Mercy is for the Just
by
All Previous Disclaimers
Apply
Part Two
10th
Precinct
From the bullpen gossip,
she’d learned that one of the key witnesses in the case was the
prostitute,
Dazzle Razzle. Not
too surprised to
find one of their informants involved, Kate filed the information away
for
later consideration and then continued her subterfuge.
Hoping to gather more data, the investigator
perused a stack of files intently.
The
files were part of the ruse she’d used to gain access to the bullpen. Under the auspices of
looking for someone’s
missing husband, she had convinced the desk sergeant to let her occupy
an
unused desk while she went through the missing persons reports.
The deception would not
last long; she would have to leave soon or risk being spotted. Still, lingering a few
extra minutes had
provided one more, very interesting tidbit of information. The killer’s signature was
rather unique,
the nature of which prompted Kate to cover a very unprofessional
snicker.
I’ll have to get Dersk
to do a
bit of web surfing to see
if there’ve been any similar cases in other cities. Leaving a
victim decorated with a rather painful looking phallic
symbol has got to be fairly unique. I
hope.
The former homicide detective spared a thought of sympathy
for the men
and women who had to deal with this particular case.
Before she’d become known for wanting only the “weird”
cases,
Kate had worked on four serial murders, and sometimes, she still had
nightmares
filled with starkly graphic memories of those crime scenes.
The conference room door
opened, and out came a couple of the agents.
Shadowed circles under their eyes spoke of the long hours
they’d already
been at the job, but the set looks of determination on their faces
showed that
they would keep going until they dropped.
One of them, a tall, dark haired man with a taciturn
expression said
something, and two of the other agents peeled away from the main group
and
headed toward the exit.
That must be Agent
Hotchner.
Kate had heard the man’s name bandied about
the bullpen as the man in charge of this particular group of profilers. He looks like
Angel-lite. All broody eyebrows and stern intensity - I
bet working with him is a real joy.
The two agents, a lovely
brunette and a strikingly handsome black man, were almost to the door
when they
were stopped by a new voice.
“Emily!” A
petite, pretty blonde
called out, causing the brunette to turn and look.
“We’re at the Reliant on Westfall.
The desk has your key.”
Is everyone in the FBI
always so
pretty? Or is it just this particular squad that
seems to have an abundance of the good genes?
Kate wondered silently.
Emily smiled, and
suddenly, Kate had a flash of memory that took her back to her days as
a rookie
cop in Los Angeles. Hey, I know
her! Damn, where do I know her from…
She was
still trying to chase down the memory when one of the precinct’s
officers
cleared his throat. Looking
up, she
smiled and held up a random file.
“I
think this is him. If
I can just make
some copies?”
The officer frowned, but
pointed at the dilapidated copier in the dingy corner of the bullpen. “Try not to jostle it too
much; the roller’s
cranky,” he grumbled.
“Got it.
Thanks.”
Kate nodded and ambled over to the Xerox machine that was
older than
some of her co-workers. It
was as she
was lowering the cover to the copier that the investigator remembered
why
“Emily” had seemed so familiar.
The Hollins case – she
was the
agent they sent to pick up
the files. We must have spent six hours
digging through boxes in the morgue.
God, it’s been what, twelve, thirteen years? Gotta love
coincidence.
Kate smirked. Unless of course, it isn’t. The
investigator knew that where she and her
agency were concerned, serendipity usually wasn’t random. I guess we’ll cross that bridge
when
we come to it.
Copies in hand, Kate
left
the precinct. If
she was lucky, she and
Elizabeth could catch up with Dazz before she was too high to talk.
Emily
closed the door,
gazed at the dingy interior of the room, and sighed.
For the last two hours, her feet had felt as though she’d
been
dancing on steel ball bearings. Kicking
off her less-than-sensible high-heeled boots, Emily staggered over to
the bed
and collapsed on it. With
her eyes
closed, she could almost ignore the overwhelmingly dismal surroundings,
and
instead, pretend that the bed was a tropical island surrounded by sun,
sand,
and brightly colored foliage as far as the eye could see.
The first day on a new
case was always hardest, bringing with it a host of troubles to
overcome. First up
had been reestablishing her
connection with a couple of old coworkers, and that was followed by a
long day
of slogging through evidence and case files.
Unfortunately, neither endeavor produced a lead that would
assist with
the investigation.
I need a vacation. There
was a knock at the door, causing Emily
to groan softly and then drag herself upright.
“Who is it?” she called
out, reaching for her sidearm with a caution that had become standard
when any agent
was not in an area they considered safe.
“It’s me, Em,” came the
muffled sound of JJ’s voice. “Hungry?”
Opening the door, Emily
greeted the blonde agent with a smile and an enthusiastic reply of,
“Starved. But I’m
also exhausted. Please
tell me you found someone who
delivers.”
JJ laughed and held up
two
grease-stained bags. “In
a manner of
speaking,” she said as Emily stepped aside to allow her entry. Their gazes met as the
blonde agent slid by,
and both shared similarly shy smiles.
“So the guys are across
the way?” said Emily as she and JJ made their way over to the small
table that
occupied one corner of the room.
“Yeah.
Garcia said that there are so many
conventions in town right now, that finding a block of contiguous rooms
was
impossible, even for members of the FBI.”
“That’s going to give
the
UnSub a lot of potential victims, as well,” said the brunette agent
absently as
she accepted the bag with her dinner in it.
Opening it, she discovered a Styrofoam container that
smelled suspiciously
like hamburger. A
purely covetous grin
spread across her face. It
wasn’t often
that she got to indulge her love of “greasy spoon” food. Usually JJ chose things
that were at least
slightly healthy. Soon,
she was tucking
in to a cheeseburger with all the trimmings and making inroads into a
serving
of French-fries that would have comfortably fed a small army.
JJ nodded.
“I know.
I’ve spoken with Captain MacPherson, and he’s agreed to
bump up patrols
around the bars and nightclubs, but he can only do so much. This precinct is
overworked and
understaffed.” When
opened, JJ’s meal
proved to be the ubiquitous health food offering of all greasy spoons:
a chef’s
salad.
“Maybe a press
conference
might help.” As a
general rule, law
enforcement officers did not like giving information to the media;
however,
there were times when a little exposure could be helpful.
Nodding, JJ said, “I
sent
a draft of a statement over to Hotch.
I
expect he’ll send it back, and I’ll be up half the night retooling it.” JJ snagged a fry from
Emily’s tray, causing
the other agent to make a sound of outrage.
“Hey!”
Mischief sparkling in
her
eyes, JJ cocked her head and gave Emily a look that said, “What are you
going
to do about it?” and bit into the fry with obvious relish. “Mmm,” she hummed. “Yummy.”
The nuances of the
phrase
set off a cascade of thrumming nerves in Emily’s groin.
Swallowing heavily, the brunette agent
wrestled with her libido, trying to push away the rising tangle of
emotions
that she could not, would not, deal with while in the field. Something of her struggle
must have shown,
because suddenly JJ’s expression softened, and she reached out and laid
a hand
on Emily’s wrist. The
rush of sensation
that single touch engendered set free all the clamoring feelings that
had been
burbling between them. Like
floodwater
breaking the walls of a shallow trench, Emily felt her resolve give way
to the
wide-eyed newness of acceptance.
“Em?”
Layered with overtones, undertones, and a
world of questions, the single syllable nearly undid the older agent. Unable to reply, Emily
twisted her hand up
and captured JJ’s.
The soft flush that
flowed
over JJ’s face, as their fingers entwined, was a better statement than
a
thousand hesitant words all dancing around the very frightening subject
of
mutual attraction. They
sat like that
for several minutes until Emily picked up a fry and offered it to JJ. Very deliberately, the
blonde leaned over and
accepted the potato wedge with a single snap of clean, white teeth.
Heart battering a
staccato
beat in her chest, Emily hoarsely whispered, “I’m glad hotel doors
automatically lock.” She
took a deep
breath. “Jennifer,”
she said, her voice
husky with the import of the name.
“Emily,” returned the
blonde with the same level of serious inflection.
Their hands were still clasped tightly.
Was this the moment when it finally came out? Would she finally be able
to loose the ties
holding a thousand times a thousand words of want, need, and desire? Please, Emily, you’ve always
been so
candid, so unafraid of saying what you think and feel. If you
reach for me, I’ll close my eyes and
fall forever.
“It shouldn’t be here,”
said Emily, shaking her head. We
should be at home, sharing a bottle of the finest wine after a great
meal, not
staring at each other over greasy burgers and cheap salad. Looking
briefly into JJ’s eyes, Emily thought, I should be giving her
flowers. Lilies and jonquils bound up
in a silver ribbon to lay at her feet while the sun shines as golden as
her
hair. She
shook her head briefly and then looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “God, this is tough.” A fragile smile twitched
on her lips as she
said, “You’d think this would be easier at thirty-eight.”
JJ squeezed Emily’s hand
softly. “Funny, I
was just thinking how
easy you make it seem.” I wonder
what would happen if I reached for you, instead?
Slowly, she
released the
brunette’s hand, turned it over, and ran her fingertips over the palm,
causing
Emily’s fingers to spread. With
a
gentle smile, she bent and placed a single kiss in the center of the
older
agent’s hand, then curled the fingers closed.
“Hold onto that for me, would you?
I might need it later.”
With the warmth of JJ’s
kiss still burning into her palm, Emily whispered, “You’re dangerous,
Jennifer.”
“No more so than you,
Emily. Eat your
dinner. We’ve still
got an UnSub to catch.”
Dutifully, the brunette
finished her meal. She
even shared her
fries with JJ, who offered to reciprocate with salad, but Emily
declined.
“I like rabbit food as
much
as the next gal, but right now, I’m communing with the grease in this
burger.”
JJ made a face.
“If that’s what you call ‘communing’, then I
believe your gall bladder needs to have a serious discussion with your
arteries.”
Gesturing with a
catsup-soaked fry, Emily said, “You’re the one who chose it. I would have eaten a
salad, you know.”
With a snort, JJ
retorted,
“But then how could I steal your fries?”
Putting action to words, the blonde agent reached over and
snagged
another of the vegetables in question.
“Aha!
The truth comes out at last.
You are so diabolical with your ulterior
motives of grand theft potato.” The
easy laughter between them was like golden honey, smooth and sweet.
JJ’s phone chose that
moment to chirp. “It’s
Hotch,” said the
agent as she picked up the cell. “Hey,
yeah. Just
finishing dinner. All
right.
I’ll get to work on that right away, Sir.”
She ended the call and sighed.
“Back to the grind.”
Already rising and
beginning to clear away the detritus of their meals, Emily tried hard
not to
show how disappointed she was that their time together was at an end. So deeply was she
concentrating that she
jumped when JJ’s hand came to rest on her arm.
“Emily, I’m glad we…” She quirked an
affectionate grin. “Talked.”
With her gaze pinned to
the hand that was so gently touching her, Emily could barely breathe as
she
said, “I wish you could stay.”
An explosive sigh
demonstrated how deeply those words had affected JJ.
“I can’t. Hotch
is
sending Reid over with his recommendations for the press release.” JJ started to withdraw her
hand, but it was
caught and she was drawn into a loose embrace that left her light
headed.
Brushing her fingertips
over JJ’s face in a feather-light caress, Emily whispered, “I want to
kiss you,
you know.”
JJ’s smile was warm and
inviting. “I know. I want you to kiss me, too. But Em, you’re right. It shouldn’t be here.” With one hand on the
brunette’s chest, she
could feel the steady rhythm of Emily’s heartbeat.
It was like a lifeline, drawing her in and keeping her
safe while
she set free the words that had been silent so long.
“When I kiss you for the first time, Emily Prentiss, I
want to
know that the only thing that matters is your mouth on mine.” JJ leaned forward then,
and tucked her head
under Emily’s. The
brunette’s arms
closed around her, and JJ sighed contentedly.
“I want us to have all night, the first time.”
It was as if someone had
crawled inside and kicked over every one of Emily’s carefully
constructed
containers. Monster-sized
floods of
emotion, all with the name “Jennifer Jareau” on them, washed through
her in
wave after wave of shivering intensity.
Fighting the burn of anxious tears, the brunette agent
softly said,
“Okay.” With one
last, tight hug, she
released JJ and watched her walk out of the room.
Holy fucking God, what
the hell
just happened?
%%%
“Garcia’s Sugar
Shack. If you got
the sugar, I got the
shack.” The
technical analyst’s voice
was a husky purr.
For a moment, Emily
stared
blankly at the phone; quite certain she had dialed the wrong number. Only the presence of
Penelope’s last name
kept the agent from hanging up and dialing again.
“Garcia?” said Emily
just
as she realized whom the analyst was probably expecting. Blushing furiously, she
added, “Sorry, I’m
not Morgan.”
“Hey Biker Mama, no
worries. What’s up?”
“Ah, erm, well, the
proverbial cat just might have finally clawed its way out of the bag.” God, she was so bad at
this. How hard was
it to just admit that she’d
finally gone and done it. I told
JJ how I feel. No, that’s not quite
right. JJ kissed my hand. Oh God, I feel like I’m
stuck in a bad
Arthurian romance.
“Ahmm, and?
Come on girl, dish. Tell
Garcia all about it.”
Slowly, haltingly, Emily
allowed the events of the past few days to tumble out.
Penelope listened calmly, providing
commentary, as it was needed. When
the
older agent had first joined the BAU, Garcia had been happy to see
another
woman on the team, even if she was saddened by the reason for her
presence. Losing
Elle Greenaway had been a blow no one
on the team expected, and Garcia still felt the absence of the other
agent.
That the new agent had
caught JJ’s eye almost immediately had not escaped Penelope’s notice. In point of fact, the
analyst had noted that
Emily’s languid brown eyes had been locked onto JJ almost from the
get-go as
well. To hear that
her friends had
finally bitten the bullet, well, it was a “squee worthy” moment for
Garcia.
So she squee’d.
Loudly.
And almost missed the ringing of her work cell. Only when the music
started up for the
second time did she hear it. Putting
Emily on hold, she picked up her cell and said, “Speak and be heard by
the
great and powerful Oz.”
The brief laugh that
presaged JJ’s, “Hey
Garcia, I need you to look something up for me,” was all the warning the analyst
received before the
communications liaison launched into a list of questions.
Near to bursting with
the
news of her friends’ new status, yet unable to indulge in her favorite
pastime
of gossip, Garcia reached for her laptop and thought, I am in Hell. This is
payback for some horrible, horrible
thing I did in a former life. Just what that might have been,
Garcia chose not to
imagine and, instead, focused on finding what JJ needed so she could
get back
to listening to Emily pour out her heart.
Office of
Lockley and
Associates
Sherman Park
“That’s what I heard
from
the bullpen chatter. Think
you’re up
for a chit-chat with your favorite streetwalker?”
Kate put the finishing touches on a paper airplane and let
it
fly. The missile
seemed to hang,
suspended by unseen wires, for quite some time, before pegging Dersk in
the
back of his scaly head.
Without turning away
from
the computer, the half demon bent, retrieved the airplane, and chucked
it back
in Kate’s direction. His
toss, however,
did not quite equal Kate’s, and it landed far short of the
investigator’s desk.
“How’s that search
going,
Dersk?” said Kate.
He held up a teal-blue
scaled hand. “Just
a sec, Boss. Willow’s
giving me some tips on Boolean
operators.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Is that some kind of
demonic phone
service?”
Looking up from his
laptop, Dersk said, “Search parameter stuff.”
When both women gave him shared looks of confusion, he
shrugged and
said, “Hey, you guys paid for me to learn how to use this thing. Why don’t you let me earn
that responsibility? Go
talk to Dazz. See
if she’s got anything more to add to Miss Average Freaky over
there.” He
indicated the BOLO fax that
was affixed to a large whiteboard.
Alongside that were several newspaper articles, the
salient facts from
those listed in bold black marker.
No one had yet hired the
agency to look into the slayings, but Kate had long learned to follow
her
instincts when it came to cases.
Nothing about it shouted, “weird”, yet the nomenclature
chosen by the
press had put this one square in her bailiwick.
At one time, she might
have shadowed the police at the request of Angel, as he acted under the
aegis
of his position as a section head for the Los Angeles office of the law
firm of
Wolfram and Hart, but the demon-backed business had pulled up stakes
and
vanished into the ether, taking Angel and most of his crew with them.
These days, Kate’s
altruism was allied with Slayer Central and the new Watcher’s Council. They didn’t have much
secular influence, nor
did they have access to the kind of cash flow that Wolfram and Hart had
commanded, but Kate and Elizabeth agreed that the slayers’ moral center
was
much closer to their own. When
Willow
and Kennedy had been called back to Ohio, they had taken with them
Kate’s
pledge that they would continue to do their part to keep a lid on
Chicago’s
nonhuman population.
With the news outlets
ranting on and on about vampires, things had the potential to turn very
ugly. All it would take is one
vamp deciding that he’s going to take advantage of the situation, and
suddenly,
there’s a bloodbath.
Kate stood and wandered
over to the board. Taking
down the
BOLO, she said, “All right, we’ll get out of your hair, Dersk. When you’re done with your
research, you can
head home for the night.”
The half demon
grinned. “Well, I’m
not going to look a
night off in the face. I
think I’ll get
my groove on over at Limbo.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Try not to get thrown out
this time, Snake
Boy. I hate picking
glass out of your
ass.”
%%%
“Well as I live and
breathe, if it isn’t my favorite roof walker.
Where’s Ken Doll, Lizziebear?”
Dazzle Razzle was flying high and on top of the world. Some rich white boy with
too much cash in
his pocket had paid plenty for his pleasure, and now she was dipping
into the
profits. Pulling a
crumpled pack of
smokes from her cleavage, she stuck a cigarette between her lips and
leaned
toward the vampath.
“On vacation,” said
Elizabeth as she held out a lighter to Dazz’s ever-present cigarette. She nodded at Kate. “You remember Kate, don’t
you, Dazz. She’s my
partner, and she’d really like to
ask you some questions about that woman you saw the other day.”
Looking a bit dazed, the
prostitute blinked owlishly. “What
woman?”
Kate held out the BOLO
and
said, “This one.”
The one glance Dazz took
seemed to sober her quite a bit. Waving
her cigarette airily, the prostitute said, “Oh her.
Looked like the Devil hisself was on her ass. Took a poundin’ that one. Bad John.
S’why I don’t work that stretch no more.”
Dazz shook her head violently.
“Ain’t no use lettin’ ‘em fuck you up just for a few bucks. ‘Sides, EZ Boy’d kick me
from here to the
waterfront if I came home all bruised and bloodied.”
She took a long drag and on the exhale, said, “’Don’ be
messin’
wi’ mah merchandise, girl.’ Sh-yeah,
right. This girl’s
not stupid,
nuh-uh.” Batting
her eyelashes, she
gave Kate an expectant look.
With a wry grin, Kate
held
out a twenty, only to snatch it back at the last minute. “Tell me something new,
Dazz. Gimme
something I can use to find this
girl.”
Dazzle made a face. “What you on about, pretty
girl? You ain’t no
cop, and this ain’t about none
o’ Ken Doll’s monsters.” The
word “monsters”
came out hushed, and immediately after, Dazzle clumsily crossed herself.
“Dazz, you know those
guys
who got themselves a bad case of really dead?” said Elizabeth softly.
The prostitute
shrugged. “Sure. Them boys endin’ up all
cut up ‘n stuff’s
bad for bizness. EZ’s
all mad that the
po-po ain’t caught the guy that did it yet.”
“We’re trying to find
out
who killed them before anyone else gets hurt.”
Making a face, the vampath added, “I’m just sorry to say
that it’s taken
so many deaths before someone did something about it.
Even you deserve to feel safe out on the streets at night.”
The prostitute gaped at
Elizabeth with something approaching surprise.
Then she laughed. “Oh
honey,
they weren’t no corner boys. Weren’t
even Johns.”
Kate latched onto the
tidbit. “Are you
sure about that?”
Shrugging, Dazzle
dropped
her cigarette and crushed it with the heel of her boot.
“Sure, I’m sure. That
one they found in the alley behind Tooley’s had his hand
stamped for that new place up the way… Limbo, I think they call it.”
Wordlessly, Kate handed
Dazzle the twenty and wandered away, pondering the information.
Front steps of
the 10th
Precinct
Apartment of Kate
Lockley and Elizabeth Blaine
A pretty red haired
reporter from a local TV station stepped forward and said, “Is this
person
dangerous?”
Calmly, JJ replied, “As
I
said, at this time, they are only a person of interest.
Next question please?”
“Does Chicago have a
serial killer?” asked another reporter.
%%%
“Do they really think
anyone will have any real clues?” said Dersk as he watched the FBI
press
conference. It was
lunchtime, and the
investigators had closed up the office and headed upstairs for one of
Kate’s
home cooked meals. On
the TV, the
blonde FBI agent at the podium was certainly hotter than any Fed the
half demon
had seen before, but he was most impressed with how well she seemed to
handle
the crowd of reporters. Question
after
question came and each was answered with a skill and aplomb that far
outstripped the youth apparent in her features.
Delivering a cautionary statement without creating an aura
of
fear or inciting panic was no easy feat, but Agent Jareau had done just
that.
“You’d be surprised how
many people will call in. Of
course,
most of the tips will be false, but every single lead will have to be
traced. It’s
possible that there is
someone out there with the right clue that will break the case wide
open, and
that’s why tip lines exist.” Kate
was
in the kitchen, preparing the wok for one of her stir-fries while
Elizabeth
stood off to the side, deftly chopping vegetables and slicing meats.
“I bet the job of
answering those phones goes to all the rookies too,” said Elizabeth as
she
tossed a handful of vegetables into the now crackling oil.
Shrugging, Kate said,
“Sometimes. Most of
the time, though,
it’s all hands on deck because the more experienced officers have
learned how
to weed through the crackpots and spot a viable clue.
In this case, I suspect that the FBI hopes that the killer
will
call in.” Kate gave
the wok a deft
twitch, causing the vegetables to flip and land back in the pan.
“Interesting.
So, Dersk,” said Elizabeth, a sly smile
edging onto her lips. “How
was Limbo?”
The half demon
shrugged. “It was
okay. Not the
greatest, not the worst. I
saw a killer drag act though. Called
herself Sheila Divine and if I didn’t
know it was a drag act, I would have sworn she was the real deal. You guys should go see it
sometime.”
Elizabeth chuckled while
Kate grinned.
“Funny you should mention
that,” said Kate as she added the final ingredients of their lunch to
the
wok. Wiping her
hands on a towel, she
turned to begin pulling out plates and said, “Because we have info that
points
to Limbo as being the last place Matthew Ryan was seen alive.”
“Yeah?
You gonna call 1-800-GOT-ACLUE?” said the
half demon wryly.
Throwing her dishtowel
at
him, Kate said, “No, but I was thinking that you might be a gentleman
and ask a
few lady friends out for a drink later.”
A sly grin stole over
Dersk’s face. “Do I
get to dance with
those lovely ladies?”
Kate crossed her arms
and
gave him a look.
“Aw, please Boss? One dance?
C’mon, you can’t possibly understand how much good it’ll
do my rep to be
seen with two dyk … er-awesomely gorgeous babes like you and Doc.”
Kate exchanged a glance
with her lover, who shrugged. As
she
set out plates on the table, Elizabeth said, “It sure beats paying him
time and
a half.”
They both looked at
Dersk
and chuckled at the comical expression on his face as he struggled with
choosing between two of his chief loves: image and money. The young half demon was
visibly trying to
think of some way to have both, and Kate snickered wickedly.
“All right, Dersk,
choose
one: a dance with
Elizabeth and me, or
overtime pay.”
Jaw working as words
fought to be spoken, Dersk fisted his hands, growled and finally said,
“You do
not play fair, Boss.” Standing,
he
began to pace, his teal blue scales rippling colorfully in the light as
he
walked the short length of the flat.
“Choices, choices, too many choices,” he muttered. “Money or girls, money or
girls…” Stopping in
front of the full length mirror
that hung on Kate’s closet door, he inspected his reflection while at
the same
time, seemed to hold a silent argument with himself.
After several minutes,
Kate said, “Dersk, lunch is getting cold.
You’ve got thirty seconds to pick one or the other and
then the offer’s
gone for good and you get nothing.”
Like a child about to be
denied a favored treat, Dersk blurted, “Dance!
I want to dance!”
Sam &
Allie’s Café
and Coffee Shop
“When we deliver the
profile, we need to give the cops some specifics, but make sure they
keep them
in house. I don’t
want the UnSub to see
anything more than what’s already out there,” said Hotch as he dumped
three
packets of sugar into his coffee.
Rossi grunted and then
said, “Are we going to say we think it’s a woman?”
The two men had spent almost an hour the previous evening
discussing the possibility and still couldn’t agree.
Hotch frowned.
“Has Garcia come up with anything
more?” He directed
his question to JJ,
who shook her head.
“No, nothing else has
popped up in VICAP or NCIC. She’s
checking with INTERPOL, but it might be a while before we hear back
from
them.” JJ rubbed
her eyes tiredly. After
staying up half the night working on
the press release, then giving a press conference first thing in the
morning,
the agent was ready to relax a little.
“Well the good thing about
that is that it looks like this is an isolated incident,” said Reid. “The bad part is that this
is the UnSub’s
hunting grounds, and consequently, all the information we have is what
we’ve
seen.” The young
agent was staring
intently at a tower consisting of his flatware, a saltshaker, and three
packets
of sugar. Somehow,
he’d managed to
construct a miniature windmill and was attempting to get the blades to
turn.
“We’ve had less and
still
managed to do just fine. I’m
sure
something will break. Maybe
we’ll get a
lead from the tip line,” said Morgan as he finished up the last of his
lunch.
Rossi kept his gaze on
Hotchner. He knew
the younger man was
reluctant to say the killer was a woman.
It had nothing to do with any kind of chauvinism. Years of data had shown
that women were
extremely unlikely to become serial killers and even Dave had to admit
that he was
on the fence over some of the details.
He just couldn’t shake the sense that they were dealing
with a
woman. A man, even
a slight-statured
man, who wandered off with any one of the victims, would be noticed. Even in a gay bar, or
perhaps, most especially
in a gay bar where image was everything and everyone paid attention to
those
who got lucky to see if they measured up against the victor.
“Come on, Hotch.
If I’m wrong, I’ll buy you dinner at The
Cabin,” Rossi said suddenly.
Hotchner sighed.
“Dave, if you’re wrong, someone could get
hurt.”
Rossi shrugged.
“I’m willing to take that chance.
Besides, if I’m right, we’ll have a better
shot at catching the UnSub.”
Looking away from Rossi,
Hotchner turned to Emily and said, “Prentiss, it’s your call. I want you to re-examine
the files and make
the decision. If
you agree with Rossi,
include it in your portion of the profile.
Everyone else, you’re free for an hour and then we meet
back at the
Tenth.”
10th
Precinct
Near the door, Agent
Prentiss covertly hid a yawn while across from her, perched on the edge
of a
counter that ran under the bank of clerestory windows that lined the
south-facing wall of the room, Agent Jareau made occasional notations
on a
small pad of paper.
Agents Reid and Rossi
stood to either side of Agent Hotchner.
The older agent looked to have slept quite well. His eyes were clear and
his demeanor calm,
while the younger man’s appearance was mussed from long hours of
pouring over
files and maps.
As soon as the last
officer was in place, Hotch said, “This is what we know: our UnSub is
driven by
an uncontrollable, sexually motivated rage.
The attacks are violent and brutal and show a high degree
of
complexity.”
Rossi chimed in with,
“This UnSub is strong, but does not appear to be physically threatening. The use of a drug cocktail
to subdue
suggests that the UnSub prefers stealth over brute force.”
“His comfort zone seems
to
exist along this stretch of streets,” said Reid as he pointed to the
path of
markers he’d painstakingly placed on a map.
“Note how he cleverly avoids both your patrols and private
security. This
suggests that he’s familiar with the
area. Perhaps even
lives or works
there.”
“The mutilations are in
the form of a phallic image,” said Morgan.
“In every case, though, the victim’s actual genitals are
ignored. This shows
that the UnSub has the need to
depersonalize the victims. Those
men
weren’t men, they were walking phalluses.”
There was a subdued
snicker, which quickly passed.
“The UnSub is
organized. Calm, in
control of the
situation,” said Emily. After
studying
the collected evidence and considering all that they had discussed
regarding
the UnSub, the agent had made a decision.
“She
is attractive, charming,
able to convince strangers to have a drink, and to follow her into a
dark alley
all without arousing suspicion.”
Hotch nodded and picked
up
the narrative. He
had suspected that
the brunette agent would agree with Rossi’s assessment and had tailored
his
physical profile to match. “She is white, between the ages of
twenty-five and
forty. She is well
educated. Outgoing
without being obnoxious. She
enjoys being the center of attention but
is incapable of making deep attachments.
Her coworkers will think of her as shallow, but not
arrogant.“
One of the patrolmen
raised his hand and said, “It’s a woman?
I thought only guys were serial killers.”
“Statistically, serial
killers are ninety percent more likely to be male than female,” said
Reid. “However,
there are certain indicators in
this case that lead us to believe that this UnSub may be female.”
“So is this woman in the
sketch our girl?” asked MacPherson.
“It’s a good
likelihood,”
said Hotch. “But
keep an open
mind. This profile
is just a guide, not
a full blueprint. If
you get a lead you
think is good, don’t dismiss it out of hand just because the subject is
male.”
%%%
The bullpen was a
chaotic
symphony of ringing phones, talking detectives, and chattering printers. Captain MacPherson looked
out over his
people with an expression of pride and consternation.
Tips flowed in like the evening tide on the new moon, and
wading
through them was just as difficult.
Mired amidst the overflowing piles of dross, there had to
be a few
bright gems of truth, and it was up to the men and women of the Tenth
to find
them.
When Agent Hotchner had
first put forth the idea of setting up a phone bank, the older officer
had felt
as though the Feds were giving up without making more than a token
effort at
solving the case. It
came as quite a
shock to the seasoned police captain to discover each of the agents had
manned
a phone for almost nine hours apiece before heading out to conduct
interviews
with the local street populace.
Turning to his
lieutenant,
MacPherson said, “Anything useful, Jacobs?”
Cradling his phone on
his
shoulder, the officer stretched and said, “Got a lot of maybes, but
mostly
junk. Three people
swear she looks like
their dear, dead daughters and at least fourteen people want her
number.”
MacPherson snorted. “Out of the woodwork and
into our
investigation. Why
can’t the crazies
just stick to reporting UFOs and Bigfoot?”
He clapped the lieutenant on the shoulder and said, “I’ll
sit in on this
for a while. Why
don’t you take a
break, Dan? You’ve
earned it.”
Limbo
Club 88
The Streets of Ward 17
Inside, the crowd was
mostly male, though here and there the smaller, lither forms of women
flitted
about, obviously enjoying the entertainment.
The club was split into two levels.
The bottom floor was the main attraction, featuring the
drag show,
tables, and an ever-present wait staff ready to ply customers with a
rainbow
array of drinks and appetizers. On
stage, a group of three performers were shimmying to “Babylove” and
drawing
cheers and whistles from the audience.
Upstairs was a dance
floor
complete with disco balls, flashing lights, and a popular DJ. There was a velvet rope
across the stairway,
but Dersk was easily able to get them through.
Since he was most familiar with proper club etiquette and
fashion, the
half demon had taken charge of the night’s wardrobe and made certain
that both
Kate and Elizabeth were dressed in what he called, “Knock ‘em-rock ‘em
wear.”
While neither woman was
certain what that meant, for both, it manifested in two ways: leather
and
denim. For
Elizabeth, a modified
version of patrol gear sufficed to turn “boring and broody” into
“vampishly
vampathic”. Leather
pants, leather
boots, and a leather vest that was just shy of pornographic were put to
use
showing off the vampath’s toned and tattooed body.
Kate, on the other hand, was adorned in denim and silk. Jeans so blue they were
almost black, motorcycle
boots, and a white silk shirt that flowed like gossamer over her body
made up
the investigator’s attire.
Because the women’s
outfits were so monochromatic, Dersk had chosen to mimic the hue of his
scales
in his clothing. In
human guise, but
wearing shades of blue, he escorted Kate and Elizabeth into the club
and
upstairs to the dance floor.
The music was loud,
backed
with a bass beat that echoed in their chests like a second heart. Drawn into the press of
the crowd, the
threesome had to fight to stay together but somehow managed to find a
spot that
wasn’t occupied.
Already moving and
grooving, Dersk looked at his boss and smiled.
Dancing slowly in front of Kate, he shouted, “Okay Boss,
pay up!” With a
gesture, he indicated that Elizabeth
should get behind him.
The vampath grinned. So Snake Boy wants to be the
cream
filling in a Liz-Kate sandwich, hmm? I
can handle that. Reaching her arms around
the half demon’s waist, Elizabeth
gripped Kate’s hips, and pulled her tight against Dersk. Then, listening for a
second, she caught the
beat of the music and started to grind against the half demon.
Kate nearly lost it. When she felt the tingling
prickle of her
lover’s touch followed by the smooth connection of their rapport
engaging, the
investigator was ready to question Elizabeth’s sanity.
Then she saw the look on Dersk’s face after
the first of the vampath’s hip gyrations and understood. Elizabeth was giving him
exactly what he’d
wanted. And everyone knows to be
careful what you wish for – getting it might not be all it’s cracked up
to be. Sliding
her
hands up Elizabeth’s arms, Kate allowed the sensual beat of the music
to
dictate her movements.
Caught in the middle of
what should have been heaven, Dersk suddenly realized just how much
he’d bitten
off. The heavily
carnal emotions that
leaked from his boss and her lover wrapped him up in a haze of want and
need
that left him breathless with frustrated desire.
He looked up at Kate’s face and watched as she gazed over
his
shoulder and smiled. There
was so much
love and happiness in that expression and none of it – not even one
fraction of
it – was meant for him.
Suddenly feeling very
cheap and tawdry, Dersk coughed and pushed his way out of the dance. Breaking apart, Kate and
Elizabeth smiled
sheepishly at him even as he shrugged.
Mouthing, “Sorry,” he raised his eyebrows in inquiry and
pointed to the
floor below them.
Kate held up two
fingers,
mouthed, “Two seconds,” and then turned back to Elizabeth. “Dance with me?” she
yelled and Elizabeth
grinned.
Taking Kate’s hand, the
vampath drew her lover close and spun them off into the crowd, leaving
Dersk to
fly solo.
%%%
After saying, “Have you
seen this person?” about a hundred times in less than two hours, Emily
was
beginning to feel like a broken record.
Beside her, JJ looked twice as exhausted as she felt. Dark circles had puffed
out the blonde
agent’s eyes, and Emily was certain it was because of the late nights
the
communications liaison had put in working on the case.
Hotch and Morgan were
two
blocks to the east while Reid and Lieutenant Jacobs covered the
southern end of
the street. Ahead,
the flashing lights
of a neon sign that proclaimed the legend, “Club 88,” was a beacon for
the milling
crowds of men and women that populated the sidewalk.
Beyond that was Limbo, though on this night, it had been
closed
to the general public.
“Think we should check
Limbo anyway?” said JJ as they flashed their badges at the door to Club
88.
Emily shrugged.
“Probably.
Bet the bouncers demand a warrant though.”
Inside the club, they found the ratio of men to women
slanted
heavily toward the males. “Oh,
perfect
hunting grounds for the UnSub,” muttered Emily.
Scanning the crowd, they
moved over to the bar and got the attention of a barely dressed young
man.
With a smile, the
muscle-bound bartender leaned over and said, “What can I get you
ladies?”
JJ eyed him
appreciatively. He
was cute, in a
puffy, steroid-hardened sort of way.
Returning the smile, she held up her badge, displayed the
BOLO sketch
and said, “Have you seen this person?”
Only mildly taken aback,
the bartender replied, “Honey, I’ve seen lots of that person. Look around you. That could be half of the
men or two-thirds of the women in this
place.” Pulling out
two glasses and
filling them from a tap, then dropping a couple of wedges of lemon into
them,
he added, “Heck, we have at least three different gals like that on
stage every
week.” Squinting at
the picture, he
said, “Stick around; you’ll probably see Sheila in a bit.” He pushed the drinks
toward the agents. “Lemon
water. Your voice
sounds like you’ve been talking all night.
It’s on the house.”
For a moment, Emily
considered signaling JJ to leave, but the absolute gratitude that
flooded the
younger agent’s eyes at the sight of the drink kept her silent.
Leaning toward JJ, Emily
said, “Let’s find a table and check in with Hotch.
Maybe he’s had better luck.”
JJ nodded and gathered
the
glasses. At the
very back of the club,
they found a table wedged between a hideously large fake plant, a
statue of
Marilyn Monroe, and the passion-pink and lime green striped wall. As soon as they were
seated, Emily brought
out her phone and called Hotch.
“Hey, JJ and I are
following a possible lead at Club 88.
How are you guys doing?”
She
covered her ear to hear his reply.
Tuning out the
conversation, JJ concentrated on sipping the cool water. Even with the noise of the
music and chatter
around her, the young agent could feel the press of exhaustion as it
dragged on
her body, pulling her into a dazed state of numbness.
Two different drag acts
had performed before Emily pocketed her phone.
She gulped half the glass of water before turning to JJ. “Hotch and Morgan haven’t
had much luck. Jacobs
and Reid talked to three different
redheads, but they all had alibis.”
JJ licked her lips. Fighting back a yawn, she
said, “Did they
find that prostitute – Dazzle Razzle?”
Emily shook her head. “No, but you know how that
goes.”
Nodding, JJ said,
“Yeah. She could be
on a different
corner or doing a private party.”
“Or taking a night off –
you just never know.” They
finished
their waters. Another
act passed, and
an intermission was called. The
club
lights came up, and the agents watched as the flow of patrons around
them shifted.
Sighing, Emily said, “We
should get back out there. I’ll
fall
asleep if I sit much longer.”
Softly, JJ groaned. “Yeah, you’re right.” Smiling sheepishly, she
added, “But I wish
you weren’t.”
Greatly daring, Emily
reached across the table and covered JJ’s hand with hers. “Another hour and I bet
Hotch sends us back
to the hotel. It’s
been a long couple
of days, and something’s bound to break soon.
You know that.”
JJ laced her fingers
with
Emily’s and smiled sadly. “I
know, but
I hate that it means someone else is going to be hurt.”
Emily had no answer to
that. It was the
nature of their
work. They needed
more clues and to
obtain them, they needed another victim.
It was hellish and heartbreaking, but there was nothing to
do but press
on and keep working until they caught the killer.
The alternative was something Emily preferred not to
consider.
She could relocate; go
to a
different city and start all
over again. These cases would go cold,
and we’d have to let it go and move on to someone else, somewhere else.
Already, they had spent
several days in Chicago. If
they didn’t
have a break by week’s end, Emily knew that Section Chief Strauss would
order
Hotch to bring the team back to Quantico.
It was not the way any of them wanted to see the case end.
Withdrawing her hand
from
JJ’s, Emily said, “Let’s go see if we can find a lead.”
%%%
One dance somehow morphed
into six and then eight and then, they were kissing and falling into
the bond
that shrouded them in a velvet cloak, blocking out the heaving press of
humanity around them. Kate
only became
aware of her surroundings when she was roughly grabbed and shaken. Angry, she turned to give
the rude person a
piece of her mind only to discover that it was Dersk.
“You want to check out
the
stage downstairs? They’re
almost done
for the night,” he shouted.
Feeling just a little
guilty, Kate indicated that Dersk should lead the way.
The touch of Elizabeth’s hand on her back
was a welcome reminder that she had not been alone in her distraction. Flashing her lover a
sheepish grin, Kate
noted that Elizabeth’s face was tinged with the pink of guilt. As they left the last step
behind them, the
investigator leaned into the vampath and whispered, “No harm, no foul. We had our fun. Now, we work.”
“Was a time when you’d
have said something else,” said Elizabeth softly.
In the beginning of their relationship, there had been
some
terrible arguments over how much they could indulge in their affections
for one
and other while on duty.
Kate shrugged.
“We don’t have a client in this case,
Doc. It’s not like
we’re losing any
billable hours, here, right?” She
winked to take the sting from the words.
Grinning, Elizabeth
said,
“So, if I said that I wanted to take you home and make love to you for
the rest
of the night, you’d let me?”
She wanted to say
yes. Oh, God,
Goddess and all the
little Powers That Be, she wanted to accept the offer.
If the years had done anything for their
relationship, they had made the physical attraction grow from the
volcanic
explosion of lust into an enduring legacy of desire that only deepened
as the
days passed.
However, Kate would be
strong. She would
deny herself this
distraction, even as she had allowed the other.
There was, after all, a killer out there, and human or
not, Kate
felt driven to stop him. You can
take the badge out of my pocket, but you can’t kill the cop inside of
me.
Smiling at Elizabeth,
Kate
murmured, “Hold that thought, would you, Doc?”
Switching places with a
couple looking to head upstairs, Elizabeth, Kate, and Dersk pushed
their way
through the small crowd and to the bar.
The bartender smiled at them and said, “Can I get you
something?”
As Kate started to
answer,
Elizabeth turned and glanced at the stage.
Expecting to find someone dressed in an outfit that would
have made
Liberace proud, the vampath was surprised to discover that the
performer was
outfitted in a simple, long white sheath gown.
Made of silk or satin, the material flowed and clung to
the performer’s
body, giving tantalizing hints at what lay beneath the ivory fabric.
Intrigued, Elizabeth
watched, wondering what kind of song the person would choose. The slow, sweet strains of
Faith Hill’s,
“Breathe,” answered the question.
Body
and mouth moving in perfect mimicry of the music, the drag queen’s
routine had
the audience completely enthralled.
She
didn’t strut so much as flow across the
stage in an ethereal dance that had her moving just out of reach of the
men to
which she directed her song. As
the
tune neared completion, the performer seemed to settle her attention on
one
man, and to him she directed the last line of, “I can feel you breathe.” Bowing her head, the
female impersonator
whispered a quiet, “Thank you,” into the microphone.
The applause was
thunderous.
“That was our very own
Sheila Divine, ladies and gentlemen.
Sheila, take another bow!” came the MC’s voice.
Caught up in the
performance, Elizabeth didn’t realize she was clapping until Kate
touched her
arm to offer her a tumbler of whiskey and soda.
Taking a drink, the vampath smiled at her lover and then
turned
back to the stage. The
performer named
Sheila Divine was waving at the crowd and blowing kisses. A brilliant smile curved
her lips and
proclaimed her pleasure at the accolades.
“She seems almost too
good
to be real,” Kate murmured.
“Oh?
How do you mean?”
Kate shrugged.
“I’m not sure, but I know that I’ve got all
the right parts to be female, and I’m not half as feminine as she
seems.”
Elizabeth grinned
wickedly. “Oh,
yeah, you’re all woman,
Dick.” The line
earned her an elbow in
the ribs.
“Behave, Doc.”
With a low chuckle, the
vampath said, “Well, whoever he is, he’s good.”
As she studied the performer once more, Elizabeth felt the
Tos
symbiote stir within her. The
subtle
twinge of nerves at the base of her skull suddenly flared to full life
as the
drag queen’s face was caught in the brilliant glare of the stage lights. Without even having to
close her eyes,
Elizabeth could easily picture the thick charcoal lines that the police
artist
had used to bring Dazzle Razzle’s words to life, and it didn’t take the
vampath
long to realize that the person on the stage was a dead ringer for the
suspect
in the police sketch. The
epiphany
brought with it a subtle tang of wrongness
that oozed off the performer’s body in dark waves.
“Shit,” muttered Elizabeth as she thrust her drink into
Kate’s
hand. “I’ll be
right back.”
Before Kate could
respond,
Elizabeth had melted into the crowd.
Having spent most of the
last several minutes chatting up people at the bar, showing around the
police
sketch and trying to run down anyone who might recognize the person in
the
picture, Dersk had come up empty.
Joining Kate just as Elizabeth vanished, the half demon
watched as the
vampath’s distinctive red hair was quickly lost in the crowd of men and
women
jockeying for space in the club. With
a
low whistle, Dersk said, “After three years, I still haven’t figured
out how
she does that.”
Shaking her head, Kate
said, “Me either, and I live with her.”
%%%
Senses flung wide open,
Elizabeth used the shadows and her own natural abilities to fade from
public
perception. The
female impersonator had
vanished into a backstage area that was accessed by a single door
hidden by a
cluster of fake foliage. Luck
was with
the vampath as she turned the handle and found the latch undone. Between one breath and the
next, Elizabeth
had slipped through the door and was stalking down a short hall.
The dressing room door
was
unlocked as well, but when the vampath entered the dimly lit chamber,
she found
that it was empty. Closing
her eyes,
she allowed the emotional resonance of the room to wash through her and
was
completely unprepared for the surge of violence that assaulted her
senses.
Fear, anger, hate,
greed,
envy, and lust – every flavor and shade of the darker side of human
nature had,
at one time, been expressed in this room.
The walls were so saturated with it, that there was almost
an aroma; a
miasma of darkness that turned Elizabeth’s stomach and made the hairs
on the
back of her neck prickle in anticipation of danger.
Nostrils flaring, she looked up in surprise when she
caught the
faint tinge of dried blood.
A sound in the hall
caused
the vampath to freeze, but it was quickly gone.
Can’t
stick around long.
Too many people could catch me right now. Gotta find
something that belongs to that drag queen though. Need to
catch his scent.
Determinedly, Elizabeth
moved through the dressing room, looking for something that would
belong to the
female impersonator named Sheila Divine.
On a rack at the back of the room she found it. A long, white fur boa with
the initials “SD”
stitched in precise letters on the label gave off a faint, floral scent
mixed
with a deeper, more masculine musk.
An
unidentifiable, sweet undertone confused her momentarily.
Like a cat flehming for
the scent of a mate, Elizabeth opened her mouth to inhale and taste the
smells
clinging to the boa. Fangs
budded, and
then erupted as the strange odor was revealed to be very old blood. Hissing softly, the
vampath dropped the boa
and dug out her cell. A
single
keystroke connected her to Kate.
“I’ve got something. I’m on a trail. Meet me outside,” she
whispered softly, not bothering to wait for
her lover to respond. Closing
her eyes,
she extended her senses, and sought the one bright spark of emotion
that would
signify her prey.
%%%
Emily’s cell buzzed
insistently as she and JJ turned away from the homeless woman who had
been
searching through a half full trash can outside of a drug store. “Prentiss.”
Covering the receiver, Emily called out to the blonde
agent who was
about to cross the street, “JJ, wait up.”
Stopping to turn and
look
back at her companion, JJ noticed the phone and her eyes lit up in
expectation. “Hotch?”
she asked, coming
to stand next to the brunette agent.
“Yeah, we’re just about
done with this street. No,
no we
haven’t found anything either. Okay,
we’ll head in and see you guys in the morning.”
She sighed. “I
know. I’ll do that
after breakfast. With
Morgan? All right. Got it.
Good night, Sir.” Ending
the call, she turned to JJ and said, “We’re done for the
night. Hotch says
we can only give this
case three more days.” She
pursed her
lips and shook her head. “I
hate this.”
JJ put her hand on
Emily’s
shoulder. “I know. In the morning, I’ll go
back over the case
files. Maybe
there’s something in them
we’ve missed, or maybe more of the evidence has been processed.“
Emily nodded.
“I’d offer to help, but Morgan and I are
going back to the ME’s office to talk to them about the prior cases.” Rubbing her eyes, she
added, “You want to
drive? I’m so tired
I can barely see
straight.”
“Sure.
You can get coffee in the morning.”
“Deal.”
They started to head to
where their SUV was parked, only to pull up short near the entrance to
Club
88. Standing in
front of the club, two
women and a young man were having a quiet conversation that would have
gone
completely unnoticed except for one, salient detail:
one of the women was a good match for the suspect in the
police
sketch.
“We couldn’t be this
lucky, could we?” said JJ as she and Emily both reached for their
badges and
headed across the street. The
blonde
agent eyed their target and had to contain a low whistle of
appreciation. Whoever
she was, obviously knew how to dress
to catch the eyes of everyone around her.
“Probably not, but I’m
not
about to risk it,” replied the older agent.
With one hand on her gun and the other holding her badge,
she approached
the woman they had both seen.
%%%
The feral tint to
Elizabeth’s eyes had finally faded, leaving the hazy green to shine
eerily in
the cold white light of the streetlamp above them.
Upon exiting the club, the vampath had followed the spark
of
“wrong” to a nearby alleyway. A
glimmer
of crimson and the crunch of footsteps had drawn Elizabeth on, and as
she had
approached, the distinctive sound of a woman’s low, throaty chuckled
had echoed
off the walls.
Yet when the vampath
moved
beyond the haphazard sprawl of garbage cans and piles of debris, what
she had
found was just a couple kids catching a quick fumble out of sight of
their
friends. The air
was too foul with the
odor of rotting garbage for Elizabeth to catch Sheila Divine’s scent,
so she
went to the rooftops to see if she could spot the drag queen’s dark red
hair
among the throngs of people circulating up and down the street. Not even a hint of crimson
flared among the
sea of blonde, brunette, and wild shades that obviously came from a
bottle. Even the
itchy traces of
wrongness had faded, leaving the rather ordinary emotions of lust and
desire in
their wake.
Cursing softly,
Elizabeth
headed back to street level and met Kate and Dersk at the entrance to
the
club. With a frown
and a shake of her
head, the vampath let them know that the quarry was lost.
“Damn,” said Kate
softly. “Was it a
good lead?”
“I think so.
Maybe.
I’m not sure.” Elizabeth
shrugged, and then cursed. “My
head’s
all screwed up from the lust overload.”
Frowning, Kate said,
“Well, let’s head back to the office.
We can hash it out some more in the comfort of the
apartment. Maybe
together we can figure out what made
you twitch so hard.”
“Yeah, Doc.
I mean, it’s not like you can’t come back
tomorrow and see Sheila again. She
performs every night, from what the bartender said.”
“All right.
Let’s go.
I’m getting hungry.”
Elizabeth
turned to head for their car.
“I’m afraid we’re going
to
have to ask you to come with us,” came a low, throaty voice.
Elizabeth turned, and
was
confronted by two leather-jacketed badges proclaiming the bearers to be
agents
of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.
One of the women looked weary beyond belief while the
other wore an
expression that was both defiant and cautionary.
Oo,
what have we here?
Delicately,
Elizabeth extended the
symbiote’s influence, probing at the surface emotions of the two agents. The whirling, excited mass
of feeling seemed
to gather speed the longer they stood there, enflaming the Tos. Fueled by twin hungers,
Elizabeth’s iron control
wavered a little and she grinned rakishly.
Crossing her arms, she drawled challengingly, “What if I
say no?”
The brunette agent’s
face
darkened, and her hand closed over the bulky grip of a gun. “I’ll have to insist.”
With an amused chuckle,
Elizabeth
said, “I’m not the one you’re looking for, Agent –“
“Prentiss, Emily
Prentiss. And how
would you know who
I’m looking for?” Later,
Emily would
not be able to point out exactly what it was about the woman that had
irritated
her, but at that moment, the agent was absolutely certain that she had
found a
lead.
Elizabeth shrugged. “Because I’m not.” She began to turn away,
but stopped when Emily started to draw
her firearm. Adrenalin
flashed through
the vampath, and she had to force herself not to hiss and reveal the
rapidly
budding fangs in her mouth. Instead,
she settled for glaring warningly at the agent.
“Excuse me a minute,
Agent
Prentiss-“ Kate tried to interpose herself between the agent and her
lover, but
was blocked by the surprisingly strong grip of the other agent.
“Please, ma’am, I’ll
have
to ask you not to interfere,” said JJ softly.
Kate frowned briefly and
then said, “Agent-“
“Jareau, Jennifer
Jareau.”
“Well Agent Jareau, your
partner is attempting to question my partner without the presence of an
attorney, and for no apparent reason other than she happens to look
like
someone in a badly drawn police sketch.”
Kate started to reach into her pocket, and then stopped at
the sudden
widening of the blonde agent’s eyes.
“Easy, I’m just going to reach into my pocket and pull out
my
credentials. I’m a
PI and Elizabeth is
my partner.”
JJ stepped back even as
Emily and Elizabeth continued to glare at each other.
“Go ahead,” she said softly.
“Doc, slowly pull our
your
credentials. You
too, Dirk. Just, go
slowly – these agents have had a
very long day, and we don’t want to make it any longer.” Dirk was the name that
Dersk had chosen as
his human persona. It
came in handy
when dealing with what he jokingly termed, “mundanes”.
Emily stared at the
blonde
who suddenly seemed to have taken control.
There was something familiar about her, but she just
couldn’t put her
finger on it. The
woman’s mannerisms,
her calm nature, the way that she held herself all screamed, “cop” to
the older
agent.
I know her, I know I do,
but I
don’t remember ever working
with her here in Chicago.
Perplexed, Emily glanced over at the woman’s
credentials. Kate Lockley. Where do
I know that name… More than
anything, Emily wanted to rub her temple.
A headache the size of Gillette Stadium was screaming its
way through
her brain, and all she wanted to do was curl up and sleep for half an
age.
The other woman’s name
was
Elizabeth Blaine, and the young man’s license identified him as Dirk
Gorlusky. Putting
away her own badge,
Emily relaxed a little.
“All right, so you’re
PIs. That doesn’t
mean you’re not the
woman in this flyer,” said Emily as she pulled out the sketch. Holding it up to
Elizabeth’s face, she
immediately saw a few differences, namely that the woman in the sketch
had a
much smaller jaw line, but Emily had a hunch, and she’d learned long
ago to go
with her gut.
“Agent Prentiss, were I
this woman, I would not have waited around so that your tired, cranky
ass could
find me.”
“Doc,” said Kate
warningly. She
tried to put a hand on
Elizabeth’s arm, but was blocked by a look from Agent Jareau.
“JJ, call Hotch and tell
him I’ve got someone matching the description on the BOLO and that
we’re
bringing her in for questioning.”
Removing a pair of handcuffs from her coat pocket, the
brunette agent
said, “Will I need these, or will you cooperate?”
Elizabeth’s eyes were
stormy gray, but she said, “You won’t need those, Agent Prentiss. You are, however, making a
grave error in
judgment.”
Emily’s only answer was
to
escort Elizabeth over to the SUV while JJ made the call to Hotch.
Watching as they drove
away, Kate blew out an exasperated breath and then said, “Oh for crying
out
loud. Dersk, call
Father Luke and have
him meet us at the Tenth precinct, please.”
The two then jogged to Dersk’s car, and while Kate drove,
the half demon
put in a call to their friend. The
priest was not a lawyer, but Elizabeth trusted him, and he’d come
through for
them in the past. Without
the muscle of
Wolfram and Hart to depend on, the investigator was willing to tap any
resource
she could and Kate suspected that Father Luke was far more resourceful
than
appearances painted him to be.
“Tell
us what you have,
Garcia,” said Agent Hotchner as he gazed through the one-way glass. On the other side, the
leather-clad redhead
that Prentiss and Jareau had brought in sat calmly, her eyes closed,
her face
an impassive mask.
Standing beside Hotch,
holding his phone out so that both he and the older agent could hear
was Derek
Morgan. Agents Reid
and Rossi stood
across from them, their faces reflecting their exhaustion.
“Okay, here’s what I
know
right now: Elizabeth
Anne Blaine, born
four, eleven, nineteen and seventy-two in Clarksville, Tennessee. Daughter of Annette and
Michael Blaine:
deceased. Car
accident. Drunk
driver in Elizabeth’s freshmen year at
college… ah, she was in med school in New Orleans up until eight years
ago and
then dropped out – next appears on the radar a five and a half years
later,
working as a PI in Chicago for a firm called Lockley and Associates. She has a record – a few
traffic violations,
one DUI and half a dozen citations from the CPD thanking her for her
work in tracking
down deadbeat dads.” Garcia
sighed, and
then yawned. “In other words, she’s as clean as a whistle.”
Hotch’s brow
furrowed. “Where’d
she go for those
missing years?”
They could hear the
clicking of keys as Garcia typed.
“I’m
not finding much… oh, wait… she was in Hungary, working with a relief
agency.”
“Thanks, Garcia.
Keep checking. Let
us know if anything else comes up,” said Hotch.
“So this girl, she loses
her parents, goes to med school, drops out, goes to Hungary to work
with
refugees, and then comes back to the US to bust deadbeat dads and take
pictures
of cheating spouses? This
doesn’t make
any sense,” said Morgan. “Look
at
her. She’s dressed
like an extra from a
Mad Max movie, and yet she holds herself like a soldier trained for
battle. She’s not
upset or scared –
she’s calm, almost too calm.”
“She’s either guilty as
hell, or she’s innocent and knows it,” said Rossi.
In the room, Elizabeth opened her eyes, gazed at the
mirrored
glass and smiled.
“I always wanted to know
what a fish felt like,” she said calmly.
“When you guys are through checking your facts, could I
please get a
sandwich? I’m
starving.”
Morgan shivered.
“I really don’t like this girl.
She makes my teeth hurt.”
“Unfortunately, your
dental discomfort does not make her a suspect, Morgan,” said Reid
softly.
“Let’s go talk to her
then,” replied Morgan.
%%%
“Father Luke, thank you
for coming,” said Kate as she walked up to the blind priest and took
his hands
in hers. Pressing a
kiss to the side of
his bearded cheek, the investigator whispered, “They think Elizabeth is
the
Kiss of the Vampire killer.”
The priest schooled his
face to impassivity as he hugged his old friend’s partner. In the years since he had
come to Chicago,
he had acted as both mentor and confessor for the former vampire and
though a
part of him harbored a lingering pain for a future that would never be,
Luke
had long accepted his role in Elizabeth’s life.
They
don’t teach you how to fall out of love, even in the
seminary.
Luke’s path to the priesthood had been unorthodox, to say
the
least. Eight years
ago, he had been
just another EMT working the late shift in the French Quarter of New
Orleans. The
discovery of a body that
wasn’t exactly dead had led to a horrifying adventure that ended with
Elizabeth
Blaine turned into a vampire at the hands of a being that named itself
Judas
Iscariot and Luke partnering up with a vampire slaying priest named
Uffizi.
Almost a year after
that,
Luke had been alone and stranded in Hungary after having seen his
beloved
Elizabeth die, Uffizi turned to a vampire, and Iscariot fed to the
wolves. Struggling
to find his way across Hungary,
Luke had lost his sight when a coven of vampires had trapped him in an
abandoned building. Rescued
by the
vampire Uffizi, and bearing a cryptic message of doom, Luke had barely
made it
to the hallowed ground of an ancient church.
The priests there had tended to his physical hurts, but
nothing could
heal the tattered remnants of his heart.
Delivered into the care of an elderly cardinal named
Siqueros, Luke
learned how to let go of his anger and pain.
In time, he even found a sort of peace in the service of
God.
On his deathbed,
Siqueros
had ordained Luke. As
one of a handful
of men and women charged by the Church to guard mankind against those
things
that are beyond the pale, Luke’s first assignment was to come to
Chicago and
find the resurrected Elizabeth Blaine and serve as her guide and
confessor. It was a
tall order, but one
that he had gladly fulfilled.
He had come to know Kate
Lockley, Elizabeth’s partner and lover, as well as their friend,
Derskingorlus,
quite well. With
Uffizi’s words echoing
in his ear, he had helped them to stave off the talons of evil whenever
he
could.
To find that his friend
was being accused of the crimes she sought to prevent was almost
sickening;
never mind the fact that, had fate chosen differently, she might very
well have
been guilty. I was such an
idiot. If only I’d stopped and
considered my actions fully, rather than let myself be blinded by greed
and
lust. Elizabeth might never have lost a
single minute of her life to that monster. If only I could have done
something…
found a way to stop the progression of the vampirism, killed Iscariot
before
she turned…
Thankfully, this time, he could
do something.
Kate led the priest over
to where Agent Jareau was sitting on a desk, tiredly perusing a sheaf
of
papers. The young
woman looked up at
the investigator’s approach and smiled wearily.
“I’m sorry, Miss
Lockley,
but I can’t –“
After almost two hours
of
the blonde’s irritatingly calm platitudes, Kate still found the
wherewithal to
rein in her temper. “Agent
Jareau, I’d
like you to meet Father Luke Adams, Father, this is Agent Jareau. She’s with the FBI.”
Projecting the aura of
calm that only a priest can achieve, Luke said, “Agent Jareau, I’m here
on
behalf of my congregant, Elizabeth Blaine.
I’m hoping I can be of some help.”
JJ slid off the desk and
took the priest’s hand, shaking it briefly before saying, “Elizabeth’s
not in
trouble, Father. We’re
just asking her
some questions.”
“Ah, but if you do not
acquire the answers you seek, you will perhaps be tempted to treat her
with
less than the professional courtesy she deserves.
She is, after all, an investigator as well. Please, I wish to assist
my friend and see
that no more of your precious time is wasted.
There are far more important matters you could be
handling.”
There was something
almost
hypnotic about the way the priest spoke.
JJ found herself lulled by his soft, gentle voice. Perhaps it was her
exhaustion, or maybe it
was just the fact that she didn’t have the same ability to see everyone
as a
potential UnSub like the rest of the team – whatever it was, JJ wanted
to
believe that Elizabeth was as innocent as she claimed.
“Come with me, Father,”
said the blonde agent.
%%%
Emily hated basement
level
file morgues. They
were cold, dank, and
smelled worse than the men’s locker room at Quantico.
Yet here she was, a solitary refugee from the circus of
the
upstairs bullpen, seeking God knew what in the files that Garcia had
pegged as
being connected with Lockley and Associates.
There were far more of
them than the brunette agent had assumed, though only three contained
reports
of violence associated with the detective agency.
One was for a simple assault charged against the kid, Dirk
Gorlusky. The facts
were relatively
straightforward: the young man had been tailing a man suspected of
cheating on
his wife, only the man had confronted him and then attempted to take
Dirk’s
camera, which started a fight. Another
involved Kate and a female client who refused to pay for services
rendered. This one
didn’t have much
information and only ended with a note in the file stating that the
woman had
ended up convicted of murdering her husband.
There’s a story here, but I’ll be damned if
it’s related. The final
case file was the golden arrow Emily needed to pierce the armor of
insolence
that Elizabeth wore like an oversized t-shirt.
August fifteenth, two
thousand
and five – officer reports
seeing a woman who appeared to be one Elizabeth Blaine bite the
victim’s
shoulder, but upon investigation, the alleged victim had no memory of
the
act. Emily
snorted. No one had
thought to do a
physical examination of the victim because right after that, the man
had started
loudly confessing to a host of crimes, including the rape and murder of
three
women in upstate New York. The
CPD had
been so anxious to ship the man off to face justice that no one had
bothered to
follow up on the officer’s initial observation.
Well, Miss Blaine, let’s
see if
this rattles your cage.
%%%
Elizabeth stared at the
handsome black man who sat across from her.
Agent Derek Morgan had come in with a pile of gruesome
pictures and an
attitude that she was going to tell him everything.
Instead, what he had gotten was a silent, stone wall. The vampath wanted to
smile. Frustration
and exhaustion rolled off the
agent in waves, and Elizabeth drank it in like coffee, using the man’s
emotions
to fuel her own determination.
“See, what we have here
is
an eye witness who gave a pretty good description of a woman who looks
just
like you. And you
know what else? That
person, that woman was covered in
blood. So, maybe
you can see my point
here?”
“Put me in a lineup
then,
Mr. FBI Agent Man. I’m
sure you’ll find
it illuminating.”
Slamming his hands down
on
the table, Morgan stood and stalked over to Elizabeth.
Muscles flexing, the agent got into the
vampath’s space and growled, “Some cooperation on your part would go a
long way
toward proving your claim of innocence, Miss Blaine.”
“I’ve been cooperating
for
two hours, Agent Morgan. Between
answering the questions that you, Agent Prentiss and Agent Hotchner,
have asked
me, I feel like I could have written a biography by now. And I still haven’t gotten
my sandwich. Now,
am I under arrest, or –“
The door opened then,
admitting Agent Prentiss. “Do
you like
to bite people, Miss Blaine?” she asked, her voice a low, controlled
purr.
Almost as soon as the
door
had closed behind Emily, and before Elizabeth could reply, it opened
again,
this time to admit Aaron Hotchner.
“This interview is over.
Miss
Blaine, you are free to go with our apologies.”
He nodded to the two agents, who both looked torn between
cheering and contesting the order.
“Go
get some sleep.”
Elizabeth did not need
to
be told twice. Before
they could say,
“Boo,” she was out the door and on her way to the bullpen where Kate
was
waiting.
As Emily was leaving,
Agent Hotchner pulled her aside and said, “Next time you want to
interrogate a
suspect, make sure she doesn’t have an unshakable alibi first.”
Pressing her lips
together
in brief frustration, Emily nodded and said, “Yes, Sir.”
%%%
A huge smile lit on
Elizabeth’s face when she spotted Father Luke standing just outside of
the interview
room.
“Luke!
Hey, good to see you, my friend,” she said,
going to him and giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Softly, she whispered,
“Thank God you’re
here. I was about
to go bonkers in
there.”
Luke chuckled.
“I’m sorry I could not come sooner, my
friend. I was with
a sick parishioner.”
“It’s all right.
What finally changed their minds about
me? I’m sure it
wasn’t the
scintillating aura of purity and innocence I’m exuding.” With a wry grin, she
indicated her club
wear.
Releasing her, Luke
patted
her shoulder and said, “I provided an alibi that had the added benefit
of being
the truth.”
One ruddy eyebrow lifted
in disbelief. “I
needed an alibi? Maybe
I should have asked for a lawyer,”
said Elizabeth as they began to walk toward Kate and Dersk. She spared her lover a
weary grin and
received a worried smile in response.
Luke shrugged.
“They did feel you greatly resembled their
suspect. I’m sure
they weren’t too keen
to hear that on at least three of the days the killer acted, you were
with me
most of the day.”
Frowning, Elizabeth
said,
“Wait, we haven’t been that busy, have we?”
Sometimes the priest aided in their efforts to purge and
purify places
tainted by the aura of evil. On
other
occasions, Father Luke’s skill as an EMT was called upon to guide Kate
through
patching up Elizabeth when the vampath was too injured to assist.
Luke smiled
cheerfully. “On New
Year’s, you were
with me in the soup kitchen; on the twentieth, we discussed your
thoughts on
children in confessional, and on the eighth, there was that little
outing to
the home of the Harriman’s.” He
made
“Harriman” sound like “Hairy man”.
“Oh, well, I guess we
have
been a little busy.” She
quirked a
smile, and murmured, “Harry-mans?” I’ve
heard werewolves called many things, but that’s got to be a first.
Shrugging, Luke said, “I
told them the same thing we told the police.
Rabid dogs; extreme unction.”
“Is that what you came up
with?” said Dersk. As they drew
even with Kate and Dersk, the half demon was able to overhear a part of
their
conversation. Three
bodies had been
left after Kate and her crew had slain the werewolves.
Father Luke had volunteered to stay behind
and call the police.
“More or less,” said the
priest. “I usually
take a walk around
the area every night. It’s
very
calming. Anyway,
since that
neighborhood is close to an open field where unwanted dogs are
routinely
dumped, many are often
violent. It would
not surprise me to learn that some
might even be rabid.” He
smiled and
then said, “It’s late, and I’m tired.
Perhaps we can discuss this another day?”
“Oh, of course,” said
Dersk, who then smiled sheepishly.
“If
you want, I can take you home, Father.
After I drop off Doc and the Boss, of course.”
“Thank you, Dersk. I appreciate that.”
Stepping away from
Luke’s
side, Elizabeth went to Kate and said, “Maybe I should cut my hair.”
Kate closed her eyes
briefly against a fleeting flash of anger.
Being unable to do anything to help her lover had been
incredibly hard
for the action-oriented investigator to take.
However, she was not about to drop her carefully held
guard in a room
full of cops.
Sensing Kate’s turmoil
only served to enflame Elizabeth’s anxiety, causing the vampath to
babble. “Or maybe
braids? Pigtails?”
Kate chuckled weakly. “Let’s go home, Doc. It’s time to let the
police get back to the
business of catching real bad guys.”
This last was said loud enough to carry through the open
doorway where
the investigator knew that the FBI was lingering.
And
if I’m lucky, a certain Agent Prentiss is choking on
it.