New York at Night
At Patrick Thomas's house all was still, except for Thomas himself. He appeared to be speaking into the vent in the kitchen wall.
Hotch and Rossi took the back door. Reid, JJ, and Morgan took the front. SWAT flanked both doors with the team.
"Go," Hotch ordered.
As Morgan kicked in the front door, he kicked in the back. "FBI!" Rossi shouted. "Hands up, Mr. Thomas! Now! Up!" Thomas obediently raised fingers the elegant ivory of piano keys. "May I help you?"
"Where is Emily Prentiss?" Hotch growled.
Thomas only wrinkled his eyebrows. "Whom?"
Hotch grabbed Thomas and slammed him up against the wall. "Agent. Emily. Prentiss. Who went missing from her apartment building's parking lot. Talk. Now."
His eyes darted. "I don't know any Emily Prentiss."
"Hotch," Rossi took Thomas and cuffed him. And looked in the same corner Thomas's eyes had darted to.
A door. A locked door.
Hotch kicked it open. "Prentiss!"
Even Rossi heard the gasp for air, back in the kitchen.
Hotch was down next to her. "Prentiss? Are you alright?"
She put her arms around him. "My weekend sucked."
Her hair smelled nice. Not lavender like Haley used, but lemon. "I'll make it up to you."
"I hope with a case of Heineken," she nuzzled his shirt. "Gimme a second."
"Like hell," he scooped and arm under her knees.
She giggled. "What about Strauss?"
Hotch shrugged. "The section chief really needs to get laid."
"You should get Dave on that."
"You know, I just might."
