Author's note:
So sorry for the horrifying delay. I deployed to a place without internet and was half cut off from the world for a while there. I mean to make amends to my readers, if they're still around. I sure hope so. Thanks for reading.
Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds.
4.
JJ felt like crying with pent-up rage and frustration. She was seriously uncomfortable. And hungry. And lonely. And she felt so utterly useless. Reid had left nearly an hour before with Hotch to go God knew where and for some reason Morgan & co weren't back yet, so there wasn't a single person to share her aggravation with. Garcia hadn't called back, which meant she had no new info, and JJ really didn't want to push her. The sooner this case was wrapped up, the better—and not only for the victims' sake. Home was looking more and more attractive by the minute.
Actually she would settle for getting out of the precinct. The place was driving her nuts. Not only was it unbearably muggy, but she'd had to put up with contempt and veiled intimidation all day. Normally it was one of the things she was good at—the kind word, the smile, never folding under pressure. She was the self-proclaimed pacifist of the team, priding herself on her ability to hold back grudges and smooth over conflict when none of the rest could.
Too bad her talents seemed to have taken a hike just now, when she most needed them. Maybe they were incompatible with this level of physical discomfort. Or maybe she just wasn't as good as she'd thought. Truth was, she was nearing the end of her rope. Not only was she starving, having had absolutely nothing to eat since breakfast—not so much as a measly cup of coffee—but she couldn't even use the restroom without some smartass barging in. The local police clearly felt no need for a ladies' room, being an all-male affair—and apparently privacy wasn't a luxury an outsider like her was entitled to. Yeah, because watching people taking a leak was such a treat.
To make matters worse, she hadn't been able to feed Henry before leaving and her lactating breasts felt heavy enough to explode. If only Emily were here, she would've stood guard by the bathroom door while she pumped, giving her a moment's solitude at least. Forget Emily—even Reid would have been enough. But he was gone. They were all gone. There was no one even to leave in charge in case Garcia called. She was alone.
Oh, toughen up, Jareau, she disgustedly shook herself. What the hell is wrong with you? Buck up!
She bet the locals would be thrilled to see "the lil woman" dissolve into tears. They'd probably think it was just like a girl—their own personal little victory.
The laptop beeped back to life just then, corroborating Morgan's tenet—that Garcia was their God-given solace.
"Nothing on the car yet," her voice rang out, tinny through the speakers. "But check it out—you know those neighbors you told me to look into? Robert Lawton's got a record—grand theft auto, no less. Of course it's from like two decades ago, but it's like riding a bike, right? You never lose the knack for it. And Cletus Tate—he's got a wife and kids of his own. If Rossi's assessment is right, that's probably where you'll find the Culver kids. Also… Reid sent me pictures of their Jane Doe to match up against missing person reports." Her tone became uncertain. "It's gonna be hard—I mean, she's nothing but bones and hair. And there's like a zillion blonde women missing in the area. So don't get your hopes up anytime soon."
"I won't."
It came out uncommonly bitter, and JJ was sorry the minute it was out of her mouth. Predictably enough, Garcia pounced on it. "Now you listen, girlfriend—I've been patient long enough. Either you tell me what's bothering you, or I'm outta here."
Faces were perking up curiously all around her. JJ would die rather than disclose how flustered she was. It was exactly what they wanted—they had no right. "Nothing'swrong," she insisted, a healthy spark of anger igniting within her. About time you showed up, spunk. "Absolutely nothing. I just forgot a few things for a while, but they just came back to me. There's something I gotta do. I'll get back to you, Garcia."
She was so ravenous and desperately top-heavy she could barely drag herself from the chair. But she didn't care. Enough was enough. No more miss nice liaison.
"And where do you think you're going?" one of the officers demanded, hairy arms crossed, jaw jutting out.
"Where I should've gone an hour ago," she retorted icily. "To lunch. And you, officer Crowe, are taking my place in front of that computer. I'm holding you personally responsible if any information gets lost or misplaced. So go ahead and make yourself comfortable."
The bug-eyed look on the brute's face was priceless. He probably hadn't had a woman stand up to him a day in his life. She pitied the poor waif who had the misfortune of calling herself his wife.
Fun as it was, she had no intention of sticking around for the comeback. There were more important matters at hand—such as nourishment. Lighthearted in her achievement and filled with a wholesome amount of rage, she practically skipped down the front steps… only to run smack into some wiry guy hurtling in.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" he sputtered before she could say anything, fending her off as if afraid she would jump him. "I didn't mean to. I gotta speak to the FBI. I need to see the FBI now."
When the cell phone buzzed in his jacket pocket, Hotch was almost afraid to answer it. What now?
"Hotch." It was Morgan. "I got Rossi and Prentiss. Prentiss has some sort of idea about where the carjacker could have taken those kids. Do you want us to follow up on it?"
"No," groused Hotch irritably. "Take the arrestee straight back to the precinct. Once he's been booked, two of you can take one of the locals and check up on it."
"But, Hotch—"
"No buts." He knew he was being a drill sergeant, but desperate situations called for desperate measures. He couldn't afford any more 'incidents'. "Take the arrestee straight back to the precinct. That's an order."
The fact Morgan didn't say anything before hanging up showed how pissed off he was. But Hotch didn't care. Or, to be more accurate—he cared, but couldn't afford to show it. Who knew what might happen if they started carting a suspect or whatever this man was all over the place. They were already at odds with the locals and the kidnapping had sunk them even lower in their esteem. If a suspect escaped or got hurt while in their care, it would be the last straw.
He couldn't help wondering for the umpteenth time who the hell had called them in. And why this person wasn't backing them up now.
The phone vibrated against his ribs again and he had a brief but wonderful vision of hurling it across the Potomac. If it's Morgan again, I swear to God…
It was JJ. Her usually calm voice was tinged with urgency… and some other emotion he couldn't quite pick out. For a split second he remembered he'd taken Reid away—left her alone to hold up the fort—and his conscience pricked him. Sure she was a pro. That didn't mean her nerves couldn't be frayed by the hard time they were probably all giving her.
"Wait, back up. What was that about a witness?"
"There's a man here who says he knows who the killer is," JJ repeated. "He says he'll only talk to the head of the team. That's you, Hotch. You need to get over here."
Hotch threw a glance at the newly uncovered crime scene, baking under the relentless sun. The sheriff and one of his deputies had just finished taping off the perimeter. Reid seemed to be holding his own, taking charge of the situation. Surely they could handle squatting at the scene till CSU arrived. He wasn't one to leave his agents working solo, but the locals were law enforcement, after all—no matter how incompetent. They'd hardly let harm to Reid while in their company. Plus, Sheriff Sheridan had been much more tractable since the discovery of this last victim.
The drive back to the station took about twenty minutes. Country roads were hell—even on an SUV. By the time he got there, the windshield was streaked with dirt and his backside felt like he'd just taken a ride on a bucking bronco. His neck had a permanent crick on it. This damn witness better be worth it.
He took the time to keenly observe JJ for signs of distress when she came forward to greet him. Nothing off about her—eyes just a little snappish. She obviously hadn't had an easy time, but she was handling it.
"His name is Benjamin Atkins," she briskly explained as he fell into step with her. "Thirty-two, local—but currently living in another state. He says he's been visiting relatives here for about a week."
"You don't believe him?"
JJ hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "He seemed a little too anxious to speak to the FBI. Very… wired. Edgy."
"High?"
"Maybe."
Great. Just what they needed—a witness on drugs. Although, he reflected dourly—even a witness on drugs was better than no witness at all.
"Here he is," JJ announced, opening the door to the precinct's poor excuse of an interrogation room.
But the introduction died on her lips.
Their witness hung from the ceiling by his belt, legs still quivering in midair.
"This case is a fucking nightmare," Morgan grumbled after sharing the latest developments, slamming his cell phone down so hard it bounced off Emily's knee. "Sorry."
Emily nonchalantly rubbed it, exchanging a troubled glance with Rossi through the rearview mirror. Everyone was in such a surly frame of mind today—not that she could really blame them. They'd gone from serial murder to kidnapping to suicide all in one day. It wasn't designed to lift anyone's spirits. Even Matt Culver, that insufferable drunk, was staring sullenly out the window, shoulders hunched, as if he carried the weight of the whole world on his shoulders.
"This is where the car ran off the road," she broke in suddenly, pointing up ahead. It was as far as she'd managed to get before Morgan picked them up. The dusty tire tracks veered right into the open field, flattening grasses as they went. In the distance, you could see some sort of a house. Lack of time had made it impossible for Emily to reach it before, and she wasn't sure it was wise without back up anyway. Still, it was the most likely place for the children to be, and since the kidnapping was at least partly her fault, she really, really wanted to make it better.
Morgan frowned. "Hotch said to head straight back to the precinct."
"I know, but… we're so close. It's less than a mile. And the kids might be there." Emily hated herself for egging him on that. She knew Morgan was secretly longing to take action, because that was the sort of agent he was. Goading him just added insult to injury—and made it all that much harder to follow instructions. Did she really want to be responsible for him disobeying Hotch's direct orders? Wouldn't that just make things infinitely worse?
It was a split second decision. She knew what she wanted, but Morgan was the man at the wheel. Ultimately it was his call. It hardly came as a surprise when he swerved off the road into the meadow.
"Morgan—" Rossi objected.
"We're just gonna look," Morgan scowled. "Nothing else. Two minutes. If we see anything suspicious, we come back with a warrant."
Emily shamelessly glued herself to the window. The wooden structure she'd glimpsed from the road grew closer—it was nothing but a shed after all. An empty shed. Disappointment settled bitter and stale at the back of her throat.
"Wait!" Rossi called out suddenly, causing everyone in the car to jump. "Pull over. Over there."
Hidden among the foliage, Emily thought she made out some sort of colorful fabric. Something that could've belonged to what one of the little girls was wearing. Recklessly, she streaked out of the car and ran toward it, Morgan close at her heels.
Oh, God! Thank you, God!
There they were, all three of them—safe and sound. Huddled on the ground, looking dirtier and hungrier and more miserable than ever. But unhurt.