From: djmckent@neo.rr.com   
      
   Title:  Devil to Pay   
      
   Author:  mimic117   
      
   Email:  mimic117@yahoo.com   
      
   Rating:  NC-17   
      
   Category:  MSR, established relationship   
      
   Setting:  Season 7-ish   
      
   Summary:  When she gets her hands on him, there's going to    
   be the devil to pay.   
      
   Archive:  Anywhere you like but I'll do Gossamer and Ephemeral    
   myself, thanks.   
      
   Thanks: To shawntaw for the tree climbing suggestion.  ~wink~     
   To Cin for her always-excellent beta which she uses as an excuse    
   to poke me for more fic.  And to whoever started the thread which    
   revealed that this type of undercover story has never been    
   written before.  Who knew?   
      
   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
      
   Devil to Pay   
   by mimic117   
      
      
   Carousel Casino and Hotel   
   Las Vegas, Nevada   
   1:08 AM   
      
   The hotel room door burst inward, police officers and Federal    
   agents surging shoulder to shoulder through the opening.   
      
   "Get down get down get down!"   
      
   "Hands in the air!  Nownownow!"   
      
   "FREEZE!  Federal agent!"   
      
   Shouts petered out, to be replaced by anxious questions.   
      
   "Where are they?"   
      
   "What the hell?"   
      
   "Where the hell are they?"   
      
   "What do we do now?"   
      
   Scully shoved her way into the room, the voices in her earpiece    
   creating an eerie echo of the people speaking around her.  She    
   scanned the various moving bodies, looking for one in    
   particular.   
      
   "Where's Mulder?"     
      
   No one met her searching gaze.  No one answered.  He was    
   supposed to be here.  She checked the number on the door.     
   This was the right room.  So where was he?   
      
   Mulder's voice crackled in her ear.  "I'd really appreciate it if    
   you'd put the knife down.  Okay, okay.  I'll let you tie me to the    
   bed.  Just watch where you're waving that thing.  This is NOT    
   my idea of a good time, but hey, I'm willing to be open-minded."   
      
   Scully watched as several people closed their eyes, pained    
   expressions on their faces.  Three times he'd given the signal--   
   any phrase with the words "good time" in it.  Everyone else on    
   the surveillance team had heard him.  They all knew the same    
   thing she did: Mulder was in trouble.  He'd found their serial    
   killer and she was proceeding according to her known MO.     
   Once he was tied down, he wouldn't have any way of helping    
   himself.  He was waiting for them to break down the door and    
   rescue him.  Only they didn't know where he was.  Somehow,    
   the killer had changed rooms.   
      
   Detective Ramie picked up the room's phone and punched a    
   button.  "I need the manager in this room, NOW!  Also    
   everyone who's been here since nine last night.  I don't CARE    
   how many people that is!  We've got a missing agent and very    
   little time to find him.  You do that.  Just do it fast!"     
      
   He tossed the receiver back into the cradle and looked at    
   Scully.  "We'll find them, agent.  That bitch isn't getting one of    
   ours."   
      
   Scully nodded.  She wasn't capable of speaking.  If she opened    
   her mouth, she'd start shouting and wouldn't be able to quit.     
   She could still hear Mulder's voice in her earpiece, growing    
   more confused and anxious as the minutes ticked away.  He    
   was trying to stall, using his training to buy himself time, but it    
   sounded like he was having limited success.  Judging by the    
   previous murder scenes, they needed to find him fast, within a    
   couple hours at best.  When Mulder's client had blindfolded him    
   in the elevator, they should have known something was up, but    
   it had only sounded like a part of whatever game she liked to    
   play.  They thought they'd covered everything.  How had it    
   gone bad so quickly?   
      
   She could see the crime scene photos in her mind.  Attractive    
   men, in good physical shape, between the ages of thirty-two    
   and thirty-six.  All had worked for the same male escort service.     
   Nothing especially remarkable about them, other than their    
   good looks, a willingness to sell their bodies for a very    
   impressive amount of money and the fact that they were not    
   only dead, but missing their external sex organs.  Each one    
   was found in a different hotel.  Each credit check on their    
   clients revealed legitimate accounts, good enough to pay for an    
   escort, a hotel room and meals, issued under totally false    
   names and addresses.  Responding law enforcement in the    
   first two deaths received a nasty shock when they showed up    
   at the listed billing addresses, only to discover the names on    
   the cards belonged to women in their 80's who'd never owned    
   a credit card in their lives.  The accounts were so new, the bills    
   hadn't even arrived yet, and they were in different parts of the    
   country.  The investigating officers still went through the    
   motions of checking out billing addresses each time a new    
   victim turned up, but by now, they didn't expect to find anything    
   helpful.     
      
   They'd almost gotten to the last victim in time.  Someone in the    
   room next door had heard noises and called the desk.  Tied to    
   the bed by his wrists and ankles, gagged and unconscious, he    
   was still alive when they'd found him.  He was dead before they    
   could get him out to an ambulance, unfortunately.  Or perhaps    
   fortunately, considering what was left of his penis and testicles    
   had been fished out of the hotel room's toilet.  That was when    
   the Las Vegas police went straight to FBI headquarters to find    
   people who would be willing to put themselves out there as    
   bait.  After five dead male escorts in three weeks, they were    
   desperate to catch the killer.     
      
   Maybe that's why she'd switched rooms this time.  She must    
   have realized how close she came to getting caught and    
   decided to change the rules to prevent the same mistake twice.     
   Scully was willing to bet that, wherever she'd taken Mulder, it    
   was somewhere inside the hotel, but more isolated.  Fewer    
   chances of being overheard, being interrupted.  Being able to    
   save Mulder's life.   
      
   People in hotel uniforms crowded into the room, pushing law    
   personnel aside as they were directed toward the officer in    
   charge.  Scully squeezed her way back into the hall, trying to    
   stay focused on Mulder's voice in her ear.  She should be out    
   there running up and down the halls, banging on doors, doing    
   anything to find him, but she couldn't bring herself to abandon    
   the only link they had. He was still within range, but it might not    
   last if she moved, and she needed to hear his voice.     
      
   It had been three days since they'd spoken.  She liked to think    
   Mulder wouldn't have been so quick to volunteer if he'd known    
   the six undercover "escorts" were going to be sequestered for    
   the duration of the assignment.  In order for the deception to    
   work, the higher-ups had determined that all communication    
   between the decoys and headquarters would be limited to one    
   debriefing, with the lead detective only, every morning.  No    
   contact was allowed at any other time, in any way, shape or    
   form, just in case their perp was observing the men throughout    
   the day.    
      
   Amazingly enough, they'd known all along they were looking for    
   a woman.  Despite the fact that serial killers are    
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
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    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)