"Hey! You don't have to tell me if you know her, man. Just…"
Morgan waved a copy of Megan's driver's license photo at the retreating Armani-clad back. "Just sayin' hers might be the last pretty face you see!"
Stiff and straight, one of the 20 richest men in Dallas walked a little faster. Morgan muttered under his breath. "Ass."
Garcia had compiled a list of the wealthiest dead-beat dads in the area. A surprising number of them had the earmarks of patronizing the luxury call-girl trade. Regular, hefty, cash withdrawals from banks were indicative of some kind of habit. Since these men were moguls and czars of whatever industries kept them solvent, chances were they dabbled in flesh, not drugs. They remained sharp of mind, but satisfied of body.
It was Reid who had suggested they expand their 'interviews' to include regular Joes who hadn't stiffed their progeny or mates. "I mean, she doesn't kill all her clients," the young genius pointed out. "Maybe one of them can tell us where she is or how they make, you know, uh, appointments."
So they'd divvied up the names and gone on a needle-hunt in the haystack of Dallas's upper echelons.
The one constant was that no one wanted to talk.
"What did you expect, guys?" J.J. dispensed sandwiches and coffee to the despondent group at the end of the day.
"She's right." Prentiss yawned. "These guys are used to shuffling everything problematic off onto the cash-padded shoulders of their legal crew. Hotch was right when we first started. The Attorney General who called us in said we had to worry more about the lawyers, than the unsubs."
"Yeah…Hotch was right."
"Yeah…Hotch."
Glances were exchanged. They all knew the missing piece they wished was glowering at all and sundry…was growling instructions and directives. Looming a lean presence over them all.
"Hey, Morgan, you hear anything from Rossi? Any update?" Prentiss almost mewled the team's desire to hear that their boss was up and feisty and fiery.
But before Derek could respond, Emily's phone chimed. She gave it a cursory glance…and then…stared.
"Prentiss? Something?"
"Well what d'ya know. One of the guys I touched this afternoon with dear, little Megan's mugshot wants to talk."
With the grin of a she-wolf, Emily took the call.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Rossi clasped his hands together, kneading the knuckles as he studied Hotch's eerily still face.
If he really is aware, he knows the unsub was here…and where she left her mark on him. But he doesn't know what she did after that…spraying his image across the internet. The older man scanned the younger for any sign, any reaction, and debated…
What if I tell him more? If he can hear, will it shock him enough to fight back? Or leach out whatever spirit's left in him? If he can't hear…then no harm done. But how much am I willing to gamble on the outcome, if he can?
Head hanging, he expelled a gusty sigh that had more to do with indecisive defeat than anything else. Can't do it. Can't take the chance. Sitting up straighter, Rossi continued to gaze at his friend and boss.
Morgan had felt conflicted about revealing his theory concerning Hotch's formative years for a reason. The same talent that let him accrue the clues that led him to a picture of a man coming from an abusive home, had also gathered enough to know how intensely private that man was. From a more distant perspective, they could all see Hotch's personal defenses. Much of what their leader thought was hidden, and hidden well, emerged with growing familiarity.
So quiet. So guarded. And now silence is his sentence more than his savior. Ironic punishment for a man who doesn't deserve it. If he's aware…
Chewing on his lip, Rossi decided to address the issue of violated privacy, but only to a partial degree. Sometimes victims of such trespasses recoiled from physical touch, but something told Dave that maybe Hotch needed the sensation left by Megan Kane to be supplanted by a friendlier force.
He looked at Aaron's limp hand lying closest to him. And picked it up. It was warm, but completely without tension. Worse than limp. Dead. If not for the body temperature that testified to a heart still pumping, Rossi would have thought he was sitting with a corpse.
God, Aaron…PLEASE snap out of it!...
"There's something else. I know our unsub violated your privacy, your body, your dignity. And, again, I'm sorry. We worked the profile and didn't think she'd stick around. She's a different kind of animal from what we've dealt with before. But I should have posted a guard on you, Aaron. There's one outside now. She'll never touch you again. Never even get the chance. You're safe. So all you need to worry about now is coming back to us."
Please. We need you. And…and I miss you.
No one was watching. Judging by the lack of noise beyond the closed door, Rossi didn't think their privacy would be compromised. He held Hotch's hand in both of his, bowed his head, and let raw emotion at the thought of losing his best friend course through him, a younger man he'd hoped would outlive him…the way a son should…
Before he knew it, ragged sobs were straining his chest and tearing his throat.
They were so ferocious, he almost missed the slight tightening of the hand he held.