Author's Note: Wow, thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter for being so supportive! I was afraid people would come after me with virtual pitchforks for such an evil cliffhanger. But it appears some of you actually like that kind of thing. Still, I promise not to make a habit of it. Much. :)

Chapter 45

At the news Lisbon was missing, Rigsby and Grace shook off their shock and focused on the search. Bertram went off to have his injuries tended to, and Cho quickly arranged for Ben and Sarah to go into hiding. Jane retreated to the relative privacy of the living room, slouched into a chair with his head in his hands as his mind ran through possibilities, only dimly aware of all the activity around him.

At least he had the comfort of knowing Red John did not intend to kill Lisbon, at least not right away. He suspected he would be contacted soon so Red John could gloat, but he also knew there would be no useful clues to Lisbon's whereabouts in that communication. Just like there were no clues in the back yard, though Cho was determined to look again in daylight.

The only useful path he could see was to identify Red John. He had the list he'd compiled of people who'd been in the CBI when the note had been placed in Lisbon's pocket, cross referenced with the list of men who met Lorelei's criterion of someone Lisbon had known for years. Of course, there was no guarantee Red John himself had planted the note, but they could start with the list and check alibis for the most recent Red John murders.

Cho crouched down in front of him. "Jane." His tone said he'd been trying to get his attention for some time.

"I need to go to the office," Jane said. He was desperate to get started now that he'd identified a way forward.

"Okay. We'll go in a minute. Moore is on his way, and I want to talk to him first."

Jane sprang to his feet, causing Cho to step back. "I'm not giving up this case."

Cho nodded. "Me either. But the break-in is definitely Red John, so the FBI will take that. We'll hang on to the search for Lisbon unless they find evidence that it's related to Red John and assert jurisdiction. Even if they do that, we won't stop looking. But we need all the resources we can get, Jane."

Jane nodded reluctantly. Cho was making sense, but Jane felt his possessiveness was justified. It was Lisbon's life on the line, and no one would search as hard as he would. He knew he'd have to fight to stay on the search team, if not ignore orders. But at least Cho wouldn't waste his time and energy trying to get him to go home or rest or some other nonsense.

"Rigsby and Van Pelt found these." Cho held up a plastic bag.

Jane recognized Lisbon's badge, wallet, keys, and pieces that had once been her cell phone. He swallowed hard and had to work to control his breathing.

"When the sun comes up we'll see if we can get footprints," Cho said. "We put out a BOLO, but I'm not expecting anything out of it. By the time people are up and out, they'll have her under wraps somewhere we won't think to look."

"We have to figure out who he is, or at least identify a disciple," Jane murmured. "It's our only hope. It's her only hope."

"Don't count Lisbon out," Cho advised. "She knew this might happen. She might have something up her sleeve."

As if anyone had ever escaped Red John, Jane thought. No one admired Lisbon more than he did, but she wasn't a miracle worker. At best, she would hold out against whatever Red John did to her long enough for him to find her while she was still herself. He'd never been so grateful for her stubbornness, because it might be enough to see her through. He had to believe that, because the thought of finding her under the killer's sway was almost as bad as never finding her at all.

His heart hurt—literally hurt, a sharp pain that made him wince. Was he having a heart attack?

"Jane, breathe," Cho urged him. "Sit down. Do you need to go home?"

"No!" Jane sat and focused on his breathing, getting himself under control. He needed to concentrate on the facts at hand, not torture himself with nightmarish speculation. When he got his pulse slowed, he looked at Cho, who was kneeling beside his chair looking worried. Jane leaned back and tried to smile, but failed.

"If you need to scream or hit something, go ahead," Cho said. "Do whatever the hell you need to do to keep going, because I need to focus on finding Lisbon, not worrying about you having a nervous breakdown. Understand?"

Jane nodded. "I'm good. Just give me a minute." He took a deep breath. "Lisbon told you to look after me, didn't she?"

"She didn't need to," Cho replied, standing. He looked over at the door, and Jane followed his gaze to see Stan Moore in the doorway, looking worried.

Moore took one look at Jane and said, "Damn. I was hoping it was a misunderstanding."

"No," Cho said. "But we've got the search under control. The break-in is Red John, though. All yours."

"Right. You don't mind if I talk to your people?" Moore asked as he came over to them.

Cho grimaced. "They're Lisbon's people. Go ahead. Just don't keep them long. I need them."

"You let me know if I can do anything. Anything," Moore said quietly. "No questions asked."

"Thanks, Stan," Jane said, straightening up in his chair and pulling himself together. It was somehow easier to do it when someone who wasn't family was staring at him. He supposed it was the old carnie instinct to never drop the mask in front of outsiders.

Moore looked around, grimacing. "I hope you get her back, Patrick."

Jane stood, relieved to find that he was steady on his feet. "Oh, I will, Stan. Don't doubt it."

"Glad to hear it. I'll be as quick as I can with Rigsby and Van Pelt. And I won't share irrelevant details with anyone in your chain of command," Moore assured them. "You'll be in the office later?"

"We're heading there now," Jane replied.

"See you there," Cho added as Jane started for the door.

They got into Cho's car; Jane made a mental note to find Lisbon's spare keys and retrieve her car before it got towed. Cho drove for a few minutes before he said, "Do you trust him?"

"Stan?" Jane pondered the question. "Possibly. But right now we can't afford to trust anyone except ourselves, Cho. I don't think he's knowingly working for Red John, but I didn't spot O'Loughlin, either. It will be interesting to see if he tells Bertram that Grace and Rigsby are together."

Cho nodded. "We agreed to say Van Pelt and I are taking turns sleeping at Rigsby's when Ben is there, for safety."

"Nice," Jane said. "Plausible."

"Could be true," Cho said, a little defensively. "I just haven't had my turn yet. And now I'm your roommate until Lisbon's back."

Jane knew he should have expected that. "At least you won't eat me out of house and home."

"Not unless you keep making that five-meat pizza," Cho replied.

mmm

Lisbon woke with a splitting headache and painfully dry mouth, and she tried in vain to remember what the hell she'd been doing the night before. Worse, she didn't smell coffee brewing, or even tea. And the bed beside her was cold and empty. Where was Jane?

That question motivated her to force her eyes open. Light was streaming in around the shade in the room's single window. This wasn't their bedroom—was she in a hotel room? Were they on a case? That explained why the sheets were rougher than she was now used to and why the room smelled all wrong, but she couldn't remember a case. And it didn't explain where Jane was. They'd been sharing hotel rooms since their engagement.

Wait. Something about Rigsby—and Ben. Her head pounded as she tried to remember. Oh, crap—the break-in had been a trap!

The door opened, and Lisbon sat up, swallowing hard against the nausea that gripped her at the movement. She could smell her favorite latte suddenly as a shadowy figure walked to the window. Even in the dim light, she could tell it wasn't Jane, and the hair on her neck rose in alarm.

When the figure raised the roller shade and flooded the room with light, she blinked painfully for several seconds, looking down and realizing she wasn't wearing her nightshirt, but an emerald silk nightgown that wasn't hers. She shivered with a sense of violation and looked up again.

Her visitor was silhouetted against the window, preventing her from clearly making out his features as her watery eyes adjusted. "Who are you?" she demanded, pleased that her voice didn't shake.

"Good morning to you too, Teresa," he replied, coming forward and offering her the latte with a smile.

Lisbon couldn't have been more stunned if a zombie had shambled into the room with a troop of penguins. "Ray? You're Red John?"

Haffner chuckled. "Red John will reveal himself to you when you're ready, Teresa. Meanwhile, he thought a friendly face might help you acclimate."

She folded her arms across her mostly exposed chest, ignoring the tantalizing smell of the latte. "You work for him, then."

"That's not how we characterize it, but we're friends, yes."

"Ray, you were a CBI agent! How can you sell your soul to a serial killer?"

Haffner set the latte on the floor near her feet and dragged a chair over from the corner so he could sit facing her. "There's a robe if that will make you more comfortable."

Lisbon grabbed the matching robe off the foot of the bed and pulled it on quickly.

"And I promise the coffee's not drugged," he continued, sounding amused.

"Like I'm going to believe your promises," she retorted. God, what had happened to the others? She prayed they were safe.

"Jane and your people are fine," he assured her. "We were long gone before they realized you were missing."

Jane would be going crazy, she thought. She desperately hoped Cho was keeping a close eye on him.

Haffner acted like he'd dropped by her office for a chat on a slow day. "To answer your earlier question, meeting Red John predated my career in law enforcement. You only see one aspect of his work, Teresa. You don't know all he has to offer. But you will."

"I don't want anything he has to offer. I want to go home to my husband and my team and my job," she retorted. Was he armed? Her odds of wrestling a weapon off him were slim. He might have gone into business for himself, but he was still a cop by training. And she was far from at her best.

"What, go back to your futile attempt to protect the clueless sheep? Teresa. You could be so much more. You work what, sixty or seventy hours a week for a pittance, with no hope of a raise any time soon. And you can forget ever getting a promotion—Jane saw to that. By all accounts, he's taken steps to make it up to you lately, but only because Red John forced him to."

Lisbon was beginning to feel more angry than frightened. There was apparently no intent to harm her in the immediate future, just to criticize her life. "Our marriage is not about Red John. He forced Jane to make a choice, but the choices we made after that are our own."

Haffner shook his head, his tone incredulous. "Teresa, please. You can't possibly believe he is really in love with you."

"That is absolutely none of your business," she snapped.

"I'm just trying to get you to wake up and see that this life you want to go back to isn't what you think it is," he said. "Jane's a con man. Everything's a game to him. I'm sure he cares about you in his way—whatever that is—but he's not capable of loving you the way you love him. As you learn more about the true nature of love, you'll come to see that."

"I know plenty about the true nature of love," she said. "It doesn't include carving up innocent women or torturing a good man for a decade because he said something stupid on television."

"A good man? Oh, Teresa, you really have drunk the Kool-Aid. Hopefully being away from him will help you regain clarity. And we'll keep you posted on how he's doing from time to time. I think you'll see that he's very far from a good man." He leaned back in his chair. "Are you really going to let that go cold? I went all the way to Marie's to get it."

Lisbon wondered if Jane would think to inquire if anyone had ordered her favorite at Marie's. Could she convince Ray to make it a habit? Besides, the caffeine would help her headache.

"Don't worry," he said as she picked up the cup. "It's decaf. Everyone here knows about the baby, so you don't have to worry. We even have a doctor onsite. Once you've settled in, you'll want to report for your checkup."

Lisbon grimaced but sipped the coffee anyway, hoping she hadn't given away the fact that she'd forgotten she was supposed to be pregnant. She'd have to be careful; she was probably under surveillance at all times. She just hoped her erratic period wouldn't show up for a while. "You have a doctor? What is this place?"

"I'll give you the tour. But first, I'm sure you'd like to freshen up. I'll be back in half an hour to take you to breakfast." Haffner got to his feet and left, closing the door firmly behind him. The lock clicked into place, loud in the silent room.

The moment he was gone, Lisbon sprang out of bed and did a quick search of the room. The walls were made of thick stone, and the window was double paned and sealed. It overlooked a vegetable garden without a soul in sight, and she could tell she was on the third or fourth floor, too high to jump even if she could get through the window. She could see but not hear singing birds, so screaming for help was useless. And the slight tint to the glass made her wonder if she was even visible from the outside.

The room was small, with only the narrow bed, a dresser, and a small bookcase with a few paperback books about pregnancy and child rearing. It reminded her of a depressing dorm room the occupant hadn't bothered to personalize. But the small closet was full of clothes in her size, ranging from blazers and blouses similar to what she normally worse to skimpy, colorful sundresses she wouldn't be caught dead in. The dresser held jeans and underclothes, as well as t-shirts.

The en suite bathroom was fully stocked, complete with prenatal vitamins and toiletries in scents she favored. Apparently Red John had taken a look around the bathroom during his visit to the apartment. She shivered a little, then closed her eyes as the thought of home naturally led to thoughts of Jane. He would be going through hell. She could only hope he channeled his fear and frustration into productive work instead of wallowing, and that someone would make him eat, sleep, and bathe occasionally.

She went over the room again with an eye to what she could use as a weapon, but apparently her host had thought of everything. The furniture was too sturdy to break apart; even the bookshelves were screwed into place. And there wasn't so much as a nail file in the bathroom she could improvise with. Oh God, was she in some kind of asylum?

After her search failed to turn up any cameras in the bathroom, she hurried through the bare necessities of her morning routine. Then she pulled on a t-shirt and jeans, shrugged on a blazer, and chose a pair of sturdy boots.

Being dressed made her feel more capable, ready to face whatever was in store—and she had no idea what that was. When she'd thought about the possibility of being kidnapped by Red John, she'd envisioned being tied up in a dark basement and taunted by a madman holding a knife. She'd never imagined a comfortable if spartan room, a latte, and Ray Haffner acting like her tour guide. It was beyond bizarre.

What was the plan here? Lull her suspicions and then hypnotize her into compliance? Jane had said Red John would want her to choose him of her own free will, so he could feel he'd won. But Lisbon couldn't imagine anything that would make her do so. She certainly wasn't going to let him seduce her.

Still, as long as she resisted, Red John would keep trying, and his methods would only get more desperate. At least as long as he believed she was pregnant, he probably wouldn't drug her or hurt her too badly. But he apparently had plenty of other tricks up his sleeve, so she needed to gradually let him believe he was winning, without actually letting him.

For the first few years she'd known Jane, she'd sometimes wondered how it was possible for someone to constantly live a lie, never revealing his true self to anyone as far as she could tell. Then, slowly, he'd begun to let her glimpse the man behind the mask. She'd hoped at first that meant he was starting to heal, but then she'd realized it was simply that even someone with Jane's obsessive focus couldn't stay completely isolated indefinitely.

She was not a good liar, nowhere near Jane's league. But she would have to keep up a mask while looking for a way to escape. She had to remember she was a wife who believed she'd been cheated on, who was pregnant and not sure she was happy about it. That person might well be looking for a way out, she had to admit. If Red John didn't know how firmly she believed that marriage was sacred, he might buy it if she pretended to let him and his friends talk her out of her commitment to Jane.

She sat down on the bed and put a hand on her stomach for the benefit of anyone watching. "Don't worry," she whispered. "Whatever happens, you come first. I'll take care of you." She felt silly talking to an imaginary baby, but she thanked God there wasn't a real one to worry about.

She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing as if trying to calm herself, and prayed—not just for herself, but for Jane, Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt. She asked God to make sure they didn't put themselves in danger trying to find her, and she begged him not to let them blame themselves, whatever happened.

But she had the sinking feeling that was as futile as praying to become a good liar.

mmm

Jane shut himself up in Lisbon's office, finding other people unbearable. Why should all these people he barely knew be safe and happy when his one reason for living wasn't? Though rationally he knew few people in the CBI were happy since one of their own had been kidnapped, he found it useful to despise them as an outlet for his frustration.

Cho was the only one brave enough to disturb him, coming in to report, "We're running down alibis for the time Lisbon was taken. It's a pretty precise window, but it's going to take a while. What do you need?"

Lisbon, Jane thought automatically. Aloud, he said, "Peace and quiet so I can concentrate. And can you cordon off the break room so I can get a cup of tea?"

Cho looked at him for a moment, then said, "Fine. Wait here."

He stepped out into the hall, letting the door swing shut behind him. Jane listened despite himself, curious.

"Listen up," Cho called out. "Jane is coming out. Do not make eye contact or speak to him. Do not acknowledge his presence in any way. If you ignore this warning, you deserve whatever he does to you. Understood?"

Jane found grim amusement in the flurry of activity he could hear in the hallway. When he stepped out of the office a few minutes later, he made a point of looking around. The few hardy souls remaining studiously ignored him, except Cho, who stood nearby with his arms folded, apparently prepared to tackle anyone who came close.

He followed his usual brewing method, but somehow the tea tasted flat and flavorless. He remembered in despair how long it had taken his sense of taste to come back after his breakdown and hoped this wasn't a sign of impending collapse.

Dimly, he was aware of the elevator ding, followed by footsteps in the quiet hall and urgent whispering. He looked up to find Moore standing nearby uncertainly. "Stan," he said calmly.

"Patrick," Moore replied in the same tone. "I'd like to get your opinion on something. Can I buy you breakfast?"

Jane set his cup of undrinkable tea in the sink. Maybe eggs would help. They were full of nutrition for the brain, after all. "Certainly. After you."

Cho swung by his desk and joined them at the elevator. None of them spoke until they were seated in a diner booth, and Moore waited until they'd placed their orders to start the conversation. "How's Director Bertram?"

"He's fine," Cho said. "Not even a concussion. Whoever hit him just wanted him unconscious for a minute."

"And does he usually get involved with investigations?"

"No," Cho replied. "He shows up to talk to the press."

"But there wasn't any press at Rigsby's place."

"No," Cho said. "He came to talk to Rigsby about how we're one big CBI family and we take care of our own."

Moore nodded. "But then he went out with Lisbon to look for evidence. Has that ever happened before?"

Cho glanced at Jane. "Not that I know of."

Jane chewed on his lower lip. "Bertram's not the hands-on type. And Lisbon wouldn't've suggested it."

"So what was he doing out there?" Moore asked. "Do you think it's likely Agent Lisbon would leave the house to search a dark yard without telling any of you, taking only Bertram with her? Especially with Red John involved?"

"No," Jane said slowly. "No, I don't."

Cho leaned forward. "You think he lured her into a trap."

"I think it's possible. And it's obvious you both do too." Moore leaned forward as well. "I've been looking into him, quietly. There are enough inconsistencies in his records to make me wonder."

"Who else knows about this?" Cho asked.

"No one," Moore said. "I know you can't afford to trust me, but I know I can trust you. In fact you're the only people I can be sure aren't working for Red John. So I'll give you all the help I can." He paused, then said quietly, "I came across a cold case recently that has a Red John connection, though there are inconsistencies. It might be his first killing. Three bodies discovered, two bound, apparently shot, in the subbasement of a barn with a smiley face painted in blood on the outside."

Jane was interested despite himself. "If it was his first, he might have left evidence."

"He might have," Moore said, "but this was nearly thirty years ago. There's not much left. But it means he was at this farm in a specific time frame. And the farm was owned by Visualize. I know Bret Stiles was the one who told you where Kristina Frye was, so this isn't the first connection between Visualize and Red John."

"It gives us a way to exclude suspects," Jane said.

Cho nodded. "Bertram?"

"Can't be excluded. He was supposedly overseas at the time, but I haven't been able to confirm that," Moore said. "Given Red John's track record of moles in the CBI and FBI, I've been looking at males of an age to have been at the Elliston farm in the mid eighties who work for either agency. I've turned up some surprising links."

"Such as?" Jane demanded.

"Did you know Ray Haffner was a member of Visualize?"

"No. Interesting," Jane said. "He asked Lisbon to join his firm when he left CBI, pitched it as a way for me to stay with the team since the rules say we should be separated. Is Visualize one of his backers?"

"I believe so. I've also been looking at Reede Smith, since he worked closely with Mancini, but I can't access his personnel records without telling my superiors why."

Cho said, "You need Van Pelt. I'll tell her to help you with digging up records."

"Great."

Jane said, "What about Kirkland?"

Moore shook his head. "Same problem. I can't investigate him without getting caught."

"I need to see your list," Jane said.

"It's a long one," Moore warned.

"I don't care. Grace and I can work together on it." Jane knew he was getting overly excited and tried to calm down. "We don't care if we get caught."

"Yes you do," Cho reminded him. "You can't find Lisbon from a jail cell." He frowned, then said. "Bring us your list. Jane can cross reference it with his, and Van Pelt will do some stealthy digging."

Jane said, "And bring me that cold case file."

"Right," Moore agreed, just as their food arrived to end the conversation.