Keep the Suit, Lose the Nickname: A Criminal Minds AU

Book 2 All the King's Men

Chapter 8: Paying the Price

Author: Kuria Dalmatia

"Through pride we are ever deceiving ourselves. But deep down below the surface of the average conscience a still, small voice says to us, something is out of tune."
-Carl Jung

It took careful negotiation combined with an explosion of statistics to keep Strauss from pulling Spencer's team from the case. He agreed to continual updates but was able to persuade her from making an appearance in the bullpen. He didn't need her as an additional distraction. When Strauss began her diatribe against Garcia's game playing on Bureau time, Spencer fired back with the estimated number of minutes per day it took to nurture a Bonsai tree.

Strauss had backed off after that.

Still, the entire ordeal gave him a headache. When Reid walked back into the bullpen and found Morgan and JJ at Morgan's desk, he was a bit surprised. They should have been in the conference room working on the case. The fact that the conference room door was closed could only mean one thing: Gideon and Hotch were at each other's throats and Elle was refereeing.

Shit.

David Rossi once said that being a unit chief was synonymous with being a dad. There was that fine line of praise and discipline. Refereeing arguments. Giving time-outs. But today, Reid sided with oldest children while the youngest looked at him with betrayal that Reid knew wasn't going to go away any time soon.

Because Reid knew that Hotch had very valid points. Hotch was a protector by nature, the oldest son who spent his teenage years trying to shield his little brother from the abuse at home. Yet now, in the BAU, Hotch was at the bottom of the pecking order of older and more experienced profilers and agents. Hotch did struggle, but kept his ego in check for the most part.

Hotch only went into "lawyer mode" when he firmly believed in something. And that was why Reid's compromise of doing the press conference—Breaking the rules so the UnSub makes a mistake, his mind whispered—and the phone calls—The safest approach because the UnSub knew way too much about them—had clearly upset Hotch. Hotch made his argument, a very solid one that included sound bites from lectures and insights that Reid and Gideon had given over the past year, and hadn't won.

Reid knew it was going to sting, and that Gideon and Hotch were likely to go at each other for the rest of the case. Hotch hated losing almost as much as Gideon despised being proven wrong.

And now? God.

Screw the so called "clean slate."

Reid was stuck playing Dad again when he should be cracking the goddamn book code.

Oh, for the days when Rossi ran the show. Hell, Reid would even take Cooper and those stupid meetings in the health club instead of the conference room.

Reid shook himself from his reverie. He approached JJ and Morgan, noting how both agents stood and fidgeted. He dismally wondered just how nasty the argument between Gideon and Hotch had been to drive both Morgan and JJ out. Elle probably stayed in there, just to keep them from coming to blows. "Morgan …"

"The delivery guy got a grand in cash to deliver the package to Will," Morgan cut him off. "Said our UnSub was badly scarred, like a burn victim. His voice was raspy and he moved kinda slow. Hotch had said the guy who called him in Jamaica sounded raspy too, so it's possible that it's the same person."

"We got a hit from CAC," JJ added and held out a file. "Rebecca Bryant. She went missing from South Boston, Virginia two years ago. There's not much to go on, just the first report from the locals. There was no follow-up because the girl ran away several times before. One time, it was for two months."

Victimology, Reid thought and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He knew better than to second-guess himself, but Hotch had been right. They got caught up in the emotionalism of the case, the insult of being lead around by an UnSub who thought he was something more than he was. A cold chill ran down Reid's spine. Why did I trust Gideon so quickly when I knew that his judgment has been off since the Bale bombings? Because I couldn't stand the fact that some UnSub is making us dance to his tune.

Reid took the file and flipped through it. The details were scant, but a few things stood out about Bryant: drug abuse, vandalism, theft, truancy. He closed the file and looked at JJ. He knew the answer before he asked, but he did anyway. "Do Gideon, Hotch and Elle have a copy of this?"

"Um … Gideon sent Elle home. She hadn't slept in 36 hours and crashed out on the couch," Morgan said. He paused before adding, "He ordered Hotch to take her."

Reid kept his features blank, although he wondered if they could see the anger in his eyes. Hotch would obey the directive because the man followed the chain of command. And while sending Elle home was logical, Gideon's blatant exertion of his authority over Hotchner and disobeying Reid's order that they all stay together … Shit.

No time for this now, he told himself. Reid thought for a moment, calling up the map in his head. "South Boston is a three and a half hour drive from here," he stated but then recalculated. "Two forty-five if Morgan drives. JJ, go with him. We need to find more on Bryant."

Morgan nodded crisply. "Let's go, JJ."

"Stay together," Reid ordered firmly. "No excuses." They both acknowledged him and he dismissed them both. Tapping the folder against his leg, he made his way up to the conference room, his anger building with each step.

I was only gone for an hour and this happens.

So Reid opened the door, walked in, and shut it sharply. Without preamble, he declared, "You sent Elle home without clearing it with me."

Gideon was peering at the evidence board, his back to Reid. "She hadn't slept in 36 hours."

"Is she at the same hotel as Will?"

"What?"

"Is she at the same hotel as Will?"

"No. Why?"

"You sent her to an unsecured location."

"Hot Shot is with her," Gideon said dismissively, with that little wave of his hand.

The use of Hotch's retired nickname let Reid know precisely what had happened. He tried his best to keep the scowl off his face. "We already know the UnSub isn't working alone."

"Giles and Harris were nothing more than pawns," he scoffed. "I shouldn't have to explain that to you."

Reid marched up, grabbed Gideon's shoulder and spun him around. "There are more than two pawns in a chess set, Gideon! This UnSub … he could have people waiting in our homes …"

"Hot Shot is with her," Gideon repeated and shook the hand off his shoulder. "Or did you suddenly lose confidence in your prized pet?"

"I thought we were over this pissing match with him!"

"I've been doing this job for almost thirty years," he told Reid coldly, "and one of the few things Rossi and I agreed on was that an UnSub was an UnSub! Look at yourself! Allowing this pathetic little loser to lead you around like some toddler."

"Being cautious does not translate as being weak," Reid ground out. "And we're not allowing him to control this investigation." He held up the folder before pushing it hard against Gideon's chest. "Hotch was right to start with victimology first. He was the only one of us who put his ego aside long enough …"

"That little prick's ego could fill this room," Gideon snarled. "He's been sniffing around the BAU for years …"

"That's not the point."

"He's after your job."

"So is everyone else," Reid fired back. "You don't think I know about the political maneuvers that happen around here? You think that I'm some naïve little boy who hasn't done this job…"

"I made you."

The verbal slap made Reid stand straighter. He peered down, using his height as a factor because he knew how much Gideon despised being loomed over. Softly, with a deadly edge that conveyed the full brunt of his fury: "Yes, you may have opened the door to the BAU, but you did not make me the man I am today. I earned this, just like I earned everything else in my life. I worked for it. So do yourself a favor and stop pretending that you're some kind of deity, because you're not. You're not omniscient. You're not infallible. You make mistakes, but unlike everyone else on my team," he stressed the possessive, "you're like a spoilt child who refuses to admit that anything could be your fault."

There was shock in Gideon's features, which quickly turned to that smug little grin. That expression, one that Reid had seen so many times over the course of his career, triggered a sudden epiphany for Reid. Gideon was clearly crediting himself for Reid's 'insight,' for Reid being able to stand up for himself.

He then realized that since joining the BAU, Gideon made a show of playing "mentor" more than Rossi. Reid hadn't honestly thought much about it because Gideon was like most professors he'd dealt with over the years. Gideon liked to show off his protégé and garner accolades from people for doing such a great job grooming him. Yet, honestly, Reid learned just as much about the Job, about being a man, and about dealing with life in general from David Rossi.

Rossi didn't want the spotlight while Gideon seemed desperate for it, dead set on being seen as a "good dad" to at least one kid.

But Gideon wasn't a good dad, not now. Not after the disaster in Boston which robbed Gideon of his self-confidence. The Bale Bombings changed the man—it changed all of them but none as profoundly as Gideon. Reid recalled Hotch's words from that hotel room in Alabama, how they all wanted to believe their mentors could do no wrong. He remembered his own response, that he truly (if erroneously) believed that everyone could bounce back from everything.

There was part of Reid that wanted to reestablish his authority, to take the power from Gideon, but the ruthlessly logical part of him chimed in with, Hotch will take care of Elle. You know he will. And we need to focus on victimology in order to save Rebecca Bryant.

It took some willpower to rein in his temper. His voice was that hardened command tone he learned from Rossi with the soft deadliness of Cooper. "Right here, right now, we focus on victimology. We lost sight of that." Reid pushed the folder against the older agent's chest again. "Morgan and JJ are on their way to South Boston, Virginia, to dig up information on the girl in the video, Rebecca Bryant. Garcia's still working on getting her systems back up and running."

For a moment, the two men stared at each other.

He straightened, letting the folder go and watching in satisfaction as Gideon quickly grabbed it. The older man's features were unreadable, and Reid wasn't up to devoting more time to decipher what Gideon was thinking.

"We need to go back to the beginning. Rework the list. What do we know about the UnSub? What kind of training and funds would he have to have to pull this off? I'll continue with the book code."

For a moment, Reid wondered if Gideon would follow the order but after a very long pause, Gideon nodded his head. He walked over to the whiteboard and erased what Morgan had written. Reid went to the evidence board and began methodically reviewing what they had. They worked tensely, quietly. The only sounds were from the rustle of their own clothing as they moved and the squeak of the dry erase marker on the whiteboard.

The buzzing of his phone broke Reid's concentration. He plucked it out of the holster and, for a split second, stared confused at the caller ID: Elle. He answered with, "Elle, I thought you were …"

The words died in his throat as he heard the wailing of a siren in the background. "Hotch has been shot." Elle sounded furious. "The UnSub was in my bathtub and shot him! Goddamn it!"

Reid's blood ran cold. Aaron was right. Oh God, Aaron was right. Guilt rushed through him but he fought it back. Guilt wasn't going to do a damn bit of good right now. "Where are you?"

"EMTs are here … I'm …" she paused and he could hear her stomping around. "I'm so totally going with him. That's my partner, goddamn it! Deal with it!" It was followed by a series of Spanish curses.

"Elle!" he snapped sharply, ignoring the gestures Gideon was making at him.

"He was clearing my house," she explained, voice high and tight and so totally not Elle. "He was clearing my house and got to my bathroom and that fucker was waiting for him and shot Hotch!"

"What about the shooter?"

"Dead," she spat out. "Hotch took him down with a headshot. In my bathroom!"

"What hospital is he being taken to?"

"GW," she answered, "and I'm going with him."

"Do you have an ID on the shooter?" Normally, Reid wouldn't have to prompt. Normally, Elle was tough as nails with a been-there-done-that nonchalance. Yet this … Reid knew why she was totally off her game: exhaustion coupled by the chilling fact that Hotch was gunned down in her home.

"Heavily scarred face and hands," Elle replied, "like he survived a fire."

It fits the description the courier gave, Reid thought before he said aloud, "I'll get CSU down there right away. Tell the locals not to process the scene until our crew gets there."

"Okay." She made a frustrated noise.

"Stay with him."

"You're goddamn right I'm going to stay with him."

"I'll meet you at GW as soon as I can," Reid told her before saying goodbye and ending the call. He let out a slow breath, forcing himself to calm down. When he looked over, Gideon was staring at him. Reid slid his phone back into its holder. "An UnSub was waiting for Elle in her home. He exchanged fire with Hotch, who took a bullet and is being taken to GW now. The UnSub is dead. Elle says he matches the courier's description."

There was a split-second pause before Gideon shrugged, as if he expected it to happen. It made Reid's stomach churn. When did Gideon develop such a blatant disregard for a fellow agent? But that couldn't be addressed now.

"It shouldn't take long to ID him." Reid went to the board and pulled the paper with the code off. He grabbed his messenger bag from the chair and carefully put the page inside. "I'll call Morgan and JJ. We'll still need to have them interview Bryant's parents. This UnSub isn't going to make finding the girl easy."

"Where are you going?"

Reid barely glanced over to the older man, who had become frighteningly still. "To the hospital. I've got the rest of this," he gestured to the board and then tapped his temple, "in here. I'll call if I come up with anything."

"So I'm supposed to sit here?"

"No, you and Colson are going to the coroner and get us an ID. Then, you both are going to work on how our dead suspect fits in to this whole thing. We travel in pairs. No exceptions. Is that clear?"

Gideon's eyes narrowed a little and gave a slight nod.

"I need a verbal acknowledgement," Reid insisted, because damned if he was going to be blamed if Gideon was hurt not following his orders.

"You want a 'yes, sir'?" Gideon asked, his voice just on the edge of a taunt.

"That's how you're supposed to address your unit chief."

The older man twitched again but finally said, "Yes, sir."

Satisfied, Reid strode out of the conference room, suppressing the guilt as best he could as he headed towards Garcia's lair, signaling Green to accompany him. Garcia wasn't going to like having a shadow, but Reid wasn't taking any more chances.

Aaron's been shot. Protecting Elle. Shot because I agreed with Gideon's decision to hold that press conference. Shot because I didn't listen to the one man who never puts himself above the team.

For the first time in a very long time, Spencer Reid wished he believed. But he knew Aaron did so he did it for Aaron. Please, God, don't let Aaron die.

Agent Anderson subscribed to the Derek Morgan School of Driving: fast and 'no such thing as stopping distances.' Usually, Reid rode in the backseat with all the maps and files while someone else rode shotgun. He would never admit that Morgan's driving could be downright terrifying and the less he actually witnessed it while riding, the better off he was.

Today?

Reid didn't care. His orders to Anderson were direct: "Get us to GW fast. Once there, take Elle back to her place to work with CSU. See if the UnSub left any additional messages. Have her pack a bag and get her to the same hotel as Will. Make sure they have adjoining rooms. I don't care if you have to put them up in a suite. Stay with her no matter what. This UnSub? He's not working alone."

Anderson didn't question him after that, concentrating on his task while Reid made the call to Morgan and JJ. Reid had already contacted Will directly and then his team at the hotel; he wasn't going to fail a second time.

Knowing Morgan would want to turn the car around immediately, he placed the call to JJ because she would hear him out. When she answered, Reid said, "I need you listen to me and not say anything to Morgan until I'm done."

"Okay," JJ told him and the wariness in her voice spoke volumes. She could always read him well.

"Hotch was shot inside Elle's home." Reid stared out of the window. "The shooter is dead and Elle says he matches the description that the courier gave us." It suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea what condition Elle was in. Had she been injured? He'd forgotten to ask. Then again, it was unlikely Elle would admit to any kind of wound if Hotch took a bullet for her. He forced himself to go on, "They're taking Hotch to GW, which is where I'm headed and Elle is waiting for me."

JJ let out a slow breath. "Okay."

"Your orders are to interview Bryant's parents and the lead detective on the case. This UnSub … he may not be working alone and the girl is still missing." He counted to five before he said, "I know Morgan will want to turn around, but we need that information on Bryant. There's nothing you can do at the hospital except pace and wait."

"I understand." JJ's tone was flat, distant.

"I called Will to brief him on the situation. The team at the hotel has been put on high alert," Reid went on. JJ's gasp of relief was barely audible, but it made his belly twinge all the same. "Garcia's got a shadow as does Gideon, who is going down to the morgue for an ID. As soon as I get any updates, I'll call."

"Please tell me you have someone with you." JJ's voice was soft, worried.

"I've got Anderson," Reid replied and noted how the younger agent sat a little taller. "I'll stay at the hospital and he's going to stick with Elle."

"She's going to eat him alive," JJ told him.

"I have sauce and napkins in my bag," he replied dryly and earned a light laugh from her. His tone then became hard. "Stick together. No splitting up. Period. Is that understood?"

"Yes," JJ said.

"Good. Call Garcia when you get any information." He hung up once JJ said goodbye and he stared out the window.

"Sir?" Anderson ventured cautiously, attention firmly on the road. "Um. Sauce and napkins?"

"For when Elle eats you alive," Reid replied.

"Oh."

Reid looked over. "I'm still not good at telling jokes, am I?"

That won a small grin from Anderson. "No, sir."

When Spencer entered the waiting room, Elle rocketed to her feet and quickly closed the distance. Her rosary was clenched in her fist. She stopped cold when she saw Anderson coming in behind him. He wondered if she would have embraced him if the other agent wasn't there. As prickly as she could be, Elle required her fair share of hugs. Spencer was always surprised that he got the honors, but it was always in private.

No one else got to see Elle Greenaway break down.

No one.

"Hotch is still in surgery," she reported, but she refused to look at him.

Spencer pulled out his wallet and dug out two twenties. He hated making the other agent a glorified errand boy, but he knew that Anderson understood. "Could you?" Spencer handed the money to Anderson. "The greasiest burger the cafeteria has but put it on squishy white sandwich bread. Extra pickle, no onion, no lettuce, lots of tomatoes. Tartar sauce on the side. Two large coffees." Spencer almost laughed at the horrified look that briefly crossed Anderson's face; the other agent had no idea about Elle's comfort foods. "Get whatever you want but get something. We're not resting until this stops."

"Yes, sir!" Anderson scurried out of the room.

Elle poked him in the ribs. "And what are you going to have?" but her teasing sounded strained.

"I had a Greek yogurt with honey and a protein bar before you called," Spencer replied.

He watched as her face suddenly contorted and she turned her head away sharply. Her voice cracked. "It should have been me."

"Stop that, Elle."

"First Boston? Now this?"

"You weren't medically cleared to travel to Boston." Usually, he wasn't the type to grab someone's chin to force her to look at him, but he did with Elle. "You had kidney stones."

"Donnie had no business going in there! He never cleared a bomb scene in his life!"

"Don Hazelton did his job," he countered fiercely, just like he'd done after his agent was killed by Bale. "Just like Hotch did."

Tears welled in Elle's eyes. "I ridiculed him, Reid. I called him Hot Shot. You know how hard he worked to get rid of that. All because I told him to."

"He's not going to hold it against you." He released her, stepping back. "If you would have been hurt …" He trailed off.

Aaron could probably give 'ferocious' lessons to Morgan on protecting the team. Spencer remembered what Aaron was like in that bar in Seattle when they first met … how now Aaron took it upon himself to look after everyone, including the interlopers from Quantico, after a case. And now? Aaron continued to do so, with a 'one beer limit' before switching to iced tea but only ordered the beer in the first place if JJ and Elle gave him epic amounts of shit about it.

Elle interrupted his thoughts with a shrill, "How did that fucker know I was going home? He was waitingfor me! Jesus, do we have a goddamn mole in the BAU?"

Spencer swallowed hard, because that was another possibility. Their UnSub knew way too much. Way too much about them. Personal things. Things that people only shared in quiet conversations with close friends, not colleagues. Please, don't let this be some crazy scheme Gideon came up with in order to eliminate Hotch.

Spencer rallied, because he didn't want to believe anyone that was in the BAU could betray them so profoundly. "The UnSub had access to our cell phone information. He hacked Garcia's systems. He could have used the GPS locators and tracked us. He waited until one of us left."

"I left with Hotch!"

"Hotch lives at the Langley," he replied. "Forty-five minutes in the opposite direction of your …" He trailed off as his thoughts began tumbling. "Your house." Spencer yanked opened his messenger bag and pawed around for his atlas. "So … the UnSub's observing the cell signals," he muttered mostly to himself. "Tracking you … you specifically. Why you?"

"I live the closest to the office."

"You're a woman and live alone," he corrected as he continued to search. Of all the times not to have his atlas with him. "The UnSub knows our personal information. He knows that Will teaches firearms for the Virginia State Police and law enforcement classes at two colleges. The UnSub is too calculating … too organized to take a risk like that."

Elle crossed her arms over her chest. "Goddamn it, I'm the best shot the BAU has."

"Had," Spencer corrected as he pulled out his notebook. Sketching the map from memory just had to do. "Hotch blew away your scores his first week in."

"He didn't goddamn tell me. That little bastard."

"And you didn't hear it from me," he retorted as he fished out a mechanical pencil. "But our UnSub also framed you for Harris's murder down in Jamaica. He knows you have to be working on little sleep. He believes you're weak." Spencer clicked the pencil until the lead appeared as he sat down in the chair "He's going on gender bias, not on actual interaction. He doesn't know you. Personally. He doesn't know any of us personally … just … third party information."

"What are you saying, Reid?" she challenged.

"That every thirty-four days, I make damn sure I have a stash of double-stuff Oreo cookies for you."

"That's sexist."

He didn't look up as he began sketching. "It's biology."

"And JJ?" she snapped.

"Twenty-nine days and Andes mints. I figured out she was pregnant a month and a half before she announced it," Spencer replied calmly. "Did you know there is a lot of debate about the syncing of menses? It's the only subject that I've ever been literally slapped upside the head for when I started to talk about it." He looked over. "Rossi hits like a nine-year-old girl."

Elle looked at him and then choked out a giggle. "The David Rossi hits like a nine-year-old girl?"

"Don't tell him I told you that."

"He'll hit you like a guy then."

"Precisely."

She paced a little before settling into the chair next to him. She watched him sketch for a minute before she finally said, "He dropped him in my shower."

Spencer glanced over. "What?"

"Hotch. He yells that he's FBI and drops the son of a bitch with a headshot while the fucker's in my goddamn shower." She crossed her arms over her chest. "A fucking headshot. One mirror. Glass block windows but that side of the house was in the shade. No lights. Sniper's challenge." Then she frowned and hugged herself again. "But that personal thing … You're not making sense. This UnSub … he knows personal things about us, things that we only tell our closest friends but he doesn't know us personally?"

Spencer shook his head. "I know. I know. I can't wrap my head around it. Gideon, JJ, and I were the only ones who got very specific gifts. Why us?"

He quickly drew his map with rough landmarks. His first circle centered on Quantico and how long, on average, it took to get to Elle's home given the time of day. The second centered on Elle's home and he used the same the average time to see where the two overlapped. The next set of circles was probable distance traveled at the end of the press conference. It gave a much wider overlap but it was likely the UnSub's home base was within those areas. It wasn't much to work with, but it was still something they could narrow down.

Spencer drew for a few more moments before saying, "I need you to tell me exactly what happened at your home from the moment you pulled into the driveway."

So Elle did, voice breaking when she told him about Hotch noticing the windows were open and her making fun of him. Her dozing on the couch when she heard the shots. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Hotch looked so confused, like he didn't know he'd been shot. His white shirt was already mostly red."

"Locals said the backdoor was forced?" Spencer prompted.

"Forced but closed. Hotch… I don't think he checked the door. Probably because I made fun of him. If he had …" She wrung her hands in her lap, rosary wound around her fingers. "I sat on my ass in the goddamn living room." Her tone was full of self-hatred. "I didn't have his back."

"You were exhausted."

"No excuse."

"So you're going to hate yourself for trusting him? He's not going to blame you," Spencer assured her quietly, careful to keep his attention on his drawing. He thought about how Aaron tried so hard not to be judgmental, especially when something went wrong on a case. "He's not that kind of man." Spencer sketched one of the expressways. "I don't blame you. This is not your fault. It's not Garcia's fault either. Neither of you caused this.

"We have an UnSub fixated on us … who has been fixated on us for at least two years when Bryant went missing. Two years is a lot of time." Spencer added the second highway. "It takes money to do what this UnSub accomplished. Independent wealth. It also takes an obscene level of skill to do what he did to Garcia's network."

Spencer drew the map's scale at the bottom of the page.

"He's clearly organized. Disciplined. But this attack was … it was disorganized … it couldn't have been part of his original plan. He named you specifically in the quest, so why try to eliminate you? It's like … The UnSub clearly believed that we were going to follow his instructions. Having that press conference … it infuriated him." Spencer shook his head. "It made him go off script."

And that's precisely the angle that Gideon is going to take when he tells his side of the story. Does he even care that Aaron was gunned down? That it could have been Elle if Aaron hadn't insisted on securing her home? Spencer thought to himself.

Anderson cleared his throat from the doorway of the room. "Greasy mama burger with tomatoes and tartar on the side. Two coffees."

Spencer continued to work. "And yourself?"

"A grilled cheese with burn marks resembling a Cylon."

"Classic or reboot?"

"Classic, sir."

Spencer looked up and then shifted his gaze to Elle. "Eat."

"This is yours?" Anderson squawked in disbelief as he stared at Elle.

"Sauce and napkins are in my bag," Spencer reminded him blithely.

Anderson's eyes widened, but he got the hint. He shuffled forward and handed over the bag to Elle, who had stuffed her rosary in her pocket. He set the cup holder with two coffees and a Red Bull on the table. Packets of cream and sugar were piled in the middle.

Spencer set the sketch aside and began making up his coffee. Elle pulled out the burger, inspected it, and then tasted the tartar sauce. Satisfied, she dipped the edge of the burger into the small container and began eating. Anderson gaped.

After she took her third bite, Spencer sipped his coffee—burnt and watery but still coffee—and stated, "Anderson's with you until we finish the case. No arguments."

"Reid!" she protested with a mouthful of food.

"No. Arguments." He met her look with a hard one of his own. "You're heading to the hotel where Will is, staying in the adjoining room, and getting some sleep. Anderson is with you. Will is watching over Henry and Rawson has taken point at the hotel. If this UnSub has a partner … we don't know if the man Hotch killed in your shower was the dominant or the submissive or just another pawn. The organized killer or the frenzied one, if there is more than one. No risks. No more hospitals."

The fire died in her eyes. The hamburger rested in her lap. "You?" she challenged.

"I'm staying here at least until Hotch is out of surgery. I'll call the office to get someone to pick me up." He then smiled ruefully. He tapped his temple for the second time that day. "Until then … working from home."

"You know that A plus you got for humor a while ago?" Elle asked.

"Yeah?"

"You just failed again."

Spencer shrugged. "I get one joke a year."

She laughed a little. She finished her sandwich. Anderson chugged the Red Bull like a frat boy at a beer pong party.

"No risks," he reminded them both as they headed towards the door.

"No risks," they repeated.

And Spencer went back to his sketch. The book code could wait.

The geographic profile couldn't.