Rossi's phone shrilled with the signature ringtone that demanded immediate attention.

The ringtone that was reserved for the Director himself.

And NOW what?! Rossi sighed as he opened the connection and strove for a professionally detached tone. "Agent Rossi here, sir."

"Dave, what the hell's going on?! And I mean the stuff I can't read in the dailies. I know Hotchner got taken down. But…WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!"

"Sir?"

"Why is someone's junk being broadcast from here to eternity with Agent Hotchner's name attached to it? And with some broad's lips attached to it?! EXPLAIN!"

"Oh. That." And inadvertently, the Director had given Dave a hint on how to save face on Hotch's behalf. Well, not exactly 'face,' but… Rossi shook the fanciful digression out of his head. The thrill of possible escape was making him giddy. And his superior was talking…

"Yes. THAT!"

"We have a sexually deviant unsub, sir. She's fixated on Agent Hotchner and she's manufacturing a smear campaign against him."

A long pause made Rossi hold his breath, sending up a quick prayer to his lapsed-Catholic God that it boded well for poor Aaron, who certainly deserved a break at some point. When the Director resumed, his words were measured, almost menacing.

"In case you haven't been following the news lately, Dave, this country's already been made a global laughing stock by the Secret Service. Prostitutes. Drunken orgies. Men in charge of our highest security, men trusted with the welfare of the President of these United States, reduced in the media to being stumblebums and stooges with nothing but lewd intentions on the job and off it. I won't have that happen to the Bureau on my watch. Understand?"

"Yessir. But I do need to point out that we can't control the actions or the postings of this unsub until we, uh… find her…sir."

"Then find her." Another pause, then… "And if this is Agent Hotchner I'm looking at, make sure she doesn't get to him again. Got it?"

"Yessir. Got it." Rossi swallowed. It was a subtle reminder that the man who filled the Director's position hadn't attained it by being easily duped.

He knows that photo is real. But he'll back us up as long as we can get a handle on this and deprive that bitch of her platform for dragging us…but mostly Aaron…through the mud. We have to silence her.

Unfortunately, just the opposite…being vocal and never disappearing…had become Megan Kane's primary reason for existing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rossi had gone to sit at Hotch's bedside until either he was needed elsewhere, or exhaustion took him.

Reid, Morgan, Prentiss and J.J. were keeping each other disconsolate company in the PD conference room that had been designated for their use. J.J. had ordered in sandwiches and sodas, but appetites were flagging. The agents sat clustered at one end of the room's table, showing only desultory interest in ham and cheese on rye. On a monitor in their midst, Garcia showed equal lack of enthusiasm for an onion bagel slathered in cream cheese.

"Poor Hotch." Prentiss voiced the sentiment at the forefront of all their thoughts.

"I know." Morgan pushed his lunch away, opting instead to cross his arms on the tabletop; a cradle for his forehead. Looking like a kindergartner with his head down at naptime, he issued a muffled proclamation. "If I thought it would help, I'd post myself right alongside Bossman."

Garcia's image went wide-eyed at the prospect.

"No, Derek. That wouldn't help." J.J., as always, was the calm voice of reason. Plus, she'd seen the avid expression that came over their tech analyst's face. Some things needed to be nipped in the bud.

"I'd do it, too." Reid mumbled.

Silence reigned.

And then Prentiss's chuckle couldn't be repressed. "That would be great. A calendar. The Boys of the BAU." She tried to get a handle on it, but the chuckle burgeoned into a guffaw that just…wouldn't…stop.

" 'S not funny." J.J. tried to thwart the beginnings of her own laughter. She failed.

Morgan's shoulders began to shake. "How about the Girls of the BAU? I'd buy that."

Prentiss lost it. Blatting and snorting, she curled in on her own merriment, a position that caused her to fall out of her chair, hitting her chin on the table in passing as she tumbled to the floor. Even J.J. couldn't remain composed after that. Hilarity that had more to do with being tired and pushed to the limit emotionally, than with actual humor ran rampant through the group.

Ten minutes of unimpeded giggling later, Morgan wiped his eyes, gasping. "Okay, guys. Let's get that bitch. For Hotch."

"For Hotch."

"For Hotch."

The dedication traveled around the room.

"Okay. So she's got to be getting antsy to make another kill, right?" Still breathless from the laughing fit, Morgan leaned in toward the monitor in their midst. "Baby Girl, can you put together a pool of potential victims? Rich bastards who've walked out on their families? I wonder how their public images will accommodate FBI involvement? Guys, let's see if we can't rattle some of those gilded cages."

Hotch would have been proud.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Megan Kane was preparing for her favorite kind of 'date.'

A john who deserved her special, vengeful attention, and, to keep things interesting, it would entail working her game in a different venue. The illicit tryst would take place aboard a yacht.

Megan was getting bored with her standard modus operandi. This would give her a chance to expand her repertoire. Despite the boat's size, her customer vowed they would be the only ones onboard. He was confident in his captaincy. Confident and brazen and egotistical and delinquent in looking after the ex-wife and children who struggled along as best they could while Daddy hung his pole off a very dirty, very expensive pier.

Perfect. Megan licked her lips.

And she did so love the ocean at night.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rossi pulled his chair close by Hotch's bedside.

Frowning, he studied the impassive features of his best friend for several minutes. There was no sign of awareness, but the doctors said brainwave activity was normal…an encouraging sign. After a while, Rossi thought he saw the delicate eyelids flicker. But it might have been wishful thinking.

Still…

"Aaron, it's me, Dave. Listen, we need to talk…"