What Goes Around Comes Around

Missing Right Ring Finger

"...and each victim is missing her ring finger on her right hand," I heard Hotch say as I entered the round table room.

Spencer and I were the last to get there, and we were late, no doubt because of me. Everyone turned to look at us.

"Welcome, gentlemen," Rossi said. "So nice of you to finally join us."

My face turned red while Spencer hurriedly went to sit down and open his file folder.

"Forget about it," Hotch said. "We don't have time for that now. You two will be briefed on the plane. Wheels up in thirty."

I started to apologize, but Hotch put his hand up and walked away. Spencer looked at me and shrugged.

Great, that left me with twenty-five minutes to call my endocrinologist and make sure I would have a prescription waiting for me when we landed. I sighed and dialed the number.

"Hello," I said. "This is Jordan Hawthorne. I'd like to speak with Dr. Alec regarding one of my prescriptions."

Jane, the receptionist, put me on hold for one minute.

"Jordan," came Dr. Alec's voice. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm traveling, and I forgot to bring my next few doses with me, Doctor. Is there any chance you could send a prescription to a pharmacy in Detroit, Michigan?"

"It's not time for a refill yet," he told me. "You know how this works."

"I know this is a controlled substance," I said. "But I really need it. I missed a couple of doses, and I'm having withdrawal symptoms if you know what I mean."

"Why wouldn't you take it?"

"I work a very demanding job that requires all my attention. Sometimes I forget things."

"Jordan..." Dr. Alec sounded like he was about to lecture me, but I cut him off.

"I'm sorry, but I really don't have time for this. Will you do it or not?"

I winced at my tone. I realized I sounded desperate and aggressive.

"Fine," he said. "Just this once."

"Thank you so much, Doc."

I had barely hung up the phone before I felt a tap on my shoulder. I jumped. I turned around to see Derek.

"Sorry, Short Stack," he laughed. "Did I scare you?"

"No," I said. "And stop calling me that. I may be 5'4, but that just means I'm compact and efficient."

"Whatever you say, Short Stack," he said. "Are you ready to go?"

I nodded as he guided me outside, using my head as an armrest.

I was briefed immediately upon entry. There had been five victims so far, all women in their mid-thirties to late forties. They had all been found with their right ring fingers missing. Their bodies had been found in front of various churches. Hotch told me and Spencer to go to the most recent victim's house to speak with her family.

We were met by the victim's boyfriend. He told us about how she had just moved in with him, and she was well-liked by everyone who knew her. She had a two-year-old daughter from a previous marriage with who she shared custody with her ex-husband. We thanked him and left to go talk to the ex-husband.

As we got in the car, I feigned a sudden headache.

"Hey, Reid?" I said.

"Yeah?" he asked casually before looking at me. "Are you okay?"

"I suddenly have a really bad headache. I think I need some ibeaprophen. There's a pharmacy right around the corner from this guy's house. Can we make a quick stop?"

"Sure," he said, sounding suspicious.

After we parked, Spencer began to unbuckle his seatbelt. I put my arm out in front of him to stop him.

"I've got this," I told him.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "If you're not feeling well, I can go and get it for you. You should sit here and rest."

He looked at me with genuine concern in his eyes. His eyebrows were scrunched up, and he had a slight frown. Even upset, Spencer Reid was the most gorgeous human being I had ever laid eyes on.

"Really," I told him. "I'm good."

I got out of the car and hurried into the pharmacy. Luckily there was no line at the check-in. I have the pharmacist my information, and he told me that my prescription would be ready in five minutes.

While I waited, I grabbed some ibeaprophen off the shelf. I knew I couldn't go back without it after I expressly said I needed some.

Five minutes later, I paid for my stuff and left the pharmacy. I made sure to open the bottle of ibeaprophen and put a couple of pills in my pocket to make it look like I took some.

"That's more than just some ibeaprophen," Spencer commented on the big prescription bag as I got back into the car.

"I uh-" I stuttered. "I remembered that I needed to refill a medication, so I took this opportunity to do it."

"Okay," Spencer said. He didn't sound like he believed me.

The ex-husband told us that the divorce was amicable. They split everything evenly, and their daughter seemed to have adjusted well to it. But there was one thing.

"She cheated on me with that son of a bitch," he told us. "That boyfriend she was living with now? He was the babysitter. I knew it was coming. We weren't in love anymore. But still, the babysitter?"

We thanked him for his time and left.

"I don't think he did this," I said to the team back at the police station.

"Definitely not," Spencer agreed. "He may have been angry with her, but he still cared for her, and she was the mother of his child."

"So she was a cheater but otherwise well-liked?" Emily asked. "So what do we do with that information?"

"Did Garcia find any connection between any of the victims?" Morgan asked.

"No," said Hotch.

"So where does that leave us?" I asked.

"Right where we started," Rossi sighed.

"Alright," Hotch said. "We know that this killer doesn't torture his victims. He just kills them and dumps the bodies. He has a cooling-off period of three days. The last body was discovered twelve hours ago, so that gives us just under sixty hours to find this guy before he kills again."

We all looked around at each other anxiously. I gulped.

"It's getting late, and I need everyone as sharp as possible, so I'm ordering you all to get some sleep. Go to the hotel and rest up for tomorrow."

In my hotel room, I finally had a chance to take my testosterone injection. I went to the bathroom and unpacked the bag from the pharmacy. I measured out the dose and prepped my skin with an alcohol pad before taking a deep breath and piercing myself with the needle.

God, I hated needles. I worked for the FBI and investigated some of the most gruesome murders. Chopped up limbs? Burned flesh? Sure, no problem. Needles? That's where I drew the line.

I sighed as I threw the needle into the trashcan and put the rest of my supplies into my go-bag. I set a reminder on my phone so I wouldn't forget my shot next week.