ABLOCATE ▇▇▇▇ VOLUME ONE
━━ ❛ 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒐𝒖𝒕 ❜

chapter no. 019!

❝ I'M GONNA GET YOU. ❞
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FIVE YEARS AGO. . .

     THE END OF THE BLADE GNAWED ITS WAY THROUGH THE CONCRETE WALL FOR THE FORCE IT'D BEEN THROWN WITH DROVE IT FURTHER INTO THE SOLID SURFACE. Lowering her hand, Cara took a deep breath and tried to keep her composure stagnant, despite every inch of her was trembling with rage.

     It had been months in the making of negotiating over emails and correspondence with multiple investors and corporate employees and eventually connecting with one of the highest men in the company— Dillion Richards. This was the deal of her trafficking career. If Cara closed this buy-off, the gates to Heaven would be unlocked, and she would receive the freedom she sought since two-thousand-and-seven— the chance to see her father and to talk to him.

     However, that opportunity had been snatched away right before her eyes, and she was furious. The stage of basic anger had long since passed. He screwed up everything she'd been working for, and it only took seven seconds for everything to crumble— seven seconds for the deal to be broken and for her to nearly blow her cover.

     The bunker was coated in a thick filter of silence and the sound of a door closing echoed loudly behind her. Cara looked up at the ceiling. Every inch of her being wanted to turn on her heels and kill him right then and there, but she couldn't. Despite everything that had happened, she couldn't. As much as she hated it, he was one of the only people who could ever give her what she truly desired.

     Inhaling one last, deep breath, Cara placed her hands on her hips. "What the actual fuck, Owen?!" she exclaimed, spinning around to face the man she once found solace and happiness in. Now, what she saw and dug up was nothing but contempt and reckless self-loathing.

     Pressing his lips together, Owen stared at her sternly as she raised a challenging brow, waiting for him to explain himself. "What?" he finally asked, throwing his hands out to his side, behaving ike he hadn't just burned everything to the ground.

     "That was my client— my deal. I've been working with him and his company for months, and you just fucked it up in a matter of seconds. I lost a client because your self-righteous ass, for some unknown reason, decided to step in and pick a fight with him. You weren't even supposed to be here! And now, you just lost us five million dollars!" Cara shouted, gesturing above them to where the club resided. "Not to mention, I can't see my father now!"

     Owen rolled his eyes and stepped forward. "Lyn, did you not see how he was looking at you?"

     At the question, her mouth dropped. "Did you really just ask that?" she hissed, stepping forward as her eyes narrowed.

     "Yeah, I did," Owen snapped. "He was eyeing you like a piece of candy, Cara!"

     "So?! You aren't my boyfriend! You haven't been for a long time, so get your head out of your goddamn ass and stop acting like you are. I know he was staring at me like that! Shit, I'd look at me too if I was him, but that doesn't give you the right to interfere and fuck the deal up. I was doing what I'd been trained to do. I'm doing my fucking job. So, get off whatever high horse you're on and back the hell off of me and my business," Cara spat, her voice loud and commanding as her chest rose up and down laboriously. She was out of breath from talking, without taking a moment to breathe and get worked up.

     His hands clenched into visible fists, and he walked toward her. "The last time I checked, I was still one of the leaders of the Scorpions. Your boss," he growled, stopping once he was inches away.

     "Well, can my boss take a step back and sober up? I can smell the alcohol radiating off of you, asshole."

────

PRESENT DAY. . .

     CARA HADN'T SLEPT A WINK. Although every muscle in her body pleaded for her to lie down and rest, her mind had other plans. Ever since landing in Quantico, Virginia, at precisely two-twenty-eight in the morning, everything afterward became a blur of muted voices and restless paranoia.

     From what she could vividly recall, once she and the BAU team landed, Hotch ordered a car to drive her and Spencer to the Wallflower Apartment Complex— her newfound home. The ride had been moderately quiet, as she spent most of the time staring out the window and checking every so often to ensure they weren't being followed.

     Every movement she made was intentional and precise in its purpose. Cara monitored her breathing to ensure Spencer never once entertained the idea that something was amiss, and she kept her signature blank expression displayed the entire car ride. Everything was done with complete consciousness, for she couldn't help but feel like a set of camouflaged eyes were watching everything she did. Every breath she breathed and every word she spoke, observed and noted.

     There were still Red Scorpion members who had yet to be caught, and a small voice in the back of her mind couldn't help but believe that they might be following her. It was a way of keeping their eye on her and ensuring she didn't open her mouth any further than she already had.

     If members were tailing her out there, Cara wouldn't be surprised. However, she'd prefer to be aware of their presence before they ever got the chance to take her by surprise. Hence, there is a continual glance out the window and searching for headlights in the distance.

     The car ride lasted nineteen minutes, during which time Spencer and Cara didn't utter a single word. Cara assumed he was giving her the space to process her new surroundings and grow comfortable. It was either that, or he was too drained to attempt to start a mindless conversation.

      Silence engulfed them until they exited the car, and from there, Spencer went on to give Cara a brief tour of the overall apartment building. The tour hadn't lasted all that long, and off the top of her head, Cara couldn't recall any particular details that stood out. It was a typical, modern apartment complex building with tones of Acres-Oakwood. Soon, they reached the second floor where Spencer, and now Cara, lived.

     Right before she'd gotten off the jet, Hotch had given her the key to the apartment she'd be residing in. It was apartment 1505— which she found ironic.

     Cara wasn't sure if the F.B.I. remembered the significance of that number or if it had been arranged for it to be her new home unintentionally, but the infamous Surrey Six murders had taken place in Suite 1505 of the Balmoral Tower. Those murders divided the former Valentine-Lu family and sparked a war between members, brought upon new leadership, and resulted in the end of Owen and Cara's relationship, the murders of Raine Russo and Ace Ingram, and Cara being transported to an underground bunker where she would spend a portion of her life in for the sole purpose of keeping her existence a secret from the world and controlling when she did and didn't work.

     The Surrey Six murders was a memory she'd thrown into the darkest corners of her mind and ignored for so long that the very thought of it brought an uneasy sensation to her stomach. The day of October 19, 2007, was a collective memory that was burned, crippled, and faded. Cara didn't remember much except for the moments following the news of her father being arrested and who the new leaders of the gang were. Everything aside from that was nothing but static from an old record player in her ears.

     So, the second she saw the number 1505 glaring at her, she felt even more on edge. Cara already suspected that members could have followed her to Quantico, and to add to that bone-chilling thought, now the numbers of the Suite where a series of life-changing murders occurred were the numbers to her own apartment. It was something she hadn't expected and it caught her off-guard.

     Cara hesitated when unlocking the door, in fear that when she opened it, the barrel of a gun would be aimed straight between her eyes. Spencer noticed and took her apprehension as nervousness before offering to open it for her. At his words, Cara had shaken her head and pushed through the door to find no one behind it.

     Flipping on the light switch, Spencer took the liberty of staying and offering to help unpack. Originally, Cara declined his help, but once she realized that he wasn't leaving her alone anytime soon, she agreed.

     For forty-one minutes, they operated primarily in silence, with her occasionally telling him where she wanted certain clothes or items put. It didn't take long, for she didn't bring much with her. Truthfully, she'd packed more books than clothes, but she didn't own a lot of either.

     Eventually, Spencer left, and from there, the rest of the night and morning mixed together in a whirlwind of muted colorless blurs. Instead of spending what hours she had left sleeping, she spent them in the dark, peering out her window, drinking coffee, and keeping an iron cooking pan in her lap.

     To say the least— Cara was paranoid.

     It wasn't until six in the morning that she took a break from window-watching to shower and get ready for the inevitably long day ahead. She had just finished packing her go-bag, which Morgan had advised she put together, when Spencer arrived at the door.

     The following thirty minutes consisted of the two stopping by Spencer's favorite coffee shop, Petit Café, grabbing a cup to-go, walking to the nearby Metro station, and taking the Metro to a station that was within a three-minute walk from the BAU. A routine Spencer informed her he exercised every day.

     Along the way, he told her about all the other working agents and describe where everything in the building was with enthusiastic hand gestures. Needless to say, Cara didn't understand everything he was referencing and explaining. Instead of listening the entire time, she found herself paying more attention to his gestures and lively facial expressions that conveyed how truly jovial and excited he was to introduce her to her new job.

     Never once, before they arrived, had the sensation of nervousness or hyper-awareness of her identity crossed Cara's mind or body. At least, not until the elevator doors dinged, and she felt her high-heeled black boots instinctively tread forward.

     Blinking, Cara inhaled sharply and a set of glass doors entered her line of sight. It was the doors that led to the main office.

     All of a sudden, all the reasons why she shouldn't have signed that contract came flooding in, as if her body chemistry had sent them an open invitation and left the door ajar. Her fight-flight-or-freeze instincts were being called to battle, and her feet came to a halt.

     If she left, the ever-growing panic in her abdomen would lessen, but then someone would come to find her, and she would have to go through this again. If she stayed, the panic could become a vortex of dread.

     "Hey," Spencer's voice interrupted her train of thoughts, and she dragged her eyes to meet his. "No one's going to say anything to you about the Scorpions."

     "Be that as it may, people will still stare. They're now working with a drug trafficker from one of British Columbia's most infamous gangs. A criminal," she muttered, keeping her countenance blank. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him frowning. "Never mind that. We should go in, wouldn't want to be late on the first day." At that, Cara walked forward and kept the grip on her to-go bag tight.

     Jogging ahead, Spencer grabbed the handle to one of the doors and held it open, gesturing for Cara to enter first. She gave him a nod and entered, taking in her surroundings.

     The room was huge. There were columns and clusters of desks scattered in the middle, with a small kitchenette and bookshelves full of boxes and papers on the left and right sides of the room. Only a few agents were in the room since it wasn't eight a.m. yet, which was when work for the day began.

     "Good morning, you two," a voice greeted. Cara spun her head to the right to see Morgan heading their way with a cup of coffee in his hands. A cheeky smile spread across his cheeks, and he winked at Spencer. "How're you settling in, Valentine?"

     Behind him, Cara could see Jareau and Blake making coffee together. "Well," she responded simply, growing mildly uncomfortable as incoming agents turned their heads to catch a glimpse of their new resident criminal.

     "Good. Follow me. I'll show you where your desk is." Morgan jabbed his head in the direction of the desks. Cara silently followed him and left Spencer's side. "Your desk is right here next to Blake's. Mine is across from hers, and yours is across from JJ's. I have my own office, too, but sometimes I work out here with everybody else. Next to JJ, that's Pretty Boy's," he added, pointing to a desk littered with neatly stacked books and case files.

     Glancing at the desk that'd been designated as hers, Cara bit the inside of her cheek. It was empty, bare and spotless; it looked like it belonged to a ghost. The feeling of more people watching crawled over her shoulders, and she walked to the desk, ignoring it. She set her go-bag in the chair.

     "You didn't sleep, did you?" Morgan asked, their eyes locking the second she turned to face him. In response, she raised a brow. "I only ask because you seem tired. Less lively than I've seen you."

     Cara tilted her head, eyeing him before saying, "Sleep doesn't come easy for me."

     He nodded understandingly. "I get that. If you ever need help falling asleep, have Reid read you a book. That always helps me fall asleep quickly on the jet," he said, the corners of his lips twitching upward.

     "I'll keep that in mind," she murmured, ignoring the sound of heels clicking nearby.

     A gasp suddenly reached her ears, and Cara averted her attention to the left. There, standing feet away, was Penelope Garcia. The blonde woman wore a black-and-white flower-patterned dress with a grey cardigan with a lilac flower on one side of it, a purple diamond necklace, and a sparkling lilac barrette with three flowers clipped to the side of her head. Her fashion sense was definitely one Cara never encountered before, but it suited her.

     "Cara?" Penelope asked, and Cara nodded hesitantly. There was another gasp and Penelope scurried over, enveloping Cara in a tight embrace. When her arms wrapped around her, Cara felt her body tense up, and she pressed her lips together. "Oh, my God, you're here! Before, I would have been terrified, but after that hacker date we had on the iPad, I think you're amazing. I'm so glad you agreed to join the team."

     Cara's eyes widened as her grip tightened, and she glanced to see Morgan shaking his head. Blake, Spencer, and Jareau were approaching.

     Reaching up, Cara patted Penelope on the back. "I, uh, I'm not the best with compliments, but thanks," she muttered, her stomach clenching at the words spilling from her mouth. She didn't like this at all. She didn't like the affection shown to her. After going years without it, it felt strange to have another person's arms around her.

     "You're welcome," Penelope breathed, pulling away and giving her a bright smile. "I hope you got some sleep last night because we've got a case today."

     Blinking, Cara looked at Morgan, who was cringing at the analyst's words.

     "Do we really?" Jareau asked, flashing Cara a small smile of welcome as she entered the conversation.

     Penelope nodded. "Yes, we do. Time to head to the round table, gang. We've got another mystery to solve!" she sang, and without saying a word, the team began making their way toward the set of stairs behind Spencer's desk.

     Following Blake, Cara gave her a nod of acknowledgment when she gave her a small smile. "Don't worry about the other agents," she murmured. Cara raised a brow. "The stares and whispers. Just ignore it. It won't be long until they forget about it."

    "Thanks," Cara muttered, keeping her gaze from wandering to the sea of desks where she felt dozens of eyes on her.

     Entering what appeared to be a conference room of sorts, Cara continued to tread after Blake and sat down between her and Jareau at a round table. Once everyone took their seats, Hotch and Rossi entered the room. A stack of files was passed around, and Cara ran her fingers over the smooth manila cover of hers, holding back the urge to sigh tiredly.

     "Garcia, let's get started," Hotch ordered.

     Penelope nodded and picked up a tablet and remote. "We just got a call from St. Louis. A missing child, a ten-year-old, Andrew Taffert. Parents Lida and Malcolm. Father found blood on the front door this morning." She pressed a button on the remote, and four photos popped up: one of the Taffert's front door and the other three of the family members.

     Cara studied the blood pattern on the pearl-white door, noting and tracing every dip and crevice.

     "I take it no test results on the blood yet," Morgan spoke from where he sat to the left of Penelope, raising his eyebrows.

     Penelope shook her head. "No. That would be correct."

     Cara glanced at the open file and picked it up, reading the miscellaneous details. It felt odd being in this room— this building. Perhaps it was because she felt as if she should be there or that she had any right to be working there. After everything that happened and taking in her past, she still didn't fully understand why the BAU offered her a position in the first place. She was a criminal— a trafficker— a hacker— a liability. There was no place for her in the F.B.I., BAU, law enforcement, or any job occupation for that matter. She shouldn't be here, yet she was.

     Feeling a set of eyes boring into the right side of her head, Cara glanced up. Spencer's lingering gaze was on her from where he sat two seats down. The skin below his eyebrows was triangulated, and the inner corner of his eyes was pressed together lightly; he was trying to get a read on her.

     Why?

     After maintaining eye contact for a solid second, Cara went back to the file.

     "No signs of forced entry or a struggle according to the initial police report," Jareau noted, looking up from her file.

     "Mom and Dad put him to bed at ten, woke up this morning, he was gone," Penelope stated, the corners of her lips dipping into a frown.

     Blake tucked her hair behind her ears and sat up, her eyes trained on the photographs. "Any visitors or workers to the house recently?" she asked, all eyes swiveling to her while Cara's landed on the photo of Andrew Taffert. A discomfiting feeling was settling in the pit of her stomach and she couldn't place her finger on it, but something wasn't right.

     "No, but the parents say in the last two weeks they've received five phone calls from what sounds like a little boy prank calling them," Penelope answered, shifting from one foot to the other.

     "They complained to authorities, but police determined that no laws had been broken," Hotch added, his brows flicking upwards as he spoke.

     Twiddling the pen in his hand, Morgan leaned forward and grabbed a photo of the house, staring at it silently.

     "Mm-hmm. The little boy says I'm gonna get you," Penelope read off her tablet, and Jareau gave Blake an uneasy facial expression at the woman's words. "According to the police reports, there's a lot of crazy people talking in the background. It sounds like it's coming from an asylum or a prison."

     Tossing the photograph back onto the table, Morgan looked up. "I'd say the phone calls might be coincidental, except the boy called again right after the parents found Andy missing, and he had a different message this time. "Did you see what I did?" he said, referring to the report attached to the inside of the case file.

     Breathing in somewhat deeply, Cara couldn't help but feel slightly unnerved.

     "So, he's taunting them," Jareau stated bluntly, nodding her head. "Maybe this is about revenge."

     Cara furrowed her eyebrows, shaking her head lightly in disagree.

     "I'm gonna get you is typically a threat, but in the case of children, it can also be a phrase used during play." Blake looked to Hotch, whose eyes were on Cara.

     "This sounds similar to a cold case from fifteen years ago, Frankie Clayvin of Memphis," Spencer spoke up, his voice capturing everyone's attention almost instantaneously.

     Completely clueless as to what Spencer was talking about, Cara looked at the rest of the team, waiting for someone to explain what cold case it was that they were now discussing. A few of them appeared lost, too.

     "I remember that. Gideon handled it. It obviously predates all of you," Rossi shortly added, gesturing to all those in the room.

     "Frankie Clayvin was nine years old at the time. He never made it home from school one day. He was found dead in the woods thirty-six hours later, five miles from his house," Spencer spoke matter-of-factly, his eyes lingering on Cara for two seconds longer than anybody else as he glanced around the table.

     "And Frankie's parents also received prank phone calls from a young boy. I think Frankie's father was the prime suspect at one point," Rossi recalled, leaning forward.

     Hotch raised an eyebrow at Cara while the two spoke, indicating that he was waiting for her to weigh in on the discussion. In response, she blinked. It was her silent way of letting him know that she would eventually. As of right now, she didn't have much to add. She didn't have the faintest idea as to what to say or contribute. Her specialty was detecting lies, the ins and outs of trafficking, and drugs— not missing children, or anything to do with children for that matter.

     "Yeah, the police actually tapped the Clayvin's phone, but they couldn't trace the phone calls because they kept bouncing between different payphones in the greater Memphis area," Spencer said.

     "Phones calls before an abduction murder— it's a rare signature," Jareau pointed out, glancing at Blake and Cara.

     "But if it is the same Unsub," Morgan piped up, "a dormancy period of fifteen years is highly unusual. Maybe we're looking at a copycat."

     Hotch furrowed his eyebrows slightly, and Penelope sighed, rubbing her forehead. Cara could tell from her slouched posture that the heels Penelope wore were killing her.

      "If I'm not mistaken, Frankie Clayvin was killed within two hours of his abduction," Rossi mentioned, glancing at the Unit Chief.

     "Which means we're wasting time. Let's go," Hotch announced, standing up from the round table and grabbing his files.

────

     "JUST CONFIRMED THERE WAS A TEN-MINUTE SEGMENT ON THE UNSOLVED FRANKIE CLAYVIN MURDER ON A LAW-RATED CABLE SHOW TWELVE YEARS AGO," PENELOPE ANNOUNCED FROM THE COMPUTER SCREEN LOCATED AT THE CENTER OF THE TABLE. The jet jostled and Cara shifted in her seat. It'd been eleven hours, thirty-one minutes, and six seconds since she'd last been on board, but it felt as if no time had passed at all.

     Spencer leaned forward and adjusted his position on the couch. "Even with low ratings, probably half a million people saw it," he noted.

     "376,000. It's not often I get to correct another genius," Penelope quipped, and Morgan snorted lightly as he glanced down at his file.

     "That makes it more likely it could be a copycat," Hotch said, his eyes briefly meeting Cara's from across the table. She was quick to break it.

     "There's nothing unusual about the Tafferts. The father, Malcolm, is a stockbroker, mother works at an antique shop," Jareau shrugged, looking up from her tablet.

     "They describe Andy as a bright, well-behaved kid who likes video games," Morgan continued, reading from the file in his hands.

     Spencer nodded. "Andy and Frankie are about the same age and build with similar coloring. If this is the same Unsub, he definitely has a type," he said, looking around at everyone.

     Unbeknownst to him, his words caused a small light to flicker in Cara's brain.

     "We need to consider the possibility that a pedophile may have targeted Andy," she finally spoke, glancing away from the photo of Andrew Taffert in front of her.

     "It could be someone he met online playing video games," Hotch suggested, giving Cara a slight nod of acknowledgment.

     The gesture caused Spencer to smile the tiniest bit.

     "If there's any connection to the cold case, though," Rossi interjected from beside Cara, "there was no evidence of a sexual assault."

     Blinking, Cara resisted the urge to frown. There was a minuscule voice in the back of her mind whispering that Andy Taffert was already dead. Seventy-four percent of missing children are killed within the first three hours of the abduction— a small fun fact Spencer shared before boarding the jet— and Andy Taffert had been gone slightly longer than three hours. The odds were not in his favor.

     "Just in case, I am pulling up a list of online players as we speak."

     Taking in a small breath, Cara held it as her eyes flickered to the window on her right. The clouds were passing by in a whirl of white dust, and the sky was a heavenly blue that brought her a small sense of peace.

     "Guys, I just got a message from the local field office," Penelope announced, her voice bringing Cara back to the present conversation. She glanced at the computer screen. "The analysis on the blood from the Taffert house just came in, and good news— it is not Andy's. Actually, it's pig's blood."

     Pig's blood?

     "Huh. Between that and the phone calls, it's safe to say this Unsub likes to play games," Rossi commented, his eyes darting between Blake, Morgan, and Spencer.

     Cara's eyebrow formed a jagged line and she couldn't help but repeat pig's blood silently to herself. There was a connection between Andy Taffert's abduction and the pig's blood on the door. What was it? She'd read something somewhere about pig's blood.

     Wait... the tenth plague of Egypt and the death of the firstborn.

     That's it. That's the connection.

     "I shall see the blood and pass you by," Cara recited, looking at everyone.

     Spencer recognized the quote and sat up. "Exodus," he murmured, wondering how it connected to the case.

     "The tenth plague of Egypt, the death of the firstborn. God commanded Moses to tell the Israelites to put lamb's blood above their door to spare their firstborn," Cara said, noticing the looks of mild confusion on Blake, Jareau, and Morgan's faces. "If you were to apply that story to the Tafferts and their door, it could be a connection."

     Rossi turned his head and frowned. "The Unsub's got the story backward then, and Andy hasn't been found. We don't know if he's alive or not."

     "Unless he believes he is sparing Andy a fate worse than death. Yes, Andy hasn't been found yet, but I believe there could be a possible religious connection here," she shrugged, watching Rossi lean into his seat and consider the theory.

     "It's definitely something we should explore. When we land, Valentine and I will go talk to Frankie Clayvin's father. The rest of you head to the Taffert house," Hotch ordered.

     Upon hearing her last name, Cara looked at Hotch to find that he was already staring at her with that recognizable glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. She gave him a slight nod and averted her eyes to the case file.

     Time to be the good guy.

────

     THE NEW KID IN SCHOOL— THAT'S HOW SHE FELT. Even though she technically hadn't been to school, Cara did recognize the feeling of being a fish out of water. She'd experienced it a couple of times but it never felt this overbearing and obvious. It felt as if the whole world knew she had no idea what she was doing and was drowning in a world she didn't belong in when, really, she knew that likely wasn't true.

     So, she stuck by Hotch's side and followed his lead, hoping it would help ease her nerves.

     "Are you sure this is connected to my Frankie?" Mr. Clayvin asked, his gaze darting between Hotch and Cara.

     "No, sir, we're not. But the circumstances are similar enough that we have to consider the possibility," Hotch said, his hands folded neatly on the table.

     The pair had only been at the station for four minutes prior to meeting with Frankie Clayvin's father. The short introductory conversation they'd had with the police Captain went normally, and no one appeared to recognize Cara. However, she doubted anyone would.

     On the car ride to the precinct, Hotch informed her that most police officers and ordinary people in the U.S. wouldn't recognize her. The Red Scorpions case was public, but it hadn't made international headlines. After all, the case occurred predominantly in Canada. The majority of people wouldn't know who Cara was, and for that, she was grateful. It made her current whereabouts more untraceable and protected her from any previous associates she'd met over the years from finding a way to contact her.

     Feeling a set of eyes land on her unchanging figure, Cara briefly made eye contact with Hotch. Take charge. Show me what you can do. Those were the words he uttered seconds before they entered the current conference room.

     "Could you tell us where you were last night?"

     The instant the question left Cara's lips, Mr. Clayvin's entire demeanor faltered. His face grew stone-cold, and his eyes looked up at the ceiling. "Oh, I get it. I'm still a suspect after fifteen years," he retorted, crossing his arms.

     Clearing her throat, Cara glanced at Hotch to find he was already looking her way. "We just want to know where you were," she said slowly, bringing her gaze back to the gray-haired man.

     "Mr. Clayvin—" Hotch began, but the man cut him off.

     "Did you see what I did?" he murmured.

     Creases broke along Hotch's forehead and his eyebrows pinched together, confused. "What was that?" he asked.

     "Did you see what I did? It's what that creep said on the phone," Mr. Clayvin shuddered, taking a deep breath. "You have no idea what I've been through," he choked out, tears welling up in his eyes.

     Cara took in his present state. She could tell by the quivering lips and scrunched-up skin between his eyebrows that he was sincere.

     "We do know that a year before Frankie was killed, his mother committed suicide," Hotch stated solemnly, tilting his head. Mr. Clayvin nodded, his eyes cast downward. "Sir, we know you've been through a lot."

     Mr. Clayvin blinked back the tears and sniffed. "Just when you think it can't get any worse, it does," he muttered, beginning to silently cry, tears running down his cheeks.

     "What do you mean?" Cara asked, leaning forward to display interest and concern.

     "About a year after Frankie died, my second wife couldn't take it anymore. She left me," Mr. Clayvin breathed, rushing the last three words out quickly. "And I had a nervous breakdown. I was in a psychiatric hospital for three weeks. One night, I received a call. It was that little boy again. Somehow, he-he found me at the hospital."

     "Why didn't you tell anyone about this before?" Hotch immediately followed up, his brows scrunching into a straight line.

     "What does it matter?" Mr. Clayvin scoffed, shaking his head as his voice cracked. Cara frowned ever so slightly. "No one ever believed me."

     Those five words struck a nerve within her, and Cara felt her chest tighten. No one ever believed me. She once said those five words to Owen. Of course, they were about an incident completely unrelated, but she'd said them nonetheless because they were true. No one believed her when it came to Michael Le until it was five years too late and he'd already stolen her childhood and innocence.

     "I would have," Cara confessed, placing her arms on the table. "Over a decade ago, I had something taken from me. When I tried to tell people, they shut me down— they said I was only saying it for attention. I was broken and afraid. It felt as if I had lost everything and no one would listen . No one ever believed me until I finally met someone who did. So, there is no doubt in my mind that you're innocent, Mr. Clayvin."

     Darting his watery eyes between hers, Mr. Clayvin gave her a tight-lipped smile. She built rapport. "Last night, I was at work. I'm a night security guard at a downtown office building. I'm on the surveillance camera," he mumbled, shifting in his chair.

     "Thank you," Cara whispered, giving him a nod of appreciation.