Title: Escalation
By: TheLovethief
Pairing: gen
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: PG-13
Warning: non-con
A/N: Same story, less mistakes. I decided to check it for errors once more. I'm sure it's still a bit awkward in places. It's my first long CM fic and I had no beta reader at first. I hope you enjoy reading it nonetheless ;)
Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds.
Summary: A new case requires the attention of the BAU. Soon Reid doesn't know who to trust anymore. Edited version.

***

A screaming noise broke through the silence of the night. Spencer Reid's eyes snapped open immediately. Very still, hardly breathing he sat upright in his bed. Listening. Trying to see in the suffocating darkness of his bedroom. In vain. His brain, of course, was working, imagining. Long moments of deafening silence followed.

Then again the disturbing sound from the outside. This time Reid recognized what it was. Sighing he fell back on his pillow.

Damn cats, he thought. They were obviously having a little get-together on the street right under his window.

The agent dared a look at his clock. 3.42 am. Great. How he hated to wake up in the middle of the night. Reid had never been a big fan of the dark. Because of the inherent absence of light, was his usual explanation for this not very grown-up fear. A fear which had become even worse lately. And he knew exactly why. It was because of 'the problem'...

It had all started a week ago. After a long day at work he'd arrived at his apartment. When he'd checked his mail, mostly bills and even more annoying advertisement, a strange looking letter had caught his attention. The envelope had been red and there had only been his name written on it. Obviously it hadn't been delivered by the postman, but thrown into his mailbox by the writer himself. Curios, Reid had torn it open and had quickly let his gaze wander over the few lines. The short, typed message had made his heart race...

There had been no need for him to read the letter again. Thanks to his extraordinary memory Reid could still remember every single word. Sometimes his brain was a curse.

Very awake now, the profiler listened to the fighting – or maybe mating – cats outside and decided that he could as well use the unwanted state of consciousness to use the bathroom. What's done is done.

Slightly more relaxed, Reid was on his way back to the bedroom when his cell phone rang. A look at the display told him that it was Hotch calling. Which could only mean that there was work to do, another monster they needed to stop from killing more innocent people.

Heaving a sigh, Reid flipped his phone open and croaked a weak "Yeah?".

In fact he didn't feel overly sleepy at the moment, but after several hours without any conversation his voice wouldn't work properly yet.

"Reid, sorry to wake you up." The smooth voice of Aaron Hotchner. "We have a new case. Can you come in, please?" It wasn't really a question, but Reid appreciated the gentle politeness his boss managed even at this time of day - respectively night.

"I'm on my way," the young doctor replied with a now stronger voice. While putting on his clothes, he thought again about the mysterious letter he'd received a few days ago. The message was imprinted on his mind:

Doctor Reid,

Vegas is ours. Stay out of this case. If you decide to use your brain to solve the puzzle, your mother will have to pay. It was Bennington, wasn't it? Hopefully you won't mind sharing a grave with your loony mom. This is not a joke. We are true to our word. Keep your head out of the case.

Reid didn't know what to make out of this. There was no case connected to Las Vegas. He told himself that it was probably a joke, regardless of the confirmation that is wasn't. Bad taste of humor, but definitely not to be taken serious.

Nonetheless it was nagging at him. To be threatened was one thing, but the person threatened to kill his mother. The thought alone was enough to send a shudder down his spine.

Maybe, Spencer thought, he should have told Hotch about the letter. But, no. He didn't want to appear like hysterical girl who just found a slaughtered guinea pig on her doorstep. And since there hadn't really happened anything, he didn't see a reason to do something about it.

Finally fully dressed, Reid decided to push those thoughts back in a far corner of his mind and headed towards work.

Due to his very save way to drive – a habit Morgan occasionally teased him about – Reid was the last one to arrive at the office. When he stepped out of the elevator he almost bumped right into JJ.

With her blond ponytail swinging, the media liaison was on her way to the conference room.

"Morning," she greeted him curtly, not even smiling.

The young doctor followed her, a frown on his face. Something was odd about JJ not smiling. She was almost always smiling, even when standing in front of a raging mob of obtrusive reporters. Reid doubted that her serious expression was caused by the early time of day – it was nearly five o'clock now – because a certain lack of sleep was just part of their job. They were all used to getting called in at night. He assumed that there had to be a pretty ugly new case.

Reid's teammates were already waiting in the conference room, prepared to stop whatever sick mind JJ had chosen was worth their attention. With a small nod Reid greeted his colleagues and sat down next to Hotchner.

The youngest member of the team couldn't help but notice that his boss looked rather worn-out. Probably because of the divorce from Hailey, the profiler thought silently. It must be devastating for Hotch to be parted from his only child.

His thoughts were interrupted when JJ started her presentation about the new case. Before giving them any information she pressed a button on the remote control and several pictures of mutilated victims appeared on the oversized screen.

Now Reid knew the reason for the serious expression on her face. The bodies were hardly recognizable as human. Obviously, those people had been slaughtered like animals.

Suddenly Reid found himself thinking about dead guinea pigs. His face must have lit up a bit because Morgan was watching him with curiosity in his eyes. The younger agent forced his mind to focus on the case again.

"We have five victims, three female, two male," JJ began. "All were killed at night while they were working."

Morgan interrupted: "Working at night? What kind of profession are we talking about?"

The blond agent looked at him. "They were all prostitutes in a crowded area in Las Vegas."

Reid felt his heartbeat skip.

"What?" he blurted before he could stop himself. Everyone's eyes were focused on him.

"I said, the victims had all been working as prostitutes in Vegas," JJ repeated, sounding slightly irritated.

"Something wrong, Reid? You look pale," Hotch asked.

Reid could feel his boss' intense stare on him and regretted his small outburst.

"No," he tried to reassure his colleagues. "I simply didn't catch what JJ was saying properly."

Morgan threw Hotchner a questioning glance but the team leader just shrugged and motioned JJ to continue. While the media liaison told them about the coroner's report and what exactly had been done to those people, Reid felt like throwing up his not yet eaten breakfast. His mind was racing – back to the ominous letter, the threats against himself and his mother.

Oh god. He was just considering if he should tell Hotch about the message when the older agent beside him declared the end of the briefing.

"Wheels up in 20," the senior profiler said and the other members of the team left the conference room.

Reid on the other hand was still trying to get his breathing under control, as well as his marginal stomach contents. He was so occupied with preventing a major panic attack that he didn't notice the door behind his back being opened again.

"Reid!" Hotch called loudly, impatiently.

The team's genius literally jumped. He recalled the statistics of heart attacks suffered by male adults in their mid-twenties who don't smoke or drink or watch football. Deciding that the odds were on his side, he turned to face his boss.

"We're leaving, Reid. Would be nice if you join us," Hotch said humorlessly and turned without waiting for an answer. The younger man was about to follow him when his cell phone rang. Hotch glared back at Spencer once more and gestured him to hurry.

Reid nodded and watched the door close before returning his attention to the ringing phone. No number appeared on the display. Frowning Spencer pushed the green button.

"Hello?" he asked.

Several seconds passed until a very familiar voice simply replied: "Reid."

The young agent froze. He opened his mouth to answer but no sound would escape his lips.

"Reid, are you there?" Again the voice Spencer knew far too well.

He tried to articulate something and this time he managed, though barely a whisper: "Gideon." And decided it'd be better to have a seat again.

"Yes, it's me," the young profiler's recently disappeared mentor confirmed. "Reid, I need you to listen carefully. It's about your new case."

The prodigy swallowed hard and listened.

***

On his way to the plane to Las Vegas Reid was oblivious to everything and everyone around him. Though his basic body functions had calmed down by now, his mind was still racing, replaying the short conversation he'd just had with Jason Gideon. The older man had gotten right to the punch line and demanded that Reid must stay out of the case.

"Why are you saying this?" the younger man had asked, not trying to hide his confusion. "Does this have anything to do with the letter I got?"

"I don't have much time for explanations right now," Gideon had replied hastily. The senior profiler had seemed to be in a hurry. "We need to meet in Vegas."

Reid had swallowed again. Even though his mouth had been so dry, there hadn't been much to swallow. "You are there? What's going on, Gideon?"

But his former mentor hadn't seem to have any intention to enlighten the young genius. "I can't talk right now. I just need you to stay out of this case. Try to divert the team. Please trust me."

Reid had felt dizzy. "Divert the team? But..."

Gideon had interrupted. "Not now. We'll talk in Vegas. I'll let you know when and where." And with that he'd hung up.

For a few moments Reid had continued to listen to the beeping sound the phone had been making. Basically, the man he'd always considered a surrogate father had just asked him to sabotage the team. How was he supposed to do that? Was he even willing to do that?

Reid felt sick.

With wobbly knees he eventually arrived at the plane, slightly amazed that he'd managed to get there without stumbling over his own feet.

He tried to ignore the questioning stares his teammates sent in his direction and let himself fall into a seat at the window, as far away from the others as possible.

Despite of his inner turmoil Spencer tried to focus on the discussion about the case his colleagues had just started. He'd already missed almost the entire first briefing and knew that a lack of information wouldn't be helpful in this twisted situation.

"The killings started ten days ago," Emily Prentiss stated. "Why didn't they call us sooner?"

Morgan shrugged. "We've seen this before. The guys from the local PD probably thought they could handle it on their own."

"Obviously they were wrong. And now we have five dead people," Emily commented angrily.

"Six," JJ said, returning from a far corner where she'd been speaking with the leading detective. "They found another body tonight. Same MO."

Emily shot Derek an accusing glare that said: 'See? They should've called us sooner.'

Morgan got the hint. "This is Vegas. They don't freak out when someone gets murdered," he retorted.

Finally Hotchner interrupted. "This isn't helpful, guys. And it doesn't even matter. Just concentrate on the case," he ordered with his given authority. "What do we know about the victims?"

"The connection between them is obvious," Prentiss replied in a now more professional manner. "They were all prostitutes and had been working in the same area."

JJ continued while flipping through the case file. "The coroner's report says that the cause of death was always a slashed throat."

Morgan looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "So the Unsub stabbed and mutilated his victims afterwards? They were already dead?"

"At least already fatally wounded," Hotch interjected. "They would have died anyway. But maybe they were still alive when the other injuries were added."

The team members exchanged uneasy glances.

"Extreme overkill," Emily murmured.

Reid looked at the crime scene photos. Someone wants to make a point here, he thought, but remained silent. The young profiler had come to the conclusion, that for now he'd better work neither for the team nor against them. He needed more information first. He needed to talk to Gideon face to face.

"Alright everybody," Hotch announced. "It's a long flight to Vegas. Try to get some sleep. I have a feeling that this is going to be a tough case."

Reid watched his colleagues settle down, trying to get as comfortable as possible. The doctor himself, however, didn't feel like sleeping at all. Too many contradictory thoughts were racing through his mind. Spencer turned his head towards the window and closed his eyes tightly.

When he opened them again a few moments later, he was surprised to see Hotch sitting in the opposite seat. Feeling very exposed under the intense stare of his boss, Reid let his gaze drop and started to examine his skinny hands.

"You alright?" Aaron asked with a low voice, not wanting to disturb the others. "You didn't say anything during the briefing."

Still refusing to make eye contact, the younger man replied softly: "I didn't have anything to add."

There was no defiance in his voice, but still... Usually the team's genius had always some facts to add, even if they weren't relevant for the acute problem. Hotch could tell that something was very wrong, but he couldn't quite name it. With concern in his eyes, he noticed the forlorn expression on his subordinate's face.

"Reid, look at me, please," the older agent gently demanded, knowing that the youngest member of the team wouldn't be able to refuse. A certain amount of obedience was just part of his character.

And, of course, Hotch wasn't a senior profiler for nothing.

As expected, Reid's insecure glance finally met Aaron's scrutinizing stare. But the younger man didn't recognize the concern and empathy his boss wanted to express. Instead all he could see was disappointment.

How can he not be disappointed in me? I did nothing to help with the case.

With those thoughts in mind Reid let his gaze drop again. Since he had started to work with the BAU, one of his most important principles was never to disappoint Hotch. He'd always sought the approval of the older agent and wished he could be a little more like the strong, self-confident team leader. Now Reid was about to break this rule and he felt like a cheater.

The doctor was torn between loyalty towards Hotch and the team and the urge to please Gideon on the other hand.

Trust me...

He'd trusted Jason Gideon more than anyone else. But then his mentor had abandoned him – just like his biological father. So the question was: Did he still trust Gideon? Could he?

"Reid," the senior profiler's smooth voice brought him back to reality. "If there's something bothering you... you know you can tell me everything."

And Reid wanted so badly to tell his boss all about the letter and the threats and Gideon's call. If Hotch would push him just a little bit more...

But the older man didn't. "It's okay if you don't wanna talk to me right now. You must be tired. Get some sleep," his superior said and went away to lay down in another corner of the plane.

Reid couldn't tell if he felt relieved or even more alone. Again he closed his eyes, hoping to achieve the state of peaceful unconsciousness. A few minutes minutes later the genius fell into a disturbed sleep.

***

Detective Thomas Wolfe had already been waiting at the airport outside of Las Vegas for about thirty minutes. He was starting to get impatient when finally the plane from Virgina arrived. Only seconds after it had come to a halt a group of tired looking profilers made their way down the few steps. Some of them seemed to be still a bit unsteady on their legs. They probably just woke up, the policeman mused, hoping that the agents would be fit enough to help solving this case.

The first to greet him was a pretty blond woman.

"Hi, I'm Jennifer Jareau, we spoke on the phone," the media liaison introduced herself and put on her famous winning smile. "And this," JJ continued, gesturing towards her boss. "This is SSA Aaron Hotchner, leader of the team." The men shook hands.

"Detective Wolfe, I'm running this investigation," the gray haired man with the impressive uniform said. "Thanks for coming all the way here. We are really out of ideas right now."

"That's our job," Hotch replied simply. After his many years within the BAU he was used to this kind of relieved gratitude the profilers were often rewarded with by the local police. Hotch knew that a warm welcome could turn into skepticism quickly once they had started to work the case. So he concentrated on getting the relevant information rather than exchanging friendly phrases.

"Agent Jareau told us on the plane that there had been another murder?" Hotch got straight to the point.

Detective Wolfe nodded. "Yeah. Early in the morning we received an anonymous call that a body had been dumped in a small alley near the other crime scenes."

"And you think it was the same Unsub?" Morgan wanted to know.

The policeman looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Unsub?"

"Unknown subject. The killer," JJ explained immediately, wondering how many times this sentence had been spoken in the last couple of years. Reid probably knows, she thought and could barely suppress a very inappropriate grin.

"Oh, well, the injuries were almost the same like those of the previous five victims. And all bodies were found within an one mile radius," Wolfe said and added wryly: "I think there's no question if it was the same killer."

"Do you already co-operate with the local media?" JJ asked, mentally preparing to step into action.

"Not yet. We didn't want to spread panic..."

"The people who work on the street must be warned," Hotch stated calmly. He turned to JJ. "I want you to set up a press conference for tomorrow."

She gave him a nod and a smile and the group started to move towards the SUVs.

"Do you want to go to your hotel first? Get some rest before we start?" Thomas Wolfe asked cautiously, aware that the long flight must have been exhausting.

The BAU chief shook his head. Though the word rest sounded pretty tempting, they could waste no time. After all, there was a murderer on the loose, who'll probably kill again within the next 48 hours.

"We should go to the latest crime scene right now," the senior profiler decided.

Half an hour later the two cars arrived at the place where the sixth corpse had been found. It was late afternoon by now and the warm spring sun seemed to be almost touching the horizon. The nice weather did hardly mirror the cruel events that had taken place the night before.

To Reid the sunshine was pure malice. The storm of so many different feelings was still raging through his mind. Hesitantly he followed his colleagues to the crime scene.

The police had left everything how it'd been found, knowing that the profilers would most likely want to take a look at it. The group gathered around the body. They needed a minute to take in the bloody mess that presented itself in the forsaken alley. Hotch was the first to snap out of the daze. He decided that the team could work more efficiently if they split up.

"Morgan, why don't you and Prentiss go and talk to the people on the street. Maybe you can find a witness or at least someone who noticed a suspicious looking person," the team leader suggested.

"Sure thing," Morgan agreed and left the scene together with Emily. JJ had already been taken to the police station where she wanted to prepare the press conference.

So there were only Hotch, Reid and Detective Wolfe left to examine to body. The two older men knelt down next to the remains of what must had been a young woman. Her throat was slashed and there were many stab wounds all over her body. Hotch tried to count them but gave up soon. Due to the large amount of dried blood it was hard to tell where one injury stopped and the other began. The victim's face was hardly recognizable. Apparently, the Unsub had carved something into her cheeks and forehead.

"There are no blood trails. The murder must have happened right here," Hotch said and looked at Wolfe. "Do you know if she was a prostitute, too?"

The detective shrugged. "Well, for obvious reasons it's hard to identify her properly. But if you consider that she was on her own in this area... at night. And then look at her outfit."

Hotch did and noticed that she barely wore clothes at all. Which is probably Wolfe's point, the profiler thought wryly. Once more he let his gaze wander over the body.

"You can't do so much damage within two minutes. This must have taken time," the senior profiler said. "Reid, what do think?" He looked up at the younger agent who still stood several feet away.

Reid was aware that his boss was expecting some kind of input from their genius. "It's, uhm... hard to tell. I agree, this must have taken some time," he replied, realizing that this had definitely not been a genius like comment.

Actually his brain had already calculated how much time the Unsub must at least have spent there. And maybe it wasn't just one Unsub... But Reid said none of this aloud. I can't...

Hotch glared at his colleague, confusion and anger clearly written on his face. Reid turned around, pretending to examine the environment. He couldn't stand his superior's – this time indeed disappointed – expression. Wolfe, though not a profiler, couldn't help but notice that there was something going on between the two agents. Suspiciously he eyed the younger profiler, wondering what the hell this boy was doing here anyway. He barely dares to look at the body, the detective thought. Of course, he didn't articulate any of it. After all he needed these guys' help to catch the killer.

Finally Hotch stood up. "Let's wait for the coroner's report," he suggested and reached for his cell phone to call Morgan. He would have a word or two with his youngest team member in the evening. The team leader was just about to speed dial Morgan when he and Emily bent into the alley, approaching the other three men.

"Got anything?" Hotch had to ask, even if he could read the answer easily in Morgan's face.

The verbal confirmation came nonetheless.

"Nothing. The people on the streets here don't like cops or guys who ask cop-like questions," Morgan said.

Aaron sighed. Though distrust against the FBI wasn't a rare occurrence, he couldn't hide a certain frustration. If the Unsub would choose to strike again tonight, there wasn't much they could do to prevent it from happening.

"Alright then. We're done here," the team leader declared, glaring at Reid one again. The younger man didn't seem to notice, though.

Before the BAU-team went to their hotel to call it a day, they paid the police station a short visit. What they had learned about the killer by now enabled them to give the officers at least a vague profile.

"The Unsub is certainly male, age between 25 and 40, strong physical appearance," Hotch told the cops that had gathered around the profilers. "He was able to overwhelm his victims, some of them male. You need a lot of strength to manage that, especially if you do it so often."

Emily continued: "We don't know about the motive, yet. But there seems to be a lot of anger involved. That mirrors most likely in his behavior. He's nervous and aggressive."

The policemen wrote down everything in their notebooks and moved to leave the station. "My men will keep an eye on the people working in the streets," Detective Wolfe said. Hotch nodded his agreement. There was nothing more they could do.

About eight o'clock in the evening the profilers finally arrived at their not too comfortable looking hotel. They didn't really care about luxury at that point. As long as there were beds in the rooms this place was great. To everyone's surprise they all even got their own room. No sharing. A piece of heaven in the middle of Sin City.

Silently, the five agents split up to settle down in their rooms. Reid was about to close his door when he heard his boss calling.

"Reid, my room in ten minutes. We need to talk," Hotch ordered and turned without waiting for an answer.

The young agent closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the door frame. Just for a few seconds. He knew what the tone in Hotch's voice meant.

'I will talk and you will listen'.

The doctor closed his door with a sigh. He had nine minutes left to gather his thoughts. Then he would have to face a pissed off Aaron Hotchner. Great.

At the same time in another hotel in Las Vegas...

"I told you I'd take care of this. The letter was completely unnecessary," the older man said, more than a bit upset.

"They are here. You screwed up," the younger man retorted, quite annoyed as well.

"I'll talk to him. Let me sort this out. Just stay out of it," the older man demanded.

The younger man snorted. "You are in no position to tell me what to do. You had your chance. Now it's our turn."

***

As soon as Reid had closed the door of his hotel room he'd started to look at his wristwatch every thirty seconds. He knew Aaron would expect some answers. And Spencer had no clue what to tell him.

I need a plan...

Four minutes left. Absent-mindedly he started to unpack his bag. He'd only brought some clothes, a couple of science magazines and his notebook. He threw everything on the bed, without even looking. Some things fell to the ground. Under normal circumstances he would have picked them up. Spencer didn't like the place where he slept to be messed up. Now he couldn't care less.

Maybe, Reid thought, he could claim to be ill.

'I'm not feeling very well – physically' seemed suitable for almost every situation and Hotch could hardly prove that it was a lie...

Oh. Lying. Not Spencer's thing. Not at all. He will start stuttering. Yes, he will certainly stutter his ridiculous lie and Hotch will know...

Three minutes. Reid took his laptop out of the bag and put it on the table. He wasted twenty valuable seconds staring at the computer without really seeing it – as if all the answers were hidden in there. Somewhere.

When the young profiler finally snapped out of his daze he noticed that there was an white envelope on the table. Why hadn't he seen this before? Hesitantly, Reid took the envelope and turned it around. A strong feeling of déjà vu hit him when he saw his name written on it. The handwriting was quite familiar.

Reid glanced at his watch. Two minutes. Heaving a sigh, he opened the envelope and took out the note.

The message was short:

Blue Raven, 10 pm. Come alone. J.G.

Below an address. Reid's heartbeat quickened. He knew Las Vegas like the back of his hand. After all, he'd spent his whole childhood here. He knew this nightclub and this area of town. And he knew for sure that he didn't want to be there alone – at least not when it was already dark outside.

That was enough. He couldn't do that. He had to tell Hotch. Now. Spencer realized that he should have confided in his boss from the beginning.

The time was up and the decision made. Reid left his room to face the inevitable.

Standing in front of Hotch's door, Reid forced himself to breath deeply and slowly. Although still a bit nervous, a part of him was glad to get rid of the responsibility that had rested on his slim shoulders ever since this whole problem had started.

Reid knocked. No response. He waited. He didn't want to knock again. Did Hotch let him wait there deliberately? The first step of punishment?

But then the door opened. Hotch was talking to somebody on the phone, but motioned his agent to come in. Awkwardly Reid stood in the room, not knowing where to look or what to do with his hands. Obviously his boss was arguing about some divorce issues with Haley. Spencer didn't want to witness this very private discussion but what was he supposed to do?

"Yes,...no, Haley, stop it. It told you that I can't attend the appointment with you tomorrow," Hotch said, sounding very agitated.

Reid had a feeling, that this conversation wouldn't be helpful to light up the senior profiler's mood.

"Yeah, whatever. Listen, I can't talk right now. I'll call you back later."

With that he hung up.

Sighing Hotch put the cell phone on the table and closed his eyes briefly. Reid could almost see how his boss struggled to change into his team leader mode again. Silently, tiredly, Aaron sat down on the only chair in the hotel room.

Reid preferred to stand anyway.

"I guess you know why you are here?" Hotch said with his usual calm voice. Reid felt like teenager in the principal's office. He looked at his toes and nodded, realizing that he was also acting like a teenager in the principal's office now.

"Would you please look at me!" Hotch demanded, not so calm anymore. Reid, of course, obeyed and made hesitantly eye contact with his boss. Finally Aaron got to the point. „" I'd like to know why you stubbornly refuse to work this case with us."

Reid swallowed. "I...well, it's c...complicated," he began, inwardly cursing his stuttering. After all, that wasn't a lie. He was about to gather his thoughts, when Hotch spoke again.

"Try me, Reid. I may not have an IQ like you, but I promise I'll do my best to understand what you are saying."

Spencer stared at the older man, wondering where all this hostility came from. Reid told himself, that Hotch was probably exhausted and unnerved because of his little chat with Haley.

Nevertheless it was getting hard not to take it personally.

Aware of the growing impatience that was building up inside his boss, Reid simply blurted out:

"It's about Gideon." There it was. No return. Waiting for a reaction.

Spencer saw the surprised expression on Aaron's face. A moment of silence followed before the senior agent got up and took a step towards the younger man.

"Are you kidding me?" Hotch asked, his voice very low and unusual icy. Almost dangerous.

Reid wanted to step back, but there wasn't really a place to go in the small room. "E...excuse me?" he squeezed out.

Hotch made himself clear. "We are in the middle of a case. There is a guy who slaughters people almost every second day. He'll hardly stop killing until we catch him." He paused a second for effect. "Do you really think this is the right time to discuss your feelings regarding Gideon?"

Reid blinked.

"I know his departure hit you," Hotch went on, obviously fighting to control himself. "But there were a lot of chances to talk to us. You decided to keep everything to yourself. That's your right. But now that we're investigating a case, it's not the best time to change your mind."

For several seconds Reid could do nothing but stare at his team leader. That was not the reaction he'd expected. He remained silent, hoping that the verbal onslaught was actually over.

Spencer then remembered what he'd wanted to tell Hotch in the first place. When he was sure that his boss didn't have anything to add, the younger man tried again:

"You got it wrong. It's not about..." But again he didn't get further.

"Stop it, Reid. I don't want to hear it. I expect you to do your job properly," Hotch interrupted, sounding rather fed up. "Now get some rest. See you tomorrow."

The younger agent considered if he should give it another try. However, Hotch had already turned his back to him. And, honestly, Reid did not have the courage to provoke his boss once more.

Mechanically, he headed towards the door. Before he left the room, however, Aaron spoke again, now in a quiet tone:

"Reid, you are not a child prodigy anymore, but a grown-up man. Start to behave like one."

That stung.

Without another word Reid left.

Totally confused the doctor went back to his own room, wondering what on earth had just happened. He closed the door and sat down on the edge of his bed, trying to clear his mind. The letter on the table caught his attention again. A look at his watch: 8.30 pm. In ninety minutes Gideon would be awaiting him in that nightclub.

What should I do?

Reid knew that his former mentor would have important information. Important for the case.

And he couldn't ignore the threats against himself.

And Mom...

Spencer got up, grabbed his bag and his gun and left the room. He didn't need to take Gideon's message with him. He'd read it once and would certainly never forget the words.

The place where he was supposed to meet the retired profiler was nearly at the other end of the city. Reid decided it'd be less risky to take a cab. While sitting in the back seat, he replayed his conversation with Hotch – though 'conversation' was not exactly the word to describe what had happened.

Am I really acting like a child? Reid asked himself silently. He didn't know what to think. All he knew was that those words, especially the last statement had hurt him. He couldn't help it.

The profiler suddenly realized that he would arrive at the Blue Raven very soon.

"Five minutes," the driver said.

Had Reid asked him how long it would take aloud? He couldn't remember. And it didn't matter. He needed to focus on his meeting with Gideon now.

Gideon.

There were so many different emotions connected with this name. Reid felt frightened of what the older man would tell him, angry that he had abandoned him and just happy to see his surrogate father again.

"Here we are," the driver exclaimed, interrupting his passenger's mental rambling.

The young man paid the enormous bill and headed towards the brightly lit nightclub. Through the large windows he could have a look at the inside. The place was pretty crowded and Reid had to stand on his toes to make out any detail.

Then he saw him. Gideon sat alone on a table in a very far corner. At the sight of his mentor Reid's stomach knotted. For a moment he considered if it would be helpful to throw up before the meeting, but decided against it. Instead Reid took one more deep breath and felt finally ready to go in. He was just about to open the door when he felt something hard making contact with his skull.

He heard a strange whimpering sound escaping his own lips and went to sleep.

***

"Another coffee, sir?" The unnatural high voice of the waitress made Gideon jump slightly. He considered briefly to order a third cup, but decided that he had already enough caffeine in his system.

He asked the brunette girl for a peppermint tea instead and continued to watch the entrance of the club. By now Jason had been sitting there for almost an hour, waiting for his former colleague.

Or friend. Well, Reid.

He glanced at his watch and frowned. Already 10.42 pm. Gideon doubted that the younger man would still show up. He checked his cell phone. No calls, no text message. Though he had been aware that there was no guarantee that Spencer would come to meet him, it was still a bit odd. Usually the boy did as he was told by authority figures like Gideon was – or had been once.

"Your tea, sir." Again the disturbing voice, but this time Jason was prepared.

"Thanks. And I'd like to pay now," the guest said. There was no point in sitting here any longer. While waiting for the bill, and occasionally sipping at the hot drink, Gideon thought feverishly about what to do now. He'd been dealing with those people for over a month now. And he knew how dangerous Tristan Stuart and his goons were, capable of crueler things than simple murders.

Which was exactly the reason why Gideon wanted to keep his old team out of this.

And therefore he needed to talk to Reid.

Where is he?

Realizing that the easiest way to find out was to give the young profiler a call, Jason put the money on the table and left the club. It was way too noisy in there. Once he'd fought his way through the crowd and reached the outside, Gideon grabbed his cell phone and dialed Reid's number.

Straight to voice mail.

Frowning, he put the phone back into his pocket. Maybe, Jason thought, Reid was already asleep. The older man new from experience how exhausting plane rides all over the country could be. Or maybe, he mused, Spencer had to share his room with Morgan. In this case, of course, the doctor would hardly be able to answer his call. But obviously the cell had been switched off completely. Or perhaps the battery was down?

Gideon stopped pacing in front of the club, noticing how futile all speculation actually was. He smiled to himself in his very own self-depreciating way.

Cool down.

The retired profiler came to the conclusion that he should probably go home and get some sleep. In the morning he would try to call Reid again. Yes, that's what he was going to do.

With an unpleasant feeling in his guts Jason headed towards his car.

Hands touching, grabbing, dragging. Lifting?

Voices, whispering, murmuring, then shouting.

Too loud.

Head pounding, no thinking.

Tied wrists, no moving. Shoulders aching.

Thrown to the ground. Something cold, hard.

Can't speak, can't see. Am I blind?

Listening. Buzzing, racing.

A breathless sigh.

Not again.

Aaron Hotchner knew when to admit defeat. It was exactly six o'clock in the morning when the profiler finally gave up. He had hardly slept at all this night and decided that he could as well get up and start working. The profiler went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. For several minutes he simply enjoyed the feeling of hot water running down his body.

There were still so many different thoughts racing through his mind, fighting for attention. The same things that had kept him from falling asleep tonight.

The new case, of course, was one of them. By now they were all used to the sight of mutilated bodies and the empty eyes of the victims. Nonetheless it was always hard to get rest as long as the Unsub was still out there, hunting.

Then the whole ordeal with Haley. As if his job wasn't stressful enough, Hotch had to think of appointments with aggressive attorneys now. Not to mention the nagging pain caused by the loss of his son. Well, he hadn't actually lost Jack, but the few visiting hours Haley graciously allowed him weren't nearly enough.

Feeling less tired and more refreshed, Hotch stepped out of the shower cabin, started shaving

and continued reflecting. In fact, what had kept his mind busy all night had first of all been the conversation with his youngest team member in the evening.

Though the anger had mostly subsided, Hotch felt still irritated by Reid's behavior. Usually the genius always did his best to help the team, eager to please, excited to solve pieces of the puzzle. But this time he seemed to be distracted, as if the case wasn't worth his full attention.

And then suddenly the mention of Gideon! Where had this come from?

No, it had been the right thing to reprimand the young profiler, Hotch told himself, looking at his reflection in the mirror. Reid had to learn that sometimes you have to push back your feelings and give priority to the case. The senior profiler had had to learn this lesson as well when he'd been Reid's age.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. Actually, he'd just finished college with 26, but that was hardly the point, right? Sooner or later Reid would have to learn that he needed to focus on the job.

Again, Aaron looked at himself in the mirror. He didn't like what he saw. And he didn't like at all, what he had said to his subordinate in the evening. Of course, Hotch couldn't apologize. He couldn't undermine his own authority.

And Reid had never been overly resentful. Hopefully the young man would offer some brilliant insights today and everything will be alright.

Hotch threw his reflection one last doubtful glance and left the bathroom to get dressed.

The BAU chief arrived at the police station about seven o'clock – alone. He hadn't wanted to wake up his co-workers earlier than necessary. They would join them soon enough.

Detective Wolfe on the other hand was already at work, looking very worn-out.

"No victims tonight," Wolfe said as soon as he saw the profiler entering the office.

"Good morning," Aaron replied wryly and continued quickly before the Detective got a chance to feel embarrassed. "That's good news. Did you already receive the coroner's report regarding the latest murder?"

Wolfe nodded and headed hastily towards his desk which was pretty messed up. It took him some time to find the right document. Hotch noticed that the man's hands were shaking slightly.

Must be tough to have a serial of brutal killings in your department, the profiler mused.

He took the report and let his gaze wander over he results of the examination.

"It's almost identical to the other five murders," Hotch stated quietly. This wasn't unexpected.

"Time of death about 1 am. She bled out after the Unsub had cut her throat."

"What do we do now?" the gray haired policeman asked, more than willing to follow the profiler's instructions.

"For now," Hotch began. „I'd really appreciate a cup of coffee." A barely noticeable smile flickered across his face when he saw Wolfe's surprised expression. "My team will arrive here soon. Let's discuss any further steps then."

Slowly, hesitantly, very carefully Reid tried to open his eyes. His vision was blurred but he did notice that he was surrounded by a very white, fluorescent light.

Is that it? Am I dead?

"Good morning, Doctor Reid," a clear, cheerful voice greeted him.

Doesn't sound like God, or the devil or whoever will be willing to take me when I'm dead.

Reid gathered all his strength to open his eyes. His head hurt like hell and the bright light wasn't helpful.

It took him a few seconds but finally he could make out the man standing in front of him. He was pretty young, 30 to 35, Spencer reckoned. The guy looked like one of those stylish stockbrokers. He wore a fashionable jacket with a suitable dark blue tie and black trousers.

Reid wanted to say something, maybe ask what on earth was going on here. But after the big effort of opening his eyes he seemingly needed some more time to do the same with his mouth.

"No need to talk at the moment, Doctor Reid," the man with the cheerful voice said, apparently aware of the younger man's struggle to speak. „You will spend some time with us. Probably you wonder what you're doing here." The guy paused. Reid realized that it hadn't been a rhetorical question and nodded warily.

"Well," the young man continued. "I will explain everything later. First I'd like you to meet one of my most valuable employees." With a disgustingly happy smile the man opened the door to fetch said 'employee'.

Reid dared a look at his environment. He couldn't turn around completely because he was restrained to a very cold, very uncomfortable metal chair. The whole room seemed to consist of white painted concrete. There were cameras in every corner of the ceiling, directed at him.

What else.

Spencer had a very unpleasant feeling about this. His experiences with cameras were not very positive ones. Anxiously, he watched the guy return. One step behind followed another man. He was approximately as tall as Reid and about sixty pounds heavier. Not fat, but pure muscle. The profiler swallowed.

"That's Charlie," the first guy said, grinning at Reid's fearful expression. "But you might know him better as 'the Unsub'".

Reid's eyes widened. What was going on here?

"I'll give you boys some time to get to know each other." And the smaller man with the jacket turned around. Before he left, however, he murmured in Charlie's direction: "Knock yourself out. But don't touch his face."

Reid stared at the now closed door, then at the large man in front of him.

Charlie smiled and began.

***

After two cups of surprisingly tasty coffee Aaron Hotchner felt much more alive and awake enough to think about the case. He'd been sitting with Detective Wolfe in the break room for thirty minutes now. Several times he'd tried to get the policeman involved in a conversation not related to the recent murders. But to no avail. The man sat on the edge of his chair as if waiting for a signal that he could finally proceed working.

Sighing Hotch grabbed his cell phone. Wolfe jumped to his feet immediately. He appreciated the profiler's attempts to distract him, but there was no way he could think of anything else than the case. Not as long as the killer was still out there. The Unsub, he reminded himself and almost smiled.

Hotch dialed Morgan's number. It was still early in the morning – not even eight am – but by now he could take the chance to wake up his agents. Probably they were already on their way to the police station.

Some seconds passed before Morgan answered the call. "Hey Hotch," he greeted his boss. "You're already working?"

"Not really," Aaron replied, glancing ruefully at the empty mugs in front of him. "But I'm at the office. We didn't want to start without you." He looked at Wolfe who shifted on his feet impatiently. "Are you coming now, too? There's a lot of work to do." Hotch stressed this last statement, aware of the detective's strained listening.

"Yeah, I just need to get the others," Morgan answered. "I think I could hear something behind JJ's and Emily's doors. I guess they make some last adjustments to become presentable again." A small giggle on both sides of the phone. "I guess I pick up Reid first. We'll be right there, Hotch." End of the morning chat.

Charlie was disappointed. His boss had promised him some major fun with a Fed. A real federal agent! And what did he get?

He let his gaze drop to the curled up figure lying on the ground.

A lanky, whiny kid half his weight. Pathetic!

Charlie scratched his forehead. He didn't know how to go on here. He was told not to kill the boy and not to do damage to his face. Feverishly the larger man tried to figure out what he could do with the freak that would be within those rules. Damn, creativity wasn't Charlie's thing at all.

He had even removed the kid's restraints in order to at least simulate a real fight. But there had been nothing. No defense. And this was supposed to be Fed! Ridiculous.

Almost gently Charlie gave Reid's shoulder a light tap with his foot. No movement. Except for the boy's breathing, of course. Charlie had learned to stop in time. OK, he had failed in some previous cases, but in the end mistakes are important if you want to become better at your profession.

And Charlie was for sure one of the best in his line of business.

He decided that his job was done properly and that he should go and get the boss. He left the room without glancing back at Reid who lay motionless on the cold concrete floor.

"Do you have a map of your department?" Hotch asked Thomas Wolfe. Maybe, Aaron thought, Reid could make a geographical profile later. First of all, however, he wanted to keep the detective busy as long as the team hadn't arrived at the police station. The guy's nervous behavior was starting to get to him.

Quickly Wolfe headed towards another room to get the map. Hotch watched him disappear, shaking his head slightly.

His phone rang. He looked at the display: Morgan.

Frowning Aaron pushed the button. "Morgan? I hope you are calling from the SUV?" It had been ten minutes since their last talk. By now they should be on their way.

The younger agent sounded irritated. "Uhm, Hotch, are you sure that Reid isn't already at the station?"

Hotch paused a second. What kind of question was that? "Well, provided he isn't hiding under the desk somewhere in the office, I am pretty sure, yes."

"Then," Morgan continued earnestly. "...we have a problem."

When Jason Gideon awoke in the shabby bed of his equally shabby interim apartment he felt as if he'd aged about ten years over night. How old would that make him? The retired agent groaned. Nothing to think about right now.

What he knew for sure was that a man needed more than two and a half hours sleep per night.

Jason couldn't even remember a time when he'd gotten some real rest – on a regular base.

Maybe before Frank? Before Boston?

Who cares, he thought and struggled to get on his feet. It took him a minute. Yes, I'm getting old. There's no denying

Though physically wretched, Gideon's mind was still as sharp as it had always been. His memory was working as well.

Reid, he reminded himself while flipping through a large pile of clothes to choose something he could wear today. Jason quickly put on his favorite blue jeans and a plain black shirt and started to search for his cell.

He stopped two minutes later, however, coming to the conclusion that he needed his glasses to find the tiny phone.

Ah, there it was. Stuck between the mattress and the wooden bed frame. With his thumb and index finger Jason fished it out of its trap. He looked at the display to get the time of day.

Almost nine o'clock. Certainly Reid and the others were already working.

Only one way to find out...

He pressed speed dial number two. Reid's number.

This time Jason could hear it ringing. So the phone had been switched on again. Relieved the older man waited for his former colleague to answer. Maybe there was a way to fix things before they would spiral out of control.

"Jason! What a nice surprise," a voice on the other end exclaimed. A voice that did not belong to Reid. Gideon's heartbeat became faster than it was healthy for a man his age. He knew who was there speaking.

"Jason? I guess you're surprised, too?" A chuckle.

The profiler's legs felt way too wobbly suddenly. Gideon let himself slump down onto the ragged bed.

"Tristan," he croaked, realizing that he needed to avoid an overly upset tone. Jason cleared his throat and tried again: "Where did you get this cell phone?"

Now the younger man laughed. "Oh, your friend was so nice to give it to me. At the moment he probably doesn't feel like chatting anyway."

Oh god. They hurt him. Gideon wanted to shout and threat and curse. Stay calm...

"So you have him?" he asked as casually as he could. "I was wondering why he didn't show up last night. You could have told me, Tristan."

This is all my fault, the retired agent thought. Why do I keep endangering the people around me?

"I believe I made it very clear that this is no longer your problem, Jason." Not laughing anymore.

"I'll handle things with Dr. Reid here and you do... whatever you do all day."

Handle things?

"Let me help you sort this out," Gideon suggested. There was no way he would abandon Reid. Not again. "I know how these FBI guys work. You will need my insight, Tristan."

Silence. Apparently the younger man had to consider this offer a moment. When he spoke again he used that cheerful voice Gideon hated so much.

"Alright, Jason. Meet me this afternoon. I'll send you an address."

The older man nodded, more to assure himself than Tristan Stuart.

Both men hung up simultaneously.

Hotch was livid. As soon as Morgan had told him that Reid was not in his hotel room he'd left the police station and a very irritated head detective.

This was unbelievable! How did their boy genius dare to just sneak away? In the middle of a case!

There had to be a rational explanation, Aaron reminded himself while driving towards the hotel. He refused to believe that Reid had run away like a spoiled child only because he'd been reprimanded by his boss. Spencer wouldn't do this. Would he?

When Hotch arrived at the parking lot in front of the hotel Morgan, Prentiss and JJ were already awaiting him. The senior profiler literally jumped out of his car and headed towards what was left of his team.

"Any news?" The logical question was directed at no one in particular. Accordingly no one felt responsible to reply at first.

It was Emily who finally said something. "Nothing. We tried his cell but he didn't answer."

"I'll call Garcia. Maybe she can track his phone," Morgan decided and moved some feet away from the group.

"Good morning, chocolate muffin," Penelope greeted, sounding lighthearted as usual. "Convenient that you call right now. I'm done with checking the victims..."

Morgan cut her off. "Listen, baby girl. Can you try to catch a signal from Reid's mobile phone?"

The question itself and the seriousness in Derek's voice alerted the blond tech girl. "What's wrong? Something happened to my little sweet cheeks?" Nothing but pure concern in her tone.

Morgan didn't want to upset her more than necessary. "We don't know yet. Maybe it's nothing to worry about. But hurry, okay?"

"Of course," Garcia confirmed immediately and quit the call.

Derek turned to face his team members again. "All we can do is wait now," he said.

"No," Hotch countered. "Let's go to his room. Maybe we find something that gives us a lead where he's gone."

There were several aspects of the current situation that concerned Spencer Reid deeply.

The first thing was that he'd completely lost track of time. The young profiler hated it when that happened. To know what time it was, always gave him at least an illusive feeling of orientation and control. At the moment Spencer didn't even know if it was day or night. There were no windows in the room, only this damned, brain-piercing white light.

Reid was also troubled by the fact that his captor hadn't even asked him a question before the beating had begun. That was not the normal procedure. Usually the bad guy wanted to get special information and hit the good guy only if he refused to give them away. Of course, Reid would never reveal FBI secrets or anything related to the case. But it was disconcerting that the man with the cheerful voice had not even tried to get some answers first.

Thinking hurts, Spencer suddenly noticed.

Actually, every single part of his abused body hurt. Or better: every part below his head. For some reason the large goon, Charlie, had not harmed Reid's face. Which was the only positive thing the young doctor could make out at the moment.

Still he lay curled up on the floor next to the metal chair, trying to ease the pain in his stomach. Hopefully the guy hadn't caused internal bleeding or broken bones. In order to keep his mind from drifting into blackness again, Spencer recalled the possible consequences of a punctured lung.

His thoughts, however, were interrupted when the heavy door opened with a creaking sound.

"Dr. Reid. I see you took a little nap." The boss was back and looked with an evil grin at the battered figure on the ground. Charlie had done a good job, he noticed satisfied and motioned his gifted employee to pick up the Fed.

Reid felt strong hands grabbing him by his armpits, lifting him off the floor. The sudden movement caused him to moan pitifully. He didn't want to make such noises but he was in no condition to suppress them.

Charlie pushed him not too gently down on the chair and re-did the restraints. He stepped back again and let his boss handle the more complicated issues. Like talking.

"So, Dr. Reid," the cheerful voice began. "Are you up to a little chat now?"

The profiler managed to lift his head enough to make eye contact with his abductor.

The guy with the suit put on his fake grin again. "You're certainly curious to what you owe the honor of being our special guest."

Spencer merely nodded, knowing that he needed to gather as much information as possible. Then he'd be able to figure out a way to survive this.

Hopefully.

***

It was hard to focus.

The part of Reid's brain responsible for processing information seemed to be off duty momentarily. His mind struggled to shut down, as if trying to protect its owner from feeling the dull, throbbing pain that was raging through his body.

But he needed to focus.

It was important to know why they had abducted him. Which, Spencer assumed, was exactly what that guy with the suit and the tie and the false smile was about to explain right now.

"Are you even listening?" His captor's annoyed question caused Reid to flinch. Obviously his struggle to concentrate had not remained unnoticed.

Now that he was sure of the injured man's attention, the abductor carried on: "I was trying to tell you who I am, Dr. Reid." Not sounding angry anymore. "My name is Tristan Stuart and I'm a... well, a businessman... of sorts." His smile brightened even more. The fashionably dressed man looked expectantly at Reid, aware of the agent's confusion.

"What k...kind of b...business," Reid finally managed to ask.

"Appropriate question, indeed," Tristan replied happily and turned around to Charlie. "You can go now. This is a conversation between gentlemen. So your presence is not required at the moment."

The larger man just shrugged and left the room.

Reid watched his abuser disappear and relaxed slightly. Stuart didn't seem to be the type of man who got violent himself - at least not in a physical way. Nonetheless the agent stayed alert. After all, Reid had no idea where this 'conversation' would lead.

"So what exactly is my business?" Tristan began. "Hm, how to describe it? Figure me as some kind of provider. Yes, that's the word. I provide certain services for well-off men and women."

"Services...," Reid repeated. Not a very detailed description. He wasn't sure, though, if he even wanted to know more details. For some reason the young agent doubted seriously that - in this case - 'services' meant something like 'I walk your dog' or 'I manage to clean every sort of carpet'.

Tristan Stuart was eager to explain. "Yeah, it's about companionship, Dr. Reid. You wouldn't believe how many rich people are lonely. I felt so sorry for them and decided to offer some help," he said grinning, apparently enjoying himself very much.

Dawning.

"So you're a pimp?" The words were out before Reid could swallow them. He had no intention to provoke the guy. Obsequiously he let his gaze drop. Waiting for the storm to come.

What followed, however, was hardly a breeze.

"No, no, I don't like this term. It sounds so dirty," Tristan stated casually. No hint of anger in his voice.

Hesitantly, Reid dared to make eye contact again. It was time to ask the question.

"What do you want from me?"

His captor snorted. "Nothing, really. I don't expect you to co-operate in any way," he said calmly.

The profiler just looked at him. Totally confused.

"The only function you'll have to fulfill is helping me to get rid of your nosy profiler friends," Tristan explained and added smiling: "I guess you already noticed the cameras on the ceiling?"

The hotel room was a mess.

Hotch and the other team members had already spent half an hour searching for a lead where Reid could be.

"I don't think Spence would like us to snoop around here," JJ said while digging through Reid's clothes.

"What he likes or dislikes is not my prior concern at the moment," Hotch replied impatiently.

The room was not that big and the profilers started to doubt they would find anything useful in there.

The unit chief was just about to stop the search when he heard Morgan calling.

"Guys, get here! I think I found something."

The group quickly gathered around the dark skinned agent who was holding a small piece o paper in his hand. The profiler read the short handwritten message aloud.

A few seconds of silence passed. Eventually, JJ asked: "Spence had a date?"

Hotch glared at her, then decided not to comment her question, but to step into action instead.

"Alright. We have an address. Morgan and Prentiss, I want you to go to the Blue Raven. Maybe anyone has seen him there," Hotch ordered. "JJ, you come back to the police station with me. We have to do this press conference today."

After all there was still a murderer to catch. Wolfe must be beside himself by now, Hotch mused. The thought of meeting the over-excited detective again was not particularly delightful.

While JJ and Emily were already on their way out, Morgan was still looking at the dubious letter. Hotch placed a hand on his shoulder to get him out of his trace.

The younger man looked at his boss. "J.G?" It was more a statement than a question.

Both men's gazes locked. Several seconds. Uneasy seconds.

Remarkably enough that it was Hotch who broke eye contact first. "Let's not jump to conclusions."

Morgan nodded and left the room with the note in his pocket.

Hotch let his gaze wander over Reid's messed up stuff one last time and followed his colleague.

Reid had about a billion questions. He hadn't got the chance to ask them because Stuart had left the room in the middle of their so-called conversation to answer his cell.

He'd promised to come back, though.

The pain, Spencer was relieved to notice, had become more and more bearable. It looked like the injuries Charlie had inflicted were not that serious. The profiler tried to clear his diffuse thoughts. Obviously Tristan didn't want any information from him. How could he be helpful to make the team leave the city?

Reid glanced anxiously at the cameras above him. They appeared to be switched off at the moment. No tiny red light to be seen right now. He remembered the red spot from his first meeting with Tristan. There was most likely a video of his little encounter with the goon.

The young doctor's mind drifted back to his ordeal with Tobias. Or Charles. Or Raphael. There had been a camera, too. Hotch had told him afterwards that Gideon and Garcia had watched the beating, the seizure and eventually his death. Short-lived death, Reid thought and struggled not to laugh out loudly.

Black humor is a psychological mechanism to suppress fear. Don't get hysterical...

He looked around again. This was different. His captor seemed to be in control and very comfortable with the situation. The whole setting was much more professional.

Reid was also rather worried about the fact that Tristan knew so many things about him. He was probably the one who had sent the threat to his apartment.

And what about Gideon? The older man must have been upset that Reid didn't show up.

Speaking of upset...Hotch. Oh. Of course! The team was certainly looking for him already.

They are the best profilers in the country. They will find me.

Before this small glimmer of hope could sink in properly, the heavy door opened again.

"Sorry I made you wait, Dr. Reid. But the call was urgent," Tristan explained evenly.

As if this was some kind of distinguished business meeting, Reid noted inwardly and eyed his abductor to see if the call had any influence on the guy's mood. Didn't seem to be worse so he dared to ask one of his billion questions.

"Did you send me the letter?" Yeah, that was a good one to begin with.

Absent-mindedly Tristan answered while walking around the chair Reid was restrained to. "Uhm, not me personally, but yes, the idea was mine."

The man had moved out of Reid's sight for a short period of time. Not long enough to scare the young doctor.

Only a few moments later he stood again in front of his captive, this time holding a remote in his hand.

The agent's gaze wandered from the remote up to Tristan's grinning face and further up to the cameras.

"I'm glad to see you got the hint." Cheerful, sickening voice again. He pushed a button.

Red lights on. Cameras on duty.

When Reid lowered his gaze again he suddenly found himself looking right into the barrel of a gun.

His heartbeat quickened immediately.

"I'm going to remove your restraints now. Don't try anything, Dr. Reid," Tristan warned.

Spencer watched him with irritation, hardly able to breath, let alone move.

Still pointing the gun at Reid, the man took a step back, scrutinizing his captive. Considering.

Finally speaking: "Now, take off your shirt."

***

"I don't like to repeat myself, Dr. Reid. Take off your shirt!"

No, no, no, no...

"No," Reid managed with a small choked voice, watching fearfully how the man with the gun became more and more agitated. The agent started to miss that cheerful tone now.

"That was not a request," Tristan said angrily. "You will either get out of this shirt on your own or I'll tell Charlie to help you with it."

Reid didn't want to be touched by Charlie or anyone else. And he didn't want to be seen without his shirt. The BAU genius had always been a very private person. There was a reason why he wore those geeky clothes – cords, shirt, sweater vest, tie. He would never expose himself willingly by wearing something tight and sexy like Morgan did sometimes. Reid was aware of his own skinny, pale body and the last thing he wanted to do was to draw anyone's attention to his lack of muscles and, well, masculine strength.

He looked at his tormentor pleadingly, seeking for at least a tiny glimmer of empathy. All he got in return, however, was a cold smirk.

"Come on," Tristan urged. "I'm sure there is nothing to be ashamed of." God, sometimes he loved his job.

Reid exhaled audibly. Slowly, very slowly his shaking hands moved to the top button of his shirt.

"Where have you been, Agent Hotchner?" Detective Thomas Wolfe had been all over the place since the senior profiler's abrupt departure in the morning. The unit chief hadn't even explained what was going on. The guy should offer a real good excuse for his behavior.

"There was an incident at our hotel that required my attendance," Hotch stated calmly. There was no need to tell Wolfe about Reid's disappearance.

Before the policeman could initiate a longer discussion, the team leader tried to soothe him with some good news. "I brought Agent Jareau with me," he said, gesturing to JJ. "I suggest you two discuss the details of the press conference. I have an important call to make."

The team's media liaison smiled at the still irritated looking detective and led him away by touching him softly at his elbow.

Hotch waited until they were out of sight, then grabbed his cell phone and dialed Garcia's number.

"Speak handsome boss man!" the tech girl replied, sounding quite busy.

"Did you get any signal from Reid's phone yet?" Aaron knew he should rather ask what she'd found out about the victim's identities, give priority to the case at hand. But he seriously started to worry about their youngest team member. All the anger and disappointment Hotch had felt before gave away to pure concern and, if he was honest with himself, a growing feeling of guilt.

He heard Penelope sigh. "Sorry, the cell must have been turned off. There's no sign of it," she told her boss and asked tentatively: "So our sweet genius boy didn't show up?"

"No, not yet," Hotch replied truthfully. "All right then, please send us the information about the victims."

"Will do," Garcia assured and quit the connection.

The senior profiler put the phone back into his pocket and joined JJ and Wolfe.

Meanwhile Morgan and Prentiss were driving towards the Blue Raven. It had been a silent journey until now. Both agents were lost in their own thoughts. Emily had noticed the troubled look on her partner's face and glanced at him from the passenger seat every now and again.

They had almost reached the given address when she finally decided to say something. "Uhm, do you have any idea who could have written the message?" After all Derek knew Reid much longer than Emily did, so perhaps...

"No," Morgan answered curtly. He didn't mean to sound rude, but Hotch was right. Speculation wouldn't do any good here. He glanced briefly at Prentiss who preferred to look out of the window again and decided to ignore her slightly hurt expression.

"There it is," Derek exclaimed, relieved that the awkward situation would come to an end. He parked the SUV in front of the club which seemed to be closed. A sign at the entry told the agents that the place would only open at six pm. And now it was around noon.

They peered through the window and saw a man cleaning up the bar. Morgan knocked. The small, rounded middle-aged guy frowned and unlocked the door.

"Can't you read?" he asked the far too early visitors unfriendly. "If you wanna dance come back in six hours." The guy was about to close to door again, but stopped abruptly when Morgan and Prentiss showed him their badges.

"We have a few questions if you don't mind," Derek said calmly and stepped past the confused man without waiting for an invitation. He didn't need one.

The restaurant was very crowded. It was lunch time and many businessmen and -women had come to spend their break here, eating and chatting.

Gideon sat alone at a table near the window, distractedly shoving his food around the plate, thinking. Tristan had sent him an address where they would meet this evening. The retired profiler was well aware that it wouldn't be easy to get Reid free. He had a pretty good idea what purpose was behind the kidnapping. Probably, Jason mused, they want use the young agent to force Hotch and the team to step back from the case.

Blackmail Aaron Hotchner! Gideon couldn't help but smile at the thought. He knew his former colleague would never abandon a case, despite of Reid's involvement.

Reid. The small smile on Gideon's face faded. The boy must be terrified. Especially after his experience with Hankel. But as distinct to the disturbed man who had abducted the genius some months ago, Tristan Stuart knew very well what he was doing. To him it would be of no interest if Reid was a sinner or a saint. If it'd serve the purpose the man wouldn't hesitate to hurt the young profiler. Or kill him or do even worse things Gideon didn't even want to think about.

With unsteady hands the retired profiler lifted the cup of coffee to take a sip of the bitter liquid. He needed to think of a plan how to convince Tristan to solve the problem in another way. That it wasn't necessary to harm the young man. Maybe he could at least find out where they kept his friend. If all other efforts failed he would still have the opportunity to tell Hotch. Hopefully they would be able to save their youngest teammate.

Everything is going to be all right.

It was cold. It was so cold in this white painted concrete room that was illuminated by the even whiter light shining from above.

Reid shivered. Tristan had taken away his shirt after he'd forced him to get it removed. That must have been hours ago. For the young agent it felt like an eternity. The cameras seemed to be still working. He barely dared to look at them, trying to pretend that nobody was going to see him like that.

He looked down at his exposed upper body. The bruises Charlie had inflicted earlier were still developing, getting darker with every hour that passed.

The pain, however, was almost gone. Disconcerting somehow. Feeling the pain was always a sign that the body's alert system was still intact.

Now there was no pain, but only a spreading numbness. Was it the low temperature? The lack of food and sleep? Or pure exhaustion?

Reid had no idea. And he didn't want to think about it. All he wanted was to get up from this freezing metal chair. Out of this room, away from those violent people.

He wanted to be saved by his team. By Hotch. Just to be held.

Where are they?

At the same time at the police headquarters Detective Thomas Wolfe approached the leader of the BAU-team with a small packet in his hands.

"Agent Hotchner," he said, interrupting a conversation between Hotch and JJ. "This has just been delivered for you."

***

Next part of Escalation.