Reid couldn't forget the conversation they'd overheard. He'd been processing the evidence over and over in his mind, like he were working the case. Riley seemed to sense he was distracted their entire evening, but never brought it up.

After returning to the hotel, he made the claim he was still jet lagged and wanted to go straight to bed. Riley understood and wasn't the least upset, which only made him feel worse. Reid wanted desperately to just forget the McClarens' murder and enjoy the night with his wife, but he couldn't get his mind to focus on anything else. He believed that all he needed was a good night's rest to clear his head. In the morning, he'd feel refreshed and be able to enjoy his honeymoon.

Unfortunately, sleep continued to elude him. Riley was lucky, falling not too long after they'd gone to bed. Reid tossed and turned for several hours, getting no relief. Finally, by 3 AM, he gave up trying and laid back on the pillow. He stared at the ceiling, with nothing but Riley's breathing for company.

Without any knowledge of who the McClarens were, he could only make a guess as to a reason for their murder. The young girl Patricia had believed it was a crime of passion, considering there was overkill.

Reid knew that was true for a stand alone event… but if it were a serial killer, it wasn't necessarily true. Overkill was almost always present at the hand of a psychopath.

There was no evidence this was a serial murder, however. With a bit of investigating, he could see if there were any similar deaths in the London area recently, both single and double homicides. Of course, he would have to know the details of the crime scene, the position the bodies were found in, the coroner's report on the autopsies-

He cut himself off. Reid had to remind himself that he was not investigating this crime. He had to stop thinking about how he would go about processing the evidence. Rolling onto his side, he took in Snow White next to him. He loved watching her sleep; she was so beautiful and peaceful.

This wasn't fair to her. She was already nervous about this trip, and finding out there was a murder in the room they were supposed to be in was no doubt disconcerting. Continuing to focus on it wasn't going to help either of them. Tomorrow, everything would be different. They would start enjoying their trip and all the things Reid had in mind for them to do. With that resolution, he wrapped his arm around her. Pulling her close to him, he was careful not to wake her. Reid closed his eyes and gave sleep another try.

Meanwhile, the team worked on the kidnapping case in San Francisco. It was morning and everyone had made it in from the hotel. In the stations break area, Morgan and Garcia were talking over coffee. He hid his pleasure, seeing Emily come over to join him.

"Morning, Garcia," She said pleasantly, her eyes avoided him as she went straight for the coffee pot. "Hello, Morgan."

As far as the rest of the team knew, things had never been the same between Derek Morgan and Emily Prentiss. A year ago, when things had first started, in the presence of the others, they gave the impression they hated each other. They were constantly disagreeing just to get on the others nerves and refusing to spend time together unless it was professionally necessary. It seemed their friends were fooled, especially when Hotch pulled them aside to warn them if they didn't start getting along, he'd be forced to transfer one of them. After that, they 'made the effort' to be respectful and repair their friendship. It was never as it was and the others believed they were merely tolerating each other. The constant passive aggressive bickering whenever they were in the same room was a clue.

"Morning, Prentiss," Morgan said, looking away. Garcia felt nervous around them when they were together, afraid they would pull her into the middle of a disagreement. "Sleep well?"

"Can't complain," she replied, meeting his eyes. "You?"

"Not too good. But then again, I never do when I sleep alone." He flashed a smile at Garcia, who returned it with a worried glance. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she replied, needing a change of subject. Her fingers danced on the sparkle that hung around her neck. "I'm surprised you guys haven't noticed my new necklace yet."

Emily set the carafe back and turned to look. They spotted a skeleton key encrusted with diamonds, hanging on a silver chain. "Oh, that's so pretty. Where'd you get that."

"It was a gift from Kevin." Garcia smiled. "A very special gift."

Emily understood a bit sooner than Morgan, "This isn't some ordinary piece of jewelry, is it, Garcia?"

Her eyes lingered on the ceiling, giving such a sweet simper, "Not exactly. Kevin knows I've never been a girl for diamond rings."

"Oh, the boy popped the question, didn't he, Baby Girl?" Morgan said, putting his arm around her.

"Yes!" she cried. It was after Reid and Riley's wedding. He took me home and I was a little tipsy from the champagne, but… we got upstairs and… he sat me down and pulled out this box and said he wanted me to be his wife… because I hold the key to his heart."

"Ah," Emily cooed, "That's so romantic." She wasn't a girl who demanded a big hoopla when it came to romance, but even the toughest girl responds positively to a loving gesture like that.

"Looks like we going to have another wedding." Morgan pointed out. "This time I better get a date."

Emily hid her disdain for that statement until Garcia corrected him. "Actually… no. We're going to elope on our vacation in June. We haven't decided where yet, but we just want something simple."

"Simple?" Emily asked, "Garcia, I didn't know that word was in your vocabulary."

She giggled again, "Well, I should get started checking those leads. I'll see you guys in there."

With her coffee in hand, Garcia hurried off, leaving them alone. Emily went to stir cream into her coffee. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the man behind her edging closer to her.

"'Oh, that's so romantic'," Morgan whispered, leaning into her ear. "I didn't know you were into that kind of thing, Prentiss."

"What kind of thing?" She asked, taking a glance to make sure no one was in the vicinity to see or hear anything.

"Romance. You know, the whole moonlight and roses thing," he explained.

"Why should that be a concern of yours?" Emily inquired in a hiss, "It's not like you're my… boyfriend or anything."

Indeed, he wasn't. They got along well, but for the sake of their careers, they decided to keep the relationship as simple as possible, which meant not to get too serious about it. Neither had been very good with relationships. That fact with the need to keep a clear head on the job made a casual fling the best solution. At least, it had been a year ago.

"I guess you're right," he shrugged. "It's a shame, because… I can plan a pretty romantic evening."

"Yeah, right," Emily said, rolling her eyes.

"What, you don't believe me?" He slipped a hand into the small of her back, not caring if his boss or the others noticed. He was getting so tired of hiding from everyone. Morgan felt her body shiver at his touch, as usual. It was a response he never got from another woman and adored it. "I know I don't have a lot of steady girlfriends, but I know how to make a girl melt."

"Sure, maybe some bimbo you picked up in a bar. I'm too smart to fall for your tricks." She argued, turning to meet his eyes. They emitted their usual twinkle, and for a moment Emily wished she could forget where they were and kiss him.

"Is that a challenge, Princess?" He growled.

"What if it is?" she smirked, her hand itching to go the planes of his chest again.

He didn't reply at first. Just fixed her with a pensive stare and backed away. "Then I accept. When we get back to Quantico, I will plan you the perfect romantic evening and make you feel like the princess you are."

She hid her enthusiasm, giving him instead a doubtful glare. "You're going to make me feel like a princess?"

"A sour princess for being proven wrong, but a princess just the same." He gave her a wink.

"Yeah, well, I'll believe that when I see it, Morgan." She turned back to the coffee.

He let out a laugh, getting ready to step away. "Well, you just wait. You will have your romantic evening, and it is going to kick your ass, Prentiss."

With a pleased smirk, mug in hand, Morgan headed off to join the rest of the team. Emily sipped her drink, anticipating the solving of this case. She wouldn't let herself get excited, though. This didn't mean it would lead to anything more than they had. She wanted more, desperately, but the threat of losing him was too much to bear. Still, at least she could have one real date with the man she was falling in love with.

Tired and restless, Reid was walking through the halls of the hotel. He and Riley had decided on going out for breakfast and then spending the day in the city. It sounded like a fun, but Reid couldn't get the murder from his mind. It invaded his thoughts like a virus and wouldn't let him focus on anything else. He decided questioning the manager could possible get this out of his head, and so, while Riley was in the shower, went to her office to speak with her.

Ignoring the sign indicating entrance only to authorized personnel, he moved into another corridor. At the end of the hall was a door with MANAGER written on a gold plaque. He knocked, "Come in," a male voice called.

Reid opened the door, spotting a young man sitting behind a desk in a small waiting area. He got to his feet in question, looking Reid over quizzically. "I'm sorry, sir, guests aren't allowed back here."

"I don't mean to cause trouble," Reid informed, "I just wanted to speak to Miss Lemon for a moment."

"If there's a problem with the room, sir, you just need to go the front desk." The assistant clarified. "If the clerk believes the manager should intervene, she'll fetch her, but otherwise-"

"Actually, this is about the murders in the honeymoon suite." He interrupted. "I'm just curious about them and I felt the manager would be the best person to question."

Shocked, the man, who Reid suspected was Andrew, stepped away from his desk. "Wait here, I'll see if she's occupied."

He hurried himself to the door behind him, rushing in without knocking. Reid took a seat, wondering how long it would take the young man to convince her to see him, though he suspected not long at all. Sure enough, Andrew returned in less than five minutes. "She'll see you, sir," he informed. The door stood ajar, waiting for his entrance. Reid stood and hurried in, wanting to get this done and back to his room before Riley was the wise to his disappearance.

"Miss Lemon?" he asked, stepping in.

Her back was to him, standing at her filing cabinet. Her fingers were busy, rifling through each folder, searching for something in particular. She turned to look at him, her perfect blonde hair sweeping over her shoulder. "Oh… Mr. Reid, I should have known."

"I don't mean to disturb you, Miss Lemon, I just wanted to speak-"

"About the murders?" She asked, "Mr. Reid, it is a wonder how a guest in my hotel would even know about that when it wasn't even released to the media."

"I overheard two of your staff talking last night," Reid explained. "I haven't been able to concentrate on much else."

She closed the drawer to the cabinet and went to her desk, setting a red folder down on the wood. "Mr. Reid, I apologize. My staff should have more tact than to discuss that in public. I'm sorry if it disturbed you, but I assure you, sir, this is a safe hotel and nothing is going to hurt you or your wife."

Reid nodded, his hands slipping into his pocket thoughtfully. "Thank you, but that wasn't my reason for coming here. I was just curious as to… how you and the hotel were dealing with it."

Marcy Lemon fixed him with a sickening stare, "Mr. Reid… pardon me, but I believe you need to find a new hobby."

"It's not a hobby, ma'am. It's my career." He cleared his throat, stepping further into the room. "I work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation back in America… I deal with a lot of homicide cases, usually time sensitive by single offenders."

"Time sensitive." She repeated, "You mean serial killers?" The usual anxiety crossed her face at learning the reality of his job. "That must be difficult work, Mr. Reid."

"Actually, it's Dr. Reid," He corrected. "I have three separate Ph.D.s and am currently working on a fourth."

"You can't be more than thirty." She observed, "Are you some kind of genius?"

He needed to steer her back to the subject at hand. "That's not relevant, Miss Lemon. I just wanted some information on the murder of the McClarens."

Her patience was failing with this man, "Dr. Reid, I appreciate the concern, but you work in America, meaning you have no authority here without the invitation of Scotland Yard, isn't that correct?"

"Usually," Reid nodded, "But I'm not actually concerned with investigating, I was just curious. Maybe I can offer my expertise on the subject."

"Oh, of course. We can't do our jobs as well as an American can, correct?" She snapped as she slid out of her chair.

Reid was shocked, immediately launching into an explanation. "No, Miss Lemon, not at all! I know Scotland Yard is fully capable of investigating any crime, I just-"

"Honestly, even if I wanted your help, Dr. Reid, there's nothing I can tell you. I'm not concerned with the crime, you understand. My job is to protect this hotel and its reputation. An explanation as to why I kept the business of two clients by giving them a very expensive suite at a very low price. The investigation of the murder is being conducted by the police, if you want to offer your assistance, you should speak to them." She smoothed out her pencil skirt and took a seat. "Although, if you would listen to my opinion, I would advise against it."

"Why is that?" Reid asked.

"How long have you and Mrs. Reid been married?" She asked.

At first, Reid thought it was a change of subject. "Three days, why?"

"Three days, and you're down here asking about a murder you have no obligation to inspect. I'm not married, so I have no experience, but I don't think I would be too pleased if my new husband would rather work than spend time with me… don't you?"

Reid knew she was right, and would give anything if he could just focus on his vacation and his wife, the woman he suffered and fought for, for three years no less. But he couldn't let himself just relax. Not just yet. "Who's the inspector in charge?"

Letting out an annoyed sigh, Marcy reached for a pen and a piece of her stationary. Quickly she wrote the name and number down. "Here," she handed it to him. "Is there anything else?"

"No," he replied, "Good luck, ma'am."

"You as well, Dr. Reid. And I hope you continue to enjoy your stay at the Grislow Hotel." She called bitterly.

He stepped out, leaving the manager alone. She opened the red folder, beginning to read the contents inside, unable to ingnore the feeling she should run out to Dr. Reid and show him the contents.