Charlie Crews was frustrated, disgusted, annoyed. He was quite certain that he had a serial killer on his hands – albeit a serial killer who seemed to have been embraced by the people of Los Angeles. Since this so-called "Angel of Death", as the media had taken to calling him, had begun to strike out, the Russian Mob had virtually crumbled. Crime in the Burbank-Pasadena-Glendale area had been cut practically in half.

Charlie had to admit it did give him a bit of savage satisfaction, to see Roman Novikov scared and running the way he was. God knew the bastard deserved it.

The problem, however, was that whoever this guy was, he was a vigilante. He was operating WELL outside the boundaries of the law, and he was committing hideous crimes left and right.

Vladimir Ochoa: dead of ricin poisoning. Marko Dombrovian: choked to death with a guitar D-string. Actually, the strangulation had crushed his larynx, and THEN he had choked to death. Dominikas Palcikas: shotgun blast to the heart at point blank range. In fact, there hadn't been any of his heart LEFT.

Viktor Pavlov: sniper rifle shot while feeding the ducks in MacArthur Park. Iosef Golovko: his Mustang blew up, without warning, as he drove it down the 101 one morning. Sergei Malikov: throat slit as he sat in Grauman's Chinese Theatre last night, attending the premiere of Tom Cruise's Valkyrie.

Six different men, but all members of Roman Novikov's crime organization. In fact, with them gone, he was the only real big shot remaining. Six different M.O.s as well, but there was one thing that tied them all together. A Precious Moments angel pin, stuck to the corpse's torso, at each crime scene. Whoever was doing this WANTED the powers that be to know that it was all the same person.

And it fell to Charlie to figure out who the sick fucker was. Fortunately, he didn't have anything else on his plate right at the moment.

Or so he thought.

Dani Reese walked up to his desk and rapped on it with her knuckles. "Hey, spacehead," she said, snapping him out of his concentration. He looked up at her and raised his eyebrows. "Lieutenant's been trying to get your attention from her office for the past minute."

"Oh," Charlie said. He looked over at Lieutenant Davis. She pointed at him and Reese, then crooked a finger. Charlie stood from his chair, stretched, and headed across the floor toward Davis' office, Reese hot on his heels.

Davis indicated that the two detectives should sit. Standing behind her desk, she said, "Well, the two of you aren't gonna like this."

Charlie looked over at Dani. "I always love briefings that start that way."

Dani rolled her eyes as Davis continued. "The feds have asked – well, really, ordered us to put a protective detail on Novikov."

Charlie laughed. "And please tell me that you told them to go suck Dmitry Medvedev's white Russian –"

"CREWS," Davis snapped. "There is a time and a place. This is neither." She stopped and sighed. "But it's worse. The Novikov operation has been signed off on for continuation by President Obama. It's going to last for god-knows-how-long, and the feds are most insistent that he be protected."

Dani shook her head. "Are they not aware that he's a psychopathic murderer?"

Davis shrugged. "Oh, they're aware. That's why they want homicide cops watching him."

Charlie's head jerked up at the words "homicide cops". "Oh, no, no, NO!" he shouted, jumping up from his chair. "Hell, no!"

"Actually, the word you're looking for is 'yes'," Davis deadpanned. "You two get to start babysitting Novikov, effective immediately. You'll have a team of six officers – whoever you want from homicide – plus a DEA agent to liaise with the feds."

Charlie narrowed his eyes. "Can I pull in an officer from outside of homicide?"

Davis raised an eyebrow. "Walker?"

Charlie nodded. "I think she'd be very helpful."

Davis shrugged. "Guess it couldn't hurt."

"Well, that's a small victory at least," Charlie muttered, reaching across Davis' desk to pick up the phone.

Unfortunately for Charlie, just at that moment, Sarah Walker was some two hundred miles away from the phone on her desk. Her Porsche was eastbound on I-10, rocketing across the Mohave Desert.

"Okay," Chuck Bartowski said. "So, since we just crossed the Arizona state line, you want to tell me where we're going?"

Sarah smiled. "Phoenix."

"Ah, Phoenix," Chuck echoed. "Destination hotspot the world over for Valentine's Day weekend."

Sarah couldn't help but laugh at the sarcastic tone of Chuck's voice. She certainly had to admit he was right – Phoenix wasn't exactly a great place to get away from Los Angeles. However, she had her reasons.

The reality of the situation was that Sarah and Ellie had decided that it would be a very bad idea for Chuck to be in L.A. on Valentine's Day. They thought that there were too many memories of Becky there, and if he were left to his own devices on Valentine's Day, he would probably end up drunk and sobbing on a sidewalk in West Hollywood.

So they decided to get him out of town for the weekend. Sarah had suggested to Chuck that they take a trip – just as friends, of course – but he had to trust her and let her plan it. Intrigued, he had agreed to the idea.

Every so often, she had been giving him a little bit more information about what they were doing, like just then, when she had told him that they were going to Phoenix. But she wasn't quite ready to tell him why they were going to Phoenix.

Sarah just laughed in response to Chuck's remark, and kept her eyes on the road ahead. Chuck was almost back to his old self – the way he was before Becky died. She had to admit, he had recovered fairly quickly – it had only been three and a half months – but he DID have a lot of support from his friends and family. On top of that, she was quite certain that working on the Beast – Becky!, she reminded herself – had probably been very cathartic for him.

Her thought process was quite rudely interrupted when she felt his warm, larger hand envelop her own on top of the gear shift. Startled, she looked over at him, to find him looking at her, an intense look in his eyes.

"Thank you," he said softly. "Thank you for sticking with me these last few months. Thank you for always being there and not disappearing. Thank you for getting me out of Los Angeles this weekend."

She couldn't help but smile again at the fact that he'd figured out what was going on. "You're welcome," she said quietly.

When he didn't move his hand from on top of hers, her smile got a little bit bigger. The accelerator went a little closer to the floor – that much less time until they got to their destination.

"Hello, you've reached the voicemail of Officer Sarah Walker, Los Angeles Police Department Crime Prevention Division. I will be away from Parker Center from Friday, February 13th, until Monday, February 16th. To be connected to the switchboard, please press zero. If this is an emergency, please hang up now and call 911. Otherwise, leave a message, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

"Goddammit," Charlie grumbled, replacing his phone in its cradle. "I don't think we're going to be able to get Walker on this project."

The woman sitting across from him smiled. "She can be frustrating like that sometimes."

Charlie cocked his head. "And exactly what would you know of Officer Sarah Walker?"

She didn't answer the question. "Still using that alias, is she?"

Charlie frowned. "What do you mean, alias?"

A laugh came in reply. "Sarah Walker's not her REAL name! She was in the CIA! She was a deep-cover operative, for God's sake!"

Charlie rolled his eyes and looked to the ceiling. "So what WAS her real name?"

The woman shrugged. "I have no idea," she said. "She never told me."

Charlie looked back at the woman. "You don't know her name." A shake of the head confirmed that. "Then don't tell me you know Sarah Walker any better than I do."

DEA Agent Carina Hansen laughed and leaned across the table. "Detective Crews, I taught Sarah Walker everything she KNOWS."

Sarah was starting to feel nervous. The closer she got to Mesa, the more the old memories resurrected themselves. It was almost as if she was stepping into another dimension.

The real nerves started to sink in, though, when she got off US 60 at Mesa Drive. That's when she knew she was almost home.

Two miles north took her to Main Street. "Good Lord," Chuck breathed, seeing the hulking mass of Mesa's Mormon Temple out his window.

"It's not exactly the one in Salt Lake, but it's been there since 1919," Sarah told him. "In fact, Mesa has more members of the LDS church per square mile than anywhere else in the world."

Chuck turned back to her, disbelief written on his face. "You're kidding. More than Utah?"

Sarah shrugged. "Not total, but there's nowhere else in the world that has a higher density than the east Phoenix area." She smiled. "Trust me. My aunt and uncle are REALLY strict Mormons, and they dragged me to their stake –" she pointed out her window, to the north "- every Sunday."

"Never to the temple?" Chuck asked.

Sarah laughed. "Chuck, I can't go inside. I am most definitely not a Mormon. If I had been, I would've been excommunicated before my sixteenth birthday."

Chuck nodded. "So let's see. You were a bad girl, sent to Phoenix to live with your Mormon aunt and uncle. How the hell did you end up in the CIA?!"

Sarah smiled at him as she pulled the Porsche to a stop in front of a rather large house on Edgemont Drive. "All in due time, Chuck."

She opened the door and stepped out. Chuck moved to follow her – and almost ran into her as he came around the front end of the car.

He looked at her curiously. She seemed to be frozen in place, just staring at the house from the sidewalk. "Uh… are you just going to look at it?" Chuck asked.

Sarah closed her eyes. She took a deep breath, reached down, and grabbed Chuck's hand. "Okay," she said quietly. "Here we go."

Chuck followed Sarah up the path to the front door. She took another deep breath, blew it out, and then lifted her finger to press the doorbell. They stood there for a moment, and then the door swung open.

Sarah smiled slightly. "Hi, Uncle Ted," she said quietly.

A balding man who looked to be about sixty looked out at her. "Kelly? Is that YOU?!"

Sarah nodded. "My God," the man breathed. He swung the screen door open, and just stood there looking at her. "Where have you been for the last eight years?!"

Sarah sighed and looked down at the porch. "Uncle Ted, I'm sorry –"

"No apologies," her uncle interrupted her. He stepped in front of her, and wrapped her in his arms. Chuck let go of her hand as she lifted her arms and wrapped them around his back.

"I'm sorry," Chuck heard her say, a sob breaking her already muffled voice. "I'm so sorry."

"Come on," her uncle said gruffly. "There'll be none of that. Your aunt will be wanting to see you."

Sarah pulled away from him, her eyes wide. She tentatively stepped inside the house, and then, clearly knowing where she was going, headed toward another room.

Uncle Ted turned toward Chuck. "Typical Kelly," he grumbled. "Too rude to introduce her… boyfriend?"

Chuck sort of nodded. "We're more of just friends," he said, holding out his hand. "Chuck Bartowski."

"Ted Tyrell," Uncle Ted replied, taking Chuck's hand. "Pleased to meet you, Chuck. What do you do?"

"Computers," Chuck answered as he stepped inside.

Ted Tyrell's face broke into a smile. "Brilliant," he said. "It just so happens that mine is having issues. Mind taking a look."

Chuck smiled back. "Not at all."

It was Saturday morning. Valentine's Day.

Dani Reese didn't have plans for the day. Or a boyfriend. So why the hell was her phone ringing at 7:00 A.M.?

And better question, why the hell was the caller ID showing Charlie's number?

She groaned and pressed the call button. "What the hell do you want?" she grumbled into her phone.

"Uh, Reese, I need your help."

"Really."

"Yeah, I'm kind of in an… uh, awkward situation."

"Crews, define awkward."

"Uh… I'm tied to my bed."

The beginnings of a smile began to form on Dani's lips. "Oh, THIS I've got to see," she replied. "How'd it happen, Charlie?"

"I'll just say this, Reese – don't ever trust a DEA agent."

Chuck woke up slowly. The soft sound of rain falling on the roof greeted him.

Rain in Phoenix, he thought. Seems weird.

Then there was another sound. The sound of somebody softly sighing in her sleep.

Chuck opened his eyes and looked downward.

The last time he'd seen this sight, his reaction had been Oh, shit. That was nearly six months before.

Now, though, it just made him smile.

Chuck could get used to waking up to the sight of Kelly Lisa Fordham, a.k.a. Sarah Walker, every morning.

He figured Becky would approve.