Of all the chapters I've written, this was by far the most difficult of them all. It's a bridge chapter that will give the reader a few clues, but don't be fooled. There are a few more twists and turns.

~*~ Profiler's Choice 2011 Fanfic Awards for the Criminal Minds Community ~*~

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It is our pleasure to announce the Second Annual Profiler's Choice Fanfic Awards for the Criminal Minds community!

The nomination ballot is now available, and all rules are posted on Chit Chat on Author's Corner forum! Nomination ballots must be received by October 15, 2011 and must be sent to this PM at Profiler's Choice CM Awards. Fics for consideration must have appeared on the CM section of between September 1, 2010 and August 31, 2011 (see rules for full details.)

Sweet Glow of Mercy

Em waited at the table inside the café. Twice she checked her watch. Her contact was running late and her instinct was on high alert. She and Dave hadn't been found out; she knew that for a fact. Something had happened.

Glancing over at Dave, who sat at a table in the far corner, she nodded slightly. In response, he raised his paper and ignored her. He was supposed to be her back up incase things got out of control - he wasn't supposed to get involved.

The front door opened and more customers came inside. It was getting late. Where the hell was the contact?

As the waitress passed by, she offered a refill on Em's coffee. Pouring the hot, black liquid, she moved on to other customers.

"I thought you were dead," a voice commented in a whisper. Em looked up as a slight man with a shaggy hair cut and a beard sat down at the table.

"Just call me Lazarus," Em replied. "You're late."

"You're blonde." Grabbing the cup of coffee, he took a swallow. "Still using artificial sweetner, I see."

Em shrugged. "Getting a new identity doesn't mean that I have to get new habits." Quickly, she looked around. "Were you followed?"

"No."

"Are you sure?" Em glared at the man hard.

"I checked behind me every step."

"Who else knows?"

"There is a rumour going around."

"Keep it going. Where is he staying?" Em asked darkly.

"A house somewhere."

"Where?"

"It's going to cost you."

Em reached into her coat and pulled out a stack of bills. "Now tell me."

"The price went up."

Em snorted in disgust. "You're kidding, right?"

"You asked for what he was staying in, not where. That's going to cost you more."

Em shifted her weight. "If it's going to cost anyone, I would say it would be you." She leaned in a few inches. "See, I have a gun trained on your best friend. I don't have a problem with breaking you two up."

"You wouldn't dare," he countered, but sweat broke out on his forehead. "Guns are illegal in England."

"Not if you're Interpol. And no one is going to give a shit that I killed a turn coat. Playing both sides against the other can only end in one way." Em narrowed her eyes.

"You're an American!"

"I'm on a joint task force. That gives me special privileges…one of which is to put a cap in your sorry ass." She leaned in closer. "And there is a silencer. Now tell me what I need to know."

The man swallowed nervously. The money was good, but playing between Doyle and Lauren was going to get him killed. He wasn't sure who was going to pull the trigger first, but he was definitely a dead man.

"You have ten seconds. Ten. Nine. Eight…" Em counted.

"Okay. Put it away and I will tell you. If he finds out, he is going to kill me."

"Don't tell me, and you're going to wish he had."

"He has a chateau outside of Manchester."

"What else did he say?"

"He said to bring your lover."

Em considered his words. "Run," she ordered.

"What?" He tried to comprehend the command.

"Run. Now. You have until the count of three."

"Are you crazy?" His eyes flew from her to the crowded room.

"You could stay and find out. But think of all you could lose by doing so."

Frantically, he got up from the chair and ran out of the café. Em slipped her gun in her purse, laid a few bills on the table, and went outside. Rounding the corner, she pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Drawing in the smoke, she tried to calm her nerves.

"You should really try to quit those things before you get back to Quantico," Dave remarked as he walked up to her.

"It this or get drunk off my ass. I can't afford a hang-over." She blew the smoke out.

"Did he say if your mother is alive?" Dave wondered as he kept an eagle eye on the passer bys.

"Doyle knows you're with me."

"We knew that already."

"He called you my 'lover'." Em took another drag.

"I am."

"He makes it sound dirty. He will torture you just to make me suffer."

Dave considered his response, then stopped. Em wasn't going to listen to reason and what could he say to reassure her when she had seen so much already?

"Where is he?" Dave asked.

"A chateau outside of Manchester."

"You think the information is wrong?"

"I don't think so."

"Then we go to Manchester."

Em took a long drag. Then she stubbed the cigarette out against the brick wall. Expelling the smoke, she looked at Dave. He was her one constant in the chaotic thing called her life. She was never going to be able to pay him back.

"There is no turning back once we get the go ahead from Hotch," she replied.

"Good. I'm tired of dicking around."

"Are you sure?" Em's heart beat faster than normal.

Dave nodded. "Call Hotch." He reached out and touched her blonde wig. "We end this now."

Pulling out her phone, Em made the call.
******

Ian Doyle sat behind his desk. His morning had started off with one catastrophe after another and he was still waiting on news from the contact who was supposed to meet Emily Prentiss.

The phone rang. Grabbing the receiver he barked into the receiver. "You better have some fucking good news."

"She's alive."

"I know that!" he growled.

"How did you know?" the voice on the other end asked incredulously.

"Because she's been a fucking thorn in my side since this whole thing began. I want her eliminated."

"She's surrounded by guards and an FBI agent."

"No she isn't."

"Yes, she is."

"I have a contact meeting her today," Doyle replied. His temper was rising and it was taking everything he had not to shoot the phone.

"Who?"

"Emily Prentiss, you stupid fuck! Who did you think I was talking about?" Doyle shouted.

"Ashley Seaver."

Doyle froze. "What do you mean 'she's still alive'? Ferguson put a bullet in her head."

"Well, he didn't do it very well. Seems she is in critical condition at the trauma centre in Salt Lake City under armed guard."

"What's her prognosis?"

"Touch and go. She's in a coma."

"Then finish her." Doyle let out a heavy sigh. Did he have to carry the water, too?

"I can't get pass the guard and the FBI agent."

"Let me guess: Spencer Reid."

"Yes."

"I should have known Aaron Hotchner would have sent a boy to do a man's job. Take him out."

"But…"

"The kid can't shoot to save his life. Take him out. Then take out Seaver. You have your orders. Don't fail me."

"Yes sir."

Doyle slammed the receiver down. Immediately, he let out a long stream of curse words in Gaelic. His men had messed up. One simple bullet to take out one agent and they had messed that up. He should kill them all just to make an example. But he needed them.

The phone rang again.

"Tell me what I want to hear."

"She's on her way."

"You told her?"

"Just like you told me."

"How did she react?"

"She threatened to shoot me in the crotch."

Doyle snorted. "She always did have a flair for the dramatic. Was that Italian bastard with her?"

"I didn't see him, but I'm sure he was."

"She won't make a move without him or Agent Hotchner."

"Should I follow them and take him out?"

"No. Did she tell you anything else?" Doyle wondered.

"She told me to run."

Doyle thinned his lips in thought. "Maybe you should have taken her advice."

The sound of a loud pop came over the line and then it went dead. Doyle replaced the receiver.

Leaning back in his chair, he looked out the large window at the long drive way.

Emily was going to come after him seeking her revenge. Her thirst for blood was almost as strong as his, but how long would she last after he killed her mother and lover?

Then she would be at his mercy.

He couldn't wait.