Author's Note: I apologize to everyone! I just flew to the US because I'm starting school soon. Then I was busy settling down properly. I'll be wrapping this up soon. Thanks for all your patience, your support and your reviews! They rock my world!

Nick snapped off his gloves, frustrated beyond all imagination. He tossed the rubber gloves into the trash and was about to kick the garbage can when he took a deep breath.

Calm down, big guy.

Actually, there was really nothing to be calm about. The evidence was a flipping blank. He had gone over the body of the dead woman, along with the pathetically little evidence there was to offer on her corpse. Without viable DNA or identifying features, he couldn't solve the big mystery of who and what she was. He was as good as stuck like a pig, where he was.

He at least could attempt facial reconstruction with what he had. On the other hand, running her through Missing Persons was going to take some time – and he wasn't holding his breath on getting any hits in that database. All others had failed, anyway.

Maybe he could go back to the scene and look for any other clues. It would be better than just sitting here and doing practically nothing. He wasn't paid to twiddle his thumbs when he could be getting valuable information on the case and putting in his two cents' worth. He groaned and reached up to his temples as a migraine began throbbing in his head mercilessly.

A flash of strawberry blond hair caught his attention, and he automatically spun on his heel to follow Catherine as she zipped around a corner of the lab and unloaded a pile of evidence off to Hodges and Wendy. She was just stepping out of DNA and Trace when Nick almost ran her down in his haste, skidding to a stop right in front of her.

"Cath!"

The striking blonde turned to face him with a questioning expression on her face. "Ah, Nicky. Going anywhere with the evidence yet?"

Nick rolled his eyes. "Not even close. I've lost count of the number of brick walls I've hit." He clasped his hands as if in prayer, his eyes pleading. "Do you mind doing me a favor, Cath? It's important," he wheedled when he teased out a resigned look.

Sure enough – as always – Catherine humored him. "Okay, Nicky." She blew out a sigh, tossing her blond bangs around her heart-shaped face. "You're handling the next floater we find." Her eyebrow cocked over one blue eye, daring him to argue.

Nick nodded absently as he took her elbow in his usual gentlemanly manner and steered her over to the computers in one of the offices.

"Missing Persons is running the woman based on the facial reconstruction technique I tried," he rattled off, his mind already on the task ahead. "No identity so far, based on her lack of outstanding features and clothing besides – meaning no places where she was last seen, no neighbors, no accounts or statements or other paperwork we can delve into, no relatives stepping forward to claim her. We've tried broadcasting her face on television, but so far we've gotten more misses than hits."

"If no one has come forward from the broadcasts, Nicky, you can't expect anyone to come forward from Missing Persons," Catherine interjected, her eyes wide.

"No one has come forward yet," Nick corrected her. "If there's anything, will you keep me updated then? I have to run on a hunch."

"Take a detective with you," Catherine called out after him as he charged from the room. "It's not safe – you heard what Grissom told us. We're all at risk with this killer on the loose."

Nick briefly paused, turning a hundred and eighty degrees to face her. "Everyone's busy, Cath – Vartann's still holed up at the hospital, O'Riley's helping Sara, Vega's on Warrick's and your case."

"What about Cavaliere?" Catherine pointed out.

Nick seemed to be holding back an urge to roll his eyes. "He's busy watching over Warrick, Sofia, Greg and Vartann. I'll grab an officer, Mom."

Now it was Catherine who rolled her eyes. "Nick, whatever it is that happened between you and Cavaliere, it's time to address that. Conflicts run deep, and create scars that won't heal."

Nick locked eyes with her, brown on blue. A torrent of emotions flowed through that link – fear, anger, resentment, confusion, and frustration that boiled over everything. His eyes held an exhaustion that Catherine felt briefly, and she was alarmed at the degree of it in Nick's gaze. He winced as he turned abruptly away from her – the sure sign of a headache or a migraine.

"Maybe when this mess is all over," he bit off, signaling the end of the conversation. "Thanks, Cath. Call me."

Before Catherine could protest further, Nick had turned his back on her and was striding out the door, pulling off his lab coat and digging into his jeans pocket for his car keys.

Outside in the sunshine, he hit the button on his key fob to unlock his Tahoe. He couldn't help but cringe at the knot that was forming in his stomach at how he had dismissed Catherine's concerns. She only meant well, he knew, and he had snapped at her. Now he felt awful.

She has a point.

Shut up.

After all this was over, he would make it up to her. Then he sighed – obviously he would have to patch things up with Cavaliere again. Though he saw little reason to, and little motivation on his part. He hadn't been the one to offend.

Minutes later, he was pulling out of the station's parking lot with Officer Jamison trailing his Tahoe. Neither the CSI nor the cop realized that they were being trailed – by a pair of eyes that watched from inside the station.

Nick Stokes had finally proven that he was now a liability to be taken care of, a loose thread to be snipped.

According to the conversation he'd had with Catherine Willows – ridiculously simple to eavesdrop and overhear – he was about to 'run on a hunch'. And what hunch was that?

The Devil didn't think that he had overlooked anything when he had killed Yvonne. He had taken her out on a romantic trip – starting from the picnic under the stars next to the car, and then the swim in the lake, and ending in the lake when he had strangled her to death. Pulling her body out of the water and mutilating it had been so darn simple. After he'd killed her and taken care of her corpse properly, he'd cleared up every piece of paper and every crumb, along with all traces of himself ever having been there. At the most, he'd simply thrown the trace evidence into the lake, where it was undoubtedly now of no use to anyone.

Yvonne had been bubbly and excited the entire time, and the Devil didn't think she'd suspected a thing before she'd died. It had been like taking candy from a baby. Thinking back on her, though, he was overwhelmed by a rush of anger and loss.

For all her betrayal, he did miss her. But the slut had to pay for her ways, and paid she had. Her erroneous activities, on the other hand, had caused him to fail thus far.

Well, no more. Never again.

A uniform passed him in the corridor. "Hey," he called, using the Devil's other name, the name he was known by to the rest of the world. "You seen Nick Stokes? He called for backup on a scene, and Detective Cavaliere's available to accompany him – Brass just got Detective Conroy to the hospital, and Vartann's insistent that he'll take care of himself."

"Nick Stokes just left for the scene," the Devil answered calmly. "I'm not sure of the address. Why don't I let him know, and he'll radio Detective Cavaliere for you then?"

The uniform hesitated. He was a young rookie, probably two years out of the academy and uncertain among all the high-ranking officers and CSIs in the LVPD. The Devil had no interest in him whatsoever, and he affected a helpful expression to get the kid moving.

"Yeah…sure! Thanks for your help."

The cop wheeled around and finally left. The Devil paid him no heed. As Benjamin Hill stepped out of the layout room, the Devil met his eye and nodded before taking off.

It was time to have a personal chat with Nick Stokes about the young man's refusal to let sleeping dogs lie – or to let the dead rest in peace.