A/N: A longer chapter-lots of ground to cover! Enjoy!

Being Here Chapter 21

Lance Delridge looked Catherine Willows in the eye. "Chauncey lived in that house at one time—disappeared without paying her rent! Left the place trashed—had to get a cleaning crew in there to clean out her mess—cost me a silver dime for that too!" He sat back in the chair. "I hope you've found the bitch—I've got cleaning and painting bills she can pay!"

Catherine's glare did not yield as he talked. She raised her hand, a signal for Archie, who brought a laptop into the room and keyed up one of the videos.

"Mr. Delridge, we've seen what you and Chauncey Hilton did in your house. We've also seen video of what appears to be her murder." Catherine said as Archie turned the screen so Delridge could see it. "We have her body in the morgue."

Delridge blinked, once, twice, before his face settled into a mask. He shrugged. "We played—enjoyed doing things together. Adults do it everywhere—use that computer and you can find the same stuff on the internet." His expensive loafers did a tap dance on the floor. He shrugged again. "We got along fine—you got video of that, I guess—so why would I kill her?"

Catherine and Brass remained quiet; the video played for several minutes but no one watched. With a nod from Catherine, Archie cut the show. Finally, Delridge said, "You got something to charge me with—I'm calling my lawyer. Otherwise, I'm going to work."

Brass reached into the folder and brought out several receipts. Catherine turned the papers so Delridge could see them. "We got your debit and credit card receipts and you purchased several of the same items used to wrap the body—and a lot of insect repellent—about the time Chauncey Hilton disappeared."

Delridge's lips formed a thin hard line. "People buy a lot of things—including insect repellent. Now, if you are charging me with buying Off outta season, I'm taking a pee break and calling my lawyer." He waited three seconds before shoving his chair back and standing up.

"We got a warrant for your clothes, to look for specific items—at your house now," Brass said.

Delridge paused for a moment, his mind working out his response. "You can have all my clothes and tomorrow I'll buy more." He walked out of the room.

Brass and Archie looked at Catherine who said, "We'll find something—his clothes, the tape, something."

Archie said "He seems sure of himself."

"Don't they all," grouched Brass.

"You think he did it?"

Brass stood up. "Yeah, he never asked how she died."

Another hour passed before Nick reported—nothing. In the large house with closets as big as normal-sized bedrooms, the CSIs found no gray duct tape, no insect repellent or insecticides, no cheap trash bags—nothing came close to matching what Chauncey Hilton had been wrapped in. They did find shoes and men's dark pants and collected all of it to test for blood and insecticides. They searched Mrs. Delridge's closets, finding nothing.

"It's almost as if he's cleaned house of anything similar," Nick complained when he talked to Catherine. "We're swamped, Cath, do you think Sara would check out his business?"

Catherine agreed to call Sara. "We didn't hold Delridge—we've got to find something. He took a cab to a casino. Insisted he and the girl enjoyed each other."

"There's got to be something," Nick said before returning to his work.

Llllll

Heather Kessler was still smiling about Grissom's news as she set about preparing for her unexpected guest. She had seen too many young women like Nicola; she knew without asking what the girl was doing for money, and she knew the girl was from somewhere in the south by the faint accent in her words. Heather brewed tea, added lots of sugar before it cooled, and plated recently baked cookies she kept for Allison.

As she set out glasses, plates, and napkins, she remembered a depressed and miserable Gil Grissom showing up in the rain one night to talk about a case—or so he said. Quickly, Heather realized the man's world had fallen apart. She had listened as he talked about Sara and she recognized a man deeply in love. She laughed softly as she recalled the events of that night; Grissom had talked, she had listened, they had finally laughed together. For the first time in years, they were equals, friends—whatever was in the past stayed there. He was not an investigator, she was not his therapist, and they had talked for hours about dreams and loves and living.

That night he had been terrified of losing the one person he loved more than life itself. Today, Grissom was a changed man—he had found new life and love with Sara as she had found another life with her granddaughter.

Heather heard quiet footsteps on the stairs and filled glasses with ice. When Nicola entered the kitchen, Heather's welcoming smile covered up her thoughts. The girl's efforts at radiating self-confidence and self-assurance succeeded; Heather knew from her own history that Nicola had spent hours watching others to obtain the poise and posture that appeared so naturally in the way she stood and moved.

"I've got iced tea—sweet—and my granddaughter's favorite cookies." Heather said as she extended a cold glass tinkling with ice.

Nicola's slight nod of her head indicated thanks.

"I have a sun porch—let's go there." Heather led the way to the glass enclosed room carrying the plate of cookies with her. Over the years Heather had learned a great deal about the art of conversation—listen, tailor the conversation, and talk very little. As soon as the two women settled into chairs, she asked, "Do you have what you need?"

Nicola nodded again, silently admiring the beauty of the woman across the table, and then asked a question. "Do you know why I'm here?" She nibbled on a cookie, kept one hand in her lap, her back ramrod straight.

"I don't know the details—just that you need a safe place and a friend asked if I would help." Heather's voice and smile caused Nicola to look at her but she remained quiet. "For years he's worked in law enforcement, so I'd guess you are a witness." Heather could see a slight relaxing of shoulders. "Dr. Grissom is one of the good guys out there."

"Is he a psychologist too? He said you were."

"Oh, no, not a psychologist—he's an entomologist—he studies bugs, insects."

Confusion clouded Nicola's face. "He works for the police—what does he do?"

Heather wrinkled her nose causing Nicola to laugh. "Catches bad bugs—spiders, roaches, mosquitoes—that break the law," Heather said with a laugh. Nicola sniggered. Heather explained what Grissom did without complicating terms—a scientist, insects and bodies, investigations involving insects, and now consulting. It took all of one minute for Heather's explanation.

"Well, it isn't insects with me—I found a computer in a house I live in—lived in, I guess." Nicola sighed; Heather saw the distress in and around the young woman's eyes. "Thought I'd learn to use it and—just my luck—got a guy who works for the police to look at it." Her eyebrows danced. "I was in the library—who would believe that? And he saw something that caused all of this." Her hand pointed to her chest and waved upward. "I know it's something Lance did—I mean he never hurt me or anything—he's into kinky stuff—but he's more funny than anything else."

Heather's hand went up, "I am not your therapist, but what kind of kinky stuff?"

"Oh, weird stuff—tying my arms to the bed while he danced around in funny looking pants—wearing feathers and wanting his fanny smacked." Nicola giggled. "It wasn't as bad as it sounds but if you've never heard of it I guess it sounds kinda perverted."

Her comments caused Heather to laugh—Grissom knew what he was doing when he asked for this favor, she thought. She said, "Oh, honey, nothing surprises me anymore!"

Nicola relaxed a little more. She liked this woman and for the first time in weeks, someone seemed interested, even encouraging, so she continued, "I work at The Palms—make good tips and when Lance came along, I guess he liked the way I look and offered me the house—rent free." She waggled her hand. "Pretty soon we were play acting some of his goofy ideas and he paid my bills." Nicola's hand covered her mouth as she giggled. "I guess this sounds pretty shocking to someone like you—but it's just play acting—more," she made quotation marks with her hands "drama than the actual act—it was with him anyway. He'd buy these outfits for us to wear—really silly things—and I could save my money for what I really want to do."

Heather's face revealed nothing. "I'm not shocked by much, Nicola. Would your Lance be mid-fifties, has a business supplying certain items—condoms, I think…"

Nicola's smile brightened her face. "You know him? Lance Delridge! That's his business—supplies condoms to all the hotels and casinos in Vegas—or so he claimed." Nicola leaned back in her chair and laughed. "He kept telling me he was wealthy and knew everyone in town! And you really know him?" For the first time, Heather recognized genuine amusement in Nicola's voice. "I figured he exaggerated the truth, but he was generous—gave me a credit card to use—paid all my expenses, even wanted me to quit my job but I didn't do that." Her voice changed as she frowned. "Guess that's a good thing since it looks like he might be sitting in jail for something—I think its murder." She leaned forward, saying "I don't want to bore you with my problems, but it will be weeks before I can get a full schedule, longer before I get overtime again. And I had gotten the house so it really looked nice—saving my money." The tea, the cookies, the quiet porch, the warmth that seemed to radiate from Dr. Kessler or weeks without having roommates caused Nicola to talk about her job, the rented house and how she had it decorated, and how she found the hidden laptop. When she paused to drink tea, Heather asked:

"What is it you really want to do?"

With that question Nicola launched into her plan just as she had explained to the tall brunette woman who had gone to the house with her. Based on appearances of both women's hair, Heather knew about hair salons so Nicola went into greater detail—colorants, highlights, tints, cuts, sharing what she knew about renting versus buying her own place. Heather pushed the plate of cookies near Nicola; once she left the table and brought tea and paper and pens back with her.

She said, "You need a business plan," as she began to take notes.

Llllll

"It's Catherine," Grissom said as he passed the phone across the bed.

They lay in tangled sheets, sans clothing; he on his belly, Sara on her back. They had slept again after making love in the unhurried, easy way of long time lovers and as Sara answered the call, Grissom scooted next to her and began kissing and tasting the surprisingly erotic area behind his wife's ear. Her voice never wavered as she talked to Catherine, but immediately after hanging up, she wrapped arms around his neck, locked legs around his hips and pushed herself on top of him.

"We have to go, lover boy. Duty calls. Everyone is searching the Delridge house and Catherine wants me—us—to head over to his office, see what we can find. Vartann and a couple of unis will meet us there." She leaned over and kissed him at the same time she wiggled her butt against his belly and slid herself to his groin. "And no, we are not having sex before we go," she said as she rocked her hips several times. "Well, maybe if I could get something going down here we could have a quickie." She giggled as she rolled off him. "I'm going to shower—join me," her broad grin seductively enticing. "Come on, sex god—you're good for a quick one!"

It took only one invitation for him to roll out of bed and follow her. As hot water washed over them, his mouth closed over hers as hands traced possessively, hungrily down backs, to shoulders and hips. He found the melting center between her legs and stroked her until she gasped; pulling his mouth against hers, their tongues intertwined. He moved inside her with long, hard thrusts, slowing building an exhilarating pressure in their bodies.

Instinctively Sara wrapped legs around him; her hands gripped his back as he went deeper, so deep she thought that for a moment they were one. Seconds later, her head fell back against the tiles as her climax slammed through her and Grissom's strong arms held her. That's what it took to pull Grissom over the edge with her as his own release surged through him. The sensation of his orgasm was so strong, so exquisitely intimate, that it caused Sara to convulse one last time before she went limp.

Grissom's senses return and it dawned on him he really wanted to collapse but was leaning against Sara, his hand braced on one side of her warm, wet body which was precariously balanced between him and the wall. Gently, reluctantly, he pulled free of her tight, incredibly soft core. He managed to wrap an arm around her waist as he brought both upright.

Sara's eyes remained closed as she gave him an odd smile. "Rather intense, dear."

He chuckled. "Unbelievable—indescribable—I'll be lucky if I can get my pants on!"

"And Catherine expects us at Delridge's business in thirty minutes—I think that's fifteen minutes now."

Grissom kept one arm around Sara as he reached for her soap. "A quickie was your idea," he said with a laugh.

She giggled, finally standing on her own. "Traffic—lots of traffic."

The building they entered echoed with silence; the low lights in the lobby revealed nothing about what business occupied the area. The security company guard had opened the door and Vartann and two uniforms waited. The guard explained the lay-out of the building—parking on the ground level behind the lobby, offices on the second and third floors. He was fairly certain Lance Delridge's office was on the top floor.

"What are you looking for in the building" the security guard asked.

Sara responded, "I'll know it when I see it." Which was the truth; she and Grissom had engaged in a brisk conversation during the drive over. They had a list of specifics to search for—tape, insecticides, anything from the videos, anything that looked similar to what they had seen in the videos—something that might have the blood, tissue, a fingerprint, of Chauncey Hilton. But when one applied the turning-over-everything approach to solving a crime, one had to turn over a lot of stuff.

On the third floor, they found the office of the company's president and principle owner. Three desks sat in the first office, two bathrooms opened from a short hallway leading to an office that took up half the space on one end of the building. It was ornately decorated in at least five periods of furniture from its antique looking black and gold desk to three modern cube chairs near the windows and a crystal chandelier hanging in the center of the room.

Everyone stopped for several minutes and stared. One of the men said, "This is tacky."

"Yeah," mumbled everyone else.

As Sara and Grissom searched the room, opening drawers and cabinets, the others wandered back to the front room. Opening a door, Grissom said, "Hey, a closet—dressing area, maybe."

Sara joined him, shining her flashlight on a number of expensive coats, jackets, pants, shirts, and at the back they found costumes—made of leather, latex, brocades, shiny satin.

Sara pulled straps of leather from the rack, a long codpiece, tangled in the leather, fell to the floor. "We're looking for clothing." She grinned.

Grissom's eyebrow lifted along with an encouraging grin. "I'll send one of the uniforms to get more bags."

Sara continued checking the closet as he left. Five minutes later, she found a folded piece of paper stuck into an inside pocket of Lance Delridge's coat. She read: Lance, I want a million dollars—that's not much for what I've done…

There was no sound but something shifted in the atmosphere of the building. A whisper of disturbed air wafted through the open door. She stepped to the doorway, hearing nothing. She walked to the short hallway and called, "Grissom! Vartann!"

A/N: Reviews will get the next chapter quicker, faster, sooner-so if you haven't yet, please do so! If you are one of the faithful who always do-THANK YOU! Tell us what you think!