CHAPTER 10:
THE STORY OF THE LONELY KING
(5x17: solitary man)

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        ALMOST FOUR WEEKS HAD PASSED since the BAU team wrapped up the Mosley Lane child abduction case in Ashburn, and Bess barely noticed it. Life had settled back into its usual rhythm—buried in paperwork most days, and flying across the country to put killers in handcuffs when they weren't. As far as she could tell, Bess was over the trauma caused by the Roycewoods, and she had David Rossi to thank for that.

        Speaking of which, for the very first time in her life, Bess had found someone whom she could call her true friend. Someone who wanted to be close to her not because of her father's influence, the brilliant mind behind her work, or to win her heart, but because of who she was. It was freeing in a way she had never imagined. She found herself laughing more, speaking without carefully choosing her words, and allowing herself to be vulnerable without the fear of how it might be used against her.

        Sure, she should never have let it happen, considering she was on a mission here—one he knew nothing about—but she couldn't care any less. The time to stand up and betray him was not about to come anytime soon, and maybe it never would. Because for the first time in a long time, she felt something real. Something that made her truly happy. And she wasn't ready to give it up just yet, if ever.

        "So, what should I get you for your birthday, Bess?" Rossi wondered as they rode the elevator up to the sixth floor of the BAU's building. He took a sip from his takeaway coffee as he shot her a questioning glance. "Do you have any special desires?"

        "Yeah, a decent man who would accompany me to my father's gala," Bess groaned, already annoyed by the upcoming XXXIX. Sinclair Investments Gala, which her father organized every year on April 5—her birthday. Rossi had offered to go with her, but this event was more about business and appearances than just her celebration; which meant that she needed someone closer in age, who could effortlessly navigate the room filled with billionaires, CEOs, and politicians, and who would likely stop every man from trying to take their chances with her.

        "Why don't you ask Hotch?" Rossi asked out of the blue when they walked out of the elevator, stopping in front of the bullpen. His lips curled into a mocking smile. "For once in ten years, you might actually let him have a good night."

        Bess bit back a smirk as she shook her head. "He barely spends time with his son. I'm sure the last thing he wants is to spend a night standing guard over me," she scoffed, but glanced into the bullpen nonetheless, seeing Hotch already sitting in his office.

        "You wouldn't know unless you ask," Rossi cooed in a tone laced with amusement. He watched her with that infuriatingly knowing smirk, as if he already had the answer she refused to admit. Hotch was the perfect choice. End of story.

        "Drop the smirk, Dave, or I will make you." Bess narrowed her eyes, then shook her head, taking her bottom lip between her teeth. "You know what? Fine. I'll ask him." She placed a hand on the senior agent's chest and pushed him back a little to walk into the bullpen first; she eyed him over her shoulder with a wide grin spread across her face. Rossi snorted before following after her into the bullpen, then while Bess climbed the steps to Hotch's office, he got stuck talking to Emily, Morgan, and Reid by their desks.

        Bess knocked on the walnut doorway, causing the man in the office to glance up from his work. "Sinclair, can I help you?" Hotch wondered, putting down his pen to focus solely on her.

        "Yeah, maybe," she sighed, then entered the room and walked up to his desk, perching herself on its edge. She scanned the report open in front of him before finally locking her gaze on his face. "So, uh, I wanted to ask whether you're free next Monday evening."

        Hotch raised an eyebrow at that. "Why?"

        "Um, my father is organizing a gala and I might need a partner," she hinted, watching his eyes widen in surprise. He clearly didn't expect that.

        "And you're asking me?" Hotch choked out, and Bess bit down on her bottom lip as she nodded. "Um, don't take it personally, Sinclair, but wouldn't Rossi be a better choice?" He frowned, not understanding how he even came into the picture.

        Once again, Bess nodded in agreement. "He would be, but he's too old for me. Which I don't care about, of course, but my father does. There will be big sharks present there, Hotchner. Warren Buffett, CEO of Berkshire Hathaway; Jamie Dimon, CEO of JPMorgan Chase; Ray Dalio, founder of Bridgewater Associates—and I just mentioned a few people. It matters who I show with. You meet the criteria."

        Hotch shook his head. "I don't fit into that context, Sinclair. I know nothing about the bank sector and the like."

        "Doesn't matter. You're the unit chief of the BAU. They must have heard about that."

        "Ex-unit chief, Sinclair."

        Bess let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, about that. Sinclair Investments would lose some very serious clients if it turned out I was working for the FBI. So, yeah, you're still unit chief, Hotchner. And I'm a chief officer in my father's company. So? Can I count on you? Let's say, as my birthday present from you?" She smiled, and Hotch leaned back in his chair.

        "When is your birthday?"

        "The day of the gala."

        He didn't say anything, just continued to survey her face in silence. He saw in her eyes that it would mean a lot to her, and frankly, he didn't have any plans for next Monday evening. Or any other evening, to be honest. "Alright," he agreed finally, drawing a satisfied smile on her lips.

        "Thank you, Hotchner. I owe you one." Bess stood up from the desk, then turned to leave when she suddenly paused. "What kind of suits do you have?" She looked back at him with an eyebrow raised.

        "Uh, similar to these." Hotch pointed at the classic black suit jacket and pants he wore. "Um, and I have the one I wore for my wedding," he recalled with a frown, finally meeting her eye.

        Bess eventually blinked after about a minute. "Brands, Hotchner?"

        "Uh, Brooks Brothers and Hickey Freeman."

        "Jesus." Averting her eyes, she reached forward to get a pen and a piece of paper from his desk. "Call this number, okay? Tell him I sent you. He will help. You need a suit that doesn't scream government's bitch." She grimaced, like even saying the words caused her great pain, then turned around once again and headed towards the door.

        Hotch called after Bess, "Sinclair, wait! How much does a suit like that cost?"

        "Hmm, somewhere between 7500 and 10000 dollars? But don't worry about that, I'll pay for it. Just call him. He'll get it done by Monday." She walked out of the office just to almost bump into JJ. "Let me guess, we have a new case?" She raised an eyebrow, and the communication liaison woman nodded, her lips pursed into a straight line.

        "Her name was Tanya Hill. She was 29, a bartender, found two days ago in Edgewood, New Mexico. She's the fifth woman in over six months to be found dead in a ditch off the I-40 and I-25," JJ began the briefing once everyone was seated around the round table in the conference room. She displayed several photos of the various dump sites, each showing women lying on their sides.

        "All were manually strangled. None were sexually assaulted," Hotch concluded after briefly reading the reports.

        "Well, maybe the act of strangulation is what gets him off," Morgan guessed.

        Emily looked up from her case files, wondering, "Where were they abducted from?"

        "All over."

        "Well, they're not just crossing state lines," Bess noted as she watched JJ take the last empty seat around the table. "These cities are hundreds of miles apart."

        Rossi furrowed his thick brows and shook his head. "That's a lot of bodies. Why is it taking so long to be invited?"

        "We haven't been invited." Bess turned her head to look at him. "We found this on the HSK database."

        Morgan muttered, "Well, a lot of police departments won't want this problem."

        "The geographic profile shows that only one of them has it. They just don't know it yet," Reid declared as he rose from his seat to walk up to the TV screen, which was now displaying the map of the country.

        "How do you know that?" Rossi frowned at the boy.

        "Because he has a comfort zone." He touched the screen, zooming in on the line connecting the different dump sites. "Based on the direction he was heading when he dumped the bodies, all five cases point to our UnSub heading to Edgewood, New Mexico."

        Bess pushed back her seat to stand up. "And now so are we."

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        BASED ON WHAT THEY HAD seen so far, the UnSub didn't care in the slightest that his victims were discovered, suggesting he was confident none could be traced back to him—and unfortunately, the MEs' reports confirmed that theory. Matching DNA was found under all five victims' fingernails—that would be skin and some metal shavings, like they were trying to claw their way out of where they were held captive—but it didn't show up in any known databases. Understanding what he was doing with the victims was another tough nut to crack; the time of death varied significantly from the time of abduction in each case, leaving them with no clear pattern to follow.

        Once the jet touched down in Edgewood, Bess sent Rossi and Reid to check out the latest dump site—too bad she missed out on Rossi sending the boy down into the ditch instead of dirtying his brand-new Italian leather boots, then leaving him to climb back up on his own, injured leg and all. Anyway, they determined that the UnSub must have disposed of the body at night to avoid being seen by passing vehicles. It could have been a quick drop, but Reid suspected otherwise. Given that all the victims were carefully posed in a fetal position—right arm palm-up, left arm palm-down—he believed the UnSub had taken his time. It might have been a sign of remorse, but more likely, it was deliberate staging, probably to make the women look like they were merely sleeping.

        In the meantime, Bess had Garcia search for any matching HSK findings from the past year, focusing on victimology and the list of known abduction sites. Meanwhile, the rest of the team set up their base at the Edgewood Police Department after coordinating with the local sheriff and being officially invited in.

        Pretty soon, the whiteboards in the room were covered with crime scene photos and victim information; and they were combing through the case files once again when Bess spotted something promising they had previously overlooked. According to the ME's report, Tanya had traces of diesel fuel on her clothing. Cross-checking with the other reports, they found the same pattern—every victim had both diesel fuel and table sugar on them.

        From there, the connection was obvious, as Sheriff Frank Sanders was quick to highlight: sugar absorbed diesel fuel. It was a well-known trucker trick. Which meant they had just figured out how the UnSub was transporting the women. He was a truck driver.

        Later that afternoon, Rossi sat down beside Hotch with two fresh cups of coffee in hand. "So, I hear you're finally going out. Maybe even having some fun," the Italian scoffed, smirking at the dark-haired man like a child who just got his candy.

        Hotch lifted the paper cup to his lips, raising an eyebrow. "So?" He took a sip, observing the senior agent over the rim of the cup.

        "Come on! You're going out with Sinclair." Rossi looked around then leaned forward, whispering, "Don't tell me that doesn't do things to you."

        "I'm not going out with her, Dave. I'm just... helping her out," Hotch corrected Rossi, then brought the coffee to his mouth again and took another gulp. "There's a big difference there. Anyway, from what I heard, it's going to be some kind of a business party. I doubt it's going to be what you define as fun."

        The senior agent let out a resigned sigh as he pulled back. "Do you need clothes? I can arrange you a meeting with my tailor," he offered, but Hotch declined with a headshake.

        "Sinclair's already given me a number."

        Rossi's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "I don't want to rain on your parade, but that's going to cost you a fortune, Aaron."

        "She also said she pays for it," Hotch muttered, dropping his gaze as Rossi's eyebrows climbed even higher.

        "Well, my friend, well done. You just made the deal of your life. Girl." He held up one hand. "Suit." He held up the other. "And you'll go home with at least one of them, if not both. And you said you won't have fun." Rossi smirked as he rose from his seat, giving Hotch a playful pat on the shoulder before walking out of the office.

        He shook his head, trying to refocus on his work, but couldn't shake off what the senior agent had just said. Or the knot slowly growing in his stomach...

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        IT WAS ALREADY WELL PAST dusk when the phone call came about another abduction. A woman called Nancy Campbell had been abducted from a rest stop while her daughter stayed in their car, which didn't match the BAU team's profile at all. The UnSub was supposed to fancy offender-friendly environments, so he could blend in and still interact with his victims, yet the rest stop was as isolated as it could get. It was more likely another dump site, so Morgan ordered Sheriff Sanders to have his officers spread out and begin searching for a body in the vicinity of the restroom building, starting with the ditches.

        Unfortunately, Courtney Campbell couldn't provide any distinguishing marks about the UnSub, since she was texting on her phone during the time of the abduction. Her mother left her in the car while she ran into the ladies' room, but never came out. Despite the heavy rain, Courtney heard a truck start up, but by the time she went into the restroom to check on her mother, she was gone. They believed the UnSub would come back to Edgewood once again, hence there was a great chance that they could save Nancy before it was too late.

        It didn't take long for Morgan's theory about the dump site to be proven true, Sheriff Sanders' officers found a body in the woods south of the restroom building within twenty minutes. The MO was the same—strangulation, metal shavings under the nails. The UnSub had dumped the body, cleaned up at the rest stop, and then just happened to stumble upon Nancy Campbell. And he just couldn't stop himself.

        This marked a significant shift in his behavior; not only had he abducted another victim immediately after disposing of one, but he had also left a witness behind.

        Knowing they would likely not catch any sleep, Bess brewed a large portion of coffee in the PD's kitchen while Emily and Morgan came back from the rest stop with Sheriff Sanders. She carried the tray into the room they had been working in just to catch Rossi finishing his phone call with Emily. "Okay. Latest victim is younger than the others," he shared the news, then accepted a cup of coffee from Bess with a smile.

        "Was she posed as well?" she wanted to know, offering another cup of the energy juice to Hotch, while Reid walked up to the table to get some coffee himself as well.

        "Yeah."

        Suddenly, JJ rushed into the room with another case file in hand. "Nancy Campbell's abduction hit the news."

        "Let's hope he doesn't see it. He could panic and then he'll dump her faster than the last one," Rossi muttered, watching as JJ pulled the freshly printed photos of their latest victim from the folder and pinned them onto the whiteboard alongside the others.

        Hotch shook his head, his brows tightly knitted. "Why has he dumped one victim and taken another within the hour?"

        But before any of them could respond, Bess's phone started ringing. "What have you got, Garcia?" she answered the call and put it on speaker.

        "A bloody and busy trucker. I have been on the HSK myself. I've connected four more victims to this guy. I'm sending their names to you now."

        "That brings his count to ten," Rossi noted quietly.

        Hotch said, "We need to get the photos of the victims Garcia identified up on the board. If we figure out why he's choosing these women, we find him." He lifted his cup to his lips to take another sip from the coffee when his eyes locked with Bess'. He almost unnoticeably raised an eyebrow in question, but she just smiled back at him over the rim of her own cup with a playful glint in her eyes that he couldn't seem to explain.

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        "WHAT'S ALL THIS? THERE ARE four more victims?" Sheriff Sanders burst out when the news reached his ears too.

        "He started killing months before we thought," Rossi explained to the man as he stood in front of the whiteboard full of vital information about their case. "His first victim was Erika Joy from Lexington, South Carolina. She disappeared from a truck stop."

        Hotch frowned at the close-up of the woman on the board's upper left corner. "What did she do for a living?"

        "According to her rap sheet, everyone she could," Bess sighed, putting down the woman's file back onto the tabletop before leaning back in her chair.

        "So, she's a lot lizard. It's a name they give prostitutes who hang around truck stops," Sheriff Sanders explained the quite out-of-the-ordinary expression when he noticed none of the BAU agents understood what he had just called the woman.

        Hotch turned his attention back to Rossi. "What about the others?"

        "Waitress, gas station attendant, female trucker." He pointed at the women's close-ups one by one, whom Garcia had discovered.

        "Any of them married?" Bess raised an eyebrow.

        "Just Nancy Campbell, the latest abductee, but she's a widow."

        In the next moment, Emily and Morgan walked past the office, escorting Courtney into the bullpen, and Sheriff Sanders muttered in a devastated voice, "Yeah, well, her mom's gonna get a lot more attention than, well, all these other women." He waved his hand at the images on the whiteboard.

        Rossi shook his head as a grimace spread on his face. "Taking Nancy Campbell was a huge risk. It doesn't fit his MO."

        "He must have had a reason," Hotch declared, and Bess kept fidgeting with her pen as she observed the two men, lost in thoughts.

        Meanwhile, Emily and Morgan might have found that very reason while discussing their surprise that the UnSub had taken Nancy instead of Courtney. After all, the girl was much closer in age to the other victims, and he could have abducted her without anyone seeing a thing. On the other hand, Nancy's kidnapping made one thing clear—the UnSub was searching for someone specific. None of the previous abductees had met his criteria; they were all younger and less sophisticated, therefore it didn't take him more than a day to determine whether they were worthy or not.

        And that raised the question—worthy of what? That was when Morgan came up with the terrifying idea of the UnSub looking for a companion. What if he was abducting and killing women simply because he was lonely? But could that really be his motive? A desperate, twisted attempt by a lonely truck driver to find love?

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        THE CLOCK MERCILESSLY TICKED AWAY in their hands. It was now twelve hours ago that Nancy Campbell had been abducted from that rest stop. If the UnSub had jumped on I-40 before the roadblock was set up, he could have been three states over by now. Fortunately, they believed that wasn't the case. Whatever was keeping him here, still had its grip on him. He had to get back to Edgewood, and they took advantage of that.

        The list Garcia had compiled since yesterday documented over 800 truck drivers, which was too much to run a background check on everybody. They had to narrow it down somehow, and revisiting the truck stops they had already visited in the vicinity of Edgewood seemed like the right approach. This way, Garcia could compare her list with the facilities' manifests, and maybe even find the UnSub.

        Checking out the local truck stop with Morgan and Rossi, Bess had an idea that might help them track down the man. Since the schedules of the truck companies were too tight, it was reasonable to assume that their UnSub was an independent contractor. In the past few months, he had to stay flexible to be able to abduct all those women, and with constantly running loads and being on the road 24/7, that wasn't possible. Passing Garcia these parameters and the manifest the manager guy handed over, the technical analyst woman managed to narrow down their suspect pool to 76 individuals.

        Back in the PD, they gathered in the office where they had been working for nearly 30 hours by now and summarized what they had so far. "All right, so let's go over this again. This offender's preferential. Young women mid to late 20s," Morgan began, facing the images on the whiteboard with his arms crossed over his chest.

        Rossi continued, "He takes his time watching them. He makes sure there are no witnesses."

        "He kills them 12 to 24 hours after abduction," JJ added, sitting on the couch by the door.

        "Only now that timeframe's getting shorter."

        Hotch nodded. "Then he comes home to Edgewood where he's home and he feels safe. He suffocates them, but there's no rape involved. So, could it be indeed the companionship he's after?" he wondered.

        "There might be an almost chivalrous aspect to this," Reid chimed in all of a sudden.

        Bess raised an eyebrow at hearing that. "How do you figure?"

        The boy stepped closer to the board, surveying the photos as he spoke, "Truckers have a romanticized image of themselves, and in fact, all lifestyles revolving around the open road do." He turned around to look at the team instead. "The Hell's Angels, for instance. They refer to their women as their 'old ladies', but in fact, there's no one they'd rather protect or die for. Their treatment of women wouldn't be out of place in King Arthur's court."

        "And their sense of isolation would amp up that fantasy," Morgan added, agreeing with Reid's point of view.

        "So, he's looking for a wife," Bess concluded with a grimace, barely wanting to believe the bizarre reason to abduct someone.

        Hotch remarked, "He starts out with easy targets, then he moves on to women who could actually fill the role."

        "Sweet, outgoing, warm," Rossi listed with a nod of his head. "The bartender who takes extra care of you, the chatty hitchhiker."

        "But over the course of the day, they fail the test. This infuriates him, and he strangles them and dumps them."

        JJ shook her head in confusion. "Okay, so why take Nancy Campbell? She's the opposite of all the other victims he's taken."

        Rossi agreed with her. "It's true. She's older. She already has a kid."

        "I think that's why she's still alive," Bess noted, exchanging a glance with the senior agent. "What if he's not looking for a companion? What if he's looking for a mother?"

        Hotch muttered, "If he's got a kid of his own, that would explain what keeps him coming back to Edgewood."

        "It would explain why he walks past Courtney to get to Nancy," Rossi added enthusiastically. "Just by watching he knows she's a mother. She's already qualified to pass any test."

        Hotch reached into his suit jacket to pull his phone from his pocket. He waited for the call to connect, then said, "Garcia. I want you to narrow down the 'own authority' trucker list and tell me which ones have been through a divorce recently or a custody battle."

        Rossi chimed in, "The custody fight would be a stressor. Limit your searches to months prior to the first murder."

        "Got it. Thanks," Garcia hung up, and Bess turned her attention to Sheriff Sanders as he stepped into the room.

        "We found a body on I-40," he choked out, and Bess exchanged a look with the others. That didn't mean any good.

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        BESS WENT WITH ROSSI TO check the dump site—and to take a well-deserved cigarette break while doing so. Taking long drags from her burning dart, she climbed down into the ditch and walked over to the covered body with the senior agent. For Courtney's sake, it wasn't her mother beneath the white sheet. This woman was an older redhead, and judging by the bruises on her face, she had endured quite a brutal beating at the hands of her killer.

        "If this is the same UnSub, he didn't bother to pose her this time. This is much more brutal. It feels personal," Rossi noted as they stood over the body with Sheriff Sanders.

        "Do you think he knew her?" Bess wondered, squinting at the senior agent in the sharp light.

        "I don't know. Maybe."

        Clutching the woman's ID card in the evidence bag in his hand, Sheriff Sanders muttered, "Her name is Lynn Clemons. Deputies found her wallet about 100 yards up. Must have spilled out when he dumped her."

        Bess took another long drag from her cigarette as she watched Rossi pull his phone from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and lift the device to his ear. Barely a few seconds later he said, "Garcia, we need everything that you have on a Lynn Clemons."

        It turned out that the woman was the foster parent of the UnSub's daughter. While Bess and Rossi were out, Garcia managed to track down their UnSub—a truck driver named Wade Hatchett. His wife had died in a house fire, leaving their 7-year-old daughter, Jody Hatchett, in his care. But before long, he lost both his home and custody of Jody. Wade seemed to be doing everything he could to make things work, but the girl missed a lot of school, and he was eventually charged with neglect of a minor. Jody was placed in foster care and ended up with the late Lynn Clemons, who had been on the verge of adopting her.

        Once Rossi summarized what he had learned from Garcia to Bess and Sheriff Sanders, she immediately connected the dots. "He must have run out of time. Killing her was the only way to stop Clemons from taking Jody."

        "And now he's going after his daughter." Rossi nodded grimly. "Come on. Garcia just texted me Jody's current address." He turned around, and Bess and the sheriff hurried after him toward their SUV.

        They arrived at the house just before Jody came home from school, only to find the house invaded by FBI agents. The poor little girl was both confused and likely afraid too, judging by the tremble in her thin voice. "Jody, we're helping the police. And we're trying to find your dad," Bess explained to her as she knelt down to her level. "Do you know where he is?"

        "No." She shook her head.

        In the next moment, Bess heard Morgan's voice in her headset, "Sinclair, truck's coming up the road right now." A few seconds later they all heard its brakes squeak in front of the house.

        "Hey, Jody, can we go play in your room?" Emily knelt down beside the little girl too, and she nodded, leading her and JJ into her bedroom.

        Bess walked up to the living room window with Hotch and Rossi, surveying the truck parked on the opposite side of the street, though there was no movement inside of it. Until a few minutes later anyway. "Somebody's moving toward the front of the cab," they heard Morgan's voice again, and Bess was sure the snipers on both sides of the house had now trained their rifles on the windshield and driver's side window of the vehicle. "All right, it's Nancy Campbell. He's behind her and he's got his gun on her."

        "Morgan, do you have a shot?" Bess asked, leaning closer to the window to get a clearer view of the truck through the lace curtains.

        "Negative. Negative. He's using her as a shield. He might kill Nancy to get to Jody."

        While they tried to come up with a strategy, Jody showed Emily and JJ her drawings, which covered an entire wall of her bedroom. It turned out that all of them depicted the same story: the lonely king searching for a queen, so they could move into the castle with the princess and live happily ever after. All the queens were drawn in the same position, as though they were sleeping—like all women were found—and Jody explained this by saying the king tucked them in, just like her daddy used to do for her.

        As they had already suspected, none of the queens made it to the castle; either their carriage broke down or they didn't fit to be queen. Jody had one more drawing to finish, as Nancy Campbell's story hadn't ended yet. And this just gave them the perfect idea to get Wade Hatchett to surrender.

        "Daddy? Daddy, are you there?" Jody spoke into the walkie-talkie that Garcia had connected to the truck's radio as she stood with the BAU team in the living room.

        After a few seconds, Wade's static voice came on the radio, "Hi, baby."

        "You need to tell me the rest of the story," the little girl asked, and the BAU team was on pins and needles for the outcome of the game. Nancy Campbell's life depended on it.

        "Well, the lonely king and the queen are at the castle."

        "To pick up the princess?"

        "Well, the guards are in the way."

        Hearing that, Bess bent down next to Jody and whispered into her ear. "Will you let the queen talk to them?"

        "They won't listen."

        "But I want to see her," Jody whimpered loudly. "Will you let her go, so she can hold me? You said that she's perfect. That she's the one. She wants to live in the big castle with me."

        There was a pause, and then Wade said, "I need to see you."

        Jody looked up at Bess and she nodded, so the little girl ran up to the window and pulled the curtains apart. "Hi, Daddy!" She waved with a wide grin spread across her face, eyeing Nancy and her father behind the steering wheel. After like a minute, the man gestured towards the door with his gun, and Nancy slowly climbed out of the truck. Jody's eyes widened in awe. "She's so pretty, Daddy! Now the king won't be lonely anymore."

        "No," Wade sighed, watching his daughter through the window. "And they can live happily ever after."

        "Why aren't you coming, too, Daddy?" Jody questioned as Bess placed a hand on her shoulder, offering her a warm smile for the great job she'd done. The girl turned her attention back to her father, recalling what he had told her earlier. She muttered, "Are you going to the better place?"

        "What?" Bess burst out, looking at Rossi, who seemed just as bewildered as she was.

        "Yeah. We're both going to a better place, princess. Close your little eyes, sweet pea."

        Bess didn't hesitate to reach forward and pull Jody away from the window when she realized the suicidal intent in her father's words. She pressed the girl's face against her stomach and covered both of her ears while Morgan ran toward the truck, but it was too late. The shot rang through the neighborhood as Wade Hatchett ended his life with a single bullet to the head, and Bess kept shielding Jody as she watched the entire thing through the window.

        It was over, once and for all. But despite catching the man and bringing Nancy Campbell back to her daughter safely and soundly, the story didn't have a happy ending. Not for Jody, at least.

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        BESS JUST FINISHED HER MAKEUP when the knock on her door came, and she didn't hesitate to answer it and let Hotch in. "Now, look at that. Julian went all out," Bess noted contentedly as she eyed the man in his freshly tailored black suit. "You should come to work dressed like this, Hotchner. The ladies would drop their panties for you." She grinned, and then her gaze fell onto the flower bouquet in his hand.

        "Happy birthday, Sinclair." Hotch held out the nosegay of pink peonies, and Bess was at a loss for words as she accepted it.

        "How did you know what I like?" She raised her eyebrows, bringing the flowers to her face to take a sniff of their sweet scent.

        Hotch just shrugged. "I got lucky." He hadn't, of course, but he wouldn't tell her that he had asked Rossi what she liked. He looked her over, relieved to find he had been wrong in assuming she would wear something daring; instead, she had chosen a simple yet undeniably elegant black dress for the night. "You look ravishing, Sinclair."

        Bess couldn't hide her smile as she stepped forward and pressed a kiss on the man's cheek; she turned on her heels and walked into the kitchen to fill a vase with water for the flowers. She adjusted the blossoms before reaching for her phone, which beeped with an incoming text message from her chauffeur. "Our ride is here. You ready, Hotchner?" Bess smiled, grabbing her reticule from the counter, then folded her arm into his when she stepped beside him.

        They rode the elevator down to the ground floor, then exited the tall building, and that was the second time that night that Hotch felt the air being pressed out of his chest. A sleek black limousine waited for them by the curb, a blonde guy in uniform leaning against its side. "Ms Sinclair," the man nodded, and reached for the door handle to open the back door for her.

        "Hello, Freddy. This is Aaron Hotchner." Bess smiled back at the black-haired man over her shoulder, then climbed into the luxury vehicle, and Hotch followed suit. Bess watched him look around with visible surprise on his face, she tried to suppress her upcoming laughter upon his expression. "Your first time in a limousine, Hotchner?"

        "Kinda," he admitted, then frowned at her wide smirk. "What?"

        "Nothing. Drive, Freddy." She snapped her head in the man's direction, and he immediately stepped on the gas pedal, merging back into his lane.

        The drive didn't take more than ten minutes, and Hotch kept himself busy by watching the city lights as they drove down K Street, until finally rolling up beside a 180-foot-tall, glass-walled building. "I'll be around the corner, Ms Sinclair." Freddy looked at Bess through the rearview mirror, and she nodded.

        "I'll call you."

        She got out of the car with Hotch, and as they approached the building's entrance, the doorman gave Bess a respectful nod before stepping aside to let them pass. The lobby was quiet, only a few people chatting in hushed tones, but Bess didn't slow down. She led Hotch confidently toward the elevators, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. "It's held on the fifteenth floor," she said, pressing the caller button. She shot him a side glance. "Nervous?"

        Hotch raised an eyebrow but kept quiet. The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open with a soft whoosh, and they stepped inside. Bess pushed the button for the fifteenth floor, then reached for the lapels of Hotch's suit jacket to adjust them a little. "There's no need to be nervous. They are humans too. Besides, you're with me. I'll throw them out if anyone says a wrong word about you." She beamed, causing the man to drop his gaze, and finally, a small smile crossed his face.

        When the steel doors opened up again, Hotch led Bess into the hallway. To their left, they found the room holding the gala; the soft hum of conversation and light music lured them closer. The entrance was framed by tall, ornate columns, and through the wide doorway, they caught glimpses of the elegantly decorated space: sparkling chandeliers overhead, tables gleaming with crystal and floral arrangements, and a sea of well-dressed guests moving through the room with drinks in their hands.

        "Alright. Let's find my father first," Bess told Hotch as they walked inside, greeted almost immediately by a waitress offering them champagne. "Vintage Dom Pérignon. My father likes his drinks," the redhead scoffed, watching as Hotch took a sip from his glass, then chuckled at his impressed expression. He had never drunk anything as expensive as that before.

        They walked around the room, and Hotch was glad to recognize some of the guests: Stephen Schwarzman, Larry Fink, David Boies, and Tim Cook, just to name a few. Then his gaze was caught by a man loudly conversing with two others. Neatly combed back salt-and-pepper hair, semi-rimless glasses, a carefully shaved beard, and quite an expensive suit. "Hi, Dad," Bess greeted him, and the man stopped mid-sentence to focus on his daughter instead.

        "Bess! Warren here just asked me what's taking you so long," Tony Sinclair scoffed, and Bess leaned in to give the man a greeting kiss on his cheek.

        "Had to finish my makeup," she replied with a tone matching her father's, then an enchanting smile appeared on her lips as she stepped up to Warren Buffett and kissed him on both cheeks. "Hello, Warren."

        "It was worth the wait, if you ask me," the old man noted. He took Bess' hand into his own to turn her around, looking her over. "You look more and more beautiful each year, sweetheart," Warren complimented, drawing a pleased smile on the redhead's face as his arm locked her to his side. "Thirty-nine it is now? I still remember when you were no more than three, scampering after Daddy in your white little dress." He turned towards the third man in the group. "You owe me a drink, Don. I told you she'd greet me first."

        Don Sullivan flashed his eyebrows at hearing that. "But I'll be the one she dances with first," he countered, earning a heartfelt laugh from Bess.

        "Sorry, Don. The only man I'll dance with tonight is Hotchner. Don Sullivan, director of the CIA; Warren Buffett, CEO of Berkshire Hathaway; Tony Sinclair, founder and CEO of Sinclair Investments, and my father, by the way; please meet Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI," Bess did the introductions, and even though both Don and Tony knew that what she had just said about Hotch wasn't true, neither of them corrected her—that would have raised some rather uncomfortable questions, and it was best to leave it at that.

        "Pleasure, Agent Hotchner. I heard a lot about you," Don noted, shaking hands with Hotch. "From prosecutor to FBI unit chief... You've made quite a step there. I hope they pay you well for your work. Though looking at this suit, I believe they do."

        "Come on, Don. Don't be an asshole," Warren scolded the director before reaching forward to shake hands with Hotch. "Don't even listen to him, son. He's just a big peacock, who loves showing the white of his teeth. Put him in a room with Bess, and he'll come out purring like a kitten." He laughed, giving Bess a wink as he let go of Hotch's hand.

        Being the last one to shake his hand, Tony Sinclair took his time to form an opinion about Hotch—and frankly, Bess didn't like her father's silent stare as he surveyed the other man. Fortunately, Tony didn't find anything objectionable in Hotch that wasn't worthy of his daughter. "I'm glad to meet you in person, Agent Hotchner. Your successful attempts to make this country safer speak for itself. I hope you'll have a good time with us here tonight," he said with a respectful bow of his head, and Bess exhaled her withheld breath as she folded her arm into Hotch's.

        "Well, that being said, I'll let you three get back to your conversation. I've still got plenty of people to talk to," Bess noted, then without waiting for their answer, she pulled Hotch away. "Congratulations, Hotchner. You survived meeting my father," she groaned, and he flashed his eyebrows upon hearing that. Hell, it didn't take him long to figure out that Tony Sinclair was a man he didn't want to cross.

        "What is the CIA director doing here, by the way?" Hotch furrowed his brows in confusion, glancing down at Bess.

        She took a sip of her drink. "Breeding his cash cow. They all are." She gestured with her glass toward the other guests. "You'll understand something tonight, Hotchner, in case you haven't known it already. Money makes the world go around."

        It took over three hours, but by the end, there wasn't a single person in the room Bess hadn't spoken to. Her earlier worries about Hotch's unfamiliarity with the financial sector and his lack of experience mingling with people of this caliber had completely faded, especially as most of the conversations veered toward politics and personal anecdotes rather than money. More than once, she was surprised to realize it was Hotch who had taken charge of the discussions. If she didn't know better, she might have thought he was actually enjoying himself.

        "I can't believe you talked with Eleanor about her cat. No one ever listens to her cat stories," Bess noted as she reached for a new glass of champagne from one of the tables lined with a variety of drinks. "That was nice of you, by the way." She turned to look at Hotch just in time to see a small smile cross his face for a second.

        "Do you really want to drink that?" He frowned, pointing at the glass in front of her. She raised an eyebrow at the odd question, which caused a very light pink color to sneak onto his cheeks. "I, uh, thought, um, since you mentioned dancing before... You know—"

        "Yes?"

        Realizing she was toying with him, Hotch let out a resigned sigh before finally extending his hand. "Can I have a dance with you, Sinclair?"

        "Oh, but just because you asked so nicely," Bess teased, setting her glass of champagne aside to take his hand instead. He led her onto the dance floor in the corner of the room, where a live band played on a small stage. She placed her left hand on his shoulder and her right in his left, and he slid his right to her waist, pulling her closer. "When was the last time you danced, Hotchner?" Bess wondered as they began to move among the other pairs.

        A deep expression appeared on Hotch's face. "Um, probably at my wedding. So, not very recently."

        Her lips curled into a mocking smile. "Don't worry, Hotchner. I won't bite your head off if you step on my foot."

        "That's very reassuring to know. But I think," he turned her around by the hand, "it's like riding a bike. I can't really forget how to dance, can I?" He pulled her flush against his front, then guided her into an elegant dip, holding her steady as she leaned back for a second, then smoothly lifted her back up to her feet with a smirk tugging at his lips.

        Bess grinned back at Hotch. "You should smile more, Hotchner. I like it when you do." She looked him in the eye, and he felt his heart begin throbbing against his chest at hearing those words.

        They danced for a few minutes in silence, and then Hotch spoke up, "Can I ask you something?"

        "Shoot."

        A thick swallow bobbed his throat. "Back when we worked on the case, when Garcia found the four new victims, you just kept smiling at me. Now, you've done this before, but I just can't seem to figure out why?" His brows knitted together in confusion, and Bess watched him with an amused look on her face.

        "Because you took my line each time," she explained like it was that simple, but it only twisted his thoughts even more.

        "Took your line how?"

        Bess let out a laugh as she shook her head. "You'll have to figure that out yourself. But do me a favor, Hotchner, and don't." She smiled, and Hotch stared back at her in total confusion. "My turn. What is your favorite ice cream flavor?"

        "What kind of question is that?" He shook his head, a grimace twisting his face.

        "Better than your pick-up line," Bess shot back, and Hotch couldn't prevent himself from laughing out loud at her answer.

        He shook his head. "That wasn't a pick-up line, Sinclair."

        "Neither was mine." She smiled, then raised an eyebrow as she waited for his answer. "And I hope it's not vanilla."

        Hotch furrowed his brows. "What's wrong with vanilla?"

        "Oh, my God! It is vanilla." Bess's jaw dropped in exaggerated surprise, dramatizing her reaction for effect, and Hotch dipped his head as yet another laugh left his lips.

        "There's just no way for you to let it go, is there?" He raised an eyebrow as he smiled, not noticing the song gradually shifting into a slower one until her arms folded around his neck. Naively thinking it was harmless, he wrapped his own around her waist, dangerously narrowing the distance between their faces.

        "Why would I when it makes you smile?" Bess wondered quietly, staring up at him, and Hotch tried to resist the burning urge to look down at her cherry-red lips. Eventually, he had to face the truth that he wasn't strong enough. From the corner of his eye, he saw her hand appear near his face. Her soft thumb ghosted over his mouth, making his tongue instinctively lick his lips. She followed the movement with her own lips slightly parting before finally meeting his gaze.

        The sensation hit faster than a blink of an eye. Before Hotch could even react, Bess leaned in and closed the gap between their lips. It was a whole new feeling, hitting him right in the chest. Every movement of her mouth against his felt like an attempt to take control, and frankly, he was happy to play along. Especially when she pushed her tongue into his mouth. It was a bold move, one Haley had never tried during their time together. Bess felt like a wild wolf—no, an awakening dragon—compared to the innocent bunny he had once loved, in what felt like another life.

        The kiss was different for Bess as well. Compared to the memory of Rossi's lips alive and frantic in her mind, Hotch's were a lot softer. There was no goatee to prickle her skin, and that simple absence made the kiss feel even sweeter. It was delicate. And she couldn't seem to get enough of him. Her fingers grazed his neck before running into his hair above his nape, drawing a groan from him against her mouth as his own show of affection.

        Unfortunately, as all good things must once come to an end, their thirty seconds reached the same fate. Bess buried her face in the crook of Hotch's neck, not quite ready to face him just yet, and he struggled to regain control of his body, every inch of him still humming with the desire to keep kissing her. Thankfully, by the time the song finished, he had managed to cool his nerves, so when Bess suggested that they should go, he led her out of the room without any difficulty.

        Freddy drove them to Bess' place, and she asked the man to wait for Hotch to come back down and then take him home as well. They hadn't said a word to each other since that ominous moment of intimacy, and when Bess turned around on her doorstep to say goodbye to Hotch, she still didn't know how to explain it.

        "Listen, Hotchner, about that kiss—"

        "It didn't mean anything," he reassured, studying her face—even though he knew it was a lie. "I mean, it would be unwise if it did."

        Bess felt her stomach drop at the indifference in his voice, but she didn't let it show. "Yes. That was what I was about to say too." She nodded. "So, um, are we good?" She grimaced, and Hotch nodded back at her.

        "Sure. Thanks for inviting me. It wasn't as bad as I expected," he noted, drawing a smile on her lips.

        "You can admit it. You enjoyed it."

        Hotch smiled back at her. "See you tomorrow, Sinclair. And again, happy birthday." He waved before turning on his heels, and she watched him disappear in the elevator before finally closing her front door, and pressing her forehead against its surface.

        Fuck.

        Hotch sat in silence in the backseat of the limousine, unaware of Freddy watching him in the rearview mirror as they drove across the city. "You know, I've given a lift to a lot of men." He waited until Hotch met his gaze in the mirror. "I never saw them again."

        Hotch frowned. "Why are you telling me this?"

        "You know why. The sooner you forget it, the better, man."

author's note

Aww, my new favorite chapter!🥹 Finally some pure Bess&Aaron scenes.😌 Also, this chapter is dedicated to rgzsfi04!! Happy birthday, girl!❤️

reminder

As a fellow writer, I pour an incredible amount of time and effort into each chapter, so please don't forget to vote and comment while you read! Your support means the world to me and gives me so much inspiration! Don't be just another ghost reader, please! <33