Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in posting this—I didn't mean to leave you all hanging for nearly a week! I've had this chapter planned out for months, and then when I actually started writing it, something completely different happened. So that took some re-thinking. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for the inspiring reviews of the last chapter!

Chapter 53

Lisbon folded quickly, her attention hardly on the game at all, Jane noted without surprise. Her wide-eyed looks in his direction had gone from shock to confusion to "Where the hell's the SWAT team?" If she knew the truth—that he'd come here without backup—she'd probably kick him under the table. No, she'd definitely kick him under the table. Hard.

He took a moment to suppress his giddiness at finally being in the same room with her again. If he touched her, he would lose all coherent thought, which was why he hadn't tried despite the pleading gaze she'd given him when he sat down.

"So," Jane remarked, realizing that even a toddler could win with his cards, "why kill Kirkland? Were you worried he'd talk?"

Schultz said, "He had become a liability."

Jane said, "He certainly threatened Red John's plans for Lisbon. She could never feel safe here after his assault."

Lisbon's mouth dropped open. "How did you know about that?"

"My love, I needed only one look at you." He'd tell her the truth later, he promised himself. But it was true he was reading a great deal from her, most of it reassuring. Red John had made no headway with her; she was still the Teresa Lisbon he knew and loved.

Encouraged, he turned back to Schultz. "But why a sniper? That was certainly more painless than he deserved."

"I knew him a long time. A little mercy seemed appropriate," Schultz replied with a shrug.

Lisbon looked sharply at her. "Mercy? He was a rapist and a murderer. Why should he deserve mercy?"

"Rapist?" Jane said sharply, before he could catch himself. No, he'd have known if Kirkland had lied about hurting Lisbon, and she wasn't showing any sign of sexual assault. He breathed in and out, hanging onto his composure and waiting for Lisbon to fill him in, as she obviously intended to.

"He raped Miranda Roman and left her to die. He admitted it to me," she told him.

"Ah." Jane acted as if he'd suspected it all along. He would have, after all, if he'd had time to give it any thought. "That explains the glaring difference in killing styles. Leaving someone to die of heat exhaustion is a very hands-off murder, about as far as you can get from the up close and hands-on method of cutting them up."

Lisbon nodded. "He also admitted it was him in our apartment that night."

Jane felt cold rage flash through him. "That makes me bitterly regret not castrating him when I had the chance," he replied.

Lisbon held his gaze, silently reassuring him that she was okay, though he could tell there was something she was holding back. Then she said, "There is one thing that puzzles me, though. If it was Bob Kirkland who killed her, why did she scratch 'Roy' into the warehouse floor? We know that's one of Red John's aliases."

Jane beamed at her. God, he loved this woman. Held captive for a week by a psychopath and his friends, she was still trying to solve cases. "It's a perfectly good alias. Why not share it?" He glanced around the table. "We may be sitting with several men who've gone by that name."

Bertram and Haffner remained blank faced, while Stiles gave a quiet chuckle and Manchester said, "Play or talk, Jane."

"I'm all in," Jane replied, moving his chips to the pot.

"I'm out," Stiles said. Jane had already figured out that Stiles didn't enjoy the game as much as he enjoyed watching the others fight to the death. Manchester and Bertram were overtly competitive, each needing to win for the sake of their own egos. Schultz was cautious and watchful, almost as tense as Lisbon. Haffner was harder to figure out; his posture was relaxed, but there was tension around his eyes.

Which one is Red John? Lisbon didn't know, or she would have given it away by now. He must have been communicating with her indirectly. And it was definitely a he, Jane knew, because of the physicality of some of the crimes. Though Schultz still represented a threat, given her admitted involvement in Kirkland's death.

Jane savored the looks of defeat on Bertram's and Manchester's faces as he claimed the pot, sliding his original chips over to Stiles with a smile. "Thank you for the loan."

Stiles grinned. "At this rate, you'll be loaning me money before the night is out."

"Money is such a boring thing to play for," Jane remarked.

"Oh?" Stiles said. "What would you prefer?"

"Information," Jane replied.

Bertram rolled his eyes. "But you don't have any information the rest of us are interested in."

Haffner grinned. "Strip poker?"

"Gentlemen," Stiles reproved.

Schultz rolled her eyes. "Hardly the correct term for our present company."

Jane was delighted to find signs of friction among Red John's friends. "I beg to differ," he said indignantly. "I consider myself a gentleman. I'm sure my wife will vouch for me."

Lisbon's eyes glinted at the chance to tease him. "Of course," she said. "When you think it's in your best interest, you're a perfect gentleman."

"See if I open doors for you again," he teased her back.

"Oh please," Schultz said. "Do we have to listen to these two all night?"

"I agree," Bertram said. "More play, less talk. And where are the drinks?"

"Good question," Manchester said. "I'll check."

He went to the door and opened it. A moment later, an orderly wheeled a trolley in and began serving drinks. Lisbon ordered water, no doubt expecting to need all her faculties soon, Jane noticed. He had still not worked out what Stiles' motive for bringing him here was, so before she could lift the glass to her lips, he said, "Teresa."

The urgency in his voice caught her attention, and she looked at him, putting the glass down when he shook his head. He signaled for the orderly/waiter and said, "Take that away and bring her a bottle of water. Unopened."

The orderly looked to Stiles for confirmation, then obeyed. Lisbon questioned Jane with her eyes, frustrated that she couldn't demand answers aloud. He smiled at her and said, "You can't be too careful. I'll take an unopened bottle of water as well."

Stiles accepted his scotch with a smile, sipped it, and said, "Now Patrick. There's no need to be an ungracious guest. Poison would hardly fit Red John's style, now would it?"

"You tell me," Jane retorted.

"I just did," Stiles chuckled. "At any rate, I believe you have no need to worry about your wife and child. Red John has a specific purpose in mind, for which he needs the both alive."

Jane was impressed that Lisbon had managed to keep up the fake pregnancy during a week of constant scrutiny. She must have had a powerful incentive to overcome her natural honesty. "I don't find that reassuring," Jane said dryly. Just in case she needed the backup, he asked her, "How have you been feeling, love? Still having nausea?"

"Like you would not believe," she replied, sounding genuinely irritated. "This kid is definitely taking after you. High maintenance."

He grinned at her. "Sorry about that."

"No, you're not. But keep smirking like that and you will be," she warned.

Everyone had their drinks now, so play resumed. Jane pondered ways to flush out Red John, since his ploy with the waiter had revealed only that the man regarded Stiles as his boss. Which could mean Stiles was Red John, but Jane thought that unlikely. He was betting Stiles had brought him here to rid him of the serial killer because kidnapping a state agent placed Visualize at too much risk. Of course, it was possible he'd been brought here at Red John's order, either to amuse the killer or because Lisbon needed placating. Apparently this was a very difficult fake pregnancy. He'd have to remember to compliment her clever play when this was over.

He wondered how long it would take Cho to secretly put a team together to storm the place. Although he'd been correct that Stiles wanted to meet at his office to make sure Jane was searched and relieved of any weapons or tracking devices, it didn't matter. This was the location the team had come up with. Red John hadn't moved her, either because he didn't realize he needed to or because he didn't have a second place secure enough to hold a trained and determined agent.

It was only a matter of time. He needed to draw this game out, and if the cavalry hadn't arrived by the time it was over, he had to make sure he spent the night in Lisbon's room. He was sure he'd get all the help he needed with that, though. Lisbon was looking increasingly desperate to interrogate him. He was surprised it hadn't already occurred to her to fake illness so he could help her to her room. But maybe she was waiting for him to smoke out Red John first, or maybe she was worried he wouldn't be allowed to go with her. The fact that she'd been restrained from touching him argued for the latter.

What was that about, anyway? Surely there was no harm in allowing them a brief reunion. Was Red John still hoping to seduce Lisbon? That seemed unlikely, since it was Kirkland who had brought the sexual angle into the threat, and he wasn't Red John.

"So," he said, after allowing Bertram to win the next hand, "who's going to tell me Red John's big plan? Or do none of you know?"

Looks were exchanged, but Lisbon was the only one to volunteer information. "He wrote me that he manipulated us into having a baby so he could raise him as his heir. Apparently we have the right combination of desirable traits."

Jane sputtered with laughter. "Didn't you tell him how stubborn we both are? What are the odds any child of ours would be malleable enough to be molded into his image?"

"Pretty much zero," Lisbon said. "Don't look at me. It's not my stupid plan." Speaking of stupid plans, where's yours? her expression added.

Coming right up, he thought to her.

"Kirkland was a miscalculation," Jane remarked. "That's the problem with delegating. The errand boy is never as meticulous as the master. He was careful at our apartment, wiping off his fingerprints and such, but he didn't realize he was caught on camera. How do you think I knew to interrogate him about Lisbon's whereabouts?" He had to keep them from suspecting that the team knew anything about their location.

Schultz gave him a smug look. "For all the good it did you. He told you nothing."

"Not strictly true," Jane argued, plucking two cards out of his hand and discarding. "He told me many useful things, though he wasted a great deal of time trying to make me angry. If you'd been able to listen, you'd know that."

"I didn't need to listen," she replied. "The look on your face when you realized he was dead was enough. That was all I needed."

Jane kept his relief off his face. Red John definitely didn't realize they'd taken Kirkland's phone, then. That explained why Lisbon hadn't been moved. "If you weren't afraid I was getting close, why bring me here?" When no one responded, he continued, "Let me guess. Judging by the bruised look around her eyes, which tells me she hasn't been sleeping well, and how pale she is, you brought me here to look after Teresa." Jane shook his head. "What did you expect when you kidnapped a pregnant bride? Of course she was going to pine."

Stiles laughed. "Patrick, your romanticism is refreshing, but in this case it has led you astray. Teresa has been well looked after."

She didn't look it, Jane thought. He was trying not to distract himself by looking at her too often, but he couldn't help noticing that she was unwell. She couldn't be faking the nausea; she was nowhere near that good an actress. He wanted to snatch her up in his arms and take her home to tuck into bed, then bring her tea and wait on her hand and foot until she snapped at him to leave her the hell alone. Of course, that assumed she merely had a stomach bug and wasn't being drugged into compliance. But surely if the supposed baby was the real target, they wouldn't do that? He needed to get her to a doctor and find out.

First he had to get her out of here, though. He tore his attention away from her and back to Stiles. "Please enlighten me, then, Bret. I confess I haven't been sleeping well either, so I may not be as quick on the uptake as usual."

"You were partially right," Stiles replied. "Teresa would never settle into her new life while she hoped you would find her. I brought you here to demonstrate to her that the escape she was counting on is not going to happen. You might as well admit to her that none of your colleagues know where you are, despite Agent Cho's attempt to plant a tracking device on you."

Jane met her disappointed but unsurprised look. "It's true," he said. "They took my phone, the tracking device, and my gun before we got in the car." He wished he could tell her not to give up hope without tipping off the others, but there was no way. She would just be pleasantly surprised when rescue arrived.

"Patrick," she sighed unhappily.

"It was worth it," he said firmly. "I don't care where we are, as long as we're together." He looked at Stiles. "We are going to be together, I assume?"

"Certainly," Stiles said. "If you wish it. Of course, you could always choose to go home tonight, now that you have seen Teresa is safe and well. You won't find any evidence to make difficulties for any of my friends here. Either way, I will expect you to accede to our requests now that you know we can make Teresa's environment pleasant or unpleasant as we choose. Should we be forced to move her, I'm afraid she might end up very uncomfortable indeed."

"And you're the one who decides that," Jane remarked, glancing quickly around the table. Both Bertram and Haffner looked unhappy, but he couldn't be sure it was because they disagreed.

"Of course," Stiles said.

Lisbon looked distressed, and Jane was a little hurt. Surely she didn't believe there was any chance he was leaving without her? She put a hand to her mouth and tried to get up, but Bertram caught her arm. Jane put his cards down in alarm as she mumbled, "I'm going to—"

She threw up, partly onto the table and partly into Bertram's lap. He released her as he recoiled, and she ran for the interior door. Jane jumped up and hurried after her as she retched into the toilet in the small bathroom, and he immediately gathered her hair away from her face and reached for the nearby box of tissues. "Here," he said gently, handing her a few. "Done?"

She sat back, closing her eyes as she wiped her mouth. "Think so."

Jane flushed the toilet, then pulled out his handkerchief and ran some cold water over it. He wrung it out and pressed it to her forehead as he settled himself on the floor with her, drawing her into his arms. Lisbon turned her face into his neck with a little sigh, her arms winding around him and holding on so tightly he thought he might have bruises tomorrow.

"What's wrong, my darling?" he whispered into her hair, savoring the feel of her.

"Your kid hates food," she muttered.

Why was she still pretending? The others were arguing among themselves, not listening to them. He should be paying attention to what was being said—

Realization hit him like a punch in the stomach, and he drew in a sharp breath. Lisbon pulled back to look at him, wan and hopeful, so he swallowed down the panic and shoved his joy to the forefront, letting a big, goofy smile take over his face. An answering smile was his reward, and some color came back to her cheeks.

He kissed her forehead and whispered, "I'm going to get you both out of here."

"I'm so glad to see you," she whispered back.

"I missed you more than you can imagine," he said, tightening his hold on her.

She tucked her head under his chin and said, "I missed you too. And I'd really like to see Cho. Where is he?"

Jane said, "He'll be here. Don't worry. How far along are you?"

"Five weeks, I think." Her hands fisted in his jacket. "They strapped me down and stuck this stupid wand inside me, and then the doctor started talking about a gestational sac and I wanted you there so much."

"Ssh." He stroked her hair, worried by the note of hysteria he heard in her voice. "I'm here now. And I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

The door was flung open, and Bertram stepped inside, grabbing the hand towel, wetting it, and scrubbing at his pants.

"Nice aim, love," Jane whispered, scooting farther from their unwanted company and drawing Lisbon into his lap. She curled up as if to protect the baby.

The baby. He was still having trouble wrapping his head around the fact that they'd managed to conceive after all. By forcing Lisbon to pretend to be pregnant, he'd endangered both her and their child. He was not going to fail his second family like he'd failed his first, he thought fiercely. The protectiveness that surged through him was primal, an imperative that erased all other thought, and he buried his face in her hair and tried to calm down until he heard Bertram stop scrubbing.

Bertram was staring at them. "You know," he remarked, "I've never understood the two of you. How did you do it, Jane? A smart woman like Lisbon should have broken your nose the first time you laid a hand on her."

Jane summoned a cheeky grin but refrained from retorting that he hadn't needed to seduce Lisbon. She was miserable enough right now without him adding any stress.

Bertram continued, "All the times you've lied to her, gotten her suspended, and outright abandoned her, and she still trusts you, against all common sense. By the time I met you, it was already too late. What did you do to her?"

"That is the wrong question," Jane said. "The real question is, what did she see in me when everyone else thought I was too damaged to ever recover?"

"Well?" Bertram demanded.

"You'll have to ask her. I've never figured it out either," Jane said cheerfully.

Lisbon muttered, "Stop poking the bigwig, Jane."

"Oh, he's not a bigwig here," Jane replied. "Stiles has that covered."

Bertram's mouth twisted briefly. It was over so quickly that if Jane hadn't been watching closely, he'd have missed it. "Are you coming back to the game, Jane?"

"No. Lisbon needs rest, quiet, and some bland food," he replied. Her willingness to sit quietly with her face buried against his neck instead of engaging with Bertram worried him. If she was showing weakness, it meant she was even worse off than he guessed. But then, Lisbon was never sick, and she normally could eat anything at any time, even subsisting off vending machines for entire days before he'd begun to intervene. She probably had no idea what she should be eating.

"She's free to go back to her room at any time. You, however, are not," Bertram said.

Lisbon's grip on him tightened, and then she raised her head. "I'm okay," she declared. "I just need to rinse my mouth out."

Jane knew she was lying, but he helped her to her feet. Bertram backed out of the room to let her have the sink, and Jane rested a hand on her back as she bent over to scoop water into her mouth. She used his damp handkerchief to wipe her mouth, then turned to face him, trying for a reassuring smile. "I'm fine. We can go back in."

He smiled at her, cupping her cheek in his hand. "I know better than to argue with a pregnant lady."

Her smile broadened, reaching her eyes. He realized she hadn't let herself experience any of the joy of being an expectant mother; in her circumstances, the baby had merely added to her stress. But now that she could see his happiness, her own was bubbling to the surface. He wanted her to feel it, because it would help carry her through the tough times to come.

Their waiter/orderly approached Bertram and handed him a duffel bag. "Here you are, sir."

Bertram said, "Thank you. Jane, Lisbon, I need the room."

Lisbon nodded, and Jane caught her hand, twining his fingers with hers as they went back to the table, which now had a new tablecloth. A janitor was scrubbing the carpet beneath Lisbon's chair, using something with a strong bleach smell. Lisbon wrinkled her nose, so Jane drew her to his chair on the other side of the table, then claimed the one next to it. "Your sense of smell has gotten stronger," he murmured. "If something bothers you, breathe through your sleeve." He wished he had a second handkerchief to give her. He realized she hadn't been hiding from Bertram, but using his scent to calm her nausea.

Stiles came back to his chair at Lisbon's other side. "Ginger ale, my dear? You should have let us know you weren't well."

"I'm fine," she asserted. "The baby just got overexcited to see her daddy."

Jane chuckled at her uncharacteristic reasoning. He slid a hand over her stomach and murmured, "No more of that, now. If you make your mother sick at the sight of me, it will be very hard for me to take good care of her so you can get big and strong." He grinned at Lisbon, who was watching him with soft, wet eyes. "Not too big though. Mommy's pretty little, you know."

"Mommy can still put daddy in a very painful headlock," Lisbon muttered.

Schultz sat back down on Stiles' other side, rolling her eyes. "I'm going to be sick if they keep that up."

Jane said, "I'm happy to take Lisbon back to our room and leave you to it."

"Please," she scoffed. "The only reason you're here is because you think you can trap Red John."

"I am here," Jane said icily, "because my wife and child need me. I could not care less about Red John right now. The only reason I give him any thought at all is that he presents a threat to my family. If he struck a bargain with me to leave us alone, we'd walk out of here and never bother any of you again."

Lisbon snorted into her sleeve. "As if we could trust him."

Jane noticed Schultz's expensive perfume. "Do you mind changing seats?" he asked her. "Your perfume is bothering Teresa."

For a moment it looked like she would refuse, but Stiles gave her a pointed look, so she moved to the other side of the table as Haffner came back into the room with a bottle of Tums. "The clinic said these are safe," he said as he handed it to Lisbon.

"We'll also take that ginger ale," Jane said as Bertram rejoined the group, wearing clean slacks. "Are you playing, sweetheart, or do you just want to watch?"

"I'll play," she replied.

He smiled at her, pleased that she had her pluck back. "Excellent. Whose deal is it?"

mmm

Lisbon swallowed some ginger ale and popped a couple of Tums, hoping her stomach would settle. Jane's presence seemed to help, but maybe that was just because she was calmer now that she'd been able to rest in his arms for a minute. It felt so good to have someone to turn to; being on her guard every minute for a week was exhausting. And now that Jane knew about the baby, he would do everything possible to protect them both, no matter what happened. That burden was no longer just hers, and she was amazed at what a relief it was to share it.

Now she needed to help him work out who Red John was so they could come up with a plan. She could help, she knew, by drawing attention so he could observe everyone closely without them being aware of it.

"Red John never said if I get to name the baby, or if he plans to," she remarked.

Jane said, "It's a safe bet we won't be naming him John. Does the deal still hold if it's a girl?"

"Apparently," Lisbon said, when no one replied. "Though he wants a boy, just like you."

"I doubt he wants one just like me," Jane chuckled. "If you're referring to what I may have said for public consumption, I actually have no preference. A little girl with your eyes and smile would suit me just fine." He paused, then said, "Either way, this kid will be way too much for Red John to handle."

Haffner gave a half-laugh, half-snort. "Raised by you, maybe. But given proper discipline, the intelligence can be separated from the mischief."

"Spoken like someone who's never been a father," Jane replied. "Mischief is a critical part of a child's development. It tests boundaries, helps connect cause to effect, and encourages creativity."

Lisbon had a moment of panic, envisioning the mischief their child could get into with her father's encouragement. Oh God. She'd never have a moment's peace after the baby learned to crawl.

Jane laid a hand on her shoulder. "Relax," he advised. "You've had plenty of practice keeping me out of trouble all these years."

Bertram laughed. "You've been in trouble almost constantly since I've known you."

"True," Jane said, "but that's nothing compared to the trouble I would have been in without Lisbon's calming influence. So tell me, Gale, how did you talk Red John into slowing down once you became director so you wouldn't look like the world's most ineffectual bureaucrat?"

Bertram looked sour. "Red John doesn't get talked into anything. It was always part of his plan."

Lisbon said, "Like killing Lorelei? She really believed he loved her, didn't she, and he sacrificed her for no better reason than to make a point. Which didn't even work, because I know Jane didn't sleep with her when she kidnapped him."

"No, you don't," Haffner scoffed. "You believe he didn't, because he told you so. But you don't know."

"I know my husband," Lisbon said calmly.

"Can anyone ever truly know a con man?" Stiles mused. "I doubt he even really knows himself."

Lisbon looked at him. "That's where you're wrong. He's the most self-aware person I know."

"And do you give him credit for that?" Stiles asked. "Or do you acknowledge that Red John forced him to become so?"

Lisbon stared at him in consternation. "Red John had nothing to do with the person Patrick is."

"Now there's a delusion," Haffner said. "Admit it, Teresa: if Red John hadn't opened his eyes, he'd still be the same vain, selfish con man he was before."

"I don't think so," Lisbon said, cutting off what Jane was about to say. "Someone else would have opened his eyes. Because no matter how vain and selfish he was, he loved his daughter. And when she got old enough to understand, he would have changed for her. Red John was the vain one, thinking it was his place to teach anyone a lesson. And really, how shallow and insecure does someone have to be to kill an innocent little girl because of words? That's not power, and it's not wisdom, and it's not leadership. It's just vanity and cruelty, and the only thing to learn from it is that Red John has nothing valuable to contribute to society and should spend the rest of his life behind bars." She looked around the table at the blank faces and added, "And that is what I'm going to tell my child."

Jane was looking at their fellow players as well, but he moved his free hand to grasp hers, and she thought she saw him blink rapidly.

"Well," Stiles said into the stunned silence that followed, "it seems Red John greatly underestimated your loyalty to Patrick." He looked across the table. "Didn't you?"

Lisbon followed the direction of his gaze, feeling Jane's grip on her hand tighten as he did the same.

"Way to spoil the surprise, Bret," Haffner said dryly.

A/N: I wanted to respond to the reviewers who weighed in on the difference in MO in Miranda Roman's murder. It wasn't the rape that really threw me; I wouldn't be shocked to learn that Red John raped some or all of his victims, and they just don't talk about it in front of Jane, for obvious reasons. It's the killing method itself that bugs me. They point to two very different personalities, in my mind. Red John must get pretty bloody, given his cutting style and drawing the face on the wall. Leaving someone to die of basically natural causes feels more squeamish to me. And even if Red John knew he couldn't use his signature style, I'm betting if he'd done it himself it would still have been pretty bloody. I'm thinking it's more likely he outsourced it rather than debase his artistic integrity (ugh, I got nauseated typing that). Anyway, I greatly enjoyed reading your theories, and I very much appreciate your taking the time to share them with me!