"Arrested? Seriously?"

Henry heaved both a sigh of exasperation and relief as he stared at Gus through the bars of the holding cell.

Gus sighed, with his own mix of exasperation and relief. "I didn't break any laws."

"Then why am I here?" asked Henry, gesturing around the holding cell. "And why did I post bail?"

"I wasn't going to call my own parents," said Gus, as if it were obvious.

Well, at least this time he didn't have to fly to Canada to bail Shawn and Gus out of police holding.

However…

Henry raised an eyebrow, looking behind Gus, into the other criminal's cell, then back to Gus. "Where's Shawn?"

"He's not here."

Gus had used his one phone call to call Henry, and Henry had only assumed that Shawn had made him call.

Admittedly, Henry had seen the SBPD caller ID and immediately assumed the worst—

That Detective O'Hara had exposed Shawn's secret to Karen, and he was being either fired or arrested or both.

Hearing he needed to post bail for the two idiots never sounded so good.

Not only was it good in comparison to being implicated in Shawn's crimes, it was a good… icebreaker.

The last time he'd seen Shawn was when Shawn had told him about his secret being blown. And Henry, dare he admit it even to himself, didn't exactly handle it well.

"Shawn," he'd said after listening to Shawn's way-too-easy question about the case with the Swedish girl. "You could have figured that out for yourself. You wanna tell me what's really going on here?"

It wasn't often that he's seen his son so… unsure of himself. So… lost.

But here he was, covered in blood that wasn't his own and a concerning bruise at his temple, afraid to look his father in the eyes. He searched for a pillow, and Henry's brows rose at his son's need for the comfort of the object. "Yeah…" said Shawn. "But… I've gotta warn you; I am especially fragile," he said, words shaking a little, and Henry felt his concern for him only deepen. "And I'm gonna need you to put on the kid gloves."

Henry mimed the donning of the gloves, and it made Shawn laugh a little, but it was still too broken of a laugh to be enough to fix whatever was wrong.

"So…" began Shawn, bracing himself. "Jules found out." Shawn averted his eyes, finding the floor. "And now she thinks that our whole relationship is a big lie."

Henry couldn't help himself. The gloves slipped off as he growled, "You idiot! I knew this would happen!"

Shawn, clearly having understated just how fragile he was, suddenly looked even more so. "I think you need to lace those gloves a little tighter–" he said in a small voice.

But the anger was rising before Henry could tamper it— "Do you understand that I'm going to be implicated in your little charade?" he demanded, Shawn shrinking back into the couch. "Did you ever stop and think for one second how this might affect me?"

"Yeah," huffed Shawn, hurt. "That was the first thought I had after she ended our relationship," he hissed, the last words heavy and laced with pain. "All charades aside," Shawn went on, "Juliet is obviously very hurt by this and I have no idea what to do about it."

Shawn had left quickly afterward, getting a break in the case, and leaving before Henry had any actual advice for him.

Henry had kicked himself the moment he left.

If he'd learned anything in the past six years since he and Shawn reconnected, it was that sometimes, his need to be a father rose above his need to be a cop, and his son's pain was more important than his.

He'd gone along with Shawn's secret all these years, he'd played just as much a part in this as Shawn had.

"Juliet is obviously very hurt by this and I have no idea what to do about it."

Well, so was Shawn, and Henry had no idea what to do about it.

"Wait," said Henry suddenly, something not clicking. "You got yourself arrested? With no help from Shawn whatsoever?"

"Yes," said Gus exasperatedly, and it looked like he'd been giving himself that lecture for the past hour. "But—but I'm not even sure I was actually arrested! This is just Lassie trying to keep me out of his case. That bail money probably went straight into his pocket."

"Damn it!" whispered Henry, looking back out the doorway. "That was a hundred bucks, Gus!"

"I've been in here for over an hour!" Gus grabbed and rattled the bars. "Get me out of here!"

As if on cue, an officer descended the stairs with a ring of keys in his hands. He opened the cell door and Gus rushed outside of it, embracing Henry in a tight hug that Henry had not been ready for.

"Thank you, thank you!" whispered Gus.

"Jus' lemme know 'bout tha' cop," said the convict to Gus' back. Gus didn't stop to respond—he released Henry and bolted for the stairs.

"Where is Shawn?" asked Henry, as he struggled to keep up with Gus' pace.

Gus shook his head, slowing down as they walked through the station. "To be honest, I don't know where Shawn is. I haven't talked to him since yesterday. He won't answer any of my calls or texts," he said, nervousness building into the words. "On my way here this afternoon to get our check, I stopped by his apartment and Psych, but he wasn't there." Gus sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"Call him?" asked Henry.

"Straight to voicemail," said Gus, shoulders slumping. He stepped aside as two officers passed between them. "I mean… He's probably just blowing off steam with.. with everything."

Both men's eyes wandered to Juliet's desk, less than twenty feet away. She was reading something off the computer, eyes fixed to the screen. Her eyes looked tired. Restless.

Henry sighed.

"He's just… empty," said Gus quietly, dropping his voice and leaning against the wall. He shook his head. "The last time I remember him like this was when he—" began Gus, but quickly stopped himself before the words came out.

Henry crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.

"When he what, Gus?" asked Henry, drawing out the words, sure he wasn't going to like them.

"When he…" Gus hesitated. "When he had a… falling out… with… you," he finished awkwardly. Gus bit his lip, like he wished he hadn't brought it up.

Henry remembered the days before Shawn disappeared.

The things he wished he could go back and change.

Well, he couldn't change the mistakes he made with his son back then.

But...

He could be here for him now.

So, Henry simply nodded, accepting it. "I was afraid you were going to say that," he said with a sigh.

"You don't think he'd..."

Henry looked up.

"You don't think he'd... leave, right?" asked Gus.

That was exactly what he was wondering himself.

Shawn could handle a hell of a lot.

But one trait Henry unfortunately passed to him was an inability to handle heavy emotions. And… Shawn was a hell of a lot more impulsive than he was. It wasn't a good mix.

"Are you sure we should just assume he's… fine?" asked Gus hesitantly.

"With Shawn?" said Henry, his eyes reflecting Gus' feelings. "Never."

"Guster!"

Gus and Henry turned as Lassiter entered the room, a scowl branded on his face. He glared at Gus. "I thought I arrested you," he said firmly. He walked straight up to Gus, danger emanating from his eyes.

"He posted bail!" countered Gus, gesturing to Henry.

Lassiter spared a look toward Juliet, ensuring she was out of earshot before turning back to Gus. Lowering his voice, he said, "Look, I tried to do this nicely, Guster."

"How is arresting me nice?"

Lassiter ignored him. "I don't want you or Spencer anywhere near this case, or this station," he said firmly. "If you didn't notice," he went on, "some sort of crap went on between Spencer and O'Hara-I don't give a rat's ass what did-" he said before Gus could speak. "All I know is that my partner doesn't want to see him or anyone associated with him right now, and I'm going to make sure it stays that way. Capisce?"

Understanding blooming in Gus' eyes, the fight left him. He let out a defeated breath, nodding. "All right."

"Good," said Lassiter, a little bit of the sharpness leaving him, for he clearly was as unsure about the situation as the rest of them. "Now, please, leave."

"Found the taxi station," came Juliet's voice suddenly, approaching Lassiter while reading off a paper- "Alastor's Taxi Corporation. It's about six miles from here." She handed him a file. "And Woody got an ID on our victim. His name is Juan Matis-" Juliet suddenly looked up from the file, seeing Gus and Henry. Her eyes were suddenly guarded again. "What-" she began, eyes narrowing.

"We were just leaving," said Gus before she could say the same words.

"Let's go check out the station then," said Lassiter, grabbing his keys and jacket from his chair. He followed Juliet out, giving another look to Henry and Gus before following her out of the building.

Gus looked at Henry. "Can you give me a ride to my car?" he asked. "When Lassiter arrested me, he drove me here in the squad car and refused to get an officer to drive the Blueberry back here."

"Yeah," said Henry, starting to head outside, Gus following. "Let's go."

Nine times.

Shawn has called her nine times since their last case, only stopping after she'd come to the Psych office to tell him they needed space.

Juliet felt her fists tighten in her lap as Lassiter drove them to the taxi station. She glared out the window.

Foolish.

"So it was all a lie?"

"Falling in love with you was never part of the plan."

Juliet shut her eyes.

She was a detective, damn it. A detective. How could she have been so stupid? Every moment of their relationship, he was pretending to be a psychic. Pretending to know things that he fabricated out of thin air. Lying to her face at every turn.

And the part that made her angry most of all, was that it worked.

"I'm sensing… that your favorite dish is right on the other side of this wall."

Juliet had lifted her brows, following Shawn's gesture and walked into her own kitchen, to find lasagna laid out over her table, tablecloth and all, in a romantic setting.

"Shawn…" she said slowly, shaking her head. They were two dates in. She's never mentioned anything about Italian. "How did you know…?"

He tapped his head. "I had a little help."

She smiled, shaking her head a little at the awe that she always felt when he displayed his gift.

Juliet's fist tightened.

Lies.

All… lies.

He might have stalked her garbage for takeout containers.

"I'm sensing… that you've always wanted to come to this restaurant, but no one's ever had the guts to take you because they'd have to dress up."

Her favorite restaurant.

"Shawn, how could you have possibly known that I…" She shook her head, staring at the vintage version of her favorite book as a child. She gaped at him, openly awestruck.

Shawn just smiled. "I can't take all the credit. I just… had a feeling."

He smiled.

And she kissed him.

Foolish.

Stupid.

So completely stupid.

And she made it so easy for him.

He played her like a damn game and she let him.

"O'Hara?"

Juliet looked at Lassiter, snapping out of her daze. He out of the car—which had apparently parked a while ago—and he was bending back into it, giving her a quizzical look. A quick look behind him told her they made it to the taxi station.

"Oh," she said absentmindedly. "Sorry."

His gaze lingered a little, and she felt embarrassed. She knew she's been distracted.

Juliet shook herself.

If all of this-if she-had been a trivial game to Shawn, then this relationship didn't deserve mourning.

Juliet got out of the car and they walked with Lassiter to the little building, trying her best to shove him out of her mind.

A bell chimed when they walked through the door.

"Can I help you?"

Lassiter and Juliet turned. The station was very small and dimly-lit. It was a single room. It felt stuffy and smelled faintly of exhaust fumes. The walls were grimy and stained, the floors a cracked cement. A single desk stood behind them, papers scattered across the surface.

"Hi," said Juliet to the man who'd spoken. This man was short and scrawny, and didn't look much older than twenty. He wore dingy overalls, as if he were a mechanic. He fixed his glasses and returned Juliet's smile.

"I'm Hal," said the young man, running a dirty, grease-stained hand through his untidy hair.

"Hi, Hal," said Lassiter, trying to resist the urge to scowl at the unkept office. He pulled his badge out of his jacket and held it to Hal's eyes. "I'm Detective Carlton Lassiter and this is my partner, Detective O'hara. We're with the Santa Barbara Police Department."

Hal's eyebrows raised in innocence. "Police? Did… Did I do something, Officer?"

"Detective," corrected Lassiter flatly. "And I don't know, you tell me. Do you know anything about a driver here? Juan Matis?"

Hal grinned. "Juan! Yeah, gotta love Juan. He's a funny dude."

"He's dead." said Lassiter shortly.

Hal's mouth dropped open.

"Lassiter!" hissed Juliet disapprovingly. She looked at Hal sympathetically. "You were friends with him?"

"I—I worked with him, I mean—I guess you could say that…" stuttered Hal. "He's dead?"

"He was involved in a hit and run this morning," said Juliet softly. "Do you know of anyone who would have wanted to hurt Mr. Matis?"

Hal sank to the desk, leaning on the surface. It took him a moment to speak. "He—he took strange routes."

Lassiter cocked his head, his interest piqued. "Strange how?"

"Well, I mean, it's not done religiously, but when the drivers get calls and drive clients, they get recorded. But—and I thought I must have just been missing out on something, but his records weren't ever in line with the miles he drove. Not even close. I mean, I'm the only one who records anyone's routes—"

"What is it you do here?" asked Lassiter, cutting the young man off.

Hal didn't seem offended. "I help out, keep track of the books…" he hung his head sheepishly. "Like I said, it's not done every single time… I try my best, but… well, I try. This is my uncle's place. He hired me to help out with whatever he needed."

Lassiter looked around. "Where is your uncle?"

"He's out driving clients," said Hal, wringing his hands together nervously. "We don't have a whole lot of clients. A few months ago, Uncle Ian thought we were going to have to close up shop. But I put up fliers. Made a website. Business picked up and we were out of the hole."

Juliet and Lassiter resisted the urge to exchange glances. Something was fishy.

"When does Uncle Ian get back?" asked Lassiter.

Hal scratched his chin. "I dunno. Maybe nine?"

Lassiter frowned. "Well, we're going to have to get a look at those books."

Hal stood to get the paperwork out of the desk. As he was rifling through the papers, Lassiter examined the room. His eyes scanned over the dusty, dinosaur of a computer, outdated calendars on the walls, and rested on the corner. It was piled with bags and other junk.

Lassiter pointed to the corner. "What's all this?"

Hal followed Lassiter's eyes. "Oh," said Hal, turning back to the drawer. "That's the leftover stuff. Clients forget bags and stuff all the time."

"What's inside them?" asked Lassiter.

"I don't really know," said Hal. "I don't look inside. I just find them in the cars and pile them over there for the clients to pick up, if they ever do. But they don't usually—most of them are just headed for the airport or home from a bar. Either they're too far away or too drunk to care about picking up their stuff."

Lassiter looked toward them. Walked over. He bent down and sifted through a few of the bags, and Juliet watched. Lassiter pulled out a duffle bag from the center, half-hidden under several others. He grasped the zipper on the bag and pulled.

Cash.

A lot of cash.

Lassiter held the bag, looking at the wads of cash staring back at him.

"Carlton!" whispered Juliet, looking over his shoulder. "That's got to be…"

"Four million?" guessed Lassiter, picking up a wad, sifting through the bills with his thumb. "Five?"

Hal shut the drawer. "Here's the paperwork."

Lassiter and Juliet turned as Hal held out the crumpled stack of messy stapled papers. Hal's eyes shifted to the bag of money. He gasped aloud.

"That was in there?" he exclaimed. He dropped the papers on the ground and walked around the desk, gaping at the money. "No wonder Uncle Ian doesn't want me in his office!" He looked at Lassiter and Juliet, stunned.

Lassiter barked a laugh. "Yeah." He looked at Juliet. "Simple. Uncle Ian finds a fortune in the back of a cab and Matis finds out, threatens to call the cops. Gives Uncle Ian some motive."

"He wouldn't kill anybody!" protested Hal. "Uncle Ian's not like that!"

"Well, where was he this morning?" asked Juliet.

"I—he was on driving clients all day," said Hal hollowly, seeming to realize that his uncle's alibi wasn't quite crystal.

"Check those books," said Lassiter to Juliet. He looked at Hal. "You wrote down all clients today?"

"Today—?" said Hal, shaking himself, tearing his eyes away from the money. Juliet picked up the papers from the floor and Hal nodded. "Yeah, I wrote down all the clients from this morning. Addresses of the clients who called for transport. Uncle's clients will be in there."

Juliet scanned the list. There weren't many drivers to this station—seemed to be only five. The three unfamiliar names had clients all morning from the addresses of three different bars. Ian had picked someone up from the Santa Barbara airport. Hal didn't lie about those two types of places being nearly the only pick up addresses. Her eyes dropped down to Juan.

"Oh my god," breathed Juliet, her eyes freezing on the address directly across from Juan's name. She read it over again. And again.

And again.

"What?" asked Lassiter, slowly standing next to her, scanning the page himself. "What are you—"

But he stopped talking. Because just like Juliet, his eyes zeroed in on the address beside Juan's name. It was an address that was all too familiar.

"You've got to be kidding me," whispered Lassiter as Juliet's gaze slowly met his. She swallowed hard, her heart dropping low in her chest, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Shawn."