Title: In the Cards

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with The Mentalist.

Author's Note: This was originally going to be a longer chapter, but I promised to post it soon and I hate to keep you all in suspense too long. So here's the next bit. A project blew up into big gooey bits at work so most of my creativity has gone into figuring out where to bury the bodies (joke!). I might have to take it out on a fictional character next chapter, but don't worry, it won't be anybody you like. :)

Chapter 11

Lisbon grimaced as the cuff pulled at her wrist. It hadn't been a bright idea to hide the burner phone under the mattress after all, but then she'd thought she'd have both hands free to retrieve it. Her phone was tucked in her suitcase across the room, completely inaccessible, so she had to make this work. She really should put tracking devices on Jane. Maybe in his shoes, since they were apparently the only ones he owned.

God. Jane. He'd gone willingly, no doubt glad he wasn't going to have to deal with her objections to whatever he ended up doing. She was terrified for and furious with him all at the same time. But right now she had to make sure he would live so she would have time to sort out her feelings. As lovely as his words had been, she didn't want them to be the last thing he ever said to her. They had so much more to say. She wanted to tease him by pretending not to remember what she'd said. She wanted to eat pie with him and this time drop the whipped cream down her dress on purpose, then make a different choice at the end of the night. She wanted to twirl around the kitchen with him before she was fully awake and laugh at the sheer absurdity of it.

Finally her fingers closed around the phone, and she pulled it out, rolling her shoulder to relieve the strain. Then she quickly typed in the code word and sent the text. Cho was three hours away at least, but when he called back to confirm, she'd have him get local officers out looking for Jane. She knew the vehicle they were in, after all.

The front door opened, and her heart leaped with hope. But her common sense kicked in before she could call out. If this was a friend, they would have knocked.

The masked man in the doorway wasn't a total shock, but her heart sank. No. She couldn't let this happen. She didn't want to die like this, and she couldn't let him do this to Jane. If he found her brutally murdered by his nemesis immediately after she finally admitted she loved him, he'd be forever convinced that he was a curse to anyone who cared about him. He'd never let himself get close to another living soul. Assuming he lived through this. Although if Red John was here, at least that meant he wasn't with Jane.

"Hello Agent Lisbon. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." He turned to set her suitcase on the floor and drag the chair it had been on over so he could sit facing her.

"I wish I could say the same." She was memorizing what she could see of him, his build, his height. She tried to fix his voice in her mind too. Assuming she lived, she would be one of the only people who had knowingly met him and could give any kind of description.

"No need to be frightened, Agent. I have no intention of adding you to my oeuvre. Not yet, at least. That part will be up to Patrick."

She swallowed, trying to keep calm even though her heart was pounding. She couldn't believe she was sitting across from the monster who had butchered so many people, staring at the hands that had cut up Angela and Charlotte Jane. She had been this close to monsters of various types before, but usually she wasn't the one who was handcuffed. And she was acutely aware that this was personal in a way no other encounter had been, because it was about Jane. "If you're trying to use me as leverage, it won't work."

"How have you survived all these years with Patrick without becoming a better liar?" The odd, breathy voice carried amusement. "Of course it would work, were that my intention. Oh, he would no doubt cross his fingers behind his back, so to speak. But he would do whatever I asked to save your life, I am confident." He leaned back and crossed his legs, seemingly comfortable. She wondered if the fact that the pose reminded her of Jane was intentional.

"I don't need to lie to him," she said. "And he's never hidden the fact that killing you is his number one priority."

"Hate is a harsh mistress," he reflected. "Hard to sustain without constant feeding. And it gives nothing back. Whereas you demand very little and give him a great deal. No matter what he might say, I think if he has to choose to save only one, it will be you."

The burner phone began to ring, and Red John snatched it out of her hand, quick as a cobra. "We aren't ready for company," he said mockingly. "My dear, you haven't even dressed, much less done your hair and makeup. We have work to do."

"I didn't know we were entertaining."

"You are going to assist me in making a point to our mutual friend. But first, I will need to hypnotize you."

Lisbon laughed. "Right. Like that is ever going to happen."

"Because you have been such a loyal friend to Patrick, I am offering you a choice," he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "You may allow me to put you into a trance, and I will give you a series of triggers that will allow Patrick to bring you out of it after you have delivered my message. Refuse, and I will drug you to accomplish my goal. And you will join Kristina Frye in some charming care facility for the rest of your life." He leaned forward. "Do not think you can resist me. I brought my favorite knife, just in case. And I'm very much afraid once I start cutting and see the vivid blood on your beautiful pale skin, I might not be able to stop."

She shuddered at the smile she heard in his voice. "How can I possibly trust you?"

"You can't, of course. I may be lying to you, manipulating you. But I'm told you are a gambler, Teresa. Play the odds."

mmm

"Lisbon!" Jane's shout echoed off the walls of the room where he'd danced with Lisbon scant hours before. Despite the fact that Cho had spent half their phone conversation telling him not to go into the cabin alone, he ran for her room, stopping short at the closed door. The sensation of déjà vu that gripped him as he reached for the handle was enough to make him sway a little, his breath loud and unsteady, his heart squeezed so hard in the grip of dread that he wondered it was still beating.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't. He would just sit down here and wait for the others. Cho would think he was having an attack of common sense for once, not cowardice.

But what if she wasn't dead? She might be waiting for him. She might be in pain, or frightened, not that she'd admit either one. He had to see for himself. If the worst was true, well, he had his gun. He wouldn't have to live with it for long.

He took a deep breath that rang in his ears like a sob. You deserve this, he told himself sternly. You did this. Go in there and face your punishment.

He pushed the door open roughly but made no move to step inside, letting his gaze dart around the room before it locked onto the figure on the bed. She was still and pale, but he could see the slight rise of her chest as she breathed.

She was laid out on the bed in her robe, holding a red rose, as if ready for a viewing at a funeral. Her hair was curled and brushed, and she had makeup on. It looked like she'd done it herself, except for the bright red lipstick that matched the rose. It wasn't a shade she would have chosen, he knew.

Woodenly, he stumbled over to the bed and dropped heavily into the chair beside it. Up close, he realized that she wasn't wearing her sleep jersey under the robe, but something lacy. His stomach turned at the thought of Red John's hands on her skin, but he tried to calm himself by studying her makeup and hair, so much like she normally wore that it argued she'd done it herself. But why? How had he convinced her?

He finally worked up the nerve to reach out and touch her. Her skin was blessedly warm, and her pulse under his fingers was strong, if a little rapid. That meant she wasn't just asleep, but he'd never seriously considered that anyway. Drugged? A sedative should have slowed her heart rate, not sped it up. He frowned.

"Lisbon," he said, trying to make his voice as normal as possible. "It's me. Wake up."

He thought he felt her pulse speed up, but she didn't move or speak.

Crap. She was in a trance. Cold dread washed down his spine as he remembered what Red John had done to Kristina. Mancini had implied Lisbon would be unharmed, but maybe he hadn't been told this part of the plan? Was this Red John's sick idea of punishment for choosing Lisbon over him, twice now?

This was almost worse than finding her dead, because there was hope. And he wouldn't be able to write her off as a casualty of her own naïveté as he'd done with Kristina. This was his fault, completely and undeniably.

His shoulders slumped as he contemplated his grim future, and he sat lost in his thoughts until he heard Cho call out. Moments later, a hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed so hard it hurt.

Grace's soft gasp was followed by Rigsby muttering, "Oh, no."

"No visible wounds," Cho noted gruffly.

"It's a trance," Jane confirmed.

"But you can get her out of it, right?" Rigsby said.

"I have to find the trigger," Jane replied. "It could be anything."

"Kristina thought she was dead," Grace remembered. "Maybe if we got a candle?"

Jane shook his head. "Kristina believed in that. Lisbon doesn't. This will be something else." He began feeling her shoulders, her arms, all the while knowing it wouldn't be that easy. Red John would have chosen something only he would think of, assuming he was meant to be able to rouse her at all.

"Weird staging," Cho remarked. "This isn't typical Red John."

"Maybe it's a message?" Rigsby guessed.

"Saying what?" Grace wondered.

Jane paused, considering. "When I first saw her, I thought it looked like a funeral."

"But it doesn't," Grace argued. "She looks alive, just asleep."

"Fairy tale?" Rigsby said. "Sleeping beauty?"

"She looks more like Snow White," Grace corrected.

"Either way," Rigsby said, "I don't see any princes around here."

"It's not the prince part that's important," Grace pointed out. "It's true love's kiss."

"Red John's a romantic?" Cho said skeptically.

"No," Jane said. He bit his lip and added, "But I am. This message, whatever it is, was meant for me."

There was a moment of frozen silence as the logical connection occurred to them all. If the situation weren't so dire, Jane thought he would have been amused by the way they all tried, and then failed, to look anywhere but at him. What wasn't amusing was Lisbon's reaction if she found out he'd kissed her in front of the team, and he didn't see any way of getting them out of the room short of setting it on fire.

"Just do it," Cho urged him. He had his arms folded and a slightly pained expression on his face. His posture clearly said, "Try anything funny and I'll kill you."

Jane had no doubt he would, and Grace and Rigsby would help. He wished he was as calm as he was trying to appear, so he could play this lightly. But the stakes were far too high, and he was as unnerved by the day's events as he'd ever been in his life. So he knew he was tipping his hand to the team as he moved to the side of the bed and bent over Lisbon, gently touching his lips to hers and lingering a beat longer than he should have.

Her eyelashes fluttered, and his heart gave a painful stutter and then started beating way too fast. "Lisbon?" he whispered.

Her eyes finally opened, and he beamed down at her. "Hey, sleeping beauty," he said softly.

She stared at the ceiling, and he realized her beautiful eyes were glassy and vacant. The pit opened in his stomach again, and he waved his hand in front of her face, then shook his head. He wanted to weep with disappointment and frustration.

"Why didn't it work?" Grace asked.

They were all quiet for a moment, and then Rigsby muttered, "Well, it's not like you could call Jane anyone's 'true' anything."

Jane ignored him, frowning. All that just to get her to open her eyes? Surely there should have been more. "Teresa," he called.

She blinked, then began speaking in an uninflected, flat voice that hardly even sounded like her. "Well done, Patrick. You've passed the first test. It appears dear Teresa's faith in you is justified. Now you must find the trigger that will fully rouse her. But please hurry. You see, I have left her fully aware, though unable to react. I am sure she is finding it unpleasant. And in case you were wondering, only you can release her."

Unpleasant? Jane thought, aghast. It was the worst possible torture he could have devised for a control freak like Lisbon.

Leaning forward again, he laid a hand along her cheek. "Lisbon," he said softly, "I'm going to find the trigger. I promise. Don't worry. Try to stay calm." He picked up her wrist again, feeling her pulse. Now he understood why it was faster than it should be; Lisbon could hear and understand what was happening. She must be screaming in her head, he thought in sympathy, rubbing his thumb along her silky skin in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

"So if only you can do this," Cho said, "what does that point to?"

"Obviously it's something I have to do or say." Jane frowned in thought.

Cho's phone rang, and he answered it. After a series of monosyllabic answers, he said, "Okay," and ended the call. Then he looked at Jane. "After you told me where you left Mancini, I sent some locals up there. No trace of him."

"I didn't think there would be."

"You should have turned your phone on sooner," Cho reproved. "We might have caught him."

"I had a lot on my mind," Jane retorted. "Besides, he told me I had to choose. He said if I started looking for Red John again, Lisbon would die. I don't care about catching Mancini if it means Lisbon will be safe."

He couldn't really blame them for the skeptical looks on their faces. He knew himself well enough to realize how difficult he would find it to stick to his choice, to resist the temptation to wriggle out of the conditions of the dilemma Red John had set up. He would, sooner or later, come up with a plan to outsmart the killer so he could have his revenge and Lisbon too. He hoped he would either resist the temptation to try or would truly outsmart his nemesis. Of course, unless he managed to ferret out all Red John's friends, Lisbon would still be in danger.

No. He had to stick to the choice he'd made. He could not have Lisbon's blood on his hands.

And all of a sudden, he knew what the trigger was. At least, he knew the general category. Looking down at Lisbon, he said, "I give up."

Lisbon's eyes came alive, but she still didn't move. She blinked furiously, and a tear escaped down one cheek.

"Shh," he soothed. "It's okay. I got this." He looked down at her eyes, wide with fear and frustration and hope, and told himself he could do this. No matter if the words choked him; he could do this. He had to do this. He could not leave Lisbon imprisoned in her own body. He had to get her back, and he hoped he could let that be enough to keep him from endangering her again.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was pretty sure that for this to work, Lisbon had to believe him, without doubt. And she would find these words pretty hard to believe, coming from him.

He swallowed, but his voice still came out dry and raspy as he said, "Red John wins. He beat me. He's outsmarted me. It's over."

Lisbon drew in a huge, gasping breath and let it out in a cry of distress. "Jane!"

He opened his arms just as she lifted herself up and flung herself at him, panting as if she'd sprinted up a steep hill. Her arms went around him and squeezed hard as he wrapped her up in his embrace, and they sat there for a few minutes, just grateful to be able to do so. She was trembling, and he splayed one hand across her back and rubbed gently, murmuring soothing nonsense into her ear.

His concern grew when she made no attempt to move away from him. Lisbon rarely needed recovery time, at least that she let anybody see. He wanted to see her face, but it was buried in the crook of his neck, so he used his free hand to encourage her to lift her head. She merely made a little protesting noise and burrowed closer to him.

"Hey," he said softly, "you okay?"

She gave a vague, "Mm hm," and then, after a few moments, pulled back just enough to focus on him. "You came back," she said, and he saw tears glistening in her eyes.

"Of course I—" He didn't get to finish his sentence because Lisbon took possession of his mouth, kissing him fiercely. It was by far the nicest way she'd ever found to shut him up, he decided before giving his brain over to pure sensation.

He heard a noise like crinkling paper and realized that money was changing hands nearby. He hoped Lisbon didn't choose that moment to open her eyes, or this room would become a crime scene after all.

I should stop this, he thought without much conviction. After her ordeal she needed to regain her sense of control, and if she chose to do that by kissing him until they both passed out from lack of air, he was on board with that.

It was only when her fingers began plucking at his vest buttons that he realized this was about to get dangerously out of hand. He was working pretty hard to keep himself under control as it was, and they had an audience. Which she hadn't noticed, he realized.

He couldn't help the little groan that escaped him as he pulled away from her, holding her shoulders to keep her in place. "You all right?" he asked.

Her eyes darkened even further at the husky tone he'd inadvertently used. "Oh yeah," she breathed.

Jane glanced over his shoulder, hoping for reinforcements. Cho saved the day by saying, "You need an ambulance, boss?"

Lisbon jerked back in alarm, staring at her team with a shocked expression. "How did you guys get here?" Before anyone could reply, she looked down at herself and said, "Who changed my clothes?"

"Lisbon, try to calm down," Jane said. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"I—" She broke off, frowning. Then she looked at Jane and demanded, "What the hell is going on?"