"Seven kids have gone missing in the last month," I started. "Like you said, they're taken in the middle of the night. The mothers wake up to find an empty bed or an empty crib. There's no sign of forced entry, everything was shut and locked, and the cops on the case have no leads."
"Well, that's helpful," Dean said.
"Any connections?" Sam asked leaning forward.
I shook my head.
"I can't find any," I said.
Both Sam and Dean sighed.
"Have any leads on what we may be hunting?" Dean asked.
"I have more than a few, but I'm still trying to narrow it down," I explained.
Four and half hours later, we're walking into a motel room.
"Who's ready to become a FBI detective?" Dean asked with a grin.
"Oh hell to the no," I said dropping my bag onto one of the two beds.
"Well, if you want to help then you kind of need to," Sam added.
I grinned.
"No I don't," I said shaking my head.
They raised an eyebrow at me.
I dug into one of the pockets in my bag and pulled out my fake badge and handed it to Dean.
"FBI consultant?" He asked.
Sam snatched my badge from Dean and looked over it.
"Ashley Jensen?" Sam asked reading the name.
I nodded.
"What kind of name is Jensen?" Dean scoffed.
"It's my moms maiden name," I said putting my hands on my hips.
He snapped his mouth shut while Sam chuckled quietly.
"So, what exactly does a consultant do?" Dean asked.
"I can pretty much do everything that you can do, you know if you were a real detective, except for arrest people," I explained.
"Nice touch on the gun permit part," Sam said handing my badge back to me.
I grinned.
"Have to have a good reason incase someone sees my gun," I said.
"Do you have a monkey suit?" Dean asked.
I grimaced.
"I refuse to wear a monkey suit," I growled.
"You kind of ha-" I cut Dean off by going into the bathroom and shutting the door.
"Well, that wasn't very nice," I heard his muffled response.
I giggled and changed into a blue and black flannel, buttoning it up, and a pair of black slack.
Brushing my hair and keeping it down, pooling over my shoulders and down my back.
"That doesn't look very professional," Dean commented as soon as I exited the bathroom.
"How about now, Mr. Picky?" I asked pulling on a black blazer.
"Better," Dean said grinning.
I sat down on the bed and noticed that Sam and Dean had already changed into their monkey suits.
I reached for my converse, but Dean stopped me.
"You may get away with the flannel, but converse won't do," He said.
I glared at him.
"I don't have dress shoes," I lied.
Grinning, Dean reached into my bad and pulled out a pair of black heels.
Don't ask why I have them.
I sighed.
"Come on, don't make me wear those damned things," I begged.
"Sorry, but you gotta do what you gotta do," He said.
I glared at the shoes before taking them and slipping them over my heels.
I stood up and grimaced.
"I hate heels," I grumbled.
"Suck it up, we have to go," Dean said grinning at my pain.
I slapped his arm and grabbed my badge, slipping it into the inside pocket of my blazer.
I also grabbed my gun, tucking it into the same pocket.
Sam let me sit shotgun while he pulled up the address of the first victims home.
Quickly getting there, we got and headed to the front door.
The houses here are all nice and good sized.
A woman with dark hair and dark eyes opened the door.
"Yes?" She asked.
"Hi, are you Mrs. Avery?" Dean asked.
"It's Ms. Avery, who's asking?" She clarified.
"I'm Detective Turner, my partner Detective Bachman, and our consultant Ashley Jensen," Dean introduced. "We have a couple questions for you."
We flashed our badges and Ms. Avery took special notice to me.
"Since when does the FBI use consultants?" She asked.
"Since now, ma'am," I said with a small smile.
She stared at me for a second longer before opening the door wide for us to come in.
We followed he to the living room where she offered us a seat.
"I assume you're here about my son?" She asked sitting down across from us on the couch.
Sam nodded.
"He was taken a month ago, correct?" Sam asked gently.
Tears welled up in Ms. Avery's eyes as she nodded.
"Can you tell us about that night?" Dean asked.
I looked around the living room.
There are pictures lining the walls and on the shelves.
I could see pictures of her son, her, and who I assumed was her husband.
Something next to the couch caught my attention.
Piled right next to my feet is a neatly folded blanket with a pillow on top.
"It was a normal night. We had dinner, watched a little TV, I put Chase to bed, and an hour later I went to bed with my husband. When I woke up the next morning, Chase was, was-" She choked.
"I'm very sorry," Sam said softly.
Ms. Avery wiped her eyes.
"Have you noticed anything weird lately?" Sam asked.
"Weird?" She echoed.
"Any strange smells, lights flickering-"
"What are you talking about?" She asked raising an eyebrow.
"Nothing, ma'am, do you mind if we see your sons room?" I asked.
Her dark brown eyes flickered over to mine.
"Ah, sure," She said standing.
We stood up and followed her to the stairs.
"It's the first door on the left," She informed us.
"Thank you," Sam said.
We went up the stairs and entered Chase's room.
Ms. Avery stayed downstairs.
"Did you guys notice the blanket and pillow by the couch?" I asked as Sam pulled out the EMF meter.
"Any readings?" I asked looking around the boys room.
I knew from the article that Chase is three, and his room deflected that.
His walls are painted a baby blue color and decorated with basketball and cars.
Dean and I checked the windows.
Something on the outside of the window pane caught my eye.
"Dean, what's that?" I asked opening the window.