Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or any of its characters.

Lizzie shuffled carefully down the driveway, keeping close to the hedges. She gripped her shotgun tightly, holding it in a position so as to have it ready as quickly as possible. In this manner she made good time in getting to the curb.

Here, though, the hedges ended. Lizzie was in open territory, now. She looked up the quiet street, then down the other way. A black sedan was headed up the road. Lizzie darted behind her mailbox and pressed herself up against it.

All her days in the Air Force had prepared her well for this. She leaned silently up against the mailbox. The car was going very slowly and had not passed her yet. Lizzie kept calm and steadied her breathing. She rocked back and forth a little, feeling the squishiness of her sneakers.

The drone of the car changed pitch and Lizzie knew it had passed her. She peeked around the mailbox. There was no more oncoming traffic, at least, that she could see.

Before making the street crossing, Lizzie needed to check if anyone was watching. She surveyed the houses on either side of hers. The windows and curtains were shut against the deathly heat and sunlight. Nobody moved inside. But that was to be expected; the families in those houses were on vacation. There was nobody watching her mission.

Satisfied in her appraisal, Lizzie crouched low and scuttled down into the street. She pressed her back up against the curb and turned her head from side to side.

From this vantage point, she could see farther down the street both ways. On the right, all was quiet. The heat shimmered above the pavement. On the left, the street appeared to be empty. But… was that a wheel poking out of a side street?

Lizzie couldn't tell, really. She adjusted her glasses. She suspected that her prescription lenses weren't quite up to scratch. Next time she went to the optometrist, she would certainly have a few words to say to him.

Out of the side street came a man on a bike.

A cyclist! Lizzie had always hated cyclists. Especially this kind, the ones that wasted hundreds of dollars to get all decked out in those fancy cycling suits. The ones that thought they were professionals, when all they do is go out for a nice breezy ride around the neighborhood every weekend. From her window in years past, Lizzie had told off a bunch of them, and even reported some of them to the police as a public service. Somehow, she had missed this guy.

He cruised up the street. As he passed her, he gave a little wave and strummed the bell on his handlebars.

Lizzie was tempted to rush out and give him a piece of her mind, but knew that she had to focus on her mission.

As soon as he passed her, Lizzie stood up and began to hobble quickly across the street.

The cyclist happened to look back at this point, perhaps to doff his helmet at her or whatever cyclists did these days. Once he saw what she was carrying, however, he swung his bike around, tipped it onto the kickstand, and called out to her.

"Ma'am!" he called.

Lizzie hurried along and willed him to just go away. He was obstructing her mission, couldn't he see that?

"Ma'am, where are you going with that?" The cyclist began walking toward her, probably with a mind to take away her shotgun.

But Lizzie wasn't just some senile old bat with a bunny, no siree! She wouldn't just stand around and let him take her shotgun from her. Lizzie had been in the Air Force in her good days, and she could sure put up a fight. She half wanted him to try, just so that she could show him up good and proper.

"Ma'am, I really think you should slow down for a moment." The cyclist was in the middle of the street.

Lizzie stepped up onto the curb next to Jenny's driveway. That cyclist just wasn't going to leave her alone. From this new higher ground, Lizzie spun around and pointed her shotgun at him.

Frightened, the cyclist put up his hands and stood still.

"Clear off!" Lizzie ordered. "Go on!"

"Ma'am, really-"

"Stop it with the ma'am! Just get your little tushie on out of here, you got that?"

"Okay, okay!" The cyclist backed away toward his bike.

"You're interfering with a mission of the highest importance! Do you want to get sued? Huh?"

"I'm leaving, I'm leaving," the cyclist assured her.

"And don't you go to the police, neither. They're here already, you see?" Lizzie tossed her head in the direction of the squad car parked to her left. "They authorized this here mission, and they won't be too pleased to know that you're messing with it, you hear?"

The cyclist seemed convinced of her insanity if nothing else. He backed into his bike, nearly falling over.

"You get back on that bike of yours and hightail it on out of here, got it?" Lizzie told him.

The cyclist hopped back onto his bike, threw the kickstand, and sped up the street.

Lizzie lowered her gun, shaking her head. Cyclists these days…

The mission wasn't over by any stretch. Lizzie took a careful look up and down the street. No cars. No bikes. Good.

She started up the driveway long enough to clear the row of hedges that lined the front of the property. She scooted behind them as soon as she could. Now Lizzie was shielded from the view of anyone from the street. She crouched down into the hedges and nestled in. From here, Lizzie planned her point of entry.

Lizzie couldn't just go in through the front door. That route was kind of obvious to anyone inside, and lacked the surprise she was looking for. Then she noticed that the big living room window was wide open. This looked pretty suspicious.

She shuffled up the front yard until she was standing beneath the open window. It was low enough to provide an easy point of access into the house.

Lizzie noticed that the screen had been taken out of the window and was laying in the flowerbed beneath it. The screen was squashing some brown-eyed susans. Out of respect for Jenny and the flowers, Lizzie picked up the screen and moved it onto the grass. Jenny did so love her flower gardens.

Now came the most fun part. Lizzie leaned her shotgun up against the house. She got a firm grip on the windowsill and heaved herself up and in through the open window. She landed next to the television. Pressing herself against it, she listened intently for any sort of movement.

For a minute, she heard nothing. But then, as she got used to the sounds of the house, she could distinguish irritated voices upstairs.

Quietly, Lizzie reached back through the window and pulled her shotgun into the house. She scooted over to the exit of the living room.

Suddenly, the voices upstairs got louder, and footsteps tramped down the stairs.

Lizzie ducked back into the living room. She peeked around the corner just a little.

Will, Hector, the familiar boy, and the unfamiliar man spilled off of the stairs and into the hall. The boys were patched up a bit. Will looked aggravated and was clutching the tatters of a small cardboard box. They all looked a trifle scared. The group of four headed down the hall and into the kitchen before pausing at the back door, gathering their courage, and entering the backyard.

Lizzie quietly slipped out from her hiding place and chose a good vantage point in the kitchen. The backyard seemed to be where the action was. She sat at the kitchen table, where she could see well through the sliding glass door.

Lizzie gripped her shotgun and held it at the ready. She waited. And watched.