I told myself I'd finish this story and then work on my original writing... only to promptly get writer's block because the brain is a tricky little jerk like that. Anyway. All typos and comma over-usage is my own. Disclaimers in previous chapters remain.

Chapter 9

Jane twisted free of Officer Thompson's tight grip. Rigsby and Cho were close behind, kicking up clouds of dust as they sprinted.

"I don't think you want to go in there, especially unarmed." The stocky man took a step back. While Jane had no idea where the officer had come from, he did have a point. The rusty cellar door didn't offer the element of surprise. If he was going to get Lisbon out of that basement safely, then he needed to calm down. Still Jane's hands itched to throw open the door and put himself between his wife and Partridge.

He flexed his fingers, ran his thumb over the underside of his wedding band and did his best to focus his attention on the situation. To focus on Thompson. He hadn't seen Thompson since they'd left the station, the bag of red beads still in his hand. Caulfield had brought several officers with him to collect evidence and take photos at the tea shop but Thompson wasn't a part of that group. So why was he here now?

"Think he's got our suspect down there, too?" Thompson leaned forward. "Caulfield'll kill me if we don't find her soon."

"You were in charge of the witness?" The question had been on the tip of Jane's tongue but Cho spoke first. At the station, Thompson had been bit of a doofus, but now Jane was beginning to suspect that was a bit of an act. Was it laziness or something more?

"Uh, yeah. Everyone went out. Then I got a call about a possible break in at Rachel's craft shop." He turned to Jane. "Thought it might be related to the girl, maybe that fella who threw that brick in your shop window, you know? And it was near the station, so—" Thompson eyed them, squared his shoulders. He was on the defensive.

"Easy, there, tiger," Jane patted the man's left arm, his fingers tightening briefly over Thompson's bicep. The same spot the Black Association had sported tattoos. A shadow crossed the man's face but with one hard blink it was gone.

"How should we go about this?" Rigsby leaned forward trying to catch a glimpse in the dirty window without being seen, but Cho was already instructing Thompson to call for backup.

Without another word, Jane turned on his heel and headed around to the front of the shop. His steps were quick but measured. Waiting on Gomer Pyle and the F-Troop to show up would give Partridge too much time. And if his assumptions were correct, the odds of Thompson actually calling in for backup were slim—no doubt his radio call to the station was just for show. He needed to get in that cellar…

Behind him, Cho gave a sharp sound of annoyance before following him. By the time they caught up, Jane had already made his way across the floor and down the basement steps, thankful that the shops along the strip had similar layouts.

Jane peered around the corner of the stairwell, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. Partridge was standing over Lisbon, her chin cupped in his left hand. Audrey was in the far corner, her wide eyes locked on her captor.

"Jane, gun goes first." Cho's tone left not room for disagreement. "Rigsby's waiting on the back-up, Thompson and I'll go in and—"

Jane held up a hand. He couldn't hear what Partridge was saying, but judging by Lisbon's body language, it wasn't good. Jane took a step closer.

"Is he crazy?" Thompson hissed a little too loud and Jane cut his eyes to Cho. Thompson had done that on purpose. He wasn't as big of a buffoon has he'd liked people to think. Partridge turned his head and smiled with reptilian charm.

"Well, if it isn't the Boy Wonder, Patrick Jane." Partridge dropped Lisbon's face and stood taller, drawing his lanky frame up to his full height. His hand resting on her shoulder, he gingerly played with the curled ends of her hair as he pressed a linoleum knife against the column of her throat. Jane tried not to focus on the knife, on the curved blade that reminded him of Malibu. Instead, he locked eyes with Lisbon. She was a little battered and bruised, but there was a look of resilience in her eye. Jane recognized that spark, had seen it dozens of times. She was plotting something and Jane had a distinct feeling he wasn't going to like it. After all, with a deranged stalker holding a knife to her skin, her choices were somewhat limited. "I've been expecting you."

"Wish I could say the same, Brett, but well, you'll have to forgive me. After all, we thought you were dead." Jane moved further into the room, eyes never leaving the other man. All he needed was for Partridge to step away from Lisbon, then Cho could take the shot. Then he could take his wife and daughter home—and never step foot outside again.

"Ah, ah, Patrick. Watch yourself." Lisbon winced as Partridge pressed the blade further against her skin. Jane fell back a step and watched as Partridge wrapped an arm around her torso, pulled her up to her feet. Her arms, tied together at the wrists, were locked under Partridge's clutch. She had nowhere to go, no way to break free, and Jane felt a tide of panic rumbling through his body. He remained fixed in place, unsure of his next move, unable to see a way out of this situation. But then something caught his eye. A bit of porcelain in her balled up fist. She looked up at him, her hair falling down her face. He took a slow and steady breath and forced the panic to recede. Suddenly, Jane knew what he had to do. He needed to get Partridge talking, needed to distract him…

"Of course, Brett. Of course." Jane relaxed his posture, brought his arms down to his sides. Partridge cut his eyes over to Thompson and Jane pretended not to notice, his suspicions confirmed. Fleetingly, he wondered how it would go down, this strange sort of Mexican standoff. "You're in control. I think that much is clear."

"This isn't about control, Patrick."

"No? Then what's it about? Please, enlighten me. –No wait, can I tell you what I think, and you tell me if I'm hot or cold?"

"Always the showman, aren't you? You just need to be the smartest person in the room." Partridge hissed and pulled Lisbon tighter.

"Come now, I think you've proven you're the smartest person in this room." He gestured to the dank basement. "We had no idea you were even alive. You duped us pretty good on that one. And Audrey, here. She had no idea who you were until it was too late, of course. Until you ruined her life and chased her across the country."

"That was an unforeseen consequence." Partridge glanced over at Audrey. She was quiet, her knees drawn up to her chest and her head tucked down. Everything about her posture screamed retreat. "But I'll make it up to her. I love her. We'll be happy."

"Happy? You don't know what happiness is." Jane took a step. "You pushed and pushed until the woman you claim to love ran from you, and when she happened on my doorstep, what then? You couldn't see her happiness beyond your thirst for vengeance."

"You're one to talk. How many times did the lovely Agent Lisbon here suffer at your hands, suffer in the name of your vengeance?"

Jane glared. "That was different."

"Because it was you, right? Because it was you, so of course it was different." Partridge was practically foaming at the mouth.

"I had everything taken away from me. The people I loved, the people who loved me. I had that taken away." And I'll be damned if I let you take them away again.

"So did I," Partridge shouted and the room shook. The blade began to break Lisbon's soft skin. A trickle of blood ran down her neck but Jane forced himself to keep his eyes on Partridge. "I lost people I loved, who loved me… And you're to blame for that."

"You think McAllister loved you? Cared about you at all?" Jane moved closer. "You were just another cog in his machine. By offering his protection, you were indebted to him. He owned you. He kept you around until you were of no use and then he gutted you like a fish in an abandoned house. That's not love, Brett."

"You're wrong. He loved all of us, cared about us. We were his family and you ruined that." Partridge looked over Jane's shoulder to where Thompson stood. Jane knew what was coming next, could practically feel it. "Tyger, tyger."

Thompson raised his gun to Cho's head. "No funny stuff, fed. Drop your weapon."

"You first," Rigsby appeared from the shadows of the stairwell, gun drawn.

And just like that, the room lit up. Cho landed a blow to Thompson's ribs while Rigsby knocked his knees out and wrenched the gun from his grasp. Partridge screamed in rage, as his plan for vengeance shattered. Jane spun around, eyes landing on Lisbon. She was pale, her eyes wide as Partridge drew her tighter into his clutch, the knife slicing deeper into her skin.

Jane lunged forward and Partridge let out another scream—but this time for an entirely differently reason as Lisbon slammed her boot down on the instep of his foot. In one fluid movement, she pulled the knife away from her throat—just an inch, but enough—and brought her fist up to Partridge's jugular. His scream turned into a howl as she lodged the jagged piece of porcelain into his carotid artery. Blood poured from his neck and his eyes went cold, his face frozen in a death mask.

This time there was no mistaking—Brett Partridge was dead.

xXx

Next up, the epilogue! This weekend! Probably.