Well, I really wouldn't blame anybody for not even bothering to click on this chapter. I'm so ashamed that it's taken me so long to update. I apologise.

The fact is my confidence was completely shattered by two cruelly condescending reviews by the same person. I took them more seriously than perhaps I should have done, particularly in view of all the good reviews I'd had. It doesn't make sense I know, but I there it is ... I couldn't write and on two occasions prepared an explanatory statement prior to deleting the story.

Anyway I decided it was worth giving it another go. So here (with fingers crossed) is another chapter.

l can't make any promises about when the next one will be up, since with my domestic situation altered by Covid I don't have much private writing time. Hopefully it won't be too long.

Thanks in advance for reading.

It was already late afternoon when two marked police vehicles parked up almost silently, one on either side of the motel entrance. Their destination would have been difficult to find without GPS. It wasn't that the location was particularly remote, but it was tucked away and forgotten, off the beaten track, on one of many twisty backroads branching off the main highway and well shielded by dense areas of evergreen forest that transformed even the brightest day into virtual night after the welcome respite of a short stretch of sunlit open road.

Teresa Lisbon reflected briefly on the purpose of their journey. The combination of difficult bends and these ever changing light conditions made the drive a perilous one for the unsuspecting traveller … of course this was the route Patrick had chosen.

A fast dipping sun cast long black shadows all around them as she and Kimball Cho exited their vehicle and stood behind one of the foreboding hedges that flanked and fronted the property.

As Jane had suggested a softly softly approach they had worn casual clothing, toning down the formal dark suited look that cried FBI to all who had reason to feel guilty. Their uniformed backup had been instructed to remain out of sight until called. Since they expected that the workforce would be locked up anyway, and therefore safe, either in the motel rooms or in the building that satellite images had identified as the mini factory, they would wait till they had located Jane and spoken to him before calling on extra manpower to deal with the bigger issue of the illegal sweatshop.

Before them, and half covered by the straggling branches of the untrimmed hedges, was a big broken sign proclaiming "Paradise Pines" in bold neon letters that no longer held any colour.

The two agents ventured forward cautiously, between two rotting wooden planters, to a position where they could more easily survey the grounds. The roughly gravelled entrance divided into two narrower pathways. One widened again and morphed into rough concrete to provide parking for the low slung, plain buildings that were obviously the motel rooms.

The other path ran down the side of a scruffy yard that part surrounded a rambling but uninspiring old house. Where the parking area, the yard and the paths were separated one from the other it was hard to tell. No one had tended them for some time, so gravel ran into what once had been lawn and filled holes where the concrete of the parking area had crumbled into dry dust, rendering each area more gravel than anything else. With token areas of dead or dying planting the whole place was unappealing.

Lisbon threw Cho a sad shrug that needed no explanation.

No surprise that the place had failed ... it was hard to find and hard to love.

And similarly, no surprise that it was the place that Jane had found refuge … it was as though once again fate had an unsavoury plan for him. This time one that he didn't deserve.

It was a little more surprising though, that the redundant accommodation had become a base for criminal activity, although on second thought, not that much of a stretch if you didn't want to be found. Pretty perfect in fact.

All in all, and, notwithstanding the reason for their current visit, Lisbon found the whole place depressing.

"Okay?" Cho asked, noting her taut posture and grim expression.

"Sure."

She shrugged off the involuntary shiver that ran across her shoulders and turned immediately toward the motel buildings. "Jane said he'd be in a room behind the reception."

But before she'd taken her second step away from the entrance and onto the property, Cho asserted his authority quietly with a gentle hand on her arm.

"No. There are two. Mother and son. We need to establish where they both are first. If the son's over there I don't want you going alone."

Lisbon paused. Turned back. Gave Cho a tired but appreciative smile.

She knew he was right … even if she hadn't been pregnant he would have been right. And if she was honest, these days she was relieved to let go of making decisions, relieved it was Cho in charge and still at her side.

"We go together," he said. "Check the house out first."

So they approached in silence, trying to appear relaxed, in hopes of catching the Jenkins' unawares and unprepared, but not to raise any suspicion.

The red paint on the front door was peeling and faded and the brass furniture dull and tarnished; that it wasn't often used was evident from some distance.

Cho knocked hard, three sharp raps in quick succession.

No one answered and there was no sound of activity, so with a shared glance to confirm agreement, Cho and Lisbon turned away to go to the back of the house. As they did, the sound of rapid but light footsteps came and a small shrewlike woman with unkempt hair and faded jeans appeared from where they were headed.

Ma Jenkins had heard the knocking and come to investigate.

She wasn't what they had expected.

"What can I help you with?" she asked, although it didn't sound much like she wanted to help.

"We're looking for our friend," Lisbon ventured brightly, "but we think we may have the address wrong."

Ma had already built her defences high so she glowered back without even the hint of a welcome.

Wrong address indeed … who were they kidding.

Although she'd convinced herself that the meddling townie hadn't actually contacted any 'friends', it had been a protective self deception that was all too common these days.

She'd told herself that man was all talk …

… and now she'd realised he was all talk.

All talking on her phone, in her house.

And these were indeed the friends he'd been talking to ... on her phone, in her house ... a pretty little rich woman and an expressionless hanger on.

Ma lied.

"I ain't seen nobody," she snapped defensively, almost before Lisbon's mouth was closed, "Nobody comes here."

Cho exchanged another quick glance with Lisbon, who imperceptibly confirmed what was obvious. They had both seen all they needed to see. The woman's belligerent response and her irritated body language was grounds enough to cut to the chase, so he took a step forward.

"Are you Mrs. Jenkins? Do you have a son? Is he home?"

Cho had not raised his voice, but the woman stiffened visibly at the quickfire questioning when he suddenly spoke.

They even knew her name. And that she had a son.

Damn, that man had done a lot of talking when he should have been locked up.

Ma's skin paled. Her eyes darted between her interrogator and the attractive pregnant woman, but she wasn't able to disguise the confusion in them.

It was the man that bothered her. Despite his jeans and windcheater, he looked like law or some other snooping official. She couldn't figure the odd couple's connection. They didn't fit.

Then she remembered the stranger's mention of his pregnant wife.

And the penny dropped.

This dainty raven haired lady was the blond dandy's wife. And she'd brought the hired help to find her man.

But why no cops? Had he not told his wife what he'd seen?

Her tanned skin blanched more, but Ma rallied and bravely stood her ground. She swallowed and composed herself. It was okay. Gus had dealt with everything. And she'd got rid of a whole chunk more of the evidence.

Her focus settled on the stocky Asian man. "Who's asking?"

It wasn't an answer to any of Cho's questions, it wasn't even an answer, but the guilt writ large on the weathered features of the woman's face was all the confirmation Lisbon needed.

She flashed her badge and Cho followed suit.

Ma gawped.

Well that was a surprise.

She was so shocked she hardly batted an eyelid, until her eyes flicked compulsively back to the roundness of the lady cop's belly.

She didn't look cop … not at all … until she shifted her stance wider and opened her mouth again.

"We're FBI Ma'am," her voice suddenly sharp and commanding. "And, yes. I'm pregnant. It's my husband Patrick we're searching for. We understand he's staying with you."

Ma shook her head in another exaggerated denial. It was less than convincing … she couldn't make eye contact. She was sinking deeper and deeper into the quicksands of denial and with every lie, every shake of the head, she got sucked in deeper.

But her voice stayed steady. "No. There's only me. I'm here alone and … " she turned to go, "I have work to do."

Then, as she turned, the next lie escaped with a shudder, creeping out before she could stop it, but flashing brighter than the neon sign that no longer flashed ever had.

"I don't know any Patrick Jane."

Lisbon tensed. Became even more cop. She had only spoken his given name. She had only referred to him as Patrick.

"Where's your son, Mrs. Jenkins?" Cho interjected again patiently. "Is he on the property?"

Ma swung around, not realising she'd been caught in her lie. They had asked again about her son and, as the only good thing in her life, it naturally drew her attention.

She could hardly deny Gus's existence, nor could she protect him; if these FBI people insisted on coming into the house, which seemed inevitable, it would be obvious she didn't live alone.

So she told the truth, glad also to be distracted from Lisbon's condition which was niggling at her conscience.

And telling the truth brought brief blessed relief. "My Gus ain't here," she admitted. "He's gone to the city. Won't be back till tomorrow."

Cho searched the woman's face and took her at her word, but it was only confirmation. He'd already spotted a compacted area on the far side of the yard where ruts worn into the surface indicated a largish vehicle was regularly parked. It was conspicuous by its absence. And the ground didn't display signs of any other vehicles.

When Ma spoke about her son Lisbon was inclined to believe her too; it was the first time in the conversation the woman had appeared to be telling the truth. Colour had faintly warmed her hollow cheeks as he'd called her son 'My Gus', and her tone had lightened.

Whatever Alice Jenkins was now, at some time in the past there had been a husband, she had been loved and had been a loving wife and a mother who loved her son. That much was obvious.

As a married woman and soon to be mother, Lisbon decided to chip away at the only obvious connection they had … and Ma's only obvious weakness. Deciding not to focus on Ma's use of the name she had never revealed, she softened her approach and sought out Ma's wary eyes.

"Patrick phoned me last night Mrs. Jenkins, from a number that corresponds to this address. I'm very worried about him." She decided to exaggerate a little. "He has health issues you see, and …. well … he wasn't making much sense. He told me he'd be in one of the motel rooms. Perhaps you weren't aware he was here?" she suggested. "If we could just take a look … "

But the moment was gone, Ma's posture became restless, she paused and looked away.

"You won't find him here. I told you," she insisted again.

Cho had seen enough.

"We'd like to look," he said plainly, indicating the motel buildings with a nod.

He figured they'd wasted enough time pussyfooting around and was surprised Lisbon was being so patient. It was ironic really … if Jane was here he'd have bamboozled the obstinate Mrs. J into showing them round the whole property by now. Or he'd have disappeared to sneak around on his own and left them to fend off the bewildered owner while he found the vital clue.

Lisbon turned to follow Cho as he set off toward the rooms. He was right. And she was disappointed in womankind. Perhaps she was getting soft.

She thrust a hand out and demanded coldly. "We'll need keys."

Ma gave up grudgingly and handed over the keys to the motel buildings in silence.

She led the way reluctantly, over the yard and past the now dry patch of Jane's vomit, confidence evaporating, seeping away with each step. "You won't find anything," she mumbled again.

He wasn't there, she knew … she'd watched Gus drive away with his body … but his spirit still lingered. It had surrounded him like an aura every time she'd seen him … he was different … unsettling and strangely serene. And he left the imprint of his spirit everywhere he went … she'd felt that too.

She watched his wife, the person who loved those differences that she had seen, as she approached the rooms, and Ma knew the game was up. His wife would know he'd been there.

There were two separate sets of keys, so, with her heart thumping and a sickly feeling welling up from the pit of her stomach, Lisbon went straight to the first door, obviously the office, where Jane had told her he would be.

Hoping against hope and wanting to allow his colleagues and friends a private reunion, Cho insisted Ma accompany him to inspect the other rooms. He told himself he wasn't a superstitious man, nor was he a man of faith, but he crossed his fingers as he saw Lisbon enter Jane's prison, then strode off to unlock the first room.

As he worked his way along the row, all the doors opened with one simple key to reveal small unoccupied rooms containing four beds crammed into space for two, which itself was odd. There was no evidence that they were currently being used, but on the other hand it didn't look like they'd been stripped. In fact Cho had the distinct impression they had been used recently … they smelled of people, not cleaning products or mustiness.

He turned to the second row and began again. Every room was the same.

Meanwhile Lisbon had stepped into the office with mixed feelings, but immediately she felt it.

She felt Jane.

Even though, and she hadn't confessed it to Cho, in her bones, she already knew she wouldn't find him here.

He was long gone, she'd been sure …

… but his essence lingered.

And there were clues.

The desk drawer was open, just enough to accommodate a deft hand. A bent paper clip lay on the desktop which was otherwise empty, and there were handprints and scuffs in the thin film of dust that covered it. It was tempting to place her hand in the dusty shadow of his, but she couldn't.

She moved to the door at the back of the room, hoping but dreading.

Inside it was dark, but she didn't need to see.

As her eyes adjusted to the gloom it became evident that it was unoccupied and the space empty apart from racks of boxes, jars and bottles, freezers … and an upturned office chair.

Who needed a chair in a storeroom?

On the floor was a screwed up multicoloured wrapper of some sort and a half empty plastic bottle of water.

And there was a potent smell of human sweat … in a room used for food

She felt all the air rush out of her lungs and her knees briefly turn to jelly, before she found her faith again, by breathing in his stale scent, unpleasant but comforting in it's familiarity.

Jane needed her to be strong.

He'd been here. She was certain. But where was he now?

She scanned the dark room carefully before leaving, as she'd seen Jane do so often. Then, not knowing what it was she expected to find, she did it again for luck. Then she left.

It was a relief to retreat to the comparative brightness of the office where the air was fresher and where she had noticed there was another door. She'd wondered what was behind it. But because she knew Jane would want her to, she scanned this outer room methodically once more too. Only then did she open the door.

It wasn't where he was, she knew. A waste of precious time.

But a smiling voice whispered suddenly in her ear.

Leave no stone unturned Lisbon, leave no door unopened.

The door creaked as it swung inward to reveal a bathroom with a dirty mirror.

Obvious really.

The mostly tiled room was cool and she was hot, she supposed the stress was getting to her, and as she stood in front of the mirror channeling Jane and trying to stay calm, her warm breath began to condense onto the cold glass. A pattern began to form. Someone had been scribbling with the used bar of soap that sat on the basin.

Letters appeared in the mist, indistinct at first, but then …

Lisbon breathed in and gently puffed the warm exhalation onto the emerging shapes and, as they revealed themselves to be what she knew them to be, her heart fluttered painfully in her chest.

P J … it said PJ

Patrick had left her confirmation that he had been here.

He had known he might have to run or worse that he might be taken away against his will, so he had left a sign.

She dashed out into the sunlight and ran right into Mrs. Jenkins who was hovering menacingly just outside the door, watching the methodical Cho complete his search.

Cho had been silent. He had not mentioned to Ma that he had spotted identical sets of screw holes in each door where it was obvious padlocks had been removed.

And as he'd entered and exited each room and had given no indication that he'd found anything amiss, her confidence had grown, bolstered by the undeniable fact that the snooty lady cop wouldn't find her missing husband on her property anyway.

The game wasn't yet up … until it was … in the form of Jane's angry little princess.

The blazing fury that exploded from the office almost bowled the wiry little woman off her feet.

"Where the hell is he Mrs. Jenkins," Lisbon demanded. "What have you done with my husband?"

Ma regained her balance and her composure quickly and stood her ground, her cold eyes now showing not a hint of guilt, save the way they flicked briefly to the swinging door.

"I don't know who you mean," she bit out calmly. They had to show her evidence before she would break. Until then she would give them nothing. "I keep telling you, there's only me and my son and our employees … and they're hard at work."

Lisbon's eyes too showed only cold determination. She had evidence, but it would wait. She needed this harridan to confess and tell her where her husband was.

Cho came to stand between the two diminutive females. Lisbon, struggling to restrain her natural anger and Ma, building her wall of delusional denial higher and higher … but it was obvious to him now that the higher the walls rose up, the thinner and more fragile they became. It was almost time to watch them crumble. Her too calm facade was ready to fracture.

Taking out his phone he caught Lisbon's eye with a subtle nod across the yard.

"We should take this discussion to the house ladies."

And so they did.

As they walked he issued orders to the cops waiting patiently outside the property, no doubt badmouthing the FBI for their lack of inclusivity and arrogance.

The rookie who he'd initially spoken to on the phone would come to help them search the house while the rest went to round up whoever was in the workshop. They would have the menial task of supervising and gathering whatever information was forthcoming until Cho was would do their bit, then clean up after the suits had gone and get no credit for it. There was no love lost there.

Two minutes later a petrified Ma sat hunched at the kitchen table with Lisbon grim faced and silent in the seat opposite her.

Ma looked blankly down at the worn out hands clasped tightly in front of her and Lisbon stared at Ma … at the top of her bowed head.

Cho briefed the young officer at the other side of the room, then came to sit beside Lisbon. There would be no interrogation until the house was searched, but he would not leave the two women alone together.

"I think Agent Lisbon would appreciate a drink ," he observed.

Ma straightened and rose slowly, sullenly pushing her chair back so that it scraped harshly on the tiled floor.

Lisbon watched as the old woman retrieved random mugs from the drainer.

"Not decaff," she said sharply.

Ma ignored her and carried on.

"We'll find him. Don't worry." Cho said softly when Ma seemed absorbed in spooning coffee into an ancient pot without spilling the grounds.

But Lisbon didn't divert from the focus of her attention, glaring at Ma but hissing her thoughts through gritted teeth to her colleague. "I'll kill her."

"Let's find him first."

"She's nuts Cho."

This forced Cho's lips to quirk uncharacteristically into the shadow of a smile. He'd always admired Lisbon's chutzpah. "Yeah," he said. "That's why she'll break."

By the time coffee was brewed and Ma was once again sitting at the table, head bowed and silent, footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Moments later the fresh faced rookie appeared. With an enthusiastic grin he held aloft two items.

"I found these in a little bedroom on the top floor," he declared. "Didn't think they looked right. The coats in the hall are much bigger and I figured the man of the house wasn't the type."

Three sets of eyes snapped to the figure in the doorway. More specifically to the things in his hands.

And that was when Ma's resolve and the shield she'd hidden behind for so many years finally shattered.

She could have told most of the truth. She could have bluffed it out. She could have admitted that the man had stayed the night in that room, as he had. She could have claimed he hadn't ever been incarcerated in her storeroom when they confronted her with their well founded suspicions. He wasn't there now after all. She could have innocently denied all knowledge as to why their guest had disappeared and left his things behind.

She could have simply shrugged and said, "He came here, but he left."

But she'd already lied.

She'd already told them … I don't know Patrick Jane … except now they knew she did.

The lies had come full circle.

Her shoulders slumped and her face drained of all colour. She closed her eyes and let the tears fall.

Lisbon's face paled too, at the sight of her husband's belongings, but she steadfastly refused to cry.

Instead she clutched Cho's warm solid hand under the table and stared at Jane's suit jacket, the dark grey one with the fine navy check.

And she stared at his dead phone.

Cho's voice was emotionless. "Are you going to deny it now Mrs. Jenkins?"

Ma could hardly speak.

She couldn't bring herself to conceal the truth anymore ... but the pain of what she had done was almost too much to bear. It gathered in her chest and constricted her breathing so that the sounds that began eventually to emerge from the once brave, now broken woman were barely human, a barely intelligible whimper.

But those fragmented words, those repeated, disconnected sylables were, at last, the truth.

"I k.. ki … I told ... I told ... he's … Oh Gus … we ... Gus ….. " she sobbed into the old oak of her kitchen table.

Cho remained impassive. "We'll give you a moment to compose yourself then."

He turned his attention away from the pitiful Ma Jenkins and gave Lisbon's hand a quick squeeze before getting up to talk to the young officer. "I'll get a full search underway. You okay to talk to her?"

Lisbon straightened her shoulders and wiped away her welling tears before they fell.

"Sure … you go find him."

Cho paused in the doorway and he spoke again.

"I'll just be out in the hall … I'll be back."

Lisbon's eyes lingered on her friend's back and she dragged a grateful smile onto her face.

Listening to Cho's quietly commanding tones as he delivered succinct instructions, then to the solid steps of the young cop as he began a new more thorough search of the house, she soon felt grounded. She would not be beaten by this stubborn woman. Not when Jane's life was on the line.

She heard Cho liaising with the officer in charge … sending men in pairs to scour the property.

She waited dispassionately, patiently, studying the woman who potentially had Patrick's fate in her hands, wondering what had driven her to do such dreadful things, till, almost a full minute later, the slender shoulders stopped shuddering.

Ma lifted her head to reveal a grey, tear streaked face. But it was a calm face … the face of a woman resigned to acceptance of her fate.

"Do you want to tell me what happened Mrs. Jenkins? Are you going to tell me where my husband is now?"

When she eventually spoke Ma's voice was that of a completely different woman; controlled, quiet, softer and years younger.

"I told the truth. I don't exactly know where he is …. "

Suddenly she stopped, again almost unable to speak, and once again her eyes sought the comfort of the old oak table top. She clenched her fists and her eyes tight, then at the sound of movement out in the hall she found the strength to look up again, right into Lisbon's eyes.

"I told Gus to get rid of him," she whispered, the words so barely audible they might be misheard … maybe quiet enough to never have left her lips ….

Cho had returned to stand behind Lisbon's chair, "What are you saying Mrs. Jenkins? What did Gus do?"

"I watched him do it," she whispered.

Lisbon's mouth went dry. She felt panic begin to spin in her head. What had Gus done?

"What did he do, Mrs. Jenkins?"

"I heard it … "

"What did you hear?"

"The shot … I heard the shot … and I saw … "

Lisbon gasped, but every fibre of her body paid attention.

"What did you see?" Cho demanded.

"Gus took him off in the truck … I saw him put that guy in the back … but that's all I saw."

Lisbon let out a stuttering sigh of relief … she hadn't seen him dead … perhaps he wasn't … he couldn't be ….

"Colour, number and make, Mrs. Jenkins," Cho asked.

Ma stared.

"The truck, Mrs. Jenkins. I need details."

Blank eyes stared back. "It's black, old, I don't know … it's Gus's … Ford I think. I don't have nothing to do with it."

"Think . Open trailer? Box? Model? Year? … you must have some idea."

"Box … late nineties … used to be a delivery van."

Cho turned to the rookie who had already completed his search of the upper floors and was standing expectantly just outside the room.

"Get your boss to put out an APB on that. You know the situation. He may be still in the area, or already headed out."

Then he pulled out the chair next to Lisbon, eased it a little bit closer to her.

He stared hard at the petrified woman sitting opposite them for a long silent moment, then took Lisbon's left hand and held it out across the table.

"You see this ring? It's been on Agent Lisbon's finger less than four months."

Lisbon's eyes went wide. She searched Ma's troubled face with calm intensity and spoke three quietly desperate words.

"Is he dead?"