Rossi and Reid stood in the unsub's penthouse, surveying a scene that gave nothing away.

The older agent had his cell in hand. "Garcia? Are you sure this is where they are?"

"Absolutely! I've checked and rechecked about nine dozen times while you and Boy Wonder were en route. The signals are clear as day, Rossi!"

The agents had burned rubber back to the luxury condo. They'd sprinted through the richly appointed foyer and into the private elevator earmarked for penthouse use only. The apartment was deathly quiet. No sign of disturbance. No sign of their teammates. Garcia had tried calling each phone several times, hoping Rossi or Reid would hear a ringtone.

Nothing.

Dave gave a deep sigh. "Okay. We'll do another search. Let J.J. know what's going on. We need an APB on all three of them."

"Got it." Penelope cut the connection. Worry had dried up all her quixotic humor.

Rossi reached into his jacket pocket where he always kept a few evidence bags and other paraphernalia for just such occasions. "Get the gloves on, kid. Those phones are here somewhere. Might be the only clues we'll get on this one."

Sharp-eyed and thorough, the two agents began a wall-to-wall search for their missing comrades' missing cells.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Megan was taking huge enjoyment in her captives' discomfort.

Hotch had flinched, emitting a small noise of protest when his flesh had been exposed to the room's cool air. Other than that, he showed no sign that he was aware of his pants-less plight.

Prentiss's eyes were downcast. Morgan's were closed.

"Oh, now. Come on. You big, brave FBI agents are squeamish about this?"

Neither agent responded. Megan rolled her eyes, retrieved her champagne and settled back in her position beside Hotch. "Ohhhh. All right. Big sissies." She took a sip of wine. "Okay…you can look. He's covered."

Emily raised her eyes as Morgan opened his. There were no words, only a disgusted snort from Prentiss and a groan of protest from Derek.

Hotch was covered. By Megan's hand; her palm not nearly big enough or long enough to accommodate all of the Unit Chief's natural attributes. The unsub almost snorted her champagne as she bent double with glee.

"You have got to be kidding!" She dabbed some of the wine she'd spluttered off of her chin with the back of the hand still holding the crystal flute. Her other hand continued to provide mock decency for Hotch. "You guys see blood and guts and I don't know what-all…and you can't stand to see this?" Giggling, she tilted her cupped palm to reveal what lay beneath for a split second.

"It's not that." Eyes once again averted, Prentiss gritted the words out past more bile and hate than she normally felt for any unsub. "He's our friend. And I don't care how stupid or blind or twisted you are… he's a good man. And that means we care about him. And you know what else?" Prentiss's eyes snapped with dark energy. "You're so buried in your 'poor little me, oh men have hurt me' act, so into your man-hater agenda, that you wouldn't know a decent one if he was right under your nose…BECAUSE HE IS!"

As Megan listened, her eyes grew cold. "I think you're forgetting who's in charge here."

"Prentiss…" Morgan's low warning called his partner back from the edge of rage, reminding her of their precarious situation.

Emily let her head hang, breathing hard. After a few beats she sat straighter, meeting Megan's glare. There was nothing apologetic about Prentiss, though. "You asked for honesty. I gave it to you."

The two women stared each other down. It was a minor victory when Megan broke away, ostensibly to sip the last of her wine. When she was done, she rose without a word and exited through the door. Which meant Hotch no longer enjoyed the modicum of modesty afforded by her hand.

"Oh, God, Morgan. I'm glad he doesn't know what's going on." Prentiss cringed in sympathy. Their leader was a man who maintained himself behind shields he considered attributable to professionalism, but which actually sprang from vulnerability. "How do we get out of this? Got any ideas?"

Derek shook his head. "Stall. That's our best bet. I gotta believe Rossi and the others are looking for us by now. Let's just play along and give them time to find us."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Rossi! Got one!"

Reid was digging behind the antique books that had caught Hotch's attention during their first search of the penthouse. Eidetic memory in full operation, the young agent had been standing stock still, scanning the room, comparing it to his mental snapshot of the last time they'd been there.

And one volume had extruded beyond where he remembered it.

Sure enough, secreted behind it was a phone. Morgan's. A quick check revealed nothing unusual other than that the ringtone had been turned off. But even if the cell afforded no clues as to its owner's whereabouts, it felt encouraging.

With renewed vigor, the agents continued searching for the two phones that were still missing.

Rossi funneled his perceptions down to laser point concentration. With quick, efficient hands he worked his way through the elegantly appointed bathroom. When he found Prentiss's slim cell concealed inside a box of tampons, he grimaced. Thrice married didn't mean he felt comfortable burrowing into feminine hygiene products.

He was just about to call out to Reid when the younger man's voice came from the bedroom.

"Rossi! Come look at this!"

Checking Emily's phone as he made his way toward the master suite, Dave found the same dearth of clues and deactivated ringtone as had been on Morgan's. Eyes on the cell, he came to the doorway of the room where Reid waited.

"Wha'd'you make of this?"

Rossi went to stand at Spencer's side. "I found Prentiss's phone."

"Uh-huh." Reid wasn't really paying attention. Looking up, Dave understood why.

Both men stared at the sumptuous, four poster bed. Tucked between the satin sheets, partially propped against a plump pillow, was Hotch's phone.

Next to it was a condom.

It looked used.