Agent Lisbon of the California Bureau of Investigation retired with a total of thirty-one years of service - eight with San Francisco PD and twenty-three with the state. She got a decent pension, but she took a job consulting with an elite private security firm - in part to keep busy, and in part to double up on mortgage payments. She wanted that burden lifted so she could ponder what she really wanted to do with the rest of her life. At fifty-two, she had long since passed the point where the physicality of field work brought her any joy. It was not so much that she could no longer take down a fleeing criminal in a pinch, but getting up again hurt like hell and the aches and pains would echo in her bones for weeks afterward. Desk duty, no matter the level of responsibility had never been a favorite.

She sat at a table on a rooftop cafe, indulging in a hot fudge sundae. Once a month on a sunny evening this would be her dinner. Taking a bite, she closed her eyes to concentrate on the pleasure of warm fudge sauce contrasted against cold ice cream, and chocolate against vanilla. Taking a deep breath, she looked out over the scattered people strolling along the sidewalks below. She listened to the pop music from the boom-box at the servers' station and turned back to her ice cream. Even as the fudge sauce cooled and the ice cream melted, she ate slowly, smiling sometimes between bites.

Over the course of months following this habit, she occasionally thought she saw familiar figures as people walked past. Most of the time, similarities were coincidental, though sometimes it would turn out to be a friend or acquaintance. One notable time, recognizing a tall back with a wide set of shoulders resulted in a not-entirely awkward chance to catch up with Rigsby's teenaged son, who had grown at least eleven inches since a picnic with her old team and their families last year. Dopplegangers of impossible people - friends she knew to be elsewhere or dead - earned a slight, uneasy catch of her breath or a wistful smile.

There was one she had gotten a glimpse of near several of her haunts recently. The familiar ache she felt at anything that made her remember that one - it was like scratching a mosquito bite that was already bloody, feeling almost as good as it hurt and making her feel foolish for not having better self-control.

It was better for her peace of mind to concentrate on the sundae ritual. So she closed her eyes and took another bite. She focused on her senses - listening to the music, soaking in the sun at her back. Briefly she thought she felt eyes on her, but quickly shook the feeling off. Then she opened her own eyes to continue people-watching. When the ice cream was gone, she sat there for a few minutes more.

Then gathering herself, she got up, left money on the table, and exited. Back on the street, her mind kept playing tricks on her. She heard her name spoken quietly in a man's voice. She had heard it before over the years. The voice lived in her mind. Turning to look would be crazy-making. She had learned to steel herself against it. The ghosts of her imagination did her heart no favors. Her awareness of the crowd around her made her stretch her senses. Though age had diminished her speed and agility, experience sharpened her sensitivity to her surroundings. And any thug who targeted her might well find himself surprised by this fifty-something, petite woman's ability to drop him like a stone.

She heeded the urge to dodge into a more defensible position. In this case, it was a boutique with large windows. She made a show of browsing racks of merchandise near the front, scanning passersby as she did so. After some time had passed, she placed a call to Van Pelt, whose office was nearby, and resumed her walk. They chatted cheerfully, and Lisbon made sure to mention where she was, talking about what shops she was passing and describing the people around her. If she was imagining things, there was no harm in continuing their friendly conversation. If there was trouble, then someone capable of acting knew her immediate location.

She reached her own office. Greeting the building's security guard, she stated her intent to grab the file for a an event the next month and head home. In the stillness, she relaxed her own wariness just a bit. Unlike her habits of years before, she did quickly retrieve the folder she wanted and head out to the parking garage where her car was. On the alert when she saw a strange man leaning against her Mustang convertible, she palmed her gun.

As she approached, she called from a distance, "Something I can help you with?"

"Maybe, Lisbon. Care to explain why you didn't answer when I called out to you on the street earlier?"

The voice was familiar, as out of a dream. The closer she got to him, the more impossible it felt.

"I didn't hear anyone - "

"That you were willing to admit to."