Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I only own the ones with the names you don't recognize.

Spoilers: Could be anything

"How am I going to do it?" Greg thought.

He had been sitting in the break room for the last ten minutes trying to decide how to ask Sara Sidle out to breakfast. They had become much closer since Ecklie had broken up the night shift, and he wanted their friendship to become more.

Just as he was screwing up his courage to go out and find her, Grissom walked in with Sara with him. They were talking about something to do with bugs.

"Greg there you are," was Grissom's annoyed greeting. "You two have a 419 in the south end of the city. Teenage girl got home from a walk and found her uncle lying dead in the front hall."

"She got home from a walk?" Greg asked. That sounded a little fishy to his ears.

"I know," Sara put in, "that's kind of convenient for her isn't it?"

"I'm not jumping to any conclusions and neither are you," Grissom said looking pointedly at his two CSIs'. "Wait till all the evidence is gathered before you decide."

"Yes sir."

"OK Gris."

Greg and Sara made their way to Sara's car, got in and started to the address Grissom had given them.

"Hey Sara," Greg was finally going to be able to ask her. "Do you think that you might like to grab some breakfast with me after shift is over? I know a nice place that has nice Belgian waffles"

"I don't know Greg," Sara said after a minute. "I'll have to think about it. Maybe some other day, OK?"

"Yeah, that's fine," Greg was crestfallen, but he wasn't about to let Sara know that.

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They spent the rest of the ride in a comfortable silence, arriving at the small home in a nice looking neighborhood about 20 minutes later. Brass was waiting for them.

"Nice to see you're bright and shining faces tonight," was his sarcastic welcome.

They exchanged greetings, and then the three of them walked into the house, and Brass explained the situation in more detail to them.

"Here's how it breaks down. Shea Hewson, 16, goes out for a walk at about 8pm; she comes home at 9pm to see her uncle, Finbarr Sheehan, lying dead on the living room floor, calls the police."

At that moment the two CSIs and the detective had reached the house. Once inside they stopped and looked around. The house was modest, and it looked big enough for two people.

Sara and Greg walked over to where an officer was standing with a teenager. She was small, had brown hair and an expression on her face that Greg was sure would cause angels to cry.

"Hi," Sara said as they came up to her. "I'm Sara Sidle and this is Greg Sanders, we're with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. Can you please tell us what happened? Don't leave anything out"

"I left at 8 to go for my walk. I do that every night, Finbarr knew that. I walked around the neighborhood until 9; I walked into the house, and saw him just lying there, with so many holes in him." Shea couldn't go on. She did not start to cry, but she had to stop speaking.

Sara asked the girl to hold out her arms so she could check her for blood, and Greg went to look at the body.

Finbarr Sheehan was a nice looking man in his late thirties. Greg could see that he had three stab wounds in his chest. He turned to David who was just finishing.

"This guy's been dead maybe two hours," was David's analysis.

"That means he died at about… 8:30?" Greg asked.

"About" David then picked up his stuff and prepared to leave. "He's all yours"

Sara came in just then having printed Shea, and seen her out of the house and to the car of the friend that she was going to stay with.

"Well," she said turning to Greg, "Let's get started."