Book By It's Cover

By Spense

Disclaimer: Don't own Criminal Minds, don't sue me.

There are some days that just sucked. There really wasn't any other nice PC way to put it. They just sucked big time. Today was shaping up to be one of them. The most important day to both me personally, and to the case I was working on.

Today was the chance of a lifetime. I finally got out of the FBI office in Spokane, WA, and was back at Quantico. Not as a cadet, no, not this time. It was 19 years later, and I was running the FBI field office in Spokane, Washington, and I was back at Quantico to consult with the BAU on a case. And not just any case, but the most important case of my career, and not incidentally, to the State of Washington. And that was saying something.

Washington State had the dubious honor of being the home of not only Ted Bundy, but of the Green River Killer, Gary Ridgeway. Even Spokane had Kevin Bianci, the Hillside Strangler. To top those three? A killer had to really go out of his way. And I had one. Lucky me. The only good thing about it was that it just may be my ticket out of cow country, backwater-Washington state. We grew wheat and cows in Eastern Washington, and apparently, serial killers.

I checked my watch one more time, cursing as I hurried from the cab up to the entrance to the main FBI building. I wasn't late, not yet, but damn close. My nonstop flight from SeaTac in Seattle had been late. The cab from Regan National was probably the only slow cab in WA DC. Plus, I don't think the driver spoke English. At all. I finally had to flash my badge and say "FBI QUANTICO" really distinctly. Then he got it. Finally.

My garment bag, slung over my shoulders, bummed the back of my calves as I hurried. I couldn't move it, because it was layered under my laptop bag, and my file bag on rollers dragging behind me. My brief case was on the other shoulder. I felt like a shrepa.

Security was another nightmare. They checked my ID. They checked my weapon. They checked my laptop. They checked my garment bag. They even checked my damn shoes. The metal detector lit up like a damn Christmas Tree as I went through it. Then again, then again. FINALLY, I was cleared. *#&(ing 9/11.

It was 10 on the dot. Right when I was supposed to be upstairs meeting with the BAU. Not just any profiler, but the "A" team. David Rossi's team. I'd read every book he'd ever written. What I wouldn't give to be a profiler some day. Getting reassigned here to Quantico would be my first step, and everything hinged on how today went. If it went well, and we closed the case, then I could make my move.

I was good at my job. I knew it. I wasn't head of the Spokane office by mistake. Now it was time to make the next step. Joyce, my wife, was home with her fingers crossed. Spokane was making her crazy. She wanted to be back where there was a little more action.

But being late wouldn't help. I grabbed for my phone with one hand, the other occupied with the rolling case, shoved everything back over my shoulders, and one-handed, punched up the number for Jennifer Jereau.

As I reached the elevators, I ran headlong into another couple of people who had been approaching the elevator as well from my blind spot. I lost my tenuous hold on the phone and it went crashing to the marble floor, terminating the call.

"Dammit!" I snarled at the phone seeing the screen go dark, then looked around. My gaze landed on the skinny young man with dweeb glasses, and a huge messenger bag looking at me with big, startled eyes. He had a phone in his hand, and had clearly not been looking where he was going. Intern probably. Or college kid on a tour. Probably wanted to work in IT. Great.

"S-Sorry," he stuttered, clearly unnerved.

I could have that effect on people, and frankly he deserved it. I just sighed heavily and began to unload my luggage to get my phone. Another person, this one obviously an agent by the look of his suit and London Fog raincoat, bent down, picked it up, and handed it to me. I nodded my thanks, then looked at it, and started to dial again. This time the call dropped.

"Ah, it's pretty hard to dial internally here," the skinny kid interjected. "You might try dialing 1. It would go to the outside switchboard that way."

He opened his mouth to say more, but I turned and glared at him. "Kid, please, just stop talking. You've done enough damage." That probably wasn't being fair, but I'd had a lousy morning. This kid hadn't a prayer of ever becoming an FBI agent, so better he got discouraged now. The way I saw it, I was doing him a favor.

The kid snapped his mouth shut with a resigned expression. Probably was used to it.

Right then, the elevator dinged, and opened. I crowded on, and the people already inside adjusted to make room for me and my luggage. I looked out at the other two waiting, my gaze a challenge.

The kid dropped his gaze with tightened lips. "I'll wait."

The other agent looked at him. "You sure?"

"Yeah," the skinny kid said. "There's only room for one more. You go."

The agent nodded his thanks and go on. As the doors closed, I saw another man come up next to the skinny kid. He shot me a look of disdain, then turned back to the kid. I wondered if he'd heard the exchange. Ah, well. To bad. The kid needed a reality check. I didn't see much of the man in the micro second he looked at me except to notice he was distinguished, with a patrician, almost Spanish cast to his lined features. Considering I only saw him for ½ of a second, I was doing well to notice that. But then, that's my job. And I'm damn good at my job.

The elevator dinged again, and disgorged a group of us. I stood in the middle of the hall with people flowing around me like water around a rock, looking at my directions on my phone. I was on the wrong floor. DAMMIT! I snarled again and turned to get back on the elevator and ran right into a linebacker.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" A loud blond woman shouted in alarm. "Oh, are you okay?"

I untangled myself from my luggage and looked up to see that I'd run into a bald black man with shoulders and a chest as solid as the Hoover dam and about as wide. From the feel, he was sheer muscle.

"Are you okay, man?" The black man asked, concerned.

Probably one of the muscle men the FBI hires to break doors down. All brawn and no brain.

"Fine," I said shortly.

"Oh, here! And this, oh, and this," the blond woman was picking up my bags and my phone, talking the whole time. She was worse than the skinny kid.

"Are you sure you're okay?" She asked, finally taking a breath.

I blinked as I got a good look at her. Loud. Loud voice, loud jewelry, garish clothes. Joyce wouldn't be caught dead anywhere near this woman. What she was doing at the Quantico FBI office, I could never guess, but right now I didn't have the time.

"Fine." I snapped shortly. This just wasn't my day.

"Do you need help?" The big man asked.

"No. Just wrong floor." I looked at my phone and sighed. Ten minutes late. Wonderful.

The elevator dinged. One of them must have called it. The door opened and the man gestured towards the open door. I walked in and turned around to see them gazing at me.

"Aren't you coming?"

"We'll wait," the man answered.

"Suit yourself." And the doors closed.

When they opened again, I was finally (finally!) at the BAU. I made the turn off the elevator doors and found Jennifer Jereau's office without a hitch. First time anything had gone smoothly this morning.

The office was practically floor to ceiling with files. Since Agent Jereau was the gatekeeper to the elite team I guess that wasn't surprising. I had always felt incredibly honored to have made the cut. Now I realized just how lucky I actually was.

"Agent Samulson." Agent Jereau had gotten up to greet me.

I sighed. Finally, professionalism. This is what I expected to see at the Quantico, the FBI's heart. "I'm so sorry for being late. Nothing has gone right this morning, from the late flight, to the idiot cab driver, to security, to having people running into me left and right."

"Not a problem," she smiled. "Some of the team is running late as well. I'll just show you to the conference room and then go round them up."

She led me into the BAU offices and up into a large, well lit conference room. As I dropped all my gear, she excused herself to go gather the team. I grabbed my computer and the file cases and hurried to get myself set up. First impressions are everything and I wasn't going to miss my chance to make a good one. My future depended on it. I couldn't wait to get out of Spokane.

I was finally set up, and had grabbed a cup of coffee, and had just sat down when Agent Jereau returned. She was followed by a stern looking man in an immaculate suit. Brooks Brothers, I guessed. Or designer maybe. Something expensive and highly tailored. His Ivy League silk tie was perfect as was the crisp, starched white shirt and perfectly shinned shoes. Now THIS was an FBI agent. Maybe I could prevail on him to help mentor me to the Quantico office. This man knew what he was doing. Clearly. He'd made it here.

Agent Jereau made the introductions. "Agent Samulson, this is SSA Hotchner, Unit Chief of the BAU."

Unit Chief of the BAU. Someday. Someday, I'll be Unit Chief here. But shelving those thoughts, I turned to the matter at hand.

"Call me Sam. SSA Hotchner, thank you for seeing me and looking into this case. We need the additional insight."

Hotchner nodded. "Not at all. And please call me Hotch. The rest of the team is on their way."

As Hotchner took a seat, the man himself entered. David Rossi. I thought he looked familiar, but I wasn't sure why. Maybe just all the photos from the books of his that I'd read. When the staff at the Spokane office realized I'd be meeting with him personally, I was inundated with requests that he autograph their copies of his books. I'd have needed two additional suitcases just to bring them all. I declined, telling them that I wasn't here for pleasantries. What I didn't tell them was that I did bring some bookmarks Joyce had made on the computer from his latest book's dust jackets and I planned to get them signed. I'd give them as Christmas presents to my few colleagues.

"David Rossi," I said as I stood, smiling, holding my hand out. "You need no introduction. I'm Agent Trevor Samulson, head of the Spokane Field office."

There was a minute pause that made me sweat for a moment, then he shook my hand. His smile was cool. "Nice to meet you."

The odd pause and the chilly smile put me off slightly. The man was arrogant enough. Probably believes his own press.

The uncomfortable moment was broken by two new arrivals. A gorgeous dark-haired woman with curves in all the right places, and a tall black man. I had eyes only for the woman. She was incredible.

"SSA's Emily Prentiss and Derek Morgan," Agent Jereau introduced in turn.

"Call me Sam," I said as I shook hands with Emily with a smile.

"Prentiss," Emily smiled.

I then turned to shake hands with the man. I blinked. He was the linebacker I'd run into a few floors down.

"SSA Prentiss is our newest team member, and SSA Morgan is our expert on Obsession Crimes."

'Expert on Obsessional Crimes'. Wow. I readjusted my thinking from brawn and no brain, to brawn AND brains. Pretty impressive.

"We've met," Agent Morgan ginned as he shook my hand.

"I ran into him a few floors down," I explained. "Literally."

Everybody laughed and began to take seats around the table, except for Agent Jereau.

"Thank you for meeting with me, " I began.

"Hang on," Hotchner put his hand up. He looked at Jereau. "Where's Reid?"

"Coming. He's getting coffee. He was running late this morning," Jereau explained.

"You mean sugar, with a little coffee flavoring," Morgan grinned.

"That's all we need. Reid and more sugar," Prentiss groaned.

"Well, he'll be hear in a moment, so let's get started," Hotch indicated sternly.

Nods all around, and everybody settled down at the table. I took a deep breath. It was Show Time.

~tbc~