Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the TV series, Criminal Minds.

Angel

Part 9

By
N. J. Borba

"You could've told us the truth about this, too," Rossi said as he handed Emily a glass of water.

She took the offered drink and sat it down on the conference table next to Angie's cell phone, which she hadn't taken her eyes off since Scott had left it there. Her daughter had already been missing for hours, and Emily wasn't amused about being cooped up with Rossi as her babysitter. But the fact that Hotch had allowed her to even still be on the team after her confession and her behavior the last few weeks, she was trying hard not to rock that boat. "Morgan knew," she sighed.

He nodded, thankful she'd confided in someone. "So that story you told me after your friend Matthew died…"

Emily sensed Rossi's discomfort. "Most of it was true," she honestly replied. "Where's Scott?"

Dave could tell she wasn't in the mood for another walk down memory lane. And he couldn't blame her given Angie and Reid's predicament. "JJ took him to get some coffee. It seemed best to keep the two of you separated for the moment. He's not exactly your number one fan right now."

"No kidding," Emily said as the door swung open.

Hotch and Morgan entered the room first with Penelope and JJ in their wake. From the looks on all their faces, Emily didn't think they had good news to deliver. That seemed to be the story of her life for the last several months, so she didn't even bother bracing herself. Derek sat beside her and was the only one to speak. "JJ, Hotch and I have been hounding Interpol for the last half hour. The only thing we got them to confirm is the deaths of Tsia Mosley and Clyde Easter."

"Damn it," Emily pushed her chair away from the table and moved across the room. Half bitten nails dug in to her palms as she stood by the window starring outside at the snow storm that was brewing. She prayed that Sean had been successful in getting his wife and daughter somewhere safe. "I'm not sitting here any longer." Emily spun around, using anger to mask her grief. "We need to find them. Now," her tone left little room for compromise.

"I agree," Hotch remained cool headed. "You're way too close to this case, Prentiss." He could see she was about to protest so he made a preemptive strike. "But, you're also the only available member of your old team who knows the profile on Doyle. The sooner you tell us what his next move is going to be, the sooner we find Reid and Angie."

Her head shook. "He's a ruthless, cold-blooded murderer. What the hell do you think his next move is going to be? He'll kill…" a phone vibrated, cutting off the horrible words she'd been about to expel. Emily looked to Angie's phone on the table, but she quickly realized it was the cell in her pocket that was ringing. She answered it. "Hello, Angie?" despite the situation, she was still hopeful the girl had been able to escape.

"Emily?" the male voice was barely a whisper.

"Reid?" she immediately hit the speaker phone button so everyone in the conference room could hear. "Reid, where are you? Is Angie with you? Are you all right?"

Silence replied for a number of seconds. "I'm not sure where… I…"

Again the line was quiet. "Reid?" Emily frantically tried to get his attention.

"There was a man with a tattoo of a shamrock on his wrist. The stem was bent, like the letter V," Spencer's voice held renewed volume as he tried to remember as much as possible.

"Valhalla was Doyle's code name," Emily sighed, speaking to the group more so than Reid. "It's him," she confirmed.

Spencer's voice turned raspy again as he tried to explain the rest to them. "He took Angie and me… never even saw him. We were in a van and he wanted to know about you. Angie told him you're her mother and he seemed happy about that. He said he was going to make you suffer the way you made him suffer. I almost had him… almost. But he threw me out of the van when it… was… still…"

The phone went silent for a third time. "Reid?" again it was Emily who desperately tried to keep him talking.

"Hello?" a deeper male voice came over the line. "The guy who was just talking on this pay phone passed out. He looks pretty badly beaten."

"This is special agent Aaron Hotchner with the FBI, who am I speaking to?" Hotch asked.

"My name's Alan Garfield, sir. I work nights at Duke's Dinner where this fellow just wandered in," the man explained. "Should I take him to a hospital or something? It looks like he found a whole heap of trouble tonight."

Hotch easily agreed, "Yes, I'd appreciate you taking him to the nearest hospital. Where would that be?"

"I suppose Rockingham Memorial. It's the only one out this way."

"That's in Harrisonburg?" Rossi asked, eyeing Garcia. He looked over her shoulder as she pulled up a map of the area.

"Yes, sir," Alan answered.

That confirmation put the team somewhat at ease, knowing Reid wasn't too far away. If Doyle had hopped a plane he could've already been two states away. "Get him there as soon as possible, please. And stay with him if you could, or get security to watch him. I'll have someone meet you there shortly," Hotch ended the call. He turned a quizzical gaze on Derek and Emily. "Why would Doyle be traveling near Harrisonburg?"

Derek shook his head, but he could tell Emily was churning something over in her head. "According to Reid, he wants to use Angie against you for some reason," Morgan addressed her exclusively. "Where do you think he's going with her?"

"If he figured out Angie is connected to me then he might know the truth about everything I did," her voice held a note of regret the likes she'd never known before. "Odds are he's figured out Declan isn't dead." Emily finally launched into the story about how she'd faked the boy's death in order to get Doyle to spill his guts in prison.

Morgan tried not to get bogged down by the fact that her secrets just kept coming. "Where is Declan now?" he asked, more focused on saving innocent lives.

"A boarding school in Richmond," she replied.

Garcia's brow wrinkled as she studied the map on her laptop. "That doesn't make any sense. Richmond is a direct route south from DC, or… well, they started in Baltimore, but you know what I mean. Still, why would they swing all the way inland to interstate 81 when I-95 would take them straight down?"

"He's worried about road blocks," Emily wrung her hands. "It might take him a little longer, but it feels safer to him. And, risk taker that he is, he still likes to play it safe. It's why he always rode in the second car," she recalled. Quickly shaking those memories from her thoughts, Emily made her plea to Hotch. "Declan's adoptive parents and I are the only ones allowed to take him off campus. I can call them, but if Doyle's gotten to them then I might be Declan's best chance of staying safe."

Hotch hated how emotionally connected she was, but he trusted that she was right. "Morgan, take Prentiss with you to Richmond." His eyes flicked to JJ. "I want you to stay here and keep trying to pull information from Interpol. And Garcia, see if you can track down van rentals in the Baltimore and DC area that might fit Doyle's needs; muted in color with very few windows." He saw the dubious look in her eyes. "I know it's vague, but work your magic. Rossi," he faced his old friend. "You're with me. We're heading to Harrisonburg."

Emily barely heard the other orders her boss had spoken. She already had one foot out the door by the time he'd dismissed them. Nothing about exiting the room or making her way into the bullpen with Derek registered until a hand caught her arm. "Emily," it was Scott who stopped her. "Where are you going? Is it about Angie?"

She shrugged away from his touch. "Let me do my job," Emily was short with him as she focused on Derek standing a few feet away, the glass door open as he waited for her.

"I know I said some horrible things earlier," the man tried to apologize. "And now I'm wasting your time when Angie's life depends on it. Just, please… don't do your job as a profiler tonight. Do your job as her mother," Scott implored.

She nodded stiffly before catching up to Derek.

xxx

Flashes of light filled the van off and on as it sped down the highway.

Angie tried to remain calm even though she'd watched Spencer get thrown from the vehicle a short time ago. She had to keep believing he'd be okay in order to retain her level-headedness. "You're wasting your time with me, you know that right?" she spoke to the man who sat with his back against the front seat, weapon still aimed on her. Angie had yet to see their driver. "She won't come after me. Emily doesn't even care about me. She abandoned me when I was born."

"If you'd told me that a few months ago, I would have believed you," Doyle replied as he inspected his gun.

"It's the truth," Angie swallowed, hoping she might change his mind. It didn't seem likely, but it was worth a try. It was worth her life.

His hallow laughter echoed through the van. "She will come. I know her." Doyle shrugged. "Well, I knew her once upon a time. She fooled me into thinking she cared about me. And she also made me believe she'd killed my son. But she could not fake some things," he insisted. "Like the way she cared for my boy. She faked his death, hid him from me, all because she feared I'd corrupt him."

"Wouldn't you have?" she boldly asked.

Doyle nodded. "What you and she call corruption, I call living. And she could have been great in that life with me and Declan. She looked to him as if he were a surrogate for something she'd lost," he stared into Angie's dark eyes. "I know now that was you. She wouldn't let herself give in to that natural urge to mother my son, at least not around me. But she took him away, kept him safe from her perception of me being the enemy. She'll continue to protect him, and you. She will come for both of you." He was confident of the fact.

"And I'm telling you, she won't," Angie countered.

He maintained faith in the opposite. "We shall see who is right, soon enough."

xxx

Derek hadn't let up on the gas pedal since they'd left Quantico. The SUV's lights flashed, helping push them through the holiday traffic as they raced toward Richmond. Snow fell softly from a sky that remained steel gray even though it was close to ten. He glanced over to find Emily starring out the window. "Are you gonna stay mad at Scott forever?" he finally broke through the silence between them. "What he said about you abandoning Angie…"

"Was true," Emily didn't let him finish. "He raised her, not me. All I've done so far is put her at risk."

"You know that's not true. It's also not healthy thinking," he was growing tired of her same old tune. "Constantly undercutting yourself is one of the worst patterns addicts can get stuck in. But I know it can also be the hardest to let go of," Derek let her know.

She chuckled dryly. "Thank you, Doctor Morgan," Emily retorted.

"I read about it in a book," he shrugged. "I want to understand more about what you're going through. In case the last few months haven't given you a clue, I have no plans to let you do all this on your own. You're stuck with me."

Emily sighed. "I don't deserve you."

"There you go again," he warned.

A second sigh escaped her lips, but she created a distraction by making another call. She let their home line ring six times, but there was no answer. After that Emily tried her friend's cell phones again. "Still nothing," she reported, slapping the cell against her thigh. "Headmaster Collins said all the kids had gone home for the holiday. He specifically told me that Janice and Craig picked Declan up around noon. So where the hell are they?" Emily pointed to a road sign. "There's the exit. Stay right and turn at the first light then left at the next light."

He followed her orders, rounding the first corner, "Why didn't you tell me about Declan?" Derek was curious. "You obviously went to a lot of trouble to protect him from Doyle. And yet you keep pushing Angie away. Seems like some inconsistencies in your parenting methods."

"Not really," she spoke softly, pointing out the next few streets to turn on to. "I gave them both what I believed would be better lives, without me in them." Emily turned to face him with challenging eyes. "And that's not self-recrimination. It's just a matter of me not being in the right head-space at either point in my life to take care of them. I can still barely take care of myself," she finally cracked a small smile.

He smiled as well; glad she was actually opening up further. "But you're getting better, Emily. Every day," Derek tried to assure her. "You believe that, don't you?"

"I want to," she agreed. "Morgan, stop right here," her focus took a swift turn as she spotted the house where Declan and his parents lived.

The two of them ran up the front walk and instantly noticed the door was ajar. Derek motioned for her to follow him in. The living room was lit by two lamps and the flicker of a television in the corner. The place was high end, but cozy with leather furniture, a padded dog bed, and quilts draped over chairs. There were even framed pictures on the walls; two parents, blue-eyed boy and a golden retriever. They looked every bit the perfect family.

As Derek and Emily entered the dining room they were confronted by the complete opposite of perfect and cozy. Two bodies lay on the white carpet, blood stains hallowing their heads.

Emily bit her lip; starring down at the dead faces of two people she'd considered friends. That made four friends gone in a short period of time. A noise in the next room caused her to resume profiler mode. She followed Derek again as he led the way in to the kitchen. Nothing seemed out of place, but a light was shining from beneath a door with a painted sign that read: pantry. Morgan stood on one side, Emily the other. He nearly ripped the door off its hinges and they aimed guns at a crouching boy with fearful eyes.

"Please, don't hurt me," Declan cried.

"Hey, buddy, it's okay. Come here," Emily sheathed her weapon. "It's me, Emily," she spoke gently as she wrapped her arms around the boy and helped him stand.

Declan clung to her. "Emily," he sniffed against her shoulder. "They're dead. They…"

"I know," she cooed, her heart sinking even further as her head tried not to think about Angie.

With a hand against her back, Morgan whispered. "I'm gonna check the rest of the house."

Emily nodded as Derek took off. She got Declan to sit at the kitchen table, but she stayed close holding his hand. "Can you tell me what happened?"

He sniffed. "I was over at a friend's place tonight. Mom and dad said they wanted me to stay home since it was my first night of holiday break, but Danny really wanted to show me his early Christmas gift," the boy explained. "We played video games for hours and his parents just dropped me off. And I found…"

She watched his bravery dissolve into tears. "It's going to be okay," Emily responded without thinking. It was a stupid thing to say, but she couldn't think of anything better.

"No sign of Doyle," Derek said upon returning to the kitchen a few minutes later.

The sound of a dog barking came from the back yard and Declan looked out the window. "Maggie's upset, I should get her."

"It's not safe here, buddy. I want you to go with Derek to the car, okay?" she urged the boy. "I'll go outside and get Maggie for you." Emily looked to Derek. "She knows me, and I know the surroundings. I'll meet you back at the SUV."

Morgan nodded. "I doubt I need to tell you to be quick," he implored.

"I know," she slipped out the back door, still unable to get Angie out of her head. Emily wondered again about Doyle's plan for the girl. He clearly hadn't been able to get to Declan, which meant he was probably very pissed off at the moment. But if he'd gotten the parents to talk before he killed them, then he might be headed to Declan's friend's house. She needed to let Derek know that possibility.

The snowfall outside was increasing steadily and Emily shuddered as she speedily made her way across the back yard and approached the dog house. "They should have brought you in tonight," she smiled at the normally mild-mannered dog. But Maggie kept barking even as Emily grabbed her collar and unhooked the lead line.

"She was inside, love," a voice spoke from the shadows. "I brought her out in hopes the boy would come for her. But you'll do for now."

Emily reached for her gun, but she wasn't quick enough. The blow came from behind.

xxx

Her eyelids slid upwards, slowly, but even open eyes didn't make the darkness fade much. The floor was hard and cold; most likely concrete. Emily had difficulty sitting up, which she soon learned was due to her hands being tied behind her back and her ankles taped together. But, as her eyes finally began to take focus in the dark room, neither of those things bothered her half as much as seeing Angie seated inches away. There were so many things Emily wanted to say to the girl.

"Spencer is alive," Emily gave her good news first. She didn't mention that the last she'd heard from him had been before he'd passed out. It didn't seem an important detail at the moment. "Are you okay?" She noticed that Angie's hands were bound in front of her, but her legs seemed to be free.

Angie looked away. "Why would you care?"

"You're mad at me, right?"

Angie shrugged.

"Ah," Emily actually smiled. "And now you're not talking to me," she guessed.

"Isn't that what you wanted?" Angie asked.

Emily shook her head. "I guess you really are my daughter. At least in all the bad ways," she lamented.

"Ugh," Angie growled in frustration. "Why can't I stay upset at you?" she asked, but didn't expect a reply. "You shouldn't say things like that. I've been reading this book about alcoholism and the stages of addiction. It says that self-loathing and all that, apparently it's one of the hardest cycles for addicts to break out of."

"Now you remind me of Derek," Emily sighed.

"I still haven't met him," Angie replied a little softer. "I was looking forward to it at your BAU party. He must be a pretty special guy to put up with you."

"Or crazy," Emily shrugged.

"Why do you do that?" the young woman asked. "I try to have a normal conversation with you and you pretend that people caring about you doesn't matter." Angie brought her hands up to her face and rubbed her tired eyes. "I don't get you. Derek obviously cares about you, Spencer practically worships you, and I just want to get to know you. But you keep pushing us all away."

Hearing those words made Emily proud. "You're right," she nodded.

Angie sighed. "I'm pretty sure you're the most frustrating person I've ever met."

"You haven't met my mother yet," Emily quipped.

The girl smiled. "It's not going to work," she declared. "I admit I was disappointed the first time you sent me away. And I was crushed the second time. But now I'm just annoyed. My guess is you grew up with a lot of tough love. So…" Angie sat forward. "Now I'm going to shove some mushy, sentimental love down your throat." She reached for the locket around her neck. "My dad gave me this after my mom died."

"You told me," Emily had to admit she wasn't sure what to expect next from the girl.

"Right," Angie nodded. "Well, when he gave it to me he said it was so I'd always have my parents with me. So I'd always know how much they loved me even if they weren't with me any longer," she opened the locket and held it up for Emily to see. Angie pointed to the right side of the locket. "That picture was taken of the three of us on my first birthday."

Emily couldn't help smile at the sweet, chubby faced girl. "Your parents look so happy, and so proud."

"They were. They loved me very much, and they told me every day." Angie reached for the piece of paper that was folded up and stuffed in the other side of her silver locket. "This is a note my mother wrote for me." She held it for Emily to see. "Will you read it to me?" she asked.

"No," Emily's head shook. "That's too personal. I can't…"

"Please," Angie insisted. "I want you to."

With a heavy heart, Emily finally glanced at the words on the paper. Her heart leapt into her throat. She hadn't been expecting to recognize the handwriting that stared back at her from the page. "Please take good care of my little angel," she whispered hoarsely.

"My dad told me father Quinn found it in the folds of my baby blanket at the church," Angie revealed. "You wrote that for me, didn't you?"

"Yes," Emily took a shaky breath.

The girl folded the paper and placed it back in her locket, closing the necklace for safe keeping. "That note was why my parents named me Angela," she said. "So, between the name and the note I carry with me every day… you've always been with me, even when you didn't think you were."

"You're right," the older woman agreed. "That was pretty damn sappy."

"You wrote it," Angie grinned.

Emily smiled. "Yes," the note had sent her spiraling to the past. "One of the few things I remember about my real father was that he called me his little angel. When I was six we lived in New York near central park. He'd pick me up from school on Fridays and we'd get ice cream in the park and I'd sit on his shoulders. He said I was like an angel perched up there, and I felt like I was on top of the world."

Angie was touched that she'd shared that happy memory with her. "When we get out of here, we should go to central park together. I've always wanted to visit."

"Maybe," Emily replied.

"We are getting out of here," the young woman added, hoping to keep Emily from slipping back into her pessimistic thoughts.

A creak of hinges interrupted them.

"Hello, Lauren…" Doyle's lilt slithered in to the room along with a streak of light from beyond the door. He held a gun in his right hand, keeping it close to his body. With his left hand he grabbed Emily by the arm and pulled her up. She struggled against him. "What's wrong, don't like your accommodations? I assure you they're much nicer than what I had in prison. For seven years I festered in that hell hole thinking I had nothing left to live for, and now you've kept him away from me again."

Emily chuckled. "Seems the only luck you have is bad luck, Doyle. Guess that tattoo was a waste of ink."

He grabbed her by the hair and pushed her onto her knees. "You are the only bad luck charm in my life," Doyle growled. "To think that I was once charmed by your pretty face and perfectly accented Italian seductions," he scoffed. "Well, I've learned the best way to turn bad luck around is to destroy the object from which it emanates. I only need to keep one of you in order to bargain for my son's life."

"Then let Angie go," Emily spoke. "You want me to suffer, so use me to get Declan back and then kill me if you wish."

The man smiled at Angie. "I told you she'd come for you. A mother bear never strays far from her cubs," Doyle said, eyes flicking back to Emily. "If I kill you first then you die knowing there's nothing you'll be able to do to help save your daughter. But, if I kill her first, then you suffer the same agony I did thinking my son was dead."

"Don't do this," Emily pleaded again.

He grabbed Angie and held the gun beneath her chin. "I think I like option number two the best."

To be continued…