Chapter 8: The Collector — Part 1
The FBI jet cut through clouds at thirty thousand feet, carrying us toward Seattle and whatever nightmare awaited there.
JJ stood at the front of the cabin, tablet in hand, photos cycling on the screen.
"Five women missing over the past three months. All brunette, late twenties to early thirties. All professionals in male-dominated fields."
The photos showed smiling faces—graduation portraits, LinkedIn headshots, vacation snapshots. Women who'd built careers and had futures stolen.
"Rebecca Torres, structural engineer. Missing since June." Click. "Amanda Chen, software architect. Gone in July." Click. "Dr. Patricia Vance, orthopedic surgeon. Last seen August 15th." Click. "Lauren Mitchell, aerospace engineer. Disappeared September 2nd." Click. "Karen Chen—no relation to Amanda—mechanical engineer. Taken three weeks ago."
"Bodies?" Morgan asked.
"None recovered. But Karen Chen escaped two days ago. She's the reason we're being called in."
Reid flipped through his notes.
"The geographic spread is unusual. The first two victims were taken from the Seattle metro area, but Dr. Vance was abducted in Tacoma and Mitchell in Bellevue. The unsub is comfortable covering significant distances."
"Or he's familiar with the entire region," Gideon said from his seat by the window. "Someone who travels for work, perhaps. Sales. Consulting."
"Karen Chen's statement is... troubling." JJ pulled up a document. "She describes being kept in what she calls a 'museum room.' Glass display cases. Clinical lighting. Classical music playing on repeat. She was drugged but conscious enough to remember being posed—arranged like an exhibit."
My stomach turned.
[PROFILE ASSESSMENT: COLLECTOR TYPOLOGY — HIGH ORGANIZATION — TROPHY MOTIVATION]
[FOCUS: -2 (PASSIVE SCAN)]
I pushed the notification aside, focused on the briefing.
"He's not killing them," Elle said. "At least not immediately. He's keeping them."
"As objects," I added. "The professional backgrounds aren't random. He's not collecting women—he's collecting achievements. Trophies of success in fields where women aren't supposed to excel."
Gideon's eyes found mine.
"Go on."
Careful. Contribute, don't lead.
"The profile suggests deep-seated resentment. Someone who failed where these women succeeded, or who was passed over in favor of women in similar roles. He's not punishing them for their success—he's possessing it. Owning what he couldn't achieve."
Silence held for a moment.
"That tracks with the display behavior," Hotch said. "He's building a monument to his own inadequacy, framed as appreciation."
"Sick bastard," Morgan muttered.
"Sick," I agreed. "But predictable. Collectors follow patterns. He'll have a type, a ritual, a specific way of maintaining his 'exhibits.' If Karen Chen can describe the details of her captivity, we can build a location profile."
Gideon nodded slowly but didn't speak. His eyes stayed on me a beat too long.
He's still watching. Still measuring.
I looked away first.
Hotch began assigning roles.
"Reid, geographic profile based on abduction sites. Elle, victimology—look for any connections between the women beyond their careers. JJ, coordinate with Seattle PD and set up at their precinct."
He paused, looked at Morgan.
"Morgan, you requested Mercer for fieldwork?"
"Yes, sir. Want to see how Army boy handles himself outside a team breach."
A test. Morgan wants to know if I'm as good one-on-one as I was in Columbus.
"Approved. You two handle the Karen Chen interview and follow up on any leads she provides."
Elle's expression flickered—something between surprise and disappointment. She'd been Morgan's usual partner. My arrival had shifted the dynamic.
I'll need to address that. But not now.
"Copy that," I said.
The rest of the flight passed in preparation.
Morgan and I reviewed Karen Chen's initial statement while the others worked their angles. The details were sparse—she'd been drugged during transport, kept sedated most of her captivity, only fully conscious during "display" periods when the unsub would enter and... look at her.
"He talks to them," Morgan noted. "According to Karen, he speaks like they're artwork. Compliments their 'composition.' Comments on their 'presence.'"
"Dehumanization through aestheticization." I flipped a page. "He's convinced himself they're objects, not people. That makes them easier to keep."
"And harder to release."
"Much harder. Collectors don't give up pieces of their collection willingly."
I practiced Tell Detection during the lulls in conversation—watching Morgan's body language, Reid's nervous movements, Hotch's controlled stillness. The system fed me fragments of data: heart rate estimates, stress indicators, attention focus.
[TELL DETECTION: ACTIVE — AMBIENT MONITORING]
[MORGAN, D.: ELEVATED ALERTNESS — PROTECTIVE POSITIONING TOWARD TEAM]
[REID, S.: ANXIETY MARKERS — COMPENSATING THROUGH INFORMATION PROCESSING]
[HOTCHNER, A.: CONTROLLED BASELINE — MONITORING GIDEON'S RESPONSE TO MERCER]
The last one made me pause.
Hotch is watching Gideon watch me. He's noticed the scrutiny.
I filed that away. Another layer of complexity I didn't need.
Across the aisle, Elle sat alone, reviewing victim files. Her shoulders were tight, her focus intense. The displacement was bothering her more than she'd admit.
I wanted to approach. To explain that I wasn't trying to take her place, that Morgan had made the request, that the team dynamics weren't a competition.
But this wasn't the moment. We were about to land in Seattle with missing women and a collector who'd already proven he could keep victims alive for months. Personal friction could wait.
[FOCUS: 40/50]
[SYSTEM NOTE: EMOTIONAL DISTRACTION DETECTED. RECOMMEND COMPARTMENTALIZATION.]
Thanks for the advice.
The jet began its descent.
Morgan handed me a Kevlar vest as we taxied to a stop.
"Hope your theory's right, Mercer. If it's not, I'm buying lunch." His grin was sharp. "If it is, you're buying drinks."
"Deal."
The Seattle air hit us as we stepped onto the tarmac—cool, damp, carrying the smell of evergreen and urban exhaust. A marked police cruiser waited with a uniformed officer who looked too young to be driving.
"Agents? I'm Officer Reyes. Detective Mills sent me to bring you to the precinct."
"How's the survivor doing?" Morgan asked as we climbed in.
"Better, I think. She's been talking to victim services, agreed to do another interview with FBI if you think it'll help."
"It'll help," I said.
The drive through Seattle gave me time to think.
Five women taken. One escaped. Four still in his collection.
The unsub has medical knowledge—sedation requires precision. He has space—a "museum room" suggests dedicated property. He has time—maintaining living exhibits requires daily attention.
He's local. Employed. Probably in a technical field where he failed to advance. And he's running out of room.
[PROFILE CONFIDENCE: 62%]
[ADDITIONAL DATA REQUIRED FOR LOCATION ASSESSMENT]
Karen Chen was the key. What she remembered—and what she'd suppressed—could save the other four women.
If we could unlock it in time.
The precinct appeared through the windshield, a concrete block of bureaucracy surrounded by patrol cars and media vans.
The circus has already started.
Morgan's jaw tightened.
"JJ's gonna have her hands full with that."
"She always does."
We pulled around back, away from the cameras, and headed inside.
Karen Chen was waiting.
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