𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞

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𝟰:𝟭𝟰𝗽𝗺
𝗠𝗲𝘀𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗗𝗲𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁
𝗠𝗲𝘀𝗮, 𝗔𝗿𝗶𝘇𝗼𝗻𝗮


"𝐈 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 found something," Garcia began. "Georgina Kitchel was a 24-year-old student who was in a car accident on the Memorial Day weekend in 2004. May 31st, to be exact."

"Twenty-four is outside our age range, mama," Morgan refuted, his team gathered around him as he held out his phone, with Garcia on speaker.

"You didn't let me finish," she continued. "In 2004, at the time of her accident, she was eighteen. Her injuries were, capital-B, bad. A pickup truck ploughed into the passenger side of her car, where she was sitting. Police suspected that the person driving her car was her then-boyfriend, Shaun Tuttle, and that he was drunk and fled the scene. He swore no memory of the event, but Mr Suspicious has been living almost entirely off the grid for the past eleven months, and Georgina was taken off life support on January 5th of this year."

"Two days later, Olivia Washington is abducted," Cady linked, looking from the screen to the evidence boards.

"There's something else," Garcia added. "She was babysitting a family friend at the time, Oscar Ventworth. He was in the back seat, also sustaining injuries from the crash. Oh," she sighed as she continued reading her screen, "he was fifteen."

"Is he still alive?"

"Mhm," Garcia nodded, "and I just sent his parents' address to your phones."

"Dave," Hotch spoke, cocking his chin to the door. "Take Morgan."

Cady's back straightened as she perked up. "I'd like to go with them," she said, hopeful.

Morgan was eyeing Hotch, willing him to disagree. He and Rossi could handle this, keep the newbie here with Reid. But Hotch nodded, and Cady was grabbing her phone and jacket to tag along behind Rossi. Morgan fought to hide his dismay, exhaling a quiet sigh, and the three proceeded to one of the cars parked outside of the station.

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𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐓, Cady was tabbing through the photos Garcia had forwarded to the teams' phones. Mangled metal and bruised bodies filled the small screen of her Blackberry. Oscar's injuries were substantial, but Georgina's had left her in a coma for six years, brain dead.

"Garcia said the boyfriend's off-grid?" Cady asked, now opening the electronic file on Georgina.

Rossi nodded from the front passenger seat, also reading his copy of the file. "No rent, no credit card history, nothing since June last year."

"Do you think he's our guy?" Morgan questioned, almost reading Cady's mind.

"Seems like a big coincidence," Cady muttered to herself, noticing Morgan watching her from the rearview mirror. She looked away, chewing at her cheek again. He and Rossi continued to discuss Georgina's victimology and her similarities to the current victims, but Cady stayed quiet. She didn't want to cross a line, she already knew she wasn't welcomed. She felt out of place the moment she stepped off the elevator earlier that morning. Luckily, neither of her colleagues seemed to notice her silence.

Finally arriving at their destination, the three climbed out of the black SUV, and Cady followed Morgan and Rossi to the steps of the Ventworth's porch. Her boots were heavy against the pavement, the block heels clicking against the cement as she counted the rose bushes that lined the driveway. Five on either side, two yellow alternating between three pale pink. A pebble path snaked from the detached garage to the side of the house, with hexagonal pavers stepped between. Finished with a perfectly mowed lawn, the landscaping was immaculate, a reflection of the grand house before them.

Only a few moments after Rossi had knocked on the door, it opened, and the three agents faced an aging woman, with faded red hair and only a few fine lines around the corners of her mouth. This was Kristen Ventworth, and her appearance told Cady that she wasn't unfamiliar with likely frequent Botox treatments.

"Mrs Ventworth?" Rossi asked, and as she confirmed, he and Morgan showed her their badges. Cady reached for hers before hesitating; she didn't feel the need to. "We're Agents Rossi, Morgan, and Wilkinson, with the FBI," Rossi continued. "We'd like to ask you a few questions, if you can spare some time."

Kristen seemed willing to oblige, stepping aside to let the three in. Cady took a deep breath as she crossed the threshold into the foyer.

"What is this about?" Kristen folded her arms over her chest, eyeing the three.

"Georgina Kitchel," Morgan answered.

Kristen's brows tried to frown, but ultimately made little moment. "Georgina?"

"Specifically, her car accident," Morgan went on. "Your son Oscar was injured, right?"

He was interrupted by a man entering the hall, wiping his hands on a pristine, white handtowel. "Kris?" the man asked, looking between his wife and the three newcomers. "What's going on?"

Rossi still had his badge out and held it up again. "FBI, Agents Rossi, Morgan, Wilkinson," he repeated.

Cady's jaw clenched but she still held her silence.

"Ashton," Mr Ventworth extended a hand, which Rossi shook.

"They want to know about Georgina," Kristen explained, but Cady couldn't tell if her stoic expression was alluding to involvement or a side-effect of her multiple procedures.

"Actually, we're investigating a series of car accidents from the past six months," Morgan tried to counter. If either of the Ventworths were involved and they realised the FBI were onto them, they'd be in the wind as soon as the agents left. "We noticed that Georgina's accident was in similar circumstances."

"They've got the FBI on car crashes now?" Ashton seemed to joke.

Rossi cracked a smile. "It'll only take a few minutes."

Apprehension seemed to tug at the hairs on the back of Cady's neck, noticing that Kristen was watching her. Cady gave a forced smile as they followed the Ventworths into a formal sitting room. Rossi and Morgan sat adjacent to Kristen and Ashton on an ornate sofa, its cushions splattered with patterns of roses and peonies, but Cady stayed standing, falling back into her habit of sweeping over any room she entered.

"You have a wonderful home," Rossi began, retrieving his notepad from his inside jacket pocket. "Do either of you work?"

"No," Ashton chuckled. "We're semi-retired."

Cady frowned slightly to herself, continuing her browse of the room. She'd read the basic information Garcia had sent. Ashton Ventworth was 48, born into a wealthy family of lawyers, and built on that fortune with his own businesses. Kristen had been a bank teller for four years until she became pregnant with their only child in '89, transitioning into a housewife to raise Oscar, and never returned to the workforce.

"I own multiple investments; firms, properties," Ashton filled, unaware that the three already knew his background, "one of which is about to close this week, a hotel in Hawaii."

Skimming the mantle, Cady counted the photos in ornate frames. Seven, all of them of Oscar. A young, joyful boy, grown into a sporty teen, now a proud college student. The framed photos of their pride and joy continued onto the walls and followed the same pattern; birthdays, vacations, sport, graduations. She remained quiet, letting Morgan and Rossi lead the interview. She wasn't a profiler, not in her mind at least. Instead, studying these photos, she knew this was what she was good at. She was a detective, piecing together minor details into the broader puzzle, questioning everything she could.

"Is your son still in the area?" Rossi asked.

Ashton shook his head. "No, he went off to college the minute he graduated. UCLA." He smiled again. "He loves city life."

"Oscar, he... he wanted a fresh start," Kristen added. "He wasn't the same after the accident. Physically, mentally. He's doing well now." She smiled in a way that made Cady think she was trying to reassure herself rather than the agents in front of her.

"He was on track for a full ride," Ashton continued. "Football scholarship."

"But the accident prevented that?" Morgan picked up the inference.

The Ventworths nodded. "He was the star quarterback," Ashton explained. "But he couldn't run as fast as he used to. He never picked up a ball after that day. So we funded his tuition."

Rossi flipped a page of his notebook. "Can you tell us more about Georgina?"

Cady looked over, noticing Ashton leaning forward slightly, his hands resting casually on his knees. "She was Oscar's babysitter," he answered. "I'd represented her parents once, she was looking to earn some extra money to take a year trip around Europe before college, I think."

Kristen's jaw was locked, her arms folded over her middle, and one leg crossed over the other, angled away from her husband. "She and that boyfriend of hers were nothing but trouble," she muttered. "He was always around when she was meant to be working. I'd come home to our bedsheets messed up one night, no doubt they were fooling around in our bed. I never was able to catch them, but I knew it was her."

But Ashton shook his head. "She was a good kid," he countered. "She was eighteen. You know how kids are at that age."

"Might you know if she had any enemies?" Rossi asked, and Cady could almost hear the penny drop.

"Are you suggesting her death wasn't an accident?" Ashton frowned.

He was onto them.

"It's just routine questions, Mr Ventworth." Morgan was first to try and diffuse the conversation. "We're trying to rule out other possibilities."

"Like what?"

Cady's eyes involuntarily narrowed. Ashton Ventworth seemed a little too defensive.

Before any of them had a chance to respond, Ashton was on his feet. "I think you ought to leave."

Rossi and Morgan rose from the couch. "Thank you for your time," Rossi spoke, holding out a business card. "If you think of anything else that would be helpful, please don't hesitate to call."

Ashton didn't move, so Kristen took the card, still seated. Cady followed her new colleagues out of the house, and after she knew the Ventworths were out of earshot, finally spoke. "I know I'm new to this, but that was kinda weird, right?"

Rossi nodded. "What did you get from that?" He knew she had taken the step back in questioning.

Taking in a breath, she sighed. "I don't know. I just keep thinking about all of these women, the pain they went through." She climbed into the backseat of the SUV again.

"If he's spending a lot of time with the victims, he can't be holding down a job," Morgan noted as the engine turned over and he pulled into the street.

"What are you thinking?" Rossi asked.

"Ashton Ventworth is an investor," Morgan explained. "His money works for him, his employees run everything. He'd have enough time to do this."

"You think Ashton did this?" Cady questioned, catching his sight in the mirror again. "He's way outside the profile's age range."

"Age is the hardest thing to predict," Morgan countered. "It's easy enough to make yourself seem younger or seem less intelligent. He's smart enough to be throwing us off."

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𝟲:𝟯𝟮𝗽𝗺
𝗠𝗲𝘀𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗗𝗲𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁


𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 on the painted clouds as the sun began to descend the Mesa skyline. But Cady saw little of it as she re-entered the precinct, surrounded by bland walls and closed blinds. She felt like she had been turning herself in circles as she continually read through what little information was sent to the team by Garcia. Her eyes were heavy, her head was spinning, and she was already regretting her agreement to the transfer Pete had put to her a month ago.

"How'd it go?" Hotch asked, eying Cady as she followed Morgan and Rossi into the room.

"Ashton got really defensive," she explained, shrugging. "Morgan thinks he might be our UnSub."

"What do you think?" He was testing her again. How often was this going to happen?

"Well, if Ashton was the one driving, he might have fled the scene so he didn't have to explain his affair."

Morgan frowned, turning back as he overheard. "What affair?"

"There were no wedding photos," Cady began, finally understanding what she had seen, "and Kristen spoke of Georgina with contempt, her body language was completely closed off. Ashton, on the other hand, was incredibly open until he became suspicious of us. He wanted to talk about Georgina, and he was quick to correct his wife when she tried to badmouth her. I think daddy was sleeping with the babysitter."

"Kristen said she had come home to her bed being messed up," Rossi recalled.

"Mhm," Cady nodded. "I don't think it was the boyfriend."

"Hang on," Morgan was shaking his head, "if Oscar was in the backseat, wouldn't he have known his father was driving and said something?"

Reid spoke up, lifting a finger. "Not necessarily. His medical records show he had transient global amnesia. He had to take six months off of school before his memory started to return."

Morgan scoffed, folding his arms. "Convenient. I'm just saying, all of these women were enrolled in degrees related to child-development, and Georgina was the Ventworths' babysitter."

"I'm not disagreeing," but Cady was almost arguing. "I just don't think he's the type to be killing girls just because he was sleeping with Georgina. It doesn't fit."

Hotch spoke up to diffuse the situation brewing between Cady and Derek. "JJ, did you find anything with Hannah's friends?"

JJ was at the conference table with Emily, perusing the files Reid had gone over in the absence of the rest of his colleagues. "No, they all came up clean," she spoke up, "as did her boyfriend."

"I don't know where else we can look," Emily added.

Cady was covering her mouth, stifling a yawn.

"Head to the hotel," Hotch ordered to his team. "We'll come back to this in the morning with fresh eyes."

"Is that wise?" Cady asked, almost immediately cursing herself. She was used to pushing back against Pete; he was old school and she knew how to manoeuvre around him. She had no idea the reaction Agent Hotchner would have to Cady's questioning of authority. She tried to explain herself. "There's still an eighteen year old girl being tortured out there."

"He holds them for a month," Morgan retorted. "Sophie was only abducted last night."

Cady was tugging at the skin on her bottom lip with her teeth as she looked back to Hotch. He gave her a single nod, barely, and she took it as her cue to join the team to the hotel.

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𝟳:𝟮𝟴𝗽𝗺
𝗠𝗲𝗹𝘁𝗼𝗻 𝗦𝘂𝗶𝘁𝗲𝘀
𝗠𝗲𝘀𝗮, 𝗔𝗿𝗶𝘇𝗼𝗻𝗮


𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐃 to stare back at her, perched on the coffee table of her hotel room, filled with scans and evidence files. The strawberry yoghurt in her hand brought her back to reality and Cady took another mouthful. She rapidly searched her screen, waiting for something to jump out at her.

"Cady, who are you kidding?" she said aloud. "You've spent months on cases before, this is only the first day." She cocked her head to the side. "Yeah, but you're FBI now. If you're not good at this, pack your bags." She glanced at her duffel bag, still on her bed. Sighing, she ate another spoonful of yoghurt, until a knock at the door interrupted her, the spoon still in her mouth.

Her brows furrowed as she stood from the small sofa, heading for the door. The image of Agent Hotchner through the peephole met her gaze, and she frowned further. She opened the door, and her expression said enough.

He didn't even greet her. "Please tell me that's not the only thing you've eaten today." Hotch questioned, glancing at the spoon held between her lips.

She looked at the half-empty tub in her hands before back to him, nodding.

"Cadence."

She plucked the spoon from her mouth. "Look, it's convenient, and I don't have to think about it. I don't need to be supervised with this."

"Well," Hotch began, "do you want to come out?"

Cady's nose wrinkled as she scrunched up her face and shook her head. "No, I haven't really packed for that." She stepped aside to let him in, consuming another mouthful of yoghurt.

"Then let me order in," he insisted, entering her motel room.

She narrowed her eyes. "What are you playing at here, Hotch?" She pressed the lid onto the tub before setting it on the console table, her cockiness creeping in again without her realising. "Do you ask all your new recruits out to dinner?"

"No," he cleared his throat, "I just wanted to make sure you're okay." He noticed her laptop, focused now on the photos the UnSub had sent to his victims' families.

She hesitated, knowing his concern. "I'm fine," she lied.

"I don't expect you to be," he shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers and turned to face her again. "This is your first case with us, it's quite a step from what you're used to."

"I can handle it."

"I didn't say you couldn't." He searched the breast pocket of his jacket, retrieving a silver plastic card. "If you want to order something," he said, "it's on the Bureau."

She couldn't contain her smile as she took the card, watching him head to the door. "Hotch?"

He looked back. "Yes?"

She hesitated. Why was it always so hard for her to say? Especially to him, to the FBI. "Thanks."