The following afternoon, as Renee got into Nick's Chevy, she didn't bother trying to keep the grin for herself. The second part of the interview had been dreams come true for her, to see the master working in the lab. Grissom had never once brushed her aside or treated her like a child. He treated her like a colleague, just has Horatio did in Miami; not once did he play the 'you're not a CSI so you don't understand card'; he'd been patient and sweet with her, not saying a word if she made any missteps.
Not unlike, she mused embarrassedly, the way Nick had been the second night they were together on her first visit to Vegas. She wondered what had turned her into such an animal for sex since she'd hooked up with him. Granted, she hadn't had all that much experience with it but even so, she knew enough to know it was good loving she was getting from her oh-so-sexy Texan.
And clearly that showed how much she needed a break from the world of forensics. Deciding to be the ultimate girlfriend, she pulled out her cell phone, dialled Nick's number as she pulled out of the lot, breaking at the stop sign before starting to turn. For the first time in her life, she was thankful she got a voicemail instead of a live person.
Hey it's Stokes, you know the drill.
"Hi it's Renee," she said after the beep, "I'm just leaving the lab and thought I'd leave a message, see if you want me to pick up anything-"
It was as far as she glanced up at the large pick-up truck hurtling towards the stop sign that was showing no signs of slowing at his stop sign. Renee hammered the brakes with a hissing squeal, threw the gearshift in reverse and tried to back up as the grill of the truck came dangerously close to her window. Then all Renee heard was the sound of metal crushing against metal; she felt herself going sideways as she tried to twist the wheel so she could get out of the path of the truck. The big black truck, she noted, with silver lightening streaks down its sides and a license plate NRS 249.
That'll teach me not to talk on a cell phone in the car, was the last conscious thought she had before everything turned black.
Nick yawned hugely as he stripped off his protective latex gloves, made some notes to add to the case file. He and Greg had spent the better part of their day scouring the four-block radius from the dump site of the body hoping to find something, anything, that would help lead to Detective Jeremy Nestor's assassin. Now, as he sat on the bumper of his Denali, he was about to check for messages on his cell phone, which he'd felt vibrate on his way back to the truck when Greg came over, sat down beside him.
"You find anything?"
"No, not a damn thing, no blood trails, no tire marks, nothing. You?" Nick asked as he switched his phone from vibrate to standard ring.
"Same."
"So what do we have, then?"
Greg rolled his neck, stretched. "We've got a cop tossed from the back of a car around twelve-twenty Friday night, wearing gang-banger clothing with a three dollar chip in one pocket and a two of hearts in the other."
"No signs of a struggle on the street, suggesting that it was done somewhere else."
"And the door-to-door turned up nothing," Greg finished. "Big surprise there."
Nick opened his mouth like he was going to speak then shut it, something that didn't go unnoticed by Greg.
"What?"
"Nothing, really…" Nick trailed off, as he busied himself with putting his kit back together. "I was just thinking…. Renee's specialty is in forensic psychiatry."
"Oh, no, forget it man," Greg replied. He could see this one coming a mile off. "I'm not going to Grissom saying that we think my sister and your girlfriend-" Greg felt his stomach revolt only a little at the word "-should be brought into the case as a consultant."
"I'm proud of you, Gregg-o, that's the first time I think you've called Renee my girlfriend without gagging." Nick paused. "Is it really that weird for you?"
"Well, I mean on the one hand, she is my baby sister, you know, I used to bandage up her knees when she crashed her bike. Sometimes it is hard for me to think of you two…well, you know."
Nick laughed as Greg continued, "But on the other hand, I've never seen either of you this happy before."
Nick's phone went off then, the polyphonic tune of Come Together splitting through the heat of the afternoon sun. "Stokes."
"Nick, Grissom."
"Hey, how goes it with Renee? She grill you like a flank roast, or what?"
"Nick, it's about Renee. There's been an accident. She was broadsided this afternoon leaving the lab in your truck."
Nick felt the feeling go out of his hands, all the spit leaving his mouth, but somehow he managed to ask, "Where is she now?"
"They took her to Desert Palms."
"I'm on my way."
Greg looked at his friend as Nick leapt off the bumper, packed his field kit and notes. Judging from the look on his face he knew it couldn't be good news; either Nick was in trouble for something he did, or something he hadn't done. "What's up?"
"Renee was in a car wreck this afternoon when she left the lab. They took her to Desert Palms."
Greg's gut went to ice in the space of a heartbeat. "I'll drive."
When they arrived on the ICU floor, Grissom was standing guard with Brass outside Renee's room. One look at Nick's face told Grissom that he was hanging on to his control by one very slippery thread.
"Her doctor's in there, she just came out of surgery," Grissom began, hoping to head them off before he became lost in a sea of questions. Thankfully a young Hispanic looking woman stepped out of a nearby room, and presented herself as Doctor Minaret, Renee's physician.
"How…" Nick began but had to stop when his throat slammed shut. "How bad is it?"
Minaret smiled kindly. This must have been the young man Doctor Grissom had said was falling hard for her patient. She took his elbow, guided him over to a bench in an alcove, knowing that there might be a chance for raised voices.
"She's a very lucky young woman. The vehicle broadsided the driver door so unfortunately, she was at the impact site. She's got a hairline fracture in her clavicle, three broken fingers, five bruised ribs, a jammed shoulder, and a concussion. There was also considerable damage to her knee which we'll finish repairing with surgery tomorrow and some bruising to her abdomen. It's amazing she was still conscious when they found her."
"That's lucky?" Greg spat.
Minaret looked up, deducing that this was Miss Sanders' brother from his protective streak. She found herself slightly jealous of the woman lying in a bed fifteen feet away who was so lucky to have two men in her life who loved her that much. "Yes it is. All her personal effects were collected at the site; one of your CSIs picked them up. She kept mumbling something like a code, maybe you guys can figure it out."
"Can we see her?"
"She might come around in a couple of hours, so if you're interested in hanging around, I'd find some comfortable chairs," Minaret suggested. Judging from the looks on these men's faces it would take a full keg of gunpowder to shake them into leaving. "If you want to see her right now, I can only let one in at a time. She's on some class-one painkillers but those aren't necessarily a sedative and she needs rest."
The doctor excused herself then, leaving the trio of CSIs and Brass to look at each other and figure out who was going to be the first to go in and see Renee. Then the three older men got a big shock when Greg piped up.
"Nick, I want to you go in first," he said calmly.
"What?"
"You should go in first. I need to call our parents, let them know she's okay, and I want you guys," Greg added, pointing at Grissom and Brass, "to go back to the lab, and see if we can find anything out."
Impressed with the way his youngest CSI took charge, Grissom nodded solemnly, left with Brass following in his wake. Once alone, Nick looked questioningly at his colleague. This was a very tricky line to walk.
"You sure you want me to go in first?"
"I think if she wakes up, you're the first person she's going to want to see."
