Chapter 8 - Half-Truth

When the door snapped closed, Lisbon turned her body, distracting herself with the bath she was running. She felt him come to stand directly behind her, the heat of his body invading her personal space. She splashed her hand under the water, willing herself not to turn around and face him. She was afraid if she did, he'd see the shame on her face and the degradation in her eyes.

"Why do you insist on running off whenever I try to kiss you? Or, in this case, actually kiss you?" he asked her softly. "Are you afraid of me as well as not trusting me?"

She scoffed and shook her chestnut curls. That wasn't it at all. She wasn't afraid of him at all. She felt him looming over her shoulder, so she cast an eye at him and sighed heavily. She turned her bath water off and turned to him finally, realizing he was much closer than she anticipated.

"I'm not afraid of you, Patrick," she told him. "I am afraid of doing something out of emotional distress and regretting it later. I feel ashamed because you are not my husband," said Lisbon with truthful ferocity. "I take off because..."

She trailed off and looked up into his bluish-green eyes, watching as he tried to understand her. He said nothing but waited for her to go on, placing his hands in his jean pockets, his wrist resting against the butt of his gun in his holster. He tilted his head and nodded slightly for her to go on. It showed that he was listening attentively.

"Because I don't want to admit to myself that I enjoyed it," she revealed, licking her bottom lip in unconscious movement, noting that the cut on it had long healed. "I don't want to enjoy it! I shouldn't want to!"

"Why?" he asked her in a hushed tone. "What happened just now wasn't wrong. You shouldn't be ashamed or feel bad for doing it or wanting to do it."

"Don't tell me what I should or shouldn't feel bad for," she scolded him. "Just because you can move on from your wife doesn't mean I can my husband." She wanted to take it back as soon as it came out of her mouth, but she couldn't. She had aimed for his heart and she had put an arrow straight through it.

"You can't even be honest with me about your family, Teresa! You are pulling away! You want to open up to me, but you refrain because you can't stand how much I understand your pain! You hate that. It makes you feel normal! Not like a grieving wife and mother, Teresa. We're equals."

"No! It's because you can't be trusted!" She retorted. "Your only job is keeping me alive. Why? I don't know. I suspect you think I can finally help catch this sick killer. Well, I can't!" She narrowed her eyes at him. "You wouldn't understand."

"You want to stand here and lie about your husband and son, smudge their memories with your evasive lies, fine! But don't you take it out on me, sweetheart!"

"I'm not a replacement for your wife!" she shouted at him.

"Okay," said Jane softly. "I have put up with your trust issues, your running off, and even your reading of things I never let anyone dig out of me," he growled in a low voice. "But I have had enough of your emotional abuse. I have had ENOUGH!"

She looked at him and rather thought he looked dangerous when he was angry. His eyes flashed and she could see his jaw muscle tighten in response to her words. It had hurt him, she saw. She shook her head at him again and laughed without humor.

"I am not doing anything but stating the truth. You can move on from your wife's death easily," she told him. "Kiss a woman? Jump in the nearest bed? You've known me only a few days and you already tried to kiss me twice, and actually kissed me once. Is there no shame?"

Jane looked as if he had been slapped across the face backhanded. He looked at her darkly and sighed. He pushed a hand out of his pocket and rubbed his neck, casting his eyes from her.

"Yeah," he told her. "Well, sweetheart, we are on this earth alone now that they're gone," he replied. "You want to be alone in this world, living each day without them over and over, fine. I am not moving on from my wife," he added. "I am just adapting. I definitely am not trying to replace her! You're not replacing your husband, either." He took his hand off his neck and reached out to tuck in a stray curl from her face. "It's comfort, Teresa. It's the familiarity in our pasts. Tragic duo." He dropped his hand from her. "But I see you don't want it. I am sorry for kissing you."

She just stood there gazing at him. She was surprised when he, on the spur of the moment, stepped forward and reached out for her waist and brought her roughly against him, taking her mouth in his before she could protest. He kissed her lackadaisically, his lips pressing hard. She didn't fight with him. She kept her hands to her sides and let him go. She didn't want to fight anymore. She was utterly perplexed. She didn't want this, but yet she did nothing to stop it. She couldn't get her body to cooperate and push him off.

As quickly as he had grabbed her, he released her. He bent his lips down to her ear and whispered softly. "Okay. I've lied. I am never sorry for kissing you."

Without a word, he turned around and exited her room, leaving her standing there in shock. She watched the door wobble for a second before she sat down on the edge of the tub and played with her necklace. He wasn't entirely wrong. But she had a hard time understanding that to love again was something normal and healthy. She much rather live with the pain and tragedy. The things she did in her past and the things he would find out about her in the present. The attraction was and is a deadly thing. It just made you vulnerable. Made you put down your guard and let your masks crumble.

She stood and wiped a stray tear from her face, turning to strip off her dirty clothes and clean herself and the thoughts from her mind about one Patrick Jane.

He took the file and smiled. Flipping to the first page, he saw her picture. Though she had the gash he had left on the skin across her throat, she looked rather the same from the last time he encountered her. Her hair had grown out a little, but she was the same. He brought a gloved finger out to stroke the side of the photographs face. He pulled the photo from the paper-clip and closed the folder again, setting it down next to another.

He picked up the other folder, opening it and removing that photograph as well. Lucy Jane was smiling in this shot that gave a face to the body found in the house all those years ago. He sat the two women side-by-side and took to remembering how he had killed one and nearly killed the other. He also remembered killing Teresa Lisbon's family. How he had come to collect on her debt, and how he had found her away, but her husband and son asleep on the couch, watching a movie together. How he had crept in and taught her a lesson about messing with him! How he had enjoyed envisaging the look on her face when she came home to see his handy work.

That's what she got for everything she did. If Patrick Jane could only know the role she had in his own wife's death. But Patrick Jane was not without risk. Bringing them together to tear them apart wouldn't be enough. When the ashes fell and the phoenix tried to rise back out of the dust, he'd have to go, too.

He never really liked that fairy tale bullshit. It made for good kiddie tales, but in the real world, everything had a price. Patrick Jane would know that price. Teresa Lisbon would be that price. When he finally learned the truth about her, the protection she was seeking and comforted somewhat by would no longer be there. He'd leave her high and dry. And then he'd strike.

He took the photos and tucked them back into the files, pushing it away and tapping his finger on the table in front of him. He'd have to thank his good friend for getting Teresa Lisbon's file for him. Make it worth his while. He smiled once again before getting up and picking up the folder, tucking it in a drawer and locking it.

While it didn't have where they took her, it didn't have to. He knew exactly where she was hiding. All in due time, though. All things in due time. He laughed as he flipped off the light with a gloved finger, setting the room in darkness as he shut and locked the door.

"Boss!" Rigsby called out, watching as the older man walked into the bullpen, massaging his aching bones from the immobilizing stun gun shot into his back hours before. "They let you out?"

"It's not a prison, Wayne," he told him, dismissing Rigsby's help when he stood halfway up to catch his precariously teetering boss. "Anything new about who could have stolen the file?"

"I checked all the footage from that time frame," Van Pelt piped up. "Nothing. Whoever it was had come and gone without raising suspicion."

"Did you let Jane know about it?" he asked, stretching his painful muscles.

"Yeah," she said, nodding her head. "Uh, she tried to escape."

"Jane probably got on her nerves," he said, sighing. "I take it she didn't get that far?"

"No," Van Pelt said. "She's back and everything is fine."

Minelli nodded his head and turned to Cho. "Terrific. She's back and cooped up with Agent Pain-in-the-ass again. Do we have any leads on Red John or his whereabouts? Any leads at all?"

"No," Cho told him, shaking his head. "However, we do have some information on the victim where the photographs were found. Seems she's connected to some kind of inner peace and mind cult. Uh," he leaned over and rifled through some papers on his desk, "Visualize."

"Take Rigsby and check it out. Ask them if they are familiar with Teresa Lisbon."

"Got it, Boss," Rigsby said, standing and snatching up his jacket. "We are so getting Big Gulps."

"I am going to need the sugar after dealing with these cult people," Cho acquiesced. "I'm already falling asleep."

Minelli rolled his eyes and turned to Van Pelt. "Keep looking through that footage. If you find anything fishy or out of place, let me know."

"They fingerprinted your whole office," Van Pelt abreast him. "It's still messed up in there."

"Let me guess," Minelli told her sourly. "Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Surprise, surprise!" said Minelli, discomfited.

"You think this was Red John, Sir?"

"I don't know, Grace," he answered grouchily. "But I don't think he'd risk capture to waltz in here and steal a file that has no use to him. Why he took it, I don't know."

Grace looked at him after a moment before he angrily told her to look at the footage before he got any older. She turned back to her desk and looked through the bits of footage on the server for the cameras as she grumbled under her breath at his snippy attitude.

Meanwhile, in the city of Davis, Rigsby and Cho stepped into a lobby that offered a big eye on its tiled floor, waiting for someone to come greet them. Rigsby slurped on his Big Gulp, looking around at all the strange folks dressed in white shirts with the logo of the eye embroidered on the pocket of each.

"This place is scary," he commented, watching as a rosy-faced, redheaded girl approached them. Her smile faded when she saw them drinking in the lobby and deeper when she saw their badges on their hips.

"Sorry," she said, the smile going back up on her face easily. "There are no drinks, officers. You can put those in the recycle containers to your left and follow me," she instructed.

Rigsby and Cho sucked down their sodas and walked over to throw them where she indicated. Cho looked at Rigsby and he got a look in return.

"This place gives me the creeps," Cho said. "Let's just do what we have to do and get out of here."

"No complaints here," he replied, sneaking a look at the redheaded girl. "She's staring at us. I'm scared, Cho. It's like she's a robot."

They walked back over to her and smiled fake smiles. "Follow me, please," she told them.

She led them back through double doors and into a large office. She said nothing as she exited, closing the doors behind her. They moved up to the desk and saw a bald man, fifty-something, expensive suit. He stood and greeted them with a handshake. Firm and short.

"Hi! You must be the Agents. Please! Sit!" he told them, gesturing to the two chairs sitting in front of them. "My name is Jason Cooper. I am running things in our leader's absence," he added.

"Second in command?" Rigsby asked.

"Something like that," Cooper smiled. "What can I do for you boys? I assure you our church is clean and no trouble has been had here."

Cho took out the victim's photo from his jacket and leaned over to push it across to him. He watched as Cooper picked it up and looked at it. Cooper looked disturbed, he noted. He let him look over it another few seconds before he cleared his throat.

"Did you know this woman? Kari Rollins?" Cho asked, taking the photo back as Cooper handed it over. "We are investigating a homicide that occurred and we traced her to your...church."

Cooper sat back and put his fingers under his chin, locking them as he blinked at the Agents. He sighed heavily and nodded his head, closing his eyes briefly and reopening them.

"Kari was indeed a member here," Cooper confirmed. "She hasn't been for the past two years, though," he told them. "She left quite abruptly. She was trying to leave for the past ten years, but she never left completely. She always came back."

"Was there anything, in particular, she was trying to leave?" Rigsby asked. "Any relationship or church problems?"

"People leave here all the time, Agents. We don't keep tabs on why. Once they leave for good, though, they cannot come back," he said. "They have to realign themselves with our church again."

"So she had no problems that you knew of?" Cho asked. "Nothing that made her leave in a hurry?"

"We are not doing nefarious things here, Agents," Cooper said, laughing. "When they leave, they leave of their own accord. Often, like Kari did, they return."

"Do you know what kind of state of mind she was in when she left the church?"

Cooper leaned forward, placing his hands on his blotter. "I suspect she was very upset. Several people complained about her talking on the phone late at night in the months before she left. That is strictly against the rules here," he explained. "She promised she wouldn't do it again, but we got at least four other complaints."

"Is there any way we could get those records from those? Maybe the complaint forms or call logs?" Cho asked.

"Sure," Cooper smiled. "We are a cooperative and cohesive organization. We aim to aid, not abide."

"Clever. Can we see them?" Rigsby asked, his patience to get out of this strange place waning.

"Sure, follow me." He stood and smiled. "You'll find that they are alphabetical. Rollins is with the R's."

"Before I forget," Cho spoke up, "do you know or ever heard of a Teresa Lisbon?"

"No," Cooper said after a thoughtful moment. "Can't say I have."

Cooper led them down the hall from his office and into a room full of records and tapes against all four walls, a small table sitting between it all. He gestured his hand for them to have at it. Cho thanked him and Cooper left them, closing the door behind him.

"Ugh," Rigsby said, shuddering dramatically. "He's creepy, too."

"Come on," Cho said. "Let's get this over with." He walked over and read the ABC's, getting to the R's and pulling out the file drawer. He scanned over the files and pulled out the one labeled ROLLINS, KARI on the tab. "Found it."

He and Cho sat down at the table and opened the folder. Inside were four or five slips of paper and a few call logs. He gave Cho two of the slips of paper and he took the rest. He scanned his eyes over the papers and frowned. He didn't find anything useful within them. He looked over the call logs and found four calls to the same number, all within the same time frame that Cooper had said she tried to leave before. Three were over the span of two months about seven years ago. There was one call that was just before she left two years ago. Rigsby reached into his suit jacket for his notepad and pen, writing the number down for Van Pelt to trace for him when they got back to the office.

"Hey, Rigsby," Cho said, sliding a paper across to him. "Look at this."

Rigsby scanned the complaint form and looked up, a startled expression crossing his face. He looked back down to make sure he was reading it correctly and then back up to Cho.

"You think...?"

"I do."

"What's Lucy Jane doing calling our victim?" Cho asked. "And what is going on here?"

It was evening when she finally came out of her room. She had taken a bath and cleaned the dirt off her, dressed in black yoga pants and a red top, and cleaned her wound on her throat with the gauze Jane had given her from the medical kit. She saw him sitting at the island, silently eating something that looked like mush. She came up beside him quietly, watching him play around with the food in his bowl.

"I sure do miss your cooking," he told her. "I made something that resembles oatmeal. If you gulp it down quickly, you might just not notice the lumps," he told her.

She smiled a half smile and reached over to take the bowl from him, placing it in the sink. She grabbed his spoon from his hand as he watched her and dumped that in the sink as well.

"Oatmeal is not for dinner, Jane," she told him, reaching into the nearby freezer and pulling out an ice cream container.

"Neither is ice cream," he commented.

"You're right," she said, nodding as she retrieved two spoons from the dishwasher. "But I thought I could make it up to you. What I said earlier was harsh. I'm sorry," she apologized, handing him a spoon and setting the tub in between them.

"This is your apology?" he questioned, lifting an eyebrow at her. "I like it." He lifted a scoopful of ice cream to his mouth and ate it.

"So, do you accept it?" She dipped her spoon into it and took a small scoop.

He thought about it for half a second. "Yes. I guess I do."

She smiled faintly at him and watched as he licked his spoon clean, watching her closely over it. She sighed and sat the spoon down on the counter, bending down and hugging her elbows.

"I want to tell you about my family," she told him. "The truth, Jane."

He nodded his head and dipped his spoon back into the tub. "Okay, Teresa."

She frowned slightly and sighed. She had thought about telling him the truth earlier, but she actually couldn't muster up the courage to do it until now. She was thinking of why she shouldn't trust Jane with this information, but she couldn't think of a reason, anymore. He had trusted her with his own tragic past, and she owed him something.

Her growing attraction to him could be sent to bed for a while, she hoped. His attraction wasn't going to be ignored anytime soon. He was diving in head first. She watched the way his white T-shirt outlined his chest and biceps when he flexed to scoop ice cream with his spoon. She shook her head slightly and brought her eyes back up to his.

"Two years ago, my husband and son were murdered," she started off. "My husband Sam and my son Lucas were watching TV and had fallen asleep. When I came home, they were on the couch." She didn't elaborate. She knew she didn't have to. "I suppose you already figured that Red John murdered them. Victim numbers seventeen and eighteen."

Jane put down his spoon and reached a hand out to touch her forearm. "I didn't know Red John went after males," he told her. "But I am sorry, Teresa. I know exactly how you feel...felt."

"I know," she whispered hoarsely. "They were murdered because I wasn't around. You want to punish somebody, you go after their family. What means the most to them," she told him. "He broke his MO with my husband and son. And it was my fault, Patrick. All my fault."

"It's natural for us to feel guilty, Teresa," he told her. "I won't tell you not to feel that way because I'd be hypocritical. But I understand your feelings of guilt."

"You didn't know about them?" Lisbon asked. "I mean... his murders were all over the news..."

"No," he said. "I had taken some time off. Went to Venezuela for nearly two years. No communication. Just me and my sins, sweetheart. Sac PD made the files and folders on Red John's murders sealed about five years ago. Those bastards are very, very much to blame on why he isn't dead or rotting in prison."

"I remember coming home and finding them." She closed her eyes. "And it was all my fault." She reopened them with slow, deliberate movements.

She wouldn't explain how it was her fault for right now. Nor would she tell Jane she actually knew more than what she was saying about everything. Some things were better left untold. She had said she would tell him about her family, and she did. She requisitioned restraint. She didn't need anything else to jeopardize her safety.

Jane's hand on her forearm came up to her chin, cupping it softly. He smiled sadly at her in understanding. She closed her eyes without conscious thought, relishing the warmth of his hand on her skin.

"It's not wrong to want to be comforted," Jane told her, causing her to reopen her eyes. "What you said earlier...about not wanting to replace the people you loved who are gone? It doesn't mean you forget them, Teresa. Who wants to be lonely in an already solitary, painful world?"

She turned and gave him a small kiss on his palm, but didn't do anything else. For now, she would settle on telling him about her family. Later, she'd address the attraction if it was still there when the time came. By the look on Jane's face, his desire was clear in his bluish-green eyes. He wanted her. He wanted her so very badly.

"I...I know that," she said. "You obviously want to seduce me," she blurted out, unable to stop herself. "Dark eyes, twitching lips, the blood in your veins pumping quickly..."

"Over a meal of ice cream?" he laughed. "How did that thought enter your head?"

She smiled a little as he extracted his palm from her face. "Bite me."

"Is that an invitation?" He arched his eyebrows.

"It's not a yes," she told him. "Or a no. It's disorienting."

"Why?"

"Because frankly, you're confusing me. I am so good at reading people, but you close up. Like a book I can't finish," she told him. "I don't know how to act around you, most of the time. You yell at me one time, then kiss me the next."

"Understood." He picked his spoon back up and dipped into the soft ice cream. "So, do you regret kissing me back, then? Tangling your hands in my hair?" he teased.

She sighed and smiled, picking her own spoon back up. "No. I guess I don't." The truth shall set you free, she thought.

She grabbed the lid of the ice cream container, placing it back on the tub and turning to place it back in the freezer. She felt his hands on the back of her hips. She stood up straight and spun herself around. She was face-to-face with Jane, who was staring at her with desire. Before she could dissent, he lifted her up and sat her on the edge of the counter beside the refrigerator, his body between her dangling legs.

Her mind went numb and her body pinged with energy at his touch and his closeness. She could feel the attraction she was trying to so hard to ignore ignite like gasoline and fire; trusting flames that licked and absorbed into her veins. She was beginning to lose all control of herself. It had been like the kiss earlier: unadulterated need and hunger. This time, she didn't know if she'd be able to stop him or herself though she knew she should. The truth was out for the most part, and Jane was right. Comfort is healthy. There was nothing wrong with needing someone and giving yourself to someone. She knew her husband would want her to do what made her happy. Jane, for all his faults and distrust, made her at least happy as she could be given the circumstances. He was infuriating, and he was sweet. The power in his touch and kisses knocked her off her feet and left her breathless; in a bubble struggling to breathe.

His previous kisses were passionate and needful. She understood that very well. Two people who are cooped up in a place with a shared connection were bound to get to this level. She didn't think any of it would be from her by any stretch of her imagination. But yet here she was perched on a counter with a cop sworn to protect her between her legs, looking at her as if she was his only source of oxygen and touching her like he was the only thing keeping him alive.

"Jane, what are you doing?"

"Trying to seduce you," he answered. "Just like you said I wanted to do." He smiled, leaning himself into her. "Is it working?"

Her brain wanted to push him away and tell him she needed time, but her body was humming and her heart was hammering. Though she thought about her husband and replacing him, she couldn't form the chain together to stop what was going on. She'd been fighting the urge for far too long.

She reached over and pulled his shirt in her fists, pulling him close to her mouth. He gasped at her sudden movement, his eyes locking on hers.

"Yes," she breathed. Her hands fell to his holster, her fingers trying to disengage it from his slim waist to get to his pants. "Yes, it is."

She shuddered involuntarily as his hip came to still her hands from his holster. Her breathing was embarrassingly loud as his thumbs ghosted back down her thighs, a gleam in his eyes as her hands came back up to knot in the front of his shirt. He smiled and kissed the corner of her mouth gently, letting his lips ghost there. She brought her hands up from his shirt to cup his face, tilting it so she could stare directly into the desire filled pools. He deliberately dragged his thumbs up her inner thighs, stroking the soft, warm skin through the material of her pants, heading up toward the slim V between her legs, his eyes tracing his path. He smiled at her trembling under his touch, dragging the merciful warmth of her with him. She broke. All sense of control or reason flew out of her mind.

"Patrick?"

"Yes?" he whispered, lifting his eyes to hers.

"Take me to the bedroom."

"Oh, no, Teresa," he told her, smiling widely. "Not yet."

"But you want to," she read. "Your pupils are dilated, which signals desire. Your pulse is racing, and you do this thing with your lips when you are in the mood. Your lips quiver. I saw it each time you kissed me. I told you this earlier. So do something about it."

"Nice cold read," he told her. "Stop that. I do want to, Teresa. God, how I want to. But you need to learn patience and to obey rules designed to keep you alive."

"What?" she asked, dazed and confused.

His fingers gripped her hips tightly as he kissed the tip of her nose. "Payback for stealing my key from my vest."

"Really?" she asked, exasperatingly.

"Really." He stepped back, laughing at her expression.

He let go of her hips and brought his lips to dance gently over hers as she let go of his head. "I am not a cruel man, Teresa."

"I beg to differ with that," she told him.

"It's nice to know that you are attracted to me, Teresa," he told her. "And that my seduction methods do work." He smiled wickedly. "My terms, Teresa. If you are willing, of course."

"You are a cold bastard, you know that?"

"So I've been told."

He kissed her lips once more, allowing her to kiss him back softly before he reached up and helped her down off the counter. She stood there for a moment with her hands on his chest, feeling the muscles over his shirt. She looked up at him and cleared her throat. She shook her head and stepped away from him.

"You're not the only one who can manipulate," he said, delighted with himself.

She chuckled softly and shook her head. "I'm still better at it. And I am not a child. This isn't show and tell."

"Well, there was another purpose to it," he said. "And if you act like a child, I will treat you as such. I mistakenly treated you as a responsible adult. You took that and abused it."

"Oh? Another aim?"

"It proves you are starting to trust me," he explained.

She couldn't deny it anymore. She had spilled information on her family, and she had begged him to take her to her room and make love to her. She'd say her trust was opening up, and so was her heart... Begrudgingly. She could see him watching her from the corner of his eye as he sat back down. She opened the nearest cupboard and opened a can of soup, reaching for a bowl. She found her cheeks flushing with heat as she did so, remembering that just a few minutes ago, she was asking him to take her to bed. She had wanted it so much. And he had wanted to take her. She had read it on his face. But he was punishing her for taking off with his key. Well, punishing himself, too, but she suspected the kiss from earlier was enough to sate him for now.

She heated up the soup and sat it in front of Jane. "You're absolutely right. Ice cream is not dinner." She leaned on the counter and handed him a clean spoon.

"I wasn't complaining," he told her.

"And I wasn't suggesting," she said. "Eat."

He took the Teresa Lisbon's file from the locked drawer and shuffled the papers until he came to her old interviews from the night he had so egregiously slaughtered her family. It was good that Virgil Minelli had requested her old files to add her new interviews into. Update her status as being the only survivor of his craft...for now.

He pulled her old interview transcript out and lined them up. He grabbed the small petri dish of blood and dipped a gloved finger into it, highlighting several of her statements in the crude liquid, allowing the black print to seep through. He smiled when he finished, looking over them as he allowed them to dry.

Officer: Did anyone contact you before this? Anything that made you feel scared or nervous?

Lisbon: (hesitates) No. It was a normal day! Nobody called me or contacted me.

Lies! Fucking lies! He moved on to the next highlighted part, his lips up-swinging into a crude smile.

Officer: Do you know why Red John would murder your family, Teresa? Anything you can think of as to a reason? The MO has changed, here.

Lisbon: (crying) No. (silent a few seconds) I don't know why.

Another fucking lie. She knew exactly why. She was lying. He hated liars. He hated loose ends. They were tedious and tiring and just no fun. He looked at the last statement and tsk-tsked, his face frowning and resembling the very face he put on the wall of his last victim.

Officer: Did you know or were you connected to any of the other victims? (shows her a lineup of sixteen pictures)

Lisbon: No. I don't know any of them. (stares at a few pictures for a long time)

Officer: Are you sure?

Lisbon: Yes. (flips over all sixteen photos to the blank side and sobs)

She has been a very bad girl. Lying to investigators. Bad for her. Good for him. Until recently. She had to dig up things better left alone. And now she was being hunted like an animal. Slow. Methodical. Careful. Patrick Jane would never protect her. Not after he gets his little package.

He looked at the last paper in the row. It was a typed letter from an old, untraceable typewriter. It had been modified with red typeset. He reread it and smiled. Yes. Yes. This would be perfect. Poetic and very revealing.

He gathered the papers, folded them neatly with a gloved hand and stuffed them into the envelope. He pulled out his burner phone and dialed.

"I have a delivery," he said, simply. "Up in the hills."