Most of the Time
The team, gathered around the table in the war room, were missing Prentiss. They had a new case, of professional women in the DC-Virginia area who were kidnapped, then suffocated. And Prentiss, the most professional member they had, was missing.
Hotch had hoped he hadn't offended her that badly the other night, when she'd abruptly left him to his own after he'd snapped at her. Apparently he had, because she was nowhere to be found and didn't answer her cell.
JJ refused to meet his eye. "Shall we?"
Hotch nodded. JJ pressed a button and the victim's faces lit up the screen.
And Hotch caught his breath.
Each of these women, dark, lithe, tall women, looked like Prentiss. They had high-paying careers in government, and came from good, prominent families. Just like Prentiss.
JJ didn't even bother to start talking. They all saw it instantly.
"Don't they-" Reid began.
Hotch cut him off. "JJ, get set up with the detectives handling this. Reid, we need a geographic profile. Garcia, get everything on the victims. Morgan, I want you to check out the last dump site. Dave, you and I are going to Prentiss's."
"We all could be overreacting," Rossi cautioned.
Hotch looked back up at the screen. "We're not."
. . . . . . . . . . .
At Prentiss's apartment building, they found her handbag kicked under a stairwell in the parking garage. Rossi called for crime scene and cops.
Hotch stayed hunched over himself, looking at the handbag. It was leather, probably designer but not obnoxiously so. Prentiss was subtle. Prentiss was aware. Hell, how in God's name had Prentiss gotten jumped?
None of the neighbors had seen or heard anything. Rossi already had Garcia running the building's security footage.
"They're coming."
He looked up at Rossi's voice. "Dave, how the hell did she get jumped?"
"No one's perfect, Aaron. She was tired, it had been a long day after a long week, and she was probably only thinking about a nice glass of her choice of alcohol and bed. Just like we do. And the unsub took advantage of that."
"Will Strauss let us work this case with one of our own? Can you talk to her?" Rossi snorted. "Aaron, believe me, Erin Strauss won't interfere. I still have people under the 'I am Rossi, I am God' influence. She knows I could have her job in a heartbeat. And I'm going to talk to her shrink, too, about his prescriptions."
"Am I the only one who doesn't think Strauss is under the influence?"
"It's not think. Garcia pulled up what she gets from pharmacies. Valium, Ritalin, the works. I'm just biding my time."
Hotch shook his head. "Alright. We'll get the evidence and regroup at the BAU."
Rossi nodded.
Hotch's eyes went back to handbag. Wondering.
Prentiss, where the hell are you?
