John stopped at HQ first. He ran up the steps to the makeshift office and found Harold Finch at the computer desk, busily typing away on the keyboard.

"The attorney representing Brander and Lovell requested that the defendants be released from prison during the trial. They're not a flight risk, and they've pled guilty. I'm surprised the D.A. hasn't made a deal with them."

"Maybe he thinks there's a chance for the maximum sentence," John said. He took off his jacket and leaned against the wall next to the desk. "After all, they murdered two innocent people after breaking into their house."

"Lawyers almost always have their own agenda."

"Like most people, Finch."

"But unlike most people, most lawyers aren't concerned with who they hurt in the process, only their goal."

"You sound like you've had some experience?" John inquired, knowing he wasn't going to get a straight answer.

Finch's eyes never left the monitors, and he continued clacking. "If the D.A. hasn't settled and is letting this go to trial, he's either someone who wants to make more of a name for himself – "

"Or someone else besides the government has him on their payroll."

"We can figure the same for the defense attorney, asking for his clients' freedom as he did."

John pursed his lips after a short silence fell. Both he and Finch were avoiding the elephant in the room. It was Finch who decided to finally focus on it.

"How much time have you spent with Miss Watts recently?" he asked delicately.

"Few hours every day, depending. Sometimes more... " John thought on it further. "She worked in that real estate office for three days straight without much contact."

"Yes, I was considering that as well."

"She wouldn't do it, Finch."

"Are you absolutely certain of that, Mr. Reese?" Finch rested his large, unblinking eyes upon him. When he did that, John sometimes felt that he was being stared at by an overgrown bird.

"She knows how the machine works. She'd know we would figure it out and try to stop her."

"Unless she's kept it to herself until now. Planning a murder is a delicate process, Mr. Reese. Who knows how long this has been in the works? We cannot ignore any one of the potential threats. These men murdered her family. That fact alone automatically makes her a threat." Finch stopped on a page and skimmed through it. John waited patiently. "It looks like Brander and Lovell may be released for the trial once it starts. That's odd."

"Someone get to a judge too?"

"The defense attorney and the judge who made the ruling at the very least. That bypasses the prosecution entirely."

The large bird started at him again. John sighed, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door.

Sam parked a couple of blocks away from the precinct. She walked the remaining distance, enjoying the weather. Weighing the police badge in her hand, her nerves trembled a little at the idea of technically breaking into a police station. John was a little more confident when it came to that sort of thing. On second thought, he was more confident when it came to most things.

Sam crossed the street, and started on the sidewalk in front of the station when she saw the figure of a stout man with curly brown hair in front of a food cart. He was being handed a pretzel. Relieved, Sam put the badge in her pocket and walked up behind him.

Detective Fusco turned and nearly dropped his pretzel.

"Should you be walking around during the day like this?" he asked, his eyes darting back and forth.

"I'm dead, Lionel, not a vampire," Sam said. "Will you walk with me for a minute?"

Fusco shrugged. "At least you asked instead of ordered me to."

"Killing people with kindness is not really John's forte," Sam joked.

Fusco laughed with a mouth full of pretzel. "Yeah, just killing people with whatever's handy is more like it."

They started walking together, Fusco munching as they moved along. "So, what are you up to now? Is he just teaching you how to sneak up on people?"

Sam smiled. "No, I'm here for you, believe it or not."

"Me?"

"What have you heard regarding the remnants of HR?"

"We got a bunch of them locked up. There is a handful still out there. They're either on the run or lying low. I'm betting on the first one."

"I wouldn't bet on it, Lionel," Sam said as they crossed the street. "Our mutual friends believe that you might be a target. They think that HR is responsible, but we're not sure yet."

Lionel blinked at her, puzzled. "I stuck with them right until the end – "

"When you turned them in," Sam finished for him.

"Well yeah, but no one was around long enough to figure that out."

"Let's hope that's true. I just wanted to give you a heads up. Let us know if you notice anything else."

Lionel looked significantly at her. "I did notice something earlier that you'd be interested in."

"What?"

John watched her leave Detective Fusco with the rest of his pretzel. She headed across the street, but didn't go back towards the car. He stayed where he was a few seconds longer, making certain the detective made it back into the precinct.

"Finch," he said quietly. "What makes you think that the three numbers aren't connected somehow?"

"I never said they weren't, Mr. Reese," Finch replied. "It's too soon to tell. Where is Miss Watts?"

"She's not going back to the car. It looks like she's headed to a… post office." John moved quickly, sidestepping other foot traffic as he headed down the sidewalk. He kept a longer distance between them than he usually would. Sam was more familiar with him than most people.

She walked into the post office. John stayed at the side of the building, just at the edge of a window and watched her. She pulled a white, sealed envelope out of her purse and handed it to the clerk, who smiled blatantly at her as he placed the letter upon a stack of others just behind the counter.

As Sam turned, John backed away from the window. She stepped out onto the sidewalk again and continued in the same direction.

John ditched into the post office as the clerk's back was turned and swiped the envelope from behind the counter, all within seconds. He was outside again by the time the clerk thought he heard someone.

"Finch, run an address for me," he said, and read the mailing address off of the front of the envelope as he walked.

"Checking… it looks like a large house upstate."

"Sam's old house," John said as he sliced the envelope open. The letter didn't begin with a greeting, it just began.

I'm sorry it's been a while since you heard from me last. I've been busy, but I'll get to that later. Thanks for the picture. He is getting so big! Give him a kiss for me.

Let's see, about me…Not much has changed since I last wrote. Again, I'm sorry that I have to be so vague, but you never know.

R is fine and has not been blown up since…

John stopped before he became too interested.

"She's in contact with Eva," he said, referring to Sam's best friend. He folded up the letter and stuffed it back in the envelope. Sam had severed ties with the living since she, herself, was legally dead. It was a high price, but she made the choice as he had explained to Carter earlier.

John headed in the direction Sam went, but didn't spot her. He checked around the corner, and the next. He slowed. "Finch, track Sam's phone, will you?" He turned around and stopped dead.

"You know what I find very interesting?" Sam blinked up at him in the sunlight as he nearly crashed into her. She must have doubled back while he continued forward. "I find it interesting that a tall, well dressed man, such as yourself, can go without being noticed by so many people. It may just be because I've known you for a while now, but John, you are terribly conspicuous. Nice looking men in suits don't follow me or anyone else around every day. You should know that."

"I take it you don't need me to track her phone any longer?" Finch knew they were in trouble, and he was already retreating, John could sense it.

John rarely felt trapped, and he did for a tiny moment when Sam caught him. But he rallied and held up the opened envelope. "What's this?"

Sam snatched it from him. "You opened it?"

"… yeah."

"Did you read it?" She glanced up again with fear in her eyes.

"Only the first couple lines," John admitted.

Sam shoved the envelope in her purse. "Reese, you… honest bastard."

She called him by his last name. She never did that. That could only mean that she was unwaveringly pissed at him.

"How long have you known?"

"That you're writing letters to Eva? Only a few minutes," John said, hoping she'd feel a little better about it. "Have you met with her?"

"Of course not," Sam snapped. "I've been very careful. I never use the same post office or mailbox. I receive her letters in different ways almost every time. Even Lionel has helped me get a few."

"You trust Lionel with this?"

"He's not the buttinski that you are. The two of you, I should say." She stood up on her toes and shouted at John's ear, making sure Finch heard her.

"When did you start doing this?"

"As if it is any of your business, it was when Harold told me how Eva treated you the last time you saw her."

John remembered that visit well. He'd never seen a woman, a mother, so angry. Eva had yelled at him until he was out on the front porch, and punctuated the whole thing by slamming the door in his face. He never blamed her. It's not every day someone tells you that your best friend, someone you love, is dead.

"She was angry, I understood," John said shortly.

"I, on the other hand, wanted to kick her still very tiny ass. She had no right to treat you that way."

"Especially because you weren't dead."

Sam pointed her finger up at him. "Don't you start that. Don't try being cute with me. Wait –" Sam looked away from him for a moment. They'd been standing in the middle of the sidewalk, snapping at each other with no regard for anything else. Sam grabbed his arm and pulled him off to the side, under the overhang of an antique shop.

"If you only knew for a few minutes about the letters, why were you following me?"

"I don't think she could get angrier at you, Mr. Reese," Finch said, waving the white flag.

"It's not just me she's angry at," John said testily.

"What did he say?" Sam asked. "What's going on? Damn it, Reese – "

"Jarrod Brander and Casey Lovell are going on trial soon," John said in attempt to break the news gently.

"Five days to be exact. Yes, I know," Sam replied. "They're being released tomorrow night. Is that what this is about? Are you afraid I'll go ballistic and blow them away once they're out in the open?"

"How did you find out about their release?"

"Lionel told me. He was one of the people to find out as he was the first officer on the scene, not to mention the one who arrested them. He's going to be a witness for the prosecution. But you probably already knew that."

"I'll have to talk with Lionel," John said, looking away for a moment.

"Oho yes!" Sam said angrily, flapping her hands about. "How dare he tell me something that he thought I'd want to know? Too bad I don't know anyone else who would do that!"

"Their numbers came up, Sam," John said, his words landing like steel.

Sam lowered her voice, forcing calm. "And you thought that I was…?"

"We have to take every precaution. You know that," John said with some relief.

"I do know that," Sam stepped closer to him, her eyes malicious. "And if you or Harold ever keep something like this from me again, I swear John – "

She called him John again. He was slowly regaining ground.

"I swear I'll think long and hard about something horrible to do to you."

"We had to make sure, Sam."

"Of what? That I wasn't planning to kill the two men who murdered my parents? They get some freedom of their own, hot meals, and nice beds, while my family is in the ground! And then what? They get some jail time - hot meals, beds, and my parents will never have that again!"

"Sam, calm down," John said. She was gaining some unwanted attention from pedestrian traffic.

"You calm down!" Sam said as hot tears began running down her cheeks. Her voice softened, and began to squeak. "Just because they were beat on in prison, and they admitted to killing them…and now here you are, someone who's more to me than just a friend, and you want to protect them!"

"Sam," John rested his hand on her shoulder and pulled her closer.

She cried into his shirt, her body trembled with her anger and grief as he held her.

"Come on, Sam. Let's go," he guided her back down the street, towards the car.