"We're here, gather your things," Hotchner announced.

As we disembarked the jet, adrenaline poured through my veins. He would be expecting a lot from me and I hoped I could deliver. I was also thinking about what Willington would say to me when we arrived. Was he going to be pissed that I was asked to help set up things for the BAU? I wasn't quite sure… even more importantly, were things in the office set up like I had asked? Was Agent Hotchner going to be severely disappointed?

As we walked through the threshold, eyes shot my way as I led the BAU team in. Rushing our way, straightening his tie was my boss, SSA Willington. He thrust his hand out at Hotchner and then at Rossi. He expressed his gratitude at them coming all this way and apologized for having to send me. Willington gave a look like he was apologizing in case I had offended anyone or had done a crappy job. As Hotchner dismissed this notion, he introduced the rest of the team and I excused myself to see that the room Garcia had requested was set up and ready.

As I nodded and stepped away quietly, I made my way down the hallways. I knew I'd only have a few minutes to straighten up or fix anything. It had to be perfect. I wanted to impress these people and show my boss that I was taking care of it.

As I entered the room, I saw the board set up, the pictures and labels done the way I'd asked. I saw the evidence boxes in the corner, each labeled with a name and date. I checked the map to make sure that all the crime scenes were flagged. I held my breath, checking the laptop, hoping that the media covered was queued up and ready to play. Hitting "enter" to refresh the page, I saw that it was. I let my breath out and stepped back, taking in the room.

At once, the evidence board hit me…not proudly that I had ordered this to be put together, very specifically, piece by piece, even with a diagram on my blackberry, but as a case.

I saw them all there…

Victim 1: Sarah Palmer. 23. Caucasian. Grad student. Living alone in an apartment. Killed in her bedroom.

Victim 2: Jane Kelly. 38. Caucasian. Married, two sons. Killed in her kitchen as her family grilled outside.

Victim 3: Margaret Thatcher. 62. African American. Married, foster mother. Killed in the downstairs hallway as her foster family played soccer outside.

Victim 4: Michael Andrews. 38. Caucasian. Married. His family was having dinner at his in-laws while he worked at home late. He was killed in his home office.

I really hoped Garcia was finding out how these people were connected. This unsub killed them for a reason… if we didn't find out why, there would be more.

"No sign of forced entry and no fight inside… the unsub must have known them or didn't appear as a threat."

Dr. Reid was behind me, standing in the doorway. I turned, smiling, welcoming his presence here.

"If he knew them, Garcia will find a link," I said, trusting the techy goddess would live up to her name, "If not, he was someone the victims would trust and allow into their homes."

"Perhaps a service man?" Derek Morgan offered, stepping inside.

"No," I said softly, "It was late. About 7:30pm. The sun had just gone down and it was getting dark. It would have been too late for a service call. The victims would have been suspicious."

Morgan stepped up to the evidence board, examining.

"All killed with the same weapon? Did they confront him? None of the families got a look at him?" Emily Prentiss asked, dropping her bag in the corner and approaching Morgan.

"Same .38 hand gun. The families who were home never heard an argument or voices. All they heard was the gunshot. By the time they got inside, their attention was on the victim. If they had seen the unsub, they didn't realize it."

"This is someone who fits in," Hotchner said, I hadn't realized he'd come in, "He can blend in to any community, no one sees him coming or going, and doesn't see anything suspicious. What kind of person would seem normal in all these neighborhoods, at this time, and still walk out easily?"

"White, middle class man," Dr. Reid says, "Typically these kinds of men are unnoticed because they're everywhere. If they are successful and confident, they are trusted. It's a look they use to their advantage. If someone saw you, Hotch, walking through a neighborhood after hearing a gunshot, they wouldn't suspect you. White middle class men don't strike us as out of place. Society tends to think of criminals as someone 'you'd pick out of a crowd'. Even though we know this isn't true, that Ted Bundy was a white man who was easily trusted but yet a serial killer, society still thinks that they would know what a bad guy would look like. Unfortunately it tends to be who we don't suspect…"

"So we're looking at white, middle class man coming up to houses around dark, talking their way in and shooting their victims…" JJ says slowly, putting it together.

"Reid and Prentiss, go to the first crime scene. See how Sarah Palmer fits in to this. She's where he started. She's the beginning. Morgan, I'll go with you and Rossi to the last crime scene. JJ, call Garcia and see what she's got and then call the media and a press conference to get this coverage under control. Scott, I need you here to add evidence to this board as we collect it. During that time, look at this case again. Go through every file if you need to. Find something we're missing," Hotch drilled.

Eyes turned to me. No one, especially me, thought I'd still be included in this scene. I nodded, which it seemed like everyone was waiting for. I looked at the evidence board and saw a mistake… it said Sarah Palmer was a major in biology. Damnit, that was wrong! Garcia even called to check it. I couldn't wait till everyone got out of the room so I could fix it.

As everyone filed out the door to get started, I saw Dr. Reid follow my gaze to the board. No, no, no! Please don't see the mistake! Well, I know you'll see it but please don't tell me that you do! Please don't see it!

He looked, his eyes dancing along the words…then they stopped. He saw it. He looked back at me and saw the sheer terror and defeat in my eyes. My perfect work, WRONG! Dr. Reid looked at me carefully, putting every piece into his puzzle. Figuring it out, he relaxed his shoulders and winked at me, strolling out of the room, hands in his pockets, smiling victoriously.

I said a silent thank you to Dr. Spencer Reid for not embarrassing me again.

Agent Hotchner approached me on his way out the door.

"I'm going to speak to SSA Willington about keeping you on this case while we're here. Oh and thank you for getting everything ready," he said, never making eye contact.

I nodded awkwardly and let him pass. Thank you! Agent Hotchner told me 'thank you! Yes! I did well! Even if I got the grad student's major wrong, I got an A+ from Agent Hotchner!

I did a silent cheer in my head, put a smile on my face, and sashayed over to the evidence board, ready to figure this case out… Except I stared… nothing was coming into place and making sense…

I pulled open the evidence boxes and started to go through each crime scene. Maybe I'd find something in there that we'd missed. After all, I am good at paperwork.

"Prentiss," she answered.

"Hi, it's Lauren Scott, you're at Sarah Palmer's apartment, right? The first victim?" I asked, papers in hand.

"Yeah, we're here. Gotta say, nothing out of the ordinary…" she said. I could hear her picking things up and examining there. Dr. Reid said something in the background.

"So listen, I just spoke to Sarah's boyfriend, Todd Rainey, he's doing alright so I asked him to go to her place while you are there. He's going to look around and see if anything is out of place or different. She was the first victim, the unsub might have made a mistake."

"Sounds good, wait what? No, here, you talk to her," Prentiss said, I hear Dr. Reid in the background again.

"Agent Scott," Dr. Reid said into the phone, "Do you have pictures of the other crime scenes? Not just the bodies, around the rooms, the atmosphere. I want to look at them when we get back."

"No," I said regretfully, "But I can get those for you and send someone out there to get them."

"Ok, thanks, I'll take some pictures here as well," Dr. Reid said, I heard him turning back to the room, probably looking around the room, "Oh and Agent Scott? Please stop calling me Dr. Reid. I did get three Ph.D.s and love to remember that I am indeed a doctor but it's very formal. The team just calls me Reid. Please do the same."

"10-4, Reid, and you don't need to call me Agent Scott. Scott or Lauren works for me," I retorted.

"Um…10-4 back at you? Well…ok…um…bye, Scott," Reid hung up quickly and awkwardly.

My first move was to get someone out to the crime scenes and take pictures, then call the rest of the team to see what headway they were making, then Garcia to gather her intel, and then back into the paperwork.

Realizing I was alone in the room, and probably no one would bother me, I did it. I ripped out the 27 bobby pins in my bun and put them into a pile on the file in front of me. I shook out my hair, finger combing it to keep some sort of professional order. Dr….I mean, Reid was right about my hair at least. It was dark copper and wavy as could be. A few solid curls but nothing like Shirley Temple. And it was way too long to be pulled up into a bun and expected to stay there all day.

I massaged my crown, apologizing to my hair for doing such awful things to it. I flopped it over to the left, out of my way, almost like moving vines in a jungle out of the way. Hopefully it would be less of a problem now and I could get some work done.

"See, here's the interesting thing, my dear lovely lady of all things Midwestern," Garcia said in her usual charm, "I'm looking through your unfortunate winners of this sicko's killer contest and I'm finding zip."

I sighed. Damn. I thought she'd find something. All she did was work through her computer to find the smallest piece of helpful news.

"But," she said suddenly, "I am the one, the only, the most wonderful queen of the all-knowing! I did find some basics. They all shopped regularly at different grocery stores. Not the same one, but definitely schedules; number one was every second Monday, family 2 was every Friday, family 3 was twice a week, Sundays and Tuesdays, and unfortunate number 4 was every Wednesday at exactly 4:45. It doesn't really link them, but their routine says maybe someone saw them every time they were there."

"Hmm," I thought, it was a long stretch, but that might be something… "Garcia, cross-check lists of employees and suppliers against the stores the victims shopped at. Maybe he worked through all these chains and ran into them."

"Check, over and out!"

I considered calling the team and letting them know what we were thinking…but in case Garcia had nothing, I didn't want to seem like a fool again.

Even if he worked at the grocery stores, he still was getting into their houses after dark easily… what would make him so trustworthy?