nina cried power [SPENCER REID]

twenty-one.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:
THE DIARY

❖ ❖ ❖

When they arrive at the third floor of Nina's hotel, JJ greets them hurriedly (them being Hotch and Spencer, with Derek remaining at the hospital with Emily) when the elevator doors ding! and glide open.

"What did you find?" Spencer asks, following the blonde down the corridor. It's unclear which is Nina's room, especially when they're six doors down: there is no crime scene tape to seal off the door, all for the sake of preserving the secrecy of their investigation.

"Not a lot," she answers, glancing back at the two men on her heels. "She's pretty transient, but we already knew that. But she's got more money in cash than we thought -- not counting the briefcase in her car. Estimate is over a hundred-thousand, probably saved from her past kills."

They reach the room, opening the door to find Rossi already inside, bent down next to a bedside cabinet, but he looks up and straightens when they enter. Seeing their faces, he grimaces, glancing at Hotch as he approaches him and asking, "Who pissed in your cereal this morning?"

"I did, apparently," Spencer cuts in sharply. "What've you got?"

It's a fancy room, with french doors leading to a balcony with a view of the city, an en-suite bathroom made of white marble and porcelain, and a double bed with white sheets.

Upon which, Rossi tosses a little black book.

"Her diary," he says.

All eyes turn to Reid, but Spencer's simply go to Hotch. After his act in the hospital, he can't help but hesitate and look to his boss as if asking for permission. Before he can say, I'd be the fastest to read through it, Hotch gives him a nod, and he picks up the leather-bound notebook hesitantly.

"It's unsurprising she'd write things down," Rossi continues, as Spencer traces the front cover and spine with his fingertips, creased with use and age. "From the looks of her finances, and this room, she doesn't often have much company. Her only friend seems to be Edelstein."

That explains her openness in the car, Spencer thinks. No wonder she'd been so ready to talk, when she hadn't had a proper conversation with someone her age in months. Years, maybe.

Which makes him feel oddly hurt. He'd fooled himself into believing they had some sort of connection, or that she'd spoken to him like a friend because she too felt that thing between me, that gravitational pull. But maybe, after all, their connection is and always has been a facade.

And, more importantly, he feels all the more guilty for his betrayal when he'd shot her, even if it had been an accident. He'd been the first person she'd spoken to properly, and he'd spat it all back in her face like a stubborn child.