Jane was quiet the next morning at breakfast, Lisbon noticed, surveying him over the top of her coffee cup. He'd barely made a fuss over the lamentable state of the diner's tea selection, and he wasn't even providing a running commentary on his analysis of any of the waitresses or the other customers.

"You okay?" she asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

"I'm fine," he said absently, staring out the window.

She sighed. She hated when he withdrew into himself and refused to talk to her. "Jane," she said softly, hoping to rouse him out of his funk.

He looked back at her. "I'm sorry," he said. He scrubbed his hand over his face. "I guess I'm just distracted this morning."

Her heart sank. "I'm sorry if going through all this again is bringing back bad memories."

"It's not that," he told her.

Lisbon frowned. "What is it, then?"

He hesitated. "I was just thinking about Maya Plaskett," he admitted.

Lisbon blinked. "What about her?"

"I was thinking about what you said to me, when we found her. You said we saved a girl's life."

"We did."

"But she's so unhappy. It's four years later and she's working at that terrible bar, wasting her potential because she's still mired in grief and loneliness."

"What are you saying? That we shouldn't have saved her?" Lisbon said incredulously. "That we should have just left her to Hardy and whatever sick plan he had in mind for her?"

"Of course not. It just seems like it wasn't enough. What good are we doing, really, if that's all we can give? Just life. No return to her carefree past. No restoration of happiness. Is that really the best we can expect to give someone? Just the chance to keep breathing, with no promise of anything more?"

Lisbon sighed. "It's a place to start, Jane. You can't live other people's lives for them. All you can do is give them the opportunity to make their own way."

He looked down. "Yeah, well. Sometimes it just seems like we should be able to do more."

Lisbon watched him brooding about Maya Plaskett and felt a pang in her chest. This was what she loved about Jane. This part of him that so few people ever saw. He liked to make fun of her for what he called her 'rigid view of justice,' but the truth was, she'd always had a better awareness than he did that life was most often presented itself in shades of gray. Jane was the one who saw things in black and white. He believed good people deserved good things to happen to them, and bad people deserved bad things. She felt a rush of affection for him as she watched him sitting there worrying about this young girl he barely knew. She knew he cared more about their work and the people they encountered in the course of it than he ever let on. Despite his worldly air, deep down, there was a part of him that refused to accept the reality that usually there was some mix of the two on both ends. His brand of justice was to take note of when it seemed 'bad' people were putting one over on 'good' people, and making it his business to restore what he perceived to be the rightful order of things. She didn't always agree with the way he went about it, but she knew that his heart really was in the right place, most of the time. She hated seeing him discouraged like this. "Sometimes it just takes time, Jane," she said gently. "Maya's young. She'll bounce back. You'll see."

He sighed. "I hope so."

She smiled at him. "Now, come on. Haven't you got townsfolk to annoy? Surely that will cheer you up."

He brightened. "True. Not only that, Lisbon, but I have a poker game to play."

"More poker?" she said, exasperated. "Don't you think you already won quite enough at the casino last night?"

He shook his head. "You mistake me, Lisbon. I'm not playing for cash today. I have higher stakes in mind."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "And what might those be?"

"The highest stakes there are, my dear," he informed her. "Information."

Xxx

Lisbon took the car this time. Jane offered to help with finishing the paint job, but she told him she could manage it on her own, and dropped him off in the center of town once they reached San Angelo. Then she headed back to Rosalind's house and attacked the bedroom wall with a second coat of paint. When she was finished, she surveyed her handiwork, satisfied with a job well done. She chatted with Rosalind for another hour or so after that, sharing a cup of tea with her in her bright, sunlit kitchen. She renewed her offer of police protection, but Rosalind declined, saying that regardless of Roy's true identity, she didn't believe he would hurt her. They said their good-byes after that, Lisbon promising to pass her farewells on to Jane.

Lisbon checked in with the team and then drove back to San Angelo. She went to the county records office first, and then spent the remainder of the morning and the first part of the afternoon in the public library. She called the team again, knowing that they were already hating the mandatory check-ins, but she was determined to follow through with the idea. She'd rather be an overbearing boss than one who let her people get killed out of complacency.

Surprisingly, Jane had so far proven to be the most diligent about checking in. Though she had no illusions that his melancholy from earlier that morning was forgotten, (more likely it was merely thoroughly disguised), she was heartened to hear a more cheerful note in his voice when she spoke to him. Jane did seem to have an uncanny ability to shift nearly seamlessly between darkness and light at a moment's notice. He called her twice that morning, teasing her over the phone and nearly getting her kicked out of the library despite the fact that he was not within his usual radius of troublemaking influence. She wasn't sure exactly what was prompting this unexpected spirit of cooperation, but she decided to accept it at face value for the time being. No doubt he viewed her insistence on the check-ins highly amusing and had decided to play along for reasons of his own. Whatever the reason, she was grateful. Jane was troublesome enough without worrying that he'd been kidnapped every time he decided to wander off and execute one of his schemes.

She finished her work at the library and glanced at the clock on her phone. She'd just spoken to Jane and he'd indicated that he was in the middle of something and wouldn't be ready to leave for at least another couple hours. Looked like she had time for one more stop before it was time to go back to Sacramento.

Xxx

Jane spent the morning chatting with the San Angelo police department's charming receptionist, an absolutely lovely woman by the name of Marjorie Dobson. Marjorie told Jane he reminded her of her grandson, who was an accountant and model citizen. Jane decided not to take offense at this, since he knew Marjorie meant well. Jane flipped through the stack of files she'd so helpfully provided him, committing the details to memory as he went. She answered his idle questions about Hardy's co-workers artlessly and without restraint. She really was a charming woman. He had to admit maybe Lisbon was on to something with this whole inter-jurisdictional cooperation thing.

By one o clock, he'd learned everything he needed, and politely excused himself from Marjorie's delightful company. He then strolled to the back of the small police station and opened the door to the tiny room in the farthest back corner.

Five men were seated around a cheap folding card table, clearly in the middle of a hand of poker.

"Ah," Jane said, rocking back on his heels with a satisfied smile on his face. "San Angelo's finest hard at work, I see."

"Do you mind?" one of them demanded. He was a dark haired man in his early thirties with a small mole on his left cheek. "We're kind of in the middle of something here."

"Clearly. Our tax dollars at work," Jane said dryly.

One of them had the decency to look somewhat abashed, but the rest of them just looked pissed off. "This is our lunch break, man. We can do whatever the hell we want."

"Certainly, you can," Jane agreed. "And you do. All you servants of justice can do exactly as you please, and what you please happens to be taking a three hour lunch break every Wednesday to play poker. It's okay, though. I'm sure the criminals of San Angelo are accommodating enough to schedule their crimes outside of that time frame, so as not to inconvenience you."

"Get the hell out of here," the dark haired man said aggressively. "Unless you think you can stop us."

"Relax. I'm not here to stop you. What do I care if you play poker in the back room? It's no skin off my nose if you want to thumb your noses at the brass by taking a break in the middle of the workday."

"What do you want, then?"

"I want in, of course," Jane said, smoothing down the front of his vest. "I'd like to play a few hands with you fine gentlemen."

"This is a private game," the ringleader said shortly. "Officers only."

"Well, you have me there," Jane said. "I'm not an officer. I'll tell you what, though. Let's make a bet."

"A bet?" the man said warily. "About what?"

"You're Thomlinson, right?" Jane asked. He nodded to the other men in turn. "And your compatriots here are Jacobs, Patrovski, Michaels, and Baker, if I'm not mistaken. My name is Patrick Jane. I work with the CBI."

The man looked taken aback. "How'd you know our names?"

"By paying attention," Jane said, deciding not to point out that they each had name tags affixed to the front of their uniforms. "I'm very good at paying attention. In fact, I'm so good at paying attention, that I bet you that I can predict the future."

Thomlinson laughed outright. "Yeah, right."

"A skeptic, huh? Then you won't have a problem agreeing to the terms."

"What are the terms?"

"If you win the bet, I give you a hundred dollars and I go away. You never see me again. But if I win the bet, you deal me in for one hand."

"What's the bet then? What kind of prediction are you going to make?"

Jane paused dramatically. "I predict… that in about a minute and a half, Patrovski is going to punch Michaels in the nose."

Thomlinson stared at him, then broke into a grin. "You're on," he said confidently.

"Wonderful," Jane said. "Shall we shake on it?"

"Sure." Thomlinson extended his hand. They shook hands, and when they let go, Thomlinson cackled in a self-satisfied manner that was completely unbecoming to a man. "You sucker. What kind of fool bet was that? Why would Patrovski hit Michaels? Dude's his best friend!"

"Is he?" Jane said. "My mistake. I just assumed that when Patrovski found out Michaels was sleeping with his girlfriend behind his back, his first reaction would be to sock him one to the nose. But I see now that's just foolish supposition on my part."

"What?" Patrovski demanded. "Who says Sarah is sleeping around with Michaels?"

"My dear man," Jane said. "No one had to say it. It's perfectly obvious. Look at his face. Guilt and betrayal are written all over it."

Patrovski turned to Michaels, enraged. "Is this true? You slept with Sarah?"

Michaels leaned away from Patrovski, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "No way, man. I wouldn't do that to you."

"Liar," Jane said cheerfully. "Look at the way his forehead is getting all wrinkly. I bet that's been his tell since he was eight years old, back when you guys first became friends in grade school. You recognize that look, don't you Patrovski? It's the same one he used when he lied to the principal for you to keep you out of trouble when you were kids."

Patrovski flicked his eyes to the wrinkly forehead and swore.

Michaels abandoned all pretence. "It was only a couple of times," he said urgently. "Just when you were out of town visiting your dad and she was lonely."

Patrovski stood up, hauled Michaels to his feet, and punched him square in the nose. Michaels went down without a sound. A moment later, he pulled himself together and got to his feet, clutching his bleeding and possibly broken nose. Shooting resentful looks at both Patrovski and Jane, he headed for the door, muttering under his breath.

"I recommend a bag of ice on the back of your neck," Jane called after him. "It works wonders. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about."

Patrovski scowled and massaged his knuckles. The rest of them just stared at Jane.

"Look at that," Jane said smoothly. "You guys seem to have an empty chair at the table. That's fortuitous, isn't it?" He took the seat vacated by Michaels and looked around the table. "Whose deal is it?"

Jacobs picked up the cards wordlessly and started to deal.

Jane checked his cards. Three of a kind. He could work with that.

He bluffed Patrovski into folding almost immediately, though in fact he'd had the better hand. Jacobs was no threat, all he had was a couple of threes. Baker also had three of a kind, but he was conservative with his money and bowed out when the stakes got too steep for him. Thomlinson was overconfident with two pair. Jane made sure to drag out the game as long as possible to get as many of the other man's chips on the table as he could in a single hand. It was frightfully easy.

"Well, guess that's it then," Jane said, pulling the chips towards himself once the game was over. "Good game, guys. I'll just be going, then."

Thomlinson's hand shot out and closed over Jane's wrist. "Not so fast, blondie. Stay for another hand. Give us a chance to win our money back."

Jane smiled inwardly. Didn't the man know those were the words uttered by every mark in the history of the world right before being taken for all they were worth? No one watched classic movies anymore, he thought with regret. If they did, surely they would recognize the lines of a sucker before they came out of their mouths. He widened his eyes and blinked. "Oh, well, uh, sure, I guess. I suppose I could stay for another hand."

An hour later, Jane was up three thousand dollars and then some, and all four of the other men in the room were looking decidedly harried. Patrovski was fidgeting with his collar. Jacobs was drumming his fingers on the top of the table. Baker kept scratching at his goatee and Thomlinson's expression brought to mind the image of gathering thunderclouds before a prairie storm.

"Son of a bitch," Thomlinson swore as he lost yet another hand to Jane.

"Something wrong, Thomlinson?" Jane said placidly. "You seem rather upset."

Thomlinson jabbed a menacing finger in his direction. "You son of a bitch. You played us."

"I don't know what you mean," Jane said, arching his brow. "We're just five men, playing a friendly game of poker."

"A friendly game, my ass. You tricked us into playing this damn game with you."

"Man up, Thomlinson," Jane said. "Nobody likes a sore loser."

"Son of a bitch," Thomlinson repeated.

"Look, I've won fair and square," Jane said, which was true. They were all such lousy poker players that he'd never even considered cheating. Why should he, when taking their money was like taking candy from a baby? "But, hey, I know how it is. You guys are cops, you don't usually bet real money in these games because none of you can afford to lose that much."

"You tricked us into raising the limit," Thomlinson said accusingly.

"That was your suggestion," Jane said calmly. "Not mine. But I'm a reasonable man. I know you guys all have wives, girlfriends to support on the pittance the county pays you. What do you say we change the stakes? I'll forgive what you guys owe me, if you give me something in return."

Thomlinson snorted. "Yeah, right. Like the shirts off our backs, you mean."

"No, thank you," Jane said. "I'm afraid that color of khaki is rather unflattering to my complexion."

"What do you want, then?" Jacobs asked warily.

"Information," Jane told him. "I ask you questions, you answer honestly, and I leave all my winnings on the table. Otherwise, you, Jacobs, still owe me eight hundred dollars, and you, Patrovski, owe me seven hundred plus one John Deere riding mower. Baker here figures he can probably afford to take the loss of four hundred dollars if he absolutely has to, but he might change his mind once his wife tells him baby number two is on the way and he realizes how much medical bills and all that extra baby paraphernalia is going to cost him." Baker shot him an alarmed look, but Jane ignored him. "Thomlinson, of course, is the worst off, largely due to his inexplicable conviction that he was going to take me down in that fifth hand with a pair of jacks," he said, shaking his head. "I believe your total is eleven hundred dollars plus that autographed Pete Rose baseball in your office, isn't it?"

"Son of a bitch," Thomlinson said again.

"Shut up, Thomlinson," Patrovski snapped. He turned to Jane. "What do you want to know?"

Jane sat back in his chair and surveyed the lot of them. "I want to know about Ted Hardy."

Silence reigned.

"We, uh, we didn't know him that well," Patrovski said at last, his voice gruff.

"Liar," Jane said. "The six of you, including poor Michaels, were thick as thieves. You were drinking buddies, watched the game together, played basketball on the weekends. In fact, I'd bet you my new John Deere riding mower that this little mid-week poker tradition you've got going on here was his idea in the first place."

Jacobs stared at him, fascinated. "How'd you know that?"

Jane shrugged. "Hardy was obviously the ringleader of this little gang. His absence has left a hole in the group, or this blowhard Thomlinson wouldn't have assumed leadership now that he's gone. You want to disavow your connections to him now that you know what he was, but at the time, you admired his daring, his self-assurance. Tell me, did any of you suspect what he truly was?"

"No way, man," Patrovski said, shaking his head. "He seemed normal, you know? Just one of the guys."

"Interesting," Jane commented. He looked at Baker, who had been frowning at the abandoned pile of cards in front of him. "You don't agree?"

"What?" Baker said, looking startled. "I never said that."

"Congratulations," Jane told him. "You win the prize for being the best judge of character. Too bad you don't win the prize for actually having the strongest character yourself, or you would have said something when you first noticed his odd behavior. Hardy always gave you the creeps, didn't he? From the time you first met him. But the rest of the guys seemed to like him, so you went along because you didn't want to rock the boat."

Baker looked away. "I guess."

"No," Jane said slowly. "There's more to it. You dressed him down once, didn't you?"

Baker looked embarrassed. "Well, yeah. I caught him taking some surveillance equipment from the evidence room, once. We'd confiscated the equipment from kids who were dealing meth down in the southern part of town, and he was just going to walk out of the office with it in his gym bag. So I asked him what the hell he was doing."

"But he blew you off," Jane said, watching Baker's face. "No. He threatened you. Threatened to do something to your wife. You were a newlywed then, and you were so in love you couldn't see straight. You were scared, and you backed down. Promised never to say anything to the others."

Baker looked down at the table again, stony faced. The others were staring at him, aghast.

"I apologize for saying you didn't have a strong character," Jane told him. "I would have done the same thing, if he'd threatened my wife that way."

"You were right," Baker said shortly. "I should have stood up to him. Reported him. Then that bastard never would have been able to do to any woman what he said he'd do to my wife."

"Okay, so that's Baker's story," Jane said, moving on. "Patrovski, what about you? What did you know about him?"

"Nothing like that," Patrovski said defensively. "I just thought he was a normal guy, I swear."

"I believe you," Jane told him. "How long did you know him?"

Patrovski shrugged. "About ten years. Since he moved here."

Jane looked at the others. "And the rest of you?"

"The same," Jacobs said. "We all met him right when he moved to town."

"You all grew up together, didn't you? Except Baker here. He grew up on a farm just outside town and went to school in the next county over, didn't he?"

None of them asked how he knew this. "Yeah," Jacobs confirmed. "We grew up together."

"And you all met Hardy where? At the local bar?"

"Yes," Jacobs said. "He came into town, cool as can be, buying everybody drinks and flirting with all the local girls. It was only later that Sheriff Cassidy found out he was only nineteen at the time. He was fit to be tied that a member of his own force was buying booze for half the town when he was underage."

"He joined the force right when he got here?"

"Yeah. I think he'd served for a year already in another county and then was transferred."

"Which county?"

Jacobs shook his head to indicate that he didn't know, but Patrovski piped up with "San Joaquin. He used to live in Stockton, I think."

"How did he get the job here?"

Baker said, "I think he had some kind of family connection. An uncle, or something, who pulled some strings."

Jane thought about this, and the unexpected generosity of the nineteen year old Hardy. "Did he seem like he had money? Thomlinson, you've been awfully quiet. I'd be interested to hear your thoughts on the matter."

Thomlinson shrugged. "He had more than the rest of us. But he was sheriff, you know? He was on a slightly different pay grade."

Baker shook his head. "Not that much difference."

Patrovski was frowning. "He used to take these trips, sometimes. Up north. He usually had more money when he came back from those. It would last a little while, and then he would be back at the same level as the rest of us, complaining about the lousy pay and swearing he was going to be rich someday."

"Up north? Whereabouts?"

Patrovski shrugged. "I dunno. He had a hunting cabin or something he used to go to every so often."

"In the mountains? Up by Tahoe perhaps?"

"Nah, I think it was closer to Redding," Patrovski said. "Land's cheaper up there."

"Did any of you ever go with him up there? Surely one of you must have gone along for the ride at some point. Baker, you're out, we know you and Hardy didn't get along. Thomlinson, you're out, too, Hardy clearly couldn't stand you, and let's face it, who can blame him? Patrovski, was it you?"

Patrovski shook his head. "Not me. Hunting's not my thing."

"That leaves you or Michaels, doesn't it, Jacobs?" Jane said. "But it was you, wasn't it? You were closer to him than the others, weren't you?"

Jacobs flushed. "Yeah, I guess. He helped me get the job, actually. Thomlinson, Baker, and Patrovski were already on the force. Me and Michaels wanted to join and Ted fixed it with the old man."

"He fixed it with old man Cassidy, did he? Were the two of them close?"

The others exchanged glances. "No, not really."

"So, the old man couldn't stand him, huh?" Jane interpreted. "Yet he gave him the job and Hardy had enough influence to convince him to give two of his friend jobs. Why do you think that was?"

Patrovski shrugged. "Dunno."

Jane looked back at Baker. "But you have a theory, don't you Baker?"

"Well, yeah," Baker said, resigned to being put on the spot again. "Cassidy was a good man. I never could figure out what made him hire a cocky son of a bitch like Hardy in the first place. I figured Hardy must have had something on him. Damned if I know what it was or how he got his hands on it."

"He died about five years after Hardy first came to down, didn't he? What can you tell me about the circumstances of his death?"

Jacobs shrugged. "Not much to tell. An anonymous caller reported a gas leak out at the old canning factory. The old man was the first responder, and when he got there, one of the equipment engines blew and he was killed in the explosion."

"You never found out who called in the anonymous tip?"

Thomlinson shook his head. "No. It was an accident. Not much reason to follow it up."

"Who determined it was an accident?"

"Fire marshal," Patrovski said. "He always gets tapped to make the call on stuff like that."

"Let me guess—the fire marshal was a buddy of Hardy's, too?"

Baker shook his head. "Not like that. They got along, but John Moreno is a good man. He plays it straight. He wouldn't have declared it an accident if it wasn't, even if Hardy asked him to."

Unless he didn't know or if he was being blackmailed too, Jane thought. "Let's go back to the cabin in Redding. Did you go up there with Hardy often, Jacobs?"

"No, I never went." Jacobs said cautiously. "He invited me once, but then he had some kind of falling out with his uncle and he didn't go up there so much after that. He never asked me to go up there with him again after that, anyway."

"When was that?" Jane asked, intrigued.

Jacobs shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe about a year before he died, or a little less."

"Do you have any idea what they argued about?"

Jacobs shook his head. "No. Ted was pretty shaken up about it, though. And I think—" he cut himself off as though he was uncertain how to proceed.

"You think what?" Jane prodded.

Jacobs avoided the gazes of the others. "I think his uncle might have hit him," he said in a low voice. "He came back after they had that argument with a black eye."

"What did he say about it?"

"Nothing. I asked him about it, said something about his uncle. He bit my head off. He said I didn't know what I was talking about so I should shut the hell up. His uncle was a great man and he deserved anything he got if he was fool enough to do something that made him angry."

"What did he tell everyone about the black eye?"

"He told everyone he got it breaking up a bar fight. Laughed it off like it was the funniest thing in the world."

Michaels re-entered then, looking sullen and puffy-eyed from the swelling resulting from the blow to the nose he'd received from Patrovski's ham-like fist. "You done yet?" he asked grumpily. "Old lady Dobson is asking if any of us are planning to do any rounds today."

"Yes, we're just wrapping up," Jane said, before any of the others could say anything. "Far be it for me to prevent you gentlemen from answering the call of duty. Thank you for the game," he said to the group as he stood to leave. As promised, he left his winnings piled on the table. "It was most educational."

The other men looked disgruntled, but relieved to be keeping their money. They gave him terse nods of acknowledgment by way of farewell.

"Incidentally," Jane added, pausing on the threshold on his way out the door. "You shouldn't let your guilt over failing to recognize Hardy as the sociopath he was influence you into letting Thomlinson assume the reins of leadership just because Hardy liked him the least. Thomlinson is a bully and a stooge, and you all know it. You'd be better off looking to Baker for leadership. The rest of you think he's prissy and make fun of him behind his back, but he's smart and fair and a better man than any of the rest of you, so I'd say he's your best bet." He shot them a parting smile as they exchanged bemused looks with one another. "Have a nice afternoon."

Xxx

Jane wandered around town for awhile after leaving the police station, mulling over what he'd learned from the intrepid officers of San Angelo. He'd bet a John Deere riding mower that Hardy's "uncle" was Red John, and while Jane found the story of his argument with Hardy interesting, he couldn't think of any way of finding out what it had been about, if even Hardy's best friend didn't know. The cabin in Redding could be a good lead, though he didn't know why Red John would bother maintaining property in such a remote part of the state.

Jane was chiefly interested in the supposedly accidental death of Hardy's predecessor. He was certain Red John had arranged the accident in question, but this raised more questions than it answered. Why would Red John go to such trouble to kill a back water police officer? Was this one of the ways Red John had used to secure the loyalty of his young disciple? Dangle the promise of an early promotion in front of Hardy in exchange for Hardy's services on demand? There seemed to be more to the relationship than a simple quid pro quo, given Hardy's fervent defense of Red John both to his friend and to Jane himself.

He meandered up and down the streets of San Angelo, lost in thought as he turned the puzzle over in his mind, until the sight of Lisbon's car parked in front of Rusty's Tavern distracted him from his ruminations. Intrigued, he crossed the street and peered into the window for a closer look.

The lighting inside was dim, so it was hard to see, but ultimately Jane succeeded in spotting his quarry. There, sequestered in a corner booth in the back, were Lisbon and Maya. Lisbon had an untouched glass of iced tea in front of her and she was speaking earnestly to Maya. Maya, for her part, was listening attentively. Jane didn't even have to hear them to know Lisbon was speaking in that smooth, reassuring tone of hers that never failed to remind him of an expert handler soothing a wounded animal. He knew firsthand the calming influence of that voice. Her compassion sometimes felt like a tangible thing, the strength of it reaching out and moving over one like a gentle caress.

He watched them for a moment. The ache was returning full force. It always reacted this way when he witnessed Lisbon doing something like this. Trying to reassure him that Maya was going to be all right when he seemed upset about it that morning, and then turning around and taking matters in her own hands. His little compulsive fixer. Quietly taking action to set the situation to rights and assure herself that Maya really would be all right, if she had anything to say about it. Hell, who was he kidding? It was things like this that had caused the emergence of the ache in the first place.

Lisbon looked up then, catching his eye through the window. She smiled at him, and Maya, following her gaze, looked up and smiled at him, too. This caused the ache to intensify. He ignored it and smiled back, making a show of waving through the glass.

He went inside and joined them. "Afternoon, ladies," he greeted them, sliding into the booth next to Lisbon and helping himself to her iced tea.

"Hi, Mr. Jane," Maya said shyly as Lisbon rolled her eyes and wrested her iced tea away from him, pointedly taking a sip as he settled himself comfortably next to her. She didn't move away, though, when he shifted subtly so their knees were touching.

"Hello, Maya," he said, giving Maya what Lisbon called his cougar bait smile. When he'd asked her to explain what she meant by that, she told him that little old ladies tended to get a disturbing gleam in their eyes when he smiled at them like that. He didn't know what she was talking about. He'd always found that smile to be just as effective on young women as older ones. Lisbon was really the only one who seemed to be immune to it. That was okay, though. He had other smiles reserved just for her to which she had not yet developed a reliable resistance. "You're looking lovely today," he told Maya.

It was true. She hadn't gone so heavy on the eye makeup that day, and she'd exchanged the dark lipstick for a softer shade more suitable for her complexion.

She blushed. "Thanks."

He stole another sip of Lisbon's iced tea. "So what have you two been chatting about back here?"

"Oh, this and that," Lisbon said evasively.

"Agent Lisbon was just telling me about a friend of hers who owns an art gallery in San Francisco," Maya informed him.

"Was she?" Jane said with interest.

"Maya is interested in photography," Lisbon told him. "Adam got his start taking publicity photos for the San Francisco opera house after we finished school at Berkeley together."

"Adam, huh?" Jane said with a wicked grin. "Old boyfriend?"

She scowled at him. "Just a friend."

"But he wanted more, didn't he?"

"Not at all," Lisbon said primly. "He was madly in love with my friend Claire, and I was dating his friend Mauricio at the time."

Jane pounced on this gem. "Ooh, Mauricio, eh? Let me guess—he was a sculptor, right? No, a painter. I always knew you went for arty types in college, Lisbon."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Everybody goes for arty types in college."

"So how long did Mauricio last before you broke up with him?" Jane inquired.

"Three months," Lisbon admitted.

Jane nodded. "Because he was daydreaming his life away and you're too much of a realist to have much patience for that kind of thing."

"We wanted different things, that's all," Lisbon said carefully.

Maya was watching this exchange with interest. Lisbon, noticing this, hastily steered the conversation back to the matter at hand. "Anyway, I was telling Maya about the arts program at Cal and how it's a good way for a young artist to make some good contacts."

"Meh," Jane said, eyes twinkling. "You can't learn about art in some lecture hall. I say you skip the whole college thing and go to Italy for a year."

Lisbon glared at him. "Just because you didn't go to college doesn't mean it isn't a valuable experience for the rest of us. Most people find it helpful when looking for a job, for example. Besides," she added, turning back to Maya. "Berkeley has a study abroad program, so you could always do both."

"I don't know," Maya said. "I'm not sure my parents would be crazy about me going so far away for that long." But she looked interested despite herself.

"Trust me, Maya," Jane said, gesturing expansively with Lisbon's glass of iced tea. "The first time you walk down the streets of Florence at sunset, you will not regret defying your control freak father's wishes on this point."

"I'll think about it," Maya promised.

"Let me know if you want me to put you in touch with my friend," Lisbon told her. "I'm sure he'd be happy to answer any questions you might have."

"I will," Maya said. She stood up. "Guess I'd better get back to work now," she said regretfully.

"Us, too," Lisbon agreed, prodding Jane to let her out of the booth. "Time for us to head back to Sacramento."

"It was good to see you, Maya," Jane told her as he and Lisbon stood to leave. "Take care of yourself."

"You, too, Mr. Jane," she replied. "And you, Agent Lisbon."

Lisbon pressed her card into Maya's hand. "Call me if you start thinking seriously about Berkeley," Lisbon told her. "Or if you just need someone to talk to. Whatever."

"Thanks," Maya said.

Jane shook Maya's hand, but Lisbon, despite the fact that she claimed not to be a hugger, offered the younger woman a quick embrace. Maya hugged her back, hanging on a moment after Jane knew Lisbon would have normally pulled away. Lisbon went with it, though, patting her on the back and murmuring something soothing but unintelligible in Maya's ear. Jane had always noticed that for someone who claimed not to like hugging people, Lisbon was surprisingly good at it.

Once the farewells were complete, Maya went back behind the bar, and Lisbon turned to Jane. "You ready?"

He held up one finger. "One moment." He reached over and picked up Lisbon's iced tea from the table, finishing it off in one gulp. Then he followed her out the door.

He waited for her to finish sweeping the car for bugs before addressing her again. Once they were settled in their seats and he'd obeyed her admonition to buckle his seatbelt, he turned to her with a grin. "So, Mauricio, huh?"

"Don't start," she warned.

"Guess I was right about the whole muse thing," Jane reflected aloud.

"Mauricio never painted any nude pictures of me, if that's the information you're after," Lisbon said dryly.

He grinned at her. "But not for lack of trying, right? I bet he talked til he was blue in the face trying to convince you to pose for him."

Her stony silence as she pulled out of her parking spot was all the answer he needed.

His continued efforts at prodding yielded little further on the subject, so eventually he gave up and settled for regaling her with several stories from his time in Italy, which seemed to amuse her.

They lapsed into companionable silence for awhile after that, Lisbon keeping her eyes on the road while Jane stared out the window.

"Lisbon?" he said eventually.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for talking to Maya," he said quietly.

She didn't take her eyes off the road. "You're welcome."