Chapter Text
Acceptable risk
~Part 1~
Surrounded by people in the JOC, when Jubal cursed, he had to do it to himself. He should never have let be convinced to set that operation in motion.
None other than Isobel acting as an undercover agent, acting as bait for those murderers.
In the course of just over four months, six victims had already appeared in the tri-state area; brutally and repeatedly raped, then strangled. All were middle-aged, attractive, brunette, dark-eyed women. All of them Latinas and, interestingly, all of them spoke Spanish.
They knew it was two men because forensic examinations had detected the presence of semen from two different individuals. Not using a condom was, according to the BAU, a sign of arrogance and wanting to exercise complete control. It was also an oversight that was sure to help the team catch them.
Unfortunately, they were much more careful in hunting their victims; so far there had been none within camera range or in sight of witnesses. They hadn't got yet an image, a vehicle, or a description. Nothing.
The other leads they had followed from acquaintances of the victims or from residue found on their bodies had also been dead ends. Unfortunately, they were at a dead end.
Isobel had the three Governors —New York, New Jersey and Connecticut— and the Director constantly asking for news, while between all of them they juggled to keep it out of the press.
In the meantime, they had had to take on several other cases.
And now a seventh woman had disappeared. Margarita Tormes, high school Spanish teacher, wife, and mother of two children.
In the other cases, they knew that the women were held —and abused— for three to five days and then found dead. Usually in unpopulated areas of any of the three states. They didn't hide them much. The killers didn't even bury them.
More than 48 hours had passed and time was ticking away. Now they were working against the clock. There was no time. Margarita was likely to turn up dead the next day. Isobel was the closest option to try to set them up. The team had managed to reduce the hunting ground to a bar and its surroundings; a grocery store, a gas station. That night, Isobel would go to the bar and let herself be seen, hoping to attract the attention of those bastards.
And she certainly attracted attention. Upon entering the establishment, the hidden camera that she wore on a pendant showed the image of her reflection in a large mirror that was next to the door. No one else but Isobel could have worn that provocative dress with its overly flashy print with class.
The purely primal part of Jubal couldn't help but admire —again— how the garment highlighted her curves, the short skirt showing her long legs, that plunging neckline enhancing her bust. Jubal had already done so just before Isobel left 26 Fed, when he had argued with her for the last time, determined to find an alternative solution.
"Are you sure?" Jubal had asked then, forcing himself to look away so as not to be distracted while Isobel put a tiny earpiece into her ear.
"Of course," she replied without even thinking about it.
Jubal grabbed from the table with his whole hand the compact 32 Beretta that Isobel had chosen for this mission.
"You haven't done this in a long time…" he argued. He needed to make sure she had thought this through. Lately, Isobel had been acting with increasing and alarming recklessness. "You might have to go into combat."
She jerked her head up. Her eyes flashed, like bursts in the darkness. "Excuse me? Give me my gun, please."
Jubal withdrew his hand a little, not allowing her to reach it.
"Isobel, please listen," he said, concern tingeing his voice and making it hoarse. "We can still find another way. One that won't put you at risk."
He had pleaded with his eyes. Now he was ashamed he had done it. Isobel had hesitated, looking at him intrigued. But it failed to change her mind.
"My agents risk their lives every day. You do it every time I ask you to. I can do it this time," she said sharply, approaching Jubal with a determined step and trying to pry the gun out of his hand.
He withdrew it further, causing Isobel to chase after the weapon as she riddled him with her gaze, her lips pressed into a thin disgruntled line. Jubal faced her; brow furrowed in frustration and, out of pure reflex, hid it behind him, resting his other hand on Isobel's hip to keep her from reaching for it.
It took Jubal several seconds to realize that Isobel's body was barely a couple of inches away from his own.
He had forced himself to hand her the pistol and pull away, his pulse more fluttering than he would have dared to admit by the unusualness of her proximity and that contact. She hid the gun in the bottom of her purse, turning her face away.
Now, at the JOC, Jubal exhaled and turned his back on the screens. This was no time to think about that. Well, it wasn't that time or any other. ADIC Hawkins, there in the absence of Reynolds who was away on a trip, gave him a sidelong glance. Jubal ignored him. He didn't like the arrogance Hawkins always exhibited.
He should never have let be convinced... Only Isobel had not convinced him. Jubal had continued to argue vehemently against it, but Isobel had made the decision anyway.
Now he was stuck at the JOC, unable to do much more than watch her put her life on the line.
·~·~·
The bar was not crowded, but it was quite busy. Still, Isobel's arrival turned all male heads and elicited many appreciative glances, even from the boy delivering some crates of drinks.
At first, she approached the bar.
"[Good evening]," the bartender greeted her cordially in Spanish, curiously. "[What can I get you?]"
"[A pitcher of beer, please]" she answered without thinking in Spanish as well.
Then she went to sit at one of the remaining free tables. She glanced at her wristwatch, pretending to be waiting for someone. It had been a long time since Isobel had last done any undercover work but it was striking how her training and experience had immediately put her in the mindset needed for it. It had been years, but it was as if it had been yesterday. It gave her a particular feeling of concentrated trepidation, akin to being totally in control while driving at full speed.
She took inventory of the people present without drawing attention to herself. There weren't a couple of guys stalking the women present. A few groups of friends, both male-only and mixed, three couples, just a couple of guys by themselves. One of them seemed to be deep in his own thoughts. The other, however, a bearded man that seemed a biker, often looked at her when he thought she didn't see him.
About half an hour had passed when another guy broke away from the group he was with and walked over to Isobel's table.
"Hello," he said, "I don't mean to intrude. I just wanted to tell you something."
Isobel had noticed that this particular individual had been watching her openly for some time. She gave him a slight gesture, giving him a chance to speak.
"Excuse me for breaking it out," he said, "but the guy who's keeping you waiting is a complete jerk. If I had a date with you, I would have been waiting here since morning. A woman like you," he put special emphasis on those words as he ogled her, "is not kept waiting."
Hearing the cloying cadence in his voice, Jubal muttered a "This guy is a slime ball" to the amusement of Ian and Kelly who had him nearby at the time.
The man was not drunk, but a certain twinkle in his eye said that he had already drunk several beers.
He must have been handsome a few years ago, but he had neglected himself and now his belly bulged well above his belt. Brown hair, which was already in need of a trim, average height, he wore jeans and a red and black plaid flannel shirt, open to reveal a dark T-shirt underneath. He wore a neatly groomed goatee similar to Jubal's. Isobel had to force herself to put her ASAC out of her mind, the heated argument she'd had with him before leaving, the deep worry she'd seen in his eyes, and how his scent had enveloped her when they'd stood so dangerously close.
She pushed all those too vivid memories aside, and regained her concentration.
She laughed at the man, pretending to be flattered. She looked at the clock feigning to be irritated with her date. The guy ventured further. He told her his name, Brett, and offered to buy her a drink and keep her company while she waited.
No one had seen Margarita with a man on the day of her disappearance, but she had had a drink in that bar with a group of friends, so Isobel agreed. When he asked her name, she told him her cover name casually.
"Candelaria."
It didn't take long to find out that Brett was a regular at this bar, which meant he was from the area and might have been around when the victims disappeared.
Would there be a predator like the one they were trying to catch trying to pick up a woman in a bar in plain sight? That didn't seem very likely, but Isobel decided to play along. Keeping an eye on the bearded biker, she started flirting with Brett.
·~·~·
The guy Isobel was talking to seemed to have a thing for being spoken to in Spanish, because he was insisting that he wanted to practice the language and asking Isobel to tell him something. Jubal wondered if he was somehow in cahoots with the bartender to coax out the pretty brunettes to find out if they spoke Spanish. The BAU suspected that it was an important part of the perversion of those criminals.
Isobel must have had that in mind too, because she went along with it.
"[I like this place. It's very lively]" said Candelaria.
Jubal didn't understand but clenched his jaws as he heard it. It had sounded too warm in his ears. This Brett must have known more Spanish than he did, because he smiled broadly and replied that he agreed.
Jubal suppressed a muffled grunt. He knew Isobel was playing a role. She wasn't really flirting with that guy. Besides, feeling irritation about it was totally out of place. He wasn't able to shake the feeling, though.
The exchange in Spanish went on for a while, during which Brett moved closer and closer to Candelaria. Until there came a moment when he slipped his arm around her shoulders in a somewhat clingy manner. The camera showed him in a distant mirror. Jubal twisted his face slightly in displeasure.
Meanwhile, Isobel pretended to put her hair up so that the device placed in her ear would not be visible.
As she moved her head, everything around her moved more than it should. All of her senses were suddenly alert. She hadn't had enough to drink for that. Brett was leaning in, bringing his face close to her neck. He was suggesting she left with him.
"Hey, is this guy bothering you?"
Damn. She had tensed up and, although Brett hadn't even noticed, someone had.
Isobel looked toward the voice. Again the feeling of imbalance. That could only mean... From the next table, one of the men who were accompanied by his girlfriend was looking at them worriedly. The biker was also still watching them.
Isobel made a decision in that millisecond.
"No, no. Everything is alri—"
"Hey, mind your own business," Brett snapped, aggressively, waving his hand at the man.
In doing so, he knocked one of the beer mugs with his hand. The contents splashed onto Isobel. Something sizzled in her cleavage. She reached for the camera hidden in the pendant she wore, trying to remove the liquid; the device had become unhealthily hot.
Both outside in the van, from where Tiffany and Stuart were monitoring, and from the JOC came concerned statements that they had lost visuals. Next to Jubal, Elise took a sharp intake of breath, dismayed.
Brett apologized profusely. He handed her a napkin. Between the two of them they wiped up the splashes.
Isobel had to restrain herself from slapping Brett because he tried to swipe his napkin more over her bust than he should have. She stood up abruptly. And the bar took two dizzying merry-go-round spins around her.
She leaned on the table for a moment, and recovered herself. Brett had risen as well; he caught her around the waist, perhaps a little too solicitously.
"Are you OK?"
"I'm fine," said Isobel. She turned to the other man. "I'm fine, don't worry," she assured him. She turned to Brett. "I need to go to the bathroom."
Exercising iron control over her altered senses, Isobel walked calmly and dignifiedly toward the toilets. Brett followed her.
"Eeeh... I think you need some fresh air. I'll…" He looked around in a quite suspicious way, "I'll wait outside," he muttered.
Isobel smiled at him over her shoulder.
"I'll be out right away."
Jubal ran his hand behind his head in bewilderment. "What!?"
·~·~·
Careful not to ruin her makeup, Isobel splashed cold water on her cheeks.
"What do you mean, 'I'll be out right away'?" Jubal asked in her ear. "You— you just can't go with that guy, Isobel."
"I think he's one we're looking for," she replied after locking the small toilet from the inside.
"And how the hell do you know that?" He sounded quite exasperated
"Because he spilled something in my drink."
"What? When? No. Impossible," Jubal argued. "He might have distracted you, but we would have seen it."
"I'm feeling it, Jubal."
A few seconds elapsed as the implications sank fully into him. They condensed and became an icy, viscous shiver that crawled up his spine.
"All right, that's it. Get out of there. The operation is aborted."
"What!? No way!"
"We'll bring him in right now," Maggie interjected over the radio, really concerned.
"Exactly. Drugging a Federal Agent is more than enough," OA added. "You don't have to risk yourself any more, Isobel."
Scola and Tiffany did not hesitate to support them.
"No. I can't," said Isobel. "What will happen to Margarita then?"
"We'll make him talk," Jubal stated. "He's toast. We have his DNA, I'll get him to rat on his accomplice and tell us where Margarita is. I can do it, Isobel. You know I can."
"Yes, I know you can, but not before her accomplice kills her. He's going to take me to his lair, I'm sure."
"No. we abort. Get out of there," Jubal insisted vehemently.
"Back off, Valentine. Castille's right," Hawkins snapped. "This may be our only chance. She's just doing her job."
Jubal looked at him dumbfounded. His mouth and eyes open.
"What!?"
Everyone in the JOC looked at them alternately, almost aghast. Hawkins ignored Jubal and addressed Isobel.
"And we have three State Governors on us."
"With all due respect, sir," Isobel said. "I don't give a damn about the three Governors. I only care about Margarita."
"Whatever," Hawkins replied. "It's up to you, Castille. If you're up for it, go ahead."
"No! No way!" Jubal exclaimed. "We've lost the camera. And you said it yourself, Isobel. You are drugged. Are you going to walk into the lion's den like that? It's not an acceptable risk!"
One part of Isobel's mind paused, noting that carrying stimulants and a spare camera should be added to undercover protocol. Another part could not help but notice the desperation in Jubal's voice; it resonated intensely within her. She pushed both aside, anyway.
"No, it's not," she replied, fighting back the daze. "But it is the only way."
"You heard her. We move on," said Hawkins. "Bell, Zidan, prepare to follow discreetly."
He didn't think about it for a second, the bastard. Jubal ran his hand over his face, biting his lips.
When Isobel stepped outside, she shook her head, trying to clear her head. Before leaving the bathroom, she had stuck her fingers down her throat to force herself to throw out as much of what she had ingested as possible, but she still felt increasingly groggy.
She looked around the parking lot, searching for Brett. She didn't see him around. Isobel tried to ask the team if they saw where he was. Her tongue didn't quite obey her. Only a few slurred words came out. She wobbled on her high heels, losing strength in her legs.
Suddenly, someone grabbed her from behind, covering her mouth with their hand. Isobel tried to break free but whoever was holding her was too big, too strong, and the drugs had left her almost incapacitated.
·~·~·
They all heard Isobel struggle on the audio. They could sense her fear in the high-pitched tone of her muffled grunts. Jubal shook his head with a knot in his stomach. He saw Elise wrap her arms around her body, Kelly bite her lips. Sounds of a car door opening. More struggles. A slamming noise.
Maggie and OA cursed because they couldn't get to see him; they were moving their car because some recently parked trucks were blocking their line of sight.
An old Chevy pulled out of the parking lot.
"We have a visual on Brett," Maggie reported. "We don't see Isobel. He must have put her in the backseat."
Jubal let out a shaky breath. For a moment his heart had nearly stopped.
"For the sake of all you care, don't lose that car," he gasped.
Maggie followed at a safe distance.
"Mmm... You're so hot," came from Isobel's audio. "I'm going to have so much fun with you. Wait till we get there."
Isobel's labored breathing could also be heard, some grunts from her.
The Chevy drove for about ten minutes on a couple of secluded roads. Maggie and OA followed at a distance with their headlights off. The audio was silent.
Then, to everyone's bewilderment, the vehicle pulled into a modestly manufactured housing development. Small detached villas, with tiny gardens in front. The properties separated from each other by just a handful of feet.
"I don't like this, Jubal," said OA, apprehensive. "This doesn't strike me as a place to hold someone prisoner and..."
Do what they had done to the victims, Jubal finished the sentence mentally. He didn't answer, but clenched his fists tightly. No. It didn't look like it to him either. Surrounded by potential witnesses who might see him bring her home, who might hear something...
Brett parked in front of the garage. There was another car inside. As he got out of the vehicle, he didn't look back, not even at the back seat. He made his way to the house, digging into his pockets.
Jubal straightened up, rooted to the spot, with an unpleasant, heavy feeling in his stomach.
"Go get him," he ordered flatly.
Hawkins did not object.
The wheels screeched with Maggie's braking as she came to an abrupt stop next to the small patch of grass.
OA and she stepped off with fluid, well-trained movements, weapons drawn and halting. The suspect did not resist.
And they discovered that there was nothing and no one in the back seat of the Chevy. Nor in the trunk.
That heavy sensation ascended and sat on Jubal's chest, suffocating him.
The guy seemed genuinely puzzled that the FBI was arresting him, but at OA's aggressive questions —Where's the woman you were with!? What have you done with her!?— he just panicked.
"I don't know! I did nothing to her! She's not with me! I swear! I— I just wanted a romp but the other guy got really sinister. And I was late getting home anyway, I didn't want to piss off the missus, you know."
A woman in a robe watched from the doorway of the house with wide eyes.
"Wh— what other guy?" choked out Maggie.
On the audio, Isobel was heard mumbling something unintelligible.
"You can't wait to get there, huh?" the male voice said. "Me neither. Touch. Can you feel how impatient I am?"
·~·~·
A hand over her mouth, an arm around her torso, her shoes dragging on the gravel floor, until they were gone, Isobel felt herself being pulled through the gloomiest part of the parking lot, fear pounding wildly in her ears. She knew she should let him take her but couldn't help but scream against the hand that gagged her.
From the first moment, she suspected her captor was not Brett. As soon as he had grabbed her from behind: he was taller, and he wasn't wearing a plaid shirt. But then her mouth was covered; she couldn't say anything to her team.
Suspicion curdled into horror when the man put her in the passenger seat of an unremarkable dark gray sedan, and she got a better look at him. It was not the man with the beard, as Isobel had suspected. He was quite a bit younger, less than twenty-five, fine sandy hair, an elongated face, a slightly too large nose, and a downright nasty smile. Although he was now wearing a dark hoodie, suddenly Isobel recognized him: he was the boy who had been delivering drinks to the bar an hour ago. That made sense; it linked the bar, the store and the gas station.
He buckled her seatbelt and tried that she had no strength to let go. As he walked around the car to enter from the driver's side, Isobel tried to warn the team that she wasn't in Brett's hands but, to her despair, only managed to utter inarticulate grunts.
A while later, the young man's watery eyes roamed Isobel's body with lust. She stirred weakly under his gaze until he turned back to the road.
Isobel tried to pinch herself, but there wasn't enough strength in her fingers. She then resorted to digging her nails into her right thigh, where he couldn't see her, until she managed to feel less dizzy. He had left her bag by her feet. She pretended her body was going forward. She fumbled her cell phone out of her bag and left it under the seat.
He placed her upright again.
"You can't wait to get there, huh?"
·~·~·
Thanks to Hobbs and Kelly holding Jubal, they managed to keep him from grabbing Hawkins by the shirtfront. Only God knew what else.
He was seeing red. He got out of the JOC before doing something crazy.
Clenching his fists so hard that they even hurt, the words of the coroner's reports, the images of the autopsies, assaulted him like rabid dogs, everything the victims had suffered crudely transferred to Isobel. Fury and despair consumed him and he could not control it. He could not breathe.
He could not help but untie them.
His right fist slammed into the nearest wall, sinking into the stucco material nearly half an inch. The tremendous burst of pain shot up from his knuckles up his arm and into his shoulder, shaking him from head to toe. He leaned against the wall with his other hand, panting. The pain gradually restored his reasoning. He clung to the first, lest he lose the last again as he made his way back to the JOC.
As he entered, everyone looked at him. Jubal had no doubt that they had heard the blow to the wall. His gaze challenged them to say anything, especially Hawkins, who turned his face away, pretending nothing had happened.
"Tell me there's something we can do," Jubal growled in a hoarse whisper.
Ian immediately approached him and showed him a tablet.
"I've located her cell phone. It's on the move. Heading east."
Jubal contacted his agents and sent them on their way, but Isobel and her captor were at least twenty minutes ahead of them.
The audio from Isobel's mic kept bringing back the voice of the man who had captured her.
"Mmm... You have a spectacular rack," he said, his voice trembling with sheer excitement. "Much better than the last one's. Oh, yeah! Much bigger. I hope your nipples are brown... chocolate brown." His breathing was agitated. "I can't wait to taste them. Do you like them being bitten?"
Isobel could be heard moaning in protest. The guy must have been touching her while he was driving.
"And what do you have under here? Mmm..." The grunting got louder. "What's the matter? Don't you want me to touch you? Come on... You touched me. It's only fair that I touch you now."
More groans of helplessness.
"No... no..." Isobel was heard to moan faintly, "Leave me alone".
Those present at the JOC exchanged horrified glances. Elise covered her mouth with her hand. Jubal glared at Hawkins with hatred. The ADIC didn't dare to meet his gaze. On the road, OA could not suppress a disgusted grimace. Chest tight, Maggie gripped the steering wheel and slammed down on the accelerator. Scola did his best to not lose her by following her in the van.
"Yes, yes. Resist me," the man said. "I love it. I can't wait for you to whisper sweet things in my ear in Spanish. What a good time we're going to have. We are going to submit you... Many times... And you're going to enjoy it. I promise you."
Jubal's insides churned so badly that he needed to vomit. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth tightly. Leaning with both hands on his desk, the muscles in his arms and back contracted with tension.
A siren was approaching in the direction of the moving car. It sounded like a State Police patrol car. The man lapsed into a cautious silence as if he were keeping his composure. If only they could have at least issued a BOLO, but they had no data on the vehicle. They didn't even know what it looked like. The siren passed them and went away.
Elise approached Jubal, put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. And she slipped him a tissue. Jubal looked at her puzzled. She gestured to his clenched right fist. It was bleeding. He accepted the tissue and wrapped it around his knuckles. Strangely enough, it gave him the strength to swallow the tight knot that he had in his throat.
He took a deep breath once and pressed the button that opened the microphone to Isobel's earpiece.
"Hold on, Isobel. Help is on the way."
His own words tore at Jubal's throat and chest, for he couldn't be sure they were going to make it in time.
·~·~·