Family Ties Part 1

by Invicta

Family Ties Rewrite - There is a reason nobody knows a lot about Sofia Curtis... Some language.

Nick Stokes and Warrick Brown walked towards the yellow crime tape to start another shift with the LVPD Crime Lab. They met Detective Sofia Curtis at the door to the very normal-looking house in a very normal part of Las Vegas. The outside of the house was well kept and almost picture perfect – the inside, however, was a different story...

"The boyfriend called it in. He works shifts – just got home and saw this."

"Nice home coming." Warrick pulled a face as he looked over the scene; the kitchen looked like a small bomb had gone off. The two investigators were already aware of the three bodies upstairs.

"Yeah," Sofia sighed. "Brass is getting his statement now. I got another 4-19 out in Henderson so he's going to run this with you." she started to walk away with the feeling that something felt very familiar about all this.

"Thanks, Sofia." Nick yelled at the blonde's retreating back.

"So...Where do you want to start?" Warrick asked.

Nick waved an arm around the room, "This place didn't spontaneously explode."

"It's going to be a long night, Nicky." Warrick said as he headed upstairs.

"Detective!" A Patrolman appeared from a piece of wasteland and waved Sofia over.

"What's the scoop, Max?"

"We saw him from the road, kneecaps are gone and so is half his face."

Sofia winced, "Not how I'd want to go."

"Well, he's all yours Detective..." he looked over Sofia's shoulder, "Nerd squad's here." He nodded his head in the direction of the approaching Catherine Willows and Gil Grissom.

"I was a CSI, Max." she replied pointedly.

"Yeah," he grinned, "But then you came to your senses and joined the cool kids' gang."

"Go away." she smiled, finishing the notes she'd been taking from the officer – effectively relieving him of his crime scene, something he didn't mind at all, "Keep a perimeter?"

He flipped a lazy salute, "Yes, ma'am."

Sofia rolled her eyes and greeted her former colleagues with a shrug, "This reminds me of the good old days."

"Execution style." Catherine observed as she knelt down to get a better look at the body, "Any ID?"

"Haven't looked – Brass just sent me over here."

"It's a little out in the open for a mob hit..." Grissom looked across to the road and then back to the body.

"Unless someone was supposed to see it," The detective pointed out with a raised eyebrow, "I'm going to see if anyone saw anything, there's a 7/11 over there," Sofia motioned across the street, "but I won't hold my breath."

As she left, Catherine surveyed the scene before her and waved the camera she had in her hand, "Warrick said David was going to be a while at their triple...Want to shoot or boot?"

Grissom made a face, "I'll walk the perimeter...you photograph."

"Don't wander too far..." Catherine teased.

"The perpetrators of emotional crime attack personal property related to the victim..." Nick stood up as he became aware of his partner returning from the second floor. He looked around and made a mental note of the damage. The contents of all the drawers and cupboards were smashed on the floor and the door of the large refrigerator had been bent on it's hinges. The family room had also been trashed and a large ceiling fan was hanging from it's fixture.

"I don't know, man...I've seen smashed up cars, slashed beds and clothes – cheating partners, a revenge thing – never seen anyone attack their victims Fruit Loops." Warrick lifted up the remains of a box.

Nick smiled, "I hear that, but this place took a beating. Someone was angry."

"I got a lot of blood samples from upstairs – Wendy's going to love me."

"That's nothing," Nick picked up a stack of print cards, "I've got hundreds of freaky prints for Mandy."

"Freaky?" Warrick caught the card Nick tossed at him and studied it, "Did you do this right?"

Nick glared at him, "I did it just fine, that is a four-inch long finger tip."

"Someone with finger tips bigger than my pinkie? They're all like this?"

"Yup...And there's no side detail, just the central part of the print. Look at this place, all this stuff tossed and the sides of his fingers don't touch anything?"

"Not impossible..."

"There are no thumb prints. When was the last time you picked something up without using your thumb?" Nick demanded.

"Someone definitely stabbed those people."

Nick rubbed a hand over his face, "Long night..."

Grissom finished buttoning his lab jacket as he pushed the doors of the morgue open, "Hey, Al. Anything interesting?"

"I guess I don't need to tell you cause of death: I have the rest of his brain in that bucket. The gunshot wounds to the knees were peri-mortem, nothing else out of the ordinary except the mouse in his throat..."

"Mouse?"

"White mouse," Dr Robbins elaborated, waving the unfortunate creature over the table and dropping it back into the tray he'd plucked it from. "Does that mean anything to you?"

Grissom just frowned as he tried to gauge the significance of this new evidence. He left without answering the coroner as he fished out his cell phone to call Catherine.

"Willows."

"Did you get anywhere with those tyre impressions?"

"Yeah, I'm just on my way to find you, anything interesting from Doc Robbins?"

"I'm thinking it was a hit. I'm going over to PD to see Sofia."

Grissom and Catherine both looked up as Jim Brass entered the supervisor's office, "So, Sofia asked me to look at your case...I got a hit on the M.O. from NCIC. The mouse was a nice touch." Brass held out a file to Grissom.

"Where is Sofia?"

Brass shrugged, "She took a personal day. Anyway, this...death is similar to several murders committed in Boston over the last ten years. Boston PD have linked them the Ryan family."

Catherine's head shot up and she grabbed the file, "As in Sean Ryan? Murder 1 with a mean streak?"

"Don't forget little Ciaran, he's been looking after the family business since Sean went to jail – and guess who's living in Vegas?"

"We don't have any evidence to link the Ryan family to this murder. We still don't have an ID on the victim." Grissom warned.

Catherine looked up from where she had continued reading and tapped the paper in front of her, "If Daddy Ryan still drives his BMW Z3 everywhere, we could place him at the scene," she looked at Brass, "The store owner mentioned a BMW in his statement and tyre impressions we collected at the scene are consistent with that vehicle."

Grissom closed the file where Catherine had left it on his desk. "That's not enough."

"It's enough to have a chat with Mr Ryan..." Brass reasoned.

McCoul's was a typical bar that you would find in any city with a large Irish community, except Las Vegas wasn't one of those, but luckily for James Patrick Ryan - Vegas had something for everyone. He nodded to the doorman as he tossed his keys to the valet and strode towards his usual table.

"Good evening, Mr Ryan. Can I get you your usual?"

Ryan suppressed a smirk as the manager practically kissed his boots, "No, thank you, Marco. Just a Bushmills for now – I'm expecting guests." He scurried off and returned with Ryan's guests. Both women were striking, and this time he didn't hide the smirk.

"Evening, Kaitlin."

"James."

Ryan looked over to the younger woman and raised his eyebrows, "James is it? Your mother's being unusually civil this evening. Has she finally intimidated a witness into lying about me?"

Kaitlin Curtis rolled her eyes and sat at the table as her daughter pressed a kiss to the Irishman's cheek, "Play nice, Pop."

He sat and raised his hands in mock surrender, "Whatever you say, sweetheart" Ryan leaned forward on the table and turned serious, "Now, why am I buying you two dinner?"

Nick and Warrick were in the lab's break room when Mandy found them with a stack of prints from their case, "Are you kidding me?"

"Get anything?" Nick asked as he sat up and tossed his magazine.

"From what?" she pulled one of the scene photos across the table and studied it for a moment, "King Kong isn't in AFIS."

"Huh? They're gorilla prints? No way!"

"Well, no... I mean, I don't know, but it looks like a gorilla went berserk in there."

Warrick looked at Nick and shook his head, "No way, man...A gorilla as a murder weapon? I don't buy it."

"Would explain the four-inch prints – and the lack of opposing prints, a gorilla would swipe," Nick mimicked the motion, "not pick stuff up."

"Still not buying it. Doc Robbins placed TOD for mom and the two kids all at around eleven pm; you can't just walk a gorilla into a house without someone seeing it."

Grissom and Catherine followed Brass to the house to execute their search warrant. They had all agreed that, if Ryan hadn't pulled the trigger, there was a strong possibility he was there and he knew who did. Brass was hoping that a trip to PD and getting his house tossed would frighten Ryan into dumping evidence - or dumping the thugs he'd hired to do the deed.

To the outside world, James Ryan was the poster boy for the American Dream. His grandfather had been an Irish immigrant in the twenties and built up a small bar into a popular public house. Ryan had returned to Ireland after a serious run-in with Boston's finest and returned to America – and his family's money - many years later with three sons.

To Boston PD, James Ryan was a gangster. Although never able to make a case against him stick, the police knew who ran the city's underground activities.

"After you, Jim."

Brass leaned past Catherine and rang the door bell. They heard chimes and movement inside before the door opened, "I got it!"

Brass stared and then looked to Catherine and Grissom, both of whom were having the same reaction. The patrol officer with them was also staring but Brass realised all Max could see was the low-cut top.

"Sofia..."

Sofia saw the patrol car and the piece of paper in her Captain's hand, "What's going on?"

"We're looking for James Ryan..."

Sofia crossed her arms and demanded again, "What's going on, Jim?"

"We've got a search warrant, and we need to talk to Ryan."

"In relation to...?"

Grissom jumped in to stop the little tap dance, "Sofia, what are you doing here?"

A broad Irish accent interrupted any answer the young detective was going to give, "I'm starving, sweetheart...What's taking so long?"

"They're not here for the pizza..." Sofia looked pointedly at Brass.

"Friends of yours?" Ryan asked, looking at Brass with an amused smirk.

Sofia turned to look at the Irishman, "Don't say anything."

"Spoken like a true police officer," he laughed, "Invite them in – I'll even stand them a drink."

"What can I do for you?"

"We have a warrant to sear-"

"For what?" Ryan interrupted and received a blank look from Grissom so he clarified, "What is your warrant for?"

Brass stepped in, "Do you own a gun, Mr Ryan?"

He shook his head. "Don't like them."

"So we won't find a Glock nine millimeter?"

"That's not his." Sofia interrupted.

"It's registered to J Patrick Ryan...At Mr Ryan's former residence in Boston." Grissom read from the warrant, before handing it to Brass and moving off to instruct the search team.

"John. It's John's gun."

"Who's John?"

Ryan held a hand out to stop Sofia, "My son. My dead son."

Catherine decided to change tack, "Where were you last night...around ten pm?"

"McCoul's - having dinner."

"A little late."

Ryan shrugged and lent back in his chair. Sofia had slipped on a jumper and was noticeably nervous as she hovered in the doorway to keep an eye on both Brass and the patrol officers who were searching under Grissom's supervision.

"Any witnesses you can think of – just to confirm that?" Brass was irritated by the smug expression on Ryan's face.

"Apart from the bar-full of people there? The two police detectives I was with..."

Catherine looked to Sofia and caught her attention, "You're this man's alibi?"

"My mother was there too...You going to question her? She'll have you for breakfast."

Ryan became aware that Sofia was siding with him against people he knew she worked with. He wasn't about to let her get involved, "Sofia?...Could you go into the office and call my lawyer? The number's on the desk." It wasn't a request. When the young woman was safely out of earshot, Ryan rounded on Brass, "What exactly are you trying to fit me up with?"

"A dead body on wasteland out in North Vegas – given your very own particular brand of send off."

Ryan laughed, "Based on?"

"Your car at the scene."

"The BMW...I think you'll find a police report about that."

"Mr Ryan, if you think citing police officer's as your alibi is going to protect you..." Brass trailed off.

"What?!" Ryan stood and closed the distance between himself and the detective, "You leave her out of this. Sofia's a good cop!" he yelled.

Brass decided to push, "Right now? That's debatable."

"Don't you dare!" Ryan shouted, "You people have been trying to stitch me up for years – ever wondered why I'm still a free man? I don't break the law."

"You earned all your money through hard work and clean living? Your youngest, Ciaran, has spent more time at Boston PD than their police chief."

"That's because he thinks he's the next Al Capone." Ryan muttered.

Brass was about to reply when Grissom returned with an empty gun case, "Shouldn't a presentation case have something in it to present, Mr Ryan?"

Brass looked back at "Don't tell me...someone must have taken it?"

Ryan looked genuinely shocked that the case was empty but he quickly regained his composure, "Maybe you should ask my lawyer."

Nick and Warrick went back to the scene, Warrick a little reluctantly. He wasn't a subscriber to Nick's gorilla theory just yet.

"I'm still seeing a lot of violence. Something's not right, Warrick. It's too violent – I mean, a stabbing is a violent crime but this is just over the top." Nick threw down the sofa cushion he had picked up and stuffing billowed out.

The sceptical CSI had been thinking as he re thought the scene. "Maybe it is...Run this with me. The killer comes in and heads upstairs, knows the family are asleep and kills them. The murders have to come first – all this noise would wake someone up."

"Okay..."

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume the killer is human...What if this is staged?" Warrick jutted his chin in the direction of the damage.

"Hiding the murders in an animal attack?"

"Right."

"You know what? That ceiling fan...It doesn't fit. Why tear it loose?"

Warrick considered the offending fixture for a moment and then both men said together, "Monkeys swing..."

Brass arrested Ryan and the CSIs took a sizable amount of evidence back to the lab with them. Sofia had agreed to come down to the station later after Brass had made it clear that she would have to come in sometime. She had stalled because there was someone she needed to see while she still had the chance, she was under no illusion that she was heading for IAB. A quick phone call set up the meeting in the usual spot and Sofia waited by the grave in the early evening dusk. Strangely, seeing the name on the headstone comforted her and the usual jumpiness she felt in a cemetery wasn't there. When he'd first suggested the meeting place she'd laughed – it brought a whole new meaning to feeling like someone was walking over your grave.

"What's happened?"

The voice made Sofia jump and she had to force herself not to look for him, "They arrested him."

"It's for the best."

"He didn't do anything."

"But the police will be busy with him and not looking for me." her companion reasoned.

"I'm going to be arrested when I go in."

"Do you trust me?"

Sofia took a deep breath. The automatic answer was 'yes' but she hated all this cloak and dagger stuff. It was hard to trust someone when you had no idea what was coming next. She'd been waiting ten years for this – the big one – the last, final job before it was all over; now was not the time to start panicking, "I just want it over."

"Nothing is going to happen to you, I promise. I'll get you out of there as soon as it's over."

"I don't like lying to my friends." She snapped.

"I don't particularly like police cemeteries but I'll get over it."

"If I go in, you'll be on your own."

"I've arranged some backup."

The question that had been plaguing the detective since she spoke with Catherine earlier in the day had to be asked – if only to know that this man wasn't a murderer. She tried – and failed – to keep the tension out of her voice. "Who's the dead body?"

"FBI. I don't know what he was doing at the drop but I didn't know until it was too late. You can tell them that if it helps." he considered the tension in the woman's shoulders and offered, "You can also tell them I didn't kill him."

He continued to explain what had happened as she knelt down by the memorial. 'John Patrick Ryan' Sofia absently traced the name on the stone and closed her eyes in a silent prayer, then nodded as he finished and she stood. "Be safe."

He turned away and then paused for a moment, "Twenty four hours, Sofia, that's all we need. Keep them busy for a day and it'll be done."

"So, Hodges actually made himself useful," Nick explained as he joined Warrick in the fingerprint lab to answer Mandy's page, "A gorilla is like several big dogs and sheds just as much – I didn't find any unexplained hair when I processed."

"King Kong's off the hook."

"This case is making my top ten of weird," Mandy claimed as she dumped even more fingerprint cards down and began laying a select few on the table, "What do you see?"

The investigators took a good look before shaking their heads.

"They're all the same." Nick shrugged.

"Exactly! You say the house was tossed, right? Then we should be seeing smudges to indicate movement. When you throw something you leave a 'wavy' print...Very distinct characteristics that tell us how the print was made."

"These prints are all clear," Warrick got what Mandy was driving at, "and because we know there was no real gorilla in the house..."

"Where did the prints come from?" Nick finished.

Mandy turned serious, "Well, this is just my opinion, but I'd say model gorilla hands. I had a friend in college who worked at an amusement park – used to have to dress up as a gorilla. If they're made from latex hand castings, they can be pretty realistic. Up to a point."

Warrick turned to Mandy, "It would explain the prints."

The lab tech frowned, "Actually, no. To leave a print requires some kind of oil to leave a residue."

"Oh, wow." Nick laughed disbelievingly, "This guy really thought things through. That's cold, man."

"I hear you, buddy."

"Where's Grissom?"

Brass looked up when Catherine spoke, "I asked him to bring Ortega up to speed. I can't talk to Sofia yet so he's going to sit in."

"I'm sorry, Jim."

"I don't know what this jerk has over her because the Sofia I know is not dirty."

Catherine saw the older man was trying to hold in his temper. He'd taken the rookie detective under his wing and it was hurting to see her implicated in a murder investigation, "How do you want to do this?"

Brass didn't hear her, "I hate guys like this...They think they're untouchable."

Catherine reached for the captain's arm, "For what it's worth? I don't think she's involved either."

"So what exactly do you have?"

"Circumstantial evidence."

"Grissom...I'm not here for the fun of it. Internal Affairs were called in because of a criminal investigation involving a serving police detective." Detective Ortega was starting to lose his patience with the scientist.

"Ryan owns a car similar to one seen at the crime scene. We've identified the murder weapon as a Glock - of which Mr Ryan is missing one."

"That's probable cause for a full warrant. What does Curtis have to do with this?"

"Detective Curtis was at the house when we served the warrant and she's Ryan's alibi for the time of the murder."

"I did my research on this guy – he's smart. His son seems to run the criminal side of the family business, you know, the one who isn't serving a sentence for Murder 1."

"There's nothing to suggest Sofia has done anything wrong..."

"You don't find it strange that Boston PD never made a case stick and then Ryan comes to Vegas and, boom, we can only link him to a hit with circumstantial evidence?"

"Not particularly." Grissom replied cautiously, not entirely sure where he was going.

"I do. Especially as Detective Curtis transferred here from Boston."

"Come on..." Brass leaned back in his chair opposite James Ryan, "You know nothing about this? Okay...What happened to your car?"

"I filed a police report yesterday; some little toe-rag took it out of the car park at McCoul's."

"And then you come home and someone's stolen your gun...Where's that Irish luck when you need it?"

"I haven't looked at that gun since I was given it. It could have been missing for months."

"Why keep a gun you don't want?" Catherine asked.

Ryan looked at her and narrowed his eyes, "You got kids?" he continued when Catherine nodded, "It was my son's. I can't quite bring myself to get rid of it."

"Why put it in a display case?"

"I like to think it's God's sense of humour. That's how the police back in Boston gave it to me."

"How did he die?"

Ryan snorted, "A half-cocked police raid...bloody amateurs."

Brass had had enough of this little 'Lifetime' moment and resumed the questioning, "What are you doing in Vegas – feeling the need for a franchise?"

"Actually, I'm retired now. Thought I'd go somewhere nice and warm."

"Miami didn't appeal to you, huh?"

"Call me an old fool, Detective, but I wanted to feel needed."

"You mean Sofia?"

Ryan nodded.

"I didn't have you pegged as the sugar daddy type."

The Irishman laughed, "You're barking up the wrong tree. And it backfired anyway."

"Sofia's got good taste. I don't think you're her type." Brass stage-whispered.

"I'm not that far," he replied cryptically, "but I mean she wouldn't accept my help."

"Help with what?" Catherine was beginning to get a sinking feeling at the closeness this man obviously shared with Sofia.

Ryan looked thoughtful for a moment, trying to think of an example for them, "When she got that place on the task force in Boulder City? I offered to help her out with her rent so she could get a nice place there...She told me she wouldn't take anything off me – takes after her mother, that one."

Brass leaned forward and steepled his hands in front of his face. Ryan had said a lot but told them nothing except that he knew Sofia well – which the detective wasn't thrilled with. Frankly, he thought Ryan was flannelling them to avoid any more probing questions, "There's something I don't understand...I know we hardly know each other, but I get the feeling you don't like me."

"Where I come from, we tend not to like the police."

"You like Sofia." Brass shot back.

"That's different."

Brass cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips. "Not really..."

Ryan sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Captain Brass, as much as I'm enjoying your company – your conversation leaves a lot to be desired." Ryan leaned forward to stare at Brass, "And I don't think you'd be fishing like this if you had anything on me."

"Look, Ryan...I really couldn't care what you think. Right now, I want to know why my colleague is in there covering for your ass!" Brass pointed to the wall that separated the two interview rooms.

Ryan looked at the angry Brass and then Catherine who was looking anywhere but the two men, "I told you to keep her out of this!"

"Wasn't my call!"

Ryan ran a hand through his dark hair and let out a long breath, "She should have walked away."

"From what?"

He shook his head, "I hate my son. I'm going to Hell for that, but I do."

Catherine frowned, "She's involved with Ciaran?" The older woman was aware that Sofia had worked in Boston and could only assume that something had followed her here.

"John."

"The one who died."

"Smartest thing he ever did."

The CSI was shocked at the coldness of the man. She couldn't think of anything that would make her wish her daughter harm, "What is going on? If we know we can do something about it."

"I don't know. If I did, I'd do something about it. Sofia's a good cop. Always has been..." he looked into Catherine's eyes, "Something's wrong, she's been jumpy for the last couple of weeks. Then her mother blew in from Boston two days ago." A look of confusion crossed Ryan's face and he continued, "Talk to her mother...Find out why she came out to dinner with us – that old witch has been trying to lock me up for years."

Catherine raised her eyebrows at Brass, who shrugged in return. It seemed the only person who knew what was going on was Sofia. Her two friends were left doubting.

The CSI took her friend's dejected expression as the cue to wrap things up, "You really don't know anything, do you?"

Ryan shrugged, "Apparently not."

Ortega braced himself on the table and got up in the detective's face. Sofia visibly flinched, then met his gaze, "Keeping quiet looks bad, Curtis."

"I can't tell you anything..."

"Can't or won't?"

Sofia looked over to Grissom and her eyes were pleading - the scientist in him wanted the truth, the friend in him wanted this to stop. The sound of Ortega's voice brought them both back.

"What were you doing at Ryan's house?"

"Eating lunch."

Ortega nodded his head and forced a smile at the young woman's verbal parry, "What is your relationship with James Ryan?"

The question threw her, "Apart from none of your business?" she replied. The words were confident but her voice betrayed her as it cracked with emotion.

"You wanna be cute, Curtis? That's fine...You're the one with something to prove. I've got you being busted at the house of the head of the Ryan crime family sipping cocktails by the pool," Ortega dropped his voice and was almost nose to nose with Sofia, "I've already got your badge."

Sofia's shoulders slumped and she momentarily dipped her head, when she looked up it was at Grissom. Her eyes glistened and she spoke in an almost whisper, "I can't..."

Catherine saw Grissom leaning against the wall as she left the interview room. He appeared exhausted to her and she could only imagine what Sofia must be feeling as the memory of the young detective's last encounter with Ortega came flooding back.

"You look terrible."

"He doesn't stop." he replied, looking over his shoulder to where Ortega was still interrogating.

"I know. How's it going?" Grissom shook his head, "That bad?"

"We got prints off the gun case – Ryan's were on the outside, Sofia's were on the inside...She tested positive for traces of GSR, too."

"It doesn't add up, Gil...Ryan doesn't know anything and, if he's telling the truth, something else is going on."

"Unless Sofia is a murderer." Grissom reluctantly pointed out.

Catherine stared at him, "You think we can work on the assumption that she isn't?"

Grissom was about to answer her when Nick arrived with an update on his case, "We just finished calling costume companies...and one of them rented a gorilla costume the day of the murders."

"They give you a name?"

"No...but Warrick and I are going over to interview the owner now. Do you know where Brass is?"

Grissom swapped worried looks with Catherine, "He passed the case over."

"Okay...In that case, have you seen Sofia? – it was her case first."

Grissom didn't have a chance to answer before the door to his right opened and Ortega led Sofia out.

"What the Hell...Griss?" Nick was staring open-mouthed at the handcuffs.

"What are you doing Ortega?"

"I think we've got plenty to justify holding Curtis over, don't you?"

Sofia looked a shadow of her usual self and Grissom felt a pang of guilt at being the one who gave Ortega his ammunition, "Are those really necessary?" he waved a hand at Sofia's back, refusing to look at the restraints.

Nick had finally found Sam Vega and headed out to meet Warrick at the costume store. The CSI and detective rode in silence as they tried to process what had happened. The PD grapevine was working overtime and Vega already knew about Sofia by the time Nick had got to the squad room. When they arrived at their destination, Warrick immediately noticed their mood but neither man was very forthcoming.

The owner couldn't tell them who had rented the monkey suit, despite Vega losing his temper twice and having to go and wait by the car. Nick wasn't much better so Warrick decided to cut his losses and get back to the lab; after getting the tapes from the security camera from the shop next door.

"What the Hell is wrong with you, man?"

Nick slammed a fist on the roof of Vega's car, the detective offered nothing more than 'It doesn't help' before getting in.

"We've got three people murdered for no apparent reason, we've got no probative evidence and the best we can say about a suspect is that the gorilla didn't do it!"

"And Vega obviously agrees with you..." Warrick had been around long enough to know that Nick very rarely lost his cool over a case – and that definitely wasn't what was pissing Vega off.

"She was in handcuffs, Rick!" Nick exploded.

Warrick took a step back, "Woah...who was in handcuffs?"

"I don't care what he said, young lady. I want to see Captain Brass...right now!"

"Ma'am, he isn't available at the moment. If you don't want to leave a message..."

"Mrs Curtis?"

"Who are you?" The older woman demanded.

"Detective Ortega."

"Hmph...In that case, it's Captain Curtis."

"Yes, ma'am...Would you like to come with me?"

"Not really. I want to see Jim Brass or my daughter."

"Your daughter can't see any visitors at the moment."

"Would you like to bet your badge on that?"

Ortega was silent for a moment and then continued, "I'd prefer it if you didn't talk to Captain Brass...He's investigating the murder." He didn't have to say what murder.

Captain Curtis thought for a moment, "You know, the last IAB officer to get in my way is still directing traffic..."

"You can talk to the CSIs – have the case against your daughter explained to you – but if you try to..."

Curtis cut him off, "Do I look stupid to you, Detective?"

Stupid wasn't the word that sprang to mind...

Brass was breaking...at least four...regulations just by being anywhere near the holding cells. He couldn't help it, every instinct he had was telling him Sofia was innocent and that there was some explanation for all the evidence Ortega had. But...there was something niggling at him that wouldn't go away until he'd looked her in the eye and heard it for himself.

"Hey, Sofi..."

Sofia sat up sharply on the bench and looked around, "You shouldn't be here."

Brass nodded, "I know...I just wanted to make sure you were okay." he was nervous and he decided to make some small talk, "Your mom's here...knocked Ortega down."

That got him a brief smile, "What happened to James?"

"We had a nice chat. Ortega wants to talk to him."

"Just get on with it, Jim."

Brass took a deep breath, "Who is James Ryan to you?"

"I'm not sleeping with him, if that's what you're getting at."

He winced and dropped his voice, "Sofia, what is going on? Have they got something on you? From Boston?"

Brass could see the internal debate going on inside her head, "I'm not covering for him...and he had nothing to do with the murder."

"The evidence says otherwise – in fact, it says you're involved, too."

"It would...He's being set up."

"By who?"

Sofia came up to the bars of her cell and looked Brass in the eye, "Me."

Grissom had called his team together in the layout room – in actuality, Catherine had badgered him into it – with the exception of Sara and Greg. She said a silent prayer for that. Sofia and Greg had become friends over the last couple of years and Sara...well, she wasn't sure about her, but whether she backed Sofia or not it would probably end up in a suspension. It was better to leave them in court and out of this ridiculous situation.

"What you thinking about?"

Catherine looked up at Grissom as he sat opposite her, waiting for the others to join them, "Ridiculous situations and how they seem to keep cropping up around here."

Grissom nodded slowly as though she had told him the sky was bright green.

Before she could tell him he was an ass, Warrick and Nick bustled in, "Grissom? Am I hearing right? Curtis is in jail?"

"I don't believe it, Griss..."

"What we believe doesn't really matter now. Did you close your case?"

Nick stared at his supervisor, "Are you joking?"

"No." Grissom replied, confused at the Texan's anger.

Warrick stepped in for the second time that day to calm his friend, "How about you bring us up to speed..."

"Listen, Curtis...You've had a rough time lately. I can understand that. But what I can't understand is what you are doing with a known felon."

Sofia looked over to Brass, wishing she'd told him more – wishing she could tell him everything and ask for his help. Twenty four hours was all they needed. She could do that. No problem. Ortega could threaten her all he wanted, "First off...James Ryan is a better man than some of the cops I've had to work with. Second, you really don't have anything on me or I'd have been charged with something. Thirdly," Sofia drew herself up in her chair and Brass recognised it as her 'smackdown' position; every cop has a stance for when they deliver that killer blow that has defense attorney's begging for a deal, "I can't wait to see the look on your face when this is over."

Brass couldn't help the small grin that formed on his lips. That was the Sofia he knew, not taking crap from anyone, "What about the gunshot residue?"

"I'm a cop. I carry a gun, I come into contact with them all the time." Ortega didn't look convinced so she continued with a sigh, "I went to the house. I got changed and laid around by the pool. I used the firing range that morning – you can check the logs – I probably transferred the gsr when I got changed."

"And the prints?"

Sofia narrowed her eyes; Ortega hadn't mentioned any fingerprints before. The IAB detective restated his question and Brass leaned in, eager to hear Sofia explain it.

"What prints?"

"On the gun case, or more specifically, in the gun case."

Brass found himself holding his breath as he waited for his friend's answer. He had no idea how her prints would be in the case; he'd like to think that a former CSI would have known to wear gloves. He watched Ortega, too. Brass was just like all the other cops on the force: Internal Affairs are the only cops that nobody likes.

Sofia was reeling. How the Hell did my prints get on the case? I wore gloves when I took the gun. The reason suddenly hit her and the fight she'd managed to muster up drained from her. Her shoulders slumped and she closed her eyes as painful memories played behind her eyelids. She looked at her Captain and remembered what he'd said to her in holding: 'Give 

Ortega something'. Okay, Jim, "It must have been when the case was sealed. I was the one who put the gun in there."

"Why?"

"Because that's what we do for one of our own. You know what? Find out for yourself...I'm done."

"Grissom!"

Brass was practically running through the halls of CSI and saw Grissom and the others leaving their impromptu meeting. Grissom turned as he heard his name, "Hey...Jim. Where's the fire?"

"I just checked the logs at the PD range. Sofia was there this morning, before we saw her at Ryan's. For the record, that gsr evidence was bunk before I found that out. Also, I need you to check out the gun; look into John Ryan, he's not part of the family business – I think he could be a cop."

"In the Ryan family?"

Brass waved Catherine's scepticism aside, "Live cops have guns. Guns that could be given to the family if the officer is killed in the line of duty."

Catherine caught Jim's meaning, "The missing Glock. It's a common police sidearm."

"I haven't got time to do it. I'm trying to run interference with Ortega. What else do you have?"

Catherine looked at the others and shrugged, "There's the BMW."

"I checked that – there was a police report. I think it was targeted deliberately."

"Based on?"

"What Sofia told me."

Jim started to back off and return to PD. Catherine stopped him, "Is there something we should know?"

"Probably. You should be the one to talk to Sofia's mom. I think she knows something because Sofia really wants to talk to her."

The four CSIs watched the detective disappear around a corner, "Did he seem happy to you?"

Catherine rolled her eyes at Grissom's exceptionally bad timing, "If the Glock was a police firearm...it should be in the Boston database. We can run it against the bullet we got from our vic."

Nick nodded and grinned, "If we rule out the gun, Sofia's got no case to answer."

"Captain Curtis, I'm sorry we have to meet under these circumstances." Catherine studied the woman before her; the similarity between mother and daughter was staggering, except the attitude. Kaitlin Curtis was definitely the boss.

"What are we looking at?"

"IAB are looking for murder charges. Ortega seems to be out for blood," Catherine caught herself and quickly apologised, "Have you spoken with Detective Ortega?"

The captain narrowed her eyes, "We've met."

"Ahh...Do you have any idea why Sofia is protecting Ryan?"

"Which one? There are quite a few of them."

"James. You had dinner with him on the night of the murder?"

Kaitlin allowed herself a wry smile. "Have you found his pride and joy yet?"

"His car was stolen at the bar?"

"Made my night. Sofia isn't covering for him. As much as I'd like to see him locked up – he couldn't have done it."

"Why were you having dinner with him if you..."

"Hate him so much? Unfortunately, he is a necessary evil in my life. And I have no idea why I had to tag along; you'd have to ask my daughter."

He opened his eyes and heard the music playing in the club, he didn't recognise it. The chairs were all stacked up and the bar looked dirty in the harsh fluorescent light. His head was pounding from lack of sleep but he needed to hold it together. Just a few more hours and it would be over. He laughed as he caught the lyrics of the song and he raised what was left of his scotch in a silent toast.

A little lost is better than found

When you always find your hopes just smashed on the ground

But someone's always there to lend you a hand

But too late you're already neck deep in quick sand

And you're sprawled out on some floor

Some one call for help

Is he alive? We're not sure

Everybody's screaming

Everyone's in a panic

But you, your face is peaceful like it's plastic

And as they roll him away on the stretcher

We knew that he'd be drunk forever

I guess a little drunk is better

"How you doing Michael?"

The sharp, New York accent grated against his headache and he had to force himself to look at his companion and ask, "We still in business?"

"Everybody needs their money washed, right? My boss says we'll swallow our take after that little misunderstanding with the law. What do you got in mind for the big one?"

He shrugged, "Depends what the Columbians say."

"And that," the New Yorker reminded him as he clapped a hand on the Irishman's back, "all depends on what you tell them."

"What I say won't matter if you keep dropping Feds like stock tips."

His companion shrugged, "One less FBI agent in the world – I should get a medal."

"How you holding up?"

"I'll be fine."

Both women were uneasy, which was understandable. Neither of them was comfortable with the position they found themselves in. Sofia was struggling to keep control of a situation that had gone off the rails in a spectacular fashion. Her loyalty was unwavering and it impressed her mother – especially after all this time – but the elder Curtis was acutely aware that Sofia was completely out of her depth. Keeping your mouth shut was one thing, going rogue was something else.

"I don't like this. I called in a few of the guys I can trust from Boston, but they know there's a reason we're doing this off the books."

Sofia paced nervously, "Something's gone wrong. He wouldn't need the Boston crew if everything was going to plan."

Captain Curtis blew out a long breath, "We can still go to Brass with what we've got – let LVPD sort it out,"

Sofia cut her off with a glare, "He asked me to do something and I'm doing it. We look after our own, remember?"

Exasperated, her mother threw her arms up, "There's a thin line between loyalty and stupidity, Sofia."

The two women locked eyes for what seemed like forever, a conversation playing out silently between them until Sofia looked up at the ceiling in a vain attempt to stop the tears that were threatening to fall, "I really don't have a choice...If I don't do this, we'll have wasted ten years of our life. All that we had, all that we gave up for this...He came to me for help, Mom."

"Dammit."

Warrick looked up from the layout table and the autopsy report he was reading, "Cath?"

"We ran the bullets through the Boston PD database. I just got the report back."

He waited for the punchline but Catherine was rubbing her temples. Reaching over the table, he grabbed her wrist to force her to look at him. She looked at his hand and then at his face, "Come with me," she led him out of the lab and towards PD, stopping in front of the memorial wall. Catherine scanned the badges until her eyes found the one she was looking for, "John Patrick Ryan was a detective in Boston before transferring out. He was killed on the job 8 years ago...in Vegas "

Grissom was on his way to brief Ortega about the gun. This case had everything he hated: he was investigating a police officer, someone who was supposed to be beyond reproach – not to mention the fact that the entire PD was treating CSI like the enemy; he was also investigating someone he cared about, if it had been a member of his team he would have been able to detach himself – he kept them at arm's length because he was a supervisor; worst of all, he couldn't identify the victim or a motive...Catherine always made a point of telling him that he couldn't classify people like his bugs and put them into neat little boxes, 'If God wanted to put us in boxes we'd come with gift wrap'.

"Well?"

Grissom was pulled out of his thoughts by Ortega's gruff demand, "John Ryan's gun killed the victim."

"So we've got a positive test for gsr and Curtis' prints in the gun case containing the murder weapon."

"And a plausible explanation for both...But no murder weapon or proof that she fired it."

"We've got a bigger problem than that..." Catherine announced as she stopped in the doorway, tapping her fingers on a file that Grissom didn't recognise, "Grissom, can I speak to you?" She motioned for them to step out of the room.

"What?"

"I've just been with Robbins. He ID'd the victim."

"How?"

"Ran him through every database he could think of, some creative thinking, got a hit on a tattoo or something...but that's not such a good thing," she opened the file for Grissom to read, "When I ran the name I got a hit in the Federal database – Grissom, the guy's an FBI agent."

Catherine was sat opposite Sofia in an interrogation room. They were finishing their coffee as they spoke. Catherine was convinced there was something more to this, so she was going to have a friendly chat with her colleague.

"John Ryan was a cop."

"We know. Did you two know each other in Boston?"

Sofia chuckled sadly, "Something like that. He transferred out here when," she paused and seemed to struggle with her words, "when his marriage ended. He was gunned down two years later. I hadn't been here long."

"The victim was a Federal agent. If James Ryan didn't do it, did John?"

Sofia nodded and closed her eyes. She looked at the table when she replied, holding the cup of coffee with both hands, "FBI, I know. What was he doing?"

Catherine wasn't sure if the young detective had answered her question or not. "No idea. How do you know who he was?"

"I don't. I know what he was. I also know that John has never killed anyone – not even on duty."

"I'm going to go out on a limb here, Sofia, and guess that your involvement with the Ryan family is to do with Detective Ryan. Why stay in touch with Ryan Senior?"

"Pop's not such a bad man."

"He's a gangster!"

The younger woman chuckled, "No, he isn't. Most of his reputation is just that – a reputation. He brought it with him from Ireland. It's Ciaran and Sean who are bad news. I'd arrest them in the morning and sit down to a family dinner with them that night. They never used guns, never dealt drugs and never ran girls. I'm not defending them but there were worse people in that city. Pop may not have been a completely legitimate businessman either, but he doesn't break the law."

"You're not going to tell me anything I don't already know, are you?"

Sofia held her colleagues eyes, "Ask me tomorrow."

"And what the Hell do you want me to do about it?!" McKeen yelled at Ortega as he fumbled in his pockets for his antacid. The detective didn't have time to react before the Undersheriff spotted Grissom and stalked off, "GRISSOM!"

Both Brass and Grissom looked up from the file they were discussing as McKeen bellowed down the corridor at the scientist, "Undersheriff..." Grissom calmly replied.

"Why the Hell wasn't I informed that our victim was a Fed?!"

"We've only just found out ourselves..."

"Yeah well, next time I want to be ambushed on TV I'll be sure to call you!"

"Whoah, what are you talking about?"

McKeen looked at Brass as if he'd sprouted wings, "I'm talking about the cameras out there," he waved his arm in the general direction of the front of the building, "filming the FBI taking one of your detectives into custody!"

Brass' first impulse was to knock Ortega on his ass for calling in the FBI, his second was to call Sofia's mother.

"So...How ya doin', Michael?"

He was sure that he would take great pleasure in shooting the New Yorker if the opportunity ever presented itself. There was only so much arrogance a man could stomach.

Receiving no reply, the visitor leaned against the bar and ordered a drink, "You might have a drinking problem, buddy. Every time I meet you, you're in a bar."

"Just tell me what I need to know."

"We've got ten guys out here...the Columbians bring the money and we split it up. Our boys hit the casinos, lose a little to make it look good for the old eye in the sky, y'know? And then take their cut to the pit – buy casino chips up to the limit – then we just cash them somewhere else. Anybody wants to know where the money came from? We had a good night in Sin City."

"That simple?"

"Once you cash the chips you have receipts documenting the cash. Nothing anyone can do about it."

He laughed, "And they're paying us how much to do this?"

"Ten percent of whatever we wash."

"Nice work if you can get it..."

"And we got rid of a Fed and the cops."

"Cops?" the Irishman demanded.

"The one they picked up with James Ryan. The FBI took her away this morning – means Las Vegas' finest will be too busy covering their collective asses to be sniffing around anymore. It was a stroke of genius to take that car – you never did tell me how you got it."

The Irishman's face drained of colour and he quickly made his excuses – citing a scorching headache and the need to speak with the Columbians. As soon as he was safely outside the bar, he pulled his cellphone from his pocket and dialled a familiar number.

"Venetian Hotel, how may I help you?"

"Captain Kaitlin Curtis, please." He tapped his fist against the wall as he waited for the call to be put through.

"Sir? I'm afraid there's no answer,"

"Could you take a message?"

"Certainly..."

"The message is 'Thunder'. She'll understand."

"And who's the message from?"

He paused for a moment, unsure, "Just tell her Jack called."

"Shit."

"Nice."

Curtis whirled around to see Jim Brass smirking at his office door, "Not now, Jim."

Brass went into business mode, "What is it?"

"Shut the door and sit down." Brass complied as Curtis dialled a number and hit speaker phone. It was answered on the third ring and she confidently answered the code, "Lightning."

"I'm calling it in."

"What's going – excuse me?"

"I said I'm calling it in."

"I heard you...Are you crazy?"

"Did you see the six o'clock news?"

The line went dead and Curtis held her head in her hands. Brass suddenly noticed how drained she looked and realised she must be feeling ten times as bad as he was, "What's going on, Kaitlin?"

She looked up and debated the merits of confiding in her friend. "Jim...I know I asked you to look after my little girl, and I know you feel bad about what's happening..."

"Are you caught up in this?"

"This is a Columbian drug cartel laundering money through the Las Vegas casinos. There's an American firm providing the set up and an undercover officer is putting it together...The undercover agent setting up the deal was one of my detectives in Boston. He thinks he's been compromised by someone. He can't trust his handlers and he's not comfortable calling the FBI. He called me instead."

"He knew about the murder."

She nodded, "So did Sofia."

"What does she have to do with it?"

"They've had...How can I put this?...Dealings. This sting has been ten years in the making, by its very nature this guy had to go in deep. His only contact is with a guy from the DEA and he can't trust him. We've been setting up an exit move for him."

Brass was reeling a little. Why didn't Sofia tell him this? They'd been through enough for him to have deserved that, "Why not come to us? We could bust the operation and take in everyone."

"He doesn't know how far this goes – he can't risk us calling in the DEA. Someone told the bad guys about the fed and now he's gone to the great hereafter. I've told your Sheriff that I'm here on a warrant for someone and I've got some men from Boston. The undercover officer has called in an FBI agent we can trust as backup; he can handle the dead fed, he's in town already."

"Let me rephrase that: Why didn't she come to us?"

"It's complicated, Jim."

"What about Ryan? Is he part of this?"

"Oh Christ...I forgot about him."

Special Agent Will Timmons pulled his coat closer and stomped his feet, the Nevada desert at night was something he would never get used to. He was from Florida – he didn't do the cold.

"Thanks for coming, Billy."

Timmons whirled round to face his companion, "There better be a good reason why we're not doing this on the phone..."

Jack laughed, "I need to ask a favour."

"Nothing new there...Is that why you dragged me out here?"

The Irishman wasn't listening, "I know it's dangerous for us to have more contact...but I need to know Sofia's out of the way before I close this."

Timmons raised an eyebrow, "What?"

"I'm not in the mood, Billy. Just make sure you take care of her."

"Jack...I have no idea what you're talking about. Where is she?"

"You don't have her in custody?"

Timmons frowned, "Why would I arrest Sofia? I'm covering your ass on this drugs bust. Oh, thanks for the heads up on Stewart, by the way. Always nice to be the last to know one of my guys is dead."

"He was one of your agents? Wait you didn't know he was dead?...Shit."

Timmons was confused now, "I just found out. The local Bureau chief is giving me anything I need, I had to apologise for running an operation on his turf but he's happy that it's some super secret case I can't tell him about."

"If none of you knew who he was until now – who took Sofia into custody this evening?"

Undersheriff McKeen had called everyone working the murder case into the CSI layout room. The CSIs were all studying the pictures that had been tacked up on the wall; various people were snapped in what were obviously surveillance photos. They were interrupted by the arrival of the undersheriff and Brass, quickly followed by Captain Curtis and half a dozen of her men. They all stood in an awkward silence while they waited for the final person to arrive.

Captain Curtis looked around and then put three pictures on the table, "This man is Nico Inzaghi; New Yorker but he's part of a Boston criminal organisation – a rival of the Ryan's. This man is Diego Jimenez. He's part of the Jimenez Cartel. This is...Michael O'Shea, the middle man. Undersheriff McKeen, there is a large money laundering operation about to occur in Las Vegas. Ten million dollars are being used to test a system being run by Inzaghi. If it works, The Jimenez Cartel is planning to launder three hundred million in the same way. The DEA has an agent in place. This agent has been compromised."

McKeen started to shake his head, "Boston PD asked if you could come down here to pick up Michael O'Shea on an outstanding fraud warrant – nothing about a Columbian cartel."

"I'm Special Agent Will Timmons, FBI." The young man put the folder he had been holding down on the table and removed two photographs; Timmons looked around the room to make sure everyone was paying attention before placing his own photographs on the table, "This is Agent Harry Stewart. I believe you have him in your morgue?" He raised an eyebrow at 

McKeen and received an I-suppose-so shrug in return, "He was assigned to follow Jimenez when we picked him up on our radar at the Bureau's OC Division. We told the DEA as a courtesy. About Jimenez and our agent." Everyone understood the implied accusation in that statement. Timmons laid the last photo out which showed Sofia meeting O'Shea at the police cemetery, "After being contacted by the undercover agent, I've had a small team on the operation for the last two weeks. We don't know who killed my agent – we did have someone in custody that has that information but you let her walk out of here. "

Catherine watched Brass, waiting for him to defend Sofia. She was also expecting a comment from Captain Curtis, but neither of them reacted to the photograph – they seemed to be expecting it.

"Unfortunately...the sting we had set up to draw out the DEA's leak has gone to shit because you people are fucking amateurs!"

Jim Brass was caught between feeling angry that his colleagues were being accused of not doing their jobs, and splitting his sides at the look on McKeen's face.

Curtis put a hand on Timmons' arm to calm him down as McKeen defended himself, "Your agents took Detective Curtis into custody this morning...We've handed the case over to the FBI. Whatever has happened is nothing to do with us."

"No...What happened this morning was LVPD screwed over an attempt to rescue an undercover federal agent!"

"Don't think that you can dump this on LVPD because of one corrupt officer. If we'd have known about this operation then we'd have been able to help you out." McKeen countered.

Kaitlin Curtis interrupted quietly, "Sofia's not in FBI custody."

Timmons stared at McKeen across the table and took in a deep breath, "The only people who are supposed to know about the operation were the undercover agent and his DEA handler. The only reason we know," he waved an arm between himself and Captain Curtis, "is because the agent broke cover."

"So bust the operation and take everyone into custody – your undercover guy can give you testimony to prosecute."

"Our undercover guy is barely holding it together. No one's done anything wrong until they start washing the money. We don't know who took Sofia and our agent is the only person who has a chance of finding out. It took a helluva lot to convince him just to stay in the field." Curtis shot back and stared the undersheriff down.

Grissom wasn't comfortable being in the middle of a political showdown and wondered why his team had been called into this meeting. Catherine was just pissed. The photograph the Fed had shown them of Sofia pretty much nailed her as a dirty cop and the leak responsible for the FBI agent's death.

Nick had had enough, "What the Hell are we doing here? Unless you want to see if we're dirty too?" He crossed his arms across his chest defensively.

Brass held out a hand, "I asked them to include you. We were working the case...kind of."

Catherine held up her hands, "Wait, wait...you think we want to know how we were taken for a ride?" she asked incredulously.

"Look. I don't give a damn what any of you think...I haven't said 'yes' to their operation yet." McKeen said, popping more antacid as he spoke.

Timmons glared at the man, "You handed the case over remember? Besides, you don't have a choice. A federal agent was murdered – that gives me jurisdiction. Over everything. And right now? I'm this close," he held his finger and thumb millimetres apart, "to calling the Sheriff and telling him how you screwed up."

"I want LVPD in on the arrests."

"I'm going to tell you what you're going to get: Brass is coming with us. We'll bring everyone back to LVPD for questioning. We'll see what action to take after we debrief the DEA agent."

Timmons was geared up with his hand on the door of the car. The arrest team consisted of him, Curtis and Brass in one van, six Boston PD detectives in another and three FBI agents walking the street. Curtis had talked the undersheriff into taking his deal and called their guy to arrange a location. He got a quick nod from the police captain and touched his radio piece:

"GO! GO! GO!"

It had taken until they reached the car waiting outside for Sofia to realise that something was wrong. For a start, Will Timmons wasn't there. Secondly, FBI agents don't usually walk detained suspects out to the car with a Beretta in the back. Finally, FBI agents definitely don't pistol-whip suspects that are in handcuffs. She looked around at the room she was currently in and decided that, no, she definitely wasn't where she was supposed to be.

It had taken until they reached the car waiting outside for him to realise that something was wrong. Inzaghi pulled a Desert Eagle out from under his jacket and jabbed him in the ribs, "Keep walking, Michael. We're going to have a little chat about what you've been up to."

He closed his eyes and stopped for a moment. He should have gone in when he had the chance, not let Kaitlin and Will talk him into staying put. Ten years of hard work and sacrifice were about to go down the drain. He got into the car anyway; if he was going to die he might as well enjoy a limo ride before he went. At least if they carried on to the meeting they'd get pulled by the waiting officers that were ready to bust it.

Brass holstered his gun and looked around the empty house, "What happened?"

Timmons finished talking with his surveillance team on the phone and joined the older man, "They're not here."

Curtis shot him an angry glare, "We can see that, genius!"

"Hey...Don't take it out on me! You called him!"

She turned to leave; Brass and Timmons watched her go before the younger man started to follow. Brass stopped him as he went past, "Her daughter's caught up in this – cut her a little slack."

Timmons looked at him sadly, "I'm well aware of the stakes, Captain."

Before Brass could respond, both men turned suddenly at the sound of screeching tires and shouting from outside the house. As they sprinted out they heard gunfire erupting and saw several officers and agents firing at a speeding car.

"Will! Jim! Get paramedics!" Curtis yelled as she propped a man up against a car.

"I don't need an ambulance, woman! Leave me be..."

"What happened...Jesus."

The man looked up with a humourless smile, "They don't like people trying to screw them over."

Timmons looked at the torn clothes and bloodied face of his friend, "No kidding."

"So, Detective Curtis...or are you a Ryan? I'm not sure how you people do things."

"You can call me what you like."

The Columbian smiled and continued on, "Which side are you working for? The police or the Ryan family?"

"Depends. Would you rather be arrested by the police or taken out by the Ryans?"

Jimenez ignored her, "If this is just a little...misunderstanding...between businessmen – I'm sure I could work something out with your papa. However, if you are working for the authorities – our time together will be swift."

Sofia was still handcuffed and had two of Jimenez's goons holding her in her chair. Upsetting him was probably not the best thing to do. She decided to play along and buy herself some time, "I think you should be talking to Nico," she paused to see if Jimenez reacted, and he did, "Oh, I know Nico – we go way back to Boston – he's the one who brought the DEA to the party."

Jimenez let his shock get the better of him and he lashed out – striking Sofia in the temple and knocking her unconscious. He stared at her for a moment and then looked up at the men holding her, "Get her out of here. I need to make a phone call."

He was sitting at the table in the CSI break room, looking through the FBI surveillance file. As soon as he'd assured Timmons and Curtis that he was alright and the doctors had reluctantly discharged him, he'd started barking out orders. This had got Curtis worried. She'd been his captain since he made Detective; she'd known Jack since his junior year of college. He was an emotional man and let his temper get the better of him; to see him so calm and focused was worrying her. That was why Catherine found her watching the younger man from the corridor.

"So this is John Ryan?" Catherine asked, just to alert the woman to her presence.

"Detective Jack; the dead son of a gangster."

"He was the undercover man?"

Curtis nodded and then saw the file that the CSI had in her hand, "That the stuff from the booking cameras?"

Catherine opened the file and flipped through, "He wants to see if he can recognise the people that took Sofia."

The younger man looked up from his reading and saw the two women outside the door. He stood and crossed the short distance before opening it. He looked at Catherine and then at the file in her hand, "Are those the stills?"

"We can't make out their faces – they kept their backs to the cameras most of the time."

"I'm not looking for something to take to court - I just want to know who they work for. Inzaghi made me but he didn't mention Sofia and I don't think he knew I was undercover – he was more interested in my cover story and the holes he'd picked in it...Thought I was going to rip him off and take the money."

"Imagine that."

Ryan realised Curtis was trying to relieve some of the pressure by teasing him, "I have never cheated an honest citizen in my life."

"Your old colleagues must be rotten poker players."

He allowed the ghost of a smile, "I said 'honest', Kaitlin."

"Will has surveillance teams looking for Jimenez and Inzaghi. Anything out of the ordinary and they'll call it in. When they find them." Curtis sounded a lot calmer than she felt. She loved the fact that her daughter had followed her into the Detective Division, was proud that she hadn't allowed herself to be 'Captain Curtis' daughter', and terrified that one day she'd get that call.

Jack looked tired and lifeless. He was operating on caffeine and desperation, neither of which were going to keep him going much longer. His Irish accent was getting thicker from exhaustion and Catherine struggled to understand him when he spoke. "I don't know if we've got that kind of time."

There was nothing the CSI could say that wouldn't sound superficial to a veteran cop so she simply handed over the pictures.

Curtis nodded slowly, "How do we play this?"

Jack went back to his seat and held his head in his hands, "She never once asked me not to do this. You believe that? Even the affair...I asked her to put her life on hold for all these years..."

"Hold on, are we talking about Sofia? What affair?" Catherine had followed them in and sat down at the table. The more she knew about this case, the less she understood.

Curtis and Ryan shared a look before he spoke. "My father and I agree completely on one thing: Sofia is a wonderful woman and a great cop. When the DEA came up with this operation we knew it was going to be a long term thing – and that 'John Ryan' needed to disappear. The DEA decided to get me transferred to another department and then arrange my untimely demise. It was Sofia who came up with the idea to get me out of Boston: I faked an affair and she threw me out; my captain," he waved a hand at Curtis, "obviously wouldn't want me around so I requested a transfer. Nobody would have any reason to come looking for me – a little 'redecoration' and I was good to go. When the FBI agent was killed, I asked her to setup my father to keep you out of our way. She got him to McCoul's so I could take his car."

"What about the gun?"

"She got that for me ages ago. Inzhagi used it to kill Stewart – it tied me to him so I wouldn't turn. That wasn't part of the setup."

"Sofia's not a dirty cop?"

Ryan went silent and was struggling to keep his composure. Curtis crouched down at his side and rested a hand on his arm, "We'll find her, Jack."

"We wouldn't have to if these idiots hadn't arsed up. The whole idea of setting her up as a corrupt officer was so she'd be safely in a cell when this went down. Who hands over a prisoner before checking the paperwork?"

"Anyone who's Sheriff is breathing down their neck ordering them to."

"Yeah, right. If we don't get her back she'll be remembered as a dirty cop who was getting cosy with a gangster." He was angry now, mostly at himself, partly at those responsible for screwing up.

"It's not your fault."

"She should have walked away."

"Where are we?"

Curtis, Jack and Catherine looked up to see McKeen with Timmons rushing to keep up with him, "If I were you, Undersheriff, I would leave him alone."

McKeen turned his head in the FBI man's direction, but didn't meet his eye, "You've debriefed him, right? Well I want to know what he's going to do...seeing as how everything's been going so well." He tilted his head to the side and waited for an answer.

Curtis was going to warn him as well, but decided that the pompous idiot deserved everything he got.

Jack wasn't in the mood and snapped impatiently, "What?"

"If you're planning anymore pointless operations I want to be kept in the loop – I've got to make sure the city doesn't get stuck cleaning up your mess."

Jack grabbed McKeen's jacket and propelled him into the wall, "My mess!? You people signed a prisoner over without checking ID! You had to keep her in here for twenty four hours while we set up the sting and you couldn't even get that right!"

"Get your hands off me!"

"NO! You listen to me...If anything happens to Sofia, I will take great pleasure in putting air in your head. Do you understand me?"

"Are you threatening me?"

Jack narrowed his eyes and then smiled, "No."

McKeen smoothed his suit down as Jack stormed off, not entirely sure that the Irishman's answer was a good thing, "You sure he's in law enforcement?"

Diego Jimenez thumbed the button on his cell phone to hang up and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He called for one of his men and turned to look out of his large office window. The man who entered wasn't the typical office worker.

"I can't reach O'Shea. Do we have anyone watching him?"

"No. We lost him a couple of hours ago when he went to meet the American."

"Is everything ready?"

"We handed the money over this afternoon. We just have to wait for them to do what they do, in fact, they should be doing it right now."

"This is a good idea – if you trust the people you're working with. What about the cop?"

"We could get rid of her. Do you believe what she said about the DEA?"

"Inzhagi is too greedy to involve the Federales; he wants the money..."

"...to wage war on my brother."

"So that's what he gets out of it. How does it work?"

Jack looked across the table at Grissom. There was something in the scientist that he liked; his ability to be emotionally detached from his work seemed to be doing it at the moment. The others seemed to be on the fence, except Timmons, Curtis and Brass - although Brass was taking a leap of faith because Kaitlin was vouching for him. McKeen just flat-out hated him, which was fine because the feeling was mutual. The Texan, Stokes, was sending daggers his way every so often; he obviously wasn't convinced – tough, no one had time to explain the last fifteen years to him. The woman, Catherine, was willing to play along but Jack thought that was more about wanting to believe she hadn't been taken in by a dirty cop than any trust she had in him.

"It's pretty good really. The Columbians give me the money, which cuts their involvement. I then hand it off to Inzhagi and his crew, they play a little at the casinos – lose some money – and cash in the chips. None of them have enough money to alert the casinos and they don't win any money, even if they are pulled in, it's not their money and we can't prove it's anyone else's. Jimenez has no direct contact with Inzhagi and the money is moved as cash from the Cartel's legitimate business accounts. Unless there is a man on the inside who can put them all together, we can't touch them for any of it. The plan was to catch them when they washed the whole 300 million – that kind of money would cripple the Cartel.

"So, now we have you. I don't see the problem."

Jack blew out a breath. The urge to punch out the Undersheriff was overwhelming, but he needed to keep his emotions in check if he was to get out of this alive – he had no doubt that the Cartel and Inzhagi would come after him if the operation wasn't successful. "Right now, Inzhagi and his men are hitting the casinos."