Thank you for the reviews on the previous chapter! I will probably do an update of Maybe Tomorrow in the next couple of days.

The extra HP scene for those who reviewed How Far Away the Stars will be with you later on today. It's a little delayed just because real life got in the way.

My beta's on holiday, so all mistakes are mine (they usually are anyway!)

Please review – I'll post the next chapter of this as soon as I've reached a secret number of reviews...

Blackmail... love it!

Where the Blue of the Night

"The range of what we think and do is limited by what we fail to notice. And because we fail to notice that we fail to notice, there is little we can do to change; until we notice how failing to notice shapes our thoughts and deeds."

- R.D. Laing

Chapter Thirty Five

November 9th

There was still no answer from Boyd's cell phone, and it appeared that it was now switched off. Hotch inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a split second while he regained control. This was something he could do without; a rogue agent, to whom something may have happened.

He called a different number, this time Garcia's, and asked for the whereabouts of Boyd's phone the last time it had been active. She called back within a matter of seconds and broke news to him that wasn't entirely unexpected; Boyd had last used his phone at Agent Karl Calzaghe's house, a man Boyd had had several confrontations with over the past few years, since Boyd had accidentally shot his brother when both were training at the academy.

Calzaghe had never shown any aggression towards Boyd, but Boyd had always been a little obsessed with the idea that Calzaghe would seek revenge, and it had been a natural assumption for Boyd to think that he was behind the murder of Mansfield. Hotch mentally kicked himself several times; they should have had better tabs on Boyd, kept more of a watch on him, not let him pursue his own theories as he had been doing.

But there simply hadn't been enough time, or manpower to watch the watchers. "We need to make a detour," Hotch said to Emily. "5981 Oakgrove. It's about twenty five minutes from here."

"At my speed or yours?" she said. He knew she would have gotten to drift of what had happened from the half conversation she'd heard.

"I'll call Gruber and let him know he's on his own for this one," Hotch said, programming the satellite navigation system for the address Garcia had given him. He wasn't sure if Boyd would be there, or what might have happened to Calazghe, whose cell phone was also dead.

It took less than twenty five minutes to get there, mainly because Emily could drive quicker than him when she put her foot to it. Calzaghe's house was still, seemingly empty, and Hotch had that strange sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach which he often got when he knew he was there too late.

"I'm going to call this in," he said to Emily, who was looking at the house from across him.

She nodded. "I don't think we're going to like what we find here," she said. "Are we going in, or waiting for back up?"

Hotch thought about it for a moment. A back up team would take too long to wait for and then debrief. It also meant more people knowing about what was going on with his unit, and that was something he was trying to avoid if possible.

"We go in," he said. "I don't expect any threat to be made to us. If Boyd has taken justice into his own hands with Calzaghe, it's unlikely he'd try to attack us. We'll go in through the front and I'll lead."

He'd noticed that the front door was slightly ajar. It hadn't been closed properly, suggesting a rushed entrance. Emily followed him to the house, her weapon already drawn. Any signs of her injuries, and stiffness were already gone, and he was confident that she would be more than able to take care of herself, as she'd always been before. The slight worry didn't stop though, but he tried to push it away, to let it find another outlet later on.

Hotch shouted for both Boyd and Calzaghe as he entered, hearing nothing back. They went through each room downstairs, backing each other up as they carried out the search and he realised how much he really did trust her to have his back. It was instinctive work, and they managed most of the search without speaking, working off gestures, eye contact and intuition as to where the other was going to move. It was natural to develop this sort of speechless communication with someone when you had worked with them for a long time, especially since they had both undergone the same rigorous training, but there was something easier than doing this with Morgan or Rossi, definitely than with Reid.

Her eyes looked to the staircase, and Hotch began to ascend. The house was too still, but there was certainly someone in there. "Boyd," he said, pushing open the first door he came to. No one there.

It was the same with the second, a small bedroom that had been transformed into a computer games room. That too was empty.

Then Hotch heard movement, and he followed the sound to what would be the master bedroom. He pushed the door open, letting Emily cover him, and then they both put down their weapons.

Boyd sat there, one hand in the air, the other on a woman lay next to him, her eyes glassy.

"She's still alive," he said, his voice not entirely clear. "I didn't shoot to kill her. He's dead though, Calzaghe. He won't be able to hunt you anymore."

Hotch looked at Boyd, feeling almost nauseous with the scene in front of him. There were signs of overkill. Too much blood, too much anger implicit in the echoes of Boyd's actions. "Who's the girl?" Hotch said.

"Calzaghe's girlfriend. Don't know her name. He has a lot of women on the go at once," Boyd said, his voice staccato.

"Why did you shoot her?" Hotch said, still standing near the door while Emily called in the scene.

"She got in the way."

There was more to it than that, but Boyd was starting to dry up, almost entering a fugue state in order to protect his mind from what he'd done. "Boyd," Hotch said, hearing sirens in the distance. "Calzaghe wasn't our UnSub."

"He was," Boyd said. "Your team wasn't the target. It was mine. Me. He wanted revenge for what I did to his brother, so he went for Mansfield. Then he would have picked us off one by one. I won't be charged for this, will I? I stopped him. You can all go home now. Home."

Hotch backed away. He'd seen Boyd's two weapons at the other side of the room, and the man showed no sign of wanting to reach them. Saying nothing, he let the detective who had just entered the room carry out the official arrest, knowing that it would be handed over to the FBI's Internal Affairs who would investigate. Questions would be asked, especially of the Boyd and Mansfield's supervisory agents, and whoever had passed the psych eval on Boyd, which Hotch knew to have been Agent Gideon just before he left the BAU.

But all of that was for another day. Hotch glanced at Emily and nodded for her to exit. They still had two UnSubs on the loose, and time was not going any slower.

It had been a successful hour. He'd located the boy, who didn't appear to be in a particularly good way, and seemed to have been left there for some time. The silly woman had actually left food and water for him, although his mouth was taped shut and his hands and feet were bound.

He'd had a choice at that point. It was his duty to protect , and by not yet calling in the boy's whereabouts, he wasn't quite doing that. But he figured that since he was off duty, he could ignore it. He wasn't exacerbating the situation, and by tomorrow, he'd make sure the kid was found.

He'd then returned home and picked up a few items that he now intended to store elsewhere. Four of them to be precise. Each one carefully well crafted to the best of his ability. One had been planted in the Mulberry police department bull pen; an easy matter to get inside and find the locker of an officer who had been off sick for several months and plant it in there. Now it was just for the other three.

It had been hard work, thinking of places where to put them, but he'd managed it. And it would be worth it, as they were the promise of nectar that would keep his butterfly with him for just long enough so that she realised what her true fate should be.

Martha Moore had left early, holding a set of keys tightly in her hand. No one had noticed her, although there had been a strange looking jogger who had run passed and had given her an odd look. However, she was pretty convinced that he wouldn't have recognised her. She knew she had an unremarkable face; her ex-husband and her father had both delighted in telling her so, although never put quite like that, of course.

She liked the streets in the early hours of the morning when few people were about. It was one of the reasons why she used to go to school early, get set up in her classroom for the day before anyone else, including the principal, had even pulled into the parking lot. She liked the quietness, the peace, the lack of distraction so that preparing for the day was easier.

And today she had a lot to prepare for. She had realised on the way to school that Matthew wasn't going to live. He was headed the same way as the others, his genes tainted with badness. He wasn't the right one for her.

But she had been trying for this for years; to find the perfect child, studying one for months, looking at it, watching it, getting to know it, and it hadn't yet worked. She had to try another method, maybe taking a few children and seeing which ones were right, were the ones she was meant to have. The ones that were strong enough for her. Maybe she'd end up with two or three children, brothers and sisters. A proper family.

It seemed ridiculous now. The answer was the place where she went each day, where she taught a class full of children. She knew them all, every single one of them; it should have been her first port of call really, instead of messing about all these years. And she had to do it quickly because she had to get out of here, or at least lie low enough so that everyone would forget.

They would forget.

Just like they had forgotten what her husband and father and done to her.

Llewellyn looked at the fax that had just come through regarding Daniel Clark. His boss had had the good sense to not email it, and had since suspended Clark's account so it couldn't be used to hack into anymore files that he had been accessing without permission. Garcia and Lynch had both agreed that this was unlikely to stop him, he clearly knew his way around a computer, and would simply hack into the account of one of his colleagues and use that instead, so they'd decided to stalk him on line, using some program of Garcia's that Lynch kept exclaiming about in a what seemed to be a foreign language.

Daniel Clark was recently divorced; his wife having left him after a series of affairs. He now lived alone in his marital house, but also looked after a portfolio of properties which were left to him by his parents who had been investors. Most of the properties were currently on the market, a move that would see Clark not having to work if he so chose.

There were other details that made him the person whom the profile seemed to fit like a glove. His computer records showed absence from work on certain key dates, and at times when he appeared to be at his computer and their UnSub would have had to have been elsewhere, Garcia figured a program was being run that would make it appear that the computer was being used.

This needed to be passed over to someone now, and with Boyd still being absent without leave, Llewellyn decided that the next point of call as Hotch was out, was Rossi. He slipped away from his desk and walked down the stairs, his feet sinking into carpet that he found far too cushioned for his liking, and began to look for Rossi.

He wasn't in the lounge or kitchen, or in the downstairs study which Rossi had claimed as his own. Llewellyn managed to find JJ, who was just coming out of the downstairs bathroom with Henry. He asked her if she had seen Rossi.

"He's gone with Will to re-interview John Moore. Have you tried his cell?" she said. He noticed the diaper bag in her hand and his nose wrinkled. He disliked strong smells, and that looked as if it might have one. "Sorry," she said. "Downside of the job."

"I'll try and call him now," Llewellyn said, making a speedy getaway back to his desk. He dialled Rossi's cell three times, but there was no answer. He left a message, figuring that Rossi was probably in his interview already, and he hoped he would check his messages first chance he had.

Before I forget, I have set up a C2 Community called 'Hiding from Strauss' where Hotch/Prentiss stories will be archived, so if you're looking for a decent HP fic in the future you can have a look there if you like. If there are any stories you think should be in it, then please PM me, or mention it in a review. You can recommend your own fics as well. I've not had a great deal of time yet to add in all the ones I want, but point me in the direction of yours if you will.

I answer some questions for the Chit Chat forum too, if anyone is interested!

Sarah x