"Reid, man, it's really late. You've got to take Lila home," Morgan said sternly, nodding towards Lila who had passed out at a booth-table.

Reid stared at the floor for a moment, and finally – reluctantly – stood from his seat at the bar.

Prentiss had left some time back, and a relentlessly yawning Garcia only stuck around because she had rode there with Morgan, and he insisted on helping Reid get Lila home safely. Reid slithered through the much thinner crowd than before to begin his search for Wilkins. After circling around the club twice with no luck, he began to get worried. What if she'd gone off with that man she was with?

No, Holly would never do that, he told himself.

Oh yeah? his conscience shot back, well Holly would have never worn stilettos either.

Reid paused in the middle of the dance floor, to think.

The last time he'd seen her, she was dancing with this ominous looking guy, maybe in his thirties or late twenties. He had blonde hair, but Reid hadn't really noticed anything special about him. After that, attention had turned to Lila who had drunk to the point of becoming a pest.

Now Wilkins was gone, and so was the man.

"Morgan!" Reid called over the music.

Morgan turned to Reid, a look of concern marking his face as he did. He knew by the way Reid looked that something was wrong.

"What is it?" Morgan asked as he approached Reid, Garcia following.

"I think Wilkins went somewhere with that man she was with earlier."

Garcia let out quiet, "Oh my God."

Morgan studied Reid's face; he was afraid. Often Morgan had seen a look of fear in Reid's eyes, but this was different. It was almost as if he was terrified. Not for himself, but for something that meant a lot more to him than himself.

"Now, Reid, you may be jumping to conclusions," Morgan warned.

"No. No, Morgan, I'm not," Reid growled. Morgan had never seen him this way. "She is not here, and he was the last person she was with."

Morgan looked into Reid's eyes sternly, wordlessly warning, "Are you sure?" Reid nodded visibly.

Sweeping past Reid, Morgan strode towards the bartender, Sara, that he'd become acquainted with from their lengthy stay at the bar. "Hey, Sara."

"Yeah?" Sara drawled.

"Do you remember seeing a girl with us? She was brunette – straight hair – in jeans and a tube-top?"

Sara looked up in thought. "Um, yeah. I remember her. Double vodka on the rocks."

"That's her," Reid assured, pushing past Morgan. "When do you remember seeing her last?"

"Last I saw she was leavin' with Sam Darwin."

Reid cursed under his breath, wandering, hopelessly, from the bar.

"Sam Darwin?" Garcia inquired.

"Well, Samuel." Sara corrected, tossing her red curls. "He's been here the last two nights. Tried to get me to leave with him about seven times."

"Do you know where he is?" Morgan asked anxiously.

"Well, he wrote his hotel address on a napkin last night. I might still have it. Why?"

"We're FBI!" Reid nearly screamed, banging the bar.

Sara paused for a moment – half impressed, and half offended – before thrusting her hands into her jeans' pockets. After a fatal wait, she produced a crumpled napkin.

"Here it is," she began, but Reid had already snatched it from her and was headed for the door, Morgan on his heels.

Garcia jogged to the door just in time to see Reid and Morgan reach Morgan's car. Reid yelled, "Garcia! Call Hotch and have him meet us at the Hilton Virginia Beach Oceanfront Hotel on 3001 Atlantic Avenue in number 239! Tell him to bring SWAT, and paramedics, and firemen and…"

Reid's voice faded out as he and Morgan sped away.

Garcia's worry worsened when she realized she was left to tend to Lila.

o-O-o-O-O-o-O-o o-O-o-O-O-o-O-o

It's not short! It's fun-sized... Heehee.

Oh. By the way, for the longest time I've wanted to add some comic relief. This story was getting too serious…