𝘾𝙊𝙇𝘿-𝘽𝙇𝙊𝙊𝘿𝙀𝘿, criminal minds

──── Chapter One, Extreme Aggressor

     "Fast plane." She whispered under her breath, so only the canine she traveled with would hear.

     As the jet steadied in the air, the five people on board got up from their seats to discuss the case they had been given, and only when the redhead was comfortable enough, did she join them, the German Shepherd stalking steadily at her side.

     "His first victim was twenty-six-year-old Melissa Kirsh . . . " Spencer spoke as the woman came to stand nearby. "Stab wounds, strangulation—"

     "Wait, wait. Back up. Back up." Derek stopped the younger agent. "He stabbed her . . . and then strangled her to finish her off?"

     "Other way around." Jason replied dismissively. "Why do you think he started using the belt with the second murder?"

     "Strangulation with your bare hands is not as easy as one would believe." Spencer told them. "He tried, probably found that it took too long—"

     Derek looked up, seemingly deep in thought. "So he stabbed her instead."

     "And realized it would be hours cleaning up the blood." Aaron's voice was quiet, thoughtful.

     "Blood's not the easiest to clean up." Jacquelyn clicked her tongue. "Certainly would take more than soap and water. Probably more than bleach."

     Agent Morgan tapped his fingers on the back of the seat. "Next time, our boy's got a method—the belt."

     "He's learning, perfecting his scenario." Jason's voice dropped slightly. "Becoming a better killer."

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     Walking after the group, Jacquelyn's gaze caught the wording, which was painted as a seal on the glass door of the building they were entering. Department of Justice — Federal Bureau of Investigation.

     She entered, walking through the metal detector — not caring about the high-pitched shriek which emitted when it traced the metal on her. The redhead allowed herself to be pulled to the side for a full body scan, not bothering to offer locations as to where the weapons, chains, and two blades were located.

     After being cleared — and being given some suspicious looks from the officials on guard — Jacquelyn grabbed the rucksack which had been x-rayed as well, swinging it over her shoulder and once again grabbing her dog's leash. While she trusted the canine not to run off, she didn't want to alarm anyone who saw an on-duty vested police dog without a handler right by her side.

      She and her partner were given visitor's badges to authorize access to the building, and quickly followed the others toward the briefing room, which she could tell was dead ahead.

     As she walked closer to Derek Morgan, she caught the beginning of a conversation, and lifted her head slightly to hear them. "He never stands with his back to a window." The dark-toned male was speaking to Spencer. "When I was between him and a doorway, he asked me to move."

     Spencer glanced at him, stopping in his stride and forcing Jacquelyn to also stop walking behind Aaron. "That's hyper vigilance. It's not uncommon in post-traumatic stress disorder."

     Derek seemed to be rather unenthusiastic about that revelation. "Just how much disorder are we talking about?"

     Aaron cleared his throat, which was good timing, as Jacquelyn herself nearly interrupted them. "Morgan, it's been six months. Everything's okay."

     The redhead agent pushed past them to enter into the office area with her dog, who let out a soft whine at the sheer number of people who were in the building.