Will stared at his phone. As he read the message for the hundredth time, the weight of that information was not lost on him. It was a plank sitting squarely across his shoulders, and he knew the right thing to do. The right thing was to tell her, right now. So why was he hesitating? What was the reason he couldn't bring himself to say the words he knew she so desperately needed to hear?

He closed his eyes and opened his mind, and his heart. If they were going to get through this he was going to have to be honest with himself, first and foremost. He did not want to admit that jealousy was behind this... but it was. He was jealous of his wife's depth of feeling for Spencer, her mania at his predicament, and her non-stop, all encompassing concern for another man's well-being, friend or not. He knew that Reid was in love with JJ, everyone did, but for the first time he bluntly admitted to himself that her feelings for him were more than he'd ever wanted to believe.

Before this had happened, he'd only had to put up with the occasional gathering to see how easily they interacted with each other. And he knew for a fact that he had never had to worry about their away cases. He was confident JJ had never cheated on him, nor would Spencer have ever pushed her to. The LaMontagnes had built their life together, and Will had made himself an integral and indispensible part of JJ's immediacy, and her and the boys' future. He knew too, that she cared for him, appreciated him... but he had seen years ago that the depth of her intense and passionate devotion was reserved for someone else.

And he knew now that someone else was Reid.

As he felt his dread solidifying, he tried to think rationally. What would withholding this information help? Nothing, really. It would come out anyway, and JJ would hear that he had the info first and chose not to share it. What would she think of him then? How would she feel? Not to mention, was he the kind of man that could do that to Reid? No, he'd like to think not. His wife was suffering right now. He had to forward her the message at the very least. If he couldn't bring himself to hear the joy in her voice when she heard the news, then he at the very least had to send it to her phone.

Didn't he?

John Blackwolf spoke Spanish, fluently. It surprised Morgan, though it shouldn't have. He allowed himself a flash of envy at the breadth and scope of John's knowledge, though he was aware that he possessed his own gifts. It seemed like there really wasn't anything this guy couldn't do, given the right opportunity.

The language came in handy when they came upon a low building in the distance poking up from the desert scrub. As they rode in, they noticed two men out front sitting on a bench on the short porch. It wasn't a dwelling, that they could tell, more like a way station. Closer in, they could see jugs of water stacked high, and a lone gas pump that looked broken.

One of the men stood as they neared. Morgan could see he was the younger of the two, and there was a resemblance, so probably a father and son. He stayed on his horse while John waved and dismounted, calling out "Hola, amigos!" in greeting.

The younger man started forward, picking up a large tree branch as he went. "Que deseas?" he shouted.

Blackwolf glanced at Morgan. "He's asking what we want."

There began a conversation in quick Spanish that Morgan was unable to follow, except for the escalating tone of the younger man. It didn't sound good, and the look on the son's face confirmed it.

The older man had been checking them out, doing his own version of profiling, and spoke up in heavily accented English. "Pardon my nephew, friends. When we see people they are usually after water or gas, and will take it without any thought of payment. Since I see you have your own water, and you are on horseback in no need of gas, how can we help you?"

Morgan spoke up. "We're tracking a vehicle, a truck, that may have passed through here about two weeks ago."

John looked at Morgan, eyebrows arched.

"Okay... did pass through here a couple of weeks ago. Black, four-wheel drive. Do you remember a truck like that at all?"

The older man slowly got to his feet using a sturdy cane, as the nephew rushed to help him. The man patted the boy's hand and gestured for John and Derek to follow him. They walked behind the building as the boy tied the horses to a post. The man, whose name was Hector, told them "I have been expecting someone to come."

Behind the building there loomed a large shape against one wall, covered by several tarps. Hector made a gesture like lifting off the tarps and Morgan did, exposing a black truck, just like the one they were seeking.

Morgan looked at Blackwolf as he asked "How did you come to have this? Did you see the person who left it here?"

Hector nodded. "They traded it. They gave me five thousand American dollars and this truck in trade."

"In trade for what?" Morgan asked.

Hector gestured for the two men to look behind them. A rudimentary landing strip the length of a football field had been cleared of brush and debris behind the way station. Hector looked serious as he made the gesture of a plane taking off.

John looked openly into Hector's face as he asked in Spanish "Do you know where he went, did he file a flight plan?"

Hector looked down, shaking his head no. But then he looked up and met Blackwolf's gaze. "But I never said it was a 'he'."