Rossi shot bolt upright.

Still holding Hotch's hand, his eyes did a desperate search for some flicker of animation in his friend's face.

Nothing.

Did I imagine it? Do I want this so much I'm manufacturing hopeful signs? After a few minutes of careful observation, Rossi looked down to where his fingers wrapped around Aaron's palm. With slow deliberation, he squeezed…held the pressure for a few seconds…then released.

Again.

Once more.

On the verge of consigning the momentary hope to wherever dreams don't come true, Dave sighed, smoothing one thumb over the center of Hotch's palm. He bolted up again. This time there was no doubt. The fingers he held had flexed, giving his own a weak compression.

Rossi leaned in. "Hotch? Hotch! Can you hear me? If…if you can, do it again. Move your fingers, okay?" This time the movement was slighter, weaker. He's using everything he has and he's running out of energy fast. But…but this is EPIC!

"Good boy, Aaron. Good boy!" Dave brought the Unit Chief's hand up and pressed his lips against the knuckles. "Everything's gonna be fine, Aaron. You're on your way back."

Rossi placed the mostly limp hand next to its owner's side and strode to the door. Throwing it open, he startled the guard and every staff member at the nurses' station with his stentorian shout. "Doctor! We need a doctor here! Stat! STAT!"

Dave thought throwing in a word that he considered part of the hospital-ese lexicon might get things moving faster. Which might help get Hotch moving faster, too.

But all in all, Rossi felt, as far as his best friend was concerned, it had already been a wonderful day.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Mr. Kessler? This is Agent Prentiss. You thought of something new?"

Morgan, J.J., and Reid were a quiet, but very attentive audience. They knew Megan Kane would have to strike again soon, if she kept to the pattern she'd established. With her devolving sense of justice, it would be hard for her not to add to her body count.

The tinny voice came back. "It's not about me, you understand, Miss Prentiss?"

Emily bit back wanting to correct what she considered the sexist honorific attached to her name. She rolled her eyes "Of course, sir. But you have some information?" Yeah, right…it's always about a 'friend' isn't it…

"Well, I was having drinks a couple hours ago with a business associate…not even a close one, you know?…and he mentioned he'd be meeting a…uh…professional girlfriend?...for a yachting date."

"A yacht?" Prentiss locked eyes with Garcia's monitor image, cluing her in as to what she should cross-reference her list of deadbeats with: yacht ownership.

"Yes, Miss. But he didn't say when he was expecting to take her out."

"I see. What makes you think it's the woman we're looking for?"

"Well, he's talked about her before. Always calls her 'Meggie.' Thought that might be her."

Prentiss already suspected it was a lost cause, but she had to try… "I'll need your business associate's name, sir."

"Oh, ah…I'm sorry, Miss, but I, uh…"

"Sir, if you don't tell me and something happens, you will be held accountable for obstructing a federal investigation. And if your associate should be killed, we could even consider you an accomplice, aiding and abetting Megan Kane. Understand?"

The pause told all present that Mr. Kessler was considering his options. But this was no frightened citizen impressed by the reputation of the FBI. This was a cagy, savvy captain of industry who dealt with subterfuge and political tap dancing in his work on a daily basis. And, judging by his financial success, he was good at it.

"Miss Prentiss, I'm ashamed to tell you that I really don't know the man's name. He always goes by 'Tex.' You know…we Southerners use our nicknames a lot more than y'all would think. Sometimes from cradle to grave. I tell you, I was surprised to find out my own Mama's name was Sally. All my life up 'til she was eulogized, everyone called her 'Dixie.'"

A few beats of silence told Prentiss she'd run up against a brick wall when it came to names. People's names, at any rate.

"Can you tell me the name of the yacht? The marina where it's moored? The body of water he'd take it out on?"

"Uhhhh, no. Sorry, Miss. I truly don't know or recollect any of those things. Hell, we're just a coupla good ol' boys who get together to do some drinkin' and tell each other tall tales. That's all."

Emily let a weary sigh tinged with disgust travel over the connection. Just so the man would know he wasn't fooling anyone. So the only name you can contribute is 'Meggie.' The unsub's name…maybe…that we already know. Thanks. Thanks soooo much. "Well, thank you for the tip, Mr. Kessler. If you think of anything else…"

"I'll give y'all a shout. Happy to help. Good night, Miss." The man's relief at being able to hang up was palpable. He'd begun to regret his impulse to call at all mid-conversation.

Prentiss stared at the dead phone. "And it's 'Agent' not 'Miss.' Asshole."

Morgan turned toward the monitor. "Garcia? Can you get anything that'll help us?"

The tech analyst's expression was noncommittal. "Oh, gosh…I ran everything already and, well, it's just not much help, 'cause when you get to that level of filthy richness, I guess it's like, you know, mandatory to have a big boat in Dallas, so…"

"Garcia?!" J.J.'s gentle voice sounded odd taking on the role that Hotch usually played…interrupting the never ending flow of verbiage that characterized so much of Penelope's style of communication.

"Oh. Sorry. I can tell you there are 15 yacht owners who might fit the bill. And there are about 3 bodies of water with marinas large enough to accommodate boats that size. So…sending…now!"

"Thanks, Baby Girl." Morgan sighed as he pulled the list up on his tablet. "Let's split up. If it's our unsub it'll be at night."

"Wait. Why?" Reid's innocent, amber eyes blinked a questioning look.

"Because if you take your 'professional girlfriend' out in public, you don't do it in the daylight," Prentiss murmured. "I'll let Rossi know what we're doing."

Morgan nodded on his way out the door. "Keep in touch, guys."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hugging the shadows as much as the man slobbering a wet kiss in her ear, Megan Kane made her delicate way toward the end of the pier.

She had to take care. The stilettos of her Miu Miu mesh leather heels made navigating the boardwalk a little tricky. The task was even more challenging with the weight of her 'date' pressing against her at every opportunity. The man was already tipsy, but as they reached the gangway festooned with fairy lights leading to his yacht, 'Golden Treasure,' Megan could see several bottles of champagne already in evidence. Ice buckets were scattered along the deck.

She smiled. "Why, will you look at that. I think someone's got a powerful thirst tonight." She hid her distaste at the man's clumsy attempts to arouse her, opting instead to giggle and wiggle in a way that enticed him to hurry the job of casting off.

"I'm gonna take you out where we can see the stars, Meggie." He favored her with an indulgent smile. "Why don't you go pour us a little bubbly?"

"Sugar, that's exactly what I was plannin'."