" Whoever undertakes to set himself up as judge in the field of truth and knowledge is shipwrecked by the laughter of the gods. "

— Albert Einstein

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

14.1 ; SECRETS.

CAROLINE YAWNED AS SHE stepped through the glass doors into Quantico. The cool night air brushed past as the doors shut behind her. She had only been awake for thirty minutes and shaking off the drowsiness hadn't gotten any easier since she left her apartment. The call from Gideon had woken her up from her measly two hours of sleep and to say she was exhausted was an understatement. With her brother's wedding only a few days away, all the last minute arrangements and details were left for her to finalize.

She was determined to make sure this wedding went perfectly according to plan. She, as well as her family, needed it to. Considering the date of the wedding just so happened to fall near the anniversary of her parents and Charlie's death made it all the more important. They needed something good to cling to these next couple of weeks.

As she headed towards the elevators, she caught sight of JJ, Garcia, and Spencer all standing of the elevator. JJ smiled at her as Garcia waved her over. She quickly hopped on as Spencer held the door for her.

"Good morning, my fine friends," the tech analyst chirped. Caroline smiled at her. Even at 2 A.M. in the morning, Garcia was still bright and bubbly.

"Good morning, crazy person," she replied to her friend as the elevator doors shut in front of them. She heard a giggle from behind her.

"You know, today is just an extra special day," Garcia continued. "Do you wanna know why?"

Caroline went quiet. Spencer tilted his head at the tech analyst, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. JJ, however, seemed to be in on Garcia's plan.

"Why is that?" She asked, the pitch of her voice going up as she mocked her confusion.

"Because," the tech analyst said as she wrapped her arm around Caroline's shoulders, "it just so happens to be a very special someone's 23rd birthday!"

JJ simply grinned at her as Spencer stared at her in shock. Caroline forced a smile on her face.

"Why didn't you tell me?" The young doctor asked, his eyes wide. "If I would've known—"

"Spence," she said as she placed a hand on his arm, "it's fine. I didn't want to make a big deal out of it."

"Big deal," Garcia scoffed. "It's huge. You only turn 23 once! What do you wanna do to celebrate once we get out of here, Care-bear? Girls night? Shots?" She gasped in delight. "A strip club!"

Beside her, Spencer's face flushed a bright pink as he began to cough. JJ and Garcia laughed at the hot shade of red forming on his cheeks and neck. Caroline could only manage a small smile.

"I—I'm not really planning on celebrating this year," she admitted quietly once the laughter died down. All three of them frowned at her and she could feel the questions they wanted to ask hanging in the air. Before anyone could get the courage to ask why, she turned to Penelope. "How did you find out that my birthday was today?"

The tech analyst's frown melted away into a sheepish smile as she looked down at the pointed end of her heels. "I may or may not have seen it in your personnel file."

"I should have known."

The atmosphere grew heavier as Caroline's discomfort grew. She loved Garcia, she truly did. She was one of her closest friends. However, her habit of snooping into people's personal lives was something she wasn't fond of. Especially now.

There was a reason she hadn't told anyone on the team about her birthday. She hadn't celebrated her birthday in six years, much to Haley and her aunt's dismay. For her, it was better to just pretend the day didn't exist than for people to ask why she didn't want to celebrate her own birthday. She wouldn't be able to explain if they did ask.

She hated this time of year. She hated the memories and feelings it brought. She hated remembering.

Because her birthday marked the beginning of those two weeks she spent trapped in her childhood home being tortured and raped. She couldn't celebrate, not when all she could remember of her birthday was her family's killer pinning her down as he put out cigarette after cigarette in her back.

She just wanted the day to disappear altogether.

A ding cut through the silence in the elevator, which pulled Caroline out of her trance. All of them were giving her odd stares, Spencer especially. She avoided their questioning gazes as they stepped off the elevator.

Their silence, however, was short-lived.

Garcia gasped from behind her. "What the hell is this?"

Standing in the bullpen were several new faces Caroline had never seen before. All of them were men and every single one of them was dressed impeccably—pressed suits, perfectly knotted ties, and polished dress shoes. She could tell by the way they held their backs so rigidly straight that they were well trained. Her eyes zeroed in on the badges pinned to one of the men's jacket.

"They're CIA," Caroline said slowly as she locked eye with one of the agents. He glared at her, his gaze heated. She didn't cower away but instead stared into his eyes with equal intensity. CIA or not, she wasn't going to let someone try and intimidate her.

After a second, the man broke eye contact and walked further into the bullpen, away from her discerning gaze.

"This is weird," Garcia murmured as she huddled closer to Caroline. She shifted herself in front of her friend as the CIA agents watched them pass. "And a little scary."

"What do you suppose this is all about?" JJ whispered to them as they all headed toward the conference room where the rest of the team was waiting.

"Call me cynical," Spencer said, "but considering it's 2 A.M., I doubt it's good news."

Caroline snorted. "Wow, Spence, you really are a genius."

The young doctor crinkled his nose at her as they entered the conference room. She began to laugh but stopped short when she saw the serious faces of her superiors. Caroline settled in between Derek and Spencer and looked to Hotch for a briefing. She tried to ignore the CIA agents standing stoically in the corner of the room.

"The CIA's counterterrorism unit is engaged in a mission to save one of its informants," Hotch explained, jumping right into the case. "They suspect one of their agents is a mole. Until the identity of that mole is discovered, they've locked down the unit."

Caroline's eyes narrowed. Did they seriously bring them in to uncover a CIA spy? It didn't make much sense because she knew the CIA liked handling things "in-house". So, why were they out-sourcing to the BAU?

"This gives us the opportunity to profile the unsub up close," Gideon said to them before turning to the CIA agent by the door. He nodded to him and the agent said something into the microphone clipped to his jacket sleeve. The TV turned on and a picture of a man flickered on the screen. He was scowling at the camera like he resented the person behind it. His face was wrinkled and lined from sun exposure.

"John Summers was the CIA's best field agent in the Middle East," Hotch said, gesturing to the man on the screen. "3 nights ago, he was found in his home in Washington. He'd been tortured and murdered."

The screen changed again and this time, John Summers was no longer scowling. He was slumped over in a chair with his hands tied behind his back. Blood soaked the front of his white tank top. His neck was twisted at an odd angle, but she saw a perfectly round bullet hole under his chin.

Garcia yelped as she looked away from the monitor. Caroline didn't blame her for getting squeamish. She's been doing this job for almost a year now, and sometimes she still gets nauseous looking at all the gore they see.

"The CIA made it look like suicide," Gideon stated.

Beside her, Reid muttered, "How'd you like to have that job?"

Caroline stood up as she examined the photos closer. She saw what caused her to do a double-take.

"Guys, look at the wound patterns," she remarked as she pointed to two large gashes on Summers' right thigh. "They come from two distinct angles and different heights. One looks to be right-handed and the other left-handed." She looked back at the team. "I'd say he was tortured by more than two people."

"Hotch, what was Summers working on?" Elle asked the unit chief.

He nodded to the screen as a picture of a pretty Arab woman popped onto the screen. A man stood behind her, unsmiling and unflinching. She could tell by how rigid the woman stood in the photo that she was scared of the man standing behind her.

"Aaliyah Nadir had been beaten and sexually assaulted at the hands of her husband, Hassan Nadir," Hotch explained. "That's how Summers flipped her and got her to work for the CIA."

JJ frowned at the man on the screen. "What's the husband's story?"

"He's a diplomat for the Saudi government, but he's a fundraiser for major terrorist organizations," Hotch replied before nodding to Gideon to continue.

The older profiler rested his forearms against the top of the chair across from her. "Aaliyah gave Summers intelligence on terrorist organizations the CIA had never been able to penetrate. Organizations that Hassan, her husband, funneled money to."

"And Hassan realized he had a leak?" Morgan surmised.

Hotch nodded. "Yes, but he didn't know who. For Aaliyah's protection, Summers never revealed her identity to the CIA until about 8 weeks ago. CIA arranged papers for her, and Summers brought her and her children to the U.S. about a month ago."

"Only Summers knew where he hid her," Gideon murmured.

Caroline glanced at the photo of her Aaliyah and her children on the screen. They were young, a girl and a boy. The girl couldn't have been older than eight and the boy looked to be about six. They were too young to be caught in the middle of some CIA-spy scheme.

Caroline swallowed, her eyes now focusing on Hotch. "What did Hassan think happened to his family?"

"Car accident. Bodies too disfigured to identify. Only the CIA knew it was staged until Hassan arrived in Washington last week under diplomatic cover.

"Only someone in this CIA unit could have given Hassan the information about his family," Reid said as his eyes shifted to the agent near the door. He stared right past him, never making eye contact.

"So now he's here looking for her," Morgan stated as he leaned back in his chair. "Why do they want us on this?"

"Over the years, I've conducted psychological evaluations on every field agent in that unit," Gideon explained as he paced around the room. Caroline's mouth dropped open with a dry pop sound.

Garcia rotated her head to gawk at their boss. "You work for the CIA?"

"Not officially."

Once Caroline regained herself, she closed her mouth, her lips mashed together in a thin line. At least she got her answer on why the CIA called them. It shouldn't have surprised her that Gideon worked for the CIA in some capacity. She remembered the times he had left to do those "psychological assessments" for people he wouldn't say. Gideon sure did have the cryptic and secretive trait necessary for the CIA.

"The train's running," Hotch's voice cut through the silence in the room. "And if we stop this mission, even for a second, Aaliyah and her children are as good as dead."

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

The moment the elevator opened, they were greeted with hard stares. The escorted drive to Langley had been short. The agent that had driven the SUV hadn't said a word to them on the entire trip, even after Elle had asked him question after question. Caroline could tell they weren't exactly welcome here.

As the BAU stepped off the elevator, Spencer reached to unholster his gun. Gideon held his hand up and stopped him.

"Don't remove your firearm," Gideon announced to the team. "Just give them your cellphones. It's non-negotiable."

Each of the members placed their cellphones into a small plastic bucket in front of the x-ray scanner. The agent holding the bucket didn't say a word. He nodded them forwards.

"The moment we walk in there," Morgan whispered to Caroline and Spencer as they walked through the detector, "the unsub's gonna know we got him cornered. We don't hand jack over."

Beside her, Spencer stuffed his hands into his pockets. The discomfort on his face was glaringly obvious. She didn't blame him, though. They were walking into an unknown environment where they would not be well-received. She could feel the hostility hanging in the air like fog the moment the BAU entered the headquarters for the counter-terrorism unit.

Everyone on the floor stopped what they were doing to watch them walk through the glass doors. It had grown so silent that she could hear the beeping of the computer monitors and the whirring of the tracking machines. She swallowed.

An older man, at least in his mid-fifties, approached them on the floor. He was well-dressed and by the way he walked so confidently through the sea of CIA agents, she could tell he was the one in charge.

Hotch shook the CIA agent's hand firmly. "Special Agent Hotchner."

The man chuckled. His voice was deep, so deep it reverberated in her bones. "Oh, I know who you are and your team, too. I've got the personnel files all set up for you guys. Video, whatnot." He pointed to the conference room behind him. "It's all there in the conference room."

"If you have any questions, feel free to talk to my senior officers," the CIA agent gestured to the woman sitting at the desk beside him. She was Hispanic with long brown hair. Her black eyes pierced through the team as she glared at them. "This is Gina Sanchez. She's the associate director of field operations."

The head agent pointed to another person, this time a man standing with a woman on top of the platform in the middle of the floor. "And that guy up there is Kruger Spence, the assistant director of operations. The lady with him is his second in command, Olivia Hopkins. Thank you for coming."

With that, the man turned and walked away. The team started to head into the conference room.

"You never mentioned Bruno Hawks," Hotch said to Gideon the moment they entered the conference room.

So that was the man's name. Bruno Hawks. She had never heard of him before, but judging by the sliver of disbelief in Hotch's voice, he must be a major player in the CIA.

The older profiler shrugged. "You never asked."

Caroline resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She respected her superior, but his cryptic answers irked her to no end. She locked eyes with Gideon from across the room.

"How long have you unofficially been working for CIA?"

He stared back at her. She swore he wasn't even blinking. In his eyes, she saw nothing staring back at her. It scared her.

"Long enough to know who and what we're dealing with."

She said nothing as she slowly sunk into her chair at the conference table. She glanced over at Spencer beside her and they both shared the same concerned look.

"We're looking for what the CIA classifies a type-A personality. Overachiever, highly adaptable, well educated, virtually unshakable," Gideon began once everyone had settled. "Manipulative enough to persuade a loyal foreign national to betray their country or a wife to betray her husband. Most importantly, this unsub long ago accepted the reality they will be summarily executed if caught."

The older profiler paused as he stared through the window to the CIA office. He watched the agents for a moment, assessing their gazes because, as far as they know, everyone is a suspect. There was a beat of silence before Gideon faced them and continued to give the profile.

"Life means nothing to this unsub. Not his own life, not his family's. Not his colleagues. Certainly not ours. And certainly not Aaliyah's."

"One of those agents turned against everything they believe in," Hotch said. "Why?"

"Well, he stopped believing," Morgan suggested. "Maybe it was about ideology."

Hotch nodded in agreement. "We need to find the stressor, a major event that caused him to turn—love, revenge, economics, ideology."

"The intelligence community's mantra says, 'Increase the parameter of your enemies' paranoia,'" Gideon remarked as he rubbed his hands together. "Right now we're the enemy. Whatever you see or are told, please trust no one but me."

Caroline swallowed. Her eyes flitted to the agents watching them through a glass window. Right now, they were the only things preventing this unsub from getting away with murder. For someone who believes life is worth nothing, he or she would have no problem destroying each and everyone one of them to be free. She rested her hand on her gun holstered at her hip.

There was a moment of silence. They all exchanged glances. Now, more than ever, they had to watch each others' backs.

The sharp sound of the screen beeping to life pulled everyone out of their silence. Garcia and JJ's faces popped up on the screen.

"Gideon, you're gonna want to take a look at this surveillance video," the tech analyst said.

He frowned at her. "What is it?"

"It's you. It's your name next to a whole slew of mpegs. There's one that says John Summers. It's 3 hours long."

"Play it."

Garcia nodded before her and JJ's faces disappeared from the screen. In their place, another window streamed onto the TV screen. From what she could tell, it was a video of Gideon sitting in a car in a semi-abandoned parking lot. The image was grainy due to how far away the camera was, but she could still clearly tell it was Gideon and John Summers sitting in that car.

"When was this?" Hotch asked the older profiler.

Gideon's eyes never left the screen. "3 days before he was killed."

"Who called this meeting?" John Summers asked on the screen. His eyes bore into the older profiler's. She could see the dark circles under his eyes, despite the grainy image. She doubted Summers had been sleeping the week before his death.

Gideon simply stared back at the CIA agent. "Does it matter?"

"Every detail matters."

"Why?"

"It can only be 1 of 4 people," Summers muttered.

The older profiler had a slight frown on his face. "Why is that important?"

"Because whoever requested this wanted more than just an Eval from you."

Gideon paused the video feed as Caroline relaxed back in her chair. Summers was paranoid in the days before his death, that was definite. The way his eyes kept shifting around while he was in the car, trying to search for a threat, was a dead giveaway. She could also tell he was ready to fight whoever the perceived threat was by the way he had his fists clenched in front of him at all times. Always ready to throw a punch.

"Did you know they were filming you?" Derek asked Gideon.

He shrugged. "I assumed they were."

"Taking in all factors discussed—age, rank, and field status—and if you eliminate all non-field agents, we're left with a total of 16 candidates," Reid reasoned.

Elle sighed. "All of whom are in this unit."

"We have to assume the mole has an exit strategy," Gideon said. "Only now, we're blocking the exit."

Elle shifted in her seat before she asked, "So what does that mean?"

Caroline turned in her chair and looked out the window at the CIA office. For the most part, the agents had returned back to the usual business. They only got the occasional glare every now and then. But even though she couldn't see anybody watching them, she could feel it. The mole was hovering over them, waiting for the perfect moment.

She didn't look at the team before she responded.

"The only way out is through us."

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

"Hey, guys." Morgan's voice pulled Caroline's eyes away from the file in her hands. "Take a look at this."

Her team member had zoomed in the video of John Summers' evaluation and focused on a late model sedan in the back of the parking lot. He pointed to the three shadowy figures sitting in the back. "Right there. That's a woman sitting in the car."

For the past half-hour, they had combed over every possible detail about the case. They had re-watched Summers' eval over and over until it was burned into their brains. By now, Reid probably had memorized every agent's background. Something triggered this unsub to lose belief. Now, they just had to figure out what.

Morgan zoomed in even further and enhanced the image. Sure enough, there were three people sitting in the car—one woman and two children.

"Looks a lot like Aaliyah," Elle commented.

Caroline frowned. "Why would he leave them in the car unless he knew he was being videotaped?"

Gideon hit the replay button on the remote and restarted the video feed.

"Who called this meeting?" John Summers's voice reverberated around the room.

"Does that matter?" Gideon questioned him calmly.

"Every detail matters."

"Why?"

"It can only be 1 of 4 people."

The older profiler paused the video and shook his head at the screen. "That's not true. Anyone in this division could have insisted upon an eval."

Elle crossed her arms over her chest as she leaned back in her chair. "Why narrow it down to 4?"

"Well, he rightly suspected Hassan came to the U.S.  because he knew that his wife was alive," Caroline reasoned. "He also suspected that someone in this agency was working for Hassan."

Gideon turned to the TV screen once he realized what she was saying. "Garcia," he announced.

The tech analyst appeared on the screen. "Right here, boss."

"How many agents in this unit were actually in Saudi monitoring U.S. interests?"

There was the sound of Garcia typing before she replied, "4."

"Let me guess," the older profiler murmured. "Bruno Hawks, Gina Sanchez, Olivia Hopkins, and Kruger Spence."

"4 for 4."

"See what else is on the tape," he commanded. Garcia nodded vigorously before her face disappeared again.

Gideon rested his hands on the back of the chair beside her and began to lean against it. He appeared to be lost in thought. "John Summers would have only trusted seasoned agents, of which in this unit there are only 4."

"So he guessed that the mole had to have been one of his 4 bosses," Caroline said. "Before he put in for Aaliyah's extraction, he wanted to know which one not to ask."

The older profiler began to hand them each a file. "We need to match up with them, one-on-one. Spencer, you're getting Kruger Spence, assistant director of operations. Recruited at the age of 18 after graduating from M.I.T."

"It says here he had 6 years experience as a weapons systems designer and an IQ of 197," Reid said as he read over the file. "He butted up against the system and didn't deal with authority. They moved him into field operations in China for 8 years before transferring him here."

"Olivia Hopkins, divorced mother of 2," Caroline read from her file. "She spent 9 years in field operations in Europe. She also visited Riyadh with Kruger."

"Elle and I got Gina Sanchez," Morgan said as he held up his file. "She's a West Point Graduate with a black belt in 2 martial arts. Served in Iraq doing psychological operations with military intelligence. She joined the CIA 5 years ago. Speaks 3 languages, including Arabic."

"Bruno Hawks, deputy director of operations," Hotch read to the team. "Extensive field ops in the Middle East and Europe. He did his military service with Jason Gideon."

Once everyone had been de-briefed on who there assigned person was, they all looked to Gideon, who had been standing quietly at the head of the table. No wonder he worked for the CIA. He knew Hawks.

After a moment of silence, the older profiler finally spoke up, "One thing I've learned over the years profiling CIA agents, spies are some of the smartest liars in the world. Be smarter."

"Okay, everyone, you know your assignments," Hotch announced. "Let's get to work."

As everyone collected their things and headed out of the conference room, the unit chief came to Caroline's side.

"Can I speak to you for a moment?"

She glanced around herself self-consciously, making sure no one was listening. Derek and Elle had already left to talk to Gina Sanchez and Gideon was absent-mindedly staring out the window, watching the CIA agents work. The only person who was looking at her was Spencer. He locked eyes with her and frowned.

"I'll catch up with you in a minute, Spence," she told him. Even though he didn't look quite assured, he nodded and exited the room quietly.

She took a deep breath before facing her boss. "You wanted to speak to me?"

"I know this isn't the best time to talk about this—"

"Then don't. Please."

"I just wanted to see you how you're doing. You know, considering today."

She huffed out a breath, which jostled a strand of her hair out of her face. "You don't have to worry. I can still do my job, Hotch."

"I know that you are more than capable to do your job," the unit chief told her. "That wasn't what I meant. I want to know if you're okay."

She paused. For a moment, she didn't know what to say. A small part of her wanted to tell him about the nightmares the panic attacks, and the crushing fear that consumed her when she was alone. But she had a job to do.

Besides, no one really wanted to hear about it, anyway.

"I'm fine," she whispered. "Swear."

He stared at her for a moment, not looking convinced. She gave him a small smile and he sighed, stepping out of her way. She murmured a quick good-bye before heading to the door.

"Caroline."

She paused and glanced over her shoulder. "Yeah?'

"I know you probably don't want to hear this, but—" Hotch sighed. "Happy birthday, Caroline."

She swallowed. She couldn't find the words to speak for a moment. It was like they had gotten lodged in her throat and had formed the lump that was now resting there. So, she simply nodded a little before walking out the door.

She didn't look back because she was afraid if she did, she would no longer be okay.

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

"You know, the CIA looks a lot like the FBI," Caroline commented as she leaned against Agent Hopkins' desk, watching the agents work. "This is a real boy's club. It has to be tough being a woman here."

Olivia didn't look up at her but instead, she rolled her eyes. "Get to the point, Agent Lucas."

"Divorced and lost custody of your kids," she mused. "That didn't help your career, huh?"

The agent closed the file in front of her with a sharp flick of her rest. She darted out of her chair, her curly brown hair flinging in front of her face as she whirled on Caroline.

"Are you interrogating me?"

The blonde shrugged. "Just questions."

"You want answers?" The agent snapped at her as she started to walk away. "Look in my file!"

Caroline promptly followed behind her. Defensive, quick to run away, impulsive. Agent Hopkins was avoiding something. She wasn't sure if it was her, the case, or something else entirely.

"I did," Caroline said. The agent stopped in her tracks with her back to her. When the silence went uninterrupted, she continued. "During an operation in Europe, you were taken hostage."

The agent faced her, her lips pressed together in a thin line. "For which I received counseling."

"But it didn't help. Your marriage busted up pretty quickly."

Caroline saw something flash in her eyes. The agent crossed her arms over her chest and seethed, "How does this help you?"

"It would take a major event  for someone to turn against their country, don't you think?"

"A major event like what?"

She locked eyes with the agent. "Like one that's not in any file."

Then it was there. It was brief—so quick that to the untrained eye, it would have gone unnoticed. But not to Caroline. She recognized what was in her eyes, knew the self-contained expression the agent wore. She knew because she felt it every day.

Shame. Disgust. Fear.

"What happened over to you over there?" Caroline pressed. In a way, she felt guilty because of the look on Agent Hopkins' face. But she had a job to do. "They attack you? Rape you?"

The agent said nothing. Her eyes darted wildly around the office as if looking for a way to escape. Her eyes seemed to almost glaze over. The blonde gripped onto her arm, trying to pull her out of it.

"Olivia."

"That's enough."

Caroline's head snapped in the direction of the unknown voice. Standing three feet away from them was Kruger Spencer, the assistant director of operations. He glared at her, his eyes like glinting coal.

"This is in violation of her civil rights," the agent snapped at her as he approached. Caroline steeled herself but before she could say anything, Bruno Hawks stepped forward.

"Until they find the sleeper and we find Aaliyah, all rights are revoked," he told his agent. Spence simmered at him but didn't say anything.

Caroline returned to Agent Hopkins. She could feel everyone's eyes on her now. She was acutely aware of her team watching from behind her, ready in case they needed to intervene.

"Where were you on the night that Summers was murdered?"

The agent simply stared at her, her arms still crossed over her chest. She didn't break eye contact with her. She knew what she felt, knew what she was feeling. To even think about it was too painful, but to say it out loud? To admit her nightmares? It was reliving it all over again.

And Caroline felt disgusted with herself for forcing her to.

"I was with her," Kruger sighed. "In her apartment."

Everyone's eyes shifted to him now. Hawks glared at him, the disbelief and anger in his eyes clear. Last time she checked, the CIA had a strict fraternization policy.

From behind her, she heard Gideon's voice say, "Well, you're a married man. At some point you must have left to get back to your wife, right?"

Kruger said nothing. He only looked at his boss and swallowed, his face tense. Caroline stepped away from Agent Hopkins, whose eyes followed her like an eagle's eyes. Sharp and cutting.

"You wake to an empty bed?" Gideon asked the female agent.

Olivia blinked, tearing her eyes away from the blonde. She gritted her teeth as she replied, "Yes. I did. Are we done here?"

"My wife will testify that I arrived home at 1:30 A.M.," Kruger interjected.

Agent Hawks scoffed. "We all know none of this will ever reach a court."

"Look, if you wanna arrest us for having an affair, be my guest," he announced, holding himself high. Despite being publicly outed to his co-workers, Kruger Spence was calm. Confident, even.

The BAU team said nothing. Hawks turned to his agents and grunted, "I'll deal with you two later."

Without another word, Olivia stormed off with Kruger on her tail. Hawks retreated back into his office with a nod to Gideon. Caroline just watched Agent Hopkins disappear into the CCTV room.

"You okay?" Gideon asked her quietly. She could feel his gaze on her back, boring a hole into her body.

She knew what he was doing. Gideon was good at his job and she knew that because when she was sixteen, she had been on the other end of that discerning gaze as many serial killers before had once been scrutinized. He watched for a reaction—a movement of some sort. She didn't dare move a muscle. She refused to give him something to profile.

Because with all she's lost in her life, she wanted something to be completely hers. She didn't want her moves to be dissected by her superiors, to be discussed behind her back. She wanted control over her life again.

So, she did what she knew best.

She walked away.