Thank you, Hannah (grahamlecter) for Beta-reading my story and finding my mistakes. I've edited this book so many times, it's difficult to see the mistakes.

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Chapter 43 - Off the Rails

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After a quiet weekend at home, Susan told Spencer at the front door, "I love you. Focus on the case, catch the bad guy and come home safe." She kissed him, handing him coffee in a travel mug and a container with breakfast she made while he showered, shaved, and dressed.

"I love you. I'll be home as soon as I can." He kissed her once more. By the time he was sitting in his car, he felt torn. Part of him wanted to go back inside, take Susan back to bed, and stay there all day. The logical side of his brain won out, hoping for a fresh start at work. He started the car and pushed the button on the remote to open the gate.

On the drive to work, he smiled, still thinking about her. They went to bed early the night before, yet didn't fall asleep until eleven, and woke up early enough for some of that quality time together.

Spencer walked into the bullpen and saw more case files on his desk as he tried not to think about Susan. Thinking of getting more coffee helped as he hung his book bag on the back of his chair, took a package out, and headed for the kitchen area.

Dave opened the glass doors and made a beeline for the coffee, watching in both shock and amusement as Spencer dumped out the contents of the full carafe into the sink.

"Was the coffee not to your liking?" he asked.

"I'm going to try something different." He discarded the filter full of coffee grounds into the trash, opened the package, measured the freshly ground coffee beans into a new filter, and sprinkled a pinch of salt in. Dave wanted coffee, so he filled up the carafe with water and poured it into the coffeemaker's reservoir. While the new batch brewed, he told Spencer about the cases he missed out on during his time off.

"So… I didn't miss much. Now, the moment of truth." Spencer poured a cup, stirred the sugar in, and inhaled. "It smells better."

Emily walked up, poured a mug-full, added the contents of a sweetener packet, stirring it as she headed for the conference room. "Ready? Let's get to it then."

Garcia waited, remote in hand, with the photos up on the screen. "Good morning, my lovelies; you're heading to Little Rock. Not the one in Arkansas. You'll find this glittering diamond in sunny southern California, near Palmdale. The Los Angeles Sheriff's Department has asked for our help."

Focused on the case, Spencer read through the file. He didn't notice Jennifer looking over at him, still upset by his words from the Friday before…

Two days later, at the Sheriff's station, in Palmdale, the team was still having trouble pinning down a profile. Nothing seemed to fit. Victimology was all over the place. On paper, it read like a male unsub, yet there was evidence of a woman at the scene of the third murder. There was something missing.

After a long day and too few hours of fitful sleep, it was still dark outside when Spencer picked up his cell phone, trying out the video chat app to call Susan, figuring she'd be awake by now.

She answered, smiling, lying on her stomach with her knees bent and her ankles crossed over her backside. "G'morning. I miss you... oh, what's wrong, Love?" She could see it on his face; the zig-zagging vein on the left side of his forehead was raised, and the dark circles under his eyes told her he hadn't slept much. To say he was under stress was an understatement.

Sitting up against the headboard, he had the case files next to him. It was easier to smile, seeing Susan propped on a pillow, holding the phone in front of her, and he thought of how soft and warm she was in the morning, with her lovely naked body pressed against him.

He sighed, feeling some of the stress dissipating. "I miss you too, Sweetheart, more than you could imagine. But we're not any closer to solving this case than when we started. Something's missing, or I'm missing something."

Leaving out the more gruesome details, he told her about the case. "The first, a nurse, shot in the back of the head, execution-style, found near the Little Rock Ditch three weeks ago, most likely a victim of opportunity. The MO points to a male unsub. The second, a high school teacher, also shot in the back of the head outside his home ten days ago, same MO. The part that doesn't make sense is the third victim. Another woman, who lived in the school district where the teacher worked, was shot in the back this time, two days ago, but it was the way the body was displayed, laid out, on her bed, with her arms neatly at her side. This shows remorse on the part of the un-sub. Her son lives with her, and her daughter lives a few miles away; their alibis checked out as solid, as did the neighbors. There doesn't seem to be any other connections, except the school, for the last two victims. The physical evidence at the third scene shows the bullets were from the same gun, but the set of bloody footprints were too small for a man unless he was tiny. So the un-sub is either a small woman or a boy. Nothing in Garcia's research, shows these victims are related. I feel like there's something I'm not seeing. We're hoping to find something before anyone else dies. Garcia's going to have Betty search. Hopefully, she'll find something." He noticed Susan was paying attention. He could tell she was actively listening, processing the information.

"Hmm, when is a door, not a door..."

"When it's ajar." He chuckled out of pure weariness and nodded. "Yeah, I get it. Thinking outside the box. That's what we do, but I'll admit, this has me… puzzled."

"Whenever I get stuck on a problem, I go over all the details before I go to bed, but I don't dwell on it, or I'd be up all night. Let your subconscious mind suss out the details. That big, beautiful brain of yours will work on it while you get some sleep."

"That beats obsessing about it. I will and hopefully I'll get some more sleep. Love you, miss you."

"Love you, miss you, too."

He disconnected the call, skimmed over the case files for a few more minutes, then turned off the light, laid down, and closed his eyes.

After getting three more hours of sleep, Spencer got up, showered, and dressed. He caught up with Emily and Dave waiting for the elevator. "I have a few thoughts on the case… might prove useful."

"Good morning." Emily pushed the call button again. "Do you mind waiting until we meet up with the rest of the team?"

Dave peered at him closely. "Tell me you haven't been awake all night, thinking about this." They got in the elevator, and he pressed the button for the lobby.

"No, but I did wake up earlier and called Susan. She suggested I sleep on it and let my subconscious figure it out."

"And that helped?" Dave wasn't at all surprised at Spencer's computer-like intellect. He simply blurted it out.

"Oh, yeah. The subconscious mind is like having an eidetic memory on steroids… once you know how to tap into it." The elevator doors opened on the lobby floor and Spencer followed them, walking into the hotel breakfast lounge, heading for the coffeemaker.

"Thank you, for the short and sweet explanation. So, let's talk about the wedding. You're sure you don't want to have it at my place?" He stood in front of a table with an assortment of fruit, pastries, and donuts next to the coffeemaker and picked out a banana. He really wanted a cherry Danish, but he had promised Krystall he'd work on getting his LDL levels down under 200.

"Thank you, Dave, but no, we both want the wedding at home. Dr. Gordon will perform the ceremony, so thank you, again, for giving me his phone number. Susan and I have our first counseling session with him next Monday." He pulled three paper cups off the stack, sliding a sleeve on each, handing one to Dave, one to Emily, and then taking one for himself as he rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand.

"You sure you want coffee? Are you still having headaches?" Emily asked as she picked up a donut from the pile, setting it on a napkin, then slid a stir stick into each of the cups.

"Please, on the coffee, and no, I haven't had a headache in... I can't remember the last time I had one."

Dave poured coffee into each of their cups. "So, you… and Suzie. Everything going well with you two?"

Spencer smiled. "Yes, very well."

"She accepts you, warts and all?" Emily added the contents of a packet of sweetener to her coffee and stirred it.

"The same way I accept her, for all her, uh... unusual quirks. Susan gets me… and still wants to marry me… even with our crazy work schedules." He set a donut on a napkin, picked up three sugar packets, tore them open, and dumped the contents in. As he stirred it, he thought, Sometimes any coffee is better than none at all. Picking up his donut and napkin on top of the file folder in one hand, his coffee in the other, he followed them to a large round table nearby.

They were sitting down as JJ and Tara walked in, stopping at the coffeemaker first.

Rossi said to Spencer, "I know you've considered how this job affects relationships. It takes effort, but you can handle it. Suzie's a gem, trusting, loyal and patient. Just don't abuse that trust."

Spencer held up his thumb. "Got it. She's definitely a treasure, and I'm a lucky guy. I would never abuse her… or her trust. Is that why you wouldn't introduce us?"

"Emily—" Dave turned to Prentiss, held his hand up and shook his head, then turned back to Spencer "—I meant Suzie's mother, was concerned her daughter would give up college for love, like she and her mother Mary, did. I thought about getting you two together from time to time because I knew you two would hit it off. The night you and I went to The Benjamin for drinks, she was on her way there to meet up with me. I was going to introduce her to you, but—as you remember—we got called in on that case in Boston. Then Krystall and I invited her to our wedding. And Phil had emergency surgery while Suzie was there on a visit, so she stayed to help take care of him. Sometimes things have to work out in their own time. And now you two are getting married." He held up his coffee. "To love and happiness, Kid. Salud."

Spencer grinned and raised his cup. "Hear, hear."

Emily smiled, raising hers. "And to crazy work schedules."

Tara brought her coffee and fruit over, sitting down at the table. "Ah, relationships and the BAU. For some of us… it's like oil and water. Sorry, I've been in the bitter barn lately. I went on a date last weekend, and as soon as I told him about my job, he lit out. He reminded me of that cartoon Roadrunner."

"You aren't giving up, are you?" Emily asked, in between sips of her coffee.

"I thought about it. Then Lisa called me last night, asking if she could set up a date for me, with a new pediatrician at the hospital. She told me René is intelligent, funny, and kind. He was born in Boston but raised in Paris, so I know he's fluent in French. Then she sent me a picture. Dark hair, gorgeous… and tall." Tara grinned. "I told her I'd be happy to meet him for coffee."

JJ sat down, joining the conversation. "I'd be happy if Will didn't make me feel awful for being good at my job. Work is what makes it work. I keep telling myself that."

Spencer pressed his lips together and raised his eyebrows as he turned his head away.

She frowned. "I saw that. Were you going to say something?" Let's have it out, right here and now, she thought.

He took a deep breath and let it out as he glanced down at his cup for a moment. Then he looked up directly at her. "If I treated my relationship with Susan like a job, it might start to feel like work, and we all know sometimes... work sucks. I'm the lucky one, and every day Susan tells me she is. I prefer to think of our relationship as a masterpiece in progress." He didn't say it to hurt her, but at that moment, he felt sorry for Will. Seeing the shocked look on all their faces, he leaned back in his chair and changed the subject. "So… where's Luke and Matt? I'd like to get this case wrapped up, so we can all go home."

Tara broke the silence. "Uh… Matt was in the hallway behind me when his phone started ringing. I'm… sure they'll both be down soon."

Just then, Luke and Matt walked into the room, talking quietly between themselves, stopping to pick up coffee and fruit. They sat down at the table with the rest of the group.

Emily cleared her throat, ready to get back to work. "Spence, you had some thoughts on the case?"

"Yeah, so, we can all admit something's missing. I think I know why—the first two of the victims—shot in the back of the head. Then we have the third victim, shot in the back, but posed, like she was sleeping. That showed remorse, which tells us she was close to the unsub. What do we know about the son? He said he wasn't married and told us about the girlfriend he broke up with two months ago, but what if there was a girlfriend or ex-girlfriend he didn't tell us about? Perhaps there's something he's ashamed of? I think the son was the target and his mother surprised the unsub or accidentally got in the way somehow. Hang on." He fished his phone out of his pocket, called Garcia's number, and hit the speaker button.

She answered. "Bonjour, my babies. I was about to call you. So, guess what… no, you'll never guess. I'll tell you. The third victim, Donna Mead, a widow, had several teenagers at her last chance-style Boot Camp Ranch, up until two years ago, under her second husband's last name, Davenport, but that didn't show up in my background search, because it wasn't a licensed group home. One of the teens was a fourteen-year-old girl named Rhonda Mitchelson. A newspaper article written about her ranch two years ago mentions Donna's son, John Beatty, and his girlfriend, Rhonda. The son is from Donna's first marriage. Some people don't get married at all, and some keep getting married and divorced and married and divorced and—"

Emily cut her off. "—Garcia?"

"Oh, yeah, okay, so Rhonda visited the ER seven times, over the last two years, including while she was pregnant. The last time was a month ago when she gave birth, eight weeks early, and this is the most distressing part… to a stillborn son. That's nearly a week before the killings started. The nurse was on duty when Rhonda gave birth. I'm searching for any other connections, but in the meantime, Rhonda owns a green Honda Accord. I've sent her address to your phones."

"Thanks, Garcia. Tara, Reid, and Luke, you're coming with me to Donna Mead's house. I want to talk to the son again. Matt, you, Dave, and JJ to Rhonda Mitchell's address. Reid, call Deputy Gomez in the car, and ask him to meet us there? Let's roll."

On the way, Garcia called back. "I've got you all on a conference call. It turns out, Rhonda went to the high school where the teacher worked three years ago and the nurse at the same time. According to the school records, Rhonda told John Watts, the second victim, who was her homeroom teacher, that her boyfriend had been hitting her and was being, quote, unquote, inappropriate, with her. The teacher passed her off to Steffany Douglass, the nurse, with a note saying she probably just had an argument with her boyfriend. It was never reported to the police. It was the nurse's last day there. As in, she was literally on her way out the door. The note got lost in the shuffle, and when the school digitized their files, it showed up in another file. Betty found that little nugget of information. Nothing was done to help this girl."

Two L.A. County Sheriff deputies met Dave and the others, at Rhonda Mitchelson's address, in Palmdale, but she wasn't home. While the forensics team finished processing the scene, Dave called Reid. "She's not here. Are you at the Mead ranch yet?"

"We'll be there in a few minutes. I'll keep you posted."

Searching through the tiny studio apartment, they found a small box of baby clothes, two condolence cards, a sonogram picture, and a Certificate of Birth Resulting in Stillbirth in it.

Reid called back. "Rossi, Rhonda's car is parked in the driveway. Deputy Gomez is here."

"We're on our way."

Matt parked the SUV next to the driveway; the others were already inside, and there was a new perimeter tape up around the front of the house. It was a fresh crime scene.

Rhonda's ex-boyfriend, John Beatty, dead, from a single bullet to the head, shot while sleeping in his bed, roughly four hours earlier.

Eighteen-year-old Rhonda Mitchell, also dead, from a self-inflicted gunshot; the gun had fallen from her lifeless hand onto the floor. Clutched in her other hand, a hand-written note:

Now they can all stop pretending they cared about me.

Reid was understandably upset. "No one helped her. Even if she hadn't killed herself, she would have spent the rest of her life in prison." Deep lines wedged between his eyebrows.

The mood on the jet was understandably grim on the flight home. Emily sat down across from him. "Spencer, you know not every case turns out the way we hope for."

"I feel like I could have done something different."

"We all did the best we could. Finding more information wasn't enough. It happened hours after the sheriff cleared the crime scene and let the son back into the house. Rhonda was probably watching the house. Don't beat yourself up over it."

Spencer looked down and nodded. "I get it, Emily. I do."

"Get some sleep." She patted his shoulder as she stood up in the aisle and walked back to her seat to get some shut-eye.

He leaned against the corner of the seat, rubbing his temples, and after a few minutes, closed his eyes, but kept seeing the note, and for the first time in a long time… his head hurt.

From the text Spencer had sent her, Susan knew the case ended badly, and she figured any words, even those meant to soothe, might feel empty. When he came home and laid down next to her on the bed, she was awake, silently wrapping her arms around him.

He woke up a couple of hours later, still dressed, on top of the blanket, next to Susan. He went into his closet, got ready for bed, and slid under the covers after laying his robe on the bed. In the darkened room, he felt her move over against him.

She kissed him softly. "I'm glad you're home. Missed you."

Still weary, he pulled her closer. "Missed you, too. At least that silent, grumpy guy left. You deserve better."

"Well, I figured you had a crappy day and wanted to help ease your mind. Hugs are always better than empty platitudes."

"Thank you, for that. You… make everything better; especially the coffee." He smiled and kissed her, feeling her shudder…

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Thank you, to the readers, for taking the time to check out my stories.

If you want to read more, check out:

You're Not Going to Believe This, Premarital Counseling, Part 1, Wilson and Ramirez, A Bump in the Road, A Good Dusting, and then Part 2 of Premarital Counseling in Side Stories before I post Chapter 44 (I'm currently working feverishly trying to finish editing and posting them all in order).

If you care to leave a comment, review, suggestion, or constructive critique, it would be most welcome. I'd love to hear from all you readers out there.