They had been sitting outside of the house for the better part of an hour.

His anticipation was rapidly building. This would be it. She would be the one, he just knew it.

It was so simple; he couldn't believe he didn't think of her before.

He looked to Constance, who was sitting perfectly still in the passenger seat, ignoring his unspoken pleas.

He had to get out of the car... Now, it had to be now. She would be sleeping fitfully in her bed; waiting for him to come-- he could feel her in his blood.

His fingers drummed restlessly on the worn steering wheel and he sighed audibly to get Constance's attention.

Without turning she stated, "It's not even twelve thirty yet."

He didn't care anymore, couldn't stand to wait any longer.

She seemed to read his mind, like she always did, and finally turned toward him, her voice resigned like that of a parent at long last giving in to the demands of a determined child, "Fine."

Not waiting for Constance to change her mind, he jumped quietly out the car, grabbing his zip-locked, chloroform-soaked rag as he went.

The street was dead silent.

Not even the night air dared to rustle the trees.

His entire body strummed with need and excitement as he carefully approached the small, burgundy coloured bungalow.

He couldn't see any lights on inside. Even so, he was semi-aware that this rash course of action could prove unfavourable. He had no prep-time.

Then again, time seemed to be more and more elusive to him lately, but none of that mattered now.

This lovely angel would be his ticket out of hell.

He stopped when he reached the front door, listening as best he could with his heart pounding out of his chest.

He knew there was no alarm system in the home--at least, not as of three weeks ago when he first visited. He smiled to himself, suddenly remembering one other piece of information he had gained the last time he was here: the beautiful, busy young mother had been kind enough share with him the whereabouts of the spare key.

Things just couldn't get any easier.

He reached up to the ledge above the door and, sure enough, his fingers came into contact with providence.

Slipping the key in the lock with a steady hand, he turned it until at last he heard a click, and slowly pushed the door open.

He froze in his tracks as he saw the beautiful young mother he had been thinking about only moments before, standing just two meters away from him.

Her shock was mirrored by his own and neither moved until the glass of red wine that had slipped from her fear-paralysed hand had contacted the floor with a deafening crash.

His brain went into a sudden overload as he hastily calculated his options.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. He didn't even think to bring a weapon with him, he had been so sure that everyone in the house was asleep, but he immediately determined that a physical attack would have to be launched.

Just as he stepped forward into her home, and she backed away from him, he heard the roar of a motor coming up the driveway, accompanied by her ear-splitting scream that effectively shattered the formerly pervading silence.

With no more than a moment's hesitation, he dashed back out the door, heart threatening to explode in his chest, and did not stop until he was certain he was not being followed.

Only after he collapsed to the ground, coughing and gasping for breath, did he realise that although he had been forced to leave his treasure behind, he still held the solid metal key to destiny in his hand.


After a restless three hours of sleep, Aaron Hotchner found himself rudely awakened by the blare of his cell phone going off on the bedside table.

The sudden noise jolted him awake, his heart racing before he could finally make his way through his sleep-clouded mind enough to reach over and answer it.

Gideon stirred in the bed next to his, sitting up and watching him questioningly as he spoke to the police officer on the other end.

Their current hotel was somewhat less than appealing, with stained carpets and seventies decor, but on short notice it was to be expected-- and for the BAU, it was almost always short notice.

Hotch sighed, clicking his phone shut, and began to redress quickly.

He had fallen asleep in his work shirt anyway, so he didn't have much changing to do.

Gideon was already up and dressed before he had to mention any specifics.

"There's been an attempted break-in, could be our guy," Hotch noted, pulling on a clean pair of socks. "He used a key."

With that, the two agents left to deliver the one AM wake-up call.


When the team arrived at Jane Rowland's home, on the outskirts of town, there were already two cop cars sitting quietly in the long gravel driveway.

The house itself was small but it was at least two acres from the nearest neighbour. It would not be easy to access help if needed.

She was lucky to have made it.

The team approached the now fully lit home with only the slightest residue of exhaustion in their movements.

They were immediately met by one of the officers and led to the almost-victim, and another man sitting across from her, in the living room.

It was then apparent why the police had thought to call them regarding the case; she had an uncanny resemblance to the other victims.

That, coupled with the fact that the intruder obviously knew where the spare key was kept, suggested that he had already been watching her and casing the house.

Jane looked terrified and tired. They couldn't blame her.

Gideon approached her first, the rest of the team following close behind. "Ma'am, I'm Agent Gideon and these are Agents Morgan, Hotchner, Prentiss, Reid and Jareau." He began, introducing each agent with a gesture of his hand, "We're with the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the F.B.I... Do you mind if we ask you some questions?"

The brown-haired man who had been sitting across from her now rose to put a calming hand on her shoulder. "She already gave the police a statement."

"We understand," Hotch interjected in his very best soothing-voice, "we just want to make sure that we get all of the facts straight so we can ensure your safety, Ms. Rowland."

"Do you live here as well Mr. Petruic?" Reid questioned the brown-haired man, Jane Rowland's current boyfriend, he presumed.

They weren't given much information over the phone but since the man appeared to be the only other civilian in the home, his identity could be easily assumed.

"No," Jane answered for him, "it's just my daughter Peigan and I. Mike was just coming to visit."

"Where is your daughter now Ms. Rowland?" questioned Gideon.

The woman looked slightly confused by the sudden and unwanted onslaught of more questions.

"She's staying at my mother's tonight." Concern suddenly showed on her face. "She's okay right? I mean you don't think she would be targeted?"

"I'm sure she's just fine Ms. Rowland," came Hotch's somewhat impersonal answer as he moved right on to his next question. "So you said he entered through the backdoor, with a key, is that correct?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so-- I watched the lock turn. At first I thought it was Mike, but then some strange man came into my house. If Mike hadn't arrived when he did, I don't know what I would have done."

"Can you describe him at all?" Morgan inquired.

"It-It was dark in the kitchen, I couldn't really see. He was tall though, maybe five-ten, and he looked strong. I just..." she paused, looking unsure.

"It's okay. Even if it doesn't make sense right now it can still be useful," Morgan encouraged.

"I don't know, he just seemed... familiar, you know? Like I had seen him before or something, but I just can't remember. I didn't even get a good look at the guy. It was so dark and I was so surprised." She sighed with frustration.

Gideon knew the chances of the intruder being their guy was fifty-fifty at this point, but they really didn't have anything better to go on.

Besides, if it was their Unsub, they had a serious problem.

The ever-increasing pace of his murders was daunting to say the least.

Deanna Artym's body had only been found this morning. The Unsub's obsessive personality seemed to be evolving in to an obsessive-compulsive one.

If he had chosen Jane to be his next victim then he would certainly be on his way back to retrieve her as soon as he was given the opportunity.

First things first, Jane Rowland had to be put under immediate protection.

Gideon didn't think they would get much more from her tonight.

She was obviously exhausted and shaken, and he had complete faith in the abilities of the local police to take her statement.

The clock on the wall behind Jane declared it to be two o'clock and Gideon could feel the energy of his team dwindling. "Ms. Rowland, is there somewhere you could stay for a few days, until we get things sorted out?"

"You think I'm still in danger?"

"It's just a precaution ma'am."

She nodded her consent and Hotch was already planning a police escort for her.

By the time the house had settled again, and Jane had been sent on her way with not one, but two cops to keep watch over her, it was twenty after three and all present were well beyond their initial tiredness and some had even gotten their second wind.

The intruder would not be back tonight, Hotch was certain.

He may be impulsive but he wasn't stupid. Nonetheless, the team agreed they would need a plan for the following night.

If the guy couldn't last an entire day without blood on his hands, he was sure to return in no time.

The agents sat around Jane Rowland's coffee table, the last to leave.

J.J listened to them conspire in hushed tones, as though any excess noise would awaken the empty home.

As the team discussed the case she found herself following the conversation better than usual. She had worked hard to reach the point she was at in the team; Harder than anyone cared to notice.

Still though, she always held self-doubt in the back of her mind as to her worthiness. She had seriously thought about becoming a profiler for a while, but never had the courage to put herself out there like that, in front of her teammates.

The media and flocks of aggressive reporters that she dealt with daily were an entirely different story. She didn't care about their opinions.

She knew though that she had allowed herself to get far too close to the people now sitting around the table with her. They had become her second family. If she were to disappoint them, she would be crushed.

Despite her abundance of self control and confidence, she still found herself striving for their approval and respect. Truth be told, she didn't know what she would do without them in her life.

The hushed conversation eventually turned to a plan of action.

They knew their timeframe was minimal at this point.

If they were going to take this creep down, they had to act fast. The only problem was that Jane was no longer here for him to pursue.

Morgan joked that they should find someone to take her place, or just dress Reid up in a blonde wig, which Reid vehemently protested.

Though the comment was born of exhaustion and humour, J.J saw hidden potential in it.

"I'll do it," she declared.

"Do what?" asked Morgan, confused.

"Take her place."

"Out of the question," Hotch replied, intending to end that thread of conversation but was foiled by J.J's sudden determination to prove herself.

"Why not? We're the same height and stature; we even have the same hair style. As long as he didn't see my face he couldn't even tell the difference."

"I said no J.J." Hotch was not pleased by this turn of events.

"What other option do we have at this point?"

"We can find someone else."

"On such short notice?" she was skeptical. "Besides, I know the case-- I'm more qualified than anyone else we could find to do this."

"I'm not putting you in danger J.J, it's not a debate."

"Hotch, she has a point. It's not like she would be alone, we would be right outside the whole time; the bastard wouldn't even make it to the front door," Morgan added passionately, and J.J grinned, pleased to have someone on her side.

"We can't let any more innocent women die, not when we have an opportunity like this," Emily expressed. "Even if he doesn't show, it's worth a shot."

Spencer knew J.J was more than capable, but did not like the idea of her being the bait in a homicide investigation. Still, his over-logical brain knew it made sense.

"She's right, Hotch," Gideon began, approaching the subject with care, "we don't have any other choices right now."

Hotch sighed, obviously outnumbered.

On any other team his vote would veto the rest, but here, it was useless to argue.

They would keep her safe after all, and she really was the best candidate...

"Okay."