Usual disclaimers.
"Boy, Gail wasn't kidding," Emily said as she took in her first sight of Comstock Valley. Scrub grass and dilapidated buildings surrounded the arriving party like an ominous presence, and it was one Emily couldn't shake. "I think even the ghosts left."
Up ahead, Big Dog pointed out towards an expanse of flat land just a little northwest of their current vantage point. "Junior says that there were footprints heading that way. Looked like someone was making a run out of Dodge."
"I'd like a look at that," Chase said, hopping off the back of the police leader's Fat Boy.
"Me too," Rossi said.
As the pair headed out, the remaining parties once again split into teams to search the rest of the buildings. "Blondie and Red Joe took this one," Big Dog told Hotch and Emily. "I'm thinkin' there's more in here than the rest, but…"
Three pairs of footsteps embarked onto the rickety wood stairs, quickly followed by a fourth. "I've got a funny feeling about this place," Oliver Lawrence said as he made his way through the splintered door.
"Funny how?" Emily said. Dark eyes took in the sight of thick stirred dust laying in clumps over the worn floor. The impressions of bodies lay faintly outlined in the light particle debris, and the sight of discarded glasses and liquor bottles off to the left of the grand room near the entry made Emily grimace. "Looks like someone had a decent breakfast," she quipped, gingerly pointing at the haphazard array.
"I can bet it wasn't Reid or Kyle," Oliver said.
"How so?"
"Reid doesn't drink. At all. Not after…not after Miami." Oliver swallowed thickly and then continued. "Kyle never did. Claims there's better ways to get a headache." The investigator pointed at the remnants of the bar. "If they'd have forced them to drink, I guarantee there'd be more liquor spilled than there is."
Emily looked, noting the few small dark spots of liquid settling themselves in the worn wood. "Nice," she said. "At least they're sober."
"But for how long?" Oliver countered. "Emily, we don't know just how much 'product' they're carrying. Or how much they saved for 'personal use'." The man's eyes flickered a little, and the profiler suddenly realized just how worried Oliver was.
"I don't think…"
"We know." When Emily's eyes furrowed questioningly, he clarified, "About Reid's 'little problem'. Truth be told, I think he knows we do."
"Oliver…"
"He's getting help, he's clean, he's still one hell of an agent and profiler and he's a good friend. Long as he stays that way, none of us have to come out and say anything, I think." The look of conviction on the former FBI agent's face was more than convincing.
"Let's hope the status quo doesn't change," the woman said finally.
-----
The room was cavernous, with dozens of colored spots ingrained in the disintegrating carpet. A small electric lantern lay tipped on its side, and Gail shivered as she recalled numerous 'incidents' that had taken place within these walls. In her hands lay a thin black wallet.
"They were here," she said quietly.
Blondie and Red Joe scanned the doors. "This one back here's set until the Second Coming," the man said, shoving his thin frame against it for good measure. "Guaranteed, this ain't coming loose."
"There's a bar lock on the other side of this door," Blondie added. "They weren't getting out this way either."
"No, ma'am, they wouldn't," Gail seconded. "I tried, more than once."
Just then two pairs of footsteps echoed in the narrow hallway, and the bikers pulled out their sidearms. "Gail, get behind me," Blondie hissed, and the girl quickly obeyed. The air grew heavy with tension as the steps rapidly approached. As they crossed the threshold, both Blondie and Red Joe called out, "Police! Freeze!"
"Woman, thank God it's you," a familiar voice called out. "I'd have like to have shot you for a minute there."
"Dog, I swear to God," Blondie said, the tension evaporating at once. The sight of her husband and Agent Hotchner stepping in the room was one she was glad to see. "Don't you know better?"
"You might have been one of them," Big Dog pointed out simply.
"They're long gone," Red Joe said. "Problem is, we don't have a stop point for them."
"Alaska," Gail chirped.
"Well, that helps our friend out here," Big Dog said, looking at Hotch, "but not so much for our case."
"Gail, was there anywhere that the group liked to stop on the highway? A place between towns?" Hotch inquired.
The young woman shrugged. "Mostly they'd just pull to the side, find a place to have a pee. Made life difficult."
Hotch's lips thinned. He looked around the wide room, noticing the small lantern and the bright light shining overhead. "Generator?" he wondered, pointing at the light.
"Solar, most like. Probably did that themselves," Red Joe replied.
"Switch's outside," Gail added. "They liked to keep me in the dark."
The profiler then noticed the thin wallet Gail held in her hands. "May I?" he asked.
"Sure," Gail said, handing the object over to him.
The leather was worn in places. The window held a plastic card with a photograph of a sandy-haired man with bright blue eyes. Hotch recognized the unique license as belonging to Kyle Parker. "Either he left this on purpose, or someone got careless," he said finally.
"Never seen a PI license like that before," Blondie said. "There's no badge or anything."
"Well, then, Chase and her boys aren't exactly 'run of the mill,' there, sweets," Big Dog countered. "All that government work."
"He's right," Hotch seconded. "I've seen this before. They work for so many agencies that they finally just standardized their licenses, I think." The profiler almost willed Reid's own credentials to appear, but there was no such luck. Looking over at Gail Hathaway, he asked, "Gail, where would they go next?"
The young woman closed her eyes, her whole being deep in thought. She shook her head. "Across the border, into Oregon," she said finally. "There's a couple of towns, but…I need a map." She sighed. "Parks might be overrun with 'em as well. They don't need much; just a place to lay low on the road. Lets 'em 'party' more too."
As the quartet headed out the door, Hotch pulled out his cell phone. The display gave him a dirty look. So much for a call to Garcia, he thought. It'll have to wait until we get back out on the road…
-----
"Hey, Junior," Chase called out towards the tall man in front of her, his salt-and-pepper hair glistening in the steadily sinking sun.
"Ghost Lady," the man acknowledged. His mind lay further to the north, pondering a set of tracks nearly blown over by a stiff breeze. As the investigator and Rossi took stances on either side, Junior said aloud, "They got about another two hundred yards before those assholes caught up to them."
Rossi walked out to the end of the trail; the mounds of freshly disturbed earth and huge swipes in the scrub grass told him a story he didn't like. "They put up a fight," he said.
"I wouldn't expect less," Chase said. She was facing towards the bike stop, doing a little calculating of her own. "There's nothing out here," she said, turning to face her companions. "Kyle would know better than just to run towards nothing…"
"More than likely they saw it as a chance to get away," Rossi countered. "Even nowhere's better than staying with someone who's threatening you."
A small puff of air exited the young woman's nostrils. "That's not what I meant." A hand waved over the barren landscape like a tour guide's. "There's no cover. There's no hiding place. There's no anything."
"She's right," Junior said. "Best places to hide were in the town—or what's left of it. Not out here."
"So why did they run that way?" Chase wondered. "They had to know they'd get caught again."
"Not just that, folks," the biker added. Rossi looked up at the man, a slightly puzzled look on his face. "They'd get caught, sure. What bothers me is that they knew that and ran this way anyhow."
Rossi started to say something, but then stopped. Reid would know that too, he thought. An escape's no good if…
"…it's not really an escape."
"Huh?" Green eyes swiveled over towards the profiler in an instant.
"He's right," Rossi said, pointing at Junior. "There's no help to be had this way. So why come this far out? Answer's simple—it was never about escape."
"Then what…" Chase's line of thought moved faster. "Damn. Kyle would have tried to take a bike! One will get you twenty they got caught doing that!"
"And ran in the only direction they could," Rossi finished. "Going into town wasn't really an option; not with the gang closing in from that end."
"Makes sense. I mean, even if they managed to get away from them, there would have been no way for them to let us know they were even here," Chase finished. "Who knows how long they would have had to fend for themselves—and in what condition?"
"Looks to me like they got roughed up a little," Junior said firmly. "The tracks say as much. But I don't think they're bad off."
"Depends on your version of 'bad off,'" Rossi muttered.
Just then the sound of voices grew louder towards the old shop behind them. "Sounds like we're heading out. Like to know where, though," Junior said.
"Here's hoping someone left a clue behind," Chase said, her voice tinged with concern. Tell me you left something, guys, she thought. Or that Gail can pick their trail from the thousands out there…