The giggle and the honey-sweet drawl reduced the costume shop proprietor to a compliant pool of sludge.

That and the $5,000 tip for keeping his store open well past business hours to serve one mischievous customer.

He thought it was an odd trick to play on one's family…to show up on their doorstep pretending to be seven months pregnant…but the young woman with the soft, chocolate eyes assured him it was just the thing. Not cruel or shocking at all. And her warm fingers tracing a light touch on his arm every so often made him believe that this lovely rose of Texas would never do anything harmful.

Quixotic and playful. But never hurtful. She was simply one of those wealthy, slightly eccentric children who could afford to play expensive pranks on her loved ones.

And she paid cash. Always a plus if one wanted to fudge the books at tax time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rule number one when assuming a disguise: Don't overdo it.

Megan donned the pregnancy-puff, grimacing at the weight of the contraption against her flat, desirable belly. It would accomplish the requisite change of shape needed to disillusion 99% of the male population. She resisted the temptations of brunette wig and horn-rimmed glasses.

Too much. Much too much.

Something about human perception made the brain sensitive to the exact opposite of what it had geared itself up to recognize. It was like showing someone a purple toothbrush amid several other images. People would recall orange, as often as the item's true color. So if they're looking for a purple toothbrush, don't go whole-hog and make yourself look like an orange one either. Go for something just slightly left-of-center.

The wig Megan did choose could still be considered blonde, but was a mousy, unremarkable, forgettable version of her own pampered, golden locks. And the maternity dress she donned was arguably the cheapest garment she'd ever allowed to touch her creamy skin. It was the result of her first-ever trip to Dallas's Super Komart.

Megan shuddered. She wasn't meant for discount department stores. She was meant for poetry and starlight and champagne and vengeance.

But the dress and the accompanying flat-heeled shoes were perfect. A stranger looked out of her mirror.

A stranger who looked forward to renewing her acquaintance with sweet, yummy, delectable Aaron Hotchner.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Baylor University Medical Center was one of Dallas's most popular hospitals. Not only for regular care, but most particularly for those about to experience childbirth.

Rossi had said his silent piece while sitting vigil in Aaron's room. As involved as he was with his own concerns, it had been hard to ignore the peripheral activity surrounding expectant parents-to-be arriving at all hours, in all stages of delivery, and clamoring for attention. After a while, the noise and activity were wearing.

He'd sent Morgan and Prentiss away with orders to eat and sleep after their ordeal. Reid, J.J. and Garcia had wanted to continue searching for Megan Kane, but Rossi had vetoed them. Everyone needed rest in order to be at the top of their game. And the senior agent's experience told him nothing less would do if they expected to net a slippery fish like Ms. Kane.

Rossi yawned. As much as he wanted to stay by Hotch's side, he could almost hear his boss's rumbling baritone telling him to keep the others company; to go away and get a fresh start in the morning. Dave stood and moved to look down at the still, pale face of his best friend. He brushed at a particularly alarmed-looking cowlick in the man's dark hair, and sighed.

"See you tomorrow, Aaron." Rossi glanced around, making sure he wasn't under observation before leaning down and brushing a paternal kiss across Hotch's forehead. "Don't worry. We'll get her."

He patted the Unit Chief's gently moving chest and reminded himself that this was progress: 24 hours ago he hadn't known if half his team was dead or alive. This was better.

It had to be.

Stepping out of Hotch's room, Rossi glanced at the nurse's station. It was fully staffed 24/7. The Unit Chief of the BAU couldn't be safer. Dave's mind replayed one of the conversations he'd had with Morgan and Prentiss before banishing them from the premises in favor of a hotel with room service and injunctions to use it to cater to their depleted conditions.

"We shouldn't let up, man!" Derek had been insistent. "The bitch poisoned Hotch and then walked out without a second thought. She didn't even look back! You know what that means!"

They all knew. It meant the unsub had already separated from the situation, and was moving on. Moving away.

"Seriously, Rossi." Prentiss had chimed in. "She probably hit the airport running. She's probably in Europe or South America by now." Ducking her head, she grumbled her last words on the subject. "We should at least alert Interpol."

"I know." Dave had let some of his irritation at the matter color his voice. "But if all that's true, she's already gone. There's nothing we can accomplish right this minute, that we can't accomplish tomorrow. When we're all rested. Especially you two." Then he'd gone all official on them. "She's an unsub without a target. That's why she walked away. We have her name. Garcia is getting us a photo. As soon as she does, she'll send it to every PD in Texas, as well as to Interpol. We'll take it from there. Nothing more we can do tonight. Go. Take care of yourselves. That's what Hotch would want."

In truth, they could almost hear their Unit Chief saying the same things. They'd left.

Ignoring his own advice, Rossi had stayed a few more hours. As a friend, not as an agent. But if he wanted to maintain credibility, he had to make a token effort to rest and refuel before the team assembled to continue the chase.

With a last, fond look at Aaron, Rossi abandoned his post, turning it over to the constant vigilance of the nurse's station.

He didn't even see the latest arrival in the ongoing stream of expectant mothers. Mousy blonde. Very pregnant. Cheaply clad. Average.

But she saw him.

And she saw Hotch.