Sitting in a police station in Miami wasn't how Shawn wanted to spend his vacation but Jules wanted to touch base with some of her old co-workers and Shawn was determined to be supportive. He just didn't know how to be patient.

Juliet had disappeared behind the "Police Personnel Only" barrier twenty minutes ago, with a smile of apology and a promise to be back in "a bit". Shawn had read all the notices on the bulletin board twice, had filled out all the "free trail issue" forms in the magazines with Lassiter's name and had inventoried all the vending machines. He was running out of things to distract him.

He'd wanted to talk to some of the officers, try to get a feel for what Jules was like before she transferred out to Santa Barbara, but everyone was busy with paperwork or interviews and some loud detective in a Hawaiian shirt was occupying everyone's attention at the front desk.

Which is why the guy sitting quietly on the bench next to doors labeled "No Entry" caught his attention. Amid all the movement, his stillness was almost unnatural. He didn't seem to be watching anything but Shawn would have bet that he knew everything that was going on. With a glance to make sure that Jules was still in the back room, Shawn crossed to the bench and sat down.

"Do you think it's always this crazy in here?" he asked.

"I wouldn't rightly know." The man smiled at Shawn. "I'm not from around these parts."

It wasn't so much the non-descript accent - Southern, but not Floridian - that intrigued Shawn, but rather the way the man's demeanor changed the moment Shawn sat down. The straight-backed quiet stillness that had attracted Shawn's attention shifted into a slouch and he'd developed a twitch in his left arm that rattled the cuffs that he wore.

"Me neither," Shawn said. "I'm Shawn Spencer, from Santa Barbara."

"Jason," the man replied. "I'm from Huston, here on business. This is all just a one big misunderstanding." He gestured his cuffed hands at Shawn. "How was I to know that the car I bought was stolen?"

The Texas accent was more noticeable now and while there was absolutely nothing wrong with it, Shawn knew it wasn't real. Jason wore a black suit that fit too well to be off the rack but his watch was a working watch and bore that scratches and dings to prove it. He was handcuffed in front but the cuffs weren't attached to the bolt in the floor nor were they as tightly locked as they should have been. There was also a parking ticket stub that poked out of the breast pocket of the suit. It was from the Miami Dade Airport and it was stamped from just an hour ago.

A buzzer suddenly went off and the door next to them clicked open, letting out two plain-clothed officers. There was the slightest tightening of Jason's jaw at the movement and he glanced at his watch. Shawn noticed that it wasn't telling the time, but rather counting down, with 9:38 left.

When Shawn looked back up the blue eyes that met his were cool and appraising. "So are you a Santa Barbara Detective, Officer Spencer?"

Shawn smiled. "Officer Spencer is my dad," he said. "Although I am a detective and I do consult for the Santa Barbara Police. I'm a psychic."

"A Psychic Detective?"

Shawn thought that the accent slipped a little although it may have just be the obvious disbelief coming through. Shawn leaned forward. "Yes. I'm here on vacation, but," he raised his hand to the side of his head, "I am sensing something about you."

The blue eyes narrowed slightly, but Jason's smile grew. "Do tell."

Shawn closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He made a tick-tick-tick sound. "You have some place to be, a deadline that you have to keep. Something important. Something to do with… planes."

For a moment, just a moment, a different looked passed over Jason's face and Shawn was suddenly glad that he was in the middle of a police department. Then it was gone, replaced by a smile. "Well, I'll be. That's good. I do have a plane to catch."

Shawn shook off the uneasy feeling growing in his stomach and continued. "I also sense that you didn't steal any car. That's not why you're here." Shawn knew he was right, but he had no idea what Jason's real game was. And it was obvious Jason wasn't giving anything away.

Jason just laughed. "Well, now why don't you share that with, Detective Finley, over there," his voice rose on the name and he gestured to the front desk. At the name, the loud detective in the Hawaiian shirt looked over at them. "Just tell him how innocent I am and I can get going now." There was extra emphasis on the word now, too.

Detective Finley was at their side before Jason had stopped talking. "Alright, what's going on here?" He pulled Jason to his feet and glared at Shawn. "If you're an attorney, you got to go look someplace else to a client. He ain't even been booked yet."

Detective Finley's wore a shoulder holster but it wasn't official police issue. Shawn had the feeling that he was waiting for Jason to make the next move.

"Shawn!" Juliet's voice cut through the moment. "There you are."

Shawn turned to see her walk into the lobby. When he looked back both Detective Finley and Jason were gone.

"Shawn, come on," Juliet said. "The guys want to take us out to lunch."

"But I sense…" He raised his hand to his head.

"Please, Shawn," Juliet said, "you promised no visions while on vacation."

Shawn gave one last look around, then nodded.

She smiled. "Good. I hope you weren't too bored while waiting for me."

"No," Shawn said as he followed her out. "I found something to distract me."