After touching bases at the Dallas PD, the team split up.
J.J. resumed her duties as liaison, although she seemed to be talking more to lawyers anxious to weave their own version of reality, than with members of the press. Rossi and Reid returned to the coroner's office to see if they could pick up any additional information from the body. From there, they planned to visit the yacht that had been towed back to port.
Prentiss and Morgan returned to the hospital. The guard on loan from the PD was anxious to get back to what he considered 'real' work. After a short debate, Morgan decided to let him go and take up the position himself. It didn't matter if Megan recognized him or not. The main objective was to keep her thinking that there was someone worth guarding behind the door where Derek stood. Namely…Hotch.
Prentiss lurked. She dearly wanted to be the one to take the unsub down. She knew Morgan would pull his punches if dealing with a woman. Emily had no such scruples. She wandered the lobbies and the perimeter fantasizing about delivering a savage right hook to Megan's pretty, little face. For Hotch.
It was one thing to pull the man's clothes off in front of Morgan. As bad as that had been, there was a certain locker room mentality that would let the two men come to terms with the situation. But exposing the Unit Chief to his female subordinate was more damaging than the unsub could know. There was a certain courtliness to Hotch. He was the type to pull out chairs and hold doors open for ladies. That streak of Southern gentlemanliness was one of the things the distaff half of his team cherished. It was quaint and cute and, if the girls had a few glasses of wine well out of the men's hearing…admittedly adorable.
It was deeply ingrained in the man. It was a sign of his constant awareness of a separate set of rules for dealing with the fairer sex. The flip side of it was that Hotch was easily embarrassed if those self-defined lines of conduct were crossed.
Prentiss kept replaying her boss's humiliation in her mind as she prowled the premises, bent on eventual revenge. She wanted to bring Megan Kane in with blackened eyes and a swollen jaw. Something that would be memorialized in a mug shot.
For Hotch…
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
The day wore on with business as usual at the Stoneleigh.
Housekeeper's carts appeared and began to work their way through the rooms, freshening and cleaning and restocking. No one disturbed room 419, however. Rossi had had the forethought to hang the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the doorknob as he left.
Hotch's sleep was deep and restorative.
When he opened his eyes in mid-afternoon, he felt better, stronger, clearer-minded. And ravenous. For a moment flashes of memory…events of the last few days…threatened to overwhelm him, but he punched them down, eyes squeezing shut with ferocious effort to deny recollections that made him want to cringe. But Hotch was good at suppression. When he'd buried the feelings of shame and degradation deep enough to pretend they'd never happened, he forced his mind to turn outward.
Food. Shower. See if you're strong enough to go help the team.
The scent of cinnamon pastries and sun-warmed peaches drew him. Rossi had left some artfully arranged dishes on the nightstand along with a container of orange juice nestled in a melting ice bucket. Smiling, Hotch gave himself ample time to sit up. He didn't want a repeat performance of his collapse in front of Morgan. It didn't matter if there wasn't anyone to see him flail about and struggle this time. Hotch would always hold himself to a higher standard of discipline and performance than he would ever expect from anyone else. Others could be human. He had to surpass them just to feel he was equal.
It was one of his most carefully guarded secrets.
The food was delicious, but Hotch made himself eat in slow, measured bites. Not too much, in case his stomach objected after its prolonged fast. He checked his phone as he ate. Texts from Rossi updated him on the team's activities and whereabouts. They expected the unsub to make another appearance at the hospital. Morgan and Prentiss were onsite.
Hotch's smile had a vindictive tilt to it. He'd seen the feral glint in Emily's eye even as she'd thanked him for the punishing effort he'd put into freeing Morgan. Hotch knew his female alpha. She had a vengeful streak. He almost hoped she would be the one to encounter Megan Kane first. And that she'd have time for a little payback before Morgan could stop her.
He shook his head, catching himself. Don't encourage her. She's the one who's closest to going rouge as it is. If she reads any signs of permission in me, she'd step right over the line. His smile grew a little more wolfish. Stop it, Hotchner. Go take a shower. Or try to… He'd noticed that his hands weren't quite steady. But if he could get dressed, he might take a cab to PD headquarters just so he could feel useful.
Moving with steady, slow deliberation, Hotch made his way to the bathroom.
A hot shower would feel extraordinary, and would wash away the last vestiges of the hospital's antiseptic pungence.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Megan slept off the worst of her fatigue, but subconscious excitement roused her after only a couple of hours.
The first thing on her mind was also the last thing that had seen her to sleep. Aaron. She bounced out of bed and began setting into motion the plan that had soothed her like a lullaby as she'd drifted off.
She packed a small tote bag with care, remembering to fold a fluffy, white terrycloth towel on top of the contents.
She slipped on a bandeau bra…no telltale straps to be seen. She topped it off with a light, summery dress. Easy to slip out of. Easy to roll into a negligibly small bundle.
When she was ready, she glanced at the time, eyes taking on a calculating look. Midafternoon. The halls of the Stoneleigh should be populated by housekeepers working diligently to make sure everything was shipshape for their residents.
But you could never be too sure.
Shouldering her bag and donning her sunglasses, Megan headed out to her car. As she slipped behind the wheel, she pulled out her phone and brought up the number she'd programmed into it last night. The voice that picked up was bright and efficient.
"Stoneleigh front desk. How may I help you?"
Megan let herself sound mildly irked. "We seem to be short on towels. Could you please have some brought up? Room 423?"
There was a hesitation. "I don't see 423 as the suite from which you are calling…"
Megan powered past irked and went for truly irritated. "That's because I'm in the shower. Wet. Without a proper towel. I'm not dripping my way out to the room phone." She sighed. "Just have housekeeping place them on the counter."
"Yes, Ma'am. So sorry. But it will take a few minutes to bring them up. All our maids are busy at the moment."
"Fine. I'll wait. Can't exactly go anywhere."
Megan hung up, smiling. If there wasn't already one at work, there should be a housekeeper on Aaron's floor sometime in the next fifteen minutes or so.
Perfect.