Some nights eased by gently, with lulls between calls, with time to enjoy a leisurely cup of coffee in the breakroom while waiting for lab results. This wasn't one of them. Nick and Warrick barely had time to log in the evidence they had collected at the pawnshop before they went right back out again in response to a trick roll at the Rampart. The others were on the streets, too. Greg had taken his sweet time getting back to the lab, but as soon as he did he went out on a robbery and assault at an AM-PM with Catherine and Sara.

Grissom had sequestered himself in his office, rewriting his report to the undersheriff. The media had reported the discovery of a body at a city park, but so far they had cooperated with authorities in keeping specific details, observed by spectators, out of their reports. But those same details had those same authorities breathing down Grissom's neck. He had been ordered to provide a thorough report as soon as "that profiler we got from Atlanta" had given her analysis. Their idea of "as soon as" and Grissom's were probably not quite the same, Grissom knew. It was the end of shift before he finally was satisfied that he had adequately explained why the psychologist from Atlanta could not and would not confirm the presence of the "Atlanta Hacker" in Las Vegas. He was putting the report in a manila envelope when Jim Brass stuck his head in the doorway.

"Hey, Gil. We got an ID on our Jane Doe."

Grissom looked up quickly. "Who?"

"Name's Jenna Scott. She taught an early-risers aerobics class on Tuesdays and Thursdays at a city rec center. Manager called in when she didn't show up and no one could get hold of her."

"Would that be the rec center in the park where we found her?"

"It would. And her apartment complex is four blocks from there."

Grissom sighed. Regardless of what he had just written in his report, he knew this was further evidence that a serial killer was in their city. Dr. Brighton had said that the vic would be found to live close to the dumpsite, and she was right. Brass handed him a piece of paper.

"I'm headed over there now."

Grissom shook his head. "You ever go home, Jim?"

"I could ask you that."

"I'm just going to stay for the walk-through, take a look. Then I'm gone. I'm getting too old to work a double."

Brass chuckled. "I hear you on that one. Meet you there, Methuselah."

Grissom frowned at the reference and watched Brass leave the room. He hoped he could convince the detective to go home when he did. He knew that when they discovered the next body-and it was definitely "when" and not "if"-that all hell was going to break loose and sleep was going to be a rare commodity. They'd better catch it while they could. Even if he was going home in a few hours to get some shut-eye, he knew two CSIs who weren't. He dropped off his report at the front desk and headed for the locker room.

Sara and Catherine were coming out of the room and he nodded a good-bye to them. He lingered at the door for a moment, watching Warrick, Nick, and Greg as they took off vests and slammed shut locker doors.

"Man, I hate those nights when everything comes so fast you can't slow down," said Greg. "It takes me a while to shift into a lower gear. You guys wanna go out for breakfast?"

Warrick shook his head. "Better not. Tina doesn't have to go into work until later. If I hurry home I can spend some time with her for once."

"You know, you're not as much fun now that you've got that ring on your finger," Greg told him.

Warrick only smiled and wiggled his ring finger at him, the gold band catching the light. What he had in mind when he got home to his wife was a lot more fun than bullshitting over pancakes with Greg Sanders. There were times when he questioned his rash decision to marry, but this wasn't one of them.

"How 'bout you, Nick? Bacon and eggs at the ol' Greasy Spoon?"

Nick yawned. "Nope. It may take you a while to get into first gear, but I was there a long time ago. I didn't get any sleep yesterday. I'm gonna go home and crash."

Grissom hesitated. Nick was looking a little bit ragged and he knew, from overhearing bits of conversation here and there, that Warrick's hours were a bone of contention at the Brown household. He thought about handing over the processing of Jenna Scott's home to day shift, but just as quickly thought of the wrath that he would face from Nick and Warrick when they found out he had done that. He entered the room.

"We've got a name and address for our park vic," he announced.

Warrick eyed the paper Grissom grasped and held out his hand. "Let's have it."

Grissom held back, giving them the choice even though he knew what the answer would be. "Dayshift can take it. I don't have to tell you that this is one you take slowly, inch by inch. You're looking at another ten hours, at least."

"It's our case, Gris," Nick reminded him. "That hasn't changed, has it?"

Grissom handed the paper to Warrick. "No. That hasn't changed. I'll meet you over there."

Nick started to protest and Grissom held up his hand. "Just for the walk-through. I know you guys don't need me."

"But you might need my considerable skills," Greg offered. "You want some help?"

"Nah, we're good, man. Go get your pancakes. We'll call you in if we need you," Warrick told him.

They watched Greg leave, Grissom right behind him. Their boss turned around, remembering something.

"Call Dr. Brighton before you go. The front desk will be able to tell you what hotel was reserved for her. She wanted to be there when you process."

Grissom left and Nick turned to Warrick. "Could you do that? Call her, I mean."

Warrick didn't mind doing a favor for Nick, but he couldn't help but wonder how Nick was going to work side-by-side with the psychologist if he couldn't even make a simple phone call to her. It was going to be an interesting day.

"Sure, bro. No problem."

Nick shot his friend a grateful look and left to restock his kit. The last time he had talked to Carrie, before last night, had been on the phone, and that had been ten years ago. His instincts told him that if he heard her voice in his ear again now, those ten years would disappear in a heartbeat and his last phone conversation with her would reverberate back to him with painful clarity. And he was all about avoiding pain where she was concerned. Like Warrick, he knew it was going to be an interesting day.

"Interesting" turned out to be a bit of an overstatement. There was nothing in the one-bedroom apartment that even remotely hinted of foul play. That is, nothing except the fact that the occupant was dead and the occupant's pet, a small gray cat, according to the few neighbors who were home, was nowhere to be found. The litter box was there, the scratching post, the matching bowls for food and water. But no kitty.

Caroline Brighton had surveyed the room and zeroed in on the open can of tuna on the floor by the food bowl. The tuna was not consumed, and she suggested that Nick and Warrick document it carefully. Tuna cans had been found at the other homes as well, and the Atlanta team had speculated that the killer used this to lure the cats, simply scooping them up off the floor as they investigated their treat. Captain Brass had been right, she thought, remembering the cat she used to have; cats don't do anything cats don't want to do, and the killer obviously knew that also.

Beyond the can of tuna, there was nothing probative to be found. Grissom left shortly after they got there, and he even managed to get Brass to go, too. Brass had assigned Sofia Curtis to the case and put her on days so she could conduct interviews. At the moment, that wasn't very productive since most neighbors were at work, but she was knocking on doors anyway. Nick and Warrick processed the home, as Grissom had known they would, inch by inch. They found hairs, fibers, lifted prints.

Outside they lifted treads, concentrating on those that looked like they may have been made by a van. There was no indication that a wheelchair had been on the property. It was a busy complex and they processed the perimeter with a grim sense of futility. There were no security cameras and each apartment had its own outside entrance. There were some shoeprints leading up to Jenna Scott's door and they lifted those. Sofia had located and interviewed a girlfriend, and by all accounts Ms. Scott had many friends who were over frequently. It was going to take a while to sort it all out.

They were done by five, but they hung around, catching the neighbors as they straggled home from work over the next three hours, helping Sofia with the interviews. Jenna Scott had last been seen at a party in 24-B on Saturday night. No one had seen or heard anything since then that aroused suspicions. It had been a day of frustrations, and by the time the two CSIs returned to the lab it was 8:30. They had been on the clock for twenty-four hours.

They dropped off the evidence they had gathered, which was probably much more than they would normally have taken, at the various labs, and each time the lab tech shot them a look that said, "You'd better help with this." They had every intention of doing so, even if it meant working through another shift. They needed to process everything they could as fast as they could so that they would have something to compare the next one to. And they had no doubts there would be a next one. They left the trace lab last.

"You know," Warrick said, "they're not going to find anything in that tuna. Dr. Brighton said the cats had been injected."

"That doesn't mean we don't have it checked out," Nick said. "Besides, I'm getting a little tired of hearing what Dr. Brighton said."

"That is why we brought her here," Warrick reminded him gently. There had been, as he suspected there would be, considerable tension between Nick and the psychologist when they processed the apartment. They still insisted on greeting each other formally, which made it a little uncomfortable for him, since she had instructed him to call her "Carrie." But he called her "Dr. Brighton," in deference to Nick, and the three of them worked together as professionals, but with no camaraderie.

Nick seemed to shrink into himself as if trying to make himself smaller when he was near her, and Warrick saw him actually jump back a step when she inadvertently brushed up against him in the cramped living room. So it was a relief when, three hours into it, she had decided they didn't need her guidance any more and she left to go back to the station. Brass had given her a corner of his office to set up her laptop, and she was trying to catch up on some paperwork that she had to abandon when she was called away from Atlanta. Warrick assumed she was back at her hotel by now, but she said she would come back in the morning to see if any lab results were in and to confirm any commonalties with the other cases.

Warrick hoped that now that she was out of the picture, at least for a while, he could get back to the easy rapport he had with Nick. Nick had been quiet, almost sullen, since Caroline Brighton's arrival, and frankly Warrick was finding it a bit wearing. He and Nick were professionals, first and always, on a scene, but they also kidded around with each other, made friendly bets about the results of evidence. The bets looked like competition to others, but they both knew it was friendship. It was in friendship that Warrick broached the subject one more time.

"Anything you want to talk about?"

Nick shook his head firmly. "Nope."

Warrick sighed and Nick could sense his frustration. He put his hand on Warrick's shoulder. "Don't worry about it, bro. Come on, let's go see if we can ID some of those tire treads."

They were still at it when the rest of the team came in at midnight. Grissom found them hunched over the tread lifts with magnifying glasses, trying to determine the make of tire by comparing it to printouts they had gotten off the computer database. The supervisor looked at the stack of lifts they had already gone through. He raised an eyebrow.

"How many of those things did you guys lift?"

"Either not enough or too many," Warrick said sourly. Who knew if they were doing any good, checking treads from the parking lot of a 120-unit building? Tomorrow night, when most of the residents were home, they would go back and check the lifts against the parked vehicles, see if they had one that didn't belong.

Grissom tried to convince them to go home, but to no avail. Both Nick and Warrick had reached that point when they were on auto-pilot, past tired, and had tricked themselves into thinking they could just keep on going, like Energizer bunnies. Besides, they wanted to go back to the park at daybreak and they were afraid that if they went home and to their beds they wouldn't be able to get themselves going again. So Grissom left them to it, not willing to command them home, knowing they'd pay for it later.

There were fewer calls than the previous night, but they did get another robbery call at another convenience store. Grissom responded to it, with Greg in tow. When they returned just before daybreak, they printed off the photos and gave them to Catherine and Sara to make comparisons with the previous night's robbery at the AM-PM. The women were in the layout room when Caroline Brighton returned to the lab. Catherine looked at the clock when the psychologist entered the room.

"You're here early. Did you get enough sleep?"

"Plenty. I went to bed early. I thought I'd check and see if any of the evidence from Jenna Scott's home has been processed yet."

"Some of it," Catherine said. "I'm not sure where it stands at the moment."

Warrick and Nick had finally shown signs of fading, and Warrick had headed for the lockers, saying something about hoping a hot shower and change of clothes would rev him up. Nick had shown the most sense by stretching out on the couch in the breakroom and sacking out.

Catherine saw Dr. Brighton hide a yawn.

"I'm not tired, really," she said in answer to Catherine's look. "I left without getting my morning cup of coffee, is all. Can't seem to start my day without it."

"I'll get you some," Catherine offered.

The psychologist held up her hand. "No, no. I can get it. I'll bring you back some. Breakroom, right?"

Catherine nodded and watched her leave. Normally she was the first to bristle when someone from outside was called in on a case, but she had to admit she was grateful Dr. Brighton was here. Catherine found that she liked her for reasons beyond the insight she brought to the case. Yes, she was professional and efficient, but she was also personable and had fit in well with the team. But, Catherine thought as she waited for Dr. Brighton to bring back their coffee, she sure was slow to pour out cups of caffeine.

"Maybe she had to brew another pot," Sara said as she saw Catherine look out into the hallway.

"If she did, she'll need some help finding the good stuff." Catherine jerked her head toward the hall. "Come on. We'll see if we can't speed this up."

They headed down the hall and Catherine stopped short at the open door of the breakroom. Sara almost plowed into her.

"What's the…"

Catherine put a finger to her lips and put a hand on Sara's arm. "Shh. Look."

Nick was lying on his back on the couch, his head propped on one arm of the sofa, his feet on the other. His eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell in a steady swell. He was obviously sleeping hard. Caroline Brighton was standing next to him, doing nothing, as far as Catherine could tell, but watching Nick. Then she reached for Nick's jacket, which was carelessly flung across the back of the couch, and gently spread it across his shoulders and chest. Her hand wavered over his head, and then she hesitantly touched his hair and stroked it lightly with her fingertips.

"That's awfully forward," Sara whispered.

"No," Catherine said. "That's awfully…tender."

Sara watched, puzzled. "But she just met him two days ago."

Catherine shook her head. "Uh-uh. Warrick said they knew each other in Texas."

"Ah, I missed that." Sara looked on with renewed interest. Dr. Brighton had withdrawn her hand and was once again watching Nick intently. A tear rolled down her cheek and she wiped it away.

"She was in love with him," Sara whispered with dawning realization.

"That would be my guess," Catherine confirmed. "And from the looks of things, I'd say she did a stint at the Heartbreak Hotel."

"That cad," Sara whispered, with mock indignation.

Catherine went into the room and crossed over to Dr. Brighton. The psychologist quickly turned away from Nick, but she didn't meet Catherine's gaze. She brushed her hand across her eyes.

"The air's so dry here," she said. "It makes my eyes sting."

"Yeah, it can do that," Catherine agreed. "So can reuniting with an old lover."

Dr. Brighton blanched and tried to hide it, but Catherine saw, as did Sara, who was drawn into the room by Catherine's boldness. Caroline Brighton looked at them both carefully and attempted to put the appropriate affront into her tone.

"Excuse me?"

Catherine wasn't going to buy into it. "Look, Dr. Brighton…Caroline…"

The psychologist dabbed at her eyes, giving up pretenses. "Carrie. It's Carrie."

Catherine smiled. Now they were getting somewhere. "Carrie. You okay?"

"I'm sorry. He just looks so…tired."

"Well, he's two-thirds of the way into a triple. Believe me," said Sara, "that will do it."

But Carrie just shook her head, unwilling or unable to explain what she meant. She had noticed the change in Nick from the moment she had seen him in the print lab, had seen him watching her. There was something in the way he stood, something in the hollow spaces under his eyes that had never been there before, something in those deep chocolate eyes themselves that had filled her with an overwhelming sense of sadness. She couldn't hold back the tears when she had seen him then, and she couldn't hold them back now.

Catherine handed her a tissue. "When's the last time you saw him?"

Carrie blew her nose, not daintily. "Ten years ago. In Texas."

Sara nodded. "You two were, uh…"

Before she could phrase her question or Carrie could answer it, Warrick came into the room. He nodded to the women, looking a little too long at Carrie and her tear-streaked face, and then went over to Nick. He rapped him sharply on the sole of one of his shoes.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Wakey, wakey. It's almost daylight."

Nick struggled groggily to sit up, and Carrie rushed from the room, her hand wiping away tears. Warrick watched after her and shook his head. That was the second time he had seen her do that. Nick sure did have an effect on the women. Sara and Catherine followed her out, ready to lend comfort, more than ready to hear her story of her heartbreaking love affair with Nick Stokes.

Warrick held his hand out to Nick and pulled him to his feet. "Come on, partner. Let's go find that damn cat."