"Can I help you?" an oddly tall, dark haired uniform cop asked Eliot as he entered the precinct dressed in a plain black suit and loosely fitted tie.

"I'm looking for the chief," he replied, flashing his FBI credentials to the younger man.

"Yeah, sure, right this way," the man said and walked Eliot through to the chief's office. "There's an FBI agent here to see you," Eliot heard the cop whisper to the chief over the desk before he scuttled away.

"Chief Vick, what can I do for you?" the female stated and Eliot silently thanked her for not beating around the bush and getting straight to the point.

"Agent Mark Priestley with the FBI," he said, showing her the badge on his hip. "I've been informed that you're investigating the murder of one,"

"George LaFleur," Hardison offered.

"George LaFleur," the hitter continued. "I've been instructed to take part in the investigation."

"With all due respect Agent," the chief said swaying in her chair before she abruptly stopped. "Why?"

"LaFleur has been under our investigation for a good time now and my bosses would like to make sure their investigation isn't undermined or compromised," Eliot exclaimed. "My orders are here and there's a number you can call on the top." He handed her, thanks to Hardison, an extremely authentic slip of paper from his pocket which the chief took a moment to scour over before picking up her phone and dialing the number. It rang for two rings before Parker picked up.

"Deputy Director Pistole's office," the thief greeted a fake smile plastered across her face, despite the fact that she could not be seen by the Chief. "How may I help you?"

"Yes, this is Chief Vick of the Santa Barbara Police Department. I'm calling to confirm the orders of a one Agent Mark Priestley," she stated, leaning forward on her chair.

"Hold Please," Parker instructed as she handed the phone to Nate; the mastermind waited a few seconds before putting the device to his ear.

"Chief," Nate greeted, altering his accent ever so slightly so that it sounded like there were southern influences. "Deputy Director Pistole. And I can confirm Agent Priestley's orders."

"May I ask what LaFleur was under investigation for?" Vick queried.

"Fraud," Nate explained vaguely. "I'll let my man explain as needed. This isn't going to be a problem is it?"

"Not at all," the chief declared bitterly and both Eliot and Nate got the sense that this woman did not like to be undermined.

"Good. I'll leave you to it then," Nate declared and then hung up the phone.

The chief slowly put her phone back down before standing up, straightening her suit and holding her hand out for Eliot to shake.

"Welcome aboard."

"Thankyou," Eliot said. "I'll do my best not to get in your way."

The chief nodded in thanks before she called in the uniform cop from earlier to fetch the detectives. It was only a few minutes before they entered the room and, without turning around Eliot could discern four footsteps; three male and one female, judging by the feel of it.

"Detectives," Vick greeted. "This is Agent Mark Priestley with the FBI. Henderson this is Detective Lassiter and O'Hara," the chief introduced. Turning around Eliot could was faced with a stunning young blonde, a salt and pepper haired angry looking gentlemen and the two idiots.

"Detective, Ma'am," Eliot greeted shaking each of their hands in turn, lingering on Juliet's for a moment as he subtly flirted; a gesture which she reciprocated.

Shawn squinted his eyes in jelousy.

"And this is our resident Psychic Mr Shawn Spencer and his partner Burton Guster," the chief continued.

Through the comms Eliot heard Parker gasp; a reflex he supposed.

"Not a real psychic Parker," Nate reminded her.

"Yeah, not real," the thief reassured herself.

Eliot greeted Gus and then, as he moved to shake Shawn's hand, gave him a menacing stare. He then shook his hand; a bone crushing shake which was clearly a warning; blow my cover and die.

"Wow your handshake is strong," Shawn not so amazingly observed, then, on the conclusion of the shake, flapped his hand about in relief that no fingers were broken.

"Anyway," Vick began. "Agent Priestly is here to assist on the LaFleur case."

"With all due respect chief, we don't need assistance," Lassiter protested.

"Ha!" Parker laughed. "Police not needing any help that's seriously crazy! If the police didn't need help what would we be for!"

"This comes from above my head, detectives," Vick explained.

"It can't hurt to have an extra set of hands," Shawn suggested, trying to play his part.

"My thoughts exactly," Eliot agreed.

"Well, shall we?" Juliet said, clearly enamoured as she gestured out the door.

"After you," the agent offered courteously and Shawn narrowed his eyes in jealousy. He reluctantly followed them out the door, followed by Gus and Lassiter (utterly frustrated that his territory was being taken over). He was about to strike up a conversation with his cousin when, out of the corner of his eye, Shawn spotted his father walking into the precinct.

"Uh-oh," Shawn exclaimed; he needed to run intervention. "Dad!" Shawn exclaimed quickly, bouncing over to the older man, who turned around his eyes widening at the sight of Eliot.

"This can't be good," Hardison noted.

"El…."

"He's going to blow your cover," Sophie exclaimed, worry protruding from her voice.

"Dad!" Shawn interrupted, while the four thieves on the opposite side of the comms let out a sigh of relief. "Dad this is Agent Priestly with the FBI. The FBI dad," Shawn hinted in a manner which would never, ever be described as subtle. "The FBI."

"This guy runs a long con?" Sophie asked in disbelief; his intervention techniques not impressing her in the slightest.

"He gets it Shawn," Gus stated.

"Henry Spencer," he greeted, handing out his hand suspiciously to the agent.

"Nice to meet you," Eliot greeted back then turned to walk back to the detectives, shooting Shawn a look; deal with this!

"I can't believe you never told us that you have not one, but two relatives working for the SBPD!" Hardison exclaimed.

"Never was an issue 'till now," Eliot muttered

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"FBI? Really Shawn?" Henry asked in disbelief. "It's bad enough that you're pretending to be a psychic but now you're aiding and abetting."

"Dad! It's Eliot," Shawn complained childishly.

"Since when do you care so much about family?" he asked rhetorically. "Look Shawn, as a person, Eliot's a great guy and an even greater fishing partner, but professionally?"

"Spencer!" Lassiter yelled and both Henry and Shawn snapped their heads around to the head detective; luckily only the two local Spencers and Gus noticed how Eliot, standing next to Lassiter, had to refrain from doing the same. "Either be useful or get lost!" Apparently Lassiter really didn't like his territory being encroached on.

"Coming Lassie!" Shawn yelled back, and then turned to his father again. "Look Dad, I get it, but you need to trust me on this,"

"Shawn!"

"I'll explain later," Shawn replied to his father's yell, already running off towards the others.

"So how do you want go about this?" Lassiter asked the hitter as Shawn approached.

"I'd like to speak with the coroner and see the autopsy report," he declared.

"Really?" Gus enquired, his stomach already beginning to churn.

"You'd be surprised what you can learn from a stiff," Eliot explained.

"Suit yourself," the detective shrugged as he moved to lead the agent downstairs to autopsy.