Killer Affair | Spencer Reid Short Story

Fire

Spencer

The sound of shuffling papers around me fades as Derek approaches, his face unreadable, eyes narrowed with an intensity I know well. There's something in his expression that makes my pulse quicken, even before he speaks.

"Reid," he says quietly, glancing around. "We need to talk. Alone."

A pit forms in my stomach, but I nod, following him into one of the briefing rooms. The silence stretches as he closes the door, and I can't shake the sense that something's about to drop—something heavy, something... wrong.

Finally, he turns to me, and I brace myself.

"A witness has come forward," Derek begins, his voice serious, maybe even hesitant. "They reported seeing a woman leaving the scene of our last crime. Right around the estimated time of death."

I nod slowly, trying to connect the dots, trying to understand why he's looking at me like that. "Okay, well... Did they give a description? We can pull the witness statements and cross-reference them with any nearby footage—"

He holds up a hand, stopping me. "They already gave a description, Reid."

I search his eyes, feeling the air around me get denser. There's something more, something he's not saying.

"The witness described her as tall, dark hair, around thirty," he continues, his voice now softer but just as firm. "And when we ran a few images past them... they identified her as Gwen Moore."

The words hit me like a physical blow, and I have to grip the edge of the table to stay upright. I shake my head, trying to process, trying to make sense of it.

"No. No, Morgan, that can't be... There has to be some mistake. Gwen... Gwen wouldn't..." My voice falters, and I can't bring myself to say the rest.

Derek's face doesn't change, but his eyes soften. "I get it, Kid. Believe me, I do. But the witness was certain. They said they saw her leaving through the back exit—right after the time of death."

My mind races, grasping for an explanation. "Maybe they were mistaken. Maybe... maybe it was someone who looked like her." I'm practically pleading now, feeling the weight of each word. "Gwen couldn't be involved. She couldn't."

Derek sighs, and for the first time, I notice the pain in his expression. "Spence, you know how this works. We don't move forward on one witness ID alone, but... this isn't the first time her name has come up."

I open my mouth, but there's nothing I can say. I want to defend her, to tell Derek he's wrong, that Gwen's innocent... But the words get stuck somewhere between my heart and my mind, and I can't find my voice.

I feel Derek's hand on my shoulder, solid and grounding. "Look, we're going to investigate this fully, without any assumptions. But we can't ignore it, either. I'm sorry, man."

I barely manage a nod, my mind spinning in a thousand directions, each thought darker than the last.

The moment Gwen walks into the precinct, her calm demeanor unsettles me. She's not nervous, not defensive—just... calculated. I tell myself it's a misunderstanding, some terrible mix-up, but deep down, an ugly realization coils like ice in my stomach. The truth I don't want to face, the truth I can't bring myself to admit, even to myself.

Hotch calls her into the interrogation room, his expression unreadable. Derek follows, sparing me a look that's hard to interpret. I step forward to join them, instinctively needing to be in that room. But Hotch's voice is firm, leaving no room for negotiation.

"No, Spencer," he says, a warning in his tone. "This is too close to home. We'll handle it."

I feel my heart drop. "Hotch, please—she's... I need to be in there."