“Where is she?”

Hotch looked up as Reid came into the conference room. “She’s puking.” He glanced at Rhiannon. “Adele is with her. They’ve requested some time.” He closed a folder. “They’ll be with us shortly.”

“Ms. Heath.” Morgan circled the table and held out a hand. She took it. He smiled. “Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan.” He released her hand. “Thanks for sticking around. Would you like some coffee?”

She glanced at Rossi. “No thanks.”

Morgan pulled out a chair. “Have a seat, then.”

“Thanks.” She sat down and crossed her legs. She tucked her purse under the chair. “It’s just Rhiannon. This Ms. Heath stuff is just…no.” She folded her arms. “That goes for all of you. I know you’re trying to be polite and all, but at this point there really is no point. Is there?”

“I suppose not,” said Rossi.

“Then Rhiannon it is,” said Morgan.

Dr. Miriam opened the door.

“How is she?” asked Hotch.

“All right,” she sighed. “She’s all right. Though she’s some shaken up.”

“We’d like to interview her,” said Reid. “If she’s ready for it.”

“She’s writing down what she remembers while it’s still fresh.” Dr. Miriam walked to the table. She leaned over and flattened her hands on the wood. “She’ll e-mail the document when she’s finished with it to your PDAs. She’s willing to be interviewed on the condition that she controls the interview. If she wants to stop, you stop. Don’t push.” She straightened up and smoothed the front of her blouse. “She’s had a very traumatic experience.”

“We understand,” said Hotch. “And thank you. Agents Morgan and Prentiss will be conducting the interview. Where is she now?”

“I’ll take you. Follow me.”

Prentiss smoothed the front of her slacks and Morgan drained off his coffee before tossing the cup into the trash. Dr. Miriam disappeared through the door. Both of them crossed the room and followed.

Rhiannon addressed herself to Hotch. “I want to go home.”

Reid sighed and pursed his lips. He doodled in the margins of his notes.

“All right.” Hotch leaned back in his chair. “If you’re sure.”

Rhiannon uncrossed her legs. “I’m sure.”

Rossi stood. “I’m on it.”

Hotch looked at him. “Are you sure?”

Rhiannon picked up her purse and stood. She walked toward the door and hung back.

Rossi pulled keys out of his pocket. “It’s done.”

Katherine sat on the edge of the bed, the synaptic suit loosened at the throat but still stuck to her skin. Disconnected from the computers, the sweat management system embedded in the suit was disabled, and as she hunched over the tray table and fought with her panicked flood of words she felt the sweat crawling out of her, wriggling into the breathless space between skin and suit. Everything hurt, everything ached, each emotion felt like splinters driven into the walls of her mind. Fragments of images pushed between her shaking words and the fought them. The IV fed a slow drip of glucose and traces of sedative into her bloodstream. The spinning in her head started to calm.

She took a deep breath and began to write.

Rhiannon’s boot heels hit the floor like cracking ice. Rossi matched her stride and their footfalls overlapped, one set sharp and the other dull but full of force, the long white floors subdued in their silence and by the tight angles of their moving bones. They hit the parking lot and he cut ahead of her. She didn’t follow so much as get pulled into his wake while dark air that still reeked of midday heat flew into her face and the skin on her forehead prickled with evaporating sweat. He unlocked the doors. The headlights flashed and two short sharp chirps struck her nerve endings. She opened the door and climbed into the passenger side, folding herself into the seat, holding her torso like a strung bow. She fastened her seatbelt. He shut his door and put the keys in the ignition. She watched him out of the corners of her eyes. His wrist tensed. His body went still and the air rushed out of him, loosened and flooding. She breathed it in.

He looked at her. She glanced out the window before looking over, her eyes leading the slow turn in her neck. He leaned back in the seat, his knees loose in their jeans and the fingers of one hand lazy against the lower curve of the steering wheel. She rested her cheek on the headrest. He didn’t look away. She held his gaze until her muscles itched and her quelled restlessness kindled pink flames that climbed her neck. Heat flared into the hollows of her cheeks. A long darkened moment tinged with sodium vapor light slid between them. It curled up, settled down. Its long tail tickled the inside of her chest. She opened her mouth to breathe. Both of his hands rested on the bottom of the steering wheel, the wrists loose. Her knees shifted toward him. She closed her mouth and looked out the windshield. She counted the painted lines floating ghostly in the sectioned darkness and thought about his hands. The pulse of her blood cleaved to them and whispered of their distance.

Her gaze returned to his face. It touched the space between his eyebrows, brushed across the crooked set of his mouth. She thought of the air that had been in his lungs, its moisture and heat. He peered into the hollow of her throat, into the red flower. It pulsed like a tiny heart. His eyes followed the lines of her nose. He touched the keys, then cranked the ignition. The car rumbled to life. He put the car in reverse, braced his palm on the back of her headrest, and craned his neck. His eyes shifted toward the back windshield as he turned the wheel. “Are we going to the hospital?”

“That’s where my car is.”

“All right.”

“Wait.”

He stopped the car. “What do you mean, wait?”

“Park it.”

“Why?”

“Do you have to question every single goddamned thing?”

“Well, yes,” he said, easing the car back into the space. “Actually, I do.”

“I need to get out for a minute.”

He killed the engine. “Are you all right?”

She unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door.

“Rhiannon, would you please answer the question?”

She climbed out.

He leaned over the passenger seat. “Rhiannon.”

She ducked down a little. “I need you to get out, too.”

He sighed. “What is this?”

She slammed the door shut.

“For Christ’s sake,” he muttered. “All right, I’m getting out.” He opened the door and found her waiting. He stood and closed the door. “What?”

“I need to do something.”

His eyebrows went up. “And?”

“I need you to hold still for it.”

“Uh…”

She didn’t break eye contact. “Will you do it?”

“I need to know what ‘it’ is.”

She put her hand over his tie. “I’m all right.”

“Rhiannon…”

“Shhh. This is off-time now.” Her fingers closed around the length of silk. “This isn’t about your goddamned case. It’s not about Carl.” She touched the knot. “This is about a kiss. Do you want it?”

He released his breath. “That’s a hell of a question.”

She tilted her head. “Yeah. I believe in getting this stuff out of the way and I am too damn old for that kissing-in-the-car bullshit.” Her smile was slow and sly. “It’s a long drive back to Vegas. Not super long, but long enough to know that I don’t want to be wondering the whole way back to Mountain View whether I should’ve done this right now. So I’m doing it.” She leaned in. “Right now.”

“And if I say no?”

“The fun stops.”

“All right.”

She put an arm around his neck and leaned forward, lifting her lips to his ear. “You need to do something about that gun,” she whispered. “The one the U.S. Government issued to you.” She grazed the lobe with her nose. “Not the one your parents issued to you.”

He laughed. “Well, I’m not taking it off. So you can forget it.”

“Can’t you slide it over?”

“It’s not so easy as that.”

“It’s.” She flicked her hip into the holster. “Bumping me. Yeah. Like that. It has a beef with my hipbone.”

He held her hip and pressed the bone with his thumb. “That’s not one I’ve heard before.”

She looked up from where she had been watching his fingers. As he stroked the shape of her hip through her jeans, she tilted her face and brought her mouth to his.

Her lips were soft and her body loosened in his arms until the tip of her tongue glazed the inside of his lip. It was a quick ignition, one that brought goosebumps to his skin and mad fire to his muscles. Soon there was too much breath, rambling oxygen tempting the instability of her tongue rolling in his mouth. He touched the ivory velvet of her hair. Her hands on him, fingers yearning for skin. He dragged the kiss down into the gutter, one tight hand on her breast. Her stony nipple sang in the rhythm of her broken breath and nuzzled into his open palm. She broke the seal.

“Too much,” she gasped.

He took her face in his hands. “Shoulda thought of that.” He covered her mouth with his before it could speak.

He pushed her into the car and kissed her face raw, releasing a trembling ghost of luscious pain. It filled the lips of her cunt until the taste bloomed on the back of her tongue and by the sudden ferocity in his mouth she knew that he tasted it too; he kissed as if trying to reach all the way down and lick the blood out of her clit. She moaned and arched her back and wrenched her face to one side, covering his mouth with her hand. “This is too much for a parking lot,” she panted.

He pulled down her hand. “You’re right.”

“The parking lot can’t handle it.” She started to giggle.

He kissed her neck. “Definitely not.”

“Stop that.”

He put his hands up and took a small step back. “Stopped.”

She giggled. “All right, all right. I’m ready. I’m ready. I can go on. Now that I’ve crossed kissing The Great David Rossi off my bucket list…”

His eyebrows went up. “You’ve heard of me. You’re kidding.”

“Yeah.” She gave him a dazzling smile. “And no, I’m not.” She moved around the rear of the car. “So let’s go.”

He furrowed his brow. “I can’t believe you never…”

“You’ve been had. It’s okay.” She grinned. “Let it go. It only hurts the first time.”

He shook his head and opened the door and climbed into the car. “So…the hospital?”

“Yeah.” Rhiannon settled herself into the passenger seat. She flipped open the visor and peered at her face. “I want to go home.”

He started the engine.