Bree buried the laughter - slightly hysterical, utterly inappropriate - that tried to well up when Ethan railed off a string of questions. For a guy who could 'see' numbers, he sure did have a strange idea about the definition of "one." She'd asked her questions though and, at the very last answer, she truly believed the green-eyed man. Yes, he may have stepped aside, let Victor eat that bullet - but he didn't want her dead. No, she couldn't escape the impression there were certain vital pieces she was still missing, still didn't even know how to ask about - but Ethan hadn't tried to kill her.

That, at least, was no small thing.

"I started 'chasing' you, because that is what I do. I'm an FBI agent - Victor was my source. My informant, right up to the second that half his head was vaporized. For all I knew Ethan, you were a mobster, complicit in some way I had yet to figure with Victor's murder. Hell, I even wondered if you might be a hit man yourself."

"I couldn't just 'let you go.' That's also what I do. 'Letting you go' was never an option, not so long as I could somehow, some way, follow that trail of crumbs that always seemed to lead me to you... " Bree's voice trailed off, her brow furrowing in thought as she chewed her lip.

No, that wasn't entirely true. Yes, investigative work led her to him the first time. In Chicago, it had been a tip from that dirt bag "night manager." True, both encounters had their own surreal endings as Ethan traipsed out of the Seattle PD jail, or stepped off the roof of a 15-story building; but at least she could point to a reason, a clue, a piece of information - however flimsy or unlikely - that had sent her in one direction or another.

She hadn't been searching for Ethan today. As a matter of fact, it would be fair to say coming to Bend with Jarod had been the 'Hail Mary' of all ways to run as far from Ethan as she possibly could, in every conceivable way. The weight of all the impossibilities had been crushing her confidence beneath boulders of doubt, sapping her faith in her very sanity. 

She hadn't been searching for Ethan today at all and yet, here he was. Here she was.

Bree suddenly realized, she hadn't the least idea how she managed to keep finding him. Not really. Those crumbs that led to him had always been miniscule at best, not fit to feed a sparrow. 

"But... I honestly don't know how we keep coming together. Not really. I wasn't looking for you today - far, far from it. Maybe we're just... Damn, I don't know. Lucky?" Bree almost snorted the laughter out her nose, shaking her head. "Unlucky?"

Over her dead body was Bree going to voice the other option that came to mind, one that made about as much sense as nebulous, fickle luck; or a man who could somehow 'see' numbers and possibilities and chance. 

That perhaps the two of them were, somehow, meant to come together, again and again and again.