Guilty Pleasure

Twenty-four: dead gaze

Tw: death

Emily

Kicking the chair in front of me full force, I groaned in frustration. Hands placed flat on the round table in front of me, I gathered my breath again. Eyes closed for a moment, I focused on my breathing and waited until my chest did not ache anymore. The older man's eyes from my side did not influence me whatsoever. Rossi stayed quiet.

"Tell me we at least have a lead. Anything more than another victim." My voice was nothing but cold and I noticed how I was more and more sounding like the evil woman I pretended to be when Jean joined.

No, even worse. I sounded like my mother.

"Negative, so far." Tara's statement earned me go slam my fists onto the table.

I did not sleep properly this whole week and that we missed her by a few minutes made my blood boil. How could they not be faster? We've known the location of the attack, the target and the time. So how on fucking earth did they not capture at least one of his men?

"Wait," Spencer's voice echoed now and I froze. Patience wearing thin, I was about to ask what it was he noticed, though he was faster. "Andie," the man said.

My brows furrowed together. "What?"

Andie? The name Doyle told Jean.

JJ was next to speak. "It's carved into the desk of Mr. Thompson..." she hummed softly and I assumed she'd be looking around for more information. "Why would—"

"Jean." I stated quickly.

It was the only reasonable explanation. It had to be her. She'd wanted us to find it.

"Why would she do this?" My brows pushed together at Rossi's question from my right, as he took a seat. "Why carve the name of him into an object?"

Spencer gasped, "Garcia, do we know anything about the place Jean was brought up by Doyle?"

The tapping sounds of her keyboard followed and she nodded eagerly next to us. "Oh yes, we have the address."

My heart raced inside my chest and the tension grew to an all time high. "We need to get there."

I stormed outside the conference room, down the hallway and into my office. Tired feet made me grab onto the desk for a second, as my thoughts circled and circled. We would get her. I knew we would find her in the house. Why else would this happen? Why his fake name?

The air around me was so unbearably warm, although it was the beginning of autumn. The reflection of my body in the small mirror besides the couch almost earned me to jump in fright. My hair was tousled and greasy. The thick and dark eye bags of mine would be visible from miles away, not to mentioned my knitted blouse and slacks.

A soft knock at the door revealed the grey haired Italian man. "You shouldn't go, Emily —and I mean this with absolutely no judgment or offense, but you look horrible."

Rossi's soft smile forced wrinkles to dominantly paint his skin, though as I attempted to mirror his expression I sensed the energy floating outside of me.

"I need her to know I am okay." My statement came off weakly and I tried again. It was silly trying to tell her I was okay, when I clearly was not, but important was that I was alive. "I need to know if she is okay. I want her to see a familiar face— my face. I just need to see her again."

His big hands came to steady my body by the shoulders. He rubbed his thumbs along them.

"You will see your girl." He nodded and glared at me as if it was a promise he made. "Take a shower, get changed, allow the rest of the team to do the great work and then embrace her. We don't want to frighten her, do we?"