Disclaimer: CSI and any brand names used in this story do not belong to me and are being used for entertainment purposes only.

A/N: I'd like to thank both Tazzer and Sydne for all their help and suggestions. This story would never have gotten done without them.

Scene change

' thought '

emphasis

CHAPTER 2.

In and out, that's all Catherine had planned on staying. She told herself thirty minutes tops to drop off samples, casings, and answer to the best of her abilities any questions about the three's condition.

She should have known better.

She should have known as soon as word got out that she was in the building every CSI and lab rat would be coming out of the woodwork looking for any kind of news, good or bad involving their co-workers. It took her well over an hour to extract herself so she could make the trek to the hospital.

It is now quarter past 4:00 a.m. as she pulls into the hospital parking lot. Turning the engine off, she takes calming breathes before slipping out of the driver's seat. She looks around the parking lot for the detective's Taurus. Several seconds pass and her frown turns into a scowl as she realizes, he's not here. ' Where the hell is that bastard? ' she thinks.

Somehow she doubts that he even came within ten blocks of the hospital. Sighing she rubs a pale hand over her face in frustration. Standing in the parking lot, she feels as she's been punched in the stomach, all the air from her lungs rushes out and the only thing that is keeping her from collapsing to the ground, is sheer willpower. Her heart beats loudly in her chest and her mouth suddenly becomes very dry. Without a crime scene to distract her, or evidence to process, her mind is free to conjure worst case scenarios – all those casings, how many of those bullets hit Gil? Warrick? She does not like how this case is starting out. Squaring her shoulders, she prepares herself as best she can for the worst and makes her way to the hospital entrance. Stepping through the automated sliding doors, she heads down the familiar path to the nurses' station. Pulling out her badge for the second time that night, she introducers herself and states her business.

"They only sent one of you?" She asked. The nurse is a twenty-two-year-old African-American female, barely more than five feet and slightly less than 130 lbs. Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun making her round face seem rounder.

"What can I say? It's fight night," she offers with a shrug.

Giving Catherine a half smile, the nurse turns her back before finally picking up a single clip board and bringing back to the CSI. "Mr. Grissom and Mr. Brown are both in the OR."

"Still?" She asks. A knot that had previously gone ignored manifested itself full force as she feels her knees momentarily go weak.

"I'm afraid so," she replies softly.

"And Detective Curtis?"

Looking down at the clipboard she reads from it. "She's in room 207. A single gunshot to the forearm, and a second shot that grazed her temple. She may still be unconscious, but she'll make a full recovery. We've also recovered and kept the bullet for you."

Clipped to the board is a small plastic bag. Inside it is a large caliber round; identical to the one Catherine found at the crime scene.

There's still blood on it.

Handing it over to the older woman, the nurse gives her a look of sympathy. Catherine receives it with a nod of thanks and gives it a once over. After making sure the bag is sealed and labeled correctly, she makes her way to Sofia 's room. With shaking hands and burning eyes she walks the corridor to the detective's room. From her estimation, both men have been in the OR for nearly four hours. She doesn't want to think about what she would do if one or both of them were to die.

' Damn it Warrick ' she thinks in anguish. ' You can't leave me. You can't leave me! '

Pausing at the detective's door, she grips the handle tight enough to turn her knuckles white. Conscious or not, she is not going allow herself to be weak in front of Sofia. Gathering all her strength, she wills herself to calm down, as she blinks away her tears.

Stepping into the room she expects to see the unconscious form of the young woman, instead she immediately locks eyes with a disheveled, but conscious detective. Catherine is surprised at how human Sofia looks. The ice princess facade has melted to reveal a hurt, scared young woman. Sofia 's make-up has been washed away leaving her looking at least five years younger. Her youth and inexperience seem to glow like a neon sign. On her left temple is square cotton gauze being held in place with tape. Even so, a small spot of blood is still visible. Her left arm is also bandaged and being held to her side by a sling.

"Catherine," she says by way of greeting.

" Sofia, they said you were still unconscious."

Sofia bites her bottom lip, trying her best to not show any weakness in front of the older woman before fixing Catherine with an even look. But no matter how hard she tries, Sofia cannot hide the anguish in her eyes, or control the tremors in her body. "I've been up for nearly 45 minutes. I haven't been able to find out anything. I don't I don't know what the hell is going on! Gil could be dead for all I know. They won't tell me a damn thing, I'm not "family" enough, they say! I've been dating Gil for over six months, you would think that would count for something. I can't lose him, I just can't." Tears that the detective doesn't bother wiping away, gather in the corners of her eyes and fall in silent streams.

"They're both in OR, the nurse just told me," Catherine replies in a soft voice.

"Oh god," she says with a cracking voice. For a brief second Catherine can see a second wave of tears well in her eyes as grips her blanket tightly. But the moment passes quickly as she blinks them away. Taking and releasing several breaths, she levels her gaze at Catherine. "Who's the detective working the case?" she asks in a professional, but shakey voice. Catherine understands Sofia's need to concentrate on anything but Gil's unknown condition. "Shouldn't he be with you?"

Releasing an unladylike snort she makes her way to the chair beside Sofia 's bed and sits down. She then wiggles out of her coat and takes off her knit cap. "His name is Detective Flynn and I don't have a clue where he is," she replies heatedly.

"Never heard of him."

"He said he's a recent transfer from Boulder City ."

Furrowing her eyebrows she thinks for a few seconds before shaking her head slowly "I don't remember a Detective Flynn when I was there," she finally says.

Raising an eyebrow at the blonde she gives Sofia a questioning look. "Do you have a photographic memory or something?"

She turns her head slightly to the side in embarrassment and gives a single nod. But the moment of playfulness passes quickly. For when Sofia turns back to face Catherine, her expression is all business but her eyes look as if she has seen a ghost. "Photographic memory or not, I will never forget what I saw in Boulder City ," she says with a shudder.

"And your positive there's no Detective Flynn?"

"Positive."

"Damn! What the hell is going on? Why would someone do something like this?" Catherine asks angrily.

Sofia has no answer to Catherine's question. She allows a few seconds for the older woman to calm down before asking her own questions. After a few minutes of silence, she finally asks, "What did this detective look like?"

Sighing Catherine leans back into her seat trying to get comfortable before she answers. "He was plain looking, height was about 5' 10'. Black hair slicked back. Pale almost see through skin. His accent was Midwestern. The only thing that really stuck out were his eyes, they were almost black. The bastard kept starring at me like I was a piece of meat."

"Did he have a scar?" Sofia asked not liking where Catherine is going with her description.

Shooting her a look, she replies anyway. "He had scar across his throat. Nasty thing."

Sofia 's face blanches when she hears that.

"What is it?" Catherine asks. "Do you know him?"

Sofia slowly nods her head in affirmation. "Does the name Flynn mean anything to you? Do you know anyone from the Midwest?"

"Yeah," Catherine answers slowly. "On both counts. But what does this have to with the detective?"

"Everything," the blonde replies in a low voice. "It means he's been studying you. It means he most likely has a file on you as thick as a phone book. It means that neither you, your family nor friends are safe."

"What . . . what are you talking about?" Catherine asks in a matching low voice. Her hand goes unconsciously to her stomach.

"That detective is no detective, his name is Evan Tyler. He was dubbed the 'Hunter' by the media. And while you and the others were busy saving Nick, I was with the task force charged with bringing that monster down."

"I remember seeing something on the TV while I was in the waiting room at the hospital. Wasn't he responsible for killing 45 women? I thought you caught him?"

"Those forty-five, are the women we know about. And yes we did catch him, but apparently he escaped."

"And he wants revenge."

"And an heir," Sofia finishes in a near whisper.

Catherine raises herself from the chair, walks to the other side of the room and leans her forehead against the window. Tremors run through her body and she grips the windowsill tightly as she fights to keep control. The night air is still cool as it provides a welcomed relief to heat rising within her. The sun's rosy fingers are just beginning the slow climb over the horizon, but she pays little attention to natural beauty before her.

"Catherine?"

Silence. Either the CSI does not hear her or she is ignoring Sofia. The young Detective curses the two IVs preventing her from going over to the distraught older woman. For good measure she adds a couple of curses for herself for upsetting her in the first place. But she has to know. This killer is not like any other she has ever faced in her career. "Catherine, I know we're not friends but I promise you, no one is going to touch that baby."

Several minutes pass by and Sofia begins to worry that Catherine may not be able to carry on. Her worry is alleviated when the older woman returns to her seat. There is a determination in her walk that speaks of a woman who is not going to be stopped.

"Tell me about your crime scene, Catherine."

"I received the call from dispatch at about one a.m.. I quickly got ready and was at the liquor store no later than one thirty. There was no one else there except for Detective Flynn. I then began to process the scene. I found close to a dozen casings and a single spent round. I also found skid marks on Washington St ."

"Skid marks?"

"Yeah."

"No. Our shooter didn't take the corner he went through the intersection and straight down Monroe Ave. He didn't turn at all."

Rubbing her eyes in frustration Catherine asks. "What did his vehicle look like? Did you get a license plate number?"

"Dark grey, maybe black. I'm not sure. I do know it was a Taurus. The plate was one of the newer state ones and I made sure I got the numbers, 167-BF2." Pausing for a moment Sofia studies Catherine's expression. Something seems to be bothering her because the older woman looks as if she could chew through steel. "Are you okay?" Sofia asks.

"Not really. It seems our, your shooter and the detective are one in the same," Catherine replies in a tight voice.

"Shit."

"My sentiments exactly," Catherine replies. "Tell me about your crime scene."

"I received the call at about 11:30. The owner of the liquor store was leaving for the night when he came across four DBs. Gil was trying to get some paper work done before the next wave came in and Warrick had just put to bed a B&E, so I grabbed them both. We arrived at the scene a little after midnight – traffic was a real bitch. When we got there the first thing we noticed were how neatly the bodies were lined up. The tallest was on the right and the shortest on the left. The youngest couldn't have been more than fifteen. The second thing we noticed was that the bodies were ice cold. Like they were stored in as freezer for a while. Decomposition had been retarded too badly for David to give an accurate TOD. We also found about ten casings which Gil and Warrick bagged and tagged."

"Where are they?" Catherine interrupted.

"The casings? In their kits I assume."

"I didn't see their kits at the scene."

"I suppose the paramedics wouldn't have taken them?"

"Nuh-uh," Catherine replies with a shake of her head. "Maybe one of the patrolmen took them but I'm not holding my breath. Between the time it took to clear you guys from the scene and the time it took for me to get there, our killer had time enough to turn around and grab their kits."

"No, that's not the way he operates. He is an attention whore. He wants people to know what he's done and how. Taking Gil and Warrick's kits does nothing to help him. Besides why not grab all the cartridge casings while at the scene?"

"I was going to say not enough time but why hang around the scene? And why give me false information?"

"For the first," Sofia explains. "He is, simply put, introducing himself to you. The second is a test; are you smart enough bear his child?"

Gritting her teeth in anger, Catherine is reluctant to ask the next question. "And Gil and Warrick? The news said all his victims are female."

"Gil and Warrick are expendable, like ants. It's the women he's interested in. They are his prey. You and I are his prey." Taking a deep breath she continues. This is going to be a hard sell. She and Catherine do not have enough history for her to be making requests like this. "I know this is the kind of case that you would rally the whole graveyard shift for . . . "

"Of course I am," Catherine interjects.

"But you can't, not this time."

"Why not?"

"Because like I said the men are expendable. He will not hesitate to kill them. As for Sara," Sofia says with a shudder. "Let's just say the guys have it easy."

"You know how difficult that's going to be?" Catherine replies heatedly. "I barely made it out of the lab the first time and I wasn't even dealing with graveyard. As soon as they get back they're going to hear what happened and they're going to demand to help."

"I know. I wouldn't ask this lightly. And I know there's going to be some hard feelings, but this is for their own safety."

"Fine," Catherine says with a sigh. She's not looking forward to having that conversation but if it keeps her team safe, she'll bite the bullet and do it. "So I guess it's just the two of us."

"Yeah."

Getting up from her chair Catherine walks to the door.

"Where are you going?" Sofia asks.

Turning back to the detective, Catherine cocks an eye in amusement. "To get you clothes. Unless you want to give half of Vegas a nice view of your butt, though I highly doubt Grissom would appreciate it." Catherine replies with dry smile.

Looking down at her clothes she returns the older woman's smile with one of her own. "I'd appreciate that."

"I have a friend who works here. I'll see what I can do about clothes and information."

Before Sofia can say anything more Catherine leaves the room. The young detective is alone giving her time to think, but worst of all to remember.