The Boss' Niece (Spencer Reid)

58. Wrong side of the law

Spencer and Cassidy were 4 months out from their wedding. Everything was pretty much completed. All Cassidy needed to do was attend her final wedding dress fitting.

"Hey, babe. I'm gonna head to Houston for a day or two, three days at most. My mom's medication is changing and the doctors want me to come down there." Spencer spoke as he put his packed duffle-bag near the front door.

"Okay. I'll get packed." Cassidy smiled.

"No, Cassie, you stay here and help the team. I'll be fine. I promise." Spencer smiled, placing a passionate kiss on her lips. And with that, Spencer was out the door with his duffel-bag, heading off to go and visit his mom's doctors.

———
(Matamoros Police, Northern Mexico, 24 Hours Later)

The car stopped, but the truck sped off. After a long car chase, the car pulled over to the side of the road. The police got out of their vehicles and walked over to the car, demanding that the driver get out.

The driver himself sat in front of the steering wheel, his eyes glancing at his right hand, which had a massive cut right in the middle. Blood was covering it, confusing him.

He was ushered out of the car by the police. Falling to the floor, he put his hands up and surrendered, being handcuffed before roughly pushed into the back of the police car. Other members of the police searched the car, then the trunk, finding lots of drugs stashed underneath the fabric of the duffel-bag.

20 minutes later, the man stood in front of a wall, a member of the police behind a camera in front of him.

The camera clicked, the light flashing.

"Hey." The policeman snapped, trying to get the man's attention. After successfully getting the man to turn to his right, the policeman attempted to get the man to turn to the left, with no success.

"Oye! Hey!" The policeman snapped his fingers again, gesturing to the man to turn.

The man was dazed and confused, unsure of where he had ended up. He didn't even feel the pain that the cut on his right hand was producing. Standing in the cell that rested in the middle of the station, the man put his head against the cell bars, exhaling.

"I should call my mom." He breathed.

"You need...your mommy? You're gonna need a lot more than that, vato." The man behind him chuckled, remaining seated.

"You're American?" Inspector Casteneda asked, the man nodding.

"Where's your identification?" He asked, tilting his head.

"I don't know." The man breathed.

"Your papers? Passport?" Inspector Casteneda asked.

"Something's wrong. I can't...I can't remember anything." The man closed his eyes, unsure.

"What's your name? What happened to your hand?" Inspector Casteneda asked, seeing the large cut on the man's hand.

"I don't know." He shrugged his shoulders.

"It seems like the kind of thing a person would remember. It could get infected." He suggested, calling over a medic.

"I should call someone." The man whispered, trying to ignore the lights.

"You don't get a phone call. That surprises Americans when they get in trouble here. But maybe if you help me figure out why you had narcotics in your possession, I can help you notify someone." Inspector Casteneda spoke, confusing the man. He looked at the Inspector with confusion.