Several jets were visible in their separate hangers along the side of the runway, but only one was out and fueling up to go. We could see Hotchner, Gideon and JJ boarding the plane, bags already loaded in the luggage compartment. The bureau had a policy about the firearms that were carried on board. It simply stated that all guns must be kept with the bags as a safety precaution. I didn't argue, or complain, as I took off my side arm. But taking off my 9mm TP9 made me feel a bit uncomfortable. I was always armed, or always near one of my firearms. Not having one on me made me feel vulnerable and exposed.

The jet was smaller inside than it looked on the outside, but it was big enough for the team. A few small wooden tables, surrounded by four large white leather chairs, were located near both sides of the center of the room. Two couches were placed on opposite sides, one on each end, separated from the tables by a few other leather chairs that filled the empty spaces.

I joined JJ on the side of a table opposite Gideon and Reid, and buckled in as Morgan informed the pilot that we were ready for take off. Within minutes we were airborne several thousand feet above the earth and given back our freedom to move around. Everyone took out their files so we could continue discussing the case.

"How many nursing homes are in Athens?" Asked Gideon.

"Five total, but only four have suspicions that someone has been intentionally delivering a lethal overdose to their patients. Detective Logan Rice is the lead detective on the case. The latest victim that tested positive for a large amount of morphine was his mother." Explained JJ as she scanned over the papers she had laid out in a neat order in front of her.

"Shouldn't he be taken off the case because of conflict of interest?" I asked.

"At first the coroner ruled that his mother died of natural causes. But Rice insisted on an autopsy before she could be buried. After the discovery they started to exhume more bodies."

"Is there any reason why the tests weren't done at the time of death?" Asked Reid.

"Nothing official, the coroner was just very adamant about not performing them."

"Possibilities?" Hotchner was the only one on his feet, looking over all the information that was laid out before him.

"Angel of death," said Morgan, repeating what he had said earlier in the conference room.

"There are some cases where the UnSub kills patients or the elderly, not so that he can save them, but because he firmly believes that he is putting them out of their misery. The most common methods are lethal overdoses of sedatives and painkillers. While most angels of death can only get away with nine to twenty-seven successful kills, Roger Andermatt in Switzerland killed over forty-five before being caught. There was even a killing couple, Penny Whitlock and Marty Himebaugh worked together and gave six of their patients lethal doses of morphine, which is the most common drug used." I noticed Reid talked a lot with his hands when he dived into his little speeches.

"The why hasn't he been detected until now?" Asked Hotchner.

"On the surface most of the deaths seem to be peaceful. The UnSub puts each of them into different comfortable positions so that they only appear to have passed in their sleep. Even considering the age of the victims there doesn't seem to be any signs of a struggle," said JJ.

"That could mean one of two things," said Gideon.

"Either they trust him, or he kills them while they really are asleep," I said.

"It has to be someone with access to the homes who no one would question if they visited many different patients. A doctor, nurse, or anyone who works there is a suspect," said Morgan.

"We need to narrow down that list. When we land JJ can go straight to the office to set up. Gideon, take Morgan and go to Oakland Nursing Home and Wadeside Nursing Complex. Charlie, I want you to go with Reid to Highfield Retirement Home and Emerson Nursing Home. Talk to the staff and get their reactions to what could be happening. Are they concerned or do they think the deceased are better off dead than living with the constant problems that come with old age. I'll meet with the coroner and see what he has so far on the bodies that have already been exhumed." Hotchner didn't miss a beat while he was giving out the orders. He gave me the impression that he would have done well living the well structured military life.

"The chances of any drugs being left in body dramatically decrease by almost 50% after the first 72 hours of death. The chances of finding any after a week or more after being buried in the ground are almost impossible," explained Reid.

"So we either need to get lucky," began JJ.

"Or we need more bodies," Morgan finished morbidly. I hated to think about more people dying as much as anyone else on this jet, but sometimes, that was the reality of the case. The higher the number of bodies usually meant an increase in the amount of evidence. It wasn't a happy fact.

"Let's hope we get lucky then," said Gideon. "If this angel of death is killing because he believes he has to, then he's not going to stop until he's caught."

Once Hotchner had given us our assignments, the personalities on the plane started to separate. I didn't have my ipod, but I easily tuned out everyone else's conversations as I occupied myself with the photos from the three confirmed victim's. I had seen many photos of crime scene's, and been at even more. But these were different. They didn't make my stomach turn uncomfortably. These didn't even look like a crime had been committed. Their faces didn't show any signs of pain, their bodies were tucked neatly under their blankets, almost as if they had simply laid down to sleep and drifted off into the unknown. No signs of sadism or sexual drive. Studying victims from this side felt different than studying them from their sides. The one advantage of going undercover was having a better idea of who the target was. Taking a case like this, having nothing more than files, gave me an unfamiliar blind feeling.

It had been almost four months since I was allowed on any cases. The last time I was, it didn't end so well. I couldn't help but worry about how I had almost lost my job permanently, and how I was worried about it happening again. True, it was my choice to not take the offer of a new life, but I was born for this. This job, being around these kind of people, was the only thing I knew how to do anymore. Every face, every word, and every place of that failed operation haunted me. Two uniformed cops lost their lives that day. I had been told it wasn't my fault that the Bloods were wise enough to have dirty cops on their side, but I still felt guilty. I should have known what was going on. No one else knew as much as I did. No one had gotten as far as I had. The therapist the agency had made me see told me to expect the stress that came along with traveling, since I could never be sure if I was safe. But I doubted she really knew what she was talking about. It wasn't that I was worried about myself, but losing my job. In a weird twisted way, I think I would have rather died than even consider witness protection.