She smiled as she watched her current target leave the grocery store. Patrick Robert Davies, convicted of arson and sent to jail thanks to the hard work and efforts of one Special Agent Don Eppes. She smiled as Davies climbed into his car, oblivious to the pair of eyes that followed his every move. He started the car and left the parking lot, headed for the local movie rental store. She maintained the perfect tail, having thoroughly read up on the subject in several law enforcement books. She pulled into a parking space five cars down from Davies, watching as he walked past the post office and ventured inside the movie store.

Smiling to herself, she picked up the envelope lying on the passenger seat and entered the post office. She patiently waited in line for the next clerk, knowing that Davies liked to take his time browsing the videos next door. She stepped up to the counter and handed the clerk the envelope.

"Oh dear," he commented as he noticed both of her hands were completely swathed in bandages. "That looks painful. What happened to you?"

She gave an easy, relaxed laugh. "I got a little clumsy with a pot of spaghetti. Spilled the darn thing all over my hands."

"I hope they're getting better," the clerk told her as he took her payment and placed her letter in the appropriate mail bin.

"Yes," she assured him. "These bandages will be coming off very soon." That part's true, she thought to herself. She would no longer have to worry about keeping her fingerprints off of any future letters, assuming this last one did its job.

"Glad to hear it." She thanked him as she left the small office. She wasn't surprised to see that Davies' car was still parked where he had left it. She made a point of walking next to it and dropping her keys. She bent over to retrieve them and took a moment to loosen the valve on his tire. Satisfied with her handiwork, she returned to her car and waited patiently. Davies exited the store a few minutes later, movie in hand. He reached his car and frowned as he noticed his back tire was flat. She saw him curse and kick the tire before turning back to the storefronts. Seeing the line inside the video store, he chose instead to go inside the small, less crowded post office.

She smiled, knowing that her plan had worked perfectly. Of course, as her husband had always told her, there was no substitute for thorough research. That's how she knew that Davies' beat up, old Mercury had no spare in the trunk, and that he had not yet acquired a cell phone since his release from prison. Now Davies' face would be the one that the small town postal clerk would be likely to remember when the FBI inevitably showed up, flashing his mug shot and asking questions about letters that he might have mailed here. She beamed with excitement as she turned the key in the ignition and began her long trek back home.

She and her husband would soon have Special Agent Don Eppes in their clutches. Then the fun would really start.

--

"Eppes."

"Don, it's Dad."

"Hey, Dad. What's up?"

"I was calling to check on you." Don heard the concern in his father's voice. "You haven't been by in a few days. No dinner, no just stopping to say hi. You can't be having that much fun at the motel."

Don felt a stirring of guilt in his gut and tried to play it off. "Well there is a pool here and a lot of hot women…"

"So?" Alan interrupted. "It's not like you know how to ask any of them out."

"Dad," Don groaned as he flopped back on his bed. "Let's not have this discussion again. Please?"

"Sorry," Alan half-heartedly mumbled. "Seriously, Don – why haven't you visited? You didn't take on some fugitive recovery case, did you?"

"No, Dad. I promised you I wouldn't go back to that again, remember? But I do have an important case at work and it's been taking up a lot of extra time." He floundered around for a more believable excuse. "Besides, some of the guys from work have been coming over and hanging out." Technically true. There were agents at the motel at all times. "I think they're trying to keep my mind off the fire."

"Have they finished their investigation? Was it an accident?"

Don frowned. Had Charlie been running his mouth to Dad? "The FBI is still looking over the evidence. I don't see any reason to assume that it wasn't an accident." He took a deep breath and tried to quash the growing feelings of guilt. "I'll try to come over for a visit soon. Maybe around the end of the week if this current case goes well."

"Okay," Alan agreed, although the disappointment in his voice was obvious. "You be careful. Call me if you need anything – day or night – alright?"

"Sure," Don replied cheerfully. They said their goodbyes and Don flipped his cell phone shut, tossing it onto the desk. He folded his hands under his head and stared at the stucco pattern on the ceiling. From the feedback he was getting from Megan, he knew that the team investigating the threats hadn't really made any progress. They were still waiting on the results of the blast, but he was pretty sure they were going to rule it an arson. That's why, as hard as it was for him, he wasn't visiting his family. They had already been referenced in one letter, and he wasn't about to make them any more of a target by spending time with them.

With that thought still lingering in his mind, he rolled over, flipped the lamp off, and fell into a restless sleep.

--

Don was sitting at the table, eating dinner with his dad and Charlie. His father had prepared rib-eye and baked potatoes while he and Charlie had playfully argued about the hockey game on TV. Now they were eating and enjoying pleasant dinner conversation. Charlie suddenly dropped his fork and fixed Don with a blank stare.

"What it is, Buddy?"

"I know who's been making the threats."

"What?" Don yelled angrily. "I told you to stay out of it!"

"I had to help." Charlie's voice was monotone and his eyes remained vacant. "But you didn't protect me, Don. Why? All I was trying to do was help. Dad, too."

Don swiveled his gaze to his father, his heart leaping into his throat as he saw the bright red bloodstain spreading across his chest. Alan opened his mouth to speak, but could only gape silently as blood began to trickle from the corner of his mouth. "Dad!" Don rushed toward him, dismayed to find that he seemed to be moving further away.

"Don."

Charlie's quiet voice caught his attention and he whirled to face his brother. He let out a sob as he saw an identical red stain spreading across his chest, and a copious amount of blood running from his mouth. "Charlie!" He tried to run toward his brother, only to find that he too, seemed to be getting farther away.

"What did I tell you, Eppes?" a loud, booming voice demanded. "You let them get involved. Some protector you are!" The voice cackled as Don took turns looking at his father and brother. "You should have just let me have you. Now you've ruined your whole family." Don felt a cold blast of air surround him, followed by an intense, burning pain in his lower back. He felt waves of agony course through his body, setting each and every nerve ending on fire. The voice spoke again, seemingly only inches from his ear, "Time to die, Agent Eppes..."

Don awoke and bolted upright in bed, his hand instantly going for his hip. He momentarily panicked as he grabbed air instead of his gun, but then his surroundings penetrated through his sleep fogged brain. I'm in the motel. It was just a dream. They're okay. He still felt an overwhelming desire to call them and check, but as he glanced at the time – three-thirty am – he decided that might not be the best idea. He got out of bed and stumbled his way to the bathroom sink, not bothering to turn on any lights as he went. He ran the tap and splashed cold water on his face, enjoying the increase in alertness that accompanied it. He toweled his face off and returned to bed, turning on the TV as he passed it. There was an infomercial on, with a perky red-headed housewife babbling on about the amazing bread making machine. He muted the TV as he leaned against the headboard. He had no desire to watch the screen, but rather wanted the comforting presence of the flickering light as it filled the room.

He knew sleep was out of the question, so instead he thought back to the day he'd received the first threat.

Don sat at his desk, surrounded by his team, as they outlined the plan of attack for an upcoming raid on a suspected child pornography ring. Colby was mostly running the show, his military experience a big help in situations like this. Don glanced up as a mail clerk paused by his desk and handed him a letter addressed to him, with no return address. Seeing that his team was doing fine without his input, he opened the envelope and pulled out a neatly folded sheet of white paper. He unfolded it and was surprised to find it blank, save for a question and a name: 'Ready to die, Agent Eppes? Grim Reaper.' He stared at the letter, his mind in shock, as he read and re-read the words. A death threat? Sure, he'd gotten plenty of those before, but they had always been so elaborate and detailed. He actually felt more nervous about this one because of its simplicity.

He didn't know how long he'd been staring at the letter, but he eventually sensed Megan's presence by his side, and felt the worried gazes of his other two team members on him. He looked up and saw her staring at the letter. She didn't speak as she gently took it from his grasp and placed it into an evidence bag. Before he could gather his senses enough to speak, she was already on the phone, requesting a forensic technician come retrieve the letter. He smiled warmly at her as she hung up and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry," she soothed him. "We're on this." He nodded a silent thanks, quickly brushing off any suggestion at protective custody, assuring his team that it was probably a hoax.

Don's thoughts were interrupted by the buzzing of the cheap alarm clock on the nightstand. He quickly silenced it and made his way to the shower, grateful that at least he wouldn't be in the field today because the lack of sleep and impact of the threats were starting to take their toll on him.