A/N: Another chapter for your weekend reading!

Murder without Guilt Chapter 9

Grissom and Sara were generous in their thanks and appreciation to the Parisian supervisor, inviting him in for coffee or tea or wine, but he refused, insisting he had a wife who would be looking for him. He hugged Sara, kissing both cheeks before releasing her.

Shaking Grissom's hand, he said, "You have a beautiful wife—and soon—beautiful children, I am sure!" He winked at Sara as he stepped into the driver's seat.

"You told him?"

The guilty look on Grissom's face was her answer. He said, "It sort of slipped out." He grinned. "I'm kind of proud of my wife—not just because she's having a baby." He leaned over and took her bag and managed to kiss her as he straightened up. "Let's go lay this out for Catherine. I've got a plan."

Those plans were postponed once they opened the apartment door. The kitten heard the rattle of the key and was stretching herself awake when they entered. Sara played with the cat as Grissom threw bags onto the bed and then proceeded to follow the bags with his body. He groaned and kicked his shoes off his feet, punched his pillow and declared he needed a nap.

Sara took the kitten to the bed, placed her on Grissom's back, removed the two bags from the bed, and stripped off her shirt.

"I'm taking a shower. Then I'll go get Hank," she said.

She heard a mumbling noise that sounded like "okay" as she stepped into the small bathroom. The ride back into Paris had exhausted her; fatigue encased her like a comfortable old robe.

This morning she had wanted to stay in bed forever—and smiled at her thought—it wasn't fatigue this morning. She looked at her reflection in the mirror above the sink, ducking slightly to see her entire face and for several minutes scrutinized her face and teeth. Not sure what she was looking for—she didn't think she looked pregnant—she lifted her hair in her fingers and let it fall. Curls bounced around her face. She pulled her hair away from her face and frowned. Why, she wondered, not for the first time, did she love Grissom's curly hair yet did not care for her own.

That thought took her to the future. She dropped her hair and let one lock curl around her fingers. Her baby—Grissom's child—would have curly hair. Maybe she would have a boy and boys didn't seem to worry about hair like girls did. She remembered being envious of classmates with long straight hair and how she spent hours trying to get her hair to do the same thing.

"What are you thinking?" The soft whisper brought her back to the present. Grissom's hand touched her shoulder and caressed around the back of her neck, letting his fingers lace into her hair.

A sudden giggle erupted from her throat. She turned. "We're going to have a curly haired baby, Gil."

He chuckled. "She'll be as cute as her mother." His lips touched the back of her neck as his arms circled her body, his hands moved to her breast and Sara could feel him hardening behind her. "Hmmmmm," he murmured before nuzzling her neck.

"I haven't showered," she said.

"I don't care." He propelled her away from the mirror, slowly kissing the back of her neck until they reached the bed. "There's a lot to be said for beds," he said.

"Not up for the shower?"

"Too small for what I want." He was pushing his pants off, "and the bed is soft." His fingers played along her arm. "and warm—like you." He found the zipper of her pants.

Naked, he knelt on the bed and pulled her pants off as she leaned back against the pillows and put her hands behind her neck. He lifted her knee and kissed it. His fingers found the edge of her panties; his thumb stroked across the fabric between her legs before he removed her underwear. His hands slipped along her thighs, her calves and ankles, as he removed her rose-colored panties. Leaning forward, his tongue touched her belly and he felt a slight quiver as her muscles rippled.

Sara laughed and the sound tugged at Grissom's insides. The urge to touch her, to kiss her until amusement was transformed into desire was irresistible. He began to kiss her abdomen following an invisible line upward until he reached her bra and the valley between her breasts. One hand slipped behind her to the hook and quickly the bra was flung across the room. By the time his mouth placed a circle of kisses on her left breast, she was no longer giggling, but pushing fingers through his hair and lifting her hips against his. His thumb and index finger gently rolled her nipple and the sensation against his fingertips caused him to make a soft, husky groan. His head dropped between her breasts and he cradled his palm around one bringing his lips to kiss her soft skin. A wonderful, delicious tension began to build deep inside.

Sara tugged, wanting him to move upward. Her hands moved across his shoulders and met as her fingers tangled in his hair. He kissed her neck, her chin, and finally met her lips. She responded, parting her mouth to meet his.

A moment later she felt the firm thrust of his erection against her thigh. His fingers threaded their way into her most private feminine folds, touching her in the most intimate way, responding to that wonderful aching sensation of desire.

He whispered her name as his erection probed, found the entrance to her body, and eased into her body. The sensation was one familiar yet brought hot pleasure to her, the aching turning to passion as he began to move, slowly, cautiously within her. He rocked against her, moving faster as both were gripped by an overpowering force of passion.

Sara reached her climax first; her fingers pressed into Grissom's back. Her body tensed for several seconds until she no longer had any notion of what was going on around her. A quiet choked cry came as waves of pleasure rippled through her. Within seconds, he collapsed, sprawling across her as his arm curved possessively around her.

They lay quietly for a time, slowly becoming aware of the warmth between them, a renewal of strength—joie de vivre—and the simple joy of each other. Grissom eventually raised himself on his elbow, placed a hand on her belly and looked at her.

"I'm not sure I can bear living without you, Sara."

"Yes, you can. It's only a few more weeks—you need to finish your commitment here." She lifted her head and kissed his chin. "I have another week—thanks to old Mrs. Harcourt dying in France. Then you will have three short weeks until you are home." She pulled him so his head rested against her shoulder.

Grissom's hand remained on her stomach; Sara's hand covered his. She said, "It's kind of unbelievable, isn't it."

"Uh-huh," he chuckled after his agreement. His thumb moved in a circle on her skin. "I know nothing about babies, Sara. I know nothing about having babies—nothing! I've never even seen a birth."

He felt her laugh in the rise and fall of her belly. "I know nothing—but I've got a book. Actually, I have three books!" She giggled. "Do you think we can check a baby out of a baby library and learn what to do?"

Grissom laughed and wrapped his arm around her. "We'll figure it out. Lots of people do—we're not having six or seven at one time, are we?"

Sara grunted. "I hope not. I'm scheduled for an ultrasound after you get home."

"Should you wait that long?"

"I want you there to see it when I do." She knew he smiled. "Take a nap," she said. "I'll shower and go get Hank."

~~Hours later, after Hank welcomed them home, after they had eaten dinner at one of the neighborhood cafés, after they had walked Hank to the river, Grissom and Sara sat at their small table and reviewed everything they had heard about Mrs. Harcourt's death. Grissom's notes were in the center of the table turned so he could read his writing.

Sara said, "It actually becomes very obvious once we know the younger Mrs. H was at the spa. It took us less than an hour from the house to the spa."

"But we'll never be able to charge her with this murder—the French, that is," Grissom fussed. "The death was treated as an accidental fall—from the time she was found." His hand fanned over the photographs. "A hundred photographs—when five hundred should have been taken. All that top of the line equipment available and no one thought an old lady might have been killed." He shook his head. "You always have to question, have doubts—is it time to call Catherine?" He picked up one of the advertising brochures from the spa and tapped its edge on the table.

Sara reached for her phone and dialed. Catherine answered on the first ring and after the usual greetings and questions, she asked, "Is Grissom there too?"

"Yes he is, right here." Sara placed the phone on the table and pressed a button. "You are on speaker, Catherine."

Catherine's delighted voice traveled the nine hours of time change as fast as words tumbled from her mouth. "Gil! I miss you every day! When are you coming home? Please do not tell me you are heading to Outer Mongolia and taking Sara with you! If you do, I promise to go with you—not to Mongolia. I don't think they have air-conditioning there. I'll find another way to make life miserable for you! It's been great having Sara back and I know you think I am not looking for new CSIs, I am—but compared to Nick, Greg, and Sara—no one works like they do!

"Listen to me! This is business. Sara, what did you learn? Did Grissom help you? Did the French cooperate? The casino has given Mrs. Harcourt a penthouse suite so she is coming back here in a few weeks. That way we hope to get her in Nevada without extradition papers and without her thinking she's a suspect. I'll tell you this—she's spending money by the boat load! Nick is following her financial records—she got into the safety deposit boxes so no way to know what was in those. We've put a hold on her passport with TSA, but nothing—nothing to really tie her to killing her husband. And we have found nothing new—it's like a ghost did this." Catherine stopped to breathe and Grissom's glance was enough to cause Sara to stifle a giggle.

Catherine resumed after a thirty second pause, "Just tell me you found something—anything—to tie this woman to a murder."

No one said anything for several seconds—Grissom waiting for Sara, Sara waiting for Catherine.

Sara said, "Catherine, I wish we had something definite—the French have been great, but from the beginning they looked at the death here as a fall. No longer but they are leaving the younger Mrs. Harcourt to us." They heard Catherine groan. "But, here's the good news—both Mrs. Harcourts were at a spa on the same day—the day before the older one was found dead. It gets better. They had a huge argument in the spa. Everyone heard it. The younger wanted money—or access to some account and the older woman was refusing. The spa is less than an hour from the house."

Sara continued with a detailed report of what they had found, heard, seen. "I knew the shoes would be the clue—almost like the two pairs left at the hotel—but no, the old Mrs. Harcourt had a huge room filled with shoes. Everything is a dead end. But Grissom came up with a plan."

"Tell me," Catherine said with an audible sigh. "I need something."

Grissom explained his plan. "Is her cousin still in Florida?" He asked.

"Yes, still looking for the mountain climbing one," Catherine said.

"Haul the one in from Florida—use anything you can—but you will need Mrs. Harcourt in Vegas when he's arrested. I'd go with the murder of the guy with the watch and get extradition based on that. When he's arrested, have someone standing in the door of that penthouse to bring Mrs. Harcourt in. And let her sit while her cousin flies to Vegas."

"We think the other guy—the mountain climber—may be dead. He was supposed to show up in Colorado last week to climb with a group—never showed."

"Yeah, this woman is a black widow and she's killing anyone who has been a witness. I'm thinking the mountain climber killed the watch guy—the Florida cousin killed the mountain climber. If he's of average intelligence, he wants to stay away from his rich girl-cousin."

He continued with his idea, plotting like Danny Ocean, and giving a smile to Sara several times as Catherine murmured "That might work."

"Sara will send all of this to you. Photographs are excellent but not enough of them, no autopsy, body cremated—nothing left in that house as evidence—but I'd say Mrs. Harcourt the younger was not inside longer than five minutes after bashing that pipe wrench into her mother-in-law's head."

Catherine replied, "I'll get everything else and have it waiting. And Grissom—don't keep Sara too long. I want her here when we bring in Mrs. Harcourt and show her the photographs and the pipe wrench." She laughed. "I don't mean cut her week short, just don't try to keep her for a month!" She talked for several minutes about everyone in the lab—gossip and cases and news. "When will you be back? Don't tell me you are staying in Paris longer than the semester!"

"I'll be home before long," he said. "Just keep my wife out of gun fights."

They laughed as long-time friends and asked about Lindsay and Lily before ending the call. Sara gathered up the papers and photographs.

"Do you think this will work?" She asked.

Grissom grumbled, "Who knows—you know she had help in Vegas and the cousins being in Vegas the same time as the husband was killed points in that direction." He pointed to a photograph of the living Mrs. Harcourt. "This woman will not crack. Her cousin is the best candidate, especially if he thinks we are going to send her to France for killing the old lady and he's left for the murders in Vegas."

Sara stood and stretched. "I'm going to bed. I think I missed my nap today."

"I'll take Hank out. Warm my spot in bed." His hand reached out and brought her into a two-armed hug. "You could stay until I go back."

She smiled and kissed him. "Catherine might harm you. We're so backed up. This guy is killing people—Ray calls him 'Dr. Jekyll' but it's more like Mundinus than Dr. Jekyll."

Grissom kissed his wife, grabbed Hank's brightly colored leash and whistled for the dog. "I'll be right back. No more thinking of crime in Vegas—for another week. You get a real vacation of wandering streets, eating good food, reading trashy novels." He chuckled as he and the dog disappeared.

Sara found her book—not a trashy novel—and headed to bed.

A/N: Okay-time to vote-long story continuing until the end of Sara's pregnancy, or short, ending in one or two more chapters? Reviewers can decide. So let us know in your review...