Chapter 28

With quiet determination, Rossi walked through the front doors of the hospital as they automatically swung open in front of him. Once inside, he put on his business face, and walked in the direction of the nurses' station. He ignored the stares of several doctors and nurses who eyed him as he passed them in the hallway. A few recognized him as a frequent visitor of the injured FBI agent in room 401. Others were simply curious about the man who walked past them with such an air of authority. But Rossi was oblivious to all of them. He only had one thing in mind. And that was his best friend's former doctor. He fantasized of what he wanted to do to the man.

Then he thought about Alana Wheaton. Rossi couldn't help but think about the little girl being held by Hotch's attacker. A frightened little girl who couldn't understand she was living on borrowed time until her kidnapper determined he no longer needed her. A little girl who probably wondered where her daddy and babysitter were. And as much as Rossi wanted to hate Wheaton, he found he couldn't. There was no doubt he hated what the man did to Aaron, but he did it under duress. His child's life was on the line not leaving him much choice. How could he hate a man for protecting his child?

Rossi could only imagine how Wheaton must've felt knowing this man had his child, and threatened to hurt her the same way he hurt Aaron unless Wheaton complied. Rossi let out a deep breath. A child was involved and in danger was the bottom line. And come hell or high water, Rossi wanted to find this bastard. He was a rapist, a kidnapper, and a killer.

Once he reached the nurses' station, he smiled charmingly at the pretty young brunette with black hair, and the most beautiful green eyes he had ever seen. Oh if I was only twenty years younger. The name-tag pinned to her uniform had the name CYNTHIA printed on it. She smiled at Rossi sweetly.

"Can I help you, sir?" she asked with a hint of a Southern accent.

Rossi held up his credentials. "I'm SSA David Rossi from the FBI." He put away his identification. "I'd like to speak with Doctor Caswell."

"One moment, please." Cynthia turned her attention to the computer in front of her, and let her fingers run over the keyboard in a way that would rival Garcia. After several minutes she looked up into Rossi's eyes. "Doctor Caswell is in his office right now, Agent Rossi. He'll be there for the next hour before making his rounds. Would you like me to call and inform him you wish to speak with him?"

"That's all right. Just tell me where his office is, please."

"His office is on the eighth floor. You can take the elevator. It's room 1830."

"Thank you."

Rossi turned and walked away from the nurses' station. He proceeded down the long hall, and toward the bank of elevators. As he neared them, he noticed one with its doors closing. He hurried forward and stuck a hand between the doors, forcing them to reopen. As they did, he ducked inside the elevator and allowed the doors to close behind him.

Unluckily for Rossi, the elevator ride took a few minutes by stopping at every floor which irritated him to no end. But on the positive side, it gave him time to get control of the anger he felt against this doctor. So by the time the doors hissed open having reached the eighth floor, Rossi was calm and back in control. He exited the elevator, walked along the carpeted hallway, and soon found himself standing outside room 1830. He paused for several seconds before knocking on the door.

"Come in," announced a voice from inside the office.

Rossi turned the door handle. He found the occupant of the office seated at and bent over a desk. It appeared he was writing and didn't bother looking at who had walked in, and stood in his doorway. "Have a seat. I'll be with you in a few seconds. I just need to finish signing off on this report."

Rossi closed the door after stepping into the room. "Take your time, doctor," he announced.

Caswell froze at the sound of the familiar voice. He spun his chair around and came face-to-face with the man he hoped he never saw again. His eyebrows knitted together and a wary expression appeared. Meanwhile, Rossi wore a crooked grin as he walked forward and sat in the empty chair beside Caswell's desk. He crossed his legs, and folded his arms across his chest, all the while maintaining constant eye contact with the doctor.

Caswell glared at the legendary profiler and author; the file in front of him forgotten.

"What do you want this time, Agent Rossi?" the doctor hissed. "I withdrew from Agent Hotchner's care as you wanted. I also have had no contact with him or even inquired about him. So what do you want now?"

Rossi let out a deep breath and let his eyes scan the man's desk. He had discreetly glanced at the birthmark on the doctor's right hand between the pinky and ring fingers.

"We need to have a little talk, doctor."

Caswell sighed and shook his head. He slammed down his pen and faced Rossi, clasping his hands on top of the open file.

"About what? You want my resignation? Is that it?"

"Don't tempt me," Rossi replied struggling to keep his anger in check. "So I suggest you drop the attitude and answer a few questions."

"Fine. Ask your damn questions. But remember, I have patients to check on this morning."

"For starters, can you tell me where you were last Tuesday night a week ago?"

Caswell glared at Rossi knowing exactly what the agent was alluding to with his question.

"How dare you! You think I did what happened to your agent? Exactly how sick do you think I am?"

Rossi shifted in his chair, the grin now gone. "I don't know, doctor. Why don't you tell me?"

"To answer your question, Agent Rossi," Caswell replied heatedly. "I was with my wife having dinner at a restaurant called Sequins. We had a seven o'clock reservation, and we were on time. Two acquaintances joined us. You can check with the Maitre'd who seated us. And the manager of the restaurant knows us. We were all there until about nine p.m. when I received a call from the hospital and had to leave."

"Are you sure it was your wife, doctor?"

Rossi couldn't swear to it, but he thought he saw steam coming from Caswell's ears.

"I don't fool around, so I suggest you get your mind out of the gutter."

Rossi smirked. "I said what I said, doctor, because looking at your hand, I notice you're not wearing a wedding ring. Yet you have the tan line where one had been. And the only reason a man suddenly isn't wearing his ring, is because his marriage is finito. So I'll ask you again. Was it your wife you were dining with, doctor?"

Caswell huffed. "I was dining with my soon-to-be ex-wife if you must know. The two acquaintances were our lawyers. We had dinner together to discuss certain details of our pending divorce."

"What did you and your soon-to-be ex-wife and lawyers order if I may ask?"

"Why is that important?"

"Humor me."

Caswell sighed. "My wife had a lobster, a baked potato with sour cream and chives, and Brussel sprouts. I had a sirloin steak with mashed potatoes and broccoli. We both had shrimp cocktail for an appetizer and a bottle of white wine."

"And the lawyers?"

"They both had the same thing. Shrimp scampi with baked potatoes and broccoli. They shared the wine with us."

"Who paid for everything?"

"Why is that important?" Caswell didn't like where this conversation was going.

Rossi stared in a way which made the doctor uncomfortable. "I've dined at Sequins, doctor, and it's quite expensive to eat there. I mean, you can't order a steak for less than twenty-five dollars. Or a lobster for less than thirty. And that's just the steak and lobster alone. A bottle of good wine, white or red, is about seventy-five dollars a bottle. Now I realize doctors make good money, but not what's necessary to dine there."

"Just what are you getting at, agent?"

"What I'm getting at is that paying for four people must've cost a pretty penny. So how did you afford it on your salary, doc?"

"That's none of your business, Agent Rossi. And I resent your implications!"

Rossi shrugged. "I'm not implying anything. I merely asked how you can afford a dinner for four people that cost a small fortune."

"Not that it's any of your business, but I paid for my wife, and the lawyers each paid for their own. Satisfied?"

"For now, doctor. For now. But we will verify your claims."

"Go ahead." Caswell checked the time. "Is that all?"

"Just a few more things, doctor."

"Well make them quick."

"You said you were at the restaurant until about nine p.m. when you received a call from the hospital. Did you head directly there after you left Sequins?"

"I did. I was needed back at the hospital because of a three car pileup with major injuries. I assume my attorney drove my wife home after I left. I have witnesses who saw me. And I was here until five a.m. the following morning as I performed two operations, one very involved. You can check it out as I'm sure you will anyway."

"You can count on it," Rossi assured him as he pulled out a photo. He shoved it in Caswell's direction. "Have you ever met this man, doctor?"

"No," Caswell replied staring at Rossi.

"You haven't even looked at the picture, so how can you say you don't know him?"

Caswell let out a deep breath and picked up the photo. He studied the photo for several minutes before handing it back to Rossi.

"Never met him. So does this mean both men who abused Agent Hotchner are in custody?"

Rossi tucked the photo back inside his jacket. "He's one of 'em."

Caswell arched an eyebrow. "One of them?" It was at that moment the realization behind Rossi's questions became clear. "You fucking bastard!" he hissed.

Rossi ignored the rant, and removed a pen and a small notebook from inside his jacket. He shoved the items across the desk to Caswell. The doctor ignored the objects and continued to glare at Rossi.

"I want the names of both lawyers you had dinner with, as well as the names of people who saw you here in the hospital."

"Why?" asked Caswell his anger building steadily.

"Because without it, you and I will be taking a little trip downtown and you'd miss making your rounds."

Mumbling something under his breath which Rossi was positive was rude, he watched the doctor snatch the notepad and pen and began to write. Once done, he slammed the pen down on the pad and roughly shoved both at Rossi. The agent picked them up, and tucked them inside his inner jacket pocket. He then gestured toward the doctor's right hand again.

"That's a bad rash you have there," he remarked with a grimace. "Looks painful."

"It's not a rash, it's a birthmark," Caswell answered staring curiously at Rossi. "Why do you want to know?" He was still fuming over the implied accusation he might be involved in the sexual attack on Agent Hotchner.

Rossi shrugged his shoulders. "Is it from Klippel-Trenaunay Syndrome? Or Sturge-Weber Syndrome?"

Caswell's eyes narrowed dangerously as he stared at the older man.

"None of your business. And why are you so interested anyway?"

Rossi crossed his legs, and clasped his hands on the edge of the doctor's desk. He gave a lopsided grin to Caswell.

"It seems that someone with a birthmark like yours is believed to have also attacked Agent Hotchner. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Caswell exploded with rage as he glared at the profiler, jumping to his feet.

"How dare you come in here and accuse me?! I understand you people are desperate to find out who sexually abused your agent. But you are not going to blame me! I had nothing to do with it! And if you openly accuse me, I'll sue the FBI and you personally for slander."

"Sit down, doctor. We're not finished with our talk yet."

Caswell grabbed a pen and pad from his desk. Then he flipped through his rolodex until he found the name he wanted. He hastily wrote something down on the pad, ripped it off, and shoved it into Rossi's hand.

"This conversation is over as of now. Next time you want to talk to me, call my other lawyer, Charles Singleton. He handles all other legal matters for me. And now if you'll excuse me, I have patients to see. Good day." He continued to glare at the agent.

Rossi, on the other hand, smirked as he got to his feet, his eyes never leaving the doctor.

"One lawyer to handle your divorce, and another to handle other matters. That must cost a pretty penny as well." He walked toward the door, grabbed the door handle, and paused. He turned and glanced back over his shoulder. "You'll be hearing from us again if necessary, doctor. Also, I strongly recommend you not to leave town." He walked out leaving Caswell alone in his office.

Alone now, Caswell collapsed in his chair and ran a hand over his hair, a weary look on his face. He didn't care what Rossi thought or said. The man couldn't prove anything. So let him search all he wanted. He wasn't worried as he had been careful. A lopsided grin appeared. He had rounds to make.

Prentiss and Reid sat on opposite sides of Garcia watching as she struggled to reduce the number of silver Suburban vehicles. But without something to distinguish the vehicle Wheaton had recalled, she hadn't had much luck. But she continued working regardless.

"Damn it!" she muttered becoming frustrated.

Hearing Penelope swear, Reid and Prentiss exchanged surprised looks with each other. Neither had ever heard their perky tech analyst utter a curse word even once.

"Uh, Garcia…" Emily commented while moving a strand of hair behind her ear. "…maybe you should just wait until Morgan gets more info to try and narrow down your search."

"I can't," Penelope replied furiously typing away, eyes focused on the screen in front of her. "I promised our Acting liege I would find the vehicle this bastard used."

Prentiss opened her mouth to respond, but closed it when she heard her phone ring. She reached inside her pocket and removed her cell. Noticing who was calling, she pressed the phone to her ear.

"Prentiss."

She listened carefully to the voice on the other end. Even Garcia had stopped typing to wait. "I see," Emily's face remained blank giving nothing away. "You're sure? Okay. Thanks." She put her phone away and looked at both Garcia and Reid. "That was the lab. Hemminger's DNA doesn't match the second sample we took from Hotch."

"You didn't really expect it would, did you?" asked Reid.

"No," Emily replied with a sigh. "But I sure would've liked to have something to knock that smug look off that arrogant bastard's face."

"My raven-haired beauty has that I wanna kick someone's ass look in her eye," Garcia stared at the brunette worriedly. "Is this Hemminger that bad?"

Emily snorted. "Jason Hemminger has got to be the most narcissistic personality I've ever met. He's a total bastard, Garcia."

"Plus," Reid added, "There's no doubt he dislikes Hotch with a passion."

Garcia looked back and forth between her two friends. "How do you know he dislikes Hotch? What did he do or say? And do I need to destroy his miserable life, his credit, and his meaningless reputation?"

"He didn't do anything that we know of at the moment," Reid continued. "But he didn't even try to hide how he felt."

"Also, he seemed amused about what happened to Hotch," Emily added. "Although we kept any info about the rape to ourselves."

"Added to that Hemminger made no secret that he blames Hotch for his dad's death years ago, even though he now says he doesn't. That and the fact that Hotch became Unit Chief instead of Hemminger's father," Reid explained.

"But you don't believe him?" asked Garcia staring at both agents.

"Not for a moment," Prentiss replied.

"But, could that be why Hotch rejected Hemminger's application to the BAU?" asked Garcia, recalling the information she had uncovered earlier. "I mean, maybe Hotch felt Hemminger would be a disruptive influence on the team and wouldn't be a good fit. Boss-man would never reject someone out of revenge. He's too nice a person despite that scary look he gives people."

"Maybe. Hotch rejecting his application just added to Hemminger's hatred of him," Emily explained, and let out a deep breath. "But unfortunately we can't prove he was involved."

"But…but there must be something we can do, isn't there?" asked Penelope worriedly. "I mean I can ruin him in every way possible. I can destroy him. I can make him regret the day he hurt my liege. My Mon Capitan. My Boss-man. My…."

"Whoa, Garcia," said Prentiss holding up a hand. "You can't do that."

"Why not?" Garcia looked at Emily with puppy-dog eyes. "Can't I just freeze his bank account a little?" She added holding her thumb and forefinger apart a sixteenth of an inch.

Reid looked confused. "How does one freeze a bank account a little?"

"Don't encourage her, please," Emily replied pleading with the genius.

Garcia's face fell. "You mean I can't punish the bastard?"

"Not really. Right now we need to keep him away from Hotch," added Reid.

"Damn!" Penelope swore under her breath again.

Reid and Emily both stared at the blonde with wide eyes again.

The trio turned at the sound of the door of Garcia's office opening and Derek Morgan walked in briskly followed by JJ. They noticed their friends all looking at them with expectation on their faces.

"Tell me you have something for me, my delicious cup of hot chocolate, and my golden buttercup," said Penelope studying her best friends faces. I need a little good news right now."

"I just finished speaking with Wheaton again," Morgan began. "And I may have what you need, sweetness."

Garcia turned back toward her keyboard and screen with new determination, fingers poised and ready.

"Lay it on me, handsome," she announced.