Shawn sighed as he sat in his chair at the Psych office.  He was bored!  No cases had been called in for a week or so, Gus was on a retreat with Rachael and Max, Jules was on a stakeout with Lassie and even Henry was doing some other things.

True, he could be on the stakeout, but after pulling a huge prank on Lassie (which may have involved a fake baseball, Lassie’s Fusion and a prank call about kids playing baseball near said car) Lassiter had warned that if he saw Shawn or even heard his voice, he would shoot him; repeatedly.

So Shawn sat, bored and wondering what he should do.  He started playing Candy Crush on his iPhone to pass the time.

Not ten minutes later, his game was interrupted by a blocked call.  Shawn wondered if he should answer it, considering Gina Raypeck had been calling every so often, claiming he said he’d take her out again; which of course he denied vehemently. 

Steeling himself for another round of “Avoid the Crazy Woman”, Shawn answered the phone with a quiet hello.

“Victor Lighthouse?” asked a gravely voice.

Shawn blinked, “I’m sorry, who?”

“Is this Victor Lighthouse?” the voice asked again.

Shawn looked at his iPhone with shock.  No, they couldn’t be calling him again.  He told them he was done.  He’d quit.

“I’m sorry, but Victor Lighthouse died last year,” Shawn said.

“Well, you’d better dig him up, because he’s needed once again,” the voice answered seriously.

This wasn’t happening.  “Listen, he died.  Let him rest in peace.”

“I’m sorry,” the voice said, “but that won’t be an option.  Walk out to your Norton.  You’ll see why.”

There was a click and silence as Shawn looked out the window.  ‘My Norton?’ he thought as he got up and did what the voice said.

Outside, attached to his Norton, was a note.  Shawn looked around, trying to *see* anything out of the ordinary.  People were walking up and down the boardwalk in shorts and tanks or tees.  It was, possibly, the hottest day of the year.

Opening the note, Shawn read silently.  His eyes widened as he dropped the note, raced inside to grab his helmet, then jumped on his bike and sped off; note in hand.

Shawn,

I realize you said you were done, that you had quit when everything was over last year.  Problem is, you never really left the Agency.  I’m sorry to have to call you in, but there’s been a blip on the radar.  Someone from your past has re-entered the country and has his sights set on you.  Jacques Pierre; the most dangerous terrorist you ever encountered. 

I’m sorry, Shawn, but you are being called back.  It’s an order from the head of the CIA. 

Seamus Peters, CIA Intelligence.

Shawn raced through the streets on his bike, weaving in and out of traffic.  He was heading straight to the SBPD. 

‘Just what I need.  A call back,’ he thought as he turned into the parking lot.  The police station loomed in front of him.  He hoped that Lassie and Jules were inside and not still on stakeout.

He rushed inside, seeing Buzz standing by the information desk.

“Buzz!  Are Lassie and Jules here?” he asked frantically.

“Well, they walked in a few minutes ago.  I wouldn’t get near Lassiter, though.  He said something about you, a gun and being shot multiple times.  He’s still not over the prank,” Buzz replied.

“Where are they, Buzz?” Shawn asked.

Buzz looked a little surprised that Shawn didn’t comment on the prank that was now the talk of the station.  He merely pointed toward the Chief’s office.

“Thanks!” Shawn called as he ran toward Karen’s office. 

Normally, he would’ve waltzed in, acting like he’d been drawn there by the spirit world.  Even though Juliet knew now about his hyper-observant gift, he still put on the show for Lassie and the Chief. 

Now, however, he burst in with the note in his hand.  “Chief!  Lassie!  Jules!” he cried.

“Mr. Spencer!  How many times have I told you to knock?” Karen asked loudly.

“Spencer!  You owe me money for my car!” Lassie said with anger.

“I’m not here for any of that.  Here, Chief, read this,” Shawn said, handing the note over to Karen.

Ever since the gang had found out what Shawn had been doing for the few years before he returned to Santa Barbara, they had never spoken about it.  Especially since last time, when they went through a whole period of thinking Shawn was dead. 

The Chief’s eyes widened as she read the note.  She looked up at Shawn with a questioning glance.

“Is this what I think it is?” she asked.

“Let me see that,” Lassiter asked as he took the note.  He read it over, then looked at Shawn.

“You’re being called back?” he asked in surprise.

“Yeah, even though I said no more missions.  The strange thing is, that note isn’t in code.  It’s straight forward.  Seamus would never do that,” Shawn said, taking the note from Lassie’s hand.

Juliet had a fearful look in her eye, “Shawn, why would they call you back?”

Shawn sighed and handed her the note.  While she read, he began to tell them the story.

“Just before I became an agent, I had just settled down in D.C. and was looking for a job.  I found one at this French restaurant owned by Jacques Pierre as a cook,” Shawn began.

“You were a cook in a French restaurant?  And you claim you can’t cook at home?” Juliet asked.

“That’s beside the point.  It turned out, Jacques was an international arms dealer, selling weapons to our enemies for loads of money.  The restaurant turned out to be a front for his operations and I was smack dab in the middle.  One day, just before the restaurant opened, agents came bursting in and arrested everyone in site, including me.  They threw us all in separate interrogation rooms and went through our testimony with a fine tooth comb.  While they were questioning me and two other cooks, Jacques escaped.  Turned out, he was a master of disguise.  He’d snuck out unnoticed,” Shawn explained.

“How does that figure with you getting into the CIA?” Lassiter asked.

“Well, I informed them that I could find Jacques due to my abilities.  Due to my background and the fact my dad was a cop, they let me take the CIA test.  I passed and presto!  Agent Spencer, CIA Clandestine,” Shawn answered.

“You obviously never found him,” Lassiter said with a smirk.

“Well, more important things came up, Lassiefrass.  Like September 11th, 2001?  All agents were reassigned to find the members of Al Qaeda.  Jacques was a freakish footnote compared to those guys,” Shawn said.

Juliet looked at Shawn with a frown on her face, “Shawn, do you have to go undercover?”

“No, not this time,” came a familiar voice.  They all turned to see Seamus Peters standing there, a scruffy beard on his features.

“Collins?  What are you doing here?” Shawn asked.

Seamus/Collins smiled, “Covering your butt as usual, Spence.  I’m kind of surprised you showed them the note.  I figured this would be a two man operation.  No civilians,” he said.

“They aren’t civilians.  They are cops, and some of the best out there!” Shawn insisted.

Collins tsked, “Fine.  But they can’t know everything.  They don’t have clearance.”

“Understood.  Sorry, Lassie, Jules, but I won’t be able to share everything with you,” Shawn apologized.

“Like you’ve ever shared everything before,” Karen stated.

“Ouch!” Shawn said, holding his hand over his heart.

“Spence, let’s head back to the Psych office.  Maybe you could get a *feeling* about where Jacques may be.  We can also talk about some other things,” Collins said.

Shawn nodded, “Right.  Chief, I’ll keep everyone as informed as I can.  Keep your beepers on!”

With that, Shawn left with Agent Collins out the doors. 

As soon as they left, Shawn looked at Agent Collins with a flash of anger in his eyes.  They reached Collins’ car before Shawn spoke.

“I can’t believe you’d do this.  I told you and the entire division I quit!  Why are you insisting I be the one to capture Jacques?”

“Because you’re the only one who could see through his disguise, Spence.  I mean, your hyper-observant gift is essential to this!  That’s how you found him last time!” Collins said as they climbed into his car.

Shawn sat down and shut the door.  He looked at Collins, the anger still flashing in his eyes. 

“Look, Spence, I understand that you wanted to live your life here in Santa Barbara.  I can see that Psych is doing really well.  But, you’re an agent first.  You have been for years, and you will be for the rest of your life.  That’s the contract you signed in 2000, Man.  You’re the best we’ve got!” Collins exclaimed.

“Listen, Seamus, I’m not happy at all about this.  I haven’t spoken about the CIA since I ‘came back from the dead’ last year.  Nobody has.  Jules and I have been on thin ice lately, and this may just send me crashing down again,” Shawn said, watching the world fly by.  Seamus was going awfully fast.

“Thin ice?” Seamus asked.

“Yeah, she found out I wasn’t really a psychic.  Considering I lied by omission, she had a hard time forgiving me.  She’s still on the wall about the whole thing, even though we’re dating again.  She’s having trust issues,” Shawn explained.

“I guess I can’t blame her.  I still can’t believe that anyone would fall for you being psychic.  We would’ve kicked you to the curb if you’d said that when we had you in interrogation that day,” Seamus replied as he turned a sharp corner toward the Psych office.

“Oh, please!  You were begging for my help when he escaped!” Shawn insisted.  He looked in the side view mirror and noticed a small, red car behind them.

“Bogie,” Seamus said. 

“I see him now.  Take the cut off up ahead.  We can lose him there,” Shawn suggested as he shifted in his seat. 

Seamus took the left turn and headed down to the interstate.  Just before he got on the ramp, he turned the car right onto a dirt road that led to a construction site.  The little red car followed at matched speed.

“Well, this guy’s incorrigible, isn’t he?” Shawn said, watching the red car fish tail behind them.

Shawn’s eyes focused on the road ahead.  He saw a small path about 600 yards in front of them.

“Take a sharp right up ahead,” Shawn stated. 

Seamus did so, and fish-tailed as the back wheels caught up to the front.  The red car followed right behind, gaining on them with increased speed.

“He’s gaining on us.  Please tell me you carry a spare gun in this car,” Shawn said as he watched the car behind.

“Glove compartment,” Seamus directed.

Shawn reached in and pulled out a 9mm pistol.  He checked the chamber and saw it was loaded.  He pulled back the hammer and readied it to fire, just in case.

“Stop the car up ahead, Collins,” Shawn instructed.

Seamus looked at him, nodded, and slammed on the brakes.  Shawn lurched forward, bracing himself against the dash of Seamus’ car.  The red car didn’t stop and slammed into them, pushing them forward toward a cliff.

“Okay, not the way I wanted to cure my boredom!” Shawn said.

“Shoot out his tire!” Seamus cried, grabbing his own gun and readying it.

Shawn managed to roll down the window and turn to face the red car, which was revving for another round of bumper cars.  He aimed and fired toward the front right tire.  It went flat in seconds.

Seamus aimed for the left tire and did the same.  The car now had two flat tires in the front.  However, it didn’t stop the driver from racing forward again, slamming into the older car.  Shawn watched as they moved within inches of the cliff.  Two hundred feet below was solid rock. 

“Okay, we have to get out of this car, now!” he said to his partner.

“Roger that, Spence.  On the count of three.  One, two, three!” Seamus cried. 

Both men opened their doors in sync, jumping out either side and rolling away from the car as the red car slammed into them one more time.  Seamus’ old car took a nosedive down into the rock quarry below.  Shawn carefully peered over the grass and saw a large gentleman step out of the red car and walk toward the cliff.  He bent over to see if the car had gone over.  A crash and a loud boom indicated just what he wanted.  Satisfied, the large man walked back to his car and checked his tires. 

Grumbling, he took out a cell phone and dialed someone to come pick up his car.  He looked all around, not seeing Shawn or Seamus hiding in the tall grass beside the road. 

Shawn could see Seamus moving ever so carefully, crawling toward a rock nearby.  He watched his CIA partner as he stood up slowly, keeping an eye on the man who’d run them off the road.

Shawn took this as a sign to follow and stood up slowly himself, gun aimed at this dude.  He felt a small twinge of pain in his shoulder, but thought nothing of it as he positioned himself in a firing stance, just like his father had taught him so many years ago.

“CIA!  Freeze!” Shawn shouted.

The man turned around, hands in the air.  The phone was still on and Shawn zoomed in on it.  The caller ID said “Pierre”.  For a fleeting moment, Shawn thought it was Pierre Desperaux, but knew it wouldn’t be the case.

Seamus stood up at that time and pointed his gun, “Hands behind your head and up against the car!”

The man did as he was instructed, dropping the phone in the process.  He leaned against the car, his hands clasped together behind his head. Seamus walked up to him, gun still trained on the guy.  He motioned to Shawn, who walked forward.  He kept his hyper-observant eyes on the guy to make sure he wouldn’t pull a fast one.

“What’s your name?” Shawn demanded.

“What’s it to ya?” the guy said sarcastically.

“What’s your name and who do you work for?” Seamus asked.

“I don’t work for no one!” he replied.

“Then,” Shawn raised his hand to his temple, “Who’s Pierre?”

Seamus smirked, knowing this was Shawn’s process here in Santa Barbara. 

The guy looked spooked, “You’re that psychic guy, aren’t you?” he asked finally.

“Shawn Spencer, psychic detective.  Who’s Pierre?  Is he the one that ordered you to run us off the road?”

“Yeah, he did,” the guy answered.

Shawn loved hearing the nervousness in the guy’s voice, “What’s his real name?”

“I don’t know, I swear!” he said.

Shawn looked closely at him, then nodded to Seamus, “It’s all right.  I sense you’re telling the truth.  You are under arrest, though.”

Seamus slapped some cuffs on him and sat him in the backseat of his own car.  He grabbed the phone, in which that “Pierre” had hung up, and dialed the SBPD.  After a few minutes of talking with the dispatcher, he handed the phone over to Shawn.

“It’s Juliet.  She wants to talk to you,” he said. 

Shawn took the phone and put it to his ear, “Jules?  What’s up?”

“Shawn, are you all right?” she asked worriedly.

“Yeah, we’re fine.  Some guy tried to run us off the road, but we got out before the car fell off the cliff.”

“Fell off the cliff?” Juliet exclaimed.

Shawn flinched at the tone Juliet was using.  It was her ‘What do you mean’ tone.  She only used it when she got angry.  By the sound of her voice, she was ticked off.

“Jules, sweetheart, don’t worry.  We’re fine.  Seamus and I both are okay,” Shawn tried to assure her.

“Shawn, I don’t like this,” Juliet voiced her concerns.

She suddenly heard two gunshots and the phone went dead.  Juliet’s heart began to pound.

She hung up her phone, grabbed her keys and ran out the door.  Lassiter watched his partner for a beat, then ran after her.

“O’Hara?  Where are you going?” he called after her.

Juliet turned toward him, her eyes filled with tears, “Shawn was talking to me when two gunshots rang out.  The phone went dead.”

“How does he get himself into those types of situations?” Lassiter asked.  He looked at O’Hara and put out his hand, “I’ll drive.  I overheard the dispatch.  I know where they are and you are in no condition to drive.”

Juliet looked at the keys, looked back at her partner and nodded.  She handed them over and opened the passenger door.  Sitting down, she took a deep breath and buckled her seat belt.  She was shaking like a leaf.

“I hope he’s all right,” she said, more to herself than to Lassiter.

Carlton drove through the streets, keeping an eye on his partner the entire time.  He didn’t like the look she had on her face.  It was pure fear. 

He thought about it this way; Yes, he hated Spencer for some things, but he knew that O’Hara loved the psychic a lot.  He knew that if something happened to him, she’d be out of it for who knows how long?  She probably would never be the same again. 

He pushed down the accelerator and turned on the siren, just to get to the site Agent Collins called from sooner.

Juliet watched her partner out of the corner of her eye.  She knew he was concerned about Shawn as much as she was.  She was still shaking, hoping that what she heard isn’t what played in her mind.  A picture of Shawn lying dead filled her vision.  She shivered and shook her head to clear the image.

‘No, he’s fine.  He’s alive and well.  He’s not dead,’ she thought as Carlton rounded a corner almost on two wheels.  She noticed he turned on the siren and was racing through red lights and stop signs.

“Carlton, why are you going so fast?” she asked.

“So we can see if Spencer and Collins need our help.  Are you okay to fire your weapon if need be?”

Juliet took a deep breath and let it out slow, “If anyone has hurt Shawn, they’ll be running from me.  Let’s go, partner,” she replied, drawing her weapon and pulling back the hammer.

A few moments later, Lassie came upon where Collins had called for backup.  He skidded to a halt and saw the red car sitting near a cliff.  One man was on the ground, one kneeling next to him.  Carlton could see a third man in the car.

Juliet couldn’t tell who was who in the distance.  She slowly got out with her weapon aimed.  Like the first time she drew her gun, she was shaking.  A thought came to mind: The first time she did draw her weapon in Santa Barbara, Shawn had been sitting right there and asked her if it was her first time.  She had replied with a maybe and ran out before he could speak again.

Now, eight years later, she was shaking and hoping she’d hear Shawn’s joking tone about her gun shaking like they were in an earthquake.

The closer they got, the more was revealed.  Shawn was the one kneeling, much to Juliet’s relief, but they couldn’t see who was in the car or on the ground. 

Shawn looked up when he saw Jules and Lassie approaching.  He looked down at the body and back up with tears in his eyes.

“Stay there!  There’s a sniper somewhere nearby!” He cried, hoping they’d listen to his orders. 

“Who’s down?” Lassie asked.

“Seamus.  He’s dead,” Shawn called out. 

“Who’s in the car?” Juliet called back.

“The guy who tried to run us off the road.  Still don’t know his name,” Shawn said as he wiped his eyes with his arm. 

“Can you see the sniper anywhere?” Lassie asked.

Shawn looked around, trying to use his hyper-observant eyes to detect anything out of the ordinary. 

Without warning, two more shots rang out.  Lassie and Jules ducked by the Crown Vic, hoping to avoid any stray bullets.  Shawn stayed behind the red car.  After Seamus went down, he saw that his friend and colleague had been shot from the West.  He’d been standing on the East side of the car.

Shawn looked carefully through the window.  Inside, he saw that the man they’d arrested was now dead.  Shot in the head.  The glass had shattered, littering the floor and seats with small pieces now covered in the man’s blood. 

Looking up, Shawn scanned the West side of the quarry.  His eyes finally detected movement.  Knowing his gun wouldn’t shoot that far, he ducked down and looked over at Lassie.  Using movements only, he motioned that he could see the sniper on the west side of the excavation site.

Lassie understood everything ( slightly amazed that Spencer knew the hand gestures) and motioned over to his partner for collaboration.  Juliet looked up and over, spotting the sniper moving fast, toward the side of a hill near the site. 

She turned and cocked her head toward him, indicating he was on the run to Lassiter.  He, in turn, relayed the message to Spencer.  Shawn turned and saw that the sniper was in shooting range now.

Moving his position, Shawn raised the 9mm and aimed at the moving man.  With pinpoint accuracy, he shot two shots.  The man went down in a heap.

“Shawn?  Did you just shoot a moving target?” Juliet asked in astonishment just after the man fell.

“Yep.  Comes with the training.  I’ve been a crack shot since I first learned how to shoot.  That was back in 1990, I think,” Shawn replied as the three headed carefully for the now fallen sniper.

When they came upon him, Lassiter bit his lip to keep from gasping.  Somehow, Spencer had shot this man in the shoulder and the calf.  Enough to knock him down, but not kill him.  The fact he was a moving target and almost out of range for the small 9mm Spencer was carrying made Lassie think about a few different times he’d seen Shawn with a gun.

The time Shawn had been kidnapped and shot sprang to mind first.  When Shawn demanded his dad give him Lassie’s gun because he had a shot, Lassie couldn’t believe it.  Not only had the younger Spencer jumped on his brand new vehicle at the time, now he was having delusions of Grandeur.  After the truck was stopped, Lassiter almost gaped at the fact that Shawn *did* shoot with accuracy into the guy’s radiator.

“What do we do with him?” Juliet asked.

Shawn looked at Lassie before answering, “I have to interrogate him first.  He just shot and killed an agent and a suspect in a federal crime.  Plus, I think he may have ties to Jacques Pierre.  That tattoo on his neck is a sign of the old gang that the Frenchman led.”

“I’ll radio for an ambulance and the coroner.  I’m sorry about Agent Collins, Spencer,” Lassie said genuinely. 

“Thanks, Lassie,” Shawn replied.  He holstered the gun and grabbed the sniper roughly.

“You are going to tell us everything you know, or that ambulance will be carting you to the morgue instead of the hospital, Dude,” Shawn growled.   

An hour later, the sniper sat in the interrogation room with a stoic look upon his face.  He’d already been to the hospital and had been treated for the bullet wounds (upon closer inspection, Shawn had purposely grazed the man instead of giving the guy two bullets to deal with.)

Shawn sat across from him, the same stoic look on his features.  He’d been at it for twenty minutes, trying to coax something, *anything* out of this guy.  His usual ‘psychic detective’ line had no effect, nor did his ‘I’m just like you’ bit.  Sighing, Shawn realized he’d have to use some, questionable, tactics.  Things he hadn’t used since his days in D.C.

“All right.  Obviously you aren’t going to say much more than your name.  I get it, I do.  Stay quiet to make sure you stay alive.  The problem is, though; I’m not a very patient man.  My patience is wearing super thin.  So thin, in fact, you can see right through.  I’m done being nice.  So,” Shawn reached out and grabbed the guy by the collar, pulling the guy’s face to his own, “No more Mr. Nice guy.  Comprende, Amigo?”

The guy merely smirked, which made Shawn a little hotter under his collar.  He reared back his hand, about to punch the guy into submission when the Chief’s voice came over the speaker.

“Mr. Spencer!” she warned.

Shawn looked at the two way mirror, “He’s not talking, Chief.  I’m going to make him talk!”

Lassiter stood on the other side of the glass with a smile on his lips.  He actually liked this Shawn.  None of that pansy psychic junk, just down to the proverbial brass tacks. 

“Let my detectives come in and help!” Karen said, more ordering than asking. 

Grumbling, Shawn let the guy go as Juliet and Carlton walked in, both with their arms crossed over their chests in irritation.

“See these two?  They are the best detectives possibly in the country.  You will talk, or else,” Shawn warned.  He got up and gestured for Juliet to sit down.  Lassiter took the seat next to her and sat himself down. 

Even though Jules and Lassie were in there, Shawn wasn’t going to give up on his own tactics.  It was a game he and Seamus used to play.  Not really Good Cop, Bad Cop, more like Bad Agent, Psycho Agent.  He figured, after a few questions, Lassie might just get the picture.

“Who do you work for?” Lassie asked.

“My name is Jean Luc,” he said in his French accent. 

“Yes, we’ve established your name.  How about something else?  Anything else?” Juliet asked. 

Shawn could hear the annoyance in her voice and smiled briefly.  She was cute when she got angry.  He cleared his throat.

“Listen, Jean Luc.  We don’t really care that you were named after the captain in Star Wars,” Shawn said.

“Star Trek, Shawn,” Juliet corrected.

“Star Trek?  I thought that was about big, enormous bugs attacking earth?” Shawn asked, his temper temporarily forgotten.

“No, that was Starship Troopers,” Lassiter said, a small smile on his face.

Juliet and Shawn looked at Lassiter in surprise.  Jean Luc cleared his throat, which made the three of them turn their attention back on him.

Shawn then thought of something a little unorthodox.  Instead of the Bad Cop, Psycho Cop, he turned to a different tactic.  One that he was sure would raise a few eyebrows, but would, hopefully, get some more info out of the guy.

“Dites-moi, mon ami, voulez-vous parler un peu français?” he spoke in French.

Lassiter and Juliet looked shocked.  Jean Luc looked at him with curiosity, then answered.

“Oui, je parlerais plutôt français.”

“Qui travaillez-vous?” Shawn asked.

“Je travaille pour Greenwood Enterprises,” Jean Luc answered, looking a bit more comfortable.

The name instantly hit a nerve with Shawn, “Greenwood Enterprises?  That’s the false company that Jacques Pierre used to fence his weapons!”

“Oui. Il dirige toujours l'entreprise sur un ancien entrepôt sur r03;r03;10th Street,” Jean Luc offered.

Shawn nodded, keeping a mental note until later about the location of the warehouse.  He decided to ask a different set of questions, hoping this guy would be as generous with the answers.

“Maintenant, pourquoi avez-vous tué les deux hommes avec moi à l'heure?”

“On m'a ordonné de. Agent Collins était une cible, tout comme l'homme de la voiture,” Jean Luc said.

“Okay, can we please speak some English here?” Lassie asked, irritated.

“Sorry, Lassie.  I get carried away sometimes,” Shawn apologized.  He looked at Jean Luc with an angry face.

“What?” the sniper asked.

“You said Agent Collins was a target.  Who was the man in the car?” Shawn asked.

“Pepe Dupere,” Jean Luc said finally.

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.  I’ll go look up his name in the database,” Juliet said as she got up.

“You won’t find him in your database,” Jean Luc announced.

Juliet turned, “Why not?”

“He’s a ghost.  Pepe Dupere was just a code name.  No one but Jacques Pierre himself knows the man’s true name,” Jean Luc answered, glancing at Shawn.

“Except Agent Collins, who’s now dead thanks to you,” Shawn added.

Jean Luc nodded, “You would be correct, Agent Spencer.”

Shawn felt his blood boil, “Lassie, get him out of here before I do something I regret.”

Lassiter got up and grabbed Jean Luc roughly, “Gladly.”

“Only one more thing, Agent Spencer,” Jean Luc said.

Lassie held him still as he continued, “There’s more at play here than what you know.  Not even the great Agent Shawn Spencer will know what comes next.”

Lassie dragged the man out, leaving Shawn to his thoughts.  Even though he didn’t show it, those last few words haunted him.

‘What did he mean by that?’ he wondered to himself as he left the interrogation room.  He suddenly stopped and turned. 

Looking underneath the table, he saw a tiny device attached to the table leg.  He recognized the material that held it.  C-4.

“EVERYONE CLEAR THE AREA!” Shawn shouted as he ran out.

A sudden explosion rocked the station, sending Shawn flying.

A fireball erupted from the roof of the SBPD.  Inside, everyone who wasn’t near the interrogation room grabbed onto the closest stable thing they could find. 

Lassie had been halfway to the holding cells, and was thrown forward with the force of the blast.  Jean Luc managed to get up and run right after.  Lassie lay unconscious. 

Juliet was at her desk, trying to look up any information possible.  She heard Shawn’s cries and got up just as the explosion happened.  She lurched forward and grabbed onto her desk for support.  She looked back to see fire emit from the lower levels.

“SHAWN!” she cried.  She went to run toward the stairs when a pair of officers held her back.

“Juliet!  Stop!” Karen said as she ran up to her best female detective.

“Shawn and Carlton are both down there!” Juliet sobbed.

“The fire department will be here in a minute,” Karen said, trying, unsuccessfully, to console Juliet.

Within ten minutes, the fire department was spraying the entire building with water as a safety precaution.  Juliet was standing near an ambulance, watching as they wheeled Carlton into it.  They still hadn’t found Shawn, and she was a nervous wreck.

“Don’t worry, O’Hara.  I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Lassie said as they put him inside the vehicle. 

She couldn’t help but notice the sound of Carlton’s voice; it was shaky and unsure.  He was just trying to make her feel better about the whole situation.

A moment later, as the ambulance holding Carlton drove away, a familiar voice rose above the noise of the water still falling onto the building.

“Look, I’m fine, okay?  It’s just a small burn!”

Juliet turned with a look of pure joy, “SHAWN!” she cried, running over to him.

She hugged him tightly and heard him hiss in pain.  She let go immediately and looked at him carefully.

“Sorry, Sweetheart.  I have a burn on my back from the blast,” he said, trying to smile through the pain.

“You should get that looked at, Shawn,” Juliet said.

“I’m fine.  Really.  Where’s Lassie?”

“He ended up with a concussion.  Jean Luc ran right after the blast.  He took advantage of the rest of us scrambling to get out of the station,” Juliet said sadly.

“He said too much, anyway.  No doubt he’ll be dead before the day’s out,” Shawn replied matter-of-factly.

“I’m trying to figure out how he got a bomb in there.  We searched him thoroughly.”

“He didn’t plant it,” Shawn said.

“How do you know?” Juliet asked.

“Simple,” Shawn answered, “I know Lassie would’ve checked him head to toe before bringing him into the interrogation room.  Besides, I saw myself he didn’t have any C-4 on him.  Hyper-observant gift, remember?”

Juliet nodded, but looked confused, “Well, if he didn’t plant it, who did?”

“Jacques Pierre.  He’s a master of disguise.  He probably waltzed right in, planted the bomb then walked back out.  No one would’ve paid any attention to him,” Shawn responded.

“Is he really that good, Shawn?” she asked.

Shawn nodded, “Yeah, Jules.  He’s really that good.”

A couple of hours later, Lassiter was released from the hospital with a mild concussion.  He was upset with himself that the criminal got away.  Shawn and Juliet were waiting for him as he exited the elevator and headed toward the outer doors.

“Did we get anything?” Lassiter asked as they piled into the Crown Vic. 

“No.  Not yet.  Shawn believes it was Jacques Pierre that planted the bomb,” Juliet said.

Lassiter looked at her, “How’d he get in the station?”

“Master of Disguise, remember?” Shawn said sarcastically. 

“No need to get snippy, Spencer,” Lassiter said, looking in the rearview mirror. 

“Sorry, Lassie.  I’m just upset that he’s targeting us.  That son of a…” Shawn began to mumble.

“Targeting us?  Why us?” Juliet asked.

Shawn sighed, “Because you all are close to me.  I need you two off this case.”

Lassiter turned to look back at him with a glare, “You are in no position to give us orders, Spencer.”

“Actually, Lassie, I do outrank you.  I’m an agent, remember?”

“Not for the last year.  You quit, remember?” Lassie retorted.

“Detective Lassiter, by order of the US Government, I demand that you and Detective O’Hara stay off this case,” Shawn said seriously.

Juliet looked in the rearview mirror in shock but said nothing.  Lassiter did all the talking.

“Just like you usually do with Guster, I refuse to stay off a case that involves a bomb in the SBPD!” he almost shouted.

Shawn tilted his head slightly, *seeing* the sweat on Lassiter’s temple.  He wasn’t lying.  He’d investigate just like they would if it were a regular case.

“Fine, Lassie, but you and Jules answer to me.  Not Chief Vick and not my dad.  Is that understood?”

“You must be out of your flipping mind to think I’d answer to you.  I don’t know what kind of weird, twisted relationship you and O’Hara have, but I answer to the Chief!  Not to has-beens like you!”

Shawn was about to retaliate with a biting remark when Juliet screamed, “CARLTON, WATCH OUT!”

Lassiter swerved to avoid a woman who was walking in the middle of the street with a baby carriage.  Unfortunately, he was going well over the speed limit.  Suddenly, the Crown Vic tilted violently to the left.  The car went onto two wheels, then lurched even more.

As if by magic, the car was on its roof, then wheels, then roof, over and over until it came to rest fifty feet from the street in the middle of the median.  It had rolled seven times before stopping.

Lassiter was the first to recover.  He looked over at his partner, seeing a trail of blood dripping from her temple.  That’s when he noticed they had landed upside down.  He felt pain in his right arm, his left leg and his head.  With his left hand he reached up and felt something warm and wet on the crown of his salt and pepper hair.

‘Great,’ he thought.  He turned his attention to Spencer in the back seat.  The annoying CIA/faux psychic lay motionless, his arms dangling and touching the top; now the bottom, of the car.

“Spencer?  Spencer, can you hear me?” he asked.  No movement what-so-ever.  He turned his attention to O’Hara, who was slowly starting to stir.

“O’Hara?”

“Carlton, what happened?” she asked groggily.

“We flipped.  We’re upside down.  I’m going to try and radio…” Lassiter started, but was cut off by sirens in the distance.  Someone must’ve called the police right after the accident.

“What about Shawn?” Juliet asked, sounding more awake and panicked.

“I don’t know.  He isn’t responding,” Lassiter said, looking back at Spencer. 

Juliet sniffed the air, “What is that?”

Lassiter took a deep breath, “Smells like fertilizer,” he said.  His nose wrinkled at the scent.

Another smell wafted to the duo; gasoline.  The car had sprung a leak.  Juliet and Lassiter both started trying to untangle themselves from their seats and crawl out of the car.  Juliet looked back at the unconscious, brown haired man.

“What about Shawn?” she asked.

“We’ll get him, just get yourself out first so you can help.  My right arm is broken,” Lassie said.

Juliet nodded, feeling the blood drip from her head.  Her seat belt came undone miraculously when she pushed the button.  She reached over and tried Carlton’s, only to find his was jammed. 

“In the glove box, there’s a utility knife.  It’s meant to cut through seat belts,” he said hurriedly. 

As quick as possible, Juliet reached into the glove box and pulled out the knife.  She began cutting when she heard shouting coming from the outside.

“Detectives?  Are you all right?” Buzz cried.

“STAY BACK, MCNABB!  There’s a gas leak and we smell fertilizer,” Lassiter yelled.

Buzz heard that loud and clear and ran to the fire chief to inform him of the danger.

Seconds later, the knife sliced the last bit of belt; freeing the Head Detective to where he could finally crawl out.  Juliet followed suit out her own window. 

Glass bit into their hands and knees as the crawled.  Lassiter hissed with pain, now knowing that his lower leg had taken the brunt of abuse.  It was broken.

Firemen and EMS ran in quickly, getting the two detectives out of harm’s way.  Juliet informed them that Shawn was inside.  One tall fireman ran back to the car and began to extract Shawn.  Seconds passed, making butterflies flutter in Juliet’s stomach.  She looked over at Carlton, who had a look of worry on his usually stoic face.

They couldn’t quite see what was happening on the other end of the car as the fireman was reaching in.  They saw some movement, looking like he was pulling Shawn to safety, when the car exploded.

“SHAWN!!!” Juliet cried.  Carlton held her back, tears of his own dangerously close to spilling over onto his cheeks.

Juliet buried her face into her partner’s chest,  her cries muffled by his shirt.  Her heart sank, threatening to drop into the pit of her stomach.  She felt herself drop down to the ground, her mind numb with grief.

“O’Hara.  Look,” Carlton said.

“No, I…can’t,” she breathed.

“Juliet,” he whispered.  She looked up, knowing he had hardly ever said her first name. 

Lassiter pointed toward the car, his eyes wide.  She followed his finger to find the fireman and Shawn slowly moving behind fireball that used to be the Crown Vic.  Shawn was conscious, but grimacing in pain as he put pressure on his left foot.  The fireman looked haggard, but was standing strong as he held Shawn up.

“Shawn?” Juliet whispered.  Her eyes filled with new tears; this time of joy and astonishment.  “SHAWN!” she cried, running toward him.  She stopped just short when she realized he was hurt.  Getting on his other side, she put his arm around her shoulder and helped him to the ambulance.

Lassiter shook his head.  ‘How in the hell did he survive that?’ he thought.  At that point, Lassie decided that, even though he was possibly the most annoying individual he’d ever met, he was one lucky SOB.  He was ready to kill the faux psychic himself not twenty minutes ago; now he was extremely relieved that Spencer was alive.

The EMTs took over for Juliet and the fireman, escorting Shawn to the awaiting ambulance.  One came over and looked Carlton in the eye.

“Detective, you and your partner should get checked out in the ER,” the young man said.

The pain in Lassiter’s leg flared up at that moment.  It made his decision much easier as he, held up by the EMT and Juliet, made his way to another ambulance.  Juliet jumped in with him.

“You’re not going with Spencer?” Carlton asked.

“They already left with him.  We’ll be meeting him there,” Juliet said as she took out her phone.  She was about to call Gus and Henry when something made her gasp.

“What is it?” Lassie asked.

Without a word, Juliet turned the phone toward him.  On it was a text message sent from an unknown number.

“Don’t get involved or you will be responsible for the death of Agent Shawn Spencer,” it said.

Juliet and Carlton didn’t speak again until they were safely in the hospital room.  Shawn was in another bed next to Lassie.  Juliet had been released after the stitches were administered.  She stayed to keep an eye on her boyfriend and her partner.

“I told you two to stay out of this,” Shawn said bitterly.  He’d been saying the same thing ever since he woke up in the hospital. 

Lassiter looked over at him from his bed.  He had tried to get another room; away from the annoying psychic agent, but the rooms were full, for the time being. 

“Shawn, who would send this?” Juliet asked, still looking at the text message on her phone.

“Who else?  Jacques Pierre,” Shawn replied. 

“I wonder who told him we were on this case?” Lassiter questioned.

“Possibly that Jean Claude character,” Shawn said, trying to scratch his arm under a cast. 

“You mean Jean Luc?” Juliet asked, handing him the scratching rod the hospital provided.

“I’ve heard it both ways,” Shawn said absentmindedly, accepting the rod and jamming it into the cast. 

Henry came in at that moment, with Gus tagging along.  Gus was the person of interest to Shawn, since the well-dressed man was carrying a bag from Loco Taco.  He set it down just out of the reach of his friend and set himself in a chair.

Shawn’s father acknowledged Lassiter and Juliet, then sat down himself.  Nothing was said for a few minutes, creating an awkward silence that made Shawn fidget in his bed. 

“Somebody say something.  I’m getting hungry with the smell from those burritos Gus brought!” Shawn finally broke the silence.

“You don’t get anything until you talk, Shawny-Boy,” Gus said, grabbing the bag.  He pulled out a burrito, peeled it deliberately slow and took a gigantic bite.  He chewed happily, closing his eyes as he savored it.

Shawn licked his lips, “Really, Gus?”

Gus, giving Shawn a defiant look, took another giant bite.  Lassiter grumbled something about ‘childish act’ and grabbed a file off the table next to him. 

“Kid, I get what’s going on, but why now?  Is there any reason for this Jacques to appear now?  You’ve been out of the CIA for years,” Henry said.

“I’m not sure, Dad.  He could’ve taken me out years ago, before I even came back to Santa Barbara.  Seamus knew, but he died before he could tell me everything.  I may need to call in a few favors again,” Shawn answered.  He looked over at Gus with a heartening glance, “Okay, I spoke.  How ‘bout some nourishment?”

Gus contemplated (taking another bite while he thought) then got up and handed the bag to Shawn with a nod.  Eager and hungry, Shawn grabbed out the burrito and peeled it quickly.  He took a big bite and settled into his bed happily chewing away. 

A nurse came in at that time, raising an eyebrow at the burrito Shawn was happily munching on.  Shaking her head, she walked over to Lassiter and started changing the IV.  Shawn looked over and saw that his bag was still full.  He watched the nurse for a moment, *seeing* different things, like the scar under her right cheek, the color of her eyes, the small mole beside her lip. 

Shawn stopped chewing.  Something familiar registered with the looks of this woman.  He put the burrito down on the table, swallowed the remainder in his mouth and motioned to his father.  He turned to Gus and did the same thing.

They didn’t move, but watched as the nurse calmly took the bag off the pole and replaced it; gingerly.  As if it would explode if dropped.  Shawn’s eyes widened as he zoomed in on the contents.  The label said morphine, yet there was another label underneath.  It read Cyanide. 

Grabbing the frame of the bed, Shawn crept out and limped over to the nurse, who had her back turned.  Henry was right behind.  Juliet, who had seen the look in Shawn’s eyes, watched carefully and made a move for her gun.  Lassiter watched, wondering what the hell was wrong with the Spencer’s.

Shawn jumped up (the best he could with a broken foot) and tackled the nurse before she re-inserted the IV into Lassie’s hand.  They both landed on top of Lassiter, who cried out in pain.  They had landed on his broken arm.

“Hey, what do you think you are doing?” the nurse cried out with a very thick French accent. 

“I’m sorry, say that again?” Shawn asked angrily.  He pulled the nurse up and pushed her against the wall.  Lassiter hissed in pain, but watched as the psychic roughed up the woman.

“What are you doing?” she repeated, her eyes searching around. 

Shawn looked at those eyes again, the icy blue color sent shivers down his spine. 

“Marie Dubois, I presume?” he asked, seething.

The ‘nurse’ relaxed a little and smiled wide.  Her teeth shone bright white as she spoke, “How are you, Agent Spencer?  I see you were in a little accident, no?”

“Trying to kill my friends doesn’t bode well for you, Marie,” Shawn said. 

“Kill?  I was merely getting their attention, Agent Spencer,” Marie replied innocently.

“With a bag of Cyanide?” Shawn slammed her back against the wall.

As if he’d been bitten, Lassiter jumped up out of bed and grabbed his gun that had been hidden next to him.  He carefully limped over and held the gun on Marie with his good hand.

“Cyanide?  Spencer, what the hell were you into with these people?” he asked, handing his cuffs to Juliet.  She walked over and slapped them on the woman’s wrist and tightened them.

“Those are a little tight, Detective O’Hara,” Marie said, wincing.

“Good,” she said shortly. 

Shawn released the woman and limped back to the bed.  After climbing in, he glared at Marie as he spoke.

“Where’s Jacques?” 

“You know better than I do, Agent Spencer.  You have known for years where he is,” she answered with a smile.

The others in the room looked at Shawn with questioning glances.  He shook his head, “Nice try, Marie, but that is a total lie.  I couldn’t possibly know where that SOB is.”

“Think back, Agent Spencer.  He’s been with you the whole time,” Marie said cryptically.

Shawn sat and stared at her, thinking back to his days in the CIA.  Images flashed, but nothing came to light before the doctor walked in and saw the scene. 

“Call security down here.  She was about to pump Cyanide into me,” Lassiter said.

“Cyanide?  It says Morphine, Detective,” the doctor said, giving the bag a glance.

Shawn raised his finger to his head, “Doctor, I sense if you remove the Morphine label, you’ll see the Cyanide label underneath.”

The doctor looked closer and gasped.  He turned and left the room, coming back a moment later with three security guards.

Before they took Marie out, she turned to Shawn with a smile, “When you figure out where Jacques is, it’s sure to be explosive.”

The guards pushed her out as a real nurse came in and replaced Lassiter’s bag and IV.  He settled back in, feeling the effects of the drug quickly.  Juliet took this as a cue to leave and motioned that Henry and Gus should do the same.

“Jules, do me a favor.  Since I won’t be out for a couple of days, call this number,” he handed her a piece of paper, “It’s one of my old informants.  Just mention my name and my nickname, Spence, and he should be helpful.  If not, tell him this,” Shawn wrote something else on the paper.

“What is that?” she asked, looking at it with confusion.

“Just say it, but not where anyone can hear you.  It’s a code.  He’ll know what it means.  Okay?”

Juliet nodded, gave Shawn a kiss and walked out.  Henry followed, but Gus stood and stared at Shawn.

“What is it, buddy?” Shawn asked.

“Why Juliet?  Why not me?” Gus asked.

“Simple.  My old informant is super cautious.  A woman makes him drop his guard.  A man calling him would make him more suspicious and he’d clam up.  Besides, I have another job for you.”

“What’s that?”

Shawn began to give him explicit instructions on where to go and what to do.  Gus was to follow them to the letter and return after finishing his mission.

“Think you can do that?” Shawn asked a few minutes later.

Gus nodded, “You can count on me, Shawn.  See you in a few hours.”

Gus walked out the door, taking a deep breath and left the hospital with high hopes.

Lassiter waited until Guster walked out before speaking, “What kind of mission was that, Spencer?”

Shawn turned to his roommate, “If I’m right, a very important part of this whole case.  I just hope it’s not too late.”

Gus climbed out of the Blueberry, staring up at a rusty old sign near the edge of San Francisco Bay. 

‘Boy, if this is the place, Shawn was right.  It is run down,’ he thought as he stepped up to the door beyond the sign.

Gus adjusted his shirt, the holes prominent.  Shawn had told him to take some of Shawn’s old clothes and wear them instead of his normal casual wear.  The men Gus was about to meet weren’t very friendly and they would completely shut Gus out if they knew he wasn’t a lowlife.

Gus cleared his throat and was about to knock on the door when he realized knocking would immediately give him away.  He decided to walk around the back and see if he could get in another way.

Around the back he went, not knowing what he might find, but hoping he’d get some answers.

Juliet, in the meantime, was pacing back and forth in her living room.  She had started dialing three times the number Shawn gave her.  She kept hanging up, fearing she’d flub over what she was supposed to say, and then the informant wouldn’t give her a hint.

“Oh, just do it,” she finally said to herself, dialing the number quickly before she could change her mind.

Two rings then a click.  Juliet held her breath.

“’Ello?” a man said.  He sounded gruff and mean.

“Charlie Joe?” Juliet asked.

“Who wants to know?” he asked.  She could now hear a British accent in his voice, but it was faint.

“My name’s Jules.  I have a message for you,” she said. 

“Look, lady, I don’t take no calls from strangers,” he replied.

“Agent Spencer says to lighten up, Charlie,” Juliet said quickly.

There was silence on the other line.  For a fearful moment, she thought he’d hung up.  She then heard a slight cough.  She looked down at the paper.

“Spence is in trouble.  Jacques Pierre is back,” Juliet said.

“What?  That French loaf is back?” Charlie asked, “Who is this?”

“Jules.  I’m his…girl,” she said, trying not to sound like a cop.

“His girl?  He wouldn’t of given his girl my number,” Charlie insisted.

“Sometimes rainbows are in the middle of a snowstorm,” she read off the paper.

Another moment of silence.  Juliet still didn’t understand the code, but it seemed to have worked as Charlie spoke again.

“What does he need?” he asked, his voice a little lighter.

“Everything you can get on Jacques and his last known hideout,” Juliet said.

Gus, meanwhile, was still looking around the run down shack he’d been sent to by Shawn.  So far, he hadn’t seen any signs of life.  No lights were on, there was no noise except the water splashing against the dock near the back of the property.

He looked and finally found an open window near the back.  Well, not exactly open, more like locked until Gus smashed it with a rock.

‘That’s how I get in,’ he thought as he carefully climbed through; avoiding as much glass as possible.

Using a flashlight he’d brought, he began searching the old building; where at one point, Shawn stayed before coming home. 

Old papers littered the hallways as Gus trekked through, shining his flashlight into every room to make sure he was alone.  He was beginning to wish he had Shawn’s hyper-observant gift, because he had no clue what he needed to find.

A bookshelf sat in the corner of one of the rooms and Gus smiled as he remembered what he'd been told.

‘Find a file marked A 655689 in the back room by the old bookshelf.  It should be there, hidden in a small patch on the wall.  Look for a tiny line that marks the spot,’ Shawn’s voice echoed in Gus’ mind. 

He did as he was told, looking carefully at the wall by a rotting bookshelf.  There, about a foot from the doorway, was a small fracture.  With a small grin, Gus began to pry open the wall.

He never heard the whoosh of the lamp as it came down on his skull, knocking him unconscious.

Juliet had already made it back to the hospital to let Shawn know she’d gotten through to Charlie.  When she entered the room, her eyes rolled.  Lassiter and Shawn were bickering back and forth about what they would watch on the TV.

“I’m Head Detective, we watch Cops!” Lassie said.

“I’m the psychic, and I say we watch the Phineas and Ferb marathon!” Shawn whined.

“Cops!”

“Cartoon antics of Perry the Platypus!”

“Cops!”

“Candace busting her brothers!”

“COPS!”

The TV suddenly turned off, and both men looked over to see Juliet holding the remote and shaking her head in disbelief.

“Really?  Arguing over the TV?” she said.

“Jules!  How’d it go?” Shawn asked, the TV forgotten instantly.

“I think I did okay.  He said he’d have everything he could possibly find by tomorrow,” she replied.

“Charlie will, too.  He digs deep,” Shawn said.

Lassiter looked over at Spencer, “How do you get all these informants?”

Shawn smiled, “I have my ways, Lassie.  Being an agent, I had to dig up a lot of what I couldn’t, sense.”

He glanced at Juliet, who was walking over to check Lassie’s medication.

“I still don’t get how the CIA hired a quote, unquote psychic as an agent,” Lassiter grumbled.

Juliet looked back at Shawn with a quick glance.  Shawn knew what she was thinking.  Lassie was fishing for info. 

“Carlton, why don’t you get some sleep?  You look tired,” Juliet jumped in.

“There you go, coming to his defense again.  It’s like you know something I don’t,” Lassiter said.

“What could I possibly know about Shawn that you don’t?” Juliet asked.

“There are things, Jules.  I mean, you’ve seen me,” Shawn started.

“Shawn!” Juliet said, blushing.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!  Please stop before I have nightmares!” Lassiter said, covering his head with a pillow.

Shawn’s phone rang then, making him stop the barrage for the moment.  He saw it was Gus and answered it with a cool hello.

Shawn’s demeanor changed almost instantly as he heard the voice on the other end.  He cast a glance over to Juliet and Lassiter, who had uncovered his head.

Shawn hung up, not saying a word.  He looked at the detectives with a look they had never seen before.  He looked downright dangerous.

“They got Gus,” was all he said.

In the hours that followed, Shawn, Lassiter and Juliet did the best they could in finding where Gus was.  Juliet sent a few squad cars to the location Shawn had sent Gus to in hopes of finding the other half of Psych.  When they radioed back, all they had found was a small pool of blood near the wall. 

Shawn held his head in his hands, cursing himself for sending his buddy out on a mission.  He lay in the hospital bed, ignoring the pain of his foot and his arm.  He looked over at his iPhone with contemplation.

Looking over at Juliet and Lassie, Shawn covertly grabbed his phone and hid it under his gown.  He cleared his throat to get their attention.

“I, uh, have to use the bathroom,” he said awkwardly.

Juliet raised an eyebrow, “Do you need help or something?”

Shawn shook his head as he slowly got up.  His hand held his phone carefully covered.  He hoped the bright green Psych cover didn’t show through as he made his way to the small bathroom.  He turned on the light, shut the door and began to dial a number he never thought he’d dial again.

Outside, Lassiter and Juliet gave each other a look and continued to look over case files that had to do with Jacques Pierre.  When a man barged in, they both jumped back in surprise.

“Where is he?” the man demanded.  The British accent rang familiar with Juliet.

“Charlie Joe?” she asked, her hand near her gun just in case.

The guy looked at her with confusion, then looked around the room, “Where’s Spence, Jules?”

She relaxed a little, but still kept her guard up.  Shawn had said this guy was good, but unstable.

“He’s in the bathroom.  Did you find anything?” Juliet asked.

“Yeah, but it’s not pretty.  You’re a cop, aren’t you?” he suddenly questioned.

Looking down, Juliet saw she had her badge hanging around her neck.  ‘Oops,’ she thought as she nodded.

“Should’ve known.  Spence would only trust another fed or a cop with the code,” Charlie said, sitting down on the now empty bed.

Shawn walked out of the bathroom, looked up and smiled.  Juliet swore she saw a look of relief before he saw Charlie.  She also saw he had his phone.

“CJ?” Shawn asked, hiding the phone again.

The gruff man looked up and smiled, showing some fairly nasty looking teeth, “Spence, what the hell happened to you?”

“Car accident.  Man, I never thought I’d see you again,” Shawn said, shaking his head.

“Me, neither.  I heard you split the CIA scene years ago,” CJ said.

Looking over at Lassiter and Juliet, he nodded, “I did, Man.  I got called in for something else, and now the French Loaf is back.”

CJ took out a file that he had hidden under his jacket.  Handing it over to Shawn, he began to explain what he’d found.

“That, there, is everything I could find on the last known whereabouts of one Jacques Pierre, a.k.a. The French Loaf.  As you already know, he is a master of disguise and blends in pretty easily with the crowd.  Last time he was spotted was right here in Santa Barbara about seven years ago.  He “disappeared” not too long after, but it’s rumored he stayed in the area, watching some company known as,” CJ stopped and grabbed the file.  He looked up the info and spoke, “Psych Psychic Detective Agency.  Under the management of one,” he looked again, then looked up at Shawn with confusion, “Shawn Spencer.  Spence?”

Shawn looked a little embarrassed as he grabbed the file, “Yeah, me,” he said sheepishly.

Lassiter’s turn had come to look confused, “Spencer, I’m surprised at you.  You didn’t go bragging about your psychic agency to all of your informants?”

“Psychic?  Spence, come on!  You expect anyone to believe that load of bull?” CJ asked.

Lassie’s interest was fully peaked, “You don’t believe it, either?”

Before Shawn or Juliet could intercede, CJ answered, “No.  I know Spence has got one hell of a memory.  That hyper-observant gift of his is great!”

Shawn smacked himself in the head.  Lassiter’s eyes lit up like a child on Christmas who just got the toy he always wanted.

“Spencer, talk, now,” he said.

“Now isn’t the time, Carlton!  Gus is missing and we need to find him!” Juliet covered. 

Lassie looked over at her with wide eyes, “You knew, didn’t you?  Spencer is a fake and you knew!  Does the Chief know?  How about Guster or Henry? Wait, they probably do, but I bet the Chief doesn’t.  Oh, wait until I tell her!”

“Carlton!” Juliet yelled.  Lassiter had his phone in his hand, but looked up at his partner, “I said now isn’t the time.  We can talk about this later.  Right now, we need to figure out who has Gus.”

Seeing the look in her eyes, Lassie sighed and put his phone away.  Shawn smiled at how his girlfriend could actually get through to Lassie when she needed to. 

“Shawn, we need to know everything.  I know you aren’t supposed to share much, but,” Juliet started.

“That’s what I was doing in the bathroom.  I made a call.  There should be a few agents on their way as we speak.  CJ, I think you’d better scram before they get here,” Shawn said.

CJ didn’t hesitate as he headed toward the door, “Later, Spence.  I hope you find your friend.  I’ll be around if you need anything.”

After he left, Shawn sat down on his bed and stared at the cast on his arm.  Juliet felt for him, knowing that his secret was now out in the open. 

“Okay, Spencer, talk,” Lassiter said.

“Carlton!” Juliet exclaimed.

“No, Jules, it’s all right.  We have some time before my old team gets here.  My dad, too.  I suppose I should start from the beginning,” Shawn sighed.

“Shawn, you don’t have to.  I mean, not now,” Juliet said.

“No, this would be the best time.  Lassie, I mean, C-Carlton, prepare yourself for one of the most awesome stories ever told,” Shawn said.  He then launched into the story of how he got into the psychic scam.

Twenty-five minutes passed and Shawn had just finished telling his tale to Lassiter.  Henry walked in right near the end.  He knew the jig was up.

“So, let me get this straight.  Because Officer Allen was wearing all those crystals and junk, you picked psychic?” Lassiter said.

“Yeah.  I noticed them when I came into the old station.  Plus she was talking to her sister about a palm reader she’d seen recently who had told her about her dead grandmother,” Shawn said.

Henry looked at Shawn, then at Lassiter, “Lassiter, I can understand that you want to call the Chief about this, but I wouldn’t just yet.  Shawn hasn’t done much wrong except say he was psychic.  Sure, I wasn’t keen on the idea, in fact I’m still not, but he is a damn good detective.  You have to admit that.”

Lassie contemplated this for a moment.  He reached for his phone, dialed a number and waited.  “This is Detective Lassiter, put me through to the Chief.”

Gus woke up with a splitting headache.  He tried to move, only to find himself tied up to a very uncomfortable chair.  Opening his eyes, the pharmaceutical rep looked around at his surroundings. 

It was a house, of that, Gus was sure.  He searched, seeing he was in what looked like a living room or family room of sorts.  It looked immaculate, which confused him.  It didn’t look like the hideout of a kidnapper, but the home of a wealthy person. 

‘Maybe they killed the people and took the house,’ Gus thought bitterly. 

Continuing to look around, Gus noticed a few things on a table nearby.  They looked like files, similar to those from the SBPD.  One was angled just right, so Gus saw the emblem on the cover.  CIA.  They were stamped Top Secret and had been strewn about. 

“Well, looks like he’s awake,” a female voice said. 

Gus looked up to see a striking woman with long, brown hair and a smart dress walking toward him.  She held in her hands a glass of water and a pill.

“I’m betting you have a headache.  Here, take an aspirin,” she suggested sweetly.

Gus knew better, so he shook his head and said nothing.  The woman looked a little hurt, but got up and put the glass and pill on the table.  She saw the disarray of the files and growled.

“I told you guys to put the files back together!  If the boss saw this mess, he’d kill!” she said, straightening the papers.

Shawn, meanwhile, was holding his breath as Lassie waited for the Chief to answer.  Juliet had tried to protest, but a hand to her face stopped her.  Henry had even tried, but was told to ‘Shut It’, which infuriated the retired cop.  He now sat, fuming silently.

“Chief?  I’m fine, but something’s come up I think you need to know,” Lassie said, giving Shawn a sideways glance, “We have new information about Jacques Pierre.  He’s been in the area for at least seven years and has been watching Psych.  Yes.  Yes, Spencer is aware of this.  No, we haven’t had any more leads on Guster, but we’re trying.  Hold on,” Lassiter handed the phone over to Shawn, “She wants to talk to you.”

Shocked, Shawn took the phone, “Hi, Chief.  Yes, I got the info from an old informant.  I called for backup of my own, but they haven’t shown yet.  I’m starting to worry.  Yeah.  Buzz?  No, I didn’t.  Yeah, I’ll tell them.  Sure.  Bye, Chief,” Shawn hung up and limped over to the door.

He opened it to find Buzz standing guard outside, keeping four people from entering.  He turned to Shawn.

“These people claim they know you, Shawn.  Do you have any idea who they are?” he asked his friend.

“Yeah, Buzz.  They’re my old team.  They’re cool,” Shawn said.

Buzz gave Shawn a nod and moved to let the people inside the room.  He stood outside, adjusting his belt when Shawn tapped him on the shoulder.

“Buzz, I think we’re going to need you, too,” Shawn said.

The tall cop gave Shawn a funny look, but recognition crept in shortly afterward, “No can do, Shawn.  I promised Francie that I wouldn’t get involved with the CIA ever again.  We are officially retired,” he replied.

Shawn smiled sadly, but nodded, “All right.  If you change your mind, though, I’d be grateful for the help.”

The faux psychic walked back inside and shut the door.  Buzz sighed as he sat down to keep an eye on things.  He felt bad that he couldn’t help, but he didn’t want to risk the life of the baby.  He smiled.

Shawn opened the door again, “By the way, congrats on the baby, Buzz!”

He shut the door, leaving Buzz to wonder how he knew. 

Inside the room, the four people claimed seats and nodded to Juliet, Lassie and Henry.  One took out a badge and showed it to Juliet.

“Agent Bryce Sky, Ma’am,” he said. 

“I’m Special Agent Miranda Sims, FBI,” the woman said, her hair bound up in a bun.  She showed a badge to Henry.

“Agent Irving J. Samson, Computer Analyst, CIA Special Forces,” said the man who was sitting on Shawn’s bed.  He wore glasses, his hair was immaculate and he smiled warmly at Juliet.

The fourth person sat silent.  She looked over at Shawn with a longing in her eyes.  Shawn looked at Juliet, then back at the woman with a shrug.  She sighed and pulled out her own badge.

“Agent Denise Chalmers,” she said, almost sadly.

Shawn sat back on his bed, next to Agent Samson and motioned to them, “My team from 2000, before Seamus came to the D.C. area.  These guys are the best of the best.”

“Spence, is there a computer around here?” Irving asked.

Shawn handed him his iPhone, “This will have to do for now.  My laptop is at the Psych office.”

Lassiter scoffed at the word Psych.  In his mind, he was thinking about the past seven years since Spencer walked into the station to ‘claim an award’.  The day he met the snarky man who then, in a panic, claimed to be psychic. 

“Psych?  What the heck is that?” Bryce asked, looking over the case file. 

“Psychic?  Really, Shawny?” Denise asked.  Everyone else in the room looked at her.

“What?  I never liked calling him Spence,” she defended.

Juliet got the feeling she would be having a talk with Shawn after this was all over.  Right now, they needed to find Gus.

Irving was playing around with Shawn’s phone for only a couple of moments when he spoke, “Okay, I have the location of Gus’ phone on the GPS.  He’s around San Francisco, but it doesn’t have a great lock.”

“San Francisco Bay, to be exact,” Shawn said, looking over Irving’s shoulder.

“Yes, but the signal’s weak.  If I had an actual computer, I could get a stronger lock, but the battery on his phone is dying.  We only have a couple of hours,” Irving replied.

Lassiter carefully moved out of his bed and grabbed his badge and gun, “Then I say we find you a computer and get Guster back soon.”

“Carlton, you can’t go anywhere.  They want to watch you one more night because of that concussion you got!” Juliet protested.

“Jules, honey, it won’t be a problem getting both of us out.  Hold on one sec,” Shawn said, getting up again.  He opened the door and motioned for Buzz to come in.

“Buzz, I know you won’t come back, but you can do us a favor,” Shawn said, leaning in.

Gus shook his head, wondering what he was hearing.  The woman claimed she was CIA and that they were already on the case.  Yet, something didn’t quite sit well with Gus.

“If you’re CIA, why didn’t you just say so back on the docks?  Instead of bashing me over the head?”

“We didn’t know who you were.  We thought maybe you were one of Jacques gang and you were looking for something of importance.  What were you looking for, anyway?” she asked curiously.

Gus wasn’t falling for it, but humored the woman, “Just some old papers for a case I’m working on.”

“Case?  Are you a cop?” she asked, looking slightly nervous.

Gus played into it, “Yes.  Head Detective Carlton Lassiter.  I’d better see a badge, Ma’am.  Now.”

The woman quickly disappeared into another room, which gave Gus a few minutes to wriggle out of the ropes he’d been working on since he woke up.  He was almost free when she returned with a man in tow. 

“You’re a detective?” he asked.

“Yes, now I suggest you let me go.  Half of San Fran will be out looking for me soon,” Gus said.  He was trying to channel Lassie’s personality.

It was apparently working, since the man now had a nervous look on his face.  The look faded, suddenly, which made Gus swallow hard.

“He’s no cop.  Put him in the basement until we finish up,” came a voice from behind.  Gus never saw him, as they placed a mask over his face.  His world was suddenly darkened as they untied his feet and led him through hallways and down a few flights of stairs. 

Setting him down in a different chair, they re-tied his feet and removed the mask.  All Gus could see was darkness, save for the light coming from the doorway.  Before leaving, the woman set the glass of water down next to him, with the aspirin next to it.  She looked up at him, smiled briefly then walked back up the stairs behind her male associate.  They shut the door, leaving Gus in complete silence and darkness.

Juliet listened intently as Shawn and his old team put together a timeline of events leading up to Gus’ kidnapping.  She’d gone to the Psych office and grabbed Shawn’s laptop for Irving to use, which he was now tracking the cell phone signal with some kind of satellite (which one was vague, but she’d heard something about clearance and illegal).

Lassiter sighed, knowing full well this was now Spencer’s case.  He hated it, the fact that Spencer could now call the shots on a case that was, technically, still his.  He was involved, for Pete’s sake!  This Jacques guy tried to kill them with a fertilizer bomb!  He turned to Spencer and his team.

“Spencer, O’Hara and I aren’t going to just stand and watch like you and Guster do on a case,” he said.

Shawn smiled, “I know that, Lassiefrass!  Don’t worry, you and Jules are going to have a huge part in this case.  After all, you’re involved.  I know I can’t stop you from jumping on this case as much as I can’t stop my dad’s hair from disappearing down the sink.”

“It’s hereditary, Kid.  Just you wait,” Henry interjected.

“The point is, I need you two just like I need my old team.  Dad, you too.  We need everyone to get Gus back and take down Jacques.”

Henry seemed to light up at those words, “What do you want me to do?”

“Dad, I want you to go to the SBPD and grab an old file for me.  It’s a case you worked on back in,” Shawn closed his eyes and put his finger to his temple, “Nineteen seventy-seven.  It was an arms case in which the leader got away.”

Henry nodded, “I’ll be back soon, Kid.”

As Henry walked out, he nodded to Buzz and turned back to his son.  He may have never said it out loud, but he was damn proud of that kid.  He left the hospital, knowing exactly where to look.

Halfway to the SBPD, Henry spotted a small car following him through the streets.  It had been on his tail since the hospital, but it just registered to Henry as a boogie.  Taking a detour, he went left out of town instead of right to the station.  He had to double check to see if the car was really following him.

It did, staying about three car lengths back, but keeping speed with Henry’s truck.  The retired cop took a turn around a corner; the car followed.  Cursing, Henry took another turn, which was matched by the car. 

Getting on his phone, Henry began to dial Shawn’s number.  The phone slipped out of his hand and fell to the floor under the brake pedal.  Before he could reach down, Henry saw brake lights ahead of him.  He went to slam on his brakes, but the phone blocked the pedal from going down.  He swerved, avoiding the car in front of him.  Running the red light, all Henry could do was hope he made it alive to the station.  He turned, his wheels screeching on the asphalt.  Up ahead was the station, but with his phone blocking the brake, he wasn’t sure he could stop.  He tried to kick his phone out of the way.  The driveway of the station was fast approaching. Hoping for minimal damage, Henry turned.  The phone moved just enough for the pedal to go down.  Henry slammed on his brakes.

The sound of crunching metal made Karen head out of her office.  What she saw outside was a mess.  Henry’s truck was T-Boned into a parked squad car.  She saw a small black car speed away, the occupants inside looking at the truck.  She ran over to find Henry unconscious behind the wheel.

“Call the bus, now!” she cried to a few uniforms that were watching the scene unfold.

“Karen?” Henry’s voice sounded pained.

“Henry?  What happened?” she asked, opening the door.

“Call Shawn.  Someone tried to run me off the road,” he said, then passed out again. 

Karen’s eyes followed a trickle of blood coming from the back of Henry’s head down his neck.

Shawn was still sitting on the edge of his bed when a funny feeling crept over him.  He couldn’t shake it as Irving was giving instructions to Juliet and Lassiter.  He looked around at Bryce, Denise, Irving and Miranda; then at Lassie and Jules.  The funny feeling continued as he looked around the room. 

When his phone rang, he picked it up and saw it was the Chief.  Not his dad, not Gus’ phone, but the Chief.  Worry creased his brow as he answered.

“Shawn, something’s happened.  Your father is headed to the hospital.  He was run off the road by a black sports car,” she announced.

“What?” he asked loudly.  The entire room took notice at the tone in his voice.  It was fear.

 A moment later, he hung up and looked at his team, “Dad was run off the road.  He crashed into a cruiser at the station.  He has a concussion.”

Sighing, the injured agent got up and limped over to a bag that was on the floor.  Reaching in, he grabbed out a shirt and his jeans.  Juliet spoke up.

“Shawn, what are you doing?”

“Jacques has got to be stopped.  I’m getting out of here,” he answered.

“Spencer, you’re crazy!  They aren’t going to let you out of here!” Lassiter said. 

“They won’t know.  Team, I think Plan 982 should be put into action.  I’ve got to get dressed,” Shawn said.  He disappeared into the bathroom while his CIA team moved as one. 

“Plan 982?” Juliet asked.

“Basically, Operation Break Spence Out of the Hospital.  We’ve used it before,” Miranda said.

“Shawny was never good in hospitals.  I’m surprised he didn’t do this himself earlier,” Denise said softly.

Lassiter glanced at O’Hara, seeing the twinge of jealousy in her eyes.  He didn’t much blame her, considering it sounded like this Denise had a few rolls in the hay with Spencer. 

Shawn walked out fully dressed, the cast on his foot gone.  Juliet took notice immediately.

“Where’s your cast?”

“I can’t run with it on, Jules!  I took the thing off.  I’ll be fine,” he said.

“Shawn, you can’t do this.  I won’t let you get hurt or worse,” she said.

Denise looked at the female detective, then back at Shawn, “Be careful out there, Shawny.”

The black haired woman walked over and gave Shawn a peck on the cheek.  Juliet’s eyes lit up with anger.

“Excuse me, that’s my boyfriend you’re kissing,” she said. 

Shawn moved over and grabbed something else out of his bag; a gun.  He pulled the clip out, saw it was full and shoved it back in.  He cocked it and flipped the safety, putting it in the waistband of his jeans.  His shirt covered it perfectly.

“Spence, I hate when you get that look.  Last time you did,” Irving said.

“Irving, buddy, no need to worry the others.  Look, I’ll be fine, okay?” Shawn assured as he limped over to Juliet.

“Shawn, you’re limping!  How are you going to get…” Juliet’s rant was interrupted by a long, passionate kiss from Shawn.  When they broke for air, he looked her in the eye.

“I’ll be fine, Jules.  I love you.  Remember that,” he said.

Denise’s eyes welled up with tears, but she said nothing.  She looked down at a file as if studying it. 

Shawn looked back at his team and nodded, “Just carry out the mission.  That’s an order,” he said.

“Yes, Sir,” chorused the team.

With one last look, Shawn limped out, determination in his heart.  It was time to take Jacques Pierre down once and for all.

Gus struggled against the ropes that held him.  At least, the ones on his feet.  The ones around his hands were loose.  He tried to get them off, but the one thing that was keeping them on; his watch.  His brand new watch was getting in the way.  It was just big enough to hold the rope behind it. 

Gus could almost hear Shawn saying he told him it was too big.  Sighing, the pharmaceutical rep continued to struggle.  He could hear movement upstairs, but couldn’t hear a word.

Upstairs, the ‘CIA agents’ were pouring over files.  Their leader was staring at the folder they’d found back at the old hideout; the very one Gus was looking for.

“Shawn Spencer, CIA Clandestine until 2005.  Returned to Santa Barbara.  Opened detective agency as a “psychic” that same year,” the man slammed it shut, “I know all this already!”

“Sir, here’s some information about the newest shipment coming in tomorrow at the Harbor.  0600 hours at Pier 13.  Looks like a major haul,” the woman with the long brown hair said.

The tall man took it from her and read it to himself.  A wide smile formed on his lips as he looked at her, “Get the crews ready.  Have them on Pier 13 at 0500 hours,” his smile faded, “and make sure they don’t screw up this time.  I hate having to find new help.”

The woman swallowed hard, “Yes, Sir.”

“Check on that so called cop downstairs before you head out.  He’s been too quiet,” ‘Sir’ said. 

She opened the door to the basement and began the descent.  She didn’t like the look ‘Sir’ gave her.  It was the same look he’d given her late husband, just before he was killed. 

Gus heard the door open and heels click as they started down the stairs.  He straightened up, having undone the ropes on his hands.  The ropes on his feet were loose, so all he really had to do was stand up and he’d be free.  That is, if the woman coming down the stairs didn’t tighten them again.

“Hi, there, Detective,” she said sweetly.  In the darkness, Gus could see her eyes shining.  She had tears in her eyes.

“Hi.  Why are you crying?” he asked, slowly moving his feet.

“My husband died last year.  I just thought of him, is all.  Is your headache gone?”

“Yes, but I couldn’t take the pill.  I was tied up, you know,” Gus said.

The woman smacked her head, “Wow, I’m dumb.  I guess I should’ve realized you wouldn’t be able to grab it.”

“Well, I said I *was* tied up.  I’m not anymore,” Gus said, standing up and grabbing the woman around the throat, “Who are you people, really?”

“I told you already, we’re CIA,” she choked out.

Gus shook his head and tsked, “Nice try, but I know people in the CIA.  You are *not* an agent,” he growled.

He pulled his arm around her neck a little tighter, but not enough to hurt her.  Just enough to hold her.  He was thankful for the few (like two) lessons Shawn had taught him on how to hold an assailant. 

“Do you have a gun?” he asked her.

“Yes.  On my right hip.  Look, I’m not your enemy.  I can help you,” she begged.

Gus grabbed her gun, “I’m sorry, but no.  My friends will help me.  You’re just going to help me escape.  Upstairs, now.”

“You don’t understand.  There are about twenty guys up there with guns.  You’ll never get out of here alive,” she reasoned.

Gus stopped and contemplated this for a moment.  He looked around, still holding the gun on her.  A window in the far corner of the basement came to his attention.  It was slightly open, and looked big enough to fit through. 

“Over here,” he motioned to her with the gun. 

She obeyed and walked in front of him.  She saw the window and turned to him, “There are four guards outside the doors.  If you stay low, they won’t see you.”

Gus blinked, “Wait, you really are helping me.  Why?”

“I told you, I’m CIA,” she insisted.

“Where’s your badge?” he asked.

Slowly and carefully, she pulled out a small wallet and flipped it open.  There was a badge and a card that stated she was Agent Sanders, CIA special forces.

Gus dropped the gun, “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been working undercover for almost two years,” she said.

Gus considered this for a moment, “My name’s Gus.  I need to get out of here, though.”

“Do what you were going to.  Use that window, and stay low to the ground.  The guards will be shifting in,” she checked her watch, “ten minutes.  There will be a short time where there won’t be anyone there.  Make your escape then.  I’ll distract them upstairs.”

“Wait, I need something first.  A file.  It’s what I was looking for when they hit me over the head.  File A 655689,” Gus said.

Agent Sanders cocked her head, “Shawn Spencer’s personnel file?  Why that?”

“Wait, that’s Shawn’s personnel file?” Gus asked.

“Yes.  Do you know Agent Spencer?” she asked.

“I…I...,” Gus didn’t know what to say.  He took a breath and nodded.

“You must be Gus, then.  He used to talk about you all the time in D.C.  The file’s upstairs.  You have to get out of here, though,” she said.

“Not without that file.  If Shawn wanted it, there must be a reason,” Gus responded.

Agent Sanders nodded, “You’re right.  Agent Spencer has always had tricks up his sleeve.  Stay here.  I’ll get the file.”

She walked up the stairs and disappeared, leaving Gus with the gun.  He swallowed hard, hoping she really was CIA and not some traitor that was about to let the others know the CIA was onto them.

Agent Sanders carefully crept back into the main living room.  The files were still as they were when she left.  Quickly she grabbed Shawn’s file and began to walk back toward the basement.  The clearing of a throat stopped her.

“Where are you going?”

Agent Sanders turned around, turning on her charm in the process, “I was just about to check on the man down in the basement, Sir.”

‘Sir’ glared at Agent Sanders with cold eyes.  He was reading her, that she knew.  Was he onto her?

“Clara, before you came to us, what did you do for a living?” he suddenly asked.

Her cover story had been a simple one, “I was a waitress outside of Seattle.  My husband and I moved here for a better life.  That’s when we came into your services.”

‘Sir’ nodded, “You’re husband was a very good man,” he said quietly.

She smiled and nodded with tears threatening to spill over, “Yes, he was.  He was very loyal.”

‘Sir’ agreed, “Yes.  Michael was very loyal to me and you.  Are you still loyal to us?”

She felt a small lump of fear rise up, ‘Why is he asking that now?’ “Of course, Sir.  Always loyal,” she answered.

“It begs the question, then,” he said, walking over to her and grabbing the file from her blouse, “Why you’re stealing the file on Shawn Spencer?”

Shawn, meanwhile, was following his phone’s GPS.  He’d ‘stolen’ Juliet’s car to get out to San Francisco Bay, then called the SBPD to inform them where it was.  He was about a mile from where Gus’ phone last was before the latter’s died. 

His foot pounded in pain, but he knew he had to rescue his friend.  He was about a half mile away from the location when his phone rang.

Seeing the ID, he answered immediately, “Hello?  Irv?”

“Spence, you’ve got to know something about the location you’re heading to,” Irv said.

“Are you alone?” Shawn asked.

“Yeah.  Your girlfriend left with Buzz.  She wasn’t happy about her car, Spence,” he replied.

“She’ll have it back in the morning.  What’s the news?”

“There’s another agent on the case.  Agent Marie Sanders.  She’s been undercover within Jacques gang for the last two years.  Her husband, Michael, who was another agent, was killed in a shootout sometime last year.  She’s remained to keep up pretense.  She may be able to help you in rescuing Gus,” Irv explained.

Shawn stopped walking, “You mean someone else was assigned the case?  Why the hell am I being called back in, then?”

“I’m not sure why Seamus called you back.  The case was reassigned when you finished your mission last year,” Irv said over the phone. 

Lassiter was still in the room with the CIA/FBI team, listening to the whole conversation.  His eyes widened as he figured out a clue.  A clue that could be the beginning or the end.

Shawn looked at his phone.  Putting it back up to his ear, he sighed, “So, what do we do?”

“We have to…wait, there’s something coming over the wire.  Hold on,” Irv said suddenly.  Shawn heard the click of the phone as Irving switched lines. 

Looking up, Shawn saw that he wasn’t that far from the, well, mansion that Gus was being held in.  If there was another agent, she was either corrupt or in deep trouble.  Shawn felt the funny feeling creep back up his spine. 

“Spence?  You there?” Irv asked loudly.

“Yeah, right here.  What was the news?”

“Agent Sanders, the one on the case.  They just got word she’s in trouble.  How far are you from the location?”

“About a half mile away.  I’m on it,” Shawn said.

“Be careful, Spence.  It’s you against over 100 men,” Irv warned.

“I will, Irv,” he said, then hung up.

Shawn took a deep, cleansing breath and began the half mile trek.  His foot was throbbing so much, he could barely walk on it, but he pushed on.  He knew he had to save Gus, and now save another agent. 

‘Just another day in the life of Shawn Spencer,’ he thought.

Lassiter, meanwhile, had figured it all out in his head.  He knew who was responsible for this whole mess; why he, O’Hara and Spencer were targeted.  Why Henry was a few rooms away, being treated for his concussion. 

The Head Detective looked over at the agents, “I figured it out,” he said firmly.

Agent Sky looked at him in question, “What’s that, Detective?”

“Everything.  I know why and how we were targeted.  There is no way Jacques could have known we were on the case, unless he had a hand in getting us involved.  No way he could’ve known O’Hara’s phone number, unless he already had it.  No way he would’ve known who Spencer’s father was, unless he’d met him.”

The others looked at each other in question.  Special Agent Sims cocked her head, “What do you mean, Lassiter?”

“I mean, Jacques Pierre has been masquerading this entire time as someone else.  Someone Spencer, I mean, Shawn, knows.  Someone he trusts.  That’s what the nurse meant when she said he’s known all along where Jacques been hiding,” Lassiter explained.

“Detective, please, get to the point,” Agent Chalmers said impatiently.

“Don’t you get it?  He’s been among you all along!” Lassiter said excitedly.

Shawn stepped up behind a barrier that hid him from the guards outside the doors, “Guards outside a mansion.  Either it’s a rich rock star, or a whole bunch of bad jujumagumbo going down inside.”

When he saw the guns the men were holding, he nodded, “Definitely bad jujumagumbo.”

Creeping low to the ground, Shawn made his way toward a window he’d spotted with his hyper-observant eyes.  It looked like a window to a basement.  A clock tower somewhere in the distance signaled it was ten o’clock.  Shawn watched as the four guards disappeared inside. 

“Changing of the guards?  How British of them.  Britannian?  Britastical?” Shawn shook his head at the choice of words and continued on to the window.

Lassiter had explained his theory to the others.  Their eyes all lit up as they realized who he meant.

Silence followed, since no one wanted to believe it.  Even Buzz had heard it and was beyond shocked.  The guy was a friend!  Not a traitor!  Not an enemy!  It couldn’t be true!

Gus paced back and forth in the basement.  Agent Sanders was taking an awful long time.  He was beginning to worry that she was just a traitor.  Looking down, he did still have the gun.  Shawn would understand if he came back without the file.  He began to head toward the window when he saw legs coming in.

“Whoever you are, halt!  I have a gun!” Gus said.  The legs continued, attached to a torso with arms. 

Gus prayed there was a head attached, instead of seeing a corpse falling into the window.  He breathed a huge sigh when a head did come out; fully attached to the body, and it was alive!

“Shawn?” he asked when the features became recognizable. 

“Buddy!  I was wondering where you were!  What happened?  Did you get distracted by some type of snack item?” Shawn joked.

“Shawn!  There’s another agent here.  I think she’s a scapegoat, though.  She was supposed to get a file, your personnel file, but she never came back down,” Gus said.

“I know, Gus.  That’s Agent Sanders.  She’s not a scapegoat, though.  She’s in trouble.  Come on, we have to save her, get the file and get the hell out of here.”

Shawn took out his gun and motioned to Gus to begin his ascension up the stairs.  Before they could get far, the door opened to reveal Agent Sanders and a tall man with scruffy hair and five o’clock shadow on his face.

“Oh, my God!  It can’t be!” Gus cried.

“Seamus?” Shawn asked in surprise. 

“Shawn Spencer.  I should’ve known that if Gus were here, you wouldn’t be too far behind,” Seamus said, shoving a gun in Agent Sanders back. 

“But, you’re dead.  That Jean Claude guy killed you,” Shawn said.

“Jean Luc, Shawn,” Gus corrected, his eyes still locked on Seamus and Agent Sanders.

“I’ve heard it both ways,” Shawn sang.  Gus, Agent Sanders and Seamus gave him funny looks.

“Shawn, Shawn, Shawn, don’t you remember?  Or has your eidetic memory finally left you after so long?” Seamus asked.

Shawn closed his eyes and thought. 

Washington, D.C. 2000

Shawn got into the car’s passenger door, while his new partner, Seamus Collins, got into the driver’s seat.  The car soon began rolling down to the Interstate on their way to headquarters in West Virginia. 

“Seamus, before you became an agent, what did you do?” Shawn asked, trying to make conversation. 

Seamus switched lanes before answering, “I went to a performing arts high school.  I wanted to be an actor.”

Shawn tilted his head, *seeing* what he could as they drove.  “An actor?  Yet, you’re an agent?”

“Yeah, well, the acting didn’t pan out the way I had hoped.  I was a really, really good makeup guy, though.  You should’ve seen some of the faces I did while I was there.  Of course, that’s all in the past, now.”

Shawn *saw* a slightly nervous twitch on the corner of Seamus’ mouth, but figured it was because he didn’t want to delve any further into his past.

Shawn opened his eyes and stared daggers at his former partner, “It was acting.  You were playing dead.”

Gus looked confused, “Wait, how would that have tricked you?  You’re eyes should’ve caught breathing, or you should’ve felt for a pulse or seen a makeup line.”

“One thing we learn at the academy, Gus, is how to hold our breath for long periods of time.  I had to keep looking away to find Jean Luc.  I couldn’t find a pulse because of the makeup, and I didn’t see a makeup line because Seamus is a master.  He was top of his class before he graduated,” Shawn stated.

“Right you are, Spence.  Just like last year with you, I faked my own death.  Jean Luc knew and missed me on purpose.  He was a sharpshooter, you know.  The other guy, he was just a mortar.  He dialed me, but my phone was on silent.  Jean Luc killed him because we both knew he’d talk.”

Shawn began to shake with anger, “You tricked me this whole time, Seamus.  You son of a…”

A click of the gun stopped Shawn from speaking anymore.  Seamus’ gun was still trained on Agent Sanders’ back.  Gus looked at Shawn, who returned the look.

“So, is there really a Jacques Pierre?” Gus asked.

“I’m Jacques Pierre.  You see, when the CIA infiltrated the restaurant, I had already been in the CIA for about two years.  Nobody knew my background in makeup and acting.  I fudged my application and said I went to some high school in West Virginia.  During the interrogation, I asked to use the bathroom, took off all of my makeup and walked out as if I’d been working that day.  The fools there didn’t even know until later that “Jacques Pierre” was gone.  They found the makeup in the bathroom and assumed he was a master of disguise.  Brilliant, if I do say so myself.”

Shawn shook his head in disgust.  He felt ashamed.  Seamus, his partner for four years, fooled him.  He now knew how his dad felt when he found out his partners were taking money under the table.  Betrayal.  It seemed to be a Spencer family tradition. 

Gus looked down at his hands.  Well, the gun and his other hand, anyway.  He knew this was killing Shawn.  Betrayed by his partner.  Gus, in a way, knew how Shawn felt.  When Shawn had up and left so many years ago, Gus felt hurt and deceived.  In the years that they’d been doing Psych, he and Shawn had grown closer (even with the ‘psychic’ bit).  Gus’ mind seemed to switch into high gear.

Shawn made a move to get closer to Seamus.  The arms dealer moved swiftly, moving the gun and firing.  Shawn shouted in pain and went down.  Gus watched for mere seconds.  He watched Shawn go down.

“SHAWN!” he cried. 

Remembering the gun he held, Gus held it like he’d seen in those cop movies, and fired two rounds.  The first went into the stairs, but the second hit flesh.  It grazed Agent Sanders in the shoulder, then made a direct line to Seamus.

Gus watched him go down, then ran to Shawn.  He tossed the gun down as he approached his friend; his brother. 

Blood poured from the wound.  Shawn was out cold, but breathing.  He looked back at Agent Sanders, who was grabbing her shoulder, but standing upright with a gun in her hand.  She smiled at Gus.

“Good shooting, Detective,” she said, then knelt down next to him, “Shawn’s got a pretty good wound, there.  Deep in his chest,” she added, moving Shawn’s shirt carefully. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Gus asked.  He was still shaking from shooting the gun.  Up until that moment, he had only shot a gun once in his life, way back when he and Shawn were kids and he had tagged along to the shooting range.

“Shawn will have to have surgery, but he should be fine.  Come on, my team should be here along with the San Francisco Police,” she said.

No sooner than the words came out, three agents and a few officers came rushing down the stairs with guns drawn.

“Agent Sanders, are you all right?” asked one of the other agents.

“It’s just a graze, but Agent Spencer is hurt badly,” she said, pointing to Shawn.

“Agent Spencer?” the agent asked, then saw it was him, “On it!  You, call for an ambulance.  We’ve got wounded!”

“Agent Collins was behind this all along.  I can’t believe it,” Gus said, shaking his head.

“Gus?  Quick, help me,” Agent Sanders said.  She was ripping Shawn’s shirt off.

“Help you what?  Strip him?”

“No!  He’s stopped breathing!  Help me do CPR!” she cried.

Gus immediately set to work, helping Agent Sanders.

Three weeks later, Lassiter, Juliet, Gus, Henry and Karen sat in Karen’s office.  No one had said a word for almost an hour.  Lassiter carefully wiped his eyes.  Juliet’s eyes were red-rimmed.  Gus sat with his head down, playing with a piece of paper he’d found, and Henry looked at the floor. 

Karen looked at her team with a sadness in her eyes.  They hadn’t been the same since that night.  She knew and felt for them.  It was hard on all of them. 

The doors opened to reveal Agent Sky, Agent Sanders, Agent Chalmers, Agent Sims and Agent Samson.  Buzz accompanied them, still dressed in his police uniform.  In Agent Sky’s hand was a file. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt you all, but I figured you might want this for your records,” Agent Sky said, handing the file to Karen.

She looked at it with curious eyes.  Looking up, she spoke, “Shawn’s personnel file?”

“That’s right, Chief!” came Shawn’s voice. 

In he limped, a cast on his left foot, his right arm in a sling and a bandage on his head.  He smiled wide at his friends.

“Shawn!” Gus cried, wrapping him in a big hug.

“We thought, well, we…” Juliet said.

“Thought what?” Shawn asked.

“Well, after Agent Sanders and I revived you, the agents that were there escorted you two off and left me with the San Fran PD.  They wouldn’t tell us anything!” Gus said.

Agent Sanders nodded slowly, “We had to do that, for safety.”

“What about Seamus?” Lassiter asked.

“He’s alive.  Gus, who knew you were a crack shot?” Shawn asked.

“I just pointed and shot.  Sorry about your shoulder, Agent Sanders,” Gus apologized.

“It’s no big deal.  Just a graze,” she replied.

Juliet sat there, smiling through the tears that had formed, “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

Shawn looked over at Juliet with a warm smile, “I’m sorry we had to worry you.  Protocol, you know.”

Lassiter scoffed, “You don’t follow protocol.  Look what you’ve done over the last seven years!”

Everyone stiffened at this comment except the Chief and Shawn.  He sighed, turned to his team and motioned for them to leave.  Without a word, they complied, leaving the team alone.

Karen looked at everyone in the room, noticing the looks on their faces.  They all shared a look of worry, except Lassiter, who’s face just held a look of triumph with what looked like sadness.

“Is there something I’m missing, Shawn?” Karen asked.

He looked up at her, then looked around the room to his friends and his dad.  He limped over to a chair and pulled it in the middle of the room.  He didn’t sit down, but leaned on the back of it for a moment.

“Here’s the thing, Chief,” he began, running his good hand over his face, then shook his head.  Shawn took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them to look in the eyes of Karen, “Chief, how many cases have Gus and I helped solve over the years?”

Karen shrugged, “I’d say over 200 cases.”

“And in those 200 or so cases, was there any doubt in your mind of my abilities?” Shawn asked.

“Of course not, Shawn.  I fully believe in your abilities,” she replied.

Shawn’s heart sank a little in his chest, “I…I have to say something, but first, do you remember what you said to me the first day we met?”

She nodded, “Yes.  I hired you for the McCallum case.”

“I mean, about me being psychic?”

“Yes.  I told you that if I ever found out it was a scam, I’d prosecute you.  You would’ve been hindering a police investigation.”

Juliet swallowed hard, her eyes darting in between Shawn and Karen.  She saw Gus out of the corner of her eye with a nervous look on his face.

Karen stood up out of her seat, “What’s this all about, Shawn?”

Shawn limped forward and grabbed the glass fish off of her desk before answering, “Chief, I…I’m not really psychic.  There, I said it.  Now we can get out of here?  Jerk Chicken, anyone?”  Shawn made his way to the door.

“Wait one minute, Mr. Spencer,” Karen said firmly. 

Shawn dropped his hand, turned around and faced her.

Karen noticed he still had the glass fish, and was now looking at it; sticking his finger in its mouth as he always did.  “Sit down,” she commanded.

Shawn limped back over to the chair and sat down obediently.  He continued playing with the fish.  Karen, afraid for its safety, grabbed the fish out of his hands and set it on her desk, out of his reach. 

“Do you mean to tell me that this whole time, you’ve been pretending to be psychic?” she asked angrily.

Shawn swallowed hard, “Yes, Chief.”

With an exasperated sigh, Karen turned to face the window.  Shawn took the opportunity to tell her the story.

“You see, when I was little, my dad started training me to become a cop.  He made sure I would notice things, little things, where ever we went.  What was the name of the waitress when we walked in?  What letter is out in the EXIT sign, how many hats are in the room, stuff like that.  As I got older, he started survival training, picking up tells when a person lies or is telling the truth, how to pass a lie detector test,” his eyes darted toward Lassie, who glared back.

Karen stayed turned around, so Shawn continued, “I grew to hate being tested.  After my parents divorced, I was living with dad and got so angry at him that I knew I wouldn’t follow in his footsteps.  I was not, nor would I ever, become a cop.  Around my eighteenth birthday, I stole a car to impress a girl, since I was batting zero since high school, and Dad arrested me.  Not too long after that, I took off.”

Henry looked at his son with interest.  He’d never actually heard the story of how and why Shawn changed his mind.

Karen turned around, “What’s this got to do with anything?”

“Well, I traveled the world, taking jobs where ever I was.  I worked a year in Argentina in a winery, a weekend in Seattle for the Mariners as a ball boy, even a weekend at a museum as a janitor.  I’ve been all over, and every time I was in a spot, I’d “see” things.  Like, another worker taking a few bottles of wine when no one was looking, someone taking money under the table, things like that.  Eventually, I ended up in the CIA, using my hyper-observant gift to help with top secret government projects.  I decided to come home in 2006.  I had only let Gus know I was back, living in hotels and such.  That’s when I started watching the news and calling in tips for the police,” Shawn explained.

Lassiter put his handcuffs back into his belt.  Oddly enough, he didn’t feel like putting them around Spencer’s wrists anymore.  He just leaned against the bookshelf and listened.

Gus’ face now registered relief of sorts.  The look on Karen’s face wasn’t as scary, now. 

Shawn continued, “One day, I called in a tip about the stereo store robberies, and was called into the station.  Lassiter and his former partner, Lucinda, took me into interrogation and basically informed me they thought I was a suspect.  Officer Allen was right there, with Buzz, and I “saw” her crystals and her dream catcher earrings.  Before Lassie could get the cuffs on me, I said I was a psychic and that’s how I got all those tips,” he finished.

“So, just to save yourself from being arrested, you lied and said you were a psychic?  That seems a bit outlandish, Mr. Spencer,” Karen said.

Shawn saw a small smile playing on her lips, “Funnily enough, I don’t believe in psychics.”

Karen turned to Henry, “Henry, since he started Psych, how do you feel Shawn’s been doing as a detective?”

Henry smiled at his son, “Even though I never was keen on the idea of the whole psychic bit, when he gets serious about it, he’s one hell of a detective, Karen.”

Shawn gaped, “Dad, was that a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it, Shawn,” Henry joked.

Karen no longer could hold it in, “Mr. Spencer, I have every notion to have Detective Lassiter arrest you and book you so fast your head will spin.”

Shawn shrunk down in the chair, nodding slowly.

“However,” she added, “I won’t.”  She looked over at Henry, who nodded.  Shawn’s eyebrows raised in question.

“Shawn, I’ve known since day one you weren’t psychic,” she announced.

“What?  Are you serious, Karen?!” Lassiter asked.  A stern look from the Chief made him stand down. 

“Do you remember, Shawn, when your dad was here that day you solved the case?” she asked.

Shawn nodded, “Yeah, you said you wanted to check up on me beforehand.”

“Henry and I had a long talk.  He told me he wasn’t happy about the psychic angle, but knew that if we continued with the pretense that I assumed you were, you might just learn a few things along the way.  In the last seven years, I’ve seen the people in this room grow into a strong, well rounded team.  Yes, there have been a few glitches here and there,” she darted a look to Lassiter and back to Shawn, “but you have been there for each other.  Like the time Lassiter was accused of murder, or when I thought my days as a chief were over before they really began.  When Juliet was captured by Yin,” she caught a glimpse of Juliet shivering at the thought, “you all stuck together, showing the true teamwork I always knew was possible out of the lot of you.”

“So, you knew this whole time I was lying and just let me do my thing?” Shawn asked.

“Yes.  At first, I wasn’t a fan of the flailing about and doing the weird, trance like things you were doing.  Like during the suicide case that turned out to be murders, along with that cat,” Karen said.

“Little Boy Cat, or Girl, still not sure,” Shawn said.

Karen took a breath and looked around at the others, “The thing is, if word gets out that you were never a real psychic, hundreds of cases may be thrown out.  Criminals could be released.  If we were to arrest you for hindering police investigations, that would happen and we’d have a headache on our hands.  If not, you’d have to keep up the pretense of being a psychic out there,” she pointed to the bull pen.

“What about in here?” Shawn asked, pointing to the floor.

“In here, you are a detective.  You and Mr. Guster,” she said, acknowledging the man that was quiet in the corner.

Gus stood up and walked over to Shawn, “Chief, I know that we both should be punished for what we’ve done, but I just want to say that it was all Shawn’s idea.  I just went along for the ride.”

“Sellout,” Shawn joked.

“You could’ve said no and walked away before it even began, Guster,” Lassiter chimed in.

“Well, after a few cases, I started to get into the flow.  I have to admit, being a detective is, well, a lot better than being a pharmaceutical rep any day.”

Shawn looked up at his friend in shock, “Dude!  Seriously?  All this time you were complaining about having your ‘real job’ and Psych just being a side job and you would’ve rather had Psych?”

“Looks that way, Shawn,” Gus said.

Karen nodded, “Then here’s my deal.  No one outside this room breathes a word about this to anyone.  Everyone out there in the bull pen, everyone in Santa Barbara will continue to believe that Shawn is a psychic.  This is going against everything I was trained for, but you both have become vital members of our team and I’m against a wall with what would happen should we arrest you instead.”

Shawn and Gus fistbumped at that moment.  Juliet looked relieved and happy.  Lassiter even had a small smile on his face.

“But, in accordance with the laws, you both will be put through police training, given badges and you will take the DET before being hired on any more cases.  You both will be paid the standard rate of rookies in training until such time as you graduate.  Is that understood?”

Shawn looked at Gus, then at his dad, who had a huge smile on his face.  With that, Shawn stood up and saluted, “Yes, Ma’am!” Gus followed with his own salute.

“And guys?” Karen said.

“Yeah?” Shawn replied.

“Don’t *ever* call me Ma’am,” she answered with a smile.

Epilogue: 8 months later

Karen, Carlton, Juliet, Shawn, Gus and Henry surrounded the hospital bed.  All of them, including Lassie and Henry, had looks of adornment on their faces.  Nearby, Buzz beamed with pride.

“He’s beautiful, Francie.  Buzz, he’s got your eyes,” Juliet said sweetly.

“He’s got his hair, too,” Shawn joked, noting the spiky hair on the baby boy.

“What’s his name, McNab?” Lassie asked.

“Kip.  He’s named after an uncle of mine.  Kip Chandler McNab,” Buzz said happily.

“That sounds like a nice name.  Kip.  Awesome,” Shawn said.

“Where’d Chandler come from?” Gus asked.

“I’m a huge Friends fan, and Chandler was one of my favs,” Francie said.

A small chuckle drifted through the gang.  Shawn sighed and grabbed Juliet’s hand.

“Just think, one day you’ll be lying in bed holding Starfish Spencer,” Shawn said with a smile.

“Starfish?  You want to name our firstborn Starfish?” Juliet asked.

“Yeah.  Starfish Spencer has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” Shawn asked sweetly.

“We’ll talk about it later.  Much later,” Juliet said, giving Shawn a kiss on the cheek. 

Karen walked up to Francie and smiled, “May I?” she asked.

Francie nodded and carefully handed Kip over to the Chief of Police.  Karen took him in her arms and turned to show the others what a handsome boy he really was.  Even Lassie started cooing, but straightened himself out with Shawn and Gus started snickering. 

Lassiter walked up to Buzz, “Is he going to be a cop?” he asked.

A little surprised by the question, Buzz took a moment before answering, “Maybe.  He’ll be able to make that choice himself one day.”

“What about the CIA?” Shawn asked, overhearing the question.

Francie spoke up, “No.  After what we went through and what you went through, Kip will not be an agent.  I still have nightmares.”

Shawn nodded in agreement.  After being in the hospital for a month, Seamus was immediately detained and charged with numerous crimes, from smuggling guns out of the country to murder.  He was, obviously, fired from the CIA.  The trial didn’t last long, since a lot of his gang turned against him for lighter sentences.  Shawn had to testify, himself, and was very open about his whole partnership with the former agent. 

Now, Seamus Collins, a.k.a. Jacques Pierre, resided in a Federal prison near San Francisco.  Shawn was, sufficed to say, very glad to see him go.  That night, after the final judgment had been passed, Shawn drove to an old hideout he used to go to just before he’d left back in ’98.  He sat there and, although he’d never admit it to anyone, he cried.  He felt streams of emotions as the tears fell, from anger to hatred to betrayal. 

Shawn looked up at the people in the room and smiled happily.  He was now safe, happy, in love and secure in his life.  Nothing or no one could take that away.