Aaron Hotchner sat in his office in the FBI field office in Quantico, Virginia. A light rap at the door had him glancing up from the small mound of paperwork that occupied his attention. "Come in," he said, sitting straight, his attention now turned to the small, blonde woman standing in his doorway. From the carefully concealed look she had on her face, Hotch knew the case hit close to home.

"We have a request from Alabama," Jennifer Jareau stated. "A husband and wife were subdued and tied down in their home. Their ten year old daughter is missing."

"When were they found?" Hotch asked.

"About an hour ago."

"Do we know when was she taken?"

"The police believe around 1AM," JJ told him, knowing that with every hour, her chances of survival were cut in half.

"Eight hours," Hotch stated, trying to reign in his anger. In cases like these, with children missing—kidnapped, he told himself—he couldn't help but think of Jack.

"I know this isn't a serial—" JJ started, but Hotch cut her off.

"No, you're right. Most abducted children don't survive past the first 24 hours," Hotch said, grabbing his briefcase and heading for the door to gather the team. JJ was right on his heels. He strode with purpose out of his office and down the stairs into the bullpen. Spotting Rossi and Prentiss, he walked up to them. "Dave," he said, directing his attention to the senior agent, "we have a missing ten year old girl, home invasion," he informed him.

"Where's our clock?" Rossi asked, an unwilling veteran in child abduction cases.

"Eight hours and counting," Hotch.

Prentiss spoke up. "I'll let Morgan and Reid know and tell them we're on the move," she said before rushing to grab them from the break room. Child abduction cases could be brutal and the time constraint added copious amounts of stress to everyone involved.

"Good," Hotch said at her exit, sure that she could still hear him. "Wheels up in thirty."

On the jet, Rossi started the conversation they'd all been dreading. "Is there an Amber Alert in effect?" he asked.

JJ nodded. "Since seven am this morning," she told him.

"With the Unsub's head start, he could be anywhere within a 400 mile radius. Make sure they're casting a wide enough net," Hotch told her.

"Who found the parents?" Rossi asked.

"Jim Scheuren, Cate's biological father. He was supposed to take her for the weekend. The police don't consider him a suspect," JJ added. Just because the team wouldn't consider him cleared until they'd spoken with him themselves, that didn't mean the locals' opinions didn't matter. If anything, they had to tread more carefully with any 'cleared' suspects.

"I'll want to talk to him anyway," Hotch said. "We're also going to need a list of registered sex offenders within a twenty mile radius."

"And an areal view of the entire neighborhood. I'll get Garcia on it," Morgan said pulling out his cell phone.

"The interview with the parents didn't wield much information," Prentiss noted from the file in her hands. "

"There were traces of GHB in their systems so amnesia is to be expected," Reid interjected. "They didn't even know Cate was missing until Scheuren was untying them from the bed. The only indicator of time was their bedside alarm clock. From the time on the clock, the electricity came back on at around one am. It was presumably cut out during the attack."

"How do we know that she wasn't taken earlier? The last thing Mr. and Mrs. Hale remember was dinner the night before," Morgan said, his phone clicking shut.

"A short text was sent to her best friend before going to sleep at eleven," JJ said. "They'd been texting back and forth for a couple of hours. I have Garcia pulling the transcripts to see whether or not the messages were genuine."

"Rossi," Hotch addressed him as the jet touched down. I want you and Morgan to go to the crime scene. The rest of us will get up to speed at the precinct." With that, the conversation came to a close.

CM~SPN~CM~SPN

John and Dean merged onto the freeway, heading back to their RV. They were still a few hours out, but it wouldn't be passed in silence. The ride to Alabama had been anything but uneventful. They'd been pulled over once for speeding, but either the girl didn't realize she was so close to rescue, or she decided she could trust the man who had taken her. Either way, John nearly died of a heart attack at the prospect of taking down a couple of armed officers to make an escape. If he had been alone, he would have been calmer at the idea. But putting his sons in the way of an armed rookie who probably hadn't seen any real action made him nervous in a way that even an angry ghoul out for vengeance didn't.

Dean was relaxed throughout the encounter, chattering on and on about how he and his dad were taking a road trip for the summer. The Grand Canyon was their ultimate goal, he'd informed the officer, making him smile and nod while Sam slept in the back seat. John got nothing more than a warning to keep below the speed limit and they were off again. After that, Dean collapsed back into silence, still angry at having to return the girl.

It had taken the entire trip there, but eventually—as John knew he would—Dean came around. Even at fourteen, he realized that the girl would be a liability. He would throw himself into the fray to save an innocent life, but he wouldn't sacrifice this little girl to the life he'd grown up in just because he wanted a family of his own. So Dean agreed, albeit a bit unwillingly, with his father and helped deliver the girl to the front steps of the Richard K. Morris Memorial Hospital. John didn't know much about seizures, but he knew enough to take her there instead of the police station where the most they could be counted on to have were a few butterfly bandages and maybe some antibiotic ointment. Though that last one wasn't guaranteed.