The BAU jet was quiet, save for the soft whir of the engines and the tapping of Dr. Reid's fingers on the edge of his tablet. Across from him, Jason Cole sat in his seat, reading the case file again—not because he needed to, but because it calmed him. In truth, he already had it memorized. Dates. Times. Locations. Victim routines. He could replay it all in his mind like a tactical simulation.
Reid looked up. "You've read that six times."
Jason didn't look up. "Seven."
"Why?"
Jason flipped a page with surgical precision. "Because patterns don't reveal themselves when you want them to. They reveal themselves when you stop forcing them."
Reid tilted his head, curious. "That's not how pattern recognition works in a traditional cognitive sense."
Jason finally met his eyes. "You ever been dropped behind enemy lines with no backup and a six-hour window to stop a dirty bomb?"
Reid blinked. "No."
"Then trust me—my kind of pattern recognition works fine."
Reid looked like he wanted to argue but didn't. Gideon was nearby, watching them over a chessboard that no one was playing.
"You two might make an interesting pair," he said, voice distant, thoughtful.
Jason gave a dry smile. "Let's see how interesting I am in the field."
Seattle, Washington
15 Hours Missing: Victim #3
The scene was already crawling with uniforms when the BAU SUV rolled up. Jason stepped out and scanned the area. Third victim. Same M.O. Female, mid-thirties, lives alone, apartment intact except for one missing person and a faint chemical residue left near the door.
Hotch handed out assignments quickly, like a commander on the battlefield. "Reid, go through the building's security logs. JJ, coordinate with media and missing persons. Elle, interview neighbors."
Hotch turned to Jason.
"You're with Gideon and me. We're looking at the scene firsthand."
Inside, the apartment felt sterile. Too clean. Not just the unsub's work—this woman was meticulous. An organized life, predictable habits.
"He's stalking them," Jason muttered. "He studies their routines. Infiltrates their rhythms. Strikes when they feel safest."
"You can tell that from a glance?" Gideon asked, eyebrow arched.
Jason nodded toward the hallway mirror. "It's angled. Perfect view of the door from the bedroom. But her jewelry box is closed, bed untouched. She saw something—or someone—and left without resistance. That means trust. Or fear disguised as obedience."
Hotch looked over. "You think he posed as someone official?"
"No," Jason said. "I think he posed as someone expected. Delivery man. Maintenance. Something non-threatening."
He crouched, scanning the floor tiles. Then he saw it—an indentation in the carpet by the closet. Not large enough for a bootprint, but too distinct to ignore. He measured the spacing with his fingers.
"Kneeled here. Maybe for leverage. Pulled her from behind."
Hotch glanced at Gideon. "That sound right?"
Gideon didn't answer at first. He was staring at Jason, eyes narrowed.
"You're not just trained," Gideon finally said. "You're built for this."
Jason stood. "No. I was built to kill. This… this is new."
Later That Night
Back at the field office, Jason stood alone in the evidence room. Photographs of the victims stared at him from the board—three women, three different lives, all erased by the same calculating hand. He stared at them like puzzle pieces.
The door opened. Reid stepped in quietly, holding a thick file. "I cross-referenced your theory with public service logs. You were right. All three women had service calls logged within 24 hours of their abductions. But no companies have records of dispatches."
Jason's eyes lit up. "That's the unsub's window. He's creating false service calls to gain access."
"And hiding the evidence afterward," Reid added.
"Smart," Jason said. "Too smart for a spree killer. He's compulsive, not impulsive."
Reid looked at him. "I meant what I said earlier. You don't act like someone our age. You move like Hotch, think like Gideon, and talk like someone who's lost people."
Jason didn't answer at first. Then, without turning, he said, "I had a team once. We were ghosts. In and out before anyone knew we were there. We saved a lot of people. Lost even more. But no matter what we did, the bad ones kept coming."
Reid was silent, unsure what to say.
Jason finally turned. "So I figured… maybe the next war is here."
Reid gave him a look that bordered on admiration. "Well… welcome to the front line."
Across Town
He watched from the van parked just across the street. Another target. Another perfect pattern.
He flipped open the file. Her name was Christine. Teacher. Quiet. Predictable.
He smiled to himself and adjusted his fake service badge.
Tomorrow, he'd make his move.
But he had no idea this time, the predator wasn't the only one stalking prey.
This time, someone worse was watching him.
Jason Cole was coming.