Criminal Minds Agent Reid Novels & Stories

a the Komondor, and Michelle Jackson carrying her three years old baby girl and most surprisingly, FBI agent, Jessica Strauss. The Komondor could notice fear in my eyes as soon as I saw the cop, but he calmed me down, assuring she’s a friend who is here to help. I told the FBI agent, Jessica Strauss, about my journey with the young girl inside the mirrors and how Mr. Hudson, and her FBI partner, Carlton were all linked to the murder of Christopher.M.Jackson a.k.a. the Black Jackson. She immediately turned her face away from me, not wanting to believe anything I said, for she was in love with her FBI partner, Carlton, and already engaged to him.

Frederick’s satisfaction with his informants’ work quickly faded as he absorbed the chilling reality. Leonard Hugues, 32 years old. One of the five executives of Lafleur, the most notorious criminal organization in Marseille. Known for his unmatched combat and weapon skills. A man whose brutality knew no bounds. “He killed two unarmed men just for touching his woman?” Frederick murmured, astonished. He let out a strained laugh, attempting to mask his growing unease. “I never imagined my brother would raise such a monster.” His gaze shifted to Jacques, who stood silently, visibly uneasy. Jacques seemed on the verge of speaking, but hesitation held him back, leaving Frederick to wait impatient

I was hardly sick, it was just one time close to thanksgiving I caught a flu in prison. "That's sudden. I'll handle the tab and take you home," Martin says as his eyes flashes around. "I'll make a quick dash to the restroom," I say, already getting up. Martin rises too. "I'll come with." "No, no. It's fine," I say, hurrying past him. I pushed through a small crowd of people to get to the restroom. I didn't stay there for long. I walked out, looking for a back exit. The feeling of paranoia breathing inside me could speak if you even dared it. The components of my head were all in a rough fight against one and other. Everything kept banging and clashing together up there. I put my hands on my

“Are you sure that offering Alan is a good idea after what he’s done to Jessie?” I ask the Sergeant as he explains their next course of action. “Unfortunately, I am,” he replies without hesitation. “Rebecca has an unpredictable psychological condition, and with her background she could easily fool a jury. We can’t risk either her or Blaire being released.” He moves behind his desk, reaching for the crystal decanter resting beside a stack of case files. The amber liquid glints under the overhead light as he pours himself a glass of scotch, the quiet clink of glass filling the otherwise tense room.

Tonight, like many nights before, he was watching criminals do what criminals do. "Movement at the north entrance," Agent Miller whispered from the passenger seat. Miller was younger, maybe thirty-five, with the kind of energy that came from still believing the system could work. He had joined the FBI straight out of college and still thought most cases had happy endings. Agent Cathy Williams sat in the back of the van, holding a camera with a telephoto lens. She had been working organized crime longer than either of her partners, and she knew that nights like this rarely went according to plan.

He stretched his right hand and pressed a button on the machine that I guessed to be a recorder placed at the center of the table before he began to speak. “Mr. Laun Valrdin, am I correct?” He asked. I nodded. “I'm Agent Peterson, can you please tell me how your friend got shot.” I was about saying a word but I paused and rethought. “Is there a problem?” Agent Peterson asked me. “No but I need my lawyer to be here before I can say anything concerning what you asked.” I watched Agent Peterson press the same button on the recorder. I guess he turned it off. I noticed a wide devilish smirk grow across his cheeks. “I'm not sure that would be a good idea.”

I get back up and pound on the invisible wall in front of me, trying to break through, but it’s solid. I watch in helplessness as Gaston falters with his opponent but is still holding on with everything he has. However, if I don’t get to him soon, he won’t make it. I snarl out at my impotence, unable to break this wall to reach these men to help them. The male fighting Pierre shifts back into his human form, just as Pierre does when he hits the wall behind him, his wolf not being able to keep the shift due to his injuries. The red-headed male pins Pierre to the wall by his neck. He glances back over his shoulder at me, and I immediately recognize him. Reid Sinclair. The last of my mother’s r

I took a seat at the long table, feeling the weight of everyone's attention shift towards me. Caldwell entered the room a few minutes later, followed by Director Harris, the head of my agency. The room fell silent as they took their places at the head of the table. "Thank you all for coming on such short notice," Harris began. "We have a situation on our hands, and we need to work quickly.” She turned to me, her gaze piercing. "Agent, we need a full account of what happened in that interrogation room.” I nodded, my throat dry. "The suspect was initially uncooperative. I applied pressure to get him to talk. He was about to reveal who sent him when he suddenly started convulsing. Fumes began c

“Then I can conclusively infer that you’re the culprit in murder of Albert Connor-Mckinney, Max, Mary Adele White and sheriff Morgan.” A look of dissatisfaction began to appear on his face. Before we entered the interrogation room, agent Tom advised me. “Psychopaths all like to take credit for what they did. You have to make him believe he didn’t do much. By so doing, he will admit to other crimes he has committed.” Remembering that, I smiled. “Now that I think of it, you didn’t do much,” I mocked. Smith’s POV “Is he trying to get on my nerves or is he really serious?” I thought. How can he say that I didn’t do enough.

Amaya's POV I’ve been here for six hours, repeating my story to different agents, answering the same questions over and over. My mates are in separate rooms, giving their own statements. The door opens and a new agent enters. Older, distinguished looking. His badge reads Agent Morrison, Department of Homeland Security. "Miss Reed," he says, sitting across from me. Not Amaya. Miss Reed. Formal. "I've reviewed your statement. Very detailed. Very thorough." "Thank you?"