Chapter 20: Professional Distance
The conference room filled with the particular energy of a team ready to work.
Gideon took his usual spot at the head of the table, Hotch beside him. Morgan sprawled in his chair with the casual confidence of someone who'd seen enough to not be intimidated by anything. Reid had already spread papers across his section of the table, organizing data before the briefing began.
Elle sat across from me. Professional distance measured in feet of table and the neutral expressions we both maintained.
This is fine. This is manageable.
JJ clicked the remote, and the screen filled with crime scene photos.
"Seattle," she said. "Three families targeted in the past two weeks. Home invasions, but not for robbery. The unsub breaks in, restrains the family, and then..." She paused, searching for the right word. "Terrorizes them."
"Terrorizes how?" Morgan leaned forward.
"Psychological torture. He spends hours telling them everything wrong with their lives. Affairs, financial problems, family secrets—things they've never told anyone. Then he leaves. No physical harm, but the families are destroyed afterward."
"Destroyed how?" Gideon's voice was quiet, thoughtful.
"Divorces. Custody battles. One family's teenage daughter attempted suicide after finding out about her father's affair from the unsub." JJ's jaw tightened. "He's not killing them. He's making them wish they were dead."
The room absorbed this.
[CASE ANALYSIS: INITIATING]
[PATTERN RECOGNITION: FAMILIAR ELEMENTS DETECTED]
[FOCUS: -3]
Something about this case triggered my meta-knowledge. The methodology—the intimate details, the psychological destruction, the careful research into victims' secrets. I'd seen something similar before, in episodes I'd watched in another life.
If this is what I think it is, the unsub escalates. Terrorizing becomes killing.
"How does he know?" Reid asked. "The personal details. How is he accessing information that private?"
"That's what we need to find out." Hotch stood, moving to the map on the screen. "The three families live in different neighborhoods, different economic brackets. No obvious connection."
"There has to be one," Morgan said. "This level of research takes time. He's not randomly selecting victims—he's hunting them."
He's right. And I think I know where to look.
"What about digital footprints?" I asked.
Eyes turned to me.
"The information he knows—financial problems, affairs, family secrets. Where do people discuss that kind of thing? Social media. Private messages. Neighborhood forums." I kept my voice casual, analytical. "If he's researching victims, he's doing it somewhere they don't expect to be watched."
Gideon nodded slowly.
"You think he's stalking them online."
"I think it's worth checking. Garcia can pull their digital histories—see if there's overlap."
"Do it." Hotch turned to JJ. "Wheels up in thirty. We'll coordinate with Seattle PD en route."
The meeting broke up. I gathered my things, carefully not looking at Elle, carefully not giving Morgan anything to notice.
"Mercer."
Morgan's voice caught me at the door.
"Yeah?"
"You seem different today. Focused, but... I don't know. Something's shifted." His eyes were sharp, assessing. "Everything okay?"
"Fine. Just tired. Texas took it out of all of us."
"Texas was over a week ago."
"I'm a slow recoverer."
Morgan didn't look convinced, but he let it go.
"If you say so."
I walked to my desk, aware of his gaze following me. Aware of Elle across the bullpen, carefully not watching.
He suspects something. But suspicion isn't proof.
Garcia intercepted me before I could reach my chair.
"Mystery Man." She fell into step beside me, voice lowered. "You're very still today. More than usual. Everything okay in Mercer-land?"
"Fine. Why does everyone keep asking?"
"Because we're profilers. It's what we do." Her eyes flicked toward Elle's desk—empty now, as she'd gone for coffee. "Careful. This job eats relationships."
The words hit harder than they should have.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Sure you don't." Garcia's expression softened. "I like you, Ethan. And I like Elle. Whatever's happening or not happening, just... be careful with her. She's tougher than she looks, but that doesn't mean she can't be hurt."
She walked away before I could respond.
[SOCIAL OBSERVATION: GARCIA — HIGH PERCEPTION]
[WARNING: COVER INTEGRITY QUESTIONABLE]
She knows. Or she suspects enough that it might as well be knowing.
I dropped into my chair, pulled up case files, tried to focus on work instead of the web of complications forming around me.
The jet was crowded with the usual pre-case energy—laptops open, files spread, Garcia's voice crackling through the speakers as she fed us preliminary data.
"All three families used the same neighborhood communication app," she reported. "TownConnect. It's like a digital bulletin board for local communities—lost pets, yard sales, recommendations for plumbers."
"And people share personal information there?" Elle asked.
"More than they should. The platform encourages 'getting to know your neighbors.' People post about their lives, their problems, their achievements. It's a goldmine for anyone who wants to research a specific family."
"Can you trace user accounts?" Hotch asked.
"Working on it. The app has decent privacy settings, but decent isn't the same as good. Give me a few hours."
The line clicked off.
I sat in the back of the jet, case file open on my lap, mind running through possibilities. Elle was three rows ahead, visible in profile, carefully not turning around.
Professional distance. We can do this.
My phone buzzed. Text from Elle.
Garcia said something to me too. We're not as subtle as we thought.
I typed back: Noted. We adjust.
Morgan keeps watching you.
I know. I'm handling it.
Handle it better.
I pocketed the phone, suppressing a smile that had no business appearing on my face.
Some things are worth the complications.
I just hope this is one of them.
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