"Prentiss, get ready to vamp."
They'd been spread out, searching through the penthouse, looking for any sign of identity and realizing, as Reid had said, that they'd find none. The woman who lived there had taken every care to keep her personality from shining through. 'Disposable lifestyle,' Spencer had termed it.
Generic, Emily had thought, although when Morgan discovered the closetful of clothing that reeked of sexual fetish, she'd altered her judgment. Generic 'working girl.' And that was putting it nicely.
But then Hotch had found the books. French classics in their original mother tongue. An appreciative look had touched his chiseled features; a sign of his education and culture that went far beyond what was needed to be an FBI agent.
Prentiss had always rather liked that about her boss. His surface was as hard and dark as obsidian, but scratch it, and she had a feeling all sorts of beautiful things might be crouched beneath. She'd thought that those qualities likely came forth to play when he was home with his wife, Haley. Now, she wasn't so sure. Hotch's little family, his reason for living, his heart and soul, had walked away without a backward glance.
He'd covered his pain with dedication to his job. But a team of professional profilers could see right through the hard, dark obsidian crust like it was a plate glass window.
They loved him, so they let him hunker down and nurse his wounds. If anyone decided it was time to pull him back into the light, it would be Rossi. So they let Hotch carry on without worrying about him too much. The only thing they did all give silent acknowledgement to was that he needed extra protection right now. He was a strong man, but everyone had a breaking point. And no matter how deep beneath the obsidian surface he'd buried it, Hotch's self-esteem and essentially gentle nature could still be injured.
As could his male ego.
Hotch didn't trust women as much as men to begin with. The distaff half of the team had hoped to gradually soothe away that wariness by association. Gentle J.J., sweet Garcia, and faithful Emily would repair the damage by their own constant, trustworthy examples. When Haley had left, they'd breathed a cumulative sigh of resignation. Hotch's wife ripping out his heart and kicking it to the curb made things so much worse. The male ego, already fragile, was in danger of being shredded past recovery.
No one wanted to see that.
So, unspoken, the team drew closer.
All these thoughts played through Prentiss's mind as they scoured the penthouse.
Then the phone rang. Like filings to a magnet, the agents grouped around it. Brief theories were offered up. If this was a client, there was a chance they could string him along and learn valuable information about this woman who killed with such casual precision. Morgan contacted Garcia, setting a trace in motion for the incoming call.
"Prentiss, get ready to vamp."
Pulse racing, Emily had stood at the ready, hand already reaching for the receiver. But then…
"Aaaaron. Aaron Hoooootchner." Drawled out in a mocking cadence, it threw all their hastily assembled plans to the four winds.
The caller was their unsub. Like a well-oiled machine, they adjusted to the unexpected. Hotch gathered himself to step in and do his utmost to move this case forward.
The woman's voice unsettled him. He hesitated.
"Aaaaron. Pick up, Aaron." The tone was sultry, challenging. "Don't be shy. Such a big, handsome man. Come on, let me hear your voice, Aaron. I know what you look like, but the internet doesn't always carry sound quality so well. Aaron Hooootchner…Come on, Aaron. Talk to me…"
Swallowing, a little embarrassed that his teammates were hearing this, Hotch picked up the phone and walked away from the others. He knew they could still hear, and that Garcia was also picking up on every word, but the few steps gave him the illusion of privacy, pushing down the squirming sensation in his gut, caused by some strange woman critiquing him. Hotch didn't want to admit it, but since Haley had left, his confidence had taken a nosedive. He didn't think women found him attractive at all. Not if his wife, who supposedly loved him, could walk out so easily.
The unsub's sexually suggestive tone and words felt like a bully taunting him at his weakest point.
"Hello. I'm at a disadvantage. You seem to know my name, but I don't know yours. Can we start there?"
A giggle that would have fit in the bedroom during foreplay came back at him. "I'm thinking more about where we'll end. I guarantee I'll know a lot more than your name, Aaaaaron."
Morgan's voice was hushed. "Baby Girl, you there yet?"
"Not yet, Sugar. Need a few more minutes."
The unsub made a purring sound that Hotch tried to ignore. "I watched you on YouTube, Aaron; that conference on school shootings." The purr vanished. Replaced with a hard, glassy edge. "I don't know why I thought I could trust you. Because all you are in the end, is a whore."
"How am I a whore?"
"You come when called. You do as you're told. You're for sale, Aaron. Just like me. And all you want to do is make the big, rich men who can buy and sell you, happy. Whore."
Hotch tried to sound persuasive, but in a deep, secret place, he felt a flick of pain. Haley must have found him worthless. This stranger saw it right away. Maybe he was. "Truthfully, I'm only interested in finding you."
The warm, seductive giggle returned. "Relax, Aaron. I'll find you. You won't be able to stop me. And it won't matter if your team's there. I'll feel sorry for them, if they are, though. But just to show you how serious I am…"
The gunshot slammed over the connection, galvanizing the agents.
"Hello? HELLO?" Hotch knew there'd be no answer.
"Garcia?!" Morgan prayed for the tech analyst to have pinpointed a location. She had.
Within seconds, Rossi and Reid were out the door and on their way.
But they hadn't finished combing the penthouse for clues. There was a chance the unsub's call and the gunshot were ruses intended to lure the agents away. If they all pelted the few blocks to where Garcia said the call had been made, the killer could sneak back in and clean up any loose ends she didn't want them to find.
So Hotch, Morgan and Prentiss stayed behind. It was a sure bet that the unsub wouldn't be waiting around at the scene where shots had been fired. And it would only take the three agents a few minutes, ten at most, to finish up.
"We'll be right behind you," Hotch had told Rossi as he and Reid left.
Prentiss remembered their quick, efficient work; their locking the penthouse door behind them and entering the elevator.
Then there'd been a hissing noise.
Then, there'd been nothing.
Until the headache, the nausea, the sight of a woman gloating over Hotch's limp body.
And, oh, God. Is she undressing him?