The New Agent: Secrets

Chapter Two (Edited)

(Gideon)

Two years.

That's how long the BAU has been hunting the man that lies before me, his body strewn out on the cold slab. His glassy eyes stare lifelessly up into my own. A smirk spreads across my lips. If there's anyone in this world that deserves a painful death, it's this man. He's claimed the life of twelve women. Twelve familes forever broken due to this man's horrific actions. It's rather ironic that a woman had proven to be his downfall.

My dark eyes flicker to the coroner. He's focusing on the body, making a few vocal remarks as to the condtion of said body. He catches me watching. He offers a shrug.

"She really did a number on him, eh?"

I nodded, leaning back. Hands shoved into my pockets, I rock back and forth, "Well, he deserved it."

The coroner nods in understanding. We both know what the man before us has done. No one is going to cry for me. He'll be lucky to get any sort of funeral. I doubt anyone will rush to claim the remains. In that scenario, he'll be cremated. Even that is too good for him.

"She's upstairs, isn't she?"

Rebecca Hurtz is being treated for minor injuries sustained in the tustle. She's lucky. It could have been worse...much worse. Disfigured images of his previous images flicker into view for a brief moment. He'd tortured those women, drawn out the pain until their very last breath. A shudder went down the length of my spine. I couldn't save them. I couldn't save any of them.

"Give her my regards." The coroner speaks, snapping me back into reality, "Thank God he won't be sending any more bodies my way."

I offer a nod in response. Not much else I could say to that. The echo of footsteps on the linoleum floor tells me we're no longer alone. I turn. Hotchner stands a few feet behind me, his face pinched in what I could call a fairly normal expression for him. He rarely smiles. This job will do that to a person.

"Hotch." I offer as I approach.

His eyes flicker over my shoulder before returning to me, "Gideon. We need to talk."

"About?"

His eyebrows furrow closer together, "The woman."

"Ah." I nod. My eyes drop to the folder I've just noticed him carrying, "What do we know?"

"She's one of us."

"FBI?"

Hotch nods. Now...that is surprisingly. "She didn't have a weapon on her at the scene."

Hotch shakes his head, "No. Not that she needed it."

"She's...very capable it would seem."

The woman upstairs couldn't have weighed more than a buck twenty. She was petite in stature with a clear chip on her shoulder. It didn't take a profiler to see that she didn't work or play well with others. Imagining her working in a professional envirnment of any kind is...well, it just isn't plasuable.

From the way Hotch continues to stare at me, I know he isn't done, "There's more?"

He nods in affirmation and offers me the folder. I snatch it a little too abruptly. Hotch's lips tilt into a frown but he doesn't say anything. My eyes scan the document. Top of her class, Rebecca Hurtz isn't a typical FBI agent. She's a meticilous overachiever who....

My eyebrows shoot up, "She's part of the BAU?"

"Transferred as of yesterday."

"I didn't approve this. You?"

Hotch shakes his head, "This came from higher up. Whoever she is, she has connections."

This wouldn't be the first time a transfer had come from the top of the food chain. Emily Prentiss had been the last. She'd turned out to be quite the capable agent. But, judging from the red flags that scream at me from her file, Miss. Hurtz would be lucky to last a month.

I run my open palm over my mouth. This is bad. Sure it's not the end of the world but the press is going to have a field day if and when they get ahold of this information. I can see the headline now.

Rogue FBI agent hunts down serial killer. Takes matters into her own hands.

It doesn't matter how true or false that information is. I learned a long time ago that truth rarely matters in situations like this. The papers will run whatever headline they think will earn them the most reads.

"We need to interview her. Find out exactly what happened." Hotch insists.

I cock an eyebrow. Surely he doesn't think she'd gotten herself attacked on purpose. We hadn't even known he'd been in Virginia. How could she have gained access to that information before us?

It's true that she fits his typical victim demographic. Petite, on the slimmer side, red hair. All these physical attributes puts her well into the unsub's target group of victims. But he has an M.O. He stalks his victims. If what I'm reading is correct, Miss Hurtz has only just arrived in Virginia. The unsub would not have had time to properly stalk this one.

"I don't think this was intentional, Hotch. It doesn't fit his M.O. He stalks his victims. He hasn't had the time to-"

"-to prepare a torture room, I know." Hotch sighs, "Victim of oppurtunity?"

I nod. "He hasn't had a kill in months. Perhaps the call to kill just got too strong and he couldn't resist such an easy target."

We stand in silence a moment, each watching the coroner begin his dissection of the body. The cause of death is clear. Blunt force trauma to the temple. Something metal and slightly cylindrical, a pipe probably, had collided with such force that half his face was completely shattered and unreconizable.

It doesn't take long before we decide we've seen enough. He leave the morgue, heading upstairs to where Miss Hurtz is being examined by a medical professional. The doctor is backing from the room just as we approach.

"How is she, doc?" I'm the first to speak.

The doctor glances at her notes, shrugging, "Considering what that man has done, I'd say she got off lucky. Extremely lucky," She flips a page, "A few minor cuts. They'll heal. Probably scar but I'm sure a few more won't matter."

Hotch and I exchange glances. From the way her cheeks redden, she's said something she hasn't meant to. I don't have the change to question the doctor in regards to her statement before she is called away to deal with another patient.

"What do you think she meant by that?" I inquire, training my attention on the door.

Hotch offers a simple shrug. He doesn't like to speculate. Neither do I. My fingers curl around the knob. I push the door open. She isn't completely dressed yet. We both freeze in the doorway. She doesn't seem to see us yet. She shuffles around, adjusting the waistband of her shorts. I see the earbuds in her ears.

That's not what draws my immediate attention. It's the lacerations that decorate her back. It's not one or two. There's more than I can count if I'm being honest. Head tilted to the side, I can't help but wonder what caused them. Time has healed the wounds...the physical ones at least.

Hotch clears his throat. Right. We back out slowly, allowing the door to close behind us. Neither of us speak. We hesitate a moment before Hotch raps on the door, hard enough so she can hopefully hear us over the earbuds.

"Come in."