Ceremonial Killer (Haruchai x BeauteousDeath)

Cross shrugged. "There's nothing for you to be sorry about Owen. May I call you Owen?" He figured he might get away with that before calling her Jordan. Besides, nobody called him James. Except his mother. He had noticed the change in her tone however, and he glanced her way, eyes dark and intense. Cross knew she wasn't joking, or being facetious in any way. "Thank you." he replied finally.

Swallowing a forkful of biscuits and gravy Cross seemed to consider for a moment. "Let's follow this demonic cult thing for a minute. If that does fit with the rituals, then what sort of killer do you think we're looking for? Serial killers throughout history, if that is what we're dealing with, have been predominantly white men. Usually unassuming. Generally well-liked and well-regarded. Trusted. Makes me wonder if this one might break the mold. I'm not sure how a Caucasian man could commit these acts and not be ratted out. I suppose a Chinese man, or woman, might have the cover of the community though." Taking another bite and then a drink of the ice water, Cross sits back and seems to think for a moment, his gaze contemplative and then moving to Owen. He looks inquisitive.

She nodded in answer to his calling her by her surname, finishing up her toast as she sat back and drank the last of her coffee.

"You're right, of course, history dictates nondescript, white males that earn trust, respect, yadda yadda," she said as she set her coffee down, leaning forward again and propping her elbows on the table, hands rubbing the back of her neck again, "This case though... Everything I've seen so far... what I've learned from forensics, suggests that perhaps, for whatever reasons, our killer is unwilling," she continued on, she closed her eyes and tilted her head to the left, her fingers massaging her own scalp a bit before she sat back and dropped her hands into her lap, "The way the designs are painted, its jerked around, as though the killer were trying to stop the action, but obviously didn't succeed."

"Puppet, worked by his Master," she went on softly, she looked out the window, without really seeing what was past the glass. She was thinking, as she usually did when she started explaining her view of the case, "Stumbled on it unwittingly perhaps, considering what happened to your hotel room, he had become involved in an occult, and is now being forced," she went on, then she took in a deep breath and shook her head, as she looked over at him, "Or, I could be completely wrong. But I say he's definitely Asian, or he wouldn't be so damned hard to find and catch," she finished.

Cross dug back into his food as she finished speaking, though his pace was much more slow now. "Now see Owen, that's something that the pictures can't convey - how the killer paints in blood. Only a person that has examined the crime scene personally could ever pick something like that out. So, let's say we're working with an unwilling killer. How are they forcing him to do what they want? Brainwashed? Mind-controlled? I don't necessarily discount those things out of hand, but still, nobody is holding a gun to his head on the scene. Nothing I have seen in pictures or read in the reports has indicated any other person has been present."

The last bit of bacon and eggs were scooped up onto his fork with the biscuit and Cross took that last bite and sat back with a satisfied grunt, glass already lifted to his mouth. He drained the glass of its liquid and continued, "I agree with you. He's Asian. He can appear and disappear at will in Chinatown, the women all have trusted him. Yet from what I can tell they're not connected in any way. So how can they all be bound together? I saw no distinguishing characteristics that cover the spectrum, rather, I did, until this last victim. So why break the trend? What makes this new victim fit into his pattern? There has to be something."

He let his mind tumble over the problem, sure that his questions were the same as Owen's. Just then the waitress came back with the check, and without being asked, sat it by Cross' plate. He chuckled and glanced at Owen. The world, no matter how it professed to have changed, was really the same as it had ever been. The man gets the check. Not that he minded in the least. He grabbed it before Owen could and got his wallet from his inside coat pocket.

Jordan shook her head, "There has always been evidence of there being just one person aside from the vic, in the room," she confirmed for him, "So how he's being 'forced' is beyond me, aside from being brainwashed," she continued on.

"I know what you mean, I thought for sure human trafficking was what bound the victims together, but this last one, she broke the trend somehow, and I can't figure out why," she said to him, her voice taking on the troubled tone. Trying to solve the puzzle.

Then the waitress came around and Jordan arched her brow as the check was given to him automatically. She was about to say something when he quickly pulled his wallet out and paid for their meal. She shrugged, considering he at the most, alright. Though she was going to pay for it. She stood then, and waited for him to slide out and stand from the booth as well.

When he did, they would both head out of The Hub, and toward her car. "I'm not completely convinced the women trusted him. In every scene there was sign of struggle," she said as she made her half climb, half jump into her SUV. Buckled in, door closed, she inserted the key and turned it, "Maybe we just need to figure out exactly why this guy is killing these girls.. the motive," she continued on as she started driving, after he'd settled in his seat, "but to find that, we need the connection," she mused on, then she rolled her shoulders and scrunched them up for a moment as she tilted her head to one side, before settling back. Once again, she looked lost in thought, though it did appear she was paying attention to what was on the road, it also appeared she was headed back to the bureau.

Cross could admit his mistakes. "Ah yes, I'd forgotten about that." he said, and paused in thought. He shook his head at the conundrum and and then stood to follow Owen. "I'm sure we're missing something. The question is, what?" Walking side by side with her to the SUV he gets in the passenger side and they make their way back to the Federal Building, both rather quiet and lost in thought.

Once there things seemed to go smoothly and he grabs the items she tells him to as she makes preparations to leave her vehicle for her mom. Soon they're making their way to his car. He could tell that Owen was still having problems with pain and he winced in sympathy. He hadn't gathered much for the trip to DC save some toiletries and a change of underwear and clothes. All easily carried.

He'd seen Owen grab a bag which must contain her travel items, and soon they were pulling away from the building and on their way to the airport. The Director had booked them tickets at LaGuardia and traffic was being a bitch. Seeing an opening Cross gunned it and moved through and soon they make the freeway and head to the airport. Flight 78. Cross found a spot and parked and at the main desk was able to get their tickets. Handing Owen hers they had to get to Gate 3 and supposedly still had plenty of time. They sure couldn't afford to get bumped.

The security checkpoint was their next stop. Backscatter or thorough patdowns...

Three Hours Later​

Cross had opted for the backscatter, Owen the pat down, and they showed their ID's. Didn't seem to matter too much, but they'd reunited and the flight had went without incident. Landing in DC there was a car waiting, another government issued Interceptor. "I'll drive." Cross announced, as the keys had been left for him. Loading their small bit of luggage in the trunk he hops in the driver's side and starts up the big V-8.

"Let's go check in with the Director and then head for something to eat." Cross suggests, and pulls out of the huge airport parking lot. "You ever been to DC?" he asks casually, as he begins the trek to 950 Pennsylvania Avenue, the Justice department Building where his Director was located, and containing many offices of the USNCB, though most civilians were referred to the main offices at 145 N Street.

Much more comfortable here in DC, Cross easily wound his way through traffic.

While on the plane, Jordan leaned back and closed her eyes, not realizing her brow was furrowed slightly as she tried to will her head and neck pain away, unfortunately, by the time they landed, it wasn't any better. She followed Osterhout, or Cross as he preferred apparently, to the car that was being lent to them for their time in D.C.

She nodded a little at him saying something about checking in with the Director, and nearly vomited right there at the mention of food, but she didn't say anything, she figured she probably needed to eat something. With that in mind, she just leaned back and propped her right elbow on the door and placed her fingertips in her hair, massaging her scalp some, "Once, years ago, when I started out in the FBI," she replied to him in regards to her ever being there.

"How long you been here?" she then asked him. First chance she got, she was going to get her hands on acetaminophen or ibuprofen, and see about a heating pad when she finally got to her hotel room. In the meantime though, she'll just work through as she always does and watched what roads he took to get to his Director's office.

Cross silently observed Owen on the drive, noting how the pain etched into her expression never seemed to cease. She was good at hiding it though. He gestured to the glove box. "There's usually a small first aid kit in there, sometimes in the trunk. Why don't you check? There's usually some ibuprofen or something." Her answer made sense. He had to imagine that nearly all FBI Agents passed through DC at one time or another. He smiled at her question.

"I've been here about ten years now. I like it. I actually get to travel a lot, which was one thing my wife liked, since even if I was working a case she often would at least tag along to see the sites or whatever while I worked." Turning onto Pennsylvania Avenue it was not long before they pulled in front of the Justice Department Building. "Here we are." he said, and parked. "Let's go see what she says."

Cross came around the car and opened her door, then popped the trunk. "Gonna grab my laptop." he said, and he did, though he also checked for the first aid kit as well. Smiling, he found a small bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol. He handed to her. "Just keep that with you, and I'll buy a bottle to replace the one I just took." He smiled softly.

Making his way into the building Cross made sure that Owen was right there with him so she didn't get lost. Not that one really could - there were maps of the building as well as Help Desks on every floor.

"I got to do that too for a bit," she commented when he spoke of traveling, "up until I settled on homicide," she finished. Then he parked and she looked up.

Jordan was about to open her door when it opened on its own, at least that's how it appeared to her for a moment, the migraine was giving her a blindspot and Cross happened to be in it. She gave him a small smile as she slid out, "Thanks," she muttered as she straightened her jacket and checked to make sure her glock was still in place on her right hip. Her slender brows lifting a bit when he handed her the Tylenol, she took it and nodded, "Is it that evident?" she asked him as she followed him inside the building. She'd opened the bottle and popped two of the five hundred milligram tablets, swallowing them without water as she pocketed the bottle in her dress jacket.

Now it was the hurry up and wait game for it to kick in. They went through the usual security process. She showed her FBI badge, signed in, went through the metal detector, and all other security measures that were applied in a government building. After that was finally done, she would then follow him to the elevators, where they stepped in, at which point she leaned against the wall, looking at the panel of buttons, "Which floor?" she asked him, green eyes slightly narrowed as she pushed through the pounding in her head.

Cross just smiled as she asked how evident her pain was. With a shrug he explains, "My mother suffered from horrible migraines. I recognize the symptoms and though you hide it well, the signs are all there. Besides, you're under a lot of stress." He spoke as if it were all in a day's work as they made their way inside.

"Twelve." he answered and leaned back against the back wall of the elevator. As he did he watched her for a moment, noting for the first time, truly, that in the right light, and with the right attitude, Owen might be a rather attractive woman. However, her manner seemed too brusque for his tastes. Shaking his head the elevator stopped and several more people got on, one of which was Mark Buskirk, an Agent Cross knew well. Everyone just called him Buzz. "Hey Buzz." Cross said, knowing that it would seem rude not to speak.

Buzz smiled. "Hey Cross! Heard you were working a trafficking case up in New York. What are you doing back here?" He seemed genuinely curious.

With a shake of his head Cross gestured to Owen. "Buzz, this is FBI Special Agent Owen. She's the lead on the case. Owen, this is Mark Buskirk, though he goes by Buzz." He waited for a moment for them to introduce themselves and then continued. "We had to come and get a few things. Some research I'd already done was misplaced." He dared not reveal the whole story to Buzz - another tick the man had that related to his nickname. "Going up to see the Director now."

That seemed to shut Buzz up for a moment, and soon they arrived on the twelfth floor. "Our stop." Cross said and gently guided Owen out of the lift, one hand softly on the small of her back. "See you next time Buzz." Cross said, glad to be out of that confined space.

She gave him a half smile when he commented on how he knew the signs of a migraine, and pressed the button labeled "12" when he named off the floor he needed to go to. The elevator stopped and people came in, one of which seemed that Cross knew, she nodded to Buzz, "Good thing he made the introductions, I'm liable to forget little things like that," she said giving Cross a one shouldered shrug and teasing smile from her statement.

She waved to Buzz as they left the elevator and a slender brow arched imperceptibly at the feel of his hand on the small of her back. She didn't protest, but she sure as hell wasn't used to it either. Nor was she used to the bit of chivalry Cross showed. At work she was "one of the guys" so she never received that sort of treatment, and to be honest, she was glad for it. She sure as hell never saw chivalry or gallantry in her ex-husband while they were married, hell she never received much attention from him in the last three or four years of their marriage.

Oddly enough however, and she started to psychologically analyze herself, she didn't seem to mind it from him, even found a hint of a thrill in which she quickly shoved down and stomped on it. All the while she was thinking this, she followed along side Cross to his director's office. She snapped out of it long enough to nod and shake hands with his director as they introduced themselves. Finding out the name of his director was Kelly Banta.

"Nice to meet you, Director Banta," Owen said while they shook hands before taking a seat after Banta indicated such to be done.

"I hope you two don't mind, but as soon as Cross told me what happened to the research he brought with him, I went to the library here and looked up what he had and made copies for you guys," Banta told them as she went back behind her desk and sat down and smoothed the black, knee length, pencil skirt over her legs and sat back. The woman was dressed similarly to Owen, just in a skirt instead of pants, and a pair of three inch heeled, black pumps instead of sensible flat dress shoes comfortable enough to run in.

Jordan raised her brows some and nodded with a bit of a smile, "Thank you, ma'am for going through that trouble, it certainly would cut the time spent here short," she said, "Though I admit, while I will be going through what you copied for us, I think I might want to make a trip to the library anyways and see what else could be dug up," she said.

Banta grinned, relaxing in her seat as she nodded and pointed to the large manila envelope at the edge of her desk, the edge closest to them, "Of course Agent, I wouldn't expect anything less," she said then.

Once out of the elevator Cross let his hand drop and simply walked beside Owen, the door to the Director's office just down the hall. The secretary let them in and Cross introduced them to one another, though he was rather sure Director Banta knew whom he'd shown up with. He'd enjoyed that small gentle contact with Owen, though he'd never admit it if asked, and he watched her from the corner of his eyes as they took their seats. For some reason he was glad that they seemed to get along. He found that if they hadn't he'd have been rather upset.

Cross smiled. "Thank you Director Banta. That does save us quite a lot of legwork. But as Owen has said, a trip to the library will certainly be warranted regardless."

Now it was Banta's turn to smile softly. "Already calling her simply Owen, Cross? I would have expected you to not be quite so candid this early in your relationship." She seemed to stress the word relationship, and smiled innocently.

Not able to help but blush softly Cross answered. "I suppose she has that effect upon me Director." What else could he say? Anything else would make it sound like far more than it was. Banta merely smiled.

Turning to face Owen she asked, "So, Special Agent Owen, do you have anything new to report on this case?"

Jordan arched her brow at Banta's comment to Cross and sent a curious look his way when he said something about her having an effect on him. Then her attention turned back to the Director for the question, "Nothing that I'm aware of since yesterday, my team would have called if there had been another murder or new evidence popped up. Though I am expecting a call from the forensics lab later on today," she answered. In truth, there wasn't anything new. Just theory and speculation.

Banta nodded, "I certainly hope the two of you, as well as the rest of your team, Agent, can catch this bastard soon," she replied, "Let me know what turns up, I'm definitely curious in what can be found in the lab, and what you guys find in the library and the documents I copied for you," she said then.

She leaned back and smiled to them both, "I'm sure you two want to get going on the research, and get settled for the couple of days you may be here," she told them, "As I said, keep me updated," she instructed then.

Jordan nodded and stood from her seat, "It was a pleasure meeting you, ma'am," she said to the woman, then she waited for Cross to lead the way out, after all, she sure as hell didn't know her way out of the building, the office, sure, but that would imply she knew where she was going if she left before him.

At that moment, more than anything, she wanted to lay down somewhere and hope the migraine she had would go away. The Tylenol hadn't kicked in yet, and she surmised it wouldn't, it didn't usually work. Usually, all it did was keep it from getting worse, nothing else, and it was already pretty bad. Still though, she knew she didn't have the time to lay down, work needed to be done, and they had little time to do it. Based on the Ceremonial Killer's schedule. The next murder was in one week, and she really wanted to try to catch him before the murder happened.

Cross caught Owen's curious look and the corner of his mouth twitched. He'd have to explain, and knew the questions would be coming after they left the office. He also had been aware that Owen was waiting on calls, but it made sense. Smiling as Banta offered her encouragement to them and then Owen was standing. "Yes, thank you Director. Your support is greatly appreciated." Cross said, and then led Owen from the office. Once more, as he opened the various doors for her, he guided her through, his hand gentle on the small of her back. He didn't even think about doing it. It simply was.

Walking down the hallway to the elevator Cross looked over at Owen and asked, "So, what did you think of her?" The question might have seemed somehow loaded, and Cross was obviously fishing for something else than a professional opinion on Banta.

At his question, Jordan gave him a sidelong glance, wondering what he was digging for. She shrugged a little as her left hand absently went up to rub the back of her neck, "Professional, capable, apt. She also strikes me as the type who does what she needs to do to get things done," she answered him. Then they came up to the elevator and she pressed the down button, then stood there and waited, "I'm also guessing you two have known each other for quite some time. She was professional when she was addressing me, but more personal when she addressed you," she continued, then let her hand drop to her side when she realized she was rubbing the back of her neck.

She shrugged again, not knowing what else to say, but sure she didn't give him the answer he was actually looking for. In truth, she thought the director had deeper feeling for Cross than she probably should, at the same time, it was understandable, considering how close most agents work with the director. The doors opened and she stepped on, when Cross would enter the elevator as with her, the two of them, for now, being alone in the lift, she pressed for the main floor so they could get going again. Silent as she leaned up against the wall again with her right shoulder, her right hand pressing against her brow as she lowered it and closed her eyes.

Something else about Banta, and she wasn't sure if it was the haze of pain affecting her or not, but something didn't seem quite right. There was something off and Jordan couldn't pinpoint it.

Cross stood beside her in the elevator and finally said, "We've worked together for quite a few years. She helped me focus after my wife died. She..." he trails off, as if trying to decide how to say what he wants to say, "she is constantly trying to set me up with women, or to get me to go out with her as well. It's not that I don't appreciate the gesture, but I need to move forward with my personal life at my own pace." He shrugged slightly and the elevator moved all the way to the ground floor with no interruptions.

The doors opened and Cross gestured for Owen to exit, then followed her. "You look really tired Jor - Owen. You wanna go lay down for awhile? I can do some research, and honestly, after the break-in I haven't gotten much sleep myself. We could go take a quick nap and then get back on track. I know we're in a time crunch, but we won't do anyone any good if we drive ourselves to exhaustion." He held the front doors for her and then fell in step beside her, slipping on his sunglasses as they made their way to the car.

She'd lifted her slender brows at his mention of Banta pressuring him into moving on, "So I'm guessing then that was the remark about you calling me Owen so early in our 'relationship'?" she asked him, bring up her pointer and middle fingers on each hand to use quotation marks around the last word.

Then they were out of the elevator and didn't comment on his nearly using her first name, "I'm used to working through exhaustion and the migraines, Cross," she mentioned. It was the first time she'd actually used any name for him vocally, "I wont lie in saying that a nap sounds wonderful right now though," she added, "but we are on that time crunch and I'd kick myself in the ass repeatedly if I use the little time I have sleeping," she finished saying finally.

Then they were outside of the building and she squinted her eyes nearly shut as she raised her hand over her eyes, great, the photosensitivy kicked in. In another hour or two it'll be the audiosensitivity, then the nausea and vomiting and loss of consciousness, "On second thought... maybe I should lay down," she said then, she was starting to feel a little dizzy at the moment, but she managed to continue to walk in a straight line as they made their way back to the car.

Cross nodded. "It was. I'm sure she has some hare-brained scheme to try and get you and I together. She was rather quick to assign me this case when she heard the lead operative was a woman." He shrugged, almost in apology. He listened as she explained her use of working through the pain. He merely shook his head and then she wavered slightly, resigning herself to the fact she needed to rest. In fact, she seemed to wobble slightly, despite walking a straight line to the car. Instinctively Cross steadied her, one hand gently on her elbow, the other on the small of her back again. "Yes, I think you should." Cross said, agreeing as she admitted she should lie down.

He saw her to the car and let her in, then got in himself and started it. The weather in DC wasn't too bad, brisk and cold, but clear. Through a deal with the Justice Department, the INTERPOL Agents stayed at the Four Seasons Hotel, at 2800 Pennsylvania Avenue NW - the city's only five star, five diamond hotel.

The drive wasn't far and soon Cross pulled into the lot. "Here we are Owen." He came and got her from her side of the car and soon they walked into the luxurious lobby. The front desk gave them their keys, adjoining suites on the fourth floor. Rooms 421 and 422. Separated by a locking door, the suites were rather nice.

Cross, ever the gentleman, helped Owen to her room and tipped the bellboy a five for getting their bags. "Is there anything you'd like me to have them bring up?" Cross asked, concern evident in his voice.

She barely registered anything as he helped her to the car. The drive over, she had her eyes closed, her right elbow propped on the door, with her right hand covering her eyes. Her head felt as though it exploded so she really didn't notice where they were going. She took in deep breaths and at one point, even rolled the window just enough for air to hit her, "Sorry, I hope you don't mind," she told Cross, though she didn't look at him. The cold air helped with the nausea that was building up.

The car stopped and by the time she was done rolling the window back up, green eyes opened again, Cross was there and had opened the door, she gave him a weak smile and followed along side him tot he lobby, then as she palmed her card key they headed to their rooms.

They'd entered her room some and she removed her dress jacket and tossed it over the back of the chair, then removed her Glock and holster from her right hip and set it on the night stand beside the bed. At his question she thought the answer to herself, A guillotine to remove my head would be fantastic, but she didn't say it aloud, instead she opened her door and shook her head, "Thanks, but no, I doubt they'd have anything for this," she told him in reference to her head, "Thank you," she told him in terms of pretty much pushing her to get to her room. The state she was in, she would have gladly just collapse anywhere and curl into the fetal position and wish for death.

"I don't mind at all." Cross had replied as she cracked the window. Their rooms seemed rather nice and he shook his head at the bellboy's question of whether they needed anything else.

"Just dial 9 if you want the desk." the young man said, and departed.

Cross shut the door to his room and went to Owen. His arms steadied her, more sure in his movements and actions now as they were no longer in public. No matter how he looked at it he was a man and she was a woman, and right now she needed his help. His arm was around her waist and his other hand gently held her elbow. He supported her as much as he needed to, carrying her if he must, and growling softly when he knew she wanted to push him away. Whether his hands were on her or not he made sure she got on the bed and he took off her shoes for her. Hands gently rubbed her feet and he set the shoes on the floor beside the bed.

"I'm going to leave the door open, Owen. You let me know if you need anything." Cross patted her thigh and then went to his room, taking off his coat and then his gun. He sat and propped his feet up on the table as he got his laptop and then started open the files the Director had copied for them.

She did try to shrug him off, shaking her head, "No need, Cross," she muttered out, but he still ended up doing whatever he wished, and she just didn't have the strength at that moment to fight him off or argue with him. She laid down as he ended up taking her shoes off, and she did feel incredibly weird of him doing that, but then her feet were being rubbed and she closed her eyes as she covered her eyes with her left forearm.

Okay.. he can do that all day if he wanted, she thought to herself. Then he moved away and she heard him leave the room via the connecting door, she grunted at his statement as she kept her eyes closed and did her best to will the pain away, just enough for her to get to sleep.

Cross was gentle and guided her to lie down, and could see some of the tension melt from her as he rubbed her feet. He continued on for a moment or two before he departed, her grunt of assent the last thing he heard. The connecting door was left open and he listened for any signs of distress, though he knew Owen would give none. She was tough, and knew how to hide her pain well. Still, pushing herself too much would only lead to disaster.

Cross looked at the copies that Banta had given them, and soon set them to the side. Getting online he soon browsed the Internet, not looking for anything in particular, and slowly drifting off into a light nap. After a bit he awakened and looked at his watch. 8pm. With a groan he sits up and goes to check on Owen. She's still napping quietly, and perhaps the Tylenol had taken off the edge just enough. Deciding he needed to shower and change Cross went back to his room, leaving the connecting door open as always, and then went to his bathroom.

Undressing takes little time and as the shower heats up he brushes his teeth. He knew that he'd have to hit the gym in the morning. Keep up his fitness regimen. Soon he stepped in the shower and he scrubbed down. Drying off when he emerged he wrapped himself in a towel and went to check on Owen. He knew she'd likely want to call her daughter and possibly get a shower herself before they headed out to grab a bite.

Reaching down to her sleeping form he gently shook her by the shoulder. "Owen." he said quietly. "C'mon, better get up. We need to grab a bite and I'm sure your daughter wants to hear from you, as well as your mom." He shook her again, still gentle, and suddenly aware that Owen would see a side of him that she'd never seen before.

When he left the room, she turned to her side, facing the connecting doors, though her eyes remained closed as she brought the pillow over her head, only enough space was left so she could breathe. Otherwise, it blocked out all light and sound from her. After about an hour, she sat up and took her blouse off, leaving her in a white tank top and pants. Showing arms that were well toned and slightly defined, and that under the tank top, she was quite trim all around. Sighing softly, she pulled the pillow back over her head, and after an indeterminable amount of time, she fell asleep finally.

Next thing she knew, her shoulder was being nudged gently and she groaned in protest as she rolled to her stomach. Hearing him tell her that her daughter, and mother both, most likely wanted to hear from her, she sighed softly and tossed the pillow to the other side of the bed, opposite of where he stood, and rolled to her back. Her head still hurt, but no where near it had earlier, "What time is it?" she murmured as she rubbed her face. Then she slowly sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed before she slowly opened her green eyes and pushed back her reddish brown hair.

It was guaranteed that when she looked at him, shock with a heavy mix of appreciation showed, before it was quickly, very quickly replaced by the more nonchalant, professional expression.

Her state of dress wasn't quite what Cross had expected, though it certainly wasn't revealing in any way. No more than one might see in any gym, a fit young woman working out. He hated to disturb her slumber, but knew it would be his ass if he let her sleep too long, and his own nap had worked to further the evening more than he would wager she was willing. Her shoulder was soft, skin warm as he placed his hand there, and there was a certain sort of electricity there as he touched her. Something a bit... taboo... about laying his hand on another Agent, however innocent it may be.

He roused her and waited to make sure she awakened. He was horrible about that. Push the snooze button and then the next thing he knew another hour had passed. She rolled to her stomach, then to her back, her flat abs barely defined, but her body in very nice shape. Of course, so was Cross. Both jobs demanded a certain amount of fitness. At her question he paused a moment and winced. Here it comes.

"It's about eight or so." he admitted. Which wasn't all that late. After the flight and the meeting with Banta it had been about 3:30. Then they checked in here and got settled and it had been 4. So he reckoned she got at least 2-3 hours of decent sleep. "How do you feel?" he asked, unable to hide the concern in his voice.

Unconcerned with the towel, and that simple attire actually forgotten, Cross stood with arms crossed over his chest and watched her. The only thing which reminded him of his state of undress was the look which momentarily crossed her face. With the slightest of blushes he then says softly, "I just showered. Gonna head down to the restaurant and get some dinner. Figured you might like to join me." He studied her face. He knew she pushed herself. Too hard in his estimation. It was nice to be driven, but you could kill yourself too, and then where would that leave things? Her daughter an orphan, the killer still out there. That's where.

"Get up Owen." he said finally, his tone not reprimanding, but still stern. "Take some of that Tylenol before you eat and hopefully it will keep the edge off. Oh yeah, and dress nice." The last was said with a bit of a grin and Cross turned and headed back to his side of the suite. He didn't bother closing the dividing door and shucked the towel as he passed the bathroom on the way to the bedroom and his wardrobe. His wardrobe wasn't extensive, and he wondered if Owen realized just how nice the restaurant was downstairs. Five-star.

So really, any of her suits just wouldn't fit. Of course, Cross has prepared for that. Sort of. Part of his Internet search earlier had included looking at the boutiques right here in the hotel. Rather, what they could get on short notice. Thus, if Owen wasn't prepared with a dress then Cross would make sure she was appropriately dressed. It was the least he could do.

As for himself, he was soon pulling on one of his finer suits, a gray suit with silver pinstripes and a stark white shirt. Matching slacks and black dress shoes. Deep inside, after that expression on Owen's face, he hoped that she'd approve. He wore no tie, preferring the semi-casual look, and he was required to wear a tie to work. Despite the class required here at the hotel, he shirked the accessory. He waited for a time, the luxury hotel silent so that he couldn't even tell if she showered, before he went and waited at the dividing door, not wishing to intrude should she be on the phone with her daughter or her mother.

Eight?! She thought to herself. She couldn't believe that, yet, at the same time, she could. She sank her fingers into her own hair and rubbed at her scalp a bit and nodded, "Alright then, Can't be helped," she muttered, partly getting onto herself about the lost time, but as she just said, it couldn't be helped. She reached over to the middle of the bed and grabbed her cell, and looked at Cross with an arched brow, dress nice? Great, that was when the reality of what kind of hotel they were in hit her. Her suits for work were the nicest things she had on hand right now. Sure, at home, in her closet, she had a couple of formal dresses, but she wasn't expecting that here. She was about to say as much when he left already.

She sighed and pushed her hair back with one hand, then she grabbed another suit, along with a clean tank top, bra and panties, then went into the bathroom, stripped and took a quick shower, dried off, then dressed again. By the time Cross came in, she was wearing a pair of black dress pants, what she usually wore for work, and her sensible black shoes. Her hair was still wet, and she had the tank top on, along, of course, with her bra, but she hadn't put her blouse on yet.

It appeared as though she'd become distracted, she was sitting, almost curled upon a chair and on her cell with a soft smile on her face as she listened to her daughter go through her day. At one point, Jordan even laughed softly, "That's my girl," she said to her, "You've been good for Grammy, right baby?" she asked her then, she caught Cross from the corner of her eye and she looked up, her eye brows raised a bit as her green eyes widened a little as well. He certainly cleaned up nicely. Then she turned her attention back to her daughter's words, "I'm proud of you kiddo, sounds like you did fantastic in getting your brown belt," she said with a grin.

She leaned back, her cell still held to her ear, "I know baby girl, I wish I could have been there too, but I have a really bad guy to catch, remember?" she said then, "Alright, baby, I think its time you go to bed alright? Sweet dreams and I love you," she said. She waited for Sammy to reply and smiled when she said the words again, "Remember to listen to Grammy, alright?" she added. Evidently, she her daughter said she would and they hung up. Jordan took a deep breath as she stood and grabbed her blouse from the bed, just a plain button down white blouse.

She looked at Cross then and shrugged, "If I had known we'd be staying and eating a place like this, I would have grabbed one of my formal dresses, as it is, this is all I've got, three days worth of work suits and various other items," she told him as she pulled the blouse on and started buttoning it up, "considering I'm sure they wouldn't let me in, perhaps we should consider some place else to eat?"