Sunday morning the team gathers in the conference room at the police station. They day before they had all attended the funeral and had taken turns attending the family party after the interment. They had spent the other time combing through leads and requesting more information from Garcia and Kevin. The two analysts had also split time between the station and the services to keep things moving forward. Hotch studies his team carefully, profiling their state of mind.

It is true: funerals help people move on.

Their eyes are clearer, grief replaced by determination. They had immediately started to look at the piles they had left for themselves the day before. In another room, he knows Garcia and Kevin (until he leaves at 2) will be refining searches and trying to tie together tiny bits of information into a net they can throw over their unsub and bring him to justice.

He turns to the crime board. He stares at the man's image, pulled from the security cameras at the store. So far Garcia had been unable to match him to anyone in any database in the U.S. Hotch stiffens.

"In the U.S.," he mumbles.

He spins on his heel and stomps out of the room. The others watch him go, hoping the sudden departure means he has an idea that gets them closer to closure. He walks into the room Garcia is using.

"A witness said the guy sounded like he had studiously lost his accent. We assumed a regional accent. What if this guy isn't from the U.S.? What if he's some fucking mercenary from overseas? We know his mob ties are thin so maybe they were contracts, not permanent relations."

Garcia had started typing as soon as she realized what Hotch was implying. As he finishes his statement she looks up at Kevin.

"Check for websites, magazines, etc. that would have mercenaries for hire."

He nods. "Got it."

Garcia looks up at Hotch and simply lifts her eyebrows, not asking the question that shouldn't be asked. He nods: hack away. She grins and attacks her computers with a vigor she has when allowed to run unfettered through cyberspace. Hotch turns and goes back to the conference room.

"Garcia and Kevin are checking on a new angle I'd rather not discuss unless it pans out. In the meantime, what can we do today?"

Morgan sits forward. "I talked to Mink. I want to fly up to Shreveport. He's got two cases there, about 3 years apart. I want to talk to the detectives he worked with there and maybe look at what they have from the scenes."

"And I have someone I want to talk to another detective in Houston," Rossi says. "That was the kill that brought the FBI in fully. But looking at the victim, I have no idea why made him a target of an assassin."

"Need to fly there?"

Rossi shrugs. "I don't know yet. Maybe. I want to talk to him first. Something just doesn't sit right with me about that death."

Hotch nods. "Okay." He looks at JJ. "Statement ready?"

JJ is still typing. "Nearly done."

"Good. Press is starting to assemble for an 8:30 briefing. Good luck."

"Thanks."

"The rest of you, keep digging."

The agents nod and get back to weeding through tip lines and computer information, praying for the one bit of information that can help them close this case.

"Yesterday Detective William LaMontagne was laid to rest with full honours, as he deserved. His many years of service to the people of New Orleans are testament to the fine officers your community employs."

JJ takes a brief pause before continuing.

"At this time, the investigation into his death is still ongoing. Members of the FBI BAU team assisting the police are right now looking into connections across the Gulf States between Detective LaMontagne's death and others that have occurred. Due to those links, we are asking police and private citizens to contact the listed 800 hotline number if they feel they have anything that could assist in bringing this murderer to justice. We believe he has killed before using a .38 revolver. If that sounds familiar to anyone please call us as soon as you can."

She holds up a picture of the unsub taken from the security cameras.

"This is the man we are looking for. We are hoping someone may have access to a better picture. If any business owner recognizes, or thinks they recognize this man, please call us so we can access your security tapes to see if we can get a clearer image. At this time, I can answer a few questions."

Several reporters yell out some questions but she answers the one that angers her immediately.

"No, there is no evidence that Detective LaMontagne was doing anything illegal. His record is spotless as is the background check we run as standard practice when we begin an investigation. He was an honest, good man and to besmirch his record with such allegations only hurts his loved ones."

"Is it true you were having an affair with LaMontagne and that's the only reason the FBI is here?"

JJ hates that she feels the blush rise in her cheeks. "Detective LaMontagne and I dated several years ago. We were still friends and colleagues but his captain asked for our assistance or we would not be here investigating."

"But he is the father of your children," the reporter insists.

JJ swallows. "He is the father of my eldest child. That changes nothing about the investigation or the invitation that brought us here. Our team has twice before worked cases in New Orleans. We are familiar with the area, with the investigators we are working with, and those are the only things that matter."

"How many murders can you attribute to this killer?"

"An exact number is unknown as we are still finding links as we get reports back from various databases. However, we do know he has been active for years and are closing in on the method he uses to find his clients."

"So he's a paid assassin?"

"That is the avenue we are currently investigating though he could be just a mercenary thug trying to establish himself in the United States."

JJ mentally crosses her fingers. The last statement was planned with Hotch in hopes their unsub would take offense and contact them to correct the assumption that he was less than he appears to be so far. Everything tells them he is a skilled killer for hire. If he takes as much pride in that as they hope, if he is as narcissistic as they believe, he will not be able to let that subtle dig go unanswered. She answers a few more questions then calls an end to the press conference.

As she walks back into the conference room, Rossi smiles at her. "Well done, JJ."

"Thanks," she says as she drops into a chair. "I didn't prepare myself for questions about Henry or about Will and me."

"You handled it great, Jen," Emily tells her wife.

"Yeah, only a profiler would have noticed the jump in your carotid artery, the brief flush on your cheeks and the skip in your breathing pattern," Reid states encouragingly.

JJ grins. "Um, thanks. I think." She pushes her hair back behind her ears. "So, what's the plan for today?"

"You and Emily need to drive up to Baton Rouge. There is a detective there with information from a double homicide, execution-style, .38 used, matches our gun. He said he has more information than he can just fax or email," Hotch tells her.

JJ bites her lip a moment, hating the thought of being so far from Henry. Emily reaches over and takes her hand.

"It's only an hour and a half, Jen. We go, look at his info, copy what we need, come back."

JJ sighs and nods. "Right. Of course. Sorry." She looks at Hotch. "Sorry, just…hard to think of being so far away from Henry right now."

Hotch nods. "I understand. But I'm sending Morgan to Shreveport and Rossi is probably headed to Houston depending on a call he receives. I want Reid here to start mapping everything we are getting on this guy."

"I get it, Hotch. Just having a hard time turning off the personal this time. I keep…keep hearing the bagpipes from the funeral and the jazz from the party afterwards. Both just remind me my son is…is growing up without his Daddy."

Hotch looks at her sympathetically. "Trust me: I know."

JJ gives him a slight smile. "I know you do. And knowing that you get it helps me more than I can say." She turns to her wife. "So, give me a second to run to the restroom and then we can get going."

Emily nods. "Sounds good." After JJ leaves, Emily looks at Hotch. "She'll be fine."

"I know she will be. She's JJ."

Emily chuckles. "Yeah, she is."

Rossi walks in and starts to pack up his briefcase. "It's definitely our guy. Killed three people in 2 years. No connections I can find between the victims. One was awaiting trial for murder, one was a witness in a drug bust, and another was a private detective, whose files were burned. He did, however, have a computer that survived the fire but nothing could be pulled from it."

Hotch grins. "By their techs."

"Exactly."

"Take Kevin. Tell him he can stick down here with us until the case ends. I'll clear it with his boss."

Rossi nods and walks out of the room. Hotch walks over to Reid. The genius has just finished tacking a map of Houston up on the wall. It is a computer printout made up of four pieces of paper.

"Is it big enough?"

Reid shrugs. "I won't know until I start to plot points on it. For now, yes. If I need bigger I can take it to a print shop and get it enlarged."

"Good. I want- -"

"Hey, Hotch?"

Hotch turns to Todd Baylor. "Yes?"

"I've got a detective on his way in from Starkville, MS. He's on a plane right now with a file on three cases they have out that way."

"Okay good. When he gets here we'll talk to him in here."

Baylor nods and walks out. Hotch frowns a moment then turns to Reid. "Have you heard from Mink today?" Reid shakes his head. "We're getting an awful lot of hits on this guy in a relatively short time. How could he be searching for so long and still be so far in the dark? Especially with the ballistics from the gun being a constant?"

Reid thinks about it a moment. "It does seem highly unlikely that he could be this far behind."

Hotch pulls out his phone. "Garcia, run a search on SSA Mink. I want to know everything about him you can find."

"Yes, sir," Garcia replies, knowing if Hotch is asking for it there is a damn good reason not question it.

The drive north is silent for the first 30 minutes. Emily finally sighs.

"Jen…I…are you…" She takes a deep breath. "Shit."

JJ grins. "That about sums it up."

Emily thinks a second and realizes what her statement had sounded like. "Wait! No! No, baby, you are not shit. Fuck, I can't believe I said that. Thing is, I don't know what to ask you. So, let me start with: are you really okay making this trip?"

"Do I hate driving so far away from Henry? Yes. But at the same point, this drive can help us find answers about Will's death and that's important to Henry. He's with Francesca and our parents. He is surrounded by love and, well, I know how fast you can drive so I am sure you can get us back in 20 minutes if needed."

Emily chuckles. "Uh, good on everything but the last one. No high speeds with you three on board," she explains, patting JJ's stomach.

JJ covers Emily's hand with her own. "Good point. I have to say, it really was a beautiful day yesterday. I mean, the funeral part sucked because it always does but I think Will would have loved the rest of the way we celebrated his passing."

Emily nods. "I agree." She licks her lips. "Still can't get the taste of that damn crawfish out of my mouth though."

JJ starts to giggle. "Henry was so cute, showing you how to twist it and eat the meat."

"Sick and twisted that he does it so well," Emily mutters.

JJ giggles some more. "The look on your face when he pulled his apart, sucked out the juice then ate the meat was priceless, baby. Might have to get Garcia to isolate that frame and blow it up to 8x10 size. It will look great on the wall!"

Emily slides her a glance. "Do the words 'cut off for life' ring a bell to you?" JJ just giggles some more. Inside, Emily is thrilled to hear the lighthearted sound. Outside, she just frowns and grunts. "I see how it is. And I am sure Will is getting a good giggle out of all this, too."

"Oh, he most definitely is," JJ agrees.

The rest of the trip turns to business as they plan their strategy for getting information from the detective they are speaking with and what they will do with any evidence gives them a direct tie to the unsub they are hunting.

Garcia bustles into the conference room and shuts the door. Reid and Hotch are both concerned about the worry on her face.

"Sir, I finished the run on Ed Mink," she states.

"Okay. What did you find?"

"He's a highly respected and decorated agent of the FBI. He has been at offices in New York, Los Angeles and even overseas. He has been in New Orleans for 13 years now and plans to retire here in less than 2 years."

Hotch's eyes narrow as Reid breathes in sharply.

"Garcia, Mink is maybe in his mid-30's," Hotch points out.

"No, sir. Ed Mink is 64 years old and, unlike our Ed Mink, he is an African-American." Garcia hands him the print out of the agent."

Reid stares at the paper in Hotch's hand showing the real Ed Mink. "Then…who the hell is our Ed Mink?"

"Son of a bitch…the money man," Hotch answers.

Reid's eyes widen. "He wanted to see what we knew. And we fucking told him everything."

"Garcia, get the imposter's image off security tapes and- -"

"Kevin is already pulling that for us, sir, while they wait for their plane to Houston. I wanted it started before I came to report this to you."

"Good work. Reid, wait here to talk to the detective coming in from Mississippi. I'm heading to the local FBI office to see if the real Mink knows the fake." He looks back at Garcia. "Text me that image as soon as you have it."

"Yes, sir."

Anthony Powell had spent Friday and Saturday camping and fishing with his oldest son. Now the kids were with his wife at her parent's house and he had stayed home to get ready for his next business trip. As he pulls his guns out of their hiding place, he turns the TV on to listen to the local news.

"…evidence that Detective LaMontagne was doing anything illegal. His record is spotless as is the background check we run as standard practice when we begin an investigation. He was an honest, good man and to besmirch his record with such allegations only hurts his loved ones."

Powell recognizes the name and glances up at the screen. His heart leaps into his throat as he sees a split screen with a very pretty blonde woman on one side and an image of him from the convenience store on the other side.

"Son of a BITCH!"

It doesn't take him long to realize the FBI knows more about him than they should. For starters, according to Jim Koresh all the cameras in the store were out of order. It was the perfect place to set up the kill because there would be no film evidence.

He grabs his tablet and starts to search about the death. His car had been found. Video surveillance had caught more of him even though Koresh had sword none of the surrounding businesses had outside cameras.

They had other kills linked to his gun all throughout the south. That was no big deal. His gun was unregistered and had passed through so many hands until it reached his he is not worried about that being traced to him.

But the other information…the other information tells him he's been screwed over.

"Koresh, you son of a bitch. You set me up. You fucking set. Me. Up." He growls.

He digs a phone out of his bag and calls the one number programmed into it. It rings and rings and rings. Koresh was obviously cutting ties. So what else had he given the cops? What was being held back?

"Time to go back to New Orleans. Time to find someone to tell me what they know." He stares at the TV. "Not you. They'd move hell and high water to find a pregnant Fed. But someone will know what's happening. And someone can let me know how close they are to finding me thanks to that bastard Koresh. And if that ass thinks he's going to live to see me in cuffs he's fucking delusional."

Powell quickly packs up the tools of his trade and gets a bag ready to go. Time to do some recon in New Orleans before capturing a Fed and then ending the life of an old friend.