His chest hurt, the throb traveling up his neck to start a headache. Muscles were sore, aching in places he hadn't remembered being injured. The late afternoon heat was fierce, the sidewalk blanched as he pushed the double doors open to the freshly waxed lobby. His stride was determined, driven by a fierce gut feeling; a hunch. He had to follow it, for Catherine's sake, he owed it to them.

The brilliantly illuminated lobby at the symphony hall was exquisitely decorated with gold gilt, chandeliers and murals that had been unobtrusive when he was here in the dark several days prior. Numerous ushers were already placing red velvet ropes and polishing banisters. He abruptly felt out of place in his jeans and button up shirt as he stepped up to the box office.

"I was wondering," he spoke so softly the receptionist didn't notice him for a moment; his ribs ached. He cleared his throat with a wince and spoke a little louder. "The group that practices here at night, when's their next performance?"

His hand rested on the counter expectantly.

The receptionist looked up, her eyes focusing on the white butterfly bandage on his eyebrow before looking him in the eyes. "Tonight," she started. "Sorry hun, we're sold out."

He nodded slowly, "No problem, thanks anyway."

"Wait a moment," she paused, typing something into the computer.

His fingers tapped on the counter.

"One of our violinists returned two tickets. We don't allow waiting lists, only first come first serve. Great seats, CC left center."

"I'll take them," he pulled out his wallet, paying with plastic.

As she ran his card, he looked absently at a band-aid carefully tucked in the money pocket. It was folded and worn, removed from his ID holder some time ago. His thumb ran across it tenderly. He couldn't get the thought out of his head that Catherine's attempted murder had not been a coincidence.

There was a message here. Pressing his lips together, he looked around the lobby. He couldn't fathom the forces moving beyond his sight. It felt like a pipe about to burst that nobody could see; the tremors on a needled paper before an earthquake. There was a message, something that had been painstakingly put under his nose and he was missing it.

"Here you are."

Her voice snapped him from his thoughts.

The receptionist handed his card back, and then the tickets. "You got lucky, this concert's been sold out for weeks."

"Thanks," he smiled as he tucked them into his back pocket and dialed Grissom's number, walking toward the front doors. "Yah Grissom… hi. Look um, I'm sorry about yesterday." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I know I'm supposed to be home, but I need to talk with you; I was hoping we could do it tonight. You need to see something."

"The reason for a day off is to take a day off Nick," Grissom chided over the phone. "And you don't need to apologize, you were saying what you felt and it has been taken under advisement."

"How's Catherine?"

"Fine, she's off for the week."

"The lab?"

"Surviving, the lobby will be down for a while, but everything is getting put back together. The department store and cemetery case have been combined and are Sara and Greg's responsibility. Warrick is working the lobby. We called Sophia back from vacation early to help with the overload and dayshift is working overtime on it. Don't worry about anything, get better."

"And you?"

"A similar case of road rash, but otherwise fine," he paused. "Where is this conversation going Nick?"

Nick was silent for a moment, watching a group of musicians come in the front door dressed for the concert, their conversations echoing off the stone floors.

"Where are you?" Grissom asked.

He pursed his lips. "The symphony hall," he said tentatively.

"I never pegged you as the Mozart type."

"I just bought tickets for tonight's performance," Nick finished, afraid to say it any louder. "That's what I need to talk to you about. There's something you need to see."

"You got tickets for tonight's performance? It's been sold out for weeks."

"I got lucky."

"Nick, I'd be honored. I'll indulge your mystery."

"Um… what do I wear?" he asked.

Nick could hear the grin on Grissom's face over the phone.

"For a performance this high profile, you wear a tux Nick."

"A tux. Okay."

"I'll pick you up at seven," Grissom said.

"Okay."

"And Nick?"

"What?"

"Go home and rest until then."

"Sure thing, bye," he let out a slow breath.

"Nick Stokes?"

He flipped his cell closed, looking behind him. It was the same woman as before, stepping out of a group of people going into the hall. A form skimming black velvet dress floated above the floor, her short hair fashionably tousled in a fun way. Diamond studs gleamed from her ears, a simple necklace at her throat.

"Hi," he unconsciously smoothed his hair, hands sliding to his pockets. He fought the urge to reach up and tousle her hair a bit more.

"Never thought I'd see you again, I almost didn't recognize you without the bullet proof vest and gun," she ribbed slightly, eyeing his bandaged arm.

Her voice sent a chill down his spine. The resemblance was uncanny. He fought the urge to outright ask her. His eyes closed a moment, fierce determination across his brow.

…he was chasing a ghost. He was chasing a ghost to protect his friends.

"That was you wasn't it?"

He looked at her curiously, purpose down his straight nose.

"On the news. You were the one who saved that girl?" she smiled uneasily at his terse look.

Cheeks flushed, melting slightly at the pretty smile. His face softened. "Yah, my colleague and I."

This couldn't be the same person. He'd seen the brutality, the killing machine underneath; most importantly, the actress. This was a fluke. It had to be, this couldn't be real.

"Did you just buy tickets?"

He jumped slightly at her voice; it brought his breath faster in his chest. "Just like everybody else." Eyes crinkled in a smile, unconsciously looking at her hand resting on the strap of her case.

She shook her head, walking to the box office.

His eyes wandered across her neck and top of her shoulders visible from the modestly cut dress. There was nothing there; her skin was muscled, smooth, an extremely faint tan line from a bathing suit. What was he expecting to see? Scars? Tattoos? Something?

"Cindy, can you credit those tickets back to him, leave the charge on my account okay?"

Cindy nodded, rolling the mouse on the computer.

He approached her, eyes still on her shoulders. "Hey, you don't have to do that."

"Yes I do, people in your line of work don't get enough thanks for what you do." she took her hand from the strap, following his line of sight. "Is there something wrong with my hand?" She looked at her smooth palm, then the back of it, concerned.

"Um… no," he squinted at her through his stitched eyebrow; he couldn't get close enough to see what he was looking for. "Hey, I need to go home and get changed, maybe I'll see you after the concert."

There was an awkward silence as she suppressed a shy smile.

"I hope so, Mr. Stokes."

"Neysa, let's go or maestro will have our…" her friend peered her head from the stage door.

"I gotta go," she finished, pausing as she smiled awkwardly and moved toward the stage door. "I'll see you tonight, Mr. Stokes," she said before she slipped through the door.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The front doorbell sprang to life. Nick crossed the hall and opened the front door. Grissom was dapper in his tux, a smile on his face.

"I still can't believe you were able to get tickets," he stepped in, closing the door behind him. "Beethoven's Ninth, Carmina Burana, this is a big concert in combination with the vocal society."

Nick went back to fussing with the bow tie at the hall mirror.

"I have no idea what you just said, it sounds like Greek to me," he started, folding the wings of his shirt down over the bowtie and getting frustrated. "Tickets are on the counter."

Grissom picked up the folded tickets, smoothing them out. "I've been meaning to ask," he turned to him. "I've been able to satiate my curiosity with the fact you may have suddenly developed a taste for orchestral literature, but I know that's probably not the case. What brought on this sudden interest in Beethoven and Orff?"

"I caught the rehearsal while on my way to the department store case," he smoothed his coat, looking in the mirror, frowning at the butterfly still on his eyebrow. He considered taking it off, but she'd liked it. He grinned slightly, smoothing the hair over his ears.

"This wouldn't have to do with a girl would it?" Grissom's brow rose as he put the tickets in his inner breast pocket.

"A girl just happened to be there," he touched the butterfly bandage over his eye. "It was a coincidence."

"There are girls in a lot of places. I don't believe in coincidences."

"I know, which is why I wanted you to come with me. I don't believe that meeting this girl and Catherine being targeted at the same time is random. It's too much… it's just too weird," he pulled the front of his coat flat with a snap.

"Are you chasing a ghost?" Grissom's voice was sincere, and incredibly quiet.

Nick flipped his collar up again and fixed his bow tie. "I don't know."

Grissom looked at his watch, then back to Nick. "You can tell me on the way."

"Tell you what?"

"What happened on that mountain a year ago," Grissom was fiercely serious.

Nick's blood froze, eyes resting heavily on Grissom. Shutting the lights off, his gaze resting for a long moment on the cabinet where his gun was stored. He felt naked without it, needing the comfort of the weight around his shoulders.

Grissom caught the look, walking out to his SUV to give him the private time to make the decision. He decided against it, following him out the door.

Nick sat silently in the passenger seat, watching the lights whiz by.

"I'm not going to force you to talk Nick," Grissom paused. "I'm in a tux and about to attend a formal event with the last person I'd ever expect to have invited me. You wouldn't be attending this unless it was incredibly important."

Nick pursed his lips, struggling.

The truck slowed for a red light. "The feds aren't here, Nick," Grissom urged, looking up as the light turned green. "This is just a conversation between you and I."

The silence was heavy, deep as Nick drew in a slow breath. "Before you found us, on that mountain, a man, the man, who shot her…"

Grissom was patient, the dark twinge twisting at his sternum. "The man who shot Kara."

"Yah," Nick began, finding his breath. "I think I was his target."

"Perhaps," Grissom thought out loud. "That's hard to tell Nick. It happened really fast. Hind sight isn't always 20/20."

"You weren't there," a bitterness lingered in his voice.

"No, I wasn't," Grissom let it rest a moment.

Nick closed his eyes; Ricker's voice was so etched into his brain it hurt to think of him

"He promised to kill us," Nick finally said.

Grissom's brow furled.

"He said he would kill us, and it would look like an accident. I told this all to the feds. They said they would take care of it."

Grissom's silence was long. "What happened yesterday was hardly an accident," he surmised. He parked his SUV, turning off the engine. The heaviness to the silence was unbearable as he rested both hands on the steering wheel. "And why are we at the symphony?"

"To make sure my hunch is wrong," Nick said.

Grissom's lips pressed together, willing to go this route to make him feel better.

They got out of the truck, smoothing their ware and moving into the hall. Diamonds and champagne were everywhere, the high and mighty of the city all in one place at the same time. Grissom didn't seem interested in the social scene, even though many recognized him. He made a beeline for the hall. They took their seats and waited for the performance to start. Grissom studied the program, searching the orchestra as they warmed up.

"Second row on the left, third one in," Nick leaned over to tell him.

Nick watched his face, the sudden recognition in his eyes as he saw her for the first time.

"A doppelganger," Grissom looked intrigued, his sideways glance at Nick revealing his brain churning over something yet to be determined. He began to rifle through the program, looking for something he wasn't divulging.

The orchestra suddenly silenced and the conductor came out to a thunderous applause.

"Her name is Neysa," Nick continued.

Grissom blinked slowly. Worry spread across his features as he rifled through the program again.

He found the spelling of her name.

"There are no coincidences," he said, looking up sharply from the program. "O Fortuna," Grissom shot him a dark expression that twinged with panic, and then looked back to the orchestra as he stared at the black-haired violinist that had caught Nick's attention. "Well-being is in vain, now through the game I bring my bare back to your villainy, fate is against me…. so at this hour, I pluck the vibrating strings, since fate yearns and strikes down the strong man…" he finished, getting up suddenly to make his way through the row to the lobby before the concert started.

"Where are you going?" Nick whispered fiercely.

"To call Brass," he whispered quietly. "We need to get to Catherine, right now."