Chapter 3 – Now You See Me

After processing the paperwork that officially made Teresa Lisbon a CI with the CBI, Minelli nodded behind them to Jane, who stood with a tan colored suitcase in his hand. Lisbon turned herself to face him and her eyes flickered down to the suitcase and back up. It was her suitcase from her home.

"Jane retrieved your things for you," Minelli explained. "He offered and I accepted just to get him out of my hair."

Jane sat the suitcase onto the office floor and shrugged. "I just dumped your dresser drawers in here and grabbed your toothbrush and hairbrush," he told her, smiling. "I didn't scrounge around your underwear drawer or anything."

"For God sake, Jane," Minelli scolded. "Can you be any more tactless?"

"Sure I can," he said, his eyes falling on Lisbon. "You ready for country living with a stranger?" He winked at her.

"There's going to be an idiot in them there hills," she told him, scoffing as she rose and walked over to lift her suitcase. "And it's not me," she clarified.

Minelli chortled. "I like her."

Jane shook his blond curls and turned to walk out of his boss's office. Lisbon, carrying her heavy suitcase, followed suit. He heard her behind him struggling with the case. As they neared the elevator, he turned to her and grabbed for the handle, brushing her hand. She looked up at him as she let the case go, sliding the handle into his palm.

"Thanks," she said.

He said nothing, only nodded. She was less flighty since the medication had worn off, but he still sensed the untrustworthy look in her eyes when she stared at him. He couldn't blame her, and he didn't. He watched her as they boarded the elevator. She had been given accommodations in one of the detention suites and had taken a shower. He could smell the "inmate" soap on her skin, and he saw that her blue scrubs had been changed out for an orange jumpsuit, temporarily. She looked like a prisoner, but at least they fit.

"I cleaned up." She said, noticing his eyes on her.

"A process," he replied, smirking.

The road the elevator down in silence. When they got to the parking lot, Jane pointed to an old Citroen DS. The light blue car stuck out in the sea of SUV's and black unmarked police cars that surrounded it. The silver top made it even more unconventional.

"That's your ride," he told her, walking toward it. "Your chariot awaits."

"This contraption?" she replied, stopping and looking at him and then the car. "You're going to drive me in this contraption?"

He feigned hurt as he opened the back door and sat her case on the seat next to his own. He opened the front and turned to her and pointed to the passenger seat for her to get in. She hesitated, biting her lip before hissing in pain after remembering it was cut and sore.

"This is the only ride out of town," he told her. "It runs great!" He was seriously hurt now that she called it his 'contraption'.

She sighed, but walked up and sat in the seat as he closed the door for her. He jogged around the car and got in, shutting his door and putting his seat-belt on. He turned to her and smiled a dazzling smile. She rolled her eyes and took to doing up her seat-belt as he started the ignition.

It was a quiet few minutes with Lisbon staring out the side of the car, watching as the trees blurred by in muted greens and yellows. Jane glanced at her every so often, wondering how to start a conversation with her. She was mysterious to him. Jane was used to figuring out mysteries. Hell, it was his job. But usually, they gave him something to work with, the corpses.

"How long until we get to this place?" she asked, breaking the silence first and surprising him.

Jane pointed to the mountains in the far distance and nodded toward them. "Up there. About an hour. See, they think the further out a place is, the less likely they'll bother to look for you." He shook his head. "But with him, that's not the case."

"He doesn't leave loose ends," she whispered.

"What?"

She turned to him and turned back to the window again, but not before Jane saw a flash of something in her green eyes. He thought he had heard her, but he couldn't be sure. He cleared his throat and looked straight ahead at the winding roads in front of him. It was another twenty minutes of pure silence. Jane couldn't take the silence anymore. The air was too thick.

"Why aren't you asking me about anything?" he asked softly. "My background? My favorite hobbies? Ex-girlfriends who did me wrong? Most women I meet want to know about forsaken lovers."

She turned to him with a slight smile on her face. "When you want me to know, you'll tell me," she said. "I expect the same courtesy out of you, please. Besides, women ask you about ex-lovers because you are a heart-breaker, no doubt. No woman wants a piece of that."

"I already know the basics," Jane told her. "I've read your file, remember? And I resent that."

"So, tell me what you think you know. I know you are dying to."

"That would be unprofessional of me," he said, turning off onto a dirt road.

She watched the gravel kick up as his small car wrapped around the hills and valleys, bringing dust around the car and making it nearly impossible to see out of the side windows. She sighed and sat back against the seat, her head resting on the headrest.

"My husband and son," she started, her voice small even in the quiet interior of the car. "They were killed. Murdered." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "My fault."

Jane said nothing. He just listened as her breathing became louder and her hand flew up to wipe a stray tear from her face. He wanted to reach over and take her cheek into his palm, but he knew she wouldn't allow it and he was making her uncomfortable enough. Instead, he leaned over and reached into the little compartment, pulling out a packet of tissues and handing them to her.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "That must have been hard on you."

"Thanks," she said, taking the tissues. "You already knew that, didn't you?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "It's in your file. It doesn't say anything other than they were victims of a violent crime, though."

He knew she had only told him this because she suspected it was in her file. Actually, she probably read her own file and knew what was in there. Telling him this bit of information wasn't trusting him, it was testing him. To see if he'd press her further. She was a manipulator, after all. It was a classic tactic used by victim's families to try to get information about the case or any leads. Lisbon was using it to try to pry out how much he knew, which was what he said he did.

"What about you?" she asked. "What's your tragic story?"

Jane frowned. "We don't talk about our personal lives. It's unprofessional and doesn't matter," he told her. "It's not useful."

Lisbon dabbed her eyes and nodded. "I understand. But you know something about mine."

"Because it's my job to know," he said. It came out a little nastier than he intended. He cursed at himself and brought a hand up to his curls, wiping the sweat that was beading just at his widow's peak. "My wife," he said out loud. "She was murdered, too."

Lisbon looked sharply at him and he could feel her pity. He hated pity. Pity was for people who deserved it. He didn't. He deserved nothing when it came to his wife.

"I'm sorry," she said, sounding genuine.

"This is the last thing I talk to you about that doesn't have to do with keeping you alive," said Jane bitterly. "I liked it better when you were flighty and distant!" he snapped, angry that she had gotten that out of him so easily.

"I didn't mean—"

"We're here," Jane said, stopping the car, effectively cutting her off. "This is it."

The cabin was indeed huge. The expansive lines of trees that surrounded the wooden mansion went for miles and miles, as far as Lisbon's eyes would allow her to take in. The structure itself was impressive; a long, winding driveway led to two very heavy looking wooden doors with glass panels that depicted various flowers, floor to ceiling windows that had long, black curtains drawn (probably what Sac PD had put up for privacy and protective reasons), a creek that ran beside the property, and a huge balcony off the side of the house. The cabin was one floor, but the cabin was so large, Lisbon didn't doubt there were at least five or six bedrooms and numerous bathrooms. The gate in which they had entered was keypad access only, and Jane had put in a code and the doors opened to accept them. Pretty high-tech for a cabin so far in the hills.

"Such a nice place," Jane told her. "Too bad it was used for drugs. Sac PD really can pick them. I'll give them that."

"A drug raid, he said?" she commented, watching as Jane lugged their suitcases from the car. "Pretty nice digs for such a rotten operation."

"Says the con woman who escaped a hospital and made my boss nearly cry in frustration," he snorted. "But point taken."

She ignored that and followed Jane up to the doors. He sat the cases down as he fished in his vest pocket for the front door key. He noticed her watching him, but said nothing as he pulled out the key and unlocked the doors. He turned the knob and pressed open the doors, motioning for her to enter first.

"Ladies first," he said, picking up their cases and following her inside. "They said they stocked the pantry and kitchen," he added, closing the doors behind them and locking it securely. "Those lazy bastards must have known this was a high priority case."

"High priority?" she questioned, turning to him as he stuffed the key back in his vest pocket.

"It means you need to be protected at all costs because you have useful information," he explained. "Minelli hired you—notice the air quotation marks—to be a CI. Confidential informant. It means you got the information we want, but you are in danger from an outside source that threatens you giving us that information or if you do give up the information, could endanger your life."

"I know what it means," she snapped. "But I gave Agent Cho everything last night. All of it," she insisted.

Jane smiled at her widely. "Oh, I read your statement. You certainly got Cho really good," he said. "You don't fool me. You have more information that you are withholding from me and the CBI. My job, besides protecting you, is to get it out of you."

"Why are you so interested in Red John?" she asked. "It's more than a professional interest."

"Ooh, good one," Jane said. "What's today's lottery numbers?"

"You don't know who you are dealing with, Agent Jane," she replied, her voice serious. "He's a dangerous man. He leaves no stone unturned. It's for the best."

"Ah, so you don't deny it, then?" Jane said, picking up her suitcase and nodding his head toward a large, open area off the living room. "I'm a cop. I think I can handle it all." He walked toward a closed door and sat her suitcase down in front of it. "Your room."

"You're not understanding me," she said, crossing her arms. "And I don't think I like being manipulated, either."

"That makes two of us," Jane smirked, opening the bedroom door. "You can get out of those," he pointed to her jumpsuit, "and I can see what Sac put in the cabinets. Knowing them, probably a lifetime supply of donuts and coffee."

She sighed in frustration as he walked away from her and ambled toward the kitchen. He wasn't understanding her one bit. Telling him things about what happened and what led up to it happening was not beneficiary to him, and certainly not a safe option. He had disrupted him. There had to be some kind of payback for that. She was trying to keep him out of harm's way! Couldn't that arrogant, self-assured jerk see that? Apparently not. Well, he'd have to pry that information from her. She didn't trust him. This was going to be a great time. Stuck with someone she doesn't trust, whose only goal was to get information out of her. Keeping her safe was just a side job, she suspected. At least, his iciness of her made it feel that way.

She entered the bedroom, dragging her suitcase inside and slamming the door behind her. She looked around the room and found that it was quite nice. She expected it to be mediocre, but it was better than her expectations. There was a large, wooden four-poster bed in the middle of the room with baby blue sheets and a white, lace coverlet, two large dressers on either side, a mirror hung on the wall, and a bath set inside the room in the corner. It was all the extravagance running cocaine could buy, she thought sardonically.

She sighed and turned to her suitcase. She lifted it up with some difficulty onto the tall bed and opened it. Jane wasn't kidding when he told her he threw her dresser drawers upside down and shook them into the case. Nothing was folded anymore. She scrounged around inside and picked out a white t-shirt, blue jeans and clean bra and panties, which were black and matched. She shut the case and walked over to the tub, turning on the warm water and undressing.

She felt the gauze on her neck sticking. The nice police folks had given her some salve to put on the cut so it didn't get infected and had given her a clean gauze. Now, though, it was dirty and needed to be changed. She stripped off the gauze, pulling the stitches in the process and making her cry out in pain. She'd have to figure out where to get gauze later. Right now, a bath was calling her. She still ached from the events of last night.

She stopped the water and dipped her toe in, feeling the nice warmth on her aching skin. She stepped in and sat down, letting out a hiss when the water splashed up and stung some of her cuts and scrapes. Lisbon leaned back and rested her head on the tub, closing her eyes and letting herself drift.

Her thoughts went from what happened yesterday, in her past, and now. All of them were unpleasant. She sighed. How long would it take for Red John to find her? Not long, she suspected. How long would it take for Patrick Jane to realize he's a lot deeper than he thought? She had only wanted him to watch over her because she had a better chance at actually surviving. She realized when she read him last night that something was drawing her to him, and she suspected it had to do with his past, in which he had twice angrily changed the subject. His wife. Murdered. Hmm. Was that the connection she felt? But how? It didn't make sense to her.

She was deep in thought when a knock scared her, causing water to splash over the side of the tub and her to cry out in surprise. She was even more frightened when the door flew open and Jane stepped inside, gun drawn. She squealed and covered herself with her hands, watching Jane turn away from her quickly, his face turning crimson on the cheeks as he put his gun down to aim at the floor.

"Get out!" she cried.

"I'm—I'm sorry! I heard splashing and you shouting so I thought—"

"Get out of here, Jane!"

Lisbon picked up a nearby shampoo bottle and threw it at him, catching him on the arm. He quickly turned around and shut the door. She shrank back down into the water and groaned. Quickly, she gently scrubbed herself with the provided body wash and washed her hair with the conditioner, since the shampoo was lying on the floor across the room where she had thrown it.

Drying herself off and dressing, Lisbon grabbed her hairbrush, shut her suitcase and lifted it down to the floor, sliding it with her foot to the side of the bed. She grabbed a clean towel and dried her hair in a frenzy of strokes, folding the towel and reaching for her brush she pulled out of her case before. She brushed her damp hair and exited the room.

The first thing she noticed was the smell of something Jane was cooking. It smelled good. She followed the smell into the kitchen and saw Jane sliding eggs onto a plate, his back to her. He was singing something. She thought it was an old Spice Girls song. She owned the CD. It had been a gift from her late husband.

"Smells good," she said. It was her turn to scare him. He jumped and turned to her, placing the pan back on the stove. "You listen to Spice Girls?"

He cleared his throat, still embarrassed about seeing her naked upper half earlier. He smiled gently and lifted the plate, handing it to her. He watched her as she took in the food on the plate. "Yeah." He made a little movement with his shoulders, almost as if bobbing to muted music.

"Eggs on rye toast?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I love eggs. I happen to make a mean French omelet, too. The rye bread is the only kind here."

She nodded her head and sat at one of the stools along the extended island. "Thanks."

"Sure," he told her. "Tea? Coffee?"

"Coffee, please."

He turned from her and went to the coffee machine, pouring some coffee into a blue mug and sliding it over to her. He reached over and sat the sugar and creamer holder next to her. She took a sugar and creamer in silence and poured them into the piping hot coffee. She watched as he fixed his own plate of eggs and made himself some tea, choosing a box from the cupboard and smiling at the fact Sac PD had gotten wind he'd be here and loved tea.

He came to sit beside her, watching as she picked at the eggs with her fork. He cleared his throat and swallowed. He took a sip of tea and sighed.

"Sorry about earlier," he said. "I didn't know the room had a bath in the corner. I am sorry for intruding."

"You should have knocked and then asked if I was okay," she said. "Maybe I was undressing?"

"Yes, you're right," he agreed. "I was concerned for your safety."

Something in his tone made her look at him. He was very serious. He was genuinely concerned something was happening to her. She watched him take a long sip of his tea and eat a bit of his toast. He was a cop, though, and being concerned for her well-being was his job. Still, there was something else there. As much practice she had at reading people, Patrick Jane still had mysteries she couldn't solve...yet. She planned on doing just that, though. As much as she hated to manipulate someone with so much unsaid pain in their life, it was something she'd have to do. And letting him in and trusting him was not part of that. She just couldn't. Courteous? Yes. Trusting and letting him inside of her heart and mind? No.

She was about to tell him that he should invest in a lock for her door (which she knew he'd protest) when she happened to glance at the kitchen window above the sink. There, in the window, was a man peering inside, his dark hair billowing in the light breeze, his eyes bloodshot and a smile on his face.

Teresa Lisbon opened her mouth and screamed.