" Murder is unique in that it abolishes the party it injures so that society must take the place of the victim, and on his behalf demand atonement or grant forgiveness. "

— W.H Auden

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

12.1 ; A REAL RAIN.

THE FIRST THING CAROLINE noticed as she entered the FBI field office was the sweet smell of flowers. Her heels tapped against the tiled floor as she approached her desk. She paused for a moment when she saw Elle, JJ and Garcia gathered around her desk, murmuring amongst themselves. They seemed to be attempting to get a peek into Hotch's office window, but the blinds were drawn shut.

"Hey, guys," she said casually to the women circling around her desk, "what are you doing?"

The sound of Caroline's voice jarred them, all three of the women whipping their heads around to face the young blonde girl, who was watching them with a patient expression.

"I was—we were just..." Garcia brushed profusely under her neon-colored makeup. "Nothing. We are doing nothing."

"Nothing looks strangely like something," she teased the tech analyst. "Seriously, what are you guys up to?"

All three of the women cast each other panicked glances. She could see they were mentally debating to themselves who would cave first. Caroline placed her hands on her hips as she waited.

Finally, it was JJ who spoke up, but instead of offering an explanation, she turned and gestured to Caroline's desk, her pale face flushed. "Look! Flowers!"

Surely enough, resting on top of her desk was a bouquet of blood-red roses. The green stems were wrapped in filmy white tissue paper and tied with a dark red satin ribbon in an elegant loop. She stared at the flowers, confused, her nose crinkled as the sickly sweet smell of roses flooded her senses.

Elle grinned at her suggestively. "Something you want to share with the group, Caroline?"

She frowned at Agent Greenaway as she brushed past the women to set her bag on her desk beside the mysterious roses. She carefully picked up the bouquet in her arms and ran her fingers through the silky petals, searching for a card or a note. There was nothing.

Morgan, who had been sitting with his feet propped on his desk as he watched with curious amusement, leaned back in his chair and locked his fingers behind his head.

"Looks like our very own princess has a secret admirer," he teased as his eyes wandered to the flowers she held in her arms. "So who's the lucky guy?"

"Guy?" She blinked, taken aback. "There's no guy."

Spencer, who had been uncharacteristically quiet this morning, stared at the roses in her arms with wary eyes, almost as if the flowers personally offended him in some way.

"Sure looks like there's a guy," he muttered, his voice sounding almost disappointed.

"Well, there's not!" She exclaimed, tossing the bouquet on her desk in frustration. "There's no one."

Garcia smirked and nodded her head to Hotch's closed door. "Then why is there a hottie in Hotch's office who's been asking for you all morning?"

"What?"

As if he had overheard their conversation, Hotch swung open his office door and stepped into the bullpen. He saw Caroline standing at her desk, wide-eyed and confused, before he gestured to someone in his office, "She's here now."

Soon after, a man stepped out of the unit leader's office and her breath caught in her throat. His well-trimmed, close-cropped hair was midnight black and his eyes were dark brown, framed by dark, managed brows. His skin was evenly tanned from years of being outdoors. He had prominent cheekbones and a well-defined chin and nose. Even from underneath the expensive grey suit he was wearing, she could see his muscles rippling under the tight fabric.

Caroline gasped.

"Tyler?"

"Goldilocks!" The man bellowed, a huge grin erupting on his face. He leaped over the stairs gracefully as he crossed the distance between the two of them with two long strides. He tackled her into a bear hug, his muscled arms squeezing her tightly to his hard chest. Taken aback, she slowly reached up and patted his back awkwardly, unsure of what was going on.

A moment later, she pulled away from him, but he kept his hands latched to her shoulders, holding her close to him.

"It's been years, Care," the man said as he held her away at arms length, his gaze staring her up and down. "You've grown up since high school. I didn't think it was possible for you to get any prettier."

She felt her face flush. "You've grown as well!" She glanced towards his lumbering muscles and well-tailored suit. "Congratulations on getting into Harvard. It's a great law school."

"Thanks! I suppose I should extend congratulations to you as well. Chris told me that you're almost finished with your doctorate in behavioral science at Georgetown." He flashed her another smile, showing off his bright white teeth.

Behind her, she heard someone clear their throat and she stepped away from the man immediately, avoiding the questioning gazes of her coworkers. She could feel their eyes burning into her with a million questions. Ones that she didn't want to answer.

"Guys, this is Tyler Lockwood, an old friend from high school." Her voice paused slightly over the word friend. She hadn't seen him in years, so friend was a better fit than the alternative.

Tyler gave the team a confident smile as she gestured to the team, introducing them individually, "Tyler, this is JJ, Elle, Penelope, Morgan and Reid. You've already met Hotch before."

She casted the unit leader a scathing look from behind Tyler's back and he shrugged at her, just as taken aback by his sudden arrival as she was.

If she remembered correctly, after high school, Tyler moved California State on a football scholarship before being accepted into Harvard. What was he doing in Quantico, Virginia?

"It's nice to meet you all," he said with even politeness.

Garcia bounced forward and eagerly shook the young man's hand, her face bubbling with excitement. "Hi, I'm Penelope Garcia, the team's technical analyst and also Caroline's best friend. It's so nice to meet her..." She trailed off, smiling expectantly with hopeful eyes for him to finish.

Smooth, P.G., Caroline thought to herself, Real smooth.

"Friend," Tyler finished for her as he shook her hand. Garcia's face dropped and she let go of his hand, a small pout on her lips. "We're just friends. She wouldn't have anything to do with me after high school."

Tyler's voice wasn't bitter or angry, like she was afraid of. Instead, it was surprisingly light and joking.

Garcia blanched. "What? Why, you're smoking h—"

JJ jabbed her elbow into the analyst's ribs, shutting her up with a yelp. Garcia gave a sheepish, timid smile in embarrassment.

Before anyone could say anything else, Caroline gestured to the flowers laying on her desk with a wave of her hand. "I'm assuming those are from you?"

Tyler smiled sheepishly. "Guilty. Thought it would bring back old memories."

Unfortunately, they did and they weren't the memories she exactly wanted to remember either. Memories of Tyler waiting by her locker after school in his varsity football jacket, holding a single rose in his hand as he kissed her cheek.

He never failed to get one whenever she had a bad day.

Then, for the first time he came over after her parents and Charlie's murder, he had brought a bouquet of wild yellow roses. She has stared at the bright, hopeful flowers in his arms as her stomach churned. She didn't feel hopeful, nor did she want to. The roses only made her feel worse.

She never had the heart to tell him that she hated roses, how she thought they were cliché and too sweet-smelling for her taste.

He had left them on her doorstep when she told him she couldn't be with him anymore.

She forced a small smile. "You always were a romantic."

"Did you know that, up until the early 19th century, roses symbolized death instead of romance?" Spencer interrupted quickly, his eyes darting between Caroline and Tyler. If she didn't know any better, she would've assumed he was agitated. "They are also the fastest wilting flowers."

She gave her friend a withering look. "Thank you, Spence."

"You must be Agent Reid," Tyler laughed as he extended a hand to the young doctor with a friendly smile on his handsome face. "Chris told me about you. You have 2 PhDs, right?"

Spencer kept his hands firmly at his sides. "I don't shake hands," he said curtly, "and I have 3 PhDs. Also it's Doctor. Dr. Reid."

Tyler slowly lowered his hand with a small frown on his face. Caroline balked at Spencer, shocked.

She had never seen him be so short with someone. Typically, he was a little shy around new people but he was always kind. He didn't even know Tyler. What could possibly cause Spencer to dislike him so much?

"Anyway..." Caroline said, casting Spencer a warning look before turning to face Tyler, "What brings you to Virginia. I mean, it's not that I'm unhappy to see you here, I'm just a little surprised."

Tyler rubbed the back of his neck, the tops of his cheeks flushing bright red. "Your brother didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"Chris asked me to be his best man in the wedding."

Caroline's face dropped. Oh, she was going to murder her brother.

"It's not that big of a deal," Tyler quickly began to backtrack when he saw the look on her face. "He asked, and I couldn't just leave my best friend since high school standing at the alter. He insisted that I fly in early to help plan the wedding, since he knows that you're so busy with your job."

She crossed her arms in front of her chest as she glowered. "Let me guess, he also told you to come down here, didn't he?"

Tyler's face contorted into a mix between guilty and constipated. "No..."

"You've always been a horrible liar, Ty."

She could not believe her brother. Even after six years, Chris was still on her case about Tyler.

In high school, her brother and Tyler were best friends. They has been co-captains of the football team since their junior year and had been inseparable ever since. It wasn't until Caroline got bumped up two grades as a freshman and joined the cheerleading team that Tyler began to hang around their house more, spending more time with her than with her brother. She was young, smart fifteen year old girl in a Virginia public high school. She was fortunate enough to make it on the cheerleading team and meet Rebecca, who quickly made sure the young girl was welcomed into the school with not problems. She had even went on a few dates before but a lot of boys her age were intimidated by her intelligence early on. Except for Tyler.

When Chris found out, he was livid but after a week or so, she introduced him to Rebecca and she quickly set him straight.

Once Chris got used to the idea of his best friend and his sister dating, the more he grew to like the idea. He liked him and knew if they ever got married, he'd have his best friend as a brother-in-law. He also liked how well Tyler treated Caroline; he was absolutely head-over-heels in love with her in high school. Her brother figured if he ever did something stupid, he'd kick the shit out of him and the issue would be resolved, plain and simple.

When she first broke up with Tyler, Chris understood. His own relationship with Rebecca had grown rocky after their parents' deaths, and if it hadn't been for her future sister-in-law's stubbornness and tenacity, they would've broken up a long time ago. Shortly after that, Caroline and her brother graduated; Chris went into the navy and she went to MIT while Tyler took a football scholarship in California as the quarterback of the Bears.

But as time went on, Chris kept pestering her about Tyler, asking if she'd give in another chance. Part of her knew it was Tyler egging him on and the other part knew it was her brother who was desperate to see her move on, thinking if she would just get back together with her old high school flame, she would be magically healed.

But that wasn't the way things worked. She couldn't just pick someone and hope that she would be healed. That would be a miracle.

Life was much harder. As much as she liked Tyler in high school, she never loved him, not even when they were dating. How could she be intimate with a person she didn't love, show her scars to a person she didn't trust completely?

Tyler would've been the easy way out. She could've kept dating him, then married him. They would've lived a nice, cushy life in some mansion on the countryside with two or three faired-headed children to keep them company. But she wouldn't be happy.

She never felt anything with Tyler like she did with Spencer. How, even when he was being an ass, the sound of his voice instantly soothed her. How she longed to be closer to him even when they were in the same room.

Suddenly, the sound of JJ's phone going off cut through the awkward silence in the room. For once, Caroline was grateful for the loud trolling alarm, letting them know they had a case.

JJ glances down at her phone and sighed. "I hate to break this up, but we got a case."

Everyone started to gather their things and head to the conference room. Spencer lingered a few feet away, waiting for her with reproachful eyes.

She turned to Tyler. "Ty, I'm really sorry about this—"

"Don't worry about it," he assured her. "How about when you get back, we can grab dinner somewhere and catch up?"

She swallowed. "Sure."

"Great! It's a date."

A date?

Panic began to seep into her mind. She hadn't been on an actual date in years, except for a couple of casual flings that didn't last longer than a month or two. She wasn't ready to date again and nor did she want Tyler to get the wrong idea.

But before she could correct him, he was already on his way out of the glass doors in the bullpen. Her breath caught.

What did she just do?

Caroline glanced down at the roses laying on her desk, the sickly sweet smell burning her nose. She couldn't decide whether she wanted to throw them in the trash or just leave them on her desk.

"Care," Spencer's voice called out to her, "you coming?"

She peeled her eyes away from the blood red roses on her desk and focused on Spencer. His face was blank, more controlled than before. In his eyes was something she couldn't pinpoint, couldn't distinguish. A sharp pang of guilt seized her chest as she realized that he must've heard what Tyler said.

"Yeah," she told him quickly, scooping the flowers in her arms, "Yeah, I'll be there in second."

In one swift movement, she yanked open her bottom desk drawer and stuffed the roses inside before she headed to the conference room for their next case.

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

The driver's license of a bald middle aged man was pulled up on the television screen. Caroline stared into his grey eyes, a shiver running down her spine. There was something unsettling about the man staring at her on the screen, something that she couldn't place.

"Walter Derbin, age 52. His body was found in his cab in East Harlem." Hotch clicked a button on the remote in his hand and images of Walter Derbin's dead body popped up on screen. "He was blindfolded and shot once in the chest. Death was caused by a knife stabbed through his ear. The unsub broke off the handle with the blade lodged in his brain."

Caroline couldn't take her eyes off the knife peeking out from inside the man's ear. The strength the unsub had to have in order to forcefully shove a knife through the eardrum and brain tissue would have to be significant. Either the unsub was jacked or really, really angry.

"It's the same signature as two other murders," JJ said as Hotch pulled up the other victims' pictures on the screen. "Rachel Holman, 24, found in her apartment 3 week's ago on the lower East Side." She was a young, tanned woman with a large smile and manicured nails. "Kaveh Surrani, 30. The police found him 2 weeks later in his painting studio in Hell's Kitchen." An Indian man with an energetic smile stared back at her. She purposefully avoided the images of their dead bodies, the knives that had been forced into their skulls.

She wanted to see them as people, not victims.

"Different locations, different victimology. It's possible we're looking for someone who'll hunt indiscriminately," Hotch said.

"NYPD have any leads?" Caroline asked him as she scanned through the files.

He shook his head. "Guy's a ghost. He kills at night. There's no witnesses."

Gideon twirled a thin wooden toothpick between his teeth as he thought. "Is the NYPD feeling the strain?"

"Well, they've withheld details so the press hadn't sniffed out a link between the murders," JJ answered.

Morgan sighed. "With no discernible victim patterns, the killer's practically impossible to stop."

"Did you know the original Zodiac Killer actually continually changed his victims?" Reid said, "Young, old, men, women, white, black."

"Exactly," Gideon murmured, "and he killed for 30 years without ever being caught."

Caroline slowly glanced up at the older profiler, letting what he said sink in.

They might be dealing an undetectable serial killer.

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

"You know, this is not how I planned to spend a few days home in New York." Elle fanned out the poker cards in her hand as she glanced out the her window, her eyes focused on the approaching city skyline. The towering glass skyscrapers glittered in the orange sun, the faint sunlight glistening over the East River. In the distance, the proud statue of Lady Liberty stood with her flame held high over the morning sky.

Caroline slid her cards off the table in front of her and glanced at them. She had jackshit—a two, three, seven, nine and a jack of diamonds. She folded her hand, pushing the cards away from her.

"I'd kill for an afternoon at Barneys," she sighed longingly, her mind dreaming of designer handbags and shoes. The last time she had went shopping at a place as expensive as Barney's was when she was eighteen and in college on a girl's day out trip in New York City.

"And dinner at Il Cantinori," JJ added in a singsong voice as she folded her hand, placing her cards on top of Caroline's. The two girls shared a sly grin.

"I'm looking forward to seeing New York," Spencer admitted with an excited smile. Caroline leaned over his shoulder and peeked at his hand—a full house. She hid a grin. Elle was screwed.

Morgan cleared his throat, his thick eyebrows drawn together. "You've never bee to New York?" He asked the young doctor incredulously.

Spencer shrugged. "We never had an unsub there."

"Reid, it's a one-hour flight!"

Caroline smiled as she patted Spencer's arm reassuringly. "Well, if we have some time, I'll show you around."

He turned to her, his eyes bright with excitement. "Really?"

"Yeah, of course."

"It's a 3-hour train ride, man," Morgan said, still unable to wrap his head around the fact Reid had never been to New York. A small wave of amused laughter passed in the jet.

"Ok, here's what we know," Hotch said once the laughter died down, "Blitz attackers are almost always male."

"He got picked up in the pouring rain by a New York cabbie," said Derek with a smirk on his face, "so we definitely know he's not a brotha'."

Caroline chuckled as Elle reached over and smacked Morgan in the arm, casting him a teasingly disapproving look. He feigned a look of pain as he dramatically rubbed the spot Elle had hit.

"The fact that he kills in a major urban setting without detection indicates that he's highly intelligent," Spencer said, oblivious to Morgan's comment.

Elle scoffed. "How intelligent can he be? Blitz attackers are textbook disorganized killers."

"Yeah, but he brings along a murder kit," Caroline argued, "Blindfold, the knife. How disorganized can he be?"

"We'll split up," Gideon decided as he pushed his wire-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. "We'll take the last two crime scenes. In the meantime, let's talk about what we can agree on. A blindfold likely mean one of two things."

"The unsub might blindfold them initially if he's unsure of killing them," Morgan told the older profiler, "and wants to avoid detection."

"Exactly. But since we know the cab driver couldn't have been blindfolded when he drove the unsub, we're looking at reason number 2."

"Which is?" JJ asked Gideon.

"Blindfolding a victim suggests the unsub feels remorse."

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

Rachel Holman lived on the lower east side of New York City in a low-rent apartment building on a street lined with pawn shops, grimy convience stores, and check-cashing operations. There was no landscaping to speak of, just cracked pavement littered with cigarette butts and broken glass m. The cars in the parking lot were all at least ten years old, some on blocks. An overflowing Dumpster at one end of the property hummed with flies.

Inside the complex wasn't much better. The bathroom and bedroom were hidden in a small dark corridor near the door. The walls were paste-grey and cracked. A single north-facing window looked out on the street, so dirty almost no light came through it. A stained mini fridge and an ancient stove stood in the kitchenette.

Morgan tapped Caroline on the shoulder. She dropped the young girl's mail on the coffee table gratefully. She hated that part of her job was going through people's private lives and any excuse she had to avoid it, she took gratefully.

Derek held up a rectangular form in her face. "It's Rachel Holman's 'change of address' card," he told her. "She just moved in. Hadn't even filled it out yet."

Caroline sighed and shook her head slowly. "So she probably didn't know her neighbors, and they weren't likely to check in on her."

"Nope. I also found this." He held a sheet of paper with a list of meetings and times between his gloved fingers. "It's a print-out of A.A. meetings in the area."

"She was starting a new life," she said quietly.

Suddenly, Caroline felt a visceral sense of tragedy. It was the type of feeling she got whenever she saw reports of a dead college student or a high schooler that's gone missing on the news. The feeling that someone so young, someone who had their whole life ahead of them, had their life ripped away from them before they ever even really lived. It was a tragedy of wasted potential.

"Hey, guys," Hotch's voice called out to them from the dimly lit hallway, "check this out!"

Caroline and Derek walked over to him at the end of the hallway, carefully sticking to the edge of the wall to avoid stepping on any evidence.

"The cops' theory is that she was home and the unsub broke in through the front window and surprised her," Hotch told them as he gestured to the small blood splatter at his feet. "But look. This is the gunshot to the chest." He pointed to the pool of blood in the entrance of the hall. "That was the knife to the head."

"So then after she was shot," Derek said, "she tried to run away from him toward the door."

"Exactly."

Caroline's eyes widened. "He was already in the apartment when she got home."

Hotch nodded in agreement at her deduction. "The hallway's the only room in the apartment with no windows. No one could see him, so he just waited patiently."

Caroline slowly backtracked her way to the entrance of the hallway, stepping over the pool of blood. "So, she comes home and she opens the door," she said quickly as she imagined Rachel Holman hanging her keys on the hook beside the door. "She walks in the hallway. She walks down, and then..." She froze. "Bam! He shoots her right here."

Derek looked down the hallway. "But she tries to run away...and he's on her."

One of the police officers processing the apartment paused, glancing over at the profilers with a curious expression. "So why didn't he just shoot her again?" she asked. "Why stab her and break the blade off in her head?"

"Well," Hotch answered, "there are a number of possibilities."

"Through the ear is the softest path to the brain," she explained to the cop, "Snapping the handle is also common in prison shankings. Break it off, the other guy can't pull the blade out."

The officer frowned, crossing her arms over her chest skeptically. "What's the other possibility?"

"That these aren't blitz attacks. The scene is seems way too organized for a disorganized killer," Caroline said slowly, "It's possible these are executions."

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

By the time the sun had set over New York City, the killer had struck again. This time, it had been a priest at a Catholic Church in the Bronx. The unsub shot him right in the middle of a confessional with a parishioner praying in the pews.

He left a witness this time. He was getting bolder.

Caroline's eyes roamed over the cathedral as stepped into the quiet building. Patterns of red, blue and green spilled over the cavernous sanctuary from a massive rose window. Towering organ pipes jutted upward behind an alter draped with white cloth. To the left of the pews was the confessional booths draped in purple curtains. To the right was the shrine of candles, some still flickering in the dim cathedral.

It had been a while since she had been in a church. Six years, to be exact. She watched as nuns in black dresses clutched wooden rosaries in their shaking hands, praying as the officers walked by them. Some dipped their fingertips into a shell-shaped fountain of holy water and sprinkled it over their foreheads or crossed their hearts. For a brief moment, she wondered if this, praying, actually helped them.

She couldn't see how it did. She saw monsters everyday, her life was shrouded in evil. She had prayed every day before her attack and she prayed every possible moment she could during. She prayed as she mopped up her father's blood, prayed as a knife was raked down her back, prayed as the man who murdered her parents violated her over and over and over again.

She had prayed and nothing happened. The end came anyway.

"How'd they find him?" Gideon asked the lead on the case, Detective Bennett.

"The night janitor," the detective replied in a heavy New York accent. Caroline figured she had been raised here in the city, her best guess somewhere in Manhattan.

"He see anything?" Hotch questioned as they descended the marble steps that led into the sanctuary.

Detective Bennett shook her head. "No, but he remembered a parishioner who was here earlier."

"The potential witness."

The detective gestured to the elderly woman sitting in one of the back pews with her hands clasped in her lap. "That's her."

Gideon glanced back at Caroline and Morgan, nodding his head towards the parishioner. "You two take the witness. We'll analyze the body."

The two profilers nodded as they broke off from the group and headed towards the witness. He didn't have to tell her twice. She didn't want to see another dead body with a knife jammed into the brain.

When Morgan and Caroline approached the woman, she stared at them apprehensively. She could tell by the way she crossed her arms over her midsection protectively and her hunched shoulders that older woman was frightened. She couldn't blame her. Just because she didn't go to church doesn't mean she doesn't recognize the importance, the respect, a church carries. This was a place of worship, a place free of evil and death.

This murder only seemed to say that death was everywhere. Nowhere was safe.

Caroline introduced herself and Morgan with a soft, calming voice, keeping her body language open and inviting so the parishioner wasn't frightened. After a while, the woman began to answer questions.

"As soon as he police asked me if I seen anything," the woman said quietly, "I had a sickly feeling."

"So you saw him?" Caroline asked her gently.

She shook her head slowly. "Not his face. He had a hood on and he kept his head down."

"But something about his behavior unsettled you?"

The woman glanced down at her hands, her lips trembling. "I'm sorry. I should have known."

"There is no way that someone could know something like this," she told the old woman assuringly.

She sighed. "It's almost felt like he couldn't hear me, like he was in his own world, you know?"

"You spoke to him?" Morgan questioned.

"I just asked if he was ok."

"And he didn't speak?"

"He didn't even look up." She closed her eyes, as if she were recalling the moment. "I couldn't stop watching his hands. They were moving, like he was playing a piano or fingering a rosary maybe." Suddenly, her eyes opened, wide and panicked. "He could have killed me!"

Unless he's not killing at random, Caroline thought, and whatever these victims have in common is what got them killed.

"I thought maybe he was uncomfortable being in this parish," the woman said as she began to jog her leg up and down anxiously.

Caroline tilted her head slightly. "Why would it be uncomfortable?"

"Because of all that..." The woman pursed her lips as she paused. "Business."

Morgan and Caroline glanced over quizzically at Detective Bennett, who had been quietly listening in on the conversation.

"A year ago, the priest was indicted for pedophilia," she informed them. Caroline's eyebrows shot up. And the priest still communed here?

"A lot of people stopped worshipping here," the older woman admitted. "But Father Breeman was tried in a court of law and found innocent. It's not my place to question that."

Somewhere, a light bulb went off in her head. She quickly excused herself from the interview as she pulled out her cellphone, already calling Garcia from speed dial.

"Fount of all knowledge," the tech analyst greeted after the second ring, "Check my flow."

"I need you to check all the victims and see if any were ever charged with a crime," Caroline told her.

"Ok. You wanna time me, or should I just dazzle you off the clock?"

Caroline smiled. "I thought your powers were timeless, P.G."

She heard the familiar clicking of Garcia's finger flying over her keyboard as she typed. "Oh, my love," the tech analyst cooed, "how incredibly right you are."

There was a brief moment of silence before Garcia's voice came back over the line.

"Ok, so Kaveh Surrani—vehicular manslaughter. Tried and found not guilty July 2002. Rachel Holman—convicted of cocaine possession, 2004." Garcia tsked into the phone. "Oh, baby girl. Just say no."

Caroline frowned. "No acquittals?"

"Uh...wait. Hold on." Another brief pause. "Same case. She was also up on charges for administering a fatal dose of heroin to her boyfriend. Jury found her not guilty. Can we go 3 for 3?"

"Yahtzee!" Garcia hollered into the phone in excitement. "Our cabbie, Walter Derbin, spousal battery. Bastard!"

Caroline knew she sensed something was off about him. "But he was found innocent?"

"If you wanna call it that. Charges were dropped mid-trail 4 months ago."

Goosebumps prickled on her arms. "You're a genius," she told her.

Garcia giggled. "You're just saying that 'cause it's true."

Caroline thanked her again before she hung up the phone and slid it back into her pocket. Her eyes did a wide sweeping search of the cathedral until she found Gideon and Hotch, her feet sliding over the ornate tiles as she walked to them with a quickened pace.

All three victims were charged with a felony and all three were found "innocent". She couldn't believe this didn't show up on the NYPD's radar.

This changed everything. The team had a brand new profile to deliver.

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

"We now believe these killing aren't random. We might be dealing with a vigilante."

The next morning, Caroline sat in a hard plastic chair in the NYPD station, one leg crossed over the other, her high heel jogging up and down as she listened to Gideon present the new profile to a room full of officers. Spencer sat beside her, taking a sip of his coffee as the older profiler talked.

"The unsub first shoots his victims in order to subdue them," he said without hesitation. The cops didn't nod or shake their heads, but retained poker-faces as they scribbled down every word the older profiler spoke. "Flint knife then provides both an efficient kill and symbolic retribution. Finally, the victims is blindfolded, like the statue of Lady Justice."

An image of a woman holding a scale while blindfolded popped up in her mind. The statue was supposed to be a symbol, that justice was blind to bias. That, in the end, good would always win.

What a lie that was.

"This particular unsub," Gideon continued, "he displays both a heightened—it's actually almost a poetic scene of right and wrong."

"Serial vigilantes are extremely rare," Spencer spoke up over the crowd, setting his coffee down on the desk beside of him, "The exaggerated drama of these killings suggest that they're somehow personal. He, or someone close to him, is likely the victim of a violent crime. His first killing was possible against his original attacker. Since then, he's developed an overblown sense of justice in order to justify that killing to himself."

Caroline began to chew on the inside of her cheek. She swallowed down the metallic taste of blood. A victim of a violent crime.

"Because he chooses the imagery of Lady Justice," said Gideon, "it's possible we're dealing with someone who works in or around the criminal justice system. Lawyer, paralegal, bailiff, even a judge. Whatever the unsub's job, he's someone who's a cog in the machine. He's overworked, undervalued." He shrugged. "He's used to not being noticed. He also knows that people look right through him. Being faceless is his best defense against detection. He's everyone."

"One last thing," Gideon added as he stared at the police in the room, "We need you to close ranks. The more detail that slip out, the more he'll fee off of it. We don't want him believing he's captured the public's fear or imagination."

"Too late."

Caroline turned her head at the sound of JJ's voice. She stood in the doorway with a tight expression, holding up a newspaper in her hands. The headline read: JUDGE AND JURY.

"The afternoon edition's leading with the vigilante story," JJ announced.

Caroline frowned as Gideon took the paper from the press liaison's hands, reading it through squinted eyes. "How did they get it?" she asked.

JJ shrugged. "I don't know."

Gideon carefully folded up the paper under his armpit, shaking his head. "We were worried about this guy becoming another Son of Sam," he said, "Now we might be dealing with a vigilante folk hero like Bernhard Goetz."

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

The atmosphere in the restaurant was warm and inviting. Long red satin tapestries with embroidered golden Chinese symbols hung on the walls. The restaurant was dim, lit by the cozy glow of red and yellow paper lanterns hanging above their heads. The BAU sat gathered around a large round table in the middle of the room, endless bowls of chicken, beef and shrimp setting in front of them.

When the sun had set, JJ and Caroline had called Garcia to research local places to eat in New York. The tech analyst had narrowed down dinner to a pizza place a block from the station or a small Chinese restaurant near the hotel they were staying in. Since they knew the team's affinity for anything exotic, they chose Chinese.

Using her chopsticks, Caroline carefully twisted and untwisted the pale noodles from the two pieces of wood, her mind absent. She had been pushing the Chinese food around her plate all night, trying to build up the confidence to eat something. But she still hadn't eaten a bite, despite the enticing smell of the food in front of her.

Her mind kept going back to the case.

"So you know there was a big hole in the profile you presented back there," Hotch told Gideon as he handed Caroline a bowl of Kung Pao chicken, which she immediately passed to Spencer sitting beside her.

Gideon shrugged as he pointed to the plate of thin, small burritos setting beside JJ. "Can you pass the Moo Shu, please?"

The press liaison frowned as she handed him the dish. "What's the hole?"

"I left out the possibility our unsub might be a cop," he answered.

Caroline stabbed a piece of chicken with the end of her chopstick and lifted it up to her mouth and took a small bite, forcing herself to swallow it. Her mind flickered back from the case to Tyler. Vigilante to Tyler, then back again.

How many times had she wished to herself that she could have the chance at revenge on the man who destroyed her life six years ago? How many countless nights had she stayed up imagining herself putting a bullet through his brain? She had been a victim of a several violent crimes, just as the unsub probably had been. She wondered what made him snap. Then she wondered if she would eventually snap under all the memories and just complete lose it. Was she actually capable of killing someone? Was she capable of killing the man who took everything from her?

Then Tyler. Deep down, she knew she still cared for him. She didn't want to hurt him. If she went out with him, not only would it make her brother happy, it might make her happy as well. He was nice and caring and smart. He was going to law school. He was stable and they had history. He was an easy choice, almost a no-brainer.

But could she really bring herself to have a serious relationship, one that was intimate? Would Tyler have the patience to wait? It took her two years to work up the confidence to be around by a man without being afraid after her assault and even longer to be touched by one. She had been kissed exactly three times after her assault—two were random flings that didn't last long and Spencer. Kissing Spencer had been the only time she actually felt something stir deep down inside of herself, a part she thought she had lost a long time ago.

How was she supposed to have sex and be intimate when she was so scared all of the time? How was she supposed to love another human being?

"Well," Morgan's voice drew Caroline out of thoughts, "cops do know the system. They're definitely overworked and underpaid."

Hotch nodded in agreement as he slipped a piece of beef in his mouth. "They see so much injustice every day, they can easily take matters into their own hands."

Beside her, she heard Spencer grunt quietly. She glanced over at him and watched as he held his chopsticks awkwardly on his fingers, struggling to pick up a noodle from his plate. She bit her lip as she held back a laugh.

"When someone like our victims are killed," Reid stated as he dangled a noodle around his mouth, only to have it fall back in his plate before he could eat it, "police refer to the murder as a public-service murder."

"You know how many rapists I saw walk during my sex-crime days?" Elle sighed, shaking her head tiredly. "None of the victims, they didn't want to press charges. Or the juries, they said that she was asking for it. It was enough to make you explode."

Her fingers tightened around her chopsticks so hard she thought they were going to snap in her hands. After her assault, the police asked her if it was consensual. She told them no. They asked if she was sure. She told them she was positive. She still remembered the feeling of her attacker's hand on her throat, blocking off her air as he used her over and over again. It had gotten to the point where she would just lay limply in his arms because there was no point in fighting. She felt everything and nothing at the same time.

Nobody asks for that.

"Well, it's a long way from feeling like that and actually committing murder, don't you think?" JJ questioned. Her voice was expectant, like she was hoping someone was going to valid her point. She, just like everyone else at the table, still hopes for the best of this world.

Caroline sighed, glancing down at her untouched food. "Not really."

Spencer cleared his throat as he turned to a passing-by waitress. "Excuse me," he said softly, "Can I get a fork, perhaps?"

The waitress frowned at him but silently ducked into the kitchen to find him a fork. Morgan grinned, picking up Reid's chopsticks from the table, as Caroline and the rest of the BAU laughed, much to the young doctor's embarrassment.

"Did you know that experts credit Confucius with the advent of the chopsticks?" Reid said sheepishly. "He equated knives with acts of aggression."

Derek waved the chopsticks in front of his face. "You don't know how to use them, do you?"

Spencer took the wooden utensils from Morgan's hands. "It's like trying to forage for dinner with a pair of number 2 pencils."

Laughter bust out among the table as Caroline reached over and took the chopsticks from his hands carefully.

"Here," she said as her hand fished through her purse, "let me help you."

She produced a black hair tie from the bottom of her bag and twisted the band around the ends of the chopsticks, making them easier to move.

"Oh, the rubber-band trick," Morgan commented with a smirk as he watched her.

Caroline smiled as she handed the chopsticks back to Reid. "Yes, the rubber band trick."

She watched as the young doctor carefully tested out his new chopsticks, picking up a piece of chicken tentatively. Slowly, he brought it up to his mouth and popped it in. He grinned at her as he chewed, pleased that he could finally use them. She smiled as she patted his hand.

"Well, New York City cops do have a lot of pressure on 'em," Morgan said as he picked up the previous conversation they were having. "Every move they make is scrutinized."

"One of the first cases of criminal profiling happened when a New York City cop asked a criminal psychiatrist friend to help with the Mad Bomber case," Gideon told the table with a small smile on his face.

"The Mad Bomber was a major inspiration for the Unabomber," Reid stated as he ate, "He eluded cops in New York for 16 years, starting in 1940. But he kept his promise and never set off a bomb during the Second World War."

"Psychiatrist James Brussels," Gideon said, "he developed a profile so accurate he predicted that when they caught the bomber, he'd be wearing a double-breasted suit and it would be buttoned."

Caroline shook her head with a small smile on her face. "You guys," she told them softly, "we're here in New York and even when we're not talking about our case, we end up talking about another profiler."

"You're right. So, Caroline..." Hotch turned to her with an uncharacteristically mischievous smile on his face. "Are you seeing anyone?"

Immediately, she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She casted Hotch a disparaging look, which made him smile wider. From across the table, Elle giggled as twirled her chopsticks in a pile of noodles.

"Yeah, how about certain someone who likes to leave roses?" She asked teasingly.

"And is going to law school, might I add," JJ mentioned with a grin.

"Tyler?" Caroline asked carefully as swallowed. "We're just friends."

"Well, he certainly doesn't seem to think so," Morgan told her with a grin. "Garcia told me he asked you out before we left."

She cursed under her breath. Of course she did. She loved Penelope but she should've known that she would've told Derek when Caroline told her.

"That is—" She sighed, taking a deep breath. "That is not what happened. I agreed to meet up some time to catch up, and the word date might had been mentioned, but that's not what this is."

"He certainly seemed to think that's what it was," Spencer muttered as he pushed his food around his plate. He avoided her eyes.

"Well, it's not," she told him quietly. For some reason, she felt an overwhelming need to explain herself to him, but the words were caught in her throat and she couldn't force them out.

"Why?"

She bit her lip as she glanced over to Gideon. She didn't want to have this conversation with him right now, especially in front on the team. Even if she could explain herself, she wouldn't because it would leave too many questions that she wasn't ready to answer.

"So, uh, Gideon..." Caroline said to the older profiler, desperate for a change of subject. "Why didn't you tell the cops that it might be one of their own?"

She let out a sigh of relief when Gideon began to explain, "If we're gonna catch the guy, we need all the help the cops can give us. The last thing I want to do is accuse one of them of murder."

Later on in the night, Gideon got a call on his cell. She could tell by the look on his face that it wasn't good. The vigilante killer stuck again.

Caroline placed a napkin over her plate as the team collected their things. Dinner was over and they had a killer to catch.

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

Caroline stood in front of the window, watching the morning sun stream through the blinds of the NYPD station. She held up her hand and wiggled her fingers, watching the orange and yellow light intertwined with them. The BAU has been here all night working, only pausing to take quick naps and to eat. She had done neither all night.

Their newest victim was Shawn Cooley, a cop killer. A year ago, he killed 2 port authority officers, and he walked because the only witness against him was shot 6 times outside of his apartment. Another criminal slipping through the cracks of the justice system.

She heard the whispers in the precinct. The police weren't sure if this guy was really all that bad. Everyone wanted justice and this guy finally stood up and decided to get it. He was cleaning the streets.

"More bad news," she heard JJ say along with the sound of her soft footsteps. Caroline slowly turned away from the window and walked over to her. She noticed her posture was stiff and her jaw was clenched. Clearly, something was bothering her friend.

The press liaison held another newspaper in her hand. She extended it to Caroline and she wrapped her hands around the thin paper, crinkling it as she scanned through the front page.

"It's the same reporter every time," JJ said through tight lips, "Lance Wagner. He's practically deifying him."

"I'm not even happy with the results when God plays God," Gideon said softly.

"You know," Detective Bennet spoke up as she crossed her arms over her chest, "a few of the men were talking about making him a wish list of other dirtbags."

"'Some day a real rain will come and wash all the scum off the streets'," Caroline quoted off the newspaper. She carefully handed the paper back to JJ. She had seen enough to get the gist of what Lance Wagner thought of the vigilante—he was a legend. A hero New York City didn't ask for, but needed.

"That's from Taxi Driver," Reid said, referencing the old 1970s film.

Detective Bennett chuckled. "This town loves a psychopath."

Spencer frowned. "Why hasn't he contacted the press yet?"

"Reid's right," Caroline whispered, "He's got the symbolism, the inflated sense of duty. He should be seeking out acclaim."

"Maybe it's not about acclaim with him," Gideon remarked, his expression relaxed and thoughtful. Surely with how long he had been doing this job, he had seen his fair share of bad cases. She wondered if he ever thought about taking justice in his own hands. "He's on a mission. Maybe it's about the work."

"Yeah, but the last two cases were a cop killer and a pedophile priest," she told him. "Those are higher profile cases."

"He's getting more confident," Reid murmured.

Gideon nodded. "He's growing into his role as the city's judge and executioner."

"I'll check the press archives for controversial acquittals," JJ said, "Maybe we can target the victim before the unsub, have the police waiting on him."

As JJ left, Derek and Hotch walked entered the room, brushing past the determined press liaison. Caroline could tell it got under her skin that she couldn't contain the press coverage on this case like she could with others. The reporter really was causing trouble for them.

All three of the profilers standing in the conference room gave Derek and Hotch expectant looks, curious to see what they found out. They had been on the phone with Garcia all morning, trying to find a common thread between all of the victims. Judging by the looks on their faces, she could tell that they found their missing thread but they weren't going to like it.

"Each case was processed at the Manhattan criminal courthouse at 100 Center street," Morgan told them.

Caroline frowned. "Do you have any idea how many cases—"

"122,998 cases a year," he interrupted her, shaking his head. "Garcia told me."

Caroline put her head in her hands and groaned quietly. While they did eliminate the 4 boroughs, that was still 100,000 plus cases to look through from this year alone. But if they looked at workers with erratic behavior, maybe they could get a suspect list.

Caroline slowly lifted her head out of her hands and tapped Reid on the shoulder. He glanced over at her with one eyebrow raised.

"Let's go check it out," she said.