Snap

by caffeinenut

A grisly murder brings back memories for one of our favorite CSIs.

I don't own anything CSI. They exist only for my enjoyment.

Snap

Sara Sidle sighed as she looked at the victim's clothes once more, trying to find any piece of trace evidence that may have been overlooked by her co-workers. Not that she really thought she'd find anything that they had missed; she had the utmost confidence in Catherine and Nick. It was just that there wasn't much more they could do, and she felt like she really had to do something. The victim really needed her to do something.

"Hey, Sara, find anything more?" Greg asked, popping his head into the layout room. She didn't even look up to answer him, just shook her head and continued to stare at the clothing. "C'mon, you've been staring at that shirt for over two hours. Let's go grab something to eat, come back with a fresh perspective," Greg suggested softly. He figured Sara would say no, she always said no. He knew better than to think she'd stop working before she found an answer.

"Thanks, Greg, but I think I'm going to pass for now. I have a lot of work to do," Sara answered, looking up briefly and smiling at him, though her smile did not reach her eyes or light up her face, as it normally did. "Maybe later."

"Kay," Greg replied. "I'll be in the break room with Nick and Warrick if you change your mind." He ducked out of the layout room, Sara hardly noticing his departure.

Making his way to the break room, Greg wondered why this case seemed to get to Sara more than others. Truthfully, all domestic violence cases bothered Sara; made her angry and disappointed in the human race. But this one in particular seemed to make her more upset and angry than usual. She wasn't talking, except to fight, wasn't hanging around with them, she barely ate, and Greg wasn't sure that she had been home to sleep in almost four days. He knew Nick had caught her taking a nap on the comfy couch in the break room two days ago for a few hours, but that seemed to be all the sleep she had gotten.

However, it wasn't the no sleeping part of this that bothered Greg the most. It was the fighting part of this. Sara had already exchanged heated words with Catherine over this case, their argument so loud that Greg was afraid Sara would get suspended once again. Luckily, Grissom had jumped in between the two and, after giving Catherine a stern look and telling her to cool off, he led Sara away, pretty much giving her the same look and words.

Neither Catherine nor Sara had spoken to the other since, and that had been three days ago.

Sara also seemed upset with Nick. He had made some sort of comment about families and not believing that a father could do that to his child, and Sara had practically flew off the handle, her biting comments about Nick never being able to understand since he grew up in 'Cleaver-land' startling everyone, especially Nick. She had gotten up from the break room table then and stormed out, settling in the layout room, where she hadn't left in two days.

Greg Sanders, not normally a worrier, was very worried about Sara.

He entered the break room, Nick and Warrick already there, and took an empty seat next to Warrick and across from Nick. They had been talking to each other quietly and immediately hushed up when Greg sat down. Neither looked at him, instead staring intently at their food, Warrick's chicken soup, and Nick a turkey sandwich on rye bread.

Feeling the tension and the coolness in the room, Greg asked nonchalantly, "What's up, guys?"

Nick looked at Warrick, silently communicating that he should answer Greg. Warrick sighed and swallowed. He wasn't sure where to start, so he just opened his mouth and said the first thing that popped into his head. "Sara's not joining us, is she?"

Greg was startled by Warrick's question. It wasn't resigned, like it usually was when Sara cut herself off from them during a particularly disturbing case. No, Warrick's tone was of hope, not resignation. One quick glance at Nick, and Greg realized they both clearly didn't want Sara around. What the hell was going on?

Greg shook his head, determined to find out why Sara was pushing away her friends and why they were letting her this time. "Probably not. She's going over the girl's clothes again. I doubt very much that she'll move anytime soon."

Nick snorted. "I guess she doesn't trust that I can do my job, huh?" At Greg's quizzical look, Nick elaborated. "I already went over those clothes with a fine tooth comb when Catherine and I brought them in. I got everything I could off of them, which wasn't much, I have to say. I really don't think her father killed her."

"And Sara's completely convinced that he did," Warrick pointed out softly.

"I don't care what she thinks. She's wrong. There's absolutely no evidence to support her theories. My sisters were always driving my father crazy, but he never killed any of them. And Todd Hartz was so upset when Brass told him his daughter was dead. I saw him. I was with him. You can't fake the kind of reaction he had. And, even for argument's sake, he had killed his daughter, why didn't his wife come forward and say something?" Nick argued vehemently, stabbing his finger in the air while making his points.

"Fear," a voice said from the doorway. All three men looked up and saw Catherine standing in the doorway, a funny look on her face. She almost looked apologetic, but for what, they weren't sure. She was on Nick's side in this case. "Maybe she was afraid of her husband, afraid he's kill her if she spoke up, told the truth." Catherine walked into the break room and sat down next to Nick. "Guys, I think we owe Sara an apology." She threw a file onto the table in front of them, some pictures falling out and scattering across the table. "Brass and I got these from a few hospitals in the area. Seems the little girl, Kasey, has been to the emergency room twelve times in the past three years in five different hospitals. For things like falling off her bike, out of trees, down the stairs. Each time her mother brought her in, and when questioned about abuse, stated she never hurt the girl and that there was no one else at home." Catherine looked pointedly at Nick, Greg, and Warrick. "Where's the husband?"

Before any of them could answer Catherine's question, Grissom stuck his head into the break room. "I've been looking for you guys. A new piece of evidence has come to my attention. Todd Hartz's work boots."

Catherine shook her head. "No, they're not new. We logged his fireman boots as evidence. I did it myself."

Grissom shook his head. "Not those work boots. The ones he wears when helping his cousin in his roofing business."

"He helped his cousin in a roofing business? Since when?" Nick asked, confused.

"Since Detective Vega received a call from Hartz's cousin, Michael Rose. Mr. Rose said that he used to ask his cousin to help him out on large roofing jobs, but hasn't seen or heard from his cousin in the last nine months, until a few days ago. Seems roofers need to wear a special kind of boot to help them grip while up on people's roofs. Those boots weren't in Todd Hartz's house or his car. But they were at his cousin's house. Vega and I just got back from checking it out. And we brought Michael Rose with us. Seems he's got an interesting story to tell. Wanna come hear it?"

Their food forgotten, the three guys and Catherine jumped up from the table and followed Grissom through the lab's corridors to the police department, and into the observation room of one of the interrogation rooms. Vega was inside the interrogation room sitting across from a man approximately 35 years old, bearing a slight resemblance to Todd Hartz. Grissom motioned for his co-workers to remain where they were, and then he joined Vega. He wanted to observe Michael Rose up close when he answered Vega's questions.

"So, Mr. Rose, what can you tell us about your cousin, Todd Hartz?" Vega asked.

"We both grew up in Henderson. His mother and my father were siblings. We were a very close-knit family. Then, about fifteen years ago or so, Todd moved to Las Vegas and joined their fire department. Said he needed something more exciting than Henderson. Still wanted to stay close to the family, but needed a change of scenery. Started dating this girl, Trish something-or-other. At first, they seemed very happy and we all thought they'd get married. Then, I don't know, about seven months into their relationship, Todd stopped bringing Trish around to family functions. She never answered the phone when I called; it was always Todd or the answering machine. Then, one day, he told me he thought Trish was cheating on him and that he had this plan to take care of it, since no woman would ever be able to get away with that." Michael paused, staring hard at the detective.

"What was his plan, Mr. Rose? Did he ever tell you?"

Michael Rose shook his head. "No. Two days after that, having not heard from Todd, I showed up at his apartment. Trish answered the door with a black eye. Said she ran into a door. And that was the last I ever saw of Trish. A week later, Todd told me she was gone. I think his exact words were something along the lines of "That whore took off with my son-of-a-bitch neighbor she was screwing". I always suspected he'd hit Trish, Trish never said anything and I had no proof."

"And what of his wife now, Linda? And his daughter Kasey?" Vega prompted.

Michael Rose snorted derisively. "Didn't even know he was married, much less had a kid."

"How could you not know? I thought you were so close?" Grissom asked, jumping in.

Rose shrugged. "After the Trish incident, Todd never mentioned another girl to me. He moved, never gave me his new address. We communicated through phone calls, e-mail, and the family gatherings at my house in Henderson. Never knew he got married; he never wore a ring. Never knew he had a kid. Then I saw the news story and the last name of the little girl made me wonder, so I called your police department. Turns out that the little girl who was beaten to death was my cousin's daughter. And if my cousin really did kill her, I want him put away so that he can never do it again. There's no excuse to beat anyone, especially a kid. I have three of my own, two girls and a boy. Sure, they drive me crazy a lot, especially my oldest. She just turned fourteen. But I'd never even consider raising my hand to her. No matter what they do, your kids are your kids and you're supposed to protect them, not hurt them."

"Do you think Todd killed Kasey, Mr. Rose?" Grissom asked, speaking up for the first time.

"Absolutely," Michael Rose answered without hesitating. "I wish I'd known he had a kid. I would have tried to do something to keep this from happening."

"How'd you come to have his boots, Mr. Rose?" Vega asked.

"Four days ago, at night, Todd stopped by and asked if he could store his roofing gear at my house. He said his apartment was being worked on due to some water damage and needed a place to store his stuff," Rose said.

"Thank you, Mr. Rose. If you go to the front desk, someone there will give you a ride home."

"You're welcome. I just wish I could do more." Rose stood up and looked deeply into Detective Vega's eyes. "Promise me you'll put him away for a long time so that he can't do this to any more women or children."

Vega nodded. "I think that with what you've given us, your cousin will be locked up for a very long time."

Thanking Mr. Rose and shaking his hand, Vega and Grissom led him out of the interrogation room and to the front desk, leaving the other CSIs to absorb what they'd just heard.

Nick shook his head. "How could a father do that to his own child?"

"Nick," Catherine said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "After all we've seen in on the job, you're still surprised over this?"

"He was so upset. His reaction was real, Catherine, it wasn't faked."

"Apparently it was," Warrick spoke up, shaking his head in disbelief. "Looks like Sara was right."

"And we owe her some big apologies," Catherine finished Warrick's thought.

"She's probably still in the layout room, looking at Kasey's clothes. I doubt Grissom had time to catch her up on this," Greg offered.

Leaving the observation room, Catherine led Nick, Warrick, and Greg back to the lab to find Sara. As they passed Grissom, he reached out and grabbed Catherine's upper arm, stopping her and the guys. "Leave her alone right now," he warned.

Knowing exactly whom Grissom was talking about, Catherine said, "We need to apologize…"

"I know. But not right now," he stated forcefully.

"You already told her, didn't you?" Catherine asked. When Grissom nodded, she closed her eyes. "You told her before finding us?"

"Yes," Grissom confirmed. "And she's going home right now to get some sleep. In fact, you should all go home now. It's after shift and we've all been working very hard on this case for four days. It's over now. We have the killer. Go home and I'll see you all tonight." With that, Grissom let go of Catherine's arm and walked away, headed toward his office.

"You too!" Catherine called out. His only response was a wave over his shoulder.

Gil Grissom slid the key into the lock and quietly opened the front door of his townhouse. He figured she was asleep and didn't want to disturb her. Moving into the foyer, he put his bags down against the wall and shut the door, all without making a sound. He slid his shoes off and placed them next to hers on the mat by the door, then cautiously made his way into the large room. The television was on, the sound barely a whisper, an empty glass in the sink, a carton of orange juice left out on the counter. And a Sara Sidle asleep on the couch.

Grissom made his way up the stairs to the bedroom and pulled back the bed sheets. Then, he crept downstairs and made his way over to the couch. He stood there for a long time, gazing down at her sleeping form, hoping her dreams were good, and not terrible memories, like they usually were after a case like this. After what seemed like hours, but wasn't, he gently knelt down and maneuvered Sara into his arms. Standing up, he slowly backtracked up to the bedroom and lay her down on the bed, pulling the blankets up around her. Placing a gently kiss on her forehead, he left the room, leaving the door open a crack so he could hear if she began to have a nightmare, and went back downstairs to put away the orange juice and to read some new journal articles he hadn't had a chance to read yet.

As he tried to focus on the articles, his mind kept wandering back to the woman asleep upstairs. Ever since she had broken down and told him about her past more than a year ago, she'd been coming to him after difficult cases, cases that made her remember. He had no idea how to help her, how to comfort her, but whatever he did seemed to work. After talking, or as more often than not, not talking, but sitting side by side, reading or watching TV, she seemed calmer, more in control. And not as upset. And after he'd finally figured out what to do about them, he'd find her at his place, usually asleep on the couch. He'd put her to bed, sometimes joining her, sometimes not. It was a ritual they had slowly accepted into their lives and now drew comfort from. She'd wake up in a few hours, sometimes from a nightmare, sometimes just because, and join him downstairs. He'd make something to eat and they'd either talk, or not talk and read, sitting side by side. Sometimes, he'd put an arm around her shoulders and she'd lean into his chest. Sometimes she'd fall asleep again, and he'd rest his head atop hers and sleep, too.

But this day, their ritual was interrupted by a knock on Grissom's door. He looked up from the article on insects that he wasn't focusing on and looked toward the door, debating whether to answer it or not, when whoever it was stopped knocking and rang the bell instead. Deciding that letting that person into his house was better than having Sara woken up, he walked to the front door and opened it, fully intending to send that person away, when he saw Catherine standing on his doorstep.

"Catherine," Grissom said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"You gonna invite me in?" Catherine asked sardonically.

"Uh…now isn't, ah…" Grissom stammered, glancing behind him, checking the stairs, hoping Sara wasn't on her way down to see what was going on.

"What? Don't wanna introduce you're new girlfriend?" Catherine asked pointedly, pushing past Grissom to enter his townhouse.

Grissom shut the door and turned slowly to look at her, jaw hanging open in astonishment.

"Oh, shut your mouth, Gil, you'll catch flies." When he complied, Catherine continued. "How do I know you're seeing someone? Well, for the past few months you've been different, and I mean that in a good way," Catherine quickly added, hoping to keep Grissom from becoming scared and retreating into himself. "The change in you…I think it's been for the better. You smile and joke a lot more now. I've actually heard you laugh at a few of Greg's lewd jokes. And, most important, you're more open and sharing of your feelings. This woman, Gil, she's good for you. Don't let anyone or anything stand in your way on this." They smiled at each other, like two old friends sharing an inside joke, which, in a sense, they were. Catherine was the first to break, turning from Grissom slightly and sighing. "And with that out of the way, I came here to talk about Sara."

Grissom cocked his head and pursed his lips. "Sara? Why do we need to talk about Sara?"

"Why do we need to talk about Sara?" Catherine asked incredulously. "You heard her, Gil. She completely went off the deep end with me, again. And this time with Nick, too. Domestic violence cases bother me, too, but Sara seems to take each and every one a little too personally. She always jumps to the conclusion that the father or husband or boyfriend is to blame…"

"And she was right this time, wasn't she," Grissom interrupted, standing up for Sara.

"Yes. This time," Catherine stressed. "But what about next time? What if next time she's wrong?"

"Catherine…"

"No, you listen to me, Gil. This is not a one-time occurrence. Nor is it a simple case of the evidence giving her an answer. She draws her conclusions before all the evidence is in and then runs over anyone who tries to make her stop and look around. She certainly lets her opinions be known, to the point of insubordination and…"

"We're working on it. It has gotten better," Grissom interrupted softly, almost a whisper.

"Gil, you shouldn't have to work on it because it shouldn't be happening at all!" Catherine practically shouted. "She's a grown woman who should be able to keep her temper under wraps."

"Look, Catherine," Grissom began, "I understand that you're upset over this. I know you and Sara don't always get along, that you…step on each other's toes every once in a while. And that's okay. I don't want a team who agree with each other every single time. We'd never see alternate views that way and we'd probably miss a lot of evidence."

"I hear a but in that sentence," Catherine said dryly.

"But I'll handle Sara's outbursts, okay." When Catherine answered him with a sigh of resignation, Grissom tried to elaborate without breaking Sara's confidence. Though she had never specifically asked him not to tell anyone about her past, he knew she didn't want anyone to know. She hadn't told anyone until he had forced it out of her, not even her closest friends Nick and Greg. He was glad she had told him, and even she admitted she was glad, too, but that didn't make it public knowledge. "We all have buttons that can be pushed to get a reaction out of us, sometimes with at negative result. Sara can push her own buttons without even meaning to. It's something she's working on, but it may take a long time to work through."

Catherine nodded in assent. "Alright, Gil. You know her better than I. I just thought you should be made aware."

Grissom smiled. "Believe me, I am well aware of her outbursts and the reasons behind them. It'll all be okay in the end. You just have to trust me."

"I do trust you, Gil. Just not always with regards to Sara."

Grissom nodded in acquiescence. "I know. I wasn't always pointed in the right direction concerning her. But I am now. I promise it'll all work out."

Catherine, still not completely convinced, but willing to let it go for the moment, realizing Gil had heard what she had said, looked down at her watch. "Listen, Gil. I'm glad we had this little chat, but I gotta take off now. I promised Lindsey I'd pick her up at school and take her to get new sneakers, and I'm gonna be late if I don't leave now."

Grissom walked Catherine to the door, opening it for her. "I appreciate your concern, Catherine. Tell Lindsey I said hello."

Catherine said she would, then quickly left Grissom's townhouse, and was making her way across the parking lot to her car, when something caught her eye, something she hadn't noticed before when she had come storming up to his front door. She stopped to stare, mouth open in a perfect imitation of Grissom earlier. Parked next to Grissom's personal SUV was Sara's car. Catherine turned around to stare, still openmouthed, at Grissom's home, then back to the cars. The first thing that ran through Catherine's head was that she hoped Sara hadn't heard their talk. Besides making things uncomfortable between the two of them, she was afraid that it would make things uncomfortable between Sara and Gil, and that was the last thing Catherine wanted to do, seeing how good their relationship was for Gil. The second thing that ran through her mind was that it was about time that it had happened and she was glad that Gil hadn't been too late.

And the third thing was that she couldn't wait to tell the guys and then have some fun with this.

After Catherine left, Grissom quietly made his way back upstairs to make sure his somewhat heated discussion with Catherine hadn't awoken Sara. He peaked his head around the door to the bedroom and looked at where the light from the hallway cast a small ray across the bed. Thankfully, Sara was still fast asleep, curled up on her side, facing the door. She looked so peaceful, so relaxed, that Grissom couldn't help but smile. Creeping soundlessly into the bedroom, he stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt and made his way around the bed, climbing in behind her and spooning around her. He slid one arm under her and the other over her, pulling her gently to him.

"Thanks for not telling Catherine everything," Sara said quietly.

"So we did wake you up," Grissom stated just as quietly.

"Yeah."

Grissom leaned over and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. "Sorry," he apologized.

"'Sokay," Sara replied sleepily, snuggling even deeper against his chest.

Grissom took a deep breath, dreading his next question to her, but he realized Catherine was right. Sara should not have lost her temper and had those outbursts at her and Nick. Ever since the case with the Russian mail order bride in which Sara had yelled at both Catherine and Ecklie and been suspended, she had been much better about holding herself in check and dealing with the emotions domestic violence cases caused her in private or with him. Something about this case really bothered her, so much so that she lost control of her thoughts and her mouth. Grissom really wanted, and needed, to know what it was about his case that was so different than all the others.

"Sara, honey, why did you get so angry with Catherine and Nick over this case?"

At first, when she didn't respond, Grissom feared she wasn't going to give him an answer and was either going to feign sleep again or just ignore him outright. He feared she was just going to say she was okay, that nothing was wrong, etc. etc. etc. It was too soon to talk about this with her yet, and he was just about to tell her that he wouldn't push, that he was ready to listen when she was ready to talk when she spoke up quietly, still facing away from him.

"It was the shirt," she stated, her voice laced with sadness. "The shirt started it all. I had one almost exactly like it at her age. The same shade of purple, with a yellow sun on the front…She had dark hair and dark eyes, too. I looked at her and saw me. That could have been me at nine years old."

Not knowing what to say to that, Grissom just tightened his hold on Sara and tucked her head under his chin. He began to rub her arm gently, up and down, attempting to soothe her and quiet her soft sobs and end her tears. Within a few moments, she was asleep again, Grissom quickly following her, after making sure the alarm was set with enough time for them to shower and eat before having to report to work that night.

"I'm telling you, her car was there, right next to his. And he even admitted as much as to having a girlfriend," Catherine tried to convince her male teammates over the break room table.

Greg shook his head in disbelief. "No. No way. Sara wouldn't. He's all wrong for her and she knows it."

Nick snorted. "What the hell are you talking about? They're perfect for each other. She's probably the only person on this planet who understands him."

"And the only one who'd constantly put up with all his faults and forgive him any transgression," Catherine added.

"Not to mention the fact that they've been madly in love with each other for years, probably even before she came to Vegas. I mean, of all the people Gris could call to come help us, he calls a CSI level 2. And she hops on a plane the same day and stays when he asks with no hesitation," Warrick pointed out.

"Huh, what?" Greg asked, confusion all over his face. "What are you talking about, them being in love?"

"C'mon, Greggo, even you can't be that naïve and clueless," Nick said. "All the signs were there."

"But the flirting…her dating that paramedic, Hank…" Greg tried to get the words out, but couldn't. He was too shocked by Catherine's news and the revelation that now Sara would never be his. Although, truthfully, he had given up the hope that they'd ever have more than a close friendship. Since finally moving out of the lab and becoming a CSI, he and Sara had become very close, especially after the team had been split up, and his feelings for her had shifted. Though he still loved her, he no longer felt that he was in love with her. Rather, he looked at her as a mentor, an older sister even, not a love interest anymore. But still, it hurt to finally see that even back when he had wanted her and she had flirted back a little, she had always wanted Grissom. The fantasy was truly lost, and he knew now that he had never stood a chance.

"So, what to do we do now?" Greg asked after a long silence between the four of them. "I mean, do we congratulate them? Pretend we don't know? Tease them mercilessly? What?"

"I'm guessing that if they had wanted others to know about it they would have said something," Warrick said. "We should probably just let it alone and wait for them to tell us."

"But where's the fun in that?" Catherine asked, smiling, a sparkle of mischief in her eyes.

"What are you suggesting, Cath?" Nick asked. He respected Grissom, and knew that there was no way he could say anything to him. But Sara was a different story. She was easily his best friend, so how could he not tease her relentlessly about this? Isn't that what friends were supposed to do?

"Well, you know they're not going to come right out and tell us they're together. They both are way too private for that." When the guys nodded in agreement, she leaned across the table so she could lower her voice, but they would still be able to hear her. She did not want anyone else to hear this conversation; there was no way Grissom or Sara would appreciate Hodges finding out, and he seemed to have ears everywhere. "This is the game, should you choose to play…"

Sara walked into the break room and made her way over to the coffeepot. She was in desperate need of a recharge. There had been no coffee in Grissom's home; they'd used the last of it just before the Kasey Hartz case, and neither had been able to go to the store to restock. Sara desperately hoped the coffeepot was full of one of Greg's personal stashes and not the crappy stuff the department doled out limited funds for. She poured some into a mug, filling it to just below the brim and took a tentative swallow. No such luck. She made a face and forced the liquid down her throat, turning to face the table as she did so, only to look into the amused faces of Catherine, Greg, Warrick, and Nick.

"Terrible crap, that stuff," Nick commiserated, holding up his own, half drunk mug. Nodding in agreement, because she was still trying to get the rancid taste out of her mouth, she took an empty seat across from Nick and next to Greg. She could feel all of their eyes on her, but she pretended not to notice. She knew they were all wondering what was up with her and this past case, but she really didn't want to go into it with them. There was no way she'd tell them all about her past. Not only was it private and none of their business, but she didn't want to have to suffer through the looks of pity and horror on their faces if she ever did tell them the truth. She could handle them being angry or disappointed in her over her actions, but she could not handle their pity.

She was saved from a long time of scrutiny by Grissom, entering the break room. Not bothering to take a seat, he began doling out their assignments. "Nick, Sara, you guys have a DB in the desert outside of Loughlin." He handed Sara a piece of paper with the address and any information the police had sent over. "Better get going, you have at least an hour and a half drive ahead of you. Be careful." As soon as they had left, he turned to Catherine. "You get either a suicide or a murder, depending on the evidence, at the Tangiers." He handed her a piece of paper as well. "Take Warrick with you. And Greg," he said, "you're with me on a B and E."

"Everyone else gets death, and we get a B and E?"

Grissom smiled devilishly. "It's Ecklie's house."

Greg's face lit up. "Oh, I'm so there!"

Nick watched Sara as she drove down the almost deserted road toward Loughlin. She stared straight ahead, sitting pretty rigid in her seat, as if she were uncomfortable, or afraid of something. It only took Nick a moment to realize she was scared he was going to let into her about her blow up at him, and she had nowhere to escape to if he did. He wasn't, though. Yeah, at first he'd been very angry with her for yelling at him, then hurt that she had such a low opinion of him. But after he'd mulled it over for a few hours, he'd actually become very worried about Sara. They usually got along so well. They had disagreed often, even had some friendly competition, but had never really fought. Until that day in the break room. Sure, she'd lost her cool before, but never with him. Something about that case and what he had said had set her off, and Nick realized she'd been more angry at the situation than him, and that he'd just been a convenient target for her anger and her hurt. If he was honest with himself, Nick had to admit there was more hurt in her face that anger. And while he didn't relish being her punching bag, he was glad it had been him and not Ecklie this time. Nick didn't think Grissom could have saved her a second time. And he was glad that she had had that outburst, because now he knew something was wrong for sure, and he was determined to help her fix whatever it was.

"I'm sorry, Sara, for whatever it was I had said before that hurt you and made you angry," Nick apologized, reaching out for her hand that rested on the gearshift. She always did that, rested her hand on the gearshift during long drives. Probably first learned to drive on a stick shift, he thought to himself.

Sara sighed deeply and fought back a few tears, shaking her head slightly. She'd asked Grissom to pair her with Nick, so that she could apologize to him for her behavior, and while she was working up the courage, he'd gone and apologized to her! He was still the better person. "No, Nick, you have nothing to apologize for. I was out of line, talking to you the way I did."

"Yeah, maybe. But you wouldn't have done that if you didn't have your reasons," Nick tried to make it easier on her.

"No matter what my issues are, Nick, I should not be taking them out on you. It's wrong, and I'm sorry. I won't let it happen again." They rode in silence for a while, Sara hoping the topic was ended, Nick trying to think of a way to get to the bottom of what was bothering his best friend.

"You know, Sara," he started cautiously. "There isn't anything you can say or do that will make me turn my back on you and leave you and our friendship. I may get angry with you for a while, maybe feel a little hurt, but I'm not going anywhere. I'll always forgive you, like you always seem to forgive me. You can always talk to me, tell me anything."

Sara glanced over at Nick briefly, her dark sunglasses hiding any expression she may have had, then turned her attention back to the road, not saying a word. Nick was sure he'd gone too far with that last bit and figured Sara wasn't going to open up and tell him anything now; that the subject was indefinitely closed. Then she surprised him.

"I hate baseball," she said softly, still keeping her eyes on the road.

Nick shrugged. "I can understand that. It can be a boring sport…"

"No," Sara interrupted. "That's not why…" Nick looked over at her and remained silent, waiting for her to open up again, afraid his interruption had shut her down. He smiled to himself when she continued. "I can't pick up a baseball bat at all. Or even look at one." Nick looked over at her, his face scrunched up in confusion, but he didn't say anything. He sensed there was a real point to this admission, and he didn't want to scare her away by talking over her. "My father wasn't a very nice guy. His weapon of choice was a metal baseball bat he kept in the front closet…"

It took Nick all of two seconds to realize what Sara had told him without actually saying the words. He stared at her, not sure what he was supposed to do or say. Never, in a million years, would he have guessed that had been Sara's previous life. At first, he was angry that she hadn't told him. Didn't she trust him? Then, after a moment, he realized that she couldn't tell him, just like he couldn't tell her about his abuse as a child. It was something that wasn't talked about for fear of being pitied. And, let's face it, Nick thought, it isn't exactly a good conversation starter.

After confessing a little of her dark secret to Nick, Sara found herself afraid to look at him and kept her eyes on the road. She was afraid to see the pity and horror reflected in his eyes. He didn't say anything, and that made Sara feel worse. She must have made a mistake in telling him. He didn't know how to react; he just wanted out of the car and away from her. Before she could contain them, a few tears leaked out of her eyes and she snatched her hand from Nick, brushing them away quickly, hoping that he hadn't seen the offending tears.

It took Nick a few moments to come back to reality and realize that Sara was crying silently while trying to drive. He reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it gently and said softly, "Pull over."

Fearing the worst, that Nick was either going to get out of the car and leave her, or make her get out of the car and leave her, she eased the car onto the shoulder and stopped, putting it into park. She dropped her hands into her lap and stared out the windshield dead ahead of her, afraid to look at Nick. It took her by surprise when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest, hugging her tightly. They sat like that for a while, neither saying anything, Sara softly crying, the tears slowly coming to a stop. Finally, she pulled away, but Nick still held her face in his hands, looking intently into her brown eyes. "I meant what I said before, Sara. You're my best friend and I'll always be here, no matter what."

Sara smiled at him and nodded her head. "Okay." She brought her hands up to his and took them off her face, holding them in her own. "That means a lot to me, Nick. It's nice to finally have someone, a friend, who I can count on not to walk out that door when I…"

"When you freak out and blow up at me?" he kidded gently.

Sara nodded again. "Yeah. I'm really sorry. It wasn't you I was mad at."

"I know, Sara. It's over. I forgive you, if you forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive you for, Nick. You said some stupid things, but then again, you're Nick. It's part of the whole package, and I love the package," Sara said, giving him a toothy grin.

"Hey, Sara," Nick deadpanned. "Stop flirting with me and get a move on to our crime scene." This earned him a laugh from his best friend and a kiss on the cheek before she started the car and resumed their drive to Loughlin and the dead body awaiting them. Nick was so overjoyed to have Sara back and joking around with him that he was able push what she had told him, and the secrets of his past, to the back of his mind for the time being. Deep down he knew that he would have to reveal his secret to Sara someday, but he now new that Sara wouldn't pity him or turn him away.

"So, this is Ecklie's house," Greg said in awe, staring up at a large, southwestern contemporary built into the side of a small mountain about 40 minutes outside of downtown Las Vegas. The house was all wood and glass and must have an excellent view of the city's night lights. And must have cost a fortune to build.

"This is the address on the report," Grissom told Greg, "So I guess that yes, this is Ecklie's house." He looked around them and continued, "Though all the cop cars would have been my first clue."

Grissom and Greg were met by Detective Vartann at the yellow crime scene tape that roped off Ecklie's house. He motioned them to follow him after they had ducked under the tape and entered the scene. He led them to the front door, bringing them up to speed on what had happened. "Ecklie called it in. According to him, he got home around midnight after having a late dinner with his daughter to find the front door unlocked. He immediately called the cops, but entered the house and then found many of is paintings missing as well as some fine china and silverware."

"House like this, where's the security alarm?" Grissom asked Vartann.

"Ecklie claims it never went off. Otherwise, he, as well as the cops and fire department, would have been notified," Vartann answered.

Grissom nodded as if he understood what was going on, then left Vartann in the foyer to begin his own assessment. "Greg, take the dining room. After you collect your evidence, get a list of the missing items from Ecklie and then go back to the lab."

"What are you going to do?" Greg asked, hefting up his crime scene kit and making his way toward the dining room by hugging the walls.

"I'm going to set off this alarm," Grissom replied. He turned around in a circle, studying the wall around him, but before he could find the security keypad and fiddle around, Ecklie abruptly interrupted him.

"Gil, thank goodness you're here. I'm glad it was you who came out to this place and not one of your incompetent underlings." He smoothed down his fancy suit jacket and needlessly adjusted his blue striped tie.

"It's good to see you too, Conrad. And I can't wait to tell my team what a glowing recommendation they have just received from their lab supervisor," Grissom said sarcastically, looking at Ecklie over the rim of his glasses. "Can you tell me what happened, Conrad?"

Ecklie rolled his eyes in a display of extreme annoyance. "If I knew what had happened, I wouldn't need you here now, would I, Gil?"

"No, I suppose not," Grissom replied, choosing not to rise to the bait. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go look at your alarm. Would you please compile a list of your stolen items and give it to Greg Sanders when he asks for it. It'll help us…"

"I know how this works, Gil. Just find who did this and find my belongings as fast as you can. Your job depends on it," Ecklie ordered.

Grissom nodded once, then left Ecklie standing in the foyer as he made his way slowly into the living room, all the while taking in everything he saw from the walls to the ceiling to the floor. The walls were painted a light blue, the rug a dark navy color. There were outlines and nails on the walls, lending evidence to Ecklie's missing paintings. There was not a speck of dust on any of the expensive Ethan Allen furniture, nor on the immaculately vacuumed carpet. The couch, a blue and red plaid fixture, was set back from the entrance, catty-cornered to face two walls at once. One held a gorgeous stone fireplace which immediately made Grissom think of Sara, and how she had mentioned once, if she ever bought a house, one of the requirements was a stone fireplace. He had filed that information away for later use, and once again banished it to the back of his brain. He was working, and that meant there was no time for thoughts about Sara.

He tuned his gaze to the other wall and saw the outline that signified a rather large painting had hung there. Moving closer, Grissom bend down and examined the floor below, finding nothing. He then moved up and stared at the wall up close. He found something, a slight discoloration that looked like a small smear of blood. He placed his kit on the floor at his feet and opened it carefully, taking out a sterile swab, some saline, and phenolphthalein. He dampened the swab with water and then gently ran it across the smear on the wall. Once he was satisfied that he'd gotten a good enough sample, he added a few drops of phenolphthalein to the swab and watched at the white end turned bright pink. He was right; that smear was blood. Taking out another swab, he collected a sample to be analyzed at the lab, then took out his red creeper and went about dusting Ecklie's walls around the smear for prints.

"Jacquie just loves you," Greg sing-sang to Grissom as he plopped down next to his supervisor in the layout room, a stack of paper in his hand.

"What?" Grissom questioned in fear, head snapping up so quickly he was afraid he had gotten whiplash.

"Easy there, big guy, 'fore you hurt yourself. Should I tell Jacquie about your feelings as well?" Greg tried to tease.

"Greg," Grissom practically growled, losing his patience for the younger man.

"I just mean that all those prints you collected off of Ecklie's walls, belong to the same person," he told Grissom, handing him his stack of paper.

"All thirty of them?" Grissom asked in disbelief.

Greg nodded. "And no, before you can ask, they're not Ecklie's."

"Do we have a match," Grissom asked, intrigued, the list of Ecklie's stolen belongings, as well as the quarterly evaluations lying in front of him, forgotten in light of Greg and Jacquie's news.

"Yes, we do. A Sylvia Brown, formerly know as Sylvia Castle, formerly known as Sylvia Ecklie," Greg smiled like the cat that ate the canary.

"Family member?" Grissom asked, pulling off his glasses.

"Ex-wife," Greg replied proudly, leaning back in his chair. "Vartann's bringing her in for questioning." After a moment, Greg leaned over and looked at what was in front of Grissom. "Are those our performance evaluations?" he asked, trying to get a look.

Grissom immediately flipped them over and stared Greg in the eye. "Yes," he said sharply. "And I need to do them alone, without interruption, now. So, go away." As Greg reached the doorway, Grissom called out, "And why would Jacquie love me?"

Greg smiled, realizing that was Grissom's way of apologizing for being so harsh, and replied, "Because all the prints matched, you made her job a lot easier." Then Greg was gone, leaving Grissom alone with the evaluations.

As Greg made his way down the halls, looking for something to do, he ran into Warrick and Catherine, just back from their assignment at the Tangiers. "Hey, guys, gotta leave Grissom alone. He's doing evaluations."

"Really? He's doing them now?" Catherine asked incredulously, stopping in her tracks.

"Yeah," Greg confirmed, confused. "Why would you say it like that?"

Catherine smiled. "Because they're not due until next week. Wonder what's gotten into him."

"Or who," Warrick added knowingly. "I mean, who's the least procrastinating person we know?"

Catherine started to laugh. "I know. She even has me beat by a mile." Resuming her walk, Catherine led the two guys towards the ballistics lab to drop off the weapon used in the case she and Warrick were investigating. To her and Warrick, it had looked like suicide. There had been only one set of prints on the gun, which had been found on the floor next to the victim, as if it had been dropped in death. Only one bullet was missing, embedded in the head of the vic. A half-drunk bottle of champagne, one glass, and a note apologizing to some woman named Wendy, completed the collected evidence, and unless someone else's prints were on the gun, or someone else's DNA was on the glass, Catherine was going to rule it a suicide.

"Since my case can't go anywhere until my suspect arrives, can I give you guys a hand to keep me out of Grissom's hair?" Greg pleaded.

Catherine nodded. "I have to go view the body with Doc Robbins, but you can help Warrick with the rest of our evidence. Take the prints to Jacquie and see what she can make of them. See if the ones from the gun are a match to the vics."

Nick and Sara arrived at the address on their assignment slip almost two hours after they had set out from Las Vegas. They drove up a steep mountain road and pulled up next to a number of cop cars and state trooper cars, the coroner's van, and a Ford Taurus that they both recognized at Brass's department car. They both noticed right away that everyone seemed to be standing around the cars. Wasn't anyone with the body? Putting the car into park, Sara and Nick hopped out, going around back and pulling their kits out of the trunk. As Nick shut the trunk, Brass walked up to them. "Nice of you to finally show up," he said mock-sternly.

"Well, you now, Nick refused to let me stop and ask for directions," Sara deadpanned back, then turned and smiled at Nick. He teasingly punched her in the arm, pretending his feelings were hurt, but deep down, he was glad that she was back to teasing him. It meant she was feeling better and that things were good between them.

Brass interrupted their exchange by clearing his throat. "I have to warn you two," he said when he had their full attention. "The scene is pretty….gruesome. This crime was very brutal, and I want to warn you what you'll be going in to before you actually go in."

"Brass…" Nick began, but was immediately cut off by the detective.

"I know you guys are trained for this. I know you know to always expect the worse. I am trained for this, I always expect the worst, and I'm telling you that I couldn't handle it. That I lost my dinner in the woods behind the house. And that I don't want to go back in there. And that I am very sorry I responded to this call." He looked them each in the eye, watching as their smiling, teasing expressions of a moment ago, turned into fear and worry. "I don't think I've ever seen anything as horrible as this and I hope I never have to see something like this again."

"What's in that house?" Sara asked quietly, almost afraid to hear what Brass said. If what Brass was saying was true, if this crime scene had bothered him that much, Sara wasn't sure if she'd be able to handle it. Normally, on a good day, she'd be fine; she was trained to block out her emotions and just collect evidence. But in the aftermath of the Kasey Hartz case, and her confessions to Grissom and Nick, her emotions were raw and exposed, and she wasn't sure she'd be able to hold them in check. She desperately hoped she could, at least until she had safely returned to her apartment, or Grissom's house, where she felt free to let them loose.

As Brass led the way to the front door of the small house and to the stairs, he briefed Nick and Sara on what had been found. "Apparently, this house is for sale. The real estate agent arrived around midnight to look for something she thought she might have left behind and found our victim, a woman, approximately 16 to 20 years of age." He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and said, "She's upstairs, first door on the left. I hope you'll understand why I'm staying down here."

Looking at each other nervously, Sara and Nick began to climb the stairs as slow as possible. They felt as if they were in slow motion, neither wanting to see this sight that had rattled the usually unshakeable Brass and made him lose his dinner. Once they reached the top of the stairs, they each donned a pair of latex gloved, looked at each other, and nodded. Sara stepped up to the door and opened it, giving bother her and Nick, standing beside her, an unobstructed view of their victim.

Nick immediately dropped his kit and raced down the stairs, hands over his mouth, hoping to keep the vomit in long enough to not contaminate the crime scene. He passed Brass at near warp speed and ran outside the front door, stopping next to the SUV he and Sara had arrived in. He leaned over and his stomach heaved, emptying itself. When he had finished dry heaving, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and removed his gloves. He then looked up and around for Sara, wondering if she was also viewing her dinner in the same manner he was. She was not around. Thinking she hadn't made it as far as he had, he trekked back to the house, hoping Sara wasn't berating herself for contaminating the crime scene.

To his surprise, Sara was not downstairs.

"Brass, where's Sara?" Nick asked the detective who was still staring up the stairs.

"In the room," Brass replied, not moving an inch.

"What room?" Nick pressed.

"The one with the victim," Brass said quietly. "You came running downstairs like a bat out of hell, and Sara just walked into the room. Haven't seen or heard her since."

Nick stared at Brass in disbelief. "You mean she didn't react at all?"

Brass finally tore his gaze away from the top of the stairs and turned it on Nick. He shook his head. "No. She just went in, as if it was something she sees everyday." He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, cleanse himself after what he'd seen. "She's one tough kid," he said to Nick, almost with parental pride.

Swallowing loudly, Nick nodded and left Brass at the bottom of the stairs. Once he'd reached the top, not looking into the room, Nick knelt down and opened his kit, removing a clean pair of latex gloved and snapping them on. He then shut his kit, took a deep breath, stood up, and faced his crime scene.

The victim, the woman, well, girl really because she couldn't be more than 18, was stripped naked, scalped, skinned, eviscerated, and nailed to the wall, her internal organs dangling down to the blood soaked floor. At least, that was what Nick thought it looked like. It was hard to tell with all the blood covering the body. Brass had been right. This was the most gruesome and horrific scene Nick had ever seen, and he never wanted to see another like this again. He had been excited about his case, but now he just felt sick and wished that Grissom had assigned someone else to this case. But as shocking as that sight of the victim was, even more shocking was the sight of Sara Sidle standing right up at the body, head cocked to the right, just staring.

"Rigor's barely even set in yet," a quiet voice piped up from Nick's right. He turned quickly and saw David, the assistant medical examiner, pulling out his equipment. "Liver temp was only 94 degrees. She's only been dead four hours or so."

"Making her time of death shortly before the real estate woman got here," Nick concluded. "Find anything on the body?" he asked, glad to have his attention away from that sight, but worried about the fact that Sara's wasn't.

"No…" David started.

"But something's missing, though, isn't it," Sara interrupted in a far away voice. To Nick, she sounded out of it, completely closed off, as if she were in a daze.

David nodded. "Yeah. The right kidney."

"And the pancreas," Sara added.

When David agreed with her, Nick turned back to his teammate and just observed her, worried, ready to run to her and pull her out of the room in if it seemed too much for her. But Sara stood her ground and after staring at the body for a little longer, she turned to the other two people in the room. She was pale, and shaking slightly, but she didn't appear to need to throw up, or even that she had. In fact, she seemed almost calm and resigned, like she'd finally come to a conclusion and had just accepted it. She said, "Are we sure it was just a story?"

Gil Grissom was not in a very happy or charitable mood at the moment. In fact, he was downright annoyed, mostly at himself. He was having the hardest time keeping thoughts of Sara banished to the back of his brain. Of course, working on the personnel evaluations of his staff members didn't help, either. He wasn't sure how exactly to go about his evaluation of Sara. This dating a co-worker/subordinate was new to him and he was terribly afraid he would destroy their relationship over some stupid hang-up of his, without the added burden of being Sara's boss. He wanted to be fair on the evaluation, knew he needed to be fair, but was afraid of what would happen if he said something she didn't agree with or that angered her. Would she leave him? No, he was sure Sara was a better person than that; she wouldn't be so petty as to expect a perfect score from him. She knew he would be critical, but fair, since she would be the same in his position. Her strengths were easy to list; she had so many good qualities that made her an excellent CSI. Her ability to reason out difficult puzzles was one. Another was her dedication to the victims. Her strength, compassion, and need to know the truth were also added. He could go on and on, he realized, but didn't, afraid that it would give away their secret. Frowning, now, he tried to fill out the next section, the one where he was supposed to list the areas that Sara needed to improve on. One, not so long ago, he would have written that she needed to increase her emotional distance from the victims. With the exception of this most recent case involving the little girl Kasey Hartz, Sara had gotten much better at keeping control of her emotions. However, her little blow up at Nick and Catherine should not have happened. One area where she definitely needed some improvement was in trusting her fellow teammates, not with their jobs, but with her. She still didn't trust them personally, or she would have told them at least some of what had happened to her as a child.

Someone knocked on his office door, interrupting him. Thanking the powers that be for the interruption, he looked up and saw Detective Vartann standing in the doorway. "What can I do for you, Detective?" he asked.

"I've brought Sylvia Brown and her daughter, Jessica Ecklie, in for questioning," Vartann informed Grissom. "Ecklie asked that you sit in on this one, sorry."

Grissom nodded. "Okay, I'll be right there." After Vartann left, Grissom stuffed the partially finished evaluations in a drawer and locked it, too keep out prying eyes a.k.a. Greg Sanders. Leaving his office, he made his way down to the interrogation room and walked in, sitting across the table from two women. One was about his age or so, with graying brown hair and an expensive work suit on. Grissom figured she was the ex-wife, Sylvia Brown. The woman sitting next to her couldn't be more than twenty years old, dressed all in black with long, black hair and black make-up. He had her right ear pierced all the way up, and had a small stud in her left nostril. Ecklie's daughter, who, thankfully, was nothing like Ecklie.

"Thank you for coming in and talking with us," Vartann began. "We just have a few questions."

"About Dad's paintings, right?" Jessica Ecklie asked.

Grissom nodded. "The only fingerprints found around where the painting were belong to you, Mrs. Brown."

"I know," Sylvia Brown replied. "That's because I took them."

"But it was my idea," Jessica interrupted. Grissom turned to her for an explanation, but her mother wouldn't let her speak.

"Jessica, don't say anything. Let me explain it."

"Mom!" the girl cried. "It was my idea, and I'm the reason we did that!"

"We?" Grissom asked, now confused. "I thought you were having dinner with your father?"

"I was. It was my job to keep Dad away from the house so Mom could go in and get all the paintings. I gave her my key," Jessica explained, waving her mother silent. "Dad owed a lot of money in back child support for my college. He and Mom had agreed on each paying fifty-fifty. But Dad hasn't paid anything yet, and I'm a junior already. Mom can't keep paying it all herself. That's not fair."

"Go on," Vartann encouraged, smiling inside hearing them bad-mouth Ecklie.

"We were never going to do anything with the paintings or anything. I swear. We were going to give them back once we had Dad's attention." Jessica sighed. "He spends all this money on famous paintings, but claims he has no money to put towards my college education. It's terrible, really, when you think about it."

"What are you studying?" Grissom asked, thinking there was some reason why Ecklie wouldn't provide money for his daughter, such as an extremely poor choice in degrees.

"Molecular biology and genetic engineering," Jessica replied.

Well, there goes that idea, Grissom thought.

"I swear, Mr. Grissom, all I really wanted to do was get Dad's attention and make him do what he promised to do ten years ago when he and Mom got divorced. I mean, I'm his kid, too. It's not fair that the burden's entirely on my Mom."

Grissom nodded and looked at Vartann who shrugged, not sure where to go with this. Knowing he had the better people skills, though not by much, Grissom turned back to Ecklie's ex-wife and daughter and sighed. "So, you'll give the paintings back? Now that you have your father's attention, can you three sit down and work this out without committing more crimes?"

Jessica nodded. "I think we can. All I want is a father who keeps his word and lives up to his end of the deal."

"Okay, then," Vartann said. "Return the paintings and we'll forget this ever happened.

And it was back to evaluations for Gil Grissom.

After David took the body out of the room, Sara watched as Nick uncomfortably looked around the room, keeping his eyes from the area where the body had hung, and from the blood on the floor. "Not a lot of windows…" he commented unnecessarily, just trying to break the silence that had overtaken them after Sara's reference to the Thomas Harris character.

Not really sure where Nick was going with that or why windows were important to this case, Sara let it go. She figured he just needed to say something about their surroundings and that was the first thing that had popped into his mind. She studied her teammate, noticing his pale face, shaking hands, and constant swallowing. He was having a real hard time in this room. He needed out, Sara realized, and decided to give it to him.

"You know, it's late and it's a long drive back, so it's probably a good idea if we split up to make sure everything gets covered. Why don't you take the outside and I'll work on the inside," Sara suggested, giving Nick an out. By suggesting that he go outside, she helped him save face, as well as keep him away from the grisly sight that so bothered him.

Nick nodded. "Yeah, you're probably right. Lots of dirt around here, probably some prints, and if I'm lucky, some tire tracks. I'll head out and tell Brass what's up." As he reached the door, he turned slowly and asked. "Are you going to be okay up here? Want some company?"

Sara shook her head. "Nah. The cop'll just get in my way anyway. I'm okay." She sent an encouraging smile to Nick, one that did not quiet reach her eyes, then bent down to her open case to remove some supplies. Nick lingered a moment, watching her, then turned and walked out of the room, wondering how Sara managed to stay there and not seem bothered by the sight. Thinking about how much more she was like Grissom each day, he made his way down the rickety stairs and walked over to Brass.

"I'm heading out to do a perimeter search and Sara's going to process the house," he informed the homicide detective.

"By herself?" Brass asked in disbelief. "This is one ugly site. Can she handle it?"

Nick shrugged. "She says she can, and since she's the only one who didn't puke, I tend to agree with her. I watched her closely up there, Jim, and she didn't even bat an eye, like it was a normal sight for her. She just turned off her emotions and went to work."

"Sounds like another criminalist that I know," Brass commented dryly.

Nick snorted. "I was just thinking the same thing," he said. "Well, I'm off to find hopefully something. Wish me luck."

As Nick exited the house, he flicked on his Maglite flashlight and decided to start from the front door and work his way around each side of the house using a standard grid pattern, extending out for 25 feet. If he hadn't found anything within those squares, then he'd increase his distance from the house. Since the house was small, he figured that it would probably only take him three or so hours to do the initial perimeter search he had mapped out, maybe a little longer. He hoped Sara would be done by then because he did not relish the idea of going back into that house and helping her. He felt sorry that he had jumped so eagerly to her suggestion, leaving her to deal with the horror house all on her own, but he was glad she had suggested it. As much as he had seen in his ten years as a CSI, that sight of that young woman would stay with him forever. It was the worst sight he'd seen and he fervently hoped he'd never see anything as gruesome or as emotionally damaging as that sight for the rest of his life. How Sara could stand being in there, processing, without a shred of emotion, was beyond him. But he was so very glad she could, because, truth be told, he knew he couldn't do it.

The front of the house proved to be relatively clean. The only prints unidentified were all from the same person wearing heels, one set going in at a calm, leisurely walk, and another set coming out, obviously running. The rest of the prints belonged to various emergency crew, cops, and him, Sara, and David. The east side of the house held nothing of interest, other than a few areas of animal droppings scattered about. The back, however, was another story. There, Nick found a small, wooden deck, overlooking a deep ravine and then the mountains in the distance. On the wooden deck, Nick found blood drops, forming a line around to the west side of the house. He photographed them, using the ruler for scale, then took a few samples for DNA and trace. For good measure, he dusting the back door for prints, but came up empty handed. He hadn't been expecting to find any prints, anyway. For somebody to be this cruel to another human being, he also had to be extremely smart. This hadn't been a crime of passion or opportunity; this had been planned, and that took brains. And anyone with a brain while committing a crime, would either wear gloves, or wipe any surfaces they had touched. There were no footprints in the dirt leading around the house, but there were drag marks, as if the killer had used something to brush away any trace of his feet. The deck was similarly dragged, and Nick groaned in frustration. Nothing but blood drops, which more than likely belonged to the victim. They needed something on the killer.

He got lucky on the west side of the house, where the road led up into the driveway. Tire tracks. He took pictures of those as well, once again using the ruler for scale and hoping the tires were a rare brand and easy to trace. Something told him they weren't going to be so lucky. Other than the tire tracks and drops of blood, Nick found nothing. No clothing fibers, no gum wrappers, not even a piece of trash. He figured the real estate people had made sure the property had been thoroughly cleaned before visitors had been brought up to the house, but Nick had still expected to find something from the killer. But nothing. Hoping Sara had at least been a little more successful than he, he made his way back to the house, taking a deep breath and steeling himself for what was to come.

He was surprised to find Sara downstairs, next to Brass, kit in hand. He had figured she'd still be processing upstairs. He walked over to them, interrupting their quiet conversation. "All done already?" he asked.

Sara nodded. "For this terrible a scene, there was surprisingly little forensic evidence to collect. Blood, obviously the victim's; no prints, finger or foot; no fibers; no weapons; just a trail of blood drops leading down the back stairs and to the back door, like a trail of breadcrumbs. My guess is that the killer left that way."

"And probably entered as well," Nick elaborated. "There are sweeping drag marks from the back porch around to the west side of the house and down the drive, stopping by some tire tracks, his getaway car. There are no marks around the front door, and the only unidentified prints are of someone in heels, my guess, the real estate agent."

Sara nodded. "I did find two funny things, though."

"What was that?"

"The only mirror in the whole house was cracked."

"That could have happened at any time."

"And all the clocks were stuck at 10:03 PM."

"Time of death?"

Sara just raised her left eyebrow in response.

Nick was still trying to shake the sight from his mind as he walked down the halls of the lab hours later, responding to a page from Hodges in trace. He still wasn't sure which sight he found more disturbing, the victim, or Sara's reaction. Once they'd returned from the scene and handed over their collected evidence, which only consisted of a few blood samples and pictures of the victim, a blood trail, and tire tracks, to the appropriate departments, Sara had said she was going to head down to the autopsy. Nick said that was fine, while she did that he was going to go fill Grissom in. And, tell Grissom that he was worried about Sara and her reaction to the sight of the victim. Of course, that part he kept to himself. Even after they had finished with the scene and were driving home, Sara didn't seem at all bothered by what they had just processed. She was acting like it was a sight they saw every day. Her emotions were completely turned off.

As soon as he voiced his concerns about Sara and her reaction, or really, lack thereof, Grissom just about jumped out of his seat and was halfway to the medical lab, when Nick grabbed his arm and slowed him down. "Look, Gris, she's okay right now. She's with Doc Robbins, and you know that if something happens, that she has a melt down or freaks out or something, he'll be paging you faster than you can say autopsy. But if you go rushing in there now…"

"If I go rushing in there now I'll just make her angry and make her feel like I think she can't handle this case," Grissom grudgingly acknowledged.

That had been three hours ago. After speaking with Grissom, Nick had closed himself off in one of the computer rooms and had been trying to match the tire tracks to a vehicle, hoping that by keeping busy, it would all leave his mind and he'd no longer see the victim or the room, or Sara standing there, studying the victim. Or standing with Brass, later, after processing the most gruesome sight, as if it were nothing.

No such luck.

As Nick rounded a corner, he ran into Greg and Warrick, both of whom grabbed an arm and pulled him with them into the empty break room. "I don't believe it, man. You got such a great case, someone emulating the famous Hannibal Lecter," Warrick congratulated him. "It's a career maker!"

"Yeah," Greg echoed. "What can I do to help you? I want in on this case, too."

All the pent up fear, frustration, horror, sadness, and worry about this case came to the forefront with his friends' comments and Nick finally snapped, letting it all out. "Well, if you like this case so much, why don't you take it!" With that, he forcefully shoved both Warrick and Greg out of his way and stormed out of the break room, continuing on his journey to the trace lab and Hodges, hoping desperately the annoying suck-up would just give him his answers and leave him the hell alone.

Warrick and Greg looked at each other in confusion. "What the hell was that all about?" Warrick asked. Greg just shrugged. It was Sara who answered him.

"It's the type of case that you dream of, but hope you never get."

"Hey, Sara," Greg greeted her guardedly. "You're not going to go all ape-shit on us, too, are you?"

Sara shook her head. "Nope. I filled my going ape-shit quota for the week already." She entered the room more fully and came over to stand with her teammates, taking one of their hands in each of hers. "But really, guys, this isn't something you want to see or handle. So, please don't act like it's something great that we were given, or ask to help because you want to look good. If you want to help so that Nick and I aren't overwhelmed, or to decrease our burden so we don't emotionally explode, fine. But don't you dare cheapen what we saw and went through."

Both nodded somberly, quieted by what Sara had said, both knowing that she was right. They couldn't imagine what Nick and Sara had seen at that crime scene, and by extolling the type of case it was didn't make the horrors go away. Or the feelings that must be running through their two friends.

"Do you have any evidence you need help processing?" Warrick asked softly.

"What evidence?" Sara asked sarcastically. "There was nothing of the killer there. Nothing!" She let go of Greg's and Warrick's hands and stormed over to the coffee pot, pouring herself a cup, looking as if she was ready to beat up the pot out of anger. Her back to her friends, she took a sip of the scalding liquid and tried to compose herself, keep her emotions in check. She could feel them bubbling up to the surface, could feel herself about to have an emotional meltdown over this case. She was barely holding it together, she knew that. One wrong word, one false move, and she was sure she'd be crying onto someone's shoulder as if the world was going to end. Knowing that having a breakdown wasn't going to help anyone, least of all the victim, Sara took a deep breath and locked it all away, turning to her friends, composed and ready for work.

"DNA has the blood, but I'm betting it's all from the victim. The computer is running through possible matches on the tire tracks Nick found. Doc Robbins and I swabbed all the wounds for traces of what kind of weapon was used, though the doc speculates it was a scalpel. No prints on the nails used to hold her up, but we did find an errant hair on her body, brown, not blonde like hers. Hodges identified it as dog hair, no specific breed. For all we know, it could be the vic's dog. We don't even know who she is; prints aren't on file…" Sara paused, a far off look crashing down over her face. The look colloquially known as 'The Grissom Look'. "The mirror…"

Sara raced out of the break room, not even acknowledging Warrick and Greg, and pushed past anyone in the hall as she made her way down to the morgue. Warrick and Greg were hot on her heels, trying to figure out what was going on in her head. What about the mirror? Following Sara into Doc Robbins' sanctum, they came to a stop just behind her as she grabbed the chief medical examiner by his shoulders.

"Tell me you didn't wash the body yet," she demanded excitedly.

"I was just about to. Why?" he asked,

"The mirror was smashed," Sara informed him, as if that told the entire story. Warrick and Greg had no idea what she was talking about, wondering if she realized she wasn't making any sense.

Obviously, she was to Doc Robbins because he replied without hesitation with, "Let me cut out her eyeballs for you."

"Okay, so explain the eyeball thing to me again," Grissom asked as an excited Sara, Nick, Warrick, and Greg stood in his office. The guys, once again, deferred to Sara, since she'd made the initial discovery.

"It's all a bunch of clues, like in a riddle. The way he killed that girl, it emulated Hannibal Lecter. We got that reference, so we know where to go from there. Books by Thomas Harris, right. So, the smashed mirror…the killer in Red Dragon did that. So, now we look at that particular book. They found a partial print on one of the victims' eyeballs in that book. So I printed our vic's eyeballs, and bingo…perfect right thumb print."

"We were lucky enough to get a match?" Grissom asked, shaking his head in disbelief. How had she made those connections so fast?

Sara shook her head, her initial excitement waning. "No such luck."

"What about the tire tread?" Grissom questioned. If they had a car, then maybe they could get an owner and then match prints.

Nick shook his head. "Standard four wheel drive Goodyear tire on almost every make and model Subaru four door sedan and wagon. There are over 5,000 registered Subarus in the county."

"The blood is all from the victim, every last sample," Greg added to their dwindling excitement over Sara finding the only print.

Grissom nodded, feeling very sorry for his team. "It sounds like you've gone as far as you can right now, so why don't you get out of here. It's way past the end of shift."

"He's right, guys," Warrick spoke up. "Catherine said something earlier about finding her and she'd buy us all breakfast after she took Lindsey to school. I'll give her a call and have her meet us at the dinner?"

At the others' small nods and various, "I'm starving", Warrick let the way out of Grissom's office, pulling out his phone and dialing Catherine's number. Sara lingered for a moment, then turned to face Grissom.

"You coming, too?" she asked, half hopeful.

Grissom shook his head. "I have a meeting with Ecklie in a half hour. But you go on ahead." He lowered his voice. "Will I see you later today, before shift?"

Sara nodded, smiling brightly. "Call me when you're done with your meeting and I'll come over."

As she turned to leave to catch up to the guys, Grissom called out, "Nice work on putting the clues together and finding that print."

Now positively beaming, Sara left his office, hoping her breakfast and his meeting would be two very short events.

"So, anyone here want to speculate on why Grissom didn't come with us?" Catherine asked as soon as they had all ordered their meals.

"No speculation needed," Sara informed them. "He has a meeting with Ecklie."

"He SAID he has a meeting with Ecklie," Catherine pointed out.

"Why would he lie?" Warrick asked, slipping into the conversation with ease and following Catherine's lead.

"Because he's hiding seeing his new girlfriend," Catherine said bluntly, causing Sara to choke on her coffee. She spit it out of her mouth and nose, aimed directly at Greg, who shoved himself back from the table faster than cells divide.

"You okay there, Sara," Nick asked innocently while slapping her back to help her stop coughing.

"Fine," she choked out. Once she was composed and able to speak, she turned to Catherine and asked, "What new girlfriend?"

"The new girlfriend who was in his house yesterday when I stopped by," Catherine replied. "When he didn't invite me in right away I asked him if it was because he didn't want to introduce me to his new girlfriend. He didn't deny that he had one. In fact, it's a good bet he there is someone in his life, because he looked very worried when I entered his house anyway."

"So, did you get to see her?" Warrick asked.

"Sadly, no. I think she was upstairs, because Grissom kept looking at the stairs, but she never came down."

"I wonder what she looks like," Greg said, jumping in. "Is she more like Teri Miller, or Lady Heather?"

"You know about Lady Heather?" Sara practically squeaked, keeping her eyes averted.

"Sara, dear, EVERYBODY knows about Lady Heather," Catherine told her.

"I bet it's someone he met at that bug conference he went to, remember, when Sara, Warrick, Greg, and I investigated the death of that family and found the little girl alive," Nick speculated. "Who knows what goes on at those bug conferences of his? Besides, cockroach racing."

"So what happened with your case, Greg?" Sara asked, trying desperately to change the subject.

"Ex-wife and daughter planned the whole thing to get dear old deadbeat Ecklie to pay for half the kid's college, like he'd promised he would. End of story. I want to hear more about Grissom's new girlfriend."

Sara shifted uncomfortably in her seat next to Nick. Taking note of this, Nick squeezed her hand gently and said, "I'm sorry about this, Sara. I know how you feel about Grissom. Hearing about his new girlfriend can't be easy."

Catherine took a sip of her coffee to cover up the smile that was emerging on her lips. That was a great play by Nick, one she was surprised she hadn't thought to make. She glanced over to her left and saw Warrick doing the same as here. Apparently, he was just as amused by Nick as she was. Luckily, they were saved from outright laughter when their food arrived. While she, Warrick, Nick, and Greg all dug in, Sara just moved around her food, not really putting anything into her mouth.

"Something wrong with your pancakes, Sar?" Nick questioned. She shook her head, but didn't look up at any of them. "Is our talk about Grissom really bothering you?"

"Maybe a little," Sara admitted quietly, causing them all to think for the first time that maybe they were wrong and that Grissom and Sara weren't seeing each other and that their discussing Grissom and a woman was really hurting their love-sick friend.

No, Catherine thought. I saw her car. It could have been a coincidence, if Sara had been seeing someone living in the same condo complex as Gil, but parked right next to his car? Sara was well aware of what Gil's car looked like and there was no way she'd park next to his if she were there seeing another man. They were most definitely together and Sara was just uncomfortable about the conversation in general, both she and Gil being very private people. Deciding that they had taken this as far as it could go today, she tried to signal to the guys to back off and pick another topic, but Greg didn't get the hint fast enough.

"I bet it is Lady Heather again, and he's just too worried about what everyone'd say if he told us…" He trailed off as Sara abruptly got up from the table and walked out of the diner, food still uneaten on her plate. "Was it something I said?" Greg asked, confused.

"Ya think?" Nick practically shouted at Greg. He shoved his chair back from the table and took off after Sara, hoping to catch her before she got to her car and drove away. She was opening the door when he came to a halt on the passenger side. "Sara?" he called softly. "You okay?" She stopped opening the door and looked over at Nick briefly, then looked to the ground. But that brief look was all Nick needed to see the tears forming in her eyes. "Hey, Sar, I'm sorry if we upset you with all our talk about Grissom dating someone. I know how you feel about him. We'll stop, I promise, if you come back inside and eat with us. If you ever need to talk about this…"

"It's me," Sara said quietly, almost too quiet for Nick to hear her, but he did.

"Really," Nick said, more as a statement than a question.

Sara looked back up at him and noticed that Nick wasn't surprised at all. In fact, he was trying very hard not to smile. "You knew already!" she accused him, no longer on the verge of crying.

Nick shook his head, finally letting his smile out when he saw she wasn't upset anymore. "Nah. Suspected, though. Catherine saw your car the other day, parked next to his at his condo, and we just figured…"

"Well, you better unfigure it right now, Nicky. If Ecklie finds out…it could get very complicated for us. For Gris," Sara warned him.

"You mean because he's your boss…" Nick started as Sara cut him off.

"There aren't any specific regulations against it," Sara informed Nick. "But I don't want any rumors to get out, and some around the office might accuse Gris of sexual harassment towards me."

"And he's probably afraid that your reputation will be ruined because people will think you're sleeping your way to the top," Nick added.

Sara waved her hand around. "I don't care about that, about what people think of me. But I have to protect him and his career. He's work too long and hard to get where he is." She came around the car and put her hands on Nick's shoulders. "Please don't tell anyone about this, even Grissom. It might scare him a little."

"I told you before, Sara, you can tell me anything. Your secrets are safe with me," Nick told her seriously, taking her hands off his shoulders and squeezing them firmly, but gently. "Now, I figure you're headed off to see him, so I'll cover for you here. And really, if you ever do need to talk about this, just call me or come over. I'm always available for you, best friend. And Sara, I'm happy for you two. Congratulations. It's about time!"

"Thanks, best friend," Sara replied smiling. Then something Nick had said earlier registered in Sara's brain. "She saw my car at Gris's place?" When Nick nodded, she groaned loudly. "Guess I have to be more careful where I park, if Catherine's going to be stopping by unannounced. Well, see ya later, Nicky." Nick watched as she got in the car and drove away, and only returned to the others after he could no longer see her silver car driving down the road.

"She okay?" Warrick asked Nick as he sat back down.

Nick nodded. "Yeah. You know how she feels about Gris…"

"But she's the one dating him!" Catherine exclaimed.

Nick shrugged. "You saw her reaction. Are you still so sure?"

"What did she tell you out there?" Catherine pressed.

Nick just shrugged again. "Just that she was upset about where this conversation was going and that she'd see us tonight," he informed the three other people at the table, effectively ending the conversation.

"Catherine saw my car here," Sara said as she stormed into Grissom's townhouse, angrily slamming the door behind her, causing a few of Grissom's pictures to rattle on the wall.

"And hello to you, too," Grissom said, looking up from the journal article he was reading on the couch.

Sara leaned over to him and kissed him briefly on the lips. "Sorry," she apologized. "Hello."

Grissom tossed the journal to the floor and pulled Sara down onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her neck. "Did she question you about it?"

"No," Sara said, shaking her head. "Nick told me. Apparently, he, Catherine, Warrick, and Greg think you and I are seeing each other."

"You didn't tell them, did you?" Grissom asked carefully. It wasn't that he didn't want everyone to know he was with Sara. In fact, Grissom wanted nothing more than to shout from the rooftops that he hadn't been too late, that the most wonderful woman had let him into her life, even after all he had done to hurt her. He was just afraid about what others would say about her and her reputation. She was an excellent CSI and should be known for that, not for sleeping with her boss.

"Not exactly. I told Nick, but he's not going to say anything. He's happy for us and said to tell you congratulations."

Sensing some sadness in Sara's voice, Grissom said, "You know, it's not that I want to keep us a secret, Honey. I just don't want you to get hurt at work; people can say some pretty awful things to each other."

Sara hugged him tightly. "I know that. And I don't want you to get hurt either."

"Sara, the only thing that could hurt me now is if I lost you," Grissom said seriously, looking deeply into Sara's eyes.

Sara smiled brightly and kissed him again. "See," she said. "You are getting better at saying the right thing at the right time." And there wasn't much talking between them after that.

Ecklie had called a meeting with the graveyard CSIs regarding the murder scene Sara and Nick had processed the previous night. He had Undersheriff McKean breathing down his neck for this case to be solved and soon. He didn't want a serial killer of this caliber to emerge in Las Vegas. What this murderer did was far worse than the Strip Strangler, Paul Milander, and Kevin Greer all rolled into one, and there was no way Undersheriff McKean wanted to be remembered as the guy who couldn't get this murderer behind bars. And, of course, Conrad Ecklie did not want to lose his job. He already had a problem with the case involving his ex-wife and daughter. The last thing he wanted was to add to that headache. So he had called Grissom's team together to light a fire under their collective asses.

He was not happy to hear what they had to say.

"So, you're telling me that you have no ID on either the victim or the killer and nothing to go on but a thumbprint that isn't in any database?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Sidle replied before anyone else could. "That, and we can catch on to his thinking pretty quickly."

"You mean you can catch on pretty quickly," Stokes said to Sidle.

"What are they talking about?" Ecklie questioned Grissom.

"Sara took the overall appearance of the crime scene and deduced that the killer was emulating Hannibal Lecter. From there she figured out which of the three books too look into for the next clue, thus leading her to the thumbprint on the eyeball," Grissom praised, not able to completely keep the smile from his face.

"Great, so you have a print. A print that is useless right now," Ecklie said with disdain. "And nothing else. And you call yourselves the best team…"

"And the clocks," Sara reminded Ecklie.

"Yeah, that marked time of death."

Sara shook her head. "I don't think so. Doc Robbins thinks she died between 10:30 and 11pm. The clocks read 10:03."

"Maybe he was dyslexic?" Greg asked, only partly kidding.

Sara shook her head. "I don't think so. He's too meticulous for that. The clocks were all set to 10:03 for a specific reason."

"And you're thinking…" Ecklie prompted.

"A date, maybe. October 3rd, or maybe October, 2003," Sara suggested cautiously. "That's something to go on." But before Sara could give any more theories, her cell phone rang. She glanced briefly at the caller ID, frowned, and answered, "Hey, Jim, what's up?" There was a long pause. "How many people have seen it?" Another long pause, then a glance at her watch. "Okay, can you bring it here and I'll take a look at it…" A short pause this time, then, "See you in a few." Sara snapped closed her phone and turned back to the others. "That was Brass. Apparently the PD received a note from someone claiming to have been this victim's killer."

"Why'd he call you?" Ecklie asked. "Why didn't he call me, or Grissom? We're in charge, not you."

Sara bit her bottom lip, not wanting to reveal all that Brass had told her. If she was right about the time on the clocks, and if it was true what the note said in full, then she had a pretty good idea of who this murderer was. And that thought made her blood run cold, and made her actually want to run away and leave Vegas behind.

"Sara, what are you hiding?" Grissom asked, point blank.

Sara sighed. He knew her too well. "Brass read to me some of the note. In it, the killer named me by name. He wrote that the cops had better get the note to me, Sara E. Sidle before he decided to kill again." Sara paused and glanced around the conference table, looking at each and every one of her teammates, plus Ecklie. There were various expressions on their faces, ranging from confusion to horror to fear, the fear, of course, being on Grissom's face. Fear for her. "I have a suspicion on who this killer is, but I want to examine the note to be sure."

"Who?" Grissom asked.

"I had a case back in Frisco, uh, about two years before you called me down here. Killer was a real head case, went around decapitating his victims. We, my team and I, with the help of the FBI and their crackpot psychologist, Daniel Wright, spent ten months trying to get this guy. He'd kill his victim every full moon. The only thing he ever left behind was a single thumbprint, left right between the breasts of his victims."

"Why do you think the two cases are related?" Catherine asked.

"At each victim he left clues to his next, written down in a note."

"That still doesn't give us a good enough link, Sara. Many killers leave clues," Grissom pushed.

Sara got up and walked over to the coffeepot and poured herself a big cupful. She took a sip, deliberately keeping her back to the others so she could have a few moments to collect herself. The rest of this wasn't going to be easy for her to say, but she had to tell them what they were up against, that they were about to face a threat so dark and twisted that they may not all come out of this okay. She was sure that the crime lab would be billed for copious amounts of therapy, most of them from her, if she could get herself to face another psychologist that is. She had hoped that when she had left Frisco, not letting anyone but her closet friend Jack Mayberry and old boss, Kevin Carter know where she was going that she would leave every bad thing that had happened to her behind, that she would be able to leave Frisco behind.

Guess not.

"It was all in the notes," Sara said quietly.

"But there was no note with this victim," Ecklie interrupted. "The note came later. And this woman wasn't decapitated."

Sara shook her head. "Doesn't matter. It's not the MO that made me figure this out." She turned around to face the others at the table. "This isn't about the pleasure of killing. This is about me, and getting to me."

"The clock," Grissom said quietly. "You know exactly what that means, and you've known all along."

"No, I didn't, not until I started putting all the clues together. The fingerprint. The Hannibal Lecter style murder. And now the note. The murders in Frisco weren't about me, not at first, anyway. They were about…fun. He was a sociopath who found it fun. It wasn't until we figured out who he was, after his tenth murder, that Jack and I realized that the murders…well, that somewhere along the line, had become about me. This killer knows me, inside and out; he's obsessed with me. He knew I'd get the Hannibal Lecter references. Then there's the single thumbprint. And now the note. So now I know what the clock means, and if I'm right about who wrote that note, and I'm sure I am, I know who the killer is, inside and out."

"Sara, you're not making any sense, here," Nick began carefully, standing up and making his way over towards her. "How can you and the killer know each other so well?"

"We caught him in September," Sara told them. "That was his tenth month, his tenth victim. At his house, we found a calendar on a wall. It had the names of all his victims and his soon to be victims written on each full moon. October 3rd was to be the next full moon. And the name written on that date was mine."

"10:03," Nick said softly.

"Yeah," Sara replied, just as softly. "Once I knew that it wasn't time of death related, I started to think about what else it could mean and dates popped into my head. That's when I started thinking about all the clues that only I'd get."

"I think we'd all get the Hannibal Lecter reference. I mean, I think we've all seen The Silence of the Lambs a few times," Greg said.

Sara shook her head. "It wasn't mean like that. It wasn't a direct reference to Hannibal Lecter. It was a reference to what Hannibal Lecter was to Will Graham from Red Dragon. A psychologist who helped on the case, and a friend."

"Sara, what are you talking about?" Grissom asked, afraid that he'd figured out where his girlfriend was going with this, and not liking it one bit.

Sara looked over at Grissom and saw that he had figured it out; it was written all over his face. "The killer we caught, it was my friend, Daniel Wright, the FBI psychologist we had brought in to consult."

Dead silence. The room was filled with dead silence. No one knew what to say to Sara, or what to say about this case. It had just been made either incredibly easy, or incredibly complicated, depending upon how you looked at it. They now knew who the killer was, but who he was and how he was related to a member of their shift was hard to come to terms with. They all had a million questions, but didn't know how to ask them. Nick reacted first, still standing next to Sara, and leaned over and pulled her into a hug.
Greg, closest to the two, immediately jumped up out of his seat and joined them, wrapping his arms around Sara from behind, so she was safely sandwiched between him and Nick, as if they alone could protect her like this. Warrick leaned over the table and scrubbed his hands across his face, not even bothering to try to hide how shaken he was. Catherine just stared at the Nick/Sara/Greg huddle, jaw dropped, her mind moving at warp speed, trying to figure out how they could draw this Daniel Wright out into the open and put him behind bars. Ecklie, for once, had nothing to say. He was just as thunderstruck as the others. And Grissom. Well, Grissom desperately wanted to know why Sara had kept this a secret from him. And he wanted to know how Sara had figured out who it was the first time. And he wanted to know how much danger she was truly in and how to keep her safe. And he wanted to know why this particular killer had fixated on her. And what he wanted to do was grab her tightly and never let her go.

This was how Detective Jim Brass found them a few moments later, when he came bearing the note for Sara. "What's going on?" he asked, breaking up the dead silence.

Sara pulled away from Nick and Greg and made her way to Brass, holding out her hand for the note. The note was sealed in a plastic baggie, but she could easily see what was written on it. And could easily identify the handwriting; he had made no effort to disguise it.

"It's his handwriting," Sara stated matter of factly.

"If you caught him before, how come he's not wearing an orange jumper and singing chain gang?" Greg asked.

"He escaped during a transport," Sara replied woodenly, still scanning the note.

"What does the note say?" Grissom asked, standing up and coming over to Sara on the pretense of reading the note as well, when in fact he wanted to come over and give her support.

"Uh, someone want to fill me in?" Brass asked, confused.

"We have a name to go with the killer," Catherine said, stepping in and saving Sara from having to tell the story again, something that she had had difficulty with the first time around. "His name's Daniel Wright, and he's linked to Sara through a particularly grisly case from San Francisco. The short of it is that he's obsessed with Sara and that she may be an intended victim."

Brass looked over at the CSI, the one he secretly thought of as a daughter, and hoped that this would not push her over the edge with a return to drinking. She'd tried so hard after her DUI to turn it all around and to not fall again, and she'd been doing so well, too. He was about to say something to her when he noticed Grissom out of the corner of his eye. The man had discreetly placed a hand on the small of Sara's back, Sara's body blocking the gesture from everyone except him. Brass smiled like a loon inside, and realized that no matter what, Sara was not going to fall again. That small gesture from Grissom, the slight risk that others would see what was between them, spoke volumes to the detective. Grissom was with Sara, and he wasn't going to push her away this time, or run away.

The sound of Sara's voice brought Brass back to the conversation. "He's going to kill again, either returning to his old pattern and waiting until the full moon, or he's going to do it now. Right now, since he knows that I know he's here."

Brass's cell phone decided that one for them. Just as Sara finished her pronouncement, it rang. The detective quickly answered it, and they all watched as his face fell. Not a good sign. He listened for a few moments, occasionally grunting or saying "Uh-huh". When he finally hung up, he turned to them with sad eyes. "That was O'Riley. There's been another murder, in the Tangiers. A young woman, decapitated."

Without a word, the CSIs filed out of the conference room to pick up their kits and made their way to the garage for transport to the Tangiers. Ecklie went to his office to update the undersheriff, and Brass took is Taurus to the Tangiers to meet up with O'Riley, and to wait for Grissom and his team to arrive.

Grissom insisted on driving, and there was nothing Sara could say or do to make his change his mind, so she just sat in the passenger seat without a word and stared out the window the entire twenty minute drive to the Tangiers, wishing she had Nick or Greg to joke with, or, better yet, had gone with them and stuck Grissom with Catherine. His silence, and the worried glances he kept giving her every thirty seconds were starting to make her uncomfortable.

"I'm not going to fall apart, you know," she said quietly, breaking the silence.

"Huh?" Grissom asked.

"I'm not going to fall apart," Sara reiterated. "I'm doing okay, now. A few years ago, I would have, because of my fear of the 'murder gene'. But not now."

"Would you have done it?" Grissom asked softly, glancing at her once again.

That question could have meant so many things, but they both knew exactly what he was talking about. "Back in Frisco, no. But now? I don't know. I guess it depends upon the circumstances, and if I feel that it would be truly self-defense."

They were silent again for a while, until Grissom this time broke it. "It may come to that, you know."

"I know," Sara replied, still looking out the window. "I hope it doesn't, but I realize that it might." She sighed heavily, and then smiled when she felt Grissom's hand squeezing her thigh. He was there, and she knew, that no matter what happened, he'd be there. She took his hand in hers and held it tightly the rest of the way to the Tangiers.

Warrick had been driving the other SUV, and it had arrived first, with Catherine in the front along side him, Nick and Greg in the backseat. Warrick had barely brought the car to halt when they jumped out and made their way over to Brass, soon followed by Sara and Grissom. Then entered the Tangiers together, a united front, and were led by O'Riley up to a room on the third floor, right next to the east stairwell. Murder central.

Once inside the room, Greg ran out, retching. Sara reached out, trying to grab him as he ran by, but she missed and he continued down the hall, hoping to hold it in until he was far enough away not to contaminate the crime scene. Frowning slightly, Sara turned back to the room and took in what there was to see. A naked, headless body of a woman lay on the blood-soaked bed. Judging by the body structure and skin, she had probably been in her early twenties and in great physical shape. However, other than the clean cut at the top of her neck, there wasn't a mark on her, no scratches or punctures. Glancing around the room, the CSIs saw that there was nothing out of place. No knocked over lamp, no spilled wine, no overturned chair.

"No struggle," Nick commented.

"Or else she was killed elsewhere and placed here," Warrick added.

"No blood trail, though," Catherine reminded them.

"She was killed somewhere else and decapitated here?" Nick suggested.

"No theorizing. Just follow the evidence," Grissom reprimanded, the first to actually enter the room and begin assessing the crime scene. He was soon followed by Catherine, Nick, and Warrick. "Catherine and I will take the room," he said. "Nick, Warrick, I want you to take the hall and the stairs."

"O'Riley and I will begin questioning people," Brass announced from the doorway, quickly leading the other detective away from the horror in the room.

"Sara…" Grissom began, not really sure what to say.

"I'm gonna go check on Greg, and if he's up to it, have him hit the security cameras with me. Maybe I can spot him or something." Without waiting for a response, she turned and left the room and followed the path she had seen Greg take earlier. She was surprised at herself, that she had suggested camera detail instead of jumping in to the grisly scene. Usually she preferred working with Grissom in analyzing the scene, but this time she really just wanted to get as far away from it as she could. She had a hard time admitting it, but deep down, she was very afraid. She knew exactly who this killer was, what he was capable of, and she was very afraid that she would somehow end up his next victim. She still wasn't sure what would happen if he confronted her. Could she shoot him, even with all her fears about her past and her parents, and being afraid of turning out just like them? Could she shoot him if the alternative meant she'd be dead? Not sure of herself, or the answer, Sara decided to leave that question to the unknown, and looked around for Greg. He was nowhere to be seen.

Walking up to a string of security guards keeping the lookey-loos at bay, she described Greg and asked the first guard if he'd seen her friend. Nodding, the security guard told her that Greg had gone out on to the balcony at the end of the hall for some fresh air. Thanking him, Sara made her way to the double doors, pushing them open and went out into the crisp night air, the doors shutting behind her with a resounding thwack.

"One more move and he dies!" someone called out to her, and it took Sara a few moments to realize the person talking to her was Daniel Wright. And that the person he was threatening with a knife to the neck was Greg Sanders.

Her Greg Sanders.

Without thinking about it, Sara drew her gun and aimed it at Daniel Wright. But she didn't have a clear shot; he was using Greg as a shield, and there was no way Sara was going to shoot him, no matter what. "Let him go, Daniel. This is between you and me."

"Are you going to shoot me?" he taunted. "Come on, Sara. Shoot me."

"Let him go and we'll talk about it," Sara pleaded.

Daniel laughed. "Are you volunteering to lay on my couch?"

"You got me here. You followed me to Vegas and you now have my attention," Sara told him. She desperately wanted to keep Daniel's mind off of Greg, so if bearing her soul would do it, then that was what she must do. "So, go ahead, head shrink me."

Daniel, as if sensing what Sara was doing, pulled Greg even more tightly and drew the knife softly against his exposed neck, leaving a thin line of blood. Greg whimpered and stared at Sara, his eyes wide with fear and wet with unshed tears. He was terrified.

"Stop!" Sara commanded in forceful tone, the exact opposite of what she was feeling. She was afraid for Greg, afraid that she was going to have to watch the murder of one of her closest friends. She held the gun level and steady, silently thanking whoever was looking out for her that her hand didn't give her away through shaking. She had to get Greg away from Daniel. Thinking fast, she almost offered to go in his place, but knew that wasn't an option. Somehow, she knew that he'd kill Greg anyway, but if she weren't a prisoner, then at least she had a chance to save him. She wasn't going to get any backup. The cops all thought that she was out here talking Greg down from the scene, and were busy with crowd control and interviews. And Grissom and the others thought she was reviewing security tapes. No one would come looking for them for a few hours. By then it could be too late. It was up to Sara to save Greg, and hopefully, herself.

Daniel smiled evilly at Sara and stopped the advancement of the knife. "It's not deep. Not this time, anyway."

"He's not your usual victim," Sara commented. Daniel didn't respond, so Sara decided to try something different. "Why those girls?"

"Because they were beautiful. Because their blood smelled divine," he replied. He looked directly at her. "You know what I mean, don't you. The smell of blood and how good it makes you feel." It wasn't phrased as a question.

Choosing to use what he had just said, Sara forged ahead, "Is that why you chose me?"

"You are the perfect subject to test my hypothesis," Daniel replied. "I need someone other than myself to continually experiment with."

Everything started to fade into the background for Sara. His hypothesis? Experimentation? Had he turned her into a science project? And what had he been testing, on himself as well as her?

"Why me? What connects you to me?" she asked cautiously, not sure she really wanted to know the answer to that question. She just figured, the more time she could buy keeping him talking, the more of a chances she had of getting Greg out of there safely.

"Tsk tsk, Sara," Daniel admonished. "You didn't follow the first rule of criminal investigation. You didn't find all you could on your subject. You are asking questions that you don't know the answers to."

"You're right, I am. I didn't want to know then. But I have to know now."

"Then I shall enlighten you. Pay attention, Sara. And you too, young Gregory. You just might learn something from me." He paused for effect, his gaze never leaving Sara's. Hers never wavered as well. "Do you believe that there's a murder gene?"

Sara hesitated slightly before answering, hoping he hadn't noticed. "No."

"Of course you do, Sara. Otherwise, you wouldn't have hesitated before answering." He smiled again, that same sick, evil smile that made Sara's blood run cold with fear. "I do, you know. Believe there is one. I decided that I should research the subject, and so I chose and killed my first victim, Stacey Hindle. And I enjoyed it. Not only the power of it, the total control I had over my victim. I truly enjoyed the actual act of violence. And the smell of blood. Oh, how it brought me back," he said almost reverently, shutting his eyes for a moment, before opening them again. "The smell that ran constant through my house as a child."

Sara swallowed audibly, suddenly realizing where this was going, where Daniel Wright was coming from.

"Then I met you, Sara. After my fourth killing, and the FBI had me consult with your crime lab, I realized that using myself as the subject of my experimentation was not good science. However, I couldn't stop; I enjoyed it, I reveled in it. I decided to continue for my pleasure only, and that you would make a good subject. I needed to find another and try to entice them to my plans. Right away, I noticed that you seemed hesitant towards committing violence, that you were affected on your job by domestic violence cases. I researched you, Sara, and discovered you to be a perfect subject to test my hypothesis. Your life had mirrored mine as a child. I foolishly thought that you'd be as eager as I to discover if there really was a murder gene. But, alas, I seemed to have been wrong. Where I wanted an answer, you did not. You did not want to know because you were afraid it was true."

"What are you talking about?" Greg asked, speaking up for the first time since Sara's come out onto the balcony. Both Sara and Daniel ignored him, too focused on each other. Greg studied Sara, trying to find some clue as to what was going on between the murderer and his friend. Sara's stance was wavering, the gun slightly pointed down, as if in defeat. Her face showed no fear, but rather an understanding, of what, Greg wasn't sure exactly, but he knew it had something to do with what Daniel Wright had just said about murder genes and childhood. He just wished he knew what. Whatever it was, it was seriously affecting Sara and her state of mind, and he hoped that he could come up with something to get her away from this killer before the situation got out of hand. Before he and Sara were killed.

"Sara," Greg called out softly, hoping to reach her, distract her from Daniel and help her get her bearings back. If her gun lowered anymore, he'd be dead. They'd be dead. She'd never be able to shoot in time. "Sara, point your weapon and shoot."

"But I might hit you," Sara replied automatically. "I might kill you."

"No, you wont. I trust you."

Sara just shook her head. "I can't," she said, apologetically, tears making their way down her cheeks.

Daniel laughed again. "You are afraid that I am right, that there is a murder gene. You hesitate because of fear. Let go of your fear and do what you were born to do. Do you think I hesitated when I killed my victims? Do you think my father hesitated when he killed my mother? Did your mother hesitate when she killed your father? You were in the room, tell me, did she hesitate?"

Sara just stood there, paralyzed in fear, gun dropping even lower, tears just streaming down to pool on the floor. She didn't know what to do. She was in trouble, Greg was in trouble, and she couldn't do anything. She saw the look on Greg's face when it registered what Daniel had just said, and she couldn't do anything. He was going to kill them both because she was afraid to do anything. She was afraid of becoming her parents, afraid of the anger and violence within her. Afraid that once she pulled the trigger, once she started, she'd never be able to stop.

"You just stand there then while I do what I was born to do," Daniel said, taking the knife and pushing it harder against Greg's neck, making him bleed even more.

A gunshot rang out through the air.