akacinno's A/N: Never fear Morgan's wrath. He wouldn't harm a fly!...or would he...

dieselwriter's A/N: This chapter seems a bit meatier than the last. Definitely be on the lookout for some twists and turns up ahead!

Chapter Four

"Morgan?"

"What?"

"That was a stop sign, not a yield."

Morgan glanced at him sideways, gave him an unfamiliar half-grin, before slamming on the brakes, causing the tires to squeal their discomfort. Reid grit his teeth but was pleased to find the seatbelt held up to the stress just fine.

"There's your stop."

Morgan extricated himself from the car quickly, not bothering to wait up for his partner and ignoring the looks he received from the officers at the scene. Reid took his time undoing his seatbelt, hoping against hope that some shred of evidence would be present to lift Morgan's mood.

He was sadly and altogether predictably disappointed.

"No prints, no witnesses, no cameras," the officer in charge directed the pair of federal agents to the spot Boyd's body had been found hours earlier.

"So let me guess, nothing left for us," Morgan muttered darkly, eyes narrowing at the bloodstains in the asphalt. "No witnesses right in front of a police station?"

"At two o'clock in the morning? You kidding me?" the officer replied, clearly offended. "And we're not right in front of the station. If we were we would've gotten him on camera. We're at least a block away."

"Two and a quarter, actually," Reid replied. Upon the looks he received from the others he defended himself, "I perused a few maps on the ride up here."

"Which is mostly worthless if we don't know where on those maps our UnSub is," Morgan turned away to glance up at the blisteringly hot sun. "What was the weather here like last night?"

"Clear," the officer replied, looking suspiciously between the two agents as if not believing they could ever get along as teammates. "And warm."

"Do those lamplights work?" Morgan continued his questioning, pointing to the few lights in the parking lot.

"They should. But if they didn't, Boyd wouldn't care. He could look after himself; a dark alley wouldn't scare him."

"It was a waxing gibbous moon last night," Reid informed, "meaning our UnSub would have known visibility conditions by nine o'clock at the earliest."

"Taking a shot in the dark is risky," Morgan concluded, "but not impossible with the right conditions."

"But what does that tell us then?" the officer asked.

"That our UnSub's practiced. He knows his limits and won't take unnecessary risks. He'll take a headshot he knows he can hit, even if it's not between the eyes. He minimizes possible witnesses by taking his victims further away from their work."

"He's not young, then," Reid agreed.

"I already told you that," Morgan frowned but Reid just shrugged.

"And now there's empirical proof."

"Didn't the last guy turn out to be a kid?" the officer piped up. "You profiled him older, didn't you? How do you know this isn't some kid either?"

Morgan turned a rather frightening glare on him but Reid began speaking swiftly before he could say anything uglier than his look.

"The last UnSub profiled like an older sniper because that type of talent with an assault rifle isn't often displayed in someone so young. It often takes years of training and experience to become that talented and precise. The patient and relatively clean kill present in Carl Faison's victims, as well as in this victim, doesn't suggest the methodology of a younger mind. It reads as someone older, at least 40 years of age."

The officer nodded, although his actual agreement could have been influenced by the cold way Morgan was still regarding him.

Clarke and Paige exited the DC police department together and were instantly immersed in the sticky humidity, feeling as if they were in a sauna.

"Gracious alive," Paige exhaled, pulling at his collar. "This is freak weather, I tell you."

"I feel like I'm breathing in soup," Clarke agreed, reaching up to smooth down her frizzing brunette hair, and Paige laughed.

"So how do you like working at the BAU?" he asked, giving her a side-glance.

"I'm really enjoying it," Clarke answered with a smile as they neared the car, feeling a pang of jealousy at Paige's flawless tan. "It's different, but I work with some of the most amazing people."

"Like that hunky Derek Morgan, huh?" Paige said with a raise of his eyebrows and gave a laugh as Clarke's eyes widened. "Only joking. I know you'd go for Garcia."

Clarke was beyond shocked at this point and Paige was in stitches. She had never encountered someone in this field as outgoing as Paige before.

His chuckles ebbed away with a sigh.

"Sorry about that," he said with a wink. "Hard to do this job without a sense of humor, isn't it?"

Clarke had to give a sympathetic smile and a weak nod at that remark.

It certainly was.

"Ready?" Hotchner inquired as they arrived at the car and Paige offered Clarke the passenger's seat. She accepted it, albeit reluctantly.

Clarke had been alone with her Unit Chief once and that was when she first arrived at the BAU. Since their first encounter, she'd been with them for several cases and never had the chance to speak privately with him. She'd wonder, quiet frequently, in fact, how he felt about her place on the team. Even childishly, she pondered if he liked her.

Although Paige was in the car with the two of them, Clarke could not help but feel anxious at the close interaction with her boss.

"How far away is the crime scene?" Paige asked from the back seat as they pulled away from the station onto the open road.

"Only fifteen minutes," Hotch answered, blasting the air conditioning to the coolest degree.

"Enough time to cover the basics again. So what do we know about our fallen victim?"

"His name was Robert Wheeler," Clarke spoke up, opening her file. "He was shot at nine o'clock today in his right temple."

"He was a Deputy Commissioner," Hotch said and glanced into the rearview mirror, sharing a significant look with Paige.

"Oh," Paige said, sounding put out. "Was he…would the UnSub…consider him…dirty?"

"Depends," Hotchner replied, undeterred by the awkward questioning. "He had his record expunged."

"How severe were his previous criminal charges?" Clarke asked him.

"Petty," he responded shortly. "Negligible charges when he was a minor."

"I remember the name Wheeler from somewhere," Paige reminisced from the back and Clarke turned in her seat to look at him. "Worked with him once, I think."

"You don't remember when?" Hotch asked seriously.

"Not really," he replied offhandedly. "We probably worked on a case back in the day or something."

There was a moment of silence as they took a right onto a street.

"I'm supposing they removed the body from the scene," Paige said aloud, more to himself than to his passengers. "With this heat."

Clarke cringed at the thought of a dead corpse baking in the sweltering sun and she shivered. Even Hotch gave Paige a reproachful look though the mirror, but Paige was staring at the yellow tape outside the window that signified they had arrived at the right place.

"Ready to fry?" he asked as he opened the door and they were again plunged into the unbearable heat.

"Hey, Paige," a light-skinned police officer greeted as the three of them joined the pool of dark, rust-colored blood seeped into the concrete. "How's your team doing?"

"Fine, Dennis," Paige replied. "Although, we've been better."

"I understand that," Dennis sighed and Clarke noticed the second marker on the ground a few feet from the blood.

"Officer," Clarke spoke and they looked to her. "What evidence was here?" she asked, pointing to the marker.

"Wheeler's wallet," he said.

Clarke looked to her boss and was surprised when he shared a look with her.

"Was any money taken from his wallet?" Hotch asked.

"Not that we can tell. He had about a hundred dollars and credit cards still in it."

"But his ID was taken," Paige confirmed with the officer and he nodded.

"The wallet was just tossed aside," Clarke said to Hotch and he too, nodded knowingly.

"He doesn't follow the protégé's MO, doesn't care about setting a stage for us to find. He's much more efficient."

"He's a professional," Paige said with raised eyebrows. "I think Agent Morgan was right: This looks like the work of a hit man."

"Hey baby girl," Morgan sighed, entering their temporary round table room. "Tell me you were more productive than me and Einstein."

Reid frowned at this nickname, hardly feeling like a theoretical physicist, and dropped into the seat next to the sarcastic FBI agent.

"Just getting the dirt on our victims, sweet cheeks," answered Garcia, whose back was to them as she typed so rapidly that her yellow nails were but a blur. She clicked 'enter' with her pinky grandiosely and spun in her chair to face them.

She made a face.

"Yuck," she commented on their sweaty appearance. "I'm glad my assignment required a sedentary Garcia in a nicely circulated, air-conditioned building."

"You seem pleased," Reid mumbled as he rubbed the back of his neck, which was covered with cooling perspiration.

"We have to keep the mood here balanced, don't we?" Garcia said, squeezing a neon pink stress ball that flashed many colors. She smiled, looked to Morgan who was staring at the victims posted on the corkboard, and her face fell slightly. She didn't have time to address his broodiness as Rossi entered the room with a miniature white board and Expo-markers.

"Hotch, Clarke, and Paige are here," he said and propped the board on the desk as he wrote the names of the victims.

"What are they doing?" Garcia asked, her eyebrows wrinkling.

"Getting Paige some water," he responded, not looking up. "The heat got to him."

"Is he okay?" she asked, concerned for the Chief of Police.

"He'll be fine. Just had a bit of a dizzy spell."

As if summoned by mere mentioning, a pale Paige entered the room, followed closely behind by shaken-looking Clarke and Hotchner.

"You guys talking about me?" was his initial remark as he headed for the first available chair. "My ears are burning. In fact, everything is."

"Are you alright, sir?" Garcia asked him as he took a long swig from his water bottle.

"Better now that you're here," he winked, and Garcia smiled in surprise. Clarke shook her head wearily. Paige was a great person, but he was borderline inappropriate for a Chief of Police in her opinion.

"What did you find?" Morgan asked, sitting up in his seat, imploring Hotch.

"Wheeler's wallet was tossed to the side after his credentials were stolen," he replied, taking a seat, which was uncommon for him. The sun must have exhausted him as well. "It was full with money and credit cards. I think we can come to the conclusion that this is a very practiced hit man. Did you find anything, Garcia?"

"Nothing solid on the similarities between our victims," she said with a wince. "And I've been searching for hints of hit men. Turns out DC is a very large city and there are hundreds of people who seem to have the background of a hit man…but sir," she said, pleading with Hotch to not be angry at her lack of information. "If you really think our hit man is as practiced as you say he is, he won't be so obvious to track. Of those hundreds of names, he's not going to stick out at all. It's like-"

"Finding a needle in a haystack," Clarke finished for her, shaking her head.

"Precisely," Garcia glanced to Hotch whose brown eyes seemed disappointed.

"Alright," he exhaled, keeping calm. "Well, keep searching, Garcia. Until she finds something concrete, we should at least begin a profile."

"For the hit man?" Clarke asked, her eyebrows wrinkling. They had just established that they were incapable of doing so right now.

Hotch looked at her.

"For the 'Master.'"

Clarke's eyes widened slightly and she shared a glance with Reid. She belatedly and embarrassingly realized she hadn't even thought of the man behind it all.

There was a scuffling around for papers and files as they tried to gather all their intelligence when Paige's cell phone went off.

"Excuse me for a—no, no," he declined as Rossi leaned forward to help him. "I've got it. I feel much better now that I have some fluids in me."

He left the room and Morgan looked up.

"He's incapable of murdering by himself," he said. "He has to have a lackey do it for him. Now that could read as two different things: Either he can't or he doesn't want to."

"Taking the credentials is a sign of narcissism," Reid said, tucking a strand of hair away as he looked down at the file. "He needs to feel in control and must express a position of dominance."

"He kills by long distance," Rossi spoke up. "Even if it's not him directly shooting them, it still displays a sense of cleanliness and of distancing himself from the kill. He does it all quickly and effectively."

"People who are dirty," Morgan said calmly. "He kills people who he thinks are dirty, and he kills them in a way that makes him feel as if he isn't dirty. He's a mission-oriented serial killer."

"Agent Hotchner."

The team's conversation dropped just as they had began to build a profile and each of their heads turned to the doorway to see Paige without his usual grin.

His solemn expression set a heavy weight in their stomachs.

"They found another body."

Arlington, VA
April 23rd

"Damn, now I know what Paige was complaining about," Rossi shielded his face even though he was wearing sunglasses.

"There's no shade," Clarke commented with a frown.

"No joke," Rossi fanned himself with his notebook.

"No, I mean, there's no vantage point," Clarke placed her hands on her hips, looking around the parking lot at the lack of nearby buildings.

"A change in MO?" Rossi took in the scene as well, pleased at being out in the field.

"Check it out with CSU. We'll talk with the chief," Hotch ordered Clarke, referring to the Arlington Chief of Police, Kane Pattington.

Clarke nodded as she stepped over to the small group of officers taking pictures of the crime scene.

"This was a bold move," Rossi told Hotch as the Arlington Chief of Police noticed the newcomers and made his way over to them.

"I assume this is your guy's doing?" Pattington approached the pair and took each of their hands in turn as an introduction. "How's your search going?"

"Third body we've turned up in less than 24 hours," Hotch answered.

"I have a few men with the media right now; how did you want this to play out?"

"Keeping this as quiet as possible would be for the best," Hotch replied. "The less our UnSubs know what we know, the better."

"I'll handle it, Hotch," Morgan accompanied his arrival with a hard look at the eager members of the media gathered behind the police tape. He didn't wait for his boss' consent before he charged over, a scowl chiseled in his stony face.

Reid waved an awkward hello shortly after, coincidentally giving Morgan a wide berth, before heading over to the crime scene to give Clarke a hand.

"Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed," Rossi muttered as he watched Morgan berate the befuddled news crews.

"What can you tell us about the victim?" Hotch addressed the Chief, keeping the case's priorities to the forefront of his mind.

"Jeffrey Stover, 47, Senior Accountant. Secretary found him while on a smoke break around 11. His co-workers say he's usually one of the last ones to arrive in the morning and one of the first to leave."

Rossi and Hotch gave each other a significant look at that fact.

"Last to arrive…our hit man knew his schedule, knew he'd be an easy target."

"He may not have needed to be so guarded if the parking lot was abandoned," Hotch nodded his agreement. "KP, how was the body found?"

Kane Pattington wiped away the accumulating perspiration from his brow.

"Hole in the side of his head. Wallet tossed aside, only thing missing was Stover's ID. He had to have taken the shot from halfway across the parking lot; if it had been closer his brain would've been smeared all over the concrete."

"An empty parking lot and he still takes the long shot," Rossi furrowed his brow. "There's a bit of a risk in that."

"Or a comfort zone," Hotch contended. "Any security cameras?"

"CSU's processing them now, but they didn't sound too confident when I talked to them. The footage is grainy and our guy stuck to hiding behind Stover's car when snatching his creds."

"A calculated risk," Rossi felt his confidence swell once again. "Sounds like our man."

"I'm going to let our boys keep processing the scene. We'll send over anything we find to you."

"Thanks, KP," Hotch shook hands with the Chief once more before heading over with Rossi to Clarke, Reid, and Pattington's crime scene investigators.

"What did you find?" Hotch asked his agents.

"Based on the blood spatter, the shot would have had to come from at least 300 yards away," Reid answered, squinting as he looked at the layout of the parking lot. "Given the fact there aren't any buildings around though I'd say he took the shot from inside his car."

"He grabbed Stover's ID and dropped the wallet, which ended up under Stover's car," Clarke continued. "Seems like it all fits in with our guy's MO."

"We deduced the same," Hotch agreed with their findings. "We should head back to the station and give our profile before planning our next move."

"I think I know Morgan's next move," Rossi smiled, pointing over to where Morgan was now arguing with the officers attempting to restrain him from further browbeating the media representatives present. "Preventing that crime might have to be our first priority."

Washington DC Police Department
April 23rd

The team was met with a familiar face as soon as they entered through the doors of the police station.

"Sir—er, Agent Hotchner…. Can I speak with you privately for a moment?"

It wasn't very often that Garcia refused to blurt out her wealth of information, and even more rare was her coming up with proper names for her teammates. Realizing the gravity of this simple request, Hotch did not hesitate to follow after her.

"Don't be jealous," she stuck her tongue out at Morgan as she passed him. His only reaction was to crinkle his brow in suspicion.

"What did you find, Garcia?" Hotch cut straight to the point as soon as the door to the small conference room was closed.

"I think I found the connection with all of our victims," she replied, unfolding the laptop she had been carrying and placing it on the table. "They were all involved in the case of Dustin McLane two years ago."

"McLane?" Hotch frowned. "I remember that one. Didn't he walk?"

"It was such a scandal," Garcia pulled up McLane's mug shot. "Arrested for the murder of his fiancé and her mistress."

"Don't you mean—"

"Nope," she flashed him a brief smile. "He caught the pair of them, released his pent up McLane rage with a golf club, and was arrested later that evening when his soon-to-be mother-in-law came by for a visit to find her daughter dead.

"It was supposed to be open-and-shut but they called a mistrial. And suspiciously enough, a large sum of cash was withdrawn from a friend of McLane's account halfway through the trial and was never seen again. Spooky stuff."

"Hardly. How are our victims connected?"

"Boyd was the arresting officer. Wheeler was the lead investigator. And Stover was McLane's neighbor, a key witness and one of the last people to see McLane's fiancé alive.

"You said it before that this guy targets those in a position of power who are either abusing their power or else disregarding it by using drugs."

"And now they're under a different kind of influence," Hotch caught on.

"Of the monetary variety. Righty-oh."

"Garcia, can you find out who else was primarily involved in McLane's case?"

"Been there, done that, oh captain my captain," Garcia pulled out several papers and photographs. "There's at least six names for certain, although I'm still working on another four."

"I'll take them all, Garcia. Our UnSub might not have all the resources you do and just as well assume that they're all guilty. Excellent job."

"That's what you pay me my meager salary for," she smiled triumphantly, always glad to be of assistance.

"Why did we have to discuss this in private though?"

"Ah," here, Garcia began to fiddle with her bracelet uncertainly. "Check out numero ocho on the list of possible targets."

Hotch's brow furrowed as he skimmed the list for the eighth name. He felt disheartened as he read it aloud, fearing the finality of it rang out like a death sentence.

"Paige."

"Righty-oh," she responded, sounding completely deflated. "Figured it'd be better to slip that news in privately."

"What do you think they're talking about?" Morgan's brow was furrowed as his eyes stared determinedly at the door separating Hotch and Garcia from the small group of profilers.

"Probably planning an intervention for you," Rossi glanced at the door in mock contemplation. "The way you blew up at those reporters?"

"They were asking unnecessary questions," Morgan popped his shoulder, not looking in the least bit concerned.

"They always ask unnecessary questions," Paige interrupted as he made his entrance, looking much better now that he had time to recuperate in the air-conditioned building. "Those guys, always looking for a scandal."

"Like buzzards."

All heads turned back to the door, which was now opened to reveal the ever-smiling Penelope Garcia.

"Would you all mind stepping inside?" she continued, holding the door open to shepherd in her teammates.

"I'd follow you to the ends of the earth," Paige dazzled her with his sparkling smile as he followed everyone else into the room.

"Always such a gentleman," Garcia blushed, closing the door behind her to take her seat at the conference table.

"So what's the big secret?" Reid asked, splaying his long fingers on the tabletop.

"Garcia's found the connection between our victims," Hotch answered.

Every eye in the room went from the Unit Chief to their technical analyst.

"Well enough of the suspense!" Paige shouted, eyes lighting up in excitement. "Let's have it! Should we bring all the boys in here?"

Garcia glanced nervously at Hotch, who shook his head fervently.

"Do you remember the McLane case, Paige?"

Paige made a few entertaining facial expressions ranging from shock to anger before settling on suspicion.

"Junior or senior?"

"I didn't even know there was a senior," Garcia mumbled, resting her chin in her hands.

"Senior was quite a few many years ago. Far before any of your times. Well, except for you, Dave. No offense."

"None taken," Rossi smirked.

"Junior was, what, four years ago?"

"Two, sir," Garcia piped up.

"Only two? Feels like longer since I last saw that dirt bag. Did we put him away?"

"No, sir."

"Bah, well, win some, lose some."

"What's McLane got to do with our case?" Morgan frowned, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Everything," Hotch said, tossing pictures of their three victims on the table. "Boyd, Wheeler, and Stover were all directly involved in the case. Garcia and I surmise the Master thinks the victims were paid off to help get McLane off."

"Then why didn't she tell us all…" Clarke trailed off at the stunned look that crossed Paige's face.

"I think that might have been for my benefit, madam," Paige murmured, running a hand through his blond locks.

"We'll provide protection, for you and all those involved in the case," Hotch said. "That will be our first objective."

"No, Aaron," Paige interrupted, waving the plan away with his hand. "My men can do that. I can pull out old records on the case, see who was involved…."

"Already done, sir," Garcia slid the list over to him, looking subdued. The entire mood of the room, in fact, had taken on a somber note, knowing the danger Paige was now facing.

"Thank you, sweetheart," Paige gave a small but genuine grin. "You leave protection to me, Aaron. You focus on finding this son of a bitch."

"Thomas—"

"No, I mean it," the man stood up defiantly, looking far more serious than anyone had seen him all day. "I won't let this minor setback throw you off the investigation. We need a profile."

No one in the room seemed to think the peril facing the amiable Chief of Police was merely a minor setback, but no one had the heart to depress his spirit.

"Then I have our second objective," Hotch sat at the table, looking around the room at his team. "There are ten names on the list of potential victims, including Paige's. We need to check out their workplaces and see if any of them seem like a target for our UnSubs."

"We've left the media out of this. There's no way the hit man's onto us," Rossi said, eyes narrowing. "You're wanting to set a trap."

Hotch remained stoic as he contemplated the list once more.

"Paige, five of these men are in your department, so I'll leave them as your responsibility."

Paige nodded seriously, easily accepting the importance of this command.

"Rossi, I want you to take the judge. Morgan, you and I will take Lewis and Wilson. Clarke and Reid have Mooney and Sponholtz.

"It's not out of the realm of possibilities that we may run into one of our UnSubs. If anything seems suspicious, call it in immediately."

The room was silent but for the sounds of the team pushing their chairs back and rising to their feet. They shuffled out of the room one by one, the idea of catching the criminals in the act at the forefront of their minds.

akacinno's A/N: Thanks for reading! : )

dieselwriter's A/N: Oh ho ho...next chapter...next Monday... Make like a boy scout and be prepared!