CHAPTER 8:
CASANOVA
(5x14: parasite)

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        SHE CASUALLY LOOKED AROUND THE street before slipping into the back of the enormous black limousine parked across from the cafe—and she naively thought they tried to be discreet here. "Don!" The surprise in her voice matched the expression on her face when she found herself face-to-face with the man in the expensive Brioni suit. No wonder, she had been expecting someone else. Someone way lower in the chain of command.

        "Hello, Bess," the man in his 50s greeted the redhead, though he didn't tear his gaze from the newspaper he had been reading. "Sam is on vacation. Lucky him. Luckier you. Luckiest me." The corner of his lips curled up into a smile, a small wave of his hand invited her to join him on the J-shaped leather seating.

        Bess flashed her eyebrows upon accepting the new situation. A moment later she perched herself on the edge of the cushion beside the CIA director without saying a word aloud. He finally folded the newspaper and dropped it onto the opposite seat before turning his attention to his guest. With a casual movement, he laid his arm along the backrest, leaving her with no other choice but to play along. "How's Mary?" Bess scoffed, catching the man's eye when his arm locked her to his side.

        There was a brief pause in Don's answer. "Do you want to fuck with me, Bess?"

        "No."

        "Then stop asking about my wife. It might give me the wrong idea." He watched her face but she didn't show any signs of embarrassment, not even when he reached for her hair to tuck it behind her ear. "I see you got my Christmas present." He surveyed the diamond earring before his gaze met hers once again. "I believe this is when you say thank you," he added, drawing a mocking smile to her lips.

        Bess crossed her legs as she squirmed beside the man to get into a more comfortable position, no longer caring about his proximity. "I thanked my father. After all, it was his money you used to buy it," she sneered, yet it didn't affect him. Not even the slightest.

        "You know, Bess, this is what I adore in you. I could be the president himself, and you'd still talk back to me," Don chuckled, then reached beside himself and lifted a glass of champagne from the wooden table. "Now, be a good girl and drink." He held it out for her but earned only a disdainful glance in return.

        "You first."

        Don snorted loudly. "What? You think I'm gonna poison you?"

        Bess merely raised an eyebrow at that. "You really ask me that after everything I've seen from you? Please."

        "Ah, you're breaking my heart by saying that. I've never wronged anyone." The director shook his head, a sigh escaping his lips. "Fine. Don't drink it, then. It was indeed poisoned, after all." He rose, separating the glass from the others by placing it on another table, then sat back down beside her. "But not this one." Don lifted another glass of champagne. He took a quick sip before offering it to Bess.

        She shook her head in disbelief but accepted the glass nonetheless. "You're such an ass, Don. I hope you know that."

        "Come on, Bess! It was just a test. But don't worry, I wouldn't have let you drink it. What good could you possibly do for me if you're dead?" the man chuckled, then turned to look at his chauffeur. "Drive, Paul. And pull up the window, will ya?" He waited until they had their privacy, then turned back to the redhead. "Now, Bess, darling, it's time to tell me everything."

        She did tell him everything. And he was more than satisfied.

        Don dropped Bess off at another cafe just around the corner from her penthouse, where she went inside to buy a fresh cup of coffee for every team member before she made the five-minute walk home and drove to the BAU in her Mustang. First, she visited Garcia in her lair, then JJ in her office—where she was also introduced to Agent Russell Goldman from the San Diego Field Office, who brought them a new case—then surprised Morgan, Reid, and Emily, before finishing her tour in Rossi's, and then Hotch's office.

        The man was deep in work when Bess knocked at his doorway, his eyebrows rose in surprise as he looked up from his case reports. "Uh, Rossi is in the next office," Hotch noted when his gaze fell onto the paper cup in the woman's hand, believing she must have entered his office by mistake.

        Bess flashed her eyebrows as she grimaced. "Is it really such an unbelievable thing that I brought you coffee?" she wondered, perching herself on the edge of his desk and handing him the cup.

        "No." Hotch leaned back in his chair with a shake of his head. "Thank you." He took a sip, then set the cup of cappuccino down on the table. He was quiet for a few seconds before glancing back at her in confusion. "So, why exactly did you bring me coffee?"

        "Maybe because I brought one for everyone?" she replied, watching the man nod to himself before he took another small sip. Every movement of his seemed forced, and she couldn't help but laugh at how he didn't know what to do with himself. "How's your running going?" Bess changed the subject, and Hotch licked the coffee off his lips as he nodded.

        "Good. Good. I might actually go train outdoors when the weather gets warmer," he shared his plans, then—taking her question as a cue to ask one himself—raised an eyebrow. "You do some sports?"

        Bess shrugged with a smile. "I like rock climbing. And believe it or not, I run too. To the tobacco store when I'm out," she added, gladly noting it made a small smile cross his face for a second.

        "How do your lungs survive that?"

        "I'm a cat. I have nine lives to squander. Meow." Bess curled her fingers like cat paws and playfully swiped at Hotch, then pushed herself up from his desk with a laugh. "Come on, Hotchner. We have a new case. Don't expect me to purr for you." She walked out of his office and covered the short distance to the conference room where she sat down beside Rossi, and a minute later Hotch took the last empty seat between her and Morgan.

        Like clockwork, JJ rushed into the room, followed by the man Bess had met in the communication liaison's office earlier. "Everyone, this is Agent Russell Goldman from the San Diego white-collar team," she introduced him to the team, then pointed at the BAU agents one by one. "You've already met Agent Sinclair. These are Agents Rossi, Hotchner, Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid."

        "A pleasure." Goldman nodded with his lips pursed into a tight-lipped smile as he carried his gaze around.

        "So, we're working a white-collar case?" Morgan concluded, opening his copy of the case files JJ had quickly handed out to every team member.

        She shook her head. "Not exactly."

        While JJ fired up the TV screen to show them the crime scene photos, Goldman summarized the case for the team. "I've been following a con artist for five years. Two nights ago, I think he killed someone."

        Pushing a few buttons on the remote control in her hand, JJ brought up the images of a brunette woman lying on the wood flooring of her living room. "Carla Marshall of Miami was found dead in her home. Asphyxiation by strangulation. She also had trauma wounds to the head." She gestured toward the dark crimson stain where blood had matted the woman's hair. Her necklace hadn't been taken, telling Bess that it wasn't a robbery gone wrong.

        "Why do we think the con man killed her?" Reid wondered with a frown as he glanced at JJ.

        "Last week Carla contacted a fraud website to report a scam. The complaint ended up on Goldman's desk."

        The man explained, "We spoke on the phone at length. Her story matched my guy to the tee. She planned on confronting him that night. I told her to cease all communications and wait for me, I'd fly to Miami and set up a sting. But that never happened." A devastated sigh left Goldman's lips upon the unnecessary loss, and Bess bit down on her bottom lip as she looked down at her copy of the case files to take a closer look.

        "Do you have physical evidence confirming it's your guy?" Morgan questioned.

        "No, but for her to be murdered the night that we spoke... I don't think it was a coincidence," Goldman answered with a shake of his head.

        Hotch looked up from the reports in front of him. "There was no sign of forced entry, theft, or sexual assault."

        "And judging from the MO, the motive was personal," Reid added as he glanced back at Hotch over his shoulder.

        Bess turned her attention to Goldman, raising an eyebrow in question. "What's his hustle?"

        "Investment fraud," came the short answer. "Basically, he's a smaller Madoff." He grimaced, and Bess eyed him with growing interest.

        JJ continued, "To give you an idea of how convincing he is, this is a sampling of his work going back 14 years." She pushed more buttons on the remote control, opening the map of the United States and displaying several photos of couples and single women who had fallen victim to the man's cons, all linked to different cities. There were several strikes on the West Coast in large cities like Los Angeles and San Francisco, then he moved to the East, hitting cities like Denver, Dallas, and Houston, before ending up in Florida. There were at least 25 photos displayed on the TV screen, with an unknown number still unaccounted for.

        "He's prolific," Reid muttered, flashing his eyebrows.

        "He's scammed hundreds of thousands of dollars from people, but he's never been violent before," Goldman highlighted, and his expression told Bess that he had no idea what caused the con man to fall off his track all of a sudden.

        Rossi commented, "Con men usually don't murder, but when they do, it's to conceal their crimes."

        "Con man's a nice name for these guys," Morgan scoffed with a grunt. "They profile as psychopaths."

        Reid explained, "They see their cons as theater and themselves as a sort of puppeteer. They have to have absolute control over their victims and their cons."

        "Maybe that's why he started killing," Emily guessed. She arched an eyebrow in question. "Because he lost control?"

        "The question is, how out of control is he?" Morgan muttered, flipping through the pages of the case files.

        Hotch quietly noted beside Bess, "Well, if he's spiraling, he's a danger to everyone around him."

        "And because he's so charming, the victims never see it coming," Rossi concluded with a grimace, and Bess could only agree with him.

        "Alright, everyone. See you on the jet in 30 minutes."

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        "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU GUYS have your own jet," Goldman muttered as he leaned forward—practically in Rossi's lap—to peer out the tiny window beside his seat. Stepping out of the jet's kitchenette with a mug of tea in hand, Bess caught the senior agent's stunned expression as he stared at Goldman, who clearly had no concept of personal space.

        "You're making friends? That's sweet," she scoffed after the man pulled back and made his way to the couch where JJ sat. She smirked down at Rossi. "Did he smell good?"

        "Eat me," he shot back, earning a chuckle from the redhead as she walked past him. She perched herself on the armrest of Hotch's seat just in time to hear Emily teasing their guest about the team taking turns piloting the jet, making him believe he could actually try it before killing off his enthusiasm by revealing that he couldn't.

        Bess brought her cup to her lips to conceal her smirk, her gaze flickered to the case files spread open in front of Hotch as Morgan turned his attention to Goldman. "What kind of forensic countermeasures does he use to hide his trail?"

        "Fake IDs, disposable phones, prepaid credit cards, foreign bank accounts."

        JJ wondered, "You can't track his accounts overseas?"

        "We can, but it takes months to get the records, and it only takes him seconds to transfer money again and again," Goldman grunted angrily.

        Bess flashed her eyebrows, totally understanding his problem. "By the time you figure out it's in the Bahamas, he's already moved it to Switzerland or somewhere else."

        "I've always been too far behind him," the man let out a devastated sigh as he slumped back into the couch cushion beside JJ.

        "Well, we're a lot closer now because of Carla," Emily reminded him, then asked, "What made her suspicious in the first place?"

        "She needed to get her father into a retirement home, and when she called this guy, Grant Dale, to free up her money, he never returned her phone calls."

        Morgan noted, "A con man's first instinct is flight, not fight."

        "What makes him kill, though, isn't financial. It's psychological," came Rossi's response from behind Bess, and she looked over her shoulder to see the man now standing behind Hotch's seat.

        "That's what we need to concentrate on. Why Carla and why now?" Hotch muttered, and Bess agreed with him.

        She nodded toward Emily and Morgan, who were sharing the double seats on the opposite side of the club suite's table. "Morgan and Prentiss, go to her house. Agent Goldman, why don't you join them?" Her gaze moved to the man sitting on the couch.

        He looked almost offended by her suggestion to sideline him from his own case. "I sent his case files to the Field Office. Shouldn't I stay with you and help you sift through them?"

        "I'd like to go through them independently. Come up with our own theories, see if any behavioral patterns emerge that'll help us get ahead of him," Bess explained plainly. Then, as if to signal that the matter was settled, she rose from the armrest and took a seat with Rossi behind the club suite for the rest of the flight.

        Once the jet touched down in Miami, the two teams parted ways. Bess, Hotch, Rossi, JJ, and Reid were led through the PD and into the room where Agent Goldman's files were stored—and it was a close call not to faint when they saw the ceiling-high stacks of boxes. Goldman wasn't joking. He put more effort into this case than Bess had ever seen from anyone before.

        "You're kidding me," Rossi groaned loudly as they stood before the endless stacks of case files.

        "White-collar cases often come down to a paper trail," Hotch muttered but only earned a sharp glance from Rossi as his cue to shut up.

        Reid seemed excited though. "Maybe it won't be so bad." He gulped, shrugging at their stunned faces. "I mean, at least it's well organized."

        Bess ran a hand through her hair in resignation. "All right. Rossi, you and I will work on victimology. Reid, see if you can spot any patterns in his travel history. Hotchner, JJ, get a timeline up on the board. Thanks." With that, she strode to the nearest stack of boxes and lifted the one from the top.

        While they buried themselves in paperwork, Emily, Morgan, and Agent Goldman drove to Carla Marshall's house. A quick look around told Emily that Carla worked as a real estate agent. Though she had fallen victim to their UnSub, she wasn't nearly as wealthy as the others. Her house was modern and well-kept, but far from a mansion. According to Goldman, Carla hadn't invested as much as the other clients either.

        Morgan checked the woman's laptop and quickly found the website the UnSub had used to lure Carla in. It was a simple one-page site, selling the fantasy of success with minimal effort. Something about its design caught Morgan's attention, so he reached out to Garcia. As always, she worked her magic, uncovering nine identical websites—each operating under a different name. It seemed their UnSub was running at least ten different aliases, all at once.

        "The CIA assigns an agent two or three aliases at most. Any more than that, and it's difficult to keep the names straight," Rossi explained after Morgan relayed over the phone what Garcia had discovered.

        Bess flashed an eyebrow as she scanned the laptop screen in front of Reid, watching him flip between the websites. Daniel Brady, financial advisor. David Burke, Investments Inc. Frank Jones, Capital Management Inc. The names changed, but the details stayed the same. "This guy's juggling ten," she remarked, leaning back in her chair and glancing up at Rossi. "That's not just confidence. That's a full-blown ego trip."

        She could have done it. She could have run under a hundred names at once if she wanted to. But she preferred her own. In the end, they all took it to the grave anyway. No loose ends left.

        "Being all these people, that's gotta start fracturing him somehow," Rossi noted, glancing back at the whiteboard where he had begun writing down the aliases along with their company names.

        Reid nodded in agreement. "If his memory is strained, it could be causing him to lose control."

        "We have the current aliases. We just need to know who the clients are," Hotch remarked before they all turned to look at JJ as she hurried into the room.

        "Got Carla's phone records." She waved the sheets of paper in hand before handing them to Bess. "She made several calls to an unknown number the night she died. I tracked the number. It was a disposable phone that hasn't been used since."

        Rossi said, "That's gotta be the UnSub's number. He tossed it after he killed her."

        Bess felt Hotch's gaze on the side of her face as she scanned the phone records, quickly discovering a connection. "Over the past few months, she routinely called this number really late at night."

        "How late?" Reid frowned.

        She licked her lips. "Like bedtime late."

        "You don't do business with your investment manager at bedtime," Hotch noted with knitted eyebrows.

        Bess barely suppressed a smirk. "Depends on the kind of return you're expecting." She turned towards him, catching him still looking. "What? I'm just saying."

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        THE PHONE CALL HAD COME earlier than the alarm clock could have gone off in Bess' hotel room the following morning. There had been another murder overnight. Frank McKelson, a man with more than enough money to burn, had his head bashed in on his luxury yacht. His wife had found him sprawled on the floor of the lounge, his face beaten into an unrecognizable pulp. A checkbook and pen were left on the coffee table beside two glasses of scotch, as if Mr McKelson and the UnSub had been in the middle of signing a check when things went horribly wrong.

        The wife, stricken with guilt, believed she was to blame for her husband's death. After all, she was the one who had brought the man they had known as Randy Sommerland into their lives—and, just like Carla, she'd received a little extra attention when it came to her and her husband's money.

        While Rossi, Emily, and JJ were away to check out the crime scene with Agent Goldman, Reid and Morgan continued uncovering more victims in one office, and Bess and Hotch did the same in another. Well, that wasn't entirely true, since by the time Bess came back from a cigarette break, Hotch had vanished from the room.

        Thinking he must have stepped out to the bathroom, she took her seat again and pulled another stack of files in front of her. Barely ten minutes later, a paper cup was set down next to her opened file, and Bess looked up with a startled expression. "And I thought you got stuck in the bathroom," she scoffed, reaching for the takeaway coffee, but Hotch got there first. "What—" She frowned, watching him remove the lid before her eyes widened in surprise. "Is that... a cat? You got me a coffee with a cat art on it?"

        He merely shrugged as he took the seat beside her. "Yesterday you said you're a cat." He lifted his coffee to his lips, hiding his smile.

        Bess stared at Hotch in silence for a moment before bursting into laughter. "So, why exactly did you bring me coffee?" she recalled his words from yesterday morning, playfully eyeing him over the rim of her cup.

        "Thought I'd return the favor."

        "Oh, but there's another way you could do that," she teased, deliberately turning back to her paperwork.

        Hotch nearly choked on his coffee as he realized what Bess meant. Fortunately, her phone rang just in time to spare him from having to respond. He quickly lifted his cup to his lips again, watching as the redhead answered Rossi's call. They talked for a while, then she stood up from her seat and pocketed her phone. "The UnSub just burned another alias. Randy Sommerland."

        Hotch didn't need to hear more. He emerged from his seat as well, and they walked into the next office where Reid and Morgan had been working. "He just burned another alias," he repeated Bess' words to the pair, stepping in front of the whiteboard and crossing Randy Sommerland's name off it.

        Morgan put down the case file from his hands with a sigh. "You know, if this guy's on a mission to eliminate all these aliases, he's gonna systematically assassinate his victims."

        "Carla lived in Miami. This victim, Frank McKelson, lived north in Fort Lauderdale," Bess pointed out on the map pinned to the board next to the sketches of the UnSub. "The victims could be anywhere in South Florida."

        "If he's working harder because of the economy, it makes sense that he would expand his operating zone," Reid chimed in with a frown.

        "Prentiss, Rossi, and Jareau are on their way back. We need to give the profile."

        While Morgan moved to stand up, the boy continued, "You know, there's something else about San Diego." He sprung to his feet and stepped in front of another whiteboard, which displayed how much time the UnSub had spent in different cities. "I noticed in his earlier crimes that he only stays in each city an average of 14 to 18 months. Then he's in San Diego for three and a half years and then never in the same city for that long again."

        "All right, so what is it about San Diego that made him stay longer?" Morgan wondered, and Bess looked at Hotch, observing his hard stare at the numbers on the board.

        "Keep following that, Reid. See where it takes us," he told the boy finally, then led the way out of the office.

        Once Rossi, Emily, and JJ arrived back at the PD, Bess asked Agent Goldman and the Miami police personnel to gather in the bullpen and listen to their profile. "This UnSub is a white-collar con man who embodies what behaviorists call the 'dark triad'. Narcissism, Machiavellianism, and aberrant self-promotion," Hotch began the briefing.

        "What that means is that everything revolves around this guy," Morgan continued, "He manipulates and exploits others using dishonest tactics, and he's become a menace to society."

        "He's also what we call a Casanova con man," Rossi revealed the next point of their profile. "He seduces women to get to their money."

        Bess noted, "It's standard behavior for him to have casual sex with multiple partners and then use that as a weapon to accomplish his goals."

        "We have his sketch." Morgan lifted one of the detailed drawings portraying the man they were looking for. "And here on the board are his aliases." He pointed at the names and companies listed behind Rossi and Emily.

        She took over the presentation next. "He frequents high-end venues. Country clubs, hotel bars, and membership-only establishments."

        "And notify the banks." Goldman turned back in his seat to look at the policemen and women standing behind him. "He's constantly moving money, opening and closing bank accounts."

        Morgan said, "He's active in Miami and Fort Lauderdale, but he could be in other wealthy communities, too."

        "Look at places like Boca Raton or Coral Gables," Bess suggested.

        "He has too many aliases in his head right now and it's causing him to fracture mentally."

        "And it's this loss of control that triggers his violence and makes him dangerous to be around," Morgan added to Emily's statement.

        Hotch finished, "And any additional stress will make him more likely to attack. Thank you."

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        LATER THAT DAY, BESS WAS having lunch with Rossi, Hotch, and Reid in the office where they had set up base the day before when Agent Goldman marched in. "Agent Jareau said you have something," he directed his words to Reid, while Rossi sipped on his coffee, Hotch finished his burger, and Bess ate the last bites of her taco.

        The boy nodded, putting down his sandwich. "I spoke to his victims. Before San Diego, they described him as driving exotic sports cars. After San Diego, they described him as driving larger sedans and SUVs. Before San Diego, he lived in condos and referred to them as 'bachelor pads'. After San Diego, he spoke of living in gated communities with large yards."

        Rossi raised an eyebrow at Goldman. "What forces a man to stay put in one place for a while, downgrade his car, upgrade his house?"

        The man looked confused. "You think he has a family?"

        "These are lifestyle changes a new dad would make," Bess emphasized, then patted Rossi on the thigh and pointed at the bottle of Coca-Cola in front of him to pass it over.

        "Why would he start a family?"

        "Because he wants to appear normal, and a family does that for a psychopath," Hotch explained as he glanced up at Goldman.

        Rossi continued, "Wives usually serve a purpose. As a caretaker or homemaker."

        "They value their offspring as an extension of themselves, and it also feeds their narcissistic ego," Reid remarked.

        "These are interesting theories, but how does this help us?" Goldman frowned.

        Bess leaned back in her seat, taking a sip from her drink. "As a forensic countermeasure, con men put everything in their wives' names. Bank accounts, cars, homes."

        "And if his wife isn't complicit in his crimes, she'll still be using her real name," Reid clarified.

        Rossi nodded at the boy before turning his gaze back on Goldman. "If we find the wife, we can find the UnSub."

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        BESS DIDN'T SEEM TO NEED an alarm clock anymore—once again, it was her ringing phone that woke her the next morning. They began the new day with yet another murder, just like yesterday. This time, a blonde woman called Lorraine Horton had been found in a ditch near Fort Lauderdale, suffering massive blunt-force trauma to the head, just like the other victims before. Lorraine was the UnSub's second victim in two days, which told the BAU team that his fracturing was intensifying, and he was most likely capable of anything now.

        The question remained: why hadn't he moved on from Fort Lauderdale after murdering Mr McKelson? The most obvious reason was his family still living in the area. That was why he tried to eliminate any threats. He needed to protect his identity. This helped narrow down the search for Garcia, she only had to look at women living in the area for the past 8 to 12 months, and maybe even had some connections to San Diego.

        While she delved into compiling a list of these women, Bess went with Rossi to gather some background information on Lorraine Horton from his bank's manager. It turned out that the woman recently came into more money after her mother had passed away, and she sold the house for a pretty decent price.

        "Wasn't the first victim in real estate?" Rossi turned to Bess with an eyebrow raised once they learned this new information from the bank manager, and she silently nodded back at him. They just found their much-needed connection between the victims.

        "We've been asking ourselves how he finds his victims now," Rossi began when they arrived back at the PD with Bess and joined the others around the conference table.

        She continued, "We just found out that Lorraine got a large windfall from selling her mother's house. Carla Marshall, the first victim, was in real estate."

        "When you sell a house, your property becomes public record. Your name goes on these lists," Rossi explained with a wave of his hand, brows furrowed.

        "Lists compiled by lead brokers and sold to the real estate companies," Agent Goldman confirmed, nodding in agreement.

        A second later JJ picked up her ringing phone from the table. "Hey, Pen." She put the phone on speakerphone.

        "Oh, man, it is raining snipe all up in here. Did you know that your boat owners, Frank and Dina McKelson, sold a house in Hawaii about 8 months ago?"

        "Do any of them have a direct connection to Carla Marshall?" Reid questioned.

        "Ah, Carla generated these letters advertising the swanky beachfront condos her company sells. Stay with me," Garcia asked, then quickly revealed what she had stumbled upon, "Lorraine Horton, the lady who was murdered this morning, her address, along with the McKelsons' address, are buried in a spreadsheet in Carla's laptop."

        Bess leaned back in her seat with a small wave of her hand. "That's how the UnSub found his victims. He used Carla to get her leads."

        "That's why he targeted her," Emily concluded.

        "She gave him access to a list of people with a large amount of liquid assets," Morgan muttered, now seeing through the UnSub's logic.

        JJ said, "We need that list."

        "Already flying to you," Garcia commented. "But that is not all, folks. I think I may have found the wife. I did a search on women who've lived in Fort Lauderdale for the last 8 to 12 months, who rent houses and cars, and who have a history in San Diego. Came up with about a dozen names but, ooh, la la, only one of them works in real estate."

        "Who?" Bess raised an eyebrow.

        "Her name's Rebecca Hodges. She has a 9-year-old son, John Davison Hodges, born in San Diego. Father on birth certificate listed as William Hodges."

        Goldman burst out upon hearing the name, "William." He had believed that was the UnSub's real name, as during his early cons, he always introduced himself as Bill or Billy.

        "I got the address of the house she's renting, too," Garcia declared.

        Bess moved to rise from her seat. "Alright. Let's head over there. Morgan, pull the son out of school. Jareau and Reid, go over the list of potential victims. If anybody knows the UnSub, send units to them."

        Going to the son's school, Morgan had to face the fact that William had beaten him there and picked up the kid before he could. Emily drove with Agent Goldman and an extra unit to the Hodges' house but found no one at home, so she asked Garcia to pinpoint the wife's cell phone to see where she might have gone. To everyone's great surprise, Rebecca went to visit a woman called Brooke Sanchez, who had also been listed as a potential victim with her husband.

        Bess sat in the front passenger seat with Hotch driving and Rossi in the back of the SUV when her phone started ringing. She put the call on speaker. "Yeah, Reid?" The boy quickly summarized what they had found, then told her the exact address where they needed to go. "Okay, I got it. Direct everyone to the Sanchez house. Thanks, Reid."

        "What's the wife doing at a victim's house?" Rossi mused, leaning forward between Bess and Hotch with a surprised look on his face.

        "Were we wrong about her?" Hotch asked back. "Do you think she's complicit?"

        Bess shook her head, joining their conversation. "I don't think so. If she was, he'd use her in the con. Turn left in the next intersection." She pointed at the GPS screen on the dashboard.

        They arrived at the Sanchez house at the same time as Emily and Agent Goldman. "We got a car down the street and one in the driveway," Rossi muttered after they took a quick look around, comparing the cars' plates with the ones written down in his notebook. "Both plates match the wife's name."

        "Remember, there's a 9-year-old boy in there, and I wouldn't put it past him to hurt his own family," Hotch warned them quietly as he surveyed the house.

        "Or himself," Bess added with a flash of her eyebrows as they moved towards the front door. "We'll take the front."

        "Okay, we'll take the back," Emily said with a nod. She then turned to Agent Goldman and asked him to follow her as they circled the house to the back.

        Before Bess, Hotch, and Rossi could reach the front door, it burst wide open, and William Hodges rushed out, dragging his son by the arm. Bess immediately reached for her gun, and a second later, she had a clear shot at the man's head. "FBI! Put your hands in the air!" she shouted in unison with Rossi and Hotch, causing the UnSub to stop in his tracks.

        A moment later the wife appeared at the door as well. "Oh, my God!" she cried out when her gaze fell upon the BAU agents, but then quickly moved back on her husband's back. "Bill, let him go!" she shouted, then lost her voice when Emily hurried forward from behind her, pointing another gun at William.

        "Let the boy go to his mother and put your hands up," Hotch ordered the UnSub, but he kept searching for a way out of the vice, though in vain. He just couldn't see it yet.

        "You must be tired, keeping up with all these lies. You don't need to do this anymore," Rossi told him, guiding his aim at the man's chest.

        William looked around a few more times before coming to the conclusion that there was no escape for him from the situation. He would end up in handcuffs, one way or another. He finally looked down at his son, quietly asking him to go to his mother. "Don't do that!" Bess shouted at him when his right hand got dangerously close to his pants pocket. "Take your hands out of your pockets!"

        But he didn't obey her, and Agent Goldman couldn't wait any longer.

        The bullet struck William in the chest, and he collapsed to the ground, exhaling his last breath on the driveway. Hotch quickly moved to check his purse, only to discover that William hadn't reached for his gun, but his cell phone. Bess glanced over her shoulder at Goldman, who was still reeling from the realization that he had fallen for the UnSub's trap, killing him instead of sending him to prison for the rest of his life. The case was over, and Bess let the Miami PD do the rest of the work here. They did their part, and now it was time to go home.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

        BESS HAD RECEIVED THE SAME message from Garcia as all the other BAU agents, asking her to come into the office as soon as possible. Believing there might be another case that brooked no delay, she quickly dressed and drove to the BAU headquarters. It was Sunday evening, the place was as deserted as a ghost town. But when she stepped out of the elevator and entered the bullpen, she noticed that the lights in the conference room were turned on and her coworkers had already been inside.

        "What's going on?" Bess asked when she hurried into the room, then her jaw dropped to the floor at seeing all the decorations.

        "Happy Valentine's Day!" Garcia cheered, hurrying over to the redhead with a glass of rosé champagne, which she accepted without being able to make a sound. Garcia was dressed head-to-toe in pink—dress, cardigan, high heels, everything—feathery angel wings fluttered behind her, and a matching pink Gloria headband sat atop her head.

        The room was decorated the same way, causing Bess to raise an eyebrow. "You did this?"

        "Yup. Do you like it? I thought since February is such a sad, gray, and soul-sucking month, I'd take it upon myself to inject some much-needed romance into our cold, case-file-ridden lives. We have champagne, tons of chocolate, cookies, cake, and sweets, you can take pictures before the 'Love my coworker' wall, oh, and we'll play a game of 'Who's my Valentine?' too."

        Before Bess could even make a sound, Garcia had already rushed over to Emily and JJ, excitedly instructing them on which cookies to try first. Left momentarily adrift, Bess glanced around the room before finally making her way over to Rossi and Hotch, who stood chatting in one corner. "I see Cupid got you," she said, a smirk tugging at her lips as she reached up to wipe the smeared lipstick from Rossi's cheek where Garcia must have kissed him.

        "Thanks," he muttered, then turned back to Hotch, who reluctantly tore his gaze from Bess' plaid, tricolor wool skirt and met his eyes instead. "I'm gonna get us some cake. Here, drink, Aaron," Rossi added, shoving his glass of champagne into Hotch's hand. He gave Bess a wink before striding over to the conference table, where the food and drinks were laid out.

        "Well, cheers, Hotchner!" Bess lifted her glass of champagne then took a sip, and Hotch did the same as he surveyed the side of her face. She must have sensed it, because pretty soon she turned back towards him, and he wasn't fast enough to look away. "What?" Bess frowned, and Hotch tried to come up with an explanation, though he himself didn't know why he had been staring at her. She was just so beautiful.

        He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, shaking his head. "Uh, nothing. I was just thinking that you're getting better at the job. From what I saw earlier," he added, trying to make the save sound less like an excuse.

        "Oh, well, thanks. But Rossi helped a lot." Bess smiled, waving at the senior agent with her head.

        "I heard," the words slipped out of Hotch's mouth before he even realized it, and Bess arched an eyebrow in response.

        "Really? What else did you hear?" she asked, her full attention now on him, and Hotch could have punched himself in the face for letting that slip.

        He was still trying to figure out how to respond when, fortunately, Rossi returned with three slices of cake. "Did I miss something?" The senior agent frowned, handing a plate to Bess while his gaze bounced between the two.

        "No," Hotch declared, quickly grabbing one of the plates from Rossi and diving into his cake. "Hmm, you should try this. It's really great," he mumbled. Bess exchanged a look with Rossi, and before Hotch could even blink, both of them burst into loud laughter. "What?" He scowled, looking between them. Neither of them answered, but they each took a bite of the cake he had just described as 'really great'. It was, indeed, delicious.

        But she liked the barely visible pink blush on his cheeks better.

author's note

Finally, another update for this book! Even though it took me forever to finish, this chapter ended up being pretty short, and I'm not sure how satisfied I am with it. I should have posted it on Valentine's Day if it had been ready by then, but oh well. Anyway, I hope you guys still liked it! I just can't get enough of clueless Hotch 🤭

As you've probably noticed, updates will be less frequent for a while. I have a lot of work this semester at the university, and I need to focus on that first. But I'll try to keep updating this book every two weeks. Hopefully, that will work!

Ps.: I've also added an extra face claim to the intro chapter as the CIA director since he might appear more often in the story later on.

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