-DISCLAIMER - Not owned by me, or I'd be really rich… Oooo…. Ahem, yeah just borrowing the whole concept.

A/N - Next chapter up. Hope people enjoy. Please review, it maketh me happy.


The Williams family were as plain as any family could be. Not extraordinary in any way, they could have blended into almost any crowd. Mac watched them from nearby the elevators. They had flown in from South Dakota just hours after being told of their daughter's death. He had organised a car to take them to and from the airports, and had pulled in a favour from a friend working for American Airlines. Absentmindedly, the CSI boss wondered how his own children might have turned out. The thought no longer stung as it had.

There was a close relationship between the three of them. Betty and Peter, the parents, sat either side of their younger daughter. Christine was just thirteen. Already taller than her diminutive mother, she nevertheless rested her head on Betty's shoulder. There was just one member of the Williams family still to arrive. He had a lot further to come.

"Hey."

Mac twisted round. "Hey Stella."

"Is that them?"

He nodded. "They got the first flight out here."

"What about the brother?"

"Flack spoke to his superiors. They're sending him home as soon as they can."

Lara's older brother, Pete Jr., was a soldier. He was in the fourth month of his tour in Iraq. There would be no more for him. On hearing what had happened, the army had acted with speed. He had been immediately released from duty. All that remained was to fly him back to America.

"Got anything interesting yet?"

"Nothing." Mac said. "We're waiting on the autopsy. Sid's rushing things through as much as he can, but he's as busy as the rest of us."

The preliminary examination of the body had revealed little to either Sid or the CSIs that they had not expected to find. Lara was dangerously thin. If she had not been in the grip of anorexia when she died, she could have been classed as a recovering anorexic. The massive wound to the side of her head had killed her - of that they had no doubt. Evidence of bleeding from it meant that she had been alive when she was struck.

Perhaps the only matter of interest so far was the tiny yellow flakes of paint found in Lara's wound. Mac had already taken samples. He had delivered them to Trace. The new tech there had been about to take a break. He had volunteered to work over it, and bypass the 'queuing system' that was supposed to ensure all cases were attended to fairly.

"What about your case?"

"All wrapped up." Stella said triumphantly.

Mac raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"The guy took one look at our evidence and begged the D.A. for a deal."

"Lucky you. Is the D.A. interested?"

"No. Anything fresh in?"

Mac shook his head. "See what you can do to help Lindsey and Hawkes."

"The serial rapist case?"

"Yeah. They're having trouble. Some evidence-" Mac yawned. "-got contaminated."

It had been an innocent mistake by a young rookie at the scene. There was still plenty to work with, but his error had cost the investigation dearly. Any further evidence might come under suspicion. Mac had already spoken to the young man's partner, who had assured him it would be dealt with. Their sergeant was very supportive of forensics. Mistakes like this drove him crazy.

"That's not good." Stella said unnecessarily. She took a closer look at her friend. "Mac, you look terrible."

He grinned. "Thanks Stella."

"Hey, I call 'em like I see 'em."

Over by the Williams family, activity had started. The detectives running the case - Flack and Bradwen - were greeting them. Mac was struck again by how close the family were. No question about it, he thought wearily, I'll be seeing them a lot. It was always hard to deal with the nearest and dearest of the victims. Stella tugged his sleeve, forcing him to leave the Williams to their grief.

"I happen to know that someone bought you lunch . I think you owe her dinner…" she said as they walked away.


Lindsey blinked to clear her vision. She checked her watch. It had only been a couple of hours since she started watching the security tapes from her case. A serial rapist had been targeting women around their late forties and early fifties. They were always attacked in their own apartment buildings; often actually in their homes. The tapes were from the latest attack. Emilia de Lugo was the guy's sixth victim. She had called it in right away.

Until the de Lugo attack, their guy had left little or no evidence behind. All they knew was that he was a slightly heavy-set man of average height, stubble, a deep, Midwestern voice, and possibly wore a dark green sweater. The last related to some tiny threads found on the fourth victim's nightgown. The cases had only been linked because the M.O. matched. Not only did the rapist attack in similar locations, he also went through the same ritual each time - the same methods, the same words. Until de Lugo. She had fought back in a way the others hadn't. Lindsey wouldn't dare to judge the others for how they had acted, but she did feel some admiration for Emilia.

When the police arrived, there was still semen on her. Lindsey had collected a full rape kit. It had been sent straight to the lab, whilst she worked the crime scene. Lindsey checked her watch again. They wouldn't have full genetic profile yet, but they might have something. Just as her hand reached for the phone, Hawkes walked in. His grim face told her everything she needed to know.

"What's wrong?" Lindsey asked.

Hawkes sat down next to her, and paused the tape. "Non-secretor." he explained.

"Damn it."

Around twenty percent of the population were non-secretors. This meant simply that their blood type antigens - the material that could be used to positively identify them - were not found in other bodily fluids. The samples could become useful when they had a suspect. Until then, it made life difficult for the CSIs.

"What about a search of the database for convicted non-secretors?" Hawkes suggested.

Lindsey squeezed her eyes shut. "It couldn't hurt."

"Good thing I already started it then."

She cracked open one eyelid. Hawkes' infectious smile greeted her. It was impossible not to match it. The search might not turn up anything, but it was a good place to start. Turning her attention back to the screen, Lindsey stole the remote back from her friend.

"It's more than we've got now, anyway."

Hawkes sighed, nodding. He was just as frustrated as Lindsey. The rapist had struck six times in six months. Panic was starting to spread. Each attack brought a fresh wave of criticisms in the press. They had, he thought darkly, made the case that much harder to work. Throwing his pen onto the desk, the tall CSI stole the remote back again and pressed play.

Hawkes leant sideways. "This as annoying as it looks?"

Lindsey shook her head. "More."