Leinney accompanied Brass to work that evening; he promised to give her a lift to the airport so that she could return home and take care of things. Sated from a much more casual dinner than the previous evening, she sat in the waiting room engrossed in a book (the latest best-selling detective novel, whisked off the shelf at the convenience store to keep her occupied), while he worked a few details before her flight time. Brass had advised her that the later flights were cheaper if you didn't mind red-eyes. She didn't mind at all.

That morning, enveloped in the dawn warmth, and remembering how perfectly compatible their lovemaking had been, he'd been emboldened to ask if she would consider moving. Her hopeful eyes told him that she reciprocated his impetuous feelings, although she soberly suggested that they take things slowly, so as not to rush into anything. But she could move anywhere with her job.

When she had bought the book at the convenience store, she commented nervously, "God, I could really use a cigarette."

"You smoke?" Brass was surprised.

"Not really. Sometimes when I'm writing, if I can find cigarettes."

Having seen his share of emphysema patients choked to death on their own lung fluids at home, Brass didn't much care for cancer sticks, but then again, with new hope of an actual relationship, he could overlook a small personality defect. Hell, his own defects would overshadow any she might have... "Let's get some, then," he suggested hospitably.

"Naw. They only have regular ones. I only smoke cloves. Keeps me from getting addicted, since I can't find them too often," she smirked.

Several details flew from his subconscious to conscious mind. "You remind me of someone," he said.

"Who?" She was busy finding the correct bills folded small in her slim wallet — more of a business card holder than anything — to pay much attention.

"Zoë Ellismere," he said, taking a chance while watching her reaction carefully. He was rewarded by a slight double-take. "You know her?"

"Never met her," came the confident reply.

"You sure? She's from Montana, also."

"No. I'm sure I haven't met her. I'd remember." To his quizzical eyebrows, she answered, "Zoë is one of my pet baby names, so of course I'd remember meeting someone by that name. What part of Montana is she from?"

"A place called Shangri-La. You ever heard of it?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact. It's some sort of hippie colony way in the mountains northwest of Bozeman. From what I recall, you can get lost pretty easily if you don't know exactly how to get there. Does she live here now? I'd like to meet her."

"Unfortunately, she's gone missing. Well, not exactly. She took off on a camping trip several days ago and her housemate doesn't know how to get in touch with her."

"You sure she didn't go home? Shangri-La is way out in the boonies. Not much civilization around, and cell phones probably don't work..."

"That's a thought."

Brass left her reading the book in the waiting room, while he returned to his office at the start of shift that night. He was impatient to finish the paperwork he'd stuffed in his jacket pocket for priority attention. Opening up an unfamiliar folded paper, he realized he'd completely forgotten the drawing hastily buried from the day before. Reluctantly, he left it on the side of his desk as he attended to more pressing matters.

Grissom interrupted him. "Jim, can you get a warrant to sear..." the abrupt silence made Brass look up from his work.

Grissom had seized the paper on the desk and was staring at it intently. "Where did you get this?" he asked. He seemed to have inhaled a piece of food or something, as his voice sounded hoarse. Brass hoped his friend wasn't coming down with a cold.

"Leinney drew it. She's quite good. I was wondering if our sketch artist might use her as a substitute when needed. She's thinking of moving to Vegas in the next few months and I thought she might want to pick up some extra work." Brass tried to sound impartial, but he winced as he realized how uncharacteristically chatty he was acting. Thankfully, Grissom took no notice.

Grissom coughed to clear his throat. "Yeah. She's good. Aren't you driving her to the airport today?"

"Yep, she's reading a book down in the waiting room while I finish up these reports. You need that warrant right away or can it wait?" Brass asked, hoping it could wait.

"Page Nick and Warrick as soon as you get it," he said, walking out without saying goodbye. Brass was used to the scientist's erratic social behavior. He picked up the phone to call a judge who was good at giving him warrants without much trouble. Then he hung up quickly before it connected and contacted Nick first, to get the details Grissom had failed to provide. In his haste to get the paperwork done as soon as possible, Brass didn't miss the drawing that Grissom had taken with him.