Thanks! The Chess moves are made up.
Chapter Nine:
Cole:
I found her sitting on the floor of a stall. I could see her back against one of the walls as she held her knees.
"You walk fast," I said with a laugh.
"Since the explosion, I have taken to making myself as small as possible, when stressed. It's a coping mechanism."
"Some animals do that as a survival mechanism," I said.
"Or vice versa."
"True."
I took a seat on the floor outside the door.
"I know Morris is trying to help," Diana said. "This has just been a personal quest for so long. I wasn't prepared to share right away."
"It sounds a like a burden, honestly," I said. "Being expected to save over forty people."
"You think my dad was wrong to ask this of me?" she asked with an edge.
"I think I don't know the circumstances," I said carefully. "I don't think he would have asked this of you, if there was another way."
A woman stepped into the bathroom. I recognized her as Agent Alia Lang from human trafficking. With dark skin and hair in a bun, she was only a year older than me.
Reid got up and opened the stall. Lang smiled.
"So, the rumors are true," she said. "The BAU snagged you early."
Reid blushed slightly.
"I actually have a connection to your dad," she said.
This piqued both our interests. Long opened her pursed and pulled out a laminated photo of Reid with a kid playing chess in the park.
"That's my dad," she said with pride. "He asked a random lady to take this picture as this was the day, he got within two moves of beating Spencer Reid."
Reid touched the corner of the photo. Her brown eyes suddenly flashed green.
"If he had gone for Sicilian Circle, instead of the Bishop's Turn, he would have won."
"Very good," Lang said with a laugh. "I can't wait to tell my dad, Spencer Reid told you about him."
"Right," Reid recovered quickly. "Your father is on the short list for a circuit court position."
"They say you're the smartest person in any room."
"We need to get back to work," I said.
"Don't let them work you to hard Agent Reid. But if they do, say the word and there'll be a desk open for you in human trafficking."
"Bye," Reid waved.
We walked down the hall.
"Your dad didn't tell you anything about him, did he?"
"I have touch telepathy with certain objects. It doesn't work with digital photos, for example."
"Maybe we can go in the archives and find things that have meaning to you there! He might have left more messages for you."
"I tried, but all I see are memories of him enjoying life with the team. My grandfather also said people looted my dad's and the other agent's offices, taking pens, business cards, and even a spare set of shoes he kept."
"Agents did that?" I said.
"A cleaning crew manager who owed massive gamboling debts gave the security codes away."
Thompson appeared.
"Hey, Reid someone left a gift for your cubicle. A deliveryman asked me for directions to yours."
"Does the whole bureau know we got Reid?" I said as I rolled my eyes.
"Looks like it," Thompson said.
There was a crashing sound. We headed in the direction of the noise. It was to Thompson's cubicle.
Books, paperwork, and takeout bags had flown everywhere. The air hockey table appeared to have been destabilized in a Rube-Goldberg-like means of causing the mess.
"How many times have you been told to clean out your space?" I said with a sigh.
Esper appeared.
"If you don't declutter by the end of the day," he said. "Morris is making you get rid of the air hockey table."
"To work I go," Thompson said quickly.
Esper picked up a book by his foot. He instantly dropped it, as if it were on fire.
"Esper?" I said.
He picked it up again, this time more carefully. Reid stepped forward and looked at a page he had opened. Color drained from her face, but she remained on feet. I leaned in to look myself.
It was a picture of a woman with blond hair screaming, as a being with a hawk's head draws a pentagram on her chest.
Esper looked at the cover: The author was Megan Callahan Lawson.