Grissom's eyes widened with disbelief when he heard Greg's words. "Where?" he barked into the phone, nodding his head at Brass that Greg had something and they should make tracks.

Brass nodded back, then pulled his cell out of his pocket and stepped away while Grissom made his way inside Schaffer's apartment, looking for Warrick. Greg spoke on.

"Well, at first, I thought Schaffer had taken Sara back to the scene – I mean her apartment building," he said quickly, "but then I thought that was a long way from where we last got a signal from her cell and―"

"Greg," Grissom cut in impatiently, "Get to it."

"Sorry." Greg paused, and Grissom frowned on hearing the revving of an engine as it started up. "I managed to find another address for Schaffer," Greg said, coming back on at last.

Grissom paused at the threshold to the bedroom. "You what?"

Warrick turned round and looked up with interest at the sound of Grissom's voice.

"A farm out near Calico Basin," Greg said, "Ten miles off Blue Diamond/Red Rock Canyon Road. It was listed on his next-of-kin details. "

Grissom blew out a breath and wiped his hand over his mouth. A little further on from where they'd lost the signal to Sara's cell. How could he have missed that?

"It's his parents' place," Greg went on. "Well, his father died ten years ago. I'm not sure about the mother. I'm headed there now. There's a sister too, listed under his next-of-kin but she lives out of state."

Dared he hope they would find her there? And in time? "You called PD for backup?"

"I have. They're meeting me there."

"Okay. Be careful. We got Schaffer in custody, but you never know. I'm on my way with Brass."

Putting his cell away, Grissom turned toward Warrick, hastily relaying Greg's news and then quickly adding, "I need you and Catherine to finish up here, find as much evidence of Schaffer's involvement with Heather as you can. That son of a bitch needs to go down for what he did."

Warrick looked a little peeved that he was asked to stay behind but he didn't question Grissom's orders, giving instead a grudging nod. "I found a bus ticket to LA in his travel bag," he said, "But nothing else. Aside from the one bag, looks like he was leaving it all behind."

"Or planning on returning," Grissom said in a sigh.

Warrick picked up an evidence bag from the top of the bed and showed it to Grissom. "I got his wallet and cell phone. I'll take a better look at them when I get back to the lab." He sighed, opened his hands out before dropping them in frustration. "I haven't found anything at all linking him to Sara's…disappearance."

"Keep looking."

Warrick nodded, and hearing Brass call over to him that he was ready Grissom quickly turned on his heels only to bump into Catherine as he hurried out of the apartment. She did a double take, and then her gaze narrowing threw him a questioning look. "Where are you going?"

"Talk to Warrick," he said, rushing past her. "He'll explain. I got to go."

"Gil!" Catherine called after him. "What's going on?"

"I haven't got time, Catherine," he called back, looking over his shoulder as carefully he jogged down the exterior stairs. "Talk to Warrick."

Brass had the engine running in his car when he got there. Quickly, he got in and told Brass where to drive to. Brass didn't waste any time, leaving in a squeal of tyres as removing his gun and flashlight from his pockets Grissom fumbled with his seat belt.

"You know," Brass said with a sideways glance, "You really need to get yourself a holster."

"For the flashlight?" Grissom asked, the corner of his lip curling up despite himself.

Brass arched a wry brow in his direction and Grissom sighed.

"I got one," he said. "I just choose not to wear it."

Eyes back on the road, Brass asked, "So what has boy wonder found?"

Grissom briefly explained about the second address, his mother's address listed under 'next-of-kin' in Schaffer's FD file, he'd overlooked. If anything had happened to Sara, if his carelessness meant he was too late, he'd never forgive himself. So much time had been wasted. If only he'd shown Schaffer's airport picture to Catherine. She'd have recognised him, and Schaffer would have been behind bars sooner. More importantly, Sara would be home, safe and waiting for him with Hank, instead of in danger.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Gil," Brass said, cutting into his thoughts. "You're doing all you can. We're doing all we can."

"It's not enough," Grissom scoffed, and then more quietly as his mind continued to churn over the possibilities, "Why would he take her to his mother's farm?"

"Maybe it's empty. Or maybe he was going there anyway and didn't realise Sara was on his tails."

"At that time of night?"

Brass's only reply was to shrug his shoulders and to slow down as he negotiated the right turn onto East Flamingo Road.

Grissom sighed. "Why would she have followed him all the way there? And without calling for backup? It's such a remote, desolate area."

Brass took his eyes off the road. "I don't know, Gil," he said in a despondent breath. "I don't know."

"And then what? He drove thirty miles out, and then straight back to Vegas? Back to his apartment? That engine was cold, Jim, he'd been home a fair while when we got to him. No," Grissom said, answering his own question, "he knew she was following and he lured her there."

"Risky move if he did; he had to be thinking she'd called for backup."

"But she didn't, did she?"

Brass acknowledged the point, then continued speeding along in the fast lane, glancing left and right but barely slowing down as they crossed Las Vegas Boulevard and then the freeway, headed dead west toward Spring Valley and beyond where they'd eventually join the northbound Beltway until they took the turn onto Blue Diamond Road where they'd lost Sara's trace. Brass reached down, turning the sound on his police radio up. Grissom settled his gaze on the road again, but didn't notice any of the usual landmarks looming bright and tall in the night Vegas sky, hotels and casino resorts and tourist attractions that gradually made way to a more suburban landscape. His thoughts were on Sara, hoping – no, praying – that he'd get to her in time.

Just hold on, he kept telling her, just hold on. I'll find you.

"Even if she didn't know who he was," he said when the Vegas nightlights were well and truly behind them, unable to let the topic go, his growing desperation and lack of understanding as to Sara's actions undisguised in his tone, "she'd have had his truck's plate number by then. She could have called it in."

Brass's face was dark, drawn in concentration, as he flicked his eyes over to Grissom, but didn't otherwise comment. When a few minutes later they left the main road, taking a left toward Calico Basin, Brass had his main beams on but it barely did anything to illuminate the pitch-black all around them. Grissom knew there were tall red mountains looming on the left and a vast expanse of rocky, canyon-like desert to the right, but he couldn't make any of it out, his surroundings seemingly blacker than the sky.

The concrete road soon made way to a single dirt track road and a very bumpy ride, and the two men exchanged looks, wondering whether they were still going the right way. Brass put a call to the radio to check. Hand firmly clamped around the grab-handle above his head, Grissom glanced at the lit-up dash clock: over five hours since Sara had left the lab. With each hour, his tension increased. Brass slowed down so he wouldn't miss the turn off to the farm then pointed to his left. Grissom nodded his head and Brass forked off.

A mile or so later, Grissom pointed up ahead in the distance toward red and blue lights flashing at them like a beacon. Brass nodded and picked up his speed again. When they finally got there, they pulled up behind the lab's black truck and a black and white. Both vehicles' headlights were on, illuminating a low-slung rectangle of a rambling log farm and barn-like outbuilding.

Grissom got out of the car. The desert wind blew strong and biting, unobstructed as it picked up dust and sand. He pulled his windbreaker tightly to him, did it up and turning the collar up looked skyward. The lack of stars and moon indicated heavy cloud cover and he wondered if a storm was brewing. He switched his flashlight on, then reached for his cell and checked the display, sighed. No cell service, as he feared.

Loud and frantic barking coming from Greg's truck caught his attention, and he looked up, finding Hank on the backseat barking at him through the window. His ears hummed with tension and he was so preoccupied that he didn't notice Greg jog over to him and Brass, his flashlight casting a low swinging beam in front of him.

"I'm sorry," Greg said breathlessly, almost having to shout to be heard over the noise of the wind and Hank's barking. He looked fed-up and disappointed. "She's not here." Grissom's eyes closed and he shook his head, a gesture Greg misinterpreted for reproach rather than the despair it conveyed. He turned toward Brass. "I really thought that's where he'd taken her."

"You've been inside?" Brass asked.

Greg nodded his head.

"What's Hank doing here?"

Greg shrugged. His eyes flicked from Grissom to Brass then back to Grissom again. "I couldn't leave him at the lab, could I? You said—"

"Never mind what I said," Grissom cut in impatiently, and then to Brass, "Let's go check everywhere again." Leaving his two colleagues to share looks of concern, he moved to the CSI truck and let Hank out.

Sara woke up shivering and disoriented. Her breathing was slow and ragged, painful and full of dust. A headache pounded between her ears, making coherent thoughts difficult. She lay on uneven ground, on her front and at a downward angle, with her left arm folded above her head and her right one pinned underneath her. The ground was hard and cold, the sharp edges of the rocky terrain digging into her sore and battered body. She licked her chapped lips, tasting blood and dirt.

She blinked several times and weakly tried lifting her head off the ground to find her bearings, but could not dissipate the heavy darkness around her. It was oppressively dark, like someone had flipped a switch and turned out all the lights. Cold, relentless wind whipped desert dust in her face, stinging her lips and eyes, filling her nostrils and lungs, and slowly she turned her face away. She breathed for a few seconds before she tried shifting her body to free her right arm from under her, but it hurt too much and she collapsed again.

Her eyes drifted shut, and she fought to catch her breath. Something was wrong with her lungs, she could tell. Her shivering intensified; her teeth began to chatter. Sometime during the crash, she realised, she'd lost a shoe and that foot felt completely numb. She was too exposed, too vulnerable. She couldn't stay where she was. She needed to move, find shelter and fast. But where? She wrenched her right arm from underneath her and tried pushing herself up on her forearms first, and then on all fours. She couldn't.

The intense pain in her chest she'd expected and could almost ride out but the sharp, sudden stab in her left leg had her cry out, leaving her panting and nauseous. It had to be broken, some ribs too. Tears sprang in her eyes. She clenched them shut and clamped her teeth and gently lowered herself back to the ground while once again she caught her breath and the queasiness slowly subsided.

Think, she admonished anxiously, think! What else can you do? "The car," she mumbled, "I must get to the car."

She remembered jumping out of it after it left the road, careening uncontrollably down the embankment. She'd heard its windows smashing, its metal body crumpling as it bumped and rolled all the way down the steep ravine. She'd tried to cushion her fall, but evidently not well enough. She had to get to the Prius and seek shelter until morning. Her purse was inside it, her cell too. She'd desperately been trying to reach it when she'd lost control of the car.

She'd left the CSI lot so quickly, had been so hell-bent on following the Silverado, on getting its registration and not losing its tail that she'd not had time to put her phone on the hands-free stand on the dash. While she drove she'd managed to get it out of her purse, intending to call for backup, but one sudden, sharp braking as she took a left turn and the phone had slid out of her hand and dropped in the passenger footwell out of reach.

She forced her eyes open and turned toward the top of the slope where the road should be. It wasn't a road, she remembered suddenly, despondently, but merely a little-used dirt track that probably wasn't on any roadmap. Although the wind whistled in her ears, whipping her hair about her face, Sara got a sense of immense quiet all around quite at odds with how she felt inside. Clouds moved overhead, carried by the wind, briefly uncovering enough of the moon to cast a dim light.

How long had she been unconscious, she wondered? How long till sunrise? She extended her arm and checked the time on her wristwatch but couldn't make out the digits. Then she turned toward the bottom of the ravine, following with sore and blurry eyes the car's most likely downward path, looking for the faint glimmer of headlights or glint of metal. When she could see nothing, she let her head fall with a sigh, resting the side of her face on her arm, and closed her eyes.

She had no one but herself to blame for the mess she now found herself in. She'd been so stupid. Going after the suspect was one thing, but once she'd made out the truck's registration plates she should have stopped to call it in and let a squad car take over. But she'd been so afraid of losing its trail. He knew she was following, and she feared he'd ditch the truck and disappear for ever unless she kept with him. She'd never managed to take a good look at his face and couldn't be sure it was in fact Heather's boyfriend.

Still wasn't sure.

The loud squawking of a vulture overhead brought her back to the present. She shouldn't try to get to the car, but to the road. That was her best chance. Even if she managed to locate her cell and it hadn't been smashed to pieces during the crash she doubted she'd get any service. And she knew she wouldn't be strong enough to make it down to the car and then back up the slope to the road. How far would she have to crawl to get to it, she wondered? And did she have the strength?

She closed her eyes again and took a deep breath. An image of Grissom clasping Hank tenderly to him as they posed near a waterfall not so far from where she lay now appeared on the inside of her eyelids. She didn't have to try hard to see them as clearly now as the day she'd taken the photograph nearly a year ago. Holding on to the image, she forced her eyes open.

"Come on, Sara," she muttered through gritted teeth as once again she tried pushing herself onto her elbows, "you got to start moving and stay moving or they'll never find you and you'll never see them again. You got yourself out of that goddamn fire last time, you can do it again."

Help was on its way, she knew it. She just had to do what she could to hold on until then.