Once a Hooker
a sequel to the fic To a Hooker,
both by TarnishedArmour
Timeline: Season 7. By necessity, this is A/U.
Summary: Adrianna had left hooking behind, moved to a new life in Virginia, and renewed her friendship with Spencer Reid. So why is she giving hooker lessons again? *To a Hooker's sequel.
A/N: POV shifts marked with CM=-+CM=-+CM break.
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Spencer took a long moment, studying the list.
"It's possible," he admitted. "And it is one of two commonalities: working as a prostitute and leaving the trade are the other possibilities."
Adrianna shook her head. "It's more than that. Being a prostitute…there's a stigma. A lot of the girls I know who dated after they left the business, when the guy found out? It was over. Immediately. They didn't wait for explanations, or anything else. These women weren't just out of the business, they were married and a lot of them had kids. What else could it be?"
"The possibilities are, not endless, but there are more of them than you'd think. Consider: they could have had the same…customer. The locations they worked could be part of it, since they were all from Nevada, or worked in Nevada for the majority of their careers. The tie back to the security and finance sectors is another possibility, since all but eight of the identified victims go back to these…companies?" he asked.
"Not exactly, but that's the best way of putting it," Adrianna murmured. "Okay," she surrendered. "You're the profiler. If there's a master list of possible connections that have been verified, the happily-ever-after needs to be on it."
Spencer was quiet for a minute. "Agreed. The marriage angle is definitely one that needs to be pursued, in depth." He paused for a minute. "Adrianna, when we do figure him out, and we will, have you considered the option of helping Seaver?"
"Be her mentor?" Adrianna shook her head. "Spence, do you know what you're asking?"
"I'm sure you'll tell me," he replied. "Without the fireworks, this time." He didn't accuse her of anything, but that wasn't a request. She took a breath.
Adrianna nodded. "I could. But it's not just that I'd be training her to do some kind of advanced, field-based profiling, Spence. I'd be training her to be a whore. A very expensive, very well-compensated whore." She took a breath. "Green as she is, I wouldn't be surprised if she's a virgin. And that opens a completely different can of worms." She closed her eyes and leaned back. "Selling a girl into the trade, it's complicated. Verification of innocence is required, followed by the transfer of funds to a holding account - the amounts transferred immediately send up all kinds of financial red flags, so it has to be done in amounts of no more than $3,000, preferably varied enough that it looks like an investment offshore in some kind of company. She has to have the account opened for her, generally listed as an LLC or something similar, and it's usually got a name that markes it as a financial institution of some sort. After that, the meeting has to be set up, usually done through an intermediary, like a lawyer, to protect confidentiality. This isn't unusual in Vegas, given the amount of money and big spenders that cycle through in a given year.
"Then there's the physical set-up, the location. The room is set up by security, and that doesn't include the rest of the night. There are hidden cameras for the entire night, not just in the room itself. The itinerary is carefully outlined by the john and considered by security. Any changes that are made, for whatever reason, are done, and the final schedule is approved by the mentoring girl. No deviation from the plan is allowed, and security is there the entire time, including a post outside the room. They listen in and monitor the entire time. Including CCTV on the video." She took a breath. "Even with a set security service on retainer, like the one Carl's with, it gets expensive. I paid ten percent to have financial and security services, as well as keeping health and insurance records for me. Some girls pay 15 percent, and that includes all record-keeping, from property to credit cards.
"So we're at the actual date. The john takes the girl out, spends the time with her, and takes her up to the room. Sometimes screaming and crying is involved because the john likes to feel the girl's pain the first time. She knows that he wants to hurt her before she agrees. Granted, they don't really know the extent of what that means, but the payout is enough to have them agree. On the other hand, sometimes…it's like a fantasy." She answered him before he could ask. "Mine was the fantasy night. He liked virgins, but he liked them happy. Or as happy as they could be." Spencer gave her a questioning look. "Verification, remember? A torn or weak hymen isn't worth as much as one completely intact. And intact hurts, no matter how much the guy knows about virgins. Then again, he has to like that reaction, or he'd get more experienced girls."
She shrugged. "Catch-22. The details vary, depending on the proposal by the john. But the night isn't over then. The john calls for security to come in and escort her out at the appointed time. The transfers are completed, and when she gets back to her rooms, the account is released to her. The next ten, twenty encounters are similar, with no training, because some men like innocence. They need the uncertainty, doubt, maybe even pain, but all of them want to be part of the discovery process, because that's what gets them off. During these weeks, and it does take a few weeks to get through those first ten or twenty encounters because she has to take care of herself between clients.
"Time passes, johns come and go -" she snorted at the unintentional pun, "- and sometime in the next few weeks, she has cards with the number printed, for those who prefer to deal in wire transfers. The client provides a list of amounts that will be transferred, usually every fifteen minutes to half hour, if that's the case. Remember, though, that this is Vegas, and the guys with the money like to gamble. A lot of guys pay in chips, so it's easier to cash out and move the money - you're not going to relay this to the white collar teams, are you?" she asked, suddenly wary. "It could be considered money laundering, but the girls absolutely pay taxes, both on income and on any earnings from investments."
"Not my concern. White collar doesn't usually produce serial killers. There have been a couple of exceptions, though," he acknowledged, thinking of the Florida case. "So, it's complicated. Why would this matter?"
"Because a bad first night, especially a virgin's night, can ruin a girl," she sighed. "It's happened. I know a couple of girls who weren't going into the life, but they needed the money, usually to take care of someone they loved. They can be pretty beat up when they leave. One girl ended up in a psych ward, but she got more than enough to take care of her, especially when she agreed to let the money managers take care of investing what she didn't need to use immediately. Don't let that fool you - there's no happy ending at the end of this story. She committed suicide about two years ago. I went to her funeral." Spencer was staring at her now. She shook her head. "No, it wasn't like that for me.
"I never talk about it, and I won't now, but…afterward, when I got back to…my room, my mentor was there. We talked. I recorded everything in my diary. It wasn't…horrible, but it wasn't pleasant, either." She shook her head, moved on. "I didn't know it, but the entire night had been filmed. After the first two months, I my mentor, Phoenix, started going over the tapes with me, starting with the first one. Spence, I watched each and every transaction, each and every tape for a year, got pointers, learned to read people…got some outside training and experience for the different possible requests I could field." His confused look made her explain. "BDSM, discipline play, role playing - the naughty librarian is very popular, by the way - even how to…put on a show for the voyeurs. The fact that it's prostitution sounds like I just picked up the trade as I went along, but to be high-end requires serious effort, and…I knew I couldn't handle working the streets."
"But you picked up your clients yourself," he said, using the softest word he could. She smiled, not needing such delicacy from him. It was nice, though, the way he considered her reactions.
"Yes, but I didn't do that at first. There was a number…and for a while I took orders, kind of like a cross between pizza delivery and an escort service. Not a madam - I took the requests myself. But it was more controlled that way. I had an escort to and from, a guard at the door." She took a deep breath. "I told you Phoenix was my mentor. She was absolutely amazing. I learned so much. She taught me so much…" Adrianna grew quiet, remembering all of the coaching she'd had to try and enjoy it. When she hadn't been able to, Phoenix had taught her to fake it, to make the man feel like a god. She owed Phoenix so much, and not just for the technical aspects of the business. Phoenix had shown her how to cope with the different aspects of selling her body, of recording each transaction, then forgetting it. Phoenix had been somewhat exclusive, but Adrianna couldn't make herself go that route. So she'd learned to cope, to move on, to compartmentalize. The training had stood her in good stead - until last night. Damn, that wouldn't go away.
Spencer was playing with his pen, making it disappear and reappear. "Do you…use any of the-that training…with me?"
"Sometimes," she admitted. "I have to." She saw the small wince, and gasped. "No! I use it, but not the same way, though. Spence, you've studied, a lot. And you are everything I said you were, but, damn, how do I explain this?"
"Just say it," Spencer said. "If it's bad, then…be gentle?" he requested.
"Oh, no. Nothing's bad, just… There are some things that you do, if I didn't know how to respond, to move, the position and the angles…some of it could be very painful. Especially…" she bit her lip. "How blunt do you want me to be?"
"That's sufficient," Spencer said, blushing a little. "Maybe we can discuss details later."
"Right. Well, you've studied, too, maybe without the extensive practice," Spencer glanced up at her then, "but theoretical knowledge doesn't always transition into practice very well. You mentioned partners, but not dates. Or long-term lovers."
"True," Spencer murmured. "You've lasted the longest, but…Adia, you don't think we're dating, do you?" he asked, and he seemed a little wary.
"No. I don't want to date, Spence. I just…need more time." She allowed for the possibility of a long-term romance, but she didn't want it. She liked having a friend, a lover. She didn't want the crap that seemed to flourish when it came to emotional involvement. This was better. Cleaner.
"Good." Adrianna blinked at that, and Spence saw it. "I'm no angel, Adia. Between the job, the nightmares, and the chances of schizophrenia…I don't want a complicated relationship. This-what we have is good." He tipped his head. "Solid, but not…heavy."
Adrianna smiled. Of course, Spencer would understand that. None of his team would, but she wasn't sharing her bed with the team. And she wasn't really inclined to, either. Spencer was more than enough to keep her occupied.
"I know." She shook her head. "Just so you know, though, do you remember when I told you we - the girls - learned to fake it?" Spencer nodded, not giving her any indication what he was thinking. "Well, I always faked it. All of it. The interest, the want, the orgasms." She snorted. "There was nothing fun about work. It took leaving the life," meeting you, she didn't say, "and a lover, not a client, to finally…" She took a breath. She couldn't say it. Not right then. Damn. When did she get so whimpy? "But…I could - can - because I trust you, Spence, and I couldn't trust the…clients. So, no, it's not the same. Not even close."
"Even though I require more skill than others?" He seemed more than pleased with her assessment so far.
"Even though. You don't mind me using 'whore's tricks' do you?" she asked, worried and curious.
"If we both benefit…" he paused. "Wait, if they're whore's tricks, then if I use them…"
"Gigolo's tricks," she replied, a little grin on her lips.
"Ah." His eyes narrowed a little. "Are you trying to get me to quit the Bureau and take up prostitution in Vegas?"
"Uh, no." Adrianna smiled, then grew serious. "It can be brutal, Spence, and I'm not talking about the serial killer. Everything about the trade is built on selling a fantasy. In a lot of ways, you're too honest to start in on the trades."
"Thank you." He looked at her, eyes soft. His lips quirked up in a smile. "You know, if we'd talked a little longer, I might have let you convince me to go up to my room," he admitted.
"You didn't give any clue that you knew I was a hooker," Adrianna responded.
Spencer laughed, a little wickedly. "You'd be amazed how many hookers flirt with me. Almost as many as grandmothers. Something about feeding me, I guess."
Adrianna laughed. "You, sir, are trouble." He was relaxed, not at all upset about the information she'd given him - or last night. Temptation, an unfamiliar sensation, reared its head. She pushed back from the table, stood, and slipped one leg over his, straddling him. Her hands were on the back of the chair, just above his shoulders. He was trapped by her. He didn't seem to object. "Wanna know what I learned about chairs?" she offered.
"Show me," he murmured. Spencer pulled her down for a kiss, let his arms wrap around her and slide under her shirt. Adrianna wiggled a second, moving so she was sitting on his legs, then started to work on his belt. She had just gotten his fly open when the door crashed open.
"Damn! Forgot how rainy it is here," Carl muttered, slamming the door behind him. "I got Japanese…" He laughed, seeing Adrianna drop her head to Spencer's shoulder and Spencer drop his head to the back of the chair. "Sorry, kids. Playtime's over. Go wash up for dinner."
Adrianna lifted one hand from the back of the chair, extended her middle finger and waved it in the general direction of the front door.
Carl laughed harder.
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Rossi looked at Hotch. The man was not doing well. This case, one of many, was less urgent than the one that had just crossed their desk: a family annihilator loose in upstate New York.
"Are you going to call Reid?" Rossi finally asked.
"He's on leave," Hotch replied, studying the file in front of him.
"He's still part of the team." That was a reasonable statement. Neither confrontational nor insubordinate - though Rossi wasn't really subordinate in anything but name.
"And he's a member of the team who is on leave," Hotch reiterated.
"Admit it," Rossi pushed now. "You're still pissed because his girl called you out."
"Dave - "
"You knew it was a bad idea, you knew it when I suggested it. But you went along with it. Why?"
"Because if we can get in front of this unsub, we can stop him without losing any more women to his delusion."
"You're certain it's a delusion? Not a fantasy? Or a form of justice?" he asked, probing.
"He murders women who are married, many who have children. He slits open the abdomen just above the pancreas - not the stomach or heart, but the pancreas - and stuffs in ads about prostitutes. What else could it be?"
Rossi was quiet for a minute, studying the younger agent.
"Any number of things. So, are you calling Reid?"
Hotch gave him a cold look.
Dave raised his hands. "It's a simple question."
"No." Rossi waited. "He needs to deal with Ms. O'Shaughnessy, if he can. We may still need her, with victimology, if nothing else."
"And pimping out Seaver could still work," Rossi added, "depending on the MO of the unsub, when we finish the profile." Hotch shot him a glare.
"We wouldn't be pimping her out," he said, carefully calm. "We would be using her ability as a profiler in the field while she was working in the most likely location for the unsub to find her."
"Right. Bait." Rossi turned and started walking to the door of the briefing room. "That makes it sound so much better."
Hotch closed the folder, tossed in on the table, and let out a heavy sigh. Rossi disappeared through the door, on his way to his office to retrieve his ready bag.
He saw Seaver in the bullpen, dropping something into her bag. It had been a good plan, before he'd gotten to see the way Seaver had reacted to Adrianna's voice of experience. Rossi sighed. He didn't know is she could handle the assignment now. She wasn't becoming part of the team - too eager, too green. Too…everything. But they needed a female agent in the field. Damn Seaver. Damn Adrianna.
Women.
Sometimes, they truly were a pain in the ass.
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