"I can give it to you for your collection. You know, I was feeling really insecure lately."
Chris's speech was becoming more and more like a normal person's.
Jack hesitated. Although he probably wouldn't need it, just looking at it seed pretty cool.
"Let's talk about it after I've cleaned up my basent armory."
He finally couldn't resist the temptation and nodded noncommittally. As an FBI agent who would be facing countless serial killers in the future, it was reasonable to have more weapons for self-defense, right?
After submitting his resignation to the LAPD, he contacted David Rossi again and received so wonderful news that delighted him. The FBI had decided to place the rebuilt BAU team headquarters in LA, which ant he didn't have to worry about moving for the ti being and could finish paying off his mortgage.
As for why the BAU team was located in LA, Jack guessed it might be because there were more serial killers in the West? Anyway, the FBI would be using their private jets for cases, so he didn't bother to think about the real reasons.
Chris is a man who pays attention to the quality of life, which is evident from the fact that the steaks frozen in his refrigerator are all Australian Wagyu.
Jack lted so butter in a frying pan, frying the steaks while watching Chris organize his inventory.
Two sets of heavy Interceptor body armor, each with a 3A-level bulletproof plate in the front and back, an HK417 with a high-powered scope, a modified Barrett M82A1M, probably the one he used before, two MP5A2 submachine guns commonly used by SWAT teams, equipped with laser sights, several pistols of various models, several MK3A2 offensive grenades, and M84 stun grenades.
Jack scoffed; anyone who didn't know better would think the two were going to war.
"Let's put the Barrett away; it might attract the FBI," he suggested. The incident with the Southern Front had caused quite a stir, and the FBI had been investigating the gun.
Chris thought for a mont, then put the Barrett back in its case. He turned around and took out an AWM that used 7.62mm ammunition, then explained earnestly.
"The attackers were professional rcenaries, very well-equipped."
Jack nodded, flicking the steak from the frying pan onto a plate, and grabbed a pistol. "I'll use this."
The SR1M "Victor," also known as the "Viper," was second only to the FK 7.5mm Chris had given him. Jack tested the feel of it, picked up a box of armor-piercing pistol rounds, and began loading the magazine.
His pistol shooting skills were now so good he didn't worry about missing; his only concern was whether he could penetrate the opponent's body armor. This wasn't a police mission; against professional rcenaries, two shots to the chest and one to the head — just go all out.
After lunch, Jack pulled a sleeping bag from Chris's RV, found an empty room, and lay down to rest and recharge, waiting for nightfall.
As night deepened, the two drove off, heading to Rita Blackburn's upscale apartnt, based on the address Justin had sent.
Rita Blackburn was quite surprised by Chris's late-night visit. Even with a gun pointed at her, the 60-sothing-year-old woman vehently denied any involvent in the financial director's death and claid to know nothing about anyone hunting Dana and Chris.
"Then it's clear: the real culprit is your brother, Brack Blackburn."
Rita Blackburn shook her head vehently in denial, refusing to believe her own brother was that kind of person.
Just then, there was another knock on the door. Jack, sensing an opportunity, gestured for Chris to hide with him; the witness had delivered himself to their doorstep.
....
"Hello, Braxton." Chris erged from the bedroom, facing his younger brother, but lowered his head, avoiding eye contact.
Braxton Wolff, who had co to kill him on his employer's orders, froze on the spot, his hand, poised to draw his gun, frozen in mid-air.
"Chris? Is that you?" Braxton couldn't believe his eyes.
"I've been looking for you for ten years, and you just appear before like this, your expression as if we t yesterday?"
His eyes were moist, his voice hoarse, and he paced back and forth helplessly in front of Chris.
"I'm so sorry, I should have co to you sooner." Chris looked guilty, his gaze lowered to his toes.
"What's going on?" Rita Blackburn exclaid in surprise, unable to figure out what these three n who had co to their door were up to.
"Shh, don't interrupt their touching reunion. I'll explain later."
Jack pulled her aside, switching into "watching the show" mode.
"I guess you're happy to see , aren't you?" Braxton stared at Chris, his eyes filled with complex emotions.
"I'm happy, really." Chris took a step forward, but Braxton grabbed him by the neck and shoved him against the wall.
"I have a question for you. Why did you and Dad attend that funeral!"
"She abandoned us, don't you rember? Don't you rember?"
The two brothers started to fight, and Braxton used an over-the-shoulder throw to bring Chris, who was half a head taller than him but had no will to fight back, to the ground.
"Dad's death is all your fault, you know that?"
Braxton cried as he punched Chris.
"I'm sorry, really, I…"
"You're sorry? What good is sorry, you freak, it's all your fault!!!"
Braxton pounded his brother's head repeatedly, finally collapsing to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.
"You don't care about at all, you don't care about your own brother. All these years, I've been supporting you from behind, and you insisted on going to see that woman."
Braxton lay beside his brother, muttering to himself.
"You should have co to . You should have co to if you insisted on seeing Mom one last ti, on attending her funeral."
"If you felt it was sothing you had to do, you should have co to . You know I'll always support you."
"I'm sorry, brother. I'm not a freak anymore. I'm all better now. That person helped , and he helped Justine too." Chris said, pointing to soone watching the scene unfold.
"Chris isn't out of control anymore. He's even fallen in love recently, it's true. Uh, you guys carry on, don't worry about ."
Jack felt extrely embarrassed and waved to Braxton, who was being helped up by Chris.
"Who is he?" Braxton looked at Jack questioningly.
"Jack, a cop." Seeing his younger brother instinctively reach for his gun, Chris quickly grabbed his hand.
"A friend, a very important friend to us. Justine can talk to people normally now, really. I can take you to see her."
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