The "Boston Reaper" was killed by "Batman." To be precise, serial killer Foyet was shot dead by Chris, a bullet to the head that left no chance of survival.
Rossi had suspected that Foyet might target Hotchner's family, so Jack decided to play along and stayed put.
Yesterday, the FBI held a press conference and even posted a reward on local TV, creating the illusion that the BAU was still in the dark.
Sure enough, last night Foyet, under a fake name, took a flight to Los Angeles, sneaked into Hotchner's new home, only to run into the Wolf brothers, who had been waiting for him all day.
Unfortunately for Foyet, Chris wasn't really "Batman" but rather an "assassin accountant," and Braxton, though not as ruthless as "The Punisher," wasn't far behind.
Against two professional killing machines, a slightly skilled serial killer stood no chance. He was swiftly eliminated.
Just a few hours before Hotchner regained consciousness, Hannah had already confirmed Foyet's identity with the FBI's Los Angeles office. The "Boston Killer" case was officially closed.
Hotchner spent two weeks in Boston's best hospital, and then, with his wife Hailey by his side, returned to Los Angeles in a wheelchair. The BAU team threw him a grand welcome party.
In the FBI's official report, it was noted that Hannah had killed the intruder who attempted to break into Hotchner's house. However, when Rossi signed the report, his expression was somewhat meaningful.
During Hotchner's recovery, Rossi took over his duties, but soon delegated most of the paperwork to Jack, citing that older folks shouldn't overwork themselves.
Normally, Reid, who was good at handling forms and reports, would have taken on the task, but lately, he had been getting quite close to a young celebrity.
With Hotchner still recuperating and no urgent cases coming up, Reid took a few days off and went on a European vacation with Layla, who was also free due to her agent's injury.
Fortunately, the beautiful and kind Jessica helped Jack with some of the paperwork; otherwise, he might have been stuck at his desk until Christmas.
Luckily, today was the last day. After finishing the final report, he could start his Christmas vacation two weeks early.
Jack looked up from the towering pile of files to find the office completely empty. Outside the window, the city lights were glowing, and the night was deep. It was drizzling lightly.
He stood up, stretched, and his joints popped with a series of crackles. Just as he was about to pack up and leave, the elevator outside his office chimed, signaling someone coming up.
Turning his head, Jack saw the elevator doors open to reveal a bedraggled figure holding a cat in one hand and dragging a suitcase in the other.
"Emily? What's wrong?" Jack asked in surprise, quickly finding a towel to hand to her as he noticed she was drenched.
"Why are you still at the office?" Emily countered, avoiding his question, as she handed the small black cat in her arms to Jack.
"I just finished up, was about to head home," Jack said as he took another towel to dry the equally wet black cat.
Seeing that Emily had dried her hair but was now staring blankly, he tried a more playful approach to ask, "What happened? Did your landlord kick you out?"
"Jack, I think I'm in trouble," Emily said, sounding drained and without the energy to snap back.
"I can see that," Jack replied, unsurprised, as he absentmindedly played with the black cat, waiting for her to explain further.
"I..." Emily opened her mouth to speak but then swallowed her words.
Jack sighed, stood up, and made her a cup of hot tea. He also took a slice of cake from the fridge and placed it in front of her.
"Some sugar will help you think."
Emily devoured the cake at lightning speed, making it clear she hadn't eaten much that night.
"This is dangerous. I don't know if I should..."
"Dangerous like a cannibal or a terrorist hiding out on a Southeast Asian island?" Jack asked, curious.
"Uh... I don't know, maybe about the same," Emily replied, catching Jack off guard.
He figured it must be something big to make this tough woman flee with her cat in the middle of the night.
"I used to help the CIA track an international terrorist named Ian Doyle, aka 'Valhalla.'"
Jack didn't interrupt this time, quietly listening to Emily recount her past.
Before joining the FBI, Emily had worked for the CIA and been part of a task force called JTF-12, which specialized in profiling terrorists to help the US and its allies dismantle terror cells.
Ian Doyle, or "Valhalla," was the leader of a Northern Irish terrorist group. Emily, posing as an arms dealer, had infiltrated his circle without initially knowing his true identity.
Her mission had been to gain Doyle's trust and uncover "Valhalla's" real identity.
"You went undercover? I thought you guys were all about psychological profiling?" Jack almost swore in disbelief upon hearing this.
"Given the secrecy of these terrorist groups, it was the only way. We did a background check on Doyle, including his romantic history..." Emily's expression grew strange, and though she tried to be diplomatic, Jack caught on.
"You slept with him? Holy crap! What were you thinking?"
Emily furiously messed up her hair, embarrassed and frustrated at being so easily exposed.
"Ah! I don't know! I was too young and just wanted to do something that would make my family proud."
Jack wanted to crack her head open to see what was inside. Normally, she acted like the perfect strong female lead in a drama, but deep down, she was just naive.
"So, what now? Did he break out of prison and is coming after you?" Jack could practically guess the rest of the story.
"Yes! You guessed right, okay!" Emily, now resigned to her fate, looked like she was on the verge of tears.
"'Valhalla' was captured, and after two years of interrogation, they broke him. His terror group was dismantled, and I thought I'd never hear that name again."
"But?" Jack rolled his eyes.
"But a few days ago, my former boss, the leader of the JTF-12 task force, contacted me to tell me Ian Doyle had escaped from prison."
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