Mercy is for the Just
by
sHaYcH
All Previous Disclaimers
Apply
Part Three
The Reliant Hotel
Hotch’s words had
stung. Even after
showing him the file
with the officer’s report on the Blaine woman, the other agent had
insisted
that she go to the hotel and get some sleep.
“I’ve been assured of
her
innocence by a reliable witness,
Agent Prentiss,”
he had said. “You’re not seeing things
clearly
because you’re tired. Get some
rest. We’ll tackle this again in the
morning.”
“I can’t believe Hotch
tanked me like that,” muttered the brunette agent.
Wanting to be
supportive,
but unsure how to do it without fueling Emily’s ire, JJ said, “What
made you so
suspicious of Elizabeth anyway?”
“You mean you couldn’t
sense it?” Incredulous,
Emily looked at
JJ and then pressed two fingertips into her temple.
“I hope I remembered to pack the good stuff this time.”
“I’ve got some ibuprofen
in my briefcase,” said JJ. “And
no, I
didn’t notice anything about her other than the leather.” She grinned. “That was one hell of an
outfit.”
Jealousy flared and
rolled
around in Emily’s gut like a handful of spiked balls.
With a grimace of pain, she reached into the backseat and
pulled
the blonde agent’s case into the front.
“Well, don’t get any ideas.
I
don’t do slut wear,” growled the older agent.
“I’m too old for fuck-me suits.”
She dug around in the outside pocket of JJ’s briefcase
until she located
the ibuprofen.
Feeling a little
trepidation at the level of anger and bitterness in Emily’s tone, JJ
attempted
to defuse the situation. ”Em,”
she said
casually. “Words
like that would get
your mouth scrubbed by a bar of Ivory soap where I grew up.” Flashing a grin, she
added, “But don’t
worry. I don’t mind
a little rough
talk. I’m a big
girl.” As she
brought the SUV to a halt and shut
down the engine, JJ turned to face Emily and said, “Just remember,
Agent
Prentiss, that words aren’t the only form of communication.” Then before Emily could
stop her, she leaned
over and kissed her on the cheek.
“I
had hoped we could share a cup of tea before bed, but if you’re feeling
out of
sorts, I’d rather just say good night now.”
Headache forgotten,
anger
fizzling away to nothing and jealousy suddenly gone, Emily hoarsely
replied,
“No, no, tea sounds great. Really
great. I’ll just,
go turn the pot
on.” She piled out
of the vehicle and
stumbled over to the door to her room.
JJ chuckled, collected
her
briefcase and then followed the suddenly not-so-cranky other agent into
the
hotel.
Inside Emily’s room, the
brunette agent dropped her coat on a chair, kicked off her shoes, and
then
headed for the tiny vanity where a small coffee pot waited. She registered JJ’s
arrival but did not stop
in her single-minded quest to fill and start the water in the pot. Tea would be good. Better than good, it would
be an excuse to spend time with JJ
without having to talk about the case.
An emotion akin to shame had seared Emily’s nerves to
jangling rawness,
and she needed to put it aside and remember that she was human.
Only when the water was
pumping into the pot did she turn to face her ersatz guest. With a crooked smile,
Emily said, “There’s
orange pekoe on the table, or I’ve got some Sleepytime in my bag. Which would you prefer?”
Laying her coat on top
of
Emily’s, JJ cracked her neck and said, “Sleepytime.
I don’t need any more caffeine tonight.”
Emily laughed. “I hear
you
there. Have a seat. This’ll only take a few
minutes.” She
gestured toward the table, but JJ smiled
enigmatically and chose to kick back on the bed instead. Suddenly quite light
headed at the sight of
JJ in what amounted to her bed, Emily leaned against a supporting wall
and
tried not to bite her lip. “Comfy?”
Can she look any more
adorable?
“Yes, actually. The
bed is softer than the chairs at the
Tenth, but not much.” JJ
relaxed into a
limp heap and sighed contentedly.
This
is nice, though there’s something missing.
Wistful
thoughts stirring in her head,
JJ fought to control the rising urge to put voice to her wishes.
“Oh, well, make yourself
at home,” said Emily weakly. It
would be so easy to just…no, don’t go there, Em.
Pushing
away from the wall, the
brunette hastily retrieved two cups for the tea.
Whether it was the distraction of JJ in her bed, or the
exhaustion from lack of sleep, Emily’s reflexes were dulled enough that
when
she started to pour water into the first cup, it splashed back and
scalded her
hand. “Ouch, damn
it.”
“Are you okay?” said JJ
as
she started to stand.
Emily waved her off. “I’m fine.
It’s nothing. Stay
there, I’ll
be right back.” She
went into the
bathroom and ran her hand under some cool water until most of the
burning
sensation had eased. The
woman
reflected in the mirror above the sink looked so worn and haggard that
at
first, Emily thought she was hallucinating.
Biting back a derisive snort, she shut off the water and
reached for a
towel.
Out in the room, JJ had
rolled to her side and was watching for the brunette agent’s return. “Is it bad?” she asked.
“Nah, it’s fine,” said
Emily as she walked back over to the vanity to finish preparing the tea.
“Let me see,” said
JJ. “I’ve got some
aloe in my
briefcase.”
“It’s all right, JJ,
really.”
“Emily,” said JJ in a
tone
of voice that brooked no argument.
“Come here.”
The brunette was halfway
to the bed before she realized it.
Her
pulse was a trip hammer beat, thudding in a nervous rhythm that was
both
enticing and frightening. When
her
knees collided with the edge of the mattress, Emily stopped and
swallowed
heavily. “JJ, I’m
okay,” she started to
say, but was silenced by the sensation of the blonde’s fingers clasping
hers.
Gently, JJ tugged on
Emily’s hand until the brunette lowered herself to the bed. “I believe,” said JJ with
knowing
slowness. “That
you’re holding on to
something for me.” She
looked up at
Emily through the fall of her blonde hair.
A slow, sensuous smile pulled at her lips.
“I’ll take it back now.”
Bending her head, she lifted Emily’s hand to her lips and
pressed a soft
kiss into the palm and then brushed her cheek against the wrist.
The flutter of Emily’s
pulse tickled, and JJ smiled. Pulling
the brunette closer, she drew her face along Emily’s arm and then
pressed a
second kiss into the crease of her elbow.
Breathless, Emily
whispered, “JJ what are you –“ A
single
finger touched her mouth.
“Shh.”
JJ inhaled, breathing in the layers of scent
that clung to Emily’s body. Tiny
muscle
tremors caused the brunette’s shirt to ripple and JJ felt her own
heartbeat
start to thrum in staccato sympathy.
“Sometimes we don’t get a choice,” said JJ softly as she
stroked her
fingertips across Emily’s cheek and into her hair.
“Sometimes, things just have to happen.”
In a deliberately measured fashion, JJ
pulled Emily toward her until their mouths were almost touching.
Shaking hard, Emily
could
neither assist nor resist the inexorable destination.
“The only question is if
you want them to,” whispered JJ.
Emily remembered that
moment as she would the brief, electric calm just before a midwestern
summer
storm. All around
her, everything
seemed to have stopped. The
tickle of
ozone was on her tongue, the tang of rain scented the air and the heat
was like
molasses on her bones. It
took an
eternity for the words that coalesced in her brain to fall into the
silence.
“Oh God, yes.”
Crushing her mouth to JJ’s, Emily abandoned
herself to the heady, surreal intoxication that was kissing Jennifer
Jareau.
%%%
One kiss was not
enough. One
thousand kisses would not
have been enough. Yet
somewhere between
one and one thousand, Emily and JJ broke apart to stare with tender
incredulity
into one another’s eyes. Captivated
by
Emily’s luminescently umber gaze, JJ imagined that she was sinking into
a bowl
of the smoothest, richest chocolate.
Emily felt like she was flying into the growing dawn; the
blue of JJ’s
eyes seeming a reflection of sky on sea just as the morning fog peeled
away to
reveal the endless fluxion of azure and smoke.
At some point, they had fallen together onto the bed and
were now
tightly entwined.
Her lips tingling with
their kisses, JJ cracked a smile and carded her fingers through Emily’s
hair. “That was –“
“Jennifer, I –“
They chuckled, and then
kissed softly. Emily
murmured, “Still
want that tea?”
JJ nipped the brunette’s
bottom lip gently and then said, “Uh huh, but I don’t want you to move,
either.”
“I’d need to move
anyway,
Jennifer. The pot
has to be turned
off.”
The pout that greeted
that
news made Emily laugh; a deep, throaty gurgle that earned her a solid
clout to
the arm, and then a delicate kiss on the tip of her nose.
“Hurry back.”
With the air of someone
about to yank a plaster from a wound, Emily quickly stood and made her
way to
the coffee pot. It
seemed as though it
had been a thousand years since she had started the water, but the
reality was
that only a few minutes had passed.
Filling their cups, she added the tea bags and sugar then
carried them
over to the bed. It
was only after
she’d set the mugs down on the nightstand that she realized that JJ was
under
the covers.
“JJ?”
Curling back the
blankets
invitingly, JJ revealed that she had liberated one of Emily’s t-shirts
from her
overnight bag. “I
got cold.”
“I-uh-this might not be
such a good idea,” blurted Emily with sudden nervousness.
Getting to her knees, JJ
moved to where she was within touching distance of Emily. Distantly, the brunette
noted that her shirt
barely concealed the pale peach lace of JJ’s underwear.
“I think,” said JJ as
she
reached up to unbutton Emily’s blouse.
“That this is a great idea.
I’m
tired. You’re tired. This bed is comfortable. There’s tea, you and me. What’s not to love?”
“Just sleep?” said Emily
softly. “Anything
else seems-“
“Too much?” said JJ. “Yeah, I know what you
mean. Sleep is good. In fact, I can’t think of
anything better than falling asleep in
your arms. Except
for maybe waking up
in them.” She
smiled. “Got
another t-shirt?”
Emily grinned, reached
under a pillow and revealed a worn, navy blue shirt with the letters,
“FBI
Academy” stenciled in yellow across the center.
It was at least three sizes too large, but Emily slipped
into it
with practiced ease. Just
as quickly,
her bra and slacks hit the floor, while her gun went into the top
drawer of the
nightstand. The
belt ended up slung
over the back of a chair.
“Sidearm?” she asked.
JJ smiled. “In my
briefcase.” She’d
crawled back under
the covers and was getting comfortable on one side of the bed. Reaching for a mug of tea,
she took a sip
while Emily bit her lip and looked pensive.
“Something bothering you?”
“Put it in the other
drawer, over there,” said Emily.
Pointing at the nightstand on the other side of the bed,
she added, “We
might as well not break every rule of field work.”
It was the first time
either of them had overtly spoken of their jobs and the effect any
relationship
beyond that of colleagues was going to have.
“Shit.
You’re right. I
wasn’t thinking.”
Reaching for her briefcase, JJ retrieved her gun and put
it into the
drawer on her side of the bed. “I
think
we’re going to have to have a long conversation soon.”
“Soon, but not
tonight. I’m done
in.”
JJ nodded.
“We will talk, though, because this is going
to happen. I’m not
going to fight it
anymore.”
After climbing onto the
bed, Emily picked up her cup of tea and said, “I think fighting is a
moot
point, JJ. I’m
crazy about you, and I
challenge anyone to stand between us.
I’ll transfer to Strauss’ team before I give up this
chance.”
The warm flush that
suffused JJ’s face was no match for the brilliant smile that sparkled
in her
eyes. “You, my dear
Emily Prentiss, are
dangerous. I like
that. Now turn off
the light and hold me. I
suspect seven a.m. is going to arrive far
too quickly.”
Apartment of Kate
Lockley and Elizabeth Blaine
Kate snorted.
“You and me both, Doc.”
She shook her head. “I
almost called a lawyer, but I sort of
understand how they feel.”
“Yeah?”
Shoes got tossed one
way,
clothes the other as they stumbled into the bathroom.
The shower taps spat out a rapidly heating stream of water
while
the women assisted each other in the removal of makeup, clothing, and
jewelry.
“Yeah.
I mean, think about how we felt when Caruso
took those kids. Or
that time with the
psycho who swore her husband was cheating.”
They stepped into the
stall, both emitting similar groans of approval at the bone-melting
temperature
of the water. Elizabeth
reached for
Kate’s shampoo and started to soap her lover’s hair with an unconscious
ease
that spoke of years’ practice.
“Mmm, yeah.
That did suck. I
hate being on a timeline.”
She dipped her head to press a kiss on the ball of Kate’s
shoulder. There was
a thin scar there from where a
bullet had grazed the investigator.
“I’m glad that bitch couldn’t shoot straight.”
Kate laughed.
“I’d have trouble aiming if a six foot tall,
redheaded banshee with fangs was attacking me, too, love.”
Rinsing the
investigator’s
hair, and then trading places so that Kate could return the favor,
Elizabeth
said, “She was hurting you. Client
or
not, no one messes with my girl.”
She
bent her head so that Kate could reach the top, grinning when the
investigator
gave the ruddy locks a sharp tug.
“I still say you did it
as
payback for Caruso,” grumbled Kate as she rinsed the lather from her
lover’s
hair. It had taken
Elizabeth a long
time to get over the fact that Kate had shot the psychopathic warlock
rather than
letting the vampath deal with him in her fashion.
“Well, there may have
been
an element of scale balancing there, but really, Dick, it was all about
the
fun.” Elizabeth
straightened and drew
Kate into her arms to trade several lingering kisses.
“You know how much I love to kick a little ass.”
“Mm, but there aren’t
any
asses to kick here, so why don’t you wash my back and we’ll discuss
dinner and
other –“ Kate nipped Elizabeth’s bottom lip lightly.
“Things.”
“I can do that.”
%%%
Over dinner, the
conversation
turned to what had triggered Elizabeth’s “creep-o-meter” about the drag
queen,
Sheila Divine.
“It
was something you said, Dick.
She was too good. When
I took a
hard look at her, she was a dead ringer for the police sketch.” She chuckled. “It’s too bad Agent
Prentiss didn’t see the show; I might have
had company at the precinct tonight.
Anyway, when I touched her surface emotions, it was like
sticking my
hands into a pile of rotting garbage.”
She shrugged. “It
seemed prudent
to do a little further investigating, so I checked out the dressing
room. The walls
were practically painted in
negativity, and the scent of old blood was prevalent.
The same smell was impregnated in a piece of her clothing.”
“Well generally, when
there are women involved, old blood might not be so surprising, but how
many of
the performers at Club 88 are truly male or female?”
Kate gestured with her fork.
“After all, we only saw the one act.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I want to go back
tomorrow and ask some
questions of that friendly bartender.”
“Okay.
I’m going to see if I can get anything from
one of my contacts at the precinct.
Those FBI agents should have given them a profile by now. Maybe something on it will
help you
understand what you felt.”
They finished their
meal,
cleaned up, and headed for bed. It
was
very late, but neither was quite ready to sleep yet.
Lying in the center of their massive bed, they
instinctively
coiled around each other. Absently
trading caresses and tender kisses, Kate and Elizabeth let the worries
of the
day fade away as the banked fire of their shared desire flared to life
once
more.
The Reliant
Hotel
The streets of the 4th
Ward
“Em,” said JJ
muzzily. “You gonna
get that?”
“Guess so,” she
replied. Fumbling
for the phone, she
managed to mutter, “Prentiss,” into the receiver before the buzzing
started
anew.
“Good morning merry
sunshine.” Derek
Morgan’s voice was far
too cheerful for - Emily blinked a few times and checked her watch –
seven
thirty in the morning.
“Morgan, hey.
Sorry I made you wait.
I must have missed my alarm.”
“That’s all right,
Prentiss. I’m just
acting as a
messenger, so don’t shoot me when I lay it on you, okay?”
Emily chuckled
ruefully. “You make
it sound like
you’ve got some pretty bad news for me, Derek.”
Lying on her back with JJ perched on her chest, Emily felt
that
Morgan could tell her just about anything and she wouldn’t care. Absently stroking her
fingers across JJ’s
back, she smiled with real pleasure when the blonde agent began to
press soft,
open-mouthed kisses against her neck.
“Well firstly,
Emily-my-girl, you need to get your butt up and over to the alleyway
behind
Sharkey’s Bar and Grill.”
“And that is, where,
exactly?”
“South Drexel and East
Forty-Sixth. You
can’t miss it. It’ll
be the place where there’s a whole
bunch of cops.”
“Another body?”
Okay, so maybe there was something that
could put a crimp in Emily’s sense of well-being.
“Yeah.
The UnSub’s struck again.
Maybe you were right about that Blaine woman
after all.”
Emily felt a thrill of
triumph slice through her almost at the same time as JJ’s phone rang. The liaison’s rather
distinctive ring tone
was very loud, though, and it was far too late to hide it from Morgan. JJ pushed away from Emily
and quietly
answered her phone.
“Well,
maybe you aren’t quite the lazybones I thought you were,
Prentiss,” said Morgan. “Say
good
morning to JJ for me.”
“Morgan, I-“
Emily started to explain while JJ turned
away.
“Prentiss, listen to me
and don’t make me say this twice:
I
don’t care. Okay,
so maybe I do care, but it’s not a
big deal. And
Emily, I do not want to hear any fancy stories.
Just, leave it be and we’ll talk about it
over dinner at Garcia’s, okay?”
The relief Emily felt
was
only eclipsed by the volcanic eruption of love and friendship she felt
for the
man who could have easily caused her a world of trouble. An uncharacteristic
sharpness stung the
brunette’s eyes, and she blinked, trying to clear away the moisture
before it
had a chance to fall.
“Thanks, Derek,” she
said,
her voice amazingly steady considering the cyclone of emotion she was
experiencing. “I’ll
be there in
fifteen.”
“Bring JJ.
The media’s on this like flies on shit.”
“Will do.”
She ended the call. JJ
had already finished her call and was
halfway through getting dressed when Emily looked up and said, “I’ve
got to
jump in the shower. You
should head
back to your room and do the same.
They
need us on a scene.”
JJ nodded.
“I know.
I just spoke to Hotch.”
The
blonde turned a livid shade of red then.
“He…ah, I think he knows, Em.”
She bit her lip nervously.
“So…”
she said, shrugging sheepishly. “We
should probably say something to Reid and Garcia, too.”
Emily buried her head in
her hands and let out a long groan.
“Kill me, please. Just
kill me
now.”
Suddenly overwhelmed
with
a sickening sense of fear, JJ said, “If you don’t want to do this-“
“No!
No, of course I want to – God, I need to do
this, JJ. For
fuck’s sake, I lose my
mind thinking about you most of the time.”
Emily quickly went to JJ and wrapped her arms around the
other agent’s
stiff body. “No,
it’s just that – if
Hotch knows, he could really make trouble for us.
Transfer me out of the unit or, hell, he could send me off
to
Alaska and I’d have to go.” Stroking
JJ’s hair, she whispered, “I don’t want to leave the BAU, but I also
don’t want
to stop being with you.”
“Then we don’t make our
relationship an issue. There’s
no rule
against fraternization, only that we keep it out of the office. And since I’m sure Strauss
would love to use
this against Hotch, we’ll just have to be careful.”
JJ looked up at Emily and smiled.
“We can
be careful,
Em. It’s taken us
nearly two years to
get this far and no one’s noticed.”
“Garcia-“ Emily started
to
speak, but JJ’s laugh cut her off.
Grinning wryly, JJ said,
“Of course. She
knows because you told
her, didn’t you?”
“Not, exactly.”
Surprised, JJ said, “She
guessed?”
“Sort of.
I think her exact words were, ‘Em, either JJ’s
got it bad for you, or your ass is turning green,’ and since I have yet
to show
any signs of Kermit-butt, I suspect Miss Garcia caught a clue.”
“Oh my God, I love the
Muppets!” JJ
laughed and then dragged
Emily down for a long, toe-curling, hair-mussing, heart-pounding kiss
that left
both of them breathing as though they’d just run a thirty mile marathon.
Dusting a trail of tiny,
nibbling kisses along JJ’s jaw line, Emily whispered, “You’d better go,
before
we both have to take cold showers.”
As her head tipped back
to
provide full access to her throat, JJ groaned, “Too late.” Tearing herself away from
Emily’s arms, JJ
smiled and said, “Emily, last night was-“
“Everything it should
have
been, JJ. Now go. If you hurry, we can grab
coffee and bagels
on the way.”
%%%
The circus-like
atmosphere
of the crime scene was only a brief scratch on the jubilant emotions
that
prickled beneath the surface of JJ’s thoughts.
There was a constant drone of, “She kissed me, oh God, she
kissed me,”
running like an undercurrent that slowly wrapped around her psyche like
a
blanket fresh from the dryer. It
was
warm, lilac scented and felt so good, that JJ wanted to climb to the
top of the
tallest building and shout it to the world.
Instead, she pushed
aside
the giddy, light-headed feelings of joy and shrouded her face in a mask
of
propriety and seriousness. What
she had
heard from Hotch on the way over only fueled her determination to find
this
UnSub.
Heading over to where
Captain MacPherson and Agent Hotchner were having a quiet conversation,
JJ
calmly ordered her thoughts and began planning what she would say to
the media.
Emily stepped away from
the SUV, spotted the sunglass and t-shirt clad form of Derek Morgan,
and
approached the entrance to the alley.
A
foul, sickly-sweet stench wafted out and assaulted her senses with the
unforgettable odor of death. Pausing
for a moment, Emily swallowed against the instinctive need to bolt and
then
pressed on into the alley.
Dumpsters in various
states of repair sat in a haphazard scatter along the ragged fence line
that
separated the businesses from a residential neighborhood. Detritus clustered at the
feet of the
massive metal containers as if the items had finally won free of their
prison
and were now stopping to take a break before escaping into the
wilderness of
the city. Moving
amongst the dumpsters
and trash were the blue-jacketed forms of the CPD’s crime scene unit. The flash of a camera
sparked a haze of
strobe light afterimages as Emily walked past the uninvolved section of
the
alley.
In the shade of the
building, hidden from public view, was the back entrance to Sharkey’s. Mixed with the scent of
death were the
smells more common to a bar – beer, hard liquor, vomit, and urine had
soaked
into the pavement until it was as much a part of the construction as
the
cement, paint, and stucco.
At nearly eight a.m. in
the morning, it was briskly cold, but Emily ignored the temperature,
only
noting its possible affects on the presumed time of death. From her jacket pocket,
she withdrew a pair
of heavy latex gloves, slid them on, and then focused her attention on
the
body. Distantly,
she sensed the arrival
of Morgan and Rossi, but shoved their presence aside to catalogue the
scene as
she had been trained.
Performing a visual grid
search, Emily noted a strewn array of garbage that led to the
sneaker-covered
feet of the victim. At
first, she
considered it to be a sign of the struggle, but the seemingly haphazard
arrangement of debris was purposeful.
The brunette agent squatted to get a better look at the
pavement and
spotted a trail of gravitational blood spatter.
Following the droplets
to
the body, she was momentarily appalled at the sight revealed. Naked from the waist up,
the victim’s head
and torso were almost completely obscured by a foul mixture of blood
and
trash. A medical
examiner and a CSU
tech knelt beside the body, slowly recording and preserving each piece
of
evidence. As Emily
watched, a large
piece of bloody cardboard was removed, revealing most of the victim’s
chest.
Lacerations and
contusions
too numerous to count had turned muscle and flesh into a shredded and
battered
chunk of meat. Sickened,
Emily brought
her wrist to her mouth and swallowed against her rebelling stomach.
Shouldn’t have had that
second
bagel. She felt the
press of a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see Morgan gazing down
at her,
concern etched on his darkly handsome features.
“You okay, Prentiss?”
She nodded.
“Yeah.
It’s just a bit too close to breakfast.”
Standing, she moved to inspect the rest of the scene.
“I hear you,” said
Morgan. “I had to
skip out on mom’s
biscuits and gravy because I knew this wasn’t gonna be pretty.”
“Do we have a time of
death?”
Rossi answered.
“The ME puts it at or around midnight.”
Emily just barely
managed
to stop herself from cursing. We
still had Blaine in custody at midnight.
It’s not her. She was
right. Damn, why was I so sure that she
knew something? The brunette nodded at the
implication and said, “I guess we’ll
get back to canvassing. Since
the UnSub
has moved to a new ward, maybe she was careless enough to leave a
witness.”
Rossi inclined his
head. “Perhaps.”
“Detectives, agents, you
should come take a look at this,” said the ME.
Two unfamiliar cops joined the agents at the medical
examiner’s
side. He’d finally
uncovered the rest
of the victim’s head and torso. There
was a collective intake of breath and even as Emily fought against a
cry of
fear and outrage, she pressed closer to inspect the scene.
The killer had finally
made a mistake. Where
the earlier
murders had been all about control and domination, this one had been a
frenzy
of cuts, blows, and unfettered rage.
Whoever the victim was, he would have to be identified by
his
fingerprints or dental records because his face had been utterly
destroyed. Smashed,
slashed, and
battered into an amorphous pulp of blood, bone and tissue, all that was
left
was the glitter of a single gold hoop earring that stuck out of what
once had
been the right ear.
Brilliant, carmine red
streaks of an oily, garish pink substance mixed with the blood and gore. Out of the corner of her
eye, Emily saw JJ
kneel beside her and extend a glove-clad finger to indicate one of the
patches
of material. “Is
that lipstick?”
The blonde’s hair had
been
pulled back into a sloppy ponytail and incongruously, Emily found
herself
noting how utterly gorgeous JJ looked, even against the backdrop of
such
horror. As if
sensing the trend of the
brunette’s thoughts, JJ looked back at Emily and flashed her a knowing
grin.
Using a swab to scrape
up
some of the unknown substance, the CSU tech said, “It looks that way.”
Emily’s eyebrows
rose. “Maybe we’ll
get lucky and find
some DNA this time.”
Behind them, Rossi and
Hotch were softly talking with one of the homicide investigators from
the local
precinct.
“This is the same UnSub
as
the cases over in the Seventeenth ward,” said Hotchner.
“The increased patrols and attention to her
usual hunting ground might have forced her to look elsewhere.”
“It’s also pissed her
off,” said Rossi. “Enough
so that she’s
made some mistakes. We
need to revise
the profile after the ME is done with the body.”
Hotch nodded.
“Detective, what we need is for you to allow
us to continue working this case alongside the others.”
The cop, an older man
with
a head of iron gray hair and the expression of someone who eats far too
many
bottles of antacid, grunted. “Take
it. Be a load off
my back.”
“Thank you,
Detective. Let me
introduce you to our
communications liaison. She
will tell
you what we’ll need from your department.”
With the innate sense of
timing that hadn’t failed the team yet, JJ was at his side, holding out
her
hand and gracing him with one of her patented full-face smiles.
“Hi, I’m Jennifer
Jareau,
but you can call me JJ.”
Club 88
“Can I help you?” The voice was familiar and
tinged with the
weariness that comes from a long night of work.
The vampath turned and
gave the young man a friendly smile.
“Hey, I was here last night, and I saw this drag
performance that was
really awesome. Anyway,
I got a cousin
in Vegas who’s always looking for something special to showcase, if you
know
what I mean.” Elizabeth
winked and
flashed a crisply folded twenty-dollar bill, causing the bartender to
grin.
“Yeah, I get you. So, who was it, do you
remember?” The
bartender didn’t bother to look beyond
the green of the cash in Elizabeth’s palm.
“Sheila Divine,” said
the
vampath shortly. With
a slight effort
of will, Elizabeth exerted her projective empathy and established a
gentle, but
coercive link with the bartender.
Regretting the necessity, but knowing that the truth would
be important,
the vampath eased the young man’s suspicions and instilled him with a
need to
be particularly loquacious on the subject of Sheila Divine.
“Oh yeah, yeah,” he
said,
nodding enthusiastically. “She’s
fantastic. Just
spot on. All the
college boys go nuts for her. Always
has ‘em eating out of the palm of her
hand, that one.” He
locked the door and
stuffed his hands into his back pockets.
Elizabeth frowned
slightly
and affected a look of concern.
“Yeah? Does
she take advantage
of that? My cousin
wouldn’t want any
trouble from jilted lovers, you know.”
Shaking his head
vigorously, the bartender said, “Oh, no, no, Sheila’s not like that. I mean, she’s good at
charming the crowd and
stuff, but off stage, whew! What
a
diva. No, I can’t
imagine Sheila going
home with any of the guys who party here.”
He scratched his head and shrugged.
“Does Sheila have a
boyfriend? Or a
girlfriend?” Dropping
the pretense, Elizabeth exerted a
little more pressure on the link as the bartender blinked sleepily.
“You know, I’m not
sure. I’ve never
seen Sheila with
anyone. I mean,
she’s so hot, and
everyone really digs her on stage, but man, I have never met a Queen
who was
such a cold fish.”
Elizabeth feigned
regret. “Too bad. Hey, uh, one more thing –
ever seen her
without the get up? Like,
what he’s
like under all that glam and glitz?”
She started to extend the hand that had the twenty in it.
The bartender gazed
hungrily at the bill and said, “Only once.
I was out back having a smoke, and I saw him arrive. Almost didn’t recognize
him. Real emo type. Only thing that was the
same was the long hair. It
was like a river of blood – like yours,
sort of, without all the product and poofery of Sheila’s look. Maybe it was a little
shorter, too.”
“Okay,” said Elizabeth
as
she let the money fall into the bartender’s waiting palm. “Thanks.
My cousin’ll love hearing about this.”
Grinning, the bartender
pocketed the money and said, “Well, hey, if your ‘cousin’ ever needs
anything
else, look me up. Name’s Jamie Ryan.”
Tilting her head
slightly
to the side, the vampath grinned and silently disconnected the empathic
bond. Offering her
hand, she said,
“Elizabeth. Elizabeth
Blaine.”
10th
Precinct
“Hey Larry,” said Kate
as
she wandered into his office. “Got
time
for an old friend?”
Kaplan looked up from
his
computer screen and swallowed. Ever
since that Drake woman had made his troubles with the IRS disappear,
Larry had
felt pressured to make sure her friends got whatever they needed from
him, but
when Vivienne vanished, he felt certain his debt had been paid.
“I-I-I’m kind of busy,
actually, Miss Lockley,” he said.
Kate frowned and Larry
automatically paled. He
was not the
bravest of men. In
fact, it would be
generous to call him “Larry the Meek and Mild”, and Kate knew this. “Oh, come on Larry –
surely you’re not going
to tell me you want to give up our little lunches?”
If
he rabbits on me, I’m gonna have to find another guy
inside this precinct. I should have
brought Doc. Could use her brand of
persuasion right about now.
She pulled out a chair and sat, giving the
nervous clerk a wide, toothy grin.
“I
brought your favorite,” she sing-songed and held up a white bag with
the logo
of a local deli embossed on the paper.
Two, twenty-dollar bills were clipped to the side facing
the clerk.
Licking his lips at the
sight of the cash, Larry tucked his pencil behind his left ear and
caved. “Well, okay. I guess a guy’s gotta
eat,” he said as he reached for the money.
“That’s my man,” said
Kate, handing over the bag.
Snatching it close to
his
chest, Larry mumbled, “No mustard, right?
You made sure they didn’t defile it with that horrid
stuff.”
“It’s exactly the way
you
like it, Larry. Mayo,
sprouts, catsup,
olives, onions, and kosher dills on a whole wheat roll with shaved ham
and
provolone.” Kate
felt a little ill
listing the ingredients, but it seemed to make Larry happy, so she
added, “I
got you a bag of those salt and vinegar chips you like, too.”
Larry looked up at Kate,
his watery blue eyes filled with an emotion that might have been
wonder, but
was probably the precursor to a serious case of heartburn. “You must really want
something, Kate.”
Leaning forward, Kate
rested her elbows on the desk, folded her hands and set her chin
against her
knuckles. “Oh, it’s
nothing much,
Larry. I just… want
to talk. You know,
shoot the breeze, hear a little
office gossip.”
He eyed her
suspiciously. “About?”
The investigator
shrugged
nonchalantly. “What
can you tell me
about this ‘Kiss of the Vampire’ thing?”
%%%
Sprawled in chairs
around
a table covered in the remains of their last meal, the agents of the
BAU stared
blearily at several movable whiteboards.
Crime scene photographs, diagrams, and hastily scrawled
lists of text
mocked them with the killer’s bloody secrets.
It had been a very long day, and it seemed as though it
would only creep
inexorably on, even with the advent of new evidence.
Dr. Reid was standing in
front of a blank whiteboard, attempting to link the various clues while
Rossi
paced, muttering softly to himself about the differences between the
original
cases and the latest victim. “He
or she
is decompensating,” he muttered. “But
why? Why not just
choose a new hunting
ground and be happy with it?”
“No comfort zone? Sharkey’s isn’t exactly
the high point of
any bar hopper’s night. Maybe
our UnSub
wants a certain class of victim?”
Morgan
stood and walked over to the boards.
“Look at these guys.
They’re all
young, fit, good looking. College
types. They were
out for a little fun;
a little bit of a wild time.”
“You said, ‘He or she’,”
said JJ. The blonde
agent was thumbing
through a case file. “I
thought we
decided that the UnSub was a woman.”
“I thought so too,” said
Rossi. “But with
what we learned this
morning…”
The latest victim had
been
identified as Jason Chandler. Upon
reaching the number listed as his emergency contact in his cell phone,
they had
spoken with a deeply grief-stricken older man who had identified
himself as
Jason’s partner.
“I don’t understand,” he’d
cried. “Jay was just going out for a
little fun because I had to work.”
After ascertaining that
Jason had identified as homosexual, the team had begun to re-evaluate
their
profile. It was, as
Agent Hotchner
often said, an inexact science, and with every clue, new piece of
evidence and
scrap of information about the UnSub, their profile evolved.
Chucking her pencil onto
the table, Emily said, “This sucks.”
The door opened,
admitting
Aaron Hotchner. His
face looked
flushed, but there was a gleam of excitement lighting his dark eyes. “We’ve got something. They found DNA. The lab is forwarding the
results to Quantico.”
The collective sigh
seemed
to act as a revitalizing force as Morgan brought out his cell. Punching a single button,
he set the phone
on the table and waited for it to connect.
“Oracles-R-Us:
prognostication, investigation, and
information on demand and at your command.
Sister Garcia will hear your plea, o puny mortal. Speak and be guided.”
“Hey Baby Girl, we got
us
a break. You’re
about to get some
evidence from the CPD, we need you to work your mojo and get us
everything you
can once the techs give you a name.”
“Awesome.
Let me just exercise a little Garcia
magic.” The clatter
of keys was all
they heard for several long minutes and then, “Hmm, well there’s
nothing in
CODIS that matches the preliminary results.
I’ll keep trying and get back to you as soon as I have
something. There is
one thing, though.”
“What’s that?”
“The sample definitely
came from a woman.”
Office of
Lockley and
Associates
The deep, almost
spiritual
sense of satisfaction that went hand and glove with every case that
ended
positively was almost too good to be true.
Working for Kate and Elizabeth had put him on a road to a
life that was
a paradox of shadows and light that suited his dual nature. A part of that road had
been learning how to
use a computer, which after a few stumbles, he’d taken to like a duck
to a
pond.
Trained by a master
hacker, Dersk’s abilities had gone from hunt and peck to something
approaching
a respectable ability with data mining and information retrieval. With a Bluetooth
hands-free device perched
on his ear and his testosterone driven laptop open in front of him, the
half demon
waited to hear from his bosses.
First to call in was
Elizabeth with a query that sent him off seeking info about the drag
queen,
Sheila Divine. What
little data he’d
been able to locate was quite interesting and he was about to call her
back
when Kate contacted him to have him start pulling information on a case
being
reported in another area of town.
It seemed the serial
killer had struck again. Dersk
groaned. His email
was already
overflowing with complaints from his friends about the case. This was only going to
make it worse. Nothing
riled up the nonhuman community
faster than some idiot human doing something that drew too much
attention to
the shadows where their world flourished.
Cursing softly, he dug
out
a remote, opened the cupboard that hid the office’s small television,
and
turned it on to the local news. With
the afternoon anchors bleating about the “Kiss of the Vampire” killer
and the
soft dings as emails quickly
filled his
inbox, Dersk set to work digging through the internet for any new
information
about the killer.
%%%
“Marcus James
Coleman? All right,
see what you can
come up with on
him. No, don’t do
anything hinky, Dersk. No
use in going to prison for a job we aren’t even getting paid
for.” Elizabeth
chuckled at something
in the half demon’s response and then said, “I gotta go, Snake Boy. She’s here.”
Elizabeth was meeting
Kate
for lunch at a café near Sharkey’s, the scene of the latest killing. Once the police had left
the area, she and
Kate planned to do a little snooping around and see what evidence they
could
find.
“Hey,” said the vampath
as
she stood and kissed her lover on the cheek.
“I missed you.”
Kate rolled her eyes,
but
returned the kiss. “You’re
such a
goofball. It hasn’t
even been five
hours.”
“It’s still been a long
day. So, what’d
Kaplan tell you?”
They sat down at the
little table and perused a couple of well-worn paper menus. The café was small and had
been a fixture in
the neighborhood for years. Back
when
Elizabeth had worked for Sharkey’s, she had often stopped by in the
morning for
breakfast after a long shift. The
food
was simple, plentiful, and cheap.
“Not much,
unfortunately,
but I was still able to pick up a little of the random gossip. Oh, and he had some notes
from the BAU’s
profile, so I got a look at that, too.
No real surprises except one: they’re pretty sure it’s a
woman who’s
doing it.” Kate
looked up as a waiter
came by to drop off a couple of glasses of water.
“Could I get a beer?
Yeah, here’s my ID,” she said, showing the young man her
license. “Thanks.”
“Me too,” said the
vampath, but when she went to pull out her wallet, he waved her off.
“S’okay, Liz.
I remember you from the old man’s
place. You’re cool.”
“Right, right… David,
right? You’re Sam’s
youngest, aren’t
you?” Elizabeth
hadn’t gotten too close
to Sam Sharkey, but she remembered that he had quite a large family and
that
most of them worked at their old man’s bar.
“Yeah, Pop got me a job
here when the last guy quit. It’s
been
nice. Haven’t had
to toss out a drunk
or break up a fight in months.”
If Kate could have sent
telepathic kicks into Elizabeth’s head, she would have.
Instead, she concentrated on trying to find
the elusive thread of the link that she and her lover sometimes shared. For once, she was in luck
and she was able
to ”feel” it activate. Of
course, now
that she was in the rapport, she wasn’t exactly sure what to do with
it, so she
focused on something simple like, a strong sense of curiousness.
Whether that worked or
not, Kate was relieved when Elizabeth said, “Bet your old man wasn’t
happy with
all the hoopla this morning.”
David looked around. The café wasn’t busy, so
he hooked his foot
around a chair and dragged it over to the table.
Straddling the seat, he said, “Oh man, you ain’t kidding,
Liz. Pop just about
cracked a brick
when he found that man’s body in the back.
Danny says he hasn’t stopped complaining about it all day.
Seems them
FBI folks told him he’d have to stay away from the area for a couple of
days.”
This was standard crime
scene procedure. Kate
had far too many
memories of informing people that they couldn’t have access to parts of
their
homes or businesses until the techs were done gathering all the
evidence. Some took
it well, understanding the need to
document a scene, while others acted as though they wanted to forget
that
anything bad had ever happened to their precious places. Then there were those like
Sam Sharkey, for
whom the almighty dollar was for more important than catching a serial
killer.
“That must have gone
over
about as well as a fart in a wetsuit,” said the vampath. “I’m glad I wasn’t there.”
Chuckling, David said,
“Yeah, I bet Danny wishes he hadn’t been either.
To hear him talk, you’d think Pop was more mad that he’d
lost a
potential customer rather than the fact that some kid got himself
whacked on
our property.”
Did they know the
victim?
Was he a customer? Did anyone
see anything unusual? Come on, Doc,
pump the guy. Kate was concentrating so hard
that she almost missed the slight
narrowing of Elizabeth’s eyes. Oh,
sorry, honey. Too much.
She took a
breath and tried to calm herself.
“So anything weird
happen
lately? You know I
don’t get to hear
the good stories anymore,” said Elizabeth confidentially. “My boss here has me so
busy chasing down
deadbeat dads that I miss the real kooky ones.”
She indicated Kate with a nod of her head and gave the
young man
a rakish grin.
Turning his attention to
the blonde investigator, David said, “So you’re the one who lured Liz
away from
the glamorous life of beer slinging and wet t-shirt contests. Hoo boy, you should have
heard Pop that
day. I don’t know
what you offered her
that he couldn’t top, but he was almost sad enough that he forgot to
water down
the whisky.”
Elizabeth snickered
while
Kate gave the young man a deadpan look and said, “It must be the
benefits
package. I hear
it’s one you can fall
in love with.”
The vampath’s laughter
turned to a choking cough, which caused the young man to reach over and
pound
her on the back. “Hey,
hey, no inhaling
the water, Liz. Sheesh. You okay?”
She waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just swallowed wrong. Anyway, you were
gonna tell me about the
wacky stuff.”
“Oh, yeah, well, there
isn’t much to tell. I
mean, aside from
the freaky looking chick that came into the café this morning. Man, she was really creepy. It wasn’t anything real,
you know,
specific. Just, her
eyes, man. They
were dead. Like,
she looked at me as if I was a big, ugly bug.”
Elizabeth reached out
and
pinched his cheek. “Aww,
and you’re so
cute, too.”
Flushing hotly, David
looked away and then said, “Anyway, then Danny called about the body,
and the
next thing I knew, the place was crawling with cops and she was gone.”
“So, besides the freaky
eyes, what’d she look like?”
Shrugging, David said,
“She was average. You
know, dark hair,
dark eyes, narrow face, medium build.
I
almost thought she was a guy until she turned and I saw that she had,
well…” He stuck his
hands out to mimic
breasts. “Oh, she
did have a nice
voice. Probably
would make a mint on
one of those phone sex lines.”
Kate started to get
excited, but when the waiter’s description didn’t match their suspect,
she
sighed. Nothing here. Maybe
his brother will have more. Oh well, at least we can get a
decent meal
out of it.
Letting go of the rapport, the investigator settled back
and waited
until the conversation came to its natural end and then ordered her
lunch.
%%%
Sharkey’s was closed. Without access to the
garbage cans, the bar
couldn’t operate to code and thus, had to keep its doors shut. Kate and Elizabeth had
peeked around to the
back, but there was still an officer posted on the scene, which put the
kibosh
on any possible snooping.
Disappointed, the women
agreed to meet back at the office.
Dusk
was rapidly approaching, and Elizabeth felt the itchy need to patrol
some of
the usual vamp haunts. Dersk’s
comment
about the nonhuman community being a little put out by the media’s
attention
had her hackles up; she needed to remind the bloodsuckers that she was
still
bigger, meaner, and not afraid to get a little dusty.
“Gotta burn off some of
this energy, Dick. I’m
starting to
feel stir crazy,” she said as she climbed into her car.
As much as she liked riding Kate’s bike, she
preferred the semi-armored safety of her ’75 Plymouth Duster. The metallic purple
vehicle had been a rare
find – a bonus from a grateful client, who had been so ecstatic when
she and
Kate had rid him of his “little problem” with some imps that had
infested his
garage, he’d given them their pick of his personal restoration projects.
Leaning on the door,
Kate
poked her head in through the window and pressed a kiss to the
vampath’s
cheek. “Just be
careful, okay? The
new case of Dermabond hasn’t arrived yet.”
Elizabeth grinned. “I promise not to get
shot, again. I love
you.” She cupped
Kate’s face gently and kissed her slowly.
“I’ll bring home dinner, too.”
“Pizza.
It’ll make Dersk happy, and he’s been
working hard.”
“Right.
I’ll get him one of those ‘everything plus’
meat happy ones that he loves so much.”
Kate paled.
“No anchovies. They
make his breath smell for days.”
“Okay.
No fishies.
You good with garlic chicken and tomato?”
“Sounds great.
Okay, get going before I decide I want to
play, too.” Kate
backed away and
watched as Elizabeth put the metallic purple car in gear and then drove
off
toward the lake.
Putting on her helmet,
Kate straddled her bike and kicked over the motor.
Above the roar of the engine, she could not hear her cell
ring. It was only
when the bike settled
into steady thrum of idle that noticed the more subtle vibration at her
hip.
“Answer phone.
Lockley,” she said, hoping that the new
Bluetooth device was sensitive enough to function.
“Hey Boss, got some more
info for you.” Dersk’s
voice was loud
and clear. “Or at
least, something
interesting. Did
you know that Sheila
Divine, A.K.A Marcus Coleman, sometimes performs as a drag king under
the name
of Mark Cole?”
“Really?
How’d you figure that out?”
“I called a friend over
at
Limbo to ask about Sheila, and she said that Ms. Divine rarely graces
them with
her talents, but that sometimes a drag king with the exact same taste
in
pre-show treats plays there at least three times a week. I asked around at some of
the other gay bars,
and it’s looking like Sheila’s not a Marcus, but rather Marcus is a
Sheila. Or
something. I’m a
little confused with all the
aliases. Anyway, my
friend seemed
certain that Mark Cole is a woman under the makeup because she overhead
him
mention that he was a lesbian.”
“Okay.”
Kate felt the beginnings of a headache
stir. I’m going to need a
scorecard if this gets any more complicated.
“Yeah, but then, I
called
that bartender guy over at Club 88, and he said that he was pretty sure
that
Sheila only comes on to the guys.
Said
she pretty much ignores the women in the audience.”
“Did you find her
address
like I asked?” Rush
hour traffic was
starting to heat up so Kate took side streets, zipping through
residential
neighborhoods and quickly making her way across town.
“Yeah, there’s an
apartment for Marcus listed at the Baycrest Arms.
It’s number fourteen.”
“Okay, I’m going to
check
it out. You know
the drill.”
“Yeah, yeah, if I don’t
hear from you in an hour, call Elizabeth and raise holy hell.”
Kate chuckled.
“You might want to give the cops a ring,
too. This really is
more their
bailiwick than ours.”
“Hey Boss?”
“Yeah?’
“Why are we doing this,
again?”
Kate brought the bike to
a
stop just outside the Baycrest Arms.
Dismounting, she pulled off her helmet and locked it in
place on the
seat. “Because the
killing has to stop,
Dersk. And if we
can help, we
should. I know
we’re not getting paid,
but business has been good to us.
Consider this part of giving back to the community.”
“Whatever.
I think I’ll be happier when we go back to
the usual cases of vampires, demons, and cheating spouses.”
“Don’t forget the
Khemdar
rats,” said the investigator with a grin.
“Oh no, I won’t ever
forget those,” said Dersk as he ended the call.
10th
Precinct
“What have you got for
us,
Garcia?” The dark
haired agent stood
with his arms crossed; coat long discarded, tie askew and collar
buttons
undone. Across from
him, Dave Rossi
paced the room, his eyes filled with the fire of a man who needs a
mission.
“The sample came back
with
a big, fat double nothing on a primary identity, but I did manage to
match it
to an old open case.”
JJ spun around her
laptop
to face the rest of the room. A
presentation was loading, displaying grainy crime scene images
depicting a
woman who had been brutally beaten.
“Mary Louise Jacobs,
twenty-two, was found in an abandoned home near Evanston, Illinois in
1980. She’d been
drugged, beaten, and
raped. No arrests
were ever made, but
eight months later, a healthy baby girl was delivered via cesarean. ”
“What’s the connection?”
said Morgan.
“Her DNA is a partial
match to the UnSub’s. Sir,
I think this
might be the mother.”
“Is there any next of
kin
listed?” said JJ.
“Let me take a look.” A clatter of keys was
followed by, “Now this
is interesting.”
“What’s that?” said
Emily.
“She’s in a long-term
care
facility in Evanston. Oak
Hollow
Memorial has her listed as a patient for the past fifteen years,” said
Garcia.
“Next of kin?”
Hotch grabbed the back of a nearby chair and
gripped it. They
were close; he could
feel it.
“The record’s sealed. I could –“
Hotch cut her off. “No, let’s not do that
just yet. Prentiss,
I want you and JJ to head up to
Evanston. Find out
what you can and get
back here as soon as possible.”
The women nodded,
grabbed
their coats and took off.
“Sir, I’ve got one more
thing for you. I’m
uploading a picture
of Mary Jacobs taken just before she was attacked.”
The men turned their
gazes
to JJ’s computer and watched incoming image resolve.
“Good work, Garcia,”
said
Hotch as he leaned over and typed in several commands.
“I aim to please, Garcia
out.”
Across the room a
printer
began spitting out copies of the picture.
Reid picked one up and said, “Like mother, like daughter?” The face that looked out
from the faded
color image bore a deeply striking resemblance to the police sketch of
the
UnSub.
“Let’s get these out to
the public. Maybe
this will help jog
some memories,” said Hotch.
Oak Hollow
Memorial –
Evanston, ILLINOIS
Hesitantly, like a
swimmer
approaching an unfamiliar pool, Emily dipped her toe in the water that
surrounded the events of the prior evening.
Clearing her throat, the brunette agent said, “So, we
should probably
talk about this…” With
a futile
gesture, she encircled the air that filled the spaces between them. “Thing that we’re doing.”
JJ’s face gave nothing
of
her emotions away, though a keen observer might have noticed the slight
tightening of the flesh around her mouth and the deepening of the blue
of her
eyes. If, given to
stopping and
examining the subject further, one also noted that those cerulean eyes
had
started to glitter with a suspicious wetness and that the subtle rise
and fall
of the blonde press liaison’s chest had began to judder as though
breath were
impossible to draw and hold, then one could start to sense the
nervousness that
erupted within JJ at Emily’s less than eloquent words.
Several responses sat,
like leaden candies, upon JJ’s tongue.
What she chose to say though, was simply, “All right. I suppose we should.” Risking a sidewise glance
at the brunette,
she felt a mild sense of relief trickle over her upon discovering that
Emily
looked as discombobulated as she felt.
“I know it’s early days,
so I just want to make sure we’re on the same page with regards to how
we’re
going to proceed on the job. There
are
protocols and all kinds of shit that could make any relationship we
choose an
impossibility.” Emily
tried to sound
calm, but the words came out harshly.
Foot,
meet mouth. Add salt and a little
catsup and you might even be enjoying a good meal there, Em.
Just blunt your way through it, like Garcia
said. JJ deserves your honesty. Shaking her
head, the older agent sighed and said, “What I really want to say, is
that I
enjoyed being with you, JJ, and I don’t want that to stop. And despite anything I
might have said
before, I really do like working with Hotch and the guys. I’d hate to have to give
that up.”
“I would never ask that
of
you, Emily.” JJ’s
tone was solemn and a
little hurt. “I
don’t want to give up
working with this team either.”
“So what are we going to
do? I can’t imagine
that you want to
tell the team that we’re – God, what are we doing?
Dating?” Of all
the convoluted, idiotic messes you could have gotten yourself into,
Emily
Prentiss. Your mother will be so
proud.
“If you want to call it
that, then we are.” JJ
pursed her lips
and tried to sound nonchalant. “This
is
all new territory for me, Emily. I
may
have gone out with a few co-workers before, but there was never any
real risk
involved with that. Now
there is. Now I
have something to lose, and it isn’t
my job.” She took a
deep breath and
whispered, “It’s my heart. So
whatever
this is, however you want to proceed, I’ll follow your lead.”
The wide-eyed, “Oh,” of
surprise that was Emily’s response was followed by a lengthy silence. Finally, the brunette
agent reached out to
press her fingertips against the skin just below JJ’s ear. Distantly, she could sense
the thready,
pulsating throb of the blonde’s heartbeat.
“Jennifer,” she said in a low, rumbling tone. “You’re not the only one
whose heart could go astray.”
“Well, if you find mine,
could you take care of it? I
promise to
do the same for you.” The
sweet smile
that she offered Emily was full of tremulous hope.
God, no wonder she’s the
communications liaison. She can turn me inside out with just
a few
words.
Emily licked her lips and said, “It’s a deal. As for this thing, well, I
guess we’ll just have to play it by
ear.” With a
slightly watery smile, she
added, “But I can’t promise not to stick my foot in my mouth from time
to
time.”
JJ’s laugh was light and
golden and more than enough to drive away the slightly burnt scent of
crisped
nerves.
%%%
The hospital had a
depressed aura about it that automatically set JJ’s teeth on edge. Underneath the strong
scent of disinfectant
was the darker, more noxious odor that only the terminally ill
produced.
Approaching the
information desk, she reached into her pocket, pulled out her badge and
said,
“Hello, I’m Jennifer Jareau, and this is Agent Prentiss. We’re here to talk to
someone about a
patient in residence?” Beside
her,
Emily displayed her badge, and the paired looks of determination went a
long
way toward impressing the receptionist.
Picking up the phone,
she
pressed a button and said, “Hi, this is Martha in the front. Could you please have Dr.
Mason come down
here?” She looked
up at the agents and
said, “The doctor will be right down.
Why don’t you have a seat over there?”
With a gesture, she indicated a bank of benches that lined
the wall
opposite the desk.
“We’ll wait here,” said
JJ. “Thank you.”
Emily hugged herself,
rubbing her arms as if to ward off a chill.
Since childhood, hospitals had always been places of pain
and loss. The death
of a cousin to leukemia still
lingered in her memory as one of the low points of her childhood. Oak Hollow, with its walls
drowning in
subtle, institutional shades that all but screamed, “This is where the
dying
are,” made the brunette agent’s teeth ache.
When the soft, seeping warmth of a hand was laid against
the base of her
spine, Emily very nearly kissed JJ right then and there. Instead, she leaned back
into the touch and
then turned to smile at the blonde agent.
“Thanks,” she whispered
softly.
JJ’s lopsided smile was
playfully mischievous. “Anytime. I know you don’t like
these places.” A
memory, one cherished and held up to the
light whenever things were tough, surfaced.
The warmth of the hand gripping hers
slowly crept up JJ’s
arm. Turning, she favored Emily with a brief smile.
The older agent’s dark eyes were deep with unspoken
emotion, and
the longer JJ gazed into them, the harder her heart thudded in her
chest. JJ wanted to
speak, to say something to
acknowledge their connected hands but could not find the voice to press
through
the grief clutching her throat.
Garcia had been shot.
God, it was like someone had reached into her head, ripped
out one of
her worst nightmares, and splashed it onto the pavement for all to see.
“I hate hospitals,” said Emily softly.
“I never feel warm enough
inside them.” She
shivered, but did not release her hold
on JJ’s hand. “It’s
going to be okay,
you know,” she said, so softly that her words barely carried to JJ’s
ears. “Garcia’s
tough, and she has us pulling for
her.” Their fingers
slid together then,
crossing and gripping so tightly that JJ was sure she’d have marks
later.
It was a lifeline; one
to which
she clung through the
hours of Penelope’s surgery and when it was all over, when Battle had
been shot
and the remains carted away, it was the sensation of Emily’s fingers
twined
with her own that had lingered, not the smell of cordite or the fine
mist of
blood that had dappled the white walls of the BAU’s bullpen.
Emily’s softly
whispered, “I
don’t, so let’s get this
over with so we can get our UnSub and go home,” was enough to send the
sweet
memory back into the recesses of JJ’s mind.
Baycrest Arms –
Chicago, ILLINOIS
Quickly, she went
through
the apartment, ascertaining that it was empty before returning to the
front
room, closing and locking the door.
Holstering the gun, she flicked on a light and gasped in
surprise. The
apartment was almost monastically
bare. A chair, a
table, one bookshelf,
and a single lamp were the only pieces of furniture in both the living
and
dining rooms.
There was no artwork,
anywhere. Instead,
the walls, which
at some point had
been a chalky white, were covered with row upon row of crabbed,
block-letter
writing. Closer
examination revealed
the text to be passages from the bible, scribed with every imaginable
implement
possible; some of the words were even carved directly into the drywall.
The writing continued
down
the hall and into the bathroom, where the potently heavy scent of
bleach
lingered. In the
bedroom, the scrawl
continued in less precise, scattered lines that appeared in random
spots and
corners.
Aside from the bed and
one
dresser, the room was furnished with a desk and a chair. Sitting at the desk, Kate
noted a row of
photo albums lined up against the wall.
From her jacket pocket, the investigator pulled out a pair
of latex
gloves, slipped them on, and then chose an album at random.
Page after page of
darkly
gruesome images greeted her inspection.
Pictures from magazines had been defaced beyond
recognition. Men’s
faces scratched out, their chests
boldly emblazoned with bright red phallic symbols.
Words were scrawled on some of the pages, the letters
written
over and over.
“Men are pigs,”
decorated
one page. “Never
trust a man,” was
scrawled on several. There
was more, in
the same vein, throughout the album and all the rest.
The level of rage and hate seemed to build with each book
until
the last one was just a mass of twisted pen marks and hacked up images.
Kate replaced the albums
and went over to the closet. Opening
the doors was like entering a whole different world.
Where the apartment was spare, the closet was filled with
a
flowing curtain of color. Dresses,
suits, jewelry, hats, wigs, even a small vanity with a mirror and a
tray of
makeup filled the space. Flyers
decorated the edges of the mirror, ads displaying the names of several
local
clubs, all of which sponsored drag acts, including Limbo and Club 88.
There was a calendar on
the wall, with dates and places marked on it.
Upon eyeballing it, each of the circled days corresponded
to a murder.
“Okay, Marcus – er –
Sheila, whoever you are, it’s time to find you and bring you to the
attention
of the authorities,” muttered the investigator.
Slowly, she put everything back as she’d found it and then
quickly made her way out of the apartment.
Once outside, she called the office.
“Lockley and Associates,
how can we help you today?”
“It’s me.
I need you to do a deep background on Marcus
Coleman. He wasn’t
at home, but he’s
definitely the guy.”
“Girl, Boss.
I got a few tips from Willow and did some
more digging. Turns
out that Marcus is
really Michelle. The
‘fibbies’ were
right on the money. Anyway,
she’s been
in and out of mental hospitals for most of her life but has been out on
her own
for about a year now. She
started doing
a male drag act at Limbo, then got the gig at Club 88 when someone
pointed out
how good she was at the guy thing… anyway, according to her medical
file –“
“Please tell me you did
not hack into someone’s medical records, Dersk.”
Kate pinched the bridge of her nose and tried not to groan.
“Of course not.
Willow did.” The
half demon made it seem as if it were all perfectly
kosher. “Anyway, do
you want to hear
this, or do you want to bitch me out?”
Kate sighed.
There was no unringing the bell, and she
might as well get some use out of it.
“Go ahead.” Straddling
her bike,
she cinched on her helmet and kicked over the engine.
It was time to go have a chat with the FBI.
“Well, she claims to be
gay, but there are reams of notes about how she likes guys. One of the shrinks even
writes that, ‘She’s
no more gay than I am. Investigate
possible childhood trauma related to fear of men.’ Creepy, huh?”
Given what she’d seen in
the apartment, Kate said, “You don’t know the half of it.”
Parish of Saint
Joseph’s
Taking the chair to
Luke’s
left, Elizabeth smiled in return and said, “No thanks, Edith, I can’t
stay
long.” With a
casual shrug, she dropped
a duffel bag on the floor. It
landed
with a hefty thump, causing the housekeeper to frown briefly.
Edith tsked, but
cheerily
continued on with her cleaning.
“Any developments with
the
serial?” asked the priest as soon as Edith was out of earshot.
“Some,” said
Elizabeth. “But you
know I’m not here
about that.”
Luke nodded.
“I figured.
There isn’t much; that last cleansing has kept things
pretty quiet.”
“But there is something, otherwise I wouldn’t
be here.” Over the
years, Elizabeth had come to
realize that her symbiote could sense more than just random emotions;
it could
also, if she concentrated on it, pick up on supernatural activity,
especially
that of demonic origin. It
wasn’t an
overt sense, more like an underlying tickle that hummed at the back of
her
mind. The vampath
had learned how to
measure the drone; most days, it was such a subtle undertone that she
ignored
it, but today, it was as though her head was full of bees.
The priest made a
face. “Don’t you
have enough on your
plate already?”
“Maybe, but I need
something I can fight right now, Father.
Even if I were to be presented with the killer, all I
could do is make a
citizen’s arrest.” Something
of
Elizabeth’s frustration must have come through in her voice because the
priest
sighed in resignation.
“All right, but don’t
get
your hopes up. It’s
just a rumor. You’ll
want to go up by the port. There’s
an old warehouse, just off pier
twelve. Look for
the eagle with the red
feathers. I
understand that there may
be ten to fifteen vamps living there.”
“Are they hunting?”
“Some.
Dazz said a couple of the younger girls are
missing.”
“They must be turning
what
they’re taking because we haven’t gotten any calls from Kaplan or any
of the
others.” The file
clerk at the Tenth
wasn’t their only contact within the CPD, nor was he entirely unaware
of their
interest in the so-called, “strange” cases.
“I’d better get going.
Can I use
your restroom to change?”
“Always.
Be safe,” said Luke.
They stood, and the priest withdrew a vial
of oil from a pocket. Anointing
her, he
whispered a small blessing and then kissed her cheek.
“Go with God’s fist as your weapon and my prayers as your
shield,
my friend.”
Elizabeth grinned. “Nice way of sayin’ ‘kick
their asses,’
Luke.”
Rattling his rosary at
her, the priest said, “Gotta keep up the old appearances, Liz. It’s all part of the job.”
Laughing, the vampath
picked up her bag and headed for the bathroom.