Author's Note: Wow! I don't know what to say to the response to this story already! Thank you! So sorry it has been such a long wait for this Chapter. Work got crazy and real life took over my steering wheel. I put real life back in its seat belt and finally finished it. Special thanks to my new Beta, who puts in a lot of work in making sense of my thoughts, and corrected my typos. Read on!
Emily watched Garcia skip happily into her office, dubbed by the team as The Cave, despite its brightly colored assortment of knick knacks and writing utensils strewn about the desks. The office always seemed dark and cold to Emily. She knew the room was kept cool in order to keep the machines from overheating. But the reason for the dim lighting had always puzzled her. Every time she had been in the office, the only real illumination came from the various computer screens lining the desk and walls. The office had lights. She had personally seen them used before. Garcia just preferred to work in the semi-darkness. Just the thought of spending a few days in the low light, staring at the computer screens, made Emily's head hurt. Garcia seemed to catch this thought and flipped the light switch on the wall. The room erupted with florescent illumination and Emily grinned in appreciation.
Garcia busied herself with powering on all of the machines before disappearing out into the hall. Emily set her bag on the floor next to the desk and picked up one of the random toys from its surface. The green blob wiggled and lit up in her hands and she let it slither back to the desk, somewhat creeped out by its texture. She turned around at the sound of plastic wheels of the office chair sliding through the door as Garcia pushed it in next to hers at the desk. Emily thanked her and took the offered seat.
"So, what exactly is it I'm supposed to help you with down here?" Emily asked, eyeing all the computer screens. She felt completely out of her element.
"Oh, you know, navigate the internet super highway, go through people's dirty laundry, and answer every seemingly impossible question the teams can come up with." Garcia answered, plopping down in her chair. "We'll work miracles and make the World Wide Web our bitch."
"Teams? Are you cheating on us?"
"Oh Sweetheart, you didn't think you were the only team that I service, did you?"
Emily had never really thought about it before. She had grown so accustomed to the super tech working information miracles for them for so long, it had never crossed her mind that Garcia must work with other agents as well.
"Should I be jealous?" Emily feigned worry.
"Don't fret kitten. You know you come first." Garcia patted Emily on the knee and they shared a smile.
Once the computers were online and Garcia seemed to be settled into her morning routine, Emily asked the question that had been on her mind since Hotch had planted it.
"Hey Pen, who was it you wanted me to meet?"
Garcia looked over the top of her pink glasses at the clock on the wall, then to one of the monitors on the desk.
"It's too early. She won't be back from her run yet." Garcia stated flatly.
"Who?" Emily prodded.
Garcia snapped her attention back to Emily and turned in her chair. "You remember Nicholas Wilks?"
"The tracking expert from Colorado? I thought he stopped consulting once they determined Lambert hitched a ride off the mountain."
"He did." Garcia replied. "I still wanted to learn more about the whole survivalist thing though. Learn about their mindset and motivations. Ya know, maybe get into Lambert's head."
Emily winced. "I don't know if that's really a place you want to go, PG."
"Oh, no doubt!" Garcia agreed. "Nicholas put me in contact with an associate of his. If extreme recreation survivalists have prodigies, I believe her to be one of them. She's like the lovechild of Rainman and MacGyver."
"And she's going to help you get into Lambert's head?" Emily wasn't sure if she should be concerned or amused by Garcia's desire to profile the mad man.
"Oh no Princess." Garcia said. "Like you said yourself, that monster's head is the last place that I want to go. She's going to help you get into Lambert's head."
"Right," was all Emily could say, nodding her understanding. "What's her background?"
Garcia spun in her chair and bent over to dig through the lower desk drawer on her left. She retrieved a file and turned back around, flipping it open.
"It's actually kind of sad." Garcia's face fell. "Her mother was killed by a random street thug in a mugging gone wrong when she was three years old. Her father was a Gunnery Sergeant in the Marine Corps and started teaching her about wilderness survival, and all sorts of other outdoorsy stuff that I really don't get the appeal of, from a very young age."
"He wanted to teach her how to survive a world that had violently taken her mother." Emily thought aloud.
"Makes sense doesn't it?" Garcia said. "When I asked her how she knew Nicholas, she said she'd taken one of his classes to prepare for an adventure trip she'd planned to take with her father. Unfortunately, her dad died of a heart condition a few years ago and they never got to go. Nicholas said that he was so impressed by her in his class, that he offered her a job teaching classes for him. Since then she's helped him assist the U.S. Marshal's office in tracking down a half dozen fugitives and they've recovered close to thirty missing persons all across the country."
"How much is this consult costing the Bureau?" Emily suddenly wondered what Chief Strauss thought of the unconventional consult.
"Not a dime." Garcia beamed.
"Oh come on Garcia." Emily scoffed. "Someone with that kind of reputation doesn't work for free. Especially when the client is a well-funded government agency."
"All I know is that after our first meeting, she sent me an invoice stamped, paid in full." Garcia straightened in her seat and smiled brightly. "It must have been my charming personality."
"Paid in full? As in someone paid her fee, or that she waved the charges?" Emily's mind went immediately to Rossi. The senior agent could have easily fronted enough money to cover the cost of a private contractor.
Their thoughts were interrupted by a chime from the computer on the desk. Garcia spun in her chair to face the monitor.
"I don't know," Garcia responded to Emily's question. "She just logged on. Let's ask her."
Garcia clicked the icon in the corner of the screen. A video conference window popped up and opened across the monitor. For a moment they were met only by the image of an empty office chair, before a blur of white passed through the screen and a woman settled into the chair.
"Good morning, Penelope."
The woman's voice sounded through the computer's speakers before her face disappeared behind a plastic water bottle as she took a drink.
"Morning, Cassi." Garcia returned the greeting and adjusted the volume. "How was your run?"
"The rain stopped about halfway through. I love the rain in Virginia." She answered and leaned in closer to screen, eyeing them. "Who's your friend?"
"Cassi, meet Emily Prentiss. Emily, Cassidy Maddox." Garcia introduced.
The young woman on the screen looked nothing like Emily had imagined from the little she had learned. She had pictured a tall, stocky woman in her thirties, definitely not the teenager in front of her. She wore no baseball cap or khakis like all the outdoor enthusiasts that Emily had seen in Cabela's catalogs. Instead, she had sleek dark hair cut even with her jaw line and curled perfectly behind her ears, despite having just returned from a run. The girl stared through the screen at her with sharp eyes, studying her through square, wire framed glasses. Emily offered a smile to the camera mounted on top of the computer screen and lifted her hand in an awkward wave. The woman's left eyebrow arched and the focused scowl softened.
"Sorry. I was distracted." Cassi grinned, revealing hidden dimples that made her appear even younger. "Nice hat."
Emily frowned in confusion for a moment and blindly reached to her head. Her hand knocked against the stiff paper party hat, and she immediately understood the initial look on the woman's face. She pulled the hat from her head, blushing slightly, and chuckled.
"I forgot that was there." Emily said.
"You're the second person from the FBI I've ever had contact with. You're both wearing them. I was beginning to wonder if it was standard uniform." Cassi joked.
"That would be the day!" Garcia piped up. "Although, we did manage to get Hotch into one. Strauss is just a tray of cupcakes away."
They shared a laugh, despite Cassi not knowing who Strauss actually was, before Garcia pulled another file from her desk drawer.
"So Cassi," Garcia spoke after noting both of the brunettes were watching her. "Now that Emily is back, you can start working with her on catching up to Lambert."
"Like I've told you before Penelope, I can't tell you what he's thinking. I don't know what he's thinking. All I can tell you is what I would do in his position. That doesn't necessarily mean I can find him for you." Cassi said sympathetically. "Tracking someone in wild terrain is easy, but now that he's in DC…"
"In D.C.?" Emily cut her off, confused. Garcia paled. "Lambert is here?"
Garcia opened her mouth to speak but immediately closed it, not knowing what to say. The color slightly rose in Emily's cheeks and she stared daggers at her friend.
"Tell me Garcia." Emily said. Her voice held an edge of warning.
"They got a call from the tip line in Newport a few weeks ago. An old farmer claimed he'd picked Lambert up and drove him to the bus station in Rockford." Garcia refused to look at Emily as she spoke.
"And?" Emily urged her to continue.
"He told them Lambert was headed for the airport. We think he's here in DC."
Emily stood abruptly, sending her chair rolling backwards and slamming into the wall. "Nobody thought that this is something I should know?"
"We just wanted you to get better Em. You would have just stressed yourself out if you knew he was out there."
"So that's what all the team movie nights and constant check-ins were about." Emily realized. "You all were way too protective. I knew there was something going on."
Emily knew that she was being irrational. Underneath the anger she understood their reason for not telling her. She just didn't agree with it. She wanted to storm out of the room and confront Hotch with the information, but the look on Garcia's face made her feel guilty for being angry.
"I'm sorry, Em. They were hoping to have some sort of lead on him before they told you." Garcia finally looked up at her. "Now you're back, and we can really focus on getting this guy."
Emily crossed her arms over her chest and flexed her neck against the dull ache forming under her skull. She felt the anger in her dissolve slightly, but wasn't yet ready to let it go.
"I'm sorry." Cassi's voice broke the tension. The woman looked uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation. "I didn't mean to..."
"It isn't your fault." Emily snapped. She took a deep breath and retrieved the chair to sit back down. "Let's just focus on finding this son of a bitch."
"I'm sorry, Em." Garcia whispered.
Emily lifted her hand to stop her, signaling that the particular conversation was over.
"Cassi, What would you do here in DC?"
"Curl up and hide." Cassi laughed. When neither of the other women appeared amused she cleared her throat and explained. "I don't like cities. There are too many people, too much going on. Crowds freak me out."
"So you think he would be hiding out somewhere less crowded and away from the city?" Emily's brain was already processing a list of possible locations in the DC area.
"I have no idea. I'm just saying that's what I would do."
"I understand that." Emily nodded and scooted her chair closer. "Put yourself in his shoes for a few minutes. Close your eyes and think. Pretend you're him."
Cassi looked dumfounded for a moment, unsure of what was expected of her.
"It'll be easier for you to place yourself in his situation if you aren't staring at the screen in front of you." Emily explained. Cassi nodded and took a deep breath as she followed instructions.
"Are you doing a cognitive interview?" Garcia whispered so she wouldn't be heard through the computer.
"Something like that." Emily whispered back, then raised her voice for the survivalist. "Cassi, picture yourself deep in the forest. It's been raining for days and it's cold. You just escaped the group of federal agents that you yourself kidnapped the day before. Your partner is dead, and you're on the run. The mountain is crawling with police search teams. Of all places, why would you go to DC?"
"Revenge on the ones that killed my partner?" Cassi shrugged.
"You don't care about your partner. He didn't mean anything to you and you would have killed him yourself if they hadn't."
"Then I don't really have any reason to go."
"You have to have a reason. You're a hunter, and an experienced tracker. You've been tracking them through your own back yard for nearly two days. You're so close to the kill, but they surprise you. They got away."
Garcia watched Emily, wide-eyed. She had begun the interview so tentatively that she was sure that she was just humoring her desire to help. Somewhere in the process, something had struck Emily, and sparked her into full-on interview mode. Emily now sat forward in her chair and leaned her elbows on the desk, studying the woman on the screen intently. Had the computer not been separating the two women, Garcia was sure Emily would have been right in Cassi's face. The room was silent for a moment as the woman on the computer thought.
"I'd want to catch up to them and make them pay for making me look like a fool." Cassi surprised herself with the venom she'd spit out with her answer and her eyes shot open. Garcia stared at the screen with a slack jaw. The girl didn't seem to have a dangerous bone in her body. Where had that other person come from?
Emily took a deep breath and sat back in her chair. "So going off that theory, what are your first steps after arriving in DC?"
Cassi took a shaky breath, uneasy with the bitterness that had emerged from her mouth only seconds ago. "I would, uh… I'd need a place to stay."
"You're injured." Garcia blurted out and flipped open the file on the desk.
"What?" Emily pulled her attention from the brunette to the file on the desk. "I don't remember that."
"I'm sorry, baby doll, but you don't really remember anything about that day. Morgan shot him. He said that he thought it had only grazed him though." Garcia flipped through the folder and pulled a sheet of paper from the file.
"You have the case file?" Emily asked, surprised.
"Hotch made us copies," Garcia replied. "He's been working on this since the day you woke up. We all have."
Emily felt a pang of guilt at the anger she'd shown her friend earlier. The whole team had been working the case on the side for six weeks. She felt childish for the mini-tantrum and the room fell silent. She was at a loss of what to say.
"I'm sorry." It sounded inadequate, but it was all she had. Garcia smiled at her and stuck her nose back to the page.
"Here it is. Derek shot him in the right shoulder. The bullet went all the way through and was recovered from a tree stump." Garcia read from the page.
"I can tend to a wound like that myself." Cassi brought their attention back to her. "Assuming it was just a graze, I'd carry enough gear in my pack to do it. But if I had to abandon my pack, I'd need supplies. He would have found water right away, especially if he knew the mountain that well. He'd know exactly where to go for it. He could pack the wound with pretty much anything to stop the bleeding and hide it from anyone he stumbled across."
"What would he need to treat it once he was off the mountain?" Emily reached across the desk for the stack of Post-it notes. They stretched across the desk in a slinky manner before Garcia pulled the bottom section away, leaving Emily with a dozen pink stickies. Emily would have laughed had she not been focused on retrieving a pen from the desk and preparing to jot down notes.
"Hmm, cleaning stuff," Cassi blinked and rubbed her forehead, thinking. "preferably some alcohol or sterile water. If it was deep enough he could get a small sewing kit or some super glue to close the wound. He'd need lots of gauze, and some Tylenol or some sort of antibiotic. It would hurt like hell for a week or so, but if he could keep it from getting infected, he'd be just fine."
"He wouldn't have to completely take care of it himself. He'd only have to manage it until he got out of the search zone. Once he got off the plane, he could go to any hospital and they wouldn't be looking for him." Emily shook her head and jotted down the few notes. She quickly realized Garcia was staring at her with a wide grin. "What?"
"I told you the two of you could come up with something." Garcia bragged. Emily couldn't help but return the smile. After sitting around her apartment watching mindless TV and re-reading the books on her shelves for the last six weeks, getting back on a lead felt good.
"Then what do you do?" Emily turned her attention back to Cassi.
"Find a place off the street where I would be comfortable, but not have to worry about someone finding me while I recovered."
"Like a cheap motel." Garcia said.
"More like a pricey one."
Emily stopped writing and frowned at the screen. Cassi picked up on the confusion and explained.
"If I'm fresh off the plane in a big tourist city, I'm going to find the nicest hotel I can afford and be as comfortable as possible while I recover from my wounds. Cheap motels have cheap tenants. Someone is bound to talk after they notice someone with some sort of injury hanging around for a few days."
"How do you get funds?" Emily asked, jotting down more notes on the sticky paper.
"Funds are easy, especially in tourist towns. You lay down a hat and juggle a couple oranges and by the end of the day, you've got your housing fund. That's just If you want to keep it legal."
"I'm never tipping a street performer again." Garcia grumbled.
Cassi ignored her and continued. "Eventually, once I've fully recovered, I'd start tracking you down and planning my attack."
Emily froze, as did Garcia. Cassi hadn't meant for the comment to sound so personal. It had hit them hard. Even though the entire interview and brainstorming session had been theoretical, Emily couldn't stop the knot that formed in her stomach. It had been six weeks since their ordeal on the mountain. That was plenty of time for his shoulder to heal. As the three women sat safely in the confines of the FBI's Quantico office, there was no doubt in Emily's mind that Benjamin Lambert was outside, in her own back yard, waiting for his opportunity to strike her down.
The early morning rain shower had dissipated to a thick drizzle by the time the Rossi, Reid, and Morgan arrived at the crime scene. Rossi led them from the SUV toward the yellow tape that flapped in the breeze and separated the large warehouse from the prying eyes of the public. Two news vans had already arrived and a reporter shouted at them. They ignored her and kept walking. A clean cut man wearing a gray suit to match his hair waved them past the guarding patrolman and introduced himself.
"Detective Wayne Kimble." His voice was deep and held a raspiness reserved for a long time chain smoker. "Thanks for coming so quick. This one's gonna be tough."
"No problem." Rossi said after shaking his hand. "We don't get many opportunities to work here at home. We'll help in any way we can."
"Dispatch received an anonymous call early this morning from some guy claiming he found a body. He gives us this address. Patrols get here and find…" The detective paused for a second and pushed open the warehouse door. "Hell, I'll just show you what they found."
The giant wooden door creaked as it swung open. The four men stepped inside and let their eyes adjust to the new light of the dim warehouse.
"Who's the victim?" Rossi asked.
They followed the detective around a tall stack of crates and noticed the numerous Humvees parked across the center of the room.
"My guess is the owner of the building." Kimble answered. "Of course, you won't find his name on the paperwork. We've identified him as one very wanted and very dead, Owen Taylor."
"Owen Taylor? As in, ATF's most wanted arms dealer?" Morgan asked, shocked.
"Alleged arms dealer." Kimble grumbled. "The guy's been in and out of the court room for years. They've never been able to get anything solid on him. Evidence goes missing; witnesses change their minds about testifying. ATF's been waiting for years to find this place."
The detective lifted his hands, elaborating on their surroundings. As they walked closer, Morgan's focus was drawn to the large guns mounted atop all six of the military Humvees.
"Looks like he supplied more than just your average guns." Mogan ran his hand over the thick armored glass window of the Humvee's driver's side as they walked passed.
"What's in all of these crates?" Reid motioned around the room with his hand and then tucked it back into his pocket.
"M16s and M5s," Kimble answered. "At least in the ones we've cracked open so far."
"Looks like ATF's got everything they need for a pretty solid domestic terrorism case." Rossi said.
"Yeah." Kimble agreed. "Too bad he's dead."
They rounded the front of the last Humvee and immediately caught sight of the bloody mess in front of them. The wooden chair lay toppled on its side in a congealing puddle red puddle. The dead man's wrists and ankles were still secured to the slats in the chair by thick nylon rope. Rossi sidestepped around the side of the chair, careful not to disturb any possible evidence. He crouched down on his haunches and craned his neck for a better look at the man's face. Owen Taylor's eyes were glazed open in an eternal look of surprise, and specks of blood spattered his face.
"Look at this." Rossi pointed to the bruise on the dead man's jaw.
Morgan crouched next to him. "His killer roughed him up first."
"Look at the pattern of the bruising. See the ridges?" Rossi pointed to the deep purple lines squiggling along the edge of the bruise.
"Crime scene techs spotted that too." Kimble drew their attention. "Looks like our killer has a thing for knuckle dusters."
"So our UnSub came prepared. He wears brass knuckles under his gloves, and straps Taylor to a chair. Clearly he wanted this guy to hurt." Morgan thought aloud.
"You think it may have been some sort of interrogation?" Rossi asked.
"I doubt it." Reid said. "Bruising on his face suggests he was only hit once. Unless the UnSub was interrupted before he could finish, the victim would be in much worse shape."
"Look at the blood spatter on the walls and Humvee." Rossi pointed. "It's high."
"The UnSub was probably standing behind him. If he pulled his head back before slitting his throat, it could explain the angle of trajectory." Reid rattled off.
Morgan frowned as he noticed a streak of blood smeared on the back of the dead man's shoulders. "Hey guys, look at this. It looks like the UnSub wiped off his blade on the victim's shirt."
"That doesn't sound like someone that was interrupted and worried about being caught." Rossi frowned. "Detective, was there any signs of forced entry?"
"Not a damn thing." Kimble answered. "The guy's a ghost. All the doors were secured with intact padlocks and windows all sealed. Only a side door on the west end was ajar, and it was opened with a key. I'm pretty sure that's where our anonymous RP came in."
"If the victim was the owner of the building, he would certainly have keys to the locks. It's possible the UnSub used his keys to get in." Morgan's eyes searched the building interior as he spoke.
"And locked it up behind him?" Reid sounded suspicious. "That suggests a meticulous plan. It completely contradicts the actual murder, which looks to have been extremely violent and fast; personal even."
"Now you see why we called you." Kimble crossed his arms over his chest. He craved a cigarette.
"Did Taylor have any big competitors that you know about?" Rossi addressed the Detective.
"Sure. I'd be willing to bet all the low life gun runners across the country are gonna swoop in for a piece of the pie."
"Could you compile a list of any alleged affiliates of his gun running operation? Include anything you can about who he may have been dealing to, and where he got his supplies." Rossi said.
"It's gonna be a short list." Kimble mumbled. "If we had that kind of intel, he'd be rotting in a prison cell right now."
"I doubt Taylor kept his supplies in one place for too long, which means this shipment just arrived. If he didn't have time to unload the merchandise to his buyers yet, odds are he hadn't thought to hide his buyers list. Maybe you'll get lucky." Rossi stood. "Probably want to get a warrant for his house too."
Kimble nodded and led the three agents back toward the door. Once they cleared the threshold and stepped into the drizzle he lit up a cigarette. "So what happens now? Are you taking over the case?"
"It's still your investigation Detective." Rossi explained. "We'll take what we've learned back and brainstorm with the rest of the team. We'll combine that information with anything else that your office sends us, and we'll use it to compile a profile of our killer."
There was a long pause as the detective puffed on the cigarette.
"Something on your mind Detective?" Morgan asked, eyeing him.
"There's going to be repercussions." Kimble replied. "Buyers are gonna be pissed. His competitors are gonna be fighting over his area of operation."
"You think that might have been a motive?" Reid asked. "To start a turf war among his competitors?"
"I've dealt with these guys before Dr. Reid." Kimble stomped out his cigarette. "Hired killers are not as uncommon as you would think with these guys. If someone wanted to take over Taylor's business, they wouldn't risk taking on a death like that themselves."
"We'll consider that possibility." Rossi shook the Detectives hand as they stopped next to the SUV. "I believe our liaison has already opened communication with your department. If you have any questions or if you find anything in your sweep of the warehouse, give us a call."
Rossi handed Kimble his business card and they climbed into the SUV, leaving the crime scene behind them. Once they were out on the open road, Morgan spoke as he drove.
"Okay, so we have an UnSub that seems to have meticulously planned this murder. He was able to slip in, and out of the warehouse- that no doubt had guards watching it- without leaving at trace. He ties the victim to a chair, so I'm assuming he wanted to talk to him. He even wears brass knuckles, but only gets in one hit. Why?"
"Maybe Taylor told him what he wanted to know after the first hit." Reid offered from the back seat.
"If that were the case, this guy's all over the place. A guy that ties the victim to a chair and wears brass knuckles is there to deliver a beating. Whether Taylor told him what he wanted to know or not, that shows incredible restraint for him to stop after just one hit." Morgan theorized. "Then he turns around and kills him in a manner so violent that it seems personal?"
"It was a quick and efficient act. Taylor would have been dead before he even hit the floor." Rossi thought aloud. "I have to admit; Detective Kimble's hired gun theory isn't sounding so crazy."
Benjamin Lambert wiped the dripping layer of steam from the bathroom mirror, and smiled at the stranger staring back at him. The first purchase he'd made after arriving in Washington D.C. three weeks ago had been an electric razor, and a box of hair dye. The fact that he had lost nearly twenty pounds in the last six weeks, due to his healing injury and nonstop traveling, had provided a drastic change in his appearance.
"You are one good lookin son of a bitch." He said to his reflection with a wink.
He proceeded to brush his teeth and towel his now nearly black hair before exiting the humid bathroom. He clicked on the TV as he walked past it, and dug into the suitcase he'd picked up from the luggage turnstile at the airport. He'd watched the bag's owner for the good part of an hour before deciding the man was close enough to his height and build to be acceptable. The sound the man had made when he'd clubbed him over the head and proceeded to strangle him in the low level parking structure, still made Ben smile. Six weeks without the primal feeling of a kill had worn on him. His goal was in sight, getting closer by the day. He craved it. The very feeling of being so close to his prey, and yet unseen, exhilarated him more than he had ever thought possible.
He smiled again and picked up the wallet he'd tossed on the bed before his shower. The man's name had been Keith Frasier. Ben had hit pay dirt with his selection of the New York sales rep. The man had six credit cards in his wallet. It had only taken him an hour of following Keith around the airport before he'd stuck the card into an ATM machine. All Ben had to do was watch his fingers as they typed in his four digit PIN. Over the week, he'd been able to draw out nearly three thousand in cash from various machines from the one card alone. He'd lucked out to discover that threes of the six cards in Keith's wallet had been programmed with the same PIN. Yes, Ben had been living comfortably for the last three weeks; very comfortably. Soon he'd be able to start bringing his plan against the FBI agents to action.
A news report flashing across the TV screen caught his attention. He watched as the pretty blond reporter spoke to the camera. Even with the sound muted, he knew exactly what she was saying. It was the third time that morning he'd seen the special report, and each time he was entranced by it. A big time arms dealer had been murdered in his own warehouse, surrounded by illegal guns and ammo. Each time the story aired, Ben found himself more impressed by the man who had pulled off such a kill. The police seemed to be chasing their tails, and the news stations were going nuts. Ben sat on the edge of the bed and waited for the part he knew was coming. He clicked off the mute and the room echoed with the sharp sound of the reporter speaking.
"…D.C. Police have enlisted the help of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit in hopes of learning more information about Owen Taylor's killer. Thus far, BAU agents have made no official report on their findings. "
Ben perked up, watching as the three agents crossed in front of the camera. They ignored the reporter and briskly walked through the frame and disappeared into the warehouse. Ben smiled. The genius Doctor Reid and the hero Agent Morgan appeared to be recovered from their last encounter. He would take extra pride in watching them fall a second time. This time, they would not get back up. He was sure of it.
He stood from the bed, and watched the rest of the silent report from the corner of his eye as he dressed. He could use this killer's publicity in his own plans. With such a high profile murder happening right under their noses, all eyes would be on finding that killer. Nobody would be worried about the discovery of Keith Frasier's body. What was one more random mugging victim in the nation's capital? No, the BAU team had their plates full with a different breed of hunter.
Ben clicked off the TV and tucked his newly acquired Glock pistol into the back of his pants before pulling his shirt and jacket on over it. He took a moment to down a few Motrin pills and collected his camera from the suitcase. He did a quick scan of the room, making sure nothing would appear suspicious to the hotel's housekeeping, before exiting. Inspired by the work of another killer, he decided his first trip to the FBI's Quantico office was in order.
Author's Note: Dun Dun Dunnnnn! Okay, so that was a pretty long, kind of boring chapter. But this story has a lot of back story to it that needs developing. It will pick up in later chapters I promise! Click it and let me know what you think!