Author's Note: This is a follow up to my Christmas story, A Holiday Tryst. While it's not essential to read that one first, I do think it would make reading
A Valentine Rendezvous a lot more fun! Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy! Happy early Valentine's Day! - Angie
Derek Morgan sighed as he tiredly ran a hand over his face. This had gone a lot quicker than they'd expected, but man…had it been intense with the local police station. The team had been called to Boston to help find a serial rapist who'd attacked more than eighteen women. It really pissed Derek off that the department had waited so long to call them in. More than eighteen women, broken and battered all because someone had been too prideful to admit they were in over their heads. Somebody better deal with that shit.
Only when pressure had been put on from the media and the local citizens had they called in the BAU. Too many women too late, in Derek's opinion. Hotch's too, if his words to the press were any indication. Hotch rarely lost control, but when he did…the man blew his top off. Derek thought it did him good once in a while.
It had taken less than two days to catch the UnSub: a man the department had already interviewed as a suspect. But because local police had honed in on someone else by that time, they'd missed the evidence incriminating him entirely and let him go. Derek was so mad he could spit. For God's sake, Penelope lived in this city! Law enforcement needed to be more capable than this!
He looked at his watch. It was six-thirty and since one of the other departments had needed the jet, they wouldn't be flying out for another three hours. Jack's birthday was tomorrow, and Hotch was determined he was going to be there for it this year.
But three hours…he wanted to see Penelope, dammitt! He knew she'd said that what they'd had over Christmas was finished, but at this moment, he really didn't give a fuck. He wanted to see her, and he wanted to see her now. She was going to have to get over it.
He pulled out his cell phone and hit number six on his speed dial, not bothering to wait for a greeting when the Technical Analyst at the other end picked up.
"Lynch, I need you to look up an address for me," Derek said abruptly.
"Sure. What's the name?" Kevin asked.
"Penelope Garcia," Derek answered.
"Is this for business? Because if it's not—"
"Lynch. Don't be a fuckin' pussy. Just look up the address for me." It didn't take a profiler to figure out that a little strong-arming could get you exactly what you wanted from Kevin Lynch-legal or not.
Less than twenty minutes later, Derek was driving slowly through her district; he was pleased to see that unlike so many other Boston neighborhoods, it wasn't in disrepair. It actually appeared to be a pretty safe location.
He'd just seen the sign indicating her apartment complex and was turning in when out of nowhere, a bronze colored Cadillac sped past him, narrowly missing the black SUV he was in. He laid on the horn and refrained from flipping the other driver off—not they would have seen anyway; it was dark out.
He quickly parked the vehicle, and headed for her apartment. There were no lights on and he couldn't hear anything from inside, but he knocked anyway, hoping against hope she was there. After waiting for a few more minutes it was clear she wasn't, so he headed back to the SUV. He sat there for almost two hours, until Hotch called and told him the plane was leaving a little earlier than planned.
Derek had no choice but to leave. Clearly it hadn't been meant to be.