The elevator doors opened with a soft ding, and the bullpen quieted in unison as if some invisible switch had been flicked. The heels clicking against the polished floor were unmistakable, confident, sharp, and deliberate. Heads turned. A paper bag swung loosely in her hand.
Recognition spread across the CBI team like wildfire. Brows furrowed. Cho leaned back in his chair ever so slightly. Rigsby exchanged a glance with Van Pelt. Uh-oh.
Lisbon, halfway through signing a report, froze mid-pen stroke. Of all the people to walk through those glass doors, she was one they had never wanted to see inside this building.
She was a name whispered in courthouse halls. A lawyer with a spotless record—one who had never lost a case, who prosecutors admired and defendants feared. Someone who, on more than one occasion, had made both the FBI and local police departments eat their pride in open court. And now she was here. At their doorstep.
“Great,” Lisbon muttered under her breath, rising quickly from her desk. “This can’t be good.”
Before she could intercept, Director Bertram emerged from his office like a storm cloud. His expression was tight, his smile even tighter. “Oh, this is just what I needed,” he sighed, eyes darting immediately to Patrick Jane. “Whatever it is, fix it. Apologize. Now.”
Jane, lounging comfortably on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, tilted his head lazily at Bertram. “That’s a bit presumptive, don’t you think? I haven’t even had the pleasure of being accused yet.”
“Patrick.” Lisbon’s warning tone cut sharp.
Jane only smiled wider.
The woman stopped just inside the bullpen, her sharp eyes sweeping across the room, catching every nervous shuffle, every darting glance. She let the silence stretch, enjoying the tension strung tight in the air. Finally, she lifted the paper bag and tapped it lightly against her palm.
“You all look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said smoothly, voice rich with amusement. “Relax. I’m not here to sue you.”
Cho didn’t move a muscle, but his gaze flickered. Van Pelt let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
Bertram, however, wasn’t convinced. He gestured toward Jane again, tone brisk, almost panicked. “Whatever you did, Jane, fix it. Now. I will not have a legal circus parading into my building because of your antics.”
“Oh, come on,” Jane drawled, rising to his feet with the grace of someone who knew he had the upper hand. “Do I look like the kind of man who’d provoke a woman like her?”
The woman arched an eyebrow, lips curving faintly. “Do you really want me to answer that, Patrick?”
That earned a ripple of laughter she clearly didn’t intend—but Jane’s grin widened like a cat caught in the cream.
Lisbon quickly stepped forward, trying to contain the wildfire before it caught. “Look, if this is about something Jane said—”
“Or did,” Bertram cut in sharply.
“—we can sort it out,” Lisbon finished firmly.
The woman regarded them both for a long, loaded moment, then smirked. “You think I came all the way down here to complain about him? To file some little grievance?” She gave a soft, almost mocking laugh. “Please. I don’t have that kind of time.”
Rigsby blinked. “Then… what are you doing here?”
Without answering him, she turned, walked past Lisbon and Bertram, and stopped in front of Jane. She held out the bag. “You forgot these.”
Jane’s eyes sparkled as he accepted it like a priceless gift, peeking inside. “Ah, my favorites. And a few surprises, I see.” He looked up at her, his grin unbearably smug. “You really do love me.”
Dead silence fell. Lisbon’s jaw nearly hit the floor. Rigsby choked. Van Pelt’s eyes went wide.
Bertram, however, spluttered. “Love you?”
Jane slipped an arm easily around her waist, as casual as breathing, as though this revelation weren’t shattering the entire bullpen. “Love, fiancé, soon-to-be-wife… the words are interchangeable, really.” He gave her a sideways glance, eyes twinkling. “Isn’t that right?”
She smiled, tilting her head just enough to make the room reel. “That’s right.”