"They're looking for me!" she continued her pacing, her fingers running up and down her arms as she puffed heavily on a cigarette. "Did you see that, it's all over the news!"
"Stop freaking out! We can fix this."
The room was a hazy potpourri of addictive smoke, a ceiling fan circling limply over the space. The thick hot air didn't seem to move, spindles of light leaking through the drawn curtains as the TV continued its flickering. Her gaze glanced nervously back and forth from the chained door to the TV.
"That's easy for you to say, you're not gonna get fried for stealing some policeman's brat!" black eyeliner streaked a pale face, she wiped her nose on the back of her hand. Hands trembled, her high from something indiscernible fading quickly as her adrenaline burned through it. "You stupid jerk, you told me it was a good idea!"
"Hey, it was a good idea! We got paid a lot of money and it solved a lot of our problems. Don't worry, it's been taken care of!"
"For you! Look at that!" she gestured wildly toward the TV at a police sketch that bore a vivid resemblance to her. "You said it would be a good idea, you said it would be all right! Blowing up the cops! Whose friggin' idea was that! I'm gonna get thrown in jail!" Her fingers were at her temples. "I need to think. I need to get out of here."
"Calm down!" Bobby's hands rested on her shoulders, the cigarette bouncing on his lips as his lean frame towered over her. "You helped us out, the least we can do is protect you," his voice lowered. "We're gonna protect you. We have to stick with the plan."
"I've helped you out twice in this mess, don't forget that," she wiped her eyes with the fishnet armbands that were hooked over her thumbs. "And that time I ran dope for you downtown is three."
"We won't forget it," he turned her around, patting her on the cheek, sliding a small plastic bag of contraband into her pocket.
She was calm for a moment, wiping the smeared kohl make-up from her eyes and smoothing her dark hair back into its ponytail. She peered out the blinds, the incessant tinkering of their neighbor on his beat up car in the parking lot irritating her. Her face twisted lightly, the words he had spoken finally hitting a nerve.
"We?" she started. "We! Who you working for now?" her voice was suddenly uneven, panicked and worn from a hangover. "I'm sick and tired of you making deals with people without telling me." She started punching his arm. "We're gonna get screwed over!"
He shook his head, trying to calm her down. "This is someone who can and has solved a lot of our problems. Look, that brat he paid us to take, was just a test you see? To see if we can be trusted, and he's repayed us for that. We've made rent, made good on a few debts, we're good."
"You're not getting blamed for blowing up the cops! Your face isn't all over the news!"
"No… Regina's face is all over the news, Becka. I thought this one through."
She blinked at him. "You're an asshole!" escaped her lips. "I can't believe you'd sell me out to someone you barely know for money!" She instantly made a beeline for the bedroom, throwing her cigarette into the toilet and pulling a black canvas bag from beneath her unmade bed. Stuffing clothes into it quickly, she rushed to the bathroom and rifled through the bleach and dye littering the counter. She dumped all her toiletries and loose makeup into the bag. "We're screwed…"
"We're fine!" he cut her off.
"My parents are involved now cause the cops are gonna put two and two together you idiot!" she said brusquely, moving toward the front door. "That wasn't what we agreed. You're changing the rules, I want out."
"Where're you gonna go?" his voice boomed. He put out his cig between his thumb and forefinger and slipped it behind his ear, kicking the college books she'd forgotten from the coffee table.
"Out of here," she hissed. "I ain't stupid. I'm the patsy here! You can go off with your new friend and knock yourselves out."
"C'mon Regina!"
"I trusted you to help me out, and I get repayed how? By being framed?" her eyes were fierce, but afraid as she set to work on the chains and locks on the door.
"That was always the plan and you know it, things just got a little complicated. Just let me explain…"
"You've explained enough," she slung the bag over her shoulder and pushed her way out the door, running smack into someone's chest.
Kohl eyes glared at him with annoyance for blocking her flight. The man lowered his arm; fist had been poised to knock on the door.
She glared up at him, a chill spilling down the back of her neck. Had he been listening to the argument through the locked door? He was middle aged, hair shorn close to his head. The air of calm around him was cold, calm; narrowed eyes watching her serenely.
Bobby at glared him from the doorway. "Um, hi Kale. I got this under control."
"I can see that," he drawled, taking a long drag from his cigarette, looking her over.
"Is this him?" she glared at Bobby. "Is this the new jerk you sold me out for!"
Bobby looked to him, seeming to ask for unspoken permission. "This is Kale."
"You guys deserve each other," she snapped, pushing past him. "Asshole. Screw you both, I'm going to the cops…"
Her words were cut short by her own panicked, bloodcurdling scream. Bag crashed to the ground as Kale grabbed her by the hair, pressing her face into the front door.
"No cops," he snarled, pushing her back into the apartment by her throat, pulling her bag in and slamming the door behind them.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Nick paused at Grissom's office, knocking gently on the doorframe. Grissom sat down at his desk, a formidable stack of folders in front of him. His nostrils flared slightly, the smell of ash still lingering in the air.
"You wanted to see me?" Nick asked quietly. The events of the previous night were still fresh. He was frustrated that it was uneventful; but was relieved for Catherine and Lindsey that it had been so. Eyes wandered over the printout of a police sketch in his hand.
"How's the bomb?" he looked at the paper Nick was holding.
"It's coming," he said shortly.
"Is that our kidnapper?"
"Yes."
"I thought you were working on putting the bomb back together?"
"I am, I needed a break. I saw the police sketch on the news when I went for coffee. I wanted a hard copy," his lips pursed as his jaw began to square. "You want to bust my chops because I went for coffee?"
"Of course not Nick," Grissom closed a folder as he looked up. "Are you disappointed?"
He looked confused a moment. "About last night?" his voice was extremely soft. He shook his head. "I'm just disappointed that I ruined Catherine's night. I know she was happy we were looking out for her, but…"
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about." He leaned back in his chair. "I wanted to make it clear that I ruined Catherine's night. I read into something that wasn't there," Grissom redirected. "It wasn't your fault."
"But I put you in that position," Nick finished, his fingers tightening on the piece of paper in his fingers.
"Nick, you should never feel ashamed about making sure someone is okay," he slid his glasses onto his nose. He looked down at his folder. "Close the door please."
Nick swallowed visibly, and reached behind him to push the door shut with his fingers, holding his position near the door.
Grissom pursed his lips, "You didn't answer my question. Did finding nothing disappoint you?"
Nick's face looked annoyed, a tight set to his jaw. Hands went instinctively to his hips, the printout crinkling slightly in his fingers. He didn't want to discuss this. "You've said yourself that there are no coincidences," he said defensively, voice trailing off toward the end.
"And I stand by that, but… Sometimes things are just as simple as they are at face value. Sometimes, things just are what they seem to be Nick." He watched him for a moment, his voice changing gently. "I think we both need to accept that fact that we may be reading into something that isn't there to see."
Nick seethed a sigh through his nose, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere else but there. "I don't believe that."
Grissom chose his next words very carefully. "No matter how much I want to read into Neysa, I don't think it's going to go anywhere," he paused a long time, waiting until he saw the frown relax on Nick's brow. "She's dead Nick. Kara is dead."
The silence was painful.
Nick took a slow breath, licking his lips and setting them again. Looking errantly at the police sketch, his eyes rested back on Grissom.
"Are we finished?" he asked shortly, his voice was hoarse. "I have to work on getting that bomb back together."
"Are we okay" Grissom asked quietly, his fingers steeped together.
"Yes."
He watched the intense square to Nick's jaw, muscles flicking in his neck. He felt for him, could feel the frustration and anger seething from him, and he could do nothing to change it.
"Nick, I can't tell you what you want to hear," Grissom said finally.
Nick's look was becoming unreadable, his lids lowering slightly to give his face a resentful expression. He was closing himself off completely.
Grissom sighed. He felt as if he was now a principal, lecturing a student for doing something wrong that they vehemently denied they were a part of. He was certain Nick was no longer in a listening mood. There was nowhere else to go with the conversation.
"We're finished," Grissom nodded as gently as he could, taking a sip of coffee from his mug and watching Nick leave with concern.
Nick moved back to the lab with stiff and determined strides. Greg was speaking to him, but it wasn't registering in his brain. Nick squinted at the printout of the police sketch, then folded it and shoved it into his back pocket as he put on a new pair of gloves.
"Just… shut up," Nick said suddenly, looking back to the dozens of pieces scattered across the table.
Greg blinked at him, chewing on the side of his lip and raising his brows. "Okee…" he said under his breath and went back to his microscope.
Something suddenly clicked in his head. Nick glared at Greg's hair.
"You're on the department store case right?"
Greg was quiet for a moment, "So now you don't want me to shut up?"
Nick frowned at him, getting up unexpectedly and pulling off his gloves. Heading toward the morgue, he paged Sara and Warrick en route, Greg hot on his heels
"Dr. Robbins, Regina Dalton, the department store case Warrick's trying to close? Is the body still here?" Nick asked as he pushed opened the doors.
Robbins looked up through a visor and turned off some kind of saw, tilting up his face shield. "Yah, she's all set, the funeral home is picking her up today. Anything you didn't get is gone by now."
"More than you know," Nick said to himself, moving toward the cooler and pulling the picture out of his back pocket.
"What's this about?" Warrick asked as he followed him in, Sara at his side. He made an annoyed face when he saw Robbins pull out the drawer and lower the sheet. "I've got work up to my eyeballs cause people like making things go boom. Nick we don't have time to second-guess the evidence on this one, this case belongs to Sara and Greg. You got a bomb to put back together."
Nick lowered the picture next to the girl's face.
Warrick blinked. "Well I'll be damned. Good eyes Nick. How'd we miss this?"
"The hair color's different, Lindsey's picture's got light hair," Sara observed.
"Hair dye," Greg started. "She could have kidnapped Lindsey, then dyed her hair to cover her tracks."
"Maybe Lindsey didn't remember the hair color correctly. She was drugged shortly after she was picked up," Sara said.
"But the timeline doesn't fit. It's impossible, this girl was dead an hour before Lindsey went missing," Warrick frowned, shaking his head at the twist of evidence. "Lindsey would never have seen this girl's face in order to ID her."
"Something else interesting you might want to know." Robbin's eyebrow slid up. "Parents came in to ID her. Weird thing is; after they got the call, it took them almost three hours to get here. They live a couple miles away. Mom was a wreck… dad was, almost relieved. I see a lot of grief around here, and his reaction was kind of odd. The fact a couple of parents didn't rush in to see their murdered daughter was enough to make it stick in my brain."
"Sister maybe?" Greg asked.
"I'm on it," Sara said, moving back toward the lab.
Nick look at him questioningly. "We need to talk with Regina's parents. And we need to find out why a teenage girl would kidnap a CSI's daughter, then use her to kill Catherine."