Getting There
Chapter 2
Mexico
Grissom took directions well; he measured trees using a laser measurer, he wrote numbers as researchers called them out, he weighed butterflies on a microgram scale, and occasionally someone found a small dot marked on a wing which indicated where the butterfly had been caught and tagged on its way to Mexico. He was so engrossed in what was happening he did not realize his phone was making a low beep until a man across the table joked and asked if he had a dinner date with someone.
Chuckling, he said, "My wife—she's the only one with this number!" He checked the phone and grinned as he answered, "Hello, dear, from high in the Sierra Madre—where millions of Monarchs are waiting for you!" Everyone around him smiled at his greeting and when he said "Catherine", they noticed an immediate change in his voice.
Catherine's voice sent a shock wave into his brain; she would not be using Sara's phone without reason. He immediately moved away from the group, but everyone had stopped at the change in his voice as he said the woman's name. Only later would several of the men say they heard panic and fear in one word. They watched as excitement left Grissom's face to be replaced by anxiety—Grissom's hand ranked across his face, his shoulders slumped, anguish suddenly seem to age his face. As the mostly one-sided, unheard conversation continued, one of the researchers motioned for others to continue their work. Instead, realizing something had happened to affect their newest volunteer in a very drastic way, each person pulled out their phone and commenced a whispered conversation.
No one knew if the phone call had ended or if Grissom had simply heard all he could as he turned and said, "She's—my wife has been shot—in a bad way…I need to get home." The phone was still in his hand as he held out his hands in a gesture of helplessness and distress.
Over the years, the group had experienced a dozen emergencies—none like this—but they knew how to respond; satellite phones and internet access even in remote areas meant travel plans could be made quickly. Within minutes, Grissom was on the trail with a local man and two researchers. The others assured him travel plans would be complete by the time he arrived at the nearest village. The local man kept repeating there was a very fast way to reach Mexico City from the village. Grissom could not think past Catherine's message; his mind would not function fast enough to translate the man's Spanish. He had to get home and, right now, he would not hesitate to climb aboard a drug-loaded plane if it meant he would reach Sara's side.
Las Vegas
Anyone who worked law enforcement knew the sound of a gunshot and Catherine had reacted to the sound—actually ducking her head—and by the time she heard a second shot, she was moving toward the front door and reaching for her radio. The second shot sent a bullet into the house breaking charred pieces of wood into splinters. Adrenalin pumped through her veins and she did not flinch at the 'thunk' sound of the second bullet hitting something—metal she thought. Other shots rang out and she recognized the gunfire as that from police revolvers.
Her first view outside was one of pandemonium—the crowd was running in three directions. Two uniformed men were on their knees, aiming at a body sprawled on the sidewalk. They began to move, scrambling to feet, one running toward the house. Then she saw Sara.
Sara—lying in a tumbling fall, face down, unmoving, and, with a horrified cry, Catherine saw blood seeping into the blue fabric. Later, she realized she screamed at everyone—the policemen for not seeing the old man with a gun, for waiting seconds to call for an ambulance; she screamed at the ambulance crew when they arrived, but never did she rise from the mud and release Sara until one of the paramedics pulled her hands away and Ecklie and Brass grabbed an arm to help her up. By then, the others, Nick, Greg, Langston, and half the day shift had arrived on the scene and everyone was asking questions.
Greg was the one who thought to retrieve Sara's phone, who managed to get Catherine into his vehicle to follow the ambulance. "They need room to work on her, Catherine. We'll be right behind them!"
In the car, as panic subsided and reality returned, Catherine's hand shook as Greg handed her a towel. "Grissom—what do I tell Grissom? She looks bad—did you see all the blood?" Dread rose in her voice. "Do I wait—should I call him now? Do you know where he is? Mexico someplace, right?" Her eyes filled with tears. "I begged her to stay, Greg. She was going with him and I begged her to stay another week." She turned her face to the window. "She's bad—I know this is bad."
Catherine was talking about his best friend. Taking her hand, Greg said, "It's on the right side—we'll know something once we get to the hospital. Call him then—when you know something—that's what I'd want to hear." Minutes later they pulled beside the ambulance as Sara was rolled inside.
In ten minutes the others swept into the ER, asking questions for which Catherine and Greg had no answers. Nick asked if Grissom had been called and both shook their heads.
"I want to say more than 'Sara's been shot, get home'—what is taking so long?" Catherine asked as she paced. "This was a safe scene! Who was that guy? And why won't someone tell us something?"
All of them paced for what seemed like hours when it was actually less than thirty minutes when a tall man wearing a white coat appeared and the group circled him. Catherine knew she recognized the man but the events of the past hour slowed her recognition.
"I'm Dr. Lurie," he said.
If a thread of adrenalin had not continued to run through her blood vessels, Catherine might have fainted as a flood of memories came back to her of Grissom spending hours on a case years ago. Lurie had been the prime suspect and had walked out a free man. One of the victims had been a Sara look-alike.
Nick, thinking faster than anyone else, asked several questions.
Lurie spoke: "She has a massive shoulder wound—close range, a bullet designed to cause maximum damage to soft tissue and bone. You'll find it, I'm sure. But right now we are getting her to surgery, see what damage is done. Her heart appears sound—undamaged, as is the spinal cord. That's the good news, short term."
"How long before more news?" Greg asked this question.
The physician shook his head. "The repair and clean up will take hours. If she has family, get them here just in case something goes wrong. We'll do our best to give her some range of motion, repair bones and nerves—that's my initial concern with an injury like this." He turned to leave as quickly as he had arrived.
Others murmured thanks while Catherine attempted to comprehend everything that had happened. Brass had placed a hand on her back and felt breath escape as her knees buckled.
"Hey! Hey! Sit, sweetheart!"
Greg must have been watching because he had a chair behind her before she could slip to the floor. "I'm okay," she insisted as the other gathered around her. "Just everything sort of closed in—and that doctor! Do you remember him?" Her eyes were wide now as she looked from face to face.
A/N: Thanks for reviewing-let us hear from you! And next chapter arrives soon!