CHAPTER 5:
ROSE PETALS AND ROMANTIC DINNERS
(5x10: the slave of duty)

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        BESS STOOD NEXT TO ROSSI in the large crowd of people gathered together in the cemetery for Haley's funeral, listening to Hotch's speech he had written for the occasion. It was beautifully composed, though it didn't have the same impact on her as it did on the others. Her body refused to drop a single tear, just like the tightness in her chest was nothing more than an empty thought. She didn't feel anything.

        There was nothing to be done; she had to accept that she barely knew the woman, if at all, and acting otherwise wouldn't change that.

        "I met Haley at the tryouts of our high school's production of The Pirates of Penzance. I found our copy of the play and was looking through it the other night, and I came upon a passage that seemed appropriate for this moment," Hotch told the crowd, then cleared his throat, "Oh, dry the glistening tear that dews that martial cheek. Thy loving children hear, in them thy comfort seek. With sympathetic care, their arms around thee creep, for, oh, they cannot bear to see their father weep."

        After the memorial, Bess followed the others in putting her single rose onto the top of the sleek black coffin, though she avoided speaking to Hotch. What could she say really? She couldn't bring Haley back, nor could she take away his pain. It was pointless to even try. Therefore, she just gave Jack a small smile, then waited for Rossi, so they could walk back to the funeral home together, where dinner would be served.

        By the time the last guest left, Hotch had lost count of how many people offered him their condolences. His tired expression caught Rossi's attention as he approached with two drinks in his hands, saying, "I think you could use some air." When Hotch didn't answer, the senior agent continued, "Jack's okay. I saw him with his cousins."

        Hotch let out a deep sigh but caved into his offer with a resigned nod. He caught Haley's sister, Jessica's eye, asking the woman to get Jack something to eat, then tracked Rossi out to the balcony. Bess' gaze followed the pair over the rim of her wine glass until they disappeared, her eyes settling on Emily instead, who had been stretching her neck to prevent losing sight of the two men. When she did, she turned back, asking, "What do we do?"

        "We have to wait him out. Help him with whatever he needs," Morgan muttered, not tearing his gaze from his wine glass.

        No one spoke until Reid cleared his throat, mumbling, "You think he'll ever come back?"

        JJ flashed her eyebrows at the boy. "Would you?"

        "He'll come back," Bess answered before anyone else could, eyeing the blonde woman while bringing the glass to her lips to take another sip. "It's just a matter of time."

        Hotch turned the glass of scotch in his hands as he muttered, "You know, I broke my promise to Haley."

        "What promise?" Rossi frowned, not understanding what he was talking about.

        "I told her that I would catch Foyet and that I'd... spend the rest of my life making it up to her."

        The senior agent surveyed the dark-haired man for a few seconds before replying, "You still can. You saved Jack." He took a sip from his drink while Hotch turned to watch Jessica get Jack a burger from the large pile.

        "You know, I may have the tools to do this job, but I don't know if I have the tools to help my son," he admitted, the doubt burning his inside like hellfire. What if he screws up? What if he can't give Jack what he needs? What if he—

        "You have to ask yourself what kind of father you want to be," Rossi noted, pulling Hotch out of his thoughts. "And when you figure that out, then you'll know what to do."

        Hotch dropped his head as he let his friend's words sink in. "I meant what I said today. Things have changed. And I need to do what's best for Jack," he told Rossi, raising his head to look into his eyes.

        Rossi didn't say anything as he observed Hotch, knowing him for long enough to be able to read in his silence. He had to decide whether it was wise for him to come back, or not. And no one could make that decision for him. "You will," he replied finally, taking another sip from his scotch.

        Bess's phone beeped with an incoming message just at the same time as JJ's, resulting in the two women pulling their devices from their handbags in unison. "They can't be calling us in, not tonight," Morgan complained loudly, immediately figuring what the messages meant.

        "I'm on it," JJ remarked, texting back the sender.

        "We can't go," Emily agreed with a shake of her head while Bess read the short but quite meaningful text message sent by the Nashville Police. Two homicides had been reported in the past two weeks, each victim killed on consecutive Friday nights. With this pattern, she realized that the police had a pretty limited window—less than a day—before another dead body might end up on their hands.

        She slipped her phone back into her handbag, then rose from her chair, declaring, "We have to. I'll get Rossi." She didn't wait for any responses, though the looks on the other agents' faces told her where to shove her decision. Too bad she didn't care. And to tell the truth, she was more than glad they got a case. At least, it would distract them from what had happened.

        Bess approached Hotch and Rossi at the far end of the balcony and shared the news with them, "I'm sorry, but we just got called in. We have to go now."

        Rossi immediately shook his head. "No way. Tell Strauss to send another team."

        "There's no other team available. I'm sorry." She grimaced, then looked at Hotch. "I know I'm not the first person on your list to go for help, but if you need anything... You know my number." The corner of her mouth twitched for a second as a small smile crossed her lips, then she glanced at Rossi before turning on her heels and walking away.

        Hotch stared after her for a bit longer than necessary, causing Rossi to say, "Don't worry. I'll take good care of her."

        "What does that mean?" Hotch frowned, losing his train of thought as he stared at the man.

        He just smiled in response, then asked, "You gonna be okay?"

        "I'll see you when you get back," Hotch remarked in a hard tone, watching Rossi turn away and follow after Bess. "Dave!" he called after him, making the man turn back. He almost asked the question he had originally intended to, but then changed course before it was too late, "Call me if you need help."

        Rossi just nodded as he sent him a reassuring smile and then left, leaving Hotch alone. He drank up the rest of his scotch in one large gulp and then walked back to Jessica and Jack. It was time to go home, however painful that would be...

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        IF THE TEAM HAD BEEN against Bess' presence before, now it was even more obvious. No one spoke to her as they boarded the jet, angrily shoving their go-bags into the compartments above their heads before sitting down. Rossi and Morgan took one side of the club suite, Reid and Emily the other, leaving the couch to Bess and JJ. The tension was so high, that it was only a matter of time before the bomb went off.

        "Okay. Can we start to debrief?" Bess asked, acting as if she didn't notice the other agents' visible lack of desire to work now.

        Morgan just shook his head as he exchanged a glance with Emily, and Bess looked at Rossi with an eyebrow raised. Maybe if he said so, they would step in line and follow suit. The senior agent closed his eyes for a moment, then cleared his throat, "JJ?"

        "What are you doing? We're not gonna work now, Rossi," Morgan hissed between gritted teeth, making the man's thick brows rise high in surprise. He was in no position to decide about that.

        "Sorry, what was that?" Bess raised an eyebrow, holding Morgan's cold stare without flinching.

        He paused for a second, but then regained his courage and spoke up, "I said we're not going to work now. We should be back home with Hotch. This isn't right." He shook his head, barely able to hold it together as his jaw tightened threateningly. Bess' gaze flickered onto Rossi for a second to see his reaction, and it seemed like this was all Morgan was waiting for. "What? You can't speak for yourself? Oh, wait, I forgot. You can't. His dick is filling your mouth—"

        Bess moved faster than he could have finished the sentence, her hand locked around his neck, pressing him back in the beige leather chair with a force that choked the man for a second. "Now listen here, you little shit," she began, anger flashing in her eyes. "I'm fucking done with you, you hear me? Who do you think you are? You pathetic asshole." She pressed Morgan back some more, causing him to gasp when her knee found his groin. He couldn't breathe.

        Rossi was the first to snap out of his astonishment. "Sinclair! What are you doing?" He reached for her wrist to free Morgan, drawing the redhead's anger to himself.

        "Stay out of this, Rossi, or you'll be next," Bess declared, then turned back to look Morgan in the eye, seeing the fire still burning in his gaze. She glided her hand onto the neck of his shirt, grabbing the crisp material to pull his face closer while reducing the pressure on his private part. "You think you have the biggest dick here, don't you? You think you're above everyone else. We're literally no one compared to you."

        Morgan opened his mouth to object, but Bess shook her head. "Ah, ah, ah, one more word, and I swear to God, I'm gonna throw you out of this plane myself. Don't think I wouldn't do it," she sneered, gladly noting the fire waver in the man's eyes.

        "Sinclair," Rossi tried again, this time in a calmer tone, hoping that would reach her where shouting had failed.

        Bess closed her eyes for a second before looking at the senior agent. "I'm really asking you not to push me now, Rossi." She held his gaze until she was sure he would remain silent, then turned back to Morgan. "You have been talking against me since day one. Don't you think I'm tired of watching your annoying grimaces every day? Or of listening to the comments you make behind my back, and the everlasting complaining? You had more than five weeks, five weeks, to make your peace with me, but you couldn't. And to tell the truth, I don't think you ever will. And I'm not going to force you to."

        She didn't even have to say the words, everyone knew what was coming.

        "You're fired, Derek Morgan. I'm tired of fighting this endless war against you. Go and charm the girls in some bar with that big smile of yours, maybe the bartender will take pity on you and offer you a job. But we're done here." She shook her head with a resigned sigh. "When we land, you're going to take the next flight back to Quantico. Go straight into the office, and pack your things. I don't want to see your face when I get back. Did I make myself clear?"

        When Morgan didn't answer, Bess shifted her weight back onto her right knee still positioned over his groin, causing the man's breath to hitch as he replied, "Yes."

        "Good. Oh, and one more thing. Before you try to ruin someone's reputation, please, do your homework on the subject, because this 'oh, she gave him a blowjob' implication doesn't even cover half the truth." Bess stepped back as she watched Morgan jump up from his seat and bolt to the other end of the plane with a disgusted look written on his face.

        No one spoke as they all stared at Bess, and she closed her eyes for a moment before her hand came down hard on the wooden tabletop, making everyone jump. "Fuck!" She turned to strode into the small kitchenette of the jet, picked up Rossi's bottle of scotch from the counter, and poured herself a glass. She drank its content in one gulp.

        Fuck Morgan that he couldn't shut his mouth. Why did he have to push her? Why?

        Bess poured herself another glass, this time drinking it slowly as she leaned back against the counter, lost in thoughts. As Julius Caesar once said: Alea iacta est. The die was cast. She was already looking forward to a good chat with Strauss about what just happened...

        She went back and sat down beside Rossi without another thought, pulling a case file in front of herself, but then chose not to open it. Instead, she looked up, her gaze shifting from one agent to the next, finally saying, "I know you all hate me. Don't worry, I get it. I'm like the evil stepmother in your fairytale. I'm bad, and you must get rid of me."

        Bess carried her gaze over the four agents once again, then continued, "I'm sorry to break this down to you, but this is not a fairytale. Hotchner won't be unit chief again, just like I won't go anywhere. I'm sure you remember what I told you on my first day. I can be a bitch if that's what you want. And for as long as I care, you can all end up like him." Bess nodded in the direction of Morgan. "It's your choice. I'm not holding you back. You can leave."

        She paused while fidgeting with her copy of the case files. "But I'm sure of one thing. We have less than a day to catch a killer before he murders another innocent woman. So, choose. Are you willing to work with me, or are you just going to keep licking your wounds and head home with Morgan? Either way, I'm working this case, with or without you," Bess finished, then opened up the case files and started reading them.

        Rossi exchanged a glance with Emily, silently considering their choices, then reached forward and opened his case files too. Slowly, the others followed suit, and Bess started a video chat with Garcia on their laptop and placed it at an angle, so the woman could see all of them. "Hey, where's Morgan?" she wondered when her eyes didn't find her man, causing the team to avert their gazes as they all remained silent.

        Bess didn't sugarcoat the truth as she looked the technical analyst woman in the eye, saying, "Morgan doesn't work for the BAU anymore." She tore her gaze from the laptop screen, declaring, "Okay, so two women died in two weeks, both killed in their own homes. No sign of forced entry," she started the briefing, leaving Garcia's stunned look without an answer.

        "What do you mean he doesn't work for the BAU anymore?" The blonde mumbled in a small voice, her gaze bouncing between the rest of her team. When no one responded, Bess saw Garcia's biggest fear come to life. "You mean, you, he... No. No! You can't do that!" She shook her head, and Bess slowly lifted her gaze upon her.

        "Morgan was fired because of his inappropriate behavior. Would you like to follow him, or can we finally start debriefing?"

        Garcia looked at Emily with tears shining in her eyes, her mouth opened and closed without a single sound coming out, and the brunette woman gave her a sympathetic glance in return. Garcia started blinking rapidly as the tears unstoppably rolled down her cheeks. "I'm... I'm sorry. I... I need a minute," she whispered, then ended the call.

        "Floors were covered in rose petals," Bess continued without her focus wavering from the crime scene photos, not commenting on what just happened. She knew Garcia would react the way she did. She also knew the woman would probably hate her for the rest of her life for firing Morgan. But she also knew that she wouldn't leave.

        "Quite the romantic," Rossi scoffed, surveying the crime scene photos. "Evidence of sexual assault?" He looked at Bess for a moment, and she shook her head.

        "None."

        JJ took charge of the conversation, "Both women were last seen leaving their offices on a Friday and never showed up to work on a Monday."

        "It's Thursday. Why are we only being called in now?" Emily wondered, moving past the action-packed take-off.

        "The second body was only found yesterday."

        "There may be a socioeconomic pattern emerging," Reid noted as he read his copy of the case files. "The first victim, Bethany Heminger, lived in Belle Meade. Melissa Johnson in Brentwood. Both are affluent neighborhoods."

        Rossi opposed, "Yet there was nothing missing from either home."

        Bess read out from her files, "Bethany was a defense attorney, Melissa a corporate executive."

        "Two brunettes with similar features in high-powered professions? That's not a coincidence," Emily stated with a shake of her head, and Bess agreed with her.

        "These women most likely represent someone he knows," Rossi concluded.

        "All right, so we need to figure out where this UnSub is meeting his victims and how he's gaining access to their homes," Bess listed, recalling some of the first points she had learned from Rossi about how to start building a profile. "And if he's staying on pattern, most likely he has picked out his next target."

        "We should check gardeners, housekeeping staff, pool attendants, floral shops. See if anyone worked both homes."

        "Start working up a paper trail, Garcia," Bess told the blonde woman, who had joined their conversation a few minutes ago, once she pulled herself together enough to be able to focus on the task ahead. "Find out where these women were in the days leading up to each murder."

        "Like a genie in a bottle," she mumbled in a voice that lacked her usual enthusiasm, then ended the call, and Bess moved her gaze over the rest of the team.

        "All right. Prentiss, you and I are gonna go check out the Johnson crime scene. Rossi, you and Reid talk to the coroner and start working up victimology. Jareau, talk to the families and staff and find a connection we can use. Let's finish this case fast."

        She emerged from her seat to head to make herself a mug of tea in the kitchenette when Emily called after her, "I can work the crime scene with Reid if you want to go with Rossi instead."

        It caused Bess to pause in turning away, then slowly face the other woman. "Do you have a problem with checking out the crime scene with me, Prentiss?" She raised an eyebrow in question.

        "No, I... No." Emily averted her eyes, and Bess nodded back at her before walking off. That was what she had thought.

        She put on the electric kettle, then dived in rummaging through the tea bags in a paper box to find one to her liking when Rossi stepped beside her, drawing the curtains closed after himself. "Why did you do that?" he whispered angrily, causing the redhead to put down the box of tea bags and turn to look at the man.

        "If I remember correctly, you were the one telling me to act up against Morgan's picking on me," Bess remarked with knitted eyebrows.

        "That's not what I'm talking about. Why did you lie? There was no blowjob. There was nothing," Rossi declared, shaking his head. He was more than furious.

        No thanks to you, Bess noted but didn't say it out loud. She kept watching the senior agent for a while, then stepped closer, pointing behind his back. "Then go and tell them. Tell them I lied. It won't matter. They won't believe you. It will be just a poor attempt to clear your name."

        Rossi poked his finger into her chest, replying, "Which you tarnished, damn it!"

        "No, Rossi." Bess smiled, shaking her head. "You did it to yourself, the moment you hit on me. Yet you didn't care. So, why do you now?" She raised an eyebrow, noting his jaw tense with rage.

        "It's not about what they believe. Those are no more than speculations. But now you made it a fact and forced me into your lie, which you created without even asking for my permission. But you just don't care, do you?" He shook his head, and the disappointment in his eyes hit Bess hard in the chest. "First the lessons, now this. You use me like a damn pawn, and I let you because I... like you. Liked you," Rossi corrected himself, swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth.

        Bess couldn't say a word as she watched the man turn away. The only person she had a connection with around here. She would lose him for good if she didn't do something in the next three seconds until he reached the curtains.

        Her mind was numb from the painful truth in his words, but her legs carried her forward nonetheless, and her hand caught his right in time. She pulled and he turned, physics finishing the rest, placing her between his arms. "I'm sorry. Please, don't go," she asked, catching his eye for a second before he looked away, merely shaking his head. "Dave, please," Bess repeated, and her calling him by his nickname finally had the power to draw his attention.

        "You lied about this, what else?" Rossi questioned quietly, not even knowing why he was still there. She didn't deserve his forgiveness.

        "Nothing," Bess replied honestly, though he seemed not to believe her. "Rossi, I swear. I didn't lie to you. And I won't. I don't want to."

        He held her gaze as he whispered, "Why should I believe you?"

        Bess stared at the senior agent as her mind raced like a horse in the derby. How could she convince him? She saw only one way out, and maybe it still wouldn't be enough. She slowly lifted her hands from his chest, bringing them up, so he could see what she was doing. The silver ring on her right middle finger gradually got removed, and she placed it in his hand.

        She placed herself in his hand.

        It wasn't a lie. She had never taken the ring off before. Now she did. And he saw the truth in her eyes.

        "Goddammit, Sinclair," Rossi cursed, shaking his head as he took her hand into his own and pulled the ring back on. He interlocked their fingers before letting their hands fall beside their bodies; her face was so close to his that he saw his reflection in her eyes. "You owe me. You owe me so much more than a night together."

        Bess still couldn't find her voice as she nodded, though a wave of warm relief washed over her. She was off the hook. Rossi's gaze was locked on her fingers wrapped around his own while he got lost in his thoughts, and Bess didn't dare to break the silence. "Somewhere in the future, I'll need your help, Sinclair. And you'll come without a word. That's my price."

        "And what if I'm at the end of the world around that time?" she whispered, watching how his gaze fell onto her lips.

        He lifted his hand from the small of her back to cup her chin instead and turn her head up; the sudden closure made her breath hitch as she stared into the dark brown eyes. His nose almost touched her own. "Then you'll come back from the end of the world for me." His gaze lingered on her lips for a few seconds before adding, "Now finish that tea before the water gets cold."

        He turned away without another word, leaving the woman to stare after him with her cheeks flushed red; watching the curtains close after his figure as she finally exhaled her withheld breath.

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        ONCE THE JET ARRIVED IN Nashville, the team drove to the hotel in which JJ had reserved rooms, trying to catch a few hours of sleep before the previously teamed-up pairs went their separate ways in the morning. JJ started in the PD, meeting Landon Kaminski, the officer in charge of the investigation, and starting to work out a press release to warn every woman about this killer lurking on the streets.

        Rossi and Reid headed to the ME, where they learned that both victims bore not only defensive wounds inflicted during their struggle with the UnSub but also marks of an initial assault, designed to instill fear and ensure compliance. But this wasn't the most interesting part. According to the coroner, both women had eaten identical meals shortly before they died. Then there were the meticulously arranged rose petals and the carefully prepared romantic dinners, all leading to the same thing.

        The UnSub was playing out a deeply personal, almost ritualistic fantasy.

        At Melissa Johnson's house, Bess and Emily worked their way through the crime scene, sharing with each other what they had noticed. The security system hadn't been turned on, because Melissa believed the dog out front would be enough protection—its body was found in the garage in a container. The lack of signs of a forced entry and the crime scene's complication spoke of someone organized, yet the little care about leaving fingerprints all around the house told the opposite.

        They figured that the UnSub probably had no priors, and was most likely smart and educated. He had studied Melissa's routine, knowing when she would leave the house and return, just like he had known how much time he needed to spend in the house and planned accordingly. The two women came to the same conclusion as Rossi and Reid: the UnSub was repeating a fantasy—more like proper etiquette—which most likely ended in the bathroom, where the victims had been killed in both cases.

        When Bess arrived back at the PD with Emily later that afternoon, her phone started ringing once again, with Strauss' name flashing on the screen. She closed the driver's door of the SUV behind herself, then finally answered the call as she walked up to a bench and sat down. "Strauss! What a lovely surprise." Bess grimaced, pulling her silver cigarette case and lighter from her pocket.

        "You fired Morgan?" the section chief burst out while the redhead lit up.

        "I did."

        Strauss' voice was filled with rage as she declared, "You're not authorized to do that! Only the section chief can fire someone. And the last time I checked, that position is still mine."

        "I had good cause to fire him, Strauss," Bess remarked, blowing out the thick smoke. "Did he tell you the why, or should I?" When the woman didn't respond, she continued, "He implied that I suck for Rossi to get his support. And this wasn't his first attempt to humiliate me, but I don't care about that. What I do care about is the fact that he tried to incite the others to rebel against us taking this case. I won't tolerate someone like that on my team."

        After a few seconds of silence, Strauss spoke up, "He didn't mention any of that."

        "Of course, he didn't. No one would speak against their own good." Bess paused to take another drag. "So, what did you tell him?"

        "That I'll talk to you about it," the section chief muttered, then added, "He's a good man, Sinclair. They wanted him to lead the Field Office in New York, but he turned down the offer. He's smart and reliable. It would be a shame if we had to let him go."

        Bess didn't reply immediately, her eyes were fixated on the birds flitting between the branches of the tree ahead while she thought about her answer. She knew Morgan was a good agent. She had seen his files. She knew him more than she let on, for obvious reasons.

        "He will come back, you know," she said finally, taking another drag from her cigarette. "Eventually, but he'll come back. And I want to push him there. I want him to come back on his knees."

        "He won't beg, Sinclair," Strauss opposed with a hard tone.

        "He will. Send him home, and tell him not to come back until he's ready to work with me. That's my offer. Now, if you don't mind, I have a killer to catch." She ended the call without waiting for the woman's response, then put out her cigarette and headed inside.

        The rest of her team was already in one of the offices Detective Kaminski let them use for the case, seated around the conference table and connected to Garcia via video chat over a laptop. "Find anything?" Bess asked when she entered the room, stopping at the end of the table.

        JJ answered, "Several people had access to each home. Housekeeper, gardener, pool cleaner, dog walker. Each with their own key and an alibi to match."

        "Any crossover?"

        "None. We even vetted delivery people and utility workers." The blonde woman grimaced.

        Bess let out a tired sigh as she ran her fingers through her hair, then pulled out a chair and sat down. "Garcia, do you have anything?"

        "There's no hits on the prints at all. But I did what you asked and I created a paper trail. There's no crossover between the two victims themselves in the week leading up to their murders, but they did run in similar circles."

        "How do you mean?" Rossi asked with a frown.

        "They both have country club memberships, though to different clubs. They went to upscale restaurants, private concert venues, posh hotels. They enjoyed a high-class, highfalutin lifestyle, an expensive one," Garcia listed what she had gathered during the day.

        Emily noted, "A lifestyle he'd fit right into. This guy is educated, intelligent, proper. He's a downright gentleman."

        "The rose petals sent a pretty specific message," Bess agreed, glancing at the others. "He's romancing them whether they want it or not. And he's got the social skills to back it up."

        "Hey, Garcia, take a look at dating services and social networking sites," Reid asked, leaning forward in his seat to look at the blonde visible on the laptop screen. "Look for working professionals and privileged elite."

        "Check, check, and checkers. Back in a smidge," she bid farewell, then ended the video call.

        Bess sighed as she slumped back in her chair, "We need more."

        "Have you figured out how he's getting into these homes?" Rossi wondered as he rose from his seat to start pacing in the room.

        "No sign of forced entry anywhere." Bess shook her head.

        Emily continued, "Yet he's still gaining access to their homes long before the victims ever get home from work. I mean, this guy needs time to cook and set up his scene. He's either got a key or he can move through walls."

        "We need fresh eyes," Rossi muttered, and Bess didn't see another way to move forward with the case.

        "All right. I want everybody to go back to the hotel and try to get some rest," she told the team, noting the exhaustion in their eyes. "We're gonna have to pick this up again in the morning."

        "We're giving up?" Emily asked in a stunned voice, matching her expression.

        Bess shook her head. "No. We're just gonna take a break. We have to give the profile at morning roll and none of us has slept more than three hours since the funeral. Once Garcia can get us a paper trail, then we can expand our canvas. Till then, there's really not a lot we can do."

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        "WE BELIEVE OUR UNSUB IS already with his next victim. If he matches pattern, she'll be a successful woman, probably brunette, early 30s to mid-40s. She'll be at home in Nashville's upper echelon," Rossi started the briefing of the police personnel the next morning after they all gathered in the bullpen to hear the BAU's profile.

        "This means that he fits in. He drives the right car, he wears the right clothes. He's highly intelligent and probably comes from a place of status," Reid listed, leaning onto his walking stick.

        Bess continued, "This guy's sociable, and he's endearing. You would never suspect that this man is capable of murder, but he will do whatever it takes to protect the fantasy that he's trying to relive."

        "It's this fantasy which fuels his drive," Rossi explained. "He's recreating a romantic evening, repeating it with each of his victims."

        "He most likely recently had a relationship taken away from him. So, look at men who have lost loved ones or have gone through a messy divorce."

        Reid spoke up again, "Like Bundy, these women are representations of that first loss. Bundy picked victims who had similar features to the woman who abandoned him, and we believe that our UnSub is doing the exact same thing."

        "These women were confident, successful, and strong, and they fought back," Emily stated, "Which means he has the ability to overpower them fairly easily."

        "He believes or fantasizes he's in a relationship with these women. No matter how fleeting the initial interaction is, it's everything to him. An invitation," Rossi added.

        "Our technical analyst has compiled a list of locations that the victims visited prior to their death," Reid took over the conversation once again, "These are high-class establishments. We're going to want to visit the same places."

        Bess summarized, "So, look for men who fit the profile, but also women who match victimology. If somebody's been paying a little too much attention to them, talk to them, get a read, then jot their name down, so that we can check them out."

        "All right, folks, pick up your canvassing assignments and get to work," Kaminski ordered his men, and everyone went to work.

        It was almost noon when they got the call about another murder, so the team drove to the house which was already locked down with the familiar yellow police tape. "House belongs to an Erika Silverman. Project director in an international design firm. We're assuming the male victim is her boyfriend, Grant Franklin," Kaminski shared the news as they headed to the front door.

        "Male victim?" Reid wondered, his gaze falling onto the body covered with a sheet lying at the doorstep.

        "Mm-hmm. They're both pretty beat up. We'll need dental records for a positive ID."

        "Who called it in?" Bess questioned, glancing at Kaminski as the man led them into the house.

        "UPS guy. Needed her to sign for a package. The door was wide open. We got him out back," the detective replied, and Bess sent JJ away to talk to the delivery guy.

        "Where's Erika Silverman's body?" Rossi asked, then followed Kaminski upstairs into the bathroom.

        The UnSub had changed his MO this time, the woman's neck and face were covered in multiple stab wounds—signs of classic overkill. They also found evidence that Erika had sex before she died, and the lack of evidence of sexual assault suggested that she played along. She had sex with the UnSub because she thought it would keep her alive. But it didn't, and the only possible reason worth considering was the sudden arrival of the boyfriend, which must have disrupted the UnSub in his routine.

        While they were checking out the crime scene, Garcia had dug into Erika Silverman's credit card use, and surprisingly, found nothing. There was no payoff on the social networking sites, and she didn't leave a breadcrumb-like trail. Apparently, aside from a couple of online purchases and some automatic debits, she hasn't used her credit card all week.

        They had no trail to follow until Reid came up with the brilliant idea to check the GPS histories in all the victims' cars, as there might be a common location they all visited. Until the results came back, they headed back to the PD to go over the known facts once again, trying to find what was missing.

        "There has to be something in the victimology," Bess muttered, reading through the case files for the tenth time, yet she had known it word for word after the first time.

        Emily noted, "If Grant Franklin hadn't come home when he did, Erika would probably still be alive."

        "So, how did the UnSub miss him?" JJ wondered, flipping through the case files until she found what she was looking for. "It says he was out of town last week, visiting family in Indianapolis."

        "Still, the violence of those kills indicates he knew both victims."

        Rossi continued, "Because the longer our victims are with the killer, the more desperate the attack. The UnSub stabbed Erika Silverman 17 times in the face, Grant Franklin 34 times to the face and genitals." He grimaced.

        "It makes sense. The more he perfects his routine, the more invested he becomes," Reid explained.

        "Detective Kaminski, have your men had any luck canvassing the victims' last known whereabouts?" Bess looked at the man with an eyebrow raised, but he shook his head.

        "None. I'm thinking of pulling them off for the night."

        Bess immediately remarked, "That's a mistake."

        "Why is that?" The detective frowned. "The vic's dead. If he sticks to the pattern, we've got another week before he strikes again."

        "Because he's never gotten this far before. He's desperate to play out his fantasy. A man like this isn't gonna stick to any timetable. He's gonna try to finish this tonight," Rossi declared, and Bess agreed with him.

        She turned to look at JJ, saying, "Jareau, we need you on the news. Narrow victimology. Let people know that he's out there right now."

        "I'm on it," the blonde replied with a nod, emerging from her seat with her phone in hand.

        "We still don't know where he's finding his victims, though," Emily mumbled with a resigned sigh.

        All of a sudden, Reid sprung to his feet and stepped in front of the TV screen with a part of the city's map visible on it. "But we do know that Erika Silverman lived in Green Hills. That's three points and we finally have our geographical comfort zone. It's a good bet the UnSub lives somewhere in this area." The boy pointed out. "And Erika is our key to figuring out where they met."

        Not much time later Garcia called them up with good news. "I'm a real genius because this is what I did. I took the travel logs from the GPS systems and overlaid their routes against the geographical profile to reveal what the paper trail could not," she told them, showing on the TV screen how she divided the map into smaller sections, according to the women's visited locations.

        JJ wondered with a frown, "Which was?"

        "While Erika Silverman is the only victim who didn't visit a private club, a concert, or go to a fancy restaurant in the days leading up to her death, she did spend a couple of hours at Cheekwood Botanical Gardens on Tuesday."

        "Garcia, did either of the other victims go to the park?" Reid mused with knitted brows.

        "No."

        The boy shook his head. "I don't know if it's relevant, then."

        A knowing smile formed on the technical analyst's lips before she replied, "It is when her navigation system reads in a straight line. To work, back home, to work, back home. I don't think she ever left her house. She even had her groceries delivered."

        "What was she doing on Tuesday?" Bess wondered, looking at the others with a questioning look.

        JJ pouted before answering, "Let's find out."

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

        BESS WAS ALONE IN THE office, making herself a fresh cup of coffee when Rossi opened the door and came in. "Where is everybody?" he asked, watching her add some sugar and milk to her mug until it was full.

        "Well, Jareau and Reid are checking on a lead, and Prentiss is recanvassing with Detective Kaminski," Bess replied, then picked up a new mug from the pile. "Can I make you a coffee?"

        "Only if you keep your distance from the sugar and milk pots until you finish it," Rossi teased, drawing a smile on her lips as she filled the mug with plain black coffee, and then handed it over. "Thanks." He walked up to the conference table and sat on its edge, and Bess stepped in front of him. They sipped on their drinks for a while in silence, until Rossi spoke up, "Hotch got an offer from Strauss."

        It caused Bess' eyebrows to rise in surprise, though not because she couldn't figure out what the offer most likely was about, but because he had brought it up willingly. "Let me guess, she offered him retirement," she scoffed, and this time it was Rossi's eyebrows that arched in astonishment. "What? I'm not stupid. And this way the bi—Strauss could get what she wanted all along."

        "Why do I get the feeling you wanted to call her something else?" Rossi questioned with a smile, watching Bess let out a chuckle while tucking her hair behind her ear.

        "So, you talked to Hotchner. How is he?" She grew serious as she waited for the man's answer.

        "You can ask him that question yourself."

        Bess just shrugged with a small smile. "I offered him to call me. If he doesn't want to talk, I won't push it."

        "Yeah, it's probably not the best idea anyway. He heard that you fired Morgan," Rossi muttered, suddenly avoiding her eyes.

        "So?" She frowned upon his expression, causing the senior agent to let out a deep sigh but reach into his suit jacket nonetheless. He pulled out his phone, then after pushing a few buttons on it, handed it over to her. Bess read the message Hotch had sent, then looked up at Rossi. "And you didn't answer this?"

        "I didn't want to lie to him," he admitted, and Bess stared at him for long. Then before he realized it, she had written a reply and handed the phone back.

        "There. You didn't."

        Rossi read her answer, then looked up with surprise. "You told him? Why?"

        She shrugged. "He's your best friend. That's more important than some lie I used to embarrass Morgan. And I don't believe Hotchner would talk about it to anyone anyway, so—"

        Before she could have finished the sentence, Rossi's hands cupped her cheeks and then pulled her down, guiding her lips to his own. If it surprised Bess, she didn't show; her fingers disappeared in the man's hair as she leaned against his front, letting his hands slip onto her back to hold her close. One kiss followed the next until they both felt full, then Bess leaned her forehead against Rossi's while she caught her breath.

        "I-I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry," the man mumbled, averting his eyes in embarrassment.

        Bess stayed quiet for a while, then pulled back, gently guiding Rossi's head to catch his eye. "I believe we're even now," she noted, her fingers brushing the stray hairs back from his forehead with a small smile playing on her lips, then picked up her coffee mug and sat down at the table. "I was thinking about the profile. There might be an angle we haven't considered yet," she added, watching Rossi over the rim of her mug as she took a sip.

        "Which is what?" He raised an eyebrow, sitting closer with his mug in hand.

        Bess leaned back in her seat, declaring, "We profiled that our UnSub recently experienced a loss as well. A loved one, probably a brunette, who ran in the same circles as his victims."

        Rossi nodded in agreement. "Right."

        "What if love wasn't the only loss?" She suggested, causing the man to frown. "I mean, we assumed that because our UnSub could so easily navigate our victims' upscale world, he most likely shared the same financial resources as his victims."

        "Because of his upbringing and his sophisticated behavior."

        "But that behavior is ingrained in him. It's habit. It's something he would have learned as a child, not as an adult," Bess explained, watching Rossi's face as the gears turned in his head relentlessly.

        After a while, he concluded, "If he didn't have financial independence but were still trying to keep up his social status, he'd be hemorrhaging funds."

        "We've been looking at this the wrong way, Rossi. We vetted the maids, the gardeners, the pool cleaners. Anyone who had access to the houses. But who else might go unnoticed in a privileged society?" She raised an eyebrow, forming a proud smile on the man's lips.

        "Look at that. Someone really paid attention to my classes."

        Bess licked her lips with a chuckle. "Just because the teacher is hot like hell," she teased, sending Rossi a wink that drew a nice rose color to his cheeks before he dived in to pull his phone from his suit jacket and rang Garcia's number.

        "Garcia here."

        "Garcia, check employee records at each of the venues the victims visited in the week prior to their death," Rossi began, "Look for men spending beyond their means."

        "A guy who's racked up a lot of debt, Garcia," Bess added, "Look at cars, wardrobes, something that does not fit their current income level. A scholarship-funded private school education maybe."

        While they looked into this new angle, Reid and JJ discovered at the Cheekwood Botanical Gardens that Erika Silverman attended a corporate fundraiser between 4:00 and 7:00 PM on Tuesday, leaving her car to one of the valets to drive it down to the base of the park, so she wouldn't have to hike it up the hill. They quickly concluded that it was the perfect opportunity to access the woman's keys unnoticed and get turn-by-turn directions to her home.

        Thanks to Garcia, they quickly learned that Culpepper Valet Company handled the fundraiser on Tuesday, just like they had contracts with the hotel lounge Bethany Heminger frequented, and the country club Melissa Johnson was a member at. They found their connection.

        Bess sent Rossi and Emily to bring in the owner, so they could question him about the employees, while Bess, Reid, and JJ checked the list Garcia gathered about the upcoming events the company would handle, two of them occurring that night.

        The chat with the company owner bore fruit, they got a name: Joe Belser, who had been engaged up until a few weeks ago, when he found out that his fiancée was sleeping with the best man. They got the address of the event he was working at that night and his home address, so the team divided themselves into two groups and went to cover both places.

        En route, they learned from Garcia that Belser had attended Southern Charleston Preparatory Academy on scholarship, and his parents died in a boating accident six years ago. He had lost his inheritance in the stock market, and ever since then had been racking up debt faster than he could pay it off. He was engaged to Society Magazine editor Rose Smith until six weeks ago, when the wedding was called off, but the chapel had already been paid for. The guy literally spent his entire savings trying to live in the world of his fiancée, only to have her leave him and wind up penniless.

        In Belser's home, Bess, Rossi, and Emily discovered several universal garage door openers. The guy didn't even need to copy keys to gain access to the women's homes. It also clarified why his fingerprints had only been found on the interior garage doors. People rarely bother locking a door that's already beyond another locked door—a habit that works out well for thieves.

        In the meantime, JJ, Reid, and Detective Kaminski tried their luck to find Joe Belser at the event where he was working that night. They couldn't find him, but could get a hold of the list of VIP guests whose cars were parked down by a valet, so with the use of their profile, Garcia could narrow down the six-name-long list to only one. A woman called Ann Herron, who lived at 431 Pyle Street. They got him.

        Fortunately, they got to the house just in time, and Emily took the honor of knocking Belser to the floor, pressing her gun into his face while telling him, "Fantasy's over. Is that what you did to them? You hit them to shut them up and then forced them to play along with your sick delusion? You're finally gonna meet your soul mate, Joe. In prison. Only you're not gonna be able to push him around the way you did those women. And when he comes for you in the middle of the night, when you're least expecting it, you do me a favor. Play along."

        Bess gave the woman an appreciative look on the way out of the house, noting, "Well said, Prentiss," before she lit a cigarette and went to say her goodbye to Detective Kaminski. "How is she?" she asked Emily later, glancing after the ambulance that drove off with Ann in it.

        "She's strong. She'll make it," she declared as they walked up to their SUV. "But you don't survive something like that without scars."

        "Scars remind us where we've been. They don't have to dictate where we're going," Rossi remarked wisely, earning a smile from Bess as she offered him her half-smoked cigarette to finish off.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

        BESS' HIGH HEELS BRUSHED AGAINST the soft grass of the cemetery as she crossed the field of hundreds of marble tombstones, all having different colors and shapes. The sun beamed down at her from above, making her squint, yet she kept her eyes focused on the dark-haired man sitting on the stone bench under the large oak tree ahead. Hotch.

        She came to a stop in front of Haley's grave, noting that the ugly green marker hadn't been replaced with her headstone yet, then glanced at the man on the bench, pulling him from his thoughts as their eyes locked. "Rossi told me you're here," Bess explained her sudden appearance, and Hotch nodded back silently. She hesitated for a moment as the situation started to get awkward, but then pointed at the stone bench, asking, "Do you mind—"

        She didn't have to ask twice, he moved to his right, making her some room beside himself. Bess sat down, then crossed one leg over the other, looking around before her eyes eventually settled on Hotch. He was grim as always, his face expressionless as he kept his gaze on his folded fingers in his lap. The dark circles under his eyes silently confirmed that sleep had been evading him night after night, just like the deep lines crossing his cheeks talked about his deeply buried anxieties. It made him look years older than his true age.

        After a while, Bess dropped her gaze, biting her lip as she grappled with whether to speak or remain silent. She was acutely aware of the oddness of the situation—they were sitting over Hotch's dead wife, lying six feet under, after all—and she couldn't even call herself the man's friend, let alone try to offer him her comfort. Therefore, she did what she always did in awkward situations. She lit a cigarette.

        Bess didn't notice Hotch staring at her until the man cleared his throat, then stated in a stunned voice, "This is a cemetery."

        No shit, Sherlock, Bess thought, blowing out the thick smoke through her nostrils. "And statistically, about a third of the people buried here had smoked in their lives. So, if you look at it that way, I'm just... helping them relive some good memories," she explained, taking another long drag from her cigarette as she tried to keep a straight face upon Hotch even forgetting to blink while he kept staring at her.

        After a while, he finally looked away with an embarrassed flutter of his eyelids, and Bess kept watching him from the corner of her eyes. She took another long drag from her cigarette, choosing to stay quiet as she thought about her mother. Bess was five years old when the woman died in an armed street robbery, that they all knew wasn't a robbery at all. They just made it look like one, so there would be no questions asked later.

        She remembered the funeral. How could she ever forget it, being the first memory she could recall second by second? The doctors couldn't explain the sudden change in her mind, so they tried to sell it as a consequence of the trauma of losing her mother. Her father had literally just lost the love of his life, and then they dumped the news on him that from now on, his daughter's memory worked like a damn film strip. No wonder the man barely smiled afterward. The burden of reality was just too much to bear.

        Bess pulled herself from the memory, glancing at Hotch again. "You know, I bet you've been asked this a hundred times, and you've given the same answer every single time. So, let's just cut the crap." She leaned in slightly, her expression softening just enough to show him she meant it, "How are you really doing?" Hotch let out a tired sigh as he straightened up, but remained silent, so Bess added, "You don't have to worry about me judging you. I'm not your friends or family to do that."

        His eyes flicked to her face for a fleeting second before dropping back to his hands, muttering at last, "I can't sleep. I close my eyes and see myself—" He shook his head to get rid of the taunting picture. "And Jack... he just keeps rewatching the birthday videos he recorded with his mother. I'm going nuts at home," Hotch admitted, his tone almost too soft to hear. "But I have to be there for him because it's just him and me now. I've already missed so much of his life. I can't leave him alone. Not now."

        The words came out in one breath, putting him back in silence once it ran out. Bess didn't say anything as she reached into her handbag, pulling a pack of cigarettes from it—one she usually didn't offer to anyone. "Here, try this. It will help you sleep." She held out the pack for Hotch, but he shook his head.

        "I don't smoke."

        "We all have to go somehow." Bess shrugged, watching the man slowly take the pack in his hands and turn it between his fingers.

        He opened its lid, then furrowed his brows at the unusual colored and shaped cigarettes inside. "Are these—"

        "Marijuana cigarettes, yes. They will help with the dreams."

        "I can't take it." Hotch shook his head, pushing away the pack like he was afraid it was a trap waiting to pull him under.

        Bess observed him for a while but then accepted his choice with a silent nod. "So, what's your plan? Will you come back, or accept Strauss' offer and retire?" she wondered, watching Hotch stare down at Haley's grave. Why wasn't he surprised Rossi had told her about the offer?

        "I want to stay with Jack for a while. A few weeks. Until he gets used to the new situation," he declared, then turned his gaze at Bess. "Can you give me that? Can you give me time?" She nodded once again, then rose from the bench, pulling the man's attention after herself. "I thought about calling you," Hotch admitted, squinting up at Bess as she turned around, noting how the lights made her hair into a torch. "I just—"

        "You didn't know if I was occupied with Rossi at the moment," she concluded, a faint smile tugging at her lips, telling him she was only joking. With a casual motion, Bess set the pack of joints and her lighter down on the bench beside Hotch, giving him the option to change his mind if he wanted to. Then she was gone.

        Hotch stared at the pack for long minutes before finally giving in to his desires. He picked it up with the lighter and shoved it into his pocket as he also turned to leave.

author's note

Okay, I have to admit, I'm more than satisfied with how this one turned out🤭 Hope you liked it too, guys! The next chapter will be an original, so it will take more time to write, but I'll try to be quick! Thanks for reading this chapter!

reminder

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