The Female Unsub

Chapter Twelve: Spencer's POV

"You'd be surprised how desperate lonely people are," she shrugs and stands from her seat.

"Where are you going?"

I need more information, she just told me that she cuts off clients who cross the line, but she avoided looking directly in my eyes when she did. That tells me there's more to this story that she's not telling me.

She cocks her head, "well, you're not going to give me any information and I finished my drink, so why would I stay?" she crosses her arms, "unless, you want me to. Are you a lonely man, Dr. Spencer Reid?"

My face gets hot as she grazes my arm with her index finger, causing goosebumps to raise in its path and she smirks. This is my chance. Maybe if I play into her game, I can get more answers. I just need to be quick.

"Well, how much will it cost me to spend a little more time with you?" I ask, secretly hoping that this will peak her interest.

She rolls her eyes but sits back down, good start. "The first meet is always free," she says, looking me up and down, "but you're not exactly in the right tax bracket to be a client, Dr. Reid."

I try not to be offended by this but I get it, I definitely do not earn a six figure salary as an FBI agent.

"However," she says, her eyes meeting mine, "if you're wanting to make this a date, then you're going to have to contribute something to the conversation to make it worth my time."

I smile, got her, "okay then." The waitress comes back around and I order two tequila sodas before turning my attention back to her. "What would you like to know?"

She sits back and tilts her head as if she's deep in thought.

"What made you guys suspect me?" she asks after a moment, "What was it about me specifically that made you all at the BAU think, 'she's responsible for this'?"

"You fit the profile," I say as the waitress drops off our drinks, "based on the behaviors of the victims we know that our unsub is..."

"Wait," she interrupts, "what's an 'unsub'?"

"Oh right," I fumble over my words, trying to seem like I'm nervous to be around her, "unsub is a shorthand that we use at the BAU for unknown subject or suspect."

She nods, "Okay, so you thought I was the unsub because of what?"

"Well we profiled that he or she is in their mid-twenties to early thirties, has a transient work life, always has an excess of cash on them, and more than likely works in some form or variation of the sex work industry."

She taps her fingers against the glass, thinking about this. "Why do you think the person who took those men has an excess of cash? The rest kind of makes sense, but you lost me there."

I take a sip of the drink, resisting the urge to make a face at how strong it is. How the hell is she just casually sipping on this?

"Well," I say after a minute, "these were large men. If the unsub is a woman, she's probably petite, which statistically speaking about 85% of women in your industry are, she would need assistance and the best way to keep a partner silent is with cash and fear. Same with a male unsub, he would use the cash to keep a partner quiet."

She nods and takes another sip as if it's water, "so you think a woman is paying someone else to kidnap these men?"

"That's one theory," I tell her, "but we also know that this unsub likes control."

"Huh," she takes another drink, "why's that?"

She leans forward slightly, her arm brushes up against mine but she doesn't move it away. Her touch is electric but I can't feel that way, not about a potential suspect. I take another sip of the drink, giving myself a second to compose myself.

"We've profiled that this unsub would have a very hard time giving up even a fraction of control. Especially, since they don't want these men to be found, it would be easier for them to work alone that way they don't have to worry about a partner giving them up."

She ponders this for a moment, "so since in your eyes I'm the prime suspect, do you think I'm a control freak, Spencie?"

I shrug, trying to play it off as if I'm doubting her as a suspect. I'd be lying if I said I haven't had my doubts. There is a slight possibility that it is coincidence that she was in the same place as the missing men on the day they disappeared. But the probability that it is her outweighs any uncertainty in my mind. I have to play it right here, otherwise this will all be a waste.

"Dr. Reid," she says with a smirk and grazes my hand with hers. The subtle motion cause more goosebumps to rise on my skin and I'm extremely grateful that I'm wearing a long sleeved button down so she can't see. "You've been following me around for three months and yet you know virtually nothing about me."

"You're right," I finish the drink, glad it's finally gone, "so tell me something about you, Sloane. Something I don't already know."

She ponders this for a moment, probably trying to think of something that will peak my interest but not insinuate guilt of any kind.

"How about this," she says, leaning in closer to me and removes her hand from mine, "let's play two truths and a lie and if you can guess my lie, Dr. Profiler, then we can make a plan to get drinks again."

"What if I don't guess it?" I lean in too, causing our arms brush up against each other again on the small table.

"I guess you'll just have to find me again," she says with a wink, "we got a deal?"

I nod and she smirks. "Okay, number one: I can speak three languages fluently, two: I have both my boating and pilots licenses, and three: I've been proposed to ten times."

I study her as she tells me each fact, my eyes shift between her eyes, lips, hands, any slight divergence from her normal speech patterns but I don't notice anything. She has mastered controlling her microexpressions and I can't tell which is the lie. But typically when people play this game and want to win, their lie is really a half truth in order to trick their opponent. Based on what I already know about Sloane, this is how she'll play the game.

"So?" She asks after a moment, "what's the lie?"

I clear my throat before speaking. "Well, you're certainly intelligent enough to know three languages and given your line of work I would assume many men and women would ask for you to marry them."

She smirks and I continue, "and I feel that you may have either your boating or pilot's license, but not both." I lean in close enough so I can smell her rose and vanilla perfume, "so, given all of that, I would have to say that you having a boating and pilots license is the lie."

Her eyes flick up to mine and she smiles, "you are so smart, Dr. Reid." She leans in so her lips are at my ear and whispers, "but you got it wrong."

She pulls away and stands up. She begins to walk away but before she passes me, she kisses my cheek, "goodbye, Spencie, I'm sure you'll find me again soon."