Poor Rossi, already at an advanced age, had just finished dealing with the scene and returned home, planning to enjoy a small drink before going to bed, when he received the news that Jack's house had been bombed. In a rush, he hurried over.
By the time he arrived, the LAFD (Los Angeles Fire Department) had just extinguished the fire ignited by the gas explosion. The firefighters, who are usually looked down upon by everyone, stood looking at the twelve mutilated bodies on the ground. Then they glanced at Jack, standing on the roadside with a mighty M134 "Minigun" at his feet, braving the cold wind. No one dared approach him to hand him the bill.
Alright, that part was a joke. Jack's house wasn't in the suburbs, so no extra fees were necessary.
But normally, these guys—who worked out every day and had nowhere to channel their testosterone—would whistle or make some off-color jokes when they saw Emily wrapped in a towel, showing off her perfect figure.
Some might even get bold and try to ask for her contact information.
Today was different, though. These firefighters didn't even whisper among themselves. They quickly packed up their firefighting equipment, left an ambulance behind, and then left without looking back.
The ambulance was for Liam, who had been shot in the leg. As soon as Rossi arrived, he kicked the paramedics off the vehicle, got in, and closed the door. Shortly after, heart-wrenching screams echoed from inside the ambulance.
Don't be fooled by Rossi's usual cheerful demeanor, like a kindly retired old man. Thirty years ago, he was a big shot in the FBI. There's no way he's a pushover.
Today's incident had really pushed Rossi's buttons. His two most trusted men had nearly been blown to bits, and Jack's house had been hit by an RPG, flipping it over. As an old man who already struggles with insomnia, he knew he wasn't getting any sleep tonight.
As the screams inside the ambulance gradually faded from piercing to weak, the few LAPD officers standing nearby exchanged looks, pretending as if nothing was happening and going about their business.
John, standing beside Jack, looked like he wanted to say something but hesitated, unsure of what to do.
"Terrorists don't have human rights," Hotchner, who had arrived just behind Rossi, calmly explained.
He didn't like using such methods in public, considering that as the nominal head of this BAU team, he had a duty to uphold the FBI's image.
As soon as Reid arrived on the scene and confirmed that the building wasn't in danger of collapsing, he put on a hard hat and gloves and went inside to investigate, claiming it was to collect evidence.
In reality, the terrorists hadn't even made it into the house—they were all wiped out outside, having only fired a few RPG rounds. The launchers were still lying on the ground outside. If they needed evidence, there was no need to search Jack's house.
Reid knew about Jack's secret armory. His so-called investigation was just a cover to collect some sensitive items on behalf of the FBI.
For example, the M134 "Minigun" that had been at Jack's feet was now classified as one of the illegal weapons carried by the terrorists.
JJ arrived in a BAU-owned Suburban, bringing a bag of clothes for Emily.
Meanwhile, a Lincoln Navigator without any license plates silently parked by the roadside, its window rolling down to reveal Hannah's pretty face.
Jack walked over to the car and saw Zoe and Maureen inside, both looking worried.
After reassuring his three beauties that he was fine, Jack got out of the car dressed in clean clothes. He threw away the flip-flops, which were full of broken glass shards, and replaced them with a pair of Salomon tactical boots.
The Lincoln Navigator left just as quietly as it had arrived, as if it had never been there. Throughout the night, no media vans appeared on the scene. It was as if the newspapers and TV stations in Los Angeles had all gone blind and deaf.
Rossi had clearly gotten the answers he wanted. With a grim expression, he stood beside Hotchner, discussing something. When Jack approached, their conversation became louder.
"Doyle has already left the country. He has a private plane. Liam was supposed to take those armed men and sneak back to Mexico by boat tonight. According to him, tonight's operation was his own decision."
"Do you know where Doyle's hideout in Mexico is?" Jack had shot up those three vehicles to make sure Doyle wasn't hiding inside, but it seemed the guy had fled quickly.
Rossi looked at the small, mostly burned-down house with some sadness. That luxurious kitchen, now reduced to a charred shell, held many fond memories for him.
"Even if we knew, it wouldn't matter. Once Doyle learns his men were killed, he'll immediately go into hiding."
Jack scratched his head, pretending to play dumb. "Any way we can deal with this? This doesn't seem like it'll end well. It's become a personal vendetta between him and me."
Rossi rubbed his face hard, feeling a headache coming on. The fact that Jack immediately asked about Doyle's hideout in Mexico wasn't a sign of impulsiveness from a young man who didn't know any better—it was a clear statement of intent.
The situation had changed. Doyle might not even realize how much trouble his men's actions had caused him, but Rossi understood that Jack's declaration meant the game had shifted. The attack was now personal.
This young man, who had always kept a low profile, making food, organizing gatherings, and staying quiet during case-solving brainstorms, only spoke up when he was sure. Despite seeming like an unassuming background figure, Jack lived more like an old man than Rossi did. The only times his sharp edges showed were when he was flirting or shooting.
But if the BAU team were to vote on who they relied on the most in critical moments, every single vote would go to Jack.
For Reid, ever since they met at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Jack had naturally become like an older brother to him.
Reid had met two types of people in his life: those who were jealous, hostile, or fearful of his intelligence and tried to bully him physically to boost their self-esteem, and a second, smaller group who treated him like a precious resource, sheltering him like a child in need of protection.
Jack was Reid's biggest stroke of luck. He treated him more like a peer than a genius, and this had a subtle influence on the rest of the team as well.
Reid was certain that without Jack, even his BAU colleagues, experts in psychology, would likely still see him as a child in need of protection rather than an independent adult.
And as for the others? JJ and Jack had been through life-and-death trials together, and anyone with eyes could see what was going on between them.
Hotchner had shared life-threatening experiences with Jack even earlier than JJ. If Jack's legendary "Starbucks Warrior" moment wasn't enough to convince everyone, then after the prison riot, every time the BAU needed to resort to force, Hotchner always turned to Jack first, even willing to give up his own command. And time and time again, Jack proved Hotchner's choice was the right one.
Privately, Hotchner always considered Jack and his friends to be the people who saved his wife and child.
So when Jack made it clear that this case had turned into a personal feud between him and Doyle, Rossi had to start racking his brain, thinking about who he knew in the CIA and military that could help.
Because this meant that if he didn't act, the rest of the team would surely band together and cause a storm.
"I can contact the Director and the Attorney General. If we need to use force outside the country, it's beyond BAU's jurisdiction. We'd need their authorization," Hotchner said, cutting Rossi off before he could speak.
Hotchner wasn't trying to pass the buck but was offering a reminder. Going through official channels was always best; otherwise, they'd have to figure out a way to all "take a vacation" together.
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