Rossi dropped Hotch's hand, locking a tight grip on Ned's wrist instead.

"Where did that come from?" His eyes were riveted on the tube of lipstick, peeping out from the depths of the bag, nestled among other medical accoutrements. The bag sporting Hotch's name.

"What!?" The nurse had been focused on what he needed to do for this patient. He'd prepared the supplies himself, so had no reason to distrust or inspect anything. Plus, from his angle, the little tube wasn't overtly visible.

"That!" Rossi's other hand shot out, finger pointing at the offending object.

Ned craned his neck around, bending closer until he could see what had this FBI agent so rattled. "What the…?" He began to reach into the bag, intent on extracting something he knew hadn't been in there when he'd stocked the cart.

"No! Don't touch it." Rossi released the man's wrist. "It's forensic evidence as of now. And you're not using anything in any of these bags. You'll need to prepare new ones."

"W-Why?"

"Because we're dealing with a killer who has an affinity for weapons of the chemical kind. She could've tampered with anything. Or everything."

The nurse let go of the bag, wiping his hand on his thigh as he took a slow step back. His expression one of confusion mixed with loathing at the idea of someone employing such a tactic. "I don't see how anyone could have…" Ned's chin lifted, eyes widening as he turned his stunned gaze toward the hallway.

"What?" Rossi saw the look of revelation.

"Oh, hell, no! It must've been that woman! In the evening gown! She was just standing there. Just around the corner. Like she was headed this way."

Dave didn't wait for further explanation. He bolted for the door, gun appearing in his hand even though he knew someone as cagy as this unsub wouldn't hang around after leaving that telltale treat for Hotch. He pelted down the hall to the corner, startling the guard and the morning staff clustered about the nurse's station. Momentum made him overshoot his mark, but a glance was sufficient.

There was nothing and no one suspicious in sight. Certainly no woman in formal evening wear. With a frustrated groan, he holstered his weapon and made his way back to Hotch's room, scattering apologies for scaring everyone as he went. The guard had a hectic glint in his eye, hand resting on the butt of his gun, on full adrenalin-fueled alert.

"Sorry. Sorry. Everything's okay," Rossi muttered in passing.

He reentered Hotch's room to find maybe it wasn't.

Frantic beeping signaled accelerated heart and respiration rates. Two white coats in addition to Ned's hovered over Aaron.

"Mr. Hotchner? Mr. Hotchner! Take it easy! Calm down!"

Rossi saw the wildly rolling eye. He couldn't help the surge of elation at seeing his friend awake and aware.

But his joy was tempered by the panicked focus of that eye. From its place in the bag on the nightstand, the little lipstick sat precisely at Aaron's eye level.

Realization hit Dave in his gut. If he's reacting to it that strongly, then there's no doubt. God, poor Hotch. He knows what she did to him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Is reputation really worth that much?" Prentiss stared at the body that had been fished from the water. In the coroner's lab, laid out on cold steel, it looked undignified and impotent in death. "They'd rather cover up for a killer than have their dirty, little habits dragged into the light?"

"I dunno." Morgan gave the corpse a weary sidelong glance. "Maybe when you reach that tax bracket, things change. I dunno."

"Actually, it kind of makes sense." Reid tilted his head to one side. He found everything interesting; was always formulating theories and hypotheses to explain the world around him.

"Seriously, guys. I've been thinking about it. They've abandoned their families…their biological immortality…and embraced one that could very well outlive any bloodline. Their work, the institutions and foundations their money makes possible? That's how they'll live on. It's not just pure greed in a monetary sense, the way we've been thinking. It's a substitution of genetic progeny for the longer-lived philanthropic sort."

The young genius turned mournful eyes on his teammates. "Of course they'll give their lives to protect their financial legacies. Like any other parent would for their children."

"Wow." Prentiss shook her head. "That's totally sick. You're not, like, condoning them, are you, Reid?"

"No. But it helps to understand, and isn't that what we're supposed to do?"

Morgan stepped in to what threatened to become a long-running debate. "Reid's right. It's another facet of psychology to add to the picture. But, philanthropy or genetics, it all boils down to ego. Thing is, these guys might not fit our ideas of what great fathers should be, but they're not the unsubs."

He gave the corpse a last glance. "We're still no closer to her."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Megan retreated to her second favorite condo to get some well-earned rest after a long night.

Despite her success, she felt a faint pang of dissatisfaction. It would have been so nice to see Aaron again. The murders were less gratifying than they'd been at the start. She needed something more. Something else.

Something tall and dark and sweet. And maybe a little afraid of me.

She surveyed the contents of her fridge. Imported brie. Beluga caviar. Butter crackers that might be a little stale. She didn't stay here that often. Which is why it's perfect for now.

An incongruous frozen pizza was the lone resident of the freezer compartment. Sighing, Megan decided to end her long day as it had begun. With champagne.

She poured a flute of golden bubbles, changed from gown to bikini, and stretched out on the chaise lounge that almost filled a balcony made private by a thick screening of potted palms and cacti. Holding the wine toward the morning sun, Megan closed one eye, squinting at the play of effervescing rainbows.

I'm drinking too much of this stuff. She raised her glass, saluting the new day. I need something new. Yes, it's definitely time to make some changes...