ABLOCATE ▇▇▇▇ VOLUME ONE
━━ ❛ 𝒏𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒙 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍 ❜

chapter no. 020!

❝ SCREW THAT. ❞
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﹙ DECEMBER 11TH, 2013 ﹚
TWO WEEKS LATER. . .

     CARA'S HEAD LEANED AGAINST ONE OF THE JET'S WINDOWS, AND SHE NODDED AT JJ WHEN SHE HANDED HER A FRESH CUP OF COFFEE. It'd taken two days of working at the BAU for Agent Jareau to tell Cara to call her JJ. Just as it had taken two days of working at the BAU for the other agents to stop whispering and staring every time she moved.

     The last two weeks had been, in comparison to what her normal used to be, boring.

     Not much had happened, for Cara was solely focused on doing her best to fulfill the duties of an F.B.I. agent despite still feeling like she didn't deserve to be there. 'Cause she really didn't.

     So far, she believed she'd done the job adroitly. Hotch seemed satisfied with her contributions, and that's all that mattered.

     For the majority of the two weeks after her first case, her days were spent dissecting old interrogation footage and pointing out the lies with Rossi, learning profiling techniques from Spencer, and mandatory training exercises Morgan insisted he and JJ run her through.

     Fortunately for Cara, all the training exercises were on self-defense, fighting, and firearms— three areas Matthew Campbell and the Jarrod Brothers had already trained her in. Those were also known as the three areas of combat neither Morgan nor JJ expected Cara to not only be proficient in but at an almost mastery level. Due to her previous training, the training exercises were completed much sooner than anticipated. Truthfully, though, Cara believed both Morgan and JJ were more than happy it was over.

     Outside of the F.B.I., the rest of her time was spent with Spencer, who'd taken it upon himself to show her all of his favorite places in Quantico and the neighboring cities. These tour guides were always taken after work on the way back to the apartment complex. Cara didn't mind it all that much, for Spencer was someone whose company she'd grown fond of. Their friendship was surface-level, which she preferred, but at times, she sensed that he was attempting to get to know her better through random questions and topics.

     It was odd for Cara to have someone show an interest in her that was innocent and pure, with no ill intentions. Yet, at the same time, it was slightly comforting.

     Spencer picked up on the way she did particular things, such as how she liked her coffee, and paid attention to the daily schedule she was slowly building. It was peculiar how much of his time was seemingly spent monitoring her and silently trying to figure her out, even though he was well aware that she made it difficult for anyone to truly read her.

     In a way, it made sense as to why he was so fixated on getting to know Cara Valentine. He stuck his neck out for her when nobody else would, believed she was innocent of murder, believed every word she said, trusted her when she gave him no reason to and promised to find her a way out of her situation for good. He risked a lot for a stranger, and Cara owed him a debt she could never fully pay back. Now, he just wanted to get to know the woman he fought for, and Cara understood that.

     The jet jostled, and Cara blinked, holding onto the coffee mug tighter. She brought it to her lips and hummed lightly as she drank the scorching hot coffee. As she continued to hum, a set of eyes landed on her, and she looked at the man sitting beside her. The moment their eyes met, Cara felt her stomach twist— a sensation she had experienced more over the past two weeks.

     "Yes?" Cara asked, raising an eyebrow the longer Spencer's stare remained on her.

     There was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and every muscle on his face was relaxed. He was at peace.

     It took Spencer three seconds to realize Cara had spoken, and his face quickly flamed red as he realized he'd been caught staring. "I, uh," he stammered, clearing his throat and glancing away. "What, uh, what'd you say?"

     From across the table, Rossi snorted and shook his head. JJ sat next to him with her own cup of coffee cradled in her hands. Out of the corner of her eye, Cara saw a perplexed expression appear when she noticed Rossi's amused smirk and Spencer's flustered stance.

     "Nothing," Cara mumbled, turning her head to be greeted by the wiggling eyebrows of David Rossi. She gave him a pointed stare.

     "Hey, what're everyone's Christmas Eve plans?" Morgan called out, making his way to the table with a cup of coffee in his hands.

     At the mention of the world's seemingly favorite holiday, Cara bit the inside of her cheek. The last time she celebrated any holiday of any sort was when she was seven. Ever since then, she hadn't celebrated even her own birthday. Rejoicing with others on one day a year for something so small and meaningless seemed counterproductive to the Red Scorpions— even birthdays and holidays.

     JJ sat up in her seat and shrugged. "Uh, I think my mom is coming to stay with us, but I'm not sure."

     "I'm going to be cooking Focaccia, drinking Kentucky Boat Burbon, and listening to Frank Sinatra," Rossi winked cheekily at Morgan.

     Rolling his eyes, Morgan smirked until moving his gaze to Cara and Spencer.

     "I don't celebrate Christmas," Cara said flatly, her tone and expression both void of emotion—as they typically were.

     At the same time she spoke, Spencer did, too.

     "I was dabbling with the notion of attending a puppet show reenactment of Charles Dickens' 1843 novella, A Christmas Carol, or re-reading The Tailor of Gloucester by Beatrix Potter," he replied happily, but as soon as he finished talking, he quickly frowned. "Wait," he mumbled, turning in Cara's direction. "You don't celebrate Christmas?"

     She nodded, slightly confused as to why this appeared to be a big deal. Everyone's eyes widened.

     "Really? Why not?" JJ asked, furrowing her brows.

     "The Red Scorpions don't celebrate any holidays. It's counterproductive," she said in a 'duh' tone as if they should know this.

     "What?! How?!" Spencer retorted, his tone making him appear defensive.

     "One day off the streets and spent loitering about is one day wasted and one day that sets us behind. Money and drugs don't stop rolling for anybody or anything," she replied, picking up the coffee mug and taking a large gulp.

     Morgan rolled his eyes and stepped forward. "Well, you don't work for them anymore, so screw that. You're coming to Savannah, and I's Christmas Eve dinner party. I'll even come and pick you up; that way, you can't say you have no way to get there. Reid will come too," he added, gesturing to the man beside her.

     "I have plans, though—"

     "Yeah. Plans with Pretty Girl here to go to a party Savannah will kill you for not showing up to," Morgan interjected, darting his finger from him to Cara.

     Last week, during a training exercise, he'd given Cara the nickname of 'Pretty Girl.' He thought it was fitting, given Spencer's nickname. She thought nothing of it and said nothing now.

     Hotch and Blake put their conversation on pause and left the two seats they'd been occupying. They made their way to the rest of the group.

     Quickly opening his mouth to protest, Spencer was cut off by Hotch.

     "Can I have your attention, everyone?" he called, coming to a stop next to Morgan. The chatter died down. "Go ahead, Garcia."

     The sound of the TV monitor beeping echoed, and the blonde technical analyst's face appeared on the screen mounted to the wall, feet behind the seats JJ and Rossi sat in. "Alrighty, then. Last night in Kansas City— well, technically super early this morning— 50-year-old David Morrison was beaten to death when he was out jogging. Uh, information is on your tablets right now," Garcia announced, keyboard keys clicking and echoing in the background.

     Picking up the tablet she'd been given weeks ago, Cara turned it on and pulled up the shared photographs. Several shots of a dark-skinned man beaten up and bruised appeared on the screen, and she swiped through them.

     "Wait, go back to that one," Spencer muttered, and Cara turned her head to see he was leaning over her shoulder to look at the pictures. Without turning her head, she swiped to the previous photo of David Morrison lying face down on a forest floor, stripped and dressed in women's underwear.

     "It looks brutal," JJ commented, her attention locked on her tablet.

     Meanwhile, Cara's attention was locked on Spencer and examining the lack of space between them.

     "Classic overkill," Rossi mused, scratching his face.

     Spencer nodded. "He was found stripped and wearing women's underwear that I'm assuming weren't his," he said, glancing up. Before he had a chance to notice the staring that'd lasted eight seconds too long, Cara swept her eyes back to the tablet.

     "Yeah. All of his clothes were found nearby; his skivvies included," Garcia read, glancing from her screen back at the team.

     Rossi looked up from his tablet. "Any evidence of sexual assault?"

     Penelope shook her head. "We're still waiting on the M.E. report."

     "Any other victims, Garcia?" Morgan spoke, causing Hotch and Blake to glance his way.

     "That is a big maybe," Penelope began, bringing her attention to the computer beside her. "Meet Thomas Barnes and Melissa Hawthorne, also on your tablets."

     Cara stared at the picture of David Morrison and stifled a sigh. This case was important, and more than in the sense that Morrison's killer must be found, but in the sense that it was related to the Red Scorpions. She didn't know how it was, but she could feel it. There was some sort of connection, or there was going to be.

     Before Spencer could sense her hesitancy in swiping to the photos of Thomas Barnes and Melissa Hawthorne, she pulled them up.

     "A year ago, they disappeared from a house party and were found beaten in much the same fashion," Blake announced, nodding toward the images.

     "But there were two of them, and they're considerably younger than this most recent victim," Spencer pointed out, his eyebrows furrowing.

     Blinking, Cara escaped the black hole her consciousness was drifting toward. "And what about the women's underwear? I mean, that's a specific ritual aspect. These two were found completely clothed," she said, swiping between the two different crime scene photographs.

     "Are we sure that it's the same Unsub?" Morgan questioned, averting his stare from Cara's tablet to Hotch.

     Blake nodded. "My dad thinks it is," she replied, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

     At the mention of her father, who'd called and told her about this case he suspected was connected to a cold one, Cara nearly froze.

     On the day Cara was arrested, Joseph, Arthur, and Owen sent the team a note addressed to both them and her. In the note, the three leaders used Matthew Johnston's arbitrary code, which was originally deemed to be used only by members of the Red Scorpions in high-risk or life-endangering scenarios.

     The first code was Red on Surrey Six, killer nowhere on Whalley Street, which translated to ROSS KNOWS. That code symbolized that Ross Valentine was in on what was and is happening currently.

     The second code was Where were we? Ross is away nearly ticking time until Cara's sleeping sweet, count on me, which translated to a web address. Ross Valentine was mentioned yet again; the code said that he is away, nearly ticking time, meaning he has a limited amount of time in prison or life left.

     However, these two codes were contradictory. One implied Ross is aware of the true endgame, while the other implied he will soon be meeting his bittersweet end. Therefore, one of them could be meant literally or be a distraction.

     Then, there was the last code— the one that the team and Cara spent little to no time analyzing and figuring out its real message— No one to save Alex from evil.

     The Red Scorpions wouldn't have mentioned Blake's first name if she weren't somehow important to their endgame or wasn't going to be used somehow. So, was this it? Was this case her father called her about the one that would reveal the final code's true message?

     Yes, the final sentence translated to NOT SAFE, but why mention Blake's name specifically? There are over a million names in the world that begin with the letter A, and Cara knew several people who have a name beginning with that letter, so why use Alex's name?

     It wasn't a coincidence. So, what role did she play in the larger endgame? Would this case in Kansas City prove Cara would never be safe? Or was it going to expose Alex Blake and involuntarily use her as a pawn in the Red Scorpions' warpath?

     "Your dad's a Captain on the Kansas City Police Force, right?" Morgan double-checked, and the sound of his voice pulled Cara out of the depths of her mind.

     "Retired." Blake nodded in confirmation.

     JJ turned and made eye contact with her. "But your brother's a cop, too," she noted.

     The moment the word brother left her mouth, Cara's eyes flashed up.

     "Scott. He's a homicide detective, but my dad is the one who made the call." Blake clarified.

     "If he's retired, that's not exactly an official invitation," Rossi said, tilting his head to the side as he looked at Hotch.

     "No, but he's got lots of influence," Hotch replied plainly.

     "Well, maybe we should wait for the invite. W-We can't just force ourselves on local jurisdictions," JJ interjected, shaking her head.

     Morgan squared back his shoulders, meeting her stare. "What if it's actually serial?"

     "We'll go back if they ask us to," she shrugged.

     Darting her eyes between the two, Cara blinked and remained quiet.

     "Look, my dad's a great cop, and he's almost never wrong," Blake said, sighing afterward. "I mean, it drives me crazy, but it's true." Another sigh left her lips, and Cara pressed hers together, the gears still grinding in her head.

     Something was going to happen. She didn't know what, but something was going to happen.

     Something wasn't right.

     "We don't know exactly what we've got here, but I think it's worth taking a look," Hotch said, his tone indicating he'd already made his decision on the matter. "Have the pilot reroute us to Kansas City."

────

     THE SEATS AND WINDOWS SHOOK BACK AND FORTH FROM THE BUMPS IN THE RAGGED PAVEMENT, JOSTLING ALL OF THEM SIDE-TO-SIDE IN A MUDDIED SILENCE. The air conditioning was pumping through a few filters in the car, whistling loudly, slightly clouding over the sound of nearby construction. The world whirled by in a storm of dense, muted colors; there were small movements from everyone in the car.

     The team landed nine minutes and twenty-one seconds ago and then split up. Hotch and Blake headed to the police station, Morgan, Rossi, JJ, and Cara drove to the crime scene, and Spencer went to the coroner's office.

     "So..." Morgan spoke up, breaking the silence. "What exactly happened to her other brother? I was under the impression Blake had two siblings."

     At the question, Cara dragged her attention away from the outside world and glanced toward the front of the car.

     "Her older brother was responding to an armed robbery. Apparently, the bad guys were on PCP. Both he and his partner got shot, and he got the worst of it," Rossi explained, keeping his gaze straight ahead.

     "And how come we don't know any of this?" Morgan responded, momentarily peering back at the women in the back seat. Honestly, he was surprised not a single member of the team knew.

     JJ shrugged, looking over at Cara and then back ahead. "What's she supposed to say?" she asked, leaning into the black leather seat.

     "I don't know. Something?" Morgan retorted, raising his hand on the steering wheel and gesturing lightly.

     Rossi shrugged as well. "Yeah, Blake's a private person. Maybe she doesn't want to talk about her family," he said, squinting his eyes while looking out the passenger window. He was staring at a dog park across the street.

     "Plus, it was over twenty-five years ago. A lot of time has passed." JJ added, shaking her head.

     "I lost my father the same way. It's not like I can't relate," Morgan stated.

     Cara watched Rossi turn away from the window and to the man on his left. "Yeah, but you rarely talk about him," he pointed out, his response causing Morgan to close his mouth.

     A thought crossed her mind, and Cara leaned forward. "It's important to note that everybody grieves in their own way. You can't be mad at her for going internal," she said, flickering a brow up.

     Both JJ and Rossi nodded in agreement.

     "Oh, I'm not mad at all. I just... thought she might say something," Morgan trailed off, briefly glancing out the window. Multiple sets of police cars and lights came into view from up ahead.

     "Maybe she will," JJ mumbled.

     When the car was parked, everyone exited the black suburban and flashed their badges to the officers guarding the scene. Ducking under the crime scene investigation tape, Cara loosely followed behind Rossi as they trudged toward the woods.

     The closer they approached the forest, the tighter Cara and JJ wrapped their coats around themselves. White puffs of hot air fell from Cara's lips, for the surrounding air was colder than the bare touch of ice cubes; she could feel it traveling through the fabric of her clothing and down her spine. The woodland was ominously quiet aside from the sporadic murmurs from officers in the distance. All that could primarily be heard was the susurration of the leaves in the gusty wind and light footfalls.

     "This place is pretty isolated," Morgan called out as the older agent continued to lead the way through the woods.

     Pulling back a tree branch, Cara ducked to keep moving. "Yeah, but it helps to be out in the woods if you're going to beat someone to death. Who's going to hear or stop you?" she retorted blankly, stepping over a log twice the size of her arm.

     "You sound like you speak from experience," Rossi mused, glancing back with a slight smirk.

     Flickering her eyebrows up, Cara almost rolled her eyes. "Mmm," she hummed, coming to a stop once she reached the crime scene markers.

     "David Morrison was a 50-year-old novelist and apparently an accomplished triathlete," Rossi reminded everyone, coming to a stop and glancing around.

     Running her eyes across the surrounding trees, Cara narrowed her eyes slightly. A few light brown leaves were falling down as a gust of wind flew by. "Good place for an ambush," she muttered, her hair blowing behind her.

     "But why pick the in-shape guy?" JJ asked, her eyebrows scrunching together when she looked at Rossi and Cara, her hair also blowing back.

     "Morrison could have been a target. He might've known his killer," Morgan theorized, shoving his hands into his pockets. He came to a stop as well.

     Rossi nodded. "They may have had some kind of a beef," he suggested, gesturing his hands in the air.

     "More than likely," Cara said stonily. From all the beatings she'd seen take place and being forced to initiate herself, she knew it took a lot out of someone to beat another person. However, it was easier if it was over something sensitive or personal. That way, there was a compelling motivation, and the task no longer became something one had to do. "Beating someone to death is personal. You have to be truly angry at a person to beat them the way this Unsub beat Morrison. Based on how brutal the damage was, I'd say this Unsub's physically fit himself. That's the only way he'd be able to maintain this level of violence." She crossed her arms and idly looked around, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious or peculiar.

     "Something you want to tell us, Valentine?" Morgan joked, and she rolled her eyes, which resulted in him chuckling.

     JJ stepped forward. "This Unsub could also be on drugs," she mentioned.

     "That's a good bet," Rossi said, writing something down in his pocket-sized notebook.

     Walking up the hill nearby, JJ turned around once she was halfway up. "All right, so it looks like it's a blitz attack," she began. "How do you think he did it, Cara?"

     At the sound of her name, Cara dragged her eyes to meet JJ's. "I suppose there are two scenarios that could've gone down here," she stated, uncrossing her arms.

     "Lay it on us, Pretty Girl," Morgan said, tilting his head back.

     A small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, and she shook her head. "One, the Unsub stalks Morrison and figures out that this is where he takes his morning run. Then he waits, hides, and jumps him. Two, he follows Morrison out here, runs him down, even though he's a triathlete, and jumps him. Either way, Morrison became a target at some point and was beaten to death."

     Once Cara was done talking, a brief wave of satisfaction and approval crossed over each of their faces. She was getting better at this.

     "Well," Rossi cleared his throat. "I just hope this guy doesn't have any more targets. If this is rage and addiction... he's not done."

────

   CARA'S GAZE NARROWED AS SHE STARED AT THE GLASS EVIDENCE BOARDS. Behind her, the rest of the conference room was empty. She was alone.

     Blake was with her brother, whom Cara hadn't met but was still eager to lay her eyes on. If Blake was connected to the Red Scorpions but wasn't explicitly herself— a family member of hers could be. The rest of the team was split up: JJ, Morgan, Spencer, and Rossi were sent to the hotel they were staying at while Hotch was speaking with Blake's father in the precinct lobby. Cara had been instructed to wait for him until he came to get her for the night.

     A total of three minutes and five seconds of absolute stillness and silence passed.

     The evidence boards in front of Cara were beginning to blur together. Details of the case escaped her mind. All she could focus on was how hungry she felt.

     Suddenly, the FBI-issued phone she'd been given buzzed in the back pocket of her jeans.

     Leaning forward slightly, she pulled out the sleek and simple black iPhone. "What?" she answered, not bothering to check the caller ID.

     "Well, hello to you too, Regina George," Penelope retorted playfully.

     Cara rolled her eyes, sitting up. "You do know that I still don't understand your pop culture references, right?" she double-checked, raising an eyebrow.

     "Ah, yes, I know. One of the few fatal side effects of you being sheltered in a secret bunker and live, laugh, not loving the lifestyle of a trafficker," she sighed dramatically. "Also, one of the reasons why we have weekly Friday and Saturday movie nights."

     A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and Cara let out a quiet breath. "Although I enjoy these beguiling conversations of ours, bubblegum, may I ask why you're calling?" she asked, using the nickname she coined for Penelope days after they met in person.

     Silence answered her for a moment, and her eyebrows formed a jagged line. Right as she opened her mouth to ask if the woman was still there, Penelope finally spoke.

     "Okay, so I know I shouldn't be saying anything or meddling in you and Wonder Boy's ever-blossoming relationship, but I heard from my lovely chunk of chocolate glory that you two are attending he and Savannah's Christmas Eve party together," Penelope rushed out. Her voice was shaky, which could indicate that she was nervous but mildly excited to be talking to Cara about Spencer.

     "Is there a question in there somewhere?" Cara asked, standing up from where she sat at the conference table.

     "Other than the obvious, is it true? What are you going to wear? And where should I hang the mistletoe? Somewhere private so you and Einstein can get hot and heavy or out in the open so we can all watch?"

     Pressing her lips together, she closed her eyes and held her breath. She could already picture the suggestive smirk on Penelope's face. "Yes, it's true," she said flatly. "I did not willingly or consensually agree to go to this derisory get-together, and neither did Spencer. So, if I so much as see a leaf at this party that resembles anything remotely close to mistletoe, I will haul ass out of there. There will be no getting hot and heavy, and nothing of that sort will ever go down between him and I. Is that understood?"

     "You know lying is a sin, right?" Penelope deadpanned.

     "Only if you're religious," Cara fired back bluntly.

     The sound of a tongue clicking answered her, and she rolled her eyes again. "One day, I will succeed in getting your schizoid or mildly sociopathic heart to feel something."

     For the last week, Penelope had been trying to convince Cara she had a schizoid personality disorder or was a mild sociopath. When Cara asked for her logic behind these conclusions, she'd simply said that it was the only medical way that could explain why Cara seemingly, and assumingly, felt nothing.

     Penelope mainly said it as a joke, considering how well Cara composed herself, but it was still something she occasionally mentioned when just the two of them were talking. However, she was more wrong than she would ever know.

     "I'm hanging up now," Cara muttered, pulling the phone away from her ear. The moment her thumb hit the red 'End Call' button, she heard hinges squealing when the door to the room opened. "I haven't eaten since breakfast. Do you think we could swing by somewhere for food?" Cara turned her head and expected to be met with the face of the BAU's Unit Chief, but who she saw standing there was someone she never thought she'd see again.

     "May I?" A deep voice asked.

     Cara snapped her fingers, pointing to the chair to her right. "Single malt." She nodded at the undercover bartender, and he turned around, filling up a glass. Her British accent was perfect. She'd been using it for months now.

     "I'll take one, too." The bartender grabbed another glass. "Single malt? Interesting choice."

     Rolling her eyes loosely, she smirked. "I only drink whiskey," she clicked her tongue and looked over at the suited man— Dillion Richards. His briefcase was lying on the table, and he looked her up and down.

     "You look gorgeous."

     "I know."

     The bartender brought over the ordered drinks, and Cara downed hers. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Dillion continued to wrack his eyes up and down her figure.

     "So, what do you have to offer?" he asked, and she turned her head to the right.

     "I have many things to offer," she mused, crawling her fingers over to his drink and picking the glass up swiftly. She brought it to her lips and took a slow slip, keeping her eyes locked with his. "You're going to have to be more specific." She placed the glass back on the counter and slid it to him.

     Licking his lips, Dillion flicked his eyebrows up before picking up his drink. "How soon could you get a shipment of opioids and cannabinoids delivered to Wildwood, New Jersey?" he asked, downing the rest of the drink.

     "A day."

     Dillion's eyes widened, and he turned his body to face her fully. "A day? That's impossible."

     Chuckling, Cara shook her head and leaned forward. "Nothing is impossible. You should know that better than anyone, right, Mr. Richards?" she asked, wrapping her fingers around Dillion's tie and pulling him close. His cheeks flushed, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

     "Zari?"

     Even though five years had passed, nothing about his appearance had changed. Dillion Richards was as handsome as ever. The only thing that changed was the size of his biceps, but that was all. His dark-brown hair was still the same length, and his eyes were just as bright and piercing as they were blue. There was stubble decorating his cheeks, chin, and above his lip that suited the shape of his face.

     In simpler terms, he was breathtaking, and his presence certainly took her breath away.

     The two of them were caught in a staring contest, but before either could move or say a word, another voice broke up the reunion.

     "Ah, Detective Miller, I see you've met Cara Valentine," Hotch said, appearing from behind the man and entering the room. "Valentine, this is Scott Miller— Blake's brother. He'll be working with us on this case with the rest of the Kansas City PD."