Chapter 14

An hour after they had entered the room the Replicator had so painstakingly prepared for him, the team finally headed out.

"We've done all we can here," Hotch had announced. "Let's go get a little sleep."

"We're staying," J.J. said. It wasn't a question.

"For at least a few days," Hotch agreed. "Maybe we'll get lucky and he'll resurface."

Morgan knew they were not going to get lucky. This asshole was long gone. He had made his point. He had them where he wanted them and now he would move on. Why shouldn't he? He knew they would go home eventually, and Morgan was absolutely certain that the Replicator would be waiting for them when he did.

Home. Where Penelope was. Alone. Without the team. FUCK! He scrubbed his hands over his face as he followed the others down to their vehicles. He wanted to call her. They had been cautious about communicating because they were all being so carefully watched by the powers that be. As the others got into the SUVs, Hotch stopped to talk to the lead SWAT agent. Morgan held back, deciding he needed to get something out of the way while he could.

"Hotch," he said. "I want another agent on Garcia until we get back."

"Morgan . . . "

"She's all by herself, man," he exclaimed, knowing that he was showing too much. "She doesn't carry a gun. The rest of us can take care of ourselves but she can't."

Hotch raised an eyebrow. I hope she doesn't find out you said that, it seemed to say. "I understand your concern, Morgan. We'll take every precaution."

Derek exhaled, closing his eyes. "Thanks."

He pulled out his phone. He was going to text her. But fuck it, he wanted to hear her voice.

"Derek?" She answered, sounding breathless and more than a little stressed.

"Hey, Baby Girl," he said. He closed his eyes, because he knew how skilled the people sitting around him were in reading people. Maybe if he closed his eyes, the depth of his emotions would be a little less obvious to them. He knew that this secret was going to be hard to keep.

"Oh my God, are you okay? Because I didn't hear anything, and then Strauss came to my office! She never comes to my office, I've been working there for like, a decade and she hasn't EVER stepped foot in my door." Morgan smirked as she ranted. All he really wanted to do was hear her voice, without giving any more away to those sitting around him. This was perfect. Just like her. "And she said you guys were fine, but that's all she gave me, and she sent me home, so I've been sitting here for an hour worrying about all of you. And there are two agents outside my door, not just one. What in the heck happened? Derek? Are you there?"

He chuckled. "Yes, we are all okay. He wasn't there."

"She told me that. What happened?"

All levity was gone now. He doubted she would react well to what had been left for them. Hell, he wasn't reacting well to what had been left for them. The pictures of everyone else were troubling enough, but the pictures of Penelope made him go cold. The unsub had captured her heading in to her support group meetings. He had taken shots of her in the dress she had worn to the event they had gone to back at the end of the year. And unlike the rest of them, she didn't carry a gun. She wasn't skilled in self defense. Damn it, damn it, damn it. "He had pictures, Penelope."

"Pictures?"

"Of all of us." He paused, but she didn't say anything. "He's been following all of us for a long time. He had pictures of everyone on the team going about their daily routines. Hundreds of pictures."

"Oh."

Indeed, he thought. There was so much he wanted to say that he couldn't. "Hotch said we'll stay for a few more days."

"You think he's gone." Like J.J. earlier, it was a statement, not a question.

"Yes."

"Call me later, okay? When you can really talk."

"Of course."

"I love you and I know you can't say it back right now. 'Bye hotstuff."

"Later, Garcia."

He disconnected, and turned to see J.J. watching him. "She doing okay?"

"She didn't see how bad it was."

J.J. pursed her lips and nodded. It was bad. They all knew it. This guy had been following them for a long time. They wouldn't be able to do anything without looking over their shoulders until he was caught.

xxx

It was another hour before they were checked in to their hotel and settled in. Morgan pulled out his tablet and opened Skype. A phone call wasn't going to cut it—he needed to see Penelope and make sure she was okay. He was almost certain that the pictures from his dreams would be starring front and center in his nightmares tonight.

A few seconds later a tired looking Garcia popped up on his tablet. She was wearing her adorable pink kitty pjs, and looked quite toasty. He smiled at her and stretched out on his hotel room bed.

"Now there's a sight for sore eyes," she said.

"Likewise, beautiful." They didn't say anything for a few moments—she seemed as content to soak up the sight of him as he was to soak up the sight of her.

"You okay?" She asked finally. The view shifted a bit as she picked up her phone and reclined on the couch, pulling her afghan up to her chin. He wished again that he was there with her.

"Yes . . . no . . . I don't know, baby. I'm worried about you."

"Well that's silly," she said. "I'm not the one who pushed a cop out of the line of fire on this trip. No bullets whizzed by my head in the past 72 hours." The implication was obvious, because he had done both of those things. But that wasn't the point.

"Nothing silly about it. You don't have a gun."

"I don't like guns."

"Whether you like them or not doesn't matter. There were so many pictures of you in that room, Baby Girl." He knew he sounded like a broken record, but he was having an incredibly hard time with this.

"It sounds like there were so many pictures of all of us," she said matter-of-factly.

"But. You. Don't. Have. A. Gun." He said is slowly, emphasizing each word, because clearly she wasn't grasping the gravity of the situation.

"I feel like we've had this conversation before," she laughed, smiling.

"When I get back we're doing a self defense course again." He had made her take a few after Battle, but that had been years ago. Time for a refresher.

"Derek . . ."

"Please. For me."

"Ugh. Okay. Fine. You know I can't say no to you."

"Thank God," he said, and meant it.

"Go to bed, D. You've been up for what, 72 hours?"

"Something like that. I miss you."

"Me too. Go to sleep."

"Be safe, okay? The agents are still outside?"

The camera shifted again as she got up and walked to the window. "Damn you, Derek Morgan, it is cold. I can't believe you made me get out from under my toasty blanket."

Cold is better than dead, he thought. But he didn't say it.

She turned the phone so she could see the two obviously government cars sitting outside her apartment. "Happy now? Goon squad in place."

He ground his teeth. That was a poor choice of words, because it reminded him of the situation with Battle. The officer out front hadn't made a difference then—the unsub had murdered him and come straight for Garcia. Fortunately he had stayed, and because of that she was alive. This time, he was too far away to do any good.

"Text me in the morning, okay? Just so I know you are okay."

"You worry too much," she said.

"I feel like we've had this conversation before, too."

She had made it back to the couch and smiled at him, once again ensconced in her colorful afghan. "Seems like we repeat ourselves a lot. Go to bed, my love." God, he wanted to hold her in his arms. "Call me if you need me, okay?"

"I will," he agreed.

"Promise?"

"Yes, silly girl," he laughed. "Good night."

"Sweet dreams, D."

As he hung up, he doubted there would be anything sweet about his dreams.