Untouchable

Lo-Fi (S3E20)

"Hotch wants you at the airport immediately," Spencer told her as she responded to his call one morning.

"No briefing?" she asked, already grabbing her things.

"We're headed to New York immediately. We'll be briefed on the jet."

"See you there."

Pulling out the extra go-bag she kept in her closet, Lydia grabbed her keys and laptop and rushed down to her car, calling the school to ask for someone to sub in for her classes the next few days. She huffed, knowing that there was no way she could find someone for that afternoon, so she'd have to cancel.

She got to the airport not too long after and walked out onto the runway, almost onto the jet when she saw the rest of the team pull up in black SUVs. She decided to stop on the stairs, almost up to the door and give them a wave.

She was surprised to see Garcia among them, with a ball of pink yarn and a pair of knitting needles in her hands.

Spencer jogged up to the stairs so that he could be the first one to meet her and they boarded the plane together.

"Did you call your school?" he asked, the two of them stepping up to the four seat set up and sitting across from one another.

"Yep. And now I get to spend the flight sending emails to my students and sub so that it doesn't all go to shit before I get back."

She had just opened up her computer when Hotch sat down to her right and dropped a file onto her keyboard. "Read up first. It's a bad one."

"Yes, sir," she sighed. "I can assume, seeing as I've never seen Garcia leave DC."

Rossi sat down next to Spencer and she watched as Garcia, Morgan, and Emily boarded together.

"How come I only get to travel with you guys like once every two years?" Garcia was saying, looking for a good spot to sit down.

"Trust me, mama, it can get old."

"Oh right," she grumbled. "Like the way spa treatments in 5-star hotels can get old."

Morgan handed her her dark purple purse with a smile.

Lydia then tuned them out to scan the case file. Five shootings in New York over the span of two weeks. The unsub is always wearing a black hoodie and shoots people through the head with a .22-caliber pistol in broad daylight. No witnesses. No connections between the victims.

"Each victim was killed in a completely different neighborhood," Hotch told the three of them. "Hell's Kitchen, Murray Hill, Lower East Side, Chinatown, East Harlem."

"It doesn't make any sense," Spencer agreed. "There's no common victimology, no sexual component, no robbery, no geographical connection. Do the police have any leads?"

Hotch shook his head. "He's killing roughly every two days. The press is having a field day, and it sounds like the mood on the streets is getting pretty edgy."

"It's a joint FBI-NYPD taskforce?" Rossi asked.

That was definitely unusual. Lydia glanced over the files, looking for more details, but was starting to realize there were none.

"Kate Joyner heads up the New York field office. She's running point on the case and called me directly. She's starting the butt-heads with the lead detectives and wanted a fresh set of eyes."

Lydia set down her file and turned to her boss. "No offense, Hotch, but why am I here?"

"I want as many eyes on these occurrences as possible. That includes yours," he argued. "You're one of my best interrogators and the most level-headed. Already, the profile is looking skewered and rare. With the amount of media coverage this is getting, we really don't know what to expect from the unsub or the citizens. Be quick on your feet and flexible. You'll have things to do, I promise."