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Chapter 8

The Break

"We got 'em!" Garcia's voice from the computer speakers excitedly filled the room. "Well, at least I think we do. I mean once you hear this stuff, oh man."

Hotch clenched his jaw. "Garcia, just tell us what you got."

"You know how Chandler spent time in foster care when he was twelve. Well I dug up some dirt on then eight year old creeper Owen Hash.

Hash ended up in the system when he was five because he father strangled and killed Hash's mother right in front of him. That sparked the little UnSub in trainings interested and he became fascinated with death.

He and Chandler became inseparable and by the time Chandler was sixteen and Hash was twelve, the two had to be moved to separate homes because the foster parents would find them killing and dissecting stray cats. And again, I ask, why is it always cats?"

Morgan smiled at the computer screen as Garcia gave them an exasperated look. "Okay baby girl, but that's not enough to say that this is our guy."

"I know, and that's why I'm not done yet. Hash works in construction but on everyday a woman was abducted, he either had off or didn't show up. And to add to his now growing list of UnSub traits, he lives thirty miles out of Post Falls in a remote cabin."

"Do you have anything else on him; anything to tie him directly to the murders?" Rossi asked, glancing towards Hotch as he did. They all knew that if they wanted to go after this guy, they needed hard proof.

"That-that's not enough? This guy practically has neon flashing lights that he was made to be a creeper!" Garcia waved her arms to emphasize her point.

"What about something that ties him directly to the victims, Garcia?" JJ said from behind Rossi.

"If there is I'm not-wait! Got it; he was on the construction crew that helped remodel that last victims apartment. Is that enough? Please let it be enough."

Prentiss turned to Hotch. "It at least warrants a visit, right?"

"Reid, JJ; stay here and see what else you can dig up about this guy. Rossi, go with Morgan to his work and Prentiss and I will cover his house."

The moment we turned onto the country road, my chest tightened. Something didn't feel right. But a gut feeling didn't justify calling for backup, nor would it do any good to ask Hotch if we could wait for Morgan and Rossi.

The only thing it would end up doing is make me look weak and pathetic. What FBI agent couldn't even handle going to question a person of interest in a case just because her stomach was in knots?

Granted, I did have a reason to feel apprehensive about this situation. After all, if Hash was the partner, the partner of the man I killed, and he somehow knew that, then I could be in serious trouble.

But that was why I had a gun at my finger tips and Hotch at my side. He'd been silent the entire fifteen long minutes of the ride and didn't seem to be making any effort of engaging in some sort of conversation.

Maybe he could sense the turmoil running through me. Maybe being silent was his way of being nice and not evading my personal space. And it was kind of nice, not having to worry about the tone of my voice or how often I picked at my nails.

I could just sit there in my own world of worry and both of us could be content. But it was too good to be true. As the old run down cabin came into view, his voice broke through my shrieking thoughts.

"Stay alert. If this is our guy, I don't want to take any chances. First sight of trouble and we call for backup. I don't care if it turns out to be nothing, I'm not going to let a repeat of Chandler happen and endanger any of my agents again."

I stole a glance his way but he didn't return it. He kept his eyes locked forward and his voice lacked all emotion. Maybe I wasn't the only one who had the feeling that things were about to turn ugly.

I couldn't tell if knowing that we shared the mutual feeling made me feel better or worse. But I didn't have time to contemplate it any longer as the SUV came to a stop in front of the cabin.

Stepping out of the car into the afternoon sun, I tightened the grip of the Kevlar vest around my shoulder; the feeling of it tight against my chest somehow bringing a sense of comfort.

Hotch looked my way and gave a nod to signal this was it, not that I needed any direction. I followed his lead, hand apprehensively resting on my holster, as we walked across the dirt path that led to the door.

My eyes turned at every rustle of leaves and every whistle from a bird. I was being paranoid; feeling like a rookie agent, nerves racing at every sound. It was stupid.

I took a breath trying to calm myself. Hotch knocked on the door and called out FBI. We waited for a response. It felt like hours until the sound of gunfire paralyzed me on the spot.

Before I could react, Hotch grabbed the back of my vest by the collar and pulled me to the ground. Luckily my instincts kicked in before I fell completely over and I landed on my knees and quickly crawled behind Hotch as we took shelter behind an old pickup.

"Are you hurt?" Hotch's voice was quick and alert, his gun drawn and eyes searching the surroundings as the onslaught of bullets ceased for a moment.

My senses finally returned as I took a quick assessment of myself and found nothing wrong aside from my heart beating so fast that my chest hurt. "Good. You?"

The handle of the gun felt slippery in my sweaty palm but I gripped it even tighter as I turned to Hotch.

"Just a graze; I'm fine."

I looked at his left arm and saw where a bullet had torn through and a small trickle of blood was running down his shirt sleeve. "Hotch." My voice sounded breathless as my heart rate picked up even more at the sight of him being hurt.

His eyes constantly moved, trying to gauge where the shooter was without making himself too much of a target. "Call Garcia, we need backup."

My fingers fumbled over the numbers on the cell phone as I pressed the speed dial. "Shit. We don't have service."

He didn't seem fazed. Instead I could see his mind working on a plan; if I was going to be stuck with anyone in a gun fight, I was glad it was Hotch. Although part of me really wished it was Morgan with one his ear shattering guns.

Another bullet shot off over my left shoulder. I really wished we had that big gun.

"Owen Hash, my name is Aaron Hotchner with the FBI. I need you to cease fire."

I stared wide eyed at the wilderness in front of us. The way the sun was shining, it made most of my view blurred and shadowed. I couldn't see a damn thing.

We waited for what seemed like an eternity until a voice spoke from somewhere in the distance. "I know the FBI killed my brother. I'm not coming out and you're not leaving until I know who the murderer is."

My blood went cold and the pounding in my shoulder gave way to new pain. I could feel the knife entering me all over again.

Hotch said something to Hash but his words were faded. Everything became slow motion as I looked at Hotch beside me. Blood still seeped from the bullet wound; it was more than just a graze and he knew it.

We had four clips of handguns against what sounded like a machine gun; the afternoon sun streamed down on us and I could already feel the sweat dripping down my back; and having reinforcements within the next few hours was pretty slim.

I holstered my gun and rose to my feet; feeling calm and collected, but also somewhat numb. Hotch yelled at me to get down but I ignored him.

Maybe I felt like I had to do this to justify the lives that I'd taken on the job; maybe I felt like I had to be punished for what I put the team through with Doyle.

"Owen. I'm the one that pulled the trigger."

Maybe I was just stupid.

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