๐. ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ข๐จ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ต
๐๐ก๐๐ฉ๐ญ๐๐ซ ๐๐ข๐ฏ๐
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๐ด:๐ญ๐ฑ ๐ฝ๐บ
๐๐ผ๐ฟ๐๐ถ๐๐๐ฑ๐ฒ ๐ฅ๐ผ๐ฎ๐ฑ
๐๐ผ๐ฟ๐๐ถ๐๐๐ฑ๐ฒ ๐๐ถ๐น๐น๐
๐๐๐ ๐
๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ in the community parking lot situated a few hundred feet from the base of Fortitude Road, between the FBI-issued SUV and a shiny red convertible, with its black top pulled up and the trunk door open. Their surroundings were dimly lit by the faulting lights overhead, and Cady was tugging at the velcro of the bulletproof vest strapped tightly to her chest to remove it. "If you've got a football helmet that withstands a hammer in there, I'll take that," she joked, cocking her head towards the SUV. She was trying to make light of the situation, of her suggestion to be bait, but it did little to help.
Nor did Agent Hotchner's fixed expression.
Cady pressed her lips together, Pete's earlier warnings entering her mind. "What happens if I miss this?" she whispered, biting at the inside of her cheek, fiddling with the vest still held within her hands before tossing it into the trunk.
"We'll try again," he explained. "We know his victim type and we know his comfort zone, he can't resist coming back."
"What if he realises that I don't live there?" She closed the trunk of the convertible, on apprehensive loan from Luth to act as cover. Nobody would question his factory-red, freshly-polished, unscuffed Mustang passing through the rich suburbs of Fortitude Hills, but Cady's own ten-year-old Honda would definitely turn heads. "I don't fit exactly his victimology."
Agent Hotchner shook his head. "He won't. He's acting on impulse. He'll see you, a beautiful woman, alone in her car, and he won't be able to stop himself."
"What if he..." she inhaled sharply, pulling at the collar of her powder-blue blouse to relieve the restriction she felt around her neck. "What if I'm not strong enough to fight back?"
"I won't let that happen, Detective." He stepped closer, his voice lowered. "Are you sure about this?"
Cady looked up to him, letting go of her collar to instead undo her top button. She took a deep breath before nodding and sliding into the front seat. It was sleek and comfortable. She had to give it to Luther; he knew how to pick a ride.
Agent Hotchner leaned down to her, his arm resting against the open window. "Any sign of trouble," he ordered, pointing to the phone she had propped in one of the cupholders, "call that number."
She nodded, swallowing her fear again. He'd given her his direct line as soon as the plan was set in motion. She turned the key in the ignition and the engine hummed to life before roaring from the exhaust.
Typical Luther.
Agent Hotchner took a step back as Cady yanked the gearshift into reverse, pulling the car from the lot. She inhaled again, almost gasping for air now, as she began the drive of Fortitude Road. The asphalt wound its way up the hill, a serpent in the Garden of Eden, tempting her towards what could be her downfall.
"Sure hope you keep barf bags in here, Luth," she muttered, rubbing her thumbs against the leather that cased the steering wheel.
If it wasn't for her cause, Cady would've thought the drive was peaceful. She avoided turning on the radio, keeping her focus entirely on the task at hand. Occasionally, unsure if it was out of habit or fear, she'd glance at the rear-view mirror. Two black dice hung from it, distracting her each time she looked, before she was pulling herself back to the road in front of her.
Finally, like a beacon in the night, she saw the tan four-door sedan that was parked at the clearing where they had found the body of Louise Turner earlier that day. The hood was up, the headlights on, and the brake-lights that faced her were bright red, a warning, telling her to turn back. Then she saw him.
Denim overalls, brown boots, with thick yellow fabric gloves covering his hands, one of which reached out to beckon to her.
She wanted to keep driving, with both of her hands gripping tightly around the steering wheel. She knew what fate would await her if she pulled over, if she got out, and if she couldn't make the call. The fate that was bestowed to at least four women, one of whom killed by the hands that were waving her over.
Luther's Mustang veered off the road, kicking up gravel as the headlights brightened the rear bumper of the sedan. Her eyes were glued to the number plate, as if memorising it would help her at all. She found herself leaning out of the open window, her voice shaking as much as her hands. "Are you okay?"
"Engine's given out!" she heard him shout, his features still partially covered by the shadow of the lifted hood. "Wouldya mind givin' me a hand?"
Those would've been some of the last words Louise Turner would have heard.
You have to do this, Cadence. For her.
She reached into the glovebox, rummaging through to find her gun. She hesitantly opened the car door, tucking her weapon into the back of her waistband and pulling the hem of her shirt down to cover it. With her phone now fixed firmly in her hand, Cady took a tentative step closer, her throat already closing. "I-I can call triple A?" she suggested, lifting the phone, her thumb already hovering over the speed-dial pad.
"I've tried," he grunted, twisting at the wrench that Cady noticed wasn't actually hooked onto anything, "it's a dead patch here."
She stared at her phone screen. No bars, yet two minutes ago, she had full service. He must have some kind of interceptor. That would explain why none of the others ever tried to call for help, she concluded, before looking up.
Her breath was caught in her throat as, in an instant, his hand covered her mouth and he had kicked her legs out from beneath her. She tried to scream, but the thick welding gloves he wore almost shoved their way into her mouth, choking her as a cable wrapped once around her neck. She fought hard, her fingers tucked under the ligature, trying to pull it away as she wriggled in his grasp, but he had her subdued. Before she realised what had happened, his face clouded her vision and the scent of chemical pine cloaked her sense of smell. She was on her back, in the backseat of his hire care, one of his hands still over her mouth, another tightening the noose around her throat, his glove since removed.
The fear in her eyes spurred him. "Who's worthless now?" he spoke, his repeated phrase becoming a sermon for his tortured worship.
Cady felt her palms beginning to sweat before realising that in the struggle, she had dropped her phone. Panic began to set in, tugging at the back of her neck as both of his hands replaced the wire and now wrapped firmly around it.
A breathless word escaped as she tried again to scream, to call out for backup, but nothing would come. His knees had pressed into her, keeping her down as she still attempted to kick free, but they didn't stop her from contorting to grab the gun she had tucked into her waistband. The shot fired and her ears were instantly ringing, her sights momentarily blinded.
"Go!" The call was distant, and Cady paid little attention. The UnSub had recoiled from the impact of the bullet finding his arm, but his anger grew, preparing to lunge at her again in the confided space of the vehicle.
The door behind her head opened and two hands gripped beneath Cady's arms, pulling her from the car. The fibres of the seat covers were reluctant to release her, scratching down her legs as she finally kicked and screamed, desperate to be free of the prison. Her feet found flat earth, skidding along the loose stones as the momentum carried her forward. But the hands didn't belong to an assailant; they didn't belong to anyone who wished to hurt her.
They belonged to Hotch.
She gripped onto him the moment she recognised his cologne, her fingers tightly gripping to the back of his vest, her face buried in the front. Her entire body shook within his embrace and she struggled to breathe, let alone even speak.
"It's okay," he soothed, turning her away from the car, one hand on her back, the other behind her head. "I've got you."
"He, he had his hands on my throat," Cady stuttered, her words muffled into his chest, still coughing to catch her breath. "I had to... I couldn't..."
"You didn't kill him," he assured her, stepping back slightly to hold her shoulders as his dark eyes searched in her frightened expression, assessing for damage.
Cady nodded. "I know." She looked up, tears burning at her eyes. "I needed him alive for, for the women to identify him. Death would've been too easy, he needs justice." The commotion across from them caused her head to turn, still holding onto Hotch with her heart pounding against his chest, both of them surveying the scene as Agent Morgan and Officer Dutton detained and cuffed the UnSub.
"Paul Osman," Hotch said, answering the question she didn't need to ask.
Her teeth were tight as she finally released the vice she had on Hotch's vest, watching Dutton's hand on the back of the man's head as he guided him into one of the Greentree Police vehicles, the red and blue lights flashing against his face as he spat slurs and curses continually. Cady's entire body ached as the adrenaline coursed through her veins, her ears still ringing, with her hands now balled into fists by her sides as she tried to anchor herself back to reality.
"He was one of the terminated employees for Calico Constructions," Hotch continued. "When he was fired, he lost his prospects; his clients stayed with Calico. A contract he had to buy a property in the Hills fell through, his wife left him, and he's been living on welfare for two months. You were right, by the way."
Cady swallowed, still fixed on the man that sat in the back of the police car. "About what?"
"Garcia told me you suggested his employee file didn't reflect his divorce," he explained. "You were right. You were also right about impotence. She was able to find him by his medications, primarily Sildenafil. Viagra," he clarified.
Cady finally doubled over, gasping for air, noticing Hotch's hand still rubbing the small of her back. She spotted her phone, cracked and covered in dust near the toe of her boot, and snatched it up hurriedly to tuck it into her pocket.
"Come on," Hotch whispered, guiding her towards the SUV parked nearby. "Let's get you back to the station." He opened the passenger door for her and she climbed in, clicking the seatbelt firmly across her as her lungs exuded a shaking breath.
Hotch was then in the driver's seat, reaching across to fix the thermostat settings. "Warm enough?"
She nodded, barely, sitting forward with her head in her hands and her fingertips pressing firmly into her hairline.
After pulling away from the scene and driving towards where he knew the Greentree Police Department to be, Hotch finally asked the question that had been boring a hole at the forefront of his mind. He already knew the answer, but he wanted to know if she realised where her deductions would come from, as well as a way to maintain conversation. "How did you know I was divorced and not a widower?"
Cady sat up, her palms still sweating, her gaze instead landing on his fingers as they wrapped around the steering wheel. "Widowers usually continue to wear their ring."
"How long have you taken this much notice of things?"
She shrugged, swallowing at the lump in her throat, her mouth dry. "All my life."
"Is that why you became a detective?" He wasn't prying. Their exchange felt natural, unforced, and he was actively keeping her distracted.
"Partly," she admitted, nodding. "My dad worked the force, he was a detective for over thirty years. For as long as I can remember, that's what I wanted to do too." She exhaled again, her sights falling upon the passing trees outside, hazily lit by sparse streetlights. "Sometimes it feels like I'm not doing enough."
Hotch looked over momentarily before returning to the road. "And now?"
The thoughts were so heavy that she couldn't find the strength to answer. She knew she made the right choice, following her gut to catch a killer, but she also knew that a woman had had to die before there was enough of a profile to find him. The case started as a serial rapist, and now a woman was dead and her family was in mourning because, as Cady thought, she was neither good enough nor quick enough to catch him before he escalated.
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๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ surface of her desk with her legs hanging over the edge, Cady watched in silence as Dutton and Limhurst were clearing away her board. Unpinning the files, the notes, the maps, and the photos, all to be folded neatly in a brown box and archived, left to collect dust in storage for years. The case was over. Paul Osman was in custody, already pleading guilty in cowardice, Pete was on the phone to his wife to tell her he'd be home soon, and the FBI had left the investigation once again in the hands of the Greentree Valley Police Department.
Cradled within her persistently shaking fingers was her poor, dilapidated, and irreparable phone. She pressed at the buttons of the number pad but the screen remained black, and she exhaled forcefully. The SIM card would be recoverable, she knew that, but the internal data would be harder to retrieve, including Agent Hotchner's contact. Heavy footsteps approached and she looked up, met by the outstretched arm of her partner.
"Geez, Cady," Luth turned her chin in his hand to survey the dirt and bruising beginning to appear on her skin before she pulled away, "if I knew it'd get you killed, I never would've told Jess about the body."
The words joined the ringing still in her ears and the rot set in over Cady like a wet blanket, cold and itchy. "You talked to the press?"
He shrugged. "Quid pro quo." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "She gives great head."
"You sold us out!" she yelled, turning heads of the entire precinct as she had slid from atop her desk and punched her partner's shoulder. "For a fucking blowjob!"
"Cady!" Pete had abandoned his call, his hand now beneath her arm, trying to pull her back. She managed to get one final strike in, her palm colliding with Luth's cheek with a sharp slap.
"I should've wrecked your car when I had the fucking chance, you goddamn..."
"Cadence!" Pete warned again, stepping between them to stop her from continuing to chew out her partner and risk being written up, again. "Enough."
"For fucks sake, Pete!" She was tired of being reprimanded for the actions of other people. "He's sleeping with that bitch reporter! He's the fucking leak!" Her teeth were aching from being clenched so tightly for so long.
Her boss leaned in. "Take a walk." He was firm in his instructions. "Let me deal with it."
"This is fucking bullshit!" she cursed, whipping her coat from the back of her chair and shrugging it onto her shoulders as she forced her way out of the front doors. She folded her arms tightly across her middle, her breath making a short puff of fog in front of her face as she exhaled sharply. She noticed the two black SUVs still parked only a few feet away from the front doors of the precinct, and she recognised who still hadn't yet joined his team, standing even further away by the glow of the intersection's traffic light. "Agent Hotchner!" she called, not even realising the tremor in her voice.
He had his phone held to his ear. He looked up from the street corner as Cady made her way over, panting slightly from the sudden change in temperature outside of the heated precinct.
He spoke a few words that Cady couldn't quite decipher before ending his call and slipping his phone into the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket. "Detective."
"I know why you did what you did," she resigned, exhaling.
His dark eyes narrowed beneath his brows. "What did I do?"
"You sent JJ and the skinny one to interview the victims because neither of them is intimidating," she deduced. "Pete told Luth to go with Morgan and Rossi to try and keep him from being a nuisance with your female agents. And you kept Emily here because you knew she would be the one to get through to me. You set the entire playing field before kick-off, which led to the touchdown, winning the game."
"You have a good eye, Detective." He took a step towards the SUVs that Cady knew to be headed to the airport.
"Agent Hotchner," Cady spoke again.
He turned to her once more, his eyes a warm espresso that she would've been willing to let wake her. "Yes?"
She didn't want to admit that she'd hit a wall with her investigation before the FBI were brought on, but Cady found herself saying the two words she never would've expected. "Thank you."
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