Chapter Text
As she locked the heavy, creaking iron door separating the building’s lobby from the dark street outside, Teresa Lisbon finally let her guard down. She was home at last. From here to her apartment, she wouldn’t need to keep her mind laser-focused on how to draw her weapon at the first sign of trouble.
The bar where her team had celebrated closing their latest case wasn’t far from her place, so she’d chosen to walk back, sparing herself another cab fare. After all, the CBI wasn’t exactly known for its generous paychecks.
Of course, nighttime strolls weren’t the wisest choice in this neighborhood. While regular folks might worry something bad could happen, cops knew it could. That was the downside of working in law enforcement—it got harder to believe you’d be fine when you’d seen firsthand all the people who weren’t.
But hey, she had a Glock. She’d try not to panic as long as she could still use it.
The ride up in the decrepit elevator was filled with her humming the theme song of the reality show she planned to binge as soon as she got inside. She was even considering adding a tub of ice cream to her "how to survive the next few hours before attempting sleep" plan when the figure standing outside her apartment door caught her attention. Instinctively, her hand flew toward her hip—but she stopped short when she recognized the stout silhouette.
"Mrs. Anderson?" she called cautiously, identifying the elderly woman from the floor above.
"Teresa! Thank heavens you’re here, dear!" The old woman exhaled in exaggerated relief, shuffling toward her.
"What’s wrong?" Lisbon asked, alarmed, quickly scanning her. Mrs. Anderson’s gray hair was disheveled, and her lumpy robe—likely hiding pajamas—didn’t offer much to assess, but she seemed unharmed.
The agent silently prayed this wasn’t about the woman’s cat escaping down the fire escape again. She didn’t have the energy to organize a search party tonight—not after the exhausting case she’d just closed.
"No! Well, not with me. I mean, I don’t know," Mrs. Anderson stammered, words tumbling out in a rush.
"Mrs. Anderson, I need you to calm down and tell me what happened."
Blinking her pale blue eyes, the old woman took a deep breath.
"I made blackberry muffins today," she began. Well, that was a promising start. "Thought I’d share some with Lindsay—they’re her favorite." She lifted a cloth bag, which Lisbon assumed held a container of said muffins. "But when I got to her apartment, the door was open. I called for her, but no one answered. So I came straight to you, worried there’d been a break-in or… something worse."
Lisbon quickly ran through what little she knew about Lindsay Summers. The noisy blonde neighbor who lived in the apartment right above hers, a recently hired junior associate at a local law firm (courtesy of Mrs. Anderson's gossip sessions). The legal profession alone made it unlikely Lindsay would be careless enough to leave her door unlocked.
Accidents happened, sure—but her conscience wouldn’t let her walk away without checking.
Her hoped-for work-free evening slipping further away, Lisbon took the stairs to the upper floor with Mrs. Anderson trailing behind. At Lindsay’s open door, she called out, just as the old woman had.
Lisbon had truly imagined—no, wished—that the resident would appear and explain she hadn't answered earlier because she'd been lost in a long, relaxing shower (exactly what Lisbon would've loved to be doing right now). But only the echo of her own voice answered the call.
"See? Just like I said," Mrs. Anderson whispered, trembling.
"Stay here. I’ll check." Lisbon drew her gun, bitterly amused that minutes ago, she’d been relieved she wouldn’t need it tonight. Ah, irony.
She expected a ransacked apartment. Instead, she found everything meticulously in place, the ‘90s-era furniture immaculate.
Then the hairs on her neck stood up.
Something was wrong.
Familiar with the apartment’s layout (identical to her own), she headed straight for the bedroom, still half-hoping to find Lindsay distracted with headphones.
Instead, she found her dead on the bed, her throat slit, blood soaking the pale blue sheets, her normally pristine blonde hair matted with it.
Yet the true horror of the scene—ironically—wasn't the body itself, but the crude message scrawled across the wall in what appeared to be the victim's own blood, the jagged letters screaming:
"SHE DESERVED IT."
Though she mourned the young woman, Lisbon stayed professional, clearing the apartment to ensure no one else was there before stepping back into the hall.
Mrs. Anderson waited anxiously.
"I need you to go back to your apartment and stay there," Lisbon ordered, locking eyes with her.
"Did something happen to Lindsay?"
"Please. Do as I say."
The moment the elderly woman disappeared into her apartment, Lisbon pulled out her cell phone and called local PD, delivering a terse summary of the facts. This wasn't her jurisdiction. She shouldn't even be involved. Yet she felt compelled to secure the crime scene until the proper authorities arrived—which was why she now stood sentry at the door, gun still drawn.
The officers were apparently having a busy night. Thirty minutes later, Lisbon still sat vigil by the entrance, with no sign of backup in sight.
That’s when the second chill crept up her neck.
Something else was wrong. Something beyond the corpse she’d discovered. Years on the force had taught her to trust that instinct. Gun drawn, she re-entered the apartment, moving silently across the carpet toward the bedroom.
At the doorway, she froze.
A blond man stood with his back to her, studying the body. Had she missed a closet during her sweep? The thought vanished as she leveled her gun at him.
"Hands up!"
He whirled, wide blue eyes locking onto hers.
"Well, this wasn’t supposed to happen," he lamented, raising his palms.
"Bit late for regrets, don't you think?" Lisbon taunted, giving the man a quick once-over. A shame, really - someone that handsome turning out to be a killer. The blond curls didn't quite fit the profile, but the tailored three-piece gray suit suggested he might be one of Lindsay's lawyer colleagues. Professional rivalry gone deadly?
"That?" He jerked his chin toward the corpse. "I didn’t kill her. Just hoped to find clues. If it was the guy I’m after—which it’s not—then this is your problem. So if you’ll excuse me—" He edged toward the balcony.
Lisbon scoffed. "Nice try. Move again, and I shoot."
The stranger's calculating blue eyes studied her with unsettling precision.
Lisbon shifted uncomfortably, unnerved in a way she'd never experienced before with a suspect. She'd lost count of how many killers she'd confronted at gunpoint during her career - this shouldn't feel different. But something about his gaze made her skin crawl. Suddenly, Teresa Lisbon felt completely exposed, as if even her soul wasn't safe from that penetrating stare.
His next words proved her instincts terrifyingly accurate:
"Abusive father, strained sibling relationships… and out comes a cop hell-bent on punishing every bad man alive." He sighed dramatically, but something in his posture shifted.
Goosebumps erupted across Lisbon's skin as she registered the shift in the man's demeanor. In an instant, the eccentric suspect had transformed - no longer a cornered criminal seeking escape, but a predator sizing up its next meal.
"This isn’t good," he murmured, stepping forward.
The blue eyes lost all pretense of analysis, now gleaming with the dark pleasure of a gourmet surveying his meal. Part of her wanted to laugh at the absurd comparison - except the dryness in her throat betrayed her. Her grip on the Glock never wavered, finger poised to squeeze the trigger if he so much as twitched closer.
The realization hit like a bullet: She'd been so focused on erasing him from existence—this man she'd dismissed as less than the dust beneath her couch—that she never saw the reversal coming. One moment her Glock was steady in her hands; the next, her spine slammed against the opposite wall. His left hand crushed her windpipe while his right pinned both her wrists above her head. Her weapon now lay discarded near Lindsay's corpse—as useless as her earlier arrogance.
Time fractured. One heartbeat Lisbon was in control—the next, trapped. Supernatural speed or hypnosis? The question barely registered. Not with his starving blue eyes locked on hers, not with his ragged breath hot against her lips like a starving man savoring his first meal in weeks.
"Bad luck, Agent. Wrong place, wrong time." His tone was almost apologetic. Almost. "Normally, I’ve got more restraint, but who could blame me? A meal that smells this good, practically jumping onto my plate?"
Every combat instinct screamed at Lisbon to fight—until his lips parted. There, glistening in the dim light: elongated canines sharpening into fangs that grazed the throbbing pulse at her throat. Madman or not, the rules had changed.
"Terribly unlucky, meeting me during a...drought," he murmured, fangs glinting as his lips curled into something almost apologetic. "Nothing personal, truly." His blue eyes searched hers, expecting fear—maybe even begging silent forgiveness for what came next.
But what he saw in her green eyes made him freeze instead.
Lisbon had no time to process why the man had halted what should have been her execution. In truth, she barely registered the subsequent events. One moment she was crushed between the male body and the wall, and in the next, the stranger had simply vanished - the tingling in her wrists as blood circulation returned to her hands serving as the only evidence that she wasn't insane and that this bizarre sequence of events had truly occurred.
Chapter 2
Notes:
First, thank you for the comments on the last chapter. I was very happy with the positive reception.
So here it is - Chapter Two, featuring a particularly... interesting interaction between our favorite pair. Hope you enjoy!
Chapter Text
She was confused at first—unable to remember falling asleep—then utterly disoriented when she didn’t recognize where she was.
Truthfully, "where she was" didn’t even qualify as a place. Just twisted metal and shattered glass. The gloom did nothing to help her blurred vision, though she couldn’t pinpoint why her sight was fogged.
The first familiar thing her mind registered was her mother’s face. But that expression? She didn’t know it. Blank. Glassy-eyed. Her mother wasn’t like that. She was warm. Vibrant. Alive.
She opened her mouth to call out, to breathe life back into that hollow face, when movement over her mother’s body caught her eye. For some reason, she couldn’t turn her head fully. The pain was excruciating. But even with her vision narrowed to a sliver, she still saw it—the silhouette of a man pulling back from her mother’s throat.
She couldn’t tell if it was the mental fog or the trauma that kept her from memorizing the exact shade of his hair, skin, or eyes. But she’d never forget how the viscous blood dripping from his elongated fangs glistened under the headlights of a passing car.
…
Lisbon jerked awake, gasping.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she sat up, raking her hands through her dark hair, forcing her breathing to steady. It had been years since she’d had that dream—and she knew exactly why it had returned.
The blond man at the crime scene.
After a lifetime of being told—and finally convincing herself—that the nightmare was just a child’s trauma-twisted hallucination, that man had appeared and shattered her certainty.
She inhaled slowly, exhaled even slower.
Maybe he was another figment. A byproduct of a fractured psyche and a body pushed to exhaustion.
The idea made her laugh, sharp and humorless. Not much comfort there. Just proof she might finally be losing her grip.
But what kind of delusion left red marks where her wrists and throat had been pinned?
Whatever this was, she thought, rubbing the tender skin, she wouldn’t rest until she unraveled it.
But how?
It wasn’t like she could keep investigating Lindsay Summers’ murder—the case that had drawn her there in the first place. Once local PD arrived, the sheriff had made a point of ignoring her observations and bluntly informing her that her role was over.
The sexist prick.
That was exactly why her conscience didn’t weigh too heavily about omitting the strange man’s appearance at the scene. Let them figure it out.
Besides, explaining the truth would only get her sanity questioned—and land her on medical leave or, at best, forced vacation.
Maybe she should accept that walking away was for the best, she thought, eyeing the cardboard boxes cluttering her room. Soon, she’d move out, severing her last ties to Lindsay Summers’ murder and whatever strangeness surrounded it. It’d just be another case among countless testimonies.
But how could she testify and omit the strangest part? The existence of a suspect who shouldn’t exist?
With a frustrated groan, Lisbon flopped back onto the bed and glared at the red numbers on her alarm clock: 4:27 AM. Sleep wouldn’t return—she knew. If that was the case, she might as well be productive.
…
Lisbon started her run without stretching, pushing herself to her limit.
Thanks to her disciplined regimen—necessary for professional survival (read: not dying on the job for being too slow)—she kept the pace for a while. But after a few park trail laps, her lungs burned.
Despite her stubbornness, she slowed to a brisk walk before finally stopping to rest near the woods, taking long gulps from her water bottle. As she splashed the cool liquid on her face, that familiar prickle at the nape of her neck told her one undeniable truth:
She wasn't alone anymore.
Eyes scanning the trees, she shifted into a guarded stance, debating whether to reach for the special item tucked in her sock.
"Stalking’s your thing now? Thought it was homicide," she taunted, hoping to draw him out. At least the park was empty—no risk of looking insane for talking to air.
Funny how self-preservation took a backseat when her biggest fear wasn’t facing a stranger in the dark, but being seen as crazy.
"Though you seem convinced of that," came the familiar male voice from last night, "I'll repeat: I didn't kill that woman." Lisbon recognized the timbre instantly.
The crunch of leaves underfoot announced his approach before she saw him emerge from behind a tree trunk.
"But what about you?" he asked, closing the distance between them with deliberate steps. "Adrenaline junkie? Masochist?" He stopped just a few yards away, tilting his head. "Because cop or not, it's not exactly smart to put yourself at risk—jogging alone before dawn in a deserted park to lure out a man who nearly killed you."
"So you are a killer." Sarcasm dripped.
"Not that woman." He shrugged, hands sliding into pockets.
Lisbon studied him. The dim glow from dying lampposts and creeping dawn didn’t reveal the crystalline blue of his eyes or the exact shade of his straw-blond hair, but it confirmed her memory: objectively, one of the most beautiful men she’d ever seen—despite the tired lines etching his face.
"Bold to admit that to a cop."
"I don’t feel like lying." Another shrug. "Though maybe I should, considering the toy in your sock." A smirk. "Silver dagger?"
The agent lowered her head but still directed an embarrassed look his way, which was enough to answer the question.
The man stifled a laugh through his nose.
"You're joking with me! It really is a silver dagger? What else do you have in your pockets? Some garlic cloves? Your necklace means I can cross the crucifix off the list," he launched into speech, unable to contain his laughter.
Lisbon went rigid, fury burning through her. That bastard—who’d tried to kill her just hours before—had the nerve to laugh at her.
"Just what are you?" she demanded, irritation sharpening her voice as she fought the urge to end this surreal conversation.
"What? Not enough hints?" Amusement lingered.
"Now you’re messing with me."
"You know I’m not." He tilted his head. "You recognized me instantly—you’re just in denial. Let me guess: you’ve seen one of us before. Lost someone. Spent your life being told it was an accident. That what you saw was trauma."
"Psychoanalyzing people your idea of charm?"
"You mean nailing it." Smug. "Go ahead—ask what you really want to know," he coaxed, lips curling. "Or would you rather I just cut to the chase?"
Lisbon narrowed her eyes. "Why didn’t you kill me?"
He'd expected the question, but the vampire took a deliberate moment to appraise her first. Her defensive posture—arms locked across her chest, jaw set—wasn't the reaction of a grateful survivor. The truth was, she seemed visibly irritated about it.
"Your eyes," he said simply.
The answer seemed to disarm her in a disconcerting way—her arms fell to her sides, her expression twisting into confusion.
"What?"
"The way you looked at me when I was about to... You know." He dismissed further explanation with a careless wave.
"And how was that?" she asked, disbelief coloring her voice.
"Like you'd finally found the answer you'd been searching for your whole life," he explained.
"And that stopped you because…?"
"Didn’t stop me. Made me not want to." A pause. "It’s the look I imagine on my own face when I stare in the mirror. And I wouldn’t want to die right after finding the truth—I’d want to live long enough to use it. Figured you deserved the same."
"So you can be reflected in a mirror," she observed, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
"Is that all you got from my speech?" He sounded genuinely exasperated. "I'm wounded!" he added with forced offense, dramatically clutching his chest. "I thought those were rather eloquent words."
The woman smirked. Killer or not, the man had an undeniable charm - quick-witted and disarmingly persuasive. The fact he could coax amusement from a seasoned detective like her, even after confessing to murder, proved just how dangerously skilled he was at manipulation.
"If I ‘deserve courtesy,’ why come after me?"
A brow arched. "You wanted to see me. Why else run alone at dawn?"
"No!" The denial came too fast, her voice pitching higher. "We're talking about what you want here—not me."
He grinned—bright enough to light the park and melt most women on the spot.
"You have something I want," he said, circling her slowly as she pivoted to keep him in her sightline. "Perhaps we could arrange a... mutually beneficial agreement."
Lisbon's brows drew together. What possible deal with a creature like him could benefit her? She voiced the thought aloud before she could stop herself: "What kind of agreement with something like you could possibly be good for me?"
"I can solve cases. Boost your team's clearance rate higher than anyone else could." He completed another slow circle around her, a shark orbiting its prey.
Lisbon stared, genuinely thrown. "And why would a murderer help the CBI's Major Crimes unit?" Skepticism dripped from every word.
When he stopped facing her again, all traces of amusement had vanished from his features—erased like chalk from a board.
"Because you have a case I want."
The gears in Lisbon's mind spun into overdrive.
"Red John!" she blurted out. "You said you initially wanted Summers' killer, but then realized he wasn't who you were after. He's the only other serial killer in my unit's caseload who leaves blood-written messages on walls."
"Congratulations, grasshopper. Sharp as a razor."
"I’m a detective"
"Never synonymous with competence." He raised his hands. "But yes. I need the Red John case." His gaze darkened with terrifying gravity.
"Wait!" Lisbon's voice sharpened like a drawn blade. "I'd just found Lindsay's body—how could you possibly know it resembled a Red John case...?" Her eyes widened briefly before narrowing into slits of accusation. "You've been monitoring police activity!" She advanced on him, each step charged with barely restrained fury. "What did you do? Tap into our radio frequencies?" Her index finger jabbed toward him like a prosecutor presenting damning evidence.
"Perhaps I might have... tapped a phone here and there," he admitted, hands raised in mock surrender, his posture shrinking until he looked nothing like the lethal predator she'd encountered the night before.
"How do you expect me to work with someone like you?" Lisbon demanded. "Someone with zero respect for the law, who openly admits to being a killer, and on top of that is a—"
"Vampire?" he supplied casually, taking two deliberate steps forward as he relaxed into his natural, predatory grace.
Lisbon matched his advance with a retreat, the space between them never closing.
"You know, creatures of the night who feed on human blood," he continued casually, as if discussing the weather. "You hadn't said the word yet. Figured we should get it out of your system."
Lisbon suppressed a shudder, refusing to show weakness despite the primal terror coiling in her gut. Vampires existed. And one stood before her now - real, lethal, and disturbingly attractive.
And, she couldn't help but notice, utterly insufferable.
"This can't be happening," Lisbon muttered, pacing back and forth as she dragged her hands through sweat-damp hair. "Vampires don't exist. They're fiction. Mythology."
"Actually, it's more biology," he corrected casually. "We can have that conversation later—once we settle the terms of our arrangement."
"What?" She snapped her head up, green eyes flashing with renewed disbelief. "There's more?"
"I'd like to enjoy a proper meal now and then," he replied.
Lisbon blinked. "By 'meal' you mean—"
"You!" he declared cheerfully, as if suggesting they share a bottle of wine rather than him feasting on her blood.
The agent recoiled in horror.
"Absolutely not!" she snapped.
"Oh come now," he coaxed, his voice dripping with the smooth conviction of a snake oil salesman. "I'm offering to help you deliver justice like never before. Protect the innocent, serve the greater good..." His words curled around her like smoke. "The kind of work that's paid in blood."
Then—between blinks—he vanished. Before Lisbon could react, warm breath cascaded down her neck, raising every hair on her body.
"Though in your case," his husky voice murmured by her ear, "that stops being metaphorical." The words sent a warm, numbing wave through her limbs. For one dangerous moment, the world's weight dissolved, her coiled tension melting into something perilously close to bliss.
Then training kicked in. Lisbon lurched forward, putting six frantic paces between them before whirling to face his amused gaze.
"Stay the hell away from me!" she barked, now half-convinced the bastard actually had hypnotic abilities.
The urge to reach for the dagger in her boot had never been stronger since this surreal conversation began.
"Now don't be so rigid," he chided, puckering his lips in an exaggerated pout. "I'll only take enough to keep myself... stable. No withdrawal episodes." His voice took on a mock medical tone. "You won't die—won't even fall ill—if we're careful about it."
"Oh, so reassuring." Sarcasm dripped. "Payment upfront? Should I bare my neck now or wait until after our first solved case?"
This time, it was the blond who narrowed his eyes at her.
"You're not taking this seriously, are you?"
"What sane person would?" She barely restrained herself from shouting. "Setting aside the whole 'processing that things like you exist' insanity—what's actually in this for me? You still haven't explained how you'll help solve cases. What, gonna use your superpowers to fight crime?"
The man seemed to weigh her words with deliberate calm.
"Naturally, a demonstration would be the logical next step," he conceded smoothly. "Very well—I'll solve Lindsay Summers' murder before your team can." His smile carried the quiet certainty of a predator toying with its food.
Lisbon snorted—an undignified sound that escaped before she could stop it.
"Even if you could," she countered, "of course you'd solve it first. The case isn't even under CBI jurisdiction anymore."
"Pity. It’d be more impactful if you saw how I work firsthand." A sigh. "Maybe we’ll arrange it."
"Yeah, sure. If anything changes, you know where to find me," she mocked, done with this surreal conversation.
"Crime scenes and shady parks at dawn. Noted." His grin widened as he leaned into the banter, watching her lips thin in irritation.
"I mean it—don’t come after me again." Her voice turned lethal, emerald eyes flashing like struck flint. "Next time, I won’t play nice."
The vampire couldn’t resist. Slowly, deliberately, he dragged his tongue over his elongated canines before smiling—a grin that straddled the line between charming and hungry.
"We’ll see each other again, Teresa." With a mocking salute, he turned and strolled into the trees, vanishing into the shadows like smoke.
With the disbelief of that entire situation still weighing on her mind, Lisbon remained staring at the spot where he had disappeared, for several minutes, the logic of what she believed and what she had discovered waging a fierce battle in her mind, until the sharp ring of her cellphone startled her.
"Lisbon. Ah, hi boss!" she answered, and while her superior spoke, she tried to organize her thoughts and shift into professional mode.
However, the question he asked didn't exactly help steer her mind away from last night's events:
"Lisbon, what do you know about the Lindsay Summers homicide?"
"Why are you asking me about this case?" allowing herself a hint of insubordination, she questioned, sensing she wouldn't like the answer.
Chapter 3
Notes:
Hey everyone! First off, thank you so much to everyone who read and commented on the last chapter. Once again, I was really happy with all the positive reactions to this story.
Well, here it is—another chapter! This time, we're diving into the investigative side of things and catching up with some old friends, hehe. Hope you enjoy it!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Okay, after we analyze the crime scene, I'll take Mrs. Anderson's statement, and you two ask the neighbors if they saw or heard anything unusual around the time of the incident. Start on the victim's floor and then move to the ones above and below," Lisbon instructed as the two men from her team got out of the car in front of the old, decaying apartment building that had been her home for the last few years.
The three had improvised a briefing on the Lindsay Summers case right there on the sidewalk, figuring it was counterproductive for Lisbon to go all the way to the CBI headquarters only to turn right back around to her own building. Besides, she'd left her car in the office garage before heading to the bar the previous night, so she might as well catch a ride with them.
"Remind me again why we caught this case." Wayne Rigsby, though an obedient agent, had a certain tendency to complain about things. It was curious how her large-framed subordinate, with his less-than-gentle features, could often be the most immature and malleable member of her team. Perhaps it was because his blue eyes constantly revealed a softness that didn't match his rough exterior.
"The named partners at 'Hastings Ford,' the law firm where the victim worked, have pull with the current mayor's office. Seems they want the case solved quickly and quietly," Lisbon replied, unable to keep a note of displeasure from escaping her tone, no matter how professional she tried to sound.
"They want it solved before anyone considers one of their clients might be involved, and before information previously protected by attorney-client privilege comes under police scrutiny," her other subordinate, Kimball Cho, concluded easily.
Lisbon couldn't help but smile with pride. He was a great agent, followed orders without question, and was getting sharper every day. Not nearly as tall as Rigsby, but he had a build that left no doubt he could efficiently take down anyone in the field. In fact, he was a good counterbalance to the other agent. While Rigsby could be more susceptible to tricks and emotional reactions, Cho's perpetually laconic expression, accentuated by his Asian features, barely changed between tasks, whether he was exchanging gunfire in the field or ordering a pizza. Lisbon seriously suspected that her leadership position might soon be threatened by her subordinate's evolution, but she couldn't really bring herself to be upset about it.
Dismissing such thoughts, the agent walked toward the building entrance with firm steps, her faithful subordinates right behind her, determined to get this over with, when the sight of two figures turning the corner made her stop dead in her tracks, furious.
"What are you doing with our witness?" she demanded, raising her voice.
The blond man, who until then had his head bowed to look at Mrs. Anderson walking slowly beside him, lifted his gaze and fixed his blue eyes on the policewoman's green ones before breaking into a wide smile that showed off his collection of perfect teeth.
The absence of the long, inhuman canines made Lisbon wonder how much of their conversation that morning had been real.
"Teresa! You took your time," he complained, forcing an innocent tone. "I meant to wait in the car, but I saw the lovely Margot here needed some help," he explained, lifting the shopping bags hanging on his left arm before stepping forward to hold the door for the elderly woman to enter the lobby.
"Oh, Teresa, I didn't know you knew such a handsome and kind man," Mrs. Anderson commented, her tone somewhat dreamy. "Knowing you have such a nice person around is a relief. You always seem so alone most of the time," she rambled on, walking ahead of the group while Lisbon mentally evaluated the most effective and least violent method to make the old woman shut her mouth and stop embarrassing her.
"You know him, boss?" Rigsby, as always, was the first to voice his curiosity, asking as they crossed the lobby.
Before Lisbon could deny it, the man extended his right hand toward the larger agent.
"I'm Patrick. Patrick Jane," he introduced himself, shaking Rigsby's hand. "Teresa and I met under somewhat unfortunate circumstances, but I'm here to help with this case," he assured, turning to Cho to shake his hand as well.
The three agents stared at the blond man for a moment, barely disguising their shock, as if they were seeing a ghost.
"You're kidding, right?" Rigsby was the first to speak up. "That Patrick Jane?" he asked, incredulous. "How did you find him, boss?" he added, turning to the woman.
"I… It just happened. Recently."
Lisbon herself was having a hard time believing it. In the year since they'd been assigned the Red John case, she had searched for the damn man numerous times, but he had disappeared without a trace, like smoke. She'd lost count of the number of times she'd gotten frustrated reviewing the case files without getting anywhere, thinking that if only she could find the man who was the husband and father of the victims of the last massacre, she might get a lead.
And then he showed up in front of her with the identity of a supernatural creature, with a seductive and arrogant personality, very different from the psychologically broken man who had lost everything in a tragedy he himself had instigated, which the policewoman had initially imagined.
She had considered, when the man proposed a professional relationship in the park, that he might be related to one of the victims. Still, how could she have guessed a vampire would be Patrick Jane?
Maybe the fact he was a creature of that nature explained his disappearance in the first place.
"Any problem, Teresa?" At least now the blond sounded less like a cheap seducer and more like the dark existence she knew he was.
"It's Lisbon," the agent corrected through clenched teeth, deciding to ignore the subject for now. "And you're not helping with anything besides Mrs. Anderson's shopping," she practically growled, making Rigsby have to try very hard not to laugh and get reprimanded by her.
Lucky Cho could act so indifferently all the time.
"With all this animosity, it's going to be very difficult for us to work together, Teresa," Jane scolded in a tone of false lament. "I mean, Lisbon," he corrected himself, sensing the woman was very close to punching him in the nose.
"Oh, I see some sparks flying here," Mrs. Anderson teased, pressing the elevator call button.
"Your eyesight must be failing," Lisbon retorted without thinking about how rude and ageist that comment might sound, and then turned to the blond. "And I don't need to be cordial with you because we are not going to work…" The agent's declaration was interrupted by the annoying ring of her cell phone, which she hurried to answer, forgetting the argument for a moment. "Lisbon. Hi, boss," she greeted, moving away a little.
Mrs. Anderson, Rigsby, and Cho were already waiting inside the elevator, but Jane remained outside, holding the door open, observing the extremely irritated way Lisbon moved her lips as she spoke and gestured with her free hand. At one point, she turned her eyes to him, and he was sure he'd be struck dead on the spot if she had that ability.
Lisbon closed her phone and returned with heavy steps, but not even the agent's palpable bad mood could stop Jane from breaking into a victorious little smile.
"I don't know what you did to pull this off, but you'd better not get in my team's way, or I swear I'll shoot you," she promised as she passed him.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied cheerfully, entering the elevator, the door closing behind him.
"Does that mean he's on the team?" Rigsby asked as they went up.
"It means he will be a consultant on this case," Lisbon emphasized.
"And what kind of consultancy can help us with this particular murder?" the larger agent seemed confused.
"Allow me to demonstrate," Jane stepped forward. "You may seem brutish and intimidating, partly due to your size, partly due to your scowling expression. But the truth is, growing up surrounded by crime was never enough to destroy your kind and gentle side, no matter how hard your criminal father tried," he proclaimed, making the other man's eyes widen comically, before he turned to Cho. "And you, I can't quite tell what made you so tough. Maybe it was your time in the armed forces," he conjectured, leaning down to be near the Asian agent's ear before whispering conspiratorially, "Or maybe it was the time you spent in juvie. Oh, and there's the fact you were a gang member too," he concluded.
Lisbon noticed Cho's eyelid twitch slightly before he looked at her with a gaze that clearly said, "Can I shoot him now?" Although she shared her subordinate's murderous impulses, Lisbon shook her head negatively—a gesture Cho chose to interpret as "not yet"—before pulling Jane by the collar to put him on the other side of the elevator, since Mrs. Anderson had even craned her neck, trying to hear more.
"Keep your conclusions to yourself," she scolded, aware that he had shared information she only knew because it was contained in her subordinates' files.
"That was scary," Rigsby pointed out, shocked.
"He does research. Big deal," Cho stated, his usually laconic tone slightly affected by sarcasm.
Jane's mood, however, remained unshaken.
"That's one way to put it. Researchers read books. I read people, who are like books, by the way. And they're easy to decipher if you know the right language," he discoursed, unable to disguise the superiority in his tone.
"That was impressive, dear. I almost thought you were a psychic," Mrs. Anderson praised, somewhat shocked.
Jane stared at the old woman for a few seconds before saying with clear disdain:
"There’s no such thing as psychics."
Then, the blond put both hands in his pockets and whistled a cheerful melody for the rest of the ascent, while Lisbon pondered the irony of him dismissing the existence of psychics with such contempt when his own existence was considered a legend.
After seconds that seemed endless, they finally reached the eighth floor, where Mrs. Anderson and the victim lived.
"Mrs. Anderson, my team and I are going to take a look at the crime scene, and then we'll stop by your apartment to talk about yesterday," Lisbon announced.
"Of course, dear. I'll be waiting," she assured before walking back to her home.
The team headed to the crime scene, where they found two local police officers and the sheriff who had dismissed Lisbon the day before without much ceremony. The woman had to suppress a smile of satisfaction upon noticing the lawman's bad mood at having lost the case to her, especially since she hadn't wanted the case in the first place.
"Agent Lisbon," he greeted coldly.
"Sheriff Boyd," she greeted back in the same tone.
"The body's already been removed. We didn't find the murder weapon or any useful evidence. But you already know that, you were here yesterday," he narrated in a bitter tone, convinced the change in jurisdiction had been the woman's doing, in retaliation for the lack of courtesy with which she'd been treated.
Of course, nothing could be further from the truth.
"New eyes, new perspectives," the detective said simply.
However, the sheriff was right. After circling Lindsay's room a bit, Lisbon didn't see any other element that could help the investigation. The body, the bloodstained bedspread and mattress had already been taken for forensic examination, and now all they could hope was that the tests would, with luck, identify traces of the killer's DNA.
Of course, this made the main attraction not the crime scene itself, but the consultant who was circling the place with strange behaviors: looking closely at every decorative item, crawling under the bed and into the closet, smelling the carpet, spinning on the victim's desk office chair while listening to the songs saved on her iPod.
"What the hell is he doing?" the sheriff asked, looking at Jane as if he were a madman, just as Wayne and Cho were doing.
"I'd like to know too," Lisbon murmured simply, watching as the blond finally seemed to have calmed down while analyzing the photos pinned to the bulletin board above the desk, before bending down and pulling what looked like a yearbook from one of the desk drawers.
Lisbon approached to see, as the sheriff and his men left the room, finally losing interest in the eccentric consultant, who was now acting normally.
"Not to sound like an idiot, but in high school she didn't exactly have the profile I'd picture for a lawyer," Jane remarked, studying a photo of a younger Lindsay in her blue and silver cheerleader uniform before flipping through the yearbook to find the victim's academic achievements.
The policewoman clicked her tongue in agreement. Of course Lindsay would be the typical "prom queen."
"She seems quite nostalgic about who she used to be. The only old photo on display is precisely from her school days," the blond added, pointing to one of the pictures on the bulletin board that showed the victim on a football field, wearing the same revealing blue and silver uniform, the comical figure of the team's fox mascot visible in the background.
Lisbon didn't see how the information could be relevant and ignored it to speak with her subordinates.
"Rigsby and Cho, take the victim's laptop, iPod, and cell phone to be examined. Maybe we can get some clue about the killer," she ordered.
"Yes, boss," they replied in unison, and Jane watched as the agents picked up the phone, the iPod, and disconnected the webcam and mouse from the laptop to pack everything as evidence.
"Can we take this?" he asked the agent, holding up the yearbook.
Even without knowing what Jane wanted with the book, Lisbon agreed, seeing no harm in granting the request.
"Well, I have a witness to question now. Cho, Rigsby, you know what to do," Lisbon commanded, turning to the agents.
"Right, boss," again, they replied in unison. "And Jane?" Rigsby asked, hopeful.
"He's coming with me. If I'm forced to put up with him on this case, I don't want him out of my sight."
Rigsby, who was clearly interested in seeing more of Jane and his quirks in action, seemed disappointed, but Lisbon sincerely didn't care.
There was no way she would leave the vampire alone with her agents, although in her opinion, it didn't seem like Jane would stand a chance in a physical fight against either of them.
But then again, somehow, he had overpowered her. She didn't know exactly what kind of skill had allowed him to do that, but the memory still left a bitter taste in her mouth.
…
Margot Anderson's apartment was everything one would expect from a lonely old woman's home, except for the lack of an excessive number of cats (there was only one). But well, the antique furniture, handmade doilies, and a ridiculous quantity of knick-knacks were definitely there. And Jane observed each one of them, as if the identity of Lindsay Summers' killer could be written on the porcelains.
Lisbon chose to ignore him while she did her job, listening again to the story of how the elderly woman had suspected something might have happened to the victim.
"When was the last time you saw Lindsay alive?" she asked, after the old woman finished repeating the part of the story she already knew.
"We ran into each other in the hallway yesterday morning when Lindsay was heading out for her run. I was taking out the trash," she explained.
"How did you and Lindsay become close?" Cutting off Lisbon's next question, who remained with her mouth open for a moment while processing the interruption, Jane asked, at the same time moving to the connected kitchen. "Because there wasn't enough closeness in age to maintain a friendship based on common interests. But your feelings for her go beyond those of a cordial neighbor," he pointed out, examining the photos fixed to the refrigerator with magnets.
The old woman smiled.
"I don't have family in California. My husband passed away, and all my children moved out of state for work. Sometimes I got depressed from not seeing them and my grandchildren enough. On one of their last visits, right after saying goodbye to them, I met Lindsay in the elevator and poured my heart out to her. Since then, she's helped me communicate with them by computer, you know?" she recounted, animated.
"Video calls?" the man questioned, and the old woman confirmed with a nod.
"I was always cautious with technology, but I understood how wonderful it can be," she concluded.
"Is this your grandson?" Jane asked, taking from the refrigerator a black and white photograph printed on an A4 sheet.
"Yes! Ethan, the youngest. Lindsay printed this picture for me. It was taken during one of our video chats," she said.
"You have a lot of grandchildren," the blond observed, his eyes scanning the other photographs—mostly Polaroids with dates scribbled underneath. They showed different boys and girls on horseback, at the beach, in theaters, blowing out multiple candles on birthday cakes. All of them blond, just as he imagined Margot Anderson must have been in her day.
"Eight in total," the old woman replied proudly.
"And Lindsay's lover? Did you know him?" the consultant continued.
"Jane!" Lisbon censured.
The old woman seemed disconcerted.
"Lover?" she repeated, somewhat scandalized. "I know Lindsay recently started seeing someone, but I don't know anything about them being lovers," she argued.
"Do you know his name?" Lisbon prompted.
"I think his name is Taylor…" she interrupted herself, making an effort to remember. "Taylor Moore."
"When was the last time you saw him?" Lisbon inquired.
"I saw him leaving Lindsay's apartment yesterday afternoon," the old woman seemed disturbed. "Do you think it was him?"
"Who knows," Jane shrugged.
"Did anyone else frequent Lindsay's apartment often?" Lisbon asked.
"She had two girlfriends who came over all the time when she wasn't working, although I haven't seen them around here in the last few weeks."
"Names?" the agent asked.
The elderly woman wrinkled her mind in concentration.
"I'm not sure…" she admitted. "But they shouldn't be hard to find. One is very tall, has black hair, and the other is short, redheaded, and a little overweight," she described.
Jane seemed to ponder for a moment before continuing:
"So, Lindsay was the one who moved here, right? When was that? Did this friendship between you start long after that?"
The elderly woman took a moment to process the questions and organize her answers.
"She moved in about four years ago. We became close about six months after that," she clarified.
"Right. We're done here," Jane decided, walking toward the door.
"What? I'm the one who decides that!" Lisbon exclaimed, indignant.
"Okay, do you have more questions?" he challenged.
To prove her point, Lisbon turned to the old woman and questioned,
"Do you know if Lindsay was close to her family?"
"Not very. In the time we knew each other, I hardly heard her talk about them, and I definitely never saw them around here. I know they don't live in California," she said.
"Right," Lisbon replied, standing up. "We'll be in touch if we need anything else," she informed.
"I'll be happy to help, my dear," Mrs. Anderson assured, accompanying them to the door.
"It was a pleasure meeting you, Margot," Jane said goodbye in a gentle tone, as if he hadn't come on business but for a casual visit.
"Oh, dear, the pleasure was all mine! Do come visit if you're back to see Teresa! She's always so alone, I'm happy to see her friends around," she expressed, her tone divided between concern and pity.
"We are not friends, Mrs. Anderson. Jane is here exclusively on business," trying to contain the feeling of humiliation growing inside her and the anger that encouraged her to find not very gentle ways to make the old woman shut up, Lisbon replied.
"Oh, dear, there's always time to change that," the old woman declared, winking at the agent. "Mr. Jane, why don't you ask Teresa out to dinner?" she suggested.
Jane, who had just been watching the conversation with an amused smile at Lisbon's indignation, spoke up:
"Oh, I'd love to take Agent Lisbon out to dinner," he admitted. "And I'd be even more delighted if, in return for the kindness, she also offered me a meal," he concluded in a suggestive tone, staring at the policewoman with his penetrating blue eyes.
Obviously, Lisbon caught the true meaning of his words, but she was no more inclined to accept the proposal of being a food source for a charismatic vampire than she had been in the early hours of that morning.
"Not happening," she stated categorically before leaving the apartment with heavy steps.
"We'll see," Jane replied confidently and winked conspiratorially at the old woman before following Lisbon out the door.
…
After instructing her subordinates by phone to search the call logs and messages on Lindsay's cell phone for clues to the identities of the mentioned friends, as well as informing them of the supposed lover's name so they could try to locate him, Lisbon found herself sitting in the passenger seat of Jane's car, on the way to "Hastings Ford," the law firm where the victim worked.
Actually, it surprised her that such an old relic still served its purpose as a vehicle; however, the evident lack of airbags and other modern safety equipment didn't exactly make her feel safe traveling with a driver who had the same disregard for traffic rules as he did for any others.
She tried to distract herself, wondering if the Citroën's age could also indicate the vampire's true age. Was Jane immortal? Was there any way to kill him? Questions of that nature tormented her mind, while the detective gripped the car's leather seats at every sharp turn the blond made, as if her life depended on it. She had never been so sorry for leaving her own car at work in favor of a night of drinking.
Fortunately, the journey didn't take long, and as soon as Jane parked, Lisbon jumped out of the car at an impressive speed, as if there were ants on her seat, breathing a sigh of relief as the blood returned to her face, under the consultant's cheerful gaze.
Finally, she could direct her mind back to the case under investigation.
"How did you know Lindsay had a lover and not a boyfriend?" Normalizing her breathing, she couldn't resist asking as they entered the building.
"You saw the playlist on her iPod? It was all about the romanticization of impossible loves," the blond replied dismissively. "Besides, there were no photos of him in the apartment, which suggests it's an affair that not even her friends can know about," he reflected.
"There were no photos of the so-called friends either, so maybe our victim was just discreet," the policewoman countered.
"'Our victim,' huh?" he observed in a playful tone, noticing she hadn't excluded him from the case. But before Lisbon could curse him, he continued: "Yeah, it could be, but Lindsay's profession and the way she avoids giving clear hints of a romance suggest a distrustful personality. It's more likely that she isn't that close to her supposed friends, or that they are recent friendships," he explained.
The two didn't exchange further observations before identifying themselves at reception, or while they waited to be called to speak with one of the firm's named partners.
"Ms. Fiona Hastings will see you now," after the interminable minutes Lisbon spent watching Jane wandering happily and snooping into every corner of the reception area like a curious child, the receptionist announced.
"And Mr. Elton Ford? Won't he speak with us?" Lisbon inquired.
"Mr. Ford is out of the country on business," she explained. "Please, come with me."
The elevator ride was short and irritating, with Jane flirting with the receptionist, who certainly wasn't originally blonde or so well-endowed. Despite her irritation, Lisbon decided not to interfere, perceiving that the man was trying to glean fragments of information amidst the flirting, although nothing very useful came from the exchange.
The same could be said of the conversation with Fiona Hastings. Besides professional information about the victim, such as hire date, work hours, job performance, and absence of disagreements with coworkers, they hadn't discovered anything that could contribute to the killer's identity.
"So she was on vacation for the last few weeks," Lisbon repeated, noting the information in her notebook.
"It was a well-deserved rest," the lawyer confirmed.
"You said Lindsay had promising performance as a Junior Attorney. Was it always like that?" Jane inquired.
The woman reflected for a moment, crossing her arms against the well-tailored graphite blazer that enveloped her thin, curvaceous torso, a gesture that did nothing to affect her imposing posture.
"Actually, no. A few months after she started working with us, she even figured on a list of possible staff cuts due to performance issues. But before we made a definitive decision, her performance improved absurdly."
Now that was interesting information.
"Do you make these lists frequently?" the consultant asked.
"Yes, every few months. It's a way to keep the less experienced associates motivated and weed out those who don't add value from the firm," she replied indifferently.
"Could you share with us all the lists you've formulated since Ms. Summers was included? Actually, all the lists you've made to date, even before the victim was hired?" After the request, Jane flashed an almost predatory smile.
Lisbon didn't know exactly what he intended, but she understood the usefulness of the documents.
"And also the list of employees, current and former, with their respective hiring files, if possible," Lisbon added.
In response, the lawyer picked up the phone and asked her secretary to forward the requested documents by email as soon as possible.
"Before we go, could we take a look at the place where Ms. Summers worked?" Lisbon requested.
Fiona Hastings agreed, and it didn't go unnoticed by either of them that instead of asking her secretary to take them, she decided to accompany them personally.
Lisbon and Jane followed through the corridors behind the woman, who walked with extreme elegance, her high heels clicking against the marble floor, her aligned brown hair barely swaying down her back with the movement.
"She's territorial," Jane didn't bother to keep his voice down when he commented, or when he grunted at the elbow Lisbon gave him in response to the unnecessary observation.
When they arrived, they weren't surprised to find a large room with about twenty desks and little space to move between them. Nineteen of them were occupied by men and women who appeared to be in their twenties, most of whom averted their eyes from their tasks to stare at the newcomers curiously.
"Do you know if Ms. Summers had a romantic relationship with any of her colleagues?" Jane practically whispered the question to Fiona.
The lawyer's expression hardened.
"I don't know, but I think it's unlikely, as our firm prohibits relationships between associates," the woman replied in a low tone. "Her desk was the last one, in the corner," she stated, indicating the location with her head. "I've already asked for any client documents she was working on to be removed, but you can check the personal items," she claimed.
"Actually, I'm going to need a list of the clients the victim was working for or has worked for at your firm," Lisbon communicated, and the lawyer nodded, though she was clearly unhappy with that particular request.
The policewoman and the consultant proceeded to the victim's desk, and before Lisbon could think of checking anything, Jane was already rummaging through the drawers as if he owned the place.
Only when he found a jar of colored paper clips and decided to make a necklace out of them—to Lisbon's consternation—did his interest seem to die.
Deciding not to be further scandalized by the absurdity of the situation, the policewoman took the opportunity to properly search the victim's desk while Jane walked around.
The consultant circled a few times until he returned to stand before the desk next to Lindsay's, occupied by a man with full brown hair who seemed to be around thirty.
"Are you Taylor Moore?" Jane asked directly, attracting Lisbon's attention, who approached.
The man's brown eyes widened slightly.
"Why do you want to know?" he replied cautiously.
"Well, that answers my question," said the consultant. "Now, as for yours, we're looking for Lindsay Summers' lover," he added quietly, so only he could hear.
The young lawyer stiffened, alarmed.
"We weren't…"
"Wedding ring on your finger, it was a sordid affair after all," Jane observed, still in a low tone, cutting off the other's defense. "See, Lisbon, just like I said."
The policewoman rolled her eyes.
"Mr. Moore, is there a private place where you can give a statement to us?" the agent asked, noticing that the lawyers occupying the other desks were already craning their necks to see what was happening and that Fiona Hastings was watching them from afar with a dissatisfied expression.
"What's the need? I don't have any information that could contribute to your investigation," he replied evasively.
"Well, we certainly have information that could contribute to your dismissal," leaning close to him, the agent stated in a low but categorical tone.
"She's tough," Jane stated after an impressed whistle.
Moore looked around almost desperately to check if anyone had heard.
"Not here. Schedule an appointment, I'll come to your headquarters," he promised.
Notes:
That's all for now—hope you enjoyed the chapter! See you in the next one!
Chapter 4
Notes:
Hey everyone!
First off, I wanna thank everyone who read and commented on the last chapter. Again, I'm so happy about the positive reception!
So here it is—a brand new chapter! In this one, we get more of the investigation, Lisbon's dynamic with her team, and of course, with her new consultant. You can also expect some Jisbon moments and more reveals about what kind of creature Jane really is.
Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter!
Oh, and if you like stories in the original Mentalist universe, I wrote a fluffier one-shot set during the series finale. I finally finished watching the show, and Lisbon's pregnancy is making me write so much about this theme. Might even do a series of one-shots. Who knows?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Back at the CBI headquarters, Teresa Lisbon didn't waste any time getting up to speed with her subordinates on the latest developments. Jane, for his part, was enjoying himself, watching the confident way she moved around the place. It was clear that even if she was the smallest agent there—her thick-heeled boots doing little to add to her height—she could easily take down any idiot twice her size.
“What did the neighbors say?” she asked Rigsby.
“No one saw or heard anything useful,” the larger agent replied. “But we ID’d the friends from the most frequent numbers in her call and text logs, like you instructed. Kristen Hale and Mia Hamilton. We made contact and got their addresses,” he added.
“Great!” Lisbon exclaimed.
“The autopsy report is in,” Cho explained, handing a stack of papers to his boss, who immediately started flipping through them. “Death was caused by hypovolemic shock from blood loss due to the neck wound. The cut was clean, probably done in one stroke with an unidentified sharp object. But the more interesting part is the victim’s blood work. She was under the influence of Lorazepam,” he said, pointing to a specific section of the report.
“With this concentration, she was practically doped up!” Lisbon exclaimed, trying to ignore the urge to slap Jane, who was peering at the report over her shoulder, keeping their bodies uncomfortably close. “That explains the clean cut. Lindsay didn't even try to defend herself; she might have been asleep,” she concluded, noticing the consultant had suddenly pulled away and swearing she caught a flicker of disturbance in his blue eyes.
The detective’s understanding came easily. It didn't take much for her to remember that the blond man’s wife and daughter had been murdered in a similar way.
Vampire or not, there were human lives connected to him that had been lost, and eventually, Lisbon wanted to figure out how a creature like him could have had a family. Was he even human when they died?
She’d save those questions for later; right now, she had a case to solve.
Fortunately, the consultant started circling the bullpen to snoop through everything, as he’d already shown he loved to do, erasing any hint that he’d been disturbed.
“About the lover, Taylor Moore…” began Hannigan, an agent in his fifties, clearly overweight, and someone Jane hadn’t met yet, drawing Lisbon’s attention back to the room.
“Ah, we already found that one, no need to worry,” the consultant interrupted, removing the shade from a desk lamp to examine it, making Lisbon glare at him in irritation.
“Hey, you’re a consultant here, a temporary consultant. You don’t get to give orders to my team,” she scolded, pointing a finger at him.
In response, Jane reassembled the lamp and mimed zipping his lips shut.
“But yes, Hannigan, we found him when we visited the office,” she explained, turning to the older subordinate. “He agreed to come in for a statement, so call him and tell him to come down today,” she ordered.
Jane couldn’t help but notice the man’s audible huff after receiving the orders, just as he noticed the way Lisbon solemnly ignored it.
“Want us to talk to the victim’s friends?” Rigsby asked.
“No. Send me the addresses; Jane and I will take those. You and Cho talk to the next of kin. Break the bad news and set up the interviews. Travel to them if you have to,” she commanded.
“Right, boss,” Cho and Rigsby said in unison, the first in his usual laconic tone, the second barely hiding his dismay at the obvious road hours ahead.
“And you, Hannigan, check if forensics finished with the mattress and bedding and if they found anything relevant. Also, see if you can find anything suspicious in the documents sent over by Hastings Ford,” she instructed, turning to the older agent. “And scour online to see if the victim had any social media profiles that might show a hint of animosity with anyone,” she finished, making the agent visibly uncomfortable with the task. Apparently, online stuff wasn’t his forte. “Assuming Moore will come by after work, Jane and I should be back in time to interrogate him,” she concluded, subtly informing Hannigan she didn’t want him on that task.
It was obvious how much the man disliked being stuck with desk duty while the others got field work, which amused Jane even more.
He didn’t waste time approaching the older agent once Lisbon and the other team members had left the bullpen. Not just for fun—he had a legitimate reason—but he certainly had to stifle a laugh when he heard the agent muttering some very unflattering words about his boss.
“Any chance you could give me a copy of the documents from Hastings Ford?” he ventured to ask, despite the other man’s mood.
“Who are you, anyway?” Hannigan asked, indignant that his boss had decided some stranger would help with interviews and he wouldn’t.
“Jane. Patrick Jane,” he introduced himself. “Consulting on this case.”
The man looked shocked. “The charlatan psychic who provoked Red John so bad he got his family killed?” he asked skeptically. “What could someone like you possibly add to an investigation?” he sneered.
Jane turned serious. “What’s your problem?” he inquired.
“What?”
“Your problem. Lisbon is a much younger agent, obviously, with way fewer years on the job. So why did they put her in charge of the department, and not you?” he questioned, his tone feigning curiosity.
“Why don’t you mind your own business? Whatever that is,” the agent snapped back.
“Ah, right, it’s your temper. Maybe your character,” Jane mused. “Nah, definitely the temper. Must’ve been pretty bad for a junior agent to leave you in the dust,” he concluded, sounding convinced. “And for the record, whatever my business is, it’s enough to get me out in the field on day one, and not stuck in the office doing paperwork.”
The next thing Jane knew, he was on the floor, holding a very sore nose from the impact of Hannigan’s punch.
Groaning in pain, he heard the click of Lisbon’s boots on the floor as she ran toward the older agent, yelling at him for throwing the punch.
“It wasn’t his fault. I provoked him,” Jane assured her, though it did nothing to stop the stream of reprimands pouring from the agent’s mouth.
Minutes later, the consultant was settled on a red sofa with Lisbon holding an ice pack to his nose, and another man sitting across from them, apologizing profusely for his agent’s behavior.
His name was Virgil Minelli, and Jane quickly discovered he was the one really in charge here and deserved some credit for it, if he had methods to even convince the stubborn Teresa Lisbon to work with him.
“What was Hannigan thinking,” Minelli grumbled after Jane reiterated the other agent wasn’t to blame. “I don’t know why you insist on not letting me suspend him, Lisbon,” he added sternly.
“Well, Cho and Rigsby are already out, and since we caught an extra case, I really need someone in the office to handle the paperwork. Since Jane shows no intention of filing a formal complaint, isn’t it better to just let Hannigan keep at it?” the agent appeased, somewhat awkwardly, which amused the blond, despite the hellish pain in his nose.
“Can’t say I agree, but at least he hates desk work enough for it to be a punishment,” Minelli commented. “Any progress?” he questioned.
“We’ve identified a lover who was seen leaving the crime scene on the day of the death,” Lisbon updated him.
“Good. Wrap this up fast. I don’t want to hear complaints about your department from the mayor’s office,” he warned.
“Yes, sir,” Lisbon agreed, watching her superior leave. “I hope it hurt,” she practically growled, turning to Jane.
She might have only known the consultant for a day, but she knew that whatever had set Hannigan off was his fault. After all, as sexist and insubordinate as the agent was, in years of working together Lisbon had never seen him throw a punch inside the office.
“It did,” he admitted, taking over the task of holding the ice to his nose as she moved away to lean against a nearby desk. “This sofa is awful,” he lamented next, failing to find a comfortable position on the decrepit upholstery.
“So? It’s not like anyone’s supposed to sleep on it,” the agent replied dismissively. “Be ready to leave in twenty minutes,” she warned.
“Can you get the Hastings Ford documents from Hannigan before that?” the consultant asked.
The cop grinned wickedly. “Why don’t you go back there and ask nicely?”
“And risk another punch in the nose? No, thank you,” he declined. “I’m going to make some tea, and meanwhile, you can get the documents. It’s your job to handle your crazy subordinates, not mine,” he declared, getting up and walking away.
Of course, the path to the breakroom only became safe after he dodged the stapler Lisbon threw at him.
Left alone, the cop didn’t bother much with regret over her impulsivity, a new question filling her mind: do vampires drink tea?
…
In the CBI parking lot, Lisbon practically ran to her own car when Jane asked if they were taking his or hers.
The agent ignored the suppressed chuckle he let out as she started the vehicle, but a little later she had the distinct feeling she’d been tricked, as the consultant had brought a copy of the documents from Hastings Ford to examine on the way.
“Anything relevant in there?” she asked, eyes on the road.
“Actually, yes,” the blond man replied. “Isn’t it interesting that Lindsay’s performance was so poor she ended up on that list soon after being hired, and then her performance shot up like a rocket?” he prompted.
“Maybe it was nerves,” the agent supposed.
“Or maybe she had help. But an improvement that significant, if these reports are right, surely cost whoever helped her.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
Jane held up one of the employee files. “This guy had never been on one of the cut lists until the list right after Lindsay’s. And honestly, unlike our head cheerleader here, his resume is impeccable,” he argued, noting the Harvard degree and all the academic achievements.
“Who is it?” she asked, trying to briefly glimpse the photo on the file, only registering a young man who seemed a bit overweight and needed a more modern haircut.
“Noah Carter.”
“You think he helped her,” the cop concluded.
“I’m sure of it. What reclusive, lonely nerd would turn down a little attention from the homecoming queen?” he conjectured.
“And then he finds out Lindsay has a lover, feels used, and gets resentful,” Lisbon followed the thread. “Pretty cliché,” she added, frowning.
“Doesn’t hurt to check,” Jane shrugged.
“I’ll have Hannigan try to contact him and have him come in for a statement too,” the agent conceded. The theory had merit, after all.
It made Lisbon reflect on the normality of that conversation. On how engaged she was, as if she were actually debating with a member of her team. No talk of supernatural matters or paranormal powers.
And the fact that she realized she could interact with him as she would with any ordinary human scared her more than having to constantly walk on eggshells around a monster.
But she avoided that conclusion, and the two didn’t exchange another word until they reached Mia Hamilton’s apartment, where, coincidentally or not, Kristen Hale was also staying. Good for them, saving a trip.
“After what happened to Linds, neither of us wanted to be alone, so I came over here,” Kristen explained between sobs once Lisbon and Jane had taken the seats opposite the sofa where she and Mia were settled.
“We understand, and we’re very sorry for your loss,” the agent expressed, noting Kristen’s eyes were puffy, her freckled face devoid of any makeup, and her red hair a tangled mess. Mia didn’t look much better, her dark hair oily and tied back sloppily, her blue eyes red-rimmed and shadowed by dark circles, plus a constant sniffle.
The two young women were the perfect picture of grieving friends, but whether they’d gotten together to console each other or to get their stories straight remained to be seen.
“When was the last time you saw her alive?” the agent asked.
“The three of us had lunch together yesterday at a cafe near the building Linds lived in,” Mia answered.
“Where were you yesterday afternoon and evening?”
“I worked the afternoon and evening shifts at the bakery where I work,” Kristen explained.
“After lunch with the girls, I went to a country club hotel to cover a party,” Mia said, and seeing the doubt on the cop’s face, added, “I’m an event photographer.”
Jane and Lisbon exchanged a look. Both had alibis that would be easy to check, if they were lies.
“Wait a minute! You think it was one of us?” Mia seemed indignant.
“Standard questions,” Lisbon replied professionally. “Do you know of anyone who disliked Lindsay or might have wanted to hurt her?”
The two friends denied it vehemently and passionately discoursed on how loved and adorable the victim was.
Jane had to fight the urge to roll his eyes at the human tendency to elevate the dead as if they were perfect.
The height of hypocrisy.
“But she used to…” Kristen began, then stopped herself, looking unsure and glancing at Mia as if silently asking if she should continue.
“What?” Lisbon encouraged.
“We were discussing this before you got here. Who could have done this and said she deserved it,” Mia explained. “We don’t know of anything she did that would warrant such cruel revenge, or know anyone who was angry with her. But Linds was really into keeping online friends, and sometimes she’d meet some of them, even though Kristen and I warned her about the risks.”
“Friends from dating sites?” Jane asked.
“More like friends from online communities for people with shared interests,” Kristen clarified. “You know, movies, TV shows, stuff like that.”
“That is interesting. It actually supports one of our theories,” the blond stated, drawing a questioning look from the cop. “Do you know if Lindsay had any online friend who used the username ‘Bluefox81’?” he questioned.
The two friends shook their heads.
“We traced this user among Lindsay’s contacts, and he was reluctant to talk to us before disappearing. But from the data we gathered, it’s possible she had a video call with this user on the night of the crime,” he described. “We’re trying to find him to see if he witnessed anything through the webcam feed,” he concluded.
“You think the crime might have been witnessed on a video call?” Mia seemed impressed.
“Like I said, it’s possible,” Jane replied with a confident smile. Lisbon, on the other hand, forced a smile, unsure what to do with the fact the consultant had just invented that whole story.
Whatever he was planning, she’d discuss it with him in the car, but before they left, she decided to resume the regular questions. Unfortunately, the two friends also denied knowing Taylor Moore or being aware of the relationship he had with Lindsay, and limited themselves to saying they also didn’t know if the victim was seeing other people.
“Ah, I should have asked at the beginning. How long have you known the victim?” Jane asked.
“About three years. She used to frequent the bakery where I work; we ended up becoming friends,” Kristen clarified.
“With me it was similar,” Mia chimed in. “Almost a year later I started going to the bakery too and got curious about the girl who was always talking to one of the clerks, and I ended up getting close.”
“Before we knew it, we were a trio and were hanging out at each other’s places,” Kristen added, trying to control her choked voice before giving up and collapsing in tears onto Mia’s shoulder.
Lisbon sighed, tired, before thanking the young women for their information and leaving the apartment, with Jane on her heels.
She had been patient and courteous with the young women’s grief, enough to wait until they were safely in the elevator before scolding Jane:
“Who the hell is ‘Bluefox81’? We didn’t find out any of that,” she fumed, seriously doubting Hannigan had obtained such a relevant clue or shared it with Jane.
“It’s the key to solving the case,” Jane said.
“Does this have to do with the victim’s cheerleading team?” she asked, vaguely remembering a fox mascot in the background of one of the photos.
But the consultant evaded that and all other questions the agent posed, which only stopped when her phone rang.
The call lasted only a few seconds, but the handful of words Lisbon murmured gave the consultant a pretty clear picture of what was going on.
“That was Hannigan. He couldn’t get hold of Noah Carter. Seems he left for court right after our visit and hasn’t returned to the office,” Lisbon informed him.
“Well, his address is on file,” Jane reminded her, and the other murmured in agreement.
The improvised partners found themselves on a new route, the mid-afternoon sun piercing the window and punishing them with heat despite the air conditioning. Stopped in traffic, Lisbon couldn’t help but appreciate the way the light hit the man’s golden curls, making them shine like gold. He had leaned against the window and closed his eyes, his face relaxed, his breathing steady.
If she weren’t a state agent trained to detect lies in people, she might even believe he was asleep.
“Why not ask the questions that are bothering you?” he encouraged, without opening his eyes. “I know you think it’s a good opportunity. We’re stuck here for now.”
The detective pressed her lips together. She’d known him for less than twenty-four hours but had already decided she hated when he probed her mind. Especially when his guesses were right.
“So vampires don’t turn to ash in the sun,” she began, stating her observation.
Jane clicked his tongue. “Despite all the centuries-old mysticism cultivated around our kind, Lisbon, we are not supernatural beings. We are biological mutations,” he pointed out. “Yes, we are more sensitive to the sun, and that’s probably tied to the ability to hunt at night to survive, which makes us more active during that period. But you’ll never see one of us burn to death from walking in the daylight,” he explained, making the other murmur in understanding.
“Do daggers and silver bullets actually kill you?” she asked.
“They kill anyone,” Jane replied evasively.
“You know what I meant.”
“And you understand it’s not very smart to give you a recipe for my death,” the man retorted.
“So you’re not immortal,” she concluded, somewhat relieved.
Jane couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “We are very long-lived and much more resistant to injury than humans. Practically immune to disease,” he revealed.
Lisbon deflated a little, especially upon noticing his nose was now completely healed from the punch it had taken earlier.
“Quite a privilege,” she commented, sullenly.
“Or a curse. Depends on your point of view,” the vampire shrugged, not ignoring the way she tried to study his teeth whenever he talked. “Want to see them up close?” he asked, opening his mouth and leaning slightly toward her.
Lisbon couldn’t resist and tilted her head a few times, searching for the best angle to get a peek.
“They’re normal human teeth,” she stated, though she noted the canines were still a bit sharper than usual, albeit a normal size. “But they weren’t like this when we met,” she added, intrigued.
“The fangs only elongate when we’re about to feed, or if we enter a state of frenzy or withdrawal,” he explained. “Want me to show you?” he asked with amusement.
Since she already knew what withdrawal looked like, having seen it firsthand, the cop made a mental note to ask him later what a ‘frenzy state’ was, as her curiosity was winning out at that moment.
However, caution took over and made her tense up.
“But you’re not about to feed,” she argued, her voice slightly shaky and unconvincing, her hand instinctively resting on the Glock at her hip.
Jane flashed the predatory grin she was becoming familiar with. “Don’t worry, Lisbon, the meal is payment for a solved case, remember?” he reminded her. “We haven’t solved it yet, so your neck is safe,” he assured her. “For now,” he added with amusement.
Despite the caveat, Lisbon exhaled, releasing the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
The feeling of relief, however, lasted only a second, because the next instant Jane pulled her by the nape and buried his nose in her neck.
“Easy now. I’m not going to bite you,” he said, his voice a low, honeyed murmur against the agent’s skin as he felt her tense up to fight.
Lisbon knew ‘trustworthy’ wasn’t exactly the term she’d use for this man’s words, yet she remained frozen as he took a long, deep breath, inhaling the scent of her neck.
Jane smiled against the woman’s skin, noticing she’d gotten goosebumps, and after a few deep breaths, he pulled away and opened his mouth, allowing her to see the moment his fangs elongated and sharpened even further.
The cop couldn’t help but swallow dryly, imagining the pain a puncture from those would cause. He must be crazy if he thought she’d actually let him sink his teeth into her neck.
But perhaps that wasn’t a discussion to have while locked in a car alone with a thirsty vampire.
“No need to fret, they’ll go back to normal soon,” he reassured her. “I had to feed after I first met you, so I’m free from the withdrawal state for a while,” he added, leaning back against the window and closing his eyes again.
Lisbon definitely didn’t want to know who he’d fed on, though her cop conscience weighed on her for it, which prompted her next question:
“Are there many… like you? Because it’s not really common to find corpses completely drained of blood with bite marks on the neck lying around,” she expressed.
Jane opened his eyes to look at her. “A necessity of adapting to modern society. Many of us disguise the deaths as accidents and tear the victim’s neck afterward so the fang marks aren’t detected,” he explained, staring at her fixedly, though his expression was casual. “Others make the wounds with knives or guns and just suck the blood, or use other drainage tools to avoid leaving bites,” he continued. “And then there are the opportunists, who cause or take advantage of routine accidents and feed on the victims. Of course, in all these situations, it’s good to avoid draining all the blood, to not raise suspicion,” he concluded.
Jane didn’t miss the way the agent had paled at his explanations.
“Is that what happened to your mother? A supposed accident? Was that when you found out about us?” he inquired.
“Shut up,” she ordered through clenched teeth, not ignoring that he had deduced not only that she’d lost her mother, but also how she had died.
The man shrugged again.
The traffic was still moving slowly, but Lisbon decided she didn’t want to talk anymore, though a few important questions still hammered in her mind, allowing Jane to return to his feigned nap.
Only then did she notice that the necklace of colorful paper clips he’d made at the Hastings Ford office earlier was now draped around her neck. Astonished that he’d managed to put the item on her without her noticing, her green eyes widened, alternating between the improvised chain lying against her collarbone and the blond man, who, though his eyes were closed, was smiling as if he knew exactly what was happening at that moment.
Irritated, she made another mental note, this time about the sneaky hands of the vampire resting beside her, and the dangers they could pose, before trying to focus on the traffic.
It took about forty-five minutes for them to finally reach the suburban townhouse where Noah Carter lived, where they were greeted by the young lawyer who made no effort to hide that their visit was unwelcome.
“Nice house,” Jane complimented, appreciating the vintage architecture as they were led into the living room.
“Shouldn’t you be out looking for Lindsay’s killer?” Noah asked as they settled into the emerald-colored upholstery arranged around an elegant mahogany coffee table.
“That’s why we’re talking to the suspects,” Lisbon wasn’t fazed by the other’s hostility or the lovely living room they were in. Even if the sand-colored walls and the bookshelves scattered around gave the place a cozy feel.
“The prettiest woman at the firm gets murdered, and you go straight to the weird employee with relationship issues. How original,” the young lawyer commented.
“Well, you helped Lindsay improve her performance and get off the cut list, right?” Jane decided to be direct. “It’s natural we’d go to people who were close to the victim.”
“I get it,” Noah agreed. “But you’re after the wrong suspect. Lindsay had a lover,” he stated.
“Taylor Moore. We know,” Lisbon said.
“But did you know Taylor threatened her?” Noah inquired.
“What can you tell us about that?” the agent encouraged.
“Actually, I can do better. I have something to show you,” he announced before leaving the room.
A few minutes later, the young lawyer returned with a laptop, which he placed on the coffee table with the screen facing Jane and Lisbon, before playing a video.
The agent and the consultant recognized, on the screen, Lindsay and Taylor in the middle of a fierce argument in the Hastings Ford office where the junior associates worked, despite the low lighting, suggesting the video was recorded at night, after hours.
Amid the exchanged insults, some screamed information caught their attention:
“Wasn’t your wife and me enough? You had to add a third slut to the mix?” Lindsay’s indignant voice said.
“Like you didn’t do the same with that disgusting nerd,” Taylor mocked.
“I used him! You know I needed to, to keep my job!” Lindsay vociferated.
“And what do you think I’m doing now?” Taylor defended himself.
“Saving your career and destroying mine?” Lindsay suggested, outraged. “You said you’d leave your wife for me!”
“I am going to do that!” he shouted.
“And what good is that if you’ve started another relationship, forcing me to stay the other woman?” she yelled back. “But what does it matter, right? After all, I'm already used to this place,” Lindsay said, her voice dripping with irony. “But I won't tolerate it anymore. Either you choose me, or I tell your new bitch all about us,” she delivered the ultimatum.
“Do it and see what happens to you! I'm warning you, Lindsay, you don't want to see my bad side!” Taylor raged, grabbing her arm. Just then, a noise from near where the video was being recorded seemed to startle the arguing couple. “Did you hear that?” he asked—and then the recording cut out.
Lisbon and Jane’s eyes turned to Noah.
“I recorded it one night when I had to return to the office to pick up some client files,” the young lawyer explained. “When I found them arguing, I decided to record. They heard me when I bumped into a lamp in the hallway, so I had to run so they wouldn’t find me.”
“And why did you record it in the first place? To blackmail them?” Lisbon questioned.
“Well, that was the idea,” he admitted without embarrassment. “Taylor Moore is a scheming jerk who has no qualms about taking down colleagues he sees as competition with dirty tricks. So when I saw him acting intimidating with Lindsay, I thought I might use it against him in the future,” he clarified. “I didn’t imagine it was a lovers’ quarrel. Much less that I’d be mentioned,” he finished.
“And your relationship with her ended after that,” Jane concluded.
“Of course,” Noah agreed.
“Did you show the video to anyone else?” the cop asked.
“No,” Noah stated, though he shook his head with some discomfort.
“Well, that doesn’t rule you out as a suspect. In fact, it puts you more in the spotlight,” the agent commented. “Mind if we take a look around your house?”
“Why not? You’ll do it anyway if you get a warrant,” the young lawyer shrugged.
The agent and consultant searched the house but found nothing else linking Noah to the homicide. Lisbon knew they’d need to do the same at Taylor’s place, so she arranged for a warrant as soon as possible and instructed, via phone call, for Hannigan to direct agents to execute it while the homeowner was still at CBI headquarters.
“I’m going to need a copy of that,” she said to Noah, pointing at the laptop.
“I knew you’d ask, so I got ahead of it,” he claimed, handing the cop a case containing a DVD.
“Right. That’s enough for now,” Lisbon decided. “Don’t leave town without notifying us,” she warned the lawyer, who just nodded, bored, and saw them out.
“Know any of Lindsay’s online friends who used the username ‘Bluefox81’?” Jane inquired as they were about to leave.
“No,” Noah replied, frowning.
“We identified a call from Lindsay to that user on the night of the crime. We thought maybe he might have noticed something interesting,” he explained before they left.
“That lie again?” the cop asked once they were safely in the car.
“Like I said, it’s the key to solving this mystery,” Jane assured her.
The traffic wasn’t much better than when they’d arrived, so Lisbon deduced she wouldn’t be able to oversee the search and decided to head straight back to CBI headquarters, where they arrived early in the evening.
Her phone rang as they crossed the parking lot, and she continued the call as they rode up in the old elevator, piquing Jane’s curiosity as he walked beside her.
“This is outrageous! How long did you plan to keep me waiting here?” a somewhat aggressive Taylor Moore accosted them as soon as they stepped out of the elevator onto the top floor.
“Taylor, calm down,” Fiona Hastings, who was following the young lawyer, placed her hands on his shoulders in a placating manner.
“Look at that, he brought a lawyer,” Jane mocked. “Seems guilty.”
“I am a lawyer, you idiot. I don’t need one,” Taylor’s brown eyes flashed toward the consultant.
“You didn’t think you were going to interrogate one of my associates without me knowing, did you?” Fiona asked petulantly.
“Actually, it’s great you’re here, Ms. Hastings. It’s never good when the person of interest represents themselves,” Lisbon argued.
“What?” Taylor seemed genuinely confused.
“Taylor Moore, you’re under arrest for the murder of Lindsay Summers,” the agent announced.
Notes:
Well, that's all for now! Hope you enjoyed it.
I'm curious if anyone has a guess about the killer yet. Could it really be Taylor? I'm really trying to make the case feel like the episodes from the show, so I hope it's getting interesting.
Anyway, see you in the next chapter!
Chapter 5
Notes:
Hey everyone! Here's another chapter for you. I actually had to split what I was writing into two parts because the events flowed better and got more interesting this way. But on the bright side, it meant I could post this chapter earlier—and it's got some fun interactions between our favorite couple!
Hope you enjoy it! And as always, thanks to everyone who read and commented on the last chapter!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"During the execution of the search warrant at your apartment, they found fabrics with blood traces and some hair strands inside a backpack. The blood type matches Lindsay Summers', so we already know what to expect from the DNA test," Lisbon narrated calmly, seated across from Taylor Moore and Fiona Hastings, a table between them.
Jane, seated beside the agent, observed the interrogation, his index finger resting on his lips as his sharp blue eyes carefully scanned everyone in the room.
"I didn't kill Lindsay," Taylor insisted. "And I don't know how that stuff ended up in my house."
"Then who was it? Your wife? Because she had a motive, too," the policewoman prodded. "After all, you and Lindsay were lovers."
“Melanie? No!” the suspect was quick to deny. “She’s been at a medical conference for days.”
"Which brings us back to you, who was seen leaving the victim's house on the afternoon of the day she was found dead," Lisbon pressed.
"That doesn't mean I killed her."
"We also got this from one of your associates," the agent said finally, playing on a laptop the video they'd obtained from Noah Carter.
Taylor Moore grew paler and paler with each second of the video that showed his heated argument with the victim.
"Besides the search results, this video proves you threatened the victim. It's more than enough to charge you, Taylor, and that's exactly what I'm going to do. All the evidence points to you drugging and then murdering Lindsay."
"Drugging? What are you talking about?" The man was growing more and more desperate.
"The autopsy showed she had a large amount of Lorazepam in her system," the agent argued.
"She had insomnia! She was always popping pills for it!" The man shouted, rising to his feet with his hands on the table and leaning toward the policewoman.
"You should be desperate, because your situation isn't good," Lisbon also stood, leaning in to face him, their faces just inches apart. "Why don't you just give me a confession? We can try to cut a deal with the DA, avoid the death penalty. Sounds good to me," the agent stated with superiority, her green eyes flashing.
"I need to speak with my client," Fiona Hastings, who had been observing the interrogation, finally interjected.
"Yeah, we figured you'd say that," Jane also decided to speak up. "By the way, isn't it strange that the named partner of a famous law firm would personally defend one of her most junior employees, instead of sending a junior partner?" he provoked.
Lisbon didn't miss the way Taylor's brown irises darted around nervously.
"I don't understand your implication, Mr. Jane," the woman claimed calmly. "Is it not expected that I would personally oversee the situation of one of my subordinates, to avoid a scandal that could damage our reputation?"
"Yeah, I definitely expected you to show up here," the blond man said.
"Why do I get the feeling you're implying something improper?" the lawyer inquired.
"Because you are absolutely correct," the consultant said, breaking into a mischievous grin. "After all, you are the third woman mentioned in this video—Taylor's new mistress—who made our victim Lindsay so furious," he revealed, pointing to the laptop screen. "Indeed, highly improper."
"What?" Lisbon asked, shocked that he'd dropped that bombshell in the interrogation room without warning her first.
"You have a mistaken impression of me, Mr. Jane," the woman stated politely, though a new rigidity in her posture was clear.
The consultant rolled his eyes.
"Oh, come now. That look on your face when we asked if Lindsay was dating someone from the firm... that wasn't indignation over your employees breaking the rules. It was the look of someone remembering something unpleasant," he pointed out. "For all we know, you could have helped your boyfriend here kill her to stop her from making a scene with your partner, or even done it yourself and framed him to get revenge," he suggested.
The woman stood up, furious.
"I am here to represent a client. Not to be interrogated," she stated, indignant. "Agent Lisbon, control your man!"
"Well, she can try," Jane declared, crossing his arms and legs with clear nonchalance as the policewoman shot him an acid look.
"As far as I can tell, you have no evidence to back up this absurd theory. So I must insist you respect my client's right to speak with me in private," the lawyer demanded.
"So they can get their stories straight," Jane muttered, leaving the room.
"Jane!" Lisbon scolded him, finding herself suddenly under the lawyer's withering glare. "Well, I'll let you talk," she conceded, squaring her shoulders and raising her chin as she spoke, determined not to show any sign of being intimidated.
She then left the room, hoping she wouldn't have to go far to find Jane and yell at him.
Unsurprisingly, she found him on her red sofa, attempting a pathetic sprawl on the upholstery that was clearly not long enough to accommodate him, while leafing through a stack of papers.
"What do you think you're doing?" she vociferated.
"Uh… investigating a homicide?" he replied, setting the pages aside and crossing his arms behind his head.
"You have no proof they're lovers, beyond your hunches!" the agent argued.
"Which you've already noticed are usually right on the money."
"Even if that's the case, you tipped them off to the fact that we know before we could gather any real proof," Lisbon scolded. "If there was any chance of linking Fiona Hastings as an accomplice, it's practically gone now. No judge will grant me a warrant based on your guesswork, which gives her time to get rid of any evidence," she concluded.
"You don't actually need one," Jane said, unconcerned. "Those two, they're not the killers."
The policewoman blinked, incredulous at the declaration.
"I think you missed the part where we told you we found genetic material that could be the victim's in Moore's house," Lisbon repeated, as if explaining to a child.
Jane took a deep breath before reciting with patience:
"You'll be astonished when you finally grasp the true extent of my memory, Lisbon. So no, I haven't forgotten a single detail. I simply know they aren't the killers—whether that genetic material is the victim's or not," he stated, a hint of boredom in his tone. "Furthermore, the autopsy report notes an old, healed injury on the victim's left hand. Your team omitted that detail. I wouldn't have known had I not reviewed the file myself," he pointed out, raising the papers he'd been reading.
The woman blinked, confused.
"Because it's an old, healed cut. It's not related to the injury from the day of the murder," she narrated.
"But it could be related to the genetic material you found in Taylor's apartment," Jane argued.
"You really think the evidence was planted?"
Jane smiled condescendingly.
"Taylor might be a creep, but he really liked Lindsay. I'd say of the three, she was the one he actually loved," he revealed. "The wife is a convenience, and Fiona an opportunity. But Lindsay, she was the passion. It's obvious how much losing her shook him."
"Or maybe it's the possibility of spending the rest of his life in prison that's got him rattled."
"And Fiona, well, she might be ruthless in the courtroom, but she doesn't have the guts to kill a spider," ignoring her, the blond continued. "You should have paid more attention to the case files on her desk," he added, making the other woman grit her teeth.
"Yeah, great theory. But the DNA results should be in within the forty-eight hours I have to indict him, and then I will," she declared, victorious. "Case closed. Accept it, you didn't solve it before my team. You weren't even close."
"Just ignoring my hypothesis that the evidence might be forged?" the consultant feigned a hurt tone.
"It's a theory with no basis, beyond assumptions."
Jane rose calmly, his blue eyes showing complete serenity.
"I will prove it tonight, dear Lisbon, that Taylor Moore is not the killer. Better yet, I'll deliver the real culprit to you," he guaranteed, putting his hands in his pockets.
The woman crossed her arms and stared at him challengingly.
"And how do you plan to do that?" she questioned mockingly.
"With bait," he explained. "I just need you to get something for me from the evidence locker."
The woman let out a derisive snort.
"Oh yeah. Sure," she ironized.
"What? Is that above your pay grade? I thought you'd have more access, being team lead."
Lisbon's face flushed with irritation.
"It's certainly above yours," she emphasized.
"You just come with me, to make sure no evidence walks off," he argued, walking back toward the interrogation room.
"Wait! Where do you think you're going?" she asked, but Jane ignored her and opened the door to the room where Taylor and Fiona were, sticking only his head inside.
The consultant had to suppress the urge to smile when he saw them flushed and slightly disheveled, indicating they'd been in a heated argument.
"I'm going to need to head out, but does either of you know anything that could clarify the real identity of Lindsay's online friend, 'Bluefox81'?" the consultant questioned.
"Who is that?" Taylor seemed genuinely confused.
"Well, as Lindsay's lover, you must know she kept some online friends and had met up with a few of them," Jane explained. "This user tried to contact the police, saying he knew something about a video call, but then he backed out. We suspect he might have information, maybe even witnessed the crime, virtually," he concluded.
"Well, in that case, I hope you find him," Taylor said, though his posture remained tense, while Fiona, still shaken from the argument, couldn't hide the look of confusion that crossed her face at the turn of events.
"We will," Jane guaranteed, before leaving the room, with Lisbon yelling after him for acting so impulsively.
"Do you have a large bag?" he asked, ignoring everything she'd just complained about.
…
Lisbon clumsily unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car with the heavy bag on her shoulder.
Jane was waiting for her, holding the main door open for her to enter, a bright smile decorating his face.
The lobby of her building, whose entrance was always locked with a key only residents had.
"When did you…" the agent stammered, confused. "Did you steal my key?" she asked, somewhat incredulous. She was sure she'd left the small keychain in the back pocket of her jeans before leaving the CBI building, a habit she'd adopted to avoid lingering outside her building while searching for them, since the area wasn't exactly safe.
"Steal is a strong word. I merely borrowed them to do you the kindness of opening the door," he defended himself, forcing a convincing tone.
The brunette snorted, remembering the mental note she'd made about the consultant's sneaky hands. Apparently, they were more dangerous than she'd thought, if he'd sneaked them up her backside to fish her keys out of her pocket without her feeling a thing.
Trying not to blush at the idea, the policewoman entered the building, feeling him place a hand on the small of her back as he passed by.
Which, of course, embarrassed her even more.
"Oh! Teresa!" the animated call drew the duo's attention to the elevator entrance, where Margot Anderson was waiting. "Working late again, dear," she lamented. "But you've brought Mr. Jane!" she added, slightly surprised.
Jane forced an embarrassed cough, drawing a confused look from the agent.
"Well, we went out for dinner, and on the way back, Teresa invited me up for a bit," he began, affecting an embarrassed tone.
"Oh, I see," the old woman said calmly, though her tone was conspiratorial. "You young people!" she chided, playfully.
Lisbon blinked her green eyes a few times until they widened as understanding dropped like an anvil on her head.
"What? It's not what you're thinking!" she pleaded, somewhat desperate, her cheeks blushing intensely.
"Calm down, Teresa. We're all adults here," the blond soothed, though he scratched his beard and adjusted his suit jacket with his right hand, to simulate nervousness, his left hand still on the small of the policewoman's back, which certainly helped sell the wrong idea.
Lisbon wanted to kill him.
"Of course, dear," the elderly woman winked at the agent and then gave a little giggle, just as the elevator doors opened.
Although Lisbon hurried to get in, trying to get away from him, Jane followed her easily, keeping his hand where it was. And when the policewoman made a move to remove it, he shot her a warning look.
The brunette couldn't help but swallow dryly under the intensity of those blue eyes. Jane played the clown most of the time, but in that moment, she was faced with an unexpected authority in his crystalline irises. It reminded her of the predator he was, giving her the distinct impression he could dominate her even if he weren't a supernatural creature.
Disturbed by the sudden heat that ran through her body, the agent averted her green eyes and fixed them on the glowing numbers of the panel, lighting up as they ascended.
"But what is a lovely lady like you doing out of her apartment so late?" Jane asked, pretending to make small talk.
The old woman's eyes glittered with flattery for a moment before becoming anxious.
“I couldn’t find Felicio,” she said, her voice heavy with frustration. “I thought I’d come down and look for him here in the lobby.”
Lisbon suppressed a shudder. She didn't know what Jane was planning, but it certainly didn't involve an impromptu search for a lost cat.
"Well, if you'd like, we can help," the consultant offered, trying to sound disappointed in his words to make it seem like just a polite suggestion.
The old woman shook her head vehemently.
"Oh no, dears, I don't want to spoil your fun," she stated, making Lisbon mortified by the real meaning of the comment, while Jane emitted an embarrassed laugh. "He'll come back soon. He always does," the old woman consoled herself.
"Okay," the blond replied politely, moving even closer to the policewoman.
"But what about the investigation? Did you find out anything about Lindsay's killer?" she inquired with sorrow.
Lisbon wasn't surprised by the question. She knew the old woman was curious, but also that she had a particular interest in that case, as she'd been fond of the victim.
"We have a suspect in custody," Jane answered before she could stop him.
"Oh my! You got him! That relieves my heart," she declared, a bit tearful, bringing her hands to her chest. "Who was it?"
"We can't divulge that information," the policewoman preempted.
"Especially since, actually, he's just a suspect," stated the consultant.
"Oh!" the old woman seemed confused. "So you still don't know who did it?"
"Well, he's a promising candidate, but he gave us an interesting lead. It seems Lindsay had an online friend, whom she talked to every night on video, for hours," the blond reported. "You used the victim's computer, right? Have you heard of this person? Seems they used the name 'Bluefox81'."
Lisbon had to fight the impulse to roll her eyes upward.
"No," denied the old woman, her brow furrowed.
"Well, it seems they talked the night of the crime. He didn't seem to be lying, as someone with that username tried to contact us, but backed out before telling us anything relevant," he announced.
The old woman looked at Teresa, as if expecting her to confirm the information.
The agent sighed, before saying:
"We believe he might have witnessed something, over a video call. We're trying to track him down."
"Oh, I'm getting used to it, but technology still scares me sometimes," the elderly woman criticized.
Jane and Lisbon murmured in agreement, but didn't have time for further comments, as the elevator soon stopped on the seventh floor.
The two said goodbye to the elderly woman, who couldn't help but give an encouraging smile as the agent passed by.
"Good luck, dear!" she whispered, and Lisbon forced a smile before stepping out of the elevator with heavy steps, privately theorizing about cruel ways to kill a vampire and dispose of the body without getting caught, with a somewhat amused Jane still guiding her.
The blond used the same key he'd pinched earlier to open her apartment door and followed her inside without waiting for an invitation.
"What the hell was that?" the policewoman exploded as soon as he locked the door. "Now my neighbor thinks we're sleeping together!"
Jane, however, ignored her and walked over to the bookshelf, where he chose a CD and put it in the stereo.
Lisbon watched him act like he owned the place, stupefied, but felt the last drops of her patience leave her when a romantic ballad started to play.
Noting he was about to be attacked by a policewoman smaller than him but certainly well-trained, Jane hurried to grab her bag and run for the fire escape.
"Would you care to stop and explain what you're doing?" she demanded.
"I said I'd deliver the killer to you," he reminded her. "But the operation could be compromised if you're too loud," he warned. "Although, maybe a little noise would make the scene more believable. Want to go back and try?" he pointed out, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
"Die, jerk," was her response, through clenched teeth.
"Your mind went there," he added, before turning and carefully exiting.
“Just die,” she stated flatly, before following him up the stairs.
Notes:
Well, that's it for now! Hope you enjoyed it. I gotta say—I loved writing that scene where Jane embarrassed Teresa. If I keep writing stories in this universe, I definitely want to try something like that again (it reminded me of that scene from the show where Jane tried to take Teresa and a suspect to a hotel room, for the sake of the investigation, lol).
We’re getting closer to the end of both the story and the mystery. What do you all think of how things are unfolding? See you in the next one!
Chapter 6
Notes:
Welcome back!
This chapter delivers both beloved Jisbon moments and the long-awaited identity of the killer.
Happy reading, and thank you for your support!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Lisbon was furious with herself.
Not just for giving in to the consultant and letting him proceed with an unorthodox investigation of a practically closed homicide case, but mostly because that investigation had ended with the two of them locked in a closet.
Together.
In a space so cramped they couldn't stand up, thanks to the ridiculous number of clothes hanging on the racks, or maintain a decent distance from each other, due to the stacks of shoeboxes on either side.
As a result, in the tight quarters, the police officer found herself sitting facing her consultant, hugging her own legs, which were parallel to his, unable to prevent the outer side of her left calf from pressing against the fabric of his trousers.
Jane, of course, seemed ridiculously comfortable with the situation, swaying from side to side as if dancing to a song only he could hear, which made their legs not just touch, but rub against each other.
Despite the consultant's apparent indifference, the insinuations he’d made to their elderly neighbor from the moment they entered the building until they reached her apartment only made things more awkward and uncomfortable.
"Why can't we wait in the bedroom?" she whispered, complaining.
"Because then you won't get the evidence you need," he explained. "We need to lure the killer in. Not scare him off."
"And you really think he'll just return to the crime scene?" she scoffed, still in a hushed tone.
"He will. We set a good trap," he replied confidently, even though Lisbon had no idea what that trap was and hadn't actively helped set it.
"I don't plan on spending the night here," she warned, seeing as they had already been in that ridiculous situation for over an hour.
Her legs were numb, and there was no way to change position without making things even more awkward.
"Fair. Though this isn't exactly how I pictured our first night together," he insinuated.
Lisbon couldn't resist kicking him in the thigh in retaliation and was immensely satisfied when he let out a pained groan.
After all, this was new. Usually, Jane's insinuations compared her to food, but his latest words sounded more like the teasing they’d used to throw Margot Anderson off their scent.
"I meant the closet," she muttered through gritted teeth, deciding there couldn't be anything deeper to his comment than a silly joke.
Jane sighed in dissatisfaction, rubbing his sore thigh.
"As long as there are no further assaults, I don't mind. I've slept in worse holes," he commented, stopping the massage to run his hands over the items on the back shelf, trying to figure out what they were by touch alone, just for fun.
Lisbon didn't understand how he could move so silently, even while fidgeting constantly.
"You can't be serious."
"Why not? I can wait sitting down, and I have a snack," he argued. "That means I could live here," he joked.
There it was, the kind of teasing she was getting used to. However, predictable or not, the police officer still reflexively tried to pull away, though the little space didn't allow it.
"I'm joking," he explained. "Lisbon, when I bite you, you'll know, and you won't object. You don't need to be so cautious around me, as if I'm always about to devour you, or our working partnership won't function."
"Oh, I'm sorry for acting like I've been attacked by you before," she retorted sarcastically. "Besides, listen to your own words and tell me how anyone can relax around you. You basically suggest making a meal out of me all the time!" she scolded, letting as much irritation show as her whispers allowed. "And hell will freeze over before I agree to let you sink your fangs into me!" she added.
From the shadows, Jane smiled defiantly, and she could swear she saw the faint light seeping through the cracks of the closet door glint off his fangs.
"I didn't say you'd agree, but that you wouldn't disagree," he pointed out. "Hey, there's stationery here!" he exclaimed, completely changing the subject.
The agent blinked, disturbed by how he dismissed the previous topic as if it didn't matter.
"Why store it here? Our victim was really messy," he opined, ignoring her discomfort as he pulled out a sheet of paper.
"Just shut up, or you'll scare off whoever you're trying to lure," murmured Lisbon, deciding to let it go. Nothing good would come of that debate, after all, and she had already made her decision.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied obediently, as she rolled her eyes. "I know you just rolled your eyes, even if I can't see you," he added before finally falling silent, prompting her to pout in irritation.
The agent wasn't sure how much time passed after that. Possibly minutes that felt like hours, during which she focused on the romantic songs she could faintly hear playing from her apartment downstairs, the mortification hitting her again as she thought about what Mrs. Anderson must have imagined they were doing, since they’d had to turn on the music to supposedly muffle the noises.
Her desire to die of embarrassment was overshadowed by a state of alert the moment she heard the distant sound of the front door opening.
Then, muffled footsteps echoed, and the police officer held her breath as they grew closer.
"Someone's here," she whispered, alarmed, kneeling to try to see the bedroom through the slats in the closet door, an action mimicked by Jane.
The streetlights dimly lit the room through the glass balcony door, only because they had taken care to leave the curtains open. Still, it was enough for them to see, through the cracks, the silhouette of someone walking over to Lindsay's desk.
The police officer felt Jane turn his head toward her and knew, even if she couldn't see clearly, that he was smiling smugly.
"Et voilà," he whispered against her ear, and she had to suppress a shiver at the feel of his breath on her skin.
Squinting, the agent saw what she needed to see. Whoever it was, they were trying to turn on Lindsay's laptop, which they had brought back from the CBI evidence room in her bag and left on the desk as bait, just seconds before hiding in the closet.
The fact that Jane had been right in his guess left a bitter taste in her mouth, but at least this torturous confinement was about to end.
"Hands in the air! You're under arrest!" Bursting out of the closet with her gun drawn, Lisbon declared, startling the stocky figure who turned to face her. "Mrs. Anderson!" she exclaimed, surprised, recognizing the elderly neighbor despite the poor lighting.
"Teresa!" the old woman exclaimed in a trembling voice, just as the lights came on.
Jane, who had walked over to the switch to make things easier, returned to the agent's side, a knowing smile on his lips.
"I thought you two were busy downstairs…" the old woman commented, visibly nervous.
Lisbon had to use all her professionalism to avoid blushing to the point of combustion at the elder's words, who now lay in the sights of her gun as a suspect.
A suspect who grabbed something off the table with impressive speed for her age.
"Gun! She's got a gun!" Jane yelled upon noticing the small revolver in the old woman's hands, ducking behind Lisbon to try to hide.
The police officer had to suppress an indignant groan at the action, wondering to herself if this was the same powerful creature who had almost killed her the night before.
"What the hell are you doing?" she muttered without taking her eyes off the suspect.
"Bullets hurt," the consultant justified, peeking over the agent's shoulders, who rolled her eyes.
"What are you two talking about?" the old woman shouted. "What else are you plotting against me?" she asked, furious, waving the revolver up and down.
"Mrs. Anderson, put down the gun and let's talk," Lisbon requested, keeping her tone calm because she definitely did not want to shoot the elderly neighbor, regardless of whether she was a murderer or how many times she had chased her runaway cat.
"You won't take me!" the old woman vociferated, holding the gun with trembling hands. "It's not fair! I didn't do anything wrong! That bitch got what she deserved!" she argued, her words reminding them of the message still written in blood on the wall behind the bed.
"Drop the weapon!" two other voices declared almost in unison, and Jane peeked over Lisbon's shoulder to see Cho and Rigsby enter the room, each holding their weapon.
"The cavalry's a bit late," the consultant complained.
"Would've worked better if you'd explained the plan a little sooner," Cho retorted without taking his eyes off the old woman, who was still holding her gun.
"Mrs. Anderson, you're surrounded. Even if you shoot one of us, another will shoot you immediately," Lisbon kept her voice calm, appealing to rationality.
The old woman's outstretched arms seemed to waver for a moment, but then she stretched them out again, resolution burning in her eyes.
She preferred death to prison.
“If you die, Margot,” Jane said, easing out from behind Lisbon to keep his eyes locked on the elderly woman, “there will be no one left to prove your grandson wasn’t your accomplice.”
For a moment, Lisbon turned her green eyes to him, somewhat confused, as she had no idea what the consultant was talking about.
However, the old woman seemed to know, as her eyes widened and her face contorted in extreme anguish before letting her arms fall to her sides in a defeated posture.
Cho and Rigsby quickly disarmed and handcuffed her while reading her her rights and arresting her for the murder of Lindsay Summers.
Lisbon, still holding her weapon, watched as the agents led her away, the shock of knowing the neighbor was the killer finally hitting her.
Jane approached again with calm steps, stopping beside her.
"There, there. You can lower your weapon now," he joked, gently pushing her arms down.
Lisbon relaxed, lowering her arms, though she didn't holster her pistol.
"You knew it was her?" she practically hissed the question, turning her angry eyes to the blond.
"It was my guess," Jane confirmed casually.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, indignant.
"Because you don't give my methods an ounce of credibility," he accused. "If I just told you I knew she lied in the first interview because she sometimes looked to the upper right, you would have laughed in my face and ignored anything else I said," he argued.
The police officer knew he was essentially right about her not believing him, but she chose to ignore that part and focus on another piece of information.
"Who is her grandson, and what does he have to do with any of this?" she inquired, returning to a professional tone.
"He has nothing to do with it, as I told Margot," he replied evasively.
"You still haven't said who he is."
"You could try to guess."
Lisbon grunted, annoyed.
"Come on, let's go," Jane called, still trying to divert her attention. "I know this is a special place where we met, but I can do without all this blood on the wall."
The consultant didn't ignore the "pfft" that escaped the agent's lips.
"Oh, come on," he defended. "You're going to say it's not funny? Less than twenty-four hours ago we met in this room, but I was on the other end of that gun," he commented, pointing to the Glock she was still holding.
"No. It's not funny," she stated, holstering the weapon, especially remembering being pinned by him against a wall and almost dying afterward.
"Well, the meeting was unconventional, but in the end, we proved to be a good team," the blond argued.
"Good team?" Lisbon mocked. "You hid behind me! Weren't you supposed to have superpowers to protect us or something?"
"I didn't want to get shot. It hurts," he explained, pouting. "Besides, you really don't want people to know what I really am," he warned.
The agent didn't quite understand what he meant, but she knew it probably had to do with the fact that humans, in general, were unaware of the existence of beings like him.
"Anyway, as long as you have a gun, I won't need to resort to those kinds of abilities," he emphasized, clearly referring to his inhuman talents, whatever they were.
"You're mistaken here," her ironic tone caught his attention. "You were a consultant on this case, which is now solved. Our partnership is over," she declared with satisfaction.
Jane repositioned himself to stand in front of her and looked directly into her eyes, blue and green locking intensely.
"Lisbon, Lisbon," he complained. "Why so stubborn? We can keep doing this, you know. Solving crimes, catching the real bad guys," he speechified. "Just accept my offer."
"Not a chance," she refused vehemently, her green eyes sparking with determination as she stared back at him.
Undeterred, the blond slowly moved closer.
"I know you'll come around," he declared.
Lisbon went on alert, but his gentle gaze conveyed the silent message that he wouldn't do anything strange. So she just stood still, rigid, as he slipped something into her coat pocket.
Jane flashed his characteristic smile before turning and heading for the exit, leaving her alone in the room.
Curious, Lisbon slipped her free hand into her pocket to pull out whatever he had placed there, surprised to open her palm and find a small origami bat made from white paper.
What surprised her most was that, despite all the madness surrounding the situation, she smiled as she stared at the little folded figure.
Notes:
So? Did you already guess who the culprit was? When did you figure it out?
I have to say—as great as it feels to finally reveal the killer, nothing topped locking Jane and Lisbon in a closet together, hehe. I could’ve kept them there forever, but this story needs an ending!
Hope you enjoyed the chapter. We’re getting closer to the finale, but there are still a few loose ends to tie up.
See you next time!
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