"We're taking it," Don replied, not bothering to turn around to address the ATF agent. "I'll keep you in the loop." He strode out the front door, nodding to the agents that stood outside the house, and climbed into his car, slamming the door and throwing it into reverse.

"She was one of ours." The ATF agent's words ran through his mind as he chewed his lip, his eyes hot and swollen, but, as of now, still dry. He'd lost friends, he'd lost family, he'd lost coworkers, but he'd never lost a lover before. She may have been one of theirs, but she was one of his, and a pain shot through his chest as he remembered how she had looked, blonde hair fanned out on a red-stained pillow. He remembered other days with her, other pillows he had seen her hair spread on, and he knew that he had to have this case, no matter what the ATF wanted.

He glanced at his watch. It was 2:20 in the morning. David had gone home and tomorrow, no today, was a Saturday—everyone was supposed to be off. This couldn't wait until Monday, but it could wait until a more reasonable hour in the morning before he called his team in and ruined their weekend. He got onto the freeway and headed back to his apartment.

"Look, just keep digging, alright? I mean, I want to know what the guy was doing in Mexico." Don threw up his hand and sighed, turning away from Megan and David.

"Alright," David replied, shaking his head once and turning to leave. Don sighed again and leaned over his desk, letting out a long breath, and Megan took it as a hint to get back to work.

"The last person she called was you, Don." David's words echoed through his head as he stared at the call list. 8:25 PM. He'd already been at the gun range, and while his phone was on, since the range was in the basement of the FBI building, oftentimes calls didn't go through.

She hadn't left a voice message. What would she have to say that she wouldn't want to leave on a message? Why, after all those years, after their last words were exchanged in anger, would she try to call him, and only two hours before she died? Did she knew she was in danger, or did she want to say a final goodbye before she pulled the trigger?

Don's mouth went dry, and he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hand over his chin. He couldn't sit there for a second longer—he needed to get out, to go somewhere, anywhere.

He pushed back from his desk and stood up abruptly. Megan looked up, startled. "Everything OK, Don?" she enquired softly.

Don grabbed his coat from his chair and pulled it on, digging out his car keys. Instead of answering, he grabbed the phone report. "I'm heading to Nikki's house to check something out. I'll call on my way back."

Megan watched him leave, noting the tension in the way his jaw was set. She wished he would talk to someone, anyone, and she contemplated calling Alan to ask him to give Don a call and check in. She was worried about her friend and partner.

Don pulled into the driveway of Nikki's house and got out of his car, nodding to the officer standing guard at the front door. He signed a clipboard logging his arrival, and entered the house. He walked slowly through the living room and into the bedroom, pausing in the doorway to wince at the sight of the bare, bloodstained mattress.

Glancing down at the bed, he saw a pile of photographs, and he froze when he saw one that was familiar. Memories rushed through his head as he quickly picked the picture up—memories of the day it was taken, the laughter they had shared as the picture was snapped.

He sat down heavily on the mattress and held the picture in both hands, head bowed as he studied it. They had been at the annual Bureau picnic. At that point, they'd been together for six… no, nine months. Their smiles were happy, but Don remembered already feeling some unease, feeling like it was time to start pulling away from the relationship, like he was getting too committed. Bringing a date to the picnic was a big deal, and he remembered how the gentle teasing he'd taken from his coworkers about having a girlfriend in the ATF had made him uneasy.

It was that picnic that had made him decide to push Nikki away, made him realize that he couldn't risk getting any closer to her. He already worked long hours running his office, and while as a government agent she understood the horrors and commitment the job entailed, he didn't think it was fair of him to bring that home to her every day. She deserved better than him, a man who routinely spent 80 hours a week on the job, and who had to change plans at the drop of a hat because the job, the duty, always came first.

Lost in thought, he didn't hear anyone enter, until a voice spoke behind him. "Looking for evidence, or a keepsake?"