This is my first story for the television show Criminal Minds. The UnSub and any OCs are mine. I also don't know where Hotch's wife, Haley is from, so I just picked a state. I don't own any part of Criminal Minds or its characters. Bummer. I hope you enjoy it. Please R & R because I really would like feedback as to how I'm doing. I may not post updates as often as some may like because I want to get things right and I also writing for Hogan's Heroes as well. I just ask patience. I do not own the characters from Criminal Minds. They are the property of the Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios, and CBS Paramount Network Television.

Mistaken Identities

Chapter 1-Similarities

Ronald Brennaman was running late today for his appointment this morning as he hurried down the stairs from his bedroom and into the kitchen where his wife, Gillian, was pouring a cup of hot coffee for him; a plate of bacon and eggs was already on the table. Their two children, Samantha, eleven, and Christian, ten, were busy eating their cereal.

"No time, sweetie," he said to his wife as he took a quick sip of coffee and then gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "I'm gonna be late this morning for a meeting with my client."

Letting out a deep breath, Gillian ran her fingers over her husband's black hair while gazing lovingly into his dark brown eyes. Even at forty-seven years of age, he had managed to look exactly the same as he always had and even maintained his weight of one-hundred-ninety-two pounds. "When aren't you running late for something, Ronnie," she said with a smile. She walked over to the counter near the door, picked up her husband's briefcase and handed it to him. "I'll see you at dinner this evening. And try not to be late," she added with a smile."

He smirked as he took the briefcase and walked quickly into the living room where he grabbed his car keys and walked out the front door where his silver Corvette was parked in the driveway.

As he drove through the busy early morning traffic, he went over the facts of the case in his head as he drove through a crowded street in Woodbridge, Virginia. Traffic was murder this particular morning. Finally, he came to a red light and was stuck behind a long row of cars realizing he was going to be later than he thought for his meeting. Muttering a string of swear words under his breath, Brennaman opened his briefcase and grabbed his cell phone figuring he'd better call his client and let him know he was running late, and would meet with him as soon as he could get to his home. Car horns were beeping from all directions as he tried to be heard over the phone.

There was so much noise he didn't hear or even see a shadow approaching the driver's side of the car. He only looked up when he heard the rapping on the car window.

"Hold on a minute. There's a joker outside my car knocking on my driver side window." Rolling down his window he looked up at the person and was about to ask what he could do for the person when he saw the gun pointed at his head. It was the last thing he ever saw. As Brennaman collapsed across the steering wheel of his car, the person thanked him and walked calmly back to the sidewalk and disappeared into the throng of busy people on the sidewalk unaware of what just happened.

Aaron Hotchner, known as Hotch to his co-workers and close friends, and Dave Rossi were already seated in the briefing room waiting when Jennifer Jareau, or JJ as she was known and Emily Prentiss walked in both carrying cups of coffee. A few minutes later, Dr. Spencer Reid walked in drinking coffee as well.

"Where's Morgan and Garcia?" Hotch asked not looking at anybody as he was too busy reading something. Nobody seemed to notice the odd expression on his face.

"They're on their way," Reid said as he sat down.

Just then, Penelope Garcia entered the briefing room with a smile on her face as she sat down.

Shortly afterward, Derek Morgan walked in and walked past Garcia. "Morning, sweet cheeks," he said with a sly grin on his face as he sat down beside Penelope.

"Morning yourself, handsome," she replied as she turned toward him with a bright smile on her face. Reid smirked at the two who always flirted with each other whenever they could. A grin also appeared on Rossi's face as it often did whenever he heard Morgan and Garcia talk with each other. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Hotch fold up a single sheet of paper, stick it in an envelope, and place it inside his inner jacket pocket before looking up, his face unreadable to his friends.

JJ turned on the computer and immediately the image of a man slumped over the steering wheel of his car with blood on the side of his head appeared. It was a disturbing image to the profilers as they looked at it.

"This is attorney Ronald Brennaman, 47. He was on his way to meeting with a client when he stopped at a red light. He is possibly the fifth victim of a serial killer who seems to target men of different ages who are all lawyers. From what we know there is no connection between Mr. Brennaman and the other four victims except that they all practiced law."

Morgan folded his arms. "Did they all practice the same kind of law?"

"No. Brennaman was a criminal attorney with Schonberg and Company for ten years. Apparently, when Brennaman stopped at a red light he was approached by someone on the driver's side causing him to roll down his car window. That's when he was shot in the head."

"Anybody able to describe the shooter?" asked Garcia.

"Nobody knew he had been shot until the light changed and his car didn't move. Somebody in the car behind his got out and approached the victim's car and discovered him slumped over the steering wheel."

"Killer must've used a silencer," Morgan remarked. "Either that or there was too much street noise to hear the gunshot."

Reid was tapping a pencil against his chin. "What about the other victims?"

Clicking her remote, JJ brought up another set of photos. "The first victim was Culver Atkins, age 43, employed with Atticus and Simmons for the past five years as an estate attorney. The second victim was Andrew Bellamy, 40, employed with Jenson, Andrews and Gulliver for three years as a malpractice attorney. Our third victim was Averill Collins, age 41, employed with Collins, Hotchkiss and Collins as a divorce attorney."

"Family company?" asked Hotch.

"Daniel Hotchkiss and Murray Collins were partners in the company in the beginning. After the death six years ago of Hotchkiss, Collins brought both his sons into the company. And our fourth victim was Peter Morrissey, 50, employed with Simmons and Harriman for the past fifteen years as a corporate attorney. Each man was killed a different way."

"How were the others killed?" asked Rossi folding his arms.

"Morrissey was the victim of a hit-and-run outside his office; Atkins was stabbed during a possible mugging only nothing was taken; Bellamy was beaten-to-death in the parking lot of his office after hours and wasn't found until the following morning. And Collins was struck from behind in his garage at home, placed in his car, and left with the motor running. He died from carbon monoxide."

"So except for Morrissey, all the victims were in their early to late forties," said Reid.

"Yes," JJ continued as she changed screens again showing a close-up of a single sheet of paper on which a single sentence was printed in block letters. "Before each murder, the victims all received a letter either through the mail or left on their doors at their homes. The letter read: 'You will pay for what you did to me.'"

Hotch stared at the paper feeling like he should recognize the handwriting but couldn't figure out why that should be. Yet there was something….

"Wait a minute, JJ," said Rossi suddenly leaning forward in his chair. "I just noticed something else. Go back to the photos of the first four victims for a moment."

"What is it?" asked Hotch looking at his friend.

Rossi was carefully studying the photos of the four deceased men. "Now go back to the latest victim, Brennaman, for a second."

JJ changed the screen again. Everybody watched as Rossi slowly got to his feet and stood just to the side of the screen. He momentarily turned to Hotch and then back to the screen.

"These victims all have something else in common," he said looking at the others seriously.

"What is that?" asked Reid. "What do you see?"

Rossi folded his arms and looked directly at Reid. "Well, except for the differences in ages, all these victims bear a resemblance to Hotch." He was looking at his boss when he spoke the last sentence.

Hotch sat up in his chair when he noticed the others looking at him and then back at the screen.

"He's right, Hotch," Emily agreed. "All of them do bear a resemblance to you. Same dark hair, same eye color, except for Morrissey who's dark hair had a bit of gray at the temples and was 50. All the others are early to late forties. You're in that age range."

Hotch got to his feet slowly and studied the photo of Brennaman. "JJ, switch back." When the screen changed, Hotch examined the faces of the others and realized that Rossi was right. The first four victims all had dark hair and eyes as he did except for Morrissey. "It's just a coincidence," he finally said. "People say everybody has a twin somewhere."

"But not five of them," explained Reid.

The three black SUVs traveled one behind the other on the road from Quantico to Alexandria, Virginia. It was a thirty mile trip which would take no more than possibly forty minutes to get there, but it was too long for Hotch because it gave him too much time to think. And right now what he was thinking about was not what he wanted to.

He was riding in the front passenger seat with Rossi behind the wheel. As he drove, Rossi kept stealing glances sideways at his boss who hadn't said much since they left Quantico. Hotch was staring out of the passenger window seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Rossi knew Hotch for awhile and had already been through more tough times with his boss than he could remember. Hotch had sometimes been extremely quiet or withdrawn like he was now when he had something on his mind, or something was troubling him, and it worried him then just as it did now. He suspected something was eating away at his friend.

"Hotch?" Rossi began with another glance at his friend.

"I'm fine," was all Hotch would say his eyes still fixed on nothing.

"It helps to talk about it." Rossi waited for some kind of response. When none was forthcoming, he decided to push ahead. "Look, if it's regarding what I said about all the victims bearing a resemblance to you, then I'm sorry. But that still makes it true. All the deceased are still similar to you in everyway."

This time Hotch's head turned toward Rossi and the two men looked at each other.

"And I told all of you it's nothing but a coincidence. Dave, I told you before; don't try to profile a profiler," he said. "So let's just drop it, okay?" He returned to staring out the window.

"Okay, consider it dropped," Rossi said. For now anyway.

Hotch knew if Rossi was suspicious something was troubling him, than it was a sure bet that the others suspected as well. And he didn't want them to worry. He wanted and needed them to focus and concentrate on finding the UnSub, not worry about him. His mind reflected back to earlier this morning, before the others had even arrived in the office.

Hotch was so glad Haley had taken their young son to visit her parents in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania because it meant neither of them was in danger, and the last thing he needed was to worry about his wife and son being at the mercy of a killer. Them being out-of-town meant they were safe and it put his mind somewhat at ease. He also knew if something happened to him, Haley would be there for Jack. His mind traveled further back to when he came in earlier than normal this morning. He did it sometimes and today was just another time and wouldn't be any different than all the other times he had come into the office earlier than normal. At least not a first anyway.

His first stop was the kitchen area in BAU's office where he poured himself a cup of coffee from the coffee machine before heading to his own office. He took a sip of coffee and made a face at the taste. Normally he would have gotten coffee from the deli on the first floor, but he had passed them by before he even realized, so he was forced to suffer since he needed that cup of caffeine to wake up this morning. Deciding to suffer rather than doing without, he headed to his own office and sat down behind his desk. That was when he first saw the envelope in the center of his desk. A plain white envelope with no return address but with 'AGENT AARON HOTCHNER' neatly typed across the front. Sitting the coffee cup down, Hotch picked up the envelope and studied it front and back. Other than being addressed to him, there was nothing else written on the envelope on either side. Picking up a letter opener, he slit the envelope open and removed a folded single sheet of paper. Unfolding it, he noticed it contained a single sentence written in block letters. 'YOU WILL PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID TO ME.' There was no signature. The minute he saw the print, Hotch knew he had seen it somewhere before but just couldn't place it. Then came the murders of attorneys all of whom had received the same letter before they died. He hadn't been an attorney in years; in fact, for ten years he had been an FBI profiler. But that damn handwriting! Where had he seen it before? As a profiler he had made enemies; hell, everybody on his team had made at least one. Could this UnSub be trying to confuse things and his team by targeting him? Or was he/she possibly hoping to distract the team by targeting their Unit Chief? But an even bigger question was how did it end up on his desk and who put it there?

It was driving Hotch crazy that he couldn't remember where he had seen that handwriting before. But he was glad that before they had left Quantico, he had remembered to hide the envelope in the middle desk drawer in his office where nobody would hopefully find it. He had nearly made a mistake by having it inside his inner jacket pocket and taking it out to look at it again while in the conference room. He needed his team not to be distracted by his problem because it could, in the long run, cause one or all of them to be in danger and get hurt or worse. He massaged his forehead as the pounding in his head began. It hadn't gone unnoticed by Rossi.

The second SUV had Morgan behind the wheel with Reid sitting in the passenger seat. Morgan glanced over at the young man who appeared preoccupied.

"Something on your mind, my man?" Morgan asked curiously.

Reid, folding his arms, looked over at his friend. "Huh?"

"I said is something on your mind?"

"Not really. Well, sort of."

"Care to share?"

"I was just thinking about what Rossi said back in the office about all the victims resembling Hotch, and Hotch's reaction to the suggestion."

"I know what you mean. It's kind of spooky when you think about it."

"How do you mean?"

Morgan glanced over at Reid. "What I mean is, what are the chances that we'd be investigating the deaths of five men all of whom bear a resemblance to someone you work with?"

Reid let out a deep breath. "I know. And Hotch seems to be dismissing the entire thing despite it being so obvious." A sudden serious look appeared on his youthful face. That didn't escape Morgan's observant eyes.

"What's troubling you?"

"I'm not sure," Reid replied. "Morgan, do you think Hotch would hide anything from us that was a potential problem?"

"Reid, just what are you getting at?"

"I'm not sure exactly what I'm trying to say. I guess I'm just wondering whether or not Hotch would tell us if he knew if and what the connection was as to why these victims all look like him?"

Morgan didn't respond to his friend's question as they looked at each other. But now that the question had been raised, he found himself wondering what the answer was.

Emily brushed a strand of her dark hair out of her eyes as she kept her eyes ahead of her. JJ was seated beside her and kept a subtle eye on her friend. She had seen Emily looked worried but assumed she would talk about what was troubling her when she was ready even though she suspected she already had an idea.

"JJ, can I ask you a question?" Emily asked looking at the blond woman, worried.

JJ looked at her friend. "Sure. What's on your mind?"

"I guess I'm still thinking about what Rossi said back in the office before we left Quantico."

"You mean about the victims resembling Hotch?"

"Yeah. It's kind of creepy don't you think? I mean, think about how Aaron must feel knowing that five dead people look like him. I know it would freak me out."

JJ shivered as she folded her arms although the interior of the SUV was warm. "Me too. I have to admit I've been thinking about it as well." She studied her friend's face. "Em, you don 't suppose there might be a reason all these victims look like Hotch do you?"

"What do you mean?" asked Emily with a look. "What reason could there be?"

"That its really Hotch the UnSub is after and that these others were to throw us off the trail?"

Emily remained silent for awhile as she thought about what JJ had just said. "Anything's possible I suppose," she replied. "But this person is after attorneys, and Aaron hasn't been an attorney for fifteen years."

Not knowing how to respond to Emily's statement, the two women could only look at each other.

He had watched them leave the building and smiled when he saw Aaron Hotchner leave with them. The man looked worried to him; even from a distance he could tell. He would have given anything to have seen his face when he opened that letter. He bet he had the same reaction as the others. He wondered if Hotchner remembered him at all? He also wondered if Aaron would have the same look of terror on his face as the others when they knew they were about to die?