Criminal Minds Read Online Free PDF Page A

knocked.
    ‘‘Come in,’’ Hotchner told the closed door.
    Morgan did, leaving the door open.
    ‘‘Morning,’’ Hotchner said.
    Dropping into one of the visitor’s chairs opposite Hotchner’s desk, Morgan smiled easily at him. ‘‘Have a good weekend?’’
    Hotchner nodded. ‘‘I spent Saturday afternoon with Jack at Haley’s sister’s.’’
    ‘‘Nice. That’s one afternoon.’’
    ‘‘Right. Saturday.’’
    ‘‘Hotch, we had two days off.’’
    ‘‘Right.’’
    ‘‘Tell me you didn’t just hole up in your office at home and work the rest of it.’’
    ‘‘How did you spend your weekend?’’
    Morgan lifted a hand. ‘‘I went away with a woman. We danced. Drank some beer. Generally chilled. Now I am refreshed and ready to work.’’
    ‘‘Fine.’’
    Morgan tilted his head. ‘‘Hotch, you’re working too hard.’’
    Hotchner shrugged. ‘‘Lot to do.’’
    ‘‘You can’t work 24-7. Don’t tell me it’s not my place, because I am counting on you to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as our fearless leader.’’
    Hotchner actually smiled at that.
    Morgan smiled, too, bigger.
    ‘‘Point taken,’’ Hotchner said. ‘‘Did you stop by my office just to play guidance counselor?’’
    ‘‘No. I came in to tell you I got a call this weekend. Remember Tate Lorenzon?’’
    Hotchner shook his head, but then said, ‘‘Wait— he’s a friend of yours, isn’t he? From back home?’’
    ‘‘Sweet home Chicago. Grew up on the same block. He’s a detective in the city now. His father worked with mine.’’
    ‘‘I see.’’ Hotchner was wondering where this was going. That Morgan’s cop father had been shot before his young son’s eyes was not lost on the team leader.
    ‘‘Listen, he’s got a case he wants us to look at.’’
    Hotchner worked at not frowning, without success. They had a protocol for these things, and calling in favors from old friends was not part of it. ‘‘All right. And what did you tell him?’’
    Shrugging, Morgan said, ‘‘I told him to go through channels.’’
    ‘‘Good.’’
    ‘‘So he called JJ,’’ Morgan said.
    Hotchner sighed. ‘‘Well, that skips a channel or two, but—’’
    As if she’d been summoned, Jennifer Jareau appeared at the door and knocked on the jamb.
    His eyes still on Morgan, Hotchner said, ‘‘Yes?’’
    Jareau came over to the desk, flashed Hotchner a businesslike smile; usually she’d be bearing a sheaf of papers from an impending case, but now she held only a small stack of photos. ‘‘I think I’ve found our next case.’’
    ‘‘Wild guess?’’ Hotchner said, watching Morgan who was looking around the office as if it were a crime scene and he couldn’t be bothered right now. ‘‘Chicago?’’
    ‘‘Good guess,’’ Jareau said, ‘‘but not exactly.’’
    ‘‘Where, then?’’
    ‘‘The Chicago suburbs.’’
    Hotchner nodded to the other chair opposite his desk. "Explain."
    Jareau sat and said, ‘‘Over the weekend, I got a call from a Chicago detective named Tate Lorenzon.’’
    Morgan seemed interested in something on the front of his shirt.
    ‘‘He e-mailed me these three photos.’’ She reached forward and spread them out on the desk like a grisly hand of cards.
    Hotchner took in the crime scene photos, one at a time. ‘‘What am I looking at?’’
    ‘‘All three of these were sent to the jurisdictions the crimes were committed in,’’ she said. ‘‘The first one, the car . . .’’
    ‘‘Wait a minute—these aren’t police crime scene photos?’’
    ‘‘No. They are photos taken at the scene of crimes, before the police got there. And then sent to the police.’’
    Interested, Hotchner gave Morgan a wide-eyed look and Morgan lifted an eyebrow and nodded, which was as close to saying ‘‘I told you so’’ to Aaron Hotchner as Derek Morgan ever got.
    Jareau picked back up: ‘‘The first one? The car . . .’’
    She waited until Hotchner shuffled