Author's Note: As promised, here's one more update before the end of the weekend. We'll learn a lot more about our unsub and build up to the final couple of chapters. Like the last chapter, this one is very case-focused. But fret not, I promise more character interaction, especially between Prentiss and Polizzi, before wrapping this puppy up.

As always, thanks for reading. Enjoy Chapter 9!

As the bone-chilling rain had yet to relent, Emily, Derek, Hotch, and Rossi waited just inside the entrance to the INTERPOL office for Metropolitan Police to arrive. Underneath her raincoat, Emily had already strapped on her flack jacket – a black Kevlar vest that read "INTERPOL" in large yellow block letters on both back and front. She and the three BAU men stared grimly and silently through the thick glass doors as they waited, a shared air of uncertainty hovering over them.

Nobody on the team had given a second thought to the lawyer after the Tubbs case. Emily and Derek could barely remember what he looked like, only vaguely recalling the slightly tall, relatively young-looking attorney with dark hair and average build. Sure, the man had sparred back and forth with Hotch – who, for that reason, recalled him with a little bit more clarity – but that was part of his job. He hadn't done anything out of the ordinary, and certainly nothing to indicate that he might be a brewing serial killer. Consequently, none of them had any idea what to expect upon confronting him.

Whatever awaited them, Scotland Yard was obviously taking their tip seriously. While Victor had promised to pick them up within 20 minutes, it couldn't have even been 15 by the time two Range Rovers with the telltale neon orange and yellow markings of British police vehicles pulled up in front of INTERPOL. The lead vehicle was piloted by Victor, the second by Chief Superintendent Perry. Unfurling umbrellas over their heads to ward off the rain, Emily, Morgan, Hotch, and Rossi, hustled out to meet them.

"Emily," Victor said popping his head out the window. Emily could see that he'd already strapped his flack jacket on over the black sweater she'd seen him in earlier that morning. "You and Agent Hotchner ride with Perry. He wants your input on how this should go down. Agents Morgan and Rossi can come with me."

Without skipping a beat, the four divided into pairs accordingly. Derek and Rossi bolted into the lead car with Victor while Hotch and Emily piled in with Perry. Emily allowed Hotch to take the passenger seat and made introductions as soon as Hotch was settled.

"Hotch, this is Chief Superintendent John Perry with Metro Police, he's Victor's commanding officer. Perry, this is Agent Hotchner, unit chief of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit."

"Pleasure," Perry remarked extending his hand. Emily couldn't help but notice that, like Victor, Perry looked absolutely drained. She didn't know him particularly well, but she and Victor occasionally socialized with Perry and his wife. The man was normally impeccably groomed, but in the last few days he seemed to have allowed a mess of brown and gray stubble to overtake his face and his navy tie hung crookedly from his collar.

"I'm sorry we have to meet under these circumstances," Hotch said, returning the handshake.

"As am I," Perry commented, throwing the vehicle into gear and speeding off to catch up with Victor, who, to Emily's worry, was driving fast enough to give Morgan a run for his money.

"But I do appreciate your help," Perry continued. "Behavioral analysis isn't our forte. I'll take all the advice I can get."

"What do you need from us?" Emily asked, watching the surrounding shops and pedestrians fly by in a blur through the window.

"Honestly, I don't have the slightest clue on how to approach this," Perry admitted. "Is this psychopath going to try and shoot us all down the moment we turn up at the door."

"Doubt it," Emily assessed. "A firearm isn't his weapon of choice and he hunts his victims by slinking around in the dark. He won't be ready for a confrontation with police. If anything we should approach it as low-key as possible. Turn the sirens off before we approach and just pull up to the curve and go knock on the front door."

"I agree," Hotch commented. "Keep the situation calm. I know London police don't always carry weapons. Are you armed?"

"With this guy? You're damn right we are," Perry commented.

"That's fine, but I'd advise you to keep your weapons holstered and both your gun and flack vests concealed under a jacket. Your best chance for an incident-free confrontation is to avoid escalation unless absolutely necessary," Hotch advised.

"Seems sensible" Perry observed. Both Emily and Hotch had to admire his professionalism. Most detectives and cops they'd met working serial cases were chomping at the bit and had to be reeled in. Even in his obvious agitation, Perry was collected. Emily couldn't help being reminded a little bit of Hotch.

"Speaking of flack vests, there's one for you under the seat," Perry remarked to Hotch. "I'll going to radio Polizzi and let him know the plan. We're still about five minutes out."

Hotch reached under the seat and retrieved the vest in question. It was black like Emily's, but read "POLICE" in bold block white letters. Perry snatched his radio transceiver from the center console and radioed ahead to Victor.

"Vic, it's John. Can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear," came the response after a few seconds delay. "What's the plan?"

"Taking a minimalist approach," Perry replied. "Sirens off once we're within a half-mile. Keep your vest and gun concealed. Tell the other units stationed in the area to remain on alert but not to converge on the home unless ordered. Emily and Agent Hotchner like our chances for a clean arrest better if we don't give him a reason to panic."

"Understood," Victor answered. Emily easily recognized the pattern of short, clipped answers he always gave when distracted, she hoped this time by concentrating on the road. "See you in a few minutes."

"Right," Perry said simply, before shutting off the radio and continuing to speed through the rain towards their destination. The windshield wipers were working in overdrive, barely managing to keep things visible in front of them.

"Emily," he continued. "This probably goes without saying, but consider this your official invitation for full participation in the investigation. If you need to arrest the bastard, arrest him. If you need to shoot him, shoot him. I'll sign whatever paperwork you need. I just want to end this."

"You got it," Emily agreed.

Within a few more minutes, Victor and Perry slowed the vehicles and killed the lights and sirens. After navigating a few last turns, the pair pulled onto Great Percy Street. Initially they saw only commercial properties, small shops and restaurants. However, after a few blocks, the shops gave way to a residential area of neat, two-story brick town homes. Spotting the 14 in black numbers on a white door, Victor and Perry halted the vehicles curbside. Emily, Hotch, and Perry exited as quickly as possible and converged on the sidewalk with Victor, Morgan, and Rossi. The latter three men were all wrapped in black jackets, which, assuming they hadn't added significant bulk in the last ten minutes, concealed Kevlar vests underneath.

"Vic, Emily," Perry said, trying to keep his voice relatively low, "you two come with me. You three gentlemen stay here for a moment and wait for my signal when the premises are secure."

Emily didn't need to see the tense, distressed expressions on their faces to know that the three BAU men, especially Morgan, weren't fans of the idea of staying behind and waiting while others took charge on the front lines. It went against everything they normally did. But they also recognized that this situation was unique, so none of them protested.

"We'll be ready," was all Hotch said.

Emily, Victor, and Perry proceeded through the small wrought-iron gate that divided the front steps of the townhouse from the sidewalk. As they proceeded up the steps to the small front stoop, Victor bounded in front of Emily, blocking her from the topmost step. He was trying to be nonchalant about it, but Emily knew exactly what he was up to. His protective side was showing. He was inserting himself between her and the unsub.

As soon as Victor and Emily were in position, Perry pounded heavily on the front door. The heavy-handed knocking was necessary; the door was of the heavy Georgian style not uncommon to English townhomes. Even as the seriousness of the situation compelled Emily to reach underneath her jacket and rest her right hand on the handle of her Glock – a subtle movement she noticed that Victor and Perry also made – she allowed herself to be briefly amused at the thought of Morgan trying to kick-in such a door, only to be knocked flat on his ass.

After a few seconds of initial silence, movement could be heard coming from beyond the door. A sharp intake of breath filled Emily's lungs as the door swung open. But the man who opened the door wasn't Paul Meyers. Instead, there stood a slight woman with cropped blonde hair. The woman, dressed in an indigo cardigan and tan slacks, looked to be slightly younger than Emily. The sight of three strangers on her front step triggered a wide-eyed look of confusion and suspicion.

"I'm sorry, can I help you?" the woman asked cautiously.

"Margaret Hobbes?" Emily ventured a guess.

"Margaret Meyers, now, actually," the woman corrected. The fact that Emily knew her identity clearly only increased her disconcertment. "Do I know you?"

"Mrs. Meyers, my name is John Perry. I'm with Scotland Yard," Perry answered, leaving his right hand firmly on top of his gun while producing a badge with his left. "This is my colleague, Victor Polizzi and this is Emily Prentiss of INTERPOL."

Perry indicated Victor and Emily in turn. Both of them followed his suit in producing their badges.

"Is your husband home?" Perry continued.

"What? No," Margaret Meyers answered, shaking her head vigorously with eyes closed. Whatever Paul Meyers might have been up to, Emily was convinced his wife had no idea. She was at a genuine loss to comprehend why three law enforcement officers were at her quiet home on a Sunday afternoon.

"Do you mind if we come in for a bit, madam? Get out of the rain?" Perry asked gingerly, briefly nodding up at the sky. The rain was indeed beginning to plaster their hair to their heads. Nonetheless, Margaret Meyers was, understandably, still hesitant.

"Mrs. Meyers, please. It's very important," Emily said, peaking her head around Victor to make eye contact and trying her best to mask her urgency with a veneer of gentleness. She hoped the contrast of a sympathetic woman with Perry's stiff, though not impolite official tone would calm the woman's anxieties.

Her hunch paid off. Mrs. Meyers was not thrilled with the idea, but she moved aside to admit them, gesturing to the sitting room just to the left of the front door. Before entering the house, Perry nodded briefly at Emily who in turn waived her hand to signal Morgan, Hotch, and Rossi. All six agents and officers were careful wipe their feet on the entryway rug, not wishing to add an additional mess to the unfortunate woman's worries. They crowded into the sitting room, which the Meyers had tastefully furnished with a handsome wood coffee table and a set of comfortable-looking couches and chairs.

"Mrs. Meyers, these are Agents Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, and David Rossi," Perry said by way of introducing the BAU Agents. "They're with the American Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"The FBI?" Mrs. Meyers asked, perplexed. Emily felt a slight surge of sympathy for the woman. It couldn't be easy to have her sitting room unexpectedly flooded with six law enforcement officials, three of whom were foreign. Five actually, Emily mentally corrected herself. Though she and Victor lived and worked domestically, they were very obviously non-British.

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Meyers continued. "I don't understand. Why are you here? And what does this have to do with Paul?"

"Mrs. Meyers," Victor asked gently. "Are you aware of the recent murders at University College?"

"Of course," she replied. "It's all over the news. It's terrible…Wait. Why are you asking me this? You can't possibly think that Paul…"

"Mrs. Meyers," Hotch interjected. "Are you aware that in 2007 your husband represented a man accused of murdering three women?"

"P-Paul doesn't like talking about his old cases," she stammered in reply. "All he's ever said is that he had to represent some terrible people…"

"Ma'am," Hotch continued. "The man your husband represented in 2007 murdered three brunette women on a college campus in the United States in the exact same manner as these women here were murdered this week."

"And you think Paul?" Mrs. Meyers asked, now towing dangerously close to the line between bewilderment and hysteria. "That's not possible," she insisted, stepping aggressively toward Hotch. "He quit his old job to get away from those kinds of people. He isn't like them!"

With some sense of urgency, Emily grabbed Mrs. Meyers' shoulder and directed her firmly but gently to the nearest couch.

"Mrs. Meyers, sit down," Emily insisted. "Just please, sit."

Mrs. Meyers reluctantly submitted, landing hard on the couch and beginning to tear up. Emily sat beside her, desperately hoping to mine the needed information before the woman completely shut down.

"Look at me," Emily insisted. "Look at me. There you go," she continued as Meyers slowly complied. "I know this is hard, but have you noticed any changes in Paul's behavior lately. Anything out of the ordinary? Even if it seems harmless, it may be important."

"I…I don't know," Mrs. Meyers struggled. "There hasn't really been an 'ordinary' for Paul since his diagnosis."

"Diagnosis," a confused Victor interrupted. "What diagnosis?"

"Paul," Mrs. Meyers began to answer, before pausing and swallowing hard. She was struggling to maintain what little composure remained.

"It's okay," Emily encouraged her. "It's alright. Take your time."

"A little under three years ago, Paul began having terrible headaches," she explained, still trembling with emotion. "We thought at first they might just be migraines. He just ignored them for months and tried to keep working. Finally, when he couldn't stand it anymore we saw a doctor. Paul had a tumor, and since we had put it off for so long, it was fairly large. He started treatment right away. He got very sick, and the tumor stopped growing but it didn't get any smaller. A year ago we even went back to the U.S. for a time to try some experimental treatments. Nothing made him better and he was so, so sick. He…he finally decided that the small possibility of an improved prognosis wasn't worth the suffering. He stopped all of the treatments except for the pain medication and we came home. He's physically stronger again now, but probably has a year, maybe less."

Derek was the first to break the ensuing heavy silence.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered softly.

"Was that the stressor?" Victor asked Emily.

"It was more than that," Emily sighed. "It was probably the cause."

"What do you mean?"

"It's extremely rare," Rossi explained. "But sometimes a brain tumor can change a person's psychology, especially if it grows near the part of the brain that controls our moral decision-making. It's possible to turn a perfectly normal man into a killer."

"Paul Meyers is a smart man who already had the details of the Campus Killer's murders locked away in his subconscious because he saw the files when representing Nathan Tubbs," Hotch continued the explanation. "Combine that with his loss of the ability to control his decision making and you have the perfect storm for a repeat killer. It also explains why he didn't come up in our initial search of the area. He's not unemployed, he's on medical leave. It gives him all the time he needs."

At Hotch's comment, Mrs. Meyers let loose a terrible scream and buried her face into the back of the couch.

"Mrs. Meyers! Mrs. Meyers!" Emily said, grabbing the woman's shoulder in what she knew would be a vain attempt at calming her. "Mrs. Meyers, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But we need to know where Paul is."

"He's a good man," Mrs. Meyers insisted, keeping her face firmly buried in the couch. "He's not a killer."

"I know that," Emily assured her. "But as long as he is out there all of those women like the ones you saw on the news are in danger. And I know you don't want anybody else to get hurt. You need to tell me where he is."

"I don't know," Meyers said, turning her red-eyed, tear-streaked face back to Emily. "I honestly don't. He left about an hour ago."

"Do you know what direction he went?" Emily pushed. "Did he take the car?"

"No," the woman answered, shaking her head slowly. "He didn't take the car. He went on a walk. He's been going on walks a lot lately. I didn't ask him much about it because I thought he was just depressed. That he needed to clear his head."

It wasn't necessary for anyone to mention the obvious out loud. They could all connect the dots. Paul Meyers hadn't gone out on walks to clear his head. He had gone out to kill.

"An hour ago," Perry commented. "Jesus, we could have passed him on the way here."

"We need to get over to the campus right now," Victor concluded. "I'll call in all available units in the area."

"Vic," Emily called out. Their eyes met for the first time since earlier in the church that morning. There was still some tension present, but there was no time to think about it right now. "Call someone to stay with her," she continued, indicating Mrs. Meyers, who had now buried her head hopelessly in her hands.

"Of course," he agreed. "If you're coming, we need to go."

Emily rose from the couch and prepared to follow him out the door when her progress was halted by a hand grabbing at her arm.

"Please," Mrs. Meyers begged her. "Please don't hurt Paul. It isn't his fault. Promise me you won't hurt him."

Emily couldn't make that promise. It was up to Paul Meyers. They'd try not to hurt him, but if he left them no choice, there was nothing she could do. Still, there were times in this line of work when telling a person what they needed to hear was infinitely better than telling the truth. As much as she hated it, this was one of those times.

"I promise," she lied. "We won't hurt him."

Freeing herself from Mrs. Meyers' weakening grip, Emily exited the home and climbed back into one of the Range Rover's this time with Victor and Derek, leaving Hotch and Rossi with Perry. As soon as the doors were closed, Victor tore off towards University College. If possible, driving even faster than before. The afternoon was beginning to give way to the dark of evening, and the rain had yet to stop.

"Why'd you tell her we wouldn't hurt Paul, Emily?" Victor asked quietly, still keeping his gaze intently on the road before him. "We don't know that."

"I told her what I had to," Emily said. "There's no point in causing her anymore pain until we know."

"Put yourself in her shoes," Derek pointed out. "How would you feel if Emily was dying and we suddenly showed up at your door to tell you she was the most wanted killer in the country and we might have to shoot her."

"Point taken," Victor conceded grimly. "So what happens if we can't find him tonight? If we don't catch him?"

"Oh, you'll catch him tonight," Derek assured him.

"How do you know?"

"He's set in a pattern," Emily explained. "If we don't catch him on the campus, he'll go home and your guys will arrest him there. The only question now is if you're going to arrest him for four murders or five."

And so the chase is on! I anticipate the story only lasting a couple more chapters, so I do hope you'll stay tuned. In the meantime, feel free to leave comments/suggestions/reviews. They're always appreciated. Thanks again!