbon. He hoped to hell his fumbling kisses and lack of erection would be enough to get him a meeting with Red John, because it sure wasn't scoring him any points with Lisbon.
"You don't owe me any explanations, Jane," Lisbon said, breaking the charged silence. "I have no doubt you would have slept with her if I hadn't been here." While she said it matter-of-factly, he could sense she was begging him to deny it.
Jane nodded. "I'm not going to insult you with a lie about this, Teresa. I probably would have, just to be sure she could report back to Red John that I was ready for a new life, leaving everyone else behind, including you."
"You would have whored yourself for the sake of vengeance?"
"Yes," he said simply. He couldn't argue her word choice. "Not something I'm exactly proud of, but there it is."
She snorted scornfully, but he didn't miss the flash of hurt in her eyes. When she stood up a few thoughtful minutes later, took her fork and plate to the bathroom sink to wash them, he saw with a sinking feeling that she had made up her mind about something.
"You should eat, Jane," she said without emotion. "Take a shower. Take a nap. You're gonna need it when you go to meet Red John."
She came out of the bathroom, sat in the easy chair beside the bed, picked up the remote control and flipped on the TV. She didn't look at him.
"After this is over," she told him, "I'm done."
He felt like she had kicked him in the gut, even though he had begged her to leave only the day before. He hoped she was just mad, just hurt. She always forgave him, didn't she? He wondered idly if he offered his nose to punch, would she do it, her anger quickly dissipating as with school chums on the playground? But he didn't offer, and she didn't volunteer, so for once, he did what he was told and scooped up his eggs with his fork, though they tasted like ash in his mouth.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Jane took a shower, which was just further torture, Lisbon thought, as she waited and didn't watch the television. Imagining him naked wasn't doing much for her state of mind. She was done, she'd told him. Five minutes after she'd said it, she knew she was lying—mostly to herself. She would never be done with Patrick Jane, mainly because she both loved and loathed him in equal measure, and she couldn't figure out which side to give up. Only he made her act and speak so impulsively.
Most of her anger was today was from jealousy, if she were honest, and the remainder was from fear. Fear of Red John's power over him. Fear he would get himself killed. Fear she would never be free of this unrequited, impossible love for him.
So she would exact a bit of her own revenge, let him stew awhile in her coldness. She wasn't ready to let him off the hook yet, but she needed to release her anger so she could concentrate on protecting him. It was a difficult balance. She was convinced that he needed her more than ever, given his admission of what he might have done with Lorelei had Lisbon not been in the closet. If what he'd said to Lorelei was true (and Lisbon had no reason to doubt it) about not having slept with anyone in a long while, he might have come to regret a night with someone he didn't really love. He was blind to commonsense when it came to Red John.
While the water in the bathroom ran and the air conditioner and television softly droned, Lisbon dozed in the chair. When she awoke it was to find Jane stretched out on the bed atop the covers, fast asleep. She took the opportunity to observe him sleeping—a sight she hadn't seen in six months. He looked different on a bed instead of his couch at the CBI, more relaxed and spread out in abandon. He was as casual as she'd ever seen him, clad in a plain white t-shirt and slacks with bare feet, his hair damp and curling wildly, annoyingly sexy. She resisted the urge to twirl a wet lock around her finger. His breathing was heavy and deep, and she resigned herself to a long afternoon stuck in his motel room, watching him sleep. Her eyes rested on her purse where she kept her Glock, and she felt much better knowing where Jane was, that he was safe, at least for the moment.
As quietly as she could, she got up and surveyed his stacks of books. Choosing a biography of John Wayne, she settled back into the chair and began to read.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Three hours later, Jane rolled over to see Lisbon sleeping in the recliner, though this time she had a book tented on her chest, her breasts rising and falling with her gentle breathing. She didn't look very comfortable, however, and he wished he had the courage to wake her and ask her to join him on the bed. She probably really would punch him then.
The bedside clock flashed 12:28 p.m., and the TV was on low, playing a nature video about a lioness attacking a herd of zebras. He watched in fascination as, at first, the big cat missed her prey, but managed to rally and maul the unfortunate animal on the back, bringing it down in the zebra's own watering hole.
It's a lion eat zebra kind of world, he thought wistfully.
He wondered whether he was the lion or the zebra in his world, the hunter or hunted, the predator or prey. As a fake psychic, he used to be a lion in his own right, but now Jane watched these nature shows because they gave him insight into the more ruthless lions of the human world. On the savannahs of Africa, there was no right or wrong. Stuff just happened. Survival of the fittest and all that. Predators like Red John identified with and even embraced these ideals. To understand the killer, you had to understand that his motivation was to prey on the weak. But to exact the only kind of vengeance that would ever satisfy him, Jane would have to turn the tables on the predator. He wasn't going to play the zebra anymore.
His eyes strayed back to Lisbon.
She stirred and awoke, rubbing her eyes and yawning softly like a child. She blinked and looked over at Jane who was caught blatantly staring at her. He didn't turn away this time. He let her see his admiration, his longing. For a moment, she was caught too in the sudden awareness between them, and he would bet his last grand that her heart was beating as fast as his was.
She was the one to look away first, and her gaze rested blindly on the flickering TV.
"I hate these shows," she said to fill the silence. He reluctantly looked at the screen as the lion and her cubs dined on the fresh kill.
"Yeah," he said, the moment between them gone. "Me too."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
In the early afternoon, Jane arose from a nap and put on his dress shirt and suitcoat.
"Will you seek out Lorelei?" Lisbon asked, as he sat on the bed and put on his socks and worn, old oxford shoes.
"Yes," he said. "I'll tell her I've been rethinking things, that I want to join her and Red John.
"You think she'll believe you, after what happened earlier?"
He nodded. "Yes, because that's what she wants to believe, because that's what would make her master happy."
"And then what?"
"I have no idea. I do whatever she asks."
Lisbon stiffened, and began putting on her own shoes that she'd kicked off earlier.
Suddenly, Jane couldn't bare her coldness or the long, uncomfortable silences. He walked over to stand before her where she sat in the easy chair.
"Teresa," he said, but she didn't look up from her feet. He squatted down before her, stayed her hands on the strap of one sandal. "Teresa," he said again, until she met his eyes. "I'm truly sorry about this morning. I didn't do it to hurt you."
Her eyes grew brighter, her cheeks tinged pink. "I know that. But you did it anyway."
His hand came up to touch her cheek, and she almost leaned into its warmth.
"I'm sorry," he repeated. She didn't think she'd ever heard him apologize so much in one sitting. She almost believed he meant it.
"I'll be all right," she said. "I understand what you're doing. I just hate to see the lengths you're willing to go for a vengeance that won't bring your family back."
"I know it won't. But I will never find peace, will never be able to move on with my life, until he is dead."
"I know," she whispered. He was so close to her face, one hand resting now on her shoulder. If either of them moved just a fraction forward, their lips would meet, and everything she'd ever wondered about him would be answered. He released her from his intense gaze, then, in an action that squeezed her heart, he bent his curly head and finished buckling her sandal strap. What would he do, she wondered, if she buried her hands in his hair, pulled his head up so she could find his mouth with hers? Could she make him forget about Red John and Lorelei? Angela? Could she kiss him into abandoning everything that was terrible and dangerous?
When he'd finished with her shoe, he patted her foot and looked up at her with mischief in his eyes.
"There you go, Cinderella."
She smiled in spite of herself, but lacked the words for a snappy comeback.
She watched him rise and go to the table, reloading his pockets with keys, new burner phone, and wallet. They'd exchanged new phone numbers earlier.
"Remember, give me about thirty minutes before you leave. I'm afraid you'll have to sit here in the dark, but the maid shouldn't bother you since I put out the Do Not Disturb sign. I do that sometimes, so that won't be anything out of the ordinary; she knows I like my privacy. Since my car is still at the casino, I'll have to take the bus. I'll try to get her to talk to me in the bar, but I'll text you if plans change."
"Okay," she said, amused in spite of herself at how easily he was spouting out orders. Or was he rambling for some other reason?
She watched him go to the bathroom, then emerge with her wig. He tossed it to her and she caught it with one hand.
"Don't forget your friend," he said with a grin.
She looked down at the offending object, shook the flyaway locks into place. "You know, I have never wanted to be a blond," she mused.
"Well, it was the perfect choice of disguise. You are the least blond person I know."
"Well, that's pretty insulting to blonds, don't you think?"
He smiled. "I'm blond, so I can say that." By now his hand was on the doorknob.
"Be careful," she said automatically.
He raised an eyebrow. "You're not still mad at me?"
"Yes, I'm extremely mad at you. But I don't want you dead."
He smirked. "The feeling's mutual, Lisbon. I'll contact you later."
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Red John wants Teresa Lisbon dead," said Lorelei from her place across the booth from him. When he'd found her in the casino, she had led him to one of the establishment's four restaurants, a fifties themed diner. He hoped Lisbon had seen him leave the blackjack tables. He didn't think she would follow them; it would seem too suspicious; she would likely find a place where she could inconspicuously watch the door. Now, when her name was brought up, he was very glad there was no sign of her.
"What?" he said, his gut clenching, though the statement shouldn't really have taken him by surprise.
"You heard me. And he wants you to take care of it, as a show of faith."
"That's absurd. I don't want to kill anyone ever again." Well, not until the real Red John, he amended to himself.
"Funny thing, though," Lorelei continued, ignoring his protest, "Agent Lisbon has apparently gone on vacation from the CBI. Any idea where she might be?"
Jane felt his stomach plummet, his mind racing at all her words revealed. He merely shrugged, however, keeping to his new role. "I lost touch with her six months ago. I left her and the CBI behind. I have no idea what she's doing these days."
Lorelei smiled. "Come on, Patrick. You know Teresa Lisbon never takes vacations." Then her dark eyes turned steely. "Where is she?"
Jane took a chance; he got up from the booth. "Look, I've told you I don't know where the hell Lisbon is, and I really don't care whether you believe me or not. I came here acting on good faith to Red John's offer of help. If I wanted judgmental hypocrites, I would have stayed with the CBI."
He walked away, counting slowing in his head to five. He got to three.
"Patrick," called Lorelei.
He stopped, paused for effect, took his time turning around. He walked back to the booth, thought of his dead family and summoned misty eyes.
"Look, I've got nothing here. Nothing in California. Nothing in the world that matters anymore. I'm tired of this dirty city, but I don't have anywhere else to go. I want to let go of the past, start all over again someplace where I feel like a—like a human being again. I'll do anything he wants, but I'm not going to go backward with people who want to ridicule and control me again. Are we clear?" He wiped at his eyes angrily with the back of his hand.
Lorelei sat back in the bench seat, amusement clearly written on her face. She nodded toward the seat opposite.
"Sit down, Patrick."
He hesitated, then sat down heavily, making the whole booth shake.
Lorelei reached out both hands to take his on top of the table. "Calm down, Patrick. No one is trying to control you. We honestly just want to help. But you understand why we are still a bit skeptical. You've hunted Red John for years; we need tangible proof that you are being honest with us. If you are truly starting from scratch, you need to burn all your old bridges completely. Teresa Lisbon is the last bridge between your old life and your new. I know you must have her phone number. Call her and ask her for help. Then…you know what to do."
Jane stared into her fathomless brown eyes, willing her to believe him.
"Okay."
She squeezed his hands. "Good," she said with a wide smile. They both stood, and Jane found himself wrapped in her surprisingly strong embrace. She kissed him on the cheek.
"I'm looking forward to finishing what we started earlier," she whispered in his ear.
"Yeah. Me too."
"We'll be in touch with where to bring the body."
"The body?" He pulled back to look at her.
"Yeah. He'll need proof, of course."
It wasn't hard to act solemn. "Of course."
"Good-bye, Patrick. I have to get back to work."
He watched her leave, heart racing. He was in.
The rest of it was just logistics.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
He left the restaurant and re-entered the casino, his eyes surreptitiously scanning for Lisbon. But the blond mop of hair was nowhere to be found, so he made a show of sitting at his usual blackjack table and whiled away an hour, his nerves so hyped that he didn't even have to try to lose; his mind wasn't on the game at all. He replayed his meeting with Lorelei over and over, trying to work through a plan for faking Lisbon's death, imagining what his first real meeting with Red John would be like.
Lorelei took his drink order, but suggested in a low voice that maybe he should lay off the booze, that he needed a clear head right now. He was actually grateful, and he let her bring him a soft drink.
When he'd lost nearly all of what remained of his ten thousand dollars, he looked around again for Lisbon. He was becoming worried. He tossed a chip to the dealer and headed for the restroom. After checking for other patrons, he went inside a stall, took out his burner phone, and began to text.
Where are you?
After five minutes, he risked texting the same message to her other phone. Then he called both, checking that no one was in the restroom before he spoke urgently to her voice mail.
Next, he called the phone in his motel room. No answer. No answer at her hotel room either. Now he was getting really nervous, his heart beating frantically.
He fingered the key card that went to her room upstairs. He was being watched, of that he was sure, but he had to know if Lisbon was all right. He would repeat his actions before, maybe going up the stairs to the third floor before hopping onto the elevator, getting off the floor before hers and taking the stairs the rest of the way up.
Before he left, however, he had one more call to make on his burner phone.
"Cho," said the man into his private cell phone.
"It's Jane."
He could almost envision the agent's face, his usual blank expression changed only by a slight widening of his eyes.
"Yeah. Hi."
"I thought you should know that you have a mole in the CBI somewhere."
"How do you know?"
"A friend of Red John told me she knew Lisbon had taken vacation time. Her name is Lorelei. She's a waitress at the Crimson Hat Casino here in Vegas."
"Okay."
"I don't know any more than that. I figured you would know who would have access to that kind of information."
"Yeah. Anything else?"
"Thanks for covering for me and Lisbon earlier with the police. As soon as I can fill you in, I will."
"That would be good."
Someone came in the restroom, and Jane lowered his voice to a whisper. "If one of us doesn't contact you by ten tonight, something has gone wrong. Send help to the Crimson Hat. Lisbon's room is 1108. I'm at the Pair-A-Dice motel, Room 105. I gotta go."
"Jane—"
But Jane had already hung up. He had a very bad feeling about this, but it made him feel a little better knowing that at least someone might care if they both turned up missing. He'd told Cho all that he could to help in finding them, but he hoped with all his heart that it wouldn't come to that.
Jane knocked softly on Lisbon's hotel room door. She didn't answer, and the Do Not Disturb sign hung on the door handle. The maid was down the hall with her cart, and he kept in mind that maybe she might have seen something, if Lisbon wasn't there. He took out the key card and put it in the slot. The second the light turned green, he slowly pushed open the door. He wished he had a gun.
"Lisbon," he called. When there was no reply, he stepped gingerly inside, shutting the door behind him. He blinked, trying to focus. The lights were out, the curtains all drawn.
The last thing he saw before everything went black was Lisbon's blond wig, abandoned in a small heap on the foyer floor.
A/N: Yep, things are starting to get intense. I'm having great fun with this re-write. I hope you are too. Thanks for reading.
