Chapter 2

Nobody took it well when Hotch disappeared. Not the Pacerton PD and not Quantico. The people who took it the worst were Hotch's team. All of them were ready to kill a person they'd never met for daring to abduct their boss.

"What I can't understand is how someone got the drop on Hotch," Reid said as they all stood at the crime scene in the dark hours of the morning.

"It's late, and we're all tired," Morgan said, staring at his boss's now-battered phone. It was tucked into an evidence bag, dinged, scratched, and cracked. "Hotch would've been tired, too. Still, you're right, Reid. It would've been hard for someone to subdue Hotch. I'm interested in knowing how he did it."

"There's no surveillance cameras," JJ said thoughtfully, looking around. "And no one in the restaurant noticed anything. He didn't even make it inside to pick up anything before the unsub snagged him."

"So it was quick," Emily said. "This unsub had less than the ten minutes it would have taken Hotch to walk from the station to the restaurant to snag him."

"Not to mention secure him for the trip," Rossi added. "He had to have a car, one easy to get in and out of and to stow someone."

"He had to have some way to incapacitate him," Morgan continued. "Something that would subdue him quickly so he could complete the snatch and go. A taser, perhaps, or some kind of drug."

Reid suddenly went pale and scurried away, pausing only to vomit down a storm drain. JJ went to his side and waited until he was finished. Once he stood up, she handed him some Kleenex and settled him on a bench outside the restaurant. He was white and shaky and one leg was jerking up and down. JJ went inside the restaurant and came back with sodas for everyone, saying that sugar was good for the shaky feeling they all had to be feeling at that point.

Reid swished some soda around in his mouth and spit it out. "Sorry about that," he said weakly. "It was just the thought of Hotch, tased or drugged or…"

Morgan walked over and clapped a hand on Reid's shoulder. "Sorry, pretty boy. Didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," Reid said, still sounding wrung out. "I mean, the better job we do here, the better chance we have of finding Hotch."

While the scene was processed, Garcia called. Her voice had that quiet, determined, and frightened quality it got when she was worried beyond bearing for someone, but she put on a calm and professional front, promising to look out for any suspicious anythings on anything at all. In short, she was going to to be a one-woman virtual people-finder and rescuer. Morgan thanked her and let her get on with it before rejoining the rest of his team.

"Knowing Hotch, he was probably planning the food order ahead of time so he could get in and out of the restaurant in the least amount of time," Rossi said, moving up the street and walking back to the alley crossing where they'd found Hotch's phone. "He was glancing from left to right and right to left, scanning the area, keeping his eyes peeled. This has been a hard case, the unsub could be anywhere, so he was on alert."

"He doesn't make it to the restaurant," Emily said, picking up the thread. "Something draws him into that alley. He pulls out his phone to...probably contact us. Either he thinks he's found the unsub or something's made him suspicious or thinks someone needs help, because he pulls out his phone, but before he can make the call, it's knocked from his hand."

"The screen is cracked," Morgan added, picking up. "It had to be hit with a lot of force due to how many cracks there are. Unsub knocks it out of his hand and before Hotch is able to do anything, the unsub incapacitates him."

"And gets him to the car," Rossi continued. "Nobody we spoke to in the restaurant remembered a car being parked at the front of this alley, so it had to be at the other end."

They went carefully, examining the ground for any clues. It was difficult with just the aid from their flashlights, but they did pause to tape off the opposite end of the alley. They found tire tracks with the help of all their flashlights and called for someone to process them. Reid was scanning the area while the techs were at work and he froze. "What's that?"

"What's what?" Morgan asked, fighting off a yawn.

Reid pulled on some gloves, crouched down next to the corner of a building on the right, and rummaged in some rubbish. Seconds later, he pulled out a wallet. "It's Hotch's!"

Inside the wallet were Hotch's license, voter's registration, health insurance card, forty-five dollars in fives and forty-three cents in coins, and pass cards to his favorite stores. Two things were missing: the picture of Jack that he kept in his wallet, and a group picture he and his team had taken several months ago.

"I don't like the fact that this unsub knows what Jack looks like," Rossi said after several horrified moments of silence.

"And he knows what we look like, too," JJ said thoughtfully. "Taking our picture I can understand since he needs to know what we look like so he can avoid us, but why did he take Jack's?"

"It was a kindness," Reid said quietly, his throat tight. "Think about it. This unsub takes people and is kind to them. The other victims didn't have any photos on them. None of them had kids, and none of them carried photos of their friends since they weren't particularly close. All of them were independent, face-the-world alone types. Us working together like we do has made us a family. This guy probably thought Hotch would want to have a photo of Jack and his family, so he took them when they were available."

"That makes a scary kind of sense," Emily sighed. "I really hope that this guy is just as nice to Hotch as he was to the rest of his victims, 'cause if he's not…"

"He'll have a lot more to worry about real soon," Morgan finished. "C'mon, guys. Let's get back to work."

Their handler for the Pacerton PD found them several hours later, near lunchtime, in the conference room they'd made their home base. Only Rossi was still awake, and his eyes looked like burned-out holes in his head. He was rubbing his forehead and examining photos of the alley.

"You'll have to sleep sometime," Rossi heard a quiet voice say, making him jerk.

"Hello, Officer Thomas," Rossi said, putting the photographs down. "I know I have to sleep, I just don't have the energy for that type of effort right now. Besides, I can never just lie down and take a nap. I'm jealous of those who can, but I lack that particular talent."

Officer Thomas nodded. "I know what you mean. We had a missing kid case last year and all of us were working not just overtime, but over-overtime. Some guys would bunk down in the cells, others at their desks or in this room, but I always had to go home to sleep. Made me feel as if I were slacking off, but that was the only way I could sleep."

Rossi gave a mirthless chuckle. "I'm sure you weren't slacking off. Did the case have a good ending?"

"Fortunately, yeah," Officer Thomas confessed. "Any of us not on duty promptly went out and celebrated once the kid was home."

Rossi looked around at his sleeping teammates. "I'm sure we'll be doing some celebrating once we find Agent Hotchner. Has any new information come in on the tipline?"

"That's what I was coming to tell you," Thomas said, pulling an audio recorder out of his pocket. "There were two calls. One was from a lady walking home last night. She heard someone shouting somewhere, but she couldn't locate him. The second, well...your team might want to hear it."

Rossi woke them all up, relayed the news, and in seconds everyone had rubbed the sleep from their eyes.

"This first clip is from a woman who called," Officer Thomas explained the situation in a few words and why she'd called in. "I think it's interesting."

"Pacerton PD tipline."

"Hi. Listen, I heard about this guy who's been snatching people...I don't know if what I can tell you will help or not."

"Any information at all helps, ma'am. How about you tell me?"

"Okay. I was heading home last night. Near the all-night diner, Jimmy's. I'd passed it and was maybe a block or two away when I heard shouting. It was a guy calling for help."

"What did he say, ma'am? Can you remember?"

"Something like, 'No, let go of me, I don't want to go with you,' and a few other things like that. I headed back, thinking it was weird for a guy to be calling for help like that, but I couldn't see or hear anybody once I got closer, so I figured maybe I'd heard a TV or argument, you know? Then, this morning, I see the news and get to wondering if what I'd heard last night might have been something to do with this guy taking people, so I called."

The conversation continued as the operator asked questions to elicit more detail, but the witness had not been able to offer much. She had given her name and contact information, and Morgan wrote it down so they could visit her later.

"You said there were two clips you wanted us to hear," Rossi said thoughtfully after a minute or two.

"Yeah, this next one...I don't know. The voice was run through a distorter. Just listen."

"Pacerton PD tipline."

"I'm calling regarding Aaron Hotchner."

The press did not know that one of the FBI profiling team had been taken. The home office had been insistent that the press not know until absolutely necessary. Even Strauss had said that the last thing this unsub needed was any confirmation or recognition for managing to abduct an FBI agent. None of Hotch's team liked hearing that, but they could see the sense of it. The fact that this guy used Hotch's name let them know for certain that this was the unsub calling.

"Yes, sir?"

"Please let his team know that he's all right. He'll come to no harm at my hands."

"Can you tell me where you're calling from, sir?"

Emily found herself impressed with that operator. She was unflappably calm, which was an asset in law enforcement.

"No. I can tell you that Agent Hotchner is fine. He's resting now. He'll be fine. Tell his team not to worry. They'll see him again. I can promise that. He'll be well cared-for."

With that, the line went dead.

"Did you manage to get a trace?"

Officer Thomas shook his head. "No, there wasn't enough time. Do you think your people could manage it?"

"I'll call Garcia and tell her what's up," Morgan said, whipping out his phone. "If we're lucky, baby girl can work her magic and find us a lead."

Waking up was difficult. He could hear things from what seemed like a long way away, and he could feel things, but only at one remove. He willed his body to get up, to fight, to run, but he couldn't even get his fingers to flex. Why did he feel the need to fight? If he was in bed, then there was no reason to fight. Was he in bed? He had to be; he was lying down. But why was he lying down? He didn't remember going to bed.

From a distance, he heard someone say, "Aaron, can you open your eyes?"

His eyes opened and closed again almost immediately, but he'd managed it. The only thing he really saw was light with no detail.

"Good."

What was good?

"You're going to be all right. It will wear off soon and you'll feel better."

Wait, what? What was this person telling him? What needed to wear off? Was he in the hospital? Was that what had happened? But that didn't make sense. He was supposed to be...with his team. He and his team had been investigating a case...he couldn't remember which one. He was lying down somewhere quiet, his head hurt, his throat was dry, and he was boiling hot. What the hell was wrong with him?

He didn't expect what happened next. Someone moved around him and then began untying his shoes. They were slipped off, as were his socks. His suit jacket was removed, along with his tie, his shirt, his belt, and his pants. All that was covering him were his T-shirt and his boxers. Fear was driving him a little faster toward consciousness, because a bad feeling had settled in. Why was this person undressing him? Details from all the cases he'd worked over the years rushed back to him and all his fight or flight instincts rushed in. With a Herculean effort he got his eyes open and used his hands to push the man away.

He didn't budge.

"Hey, it's all right," Aaron heard as his body went slack and his eyes closed again. "Sorry to undress you like this, but your clothes are soaked with sweat. I figured you'd be more comfortable like this. Don't worry. I won't hurt you. I'm going to take care of you. You don't have to be afraid."

For some reason, that sounded familiar. It seemed he'd used up all his strength in that one move to defend himself, because he couldn't move or open his eyes again. The man turned Aaron on his side into the classic recovery position and covered him with a light blanket. He heard the man settling into a chair next to his bed and then he felt a hand take hold of his.

"You don't need to be afraid, Aaron. I can promise I won't hurt you. I didn't hurt the other people I took, and you've spoken to all of them, so don't worry, okay? You'll rest for right now, and later, once the last of this wears off, you'll feel a million times better and we can talk. I'll answer your questions Please don't be afraid."

Having someone holding his hand when he was a grown man was super-creepy, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He could feel himself falling back to sleep. His body relaxed and just as he fell deep into slumber he felt a hand smooth his hair.

He woke up again with a headache and a raging thirst. Slowly, the ability to move crept its way back into his limbs and soon he was flexing his hands and feet, trying to wake up fully. Inch by inch he fought to wake himself up, and finally, at long last, he was able to open his eyes and rise up on one elbow. Where the hell was he?

It was a bedroom, done in blue. Well, sort of. The bed sheets, comforter, and rag rugs on the floor were blue, as was the one easy chair. Screens closed the room off, giving the illusion of privacy even if there was none. He craned his neck and past the screens he could see the corner of a table, and on that table was a bottle of water.

Still feeling shaky, Aaron got to his feet and made an unsteady beeline for the water. He thanked all benevolent spirits watching over him that he was still coordinated enough to open it and he took a few sips, mindful of the fact that drinking anything too fast could make him sick. He pulled a chair out from the table and sat down, focusing on breathing and sipping water. He rested his forehead on his hand and sipped, trying to marshal his thoughts.

"Aaron?"

Hotch jumped and nearly spilled the bottle. He turned just far enough to see...to see…

Don't panic, he told himself sternly. Do NOT panic.

"I'm glad you're awake," the tall silhouette beyond the fencing told him. "How do you feel?"

He couldn't stop himself; the words slipped out on their own. "Physically or mentally?"

"Let's focus on the physical for right now."

It was a pleasant and kind voice. It was the type of voice that made you want to trust the speaker. "I have a headache, I'm very thirsty, I'm stiff all over, and I feel a bit out of it. What did you give me?"

"Propofol."

Aaron winced. It was a widely-used sedative, but still..! "How did you know how much to give me?"

"I'm good at what I do. Do you feel nauseous?"

"Nope, just loopy." Loopy. What a word for an FBI agent to use. It was clear that the drug had not worn off completely yet.

"It will pass," his captor promised. "You might feel better if you lay back down."

Aaron ignored that suggestion and looked around. "Where are we?"

"A good place," he said. "You'll be very comfortable here."

Aaron kept looking around, his drugged-out brain finally making sense of what he was seeing. Yep, it was all here. There was the dining area, the living area with its bookshelves and entertainment center, the workout area, the bedroom, and the door ahead of him and off to his right had to be the bathroom. Seeing that door made other very urgent things assert themselves in his attention and he got to his feet. "'Scuse me a sec."

"Do you need any help?"

"Nope, I can walk just fine." He proved it by weaving his way into the bathroom and shutting the door firmly behind him. There was no lock on the door, so he pretended there was one and took care of the necessary as quickly as he could. Once done he washed his hands and face and returned to the table, feeling a bit more like himself. The dark silhouette of his kidnapper had not moved. "How long have I been asleep?"

"About seven hours. You've been running low on sleep lately, so I figured you could use the rest."

Hotch drank some more water. His head was getting clearer with each second and he was able to think. "I understand why you took your other victims, but why did you take me?"

"They weren't victims," the kidnapper told him. "They were guests."

Hotch looked at him. "Uh-huh. So, what led you to make me one of your guests?"

"When was the last time someone took care of you?"

"Would this answer my question?"

"Yes."

Aaron thought about it. "The last time I was in the hospital, I suppose. Why is that important?"

"You take care of everyone around you. You deserve someone to take care of you for a change."

For some reason, Aaron could feel himself getting anxious. "What if I like taking care of myself?"

"Then you deserve a break. I'll watch after you, so don't worry, and try to enjoy yourself. Once you relax, you'll like it here."

"What if I don't want to stay?"

The man's head tilted to the side and when he spoke, Hotch could hear the smile in his voice. "And how will you leave?"

"I'm an FBI agent," Hotch reminded him. "If I really want to get out, ten to one, I'll find a way."

"Mm-hmm. Somehow, I don't think that'll happen."

Aaron looked at his surroundings. A brick wall formed a backwards L to his right and behind him. The bedroom was tucked in the corner of the L and the open side of the L had been enclosed with steel fencing and a gate. The unsub was standing behind the gate, watching him.

"Can you tell me what the rules are here?" It was best if he got that out of the way so he would know what to expect.

"The rules? There aren't many. You're to relax and take it easy. I've provided clothes for you and everything you'll need. If there's something you want, you just have to ask for it. Since I'll be preparing your meals, tell me if there's anything you'd like me to make. You're to eat, now. Gerald tried to starve himself, but we took care of that little issue."

"How?"

"A tube. It was only used once. He didn't like it, but the lesson was learned."

Hotch fought down a shiver as it tried to go down his spine. "Okay." His head was starting to pound again and all of a sudden, he felt exhausted.

"Why don't you lie down again for a while. Some of the drug is most likely in your system still."

Aaron nodded. "I think you might be right." He stood up and headed for the bed. "Don't let me sleep too long, or else I won't sleep when it's time."

"Don't worry. I'll be watching."

Hotch didn't want to admit that that was what worried him.