Killian flashed his credentials at the uniformed cop that had been tasked with watching the perimeter, before ducking down under the obnoxious yellow crime scene tape, and into the alley where the latest body had been found.

All of the way over to the scene he'd been praying that the MO wouldn't match their killer. As horrendous as it sounded, he'd wanted the body to be that of a regular homicide, and worthy of its own investigation. Not just another name to add to a list of victims for his own serial killer.

But the moment Gold's eyes met his, he knew that he was shit out of luck.

"Good morning, Special Agent Jones."

"Do you ever sleep?" Killian wondered, as he dropped down to a crouch beside the body. It had once again been covered with a simple white sheet, to protect the victim's identity.

"I could ask the same of you," Gold threw back, before he removed a thermometer from the body between them. He hummed a little at the reading on the display, before making a note of the numbers on a sheet of paper to his left. When he was finished, he gently covered the section of the victim's torso once more, and then turned his attention up to the FBI agent.

"Female. If I had to guess, I'd estimate mid-to-late twenties. Wounds inflicted to both the chest and face. Cause of death appears to be exsanguination due to a single cut to her throat. Liver temp indicates she'd been dead for roughly six hours. Her left ring finger's missing."

Killian sighed as he scrubbed a harsh hand over his face. "And let me guess, a note balled up and placed in the mouth post mortem?"

"I was just getting to that part," Gold told him, as he reached into his kit for a pair of tweezers. He pulled back the sheet covering the young woman's face, and Killian cringed a little at the sight of it. Whoever had attacked their victim had done so with a great deal of rage. The cuts across her face looked deeper, causing some of the skin on her cheeks to peel back from the bone.

It was a brutal attack, and one that he was absolutely certain she wouldn't have deserved.

Gold gently pried her mouth open while Killian pulled out an evidence bag, ready for the medical examiner to drop the ball of wet paper into.

"I think that confirms it," he said. The guy always seemed so detached from his work, and Killian envied him that ability.

"Yeah. We haven't told the media about those notes." It was the best way for them to filter out any potential cases that may arise from copycats taking advantage of the situation. But thankfully, none had so far.

Killian hoped to God that it would stay that way.

With his preliminary examination over, Gold placed all of his equipment and folders back into his bag. He pulled off his gloves and then beckoned over his rather terrified looking assistants. "Be as careful as you can with her," he instructed, meeting each of their eyes. "I want her prepped and ready for autopsy at nine. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Sir," they both replied quickly, before turning their attention down to the body on the ground of the dirty alley.

Killian could already see the crime scene techs lingering just behind them, waiting for the moment the body was removed so that they could begin combing the space for some kind of clue.

"I'll see you in a few hours, Jones," Gold called out, clapping him on the shoulder as he took off in the direction of where his Jaguar had been parked.

"Yeah. See you then," Killian replied, already turning to head for the small group of officers that were gathered in the space. "Which one of you was the first on the scene?" he asked loudly, interrupting their conversations.

Killian knew that the LAPD usually hated having to share their crime scenes with the FBI. They often felt that it was unfair to have some agent swoop in and claim the glory for solving their cases, when they'd put in all of the work. So he made sure that his tone, when addressing the gathered men, would make it clear that he had absolutely no time for political bullshit that morning.

"I was," one of the guys in uniform replied, stepping forward a little.

Killian inclined his head back towards the alley where he knew it would be quieter, as he asked, "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Of course not." The officer passed his hat off to the guy standing to his left, before following Killian down to a place in the alley, close to the spot where the body had been found. It was quiet enough for them to speak, and offered privacy from the lingering press, but still provided a vantage point for Agent Jones to watch the activity around him.

"Can you start at the beginning for me please?" Killian pulled out a pen and his notepad, and then dropped his back to the wall behind him, as he listened to what the young officer had to say.

It was the usual story, that he'd heard time and time again.

The call had come in at a little after two-thirty from an anonymous source, reporting a woman's body in the alley. As the officer closest to the area, Adams had responded. He hadn't gotten close to the body. He'd been able to see from a distance that the woman was already dead, and had called it in as soon as he'd made that discovery. It was Gold who had suggested contacting the FBI. The chief medical examiner had known as soon as he'd gotten close enough that they were dealing with another victim of their serial killer, and he hadn't wanted to slow the investigation down.

Killian made a note to request a copy of the call that had been placed to report the body, and another to ask for audio comparisons to be run against the previous calls they'd received. Maybe, if he were lucky, they'd find out that their killer was the one making them.

After thanking Officer Adams for his time, he headed back to check in with the lead tech out in the field. But as he'd been expecting, so far, they'd found nothing worthy of sharing with him.

By the time Killian finally climbed into his Camaro to head back home, the sun was beginning to rise in California, and he knew that he wouldn't be getting any more sleep that morning. Hopefully he'd have time for a shower, to wash away the dirt and grime from the alley he'd spent the last three hours standing around in, before he headed back to the office.

Emma groaned as she pulled herself out of bed and stumbled her way through to the bathroom. She didn't need to check her phone to know that it was late. The bright light spilling through the windows in the room told her that she'd slept her way through to the afternoon once more. (Of course, she'd had a lot of help from a bottle of Jack, when she'd woken up shaking and terrified at a little after three).

She avoided looking at her reflection in the mirrors as she turned on the shower and cranked up the heat, before stepping out of her sleep shorts and pulling off the tank top she'd slept in. The scalding hot water helped to wash away what lingered from her dreams, and cleared the fogginess around the edges of her mind.

By the time she stepped out with one large fluffy towel wrapped around her body, and another over her hair, she could almost pretend that she felt human once more.

Back in her bedroom, Emma pulled on a pair of leggings and an old band shirt, before heading down to the kitchen to start some coffee. It was only after she'd taken her first sip that she allowed herself to unlock the sliding doors in the room, and stepped outside onto her deck to enjoy the beautiful weather.

But when her foot kicked something on the ground in front of her, Emma's mug smashed to the floor, splashing hot coffee up the front of her shins.

Happy New Year.

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