Chapter Text
He doesn't give a damn about Jane and Red John. He knows that he should, because Jane is a colleague, a friend, but all he can think about now is Grace, and how close he came to losing her.
He's finally got her on the phone, so he's only barely aware of the tinny voice on the open police radio calling in all units to handle a two-forty-six at the Pinewood shopping mall. Caucasian man in a grey suit opened fire in a crowded food court, killing one. Situation over, the man has surrendered his weapon and has been apprehended by the mall security.
Cho hits the brakes, bringing the van around with an illegal U-turn, and Rigsby swears, the momentum throwing him forward in his seat.
"What is it? Wayne, what happened?"
"Nothing, it's nothing," he tells her as he glares at Cho, fighting the urge to tell him to turn the car around again. "Are you sure you're all right?"
She hesitates, but only for a second. "I'm fine and so's Hightower and the kids. Lisbon is hurt, but it's not bad."
Her voice is calm and professional, not the voice of a woman who has just killed her fiance, but he knows her well enough to hear the pain underneath. He wishes that he could be there with her, to hold her and to comfort her, but more than anything else he wishes that he could have been there to kill that bastard O'Laughlin himself.
His fingers curl around the phone as the rage that he usually manages to keep in check threatens to surface, and he thinks that he's never hated anyone as much as he hates O'Laughlin. Never wanted so badly for someone to suffer and die slowly.
"I have to go and help the Boss. I'll call you when we get to the hospital."
"Grace-" he starts, too late, the line closing with a click.
The van pulls over in front of the mall and Cho jumps out, crossing the parking lot in quick strides. Once alone, Rigsby slams his fist against the dashboard, the pain momentarily clearing his mind. For a few seconds he stares at his knuckles, imagines the blood there as O'Laughlin's, before following Cho.