A/N: There's really no excuse for this update coming over two years from the last one (I can't quite believe it's been that long myself!) Anyway, to those still reading this firstly, thank you so so much for continuing to read my scribblings and secondly, here's the next chapter!

Also, for those who have asked recently, the next chapter of Caged Tyger I hope to have up for you next week and after that I'm starting on a Broken update.

SPOILER!

(If you're coming to this fic fresh and haven't read it before don't read the next note!)

(A very brief recap to those catching up: Jane & Lisbon have finally rekindled their teenage romance and are working together at the CBI. McAllister was arrested as Red John but, in this fic, it has transpired that Brett Partridge set him up. RJ is obsessed with Lisbon, not Jane. And currently, Lisbon and her team are currently mid plan to catch him with the proof that he is Red John).

Chapter 40 - Trickery

It was go time.

Lisbon's text alerted Cho who, upon reading it, nodded confirmation to Rigsby as they stood parallel against the kitchen counter in the safe house containing Partridge. Cho removed his jacket and hung it on a bar stool next to him as Rigsby raised his eyebrows as a gesture of good luck. Brett Partridge had remained on the couch in stony silence as a quiz show host babbled on and on in the television screen in front of him following The Karen Cross Show.

Cho strolled over to stand beside him and picked up the remote control from the coffee table. His gun holster remained on his person, SIG-Sauer P228 peeking out, unclipped – a blatant invitation to the serial killer - as the agent spoke casually, "Mind if I switch channels? Cardinals playing tonight."

He flicked through the channels slowly as Rigsby watched Partridge lick his lips, a surreptitious glance at the gun at his eye level. He urged him on wordlessly. Come ON! Take the bait, you son of a bitch.

Then, as if he'd heard him, Partridge quickly rose from the couch and pulled the gun from Cho's holster before scurrying backwards towards a wall. He aimed it at his chest squarely.

Rigsby reacted rapidly and drew his weapon on Partridge from across the room. Standing at a right angle to the killer, he pointed the weapon at his left side. "What the hell are you playing at, Partridge?!"

Cho shook his head as he held his hands up. "What is this? We're here to protect you. Put that gun down."

The other man chuckled with a gleeful grin full of relief. "There's someone I've wanted you to meet for a long time, Agent Cho."

"What's that supposed to mean? Put that down before I take it off you, you fool."

Partridge beamed, giddy and triumphant, and aimed the weapon at Cho's heart. "Oh, how I wish you were Agent Lisbon. But you'll do. For now. I'll get to her when I can really take my time and enjoy it properly."

"What's that supposed to mean? What are you saying?"

Red John chuckled, "Come on, you're better at simple deduction than that, Agent Cho. Take a wild guess what that means."

"Put the gun down!" Rigsby shouted, gun rounded on the killer.

Partridge spoke calmly and assuredly, a world away from his nervous forensic tech persona as he continued to aim for Cho. "If you kill me, Agent Rigsby, then I will kill your best friend."

Partridge moved his aim to Cho's right leg. "Or I just wound him if you pass me your weapon. My promise to you. Your choice."

"McAllister isn't Red John, is he?!" Rigsby gasped. "You are."

Delighted, "And they say you're the dumb one in your merry little band. Bravo, Agent Rigsby."

"But-but how-?"

Partridge sighed dramatically, absently waving the gun in front of him from Cho's heart to leg. "Okay, bored with this now. Decision time, Wayne."

Cho spoke passionately, "End him, Rigsby! That's an order! He's going to kill us both anyway!"

A beat passed before the clatter of Rigsby's weapon followed as it landed on the parquet floor in front of him. Defeated, "Cho, I'm sorry. Couldn't take the shot."

Partridge cut in, "Good decision, Agent Rigsby. Now, kick the gun over towards me."

Rigsby complied and held his hands up. "Now-now what?"

Partridge grabbed the other gun with an eager glint in his eye. He sneered, "When I said it was a good decision, what I actually meant was that it was a good decision for me."

With that, he shot Cho in the chest, propelling him backwards towards the window. A patch of burgundy stained his dark blue shirt within seconds.

Rigsby yelled, "You said-?!"

"Oh, shut the hell up, you idiot." Swiftly, he swivelled his aim to Rigsby and pummeled two bullets into his chest. The tall agent quickly fell to the ground with a loud grunt.

Tucking one weapon into the back of his pants and carrying the other in his hand, Partridge rushed past them towards the door of the apartment. "Sorry, can't hang around and watch the show, boys. Bleeding out is my favourite part of this. But those shots will only attract attention."

He opened the front door gingerly and aimed his weapon at another CBI Agent who was stationed at the end of the corridor and who running towards the room. He blasted a shot towards him, landing it before he could get a shot off in return before he hotfooted it in the direction of the stairwell.

Rigsby groaned and fell on his back as he opened his eyes. "Damn it, why'd he have to shoot me twice?! Those blanks hurt like hell even if I am wearing a vest under this shirt."

He got to his feet shakily. "Cho?"

No response.

"Cho!"

"Yeah," Cho coughed. "Here."

He moaned as he stood up. "Tell me about it."

He looked down at his shirt stained with fake blood. "Jane better reimburse me with a new shirt after this."

"Check on Ron," he ordered Rigsby as he dialled Lisbon's cell. She answered immediately, "Boss? Yeah, he's on the run. Yeah, we're both okay. Just a second, Rigsby's checking on him now."

Rigsby nodded to Cho as he came back into the room with the other agent on his tail who was rubbing his chest.

He continued, "Ron's good. Okay, boss, will do." As an afterthought he asked, "Hey, how did Jane know he'd go for chest shots and not head shots?" A quick shake of the head followed and he scoffed, "Yeah? Sorry I asked."

He hung up with an eye roll. Rigsby asked, "What did Jane say?"

"He said he was eighty percent sure he wouldn't shoot us in the head."

"Glad I didn't ask him the odds beforehand," his partner responded.

"Yeah, same. Okay, let's get after him."

Ron spoke as he dug into his inside pocket. "I have a piece for you both. No blanks in these ones."

"Great," they responded in unison.

Partridge, at the bottom of the service stairwell, threw open the Fire Door that led to an alley. He peeked out, slightly breathless after his jaunt down the stairs, assessed every window in the neighbouring building. No traps or hidden agents visible, he walked out with more confidence, slipped one gun into the inside pocket of Cho's jacket he'd purloined on his way out of the apartment, the other remained tucked into the back waistband of his pants. He cleared his throat, put the jacket on and brushed some locks of hair that had fallen over his forehead back again. The jacket was a little too large for him but with the right swagger he could pull it off so people wouldn't take notice. It was what he was good at – blending in. Blessed with unremarkable looks he could go most places unnoticed. Most people who met him in passing forgot they had within seconds. When he was younger the romantic disinterest from females had bothered him. As he'd aged, he'd began thinking of it as a superpower instead. Acting unthreatening - gormless, even - was a weapon in his arsenal, not a setback. Then, once he'd discovered it only aided him in his natural aptitude to be quite excellent at hypnosis and had the ability to make him appear as whomever he wanted his subjects to know him as, he felt invincible.

This was quickly followed by the realisation that he could be whomever he wanted to be, hypnosis or not. He needed training in forensics, he soon understood, after early kills. That had led him to his career choice. Also, uncoincidentally, a place where he could have influence, learn people's secrets and use them against them. Enrol others by covering up their wrongdoings. That had been the foundation of Blake, infecting carefully and slowly in the beginning until he had solidified a base. After that, well, it was easy. More followers meant more secrets, more crimes, more influence, more power.

Until now. But this wasn't going to be the end for him. Only Red John was over. But a new entity would spring up in his place, of that he was certain. It could even be fun in deciding on a new trademark for his kills, the face on the wall was long due for an overhaul.

Recalling his alter ego, he reminisced about a kill a few years before. He'd gone to the same coffee shop every day for three months and ordered the same type of tea on every occasion – but still, they asked for his name every time, the young vibrant girls working there barely looking him in the eye as they licked their lips and preferred to stare at the 'lookers' behind him, their lust ignited in a fraction of a second. He'd killed one of the baristas there because she got his order wrong because of just such a thing. He grinned at the memory, of following her home that night and her surprise when he woke her. She'd asked him why her as she'd cried, begged for him to stop as he'd ripped into her flesh with his blade.

"Because your actions today set me free," he'd answered. "And I thank you for that."

She still had no idea they'd ever met as he slowly extinguished her life.

He'd come in as normal the next day, ordered his usual and then ordered doughnuts for his team. He continued to visit that shop until the grieving of her fellow workers stopped feeding his bloodlust and became boring.

He sauntered out of the alley into the street, refreshed, ready to start anew in a different State. He just had to pick something up first. And take care of Teresa Lisbon. One for the road, as it were. And he could rule his empire from anywhere, and now he could extend it further too. This was turning into a win-win, really. He'd take care of McAllister in time, make him sweat a few more years first, maybe. Wait until he was good and relaxed and felt safe.

As he looked up and down the street, he noticed an African American woman in her forties unloading a dresser from the back of an old Chevy truck. "Need a hand with that, ma'am?" he'd asked in his most genial tone.

"Uh, sure, thank you," she beamed. "The Super was supposed to help but-"

"It's no problem. Moving into the building?"

"Yeah, divorce sucks." She pointed at his ringless wedding finger, "Don't get trapped like I was, keep that heart of yours locked up tight is my advice."

He laughed as he helped her move the dresser to the pavement. "Thanks, that's good advice."

She went over to press a buzzer at the front of the apartment building and talked into the speaker, "Finally! I called earlier and you said I could move some of my stuff in this evening-"

A gruff voice cut her off, "Yeah, lady, I remember. You need to sign the lease. Come on up. 4A."

She rolled her eyes at Partridge as the door opened with an accompanying loud buzz, "Charmer that one, huh?" She eyed the dresser and bit her lip. "Damn-"

"I'll wait here with it. It's no trouble. You go on, get the paperwork over with."

She beamed, "Really? You'd do that?"

"It's no trouble."

She reached in her purse as she held the door open with her foot. "Here, let me give you something for your time-"

He put a hand over hers as she searched for her wallet. "Please, let me restore your faith in men." Softly, "Go on now." His eyes bored into hers and she blinked a couple of times. "Uh-"

He smiled, thought to himself how easy it was to draw someone in. He just wished he had the time to acquire her as a disciple. She was so ripe for the picking he practically salivated. "Go," he told her, a nod towards the door.

"Th-thank you," she said, finally turning towards the door.

As the door closed behind her he grinned, the newly acquired car keys he'd lifted from her purse jangling in his hand. He whistled as he got into the driver's seat immediately, started the engine and pulled out of the parking bay. He blended into the evening traffic just as he heard the faint sounds of approaching sirens behind him.

Lisbon hung up her cell with a sigh of relief.

"See? Told you they'd be fine," Jane assured her confidently. "Everything is going to plan just like I said it would."

She glared at him sideways as he drove as she dialled Van Pelt. "Don't be so overconfident! I'll celebrate when he's in cuffs, and not before."

"Meh, you worry too much, we're in the home stretch, Teresa. I can feel it."

Ignoring him she talked to Grace. "Van Pelt? Please tell me the tracker is working."

She allowed herself a small smile as she nodded, "Great. Let me know if he changes direction from where we believe he's heading."

Jane's phone chirruped as she ended the call. He picked up immediately with a grin. "Hey Sam, yep you pulled it off. Bravo, good work. Not even a serial killer can turn down a damsel in distress, it seems. He took the truck and we're on him. Thanks, appreciate the assist. Talk to you later."

"She's okay?" Lisbon confirmed.

Confidently, "Right as rain."

"Your turn," Minelli told Shettrick as he joined LaRoche in his office. The Head of Media Relations cell phone had just begun to vibrate as it sat on the desk between them.

"Withheld number, looks like that's our guy right on cue," Minelli stated. He looked her in the eye. "Better make it good, Brenda."

She answered it with a shaky hand and put it on loudspeaker. Partridge's voice sounded, confident, smug. "Brenda?"

"Y-yes." She read the line prepared for her on a piece of paper on the desk in front of her. "How-how were you able to call me? It's not safe."

"Never mind that. I've been compromised. What have you heard?"

"What have I heard?! I heard you killed three CBI agents! You need to get out of the city and disappear. And never call me again."

Calmly, "Why aren't the killings being reported in the media? There's nothing on the news." A long pause. Dispassionately, "Am I being set up, Brenda? If I am this is your time to come clean. Don't forget what I have on you. And what I'll do-"

"Of course not! We-we're keeping it quiet. For now. That-that's all. Orders from the top. Minelli doesn't want a public panic. Or the publicity that we have the wrong man in custody. Again. He's confident his agents will catch you before news outlets get hold of the story. Plus, the families of those agents are still being contacted. But everyone is looking for you. Lisbon is at your apartment right now looking for clues where you might have gone. Don't go back there whatever you do."

"She didn't go to the crime scene? Those were two of her most trusted agents I took out."

"N-no. According to Minelli she said the best thing she could do for them is to catch you. Between us, he's worried as hell about her state of mind."

Partridge sniggered, "I bet."

"Look, it's only a matter of time before the FBI take over this manhunt. There isn't much time for you-"

He sneered, "Like I don't have ears there too."

"Are you sure you can count on them? Won't be long before Minelli goes to the Feds with this. You need to get yourself far away from Sacramento and California. You need to find somewhere safe and keep your head down."

"Who do you think you are to give me orders, Brenda? I'll leave when I'm ready and not before."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

She looked up at Minelli, wide-eyed. "He hung up."

Minelli scowled, "Well, let's hope he believed you."