Rhiannon sat on a bench, looking out across a half-empty parking lot to the road beyond. She thought about lighting a cigarette but didn’t. She listened to the wind as it cut down off the mountains. The traffic noise was quieter out here, more genteel; commuter engines that drove in straight lines and spent their nights tucked away in safe suburban stucco garages.

“Hey,” said a familiar voice. “Fancy meeting you here.”

She turned around. The gangly FBI agent melted out of the darkness. He gave her a tight-lipped grin. “Hey. You wouldn’t happen to have a light, would you?”

Rhiannon swung her leg around so she was straddling the bench. She smiled as he stepped into the streetlight’s pool, digging in her jeans pocket. “Hell yeah. You think I’d go anywhere without a lighter?”

“I don’t usually. In fact, I didn’t. It’s just…ah, I’m out of lighter fluid.” Reid fished a cigarette out of a battered pack. “We’ve been busy and sometimes I don’t stay on top of these things.”

“No problem.” Rhiannon ignited the lighter and handed it over.

“Thanks.” He lit up.

“Don’t you guys all have to run and pass fitness tests and whatever?” She lifted her chin toward the cigarette caught in his fingers. “Wouldn’t this smoking be a problem for you?”

“Yeah, technically.” Reid filled his lungs with smoke. “They keep me around for my brain.”

“Oh. I see.” He flicked the lighter closed and handed it back to her. “So, what are you? Some kind of whiz kid? Because if you’ve seen thirty yet I’ll eat all of the candles on my last birthday cake. You’re kind of young to be all big bad BAU.”

His mouth quirked. “Something like that. I’m twenty-seven. How old are you?”

“Thirty-five. But you probably know that.”

“Yeah, I know that. Born 5 November 1973, driver’s license number 2450036 Nevada, youngest of two children. Your mother, Carol Butler Heath, married your father Jason Heath on 21 June 1958 in Reno. You relocated from Austin to Las Vegas in 1978 following the death of your sister, Molly.” He took a drag. “I could do this all night.”

Rhiannon chuckled. “That’s a neat trick. No wonder they keep you around.”

“Mind if I sit?”

“No.” Rhiannon scooted back. “Go ahead.”

“She’s, uh, hooked in. Dr. Young? She was hooked in when I left. So what’d you say to her? Agent Rossi mentioned something about impressions.” He looked at her. “What does that mean, impressions?”

“You know…impressions.” Rhiannon flipped a hand. “Opinions, I guess.”

“What were your impressions?”

“He was quiet,” said Rhiannon. “And shy. Like he was struggling with everyday social skills and making it over the line into functionality, but just barely. Introverted.” She snorted. “Textbook serial, right?”

“Not exactly,” said Reid. He turned toward her. “Ted Bundy, for example. He had a very potent charisma, a charm that helped him convince his victims that he was harmless. Such charisma and charm is quite common among sociopaths. They’re like chameleons…emotional mimics. But Carl is schizophrenic. Schizophrenics frequently experience difficulties with social functioning. There could’ve been voices in his head, telling him to do these things.”

Rhiannon fished a cigarette out of her purse. “You know, I read most of that guy Rossi’s books. Deviance, Frenzy, and I think Before They Were Killers?” She lit up. “There was another one, but I can’t remember the title. Anyhow, I had this girlfriend at the time who had a totally awesome mom. She was into all that stuff.” She blew out a plume of smoke and grinned. “I suppose every girl has her serial killer phase.”

Reid blinked. “Uh, actually, no.”

“Anyway, the title I can’t remember is the one I didn’t read. So, yeah. I read them.” She looked toward the road and shrugged a shoulder. “Who knew he’d be such an asshole.”

“Well, uh. He’s…got…you know.” Reid cleared his throat. “Attitude.”

“He’s not a very good writer, either.” Rhiannon flicked ash. She brought the cigarette to her lips. “Not that it matters in this sad illiterate world we live in.”

“You know, I’m from Las Vegas myself,” he said.

“No shit. Really?”

“Really.”

Rhiannon pulled a knee to her chest. “So you have family out here? That must be kind of nice for you, mixing business with pleasure. You must get to travel a lot.”

“Yeah. My mom’s out here.”

“Be sure and visit her while you’re out here, if you’ve got the time and all. My parents are both dead. Appreciate the time while you’ve got it, say I. So, did you go to school around here?”

“No.” He tucked hair behind his ear. “Cal Tech.”

“Sweet. University of Nevada, Reno.” She gestured with the cigarette. “But you knew that.”

He smiled. “I knew that.”

“I’ll shut up now.” She grinned. “Since you’re supposed to be grilling me and all.”

“Your hummingbirds,” he said. “Archilochus colubris, the ruby-throated hummingbird. It’s the most common species of hummingbird in North America. There are seven other species common to Nevada. Why’d you choose that one?”

“Because it’s pretty and green?”

“Is that the only reason?”

“Sure.” She ground out the cigarette butt on the sole of her boot. “You said it yourself. It’s the most common kind.”

“Could I have a closer look?”

“Sure. Yeah.” She held out her arm. “Look all you want.”

He brought his face closer to the back of her wrist. “Very detailed work. Nice.”

“Yeah, it is.”

He looked at her. “So did you tell Dr. Young about the Mesoamerican mythology?”

Rhiannon withdrew her arm. “I did. You’re one of those people with the really really good memory.”

“It’s eidetic memory,” he said. “And yeah. I’ve got it.”

“And you read a bunch of stuff about Aztec mythology once. Never forgot a word of it. And that big magic brain of yours put the pieces together.”

He nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Uh huh. You guys are…interesting. You’re real pieces of work. That’s kind of a compliment, actually.” She stood. “You know, if someone could give me a ride back to Mountain View I’d be real appreciative. This is a hell of a long way to pay for a taxi.”

Reid dropped his spent cigarette into the ashtray. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”

“What would I want to stay for? Look, doctor…what’s your name again?”

“Reid.”

“Dr. Reid. I’ve been on my feet for nine hours and I’m fucking tired. And I get to get up tomorrow and do it all again.”

“Nursing is a very stressful profession. It’s to be admired. I don’t know how you find the mental fortitude do what you do.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t do it.”

“Thanks. Anyway.” Rhiannon paused to catch her train of thought. “I don’t need to be here. I should probably go home and try to unwind enough to get some sleep.”

“What if you remember something? Something important?”

“How am I supposed to know that? What’s important and what isn’t?”

“The smallest thing…hold on.” He stopped talking and groped his back pocket. He pulled out his phone and checked the display. He answered it. “Yeah. I’m out here having a smoke break and Rhiannon’s out here with me. No, it was accidental. I’m done. I’ll be right there.”

Rhiannon shouldered her purse. “What’s going on?”

“Dr. Young is out,” he said.