Criminal Minds Fic-A Hinge in the Air, Chapter 1
Title: A Hinge in the Air, Chapter 1
Author: mingsmommy
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/David Rossi
Spoilers: Everything through Season 5
Rating: FRT/PG13 (Subject to change in later chapters)
Author's Notes: During the bidding for help_haiti, wojelah was kind enough to bid on and won my fic offering. When I couldn't make the February 15 deadline, she graciously agreed to extend. Three and 1/4 months later...
Her prompt was "good old fashioned falling in love plus h/c." The title comes from one of the poems she provided as a prompt Japan by Billy Collins.
This would never have seen the light of day without smacky30 and smittywing; they are both unfailingly generous with their time and talents, encouraging me line by line and making me want to be better. They've corrected my grammar, made suggestions, made me smile and kept me from chucking the whole thing when I was sick of it. Oh, and by the way, all of the best lines came from comments they made. I am grateful to both of them.
"Did he give you a reason?" Garcia glides from one keyboard to another in her rolling chair, neon pink, lime green and electric yellow hair baubles bouncing with the movement.
From her position leaning against the far wall, Emily shrugs, "He said he didn't want to rent a tux."
Garcia turns to look at her, red painted lips agape. "What?" She places a dramatic hand over her not inconsiderable cleavage. "You don't honestly want me to accept that Derek Morgan, he of the uber-smooth, the man who practically invented cool, does not have his own tuxedo?" Her voice drops to a pained and scandalized whisper. "I don't believe it."
Laughing, Emily holds up a hand, as if swearing. "I know! It doesn't fit the profile."
"What doesn't fit the profile?"
Both women look up to see Rossi standing in the door of Garcia's office with an open folder in hand. Garcia’s face visibly brightens and she points her purple fuzzy-capped pen in Prentiss’ direction. Emily starts to shake her head “no”, but the tech has a goal firmly in sight. “Supervisory Special Agent Rossi,” she smiles in a way Emily could only describe as gleefully predatory.
Rossi, with suddenly narrowed eyes, seems to realize he's in Garcia's crosshairs. The very thought would send lesser men screaming, but Rossi warily answers. "Yes, Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia?"
"Such a suave and debonair gentleman as yourself must own a tuxedo, yes?" A finely arched brow cocks challengingly in his direction.
Still looking somewhat cautious, he answers, "I own several."
"I see." Garcia stands and, much as if she were inspecting him in one of those tuxes, circles her prey with measured steps, each clack of a high-heeled pump on the floor portending a potentially awkward moment in Emily's mind. "And wasn't it just last week I heard you tell our fair Emily here that you owed her for finishing up the paperwork on the serial arsonist in Tacoma so you could scoot off to your book signing in Manhattan?"
Rossi looks to Emily, but she knows there's no thwarting Penelope Garcia when she's on a mission. Emily simply shakes her head and tells herself she'll let him off the hook later.
Seeing no help coming from her, he shrugs. "Yes, I did say that and yes, I do still owe her."
Clasping her hands together under her chin, Garcia gasps rapturously. "Oh, SSA Rossi, I have the perfect way for you to repay our lovely Agent Prentiss."
Rossi quirks an eyebrow in Emily's direction, but she covers her face with her hands so she doesn't see his expression when he says, "I'm listening."
“And I’m leaving.” Emily starts to move away from the wall when the fuzzy purple pen and a death glare aim themselves in her direction.
“Mortal, dare not confound the will of the goddess.”
Holding up her hands in surrender, Emily subsides.
Settling back in her task chair, Garcia gives Rossi another smile, this one a little more warm, a little less…frightening as she arranges the skirt of her polka-dotted dress over the chair. "Well, it seems Ambassador Prentiss has sent down an edict from on high requiring a command performance of our Emily at a charity event this coming Saturday."
Sighing, Emily wonders if she has any ibuprofen in her desk. Or vodka; vodka would be good. It's not that she thinks Rossi wouldn't be a good date, it's just sort of like the time in fourth grade when her best friend tried to get the most popular boy in class to skate with her by giving him a dollar. "I could skip it, but it's not worth the grief, and I could go without an escort but that would result in roughly four hundred attempts to fix me up with some politician or guy from the Foreign Service. Not interested."
Rossi nods. "Sure, I'll take you."
Penelope squeals and claps her hands and Emily just blinks.
"Look, Rossi, I know Garcia is a frigging force of nature--"
"Hey!"
"--but you don't have to--"
He holds up a hand. "I always pay my debts, Prentiss and if I get a night of free Scotch out of it, it's not exactly a hardship, is it?"
She starts to protest again, but he gives her the eyebrow with attitude and she holds her own hands up in defeat. Rossi nods as he turns back to Garcia. “Can you run a search for me on these three guys? Anything you can find, but I’m particularly interested in early life and how they got into the cult business.”
“Am I searching for common factors or just general information?” Garcia is already laser focused on the screens in front of her, the keys clicking rapidly. As he begins giving the tech details of what he’s looking for, Emily slips from the room.
***
She gives him another opportunity to back out, but he just gives her that look he has that says, why are we still talking about this? and assures her that he's glad to do it. So she tells him she'll pick him up at seven on Saturday night. He protests a little, then she cocks an eyebrow and asks him if he's such a chauvinist he can't stand a little gender shift. He counters with "old fashioned" and, when she rolls her eyes, he reminds her he has a roomier, more comfortable automobile. But she gives him a look of her own with the firm statement, "If part of your payment for enduring this is unlimited free Scotch then not having to worry about driving will help you enjoy it all the more."
She's still feeling a little ridiculous when she pulls her Prius into his driveway at five til seven Saturday evening, but she reminds herself it's Rossi. He's a teammate and a friend and he's doing her a favor. When he opens the door she can't help the sound of feminine appreciation at the sight of him in his tuxedo. "Oh, my, Agent Rossi. You look quite dapper."
He inclines his head, stepping back, indicating she should come in. "Are you saying I clean up well?"
As she steps by him she catches the scent of his very nice and undoubtedly very expensive cologne."I'm saying you look like James Bond." She hands him the bottle of wine she brought. "I thought this would be better than a corsage."
Glancing at the label, his face morphs into an expression both pleased and a little impressed as he counters her first remark, "James Bond for the geriatric set."
"Hardly," Emily answers dryly as he takes her wrap. She feels him pause and looks at him over her shoulder, then turns to face him fully.
"Emily," he says, and there is no mistaking the appreciation in his voice. "If I were James Bond you'd be just the type of femme fatale to bring me down."
Blushing a little, she smoothes the dress over her hips before giving a slight curtsy. "Thank you." Backless from her neck down to where the curve of her ass begins, the black dress gathers between her breasts and sweeps to the ground, a small band of crystals under the bodice the only ornamentation.
"I thought you'd wear red," he says, but she doesn't have time to process that before he continues. "You look amazing."
Laughing a little, she can't deny the little thrill of pleasure that goes through her at his words. "I tend to get less grief for my wardrobe choices when I go with the classics."
His eyebrows go up. "Oh, that's a classic all right." His eyes flick over her again. "No wonder you have to beat men off you at these things. I need to bring my gun, I think."
"Rossi," she shakes her head.
"I'm just sayin'..."
Giving him the full benefit of her widest smile, she repeats, "Thank you."
“My pleasure.” He grins back, jerking his head towards the back of the house. “Come on, let’s have a glass of wine before I have to face the throngs of men falling at your feet.”
She makes a face. “I brought that for you as a thank you. I didn’t mean for you to have to share it with me.”
But he’s already in the kitchen, corkscrew in hand. “A good bottle of wine should always be shared with a beautiful woman.”
Rolling her eyes a little, Emily leans against the kitchen island, watching him as he pulls the cork from the bottle. “On Monday when you’re back to treating me like a pain in your ass should I remind you how freely these compliments fell from your lips?”
Both his eyebrows climb, but the rest of his face blanks. “Do I treat you like you’re a pain in the ass?” He lifts a decanter from a cabinet and sets it on the counter.
Emily laughs and she may be blushing, she's just not sure; she waves a hand airily to cover the gaffe. "I was joking."
"Yes, I know," he nods sagely, "you, both the general 'you' as the human population and the specific 'you,' as Emily Prentiss, commonly deflect compliments with humor." He's watching the wine as he decants and she blinks at the observation. "But the whole thing about using humor to state a truth is pretty accurate."
One should not get dressed up to stand in an attractive coworker's kitchen and stutter, she thinks. "I...um...no." She shakes her head, feels her hair move a little too much and reminds herself to check it before they leave, "No, you don't treat me like I'm a pain in the ass."
"But that statement came from somewhere?" He sets the bottle beside the decanter and quirks an eyebrow at her.
"Well." She makes a face. "You can be very driven and when you first rejoined the team you could be pretty intensely focused on whatever goal was in front of you." Her finger traces idly over the grout between two of the tiles on the island. "You aren't in the least shy about moving people out of the way who are between you and those goals."
He nods, his look somehow closed and curious at the same time. She should just shut up.
"It wasn't ever anything..." Someone should really tell her mouth that the rest of her has decided she should shut up. Taking a breath, she starts again. "Finding footing with the team was hard for me when I first came and they really had no expectations of me. You came back basically as a legend and I've read the old case files. I know it was different then, so, yeah learning to adapt couldn't have been easy."
Rossi purses his lips and tilts his head in that way he has that says he agrees, however reservedly. She feels her eyes widen when she realizes she's not only been babbling, she's been profiling him to his face. "God, Rossi. Why don't you tell me to shut up?"
He snorts a laugh and pulls two wine glasses down from the same cabinet the decanter came from. "Emily, that would be rude."
Emily is flushing so hard she knows she must be scarlet. "Rude?" Touching her cheek, she feels the heat. "You mean like what I just did?"
Pouring the wine into glasses, he shakes his head, smiling. "Don't worry about it." He looks up at her briefly then switches his gaze back to the wine. "I did ask."
Now would be a good time, she thinks, for the floor to open and swallow her. Why didn't that ever happen when she wanted it to? "I'm so sorry."
Rounding the counter with both glasses in hand, he looks like he's trying very hard not to laugh.
"This is...I'm sorry," she repeats. "I’m a little nervous, because this is different." Which is as close as she's going to come to admitting that she's got butterflies because, even though he's just doing her a favor, this is really date-like. Morgan is a friend and it would have been meaningless, but Rossi is well...Rossi, and no amount of torture would get her to admit aloud she’s had a bit of a crush on him since she was at the Academy. "And I'm wondering if my mother has any plots up her sleeve for tonight. When I'm nervous, I say the wrong thing." She takes a breath and accepts a glass from him. "You are a wonderful team member and a great partner. And I owe you for having my back and covering my ass. You have never treated me with anything but respect. Ever. I'm sorry if my...awkwardness made you think I thought otherwise."
Clinking his glass against hers, he says, "To my favorite pain in the ass," and drinks.
Ruefully shaking her head, she takes a sip from her own glass. "At least I get to be favorite," she mutters.
Jerking his head towards the great room, he smirks. “Let’s sit down for a minute and you can warn me about any land mines or how to protect you from any potential plots by your mother." He smiles engagingly. "You can brief me on any potential international incidents in the car."
***
The event, a charity ball the ambassador had been sponsoring for ten years, is in full swing by the time they arrive. The ambassador isn’t close to the door, luckily enough. Emily knows they'll eventually see each other, that's the whole point of showing up at this thing after all. But she'll feel more confident once they've been inside for a little while at least, once they both have a glass in hand and she's talked to a few people.
It's sort of ridiculous, she knows, to be anxious about not doing the right thing. But she grew up this way, appearing at formal events, understanding how very critical it was for her to be perfect, to appear charming, to not be flustered, to not offend anyone or embarrass her mother. Even though she's been out of her mother's house for close to two decades and she's considered a competent adult the government pays to carry a gun, she still can't help that deeply ingrained anxiety that she do the right thing, be the right person.
"Why, Emily, who do you have with you?" The familiar, cultured voice brings her out of her head and back into the room. She barely manages to suppress a groan when she sees the figure in neon pink chiffon bearing down on them. Some of her tension must have telegraphed, because she feels Rossi's arm lightly slide across her lower back, the skin-warmed material of his sleeve gliding over the exposed skin.
"Mrs. Cooley, hello." Emily hides her grimace as the older woman leans in to kiss her cheek, the smell of gin floating just under the Chanel No. 5.
"Emily!" She draws back and gives Emily a look full of rebuke. "I've been telling you to call me Gail for twenty years. Always so polite and well mannered."
Emily manages a smile and turns to Rossi. "Gail Cooley, David Rossi."
"Oh! The writer? Really?" Her tone goes beyond arch and Emily sighs, silently she hopes, but evidently not completely motionlessly, since she feels a slight squeeze at her waist as Dave moves to shake Gail's hand. "My son said he had met you after poor Matthew died. I nearly disowned John for not getting an autograph, but he swore he didn't realize you were that David Rossi." She hasn't let go of his hand since Rossi offered it and Emily is getting an uncomfortable feeling.
"I'm flattered you even know who I am." Somehow, without looking the least discourteous, Rossi manages to extract his hand.
"Know who you are? Of course! I have all of your books. I wish I had one with me now, I'd get you to sign it for me. I've been a fan of yours for years." Somehow the way she says years makes it sound more like centuries and she turns to Emily. "Maybe I could send one with John the next time you see each other? He says he's tried to catch up with you but you always seem to be on a case." She gives Rossi a brittle smile. "They were childhood sweethearts, you know."
Emily knows Rossi suspected John of being the unnamed component in the story of Italy, Matthew, the pregnancy and the abortion, but he's never asked. Thanks to Gail Cooley he'll never have to. Emily closes her eyes briefly then reopens them.
Gail's face, as she turns back to Emily, morphs into a look somewhere between chagrined and reproachful. "It seems like such a shame to not maintain a relationship that's several decades old. Especially since fate has brought the two of you to the same place at this point in your life."
Emily is contemplating the least polite way, without being outright rude, to disabuse Gail Cooley of her matchmaking efforts when Rossi pulls her slightly closer to his body. "We'll certainly have to clear an evening to see John if it's that important, sweetheart."
Only the fact that she's worked undercover a number of times in her career, and is therefore astoundingly good at not reacting to the unexpected, keeps her from bursting out laughing at not just the words, but the completely devoted air with which Rossi says them.
"I know." She looks at him and smiles sweetly, keeping Gail Cooley in her peripheral vision. "We should, it just seems we never have enough time...alone."
He's not quite as good as she is, she thinks as she notices the twitch at the corner of his mouth, but the smile she's giving him covers all kinds of sins and she is pleased, in a slightly evil way, to see Gail Cooley's face fall.
Rossi, despite his slip, is not to be outdone. With a smoothness that is more than admirable, he brings her hand to his mouth and places his lips against her knuckles and lets them linger. Emily manages to soften her face into what she hopes is a dreamy expression, yet, beneath the act she is cataloging the feel of his lips against her skin, the tickle of the edge of his whiskers and she wonders if it would feel the same against her own lips. She's flicking through her memories, trying to recall if she's ever kissed a man with facial hair. Aside from one kid in college with what she would call more facial scraggle than facial hair, she doesn't think so.
His eyes bright with mischief, Dave entwines their fingers. "I know, darling, but we just can't keep shutting out the world." He turns to John's mother. "Since they were sweethearts he can give me some pointers on what not to do wrong, so I don't lose Emily."
"Well, um." The woman clears her throat. "I just hope that you'll...maybe the next time you're available you could give John a call. I know he'd love to see you." She's a little flushed and a little fluttery and Emily thinks it's a very good thing it was her husband who'd made a career in the Foreign Service because Gail would have sucked at it. "It was a great pleasure to meet you Mr. Rossi. Lovely to see you again, Emily," she says a little stiffly and she walks away, back ramrod straight.
Rossi makes a humming noise. "She didn't really sound like it was a pleasure or very lovely."
"Not really." Emily grins at him and threads her arm through his. She hesitates for a minute, but then decides there's nothing left to hide. "I don't know how much she knows about what went on in Italy but since that posting she appears to have decided that having Ambassador Prentiss's daughter as a wife would enhance both John’s resume. Not to mention what it would do for his father's."
His brow crinkles and they begin moving through the crowd. "You don't think it's you she's interested in for her son? Just the ambassador's daughter?"
Laughing, Emily shakes her head. "Trust me, no." There are waiters circulating with champagne but they've both been to enough of these things to know the easiest way to get Rossi's Scotch is to make it to the bar across the room.
"As far as Gail is concerned, it's not about me at all." Nodding to an elderly woman a few feet away, she mouths, Hello as they continue towards the bar. "When this campaign started I was gawky, rebellious and the absolute antithesis of what a mother would want for her son. My only saving grace was my last name." Raising her hand, she wiggles her fingers at someone across the room, receiving a smile and an enthusiastic wave from a dark skinned man in a turban.
"Well, that's certainly not true now. She and John must have seen you're way more than a gawky, rebellious teenager."
Snorting inelegantly, she gives his arm a friendly squeeze. "Whatever Gail's criteria are, I'm still pretty sure the only one that matters is being an asset to John and his career."
Finally making it to the bar, Rossi leans against it while they wait for one of the bartenders to notice them. "What about John?"
"John? What about John?"
Dave cocks his eyebrow. "He didn't seem to think you were gawky or care if you are a little rebellious."
Rolling her eyes, Emily contemplates hitting him, just a really good thwack to the arm, but decides this isn't the best setting for that. Instead, she settles for a dry tone. "I don't think so."
He holds up his hands in a defensive gesture. "I'm just saying, you're not the same person you were at fifteen, neither is he."
Emily sucks her cheeks in and narrows her eyes in his direction. "I didn't know you were so interested in resolving my adolescent relationship issues."
"It's not about your adolescence at all..." He pauses as the bartender approaches. "Scotch, neat, please. Emily?"
"Shiraz."
The bartender nods and walks away.
"Shiraz?" Dave questions.
"The caterer she usually uses is Australian and has a really amazing Shiraz." Then, she points a finger at him. "Nice try. Continue."
Eying the oversized brandy snifter being used as a tip jar a foot or so down the bar, he fishes in his pocket for his money clip. "It's not about your adolescence. He seemed genuinely interested in you last year, beyond the resolution of Matthew's death." He peels off a few bills then replaces the clip.
"Residual guilt, I'm sure. You know as well as I do when someone close to us dies the mating instinct tends to go into overdrive." The bartender slides a stemmed glass in front of Emily and places Rossi's Scotch carefully on a napkin in front of him. They both murmur their thanks and Rossi extends his arm to drop the bills into the snifter. "If he appeared attracted to me it was probably more a reaction to the circumstances than any real connection he felt to me."
"And you?" He sips. "How did you feel about him?"
She only means to brush him off, but her voice comes out haughty and a little hard. "I didn't realize I'd agreed to be profiled."
Shaking his head, he reaches out and squeezes her fingers where they're resting on the bar. "It's not that at all. I think it's your turn to tell me to shut up."
Sighing, she squeezes back. It's still a place where she guards her heart, where defensiveness is automatic. She's momentarily forgotten that it's not necessary where Rossi is concerned. "I...he's part of my past. And, sadly Gail is right; the way I grew up wasn't exactly conducive to long-lasting friendships. There's a certain nostalgia there. But in the end, it was Matthew who was my friend, Matthew I was close to. And it was Matthew who saved me." She moves her hand to her wine glass, turning it idly in a circle. "John. Well, I hope he finds peace and happiness in his life."
"Gail's going to be awfully disappointed," Rossi says mournfully.
"You're an ass," Emily says conversationally and salutes him with her glass.
The ambassador approaches them forty-five minutes later, cutting through the sea of silk, taffeta and tuxedos to where they are standing. They've been playing a ridiculous game of profiling the strangers around them, amusing themselves by seeing who could make up the most outrageous past or motivations for the crowd: "Woman in red satin. Totally a spy." "Really? What country?" "No country. Corporate espionage; trying to get the recipe for the crab puffs." "Completely devious. She looks like a middle aged socialite who just had a face lift because she's afraid her husband is having an affair with his PA." "See? Brilliant disguise...she fits right in." Elizabeth Prentiss is a lifetime expert at hiding her emotions and reactions, so Emily really has no idea what her mother thinks of Rossi and, more importantly, Rossi as her daughter's escort as she approaches them.
She’s the epitome of elegant, as always; she's wearing a floor length dress in a rich golden color that Emily is pretty sure is Vera Wang and Emily spares a moment to hope she looks half as good as her mother when she's her age. "Emily." Her mother holds both hands out and Emily gives her the one not holding her wineglass and submits to both of her cheeks being kissed, as if it were a delightful surprise that she had shown up, rather than being parentally mandated.
“Mother,” Emily responds with affection. Command appearance or not, every day she does her job, she becomes more aware of the passage of time and the capriciousness of fate and she is genuinely glad to see her mother.
Elizabeth draws back and eyes her daughter. "You look lovely, Emily."
"Thank you." Turning slightly, she gestures toward Rossi. "Mother, this is David Rossi. Dave, my mother, Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss." She feels a little silly using the formal introduction, but etiquette was drilled into her from the time she was tiny until it was as automatic as breathing.
Dave gives his most charming smile and takes Elizabeth's proffered hand. "Ambassador. It's very nice to meet you."
"No, the pleasure is mine, Mr. Rossi." She gives him a charming smile of her own. "If it weren't for your books I would have no idea what Emily's work at the BAU was like."
Rossi's gaze shifts from mother to daughter, obviously trying to decide if there is some hidden meaning behind the words. While Emily would have bristled at the remark ten years ago, today she knows her mother is not digging, she's just finding a way to make a connection with someone she just met.
"While I'm flattered you've read my books, trust me when I say there's not a single indication in those books of exactly how valuable Emily is to the team." His tone is warm and sincere and the ambassador gives another smile, one of genuine pleasure. Emily feels herself flush under the praise.
"Dave is being kind," she begins, but then notices Rossi's look has gone from pleasant to blank to calculating in just a matter of seconds. "Dave?" she asks.
Completely inappropriately, Rossi slips an arm around Emily and her mother and begins walking them through the crowd.
"Rossi?" Emily tries again, practically feeling her mother bristling from the other side of his body.
"Just smile and pretend nothing's wrong, ladies," he says through his own put-on smile.
The ambassador does just that, raising her hand to several people as they continue toward the edge of the crowd. Whether it's following his direction or the desire to avoid a scene, Emily isn't sure. Sotto voce, Elizabeth leans toward the man between them, "What is going on?"
"Do you have security personnel here?" he counters.
"Of course." The ambassador is still smiling, but Emily doesn't miss the stress under her voice.
"Any of them posing as waiters?" Rossi asks as they reach the perimeter of milling people.
"Not that I'm aware of," Elizabeth answers. "You saw something?"
Rossi draws in a breath, "Waiter with a gun under his shirt, he was tracking you through the crowd." He releases both women and steps in front of them. "Don't turn around."
Emily grabs her mother's hand but speaks to Rossi. "How do you want to handle it?"
"In this big a crowd, I'd rather not try to take him out without a weapon." He looks at the ambassador's pale face. "Can you get one of your security guys to meet me here? I'll point him out."
She nods stiffly. "Certainly."
"Prentiss, maybe see if there's a smaller room where your mother can wait until we have this contained?"
Emily wants to argue, but she knows he's right. It's not like she has her gun, either. Or that she's going to be very good at chasing someone in this dress, not to mention the heels.
"Come on, Mother. Let's get in contact with security and get you somewhere safe." She puts an arm around her mother, while watching Rossi's face.
He gives her a slight, reassuring nod.
They begin to step away, but the ambassador turns back. "Agent Rossi, if you can do this...quietly? I would appreciate it."
Rossi smiles. "I'll do my best, ma'am."
Elizabeth nods and allows Emily to lead her away.
There's a member of the security detail standing less than thirty feet away trying-and failing abysmally-to look unobtrusive. Emily gives him a quick rundown, points out Rossi and waits to hear him call on his headset before she nods and moves her mother to a small room to the side of the ballroom.
Elizabeth sits on one of the velvet-covered sofas, her face neutral, posture rigid. Emily is a bit frustrated to see there is no lock on the door and thinks about leaving her mother alone to go in search of security to guard the door, but decides against it. She makes a quick circuit of the room, closing the curtains over the windows, blocking a second entry with a straight-back chair under the dual door knobs. She debates using one of the curtain ties to secure the double doors they entered through, then rejects the notion. Instead, she stands sentry, straining to hear anything out in the ballroom beyond the babble of social conversation and the distant strains of the band playing How Can I Remember? After a few minutes there's a knock at the door and her mother starts.
"Ambassador? Agent Prentiss?"
The rich baritone is not one Emily recognizes. "Who is it?"
"Clive Pierce, ma'am. Security detail."
Emily looks to her mother for verification; when the ambassador nods, Emily opens the door. Gratefully, she notes the man is large and well-muscled, with the added bonus of having his credentials on display. "Yes?"
"Agent Rossi sent me. I'm going to make sure no one disturbs you until the situation is resolved."
Heaving a sigh, Emily gives him half a smile. "Thank you."
Now that Emily knows Clive Pierce is standing between them and any armed waiters, she moves to sit in one of the chairs beside the sofa, then immediately stands again. "Maybe I should..."
"Sit, Emily." The ambassador smiles tightly. "They either have it under control or they don't. But you're not equipped to help and I would feel much better knowing you're here with me."
Nodding, knowing she's right, Emily sits, carefully smoothing her dress as she does so. The silence stretches out between them, straining against the bonds of time. Part of it is the situation and part of it is her usual awkwardness around her mother. She does manage not to jump when the ambassador begins speaking.
"I'm very grateful Agent Rossi is so observant."
Emily lets out a tense breath. "Me, too." Out in the field she never feels this wired and anxious, she's always focused and confident. But here and now she feels useless and nervous. "Were you expecting any trouble?"
"What?" Clearly, Elizabeth is more distracted than she's letting on.
Emily grasps her mother's hand. "Were there any threats?"
"The same as always." The ambassador shakes her head. "Nothing unusual."
Emily was well into adulthood before she learned threats on the ambassador were a fairly regular occurrence; they were ever taken lightly but still were an understood and accepted part of the job. "Are you confident in your security detail?"
Waving a hand towards the ballroom Elizabeth says surely, "They're the best I've ever had."
Emily can't decide if that was a comfort or not. On one hand, the political world appeared far more dangerous than it ever had and Ambassador Prentiss’ confidence was a good sign. But, if they really are the best she's had and someone still managed to get into the event with a gun, there was someone who was very committed to hurting her mother. If the ambassador was in fact the target.
And that's what's making Emily nearly climb out of her skin; she doesn't know anything. She hadn't seen the waiter, she hadn't seen the gun and she doesn’t know what is going on out there now. Breathing deeply, she reminds herself Rossi is out there and she doesn't know anyone who would handle it better.
"I really feel a little silly." Her mother squeezes her hand and gives an embarrassed laugh. "Agent Rossi must think I'm such a shallow creature."
Emily's brow crinkles. "What do you mean?"
"He spotted the trouble and got us both out of harm's way and instead of thanking him, I asked him not to cause a scene." She gives Emily an earnest look. "I hope he understands I was more concerned with people panicking than the appearance of the thing,"
Patting her hand, Emily reassures her. "Dave has over twenty years in the Bureau, Mother. The worst thing he could have done out there was shout 'gun!' Believe me, not even the greenest rookie would do that unless the waiter had been about to draw the weapon. Besides, he knows about politics and appearances. Trust me, he knows it's part of the job."
Now, her mother's attention is fully focused on Emily. "Are you involved with him?"
Damn. Emily thinks. I am slipping; didn't even see that one coming. As tempting as the notion of playing with her mother is, now is probably not the best time for it. "No. We're just friends. Well, colleagues and friends."
"That's a shame," Elizabeth sighs.
Emily feels her eyes widen. "What?"
"He's a talented and charming man; accomplished and quite attractive." This time it's the ambassador who pats Emily's hand. "You could do much worse."
Blinking rapidly, Emily wonders briefly if she's stepped into some alternate reality before she manages to squeak out, "Mother!"
"What?" Elizabeth raises an eyebrow. "I'm your mother; I'm permitted to have opinions about these things. Just as you're permitted to ignore my opinions." She manages a severe look. "Now that you're an adult."
Suddenly grinning, Emily chokes out, "Good to know."
Her mother intertwines their fingers, smiling. "However, you should keep in mind I am under duress in this moment and may not be so generous the next time I have an opinion you don't share."
Emily nods. "Duly noted."
There's a perfunctory knock and the door knob rattles and Emily is on her feet, standing in front of her mother before the door is completely opened. She nearly wilts at the sight of Rossi standing there. "Dave," she breathes.
"All clear," he says, nodding at Emily.
The relieved sigh from Elizabeth reminds Emily she's body blocking her and she steps out of the way as her mother asks, "What happened?"
"When you disappeared he went to the security office off the kitchen to check the monitors for your location. Your detail got him there." He gives her a reassuring smile. "They had him on the ground before he could say 'please remove your knee from my kidney.' No one in the ballroom is any the wiser."
"Thank you," the ambassador breathes.
"Was he working alone?" Emily questions.
"They've taken him in and they'll interrogate him, but it looks like it." He eyed Ambassador Prentiss. "It seems it was more personal than political; he was fired from the embassy in Qatar shortly after you were posted there."
"I don't remember firing anyone while I was there." Elizabeth sounds perplexed.
"He was probably household staff, but took it as an insult from you no matter who fired him, because you were a woman in power. Just to be sure security is wanding all the wait staff as they come back to the kitchen. All the guests were wanded as they came in." He's leaning against the door in a casual stance that belies the tense situation of the last thirty minutes. "All of the staff were security cleared, but he was a last minute fill-in. They're figuring he hid the gun somewhere on premises before today."
Ambassador Prentiss rises and offers her hand to Dave. "Thank you so much, Agent Rossi. I am more grateful than I can say for your quick thinking." He takes her hand in his and she adds her left hand to the other side, holding his hand in both of hers. "I appreciate you watching out for Emily's safety most of all."
Rossi's lip quirks up sardonically. "You're welcome, but I also know Emily is more than able to take care of herself."
"Of that I have no doubt," Elizabeth assures him dryly. "Still, if you're this vigilant in social situations, I assume you're more so in the field. That is a comfort to me."
"Mother." Emily doesn't know if she's embarrassed or just surprised. It doesn't seem to matter though as both Rossi and the ambassador are ignoring her.
"The job is dangerous, but she's smart and capable. You don't have to worry. Plus, the whole team has each other's backs." His other hand comes up and cups the ambassador's hand where it rests over his.
Staring at the image in front of her, Emily is again contemplating the possibility that she has somehow shifted to an alternate universe. Her mother is not this demonstrative and Rossi is not this warm. She shakes her head to clear it and decides she needs more wine.
"Thank you, Agent Rossi, that makes me feel so much better." They drop each other's hands and Emily feels a little more normal. "Now," Elizabeth says, looking at Emily, "I'd suggest you leave before the speeches begin. It's going to be deadly dull and I think you've both tolerated enough for the evening."
"Mother, I think it's best if we stick around to make sure everything is all right." She looks to Dave. "Even though everything is under control..."
"Emily Amanda Prentiss." The voice is the same one Emily remembers from the unfortunate discovery of a half empty pint of vodka and a mostly full pack of cigarettes in Emily's underwear drawer when she was sixteen, only tinged with amusement. "Security is hyper-vigilant now, plus I'm willing to bet they've called in reinforcements. We've already ruined Agent Rossi's evening, let's not compound the sin."
"Ambassador..." Dave begins, but Elizabeth raises her hand.
"I appreciate the thought, but really, you should make good on your escape." Her eyebrows raise when Emily starts to protest again and the sound stops before there's enough to form a word. Regally, she shakes Dave's hand again and kisses Emily with more warmth than earlier. Then she sweeps from the room, takes the arm of Clive Pierce and sails back into the crowd, leaving Emily speechless and a little befuddled.
"Impressive," Dave murmurs, as he turns to stand by Emily as they watch her mother move away.
Emily pulls in a breath, then huffs it out. "To say the least."
He gives her a look that is a mixture of impressed and amused. "I think we've been dismissed."
Blinking, she nods. "I think you got the 'dissed' part right."
Bumping his arm against hers he says, "So, wanna go watch the interrogation?"
Turning, she quirks an eyebrow at him as a slow smile takes over her face. "You have the best ideas."
He nods. "I know."
***
"What'll happen to him?" Emily asks over a midnight burger at a greasy spoon on the way back to Rossi's place.
He wipes his fingers with a napkin. "They'll keep him in custody until he can be deported. He'll be flagged and put on every watch list. He won't get back in the United States."
Waving a french fry in his direction, Emily sighs. "That's a relief." She shakes her head. "The whole plot," because she refuses to even think the words attempted assassination, "seems like such a lot of trouble to go to as revenge for being fired."
He watches as she dredges the fry through a river of ketchup. "It wasn't about revenge as much as it was about honor. And it doesn't make sense." He shrugs. "Don't try to make it make sense. He was fired by the chief of staff of the embassy before your mother was even in residence. I'm willing to bet when they compile a full dossier on the guy you'll see a family history of mental illness."
"Don't you..." She drops the now ketchup-logged potato and pushes her plate away. "I don't know, don't you ever want normal? Don't you ever just get tired of how twisted and bizarre and just downright wrong people can be?"
Tilting his head towards his shoulder, he contemplates for a minute. "I guess sometimes I do. Maybe that's why I retired; the whole time I was out there doing book tours and consults I kept wondering if I was doing the right thing, you know?"
At her questioning look, he shrugs and continues, "We had a run of about a dozen cases before I retired where we couldn't save anyone. We were always one step behind and while we got all of the bastards, we didn't get them before they got another victim. And that worked on me. A lot. Not feeling like I could help anybody." Sitting back against the booth, he made a helpless gesture with his hands. "Do you remember Darrel Lloyd?"
"Yeah," she nods. They had studied that one at the Academy. "He worked through central Florida, kidnapping, raping and killing blond-haired, blue-eyed boys. You caught him by baiting him in the press."
"That was about five years before I retired. We caught him within an hour of his last kill. The kid’s body was still warm. I could never shake that one. Kept thinking if I'd worked a little harder, gone without a little more sleep, I could have saved that kid. It was probably the beginning of my burnout." He looks haunted for a moment and she has to suppress the urge to reach out and touch his hand.
"So, I retire and go on the book tours. I was making a run through Florida, and this woman showed up at a book signing with her sixteen year old son in tow. She thanked me." He half smiles. "Her son was blond haired, blue eyed and would have been exactly the type Lloyd went for when he was hunting. And, no, there's nothing to say he would have ever found this particular kid, but it did make me feel better about catching these guys. We might not always save the last victim, but there are so many people we save who could have been victims."
He sends her a self deprecating smile. "My enormous ego aside, I know I'm good at this. You are, too. We might not know all the names or faces of the people we save, but we are saving lives. Remembering that helps."
"Thanks," she smiles. "I'll try to keep it in mind." She inclines her head as the waitress stops to refill her water then slides away on soft-soled shoes. "Did I thank you? For saving my mother's life?"
Rossi pushes his plate away and rests his folded arms on the table. "I doubt he would have gotten to her. What I saved your mother from was a ruined ball."
"I think she would disagree, but thank you for whatever. She will, by the way, be on the phone with me tomorrow asking me what she can do to express her gratitude."
The grin he gives her could only be classified as evil. "She could ask her daughter if she'll go to my niece's wedding with me."
She feels her mouth drop open and snaps it closed. “You set me up.”
He holds two hands up in supplication. “Just the going to the ball part. The crazy guy with the gun was a bonus.”
“You set me up,” Emily repeats incredulously. “Saying you’d take me to this thing was way out of proportion to finishing your paperwork. And you knew I’d know that and know I’d owe you.” She stabs her index finger in his direction. “This was entrapment.”
He smoothes a hand over his beard and it’s like he’s smoothing his expression into one of reproach; the only indication he is not really hurt at her reaction is his twinkling eyes. “I wasn’t going to force your hand. I just figured if you didn’t want to go to this thing alone for the same reasons I don’t want to go to my niece’s wedding alone I should help you out. You know, let you know I get it, because I not only have a mother, I also have five sisters. That’s six times as many people trying to fix me up if I show up somewhere alone.” His voice is nearly mournful and she thinks he missed his calling; he should have been an actor instead of a profiler.
“Oh.” She picks up her water glass and sips. “You are good.”
Sticking out his lower lip slightly, he somehow he manages to look pathetic without looking ridiculous.
Shaking her head, she concedes. “All right. But, just so you know, it’s the crazy guy with the gun that did it, not your pouty lip.”
Grinning, he watches the waitress approach. “It’s the results that matter, Prentiss.” He grabs the check as the young woman slides it onto the table’s edge. “Two weeks from today. It’s in Saint Michaels on the Eastern shore. I’ll pick you up at noon?”
“I hate you,” she says flatly. “Give me the check.”
“Paying for your hamburger is the least I can do for entrapping you.” Peeling some bills from his money clip he doesn’t notice as she looks at him; his bow tie is untied and his collar is open. He’s casual and elegant at the same time and Emily thinks about her mother saying he is “quite attractive.” It’s true, she realizes; she’s always been aware he’s a nice looking man, but she acknowledges the truth of those words looking at him now. David Rossi is a very attractive man.
Suddenly, she realizes he’s caught her staring. “Something wrong?”
Shaking her head, she grabs her purse and slides out of the booth. “Just plotting revenge.”
“Crazy guy with a gun, Prentiss.” He drops some bills on the table and stands.
She nods. “That’s one option.”
TBC...
Chapter 2
Author: mingsmommy
Pairing: Emily Prentiss/David Rossi
Spoilers: Everything through Season 5
Rating: FRT/PG13 (Subject to change in later chapters)
Author's Notes: During the bidding for help_haiti, wojelah was kind enough to bid on and won my fic offering. When I couldn't make the February 15 deadline, she graciously agreed to extend. Three and 1/4 months later...
Her prompt was "good old fashioned falling in love plus h/c." The title comes from one of the poems she provided as a prompt Japan by Billy Collins.
This would never have seen the light of day without smacky30 and smittywing; they are both unfailingly generous with their time and talents, encouraging me line by line and making me want to be better. They've corrected my grammar, made suggestions, made me smile and kept me from chucking the whole thing when I was sick of it. Oh, and by the way, all of the best lines came from comments they made. I am grateful to both of them.
"Did he give you a reason?" Garcia glides from one keyboard to another in her rolling chair, neon pink, lime green and electric yellow hair baubles bouncing with the movement.
From her position leaning against the far wall, Emily shrugs, "He said he didn't want to rent a tux."
Garcia turns to look at her, red painted lips agape. "What?" She places a dramatic hand over her not inconsiderable cleavage. "You don't honestly want me to accept that Derek Morgan, he of the uber-smooth, the man who practically invented cool, does not have his own tuxedo?" Her voice drops to a pained and scandalized whisper. "I don't believe it."
Laughing, Emily holds up a hand, as if swearing. "I know! It doesn't fit the profile."
"What doesn't fit the profile?"
Both women look up to see Rossi standing in the door of Garcia's office with an open folder in hand. Garcia’s face visibly brightens and she points her purple fuzzy-capped pen in Prentiss’ direction. Emily starts to shake her head “no”, but the tech has a goal firmly in sight. “Supervisory Special Agent Rossi,” she smiles in a way Emily could only describe as gleefully predatory.
Rossi, with suddenly narrowed eyes, seems to realize he's in Garcia's crosshairs. The very thought would send lesser men screaming, but Rossi warily answers. "Yes, Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia?"
"Such a suave and debonair gentleman as yourself must own a tuxedo, yes?" A finely arched brow cocks challengingly in his direction.
Still looking somewhat cautious, he answers, "I own several."
"I see." Garcia stands and, much as if she were inspecting him in one of those tuxes, circles her prey with measured steps, each clack of a high-heeled pump on the floor portending a potentially awkward moment in Emily's mind. "And wasn't it just last week I heard you tell our fair Emily here that you owed her for finishing up the paperwork on the serial arsonist in Tacoma so you could scoot off to your book signing in Manhattan?"
Rossi looks to Emily, but she knows there's no thwarting Penelope Garcia when she's on a mission. Emily simply shakes her head and tells herself she'll let him off the hook later.
Seeing no help coming from her, he shrugs. "Yes, I did say that and yes, I do still owe her."
Clasping her hands together under her chin, Garcia gasps rapturously. "Oh, SSA Rossi, I have the perfect way for you to repay our lovely Agent Prentiss."
Rossi quirks an eyebrow in Emily's direction, but she covers her face with her hands so she doesn't see his expression when he says, "I'm listening."
“And I’m leaving.” Emily starts to move away from the wall when the fuzzy purple pen and a death glare aim themselves in her direction.
“Mortal, dare not confound the will of the goddess.”
Holding up her hands in surrender, Emily subsides.
Settling back in her task chair, Garcia gives Rossi another smile, this one a little more warm, a little less…frightening as she arranges the skirt of her polka-dotted dress over the chair. "Well, it seems Ambassador Prentiss has sent down an edict from on high requiring a command performance of our Emily at a charity event this coming Saturday."
Sighing, Emily wonders if she has any ibuprofen in her desk. Or vodka; vodka would be good. It's not that she thinks Rossi wouldn't be a good date, it's just sort of like the time in fourth grade when her best friend tried to get the most popular boy in class to skate with her by giving him a dollar. "I could skip it, but it's not worth the grief, and I could go without an escort but that would result in roughly four hundred attempts to fix me up with some politician or guy from the Foreign Service. Not interested."
Rossi nods. "Sure, I'll take you."
Penelope squeals and claps her hands and Emily just blinks.
"Look, Rossi, I know Garcia is a frigging force of nature--"
"Hey!"
"--but you don't have to--"
He holds up a hand. "I always pay my debts, Prentiss and if I get a night of free Scotch out of it, it's not exactly a hardship, is it?"
She starts to protest again, but he gives her the eyebrow with attitude and she holds her own hands up in defeat. Rossi nods as he turns back to Garcia. “Can you run a search for me on these three guys? Anything you can find, but I’m particularly interested in early life and how they got into the cult business.”
“Am I searching for common factors or just general information?” Garcia is already laser focused on the screens in front of her, the keys clicking rapidly. As he begins giving the tech details of what he’s looking for, Emily slips from the room.
***
She gives him another opportunity to back out, but he just gives her that look he has that says, why are we still talking about this? and assures her that he's glad to do it. So she tells him she'll pick him up at seven on Saturday night. He protests a little, then she cocks an eyebrow and asks him if he's such a chauvinist he can't stand a little gender shift. He counters with "old fashioned" and, when she rolls her eyes, he reminds her he has a roomier, more comfortable automobile. But she gives him a look of her own with the firm statement, "If part of your payment for enduring this is unlimited free Scotch then not having to worry about driving will help you enjoy it all the more."
She's still feeling a little ridiculous when she pulls her Prius into his driveway at five til seven Saturday evening, but she reminds herself it's Rossi. He's a teammate and a friend and he's doing her a favor. When he opens the door she can't help the sound of feminine appreciation at the sight of him in his tuxedo. "Oh, my, Agent Rossi. You look quite dapper."
He inclines his head, stepping back, indicating she should come in. "Are you saying I clean up well?"
As she steps by him she catches the scent of his very nice and undoubtedly very expensive cologne."I'm saying you look like James Bond." She hands him the bottle of wine she brought. "I thought this would be better than a corsage."
Glancing at the label, his face morphs into an expression both pleased and a little impressed as he counters her first remark, "James Bond for the geriatric set."
"Hardly," Emily answers dryly as he takes her wrap. She feels him pause and looks at him over her shoulder, then turns to face him fully.
"Emily," he says, and there is no mistaking the appreciation in his voice. "If I were James Bond you'd be just the type of femme fatale to bring me down."
Blushing a little, she smoothes the dress over her hips before giving a slight curtsy. "Thank you." Backless from her neck down to where the curve of her ass begins, the black dress gathers between her breasts and sweeps to the ground, a small band of crystals under the bodice the only ornamentation.
"I thought you'd wear red," he says, but she doesn't have time to process that before he continues. "You look amazing."
Laughing a little, she can't deny the little thrill of pleasure that goes through her at his words. "I tend to get less grief for my wardrobe choices when I go with the classics."
His eyebrows go up. "Oh, that's a classic all right." His eyes flick over her again. "No wonder you have to beat men off you at these things. I need to bring my gun, I think."
"Rossi," she shakes her head.
"I'm just sayin'..."
Giving him the full benefit of her widest smile, she repeats, "Thank you."
“My pleasure.” He grins back, jerking his head towards the back of the house. “Come on, let’s have a glass of wine before I have to face the throngs of men falling at your feet.”
She makes a face. “I brought that for you as a thank you. I didn’t mean for you to have to share it with me.”
But he’s already in the kitchen, corkscrew in hand. “A good bottle of wine should always be shared with a beautiful woman.”
Rolling her eyes a little, Emily leans against the kitchen island, watching him as he pulls the cork from the bottle. “On Monday when you’re back to treating me like a pain in your ass should I remind you how freely these compliments fell from your lips?”
Both his eyebrows climb, but the rest of his face blanks. “Do I treat you like you’re a pain in the ass?” He lifts a decanter from a cabinet and sets it on the counter.
Emily laughs and she may be blushing, she's just not sure; she waves a hand airily to cover the gaffe. "I was joking."
"Yes, I know," he nods sagely, "you, both the general 'you' as the human population and the specific 'you,' as Emily Prentiss, commonly deflect compliments with humor." He's watching the wine as he decants and she blinks at the observation. "But the whole thing about using humor to state a truth is pretty accurate."
One should not get dressed up to stand in an attractive coworker's kitchen and stutter, she thinks. "I...um...no." She shakes her head, feels her hair move a little too much and reminds herself to check it before they leave, "No, you don't treat me like I'm a pain in the ass."
"But that statement came from somewhere?" He sets the bottle beside the decanter and quirks an eyebrow at her.
"Well." She makes a face. "You can be very driven and when you first rejoined the team you could be pretty intensely focused on whatever goal was in front of you." Her finger traces idly over the grout between two of the tiles on the island. "You aren't in the least shy about moving people out of the way who are between you and those goals."
He nods, his look somehow closed and curious at the same time. She should just shut up.
"It wasn't ever anything..." Someone should really tell her mouth that the rest of her has decided she should shut up. Taking a breath, she starts again. "Finding footing with the team was hard for me when I first came and they really had no expectations of me. You came back basically as a legend and I've read the old case files. I know it was different then, so, yeah learning to adapt couldn't have been easy."
Rossi purses his lips and tilts his head in that way he has that says he agrees, however reservedly. She feels her eyes widen when she realizes she's not only been babbling, she's been profiling him to his face. "God, Rossi. Why don't you tell me to shut up?"
He snorts a laugh and pulls two wine glasses down from the same cabinet the decanter came from. "Emily, that would be rude."
Emily is flushing so hard she knows she must be scarlet. "Rude?" Touching her cheek, she feels the heat. "You mean like what I just did?"
Pouring the wine into glasses, he shakes his head, smiling. "Don't worry about it." He looks up at her briefly then switches his gaze back to the wine. "I did ask."
Now would be a good time, she thinks, for the floor to open and swallow her. Why didn't that ever happen when she wanted it to? "I'm so sorry."
Rounding the counter with both glasses in hand, he looks like he's trying very hard not to laugh.
"This is...I'm sorry," she repeats. "I’m a little nervous, because this is different." Which is as close as she's going to come to admitting that she's got butterflies because, even though he's just doing her a favor, this is really date-like. Morgan is a friend and it would have been meaningless, but Rossi is well...Rossi, and no amount of torture would get her to admit aloud she’s had a bit of a crush on him since she was at the Academy. "And I'm wondering if my mother has any plots up her sleeve for tonight. When I'm nervous, I say the wrong thing." She takes a breath and accepts a glass from him. "You are a wonderful team member and a great partner. And I owe you for having my back and covering my ass. You have never treated me with anything but respect. Ever. I'm sorry if my...awkwardness made you think I thought otherwise."
Clinking his glass against hers, he says, "To my favorite pain in the ass," and drinks.
Ruefully shaking her head, she takes a sip from her own glass. "At least I get to be favorite," she mutters.
Jerking his head towards the great room, he smirks. “Let’s sit down for a minute and you can warn me about any land mines or how to protect you from any potential plots by your mother." He smiles engagingly. "You can brief me on any potential international incidents in the car."
***
The event, a charity ball the ambassador had been sponsoring for ten years, is in full swing by the time they arrive. The ambassador isn’t close to the door, luckily enough. Emily knows they'll eventually see each other, that's the whole point of showing up at this thing after all. But she'll feel more confident once they've been inside for a little while at least, once they both have a glass in hand and she's talked to a few people.
It's sort of ridiculous, she knows, to be anxious about not doing the right thing. But she grew up this way, appearing at formal events, understanding how very critical it was for her to be perfect, to appear charming, to not be flustered, to not offend anyone or embarrass her mother. Even though she's been out of her mother's house for close to two decades and she's considered a competent adult the government pays to carry a gun, she still can't help that deeply ingrained anxiety that she do the right thing, be the right person.
"Why, Emily, who do you have with you?" The familiar, cultured voice brings her out of her head and back into the room. She barely manages to suppress a groan when she sees the figure in neon pink chiffon bearing down on them. Some of her tension must have telegraphed, because she feels Rossi's arm lightly slide across her lower back, the skin-warmed material of his sleeve gliding over the exposed skin.
"Mrs. Cooley, hello." Emily hides her grimace as the older woman leans in to kiss her cheek, the smell of gin floating just under the Chanel No. 5.
"Emily!" She draws back and gives Emily a look full of rebuke. "I've been telling you to call me Gail for twenty years. Always so polite and well mannered."
Emily manages a smile and turns to Rossi. "Gail Cooley, David Rossi."
"Oh! The writer? Really?" Her tone goes beyond arch and Emily sighs, silently she hopes, but evidently not completely motionlessly, since she feels a slight squeeze at her waist as Dave moves to shake Gail's hand. "My son said he had met you after poor Matthew died. I nearly disowned John for not getting an autograph, but he swore he didn't realize you were that David Rossi." She hasn't let go of his hand since Rossi offered it and Emily is getting an uncomfortable feeling.
"I'm flattered you even know who I am." Somehow, without looking the least discourteous, Rossi manages to extract his hand.
"Know who you are? Of course! I have all of your books. I wish I had one with me now, I'd get you to sign it for me. I've been a fan of yours for years." Somehow the way she says years makes it sound more like centuries and she turns to Emily. "Maybe I could send one with John the next time you see each other? He says he's tried to catch up with you but you always seem to be on a case." She gives Rossi a brittle smile. "They were childhood sweethearts, you know."
Emily knows Rossi suspected John of being the unnamed component in the story of Italy, Matthew, the pregnancy and the abortion, but he's never asked. Thanks to Gail Cooley he'll never have to. Emily closes her eyes briefly then reopens them.
Gail's face, as she turns back to Emily, morphs into a look somewhere between chagrined and reproachful. "It seems like such a shame to not maintain a relationship that's several decades old. Especially since fate has brought the two of you to the same place at this point in your life."
Emily is contemplating the least polite way, without being outright rude, to disabuse Gail Cooley of her matchmaking efforts when Rossi pulls her slightly closer to his body. "We'll certainly have to clear an evening to see John if it's that important, sweetheart."
Only the fact that she's worked undercover a number of times in her career, and is therefore astoundingly good at not reacting to the unexpected, keeps her from bursting out laughing at not just the words, but the completely devoted air with which Rossi says them.
"I know." She looks at him and smiles sweetly, keeping Gail Cooley in her peripheral vision. "We should, it just seems we never have enough time...alone."
He's not quite as good as she is, she thinks as she notices the twitch at the corner of his mouth, but the smile she's giving him covers all kinds of sins and she is pleased, in a slightly evil way, to see Gail Cooley's face fall.
Rossi, despite his slip, is not to be outdone. With a smoothness that is more than admirable, he brings her hand to his mouth and places his lips against her knuckles and lets them linger. Emily manages to soften her face into what she hopes is a dreamy expression, yet, beneath the act she is cataloging the feel of his lips against her skin, the tickle of the edge of his whiskers and she wonders if it would feel the same against her own lips. She's flicking through her memories, trying to recall if she's ever kissed a man with facial hair. Aside from one kid in college with what she would call more facial scraggle than facial hair, she doesn't think so.
His eyes bright with mischief, Dave entwines their fingers. "I know, darling, but we just can't keep shutting out the world." He turns to John's mother. "Since they were sweethearts he can give me some pointers on what not to do wrong, so I don't lose Emily."
"Well, um." The woman clears her throat. "I just hope that you'll...maybe the next time you're available you could give John a call. I know he'd love to see you." She's a little flushed and a little fluttery and Emily thinks it's a very good thing it was her husband who'd made a career in the Foreign Service because Gail would have sucked at it. "It was a great pleasure to meet you Mr. Rossi. Lovely to see you again, Emily," she says a little stiffly and she walks away, back ramrod straight.
Rossi makes a humming noise. "She didn't really sound like it was a pleasure or very lovely."
"Not really." Emily grins at him and threads her arm through his. She hesitates for a minute, but then decides there's nothing left to hide. "I don't know how much she knows about what went on in Italy but since that posting she appears to have decided that having Ambassador Prentiss's daughter as a wife would enhance both John’s resume. Not to mention what it would do for his father's."
His brow crinkles and they begin moving through the crowd. "You don't think it's you she's interested in for her son? Just the ambassador's daughter?"
Laughing, Emily shakes her head. "Trust me, no." There are waiters circulating with champagne but they've both been to enough of these things to know the easiest way to get Rossi's Scotch is to make it to the bar across the room.
"As far as Gail is concerned, it's not about me at all." Nodding to an elderly woman a few feet away, she mouths, Hello as they continue towards the bar. "When this campaign started I was gawky, rebellious and the absolute antithesis of what a mother would want for her son. My only saving grace was my last name." Raising her hand, she wiggles her fingers at someone across the room, receiving a smile and an enthusiastic wave from a dark skinned man in a turban.
"Well, that's certainly not true now. She and John must have seen you're way more than a gawky, rebellious teenager."
Snorting inelegantly, she gives his arm a friendly squeeze. "Whatever Gail's criteria are, I'm still pretty sure the only one that matters is being an asset to John and his career."
Finally making it to the bar, Rossi leans against it while they wait for one of the bartenders to notice them. "What about John?"
"John? What about John?"
Dave cocks his eyebrow. "He didn't seem to think you were gawky or care if you are a little rebellious."
Rolling her eyes, Emily contemplates hitting him, just a really good thwack to the arm, but decides this isn't the best setting for that. Instead, she settles for a dry tone. "I don't think so."
He holds up his hands in a defensive gesture. "I'm just saying, you're not the same person you were at fifteen, neither is he."
Emily sucks her cheeks in and narrows her eyes in his direction. "I didn't know you were so interested in resolving my adolescent relationship issues."
"It's not about your adolescence at all..." He pauses as the bartender approaches. "Scotch, neat, please. Emily?"
"Shiraz."
The bartender nods and walks away.
"Shiraz?" Dave questions.
"The caterer she usually uses is Australian and has a really amazing Shiraz." Then, she points a finger at him. "Nice try. Continue."
Eying the oversized brandy snifter being used as a tip jar a foot or so down the bar, he fishes in his pocket for his money clip. "It's not about your adolescence. He seemed genuinely interested in you last year, beyond the resolution of Matthew's death." He peels off a few bills then replaces the clip.
"Residual guilt, I'm sure. You know as well as I do when someone close to us dies the mating instinct tends to go into overdrive." The bartender slides a stemmed glass in front of Emily and places Rossi's Scotch carefully on a napkin in front of him. They both murmur their thanks and Rossi extends his arm to drop the bills into the snifter. "If he appeared attracted to me it was probably more a reaction to the circumstances than any real connection he felt to me."
"And you?" He sips. "How did you feel about him?"
She only means to brush him off, but her voice comes out haughty and a little hard. "I didn't realize I'd agreed to be profiled."
Shaking his head, he reaches out and squeezes her fingers where they're resting on the bar. "It's not that at all. I think it's your turn to tell me to shut up."
Sighing, she squeezes back. It's still a place where she guards her heart, where defensiveness is automatic. She's momentarily forgotten that it's not necessary where Rossi is concerned. "I...he's part of my past. And, sadly Gail is right; the way I grew up wasn't exactly conducive to long-lasting friendships. There's a certain nostalgia there. But in the end, it was Matthew who was my friend, Matthew I was close to. And it was Matthew who saved me." She moves her hand to her wine glass, turning it idly in a circle. "John. Well, I hope he finds peace and happiness in his life."
"Gail's going to be awfully disappointed," Rossi says mournfully.
"You're an ass," Emily says conversationally and salutes him with her glass.
The ambassador approaches them forty-five minutes later, cutting through the sea of silk, taffeta and tuxedos to where they are standing. They've been playing a ridiculous game of profiling the strangers around them, amusing themselves by seeing who could make up the most outrageous past or motivations for the crowd: "Woman in red satin. Totally a spy." "Really? What country?" "No country. Corporate espionage; trying to get the recipe for the crab puffs." "Completely devious. She looks like a middle aged socialite who just had a face lift because she's afraid her husband is having an affair with his PA." "See? Brilliant disguise...she fits right in." Elizabeth Prentiss is a lifetime expert at hiding her emotions and reactions, so Emily really has no idea what her mother thinks of Rossi and, more importantly, Rossi as her daughter's escort as she approaches them.
She’s the epitome of elegant, as always; she's wearing a floor length dress in a rich golden color that Emily is pretty sure is Vera Wang and Emily spares a moment to hope she looks half as good as her mother when she's her age. "Emily." Her mother holds both hands out and Emily gives her the one not holding her wineglass and submits to both of her cheeks being kissed, as if it were a delightful surprise that she had shown up, rather than being parentally mandated.
“Mother,” Emily responds with affection. Command appearance or not, every day she does her job, she becomes more aware of the passage of time and the capriciousness of fate and she is genuinely glad to see her mother.
Elizabeth draws back and eyes her daughter. "You look lovely, Emily."
"Thank you." Turning slightly, she gestures toward Rossi. "Mother, this is David Rossi. Dave, my mother, Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss." She feels a little silly using the formal introduction, but etiquette was drilled into her from the time she was tiny until it was as automatic as breathing.
Dave gives his most charming smile and takes Elizabeth's proffered hand. "Ambassador. It's very nice to meet you."
"No, the pleasure is mine, Mr. Rossi." She gives him a charming smile of her own. "If it weren't for your books I would have no idea what Emily's work at the BAU was like."
Rossi's gaze shifts from mother to daughter, obviously trying to decide if there is some hidden meaning behind the words. While Emily would have bristled at the remark ten years ago, today she knows her mother is not digging, she's just finding a way to make a connection with someone she just met.
"While I'm flattered you've read my books, trust me when I say there's not a single indication in those books of exactly how valuable Emily is to the team." His tone is warm and sincere and the ambassador gives another smile, one of genuine pleasure. Emily feels herself flush under the praise.
"Dave is being kind," she begins, but then notices Rossi's look has gone from pleasant to blank to calculating in just a matter of seconds. "Dave?" she asks.
Completely inappropriately, Rossi slips an arm around Emily and her mother and begins walking them through the crowd.
"Rossi?" Emily tries again, practically feeling her mother bristling from the other side of his body.
"Just smile and pretend nothing's wrong, ladies," he says through his own put-on smile.
The ambassador does just that, raising her hand to several people as they continue toward the edge of the crowd. Whether it's following his direction or the desire to avoid a scene, Emily isn't sure. Sotto voce, Elizabeth leans toward the man between them, "What is going on?"
"Do you have security personnel here?" he counters.
"Of course." The ambassador is still smiling, but Emily doesn't miss the stress under her voice.
"Any of them posing as waiters?" Rossi asks as they reach the perimeter of milling people.
"Not that I'm aware of," Elizabeth answers. "You saw something?"
Rossi draws in a breath, "Waiter with a gun under his shirt, he was tracking you through the crowd." He releases both women and steps in front of them. "Don't turn around."
Emily grabs her mother's hand but speaks to Rossi. "How do you want to handle it?"
"In this big a crowd, I'd rather not try to take him out without a weapon." He looks at the ambassador's pale face. "Can you get one of your security guys to meet me here? I'll point him out."
She nods stiffly. "Certainly."
"Prentiss, maybe see if there's a smaller room where your mother can wait until we have this contained?"
Emily wants to argue, but she knows he's right. It's not like she has her gun, either. Or that she's going to be very good at chasing someone in this dress, not to mention the heels.
"Come on, Mother. Let's get in contact with security and get you somewhere safe." She puts an arm around her mother, while watching Rossi's face.
He gives her a slight, reassuring nod.
They begin to step away, but the ambassador turns back. "Agent Rossi, if you can do this...quietly? I would appreciate it."
Rossi smiles. "I'll do my best, ma'am."
Elizabeth nods and allows Emily to lead her away.
There's a member of the security detail standing less than thirty feet away trying-and failing abysmally-to look unobtrusive. Emily gives him a quick rundown, points out Rossi and waits to hear him call on his headset before she nods and moves her mother to a small room to the side of the ballroom.
Elizabeth sits on one of the velvet-covered sofas, her face neutral, posture rigid. Emily is a bit frustrated to see there is no lock on the door and thinks about leaving her mother alone to go in search of security to guard the door, but decides against it. She makes a quick circuit of the room, closing the curtains over the windows, blocking a second entry with a straight-back chair under the dual door knobs. She debates using one of the curtain ties to secure the double doors they entered through, then rejects the notion. Instead, she stands sentry, straining to hear anything out in the ballroom beyond the babble of social conversation and the distant strains of the band playing How Can I Remember? After a few minutes there's a knock at the door and her mother starts.
"Ambassador? Agent Prentiss?"
The rich baritone is not one Emily recognizes. "Who is it?"
"Clive Pierce, ma'am. Security detail."
Emily looks to her mother for verification; when the ambassador nods, Emily opens the door. Gratefully, she notes the man is large and well-muscled, with the added bonus of having his credentials on display. "Yes?"
"Agent Rossi sent me. I'm going to make sure no one disturbs you until the situation is resolved."
Heaving a sigh, Emily gives him half a smile. "Thank you."
Now that Emily knows Clive Pierce is standing between them and any armed waiters, she moves to sit in one of the chairs beside the sofa, then immediately stands again. "Maybe I should..."
"Sit, Emily." The ambassador smiles tightly. "They either have it under control or they don't. But you're not equipped to help and I would feel much better knowing you're here with me."
Nodding, knowing she's right, Emily sits, carefully smoothing her dress as she does so. The silence stretches out between them, straining against the bonds of time. Part of it is the situation and part of it is her usual awkwardness around her mother. She does manage not to jump when the ambassador begins speaking.
"I'm very grateful Agent Rossi is so observant."
Emily lets out a tense breath. "Me, too." Out in the field she never feels this wired and anxious, she's always focused and confident. But here and now she feels useless and nervous. "Were you expecting any trouble?"
"What?" Clearly, Elizabeth is more distracted than she's letting on.
Emily grasps her mother's hand. "Were there any threats?"
"The same as always." The ambassador shakes her head. "Nothing unusual."
Emily was well into adulthood before she learned threats on the ambassador were a fairly regular occurrence; they were ever taken lightly but still were an understood and accepted part of the job. "Are you confident in your security detail?"
Waving a hand towards the ballroom Elizabeth says surely, "They're the best I've ever had."
Emily can't decide if that was a comfort or not. On one hand, the political world appeared far more dangerous than it ever had and Ambassador Prentiss’ confidence was a good sign. But, if they really are the best she's had and someone still managed to get into the event with a gun, there was someone who was very committed to hurting her mother. If the ambassador was in fact the target.
And that's what's making Emily nearly climb out of her skin; she doesn't know anything. She hadn't seen the waiter, she hadn't seen the gun and she doesn’t know what is going on out there now. Breathing deeply, she reminds herself Rossi is out there and she doesn't know anyone who would handle it better.
"I really feel a little silly." Her mother squeezes her hand and gives an embarrassed laugh. "Agent Rossi must think I'm such a shallow creature."
Emily's brow crinkles. "What do you mean?"
"He spotted the trouble and got us both out of harm's way and instead of thanking him, I asked him not to cause a scene." She gives Emily an earnest look. "I hope he understands I was more concerned with people panicking than the appearance of the thing,"
Patting her hand, Emily reassures her. "Dave has over twenty years in the Bureau, Mother. The worst thing he could have done out there was shout 'gun!' Believe me, not even the greenest rookie would do that unless the waiter had been about to draw the weapon. Besides, he knows about politics and appearances. Trust me, he knows it's part of the job."
Now, her mother's attention is fully focused on Emily. "Are you involved with him?"
Damn. Emily thinks. I am slipping; didn't even see that one coming. As tempting as the notion of playing with her mother is, now is probably not the best time for it. "No. We're just friends. Well, colleagues and friends."
"That's a shame," Elizabeth sighs.
Emily feels her eyes widen. "What?"
"He's a talented and charming man; accomplished and quite attractive." This time it's the ambassador who pats Emily's hand. "You could do much worse."
Blinking rapidly, Emily wonders briefly if she's stepped into some alternate reality before she manages to squeak out, "Mother!"
"What?" Elizabeth raises an eyebrow. "I'm your mother; I'm permitted to have opinions about these things. Just as you're permitted to ignore my opinions." She manages a severe look. "Now that you're an adult."
Suddenly grinning, Emily chokes out, "Good to know."
Her mother intertwines their fingers, smiling. "However, you should keep in mind I am under duress in this moment and may not be so generous the next time I have an opinion you don't share."
Emily nods. "Duly noted."
There's a perfunctory knock and the door knob rattles and Emily is on her feet, standing in front of her mother before the door is completely opened. She nearly wilts at the sight of Rossi standing there. "Dave," she breathes.
"All clear," he says, nodding at Emily.
The relieved sigh from Elizabeth reminds Emily she's body blocking her and she steps out of the way as her mother asks, "What happened?"
"When you disappeared he went to the security office off the kitchen to check the monitors for your location. Your detail got him there." He gives her a reassuring smile. "They had him on the ground before he could say 'please remove your knee from my kidney.' No one in the ballroom is any the wiser."
"Thank you," the ambassador breathes.
"Was he working alone?" Emily questions.
"They've taken him in and they'll interrogate him, but it looks like it." He eyed Ambassador Prentiss. "It seems it was more personal than political; he was fired from the embassy in Qatar shortly after you were posted there."
"I don't remember firing anyone while I was there." Elizabeth sounds perplexed.
"He was probably household staff, but took it as an insult from you no matter who fired him, because you were a woman in power. Just to be sure security is wanding all the wait staff as they come back to the kitchen. All the guests were wanded as they came in." He's leaning against the door in a casual stance that belies the tense situation of the last thirty minutes. "All of the staff were security cleared, but he was a last minute fill-in. They're figuring he hid the gun somewhere on premises before today."
Ambassador Prentiss rises and offers her hand to Dave. "Thank you so much, Agent Rossi. I am more grateful than I can say for your quick thinking." He takes her hand in his and she adds her left hand to the other side, holding his hand in both of hers. "I appreciate you watching out for Emily's safety most of all."
Rossi's lip quirks up sardonically. "You're welcome, but I also know Emily is more than able to take care of herself."
"Of that I have no doubt," Elizabeth assures him dryly. "Still, if you're this vigilant in social situations, I assume you're more so in the field. That is a comfort to me."
"Mother." Emily doesn't know if she's embarrassed or just surprised. It doesn't seem to matter though as both Rossi and the ambassador are ignoring her.
"The job is dangerous, but she's smart and capable. You don't have to worry. Plus, the whole team has each other's backs." His other hand comes up and cups the ambassador's hand where it rests over his.
Staring at the image in front of her, Emily is again contemplating the possibility that she has somehow shifted to an alternate universe. Her mother is not this demonstrative and Rossi is not this warm. She shakes her head to clear it and decides she needs more wine.
"Thank you, Agent Rossi, that makes me feel so much better." They drop each other's hands and Emily feels a little more normal. "Now," Elizabeth says, looking at Emily, "I'd suggest you leave before the speeches begin. It's going to be deadly dull and I think you've both tolerated enough for the evening."
"Mother, I think it's best if we stick around to make sure everything is all right." She looks to Dave. "Even though everything is under control..."
"Emily Amanda Prentiss." The voice is the same one Emily remembers from the unfortunate discovery of a half empty pint of vodka and a mostly full pack of cigarettes in Emily's underwear drawer when she was sixteen, only tinged with amusement. "Security is hyper-vigilant now, plus I'm willing to bet they've called in reinforcements. We've already ruined Agent Rossi's evening, let's not compound the sin."
"Ambassador..." Dave begins, but Elizabeth raises her hand.
"I appreciate the thought, but really, you should make good on your escape." Her eyebrows raise when Emily starts to protest again and the sound stops before there's enough to form a word. Regally, she shakes Dave's hand again and kisses Emily with more warmth than earlier. Then she sweeps from the room, takes the arm of Clive Pierce and sails back into the crowd, leaving Emily speechless and a little befuddled.
"Impressive," Dave murmurs, as he turns to stand by Emily as they watch her mother move away.
Emily pulls in a breath, then huffs it out. "To say the least."
He gives her a look that is a mixture of impressed and amused. "I think we've been dismissed."
Blinking, she nods. "I think you got the 'dissed' part right."
Bumping his arm against hers he says, "So, wanna go watch the interrogation?"
Turning, she quirks an eyebrow at him as a slow smile takes over her face. "You have the best ideas."
He nods. "I know."
***
"What'll happen to him?" Emily asks over a midnight burger at a greasy spoon on the way back to Rossi's place.
He wipes his fingers with a napkin. "They'll keep him in custody until he can be deported. He'll be flagged and put on every watch list. He won't get back in the United States."
Waving a french fry in his direction, Emily sighs. "That's a relief." She shakes her head. "The whole plot," because she refuses to even think the words attempted assassination, "seems like such a lot of trouble to go to as revenge for being fired."
He watches as she dredges the fry through a river of ketchup. "It wasn't about revenge as much as it was about honor. And it doesn't make sense." He shrugs. "Don't try to make it make sense. He was fired by the chief of staff of the embassy before your mother was even in residence. I'm willing to bet when they compile a full dossier on the guy you'll see a family history of mental illness."
"Don't you..." She drops the now ketchup-logged potato and pushes her plate away. "I don't know, don't you ever want normal? Don't you ever just get tired of how twisted and bizarre and just downright wrong people can be?"
Tilting his head towards his shoulder, he contemplates for a minute. "I guess sometimes I do. Maybe that's why I retired; the whole time I was out there doing book tours and consults I kept wondering if I was doing the right thing, you know?"
At her questioning look, he shrugs and continues, "We had a run of about a dozen cases before I retired where we couldn't save anyone. We were always one step behind and while we got all of the bastards, we didn't get them before they got another victim. And that worked on me. A lot. Not feeling like I could help anybody." Sitting back against the booth, he made a helpless gesture with his hands. "Do you remember Darrel Lloyd?"
"Yeah," she nods. They had studied that one at the Academy. "He worked through central Florida, kidnapping, raping and killing blond-haired, blue-eyed boys. You caught him by baiting him in the press."
"That was about five years before I retired. We caught him within an hour of his last kill. The kid’s body was still warm. I could never shake that one. Kept thinking if I'd worked a little harder, gone without a little more sleep, I could have saved that kid. It was probably the beginning of my burnout." He looks haunted for a moment and she has to suppress the urge to reach out and touch his hand.
"So, I retire and go on the book tours. I was making a run through Florida, and this woman showed up at a book signing with her sixteen year old son in tow. She thanked me." He half smiles. "Her son was blond haired, blue eyed and would have been exactly the type Lloyd went for when he was hunting. And, no, there's nothing to say he would have ever found this particular kid, but it did make me feel better about catching these guys. We might not always save the last victim, but there are so many people we save who could have been victims."
He sends her a self deprecating smile. "My enormous ego aside, I know I'm good at this. You are, too. We might not know all the names or faces of the people we save, but we are saving lives. Remembering that helps."
"Thanks," she smiles. "I'll try to keep it in mind." She inclines her head as the waitress stops to refill her water then slides away on soft-soled shoes. "Did I thank you? For saving my mother's life?"
Rossi pushes his plate away and rests his folded arms on the table. "I doubt he would have gotten to her. What I saved your mother from was a ruined ball."
"I think she would disagree, but thank you for whatever. She will, by the way, be on the phone with me tomorrow asking me what she can do to express her gratitude."
The grin he gives her could only be classified as evil. "She could ask her daughter if she'll go to my niece's wedding with me."
She feels her mouth drop open and snaps it closed. “You set me up.”
He holds two hands up in supplication. “Just the going to the ball part. The crazy guy with the gun was a bonus.”
“You set me up,” Emily repeats incredulously. “Saying you’d take me to this thing was way out of proportion to finishing your paperwork. And you knew I’d know that and know I’d owe you.” She stabs her index finger in his direction. “This was entrapment.”
He smoothes a hand over his beard and it’s like he’s smoothing his expression into one of reproach; the only indication he is not really hurt at her reaction is his twinkling eyes. “I wasn’t going to force your hand. I just figured if you didn’t want to go to this thing alone for the same reasons I don’t want to go to my niece’s wedding alone I should help you out. You know, let you know I get it, because I not only have a mother, I also have five sisters. That’s six times as many people trying to fix me up if I show up somewhere alone.” His voice is nearly mournful and she thinks he missed his calling; he should have been an actor instead of a profiler.
“Oh.” She picks up her water glass and sips. “You are good.”
Sticking out his lower lip slightly, he somehow he manages to look pathetic without looking ridiculous.
Shaking her head, she concedes. “All right. But, just so you know, it’s the crazy guy with the gun that did it, not your pouty lip.”
Grinning, he watches the waitress approach. “It’s the results that matter, Prentiss.” He grabs the check as the young woman slides it onto the table’s edge. “Two weeks from today. It’s in Saint Michaels on the Eastern shore. I’ll pick you up at noon?”
“I hate you,” she says flatly. “Give me the check.”
“Paying for your hamburger is the least I can do for entrapping you.” Peeling some bills from his money clip he doesn’t notice as she looks at him; his bow tie is untied and his collar is open. He’s casual and elegant at the same time and Emily thinks about her mother saying he is “quite attractive.” It’s true, she realizes; she’s always been aware he’s a nice looking man, but she acknowledges the truth of those words looking at him now. David Rossi is a very attractive man.
Suddenly, she realizes he’s caught her staring. “Something wrong?”
Shaking her head, she grabs her purse and slides out of the booth. “Just plotting revenge.”
“Crazy guy with a gun, Prentiss.” He drops some bills on the table and stands.
She nods. “That’s one option.”
TBC...
Chapter 2