Police in Los Angeles

At 9 PM, five civilian cars lined up in front of the police station. Jack and JJ, Hotchner and Emily, along with three other pairs of male and female officers posing as bait couples, were making final preparations.

"Remember, even in what you think are the most private situations, don't let your guard down. One-way glass, cameras, even inconspicuous holes, could be how the killer is watching you," Rossi advised the female officers and agents playing wives.

Reid handed out small black discs to everyone. "Keep these on you at all times, and I mean literally on you. Unlike the recording devices, this signal transmitter will activate and send a low-frequency signal every 30 seconds if the temperature of the object it's attached to falls below 20 degrees."

"I've prioritized five motels, all in areas with no signal and fewer than five employees. If you identify the killer or face an emergency, put this signal transmitter in your pocket or drop it on the ground. Reinforcements will arrive within 15 minutes."

The women giggled as they slipped the small discs into their bras, while the male officers looked puzzled until they saw the two FBI agents place the discs under their armpits, prompting an embarrassed chuckle from one who had his hand on his belt.

Jack handed his shoulder holster and FK7.5 to Reid. The sudden weight nearly made Reid drop it. "Don't drop my baby, or you'll never get dessert again."

Jack's playful threat earned him a slap on the shoulder from JJ, who seemed to be getting into character early.

After securing an ankle holster, Jack tested it with a jump. He felt that a smaller revolver would have been better suited for the ankle holster, but the Glock's light weight made it manageable, especially with the thick winter pants concealing it well.

In terms of concealed carry, the female officers had a clear advantage. Despite careful observation, Jack couldn't tell where these specially selected attractive officers had hidden their weapons.

"Don't be reckless, protect JJ. Nevada isn't New Mexico. Our goal is to bring the killer to justice," Rossi quietly reminded Jack.

Jack understood Rossi's point. The newly formed BAU team needed a perfect case to prove itself.

What constitutes a perfect case for this team? Not relying on evidence collection and site investigation, not depending on other FBI departments, but using psychological profiling as the main method to catch and successfully prosecute the serial killer, creating a solid case.

Rossi knew that if they did catch the killer, Jack had a thousand ways to legally and reasonably eliminate the suspect during an encounter. But that wouldn't serve their current interests.

A swift arrest, pinning the car accident cases of the four couples on the killer, gathering all necessary physical evidence and confessions, and then successfully prosecuting and convicting him would be the perfect case for the team.

Such a case would showcase the team's value, justifying the extensive funds spent on the BAU's Los Angeles operations. Behind the significant expenses, it highlighted Rossi's deep connections within the FBI, as well as the immense pressure he faced.

Jack and JJ drove an old beige Ford station wagon. To make it look authentic, the assisting officers stuffed fishing gear in the backseat and mounted two bicycles on the roof.

Their destination was a small motel called Hilltop Lodge. Garcia found little information online about this motel, apart from the owner's name and a landline number.

"Why did Rossi suddenly mention New Mexico? What happened there?" JJ asked, bored as she flipped through their fake FBI IDs. Now they were Jack and Jennifer Reacher, a married couple. To make their ages match better, Jack had even applied fake mustaches.

JJ, slightly annoyed by the mustaches but with no outlet, sulked in the passenger seat for a while before starting the conversation.

Jack's answer only frustrated her more. "That's something only Rossi can answer. Although I was involved, it's classified."

"Then tell me about your girlfriend on the 12th floor," JJ provocatively asked, touching a sensitive topic.

"That was my ex. We're married now, remember?" Jack joked.

JJ, perhaps getting into character or pretending to be angry, retorted, "Fine, tell me about your ex. Why did you get together with her?"

"I don't know, she pursued me," Jack replied, looking innocent. It was a topic he couldn't discuss. He couldn't very well say it was because he had avenged Hannah by killing a bunch of people in Georgia, which moved her to offer herself to him.

"Then why did you marry me?" JJ's question caught Jack off guard. Was she really getting into character?

After thinking for a while, Jack hesitantly said, "Because you're gentle and considerate?"

Compared to the boisterous Southern girl Hannah, JJ was indeed more delicate. It wasn't just her diplomatic role in the team; handling macho police chiefs required more than just a pretty face.

"And what else?" JJ, like a newlywed wife seeking reassurance, pressed on.

Jack's mind raced. What else?

Money? JJ couldn't compare to Hannah, who owned a large ranch.

Figure? Hannah had long legs comparable to Zoe's, not losing to JJ at all.

Age? They were about the same, but Hannah's skin, thanks to Jack, was unbeatable.

Looks and demeanor? Both were on par. If Hannah was sweet, JJ was the gentle girl-next-door, both popular types in teenage fantasies.

What else? Jack felt his CPU was overheating. What was supposed to be acting had turned into a minefield.

Seeing Jack silent, and with the car nearing the mountain road, JJ suddenly raised her voice, "Stop the car!"

Jack, puzzled, obediently pulled over. He realized JJ might be playing a role, but before he could speak, JJ leaned in, face to face with him, their breaths mingling.

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