Jane watched Lisbon out of the corner of his eye as she drove the pair of them away from Rosalind's house. She looked tired, he decided. He really shouldn't let her drive all the way back to Sacramento after the long day she'd had. Besides, he had other things on his agenda tonight.

Predictably, her eyelids started to droop not ten minutes after they'd been on the road. "You sure you don't want me to drive?" he asked. He already knew the answer, of course, but sometimes you had to observe the niceties of normal conversation in order to steer it in the direction you wanted.

Her grip tightened on the wheel and she straightened in her seat. "I'm fine."

"You're obviously exhausted," he remarked. "You had to have gotten up unspeakably early to drive all the way back to Sacramento from Tahoe this morning. I'd say about five am, or a little before. Plus I'm betting you didn't sleep all that well while you were up there because you were working so hard. Kept waking up, thinking about new avenues of investigation."

She sighed. "Must you always do this?"

"Do what?"

"Analyze my every move for your own amusement. Just say what you want to say."

"Perhaps we should stop somewhere for the night," he suggested.

"I told you, I'm fine."

"I know. But you can't deny that you're tired. Besides, I have a couple of things I want to follow up on in San Angelo tomorrow, and it seems like a waste of time to drive all the way back up here when we could easily stop somewhere along the road and get a fresh start in the morning."

That got her attention. "What things?"

"Just… things," he said evasively.

"Jane, I can't have you do that anymore," she said seriously.

"Do what?" he said, feigning ignorance.

"Not tell me what you're planning. What we're doing is too important. I need you to keep me in the loop on this from now on."

"I will," he promised. "I just want to ask around about Hardy at the police station, that's all."

"That's all? Why do I have a bad feeling about the way you said that?"

He grinned. "I have the perfect plan of attack in mind."

"Lord help us," she muttered.

"So, can we stay?"

"I don't know, Jane," she sighed. "I was kind of looking forward to sleeping in my own bed again."

He'd have been more excited about going back to Sacramento if he was going to sleep in her bed again, too. As it was, after sleeping in Lisbon-scented sheets for four nights, the thought of going back to his hotel or the CBI held very little appeal. Sleeping a room away from her on the other hand, was a far more attractive prospect. "If we stay here tonight, we'll have enough time to stop by and put another coat of paint on in Rosalind's room in the morning."

"It probably could use a second coat," she admitted.

"There you go. We can take care of that first thing, and then head back down to San Angelo."

She frowned. "I didn't really plan on staying up here tonight. I didn't bring enough cash with me for two hotel rooms for the night."

He made a show of producing the hundred dollar bill she'd given him earlier that day from behind her ear like it was a shiny new quarter. "You forget, Lisbon. I am in charge of petty cash."

She glanced over at him, her expression full of healthy skepticism. "This may be the back of beyond, but this is the twenty-first century. No way are we going to find a hotel around here with rooms for less than fifty bucks a night. I know you like to play at magic, Jane, but even you can't make money materialize out of thin air."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, if I were you," he said confidently.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked suspiciously.

He grinned. "There's an Indian casino five miles from here, and it has a hotel across the street."

She sighed. "Fine. But you're buying breakfast in the morning."

He smiled. "With pleasure, my dear."

Xxx

It was a little before eleven o clock when Jane headed back to the hotel to knock on Lisbon's door, his pockets full of cash.

She blinked at him when she opened the door. "That was fast," she remarked. He'd been gone barely more than an hour and a half.

"Meh," he said modestly. "I thought it would be better not to make too big of an impression, so I called it quits when I was only ten thousand ahead." Truthfully, he had hurried through the last couple of hands in order to catch her before she went to sleep. Looking at her now, he concluded his exertions had been well worth the effort.

He felt a familiar ache in his chest at the sight of her. She was wearing cotton shorts and one of those tank tops with the very thin straps, exposing the freckles scattered over her chest and shoulders. He couldn't explain it, but her freckles had a particular power over him. Her hair, cascading over her shoulder, was still wet from the shower.

She smelled so good he could taste it on the back of his tongue.

He couldn't remember when the ache had first visited him. Sometime after she punched him in the nose for the first time, and before he'd picked up a shotgun to save her, he thought. It might have been around the time he made her that first paper frog. Although now that he thought about it, it was entirely possible that the frog was a symptom of the ache, rather than an indication of its origin. He'd gotten good at ignoring the ache over the years, but there were occasionally times like these when it snuck up on him and threatened to topple him headlong into doing something foolish, like stepping closer with the express purpose of bringing himself within touching distance.

He stared at the freckles on her bare shoulders for a second longer before averting his eyes and letting his gaze fall on a bunch of papers scattered over the bed. "Still working, I see," he said, exasperated. "Were you ever planning to take a break, or were you just going to continue until you collapsed from exhaustion?"

"Just jotting down some notes while the details of my interview are still fresh in my mind. Some of us can't rely solely on our memory palaces to keep all the facts straight," she said ruefully.

"I see," he said, looking back at her.

She was still looking at him expectantly. "So, what's up?"

"Hm?" he said, distracted this time by her collarbone. Lisbon had a very nice collarbone. It seemed the ache had a mind of its own today. He fixed his eyes firmly on hers, determined not to exhibit this intolerable lack of control the ache seemed to bring out in him.

She raised her eyebrows. "Did you have a specific reason for coming here?"

He smiled at her. "Aren't I supposed to be checking in?"

"Yes, you are," she agreed. "Yet somehow I suspect that was not your motive in coming here."

"Maybe I was just hoping for an opportunity to check out your legs," he said, allowing his gaze to drift down to her bare legs. "They look quite fetching in those shorts, by the way. You have fantastic legs, my dear, have I ever told you that?"

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide the faint flush that stained her cheeks at his comment. "Seriously, Jane, why are you here?"

To see her again, after four nights and three days of not seeing her and worrying that he might be forced to face his worst remaining fear. He held up his winnings. "To deliver the petty cash fund, of course."

She looked at the cash, but made no move to take it. "You should hang on to it."

"You provided the stake, you keep the profits," he told her. "That's how it works."

She shook her head. "The idea of carrying that much cash around makes me nervous. You keep it and give it to the team when they need it."

He shrugged. "As you wish."

She fidgeted, and he could tell she was feeling self-conscious about him seeing her so informally attired. "Was that all you came by for?"

"No," he told her. "I thought you would want to compare notes on what we learned today with your 'divide and conquer' strategy. We didn't have a chance to discuss it, earlier."

"You're right, we didn't," she said, her unease vanishing as she shifted back into CBI agent mode from her brief lapse into Teresa in shorts and a tank top in front of her wayward consultant mode. "Okay, come on in. Tell me about what you found out."

She let him in and went to the bed to sit down, crossing her legs Indian style as she looked at him expectantly. He chose the lone chair in the room and sat down, facing her. "Hardy was friends with Emma and Maya's brother," he announced.

"Drake?" she said, frowning. "Weird."

"Definitely weird," he agreed. "Interesting that he never mentioned that, isn't it?"

She considered this. "Not necessarily," she said at last. "We didn't suspect Hardy when we talked to him, so why would he bring it up?"

"Fair point," Jane conceded. "Still, there's something off about the whole situation. Maya told me Hardy started making inappropriate comments to her right when she turned sixteen, and the brother never noticed?"

Lisbon frowned. "That long ago?"

"On her sixteenth birthday, Hardy told her he was going to marry her. He had to have been at least twenty-five at the time."

Lisbon shuddered. "Creepy. I had no idea his obsession with her went that far back."

"Definitely creepy," Jane agreed. "What about you? Did you find out anything new from Rosalind?"

She sighed. "Well, if Red John targeted her for a specific reason, I'll be damned if I can figure out what it was. He sure as hell made sure she never suspected a thing, that's for sure."

She went on to tell him what she'd learned about Rosalind's past, but while he found it interesting, he had to admit he couldn't see how it had any bearing on the case. They continued discussing the case for awhile, the clock clicking closer to midnight as they shared their thoughts on what they'd learned that day.

Lisbon had moved her notes aside and was stretched out on the bed by this point, her head propped up on her hand as they discussed the particulars. "I still can't believe Rosalind just let this complete stranger knock on her door and walk into her life."

"It's not so surprising. She's a romantic, and she read entirely too much Bronte as a young woman."

Lisbon frowned. "Which Bronte?"

"All of them."

"What do the Bronte sisters have to do with anything?"

"They all rely on contrived coincidences in their novels to advance the central plot of two unlikely lovers. Rosalind must have believed it was fate that brought this man to her to sweep her off her feet."

"Hm," Lisbon said.

Jane regarded her with interest. "Which Bronte novel is your favorite, Lisbon? Wait, don't tell me… you're also a romantic at heart, and you're somewhat of a traditionalist. Jane Eyre is your favorite, isn't it?"

She made a face. Sometimes Jane made her feel downright boring when he was able to predict her tastes so easily. "Yes, all right, fine. I liked Jane Eyre, all right? Wuthering Heights was too depressing."

"What about the Tenant of Wildfell Hall? Early feminist work, featuring a heroine who leaves her alcoholic, emotionally abusive husband? That was a bold and brave move at that time in history."

"But she goes back to him in the end," Lisbon objected.

"Only to take care of him when he's dying," Jane reminded her. "Which leaves her better off in the end. Then she's free to live her own life."

Lisbon looked down. "Yeah."

Jane thought about the character of the cruel husband and Lisbon taking care of her own abusive father. "I can see how Jane Eyre would be more appealing to you. The plucky heroine who elevates the tortured Mr. Rochester out of his misery through the steady influence of her light and love. Definitely the Bronte of choice for an optimistic nature such as yours, Lisbon."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Let me guess, Wuthering Heights is yours? I bet you identify with Heathcliff. The gypsy child who makes good. Leaves the moors as a young man and comes back as a gentleman, showing up all his rivals."

It was true. He did like Wuthering Heights, though not exactly for the reasons she said. He just thought it was an interesting story. Not quite so neat and tidy as the others. "Little good that it does him. He spends the rest of the book lonely and miserable."

Lisbon frowned, and he saw she disliked the comparison. He hastened to add, "Perhaps you're right. Rochester ends up far better off."

"He ends up blind and crippled," Lisbon pointed out.

"Yes, but he regains the woman he loves, so it's worth it. Tell me, do you think he's right, to pursue Jane's love when he knows that to do so will ultimately destroy her?"

Lisbon met his eyes. "She's strong enough not to betray her beliefs for him."

"Right. She knows that leaving him is the smartest thing to do."

"She never stops loving him, though. She never really gives up on him," Lisbon said with a yawn. "She just has to wait until the timing is right, that's all."

"But that's so unfair to her," Jane said. "That she should have to wait all that time, on the off chance that he'll become free some day."

Lisbon shrugged. "What is she supposed to do? You can't choose who you love, or turn it on and off at will."

He watched her, her eyes a darker, smokier green than their usual emerald in the dim light. "You certainly can't," he agreed.

She yawned again. He should really let her get some sleep, after the long day she'd had.

He thought about sleeping in her bed for the past few nights, and contemplated what it would take to trick her, or merely persuade her, to let her stay in the room with her for the night. He could jimmy the air conditioning unit in his own room and come back here complaining that his room was too hot. Or he could play the pathetic card, tell her he'd been plagued by nightmares lately and that he thought it would be better if he slept with someone else in the room. Alternatively, he thought, casting another glance over her bare legs, he could always try the old fashioned method of straightforward seduction.

He could go to her on the pretense of dropping a chaste kiss good-night on her forehead, then pull back and hesitate, staring into her eyes. He could let his gaze fall to her mouth, and then lean in to taste her. She'd probably hesitate, wondering if he'd lost his mind at last, but he would persist. He would gamble everything on that kiss, hoping that it would be enough to convince her of his feelings, and persuade her to let him be close to her.

He stood abruptly. "It's late," he remarked, his heart beating rather faster than he was accustomed to. "I should let you get some rest."

"Yeah, I'm pretty beat," she agreed, moving to get under the covers and settle in for the night. "Good night, Jane."

He didn't look at her. "Good night, Lisbon." He left.

Damn ache. It was really going to get him in trouble one of these days.