The Hunt, part 2 of 4
Title: The Hunt (part 2 of 4)
Author: Louisa and Tamoline
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/OFC
Although Faces is technically a sequel to this story, you may want to read it first anyway:
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9
The Hunt:
Groundwork
"... what the sheriff was thinking when she called you in on this! We have this... this situation under control, Agent Hotchner. One of those freaks in there" -- the florid-faced man berating Hotch stabbed a finger viciously in the direction of the cells -- "either did this or can lead us to the thing that did it. We'll find this monster and we'll stop it. We don't need your help."
"Mayor Valk." Ah. So this was the infamous Mayor. I had wondered why Sheriff Lemmer had been so eager to meet us out in the field, rather than in her office. "I promise you that if one of those people in there does know something, then we will find it out. It's what we're trained to do." To anyone who didn't know him, Hotch was the very essence of polite deference; as neutral and impassive as a statue. But the slight twitch of his eyebrow spoke volumes on his true feelings about the mayor and his posturing.
Catching sight of Morgan and I, Hotch discreetly waved us in the direction of the cells. We didn't need to be told twice. The mayor's dulcet tones followed us down the corridor even after Morgan closed the door behind us. However, he was soon drowned out by a sound not unlike the buzzing of a horde of locusts. It was much worse than locusts, though: it was the press. JJ seemed to have them more or less in hand for the moment, having corralled them into a side-room, but it looked like they could turn at any second. I didn't envy her one bit.
I paused before the door to the interview room, quickly reviewing my information about the individual I was about to question. It also gave me a moment to settle my nerves a little. Whilst I knew consciously that mutants were basically people like any other, and that these had lost their powers in any case, there was still something that provoked an unease in me. Completely irrational, but there it was. They were different, my brain tried to insist. Other. And that attitude was not going to help. Not now, and not if I had to face our unsub. It remained to be seen how successful I actually was in banishing it.
It also didn't help that I really didn't have high hopes for this particular exercise. For one thing, none of these people seemed to be a particularly good match for our unsub. We had been intending to talk to them anyway, but our plan was to approach them in their homes and politely ask for their help. Dragging them in like this would only put their backs up. Still, we were here to assist the locals. Since they'd gone ahead and done this against our advice, we would just have to work around it. No matter how stupid it was.
No matter how stupid I was being.
"Angela Martinez?" I sat down opposite the dark-haired young woman.
I studied the adolescent boy, taking careful note of the fresh bruises on his face. "Jason Montgomery?"
"Miranda Hendrickson?" I smiled reassuringly at the clearly nervous middle-aged woman. "My name is Emily Prentiss. I'm with the FBI."
"Huh." Jason leaned back in his chair, his cut and swollen lips twisted in a bitter smile. "Let me guess: local cops were so scared of us, they had to call in the Feds." A pause, and then: "Bastards!"
"But I haven't done anything wrong, Miss, no, I'm sorry, Agent Prentiss. I don't even know why I'm here. Please... You have to tell them. I... I'm not like that any more. I got better."
"Why am I here, Agent Prentiss?" Angela's voice was calm, her posture open, her movements relaxed and subdued. She could be serenity personified, if it wasn't for the wariness in her eyes.
"You're not in any trouble, Mrs Hendrickson. I just have a few questions for you, if that's alright."
"But my children will be home from school soon. They'll wonder where I am. I didn't even have time to leave a message." She clasped her hands tightly together in front of her, but it didn't stop them trembling. "I don't like them coming home to an empty house."
"This shouldn't take long." I hoped. "But before we get started, would like to call someone? A neighbour, perhaps, or the school?"
She looked at me as if I'd suddenly started speaking Martian. "You'd... You'd let me do that?"
"Of course." I made a mental note to have words with whoever had brought Mrs Hendrickson in. They hadn't even told her she could make a phone call? "Here -- you can use my phone." I practically had to press the device into her hands, but she managed to pull herself together sufficiently to make the call. It sounded like she was arranging for a neighbour to watch her children, but I made a mental note to have Garcia trace the number when I was done here.
When she had finished, she handed the phone back to me with a timid smile. "Thank you so much, uh, Agent Prentiss. I'll pay for the call, of course."
"Don't worry about it." I returned her smile. "I have free minutes, so it didn't cost anything. Now, shall we get started?"
"Didn't the officers explain that to you when you came in?"
"Not really. They just said I needed to come to the station to answer some questions. Because of the murders." She eyed me levelly. "Because I used to be a mutant."
I nodded. "Yes."
"Am I a suspect?"
"Is that what they told you?"
"Oh no, not at all." A quick, emphatic shake of her head. "But I hear the gossip, Agent Prentiss. I've seen the way people look at me when they don't think I can see them. Since the murders started..." She shrugged helplessly. "Truth to tell, I'm grateful to the Sheriff for bringing me in. I was starting to get a little worried."
"Has anyone threatened you?"
She considered her words carefully before replying. "Not directly."
"But indirectly?"
"I don't know that I'd call them threats, exactly, but certain people aren't exactly shy about making their opinion known. Like the Mayor." Her eyes took on a haunted cast. "And I've seen how things can escalate."
Any remaining unease I might have had about being in a room with a former mutant evaporated. "We won't let that happen here," I told her firmly.
She looked down for a few seconds and when she looked back up again her gaze had returned to its former serenity. "What do you want to know?"
"This is bullshit!" Jason glowered at me, then at the two-way mirror that took up most of one wall. "I didn't have anything to do with any murders. They know I didn't. Any excuse to round up the freaks; that's what it is. They..." A hacking cough cut off whatever else he was about to say, but he managed to gasp out: "Fuckers," as he wheezed and spluttered.
"Are you alright?" I started towards him, but he flinched away, half-raising one arm. I kept my distance. "Do you need some water?"
"What the fuck do you care?" There was a weariness in his voice that would have been out of place even on someone twice his age. I quickly revised my strategy.
"Well, if you die on my watch, I have to fill out a whole shit-load of forms. And I really hate paperwork."
Of all the things he might have been expecting, humour clearly wasn't among them. He blinked at me for a moment, then shook his head. "Funny. That why you're in here with me? You're" -- he made air quotes with two fingers -- "down with the kids?"
I had to pull a face at that phrase. Not to mention the air quotes. "God, I hope not." I looked him over, more than a little concerned about the rasping sound of his breathing, and the way he was clutching at his chest. Something clicked in my mind. "Do you have asthma?"
He nodded. "Yeah. But the fuckers took my inhaler."
"Do you know the" -- calling them fuckers would be highly unprofessional of me -- "officers' names?"
"Nope. Too busy getting my face shoved through the floor at the time." Oh, yeah: it was gonna be bitch-slaps all around today.
"I'll go see if I can find it." I paused in the doorway, looking back at Jason with a crooked smile of my own. "Don't go anywhere."
"My hair grew." Angela smiled at my obvious confusion. "About an inch every hour," she clarified.
"That must have been a little inconvenient." She did have lovely hair, though, I noticed: long and glossy and thick, with a slight wave running through it.
"Occasionally, but it wasn't too bad as long as I remembered to cut it every morning. It just became part of my daily routine."
"That's still a lot of hair."
"Yes. It used to drive my parents mad until we figured out we could actually sell it."
"Wig-makers?"
She nodded. "We used to box it up and send it off at the end of every week. "When I moved to LA, though, the wig-maker just had me come in every morning so one of his stylists could cut it. Sometimes they'd try out different styles on me as well."
"LA? Are you an actress?" That much was in her file, but certain types of questions sometimes helped to build rapport.
"I'm trying to be. I haven't been in anything big yet, but I'm still trying." Her eyes clouded. "It's a little embarrassing to admit it, but without the extra income from selling my hair, I ran out of money pretty quickly. I guess I'd gotten used to having the safety net." She spread her hands, the motion graceful and eloquent. "The acting jobs weren't exactly flooding in, so I thought I'd move back home for a while and try to build up some savings."
"Here you go." I handed Jason the inhaler I'd almost had to pry from someone's cold dead fingers. "I also brought you a bottle of water, and an ice-pack for that shiner." He checked the inhaler before using it; looking for signs of tampering? When he picked up the bottle of water, he checked the seal on that as well before opening it. Curious. "You want me to take a swig to prove it's not poisoned?"
He shook his head, downing about half of it in one go. "That's okay. I reckon Fed germs would probably be worse than laxatives, anyway."
"Laxatives?"
"Yeah. This ain't the first time I've been hauled in here." He pulled himself up with a twisted kind of pride. My instincts told me he meant it about the laxatives. This was serious. Bruises from being hauled in could -- and probably had been -- waved away as 'reasonable force'. Poisoning someone in custody? That was a whole different ball game.
"Any idea who it was?"
He shot me a black look, one that said I should know better than that. "No. Can't even prove it really happened. Not that it'd do me any good if I could." He frowned, shifted awkwardly in the hard chair. "It's a small town, and the Mayor ain't exactly shy about his feelings on freaks. Some of the other cops get a little... enthusiastic?" A sour expression twisted his face. "Not like they're gonna get anything more than a slap on the wrist. If that."
"What about Sheriff Lemmer?"
"She seems okay, I guess. For a cop. But with the mayor pulling the strings..." He trailed off. "What can you do?"
I digested this for a moment or two. The picture he'd painted wasn't exactly inconsistent with my observations so far. And if a teenage boy had figured it out... But we were here to do a job, and interfering with the way the locals did their jobs -- or not -- was a surefire way to get your invitation withdrawn. Then another bad guy went free to kill again. It was time to get back on topic.
"So, what was your ability?"
"That ain't in your file?"
"Humour me."
"Fine, whatever. Ain't a secret. I could hold my breath a really, really long time." He coughed a little, then muttered: "Didn't have asthma back then, of course."
"That's it?"
If looks would kill, I would have been stone-cold dead right then and there. "Yeah, that's it. Trust me, if I'd had one of the cool powers, I'd have run away to join the X-men in a New York second." He shrugged and finished off the rest of the water, massaging his chest. "Thought about doing it anyway, but figured there wasn't much point. They'd just send me away like all the other losers."
"I... I could sense plants." Miranda smiled shyly. "I mean, they didn't speak to me, but I could... I could always tell when they needed water, or if there was something was wrong with them. I didn't even know I was a, well, you know. I just thought I was good with plants."
"How did you find out?"
"I had cancer, Agent Prentiss."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs Hendrickson."
"Thank you, dear. I mean, Agent." She smiled tremulously. "The doctors managed to get it all. I just have to go back for regular check-ups. Anyway, one of the tests they ran at the time... Well, apparently it's now routine to test sick people for the X-gene." The unexpected burst of laughter was high and tense, a sound perilously close to tears. "Even I know that's what mutants have. But apparently it's a... 'a potential confounding factor'." That sounded like she was quoting someone or something. I had a fair idea what it might be.
"It can affect the course of a disease, and the efficacy of any treatment regimen." I'd read the same pamphlets during one of my occasional stays in hospital.
"Yes." She nodded. "Anyway, I had it. But they never managed figure out its, uh, 'phenotypic effects', so they said it was almost certainly a 'negligible expression' and went ahead with the treatment." She looked down at her hands. "I only realised the truth about my so-called 'green touch' when I lost it." With an obvious effort, she made herself look back up at me, meeting my gaze. "But I'm still good with plants, Miss Prentiss. I just have to work a little harder at it nowadays."
"I'm sure you are, Mrs Hendrickson." I smiled back at her, but something was niggling at me. "If you don't mind me asking: how did the police know about you?" It wasn't as if she was an obvious mutant, and she didn't really seem the type to brag about possessing the X-gene. Especially, given what Jason had told me, in a place like this.
Her eyes clouded again. "I... I don't know. But, well, this is a small town, and gossip spreads fast." Despite such trivial considerations as doctor-patient confidentiality, apparently. Wonderful. Well, if the word wasn't out before, it certainly was now.
"This is a small town, Agent Prentiss. Of course I know those names." I had to check about connections between all the former mutants currently in the station. Standard procedure. "But Mrs Hendrickson is the only one I've met personally. I've bought flowers from her a few times." A somewhat sardonic smile. "She has a real way with plants."
"How about these?" I read out the list of victims' names.
"Cindy and Lena are... were... two of my best friends." For the first time, she lost her carefully controlled manner, breath hitching as true grief -- or at least a damn good imitation of it -- shone in her eyes. "I was the first person they told..." She abruptly cut herself off mid-sentence, glancing up at me warily.
"I know that they were a couple, Ms Martinez." And then, because she was obviously still troubled, I added: "It's alright."
She relaxed minutely. "Of course." A bitter laugh. "I forgot: you're not from around here, are you? You're from the big city. Anyway, yes, I was the first person they told. They asked for my help breaking it to their parents. Funny thing is, though, we never were particularly close before that. The only reason they even came to me is that they thought a bonafide Hollywood actress probably wouldn't be shocked by a lesbian romance. And, if I was, it wasn't like I spent much time here." Her gaze grew distant, a gentle smile curling the edges of her lips. "They were so nervous. I couldn't turn them away. And by the end of it, we were friends. Simple as that." She blinked, regaining her focus. "I'm sorry, I'm rambling. I just... I can't believe they're gone."
"I understand. It's alright." I projected calm reassurance as strongly as I could. I knew this next part wasn't going to be easy. "Now, can you think of anyone who would want to harm your friends?"
"What, you think freaks all hang around together, or something?" Jason shot me a disgusted look. "Of course I know who they all are -- you'd have to be deaf, blind and a fucking dumb-ass not to get that memo -- but I don't know them. It ain't like we have anything in common. Aside from the obvious. And no, before you ask, I don't know of any who aren't on your little list. Just this killer that's fucking everything up for the rest of us."
"Why do you think the killer is a mutant?"
"Snake scales? Spitting acid? The mutant supremacy slogans? Gee, I don't know, Agent." He spat the word out like it was a curse. "You tell me."
Maybe the sarcasm wasn't undeserved, but I had to ask. There was always a slim chance he might have had some inside information. Even if everything I'd seen of Motormouth Montgomery up to know suggested that he wasn't exactly prone to holding back. Time to move on.
"I don't know anyone who would do that." Miranda shuddered, looking sickened.
I frowned. "I didn't know the local police had released a statement." She gave me a look, and I grinned ruefully. "I know: small town, right?"
She nodded, but didn't return my smile. "You'll catch the killer, won't you? This place... It has its problems, but it's a good place. These are good people. And no one deserves to die that way. No one."
"We will catch them, Mrs Hendrickson. It's what we do." I just hoped we'd do it before anyone else died.
"Well, that was a big fat waste of time." Once the interviews were over, Morgan and I retired to an out of the way corner to confer.
Morgan looked like he had a bad taste in his mouth. "Man, if Garcia thought I sounded like that prick of a mayor, no wonder she went off at me." He shook his head in disgust. "What are we doing here, Prentiss? My three didn't know a damn thing."
"Neither did mine." We compared notes.
"So much for keeping this quiet."
"Looks like the cat was out of the bag long before we got here." I shook my head, suddenly exhausted by this whole situation. "Hotch and JJ are going to have to do some serious damage control."
"We should fill 'em in." Morgan made as if to head out, then hesitated. "You think he's managed to get rid of the mayor yet?"
"Scared he's going to try to bond with you?" I couldn't resist the dig.
"Shut the fuck up, Prentiss. I'm nothing like that asshole." Someone was feeling defensive.
"Yeah, I know." I flashed Morgan a lopsided smile, trusting him to see the unspoken apology. "You're way prettier."
"Damn straight, woman." He grinned back at me, and then we were both back to business. "Now let's get this done."
The mayor was still in the foyer after all. He clearly hadn't finished with Hotch, but Hotch was just as obviously done with him. Something more important had just come up.
"Get the team together," Hotch ordered, not even breaking stride as he walked past us. "We need to talk."
"Agent Hotchner, I insist..."
"Privately." Ooh. The mayor really had pissed him off.
"Yes sir," I murmured.
Morgan already had his phone in hand. "I'll take Reid."
"I've got Rossi." Anticipation simmered as I pulled out my own phone. Maybe this meant we'd actually caught a break. We sure as hell needed one.
* * *
I pause for a moment, giving my target another once-over before starting to make my way through the press of people on the dancefloor. I have a good feeling about this. I move with the music, synchronising my rhythm with hers as I draw closer, smiling in a way that can only be described as predatory. I make no secret of my intentions as I meet her eyes.
"Mind if I join you?"
The brunette smiles back at me, looking me over appraisingly before meeting my gaze with hungry eyes, flicking her long hair back and tilting her head to display bare shoulders and a sweep of collarbone; an impressive expanse of cleavage. The gesture is smooth and practiced, as is the effortless way she shimmies in close to me, putting one arm around my neck and resting her other hand proprietorially on my hip. She doesn't speak, but her body language is almost deafening.
"Not at all." The blonde looks me up and down, smiling appreciatively to show she likes what she sees. She moves back a little, making room for me to slide in close to her. We dance together for a little while without speaking, letting the music guide our movements. It seems only natural for my hands to drift to her hips, her arms to slide up, encircling my neck.
"Um, please do." The redhead smiles shyly at me, gesturing to the space in front of her. For a moment, I almost reconsider, but then I see the way she's looking at me under her eyelashes. Not a complete innocent, then. I keep dancing, moving with the beat as I slowly close the space between us, deliberately drawing it out to see what she'll do. At the last, she steps forward and closes the final few inches of distance.
"I've seen you here before," the blonde murmurs, brushing up against me to the beat of a slow, sensual number.
"I've seen you, too." It might be true. She does look a little familiar, but then it isn't like there's a dearth of scantily-dressed blondes here. Still, she seems pleased by my words, and I do aim to please. I let one of my hands slide down a little, almost but not quite brushing the curve of her ass. In response, she tightens her arms around my neck, drawing herself up to meet me. I lean in to meet her halfway.
"I've heard about you," she breathes.
"Good things, I hope," I question only half seriously.
Her only answer is to smile up at my face with an utter lack of innocence.
"So," the redhead says, pitching her voice low and seductive. "Do you come here often?"
No, that generally happens later in the evening. I don't say that aloud, of course. She already looks embarassed enough, a flush spreading over her charmingly freckled cheeks.
"Oh, my god. I can't believe I just said that. What a cliche. You must think I'm an idiot."
I fight to keep my laughter inside, knowing it would send completely the wrong message. My voice and expression are both sober when I reply: "You're not an idiot."
"Really? You're not just saying that."
I put a hand on her shoulder, drawing my fingertips lightly down her arm. "Really."
Suddenly, she doesn't seem embarassed anymore.
Somewhere along the way, the dance turns into a competition. Our bodies slide and struggle against each other in a wordless fight for dominance. The brunette wraps a leg around me, pressing forward as she tries to use her weight to make me arch against her. Instead, I side-step and turn so she's off balance and ends up clinging to me. Smiling fiercely, she grips my ass and pulls me against her even more tightly, practically grinding our crotches together.
"I knew you'd be a challenge," she whispers throatily.
"Is that so?" I keep my tone light as I disengage from the clinch. Dancing close is one thing, but public bump 'n' grinding is a little outside my comfort zone.
"Oh, yeah." Ignoring my attempts to keep distance between us, she tangles a hand in my hair and forcefully pulls me in for a kiss.
Her eyes meet mine as we slow-dance, something shining from their depths. Something I recognise; something I lost a long time ago. Something I hesitate to pin down with anything as concrete as a label. And in that instant I know I won't be going home with her this night. When she loses that innocence, as we all must, it should be to someone who has a chance of feeling the same way.
That isn't me. Not anymore.
And I'm not so far gone that I'd take that from her. With a smile, I make my excuses and introduce her to someone else. Hopefully someone better. I wait around long enough to see the dance begin again, before I resume my own activities.
A pity. I did feel like a redhead tonight.
Before either of us realises what's happening, I have her spun around with her arm halfway up her back.
"That isn't very friendly," the brunette purrs, her voice only a little strained around the edges.
I take a moment to stifle my alarm, almost panic, before replying. "Neither is sexual assault." My words are flat; unemotional. Better than the alternative.
"What?" She struggles now, her voice indignant. "I was just going to kiss you."
"You were trying to force yourself on me," I correct. "Now, leave this club and if I see you around here again, you better damn well be on your best behaviour." I release her and she spins around to look me defiantly in the face, mouth open to throw back some retort. Before she can, I add: "I will not be nearly so friendly next time," and I give her my best cold glare.
Wisely, she decides to retreat, and I see her making her way towards the exit.
Good. I really don't need any trouble tonight.
I wait for a few seconds for my hands to stop shaking, then get back to the hunt.
Our bodies fit well together. That's a good sign. We don't exchange much in the way of conversation, but it's enough to tell me that she's interested, funny and probably not looking for anything more serious than a night of fun and frolics. It's at times like this, when I'm in the middle of a hunt, that I feel the most alive.
"So....?" she says, eyes sparkling up at me.
"So?" I quirk an eyebrow at her, inviting her to elaborate.
"Shall we take this elsewhere?"
Although part of me wants to say: 'Yes, let's go,' I make myself give her the standard disclaimer first. "You do know that this is for one night only? I'm not looking for a relationship."
"I know." She doesn't seem at all fazed. "I'm not exactly in the market for anything long-term myself. Besides, as I said: I've heard about you."
Good enough. "Your place, then?"
The blonde hesitates. "We could, but I have a flatmate. What about your place?"
"A little too far out of town," I lied. "But I'm sure we can be... discreet enough not to bother your flatmate."
"Okay." She agrees too readily for that to have been a major worry, taking my hand and leading me from the dancefloor. "Let's go, then."
"Yes." I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the soft skin. "Let's."
Time to bring this hunt to its conclusion. I smirked mentally. Or maybe its climax.
* * *
Somehow, the mayor managed to muscle his way into the profile briefing. Hotch didn't bother trying to get him removed -- his presence was unlikely to do any further damage at this point, and there was no sense in pissing him off even further. The tantrum he'd thrown at being kept out of the team conference had been well nigh legendary. I suppressed a smile at the memory.
Hotch took the floor. We all agreed that the initial kicker would go down far better coming from him. Hell, some of us were still reeling at this one; it was bound to hit the locals even harder.
"Thank you all for coming." Time being of the essence, Hotch got right to the point. "First, and most importantly, the unsub is not a mutant." After dropping that bombshell, he paused for the inevitable reaction. To no one's great surprise, the mayor was the most vocal in expressing his disbelief.
"Bullshit! What do you mean, 'not a mutant'? Of course he's a god-damned son of a bitch Mutie-Freak! Only a fool or a liar would say otherwise. Which are you, Agent Hotchner? Huh? A fool or a liar?"
Hotch didn't bat an eyelid. "The lab results have just come in, and the evidence is quite compelling."
"What about the scales?" That came from Sheriff Lemmer, Mayor Valk's protests having devolved into nothing more than apoplectic spluttering.
"The scales have been identified as those of a python regius, or ball python. They appear to have come from several different animals, but all of that species. Ball pythons are the one of the most common type of snakes kept as pets."
One of the officers spoke up next. Apparently this had become a free-for-all. "What if they just look like snake scales? Or if the mutant's some kind of shapeshifter or something?"
"Genetic analyses have confirmed the biological material to be animal, not human. And all samples came back negative for the X-gene." He permitted himself a thin smile. "Additionally, the scales also had traces of glue."
The sheriff frowned. "He... glued snake scales onto himself?"
"Actually, there were fragments of material caught in the glue, suggesting a costume of some kind."
"But what about the acid?" Great. The mayor had regained the use of his voice. "The killer spits acid over his victims!"
"Analysis of the corrosive substance has identified it as an industrially produced and utilised strong acid. We don't think it's likely that such a substance would be produced by a snake mutant. One of my agents is currently investigating possible local sources."
"But... But..." I wondered if the mayor's face could get any redder before his whole head exploded. "Well, we could still be talking about a freak, just one that's lost his... his powers. Maybe he's just trying to imitate what he lost."
This seemed like as good an opportunity as any. I looked to Hotch, who gave me the nod. "Actually, the profile suggests otherwise. Everything about these murders is indicative of someone who wants to join the club, not who's already part of it. Or who was a part of it." The whole thing was just a bit too much, just a bit too overdone. In hindsight it was obvious, but we'd let ourselves be blinded by the staging. I supposed we could hardly blame the locals for doing the same.
The sheriff was frowning, but I could see her working towards acceptance. "You mean we're dealing with a mutant wannabe?"
"Essentially, yes. He's likely undergoing a major psychotic break, and actually believes that he really is a mutant. This means he will probably respond accordingly if confronted."
"I see." She straightened and met my gaze, sudden determination in her eyes. "So, what can you tell me and my men about him?"
I nodded in acknowledgement of the opening. "The unsub is white, male and in his mid-twenties."
Reid took over smoothly. "He is educated, and possesses an undergraduate degree, probably majoring in chemistry or a related field."
"He will be socially awkward." Morgan cast his gaze over the assembled local police officers, deliberately avoiding the mayor. "Not many friends, doesn't go out much. Spends a lot of time online."
Rossi stepped up. "He has likely suffered a recent rejection of some kind: perhaps a girlfriend broke up with him, or he lost a job." Privately, we figured the break-up scenario was more likely, but it was bad practice to weight the profile in that way without sufficient evidence.
Our part in the show done, we turned the floor back over to Hotch. "The unsub clearly has a good working knowledge of local geography. It's been a few days since his last kill, so he will be on the lookout for another pair of victims. He chooses his sites carefully, so I would like you to stake out as many of the local lovers' spots as you can. Look for a vehicle with a single occupant, probably parked somewhere out of the way with a good view of actual rendezvous area. In the meanwhile, my team will concentrate on trying to determine the unsub's identity. Over to you, Sheriff."
She nodded to him and stepped forward, talking right over the mayor's attempt to seize control of the proceedings. "Alright, ladies and gentlemen, you heard the agents: we've got a killer to catch. Let's get to it."
It was good advice. While the locals sorted out surveillance assignments, we headed out. We had our own leads to follow.
* * *
As we're queuing to collect our coats from the cloakroom, I see something that makes me frown. I dither for maybe a fraction of a second, but really, there's no way I can live with myself if I don't at least try to intervene. I turn to the blonde at my side, pushing my cloakroom ticket into her hand.
"I just need to take care of something," I say, starting to step away. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes."
"What is it? Did you spot a better prospect?" She tries to keep her tone light, but there's an undercurrent of hurt to the words. It makes me turn back and try to explain, rather than rushing off and asking for forgiveness later.
"Of course not." I aim for a reassuring tone, making eye contact as I touch her lightly on the arm. "I met a girl earlier, a nice innocent" -- I deliberately emphasise the word -- "girl on what's probably her first visit here."
"I don't understand." She looks puzzled, but not pissed off. That's a good sign.
"Well, I just saw her with Vivian." I know she's a regular here. I just hope she's enough of one for the name to mean something to her. From the look of recognition in her eyes, I see that it does.
"You know, some girls wouldn't mind Vivian being their first experience," she says, a warning note in her voice. "Some of us aren't looking for 'special', we just want a good time."
"I don't think that this girl is one of them," I say, tossing off a shrug in an attempt to be casual. It's a gut feeling. Unreliable, but I have to go with it.
The blonde looks me deep in the eyes and sighs. "Well, what are you waiting for?" She thumps me gently on the shoulder for emphasis. "Go save the damsel in distress!"
I smile at her, surprising myself with a genuine feeling that isn't lust. "Thanks for understanding. I'll be back soon."
I quickly cross the dancefloor until I'm standing by the pair. They are close together, aware of no one but each other. It just about breaks my heart to see the starstruck expression on the redhead's face contrasted with Vivian's predatory demeanour. She deserves better than this; much better. I tap Vivian on the shoulder.
"Mind if I cut in?" I say, a question that isn't really a question.
She looks at me, annoyance melting to surprise as she realises who it is that's butting in. I can see her weighing up her options, figuring out how much this is worth to her. Does she want the redhead enough to risk a dominance struggle with someone she considers at least her equal? In the end, she tilts her head towards me.
"Be my guest." The smile on her lips doesn't reach her eyes; her expression telling me that she'll concede this once, but that this exchange will not be without consequences. Good enough for now. I can worry about fallout some other time. As she strides away, I turn my attention to the somewhat confused-looking redhead.
"You can do so much better than a one-night stand," I say softly. "Don't let this be something you'll regret later."
Feeling acutely uncomfortable, I hug her awkwardly and melt back into the crowd before she can do so much as close her gaping mouth.
There. Good deed done.
"Sorry about that," I mutter to my companion, accepting the jacket she hands to me.
"Don't be." She grins, leaning in to plant a kiss on my cheek. "I kind of like that you're a knight in shining armour."
I sweep an exaggerated bow, holding out my arm with a smile. "If I'm a knight, does that make you my princess? At least for tonight."
Giggling, she takes my arm. "I think I like that. Prithee, let us be off to my palace where, verily, we shall make merry."
For a moment, I almost regret that this will be for only one night. It's far too rare to find a fellow geek at places like this. But I'm far too deep in this now, and so I continue. "Verily," I agree, solemnly.
Too much analysis. Time to stop thinking and start feeling.
Author: Louisa and Tamoline
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/OFC
Although Faces is technically a sequel to this story, you may want to read it first anyway:
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9
The Hunt:
Groundwork
"... what the sheriff was thinking when she called you in on this! We have this... this situation under control, Agent Hotchner. One of those freaks in there" -- the florid-faced man berating Hotch stabbed a finger viciously in the direction of the cells -- "either did this or can lead us to the thing that did it. We'll find this monster and we'll stop it. We don't need your help."
"Mayor Valk." Ah. So this was the infamous Mayor. I had wondered why Sheriff Lemmer had been so eager to meet us out in the field, rather than in her office. "I promise you that if one of those people in there does know something, then we will find it out. It's what we're trained to do." To anyone who didn't know him, Hotch was the very essence of polite deference; as neutral and impassive as a statue. But the slight twitch of his eyebrow spoke volumes on his true feelings about the mayor and his posturing.
Catching sight of Morgan and I, Hotch discreetly waved us in the direction of the cells. We didn't need to be told twice. The mayor's dulcet tones followed us down the corridor even after Morgan closed the door behind us. However, he was soon drowned out by a sound not unlike the buzzing of a horde of locusts. It was much worse than locusts, though: it was the press. JJ seemed to have them more or less in hand for the moment, having corralled them into a side-room, but it looked like they could turn at any second. I didn't envy her one bit.
I paused before the door to the interview room, quickly reviewing my information about the individual I was about to question. It also gave me a moment to settle my nerves a little. Whilst I knew consciously that mutants were basically people like any other, and that these had lost their powers in any case, there was still something that provoked an unease in me. Completely irrational, but there it was. They were different, my brain tried to insist. Other. And that attitude was not going to help. Not now, and not if I had to face our unsub. It remained to be seen how successful I actually was in banishing it.
It also didn't help that I really didn't have high hopes for this particular exercise. For one thing, none of these people seemed to be a particularly good match for our unsub. We had been intending to talk to them anyway, but our plan was to approach them in their homes and politely ask for their help. Dragging them in like this would only put their backs up. Still, we were here to assist the locals. Since they'd gone ahead and done this against our advice, we would just have to work around it. No matter how stupid it was.
No matter how stupid I was being.
"Angela Martinez?" I sat down opposite the dark-haired young woman.
I studied the adolescent boy, taking careful note of the fresh bruises on his face. "Jason Montgomery?"
"Miranda Hendrickson?" I smiled reassuringly at the clearly nervous middle-aged woman. "My name is Emily Prentiss. I'm with the FBI."
"Huh." Jason leaned back in his chair, his cut and swollen lips twisted in a bitter smile. "Let me guess: local cops were so scared of us, they had to call in the Feds." A pause, and then: "Bastards!"
"But I haven't done anything wrong, Miss, no, I'm sorry, Agent Prentiss. I don't even know why I'm here. Please... You have to tell them. I... I'm not like that any more. I got better."
"Why am I here, Agent Prentiss?" Angela's voice was calm, her posture open, her movements relaxed and subdued. She could be serenity personified, if it wasn't for the wariness in her eyes.
"You're not in any trouble, Mrs Hendrickson. I just have a few questions for you, if that's alright."
"But my children will be home from school soon. They'll wonder where I am. I didn't even have time to leave a message." She clasped her hands tightly together in front of her, but it didn't stop them trembling. "I don't like them coming home to an empty house."
"This shouldn't take long." I hoped. "But before we get started, would like to call someone? A neighbour, perhaps, or the school?"
She looked at me as if I'd suddenly started speaking Martian. "You'd... You'd let me do that?"
"Of course." I made a mental note to have words with whoever had brought Mrs Hendrickson in. They hadn't even told her she could make a phone call? "Here -- you can use my phone." I practically had to press the device into her hands, but she managed to pull herself together sufficiently to make the call. It sounded like she was arranging for a neighbour to watch her children, but I made a mental note to have Garcia trace the number when I was done here.
When she had finished, she handed the phone back to me with a timid smile. "Thank you so much, uh, Agent Prentiss. I'll pay for the call, of course."
"Don't worry about it." I returned her smile. "I have free minutes, so it didn't cost anything. Now, shall we get started?"
"Didn't the officers explain that to you when you came in?"
"Not really. They just said I needed to come to the station to answer some questions. Because of the murders." She eyed me levelly. "Because I used to be a mutant."
I nodded. "Yes."
"Am I a suspect?"
"Is that what they told you?"
"Oh no, not at all." A quick, emphatic shake of her head. "But I hear the gossip, Agent Prentiss. I've seen the way people look at me when they don't think I can see them. Since the murders started..." She shrugged helplessly. "Truth to tell, I'm grateful to the Sheriff for bringing me in. I was starting to get a little worried."
"Has anyone threatened you?"
She considered her words carefully before replying. "Not directly."
"But indirectly?"
"I don't know that I'd call them threats, exactly, but certain people aren't exactly shy about making their opinion known. Like the Mayor." Her eyes took on a haunted cast. "And I've seen how things can escalate."
Any remaining unease I might have had about being in a room with a former mutant evaporated. "We won't let that happen here," I told her firmly.
She looked down for a few seconds and when she looked back up again her gaze had returned to its former serenity. "What do you want to know?"
"This is bullshit!" Jason glowered at me, then at the two-way mirror that took up most of one wall. "I didn't have anything to do with any murders. They know I didn't. Any excuse to round up the freaks; that's what it is. They..." A hacking cough cut off whatever else he was about to say, but he managed to gasp out: "Fuckers," as he wheezed and spluttered.
"Are you alright?" I started towards him, but he flinched away, half-raising one arm. I kept my distance. "Do you need some water?"
"What the fuck do you care?" There was a weariness in his voice that would have been out of place even on someone twice his age. I quickly revised my strategy.
"Well, if you die on my watch, I have to fill out a whole shit-load of forms. And I really hate paperwork."
Of all the things he might have been expecting, humour clearly wasn't among them. He blinked at me for a moment, then shook his head. "Funny. That why you're in here with me? You're" -- he made air quotes with two fingers -- "down with the kids?"
I had to pull a face at that phrase. Not to mention the air quotes. "God, I hope not." I looked him over, more than a little concerned about the rasping sound of his breathing, and the way he was clutching at his chest. Something clicked in my mind. "Do you have asthma?"
He nodded. "Yeah. But the fuckers took my inhaler."
"Do you know the" -- calling them fuckers would be highly unprofessional of me -- "officers' names?"
"Nope. Too busy getting my face shoved through the floor at the time." Oh, yeah: it was gonna be bitch-slaps all around today.
"I'll go see if I can find it." I paused in the doorway, looking back at Jason with a crooked smile of my own. "Don't go anywhere."
"My hair grew." Angela smiled at my obvious confusion. "About an inch every hour," she clarified.
"That must have been a little inconvenient." She did have lovely hair, though, I noticed: long and glossy and thick, with a slight wave running through it.
"Occasionally, but it wasn't too bad as long as I remembered to cut it every morning. It just became part of my daily routine."
"That's still a lot of hair."
"Yes. It used to drive my parents mad until we figured out we could actually sell it."
"Wig-makers?"
She nodded. "We used to box it up and send it off at the end of every week. "When I moved to LA, though, the wig-maker just had me come in every morning so one of his stylists could cut it. Sometimes they'd try out different styles on me as well."
"LA? Are you an actress?" That much was in her file, but certain types of questions sometimes helped to build rapport.
"I'm trying to be. I haven't been in anything big yet, but I'm still trying." Her eyes clouded. "It's a little embarrassing to admit it, but without the extra income from selling my hair, I ran out of money pretty quickly. I guess I'd gotten used to having the safety net." She spread her hands, the motion graceful and eloquent. "The acting jobs weren't exactly flooding in, so I thought I'd move back home for a while and try to build up some savings."
"Here you go." I handed Jason the inhaler I'd almost had to pry from someone's cold dead fingers. "I also brought you a bottle of water, and an ice-pack for that shiner." He checked the inhaler before using it; looking for signs of tampering? When he picked up the bottle of water, he checked the seal on that as well before opening it. Curious. "You want me to take a swig to prove it's not poisoned?"
He shook his head, downing about half of it in one go. "That's okay. I reckon Fed germs would probably be worse than laxatives, anyway."
"Laxatives?"
"Yeah. This ain't the first time I've been hauled in here." He pulled himself up with a twisted kind of pride. My instincts told me he meant it about the laxatives. This was serious. Bruises from being hauled in could -- and probably had been -- waved away as 'reasonable force'. Poisoning someone in custody? That was a whole different ball game.
"Any idea who it was?"
He shot me a black look, one that said I should know better than that. "No. Can't even prove it really happened. Not that it'd do me any good if I could." He frowned, shifted awkwardly in the hard chair. "It's a small town, and the Mayor ain't exactly shy about his feelings on freaks. Some of the other cops get a little... enthusiastic?" A sour expression twisted his face. "Not like they're gonna get anything more than a slap on the wrist. If that."
"What about Sheriff Lemmer?"
"She seems okay, I guess. For a cop. But with the mayor pulling the strings..." He trailed off. "What can you do?"
I digested this for a moment or two. The picture he'd painted wasn't exactly inconsistent with my observations so far. And if a teenage boy had figured it out... But we were here to do a job, and interfering with the way the locals did their jobs -- or not -- was a surefire way to get your invitation withdrawn. Then another bad guy went free to kill again. It was time to get back on topic.
"So, what was your ability?"
"That ain't in your file?"
"Humour me."
"Fine, whatever. Ain't a secret. I could hold my breath a really, really long time." He coughed a little, then muttered: "Didn't have asthma back then, of course."
"That's it?"
If looks would kill, I would have been stone-cold dead right then and there. "Yeah, that's it. Trust me, if I'd had one of the cool powers, I'd have run away to join the X-men in a New York second." He shrugged and finished off the rest of the water, massaging his chest. "Thought about doing it anyway, but figured there wasn't much point. They'd just send me away like all the other losers."
"I... I could sense plants." Miranda smiled shyly. "I mean, they didn't speak to me, but I could... I could always tell when they needed water, or if there was something was wrong with them. I didn't even know I was a, well, you know. I just thought I was good with plants."
"How did you find out?"
"I had cancer, Agent Prentiss."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs Hendrickson."
"Thank you, dear. I mean, Agent." She smiled tremulously. "The doctors managed to get it all. I just have to go back for regular check-ups. Anyway, one of the tests they ran at the time... Well, apparently it's now routine to test sick people for the X-gene." The unexpected burst of laughter was high and tense, a sound perilously close to tears. "Even I know that's what mutants have. But apparently it's a... 'a potential confounding factor'." That sounded like she was quoting someone or something. I had a fair idea what it might be.
"It can affect the course of a disease, and the efficacy of any treatment regimen." I'd read the same pamphlets during one of my occasional stays in hospital.
"Yes." She nodded. "Anyway, I had it. But they never managed figure out its, uh, 'phenotypic effects', so they said it was almost certainly a 'negligible expression' and went ahead with the treatment." She looked down at her hands. "I only realised the truth about my so-called 'green touch' when I lost it." With an obvious effort, she made herself look back up at me, meeting my gaze. "But I'm still good with plants, Miss Prentiss. I just have to work a little harder at it nowadays."
"I'm sure you are, Mrs Hendrickson." I smiled back at her, but something was niggling at me. "If you don't mind me asking: how did the police know about you?" It wasn't as if she was an obvious mutant, and she didn't really seem the type to brag about possessing the X-gene. Especially, given what Jason had told me, in a place like this.
Her eyes clouded again. "I... I don't know. But, well, this is a small town, and gossip spreads fast." Despite such trivial considerations as doctor-patient confidentiality, apparently. Wonderful. Well, if the word wasn't out before, it certainly was now.
"This is a small town, Agent Prentiss. Of course I know those names." I had to check about connections between all the former mutants currently in the station. Standard procedure. "But Mrs Hendrickson is the only one I've met personally. I've bought flowers from her a few times." A somewhat sardonic smile. "She has a real way with plants."
"How about these?" I read out the list of victims' names.
"Cindy and Lena are... were... two of my best friends." For the first time, she lost her carefully controlled manner, breath hitching as true grief -- or at least a damn good imitation of it -- shone in her eyes. "I was the first person they told..." She abruptly cut herself off mid-sentence, glancing up at me warily.
"I know that they were a couple, Ms Martinez." And then, because she was obviously still troubled, I added: "It's alright."
She relaxed minutely. "Of course." A bitter laugh. "I forgot: you're not from around here, are you? You're from the big city. Anyway, yes, I was the first person they told. They asked for my help breaking it to their parents. Funny thing is, though, we never were particularly close before that. The only reason they even came to me is that they thought a bonafide Hollywood actress probably wouldn't be shocked by a lesbian romance. And, if I was, it wasn't like I spent much time here." Her gaze grew distant, a gentle smile curling the edges of her lips. "They were so nervous. I couldn't turn them away. And by the end of it, we were friends. Simple as that." She blinked, regaining her focus. "I'm sorry, I'm rambling. I just... I can't believe they're gone."
"I understand. It's alright." I projected calm reassurance as strongly as I could. I knew this next part wasn't going to be easy. "Now, can you think of anyone who would want to harm your friends?"
"What, you think freaks all hang around together, or something?" Jason shot me a disgusted look. "Of course I know who they all are -- you'd have to be deaf, blind and a fucking dumb-ass not to get that memo -- but I don't know them. It ain't like we have anything in common. Aside from the obvious. And no, before you ask, I don't know of any who aren't on your little list. Just this killer that's fucking everything up for the rest of us."
"Why do you think the killer is a mutant?"
"Snake scales? Spitting acid? The mutant supremacy slogans? Gee, I don't know, Agent." He spat the word out like it was a curse. "You tell me."
Maybe the sarcasm wasn't undeserved, but I had to ask. There was always a slim chance he might have had some inside information. Even if everything I'd seen of Motormouth Montgomery up to know suggested that he wasn't exactly prone to holding back. Time to move on.
"I don't know anyone who would do that." Miranda shuddered, looking sickened.
I frowned. "I didn't know the local police had released a statement." She gave me a look, and I grinned ruefully. "I know: small town, right?"
She nodded, but didn't return my smile. "You'll catch the killer, won't you? This place... It has its problems, but it's a good place. These are good people. And no one deserves to die that way. No one."
"We will catch them, Mrs Hendrickson. It's what we do." I just hoped we'd do it before anyone else died.
"Well, that was a big fat waste of time." Once the interviews were over, Morgan and I retired to an out of the way corner to confer.
Morgan looked like he had a bad taste in his mouth. "Man, if Garcia thought I sounded like that prick of a mayor, no wonder she went off at me." He shook his head in disgust. "What are we doing here, Prentiss? My three didn't know a damn thing."
"Neither did mine." We compared notes.
"So much for keeping this quiet."
"Looks like the cat was out of the bag long before we got here." I shook my head, suddenly exhausted by this whole situation. "Hotch and JJ are going to have to do some serious damage control."
"We should fill 'em in." Morgan made as if to head out, then hesitated. "You think he's managed to get rid of the mayor yet?"
"Scared he's going to try to bond with you?" I couldn't resist the dig.
"Shut the fuck up, Prentiss. I'm nothing like that asshole." Someone was feeling defensive.
"Yeah, I know." I flashed Morgan a lopsided smile, trusting him to see the unspoken apology. "You're way prettier."
"Damn straight, woman." He grinned back at me, and then we were both back to business. "Now let's get this done."
The mayor was still in the foyer after all. He clearly hadn't finished with Hotch, but Hotch was just as obviously done with him. Something more important had just come up.
"Get the team together," Hotch ordered, not even breaking stride as he walked past us. "We need to talk."
"Agent Hotchner, I insist..."
"Privately." Ooh. The mayor really had pissed him off.
"Yes sir," I murmured.
Morgan already had his phone in hand. "I'll take Reid."
"I've got Rossi." Anticipation simmered as I pulled out my own phone. Maybe this meant we'd actually caught a break. We sure as hell needed one.
* * *
I pause for a moment, giving my target another once-over before starting to make my way through the press of people on the dancefloor. I have a good feeling about this. I move with the music, synchronising my rhythm with hers as I draw closer, smiling in a way that can only be described as predatory. I make no secret of my intentions as I meet her eyes.
"Mind if I join you?"
The brunette smiles back at me, looking me over appraisingly before meeting my gaze with hungry eyes, flicking her long hair back and tilting her head to display bare shoulders and a sweep of collarbone; an impressive expanse of cleavage. The gesture is smooth and practiced, as is the effortless way she shimmies in close to me, putting one arm around my neck and resting her other hand proprietorially on my hip. She doesn't speak, but her body language is almost deafening.
"Not at all." The blonde looks me up and down, smiling appreciatively to show she likes what she sees. She moves back a little, making room for me to slide in close to her. We dance together for a little while without speaking, letting the music guide our movements. It seems only natural for my hands to drift to her hips, her arms to slide up, encircling my neck.
"Um, please do." The redhead smiles shyly at me, gesturing to the space in front of her. For a moment, I almost reconsider, but then I see the way she's looking at me under her eyelashes. Not a complete innocent, then. I keep dancing, moving with the beat as I slowly close the space between us, deliberately drawing it out to see what she'll do. At the last, she steps forward and closes the final few inches of distance.
"I've seen you here before," the blonde murmurs, brushing up against me to the beat of a slow, sensual number.
"I've seen you, too." It might be true. She does look a little familiar, but then it isn't like there's a dearth of scantily-dressed blondes here. Still, she seems pleased by my words, and I do aim to please. I let one of my hands slide down a little, almost but not quite brushing the curve of her ass. In response, she tightens her arms around my neck, drawing herself up to meet me. I lean in to meet her halfway.
"I've heard about you," she breathes.
"Good things, I hope," I question only half seriously.
Her only answer is to smile up at my face with an utter lack of innocence.
"So," the redhead says, pitching her voice low and seductive. "Do you come here often?"
No, that generally happens later in the evening. I don't say that aloud, of course. She already looks embarassed enough, a flush spreading over her charmingly freckled cheeks.
"Oh, my god. I can't believe I just said that. What a cliche. You must think I'm an idiot."
I fight to keep my laughter inside, knowing it would send completely the wrong message. My voice and expression are both sober when I reply: "You're not an idiot."
"Really? You're not just saying that."
I put a hand on her shoulder, drawing my fingertips lightly down her arm. "Really."
Suddenly, she doesn't seem embarassed anymore.
Somewhere along the way, the dance turns into a competition. Our bodies slide and struggle against each other in a wordless fight for dominance. The brunette wraps a leg around me, pressing forward as she tries to use her weight to make me arch against her. Instead, I side-step and turn so she's off balance and ends up clinging to me. Smiling fiercely, she grips my ass and pulls me against her even more tightly, practically grinding our crotches together.
"I knew you'd be a challenge," she whispers throatily.
"Is that so?" I keep my tone light as I disengage from the clinch. Dancing close is one thing, but public bump 'n' grinding is a little outside my comfort zone.
"Oh, yeah." Ignoring my attempts to keep distance between us, she tangles a hand in my hair and forcefully pulls me in for a kiss.
Her eyes meet mine as we slow-dance, something shining from their depths. Something I recognise; something I lost a long time ago. Something I hesitate to pin down with anything as concrete as a label. And in that instant I know I won't be going home with her this night. When she loses that innocence, as we all must, it should be to someone who has a chance of feeling the same way.
That isn't me. Not anymore.
And I'm not so far gone that I'd take that from her. With a smile, I make my excuses and introduce her to someone else. Hopefully someone better. I wait around long enough to see the dance begin again, before I resume my own activities.
A pity. I did feel like a redhead tonight.
Before either of us realises what's happening, I have her spun around with her arm halfway up her back.
"That isn't very friendly," the brunette purrs, her voice only a little strained around the edges.
I take a moment to stifle my alarm, almost panic, before replying. "Neither is sexual assault." My words are flat; unemotional. Better than the alternative.
"What?" She struggles now, her voice indignant. "I was just going to kiss you."
"You were trying to force yourself on me," I correct. "Now, leave this club and if I see you around here again, you better damn well be on your best behaviour." I release her and she spins around to look me defiantly in the face, mouth open to throw back some retort. Before she can, I add: "I will not be nearly so friendly next time," and I give her my best cold glare.
Wisely, she decides to retreat, and I see her making her way towards the exit.
Good. I really don't need any trouble tonight.
I wait for a few seconds for my hands to stop shaking, then get back to the hunt.
Our bodies fit well together. That's a good sign. We don't exchange much in the way of conversation, but it's enough to tell me that she's interested, funny and probably not looking for anything more serious than a night of fun and frolics. It's at times like this, when I'm in the middle of a hunt, that I feel the most alive.
"So....?" she says, eyes sparkling up at me.
"So?" I quirk an eyebrow at her, inviting her to elaborate.
"Shall we take this elsewhere?"
Although part of me wants to say: 'Yes, let's go,' I make myself give her the standard disclaimer first. "You do know that this is for one night only? I'm not looking for a relationship."
"I know." She doesn't seem at all fazed. "I'm not exactly in the market for anything long-term myself. Besides, as I said: I've heard about you."
Good enough. "Your place, then?"
The blonde hesitates. "We could, but I have a flatmate. What about your place?"
"A little too far out of town," I lied. "But I'm sure we can be... discreet enough not to bother your flatmate."
"Okay." She agrees too readily for that to have been a major worry, taking my hand and leading me from the dancefloor. "Let's go, then."
"Yes." I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the soft skin. "Let's."
Time to bring this hunt to its conclusion. I smirked mentally. Or maybe its climax.
* * *
Somehow, the mayor managed to muscle his way into the profile briefing. Hotch didn't bother trying to get him removed -- his presence was unlikely to do any further damage at this point, and there was no sense in pissing him off even further. The tantrum he'd thrown at being kept out of the team conference had been well nigh legendary. I suppressed a smile at the memory.
Hotch took the floor. We all agreed that the initial kicker would go down far better coming from him. Hell, some of us were still reeling at this one; it was bound to hit the locals even harder.
"Thank you all for coming." Time being of the essence, Hotch got right to the point. "First, and most importantly, the unsub is not a mutant." After dropping that bombshell, he paused for the inevitable reaction. To no one's great surprise, the mayor was the most vocal in expressing his disbelief.
"Bullshit! What do you mean, 'not a mutant'? Of course he's a god-damned son of a bitch Mutie-Freak! Only a fool or a liar would say otherwise. Which are you, Agent Hotchner? Huh? A fool or a liar?"
Hotch didn't bat an eyelid. "The lab results have just come in, and the evidence is quite compelling."
"What about the scales?" That came from Sheriff Lemmer, Mayor Valk's protests having devolved into nothing more than apoplectic spluttering.
"The scales have been identified as those of a python regius, or ball python. They appear to have come from several different animals, but all of that species. Ball pythons are the one of the most common type of snakes kept as pets."
One of the officers spoke up next. Apparently this had become a free-for-all. "What if they just look like snake scales? Or if the mutant's some kind of shapeshifter or something?"
"Genetic analyses have confirmed the biological material to be animal, not human. And all samples came back negative for the X-gene." He permitted himself a thin smile. "Additionally, the scales also had traces of glue."
The sheriff frowned. "He... glued snake scales onto himself?"
"Actually, there were fragments of material caught in the glue, suggesting a costume of some kind."
"But what about the acid?" Great. The mayor had regained the use of his voice. "The killer spits acid over his victims!"
"Analysis of the corrosive substance has identified it as an industrially produced and utilised strong acid. We don't think it's likely that such a substance would be produced by a snake mutant. One of my agents is currently investigating possible local sources."
"But... But..." I wondered if the mayor's face could get any redder before his whole head exploded. "Well, we could still be talking about a freak, just one that's lost his... his powers. Maybe he's just trying to imitate what he lost."
This seemed like as good an opportunity as any. I looked to Hotch, who gave me the nod. "Actually, the profile suggests otherwise. Everything about these murders is indicative of someone who wants to join the club, not who's already part of it. Or who was a part of it." The whole thing was just a bit too much, just a bit too overdone. In hindsight it was obvious, but we'd let ourselves be blinded by the staging. I supposed we could hardly blame the locals for doing the same.
The sheriff was frowning, but I could see her working towards acceptance. "You mean we're dealing with a mutant wannabe?"
"Essentially, yes. He's likely undergoing a major psychotic break, and actually believes that he really is a mutant. This means he will probably respond accordingly if confronted."
"I see." She straightened and met my gaze, sudden determination in her eyes. "So, what can you tell me and my men about him?"
I nodded in acknowledgement of the opening. "The unsub is white, male and in his mid-twenties."
Reid took over smoothly. "He is educated, and possesses an undergraduate degree, probably majoring in chemistry or a related field."
"He will be socially awkward." Morgan cast his gaze over the assembled local police officers, deliberately avoiding the mayor. "Not many friends, doesn't go out much. Spends a lot of time online."
Rossi stepped up. "He has likely suffered a recent rejection of some kind: perhaps a girlfriend broke up with him, or he lost a job." Privately, we figured the break-up scenario was more likely, but it was bad practice to weight the profile in that way without sufficient evidence.
Our part in the show done, we turned the floor back over to Hotch. "The unsub clearly has a good working knowledge of local geography. It's been a few days since his last kill, so he will be on the lookout for another pair of victims. He chooses his sites carefully, so I would like you to stake out as many of the local lovers' spots as you can. Look for a vehicle with a single occupant, probably parked somewhere out of the way with a good view of actual rendezvous area. In the meanwhile, my team will concentrate on trying to determine the unsub's identity. Over to you, Sheriff."
She nodded to him and stepped forward, talking right over the mayor's attempt to seize control of the proceedings. "Alright, ladies and gentlemen, you heard the agents: we've got a killer to catch. Let's get to it."
It was good advice. While the locals sorted out surveillance assignments, we headed out. We had our own leads to follow.
* * *
As we're queuing to collect our coats from the cloakroom, I see something that makes me frown. I dither for maybe a fraction of a second, but really, there's no way I can live with myself if I don't at least try to intervene. I turn to the blonde at my side, pushing my cloakroom ticket into her hand.
"I just need to take care of something," I say, starting to step away. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes."
"What is it? Did you spot a better prospect?" She tries to keep her tone light, but there's an undercurrent of hurt to the words. It makes me turn back and try to explain, rather than rushing off and asking for forgiveness later.
"Of course not." I aim for a reassuring tone, making eye contact as I touch her lightly on the arm. "I met a girl earlier, a nice innocent" -- I deliberately emphasise the word -- "girl on what's probably her first visit here."
"I don't understand." She looks puzzled, but not pissed off. That's a good sign.
"Well, I just saw her with Vivian." I know she's a regular here. I just hope she's enough of one for the name to mean something to her. From the look of recognition in her eyes, I see that it does.
"You know, some girls wouldn't mind Vivian being their first experience," she says, a warning note in her voice. "Some of us aren't looking for 'special', we just want a good time."
"I don't think that this girl is one of them," I say, tossing off a shrug in an attempt to be casual. It's a gut feeling. Unreliable, but I have to go with it.
The blonde looks me deep in the eyes and sighs. "Well, what are you waiting for?" She thumps me gently on the shoulder for emphasis. "Go save the damsel in distress!"
I smile at her, surprising myself with a genuine feeling that isn't lust. "Thanks for understanding. I'll be back soon."
I quickly cross the dancefloor until I'm standing by the pair. They are close together, aware of no one but each other. It just about breaks my heart to see the starstruck expression on the redhead's face contrasted with Vivian's predatory demeanour. She deserves better than this; much better. I tap Vivian on the shoulder.
"Mind if I cut in?" I say, a question that isn't really a question.
She looks at me, annoyance melting to surprise as she realises who it is that's butting in. I can see her weighing up her options, figuring out how much this is worth to her. Does she want the redhead enough to risk a dominance struggle with someone she considers at least her equal? In the end, she tilts her head towards me.
"Be my guest." The smile on her lips doesn't reach her eyes; her expression telling me that she'll concede this once, but that this exchange will not be without consequences. Good enough for now. I can worry about fallout some other time. As she strides away, I turn my attention to the somewhat confused-looking redhead.
"You can do so much better than a one-night stand," I say softly. "Don't let this be something you'll regret later."
Feeling acutely uncomfortable, I hug her awkwardly and melt back into the crowd before she can do so much as close her gaping mouth.
There. Good deed done.
"Sorry about that," I mutter to my companion, accepting the jacket she hands to me.
"Don't be." She grins, leaning in to plant a kiss on my cheek. "I kind of like that you're a knight in shining armour."
I sweep an exaggerated bow, holding out my arm with a smile. "If I'm a knight, does that make you my princess? At least for tonight."
Giggling, she takes my arm. "I think I like that. Prithee, let us be off to my palace where, verily, we shall make merry."
For a moment, I almost regret that this will be for only one night. It's far too rare to find a fellow geek at places like this. But I'm far too deep in this now, and so I continue. "Verily," I agree, solemnly.
Too much analysis. Time to stop thinking and start feeling.