ABLOCATE ▇▇▇▇ VOLUME TWO
━━ ❛ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 ❜

chapter no. 057!

❪ 𝚃𝚆 ⠀ : ⠀ 𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝚂𝚄𝙸𝙲𝙸𝙳𝙴,
𝚂𝙴𝚇𝚄𝙰𝙻 𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙰𝚄𝙻𝚃,⠀⠀&⠀⠀𝚁𝙰𝙿𝙴. ❫

❝ A HOUSE OF HORRORS. ❞
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﹙ MARCH 1ST, 2018 ﹚

     "PRETTY... GIRL..." DEREK MORGAN SAID EACH WORD SLOWLY, SEPARATELY, AND DRAMATICALLY AS HE ENTERED THE JET. A playfully flirtatious smirk lined his lips, and he extended his arms toward the blonde. It'd been a little over a month since he last spent time with her, but every time they saw each other it was a mini-reunion.

     Despite what was happening and why they were meeting, a small yet relieved and genuine smile spread across Cara Valentine's face. "D," she breathed, leaving Hotch's side and rushing down the aisle. It made her less anxious being surrounded by those who cared about and would defend her. It helped much more than she let on.

      Before she knew it, her arms were enclosed over his torso, and his were secured around her upper back. The right side of her face rested against his chest, and she let out a quiet breath. He did the same and leaned his cheek on top of her head.

     "Good to see you, Valentine."

     "You, too."

     On the opposite end of the jet, at the small refreshment area, Spencer was making cups of coffee for everyone. It was a ten-hour and seven-minute flight, approximately. That meant caffeine was needed. Meanwhile, Hotch was setting up his laptop at the table, organizing the case files for the group, and placing two tablets down.

     As the pot brewed, Spencer watched Cara and Morgan with a doting expression. It was nice to see how her comfort levels and trust in each team member had grown over the years. In the past, she wasn't comfortable with anyone touching her nor would she show anyone any form of affection. Nowadays, things were different— a good different.

     "How's Hank doing? Has he spoken a coherent word or sentence?" Cara retorted, pulling out of the hug with a smirk etched into her cheeks. The last time she saw the man's kid, he was babbling his little head off, but not a single, real sentence or phrase had come out of his mouth. To be fair, Hank was only a year and a half old.

     Morgan scoffed and rolled his eyes jokingly. "Yes, as a matter of fact, he has. He can say 'mama' and 'dada' now without stuttering and has been asking for food all day, every day," he said proudly, patting her on the shoulder as he moved past. "Hey, man," he called, jutting his chin in the Unit Chief's direction.

    At the greeting, Hotch lifted his head. "Morgan, it's good to see you. Thank you for getting here so quickly." He met Morgan halfway, hand outstretched and a smile on his lips.

     Shaking his hand, the dark-skinned man nodded. "'Course. When I saw your text about Johnston and Shirzad, I knew I had to be here. Savannah sends her love, by the way."

     Tilting her head to the right, Cara spun on her heel and joined the men. "Which came first?" she asked, leaning against the back of one of the chairs positioned at the rectangular table. One arm draped over the seat, and the other bent and pressed into the top of it. Her chin rested in the palm of her right hand, and she stared at the pair expectantly.

     "Which do you think?" Morgan fired back, raising an eyebrow. He assumed she was referring to whether his son had said 'mama' first or 'dada.'

     Cara loosely shrugged. "Well, most babies say 'dada' first because the 'd' sound is easier to make than an 'm'. Unfortunately, when I saw him, he was leaning more towards 'mama,'" she mentioned, almost snorting at the offended look that flashed over his face.

     "I'll have you know, Pretty Girl, that my baby boy said 'dada' first," he replied smugly, pointing a finger at her.

     Narrowing her eyes, she opened her mouth to respond when a familiar voice entered the conversation.

     "Coffee, anyone?" Spencer wore a sweet smile and carried three mugs of fresh and piping hot coffee. Each cup was made exactly how each of them liked it.

     "Thanks, Reid." Hotch took the mug held out to him and sat at the table. "We should get started. The jet's going to take off soon."

     Morgan took the hot drink passed to him and grinned. "Thanks, Pretty Boy." He ruffled the genius's curly hair and was met with a quick swat. Chuckling, he took a seat across from the Unit Chief.

     Finally, Spencer met Cara's calm and happy demeanor. They both knew it wouldn't last long, but he appreciated the sight nonetheless. An unconscious smile drew at his lips, and he moved until he was standing in front of her.

     "Here," he said, handing her the coffee cup.

     "Thank you," she murmured, gratefully accepting it.

     Since Hotch announced she and the team were going to Canada and ordered Rossi to take her home to pack a go-bag, she and Spencer hadn't talked or interacted much. While everyone got ready, she left the BAU and didn't return until seventeen minutes and five seconds ago. She'd gotten on the plane and briefly greeted Spencer before helping Hotch set up. Then, Morgan arrived, and here they were.

     It'd felt like forever, but it hadn't been.

     Spencer was trying to convince himself of that as he stared down at her. He felt out of breath the longer his eyes lingered on her. Sometimes, it felt like he was looking at her for the first time. She was beautiful inside and out, and the universe never failed to remind him.

     "Are you all right?" His voice was gentle and low, intended for only her to hear. "Is there anything I can do?"

     Cara's facial features softened, and she inhaled deeply. That question had been on the tip of everybody's tongue since the news was broken. She knew it had been, but he was the first to ask.

     "No, I'm not," she confessed quietly, almost frowning when his face fell. "You're here, though, and so is everyone else. That's helping." Her deep blue eyes darted between his apprehensive golden-brown ones. It was evident that he was worried by the way his eyebrows were pinched together and how his lips were twisted to the side. "I'm going to be okay," she reassured him, reaching over and squeezing his arm. Instinctually, he lifted his hand and mimicked the small action.

     The drive to Cara's apartment with Rossi earlier had been filled with tears and discussions of where the blonde was mentally and emotionally. It'd been a productive conversation and aided in calming her down. By the end of it, she had a grasp on herself and her emotions. In her heart, she knew that she could get through this. It was going to hurt like hell, but she could.

     Nodding, Spencer neglected the fact that Morgan and Hotch were sitting less than four feet away and leaned forward. "I know you are," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'm here for you, whatever you need."

     A light pink color dusted her cheeks, and Cara smiled shyly when he kissed her forehead again. "Thank you," she breathed, peering up through her eyelashes.

     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 lasted for approximately eight seconds, but it was enough to ease Cara's nerves a little bit.

     "Of course." Spencer squeezed her arm before returning to the refreshment area to grab his cup of coffee.

     As the plane began to gradually move, Cara blinked and held onto her coffee mug tighter. It was time to leave Quantico. The era of peace was coming to a close.

     Bringing the cup to her lips, Cara hummed lightly as the hot liquid weaved its way down her throat. She walked around the adjoined seats and sat next to Morgan. A set of eyes landed on her while she took another large gulp of coffee. Slowly shifting to the right and raising her eyebrows, she continued drinking.

     The moment she made eye contact with Morgan, she took in the shit-eating grin on his face. There was a mischievous glint in his dark brown irises. It was obvious why he was smiling so hard.

     "Yes?" Cara questioned, raising a brow.

     At the same time she spoke, Spencer joined them at the table and squeezed in beside Hotch. He, too, was enjoying his coffee and humming to himself.

     "So..." Morgan drawled out, darting a finger from the blonde to the genius and back, "when did this happen?"

     The nosy inquiry grabbed Hotch's attention, and he glimpsed up from his computer.

     It took the doctor five seconds to realize that Morgan was addressing him. "Hmm?" He lowered the ceramic mug in his hands, dazed. Whatever was said went straight over his head. He hadn't heard it.

     "When did this," Morgan motioned between the pair again, "happen?"

     Spencer blinked. "When did what happen?"

     Part of her wanted to bury her head in her hands. Out of all of their friends, aside from Penelope, Cara knew that they were going to be relentlessly teased by Morgan. All his jokes and side comments were becoming a reality, and she knew he was on the verge of gloating.

     "Did Aaron tell you anything about what happened?" Cara placed her drink on the table and glanced at Morgan. Earlier that day, she and Spencer had dodged question after question from the team regarding when they got together. She planned on doing the same now. "I know he texted you."

     Morgan wore a deadpan expression. "Are you seriously not going to answer my question?"

     Cara's face blanked, and she mirrored him. "Are you seriously that invested?"

     "What are we talking about?" Hotch asked exasperatedly, entering the conversation. If it didn't have anything to do with the Founding Fathers, it could wait.

     Spencer nodded in agreement. "I'd like to know that, too," he chimed in.

     Briefly flashing his gaze to him, Morgan almost groaned. "I've been waiting almost five years for something, anything, to happen. So, hell yeah, I'm invested," he snapped, angling his body toward the short-haired woman. "Are you guys together: yes or no?"

     Immediately, Spencer flushed pink from the top of his head to his neck. Oh. Now, he understood.

     Hotch blinked and flashes of his conversation with Cara that morning played in his mind. Unfortunately, unlike anyone else, he'd missed the pair kissing at the BAU and the small interaction they had minutes ago.

     A groan was stuck in her throat, and Cara inhaled sharply. "What do you think?" she challenged, mimicking his stance.

     "I think the two of you are a lost cause, to be honest." Spencer's eyebrows knitted together, and he was slightly offended. Cara wasn't fazed. "But I'm hoping someone here finally made a move beyond Reid kissing your tiny, little forehead."

     The comment caused Hotch to shake his head and open the file in front of him. "Everyone, let's get started," he announced despite being mildly intrigued by the topic.

     Eventually, Spencer conjured up a response. "I uh, I kissed... her..." He was unsure if this was the right way to go about addressing Morgan's question. Yes, he and Cara had both expressed that they wanted to pursue something romantic with each other. However, those confessions hadn't been touched on since, and he didn't want to put her on the spot by saying 'yes.' By informing Morgan of the kiss, it wasn't giving away much. The team had seen them kiss, so it wasn't groundbreaking news.

     Morgan's jaw dropped. "Get outta here," he gasped, lightly slapping a hand on the table. "It's about damn time!"

     Eyebrows raising, Hotch paused in flipping to the next page. His hand wavered midair, and he waited for either Cara or Spencer to react verbally.

     The pink melted into red, and Spencer gave Cara a small yet nervous smile. All she did was nudge his foot under the table before returning to the original topic.

     "Did Aaron tell you anything about what happened?" she repeated, trying to change the subject.

     "You didn't answer my question, Pretty Girl," Morgan quickly pointed out, grinning. This was the best news he'd gotten in a while. "Are you guys together: yes or no?"

     It took a large dose of self-control to hold the next groan back. Cara refused to give in and say 'yes.' The Founding Fathers were far more important right now. This entire discussion could wait.

     "Brief review until we dive into the finer details of each case— Matthew Johnston and Konaam Shirzad have been on the run or in hiding since May of twenty-sixteen. All of the Finding Fathers have been inactive. It hasn't been until today that two out of the three have publicly resurfaced."

     Another deadpan expression took over the dark-skinned man's features. "You're insufferable, you know that, Valentine?"

     Not sparing him a single glance, Cara reached for the file in front of her. "Bite me, Morgan," she grumbled, ignoring how he lightly elbowed her in the arm.

     "That's correct," Hotch gestured to Cara, acknowledging her recent statement. "The RCMP, Interpol, and the F.B.I. have not detected any activity from any of the Founding Fathers over the last year and nine months. They have remained off the grid until this week. Two of them are now dead, and we need to figure out why."

     "All right, all right. Fine. Matthew Johnston. Let's start with him," Morgan declared, sweeping his gaze around the small table. Eventually, his eyes landed on the short-haired woman again. "What happened there? He's actually dead?"

     Cara stifled a sigh. She was going to have to take the reigns on this. At least the focus was no longer on her and Spencer, and Morgan gave up.

     "On Tuesday morning, investigators discovered a burning vehicle on Whiteshield Crescent at the Bellevue in Vancouver. The abandoned apartment complex I was arrested at in twenty-thirteen," she began, receiving a nod of confirmation from Hotch. Hopefully, she could recall everything correctly. If she didn't, Hotch would correct her.

     Eyes widening, Spencer's head reeled back an inch. Morgan's eyebrows shot up in surprise. It'd been years since Bellevue was mentioned or thought about.

     "After firefighters arrived and put out the fire, investigators found a body inside the car. The local medical examiner identified the remains of the corpse through dental records yesterday. It was Johnston."

     "Earlier tonight, Captain Marvinhill called," Hotch cleared his throat, entering the conversation. "He wanted to give us a heads up and asked if we could be on standby if anything else happened."

     Morgan and Spencer exchanged glances. Neither was quite sure how to respond to the news. It was great to hear and know Johnston was dead, but there was more to the story. They could tell.

     Gesturing with his hand to continue, Morgan averted his attention back to Cara. "What else?"

     "There was a nine-one-one call," Cara curled her fingers into fists, chest slightly heaving up. The file in front of her remained closed and untouched. "The caller gave the Vancouver police the location of the burning vehicle and stated that he had killed "them." We— Hotch, Rossi, and I— didn't know who "them" was at first. The caller confirmed that he killed Johnston."

     Eyebrows pinching together, Spencer tilted his head. "Who... Who was the caller? Did he identify himself?" There was a feeling in his gut that he did not like. Deep down, he had an inkling of what the answer might be, but he didn't want to pay it any mind.

     Hotch jumped in. "The car fire was reported in the news. To my knowledge, it still has not been revealed who the victim inside was. Marvinhill said that the Vancouver PD isn't releasing the confirmed identity of Matthew Johnston."

    An uncomfortable silence settled among the four, and two of them did not like it. Spencer's inquiry had been blatantly ignored.

     "Why not?" Morgan asked, catching the drift that he needed to ask.

     It was difficult to keep herself composed and not show too much emotion when Cara replied: "Le was the caller."

     There was no other way to put it. There was nothing that could be added that would ease the momentum behind the blow.

     The jet filled with stringent silence as looks of incredulity and astonishment rippled among Morgan and Spencer. Spencer's eyes widened for a second time, and he almost did a double-take. Morgan blinked, not expecting to hear Michael Le's name just yet. Let alone know that Le was the one behind this.

     Morgan ran a hand down his face and scoffed, "You're joking." He should've known.

     Clenching her jaw, Cara shook her head. "I wish..." she muttered, meeting the Unit Chief's remorseful countenance. They knew that things were just hitting the tip of the iceberg. It was going to get worse from here.

     "Le self-identified, and his voice was confirmed as a match. He took responsibility and confessed to murdering Johnston," Hotch added.

     "That's what you guys and Rossi were meeting about..." Spencer trailed off, darting his line of sight between the duo. Both nodded. The genius blinked rapidly, trying to refocus on the new information. "Cara, you mentioned that Le stated in the nine-one-one call that he'd killed "them." Who is he referring to? Do we know?"

    In unplanned unison, Cara and Hotch answered, "Johnston and Shirzad."

     Oh.

     "So, what?" Morgan shrugged, shaking off the shock. "Le's devolving and killing off the only people left alive tied to the Red Scorpions and Valentine? Why? It's not like Johnston or Shirzad were ever going to turn on him. They all know that they're wanted men. They know that they're stuck in this together now."

     Spencer cleared his throat. "And what's the purpose? Everything Le does has a double meaning. What is it here? I can't think of any reason why or come up with an idea of what their deaths could represent to him. Certainly not remorse or regret considering the manners in which he killed them."

     The points brought up by the agents were ones Cara and Hotch had separately pondered over. None of it quite made sense. Not yet, at least.

     "Valentine," Morgan turned to the woman on his left. "What do you think?"

     Inaudibly sighing, she looked at him. Part of her wished he hadn't asked. "I have a theory, but... it's not a great one..." she said apprehensively, unsure if she even wanted to voice it. Nobody was going to like it.

     Hotch's chin upturned. "What is it?"

     But they were asking to know.

     "I..." Cara hesitated and reached for her wrist under the table. Once the pad of her thumb drove into it, she was able to compose herself more. "As a collective, the Founding Fathers are power and control seekers. We know this. They thrive and get off on people doing their bidding, controlling, and dominating others. They're also patient. Exhibit A: me. All of them prolonged the process of torturing me for two years. They held themselves back from outright killing me. As most people know, though, nobody can be patient forever.

     "Two years of dominating, controlling, and torturing me could only be satisfactory for so long until Le and the other Founding Fathers reached a point where it was no longer fun or pleasurable. It got to a point where I no longer met their needs. Le compromised his power and intimidating reputation by spending more time with me. I wasn't scared of him or any of them. I wasn't of use. I had nothing left to offer. So, what was the point in continuing his little game when Le could take a break, give me time to be rescued, get help, and regain the life I lost?"

     All the color drained from the three men's faces. It was unmistakably clear where she was going with this. None of them liked it.

     However, Cara kept going. A lot of what she was saying right now was off the cusp.

     "Then, he could return when he knows I've gotten comfortable and used to life out from under his thumb. That way, the next time he came back for me, it's almost guaranteed that I would be afraid of him again. I know more than anybody what he's capable of. I know him. He knows me. He knows that, yeah, Johnston and Shirzad scare me. What each of them put me through has fucked me up more than I allow myself to admit to anyone. I'm scared of them, but he knows that I'm petrified of him. As angry as I am and have been since I was a kid, the fear that resides in my chest outweighs it tenfold.

     "So, no. Le is not devolving. He lives off of power and control. Being the deliverer of death and deciding how Johnston and Shirzad died is one of the ultimate forms of power, especially control. He's also strategic and highly intelligent. Johnston and Shirzad's deaths are part of a bigger picture."

     "And what picture is that?" Morgan asked quietly.

     It didn't need to be said. They all knew what the bigger picture was.

     "The one where he and I... are reunited for good," the blonde responded, swallowing harshly. "The one where we ride off into the sunset, and I never see any of you, or anyone, ever again. It's either we're together, or I die by his hand. In the end, if he can't have me, nobody can."

     Yup. She was right. Nobody liked her theory.

     That much was obvious by the pale, tense, and jaw-clenched men sitting around her. The very idea of what she was sharing was enough to make their blood boil. In each of their minds, losing Cara was not an option.

     "I'll be damned if he believes for even a second that you and he are going to end up together or attempts to make that a reality," Morgan was the first one to gather himself. "There's absolutely no way any of us will allow that to happen."

     Cara pressed her lips together and leaned back in the chair. "None of you can promise me that, D. Aaron tried to years ago," she argued gently, tilting her head. "I'm not safe, and I never have been. I never will be unless Le is found, arrested, or dead. I'm not saying this to start an argument or be crude. It's the truth. Each of you," she made individual eye contact with each agent, "cannot promise me that, and you know it. Deep down, you know it."

     At her words, the Unit Chief inhaled deeply. "We do, but that doesn't mean we aren't going to do our best to protect you."

    Spencer was next to jump in. "Do you remember what I told you on Saturday?" he asked, locking eyes with her again. Cara's eyebrows bunched together a little bit, and she shook her head. A lot had been said on Saturday between them. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you ever again. Le is never going to put his hands on you. I promise."

     Of course.

     Now, she knew exactly what he was referencing. He'd vowed that to her two or three minutes before he kissed her.

     Cara opened her mouth to reply, but the brown-haired man beat her to it. "Le will have to get through me and the rest of the team long before he ever gets to you. I'm not losing you again. I won't. I can't."

     "Agreed."

     Her line of sight briefly flashed to Hotch and Morgan. All of them were wholeheartedly honest and firm in their stance. They were all willing to sacrifice themselves for her, and it was a realization that almost paralyzed her.

     From the instant she joined the team in twenty-thirteen, Cara knew she would die for any of them. Silently, she'd pledged her loyalty to them. All this time, that never changed. Something she hadn't fully considered, though, was how far their loyalty to her extended. She was well aware of how much each of them sacrificed to find and bring her home. Nonetheless, the idea of all of them being willing to risk or lose their lives for her almost seemed out of reach, yet here they were.

     "Now, let's discuss Shirzad, yeah?" Morgan nudged Cara lightly, a small smile on his lips.

     Clearing her throat, she nodded. "Yeah. I believe Aaron's pulled up the news report from earlier."

     "I have," Hotch confirmed, shifting his laptop toward the group. "This aired at a quarter past noon today. It originates from Kamloops, British Columbia, Canada. For clarification purposes, Kamloops is three hours behind the East Coast. This aired at nine in the morning there."

     Everyone nodded in understanding. Hotch pressed the space bar on the keyboard and sat back in his seat.

     "Breaking news coming to you early this Thursday morning!"

     This time, Cara was able to vividly see the dark-skinned male reporter. Like she deduced, he was standing in the woods with snow falling over him. In the background, red and blue police lights were visible. The headline read "RED SCORPIONS' LEADER FOUND DEAD" and sent a slight chill down her spine.

     "A founding member of the Red Scorpion gang, based and formed in British Columbia, was murdered in what's believed to be a targeted killing in Kamloops, B.C. on Tuesday. Konaam Shirzad, 44, was discovered yesterday off River's Trail at Riverside Park at 7:20 p.m., according to the RCMP. Kamloops RCMP Staff Sergeant Simon Pillay said the man is known to the police.

     "Konaam Shirzad and his associates played a very significant role in the local trade here in Kamloops and British Columbia as a whole. They were heavily speculated to have ties to drug trafficking arrangements in the United States. In 2013, a major arrest of an unknown high-ranking member of the gang took place and the gang is speculated to have disbanded since."

     Morgan's eyes quickly flashed to the short-haired woman. Just like everyone else, he knew that the high-ranking member being referenced was her.

     "During that same time, it was reported that Quang Vinh Thang Le, largely known as Michael Le, Matthew Johnston, Konaam Shirzad, and Person Y were killed in prison with Person X escaping. All men were sentenced for charges related to their involvement in the tragedy of the Surrey Six killings in 2007. Updates regarding the Red Scorpions and its members have not been shared until today. Despite official reports stating the founders were dead, this is no longer the case. According to RCMP Commissioner Philip Deschenes—"

     "Who the hell is that?" Morgan retorted, glancing at Hotch and Spencer with a raised eyebrow.

     Hotch gestured for him to keep watching. The question would be answered afterward.

     "—the men faked their deaths and escaped from prison with Person X. All of the details are not released, but Deschenes stated that Person X and Person Y were confirmed to be dead in 2016. Konaam Shirzad is just the latest to join them. As of now, Matthew Johnston and Michael Le are alive, but their whereabouts are unknown. The RCMP are asking anyone with information about Shirzad's murder to call (250) 828-3000 or CrimeStoppers to remain anonymous. Back to you, Cheryl."

     At that, Hotch paused the video and closed his computer. "Marvinhill messaged me seconds after the news was broadcast. He confirmed that Shirzad is dead. He's also informed me that we'll meet with Commissioner Deschenes in the morning alongside Kamloops RCMP Staff Sergeant Simon Pillay. We'll be heading straight to the crime scene."

    The last portion of his statement was news to all of them, and Cara held her breath for a few seconds. The reality of what they were going into was beginning to set in.

     "Garcia just texted," Spencer announced, staring at the smartphone in his hand. "The crime scene photographs from Kamloops have just been uploaded for us to look at."

     There were only two tablets on the table, and Morgan grabbed the one closest to him. Spencer took the latter.

     Reaching for her coffee, Cara watched Morgan log into the F.B.I. database. Under her breath, she hummed along to the melody of 'Walkin' After Midnight' and took three large gulps of the warm drink. She was trying to ease her nerves while Morgan searched for the images. It was difficult to tell if she was keen to see Shirzad's corpse or terrified. Perhaps it was both.

     Across from her, Spencer's mouth instinctually formed an 'O' shape. The photos on his screen were much more gruesome than he anticipated. Hotch was peering over his shoulder, eyebrows bunched together and lips in a tight line.

     Once Morgan located the file and the photos loaded on the screen, he promptly angled it away from the woman on his left. The abrupt movement didn't go by unnoticed, and she narrowed her eyes.

     "What?"

     The question caused Morgan to look up. "Nothing, nothing. The crime scene photographs are just graphic, that's all."

     "Show me." Cara set her mug back on the table and straightened out her posture. It didn't bother her that the images were graphic. It likely wasn't anything she hadn't seen or experienced before.

     Spencer averted his gaze. "Cara, you don't have to look at them if you don't want to," he spoke gently, not wanting her to push herself farther than necessary.

     "I know," she replied, meeting his soft countenance. "I want to."

    Inhaling sharply, Hotch chose not to say anything. There was no way she was going to allow any of them to baby her. Not when it came to the Founding Fathers. What each of them wanted didn't matter. It was her choice.

     Morgan shifted uncomfortably, not a fan of having Cara inspect the photos of one of her abusers. It didn't sit well with him. Considering everything she'd endured, she shouldn't have to undergo anything else.

     "I don't think—"

     Cara was swift to cut him off. "Show me," she demanded, a little harsher this time.

     "Valentine, are you sure? These aren't great—"

     "I want to remember him this way," she said firmly, holding a palm out to him. Those seven words shut him up immediately, and he glanced at Hotch hesitantly. Nobody moved. "Morgan, either you give me the tablet, or I take it from you."

     This was going to be a losing battle. Everyone knew it. One way or another, Cara Valentine was going to see those crime scene images. It was her choice, and she was asking to see them.

     An audible huff came from him, and Morgan begrudgingly passed the device over.

     The screen was now black due to no touch activity. Cara turned it on and pulled up the shared drive. A wave of nostalgia rushed over her. It'd been years since she used one of the F.B.I.'s tablets. Soon, a row of photographs appeared, and she clicked on the first one in the upper left-hand corner.

     Once it loaded, she was greeted by the sight of an in-shape and buff white man with short brown hair and a full beard. His bloodied and beaten body was sprawled across a crimson-painted gravel road and a patch of grass. She couldn't fully see his face with how the body was positioned. Regardless, she knew who it was by the cut-up scorpion tattoos inked into every inch of skin on the man's right arm.

     It was Konaam Shirzad.

     Cara swiped to the next photo. This time, it was a headshot. The left side of Shirzad's head was resting on the gravel road. His lips were parted and coated in blood. Red splatters were tangled in his beard and covered his chin, likely from coughing up blood. Glazed over, hazel eyes were wide open and unmoving. There were gashes on his forehead and his nose was broken, bent to the left, and bruised.

     She swiped again and saw another full-body picture. It was taken at a different angle with better lighting. This time, she could see the injuries clear as day. From what she could decipher, he'd been stabbed and bludgeoned to death. There was blood everywhere. It was difficult to tell how many times he'd been stabbed or hit, but it was a lot. A few of his intestines were poking through the slashes in his navy blue button-down.

     "According to the responding officers in the preliminary police report, they counted at least twenty stab wounds," Hotch read from the report on his tablet, managing to keep an eye on Cara's unchanged figure. A reaction of any kind had yet to come from her. He wasn't sure whether that was a good sign or not.

     "Twenty is a generous understatement," Spencer spoke up, also observing the blonde. There wasn't an ounce of remorse, grief, anger, or anything interweaved in her microexpressions or body language. She was simply indifferent while looking at the images. "From the looks of it, I count thirty-seven. We'll know for sure once the medical examiner is done."

     Morgan tilted his head. "Thiry-seven... That's classic overkill," he said, gesturing to the photographs.

     "Good," Cara commented, eyes locked on the screen. She could feel everyone's attention divert to her and the mood shift. "Frankly, he deserved worse, but I'm glad he went out in agony. Turns out Le is useful for something."

     The statement was cold and sharp and cut deep. It spoke to Cara's psyche and revealed where she was mentally when it came to two more Founding Fathers being dead.

     After the shock and fear had set in and dissolved, what was left was vindication. She never experienced a sense of retribution or satisfaction throughout this case and journey. Justice had never occurred until today.

     Yes, it was a morally grey means of justice, but it healed a part of Cara. It didn't matter if she came across as resentful or vindictive. All that mattered was that Konaam Shirzad and Matthew Johnston were dead and couldn't hurt her or the people she cared about. They would never lay a finger on anyone again.

     "Damn..." Morgan was the first to break the silence. He let out a chuckle and shook his head. "That's cold, Valentine."

     Nodding her head to the right, she shrugged. "I like cold," she muttered, swiping to another picture. Both Hotch and Spencer went to speak when she resumed. "An overdose would've been a more appropriate means of death. I'm curious to know why Le chose to stab and bludgeon him."

     Spencer's eyebrows furrowed, and he glanced back at the photographs. "Bludgeon?" All he could see were minimal defensive marks on his arms and the scattered stab wounds.

     "Mm-hmm," the woman hummed, bringing up the last picture and turning her tablet toward everyone. Shirzad's entire backside faced the camera. "You don't get perfectly straight, thick lines imprinted into denim and cotton from gravel and rocks. The width of the marks," she zoomed in on the fabric of his shirt and jeans, "are consistent with a crowbar. If his clothes were removed, I'd bet you anything there would be bruises and tears within the skin."

     Hotch's eyes darted from the screen to Cara twice. "How do you know Le used a crowbar?"

     "That's what he used on me," she answered automatically with no emotion, blinking.

     The bluntness in her tone was a little jarring, but the honesty and straightforwardness were appreciated— even if it took them all severely aback.

     "Was uh..." Morgan trailed off, unsure of what to do or say. Never in a million years was he expecting her to be that forthcoming. She was known for her bluntness at times, but he hadn't heard her speak that way in a long time. "Were crowbars one of his... preferred weapons of choice?"

    Cara nodded. "Yes. Le likes wielding heavy items when beating people. It makes him feel powerful. Aside from crowbars, he likes hammers, metal baseball bats, and bricks. He could have used any of those on Shirzad, but I'm going to stick with my gut instinct and say he only used a crowbar here. He also likes beating people before stabbing them. He likely did that with Shirzad."

     It was bone-chilling to hear the woman talk so plainly about Le and his preferences when it came to physically abusing people. She behaved as if this was a normal conversation to have, and to her, it was to a degree. Therapy was the place where she discussed memories and instances related to the abuse and torture she experienced. It'd sadly become normal for her.

     There was a sudden tap on her knee under the table, and she automatically knew who it was. She peered up and met Spencer's empathetic expression. A small, reassuring smile tugged at the corner of her lips for three seconds, and then it disappeared. He lightly squeezed her knee.

     "Well, as Reid mentioned, we'll know more once the medical examiner is done. You might be right, Cara," Hotch said, closing the file in front of him. "It's nearing close to half past four. Since there's no other information to discuss regarding both cases, I believe it'd be best for us to relax and get some rest before landing in Kamloops."

     Morgan took the tablet from Cara and shut it off. "Don't have to tell me twice," he muttered, ignoring her glare. "Move it, Pretty Girl. It's time to raid the snack drawer."

     Rolling her eyes, Cara slid out of her chair and stood up. "Ever the charmer, D," she commented as he got to his feet and maneuvered around her figure.

     "You know it," he grinned, winking cheekily.

     The short interaction made her chuckle. While she went to take Morgan's spot, Spencer stood up and allowed Hotch to get up. The Unit Chief wandered to the front of the plane with his belongings and sat at one of the singular chairs with a smaller table.

     Cara was shifting into a more comfortable position when someone spoke.

     "This spot taken?"

     At the sound of the brown-haired doctor's voice, she glanced to the left. A small smile subconsciously emerged. "Never," she responded quietly, motioning with her head for him to join her.

     A contagious grin drew at his mouth, and Spencer wasted no time sitting beside her. "Good. Are you—" There wasn't enough time for him to spit out his question when she leaned forward, connecting their lips. Almost instantly, his eyes fluttered shut.

     God, he'd never get tired of her shutting him up with a kiss. He adored it.

     The fleeting kiss lasted only a second when the short-haired woman pulled away. "I wanted to do that while no one was watching so Morgan doesn't tease us any further," she whispered, resting a hand on his leg.

     "Maybe you should've let him see it. He thinks we're a lost cause after all," he pointed out, trying to ignore how profusely he was blushing and how weak he felt in the knees. Luckily, he was sitting.

     Shrugging, Cara began to draw random shapes on his thigh. "It's a good thing we know we aren't," she murmured, reddening when he kissed her nose and chin.

     "It is," Spencer agreed, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Are... Are you okay? I know that those images of Shirzad were quite grotesque and can act as a stressor. I also know that you disclosed that you weren't earlier."

     Cara twisted her lips to the side and let out a slow and controlled breath. "No, I'm not, but like I said, I have you. I have Aaron, Morgan, and the rest of the team. I will be okay after this is over," she assured him.

     Frowning, he reached for the hand on his thigh and intertwined their fingers. "Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help. Please," he urged, realizing their faces were still inches apart.

     "I will," she promised earnestly. "I will."

     The frown slowly faded, and he kissed her forehead. "Good. I'm not going anywhere," he told her, hoping that it provided her a sense of reassurance and comfort.

     It did.

     The pair exchanged tiny smiles and fell into a comfortable silence.

     For the next five hours, the jet was encompassed by idle chit-chat here and there. Most of the time was spent by Spencer reading Heiner Müller's Anatomy Titus Fall of Rome, Morgan listening to music and texting Savannah, Hotch doing paperwork, and Cara staring solemnly out of the plane window.

     From an outsider's perspective and perception, it was peaceful. Everyone was content and calm. However, that couldn't be farther from the truth.

     Each was plagued with silent worries about what they would be walking into upon landing in Canada. The Kamloops area was uncharted territory for the three BAU members, and it didn't help knowing that Le was out there, waiting for the perfect opportunity to make his next play. It was difficult not to think about what chaos awaited them.

     "You need to get some rest, Ara," Spencer murmured suddenly, squeezing the blonde's hand under the table. He flipped to the next page of the book in his lap. In his peripheral vision, he saw that the nickname caught her attention. She turned away from the window. "I can see the developing bags under your eyes."

     "They're genetic," she argued quietly, noticing that he was re-reading her copy of Persuasion.

     Spencer playfully rolled his eyes at her response and met her stare. "That's true. Family history does play a part in developing dark circles under your eyes. It can be an inherited trait seen early in childhood and can worsen as you age or slowly disappear. Predispositions to other medical conditions, such as thyroid disease, can also result in dark circles beneath your eyes."

     Across from the two, Morgan cracked a smile and shook his head. The development of Spencer and Cara's ever-growing relationship was heartwarming. It'd also been a long time coming. So long that he was almost convinced nothing would happen and the two would spend the rest of their lives exchanging meaningful and subtle glances, getting close but not too close, and erring on the side of caution. As he told them, he truly did believe they were a lost cause.

     Thankfully, that was no longer the case.

     "Can you spout off more random facts?" Cara muttered, squeezing his hand back.

     Spencer gave her a knowing look. Of course, he could sit there for hours and inform her on topics that would boggle her mind, and he'd love to, but there were more important matters. After the day she had, rest was in order.

     "You're stalling and avoiding," he pointed out, and she huffed. Damn him. "Get some sleep, please," he urged before leaning forward and gently kissing her forehead.

     A minuscule smile almost appeared, and she begrudgingly rested her head on his shoulder. She didn't mind if Morgan or Hotch saw them like this. So, with a faint sigh, she turned her body to the left and effectively tucked herself into his side. Spencer let go of her hand and placed an arm over her shoulder. Her arms secured around his torso, and she slowly relaxed as he ran his fingers through her hair.

     Deep down, she knew that this was the last piece of solace she'd experience once they landed in British Columbia. That fact had been playing on a loop in her mind. The millisecond the wheels of the jet hit the runway, she wouldn't know or feel peace until Michael Le was caught. Paranoia would cloak her shoulders and weave its way through her veins. Voices from the past wouldn't stray and she'd be forced to re-live the past all over again.

     It was inevitable— just like Le's return.

────

﹙ MARCH 2ND, 2018 ﹚

     THE MOMENT THE MEN AND CARA STEPPED OFF THE JET, THEY WERE USHERED INTO A MATTE BLACK SUV BY RCMP OFFICERS AND SENT TO RIVERSIDE PARK. On the way, the ride was full of hypotheses about what could be in store. They also reviewed the crime scene photographs and covered the most recent update— Konaam Shirzad had been murdered sometime late Monday night or early Tuesday morning.

     Everyone had been talking amongst themselves. However, there was one person who hadn't uttered a single word since landing in British Columbia, Canada.

     Cara Valentine had kept her line of sight trained out the window similar to how she had on the jet. She was self-isolating and hadn't allowed herself to move or interact with anyone. She didn't have it in her. Not today. Not when Shirzad's body was awaiting their arrival at the M.E. after they'd examined the location where Le had killed him.

     Throughout the car ride, Spencer bore his eyes into the side of the blonde's head, unable to look away. He'd remained engaged in conversations with Hotch and Morgan but hadn't glanced their way. Presently, Cara's composure and behavior were reminiscent of the first plane ride she'd taken with the BAU back in twenty-thirteen. The particular instance he was reminded of was the day she flew to Quantico and moved into her government-appointed apartment.

     Cara sat perfectly against the black leather seat, her deep blue eyes fixated on the blur of trees passing by. A still, stoic, blank, and emotionless expression rested on her face. She'd involuntarily defaulted to the character she embodied five years ago— the persona that she'd worn when she was restless, on edge, or working to remain undetectable. It was an old defense mechanism that she thought she'd outgrown, but it'd returned when the group landed.

     If someone had told her six days ago during the interrogation that she'd be able to fall back into the habits and behavioral traits of who she used to be, Cara wouldn't have believed them. Especially since on the day that she needed that version of herself the most, she was infuriatingly out of reach.

     Things were different today, evidently.

     It'd taken thirty-two minutes and forty-six seconds to get to River's Trail at Riverside Park. Upon arrival, multiple police cars and lights came into view from up ahead and all chatter ceased. The SUV gradually slowed down, and Morgan continued to drive behind the authorized RCMP truck that'd led them there.

     Eventually, the car pulled over to the left in a grassy field and was put into park. One by one, the agents and Cara exited the suburban. Hotch flashed his F.B.I. badge to the officers guarding the perimeter. Spencer mimicked his actions. Meanwhile, the RCMP official who'd brought them there informed the officers that Morgan and Cara were consultants on the case and had been cleared to enter the scene.

     Shortly, they ducked under the yellow crime scene investigation tape. Each of them loosely followed behind the RCMP officer and trudged toward the mass of trees.

     The forest was filled with various voices of the police and the sound of the leaves crunching. It was oddly peaceful.

     "Pillay and Deschenes are at the top of the hill," the RCMP official told the small group, wearing a kind smile and gesturing to the long uphill journey awaiting them. A narrow and bumpy gravel trail paved the way to the murder spot.

     Hotch nodded, lips pressed together. "Thank you."

     With inaudible sighs, the four began hiking upward.

     "Reid, what's known about Riverside Park? I know you were researching it this morning," Morgan said, peering over his shoulder. A small smile pulled at his cheeks when he saw that the genius was moving hand-in-hand with the short-haired woman. It was his subtle way of ensuring she made it up the hill safely.

     At the mention of his name, Spencer met the man's lingering stare. "In nineteen-oh-two, it was established as Kamloops's premier city park. It's twenty-five hectares in size spanning from Third Avenue to where Victoria Street joins the riverbank. That's approximately sixty-one point seventy-seven-sixty-three acres. It's bordered by the Thompson River and Landsdowne Street. The park provides a wide array of amenities that includes a water park that opened in twenty-thirteen, picket ball, and tennis courts, and the most notable is the River Trail that runs along the entire northern edge of Riverside Park to Pioneer Park along Waterfront Park, allowing for both walking/running or cycling and Public beach access. There's an eleven pm curfew, but it's not normally enforced.

     "Fun Fact: In eighteen-eighty-five, the site that would eventually become the park was used as a campsite by Chinese Canadians from Savona's Ferry working on the Canadian Pacific Railway. Also, there is a monument in the park that indicates the height to which four different floods reached throughout the park's history."

     Blinking, Morgan maneuvered around a series of large rocks. Most of what was just shared went straight over his head. "So, it's not that big of an area or isolated and pretty popular with locals. Why would Le choose someplace where he'd likely be spotted by at least one person?" he proposed to everyone.

     "It's been approximated that Shirzad was murdered sometime late Monday night or early Tuesday morning before being discovered later that morning at six-forty-five. The park was likely deserted, providing Le with the proper opportunity to kill him," Hotch answered, not glimpsing back at the trio.

     Nobody said anything after that.

     The woodland grew ominously quiet the longer they walked. All that could primarily be heard was the susurration of the leaves in the gusty wind and the group's light footfalls.

     The closer they got to the top, the tighter Cara hugged her coal-black-colored coat to her torso with her free hand. White puffs of hot breath fell from her mouth for the weather was colder than anticipated. She could feel it traveling through the fabric of her clothing and down her body.

     "I stand corrected. This area is pretty isolated," Morgan called out as he and the Unit Chief reached the top of the hill.

     When Spencer and Cara arrived, their fingers disconnected.

     Observing their surroundings and the sea of thick overgrown trees, Spencer nodded in agreement. "It's a good countermeasure to avoid being overheard or seen— especially if you're going to bludgeon and stab someone to death." Beside him, he noticed Cara lightly shivering.

     Without thinking twice, he removed the purple scarf he wore. A single word didn't leave him as he moved to stand directly in front of the blonde. He stepped closer until only a few inches separated them.

     Blinking, she stared up at him quizzically. It didn't take long for her to realize his signature purple scarf was gone. Soon, it was wrapped around her neck. A wave of heat flooded her face and she bit down on her bottom lip.

     "Thank you," she whispered, breaking the mini-silent streak she'd been on.

     Spencer glanced up as he crossed and tied the two ends of the fabric. Her soft-spoken tone made his heart flutter. "You're welcome," he smiled, adjusting the scarf so one end of it was layered over the other and fluffing it. He wanted to guarantee that it stayed on and kept her warm.

     "Move it along, kids," Morgan chuckled, shaking his head.

     In response, Spencer blushed while Cara flashed him the middle finger. Both of them took their attention off of the other and re-joined Morgan and Hotch. It wasn't long before they reached the location of the murder. It was obvious they had when more law enforcement vehicles and yellow tape welcomed them.

     "What is that place?" Spencer wondered aloud, furrowing his eyebrows at the sight of a bricked house in the distance. From where they were positioned dozens of yards away from a driveway, he could scarcely tell that the building was wrapped in vines.

     "A House of Horrors," Morgan muttered under his breath, squinting behind his sunglasses. He, too, had spotted the house.

     The conversation went in one ear and out the other as Hotch continued forward. According to the officer, Kamloops RCMP Staff Sergeant Simon Pillay and RCMP Commissioner Philip Deschenes were supposed to meet the four. The team was somewhat familiar with Pillay for Kevin Lynch had contacted him while gathering information on the Red Scorpions and its affiliated members in twenty-sixteen. Deschenes, on the other hand, was a stranger.

     Morgan and Spencer followed the Unit Chief, and Cara trailed a few feet back. The sight of more police vehicles and a C.S.I. van made her uneasy, especially when she knew why they were there. Although Konaam Shirzad's body had been taken to the Kamloops RCMP medical examiner, she still felt his presence. It was almost suffocating knowing that he and Le had been there approximately seventy-two to ninety-six hours ago.

     "SSA Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, I'm assuming?" An unfamiliar voice checked.

     Cara quit staring at the weeds and rocks under her feet and peeked through the slivers between the men in front of her. It was a little difficult to make out the face of who was speaking, but she could tell that it was a dark-skinned man with a long beard and glasses. He appeared to be about her height— five foot seven— give a little more or less.

     "Yes, sir. Sergeant Pillay?" Hotch shook the man's hand firmly with a polite smile.

     Pillay nodded and went to shake Spencer's hand. "The one and only," he grinned.

     The genius reluctantly returned the handshake. "SSA Dr. Spencer Reid," he introduced himself.

     "Nice to meet you," Pillay's grin widened and he moved to Morgan next.

     "Derek Morgan. It's nice to meet you. We've heard good things from Kevin Lynch," Morgan said, releasing Pillay's hand. "Thank you for assisting in the Valentine case."

     Upon hearing the last name Valentine, Pillay perked up. "Nice to meet you as well, and yes. Of course. I was relieved to hear she was found and brought home safely," he replied sincerely. "Did she come with? I was informed that she'd been approved as a consultant."

     And there goes any chance of remaining ominous and disregarded.

     The three men stepped aside to make room for Cara. An awkward and forced half-smile was scribbled onto her lips. She knew that she and Le were going to become the focal point of Johnston and Shirzad's murder cases. It was inevitable, but she didn't want it to happen just yet. Unfortunately, she didn't have a choice in the matter.

     "Cara Valentine..." The grin on Pillay's face didn't falter. His body language indicated that he was genuinely happy to have her there. It provided Hotch, Spencer, and Morgan was a sense of reassurance. "It's a privilege to meet and have you here. Thank you for coming."

     Cara devoured her uncomfortability. If acknowledged, she had to respond. "Thank you for having me," she said evenly, maintaining her invisible and stoic shield.

     Deep down, she was a little taken aback by the honest compliment. In the past, any Red Scorpion member, active or inactive, was extremely despised by the RCMP— or despised by any law enforcement agency in Canada for that matter. All of her initial conversations and interactions with Captain Marvinhill and Vancouver PD proved that.

     Right as Pillay opened his mouth, another unfamiliar voice joined.

     "Talk their fucking ears off, why don't you?"

     Pillay rolled his eyes. "Agents, Mr. Morgan, and Miss Valentine, meet Commissioner Deschenes. Otherwise known as the thorn in my side."

     A bald, dark-skinned man with white-dyed facial hair approached the circle of five. He was roughly the same height as Hotch and towered over Pillay the same way the F.B.I. agents towered over Cara. An RCMP official badge hung around his neck, and he carried himself confidently. He wore sunglasses, too.

     "I just go by my last name. No need to call me Commissioner unless you want to," he stated, shaking everyone's hand. When he got to Cara, she only offered him a tight-lipped smile with a slight wave. It took a second for it to sink in who he was staring at and his eyebrows shot up. "You're Person X's daughter— Caralyn Valentine."

     The breath in her throat hitched, and Cara tensed. It'd been a while since she heard anyone refer to her father as Person X. It'd also been a while since somebody acknowledged her as his daughter.

     Hotch, Spencer, and Morgan darted their line of sight from Deschenes to the blonde. Hotch had a gut feeling she wasn't going to like him much.

     "I've heard quite a bit about you and your case at headquarters. According to the Vancouver PD, you're the reason why the cops were able to track down and arrest the Red Scorpions' leaders years ago. Nice. It's good to know at least one trafficker had a conscience."

     Spencer's head almost reeled back an inch at the comment, and he involuntarily clenched his jaw. His eyes narrowed a tad and he shifted footing, effectively shielding half of Cara's figure from view.

     Perhaps Deschenes didn't realize it, but his compliment came across as completely tone-deaf and insensitive. Apparently, Spencer wasn't the only one who felt that way. Both Hotch and Morgan stood taller and crossed their arms. Meanwhile, Pillay smacked him in the arm. Deschenes merely waved him off, unfazed.

     Blinking, Cara was tempted to walk off and find the exact spot where Shirzad had died solo. It'd taken a moment to process what Deschenes said.

     "Frankly, my conscience led to my disappearance where I was held captive and tortured for two years. I didn't turn on the Red Scorpions because I necessarily wanted to. It was an act of love and protectiveness. I did it to protect my father; I didn't give two shits what happened to me. But yes, it's good to know at least one trafficker had a conscience."

     Those were the words that Cara wanted to speak into existence, but she didn't. Instead, she used some of her strength to bury every feeling and thought into the ground. She'd allow it to resurface later when she could cope with it healthily and privately. Preferably when her time in BC concluded.

     "Can you show us where Shirzad was murdered?"

     That was the only reply she offered him, but he took it.

     "'Course. Follow me."

     Pillay offered the woman an apologetic smile and mouthed, "I'm sorry." She simply shrugged, twisted her lips to the side, and shook her head, conveying that it was fine.

     Not everybody was going to be sensitive or go out of their way to make her comfortable, and she knew that. She wasn't expecting special treatment and didn't want it.

     Cara repeated the same actions when Spencer turned to check on her while the others began walking. He squeezed her arm and rubbed his thumb up and down it. Then, they were off again.

     All movement and dodging of other officers and C.S.I.s soon came to a stop.

     "Shirzad was killed right there," Deschenes announced, pointing at a patch of dry, blood-soaked grass and part of a gravel path. The path gradually went downhill before evening out and heading straight to a house at the bottom of the woods. It almost acted as a driveway.

     "A couple jogging discovered his body at approximately six-forty-five am. They've been interviewed and cleared," Pillay cleared his throat. The patchy outline of where Shirzad's body had been stared at the group. "According to one of the wives, the women take the same route through Riverside every morning. They usually come up this way and pass the house. Neither have ever seen or heard anything out of the ordinary. According to the other wife, they didn't even know there was a house within Riverside. It used to be concealed by the long willow trees, but somebody's cut them recently. That's the only reason why they know it exists."

     Hotch tilted his head to the left. "Have traces of Shirzad's DNA been found in the house?"

     "No. We haven't checked yet. Pillay wanted to wait until you all got here," Deschenes said with a slightly bitter undertone. "And before you ask, no, the murder weapons have not been found yet."

     Ignoring the man, Morgan directed his question to the Sergeant. "Do you know who the house belongs to?"

     When Cara's eyes finally landed on the oblong house, she came to an abrupt standstill. Prior, she'd been idly lingering in the background, listening but not engaging. Now, she was glued to the spot with a knot in her chest.

     No. It's not possible.

     A chill raced down her spine, and she held her breath. The hair on her arms rose.

     How could she have forgotten the coordinates of her childhood home?

     The last time she'd been there and thought about it was the night of the Surrey Six. The night she'd been taken and held in the Pink Dolphin for the next six years.

     It'd been eleven years since she'd thought about this place.

     "My guys did some digging but were unable to find out who the house belongs or belonged to. My guess is no one's lived here in a long time," Pillay told the four, sliding his hands into his front pockets.

     Spencer squinted in the sunlight and shielded his eyes. "Vines required attention," he spoke up, pointing at the plant that was visibly covering most of the house. Earlier, he'd noticed it, but now he was able to get a clearer image.

     "I'm sorry?" Deschenes asked, an eyebrow raising behind his sunglasses.

     "Vines require attention," Spencer repeated and pivoted to the Commissioner, "and the more consistent attention, care, pruning, and corralling provided to keep them contained and healthy, the better and more manageable they grow. Untended, vines can run rampant. They can rot wood, destabilize decor, and take over a building completely. And left unpruned long enough, vines can do insidious things to structures. By the looks of it, these vines growing across that house haven't been touched for at least ten, maybe fifteen, years. Of course, that's just a rough estimate based on where we're standing. Up close, I'd probably be able to narrow that down."

     Morgan shook his head with a smirk on his lips. Only Reid would know that.

     "What are you? A gardener on the side?" Deschenes retorted.

     In response, Spencer blinked. He did not like him. "If I had to guess, I'd say nobody has lived here in at least a decade. Now, that could be due to the original owner or owners moving out or perhaps passing away. This place could have belonged to a member of the Red Scorpions, too. Everything Michael Le does holds weight and always has a double meaning. He wouldn't have murdered Shirzad here if it wasn't significant somehow. Furthermore, he was likely the one who cut the willow trees so the house was visible which means he knows of its existence. It's important to him."

     Clearing his throat, Pillay stepped forward. "I know and I came to the same conclusion. I read the profile the RCMP and F.B.I. have on him. I've already tried running this location and surrounding area against all known members and clients of the Red Scorpions, but came up with nothing."

     "Did you run it against the Founding Fathers? All of them?" Hotch checked, glancing away from the oblong house.

     Pillay nodded. "Again, nothing," he sighed.

     "Maybe it doesn't have anything to do with the Red Scorpions," Morgan theorized, capturing the men's undivided attention. Cara was the only one not listening. "It could be related to Le and Shirzad's personal lives. At the Surrey Six trial, Le testified that he and Shirzad initially formed the Red Scorpions after meeting at Willingdon Youth Detention Center in nineteen-ninety-two. The same year all the Founding Fathers met. This could be related to what Le believes is their origin story."

     "It could, sure, but I doubt it. Willingdon is located in Burnaby. That's three and a half hours from here. From what's known and documented, none of the Founding Fathers— Le, Shirzad, Johnston, Lu, or Valentine—" Cara's ears perked at the inclusion of her father, and she briefly looked at Deschenes. "—Have any ties to Kamloops until two-thousand-and-five. That's when they publicly came out as the Red Scorpions and began trafficking drugs in this area."

     None of them were going to figure it out. Cara knew they wouldn't unless she told them. This land was never purchased nor owned by anyone. It was hidden too deep inside Riverside Park for people to find. Nobody had until now.

     Ross Valentine and Hennessy Lu built the house together toward the end of nineteen-eighty-three, months before Cara and Kirk were born. The men had wanted to have their own separate homes hidden on opposite sides of Kamloops to raise Cara and Kirk in. The Valentine house was built first, and then the Lu house. The only people who knew about the homes or their locations, outside of the Valentine and Lu families, were the other Founding Fathers.

     "The Red Scorpions formed as a group thirteen years before the public was made aware. They had been running "dial-a-dope lines" in the suburbs of Vancouver since two thousand. It's not too far of a jump to consider they were discreetly running drugs through Kamloops prior to two-thousand-and-five," Hotch argued.

     Pillay teetered his head side-to-side. "That's fair. We do know that the Founding Fathers who oversaw the transactions made in Kamloops were Valentine and Shirzad," he said, noticing the confused facial expressions that emerged.

     "While searching for the Founding Fathers, the RCMP has been reviewing all of the files on the Red Scorpions from oh-five. Liam Boucher, my partner, Deschenes, and I have deduced which cities each of the Founding Fathers managed," he added.

     Raising an eyebrow, Morgan gestured for him to continue. "And?"

     "And..." Deschenes pulled out a pocket-sized notebook from the inside of his blazer and flipped it open. "Let's see. Valentine was in charge of—"

     "—Kamloops, Victoria, Coquitlam, Port Coquitlam, Vernon, Cranbrook, Port Alberni, Powell River, Dawson Creek, Summerland, and View Royal." All went silent. For the first time, Cara was properly participating in the discussion. The words leaving her mouth seemed almost robotic. "Shirzad handled Richmond, Kelowna, Kamloops, Langford, Penticton, Campbell River, Courtenay, Oak Bay, Salmon Arm, Parksville, Nelson, and Williams Lake.

     "Lu: Saanich, Maple Ridge, New Westminster, Prince George, North Cowichan, Squamish, Fort St. John, Central and North Saanich, Sidney, and Terrace. Johnston: Vancouver, Surrey, Abbotsford, Chilliwack, North and West Vancouver, Port Moody, White Rock, Colwood, Whistler, Lake Country, and Coldstream. Le: Vancouver, Burnaby, Langley, Delta, North and West Vancouver, Mission, Esquimalt, Sooke, Comox, Prince Rupert, and Sechelt."

     Cara took a breath and then resumed. "Most of the territories were managed solo. Less than a handful weren't. Kamloops, Vancouver, North and West Vancouver. Johnston and Le managed Vancouver— that's why he was burned alive there. My father and Shirzad managed Kamloops— that's why Shirzad was butchered here. The reason why those are the only locations where more than one Founding Father oversaw them was because my father and Shirzad's clients intersected the most in Kamloops. The same applies to Johnston and Le in Vancouver, North and West.

     "Contrary to popular belief, and likely what the RCMP believes, too, those areas weren't as successful and profitable when it came to drug trafficking. They generated the least amount of revenue. That also includes Surrey and Abbotsford, both of which have been heavily linked to the Red Scorpions. Shirzad and Johnston being killed in the cities they failed to make millions in is fitting. It aligns with how Le has always viewed them— as failures. The only partners he ever regarded as successful were my father, Lu, Joseph Arthur, and myself."

     It was easy to sometimes forget that Cara Valentine was a biological product of one of the Founding Fathers and a psychological product of every leader combined, along with the traffickers she worked with starting at the age of twelve. It was easy sometimes to forget that she knew more about the Red Scorpions and Founding Fathers than anyone alive. She grew up with an addict hooked on the drugs fed to him by the gang he founded, and she started growing up within that gang the moment Michael Le's greedy green eyes met her sinless blue ones.

     The F.B.I., RCMP, and the team's greatest source of knowledge and insight was walking among them. Any question they had, she could likely answer, and they'd forgotten that.

     "Is that to say that the most successful territories were ones run by Valentine and Lu?" Pillay asked, recognizing the woman's incredible value to the overall case.

     Cara met his curious stare with an indifferent one. "Prior to the Surrey Six murders, yes. Once the Founding Fathers were arrested, Arthur, Kirk Farell, and Owen Sánchez were appointed as the new leaders of the gang. Arthur took over Le's and Johnston's territories, Kirk took over his father's, and Owen took over Shirzad's and half of my father's territories. I managed the other half with Owen's oversight."

     While she spoke, she left out the bitter inclusions of how Owen's oversight led to him burning the deal of her trafficking career with Dillion Richards— Alex Blake's brother, Scott Miller— to the ground. She didn't mention how that deal was the ticket to seeing her father in prison following his arrest and conviction. She didn't mention any of that and let her response remain simple.

     "And out of you four, who was the most successful?"

     Deschenes and Pillay couldn't help but silently wonder why she hadn't been made a leader of the Red Scorpions. After all, she was a legacy, a high-ranking member, and allegedly, one of the best traffickers and undercover female dealers in British Columbia. However, they were aware of the relationship between her and Le, and how that likely played into who was appointed as a leader. Their relationship ended, so all possibilities of her leading the Red Scorpions were diminished.

     "Myself and Arthur," the blonde almost shifted uncomfortably under the men's fixated stares. She didn't, though. Instead, she stood with perfect posture and maintained an apathetic countenance.

     Morgan's eyebrows flickered up, and he hummed. "I didn't know that you were a better trafficker than the Scorpions' own leaders, Valentine. I mean, I knew you were high-ranking, but not that high up or better."

     Shrugging, she subconsciously reached for her wrist. "I remain the youngest person to have ever joined. I perfected the craft at thirteen. I had the five best mentors in the business. No one ever suspected a kid. Much less a teenager who looked much younger than she was. By the time Arthur, Kirk, and Owen were made the new leaders, I'd been involved longer than any of them. I trafficked drugs from ages twelve to twenty-nine. I was an expert and still am to a degree, knowledge-wise," she replied, feeling her thumb dig into the skin on her wrist.

     A slight frown formed on Spencer's lips, and he took note of the anxious tapping of her foot while she rubbed her wrist. Something about this location or area was familiar and made her uneasy. She knew the real reason why Le killed Shirzad was here, and it wasn't because Le viewed him as a failure. It went much deeper than that.

     "Do you think this could be about the Founding Fathers' origin story? Shirzad's murder taking place here?" Deschenes questioned.

     Cara's facial features didn't change as she answered carefully. "No. I've already stated what I think. Shirzad and Johnston were killed in the cities where they failed to make millions. It's symbolic of how Le has always viewed them— as failures."

     "Could it really be that simple? Nothing ever has been when it comes to Le," Morgan commented, unconvinced.

     Fortunately, with the wind blowing against the six and causing Cara's hair to fly into her face, nobody caught how her ears raised slightly when she responded. "I'm not sure. It could be," she lied, maintaining her composure and even tone.

     It wasn't often that she blatantly lied to people. It rarely happened. The truth was something she favored, but she had a feeling that her morals and preferences would have to be temporarily altered. She was going to have to dig deep and bring out facets of herself that she didn't like. That much was true if she wanted to end this game of cat and mouse with Le.

     "Have there been any updates from the medical examiner?" Spencer directed his inquiry to Pillay, blocking all of Cara from Deschenes' view.

     Pillay nodded. "Yes. According to the M.E., Shirzad's TOD is estimated to be between two to three on Tuesday morning. Also, Shirzad wasn't just stabbed. He was also bludgeoned to death. There were straight, thick imprints found in the denim and cotton fabric of his clothing. The M.E. determined that the width of the marks are congruent with a crowbar. There's heavy bruising and tears within the skin to support that finding. From the looks of it, he was beaten before being stabbed."

     What Cara said on the jet last night... She was right.

     "The bastard was stabbed a total of fifty-seven times," Deschenes added, rocking back on his heels. "M.E. confirmed that the COD was exsanguination."

     Nobody mentioned that the short-haired woman had predicted this. Hotch, Morgan, and Spencer merely nodded along.

     A few more minutes of conversing and theorizing passed by.

     While the men continued to talk with Pillay and Deschenes, Cara began to slowly inch toward the police tape. If Le intentionally led her back to her childhood home, where she'd experienced every first with him, it meant something more than simply killing Shirzad in a city he failed in. Le could have executed him anywhere, but he chose her home. It meant something, and she had a feeling she knew where that something would be.

     Cara glanced at the group of five and curled her fingers into fists. Strands of platinum blonde hair blew into her vision due to the breeze passing through, and she pushed them away. Her eyebrows pinched together, and she huffed silently.

     What she was contemplating wasn't smart, and she knew that. Of course, she did. Was that stopping her from heavily considering it?

     Absolutely not.

     Taking a final glance over her shoulder, she inhaled deeply. She was so going to get kicked off the crime scene and reprimanded. Maybe even arrested. But what could be inside was more important. Breaking the rules and the law used to be second nature for her in a past life. Certainly, she could do it again.

     Before second-guessing herself, Cara turned on her heel and ducked under the tape. Dirt and dust kicked up from under her black Oxford loafers as she began to move. Running was her best option. If she walked to the house, they'd notice and be able to drag her out, but if she ran, she had a chance.

     So that's exactly what she did.

     Suddenly taking his attention off the discussion, Spencer twisted his head to check how Cara was doing. When he was greeted by an empty space, his heart stopped. A sick sensation settled in his stomach and his face paled. Immediately, he reached over and slapped a hand against Morgan's bicep.

     Furrowing his eyebrows, Morgan met his panicked stance. "Kid, why are you hitting me?"

     "Cara. She's gone," Spencer choked out, eyes wide and panic flooding his nervous system.

     No. No. This couldn't be happening.

     "Uh, Hotch..." Morgan called out, interrupting the conversation. Cara Valentine, indeed, was nowhere to be seen. The Unit Chief glanced at him. "Valentine's gone."

     Those two words were more than enough to evoke alarm in the other men. They were surrounded by nothing but law enforcement officials. Surely, she couldn't have gone far.

     Pillay's face fell and he stood taller. He studied and aided in her case years ago. He understood and knew how important it was to keep her safe until Michael Le was arrested.

     All five of the men spun around and cast their eyes around the area, searching for the platinum-blonde woman. An air of dread began to hang over them.

     It took nine seconds for one of them to locate her.

     "Cara!" Hotch shouted, having spotted the short-haired woman racing toward the vine-infested house.

     Deschenes cursed under his breath and ran a hand down the side of his face. He should have known that she'd be a liability. "She's just compromised the fucking crime scene," he hissed, casting the F.B.I. agents a dirty glare.

     Ignoring the calls and shouts of the team and officers, Cara continued down the gravel path. Her hair flew behind her and she was fueled with nothing but sheer determination. Once reaching the porch, she jumped over the steps and grabbed the doorknob, jiggling it.

     It was locked.

     Goddammit.

     An idea came to mind, and she did a one-eighty, leaping off the porch and going to the right. Her feet flew beneath her as she sprinted across the overgrown yard and went right again, going around the side of the house. Hopping over the knee-high weeds and dodging the vines extending from the house to the willow trees on the left, she let out a huff. A few wild daffodils were growing sporadically, too. Taking one last right, she found the stairs leading to the back door.

     Not wasting time, Cara dashed over and up the steps. It wasn't until she got to the door that she noticed the glass window was shattered. Her outstretched hand faltered at the ajar entrance. A river of fear trickled over her.

     No.

     She wasn't doing this again.

     She was done playing his game by his rules. It was time for her to stand up for herself and flip the script. Something she hadn't done in a long time, and something Vanessa had encouraged her to do. Like the interrogation, this was her chance to embrace the past, face it, and move on.

     Pushing past the door, she was encompassed with a damp cold darkness. Slivers of light from the sun shone through the cracks in the wooden wall panels, igniting the dusty and dirty atmosphere. It provided enough light for her to scarcely see where she was going.

     As she traveled further inside, her footsteps creaked against the floorboards. Her memory from her childhood had been screwed up beyond repair, but she still knew the layout of her old home like the back of her hand. It was nearly muscle memory.

     Quickly, she maneuvered around the kitchen island and out of the kitchen. She had to be fast before anyone caught up.

     Cara had only moved three steps when her foot hit something. Glancing down, she could see sunlight reflecting off a dusty, cobweb-covered silver baseball bat.

     Lightning crackled down, and its bright, illuminating light shone through the windows. It echoed outside in the downpour. A door slammed from somewhere inside the house, and Cara's head turned so quickly she could've gotten whiplash. Grabbing the silver-plated baseball bat resting on the kitchen table, she rose shakily. The power went out, and Raine almost yelped. The three were left in a cold dark that perched onto their shoulders and clouded their vision.

     "Lyn?"

     A relieved breath of air fell from Cara's mouth.

     Dropping the bat to the floor, she raced down the darkened hallway. "Owen," she gasped, throwing her arms around him.

     Blinking, she inhaled shakily and pushed the memory to the back of her mind. She couldn't waste any more time. Disregarding the bat, she passed it and got to the stairs. She took two at a time and rounded down a hallway. If what she thought was there was actually there, it'd be in the place where Le first took advantage of her— her childhood bedroom.

     As she neared closer, she saw the remains of the original wooden double doors. They were now littered with sprouts of mold and grime. One of them was hanging on by a single hinge. Eleven years worth of abandonment painted a sad picture of the Valentine home.

     The sound of her footsteps was silent, and she pressed the palm of her hand against the fragile frame of the hanging door. Glancing down, she couldn't help but make out how cracked and splintered the plank she stood on was. Whatever. There wasn't time to get hung up on the details.

     Shuddering in the cold dampness of the bedroom, she did her best to disregard the books, clothes, and photographs scattered everywhere. Not a soul had touched a thing since that night. It was precisely how she remembered it.

     She approached the twin-sized bed in the left corner of the room and lowered to her knees. The amount of dust, dead bugs, and soot covering the floor made her stomach clench. Shaking her head, she placed her left hand on the top of the freezing-cold purple mattress cover. Bending down, she peered underneath the bed. Immediately, she noticed that there was nothing there except cobwebs and leaves that'd blown inside at some point.

     It had to be here. This is where it happened.

     A frown tugged at her lips, and she huffed. Giving it one last glance, she was about to sit back up when her eyes caught a glimpse of a tattered book cover. It was pressed against the underside of the mattress, and the bed frame springs near the wall. Bingo. Thank God for the sunlight breaking inside. She lifted the mattress with both hands, grunting as she rested the side of it on her left shoulder and reached for the book.

     "Cara!"

     "Valentine!"

     Huffing, she grimaced once her arm extended as far as it could go with the constraint of the mattress limiting her. "Come... on..." The slick back cover brushed against her fingertips, and she stretched a bit more. A breath of relief left her when her fingers curled around the book. She pulled it out and dropped the mattress.

     A loud thud reverberated from the room, and she could hear several sets of footsteps sprinting upstairs. However, her body refused to glimpse behind her. Instead, her eyes were glued to the title staring at her.

     "What do you have there?" A voice murmured as a shadow sat down beside her.

     Looking up from the book in her hands, Cara smiled widely. "Macbeth."

     Michael Le smirked, his hand brushing against hers as he leaned over, his eyes wandering over the pages. "How are you liking it so far?" he asked quietly, resting a hand on her shoulder.

     Shrugging, she peered back down at the book. "It's good, but I think I still prefer Othello."

     "If you want, you can sit on my lap, and I can read it to you."

     Angry tears prickled in the corner of her eyes. This was it. This was the book that kicked off the start of the worst day of her childhood. This was the last thing she ever read by Shakespeare. Ever since he ruined it, ruined her, she hadn't touched a single copy of any of Shakespeare's works.

     A familiar warmth curled around her shoulder, and even though she knew who it was, she still flinched. It was innate and involuntary. She couldn't help it.

     Behind her, Spencer's face fell. "Ara... are you okay?" His words were simple and soft, but Cara knew he meant them. Before she could stop herself, she shook her head and took in a shaky breath. "Why did you run in here?"

     "Cara, you just compromised a crime scene," Hotch stated sharply, walking around the woman and staring down at her with a stern expression. It'd taken convincing on his part for Pillay and Deschenes to stay downstairs. He'd guessed the woman had gone upstairs, and he was correct.

     Morgan followed the Unit Chief, being the first to remark on what the blonde was holding. "Valentine, what is that?"

     Without a word, Cara turned to Act Two, Scene Three, page seven. What she'd come into the house for was right there. Just like she knew it would be.

     Hot tears blurred her vision, and she gripped the inked pages tightly. "My violent love," she whispered, reading over the words rewritten at the top of the page. It was his handwriting. She knew it was; she'd recognize it anywhere. The page he'd written on was still pressed down and sunken around the letters. There was a double line drawn under the word "love." This was done recently.

     "What?" Morgan deadpanned, looking to Spencer for clarification. However, the genius couldn't offer him any insight. He could only shrug in response.

     Pushing off the floor, Cara shut the book and unbuttoned her coat. Then, she tucked the book into the waistband of her dress pants. None of the pockets in her coat were big enough to fit it. Without meeting anyone's incredulous stare, she shuffled around them and went to the closet door.

     "Cara, why did you come in here?" Hotch demanded, trying to keep his tone even and not too aggressive.

     Cara didn't answer and opened the closet, not bothering to flip on the lights since she knew good and well the power had been out for ages. She stood on the tips of her toes, inspecting the shelves that still held a few pieces of clothing. Most of her clothes had been taken to the Pink Dolphin the night of the Surrey Six.

     Where was it?

     "Cara..." Hotch clenched his jaw, trying not to snap out of frustration. The lack of communication coming from her end wasn't appreciated.

     The realization hit her, and her pupils grew wide with fright. If it wasn't here... No. It had to be. The book was only one of the two things she knew he would have left after finishing off Shirzad. She knew how Le's brain worked and how everything that happened between them held significance. It all meant something to him. He would never pass up the opportunity to remind her.

     There were other rooms in the house, but would Le have moved it anywhere else? And how did he know about where she initially kept it?

     Sure, there was the possibility Owen had taken it years ago and disposed of them, but if he had, he would have told her. Even after everything that happened, he would never take and keep them. Not without her knowledge.

     Coming up from behind, Owen peered over her shoulder. "He doesn't know, right?"

     With a shake of her head, Cara placed the rest of the photographs in the small lockbox. "When he notices, though, it's going to dawn on him that I stole them. We're the only ones who have any knowledge that they exist. No one else would steal them. He'll know." Fastening it shut, she covered the keypad with one hand while putting in the passcode with the other. Even Owen couldn't know it. That's the only way this would work.

     "I've got your back. He won't lay a hand on you," he murmured, kissing her cheek before moving in front of her. "You got the photos from the last time, right? Ross's room? All of them?"

     "All of them. I promise."

     That's it.

     Le moved them there— her father's room. Of course. That was where he assaulted her for the last time as a minor.

     With tears still in her eyes, Cara exited the room without glancing back. She needed it to be brief if she was going into her father's room. It held too many dark memories and would only make her recall what happened, what she'd done, and how she was the reason he was murdered.

     A faded blue door stood confidently at the opposite end of the corridor and it led into the master bedroom. Nearing closer, she unconsciously reached for her wrist and drove the pad of her thumb into it. The paint was curling with age, and its brass handle was nearly consumed by a thick network of cobwebs and dust. Reaching out, she ignored the odd texture and turned it.

     Something didn't feel right.

     Pushing the door open, she gulped at the creak it created. All was pitch-black, and she couldn't see a thing. "Spencer," she said, knowing he was already beside her.

     "Yeah?" Spencer replied, gun and flashlight in hand. Morgan and Hotch held the same stance, still uneasy at the lack of communication.

     "Can I see your flashlight?" she asked, meeting his apprehensive gaze.

     He gave her a look, tilting his head. "If you tell us what's going on."

     Wetting her lips, she stared back into the abyss of darkness. "This is where I grew up," she choked out, a heavy weight resting on her chest. Spencer's eyes softened. Hotch and Morgan gripped their guns a bit tighter. "Le killed Shirzad here for a reason. I know why. Failure has nothing to do with it."

     "Why?" Hotch's eyes darted from the darkened entrance to the short-haired woman. Nothing about this settled well with him.

     "This is where it all started. It's where we met. He wants me to mentally re-live my childhood and our..." she grimaced at what she was going to say next, "relationship." Then, without warning, she grabbed the flashlight out of Spencer's hand and wandered into the room.

     The beam of light swept across the space until it settled on a small black lockbox. It sat on the barren king-sized mattress. All blankets, comforters, and pillows were gone.

     Cara held her breath and jogged over. She planted her feet on the right side of the bed and placed the end of the flashlight in her mouth. The white LED light reflected off the lockbox's surface, and she fumbled with the metal keypad on the top of the box.

     The three men joined her and watched as she typed in a code.

     2311318#

     Twenty-three stood for the letter 'W', the one for 'A', and thirteen for 'M'. WAM— an abbreviation for her mother's favorite song: Walkin' After Midnight. Then, eighteen for the letter 'R', and it stood for Rosan. It was both her middle name and her mother's first name. Lastly, the pound symbol.

     It was a simple passcode, but one that nobody could get on the first try. The only people alive who had a chance at figuring it out were Owen, Rossi, Hotch, Blake, and Spencer. They were the only ones who knew what her mother's favorite song was. The eighteen was easy to guess, but not the rest.

     A tiny green light flashed, and she took a heavy breath. Removing the flashlight from her mouth and wiping it on the blazer underneath her coat, she held it over her shoulder.

     Wordlessly, Spencer took it and hooked it back to his belt. Then, he rested a hand on her arm, squeezing in assurance while she opened the box. Inside, an abundance of polaroids and a folded white piece of paper gleamed back at the group.

     Although he had an inkling of what the answer was, Hotch still asked, "Who's in the photographs?" From where they stood, he could barely make out the features of one individual.

      A sick sensation swirled in her stomach, and Cara blanched. It'd been a while since these saw the light of day. "Me," she answered quietly, voice cracking.

     Spencer's profile hardened, and he dropped his hand from her arm. He stepped forward and grabbed the piece of paper before slamming the lid shut. Having memorized the passcode from when he watched the blonde type it in, he locked the box and passed the note to Hotch.

     Without realizing it, Cara's foot began to tap against the cracked floorboards. Inhaling deeply, she turned her gaze to the dark-haired man on her left. Hotch and Morgan were silently reading the sheet under their flashlights.

     Meanwhile, Spencer had fixated his attention on Cara and her well-being. His eyes were filled with concern as he'd noticed the re-emergence of one of her anxious mannerisms. It didn't show up much nowadays.

     When he finished, Morgan didn't utter a word. He wasn't quite sure what to say or think. So he just placed his hand over Cara's and squeezed it comfortingly.

     At the gesture, Cara gave Morgan a forced and weak half-smile before subconsciously leaning into Spencer's chest. Their fingers immediately overlapped and they held onto the other. The anxious tapping of the foot ceased, and Cara watched Hotch's eyebrows furrow. He was visibly disturbed by whatever was written.

     "It's a poem." The Unit Chief didn't bother looking up and began reciting the message out loud. "Oh, sweetheart, I hope you're listening well because I've got another story to tell. And this time it isn't about the father with push-pin eyes that lived under dangerous skies. It's about a boy who won't let go of the girl who has gone rogue." Every word he spoke caused the hair on Cara's arms to rise. She knew this. She lived this. "Oh, I wonder how sweet Caralyn Valentine will feel when I bring Spencer here and spin the wheel to reveal how he will disappear."

     It was like something had been flipped inside her as Cara stood straighter, body tense, and face firm. She released Spencer's hand and snatched the paper from Hotch's grasp. Tears were beginning to obscure her vision, and she walked away from the three. She needed space. It felt like the air in the room was thinning out.

     "Today was a rough day," Le spoke, his manner soft, "wouldn't you say, Konaam?"

     At the mention of his name, Konaam Shirzad stepped forward. The corners of his lips curled upward as he caressed the ashen woman's cheek. "Yes, it was," he murmured. Dropping his hand, he stepped backward and glanced at his friend. "Should we tell her?"

     Le's response was automatic: "Of course."

     The lifeless woman was barely paying attention to the three men as she tried to dissociate her mind from her body. She knew that she wouldn't feel the pain if she were successful, as she had been so many times before. Instead, she could reside in the black hole of deafening silence that had become her mental home.

     "Oh, sweetheart, I hope you're listening well," Le's voice was a dangerous lullaby as he began singing. "Because I've got another story to tell. And this time, it isn't about the father with push-pin eyes that lived under dangerous skies. It's about a boy who won't let go of the girl who has gone rogue." Every word slipping from his tongue was a fired arrow heading straight for her heart. He knew his words would crawl under her skin and nip at her fingertips tauntingly. "Oh, I wonder how sweet Caralyn will feel when I bring Spencer here and spin the wheel to reveal how he will disappear."

     For weeks, the men had tried every trick in the book— every psychological form of torture to elicit a response from her— but nothing was working. Nothing they tried or did would cause her to lift her head. It wasn't until that morning that Matthew Johnston realized that one thing they hadn't tried in over a year was using the name of the man the woman was so hopelessly fond of. That man was the only weak spot she had left.

     At the sound of the good doctor's name, she blinked. Gathering together all her strength, she raised her head and felt the back of her neck and spine pop. A sharp, penetrating pain twisted in her back as she attempted to meet the eyes of the three men before her. The pain came in fast waves, erasing every thought from her mind and leaving her in a temporary form of paralysis. Not an inch of her had moved in so long that the slightest movement now brought upon a hurricane of pain.

     "Well, look who woke up," Shirzad smirked, crossing his arms.

     Allowing her anger to take over for a minuscule moment, Cara dug her nails through the poem and crumbled it into the tiniest ball she could make. She crushed it until it couldn't get any smaller. Part of her wanted to chuck it across the house and hit something.

     Her outward reaction didn't go unnoticed as the trio carefully observed.

     "He..." Spencer paused and tried to figure out the best way to approach her with this. "Has Le or one of the Founding Fathers said those words to you in the past?"

     A single nod answered him.

     Hotch's chin upturned, and he was the first to wander over to her. "Who and when?" He was mindful of his tone and the volume of his voice. This was already an overwhelming situation. The last thing she needed was a stressor that could relate to traumatic memories. Loud and harsh voices were included in that.

     Cara couldn't meet the man's gaze, and he wasn't expecting her to. "When he... When Le and Shirzad had me hanging from a ceiling," she grumbled, unable to meet any of their faces.

     "Which one of them said the poem? Was it Le?"

     Another nod.

     Morgan's question was soft when he entered the conversation. "Did Le say that to you as a way to get under your skin?"

     Shaking her head, Cara cleared her throat. "He was trying to get me to pay attention." Flashes of that day were repeatedly playing in her mind. "It worked."

     "Why was he trying to get you to pay attention?" Hotch asked, trying not to push her too much.

     Nobody did anything or moved an inch yet she flinched. "He wanted..." she swallowed harshly, eyebrows knitting together. "It wasn't the first time Le or the others threatened someone I cared about. It was the first time, though, that he threatened Spencer's life in that way— threatened to take him, too— bring him to me— unless I told him."

     A deep frown spread across Spencer's lips and he averted his stare to the ground. They all knew that his existence and relationship with Cara played a role in the Founding Fathers' questioning and torture. It didn't need to be re-hashed.

     If he didn't know that what she needed the most right now was space, he would have gone to her side and rested a hand on her shoulder. He would have given her a gentle look, silently telling her that he wasn't going anywhere, but he didn't. Instead, he kept his distance and would wait until she made it clear that she wanted or needed him. This wasn't about him right now. At least not fully.

     Morgan glanced at the genius, noticing his solemn demeanor. "Told him what, exactly?"

     Cara continued to stare into the dark corners of the bedroom. "Told him everything I disclosed to Spen. Everything I feel for him. Felt for Owen. Le wanted to know what Spencer and Owen did that caused me to fall for them, and how he could get me to fall in love with him. He wanted to know what I told the team. So, I implicitly threatened him, said "fuck you," and then got my ass handed to me for not complying."

     All three agents stiffened at the last sentence. The thought of anyone laying a hand on her enraged them. It always would.

     "Le could hang all of your lives," she finally glanced up, nodding at each of them, "in the balance of the universe all he wanted. He knew, though, that if he touched a single hair on your heads, I would never say another word. He would never hurt one of you when he knew it would result in me never speaking again or finding a way to kill myself for good before he, Shirzad, Johnston, Lu, or Leone did."

     Another tense silence encompassed the master bedroom. The only one brave enough to break it was Morgan.

     "Why would Le leave that poem behind for you? What's its significance other than it being something he told you while you were being held captive?"

     Cara stuffed the paper into the pocket of her coat and faced all of them. "It's his way of affirming that none of this is coincidental. He murdered Johnston at the place where I was arrested. He murdered Shirzad in the driveway of my old house and brought me back here with Spencer as company. He cut the willow trees and left behind the copy of Macbeth that I read to him before he left my house to conduct a deal with a buyer. Later that same night, while my father was out, he snuck in here while I was asleep and raped me for the first time. He wants me to know that he hasn't forgotten about me and our relationship; he hasn't forgotten anything and wants to ensure that I haven't either. Lucky for him, I'll never be able to."

     Following that sobering commentary, the three men watched her stride to the bed and grab the lockbox. Then, she turned on her heel and exited the room.

     If any of them reacted to her response, she didn't stick around to witness it. Truthfully, she wasn't sure she'd be able to take any type of reaction. She didn't want pity and she didn't want to bask in the tense awkwardness.

     When she got to the bottom of the stairs, she was greeted by Deschenes' irritated expression and Pillay's perplexed countenance. Before she could get a syllable out, Hotch appeared and took over.

     For the next hour, she was subjected to questioning and had to give an official statement of why she broke into the house. Since the window of the back door had been shattered, it appeared as if she'd broken it to unlock the door and let herself inside. Although she denied that she broke in, she still had to provide a statement to the police and RCMP.

     Eventually, she was done and wrapping up the conversation she was having with Pillay outside. It'd been agreed upon that she would hold onto the photographs, and they wouldn't be confiscated or logged as evidence.

     Even though in Canada, unlike the United States, there was no statute of limitations that prevented the prosecution of many serious criminal charges at any time after a crime occurred, Cara didn't want her inner child to be exposed any further than she had been years ago. She wouldn't allow it.

     Cara was never given the privilege of being a kid. She performed as her own parent and a caretaker to her father. She was groomed into a relationship with a man almost triple her age. The last thing she needed or deserved was to be seen in the most vulnerable position any child could be in.

     Right as Pillay left her side to speak with Spencer and Morgan, Cara heard her name being called.

     "Cara..."

     Spinning on her heel, she spotted Hotch making his way from the front porch to across the lawn. His lips were pressed into a firm line, and his face was hardened. The way he'd said her name automatically indicated that this wasn't going to be a friendly conversation. The biggest indicator of that was the fact he'd exited a conversation with a grumpy Commissioner Deschenes.

     It wasn't until the dark-haired man reached her that he continued. "I just had to convince Deschenes and the local officers not to arrest or charge you for interfering and compromising a crime scene. That, this," he gestured from her to the house, "cannot happen again. You will not get another pass. Do I make myself clear?"

     Cara nodded, gripping the box of photographs tighter. "Crystal." It'd been years since she was reprimanded, and she hadn't missed it one bit. However, she knew it was going to happen again while they were in British Columbia.

     A beat of silence passed before either broke it.

     A soft breath left him, and he rubbed his temple. "Did it not occur to you that this could have been a trap to lure you back to Le? That he murdered Shirzad here with the intent of making you return to Kamloops? Like we discussed on the jet and inside?"

     Biting the inside of her cheek, she nodded. "It did, but I don't care. This has to end, Aaron," she said, catching a glimpse of Morgan and Spencer's lingering figures. They'd just finished talking with Pillay. The pair were far enough away that they couldn't hear anything, but not far enough that they couldn't profile or dissect the exchange happening.

     "It does, but not with you dying or being taken," the Unit Chief snapped, and his words caused her to freeze. It was written all over his face that he was terrified at the prospect of losing her again. The entire team was. "If Le gets his hands on you, either of those outcomes becomes a reality. Recklessness is not the solution nor will it help. You cannot afford not to care, Cara."

     There was a lump building in her throat, and she pushed it away. "I'm sorry." That was all she could conjure up to say. Nothing she told him would ease the fear he undoubtedly felt, and likely felt, when she disappeared into her old home. It scared him, Spencer, and Morgan, and she hadn't thought twice about how her choice would affect them.

     Maybe she should have...

     "I'm sorry," she repeated quietly, shivering when another cold breeze swept past them.

     "Just..." Hotch composed himself and met her regretful expression. "Don't do it again. We have no jurisdiction here, and law enforcement will not be so understanding or forgiving." Cara nodded in understanding. Deep down, though, she knew part of her was lying to him. "You've come a long way, Cara. Don't allow these murders or Le to be the reason you stop caring about yourself. Rely on your family to help. Talk to us, all right?"

     Cara's eyes bounced between his, taking in the words spoken. After ten seconds, she replied, "All right."

     His head tilted toward the top of the road where nearly everyone else was stationed. "Let's get going," he suggested, taking a step forward.

     Soundlessly, the blonde followed him up the hill. The box was held close to her abdomen with an iron grip.

     None of the photographs inside would ever see the light of day again. Once Le was found and arrested, she was burning every single one. Nobody would ever get to look at her the way Le had all those years ago. Never again.

     The entire journey to the top of the driveway and road was silent, and she kept her line of sight locked on the gravel. Her mind was scattered and unorganized. She had nothing to say yet so much at the same time. So, she chose to remain quiet. Anything she voiced wouldn't make sense anyway. It would just be tidbits of obscure opinions.

     It wasn't until she and Hotch reached the police tape that Cara averted her gaze and came to a stop. Peering over her shoulder one last time, she inhaled deeply. The standstill image of her childhood home stared back at her.

     What used to be her sanctuary was now an ivy-covered prison filled with ghosts. Nearly every person to ever step foot into that house was dead. Only she, Le, and Owen were left. It was nothing more than a reminder of the life she shared with her father and how he was no longer there. 

     When this was over and done with, she was never returning to British Columbia, Canada. This was ending, and it was ending soon.

𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆   ───   ❪ CRIMINAL MINDS ❫
vol. two:     𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚂𝚂,       ²
╱ ✹     ▬▬     ❛ © CARDIIAC      2024. ❜
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𓄹 ━━━ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓! ࿐ ໋₊ ˖

     hey everyone!! i hope you all enjoyed the fifty-seventh chapter!

     (new banner for the new year tehe 🤭)

     HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!! IDK HOW THE HELL IT'S 2024 BUT HERE WE ARE!

     and we have returned to the original valentine house for the final time!!

     NOTE: i'm so sorry for not updating sooner! i was finishing another story of mine and things at work got insane, hence the delay in finishing this chapter and publishing it. it's been a busy month, but i've been doing my best to continue working on this book.

     anyway! i'm so excited for this story to wrap up and come to a close. i swear i've been working on these chapters every single day this entire year, trying to perfect them as much as possible. i hope everybody enjoys them! blood, sweat, and tears have been poured into this story.

     the next chapter is going to be the second or third longest one in the history of this book! (this one is over 18k words.) it's looking like it'll be over 18k words, too (lmao why do i do this to myself). hopefully, it'll be out soon! no promises, though. a lot of storylines are going to be wrapped up in it, and includes a few twists + intense scenes that i'm very excited for.

     one more familiar face (can't tell if people love or hate this character, we'll see) will be joining the story + case. things are about to get messy and chaotic!

     SIDE NOTE: yes, the spara smut scene will be in the next chapter as i mentioned in a previous author's note. i have re-written this scene six times (literally six times, i've counted) and am almost satisfied with it. with the way the story has been going, the tone, and the character progressions (along with comments from all of you lovely readers, thank you ily)— i've decided not to have it as explicit and in-depth as i initially wrote it. it's been toned down.

     i've changed a lot of the back half of VOLUME TWO and those changes have affected the original smut scene that i'd finished. i'm much happier with the new scene (i'm almost done writing it, thank god), and i hope you all are too. i don't want to disappoint anyone so i'm doing my best to make it perfect.

     if anyone has any requests for it/ideas/things they would like to read, feel free to leave a comment! i might be able to add some elements! i always love getting input from all of you <3

     edit time ━━ here is a lil edit i made for this chapter and the next one! this is the outfit + what cara looks like during this chapter and the next (she wears the same outfit on march 2nd and 3rd):

      meme time ━━ the first one is my favorite.

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˒⠀𝑹𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹. . . ▬⠀⤸

Thank you all for taking the time out of your day to comment on this story. It means a lot and helps the story be spread to a broader audience &&& allows me to grow as an author. All I ask is that people vote on each chapter, please. As a creator, it takes time to write and develop stories. Especially ones such as this that take a while to write and dedicate time to. So please, vote on every chapter. It means a lot more than I could ever express.

Don't forget to vote & comment!

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˒⠀𝑪𝑶𝑷𝒀𝑹𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻. . . ▬⠀⤸

❝ All Rights Reserved.
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