Usual boring disclaimers, not mine, yada yada
Author's note: Because I forgot to include it in the previous chapter!
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Watching the Watchers
Chapter Six
Brief Backspace: The People on the Bus Go Up and Down
10:33 AM
Spencer Reid
Erin Strauss in her element, Schmooze Patrol, was a sight to behold. When confronted with the fact that neither she not Spencer had an official tour lanyard and ID, she blew an errant lock of hair, one that had escaped her maximum-security coiffure during their cafeteria escape, off her forehead and sighed.
"Well," she said, "my boyf–" She paused. Swallowed. "My boyhood friend, my nephew, here, and I seem to have lost our little thingies. You're not going to charge us again, are you?"
The tour guide, a young woman of college age, derived her courage from the rules. "So sorry," she told Strauss. "You can purchase another pass now, just covering the last third of the tour, that'll be fifty-one-fifty for the two of you–"
"Fifty-two-fifty," Spencer corrected her, ignoring both her surprise and Erin's exasperation. "What? I'm just saying–"
"Fine," Erin said from between clenched teeth. "I'll straighten this out with the management when we return." She dug in her bag and produced three twenties. "I'm sure your supervisor can make change if you don't carry cash."
"That'll be good," the tour guide chirped, snapping off a fresh pair of tourist ID badges and affixing them to thin plastic lanyards. She scribbled a hasty receipt and stowed the bills in her pocket. "I'll be happy to vouch for you."
"Your boyhood friend?" Spencer whispered to her as they took their seats. "You're transsexual?"
She made an impatient gesture. "Probably unnecessary frippery, but I wanted to keep the whole, um, underaged boyfriend thing going. It offered her several explanations for why we went off alone, and why we had, um, removed anything. And you started it, anyway," she finished.
"Underaged?"
Another gesture, more imperious than its predecessor. "You know what I mean, Reid. Too young for this cougar-wannabe."
She popped out of her seat. "Know what we found out?" she inquired of the people around her. Nobody seemed particularly interested until she mentioned some famous movie moments that were – and were not – filmed on the grounds of Quantico, and soon had most of the bus attending to her airy FBI-meets-Hollywood anecdotes. Even their guide seemed fascinated; Reid twice saw her making notes for future tours.
"I had hoped to catch a glimpse of David Rossi," Erin continued chattily. "The author, you know? I had dinner with him a few years ago when I was assistant manager of a Barnes and Noble where he came to speak. So debonair! Such a dynamic speaker! And the stories he tells in person, the ones that aren't in his books, are even creepier than the ones he writes about.
"The Behavioral Sciences department? The one he worked for? They've renamed it, it's the BUA, BSA, something like that, and they've called him back as a senior profiler-thingy, but they won't let him run the unit. The team, sort of. They appointed some, oh, lawyer or accountant or maybe both for all I know, to call the shots. And isn't that just like a bureaucracy? The Peter Principle in action?"
Reid wondered why everyone had presumed that Erin Strauss could never be an agent. She had the charisma to hold an audience, and she was proving before his eyes that she could easily go undercover, at least as a hero-worshiping cougar.
When the bus whipped onto the Beltway, she sat down.
"Where on earth did you pick up all that movie information?" he whispered.
"IMDb, mostly," she whispered back. "Years ago. I looked the place up when I first started here. Some stuff you just don't forget."
"Did you ever manage a Barnes and–"
"Of course not. Although I have certainly had dinner with David a few times."
Given Rossi's well-earned Lothario reputation, unwelcome visions filled Reid's head. "You didn't, you know, I mean, you two weren't–"
"Of course not. Don't be a twat."
He blinked at the unexpected vulgarity. He wanted to say Glad to hear it, but he felt she wouldn't take it well.
"Which part of the notion troubles you more?" she asked unexpectedly. "That it would be him, or that it would be me?"
Maybe he was picking up some people skills by osmosis, because he made a tiny shrug. "I don't want to think about David Rossi's pants," he lied effortlessly, "whether he's in them or out of them."
"Much better in them, my dear," Strauss said with a casual wave of her hand. "He's very much better in them. Especially now that he's developed a little belly on him." She met his surprised expression with an elegantly arched eyebrow. "My dear Doctor Reid, David has been to several barbecues at our house, and we hold them at poolside. Stop thinking dirty."