Lisbon spent the afternoon under the eager tutelage of Van Pelt, learning more about network security, dummy IP addresses, and anonymizing software than she'd ever wanted to know.

She explained what she wanted to do, and Van Pelt helped her set up a search to help her filter records that might be useful in her investigation into projects Red John might have worked on, if her theory about the dams was right. After Van Pelt breathlessly reminded her for the twelfth time to call her immediately if one of the alerts she'd set up raised a red flag, the younger agent rushed off to catch her flight to Iowa and Lisbon settled down to work.

She thanked her lucky stars that she had had the foresight to hire Van Pelt so her team would have someone with technical expertise for times like these. Van Pelt's automated search mechanism had narrowed the list down from thousands to a few hundred. The prospect of sifting through all those records was a daunting task, but not unmanageable. Even if it was a long shot, it would be more than worth the effort if it got them even a little bit closer to catching Red John. Unlike Jane, she recognized that sometimes fancy tricks and shortcuts didn't cut it. Sometimes getting things done required a long, hard slog. She didn't mind. There was something oddly satisfying about working through a complex task slowly and methodically until you reached your goal. She had patience to see this sort of thing through, unlike certain consultants she could name. Long shot though it may be, it would be more than worth the effort if it got them closer to catching Red John.

It was just her and Cho in the bullpen after Grace left. Rigsby, still not having any luck with Rebecca Anderson, had left the office early in the afternoon to pursue a lead on Todd Johnson. Jane was off somewhere haranguing a priest for information about the Carters. She resisted the urge to cross herself, thinking of the chaos she had potentially unleashed on an unsuspecting clergyman by permitting Jane to enter a place of worship unsupervised. Cho was running down everything he could on Ron Deutsch from the confines of his desk. He showed every sign of intending to bunker down for the long haul, but Lisbon noticed him shifting in his chair ever so slightly and made him go home, telling him sternly he would be of more use to the team if he let himself heal properly before trying to pull any marathon efforts so recently after being injured.

He tried to get her to leave, too, but she'd gotten into a groove with what she was doing by that point and was reluctant to break her rhythm. He left, and she continued her slow and patient search in the peaceful quiet of her office.

Not for the first time, she questioned her own decision to split the team up for this investigation. It was true that they could pursue more lines of investigation this way, but she had to admit she was accustomed to operating with Jane at her side and she kind of missed him hovering at her elbow when he wasn't orbiting around her causing trouble. Worse, she had underestimated how anxious it would make her, setting the members of her team these dangerous tasks and not having the assurance that they at least had each other at their backs. This feeling was somewhat amplified when it came to Jane. Partially because he had no gun or tactical training, but mostly because he, more than anyone else on the team, seemed to rush headlong into dangerous situations without appearing to give the slightest regard to the consequences of his actions. He was always confident he could use his wits to get him out of trouble if the need arose. She had less faith in Jane's ability to defend himself from a knife or a gun with his wits than he did, so she'd gotten in the habit of keeping a closer eye on him than the rest of the team. Now she was realizing that was a harder habit to break than she'd anticipated. Not being able to reassure herself that she was in shouting distance if he really needed her was driving her crazy. The check ins helped, but even though he was being better about that than she had any right to expect, given his contrary nature, it still wasn't the same as having him with her all the time.

Before he left, Cho had caught her worried frown when she allowed her mind to stray from her task for a moment.

"He'll be all right," Cho had said, without having to ask who, or what, she was thinking of. "He's capable of behaving himself, you know, if he thinks that's the best way of getting what he wants."

Lisbon relaxed infinitesimally. "That's true," she admitted, feeling somewhat cheered by this assessment.

"Besides," Cho went on, "most of the time when he comes up with the really crazy ideas, he just does it to get your attention."

Lisbon froze. "Excuse me?"

"The crazy stuff Jane does," Cho repeated. "He wouldn't bother with half of it if he didn't know you were watching. If he's on his own, he won't take the trouble to come up with such convoluted schemes."

Lisbon smiled weakly. "You're saying if I left Jane alone more often, my load of paperwork would go down?"

"Nah. He'd get bored with the normal cases if he didn't have you around to impress with his brilliance," Cho said without expression. "But since this is for the Red John case, you're probably safe."

Lisbon blinked. "Right."

With this pronouncement, Cho had taken his leave and Lisbon immersed herself in her task once again, eager to distract herself from his unsettling comment.

Jane himself turned up a little before nine, bearing Chinese food and looking even more rumpled than usual. If she hadn't known better, she'd have sworn she saw signs of dirt on his trousers, as though he'd been kneeling on soft earth in his suit.

"Evening, Lisbon," he greeted her cheerfully, sending a dazzling smile her way as he set the food down on her desk.

"Hey, Jane," she said, ignoring the warm glow that flared up inside at the sight of him. The warm glow which was not entirely attributable to a sense of relief that he'd returned from his excursion unharmed, and had more to do with the dazzling smile than she cared to admit to herself. "I didn't know you'd be back here tonight."

"I had a hankering for Chinese, and I figured you'd still be here," he told her.

Smelling the hot food, Lisbon realized she was vaguely hungry. She'd been so absorbed in her work that she'd lost track of time and had forgotten to eat dinner.

Jane watched her inhale the scent of the food. "Did it even occur to you once to take a break and acquire some sustenance for yourself?" he said, exasperated. Off her guilty look, he shook his head. "Honestly, woman, you need a keeper."

"Look who's talking," Lisbon said without venom, reaching for the chopsticks. "You're the one who sleeps in that horrible old attic half the time."

"Yes, but I'm a lost cause. You're supposed to know better."

Lisbon swallowed her first bite of lo mein. "You're not a lost cause."

Jane didn't dignify this comment with a response. "You crack the case while I was gone?" he asked.

"Not yet," Lisbon said around another mouthful of noodles. "How about you? Did you find out anything useful about the Carters?"

"Not really. Sally Carter's father molested both her and her brother when they were children, and I'd bet Rigsby's bottom dollar that the brother started molesting her once they were teenagers, but I could have guessed all that based on the nature of the relationship she had with her husband. In any case, I'm certain neither the father nor the brother know anything about Red John. She wouldn't have shared that secret with them once she left their sphere of influence and entered into Timothy Carter's."

"What about Timothy Carter? Did you find out anything about him?"

"No. He was very careful not to let anyone see his true self. I didn't find out a single thing that might help us find out more about his past."

"I'm sorry you had a wasted trip," Lisbon said sympathetically.

Jane looked surprised by this characterization of his outing. "It wasn't a waste of time."

"It wasn't?"

"Not at all. I had a most stimulating conversation with the priest."

"Oh, God," Lisbon groaned. "What did you do to him?"

"I didn't do anything to him," Jane said, affronted. "We just talked, that's all."

"Seriously, how much damage control am I going to need to do?"

"None," Jane said. "Father O'Flanagan took quite a liking to me."

She shook her head. "I don't believe it."

"I know," Jane agreed. "It sounds made up, doesn't it? His name really is Father O'Flanagan, though. I checked."

"You were at the church the whole afternoon and you didn't insult the priest?"

"No. Just walked around the garden with him." He stole a bite of her noodles. "That reminds me, I have something for you."

"What?"

He produced a beautiful pink-veined rose from she knew not where and presented it to her with a flourish. Seriously, she did not understand how he did stuff like that. The rose was flawless, exquisite. It certainly didn't look like he'd been carrying it around in his pocket or anything, but she could have sworn he hadn't been carrying it when he came in.

Lisbon looked at it, non-plussed. "Is this some kind of clue or something?"

He rolled his eyes. "It's a rose."

"I know it's a rose. Does it have something to do with Red John?"

"It's just a flower, Lisbon. It's not some kind of sinister portent."

Lisbon stared at it. It was half open, in that state of perfect potential where the blossom was full of promise, as though if only you watched it closely enough, it would reveal something amazing as it opened up. "Why are you giving it to me?"

"You need to appreciate nature more," Jane told her.

"I appreciate nature," Lisbon said defensively.

Jane shrugged. "Fine, then. I thought it would brighten up your office."

She blinked. "Oh. Well, thanks." Only Jane would think it was perfectly normal to bring his boss a flower for no reason.

She cast about for something to put it in and finally found a half empty water bottle suitable for the job.

She accepted the proffered rose from Jane, but as she took it from him, a sharp bite of pain pricked her finger as one of its thorns claimed her as its victim.

"Ouch!" She hastily placed the rose in the bottle and examined her wound. A bright drop of blood welled up on the pad of her index finger.

"What's the matter?" Jane asked, sounding alarmed.

"It's nothing," Lisbon told him. "One of the thorns pricked me, that's all."

Jane's gaze fell to the bright droplet on her fingertip, and he went ever so slightly pale. "You're bleeding."

"It's nothing," Lisbon repeated. She stuck the finger in her mouth and sucked it.

"Perhaps you should put something on it," he said, his voice carefully neutral.

She took her finger out of her mouth. Still bleeding, but nothing to get worked up about. "It's fine, Jane."

He looked away. "Doesn't the office have a first aid kit or something?"

She noticed his discomfort. "What's with you?"

He avoided her gaze. "Nothing."

"You're acting weird."

He raised his eyes to the ceiling. "I just find it preferable when blood remains inside the body."

This from the man who would kneel down and sniff a corpse that had been lying gutted in the afternoon sun for four hours. "Since when are you squeamish about a little blood?"

He met her eyes. "Since yours is the blood in question."

"Oh," she said stupidly. She looked away. "Um, I think I have a band-aid in here somewhere," she said, ducking her head and rummaging in her desk drawer, her fingers bumping unevenly over her stapler and her pocket knife as she searched for her quarry.

Jane came around to her side of the desk to help her look, which was completely unnecessary. Really, he was good at finding things, but surely she didn't need his help to locate one simple object in her own desk. His proximity added so greatly to her distracted confusion that it took her twice as long to find the little tin in the back of the second drawer as it normally would have.

"Found it," she announced with some relief when her hand finally closed over the box and she pulled it out.

Jane took the box from her. He took out a band-aid and unwrapped it, then handed it to her. She took it gingerly, feeling strangely reluctant to allow their fingers to brush against each other. She applied the small butterfly bandage to her finger and then held it up for inspection. "See? All better."

Jane took her hand and turned it over so it was lying in his, palm up. He examined it closely, tracing the lines of her palm with his fingertip. Every time he traced a line, tiny electric shocks shot up her arm, sending little jolts to her heart.

Lisbon had no idea what was happening. She couldn't think of a single thing to say, so she sat there dumbly, waiting half in desperation, half in dread for Jane to release her and let the moment pass. But he didn't let go.

"Lisbon, do you pray for me?" he asked unexpectedly.

"What?" Lisbon said, startled. "I—yes," she admitted, a little reluctantly, uncertain whether he would be offended by this. "You know, uh, sometimes." He was still holding on to her hand.

He raised his eyebrows. "Sometimes?"

"Okay, fine, often," she amended. "Do you mind?"

He shook his head slowly. "No. No, I don't mind."

"Really?"

"I think it's nice that you care enough to bother."

"Of course I care," she said softly.

"Well… thanks."

"You're welcome. What made you ask that?" she asked curiously.

"Hm?" he said distractedly. He let go of her hand, and though a moment ago she'd been wishing he would let go for her own peace of mind, now that he had actually done it she felt perversely disappointed. "Oh, just something the priest said."

"What did he say?"

Jane resumed his place in the chair on the other side of the desk. "He said he could feel the strength of your prayers around me."

Lisbon shivered. "How did he know about me?"

He shook his head. "He didn't mention you by name or anything. He just said there was someone in my life who prayed for me."

"But how could he know I pray for you? Do you think he's working for Red John?"

"How would he know that you pray for me if he worked for Red John?" Jane pointed out logically.

"I don't know," Lisbon said, frustrated. "That's the point, isn't it? Red John always seems to know things he ought to have no way of knowing."

Jane picked up his chopsticks and took a bite of mu shu pork. "The priest isn't working for Red John, Lisbon. He's a true believer, like you."

"How do you know?"

"I just know."

"But you can't explain how he could know about me praying for you."

Jane moved onto the crab rangoon. "No."

"Yet you believe he could somehow see evidence of my prayers floating around you, what, like some kind of aura or something?" Lisbon said incredulously.

"I believe he believed it."

Lisbon shook her head. "You really hit it off with this priest, didn't you?"

"He's an interesting man. Maybe you should try out that church sometime. I think you'd like Father O'Flanagan."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Oh? And would you be accompanying me to mass for this occasion?"

He flashed his dazzling smile at her again. "That hardly seems likely, does it?"

She picked up the lo mein again. "That's what I thought."

"I could wait for you in the garden," he continued. "The grounds are very nice."

"The garden, huh? Maybe I need to meet this priest after all. He must be pretty impressive if he can get you to voluntarily consider even being within a stone's throw of a church," she teased him.

"We had a very interesting philosophical discussion."

Lisbon blinked. "You did?"

"Yes. He was damn cagey about the Carters, but get him going on garden metaphors and he'll talk your ear off."

Lisbon shook her head, her imagination unequal to the task of visualizing a conversation between Jane and a holy man that didn't end in complete disaster. "What are you going to do next?"

He surveyed the boxes in front of him. "Finish the crab rangoon."

"No, I mean about the Carters."

"Oh, them. Nothing," he said dismissively.

"What do you mean, nothing?"

"I mean nothing. I'm not going to follow up on them anymore."

Lisbon couldn't believe this. "What about your assignment?"

"I did my assignment," he said, selecting a piece of the crab rangoon from the box. "I'm done now."

"One afternoon with the priest and you're giving up?" Lisbon said incredulously.

"Following up with the Carters is a dead end. Timothy Carter was too careful to leave any evidence of his secret past, so trying to find out where he came from before he showed up in Sacramento is a waste of time."

"You don't know that! You haven't even tried."

"Let me rephrase: Focusing my skills on other avenues of investigation will be a more efficient use of CBI resources than continuing to pursue additional information about the Carters. The most important thing to be learned about Timothy Carter, we already know."

"What's that?"

"Whatever his past was, he wanted a new life, and Red John gave it to him."

"That's the point, Jane. You're supposed to be figuring out how Red John connected with him in the first place."

"And I will be, in a manner of speaking."

Lisbon frowned. "But you just said—"

He cut her off. "The Carters are small potatoes, Lisbon. Wouldn't it be more useful if we knew more about how Red John attracts his followers in general, rather than worrying about these two specific individuals?"

"Of course it would be helpful to know that," Lisbon said, exasperated. "But how the hell are we supposed to find that out without investigating the individuals who have followed him?"

"I have an idea about that."

"Jane, you can't just blow off your assignment because you don't think the Carters are important enough to deserve your attention. That's the point of investigating things—you never know what's going to end up being important until you actually look."

He sighed. "Can't you just trust that I know what I'm doing, for once in your life, woman?"

"Well, what do you expect, Jane? You tell me you're blowing off your assignment and you're talking in riddles. All you've told me is that you think the assignment I gave you is a waste of time."

"I didn't say that. I went to talk to the priest, didn't I? I merely said that continuing to pursue the Carters from this point forward would be a waste of time."

"Potato, potahto."

"I told you, we've already learned everything we can about them that will be of any use to us. Carter didn't leave us any clues. We aren't going to be able to track down Timothy Carter's past, therefore, we will not be able to find out how he met Red John. Sally Carter met Red John through her husband, so looking further into her past for connections to Red John is completely pointless."

"You don't know that! Everything you just said is based on guesswork and assumptions."

He raised his eyebrows. "I was under the impression that was what you paid me for."

Lisbon closed her eyes and counted to ten in her head. "Fine. What are you doing to do instead?"

He took a bite of the crab rangoon. "I have an idea."

"What is it?"

"I can't tell you."

She scowled. "I thought you weren't going to do that anymore."

"Do what?"

"Keep things from me."

"I'm not."

"Then tell me what you're planning."

"I will."

"When?"

"When I'm ready."

Lisbon exhaled in frustration. "I'm serious, Jane. I can't have you be so secretive and mysterious like you usually are. If you disappear to follow your own agenda, it isn't an amusing trick you're playing on me, leaving me standing there talking to myself. It's me worrying myself sick because I'm afraid you've been taken by one of Red John's cronies."

"It's not like that, Lisbon. I will tell you what I'm doing as soon as I can."

"If you have an idea, just tell me now!"

He shook his head. "It doesn't work like that. I need to work through it in my mind for awhile first. I have to let the idea…germinate."

"Germinate," Lisbon grumbled. "Sounds like a fancy word for 'I'll tell you the plan whenever I damn well please, and not a moment before.'"

He met her eyes. "I will tell you, Lisbon. I promise." He held out the mu shu pork towards her. "Now, do you want to keep arguing about this, or do you want to finish this delicious meal with me?"

She looked at him, clearly torn between annoyance and the desire to return to the quiet, peaceful interlude they had been sharing a moment before. "Give me the crab rangoon," she said finally.

He surrendered it without a fight.

They finished their meal in silence, and then Jane retired to her couch. He crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. Lisbon watched him for a moment, then looked at the rose on her desk. That was Jane for you. The annoying and the sweet always jumbled up and inextricably intertwined.

She leaned forward and inhaled the sweet, fresh fragrance of its perfect petals.

Then she picked up the file nearest to hand and went back to work.