"Something doesn't sit right with me about Lauren Reynolds," Rossi says to no one in particular. He's staring intensely at the board, as if he can find the missing link if he just looks hard enough.
"What do you mean?" Hotch asks, reserving judgement, but encouraging him to elaborate.
"She's too calm, her answers too perfect," he replies, then shrugs. "It's like she knew this was coming."
"Well, she is married to an arms dealer," JJ points out, "I'd think that would make me a little paranoid too. She probably knew it was only a matter of time before the police caught up with him."
"No, it's more than that," Rossi says, shaking his head, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. He doesn't appear to have any idea what 'more' is, though.
"Let's get Garcia in here," Hotch commands.
Garcia comes bustling into the room with a laptop clutched tenderly to her chest. "Okay, so, here's the deal..." she prefaces what she's about to say as she sets up the laptop. "And when I say 'the deal', I mean it's a big fat deal. And here is the deal...Lauren Reynolds does not exist." She flourishes her hands a little for effect.
I feel my blood turn to ice at those words, knowing her secret is about to be spilled and I'm going to be caught up in her web of lies and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I feel like I've failed her somehow.
"What do you mean she 'doesn't exist'?" Hotch asks, frown deepening.
"No, no, like she exists, as in she's sitting right there, but the identity is totally fake. The first real record I have of Lauren Reynolds is on Declan Doyle's birth certificate, fifteen years ago. Someone's gone to great lengths to make the identity appear legit – a fake birth certificate and everything – and it would not have come cheap. I tried to follow the money, but it all appears to have been cash payments, so dead end."
"So, we have nothing?"
I almost dare to hope, but I know Garcia is too good for that.
"Oh, sir, you doubt me prematurely. It took some work, but I used rendering software to de-age a photo of Lauren Reynolds and ran it through a bunch of databases. There's some margin of error, but the best match is to a missing persons report about a teenager who disappeared fifteen years ago." She pulls up a picture of fifteen year old Emily on screen, next to a picture of Lauren Reynolds today and there's no doubting it's the same person. "Emily Prentiss left for school one day and never showed up. The police suspected remains that turned up a month later were hers, but they could never prove it because DNA was too degraded by the acid used to dispose of the body. The case is technically still open today, but no one appears to be working too hard on solving it."
"Prentiss..." Rossi repeats. "Why does that name sound so familiar?"
"Her mother is a well-respected foreign ambassador who has made it her life-long mission to pressure politicians to pass legislature concerning missing children," Hotch says. "I worked security detail for her, years ago, when I was first starting out with the Bureau."
"Huh..." Garcia interrupts suddenly, then makes a little squeak of surprise as if only remembering we're all in the room with her. Her eyes flick up to meet mine and they're filled with confusion and, I think, a hint of fear.
"What is it, Garcia?" Reid asks her, moving to hover over her shoulder.
I already know what she's about to say. I shut my eyes tightly for a moment before my world comes crashing down around me. There's nothing I can do to stop it now.
She's still looking at me, mouth hanging open a little. "You... He..." she stammers. She's afraid of giving away my secret, even though she's looking at me like I've betrayed her trust somehow.
"My name is in that file," I save her from having to reveal the demons of my past. I attempt a smile at her to show that there's no hurt feelings – it would have come out sooner or later.
Everyone turns to look at me in varying stages of surprise and confusion.
"I knew Emily when we were teenagers – we went to high school together, we were friends. The police interviewed me after she disappeared," I explain.
Hotch is practically scowling now. "Why didn't you tell us that you recognized her?"
"I didn't think it mattered," I say, half-truthful, because this isn't about her, it's about Doyle...she just had the misfortune of getting tangled up with him. I can't help but feel that's partly my fault.
"We'll discuss this later," he says flatly, tone saying nothing, furrowed brows saying everything. I'll be lucky to escape with just a warning, if not a suspension.
"Uh-oh..." Garcia interrupts again, computer chiming intrusively. Her fingers fly across the keyboard, eyes widening as she types.
"What is it, Garcia?" Hotch asks, sounding almost weary.
"So, the system just finished running Doyle's DNA and it's linked him to a – umm – a particularly...gruesome unsolved murder from fifteen years ago." She scrunches up her face in disgust.
Seeing her squeamishness, Reid takes over reading from her screen. "A man was beaten to death with a tire iron and his genitals were removed perimortem with a dull pocket knife, clearly done by someone inexperienced with killing, but full of rage. Doyle must've cut himself while performing the mutilation."
"That sounds awfully personal..." Rossi suggests, "And Doyle doesn't do personal. His kills are purely business. He uses guns because they're quick and impersonal. So, what happened fifteen years ago that made him angry enough to kill for the first time?"
"Well...there was a second DNA sample left at the scene," Garcia pipes up trepidatiously. She glances at me again and I think it's in apology. "A female sample..." she says softly, eyes never leaving mine.
My heart drops.