Mistaken Identity.

A Profiler Crossover. Please enjoy

CHAPTER 1

It had been an intensive investigation, and by the time they had a suspect, the whole team was exhausted, due to the long hours they had been working.

Bailey and John headed off to Buckhead, with a search warrant, and a back up team of local police, while George and Rachel both headed for the canteen, to stock up on caffeine to help them through the next few hours.

However Bailey and John were back before an hour was up, empty-handed; their suspect had fled, the house emptied and scrubbed clean.

Back in the control center, and George was once again seated in front of his trusty keyboard, fingers flying, trying to track down contacts, family or friends of the man they were now certain, was guilty of the gruesome murders.

John had his arms crossed on the big table, and was resting his head on his forearms, eyes closed, Rachel was pacing up and down, flicking her pen up and down on the palm of one hand, and Bailey was leaning back, staring at the screen, his mind ticking over, wondering if their reasoning was faulty, or if the man whose photo dominated the room, was in fact, the killer.

"The forensics team will be able to tell if there is any trace of blood splatter, in any room of that house," said Rachel, stopping her pacing for a moment. "Even if he's scrubbed it clean, it will show under blue light. It actually makes our job easier, now that the house is empty."

"In some aspects," agreed Bailey wearily. "But we have to find out where he's gone. We don't want this whole mess starting up again somewhere else."

"He has a sister in Philadelphia," said George. "Let's see – she has a fairly high profile secretarial position with the Governor's office there. – She is married to a police lieutenant. They pull in a fairly good wage, between them too, according to their last tax return. Two children, at private schools – nothing here to suggest anything out of the ordinary. I doubt whether they would know anything about his activities."

"Yes, too much to lose," said Bailey. "But we will visit the sister anyway, maybe she knows some of her brother's favorite places. Anything else?

"Not yet," replied George, picking up a caramel, and unwrapping it. "I'll keep looking. How long do you think the forensics team will be?"

"Grace will be moving them along, that's for sure," said Rachel, flopping down in a chair and heaving a sigh. "Once we get the confirmation from the house, I think I'll feel better. At least we will know who we are chasing, not some horrible phantom that destroys people, then disappears!"

"Look, we have all been putting in 15 or 16 hour days over the last week. Why don't you all go home and catch some sleep. I'll get in touch if anything comes up, otherwise see you back here tomorrow."

John raised his head off the table, and grinned at Bailey.

"Sure thing," he said, and lazily stood up, stretching his arms above his head and rolling his shoulders. "I could use a good 20 hours sleep."

"We all could," said Rachel, rubbing her eyes. " George, you too, you sit in front of that dammed thing far too long."

"I am not a great sleeper," replied George. "Rich is away, I have nothing to go home too. I'll just hunt up a few more things; then I promise I'll catch some sleep. But you should too, Bailey."

"I'll catch some zeds on the couch in my office," said Bailey absentmindedly. "I really think we are close on this one."

John, who was halfway up the stairs, reluctantly came back down. "Are you sure you don't want us to stay, as well?" he asked, indicating Rachel, who was still sitting in the chair next to George, and trying to disguise her yawning.

"No," said Bailey. "Get home and get some sleep. If something comes up, I'll call you – go on, get out of here."

John and Rachel made their way down to the car park in silence. They were both still a little uncomfortable with each other, after the debacle of last year, when the rogue FBI boss Joel Marks had made ridiculous accusations against Rachel, involving her and John in a fabricated sexual harassment scandal, culminating in Marks' murder and Rachel's imprisonment. She had been cleared in the subsequent investigation, but it had changed her, she was not longer as spontaneous and outgoing as she had been, but harder, more aggressive and less likely to laugh.

John walked with Rachel to her car, and waited while she climbed in, much to her disgust, then walked over to where his Porsche was parked, flicking the remote and listening to the car chirrup back at him. He was tired, having slept for only about four or five hours out of the last forty eight, and he was looking forward to collapsing in his own bed, and sleeping for as long as Bailey would let him.

He was about to put his key in the front door of his apartment, when his mobile phone rang. He struggled to open the door, and answer the phone at the same time. Sure enough, it was Bailey, and he looked at the blue screen and swore softly under his breath.

"It looks like we are going to Miami," came Bailey's gravelly voice. "George found an interesting paper trail."

"Now, or in the morning?" asked John wearily, throwing his jacket on the lounge, and pulling off his tie with one hand.

"In the morning, you can have your beauty sleep," came back the reply. "Pack an overnight bag, we leave at 8, see you at the airport."

John stripped off the rest of his clothes, and collapsed naked onto his bed, glancing at the clock on his bedside table. It was 12.40 a.m. He reluctantly set the alarm for 6, turned over and was promptly asleep.

It seemed as though he had only just closed his eyes, when the radio turned on, blaringly loud, and pulled him from one of the nicest dreams he had had for a long time. Groaning he dragged himself out of bed and straight into the bathroom, turning on the shower and standing under the streaming water, raising his face and enjoying the pressure and heat.

He made the plane with minutes to spare, Bailey, George, and Rachel were all there before him, and Bailey was starting to glance at his watch, when John came sprinting down the corridor, carrying his backpack.

"Sorry, traffic was shocking," he said by way of explanation, as they made their way to the FBI jet, warming up on the small runway.

"Miami," said George with a smile. "At least we get to spend a night there. I haven't been there for a long time – I hope you have booked us into a decent hotel this time Bailey."

"We're not here for a holiday," Bailey replied. "But I think it's a good one."

"Pool and spa? Room service?" asked John, and George grinned at him.

"Trust you," was all he said, and Bailey laughed.

"Yes, I think it has a pool, and Jacuzzi," he said, "But of course, we may not have time to indulge in those luxuries. We are here to apprehend a particularly nasty criminal. I have notified the local police. They will be providing us with a car and a guide as well as any back up we will need."