Catherine waited for Nick to be out of earshot and flipped the phone open with shaky hands."Gil," she gasped but she didn't get to finish her sentence before she was interrupted.

"Catherine, I've only just remembered. As well as her left running shoe, Sara's iPod's missing. It's white, with ear buds rather than headphones. She wasn't wearing it when I found her. She definitely left the house with it on."

Catherine let a small sigh of relief and then lifted her brow at Grissom's inadvertent words of admission to a relationship with Sara. Choosing not to comment on them, she shook her head at the wretchedness of the situation. "How is she?" she asked. The prolonged pained sigh she heard over the line in reply didn't bode well. When he still hadn't answered her question after a minute, fearing the worst she probed anxiously, "Gil?"

When he replied his voice was a barely audible whisper fraught with some much desolation that Catherine couldn't help the tears welling in her eyes. "She's in surgery," he uttered. "The prognosis isn't good, Cath. She coded again in the ambulance on the way over." She heard Grissom's voice break and he coughed to cover his emotion.

The cardiac monitor was deafening, echoing painfully in his head as it resonated around the confined metal cage of the ambulance. He was powerless to help or do anything other than hold her hand, increasing his pressure on it to let her know that he was there with her; that she wasn't on her own; that she would never be on her own.

He could only pray, beg God to help her. Him, the lapsed Catholic, he prayed for God to spare her life; he prayed for a movement, a flicker of recognition, a flutter of her eyelids, just a sign from her that would acknowledge his presence.

He prayed for a miracle. Nothing.

The tears in his eyes – tears of sorrow mixed with mounting anger and frustration at himself – blurred his vision of her and the more forcefully he wiped at them, the faster they flowed. He was powerless to stop them. So he let them fall.

He closed his eyes, the memories of their last conversation flooding him, crushing him. If he had known less than a couple of hours ago that it would be the last time he would speak to her and hear her resonating laughter, that it would be the last time he could have kissed her and told her, showed her he loved her,he would have done things differently.

"I'm sorry, Sara. I'm so sorry," he whispered to her.

But he hadn't known. How could he have? And sadly he hadn't done any of these things. He clenched his eyes shut tight. Because at that particular moment in time, a freaking ball game had been more important to him than Sara.

And that's when it happened; her heart stopped beating – again. They were just pulling into Desert Palm. His silent, lonely, angry tears doubled in intensity as he was pushed away from her side, the life once more slipping out of her.

Grissom cleared his throat, jarring Catherine out of her stupor. "They say with an injury like hers, the chances of her making it through surgery are slim. I don't know Catherine...I don't think she's going to make it," he finished tearfully.

Catherine opened her mouth to speak but remained silent at a loss for words, pained at the misery and despair emanating from her dear friend. It wasn't like him to sound so defeated, so pessimistic, and so obviously heartbroken. Not like him at all. She sighed. "She's a fighter, Gil," she finally said for want of something better. She swallowed the lump in her throat, slightly turning away from Greg who was watching her intently as he sprinted across the small playing field over to her. She pulled the baseball cap lower over her eyes, wiping them and reached for her sunglasses slipping them on.

"Listen Catherine," Grissom was now saying, a semblance of his usual composure seemingly returning. "Can you make sure Brass initials the evidence I recovered on Sara?"

The shift in his tone surprised her; yet it shouldn't have. If one person was capable of reining in his emotion in a time like this it was Grissom. "Sure," she replied, her manner once more businesslike. "But why?" she probed hesitantly.

"Just do it. Also, you'll need to come over to take mine and Sara's clothes for processing."

"Of course."

Grissom didn't wait to hear her reply to plough on. "Can you…I wondered whether you'd…you'd…whether you could come to…to…" he stopped short, unable to get the words out and sighed heavily.

"It's all right Gil," Catherine said after a while, understanding what he was trying to ask. "Of course I'll come to do it. Just let me know when she's out of surgery."

Grissom lapsed into another lengthy silence. Thinking it the end of their conversation Catherine was about to hang up when he asked, "Have you found Hank's leash?"

"Not yet." Catherine replied, acknowledging Greg's arrival with a small smile. "I-"

"They had to have tied him to something to restrain him," he told her. "He must have broken free; that's how he managed to get back home and raise the alarm. Check his collar-"

"I will." She thought about mentioning the blood evidence she was still to swab but thought it better to wait until she had a clearer picture. "Gil?" she said quietly.

By the tone of Catherine's voice, Grissom seemed to guess what piece of information she was now hankering for. He sighed, pleading, "Please, Catherine, I'm not ready to talk about it – not yet." He paused. "When you're done with Hank can you take him to the Animal Hospital on South Rainbow so Dr Patelli can check out the wound on his neck?"

"Sure."

"Thanks. They have his records. Have him bill us." He took a short breath. "And then would you mind taking him in until…until…well, you know…for a little while. Or ask Warrick to do it if it's too much for you. Also you'll need his stuff, I'll-"

"Gil, stop! Listen, we don't have to do this now. We can sort it out when I come to…" Catherine stopped herself. She had been about to say 'process Sara' but somehow couldn't bring herself to say the words. Thinking of Sara as the victim felt so very wrong.

Grissom cut into her thoughts. "I'll let you know when Sara's ready for you."

"Gil!" she called before he had time to disconnect the call. She heard his heavy sigh over the line and thought he would hang up but he didn't. "How are you bearing up? Brass said-"

"Listen, Catherine, I gotta go." With that he hung up.

Downcast, Catherine let out a long breath and closed her eyes.

"I got here as fast as I could," Greg said as soon as Catherine lowered the cell from her ear, making her jump. He was swaying from foot to foot, rearing to go. Catherine looked up, returning his fraught smile. "So? That was Grissom on the phone, wasn't it?" he asked needlessly. The anxiety and distress in the young CSI's voice was palpable.

Catherine nodded her reply, replacing her cell phone in her pocket. Deciding that it wouldn't serve any purpose to voice aloud how life threatening Sara's condition was and knowing how close Sara and Greg were, she simply said, "She's still in surgery." She paused, reached across to him and placed her hand on his shoulder warmly. "Nick told you?" To his small nod she added, "I know you're particularly close to Sara, Greg, and I wondered-"

Greg shook his head vehemently. "Catherine, I want to help. I need to be here. Please, I need to do something."

Catherine let out a sigh. "You sure?" she asked, making eye contact with him.

He nodded his head earnestly. "Absolutely. All hands on deck, right? Please, Catherine it's important to me."

"I know," she said with a soft smile. "I know. It's important to all of us." Then she paused, turning toward the crime scene. "Okay. Greg, I want you to process Hank. He's got an injury to his neck that'll need swabbing and documenting. Also, check his teeth in case he bit a piece off the attackers – and his nails." She turned back toward Greg. His face was pursed into a confused frown, his eyes settled on Hank. The young CSI refocused his gaze on his boss. "Sara was jogging with him when she was attacked," she explained briefly. "When you're done processing him, let me know; I'll take him to the vet. Grissom says his leash is missing and the fixing on his collar is broken off. So afterwards, I'll need you to scour the park, find the leash or whatever was used to restrain him and where. You okay with that?"

Greg knew better than query Catherine's instructions even though what she had just said had raised a lot of questions with the young CSI. He nodded seriously still swaying on his feet ready to get started. "I'm on it," he replied with enthusiasm. "Thank you."

"It was an accident," the boy with the band aid over his left earlobe said. "We didn't think she'd fight back as much as she did. She went wild; almost pulled my ear right off."

"She caught us by surprise," a second male voice interjected. He was a scruffy-looking man in his mid-to-late twenties. He had narrow mean eyes, a two-day growth of sparse beard, and straight black hair pulled back into a short ponytail. The right sleeve of his long-sleeved blue tee-shirt was ripped, specks of dry blood coating the frayed edges.

"What do you mean 'she caught you by surprise'?" the middle-aged woman asked, mimicking his voice nastily. "I handed her to you on a plate." She picked a little tobacco off the corner of her mouth with the tip of her little finger, flicked it off it with her thumb and then closed her eyes, taking a long, calming drag of her cigarette. She let the smoke fill her lungs and then she exhaled slowly through her nose, a low moan of heady pleasure escaping her. "I wanted her alive, Marty. What happened?"

Marty shrugged his reply in a couldn't-care-less fashion while scrolling through the list of songs on the iPod in his hand. He placed the ear bud back in his ear, turned the volume to the maximum and shuffled off toward the couch.

"Don't ignore me when I'm talking to you, Angel," the woman said quietly but uninterested, Marty shrugged another shoulder. She moved to the dining room table, stubbed out the remainder of her cigarette in the ashtray and reached in the pack on the table for a new one. She smiled to herself catching a glimpse of the cigarette butts all lined up in the ashtray, their lipstick-coated filter-ends stoop up like red-tipped little soldiers standing to attention, as she brought the cigarette to her mouth.

"I've been watching her for weeks; studying her routine," she continued, the cigarette dangling from her lips, a shaky hand pushing her auburn hair back behind her ear. "I told you how to restrain the dog, where do find her." The woman's voice was steadily rising. "All you had to do was bring her to me – ALIVE!" Her shaky hands reached for the packet of matches on the table and she struck one to the side of the box. "I wanted to make her suffer. I wanted him to watch her suffer. Like I had to. Now you robbed me of that pleasure." She struck a second match – in vain – and angrily tossed the packet on the table. "I've been waiting a year to have my revenge. ONE WHOLE LONG YEAR!"

"Sorry," muttered the teenage boy but the woman didn't acknowledge him.

Marty silently got up from the couch and walked up to the woman. He took the cigarette off her lips, put it in his mouth, and lit it with a Zippo lighter he pulled out of his pocket. He inhaled deeply and took a second cigarette out of the pack, which he lit off the first one before passing it back to the woman. Without a word, he resumed his sitting position on the couch.

Smoke coming out of her mouth, the woman turned nodding to the younger boy, indicating that she was ready to hear his explanation. "Jimmy?"

Jimmy nervously rubbed at the wound on his ear. "We got the dog as you said – that was the easy part. He was real trusting at first and we restrained him quickly. When I went to grab the woman by the neck, she had me in a choke hold from behind and-"

"You stupid imbecile!" she snapped before turning toward Marty. "I told you to do that yourself," she told him.

Jimmy whined. "It wasn't my fault-"

"It wasn't my fault," she mocked cruelly snapping her head round at the boy. "Oh. Grow up!"

Jimmy shuffled his feet awkwardly and glanced at Marty sitting on the couch. "Marty…"

"Shut up." Marty gave the younger boy a warning look. "Shut up, Jimmy." Jimmy closed his mouth and then reopened it. "I said Shut up, Jimmy." The silent but very obvious threat in the tone of voice had the desired effect and Jimmy averted his gaze to the floor, glowering.

"Marty?" The woman asked quizzically, her eyes darting between the two boys.

"It's nothing, all right? Drop it."

The woman pulled a face and joined Marty on the couch. She reached up to his face and stroked his cheek, pushing a strand of greasy hair back with her hand, the cigarette she was smoking stuck between her index and middle fingers. He flinched but didn't move back from her touch.

Jimmy watched, his eyes darkening with jealousy. "Sorry," he muttered uncomfortably, again apologising for their failure at the park. The woman didn't respond, just put the cigarette to her mouth and lowered her hand to Marty's thigh. "I got something for you I thought you might like though," he said feebly, trying to get her attention.

"Huh?" she mumbled distractedly, her stare still on Marty's profile, her hand in his crotch, clearly turning him on. "Like a gift?"

"Yeah," Jimmy said a little tentatively.

"And what's that?"

"A picture."

"A picture?" she repeated quietly, not paying a lot of attention.

"Yeah, on my cell. You want to see it?"

"A picture of what?"

"Of that bitch dying."

The woman paused, giving Jimmy her full attention. She shifted on the couch, her eyes widening his anticipation. She grinned, motioning for the ashtray. Jimmy brought it to her immediately and she stubbed out her half-smoked cigarette. "Show me," she said hoarsely when she had finished.

Pleased that he managed to get her attention off Marty and onto him, Jimmy pulled his cell out of the pocket at the front of his hooded top, pressed a few keys and handed it to the woman.

The latter smirked as she stared at the grainy close-up picture of Sara's face. Sara was looking skyward, her eyes opened a crack, a small trickle of blood seeping out of her mouth. "Shame I didn't get to cut her throat; kill her the way my prince killed himself." She let a long sigh. "Okay, well it doesn't matter now. I'll think of another way." She paused and turned to address Marty. "Can they trace the attack back to you?"

"You mean, can they trace it back to you?" He shook his head. "No. We followed your instructions-"

"Not very well, or else she'd be here and not dead."

Marty shrugged his lack of concern, scrolling to another song.

"Jimmy, honey, can you go to your room?" the woman asked the teenage boy without taking her eyes off Marty.

"Why? I want to play games on the playstation."

"Please, go to your room," she pleaded softly. "I'll come see you in a moment."

Looking more than a little upset the boy grudgingly headed for his room.

The woman didn't wait for Jimmy to leave the room to come closer to Marty, almost straddling him. She placed her hand under his chin, turning his head so he had no alternative but look at her. "Angel," she purred, "Come here. I can smell her on you." She stretched up and kissed him full on the lips, twisting him round on the couch into a laying position.

Tbc.

A/N: This is it for 2009, well almost. I wish everyone a very happy New Year for 2010, good health and a lot of happiness. Take care, Sylvie