Author's Note: Believe it or not, I'm STILL not finished writing this, and not for a lack of trying either. No, it's not writer's block, it's the exact oposite-- an overflow of ideas. So much so that I'm cutting a huge part of the storyline just to keep this simpler. I said it was getting too angsty, and that's because I kept thinking "Oh, and then what if THIS happened, and then THIS would make THAT so much worse, and then..." And, foolishly, I wrote out all these possibilities and I love them ALL but it makes things so depressing and complicated, I mean... One can only take so much angst. I also find I repeat myself a lot. Sara apologizes way too much. I think in my next story she won't apologize for anything. However, I did write a very cute romantic scene yesterday, and I do hope I'm almost finished. Since I'm cutting a whole extra storyline, this fic WILL end on a similar sort of note as Finding Mr. Hyde in that it won't necessarily be a totally... satisfactory ending. But you'll figure that out when it comes. As for now, enjoy this chapter and expect many, many more. This is officially the LONGEST story I have ever written, and that includes originals. Wow, I think I have no life.


In effect, Vera Volkova looked absolutely harmless. She was petite, around thirty years old, and batted her big blue eyes at Grissom and Brass as she calmly gave them her fingerprints. She had even waved her right to a lawyer. By the time she had arrived, everyone in the lab had heard the rumor that this serial killer was holding Greg Sanders hostage. And the fact that no one had seen him since he broke for dinner only added fuel to the fire. Catherine, Nick and Warrick watched the interview from behind the glass, but Sara had looked too sickened by everything to watch. She had offered to get them coffee half an hour ago and hadn't been back since.

"You know why you're here, don't you?" Brass asked. "You're a suspect in a series of serial murders."

"That's what Sasha told me," Vera replied. "But I think you'll find you have the wrong girl."

Brass pushed a transcript of the translation he had made of Sasha's phone conversation. Vera read it nonchalantly before looking up at Brass. "What is this? A joke?"

"It's what your husband said to you on the phone," Brass replied. "When he thought my colleagues weren't listening." He pulled out a tape recorder and played back the Russian. Vera simply grinned as she listened to her husband's voice. "If you have blood on your hands, under your nails, anywhere, and we find it—"

"I will," Vera interrupted calmly, holding out her hands. "Sometimes, I miss some of it. I like to paint it on my face and dance around naked in my living room. It reminds me of nature, connecting to our… primal roots." She said the last two words in a husky, seductive voice. She had obviously startled her two interviewers. She rolled her eyes at them. "You guys think I killed someone," she said. "I was kidding."

"I'm sure you were," Brass muttered as Grissom took Vera's hands and examined them. He took scrapings from beneath her fingernails and then stopped as he looked at the neckline of her shirt. He reached over with a swab staring at it.

"Mr. Grissom," Vera said just before the swab. "I'm a married woman."

Grissom stopped a moment then looked up to meet her gaze. "Believe me, Mrs. Volkova," he said. "If I was interested, I wouldn't be reaching toward you with a swab in my hand. May I?"

She simply shrugged and raised her chest. She pulled down the neckline of her shirt revealing a red lace bra and leaned her head to the side. She cracked a smile as he swabbed her chest. He watched it carefully as he added a drop of phenolphthalein and the swab turned bright blue.

Grissom bristled visibly. "Whose blood will we find under your fingers, Mrs. Volkova?"

She laughed. "I am not sure, Mr. Grissom." She leaned across the table, her low cut shirt revealing a good amount of cleavage. "I'd just be thankful it's not your own."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Brass asked.

She grinned at him and replied in Russian. Grissom heard both his name and Greg's, but couldn't discern anything else. It was the first time she used Greg's name, and Grissom felt nauseous as he realized neither he nor Brass had said Greg's name previously. Which meant she'd known it before she walked into the room.

Brass stiffened and she laughed. "Sasha was correct. You do know the language of the motherland."

"What did she say, Brass?" Grissom asked, a cold chill tumbling down his spine.

"Repeat yourself," Brass ordered. "In English."

She nodded obligingly and turned to Grissom. "I had my choice of one of two targets," she whispered. "The boy… Or you. He just had the misfortune of crossing my path first."

"Targets?" Grissom inquired evenly. "What does that mean?"

Vera leaned back in her chair. "You are familiar with Antisocial Personality Disorder? I had to take a few psychiatric classes to complete my medical degree. I know it inside out. I am it."

"We know it," Brass deadpanned.

"Good," said Vera, sounding impressed. "Than you know it can manifest itself in two forms: one, in mental manipulation, dominating people and using them as puppets, getting excited by bending people to your will. They make fantastic liars, don't you know. This is Sasha. He delights in games. I take the second, much more physical approach: dominating people with brute force rather than a force of will. I slaughter. I maim. I destroy. Sasha likes to watch. He's a professional liar, Captain Brass, in Russian as much as in English. He told me to take your friend, to do what I would with him. I wouldn't trust him with making my lunch. He'd probably poison it."

"You're saying your husband was involved?" Brass asked quickly.

"Involved? Of course he was involved! He always pre-screened our victims, selecting only the very best ones for me. The healthy, the fit, the amusing, the witty…"

"He's killed," Brass muttered.

Vera hesitated, then rolled her eyes. "Sasha is a weakling. He couldn't overcome anyone. Not like I can."

"Where is Greg?" Grissom demanded, narrowly controlling his anger. He didn't care about Sasha Volkov, or the other murders, not at that moment. He wanted his guy back.

"As far as I know," Vera replied. "I have done you a favor."

"You stole one of my team," Grissom yelled, his calm demeanor finally failing him. "You wiggled in here like a snake and took him from us. He is my friend, and I want him back!"

Vera's laugh was cold and low. "Find him if you can. He mentioned one of you lived nearby. How sad, if he dies right across the street from where one of you lives. But Mr. Grissom, I am sure that after the news I have to deliver, you may be less inclined to save the lying bastard."

Grissom stood up, his hands clenched in fists as he banged them on the table. "I want Greg back! Alive and in one piece. Where is he?"

"You don't even wish to know?" Vera asked with a smile. "You don't want to know why I took him? Why I was asked to take him to make your lives so much simpler?"

At that moment, Sara finally returned and handed out coffee to everyone in the room. Her hair was wet; she had obviously taken a long shower. Nick, Catherine and Warrick were already talking amongst themselves about where Greg could be, if he was in fact across the street from one of their homes.

"He's where?" Sara gasped upon overhearing their conversation.

"We don't know," Nick replied.

Sara's face fell and she turned to watch the interview, her arms folded protectively around her.

Beyond the glass, the interview continued. "I will tell you if you ask the right question," Vera was saying, looking at Grissom with bright blue eyes. "All you have to say is 'Why. Why did you take poor, defenseless Greg Sanders? Why didn't you take me? Why didn't you take anyone else? Why Greg Sanders?' I promise, if you ask, I'll tell you."

Grissom was gritting his teeth. He didn't care about why, just where and how fast could they get there to recover him. "I don't need to know why, not right now. I just want the where, Vera, can you tell me that?"

But Brass gave Grissom a nervous look, sensing something beyond Vera's words. "Why?" he asked at last.

"Jim, that doesn't—"

"It obviously matters to her," Brass said, looking Vera straight in the eye. "Why, Vera? Why did you take Greg?"

"So Sasha calls me around midnight," Vera began, as though telling her friends the latest gossip. "And he tells me that he's met this girl, this… Sara Sidle…"

Grissom stiffened at the mention of her name. "You stay away from her," he growled, his voice low.

"Believe me, we have never met," Vera assured him. "But he had a conversation with her. They spoke for a long time. Eventually, his charm won her over, as it always wins everyone over, as it won me over. She told him secrets. About Greg Sanders. About you, Mr. Grissom."

Grissom's inscrutability seemed to have returned as his interest was piqued. "What did she say about Greg?"

At that moment, Sara burst into the interrogation room, her eyes ablaze with fury as she strode over to the girl and grabbed her by the throat, knocking her from the chair and onto the floor. She straddled her and hit her hard across the face. "You took him because of that?!" she shrieked. "You scheming twisted bitch!"

"Sara!" Brass cried out, jumping to his feet with Grissom as both men tried to pull the angry brunette off of their suspect. "Sara, leave her alone!"

But Sara wouldn't relent as she continued to beat the woman, tearing at her angrily. Once, she thought that Vera looked at her with Woodward's eyes which only made Sara feel more determined to claw them out.

Through it all, Vera was still laughing.

When Brass and Grissom finally restrained Sara, each holding one arm, Vera sat up on the floor with a bloody nose and scratches on her face, still laughing and shaking her head. "You must be the incredible Sara Sidle. I have heard much of you from my husband. As well as much of your lovers."

Grissom's grip lessened on Sara's arm and her heart sank. She knew that he had heard the plural and was wondering at it. She tried to lean against him, rubbing her head on his shoulder like a cat vying for its owners attention, but he did not wrap his arms lovingly around her like she'd expected. He stood stalk still and didn't move a muscle.

Vera was breathing hard, her gaze flying from Grissom to Sara in intrigue. "You noticed, eh? I have a feeling that you always knew he was a threat, Mr. Grissom. He is younger than you. Fitter. Probably more sociable, or wittier, or more exciting. But you trusted her." She looked at Sara. "You know how I know he trusted you? By that broken look he has. If he had known, and just ignored it, he would be angry now, furious with me for shattering his delusional denials. But he had sincerely trusted you. He had noted the threat, but deemed it irrelevant because he felt he knew you, Miss Sara Sidle. Oh my…" Vera gasped exaggeratedly in a mocking show of surprise. "Oh, I hope I haven't spoiled your love for each other now."

Grissom was shaking, and Sara didn't have the heart to look at him to even see if he was shaking in rage or sorrow or something else entirely. Instantly and wordlessly, he turned on his heal and marched out of the room, leaving Brass and Sara alone with Vera. Sara looked at Grissom's quickly retreating back and reached out after him, contemplating running, but her feet stood glued to the ground.

She didn't cry, though. Not a tear left her eyes. She was pale, and she was tired, and she was heartbroken, but she didn't cry. She felt that maybe it was because she had expected his reaction to be much worse, more violent, or something. But he had just… left. In a way, she knew that was the worst reaction she could have received, but right now she was glad that he had left her alone with this woman who had stolen Greg from them.
She crouched down to eye level with Vera, who was still sitting on the floor as Brass watched her warily. "You are going to do me a favor," she said, her voice so inscrutable she could give Grissom a run for his money.

"I have already done you a favor," Vera replied, her voice soft and airy. "I removed the cause. But apparently not the symptoms."

"You call taking the man that I—" Sara stopped herself and swallowed before continuing. "Grissom's right. You took Greg away and we want him back, do you understand me? So this is what you're going to do for me, alright? You are going to tell me the address at which he's being held."

But Vera merely grinned and laughed at her. Sara made a move to launch herself at the woman again when Brass held her back. "Sara!" he snapped at her authoritatively. "That won't help anything."

Sara took deep breaths, her mind flooded with thoughts of Greg and Grissom. She felt maybe she should smooth things over. She couldn't deal with Vera. Maybe she would get lucky, and be able to get her hands on Sasha and tear him limb from limb.

Sara left and saw Nick, Warrick and Catherine just staring at her. Grissom wasn't there. She didn't care about them at the moment and left in search of Grissom.

As Sara slammed the door, Catherine turned to the two men in shock before running after Sara leaving Nick and Warrick alone.

Warrick looked at Nick, waiting for him to say something. He was grinding his teeth. Warrick always recognized the way Nick's jaw moved when he got angry. For his part, Warrick settled for folding his arms and leaning against the wall, lost in his own thoughts. Grissom and Sara's relationship had been revealed to them on accident because of Ryan Woodward. Now, Sara and Greg's affair had been revealed, equally accidental, because of Vera and Sasha Volkov. Would there ever be anything about anyone that wasn't revealed in a crisis? How damaging would this news be for the team?

There was a clatter, and Warrick snapped back to his senses as he noticed an upturned chair in the room. "Jesus Christ!" Nick yelled. "What the fuck is that girl taking?"

"Nick," Warrick said calmly. "Chill, man. We need to keep level heads here."

Nick's eyes were closed. "I know, Rick, but… I mean… Shit, who does that? I mean, it's one thing to cheat on Grissom, that— that I can understand is their issues, but to tell a perfect stranger about it? And a guy who held her at gunpoint no less, I mean, what the hell is she thinking?!"

"Maybe she wasn't," Warrick suggested. "You know, you weren't so quick to trust us with your deal with Woodward."

Nick sighed, calming down as he nodded. "I guess I shouldn't be so quick to judge," he admitted. "I don't know what was going through her head. What kind of demons she was fighting. All I know is what that bitch said."

"Exactly," Warrick replied. "And even so, it doesn't matter now. All that matters is getting Greg back."

"You're right," Nick said, a fire flaring in his eyes. "Focus on this now, talk about Sara's issues later."

Warrick grinned, glad to see Nick's determination to see Greg unharmed was stronger than his frustration with Sara. "Great. Where do we start?"


"Sara, wait!"

"No!" Sara called back, but spinning around to face Catherine anyway. "All I've been doing is waiting and lying and hoping if I just didn't do anything, everything would all just go away."

Catherine's eyes were pleading. "Sara… Why didn't you talk to me about it? Why did you have to talk to him? I tried to tell you, I would have understood."

"No, you wouldn't have, Catherine," Sara said, shaking her head. "After what you went through with Eddie… No, you really wouldn't have understood."

Catherine bit her lip, knowing Sara was right. "You still shouldn't have talked to that guy. I mean, my God, Sara, what were you thinking?"

Sara found that she was trembling as she rubbed her arms to warm them. "I… I don't know, I was scared, I just… Where did he go? Where's Grissom? Oh God, this was the last thing I wanted…"

Seeing Sara distraught like this urged Catherine to approach her friend and wrap her arms around her comfortingly. "You know, it's not your fault," she whispered in Sara's ear. Of all the things she wanted to say, that had been the last thing on her mind. When she heard Vera's confession, she had blamed Sara as much as Sara had blamed herself. But that's not what Sara needed to hear at the moment. She needed a friend, and despite all the pent up anger Catherine felt towards Sara, Catherine knew that Sara was probably blaming herself a whole lot more than Catherine did.

"You know that's a lie," Sara whispered. "You know it's my fault. I ruined everything and now…" She swallowed hard and pulled away from Catherine, her eyes darting around the lab. "Where's Grissom? I need to talk to him, I need to tell him—"

"I don't think that's a good idea right now, sweetie," Catherine cooed in maternal tones.

Sara shivered and nodded slowly. "We have to find Greg, then," she resolved. "He could be dying, or dead, or… Oh God, this is all my fault."

Catherine took Sara by the hand and guided her back to the interview room where Nick and Warrick were talking, trying to figure out a plan. They fell silent upon Sara and Catherine's entrance. Sara was awkward around them, not knowing exactly what they thought of her upon Vera's revelations.

Thank God for Catherine, who spoke to break the icy tension in the room. "What were you guys thinking of doing?"

This was successful in dispelling the negative air as both of them kicked into professional mode. "Greg's phone is still on," Nick replied. "I tried to call it earlier, Warrick and I were just about to head out to try tracing it via GPS. Brass has already called dispatch to send out cop cars to each of our houses, checking the buildings across the street. We figured that—"
Nick was interrupted by shrill tones coming from his jeans. He dug in his pocket absently and kept talking. There was no time to lose. "—that at least one of them would find something if what Vera said is true and—" He stopped short as he looked at the number dialing, his mouth open partially as his eyes remained glued to the display. Suddenly, something clicked in his mind and he quickly hit the "talk" button and held the phone to his ear, his voice desperate. "Greg?!"