*I'm loving that this story is coming together so quickly in my head. Makes it that much more fun to write. I hope you guys are enjoying this as much as I am.
FBI Field Office, Boston, MA
Emily sighs, rubbing at her temples in an attempt to stave off her rapidly growing headache. She can hear J.J., just outside of her office, encouraging Denise Cabot's father to call them if he remembers something important.
The family interviews have been difficult, to say the least. Three of their victims had cut contact with their families long before their deaths, meaning that the families simply have no information to give. And Don Cabot had only learned that his daughter was a prostitute after her death.
J.J. steps back inside, letting out a breath as she slumps against the wall. "Well, that was…"
"A complete waste of time?" Emily supplies.
"Something like that," J.J. says, nodding. "We can't have learned nearly as much as we hoped we might."
Emily snorts. "Not by a longshot," she confirms. "And none of what we did learn connects our victims in any way."
"Were you ever able to contact Kerri Henning's mother?" J.J. asks. "I know Hotch said you were having trouble locating her, but she could potentially give us the answers we need."
She shakes her head. "We're still working on it," she admits. "The last time anyone saw her was when she came in to identify Kerri's body. Her phone is shut off, and anytime we send someone to her home, there's no answer." She sighs again. "I talked to Hotchner about putting out an APB, but he thought that might be a little too drastic, so there's not much we can do right now. And Senator Portman isn't available until tomorrow, so we're done with interviews for today."
J.J. checks her watch. "We've still got some time to kill before we regroup. Want to check in with Hotch and Reid and then grab something to eat?"
"Sounds good to me," Emily says, stretching her back as she stands. "It'll be nice to get out of the office for a little while."
Reid and Hotchner are still studying their respective boards when they pop into the conference room a few minutes later. "Prentiss and I are going to get some food," J.J. says. "You guys want anything?"
They both shake their heads, and Emily's turning to leave when Reid speaks. "Something's off," he murmurs, almost to himself.
"What do you mean?" Emily asks, immediately on alert.
Reid turns to her, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Emma Portman doesn't fit."
She steps closer to the map that he's been studying. "You're sure?"
"I noticed it, too," Hotchner says. "Aside from physical characteristics and cause of death, Emma doesn't have anything in common with the other victims. Her social and financial status is far above that of the others. The first four were all but living on the streets, and Kerri was working two jobs to pay her way through school."
"And Emma lived alone in an expensive apartment," J.J. says, nodding. "And I'm willing to bet she never had to work a day in her life."
"She's also the only outlier in the geographical profile," Reid adds. "If you look at the map, you can see that the first five abduction and dump sites are located within a five mile radius of Northeastern University."
"Makes sense," Emily comments. "Kerri Henning was a student there. We speculated that she was abducted while walking to her off-campus apartment after a late class."
"But Emma Portman lived in a high-end neighborhood clear on the other side of the city," Reid continues. "I had Garcia look into it, and she has no apparent connection to Northeastern. In fact, she was slated to start at Harvard in the fall."
Emily hummed. "It almost sounds like you're saying that Emma Portman isn't one of our UNSUB's victims."
"It's a possibility," Hotchner says, shrugging. "It's highly unlikely, given the physical similarities to the other victims and the nature of her death."
"A more likely explanation is that Emma was the UNSUB's intended target from the beginning, but he lacked the confidence needed to confront her," Reid says. "In that case, the earlier victims would not only be surrogates for Emma, but also a way to build his self-confidence so that he could go after the one he really wanted."
"Either way, we've got trouble," Emily says. "If Emma was his target all along, then he's accomplished what he set out to do, and finding him will be that much harder. He might not even be in Boston anymore."
"But if Emma's murder is unrelated to the others," Hotchner continues, "then we have two killers on our hands. One that's just getting started, and one that will do anything to keep his identity a secret."
Murray's Diner, Boston, MA
Will calls while they're out to dinner, and J.J. thanks God that Prentiss is the only one with her at the diner. It's not a long call (he's picked up a few shifts since she had to cancel), but there would definitely be no hiding from any of her team that she's seeing someone if any of them had been listening.
"Boyfriend?" Prentiss asks casually after she hangs up.
J.J. nods. "Long-distance," she clarifies. "We were supposed to spend the weekend together, but…"
Emily winces. "Sorry about that."
She shrugs. "It's not the first time we've had to cancel plans because of some psycho killer," she says. "And I know it won't be the last."
"One of the hazards of this job," Emily comments, shaking her head. "I honestly can't remember the last time I went on a date." She pauses. "Oh, no, wait I can remember, I just try to block it from my memory as often as possible."
J.J. laughs. "That bad, huh?"
Emily considers the question. "Not at first," she admits. "Everything was going great until he found out I was FBI and ditched me halfway through dinner." She chuckles. "I later discovered that he had several outstanding warrants against him."
She nearly chokes on her tomato soup trying not to laugh at that one. They spend the rest of their short dinner exchanging dating horror stories, and by the time Emily's signaling the waitress for their checks, J.J.'s mood has brightened considerably.
They're just getting into the Suburban to head back to the office when J.J. gets another call, this time from Hotch. "Are you heading back soon?" he asks without preamble.
"We're on our way now," she says. "We'll be ten, fifteen minutes, max. Why, what's up?"
"Garcia's got something."
FBI Field Office, Boston, MA
Morgan and Rossi make it back to the field office just moments before J.J. and Prentiss. The rest of the team is congregated in their conference room, apparently waiting for them to arrive.
"What's going on?" he asks, noting the air of urgency in the room.
"Am I good to go, Sir?" Garcia asks, her voice crackling a little through the phone's speaker.
"Everyone's here, Garcia," Hotch says. "Go ahead."
"Okay, I'll start with the good news," she says. "I've been searching through recent missing persons reports, and so far, there's nothing that matches our guy's M.O."
"What's the bad news?" Elle asks warily.
"Alright, this is where things get a little complicated," Garcia starts. "Based on what Elle learned from the coroner, I was able to find three unsolved cases that fit the victim profile. Melissa Jacobs, a seventeen year old runaway, was found beaten and strangled in an alley just blocks from Northeastern University. Kylie Harris was a drug addict that was found in a park that's less than a mile from Kerri Henning's apartment. And then we have Naomi Pierce; a prostitute that frequented the same blocks as Wendy West and Denise Cabot."
"So, what's the complication? Rossi asks.
"From where they fit on the timeline, Naomi Pierce and Kylie Harris appear to be the first two victims, killed about five and three months prior to Wendy West respectively," Garcia explains. "But, Melissa Jacob's body was found only one day before Emma Portman's."
Morgan sighs. "So, either our UNSUB had both girls at the same time," he says. "Or one of them was killed by a copycat with intimate knowledge of the other crimes."
"Dig deeper into all of our victims' lives, Garcia," Hotch says. "And inform us immediately if you get any hits through missing persons."
"Your wish, my command," she replies. "I'm faxing the case files to Prentiss' office as we speak. I'll call you if I find anything new tonight. Garcia out."
"How do we approach this, Hotch?" Morgan asks once she's hung up.
Hotch sighs. "Elle, call the coroner and ask him to look over Emma's body again; see if there's anything he missed. Let him know that you and Reid will be meeting with him first thing in the morning, and ask him to have Melissa Jacob's autopsy on hand as well." He pauses for a moment, deliberates. "For now, we continue with the assumption that Emma Portman was killed by our UNSUB. I suggest that we all head to the hotel and get some rest."
"What about me and my team?" Prentiss asks.
Hotch turns to her. "We need to solidify our profile, but we'll be ready to present it in the morning. It would be helpful to invite Boston P.D. to hear the profile so that they can be on the lookout as well."
Morgan watches Prentiss as the rest of the team packs up to leave. She's perched on the table in the conference room, poring over the new case files. He nudges Rossi, then nods to Prentiss. "You think she's gonna get any sleep tonight?"
"Not a chance," Rossi says. "But, then again, neither will we."
Hotch isn't surprised in the slightest to find that Prentiss is already in the conference room when he arrives in the morning. She's even in the exact spot they left her the night before, and he's willing to bet that she slept in her office. (She may not be wearing the same clothes as yesterday, but he knows from experience with Elle and J.J. that most, if not all, female agents keep a spare set of clothes at work.)
Elle and Reid had gone straight to the coroner's office from the hotel, and the rest of the team is off in search of much needed caffeine, so Hotch takes the opportunity to talk to Prentiss alone. She barely acknowledges him when he comes to lean against the table beside her, just a bob of the head to indicate she's aware of his presence. She's focused on the photographs of the victims they'd added the night before, and he knows that they kept her up last night.
It's in the set of her shoulders, the rigid tension of her posture. It's in the creases in her forehead and the way she rolls her eyes when he asks how she slept.
"I didn't," she admits softly. "Not for very long, anyway." She nods at the board. "They wouldn't let me."
Hotch understands, knows the team would, too. Sleep rarely comes easy with the job they have, and certain cases stick more than others. He wants to say something, anything to erase the shadows of guilt from her eyes. Like how it's only because of her that they're here in the first place. Or that 90 percent of the time they don't find all of an UNSUB's victims.
Instead, he asks if she's found anything new. Prentiss shakes her head. "Not really," she says. "Only, the more I look at it, the more I'm convinced that our UNSUB didn't kill Emma Portman."
"We kept coming back to the same thing while we were finalizing the profile," Hotch says. He checks his watch. "Speaking of, have you contacted Boston P.D. yet?"
She shakes her head again. "I can make a call to Captain Lehane," she says. "Have him and some detectives over here in…half an hour?"
Hotch nods. "Do that," he says. "We're waiting on Elle and Reid to get back from the morgue, and I'd like to check in with Garcia before giving the profile, but have your people ready as well."
Rossi wanders in as Prentiss heads to her office, hands Hotch a cup of coffee. "She here all night?" he asks, before downing what must be half of his own cup in one go.
Hotch sips his own coffee, grateful that the no intra-team profiling rule doesn't apply to this. "Didn't ask," he says. "Didn't have to." He ignores the satisfied grin on Rossi's face for as long as possible before giving in. "Spit it out, Dave." If they're going to do this, he thinks, at least they're alone.
"It's nothing," Rossi says, the innocence in his voice betraying that it's anything but. "It's just that most LEOs are pretty open books," he says. "But not this one. And yet, you're going out of your way to get a read on her." He smirks. "Some might start to wonder why…"
He figures denial is the best way to go here. Because it's the truth. "You're out of your mind," he says firmly. "I'm just making sure that her head is in the right place."
Rossi raises his hands in surrender, goes back to his coffee. He obviously hasn't let it go though, because a few minutes later he comments, "She's pretty."
He's noticed. He's not blind. But he's also not stupid enough to comment. It's just his luck that Morgan and J.J. come in at just that moment.
"Who's pretty?" Morgan asks, an amused smile on his face.
"Prentiss," Rossi and J.J. chorus, and Morgan nods, his grin widening. Hotch sighs. Where's Reid and his obliviousness when you need him?
He doesn't rise to their bait, just shoots them a stern look before turning back to the boards. "Let's focus on the case, shall we?"
*Okay, quick explanation here…I'm trying really hard to not make this story about Hotch and Emily. But at the same time, I'm trying to build a very subtle foundation to open things up for future stories. I'm still a little iffy about this scene being so early in the fic, but I can't really think of anywhere else to put it right now. Let me know what you think, please.
