The white Thunderbird reached the northern outskirts of Vegas in good time. Marty was slowing down as he approached the turn off Highway 95 toward North Vegas when his companion put her hand on his arm stopping him. "Keep going," she said. "And take the exit onto the I-15, will you, Angel?"

Marty cancelled the turn signal and put his foot down. "Why? Where are we headed? I thought you said you wanted to go home."

"I did. I just want to make a quick stop first."

Marty's brow rose in surprise. "You sure? Someone might see or recognise you."

"I'll be careful. I just want to see for myself, Marty. I need to make sure."

Marty nodded and carried on down Highway 95 another mile or so until the southbound turn-off onto the I-15.

"Besides, they're not looking for me, are they, sugar?" she added with a smile as she stroked her painted fingernails to his cheek. "I'll be fine."

Marty suppressed a shiver of excitement at the touch but kept his eyes on the road. The woman flipped the sun visor down and used the mirror to check her face. By the time she had finished touching up her hair and make up Marty was pulling up outside Desert Palm.

"Wait for me round the corner," she told him slipping on her shoes. "I won't be five minutes."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm just going to inquire about dearest Sara's health," she said breezily. "I'll find out if it's as bad as they said on the news; see if there's a guard at the door; that sort of things." She opened the car door.

"Don't do anything stupid, okay?" Marty said.

She reached for her purse and paused. Leaning across toward him, she touched a gentle hand to his cheek. "You're a good boy, Marty but you worry too much. I'll see you in five."

The door to Sara's hospital room opened slowly. A woman slipped in, walking on her tiptoes to stop her heels from clicking, and carefully shut the door after her. She smiled and approached the end of the bed a little hesitantly, astonished at the fact that she had gained access so easily.

"Hello, Sara," she whispered warmly. "Grissom really needs to take better care of you; anybody can walk in off the street and do you harm." She picked up Sara's medical chart from its slot at the end of the bed and studied it and the EEG reading with interest. She smiled knowingly as she looked up toward Sara. "Ah, so they're keeping you alive, are they? Dear old Grissom's not ready to let you go yet, is he?"

She noiselessly walked round the bed and brushed her fingers over the life-support machine, a dreamy smile on her face. Her hand followed the curve of the breathing tube all the way to the mask covering Sara's mouth, hovering there a moment. "You're so helpless and defenceless now," she said. "So beautiful as you sleep." She gently stroked her hand to Sara's face and smiled as she tucked a strand of hair back under the thick white bandage around Sara's head. "Life is so ephemeral, sweetness, as is happiness. And like me you know all about that now. But sadly you can't feel pain anymore but he can." She smirked. "And he will for the rest of his life."

Her eyes suddenly lit up with a wicked thought. She set her purse down on the bed and from it, took out a small bottle of crimson red nail polish. She looked at Sara fondly as she slowly unscrewed the top. "Revenge," she told her quietly, "is what kept me going while I was inside. I saw how he looked at you then, the worry, the concern, and the love in his eyes. I knew. I knew without a shadow of a doubt how he felt about you."

She lifted Sara's right hand and began painting the nail on her index finger. "You are the most important person in his life – in his world. You are his Achilles' heel. Like Adam is to me," she continued with a wistful smile. Then her face hardened as she put the nail varnish away. She reached up and with a practised hand readjusted the flow of IV fluid dripping into Sara's veins, amending angrily, "Like he was to me."

She stopped talking and listened, mesmerised by the continual whoosh and clunck sound of the ventilator breathing life into Sara. One move to end it all; that's all it would take. She ran her hand over the plug thinking how so very simple it would be to end Sara's life now. The soft sound of hushed voices passing along in the corridor broke the trance and she turned her head toward the door suddenly on edge. "Now's not your time though, dearest Sara," she said, "but it will come soon. And I will make sure he's there to watch as I take both of you down with me."

Catherine looked up with a start when she heard the quick knock on the office door. She was seated at Grissom's desk, her glasses perched at the end of her nose as she read over the extensive notes he had made about Sara's case. She slipped those off and wiped a weary hand over her face as she set the file down, getting to her feet to unlock the door. She opened the door a small crack, her lips forming into a thin line, not quite managing a smile on seeing Nick and Warrick stood there with matching puzzled, questioning faces. She quickly scanned her gaze up and down the corridor before nodding them in.

"What's with all the secrecy?" Warrick asked lightly as he entered the room. Almost straightaway he let out a loud gasp and a curse as he took in the state of Grissom's office. Nick's eyes widened slightly at the display but he didn't seem overly shocked by what he saw.

"This is creepy, man, even for Grissom," Warrick whispered, aghast, his eyes wide with incredulity as they scanned the walls.

"Lock the door, Nick, will you?" Catherine bid quietly. Then to Warrick, she replied, "Creepy is certainly one way of putting it." She sighed, shaking her head in disbelief. "This is really weirding me out."

"It's a little obsessive maybe," Nick argued, "but when have we ever known Grissom to be anything else?"

"Oh, this is not obsessive, Nick. This is fanatical, almost sick. Something's not right with him-"

Warrick let out a long breath, cutting Catherine's tirade short. "I was with him not long ago. He told me he was fine. He looked sad, thoughtful and resigned after what happened at the hospital but he told me not to worry, that he was fine."

"When was that?" Catherine asked.

"A couple of hours ago? Three maybe? I found him at the top of the Strat Tower riding coasters. He was just…being Grissom. I figured that was normal behaviour for him, you know? in the circumstance."

Catherine nodded. "And afterwards?"

Warrick's shoulders lifted in a shrug. "We had a chat. He walked me back to my car. Said he was going to go play cards. Clear his head a little. He looked and sounded absolutely calm, composed…normal, so I left him to it."

"Cards?" Catherine repeated with a disbelieving snort. "And you bought that? He knew exactly how to get rid of you, Warrick and you fell for it, hook, line and sinker."

Warrick smacked himself on the head, smiling in realisation. "He played me, didn't he?" He was shaking his head in disbelief.

Catherine nodded slowly. "Yep. Like the proverbial fool." She reached out her hand to Warrick's shoulder. "If it's any consolation, I think he's been playing us all. Why do you think he insisted on giving me the night off last night?" She swept her hand over the photographs on the wall and then gave a small laugh, adding, "Brass too, it would seem. Grissom told him Stevie had escaped and that's why they couldn't come in here when he paid him a visit in the early hours." Warrick and Nick shared a small chuckle but cast a worried glance toward the terrarium anyway. "Brass is on his way over now."

"How did you manage to get in here then?" Warrick asked.

Catherine shrugged, looking mildly contrite. "I have a key but he doesn't know, so…keep it to yourselves, alright? Not that it matters much anymore anyway."

"Why? What do you think he's got in mind?" Warrick asked in a gasp, the worry evident in his tone.

Catherine sighed and moved to stand next to Nick, who was intently studying the photographs on display. "I don't know," she replied after a moment.

Warrick reached for the printout of the two men from the CCTV camera footage, pulled it down and examined it closely. "You don't think he could be taking the law into his own hands, do you?" he asked, shaking his head, not believing his own words. "Nah, not Griss," he added immediately in answer to his own question. "The man does everything by the book. Never strays. Never tries to manipulate evidence to fit an agenda. He's probably putting together a file so tight that Sara's attackers will never see the light of day when we get them."

"I don't know, Warrick. Something feels off," Catherine said. "This isn't any agenda. This is Sara we're talking about. Sara. Look at the compulsive way he arranged the photos on these walls, look at these notes," she added motioning toward the thick open case file on the desk, "the detail is terrifying. He's checked and double-checked everything we collected, the results of every single test we carried out. It would have taken him hours on his own…" Catherine stopped talking abruptly and turned her frown toward Nick. "You're keeping very quiet, Nick. Did you know about this?" she asked, her voice rising suspiciously. "Because I can tell you right now that if you know what he's up to, now's the time to speak up, not cover for him. The consequences if he goes ahead with…a personal vendetta would be catastrophic – for him and this lab. For all of us."

Nick remained quiet, looking down to his feet.

"Nick! If you know something, please speak up. Covering up for him isn't going to help. Not when he winds up in jail."

"It won't get to that."

Stunned by Nick's attitude, Catherine exclaimed, "Nick, look at all this! He's a loose canon."

Nick shrugged, looked up Catherine in the eye and let out a short breath. "I didn't know about any of this, all right? I swear. He didn't share any of it with me. It's just…that look when he came to see me this morning at the end of shift…it lasted just a flitting second but I saw it in his eyes. He's angry, Catherine and he doesn't know how to cope with it or where to take out his frustrations. This is just his way of being in control of the situation."

Catherine's gaze was hard. "We got to find him. We got to stop him before he destroys his life, before he destroys his career and this lab. Doesn't he care anymore? Has he even stopped to think about the rest of us, about what this will do to the lab and all the hundred of open cases we're handling at the moment? Everything would be put into question-"

"Catherine, calm down," Nick said calmly. "The lab's not the be all and end all of everything. Besides, we don't know he's done anything yet. We don't know he's going to do anything either. Have you tried calling him?"

"Have I hell! All I get is his freaking voicemail!"

Warrick raised a placating hand. "Taking it out on Nick won't help. This isn't his fault. If Grissom's up to something, he's going to be clever about it. Let's think about this a little before we jump the gun. What does Griss know that we don't?"

Grissom was slowly driving down Santa Clarita Avenue. He was peering through the windshield of his car scanning the houses across the road to his left, looking for number154. He slowed down and smiled, his eyes focusing on a single white one-storey shabby-looking dwelling. He pulled up the dark Toyota sedan a little farther up the road and cut the engine, waiting for his heartbeat to quieten.

His breathing measured, he reached over to the glove compartment and took out the gun and magazine. A Beretta Cougar; not his weapon of choice but it would do the job just fine. He didn't intent using it; it was simply a precaution. Of course, it might work as intimidation too. He weighed the gun in his hand, liking the feel of it. He studied it closely for a moment and smacked the magazine into place before securing it in his side pocket.

He checked the time on his cell, 4.29 pm, before switching it off, ignoring the message on the screen alerting him to six missed calls. He didn't need to check to know the calls were from Catherine - or Brass, he mused. Jeopardy! would come on soon; it was time to get moving. So whatever Catherine and Brass wanted would have to wait.

Grissom looked up and down the road waiting for a car to pass before getting out, headed to the house. The lack of a white Ford Thunderbird on the drive was disconcerting but not alarming. "Nobody's home," he said to himself. He pursed his face in thought, quickly moving to plan B. "We'll try the back door. See if we can take a quick peek inside anyway."

He scanned his gaze over the rest of the street and the surrounding houses with care. All looked calm and deserted. Without making a sound, he walked round to the back of the house and tried the back door handle. It turned and the door opened a crack. Grissom gave himself a little smile. Someone was home.

He quickly checked over his shoulder again, unrolled the ski mask he was wearing as a hat over his face and entered the house through the messy back room. Straightaway, the distant sound of a shower running alerted his senses and his hand moved to the gun in his pocket, hovering there in readiness.

Stealth-like he swiftly checked all the open rooms. At first glance, no one else appeared to be around. He headed back to the kitchen where he performed a cursory search, looking for anything suggesting he had the correct location. Grissom's eyes instantly zoomed in on the full ashtray lying by the sink, the red-tipped little soldiers standing to attention speaking volumes, and he smiled. Bingo.

Call Brass, please. Come back with a warrant. Wendy can get DNA off the cigarette butts.

He took a breath before moving to the lounge. That's when he immediately saw the white iPod on the coffee table. He paused, his heartbeat quickening at the find. He picked up the device with his gloved hand and switched it on before scrolling down the list of albums and artists. He took a gasp as he recognised Sara's entire back catalogue plus a few extra pieces he had added for her over the months as well as some newer stuff he could only assume had been added since the attack.

Gil, please, I beg you. Do this by the book. Call Brass. None of what you find will be admissible if they find you here, you know that.

The shower stopped, curtailing his search.

Grissom quickly glanced over his shoulder and coolly replaced the iPod back on the coffee table the way he had found it. He reached into the side pocket of his black coat for the gun. His fingers wrapped around the hard metal grip with assurance and he slipped the gun out. He pulled the slide back as noiselessly as he could and slowly moved out of the lounge and down the corridor toward the bathroom, both hands holding the gun steady in front of him, at the ready.

All his senses were in high alert and he seemed to glide gracefully on his tiptoes, keeping his back as close to the walls as possible. He felt cool, calm and composed, the adrenaline fuelling his movement keeping him vigilant but steady. He soon reached the outside of the bathroom, splaying himself flat against the wall. The Beretta felt snug in his hand, reassuring and he brought it up level with his face, ready to pounce.

There's still time. Leave before it's too late. Please, I don't like this.

Just as he was about to turn the handle, the door opened from the other side and Grissom jerked back against the wall. A young male emerged naked and whistling as he briskly towelled his head dry. Grissom slowly extended his right arm, bringing to Beretta to the boy's face. The latter flinched in surprise, freezing in his movement, his eyes widening with fear.

"Martin?" Grissom inquired quietly. "Martin Wallis? I've been looking for you."

Tbc.