Megan could see the man's reflection in the window at the end of the hospital corridor even before she turned the corner.
Uniformed cop. On guard. Standing sentinel between her and sweet Aaron. She huffed a great sigh of disappointment. It would have been the perfect end to a perfect night if she could have…decorated…that pretty man's body again.
She lifted her eyes, glancing at the view outside the window. Actually, night had ended. Shell-pink dawn already stained the sky.
She took a reflexive step backwards as a cart burdened with medical supplies trundled past. The male nurse was engrossed in his list of patients and their individual requirements. He looked up, nodded at the woman dressed so strangely for such an early hour. His eyes barely grazed her face, lingering on the extravagant luxury of her clothing instead. She watched him pick up a bag marked with a name and room number. He doubled checked it against his list, gave a satisfied nod, and entered the patient's room without giving her another look.
Megan found the idea of disguises and camouflage ever more distasteful with each passing day. For this visit, she'd told herself that her midnight blue, cut-velvet, beaded gown would stand out, but would also take focus away from her face.
She peeked around the corner. Noting the guard shift in the chair placed before Aaron's door, she let a smug, kittenish smile touch her lips. If a police presence was deemed necessary, then her handiwork had had an impact. In a way, it was more rewarding than seeing the skyrocketing number of hits on her posting of lovely Aaron's attributes. Internet attention was such a fleeting thing. Much more gratifying to see the solid evidence of an armed man toting a badge in the wake of her deeds.
Yet, she wanted to let everyone know she was still here… that she hadn't disappeared, and that no preventive measures they took would stop her in her quest to defrock Dallas's elite and show them for the swine they were.
Her eye fell on the nurse's cart again. Among the labeled bags, 'Hotchner' stood out.
Megan's smile widened.
She knew just what to do.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"That's it? That's all we've got?"
Haggard and worn, Morgan ground the heels of both hands into his gritty eyes. The life-raft emblazoned with 'Golden Treasure,' indicating the yacht to which it belonged, bobbed against the pilings. An early morning beachcomber had found it floating free and tied it off before notifying the marina's security office.
It was Garcia's sharp eye and vigilant monitoring that had made her perk up at the mention of the name in a general alert released to all yacht club members. Sometimes a hard-partying group could lose a raft or two during the course of the night. Sometimes another boater could shed some light on the situation and save everyone a lot of stress and worry.
That didn't seem to be the case this time.
Penelope's list of boats owned by men who'd stiffed their exes had contained some fanciful names, but 'Golden Treasure' had stuck with the tech analyst because of the photo attached to it. Whatever could be, was gilded. She remembered thinking it looked as though King Midas had gone on board and fingered everything in sight. When the name floated to the surface in security alerts, her sixth sense had prompted her to call Morgan.
The agents had made the rounds of the marinas most likely to harbor larger yachts and had come up empty. Discouraged, they were considering a fresh start in the morning when Garcia's call came through. Adrenaline at the prospect of having a solid lead pushed back fatigue. They rallied and met at the scene where the life-raft waited.
Only to find they were no closer to Megan Kane.
CSI was called in to go over the raft, but the agents didn't hold out much hope. They knew who they were looking for. And if Penelope's intuition had spiked at the alert, Morgan, Prentiss and Reid's shot off the charts. They just knew there was a Dallas mogul out there somewhere who'd met their unsub's version of justice.
A search for the yacht itself had just gotten underway.
None of them were surprised when communication choppy with static came through that a body had been found floating.
Angry, yes. Frustrated, yes. Disgusted, yes.
But surprised? No.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Rossi heard the tap at the door announcing the same male nurse he'd encountered before.
He struggled his way free of the blanket the hospital had provided along with a cot that barely accommodated his height. Rolling to his feet, the first thing he did was go to Hotch's side and study his friend's face for any signs of consciousness. The nurse joined him, holding the bag from his supply cart earmarked for this patient.
Both men frowned, exchanging glances.
Nurse Ned spoke first. "I spent some time cleaning that lipstick off his face. I might be wrong, but his eyes were closed all the way. Not so much now."
Rossi had to change his angle of observation, but he could feel a slow smile coming on. Barely discernible between Hotch's eyelids was a dark glint. They were open by the merest crack. Rossi took the younger man's hand and gave it a firm squeeze. This time there was no doubt. Pressure was returned.
Dave would have remained at the bedside chuckling and grinning if the nurse hadn't interrupted, reminding him that Hotch still needed routine care.
"I'm happy for you, sir, but I'm gonna ask you to step out so I can do my duty by your friend." As he spoke, he raised the bag, setting it on the nightstand.
Rossi couldn't contain his good humor. A wave of relief and gratitude washed over him. He turned his beaming joy toward the nurse. "No problem. I'll just…"
Like a window slamming shut, Dave's demeanor executed a 180 degree about-face. His eye had strayed to the contents of the bag. To one item in particular, peeking out. Partially visible.
The tube of lipstick that he would bet anything was flame red.