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Bill paced around the conference table. The others had left a while ago, he wasn't sure when. When he finally looked up and saw that no one sat in the conference chairs around the table, he'd been a bit surprised.The murders intrigued him. Ten girls dead. All of them white. All from single parent households.

He'd conferenced with Mac, Chase, and Liz on the phone. Tomorrow, they'd meet in person. Then he could cast his theories and reel in the kudos.

His goal was to join the Behavioral Analysis Unit. The BAU would force a move, something his wife would hate, but something he wanted more than anything else. Of course that meant that the bitching and bickering would start. But she would bitch at him no matter what he did.

Shana hated his money and loved it all too much. Sometimes he wished he didn't have the damned riches, but then he would remember all the good he could do. The charities, the foundations, and scholarships were funded with his money. Then he would think about his own private island where he could escape and recharge on his two weeks of vacation. Soon he would have three weeks from the FBI and he would gladly spend all three at the beach.

The money wasn't the real problem, Shana was. Their wedding had been small, just a private ceremony on a yacht in the Bahamas with no family involvement. He never thought ignorance could initiate such bliss, but he would gladly go back to the time when she didn't know about the riches.

He hadn't meant to hide the money from her, but in high school and college the girls went crazy when they found out how wealthy he was. It was out of habit that he didn't say a word. He did assume she would figure it out eventually and when she did it wouldn't be a big deal. Unfortunately, she had a limited understanding of money and the cost of luxury.

The private island where they honeymooned had left her giddy with pleasure, but later he found out she thought he'd rented the place on a fed's salary. He should have told her he owned the island with its luxurious house and servant's quarters when they had arrived, but he'd still felt gun-shy about the wealth around women.

She still loved his job when they attended their first family event two years into their wedded bliss. Of course, with his luck, it had to be Christmas. The weekend had big mistake written all over it before their plane even landed.

Shana hadn't forgiven him for weeks after the holiday. He should have prepared her for the realities of his family. Just telling her that his family lived differently hadn't been enough. When he insisted that she go shopping at Nordstrom's for a new winter wardrobe, she declined. She'd gone to The Gap and JCPenney in an effort to save money. That first night, when everyone else donned designer dresses, she'd settled for a smart little number purchased at Penney's.

Everything would have been okay on the second night. He'd planned on taking her into the city to buy new clothes, but a blizzard blew in and they were trapped with his haute couture family dressing like runway models, and his wife stuck in sensible clothing costing less than one pair of shoes that his sister had had to have because they had real diamonds on the heal.

Shana had kept a stiff upper lip during the Christmas ordeal, but afterwards he'd lived in the doghouse for a month. When he finally came clean about the amount of money and the extent of their wealth she'd packed a bag and left. It took him four months of begging and pleading to get her to come back.

The degree of groveling he'd been put through astonished him still. Even now, he couldn't let his guard down around her. Something had to change and soon.

Once they had kids, he would probably cut back his time at the office. For now he could spend his days catching killers. He was sad though a bit happy that Shana hadn't conceived during one of her many quests for a baby. Adding a baby to the mix would only make life more confusing.

Truth was, he loved her like crazy. He didn't want to think badly about her. All he wanted was to love his wife and keep her safe. Provide the best for her, and have some fun doing it. But damn, she made it hard to stay.

Her attitude had been slipping for months. Of course that made him disappear into his work. The vicious cycle wrapped them up in the grasp of angry words and hurtful looks. They weren't words he was proud of. After a few months of arguing he learned to say nothing, but that made life worse. She accused him of applying the silent treatment. He wasn't doing it on purpose. He just couldn't take the fights any more.

With his mind back on work, he took note of the dates of the disappearances. No patterns seemed to stick out. He needed help. If he were a member of the BAU he would have that help. Maybe this case would get him that promotion he longed for.

Bill plopped down into a chair and picked up a sheet of paper, wondering how to put all the evidence into a useable frame. He should have asked the other guys to stay, but they'd all claimed appointments and other commitments.

He checked his watch. Four forty-five. Tonight, his wife had scheduled the start time for seven. There was still time for him to stay a little longer and work this thing through. He wished she would stop it with the constant nightly get-togethers. Last night had been with the Frickers, tonight the Dawson family.

The relentless socializing reminded him too much of his mother and the rest of the uppity-ups who clung to his family. Damn, he hated Mark Dawson. The son of a bitch actually owned slaves. Bill couldn't prove it, but there was no way, with all his overseas holdings and residences, that all of his employees were ligit. One day Bill would prove that Dawson's staff in India included indentured servants, if not outright slaves.

Bill dug into the paperwork of his current case, forgetting Dawson and the impending dinner. Slicing through the bunk that crackpots called in and figuring out real leads from crap was tough. He picked up the phone again, ready to dial another sap. It was his eighth call, only five more to go. After the first question Bill's gut clenched. He'd hit pay dirt.

Ms. Letsky had actually seen a man carrying a huge package over his shoulder and then drop it before dragging it around the corner. The woman swore the man acted like the thing weighed at least a hundred pounds.

"Ms. Letsky, how do you know he acted like it was one hundred pounds?"

"Young man, have you ever worked on a farm?"

Bill held back his sigh. Maybe his gut was just hungry and not precognizant. "No ma'am."

"Animals die on the farm. You have to do something with the bodies. A full-grown cow is too heavy to pull. Your body will strain, but you ain't moving it."

Bill thought of cutting her off. Was she was just an old bat who needed someone to talk to? He had other people to call, more leads to follow but he needed to see where this was going.

"A just born calf weighs about ninety to one hundred pounds. They die sometimes. Can't just leave it lying around. Mother get's too depressed. Got to get rid of the thing. When a man drags a baby cow, his body moves a certain way. This man, his body moved that way."

"Interesting. I'm guessing no one has cows in your neighborhood."

Letsky snorted. "I called the police, but they weren't interested in what an old woman had to say."

Bill checked the woman's address and rifled through the papers in front of him. "Have you seen him drag anyone else out of his place?"

"Twice I've seen him carry out large bags. Could have been anything. Doubt it though."

A tingle started at the back of Bill's throat. Hot damn, his gut feel was right. This woman knew something, but how much. "What makes you think it's not garbage?"

"This guys a strange one. Real secretive."

"Thank you for your time, Ms. Letsky. Someone will be out to see you in the morning."

"You?"

"It might be me. Depends."

"All right, but I got dominos at eleven. Make sure you're here before ten thirty. Better make that ten, I don't want to be late."

"Yes ma'am. We will call you before we get there."

Bill hung up and pumped his fist up in the air. First he would call someone in to case the area. He checked his watch. Damn, two minutes until seven. Shana would be livid. With his computer stowed in his bag he stuffed a few papers into his briefcase. If he rushed he could make it to the restaurant before the first course was finished.

Before he had even made it to the elevator guilt started pulling at his consciousness. What was the damn pattern the killer worked? Was it four or five days before the full moon? Bill pulled out his phone and typed moon phases into the search bar. The elevator dinged for his floor but he didn't get on. The internet connection would go down and his search would die.

The elevator doors opened then closed before the internet search came up. Ten more seconds passed before the search came back. The full moon was six days away.

Hell, no way could he leave without figuring out when the guy operated. The walk back to the conference room was short. The file with the killer's pattern was green and on top of the fourth stack of files next to the window. He could be out of here in just a few minutes.

The light sensor picked him up the moment he walked through the door and the conference room came ablaze with lights. He blinked twice, shocked by the glare. Before his eyes fully adjusted to the brightness he was searching the stacks. A zing of excitement hit him in the gut when he picked up the folder. What moon phase was tonight? The plans his wife had put together for their social calendar drifted far from his thoughts as he pulled out the sheet of paper detailing the patterns.

Before he could even think the phone was in his hand and he was dialing. "I need an SWAT team."

"Hold on, Bill is that you?" Baker sounded stunned, maybe a bit angry.

"Yes sir. We need to act now."

"What's up?" Baker asked.

Bill told him everything about the Letsky call. The killer worked six nights before a full moon and tonight was that night.

"I'll call in the team. I want you to go over your evidence one more time. I'll put an undercover in the area to watch the house. He sees anything funny he'll call us in. Just hold tight and don't do anything. We'll be there in a few."

"Got it."

Bill dropped into a chair and pounded his head on the table. Shana would kill him. Unfortunately she cursed like a sailor when she was angry. In any other circumstances the string of curse words she knit together would make him smile, but he didn't want to face the music tonight.

At any minute his colleagues would be pouring into the office. He needed to focus on the evidence, not field questions from his wife. He shouldn't wait to call her, even if he wanted to.

Bill dialed her number, praying that she wouldn't pick up. After the third ring he almost thought he had made it to voicemail paradise. But luck wasn't on his side.

"Darling, stuck in traffic?" She sounded overly chipper when she answered.

"I wish. Something has come up."

"Awww, that's too bad."

The Dawsons must be sitting right next to her. Damn, now she would build her ire all night long, just waiting to erupt like Vesuvius when he came home. She'd have a huge load of steam, because the way this case was shaping up it might be tomorrow afternoon before he actually left the office for home.Copyright Sara Thacker 2011