Title: Under the Desert

Summary: A high profile case leads to the disappearance of two CSIs from right under the department's nose.

Pairing: Greg/Riley--Still not figuring out if that's called 'Grey' or 'Griley'.

Rating: T for violence

Genre: Suspense, Romance

Disclaimer: I wish I was Anthony Zuiker...

"What going on Jim?" asked Catherine. The detective had called the entire CSI team to the crime scene without even telling them what it was about. They all assumed it was high-profile, and the large villa in front of them confirmed their suspicions.

"Six male victims, Ryan Cooke, Bob Dane, Owen Fox, Alec Knight, Sam Nicholson, and Jeremy Wolfe. Dane's wife confirmed that the guys picked up her husband at six this evening for a poker tournament at Cooke's place. I got no personal contacts for the others so there's not much more I can tell you. No possible suspects either. Mrs. Dane says that they played in a few casino tournaments and anyone who they won against could have motive to kill them. I'll try and get a list of the casinos they've played in, but there's nothing I can do now. The coroner's not here yet, but you can start processing," said Brass in a rush, before dashing off to meet Ecklie near the crime scene tape.

"Nick, Ray, you take the bottom floor, Greg and Riley process the perimeter. I'll take upstairs," ordered Catherine.

"Why do we always get stuck with the perimeter? There aren't even any bodies here!" complained Riley, photographing and swabbing sparse blood drops.

"Level 3 hazing. Yours just started, mine never ended" explained Greg. "Hell my level 1 hazing never stopped."

"I thought being a level 3 meant you got more advantages. Not hazing..."

Greg snorted. "I guess, but over here people use whatever opportunity that presents itself to pass off the dirty work."

"So that's why you're always stinking of decomp," Riley teased.

"Hey!" said Greg, mock hurt. "I thought you liked my cologne!"

"I found tire treads," said Greg, growing serious. "They lead outside the tape. I'm gonna go check it out, okay?"

"Sure," said Riley, engrossed in her own new found evidence and only half-listening to what Greg was saying. "I'll catch up with you later."

"Okay," replied Greg, his voice far away.

Riley continued working systematically. The perimeter was big, but not very hard to process, and she was soon finished. Greg still hadn't returned. Riley stood and looked around one last time before following him. He had marked the tire treads, and Riley followed his markers. Then the markers stopped--but the tracks didn't. Riley looked around, trying to spot the other CSI.

Riley walked around a bit trying to spot Greg. Looking behind her at the scene she contemplated going back. It was maybe half a mile away and Greg could already be at the scene.

Then she heard a soft thud. Her gun at the ready, she crept towards where she had heard the sound.

Stepping into a clearing Riley looked up in horror. Greg stood, blood dripping from a cut to his temple. A larger man stood behind him, his body pressed to Greg, and his arm wrapped around his neck. A cocked gun was pushed under Greg's chin, forcing his head up. Blood, which was most probably Greg's, dripped of the handle of the gun.

"Put down the gun," ordered Riley. She tried to find an opening to shoot, but Greg's body shielded his attacker.

"You shoot and he's dead," growled the assailant, his voice rough from one too many cigarettes. He cocked the gun for good measure. Greg's gaze was still skyward, and Riley was almost glad he wasn't looking at her. The less distractions the better.

The suspect shoved Greg forwards, and he stumbled. Riley startled, but raised her gun in time.

"Don't," hissed the suspect. Riley saw the gun still shoved into the small of Greg's back, and dropped her weapon.

The assailant pulled Greg from the back of his collar and twisted him around so that he faced him. Greg swallowed heavily as the gun was shoved in his face. Then in a flash the suspect was behind him again and shoving him forwards.

"Move," he ordered firmly, forcing the two CSIs away from the scene. "And not a word from either of you."

Greg stumbled, his vision blurry. He tripped over a small stone and felt a hand grasp his shirt, trying, despite the weight difference, to keep him standing.

"Are you okay?" Riley whispered once he had found his footing again. She didn't have time to hear his answer though because all of a sudden she was on the ground and the suspect was on top of her.

"I thought I told you shut the hell up," the assailant hissed angrily in her ear. Riley looked up at Greg, hoping he would run while he had the chance. He didn't though. He didn't look like he could. He was leaning heavily against a large tree. His breaths were short and uneven, and he looked like he was going to be sick.

Then her arm was on fire. She screamed as the suspect pulled her arm behind her back. A loud snap rang through the air, and then the suspect was on his feet and ordering Riley to do the same. She stumbled to her feet and pulled her broken left arm to her chest. Greg pushed himself forwards, wanting to see how Riley was doing but to dizzy and nauseous.

They walked in silence, until ten minutes later they stepped down into an underground tunnel. The suspect pushed a rock to block the entrance, and the two CSIs' hopes of rescue were further dashed.