MID JUNE 2008
"So shall it be at the end of the world: the angels shall come forth, and sever the wicked from among the just, And shall cast them into the furnace of fire." (Revelations)
(Early May 2008)
Derek Morgan was no angel. Emily Prentiss knew that—but she didn't care, she went home with him anyway. It was the smile, the pleading look in the big brown eyes. So she did it.
And look what she got out of it. She looked at the pitiful creature in the passenger seat of her Roadster. "Don't you dare make a mess on my seat, hear me?"
He didn't answer. Not that she'd really expected one. How had she let herself be suckered into this? She wasn't quite sure.
How was she going to manage this—with her life, with her job?
She wasn't sure of that, either.
But she had to admit he was cute, in an ugly sort of way. "You know, beware of the man who works hard to learn something, learns it, and finds himself no wiser than before—Kurt Vonnegut said that. In my case, it's beware the woman who works hard—and finds herself no wiser than before. I study behavior, and I knew Morgan wanted something. Why else was he so insistent? And now look, I'm stuck with you."
She sighed when she got no response, just a blink of large green eyes. She'd never seen a cat take to riding in cars so well. But the big gold monster just curled into her seat, and acted as if he'd spent hours in a purring BMW every day.
"You'll need a name. Any suggestions?" She asked him, maneuvering the silver car through the busy Annandale evening traffic.
Morgan had looked so innocent when he'd asked her to give him a ride home. She'd thought he just wanted to take a spin in the car her father had bought her for her birthday.
Boy, did she learn her lesson. "How about naming you after Kurt? Do you like that?"
"Merow." He actually answered, and she took it as approval.
"Kurt it is. Kurt Morgan Prentiss, the big ugly cat." She said, pulling her car into the second space assigned to her unit. Her sedan sat right where she'd left it the night before.
She'd tried to tell her father she didn't need two cars, but she had to admit the Roadster gave her a bit of thrill. And he'd always bought her expensive presents, to make up for certain things. And who wouldn't want a silver and black BMW for her birthday? Even though she'd have to vacuum the cat hair out of it before she drove it again.
At least it was a weekend. She'd have a few days—provided the BAU didn't get called in on a case—to get Kurt settled in at her condo.
Get herself used to owning a cat.
PRENTISSPRENTISSPRENTISSPRENTISS
1.5 MONTHS LATER (3 WKS AFTER THE SUV GOES BOOM—SOMETIME AROUND THE END OF JUNE)
Her cat owned her. And she was going to kill Derek Morgan, eventually. Or thank him. She hadn't made up her mind as she walked into the bullpen at nine o'clock on a Monday morning, nearly six weeks later. Officially she wasn't required to be there until the ten o'clock briefing, but she'd made a habit of arriving early since her assignment to the BAU a year and a half ago.
She'd known she was there on sufferance and she was more than determined to earn her place on this team. She knew she had, but a habit was hard to break. Even though Hotchner told her she was more than a welcome addition to the team, and she could relax, quit over-compensating. Since he'd told her she was part of the heart of the team.
Hotchner. She didn't know what to think about him anymore. He'd been less than welcoming to her from the very beginning. And when Aaron Hotchner gave you the cold shoulder, you felt the chill to the bone. The man had terrified the un-terrifiable. Had faced down the worst of serial killers. Had frozen her to the bone on more than one occasion.
But ever since Rossi's ordeal, Hotch had been running hotter than she'd ever thought she'd see him. And most of the burn was directed solely at her.
His eyes and his touch. His shoulder would graze hers as he walked by, his hand would linger when he handed her a file. He'd call her Emily. He'd smile, just at her. Not to mention the way he'd been in Chicago a few weeks ago.
It freaked her to her toes. Disconcerted her in a way she hadn't been since she'd been a young girl.
What the hell was he up to?
PRENTISSPRENTISSPRENTISSPRENTISS
Hotch watched from his office as first Emily then Derek arrived and settled into their desks.
He envied Derek his easy conversation with Emily. The complete lack of tension between the two. The way they totally accepted each other. They exhibited the classic signs of close friendship, of trust, and companionship, and he longed for that—and more—with her.
He hadn't thought of Kate Joyner since the night Rossi had been injured. Hadn't dreamed about Hayley since that night, either. Just strawberry scented dark hair and dark eyes soft and tear-filled. Of small hands caressing him in dreams, of a slightly husky voice saying his name before he kissed her, and more. Of a firm and athletic body pressed against his in a South Dakota barn.
Of being only one man instead of two. Having someone who understood the job and that it didn't always stay at the office. Someone who understands the mind-numbing horrors that he saw every day. But someone who could make him smile anyway, without pressure, without bitterness.
Someone who could get close to him, too. Someone he could hold when her nightmares got to be too much. Someone he could lean on, but who could lean on him, too.
Hayley never had nightmares—and she hadn't really understood him when he had. He'd never once been able to discuss the pain the job could sometimes bring with his wife of fifteen years. And now that the divorce was final, he actually felt like a completely different kind of man.
But maybe he was coming on too strong? Emily had been displaying some serious signs of nervousness in the last three weeks. Ever since he'd held her in the hospital chapel as she'd cried. And ever since Chicago.
Had it only been three weeks since he'd pulled Dave from his burning vehicle? Since the night he'd found Prentiss alone and crying for all that she'd endured that day? She'd killed a man, had an officer shot at her feet—and had a friend and team mate seriously hurt. And yet she'd spent the entire time in the hospital waiting room taking care of everyone else
Including him.
And he hadn't noticed.
It had been Detective La Montaigne of all people to point it out.
So he'd went searching for her and found her alone. Separated from the team. It had broken his heart to see her that way.
He'd known what it felt like to fight your demons alone, and she didn't need to do it. He'd held her, and actually felt himself move from the two men he'd been forced to live like for years to the one man he should be.
Soon the rest of the team was in, and Hotchner continued to watch from his office, alone and isolated like always. JJ looked a bit green, morning sickness hitting her hard. Spencer was spouting off, his mouth moving fast as he spoke. He watched as Emily wrapped a hand around the boy's arm and shook it lightly, drawing his attention. Reid looked down at her and smiled, almost embarrassed. Emily teased him before releasing him.
He loved watching the way she was with Reid. The kid was so longing for a family, and Emily fulfilled dual roles—mother and big sister. Spencer needed that. Just like Derek needed a friend he didn't have to mentor, just like JJ and Garcia needed a female confidante who was a bit wiser to the world. How Rossi had needed a female friend who came with no prior preconceptions of the successful author and profiler. Someone who'd visited him more than anyone else while he was recovering, and just listened to him vent.
Emily filled more roles than Elle Greenaway ever had. Elle had been a young agent, one in need of more training, Emily was calm, competent, and invaluable. He remembered Rossi's words to him before he'd been injured. "You don't know that Garcia sees her as something like Wonder Woman, JJ sees her as the big sister she never had—you don't let yourself see how she mother's Reid, how Morgan treats her like his best friend, and you don't see how whenever you have a bad day, she's the person right beside you, the one person you talk to. Hell, Aaron, we send her to you when we know you're having a rough time."
JJ looked toward the office and caught his eye. He nodded, understanding that she'd identified another case for the team.
It was time to stop another monster.
PRENTISSPRENTISSPRENTISSPRENTISSPRENTISS
The plane ride to California was long and bumpy. It was nerve-wracking for everyone. And hell for JJ. Emily held her friend's hair back as she lost her breakfast in the plane's commode for the third time.
"Oh, God." JJ moaned. "I don't know if I can do this, Em."
"Of course you can, JJ. You're one of the strongest people I know." Emily reassured, handing her a wet cloth. "And this too shall pass. Or so I've been told."
"I don't want them to see." JJ said emphatically, though she kept her voice down. The entire team had chosen to sit at the rear of the plane close to the restroom to shorten the distance if they had to get up during the turbulence. It was one thing for Emily to know she was sick—they always shared a hotel room—but the guys didn't need to see her so wimpy.
"The guys? I got your back there." Emily said. "But you know they'll know."
"Can't hide anything from a profiler, can I?"
"No. I won't let them ask you any questions if you don't want them to." Emily promised. "But I think we need to get strapped in. This turbulence isn't doing good for any of us."
"Oh God, no." JJ moaned as another wave of turbulence triggered another wave of nausea. And they still had an eight hour flight to go.
Emily helped her into her seat, and handed her several air sickness bags. They normally didn't need them on this jet. JJ was just fastened in when another strong bit of turbulence hit.
Emily wasn't quite so lucky. She hadn't found her seat in time and the turbulence sent her lurching forward—straight into Hotch's lap. Her elbow caught Reid straight across the nose and he started bleeding.
"Spencer, I am so sorry!" Emily said, as Hotch tightened his hold to prevent her from moving as more turbulence shook the plane.
"Emily! Hold still." He whispered fiercely against her ear. "I don't think it's over yet. Reid's ok."
"Ok. There are some days when I hate flying." Emily muttered back from her awkward position half in the floor, half clutched to her supervisor's lap with her feet caught between Reid's. "Reid, are you alright? I didn't break your nose, did I?"
"Nobe, Embully, juz hi'it kina hard." The good doctor replied, holding a tissue to his face. "I eel be ullride."
"I am so sorry." Hotch's hand was warm on her back, the other tight around her upper arm. She felt the warmth of his thigh against her chest. Talk about awkward. She looked back toward JJ and widened her eyes pleadingly as even more turbulence hit. The younger woman just shrugged helplessly and turned back to her airsickness bag. Garcia patted JJ's knee from across the aisle. Since Rossi'd been injured, the blonde tech had been accompanying them on more cases, just to provide easier access to her research.
JJ couldn't help her. Garcia probably wouldn't. She'd long said Emily should just jump the boss—that someone needed to, else Hotch would freeze up like a Superman sherbet. And process of elimination—since she and JJ were both in relationships—had left Emily to do it. Some how she didn't see that happening anytime soon. If ever.
She looked toward Morgan, but he was handing Reid one tissue at a time and instructing him in the proper way of dealing with a bloody nose.
Emily doubted he'd even think to help her—or think that she'd need it.
The turbulence increased and for a moment—only a moment, as she was a seasoned flyer—she began to doubt the metal bird could withstand anymore. She dropped her head slightly, tucking in tighter to Hotch's stabilizing body. Hotch pulled her up, straight from the floor, and she was momentarily surprised at the power hidden beneath his regulation blue suit. He settled her into the space between him and Reid and she hurriedly buckled the belt.
The plane lurched and JJ moaned from the other side of Hotch. Emily turned back to her, compassion filling her at the misery on her blond friend's face. JJ dropped her head to the back of the seat and closed her eyes, one hand clutching her stomach, the other the airsickness bag.
Hotch shifted slightly, offering a little bit more support to the blonde's side, helping to box her in between the corner seat and his body. Lessened the area she had to bounce around in during the turbulence.
His other arm he draped around Emily, wrapped it around her waist as best he could—tucking her in tight against his chest.
It was the bumpiest ride that he could remember, and he, too, found himself praying it would ease up—or the pilot would just land the damn thing.
But then again, he was wrapped around Emily, so it was a double-edged sword. Why did she insist on using strawberry shampoo? Did she consciously make that decision to taunt him?
If so, it worked.
Poor JJ had finally fallen asleep, and Hotch knew it was due entirely to the changes wracking her body. Reid's nose quit bleeding, though everyone could still sense Emily's sense of guilt. She hadn't made a move to pull herself away from him and he relished that, though he wondered briefly if she was aware of it.
She seemed to fit perfectly right where she was, and he was fighting his body's natural reaction to her closeness. It had been almost eleven months since he'd been with Hayley. And his body was reminding him of that. His body and the nightly dreams that featured Agent Emily Prentiss doing some super things to her supervisor. Things he reciprocated gladly.
Morgan watched the mini-drama across the aisle from him curiously. In the last couple of weeks—since they'd realized Rossi was going to ultimately survive, Emily had been more nervous of Aaron Hotchner than she'd ever been.
He, as her friend, had seen the signs from the very beginning. So he'd watched.
He'd seen Hotch's hand linger the slightest bit too long on Prentiss's shoulder. Seen the way he'd taken to standing directly between her and any male law enforcement they made contact with—but didn't really know. As if claiming her. He wondered if Hotch was aware of how primitive he was acting.
The way he'd insisted on doing all interrogations that normally Emily could handle on her own—he wanted to be there. Had to be there. Watched menacingly from one side of the table.
Derek thought it was about damned time. Hotch and Hayley had been separated for what? Nine, ten months? The divorce had to be final sometime soon—if it wasn't already. Shouldn't the man be free to date whomever he wanted?
Derek wasn't too sure about Emily's feelings on the matter, though.
He couldn't remember ever seeing Emily Prentiss that skittish and he smiled briefly, thinking of a lion and an antelope. This time, Prentiss was definitely an antelope.
It had been at least three weeks since Rossi's injury—and Hotch had been stalking her like a skilled predator. But Derek knew predators eventually acted. He just wondered when Hotch was going to pounce.
He'd have to watch and find out.
APOCALYPSE TWO
The police station was small and outdated. There wasn't a female officer in the entire building. JJ and Emily knew immediately that this place was going to be riddled with good ole boys.
Goody. Just what they needed. They'd both experienced it before. Some men just didn't think women should be in law enforcement. JJ'd gotten it because of her china doll appearance, Emily'd gotten it for just about everything—the way she'd curled her hair, the way she'd dressed, the way she'd backed down, the way she didn't. The question in both their minds, as they followed the head detective into the back office they'd been relegated to, was just what where they going to have to do to prove themselves this time. Garcia hadn't experienced what the two agents had, so she paid it little mind—though she got more than her fair share of looks as the team walked in.
Unfair, unjust, just not right—but it was just the way it was.
Detective Scott Palmers was around Hotch's age, slightly shorter, built more like Morgan. Emily supposed he was a handsome man, but the minute he opened his mouth he lost all his charm.
"I want you all to know we don't put much stock in all that talk about profiling. This isn't some television show." Palmers said, looking at the group derisively, eyes lingering on the women for only a second. But it was enough for Emily to read him accurately. Great. "Second, we have a strict way of running investigations in this office. I take you to remember that."
"Sir, respectively, we are here to help you catch the man who killed these people. We will be running the investigation our way. But you will be making the collar, not us. That's not we're after." Hotch began, tone calm, resolute, and final. "Still, we are well aware that this isn't a television show—what we do is the real thing. And we're all damned good at it. Now if you're ready to begin we need to see everything, every piece of evidence, every witness report, everything you've got will tell us a bit more about this man."
"I'll have Jimmy round up the files. Is there anything else you'll be needing? A couple of chairs for the ladies, perhaps?" He stared at JJ a moment, taking in the pale complexion and the circles under her eyes, before turning to run his gaze over Emily, in her blue tank blouse and black dress slacks. He smirked and it rankled Emily, before he turned to look at the third woman in the room. He actually looked pained at the bright red and white polka dot blouse Garcia was wearing.
No one on the team had missed the barrenness of the room they'd found themselves in. All that was in it was a metal shelf, surrounded by four gray walls. And it was small—most likely used as an interrogation area. Cold and unwelcoming. Deliberately.
"We'll need chairs, a white board and a table large enough to spread everything out on. Other than that, we need the detectives who first drew the case." Hotch said.
"Yes, sir. Agent Hotchner." Palmers said. He passed by Emily on his way out the door and his eyes lingered minutely on the skin exposed by the low V of her blouse.
She wanted to fold her arms over her chest but knew better. She couldn't let him win his little game.
She was better than that. Still, if she'd drawn his attention rather than JJ or Garcia it was a blessing in disguise, really. The younger woman was not up to dealing with lecherous hick cops at the moment. Poor thing would have her hands full with the media as it was. And Garcia would shred the man. Pity, they'd not be able to let her, but it wouldn't be good for the team's reputation.
It took nearly an hour for the supplies Hotch ordered to arrive. Two young officers, in there early thirties, carried the five folding chairs and the table in a few successive trips. They set them up almost wordlessly, then the shorter of the two wheeled in a battered bulletin board.
"I'm Jimmy Allen, I got the first call." The older, taller, one said, holding out a hand to Hotchner. The man had just looked like he was in charge, though Hotchner and the team had said very little. "I'm sorry about the Sheriff. He can be a bit exclusive to strangers."
"It's nice to meet you, I'm SSA Hotchner and this is my team, SSA Derek Morgan, Dr. Spencer Reid, SA Jennifer Jareau—whom I believe you spoke with on the phone—Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia, and SSA Emily Prentiss. What can you tell us about what you've found so far?"
"I'm not sure what we've got. I've, uh, not had my shield all that long, and I will be the first to admit this is the worst I've ever seen. Hell, I was a lawyer before moving to the force." He was an attractive man, with burnished hair and bright green eyes. He had an honest, and earnest face, and Emily immediately felt comfortable with him. "A friend from the FBI's Portland field office suggested I give you guys a call—and the mayor of the city owed me a personal favor, so he issued the official invite."
"Over Palmers' head? Man, you are brave." Morgan whistled through his teeth. Cops didn't break the chain of command without very good reason.
"Not many here agree with Palmers' way of doing things—although first shift certainly does. You'll probably find second shift more cooperative." Allen said, holding out a chair for the youngest blonde woman. His sharp eyes hadn't missed the pale face, the slightly nauseated look, or the slight swelling of her stomach. He'd seen enough pregnant women to recognize one of the verge of losing whatever contents were still in her stomach.
"In that case, let's go over what evidence you've collected then head to dinner and the hotel. We'll come back here later this evening." Hotch ordered, checking his watch.
"About that—the hotels around here were completely booked, it's a big convention weekend—I could only get one free room. I didn't realize there would be six of you coming in. But it's got double beds, and a pull out couch. I hope that's alright?"
"Last month we slept in a hay barn, man. Don't sweat it." Morgan said, appreciating the man's sincerity. "Although Reid here talks in his sleep constantly, I think we'll manage."
"I do not."
"Honey, yes you do. You were talking about comic books on the plane." Emily told him gently. "Something about Wonder Woman and Superman."
"At least I don't kick." He retorted. "JJ and Garcia said you kick like Pele."
"So I've heard." Emily shrugged ruefully, as everyone eyed her.
"I'm not sharing with Emily!" Both JJ and Garcia said, eliciting a small laugh from the rest of the group.
"And I'm not sleeping on a coffee table—again." Emily challenged. Her back had hurt for days after that.
"Can we get back on track here?" Hotch chastised softly, though his lips were twitching. He hadn't thought she kicked like Pele that night in the barn. But she sure did like to cuddle tight. "Detective Allen, what can you tell us about the first site?"
"It was an office building. Six workers were poisoned. We've determined it was a snake venom, but who or why—we have drawn a complete blank. Two days later, it was a law firm clear across town. Three more died. Same venom." Allen explained, handing Hotch forensic reports. Emily moved closer to the supervisor to read around his shoulder. "Mojave rattlesnake. But no one had any bite marks, and we can't identify the system of delivery. We tested all food products, all products that could possibly come into contact with a person's mouth. Nothing."
"Poisons are generally a distant crime." Reid said, as he too scanned the report from behind Hotch's other shoulder. "And very organized. They have to be to be effective."
"Could be either a male or a female—a lot of female killers choose poison because it's less messy." Emily added, as she moved to take a seat at the table. Everyone else followed suit, Hotch to the left of her and Detective Allen to the right. "Still, why two separate locations? A woman would generally pick one target, and one only, and would profit materially from the victim's death. Of the small percentage of serial killers who are women, only a fraction kill those outside of the family. And most of them kill for financial gain. Detective Allen, did you check who benefitted from the nine victims' deaths? Anyone stand out?"
"No, ma'am. Most of the victims were on stable financial feet, most had reasonable insurance policies, and everyone seemed genuinely grief-stricken." Allen answered, trying not to notice how striking her dark hair and eyes were. He'd always been partial to dark haired women. "We looked carefully at everyone who benefitted in any way. Plus the majority of the insurance companies are refraining from paying until the case is closed."
"I don't know," Reid started, "This kind of snake venom is relatively easy to come by, correct? But it's not in a synthetic form or bottled easily. Someone would have to physically extract it from the snake, correct?"
The detective nodded.
"It definitely probably wasn't a woman, then." JJ said, looking at the picture of the snake in the encyclopedia the detective had marked, and shuddering. "I wouldn't get close to that thing for all the money in the world."
"I wouldn't, either." Emily agreed emphatically, releasing her own shudder. "But we can't really rule out a woman until we have a bit more to go on."
"We need to find out the method of delivery." Morgan said. "What else are you doing to identify it?"
"We've seized everything in the offices. Pens, papers, tested water jugs, soap dispensers, anything that can disguise a toxin. So far, nothing." Allen said, and the profilers could see the frustration in his face.
"So let's move past the poison and focus on the person behind it. For now, we'll assume the victims were random, and profile the companies they all worked for." Hotch said, momentarily distracted when Emily's knee bumped his thigh under the table. The room was extremely small, and hot, and he could smell sweat and the sweet scent of strawberries. It was late June in the middle of Northern California. He loosened his tie and removed his suit jacket, hanging it over the back of the chair. Emily and JJ had both shucked their jackets the instant they'd stepped out of the vehicles, and theirs hung in nearly identical positions. "What do we know?"
"Law firm. Medical malpractice suits, siding with the doctors, mostly." Emily began. "And a small commercial building with companies ranging from investments to counseling services for the elderly. The victims all worked at JL Libstein and Associates, an investment company."
"So no obvious connection there." JJ said, as she helped Garcia setup her computer system.
"Well, both lawyers and investment advisors share similar characteristics," Spencer said. "Higher education, white collar backgrounds, a certain typology of people choose both careers. So maybe that's why they were targeted."
"Tomorrow morning, we'll split up. JJ and Garcia, you'll work on finding out what ever you can on each of the two companies. Reid and Morgan, I want you to do interviews at the law firm, Prentiss and I will take the financial investment company. Detective Allen, if you'd like to accompany us and your partner Agent Morgan?" Hotch instructed. Allen's partner, Detective Kinsey, was off on a personal day and they'd yet to meet him.
"That'll be great." Allen said, "If you want, I can drive you to the hotel, get you settled."
"That'll be great." Hotch said, as Emily and JJ began sorting all the files into neat stacks for easier access in the morning. They'd of course, have digital copies on their handhelds, but paper copies were often so much more tangible.
PRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCH
The hotel room seemed even smaller than the interrogation room. There were two beds, like promised, but one was barely wider than a twin. The other was a standard double. The couch was a two-seater, but the manager promised it pulled out into another double bed. It was dark green and faded, and looked anything but comfortable. Where the hell were they going to sleep?
Derek and Reid eyed the twin mattress, and then each other. No way were they sharing that. So that left the couch pull out. But what about the girls? Could all three fit into the double bed comfortably?
Somebody was going to end up in the floor. And it wouldn't be JJ.
"Let's get settled," Hotch said, looking around the cramped fifteen by twenty room with its dark paneled walls and pea green carpet. "Then find food. I think it would be best if we spent as little time in here as possible."
"I agree with you there," Emily said, shoving her ready bag under the bed. "Can this place get any hotter?"
"Unfortunately, it can." Reid said.
"No—don't tell me!" Emily protested, holding up a staying hand. "I don't want to know. But I do want ice cream, so let's get moving, boys."
"Yes, ma'am." Derek said, saluting. "Hotch, did Det. Allen say where he was meeting us?"
"A family diner two miles from here." Hotch said, "He's swinging by to pick up his partner, on the way."
"Come on," JJ ordered, "I want ice cream, too. Lots of it."
Everyone smiled at her, knowingly.
"What? Can't a girl want ice cream in hundred degree weather?" She shrugged.
"Ice cream has a high percentage of calcium, but also a high percentage of sugar." Reid began, "Pregnant women need to increase their calcium by—"
"Reid, I want ice cream, not a lecture on prenatal care." JJ warned, as Emily and Garcia snickered behind her. Reid was so enthusiastic about JJ's baby. It was cute. "So let's move!"
Emily, Reid, and JJ ended up riding with Hotch. JJ'd hopped into the front seat quickly, and Emily knew it was to discourage Reid from continuing his line of conversation. Emily didn't mind. She settled into the back seat and stared out the window, lost in thought.
The diner was surprisingly busy when they entered, although a lot of the diners—regulars, most likely—looked up and stared at the six people who walked in. It was a small town, and news of there arrival must have spread. Emily knew what they looked like. Two platinum blonds dressed in business suits and skirts—although Garcia's wasn't sedate by any means, Derek, dark and gorgeous, dressed like an army commando in his black fatigues and charcoal t-shirt, weapon holstered at his side, Spencer, tall and lanky, his gun sticking at an awkward angle on his narrow hips. And her and Hotch, dressed in professional suits, their own weapons not hidden in the least. She and Hotchwere the stereotypical g-men that people thought of when they heard FBI. They formed an intimidating half-dozen, and not a one of them doubted it.
Detective Allen stood, catching their attention from the largest booth in the very back of the restaurant. A pretty woman, petite but fit, with honey brown hair and glasses sat beside him. Emily guestimated her age to be around twenty-five or six. Young to be a detective. Emily led the way to the two, aware of Hotch's hand on the small of her back as they wove through the crowded diner, and it's staring patrons.
"Hello, Detective Allen." Emily said, smiling, as she slipped into the booth ahead of Hotch. She met up with JJ on the other side. Soon they were all crowded around the booth.
"This is my partner, Max Kinsey." Detective Allen said. "Max, this is SSAs Hotchner, Prentiss, Jareau, Morgan, Dr. Reid, and TA Garcia."
"It's nice to meet you, and thank you for coming to help us so quickly." Det. Kinsey said, smiling at each agent as they were introduced. She had a pretty smile, with freckles dancing across her nose. "This case has us all baffled."
"It's our pleasure." Hotch said, as the menus were being passed around. "We have only one rule—we don't discuss the cases while we eat."
"Sounds reasonable." Max said. "I recommend the fried chicken with mashed potatoes. It's the best."
"Works for me." Emily said. The waitress chose that moment to appear and Emily placed her order. Soon everyone else followed suit, although they chose a wide variety of menu items. When the food arrived, they were discussing the finer beaches of California. Detectives Allen and Kinsey were funny and engaging and everyone found they were having a great time.
Emily got her ice cream, as did JJ, Reid, and Garcia. The flavors were as varied as the individuals consuming them. JJ traded half her chocolate for half of Emily's strawberry. Hotch kept sneaking bites of the pink confection out of Emily's bowl, but she didn't mind.
She'd long known he was crazy for strawberries, and the homemade sweet was some of the best she'd ever had. She'd really been surprised he'd not ordered some of his own.
They'd just finished the last of the cold treat when Allen's telephone rang.
There had been more murders. And as the only homicide detectives on the small force, he and Max were being called back in. Which meant the team was being called back in, too.
After all, what were the odds that a town with a population of only three thousand people would have twelve people murdered over a span of a week and the deaths not be related?
The odds just weren't that good.
APOCALYPSE THREE
Twelve murders, two different MOs, Hotch thought as he, Allen, Prentiss, and Morgan stared at the scene fifteen feet down the hill from them. Three young women lay gutted and tossed aside in the field. Reid, JJ, and Garcia had accompanied Max Kinsey back to the station house. It was going to be a long night.
Dammit, Hotch thought, angry at the senseless loss of three young women—all within the age range of the members of his team. His mind pictured the three women as Emily, Garcia, and JJ, and he vowed silently that these women's family would get the answers they deserved—just like he'd want the answers if it was Emily and the others so brutally murdered.
That was why he did this job, so that women like his team mates could be safe at night, so children like his Jack could play without fear. That was why he was the BAU. Why it was who he was, more than what he did.
"What do we know so far?" Emily asked in a soft voice. She was always the one to help him keep the case on track, even when he wasn't aware that he was loosing focus. "Are we absolutely sure this is related to the other deaths?"
"We wouldn't have called you out here if we weren't." Chief Palmers said from behind her.
"What makes you think they are?" Morgan demanded. "Different MOs, different victimology, different location. All of it says two UNSUBs to me."
"This town has had four murders in the last twenty years—and twelve in the last week. That's why." Palmers snarled. He liked it when his job was uneventful—save for the occasional drunk driver. Now he had twelve dead people to deal with—and it was an election year. So either these Feds hurried up and caught the guy, or Palmers would take matters into his own hands.
"Stranger things have happened," Emily said distractedly, as she moved forward an bent down to look at the nearest body. Hotch instinctively copied her movements. "Hotch, this doesn't look like blood. It looks almost like red paint or enamel, or something."
"Detective Allen, can you see that this is processed as a rush?" Morgan asked, looking at the other detective. "We need to know what this is ASAP."
"We've just got the one tech." Palmers started. "Allen—call him in."
"I already have…sir." Allen said, leaning a hand down to assist Emily up. She took it wordlessly before moving to the next body.
It was a blonde woman and she looked so much like JJ Emily almost shuddered. She hated when that happened, when one of the victims reminded her of someone. Inevitably in her dreams they change from the poor victim into her friends.
She probably wouldn't sleep tonight, either. She'd most likely end up sitting in the hotel lobby—if it had one—waiting to watch the sunrise. It's what she did when it got bad. Derek and JJ teased her, saying she was the ghost who haunted the various hotels. Said they were going to call TAPS to come to the BAU and search for EVPs or some such nonsense.
Thinking of those two helped get her back on track, so that she was able to see that the same strange coloring was on the other two victims as well.
Why would there be red enamel on their victims—in the same location as the stab marks? It just didn't make sense.
"There's not much more we can do here, tonight." Hotch called it, knowing that it was late, and the tests and autopsies would take a lot of time. "We should head back to the hotel and get some sleep. First thing tomorrow morning, I'll want us to talk to the victims' families again. See if there's anything we missed."
Emily and Morgan both nodded; neither really liked taking the break, but knew that they'd do better with clear heads. "I need time to think, Hotch. Something's tickling the back of my brain."
"A good night's sleep should help." Hotch told her, as he walked with her back to the SUV. "Not that we'll be sleeping all that great in that hotel."
"It's much better than a barn." Emily replied, quietly. Morgan and Allen were several yards behind them. "That was pretty uncomfortable."
"I don't know, I didn't have any complaints." Hotch said, eyes flaring with momentary heat, remembering the feel of her pressed against him.
"I did." Emily insisted. "That hay was scratchy."
"Yes, it was." Hotch said as he climbed in and buckled his seat belt. "But the company wasn't bad."
"Reid's talk of horror movies didn't bother you, huh?" Emily understood that the humor they exhibited was just another way of coping with what they'd just seen. "It was a dark and terrifying night, and poor JJ…the first to go."
"Hey, at least you were guaranteed to survive." Hotch quipped as he pulled the SUV out behind Allen's.
"According to Reid." Emily paused a moment, looking out at the clear night sky and the stars overhead. "I don't think it's the same UNSUB."
"I don't either. I'm not even sure they're connected. I mean, other than geographically—is there anything else to tie them together?" Hotch said.
"Chief Palmers certainly thinks so." Emily said, ruefully. The man grated more each time she saw him.
"Chief Palmers is lazy, sloppy, and old-school. He's bound to hear hoofs and think zebras." Hotch said, bluntly.
"Add in he's sexist, disgusting, perverted—and I think you'll have him about right." Emily said, closing her eyes.
"Excuse me?" Hotch turned his head in her direction, surprised. "Something I should know about?"
"Nothing really. Just that some men tend to view women in law enforcement derogatorily. We've already gotten the stares and the condescending remarks—today. But at least we've not been grabbed at—yet."
"You've been grabbed? When? Besides that guy in South Dakota?" Hotch would never forget seeing her fall over that cliff just because some damned drunk wanted a feel.
"Yes. Previous cases."
"While with the BAU?"
"Yeah, Hotch. JJ and I both have. It almost goes with the territory." Was he really that clueless? He was one of the forerunners of behavioral sciences and he hadn't noticed two members of his team getting groped? "You can't tell me you've not noticed? JJ—kicking that guy in Fredericksburg? My drink just happens to fall in Officer Peterson's lap in Santa Fe?"
"I thought JJ tripped."
"No…" Emily paused a moment, then laughed lightly. "We just thought you didn't care, and left it to us to handle it—are you telling me you just didn't notice?"
"I expect the law enforcement agents we encounter to behave professionally and treat every member of my team with the utmost respect." Hotch said. "They must not have done anything while I was around."
"Granted, I didn't notice if you were or not. But I know Derek's seen it happen, and Reid. Even Rossi's stepped in a time or two when things got out of hand."
"I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"For not noticing, doing something to stop it. You two shouldn't have to face that—its disrespectful, demeaning, and out of line. The next time something like that happens, I want to be made aware of it."
"We have to fight our own battles, Hotch. We can't appear to look weak. You should understand that." Emily cautioned. "If we have to have a big strong man ride to the rescue it doesn't exactly give the strongest impression. We have our ways of dealing with it."
"So did anyone ever cross the line?" Hotch asked. He knew what she was saying, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Someone had threatened her, and it made him furious.
"Once. The Vermont case. Arlington and Jackson—two of the local law enforcement--came to the hotel room." Emily couldn't entirely repress the shudder at the thought. "They were drunk."
"What happened?" Hotch's hands tightened on the wheel. They'd been in Vermont the month after Hayley'd served him divorce papers. It was the same week she'd told him she was seeing someone else—a lawyer of all things. She'd called him constantly, wanting to fight over the house, the furniture, Jack. She'd done it deliberately, wanting to distract him from the job she resented so much. He'd not been too aware of what was going on around him, and he hated that he might have missed something so integral.
"They somehow got in the door. Met the business end of our service weapons. Plus Morgan and Rossi heard them jimmying our door." Emily didn't tell him how close Arlington's slimy palms had gotten to her skin before she'd grabbed her gun off the nightstand. Or how Jackson had been standing over JJ's bed, unbuckling his belt. Or how Rossi and Derek—and even Reid—had hauled the two locals outside and told them how things were done on the federal level. "That pretty much took care of it."
"Dammit. Why didn't I hear all this? I sent you out with Arlington the next day!"
"Why do you think Rossi chose to go, too? And we didn't want to bother you, Hotch. You had enough going on. And we took care of it. Jay and I aren't helpless." Even though it had scared the shit out of JJ, and Emily wasn't much better.
"Of course not. But as your supervisor—and your friend—I want to know the next anything untoward happens. Understand me?" His hand left the wheel and found hers, squeezing insistently.
"Understand. We, uh, sleep with a chair under our door knob now." Emily admitted. "It surprised us. We were ok, would have been fine without Rossi, Reid, and Derek's help—but they got in without JJ or I hearing them. It was only at the last minute I grabbed my gun. It distracted them enough for JJ to get hers, too. Derek and Rossi heard us telling them to get out, had heard them trying to get in our room. The team was in our room in seconds, Hotch. We were ok, but JJ was pretty shaken up. That's why she always books us into the same room, even when singles are available. And Garcia, too. We all stay together."
"Dammit, Emily. Promise me, you'll tell me next time. Let me handle it." Hotch's blood was chilled completely as he imagined what she and JJ had experienced on his watch. Damn Hayley and her machinations. Emily and JJ could have been seriously hurt, while Hayley was arguing over his grandmother's chair.
"If I feel it's appropriate." Emily finally agreed. "I promise."
Emily was glad to see the hotel looming in the distance, despite what she knew would be a cramped, uncomfortable night. She wanted a shower and bed, in that order.
She drew one of the short sticks—was fourth in line for the shower. Poor Reid got relegated to the morning, so it could have been worse. Of course, a cold shower did nothing to help her relax. She hurried as best she could, vanilla body scrub and her special strawberry shampoo and conditioner always soothing her. Reminding her that there were smells besides death and rot. She hurriedly dressed in her favorite red tank and a pair of black sweats she'd swiped from Derek months earlier. When she was finished she left the bathroom and gave Hotch the all clear to take his own shower, then she stretched out on what she knew would be Hotch's bed—the pullout couch—while he took his own shower, and started towel drying her dark hair.
No one else spoke, either, all tired, and content to be winding down. Derek and Spence were lying in opposite directions in the smaller of the beds—Spence's feet six inches from the back of Derek's head. JJ and Garcia were long gone, exhaustion taking both blondes under quickly.
Hotch's couch was almost comfortable. She could feel her body relaxing softly, and she tried to fight it, knowing he'd pulled the straw for the privilege of sleeping solo. Right then, she didn't care. He'd just have to wake her when she needed to crowd in with JJ and Garcia. Right then, on top of the cover, she was perfectly comfortable…
HOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS
Even though four other people had recently used the shower, it smelled like the woman he couldn't stop thinking about. In fact, the smell of Emily and strawberries was nearly overwhelming. He found the reason sitting neatly on the edge of the shower. Emily's shampoo. She'd left the bottle behind. He picked it up, eyeing the label, twisting off the cap to breathe it in.
The scent of strawberries was so strong he could taste the berry tartness on his tongue.
God, he loved strawberries.
He replaced the cap, and looked at the half empty bottle. It wasn't a very big bottle. He touched it again, twirling it around in one hand as he unbuttoned his shirt with the other.
She'd probably never miss it. He looked at it again, obviously torn, before tucking it stealthily in the bottom of his ready bag. No, she'd probably never miss it. He'd just take it home with him, and put it in his bathroom. Just because he loved the smell of strawberries—he told himself. And the shampoo—an expensive blend—was redolent with the scent.
It never even occurred to him that his behavior shouted obsession. If it had, he wouldn't have cared.
Like Emily's, his own shower was nearly freezing so he didn't dawdle. When he came out of the restroom everyone was sound asleep—including the dark-eyed woman stretched out on top of his pullout bed.
Minus the four members of the team currently occupying the other beds, and it would have been one of the fantasies that had been plaguing him the last few weeks. God, she was even wearing the shirt. The red tank that showed so much, while revealing nothing. He loved that shirt on the best of days, and now she was lying in his bed, wearing that shirt—and no bra.
His body was tenser than if a raving serial killer was standing in the room with them as he approached the bed. He stowed his ready bag under the pullout and contemplated just what he was going to do with her.
Ruthlessly shoving aside the thoughts of what he wanted to do to her.
Her hair was wet, and he realized it was curling wildly. Natural. He loved her hair when it curled. It shouted warm, sexy woman, rather than the calm, sedate, professional woman that was indicated by the smooth, straight locks she favored during the work week.
Hotch looked at the hotel room, dim as the light by the couch was the only one lit and it hardly counted as a light at all. Everyone was exhausted, sound asleep. Garcia and JJ had little room in the bed, and he just couldn't bring himself to shove Emily over there.
The way she squirmed—was squirming even now—she'd fall into the floor. Hotch didn't want any member of his team sleeping on that dirty floor—especially Emily.
Still, it would be inappropriate for them to sleep together. Not that he'd let anything happen—at least, not with the other team members in the room.
He made up his mind, and pulled back the covers; he tucked her under both the faded comforter and the top sheet before sliding in on top of the loose sheet. He'd just keep the thin cotton between their bodies, to prevent the appearance of impropriety.
The mattress tipped alarmingly when he slid up behind her, and she squirmed. She snuggled herself into his chest, tightly, like she had weeks earlier, while sleeping in a pile of hay. Like then, he wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her even closer to him, letting her feel his warmth in the unregulated coldness of the nearly antiquated air conditioning.
She smelled like sweet strawberries, and Hotch fell asleep with the tartness in his lungs, and her body pressed lovingly against his.
PRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISS
Hotch woke when the bed beside him shifted. Emily was moving restlessly, and his mind immediately flashed to what Rossi had said in the barn two weeks earlier. My second ex was a squirmer, too. Nightmares. I'd hold her tight and she'd settle down.
Unthinkingly, he pulled her back into his arms, wondering idly when she'd rolled away. She fought him, slightly, and rolled on her back, her right arm tucked between them, and her left coming to fist in the soft cotton material of his FBI PT t-shirt, right over his heart.
Soft whimpers came from her mouth, and Hotch's blood ran icy. Emily was having a nightmare. Should he wake her? Pull her close? He didn't want to overstep the bounds between them—not yet. She—he—neither, was ready for that. But he didn't want her waking the rest of the team.
"Hotch, man?" Derek asked. He was a light sleeper and easily awakened. "She ok?"
"Shh. Nightmare, I think." Hotch said, as he ran one hand down her side. He whispered reassurances to her, tucked her head on his chest, and pulled her half over him. He held her tightly, one large hand splayed over her back. "I think she's ok, now."
"Good, man. Good night." Derek said, smiling softly at what he'd just seen in the dim hotel light. Hotch's face had actually been more open to him than it had in years. What he'd seen hadn't really surprised him.
Hotch was falling—and falling fast—for Derek's best friend. And he couldn't think of any two people who deserved each other more.