Jack had no interest in the tricks Foyer was playing anymore. The best way to handle someone like him was simple—capture him and eliminate him. After all, dead men can't pull any stunts.
Garcia quickly sent over an address. "2633 Budlong South Street. Are Hotchner and the others okay?"
"They're at the hospital now. They should be fine," Jack reassured her before heading to the location with the rest of the team.
This time, Jack kicked the door down while armed with a rifle, but once again, Foyer had vanished. All that was left was a body—Roy Coulson, shot in the head, lying dead at a desk.
In front of him was an open laptop, displaying an article he had just finished writing. The article detailed the deal between Tom Shonas and the "Boston Reaper" from years ago.
"That son of a…" Jack cursed, fury building inside him. He kicked a nearby tree so hard that its branches shook, and the last of its dry, yellow leaves fell to the ground.
As the saying goes, "You can't always defend against a thief." Now that Foyer had disappeared into the shadows, the BAU team was back on the defensive. A highly intelligent adversary, with meticulous planning, hacking skills, the ability to forge identities, multiple safe houses, and immense patience—each of these qualities on their own would make someone a formidable opponent. Foyer had them all.
"What we need most now is to stay calm. He's not perfect; there will be a slip-up somewhere. We just need to find it," Rossi said, stepping out of the house to offer Jack some comfort.
"I spoke to the hospital earlier. Hotch is still in surgery, but the doctors say he's stable. He should recover soon."
Jack shook his head, letting out a heavy breath. "I'm just letting off steam. It's not really anger—it's fear."
"Fear that things aren't going the way you expected?" Rossi, wise with age, understood that Jack wasn't afraid of Foyer himself.
Jack let out a bitter laugh. "Are you going to say that I'm too arrogant, just like Hotchner?"
Rossi shook his head. "It's not arrogance. Confidence is what drives us to solve cases. What I'm saying is, don't take everything upon yourself. We're a team, and each of us brings something unique to the table. Trust in the power of teamwork."
Before he could finish his sentence, Emily appeared at the door, waving for them to come over. "Reid found something."
Rossi smiled at Jack, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before they both headed back inside. Reid had found a box in a corner, filled with blueprints and documents.
"What's this?" Jack picked up one of the blueprints. It looked like a building's schematic, but not the usual kind. It was purely flat, with numerous lines marked on it.
"These are the electrical, heating, and plumbing schematics for East Woburn Prison," Reid explained, pulling out more blueprints. "And not just for Woburn. There are schematics for every jail, prison, and courthouse in Massachusetts."
"These were Foyer's backup plans. If he were ever caught, he would try to escape," Reid added.
"Maybe getting caught and escaping was always part of his plan," Emily speculated.
"He's not just challenging the police. He's aiming to challenge the entire justice system, to prove its ineffectiveness and get a higher level of thrill from the power it gives him," Reid theorized.
"But clearly, he abandoned this plan. Why? He ran from here, knowing his identity had been exposed. Maybe Hotchner revealed who he was during their fight, but why would he give up on a plan he spent so much time preparing?" Reid pondered.
"He could've waited for us here, let us arrest him, and then pulled off his escape. That would've made him even more famous, giving him the ultimate thrill he's been chasing," Reid said, confused.
Jack cleared his throat, a bit embarrassed. "The problem might be with me."
He briefly explained how he had asked Justin to set up a Trojan horse in the LAPD database to alert him if anyone tried to access his file.
"My guess is, he saw my file from my time at the LAPD and decided it wasn't worth risking his life this time."
There was no need to spell things out. Everyone knew how ruthless Jack could be during his time with the LAPD.
Out of the six of them, only Jack had come to the FBI later in his career. The others had either grown within the FBI or, in Hotchner's case, worked as a prosecutor for two years before joining. Their files were well-guarded, and after joining the BAU, Rossi had sealed all their records at Jack's suggestion. Aside from occasional mentions of their past during casual conversations, Jack's history was the most transparent of them all. Anyone curious could easily piece together his past from chatting with old LAPD colleagues.
"But it's not just that," Rossi said, shrugging. His comment made everyone turn to him, puzzled.
"What do you mean?" Jack asked.
Rossi sighed. "Remember the phone call Foyer made to Hotch? It's obvious now—he's got his sights set on Hotchner."
"Yes!" Reid's tone grew excited. "He wanted Hotch to be his next Tom Shonas, but Hotch refused."
"So Foyer didn't fail to kill Hotch because he was in a hurry to escape. He tormented Tom Shonas for ten years until he died in misery. Now it's Hotch's turn," Rossi said, his expression growing tense.
"The 'Reaper' always takes something from his victims and leaves something behind. We need to go to the hospital and check all of Hotch's personal belongings," Rossi urged.
Jack, slightly amused, quipped, "Well, if you're worried about his family, I'd be more than happy if Foyer's on his way to Los Angeles right now."
——
Two days later, Hotchner slowly regained consciousness, opening his eyes to find his team gathered around his hospital bed.
"Where am I?" he asked.
"You're in the hospital," Rossi said, gently pushing him back down to keep him from moving too much.
"My phone… Foyer used my fingerprint to unlock it. It has my home address," Hotchner suddenly became agitated, grabbing Rossi's arm. The machines monitoring his vitals began beeping frantically.
"Don't worry, Foyer's already dead," Rossi reassured him with a smile.
"Jack found him?" Hotch let out a sigh of relief, his grip on Rossi's arm loosening.
"To be precise, Foyer delivered himself right to us."
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