A/N: New chapter- enjoy!

A Return to Vegas

Chapter 15

"Good God!"

"Talk about cojones!"

"Freaking-unbelievable!"

The exclamations came as one; Sara and Grissom gave each other an astonishing glance as everyone left the room, and, minutes later, piled into vehicles and headed to the Spencer house.

"I've never heard of this—ever!" said Maxine. "Returning to the same place where he murdered two people. He spent the night in his murder victims' house! I'd like to get my hands on who was patrolling the area—he got into that house!"

No one said a word for a long moment.

Grissom, who had crawled into the front passenger seat, said, "He got the keys—he took their keys—no one thought about what he took from the scene."

Maxine beat the steering wheel with her palm, saying, "All night!" She felt for her phone, couldn't find it as she drove, and said, "One of you pull up those crime scene photos—see what was around—I know there was an iPad in the kitchen. What happened to their cell phones? If this guy can hack the lab, he can certainly hack an iPad or phone!" She spit out another string of swear words, adding, "They probably don't even have passwords!"

Allie searched her phone; she had not taken any photos with it but knew Chris would have shared the file. Josh was calling the officer at the house.

"There was a phone on the table and another one in the kitchen—beside the iPad," Allie said as she scrolled through photographs.

A few minutes later, Josh rolled his eyes toward Sara. He said, "No phones in the house and the iPad is in the bathroom—where it appears he ate."

Maxine muttered, "Dear Lord, forgive me…" and she let fly with a long series of curse words that included "shit-spitting-son-of-a-bitch" in the middle of it.

Sara bit her lip to suppress a laugh as she'd never heard that specific depiction of anyone.

When they arrived, they found the situation was worse than given. It appeared the house had been thoroughly searched and the Spencer's white truck was missing from the garage.

"We can find the phones," Grissom reminded Maxine.

A second later, Josh was on his phone requesting information about the two missing cell phones. Grissom pulled out his phone, called Jim Brass and had Dave Spencer's phone number in seconds.

After that, it took another ten minutes or so to get emergency action from the carrier and another ten minutes to get twenty-four hour locations for the two phones. Josh said, "Not much movement during the night—but around noon, the phones started moving." Frowning, he used his fingers to enlarge the screen. "This is showing past locations—latest was near Boulder City."

Grissom heard the commotion before he recognized the voice; Sara was already moving toward the front door.

Catherine Willows was shouting at the uniformed deputy blocking her way as she attempted to go under the crime tape.

"Let her through," Grissom said over Sara's shoulder, adding, "Catherine?"

Sara's hand gripped his arm; Grissom glanced at her and seeing the worried look on her face, he realized Catherine's arrival meant—something—instinctively, she had known. He placed his arm around her shoulders.

As she ran to the door, an obviously distressed Catherine said, "I'm sorry—I couldn't call—I had to see you—it's—it's—I don't know what happened." When she got to Sara and Grissom, she enclosed both in a hug. Gasping for breath, she said, "Someone has taken Libby—Lindsey and Anthony are being air-transported to Desert Palm right now—he's fine—but I—I—I don't know anything else." She sobbed against Sara's shoulder. "I don't know—Lindsey is hurt."

Confused, stunned by what Sara thought she'd heard Catherine say, it seemed Grissom was holding her up—and holding onto Catherine as she cried. Libby—Libby—their sweet baby girl—was missing, taken by a stranger. Sara made noises somewhere between gasp and a cry as someone else's arm went around her—a strong hold around her waist.

Suddenly, the doorway and entrance was crowded. Maxine was hugging Catherine. Josh, his arm holding Sara, said, "Amber alert sent out twenty minutes ago—no name—vehicle is…" he stopped.

Grissom pulled Sara into his arms. His knees were so weak he wasn't sure he could stand if he released her; a pit had opened at his feet. Only a few seconds had passed, when Grissom said, "A white truck." For the first time in years, he thought he might faint. "Alan Caldwell has Libby."

A shocked silence descended on everyone in the house for a moment until quiet commands came from Maxine at the same time she turned Catherine toward the car she'd arrived in. Somehow, with her quiet authoritative voice, she managed to set people in motion; even getting Grissom and Sara to follow her. A driver had remained inside Catherine's car; the engine was running.

Pointing to one of the patrol cars, Maxine said, "Get them to Desert Palm Hospital now."

When Sara crawled out of the car at the hospital, she had no memory of the drive. Catherine's driver had related more information about Lindsey's condition—a collapsed lung, a fracture of the clavicle, a dislocated shoulder joint.

Sara thought she'd been holding her breath for the entire ride and when she entered the ER, heard her child's voice, she almost fainted with relief. If anyone tried to stop either of them, they were unaware as both ran through double doors to a waiting area filled with uniformed men and women, a few people in suits, a few in white coats or scrubs.

"Mommy! Daddy!" Anthony jumped from a chair and met his parents as they cleared the door. "I flew in a helicopter! And I drove the golf cart to get Bob to help Lindsey!"

He was excited, talking about the helicopter, but whatever else he said disappeared in the tight hugs and grateful sounds coming from his parents. Finally, Sara turned and hugged Bob who had waited for them. As clearly as he could, Bob got out a confusing narration of what had happened before they heard another familiar voice in the ER.

Jim Brass walked into the crowd.

…As far back as he could remember, Alan Caldwell had never been around a child as young as the one sitting in the truck. What had made him think taking this kid would be a good idea? She had not stopped talking since he put her in the truck.

He had told her he knew where kittens and puppies lived and she'd almost jumped into his arms. At some point, her one-sided conversation had turned to unicorns—so he'd told her they were going to see unicorns. It had been that easy to keep her talking and complacent.

Her only worry had been about not having a car seat; she had said, "My mommy says I must always have a car seat."

He'd said, "That's for cars, not trucks. Just fasten the seat belt and you'll be fine."

Now, she was complaining that all she could see was the sky. "When will we see unicorns?"

"Soon," he said. "They are in a special place—we have to take a boat first."

She brightened at the mentioned of a boat ride. "My daddy has a boat. We get to see turtles. And get to sleep on the boat sometimes. Does your boat have a bed?"

He didn't have to answer her questions; she kept talking and he'd mumble something every now and then as he tried to think about what to do next. He never intended to take the kid—kidnap her, the cops would say. He could leave her someplace and continue on with his plan to disappear.

Suddenly, startled by a thought, he felt for the phone in his pocket. He'd taken both the phones he had found at the Spencer's—both could be tracked—easiest, most invasive technology in decades. Feeling around the console, he found the second phone, rolled down the window and pitched the phone onto the highway.

The second phone he pulled from his pocket and scrolled through contacts.

"You shouldn't drive and use your phone," said the little girl sitting in the front seat. She had pulled her legs up so her chin rested on her knees.

He laughed; it was weird, but he liked this talkative little child. He asked, "What's your name, honey?"

"Libby." Her voice lifted on the end of her name. She had already told him she was three years old.

"Okay, Libby—we'll be at the boat soon and we'll see some unicorns. I'm going to call a friend and tell him we are going to see unicorns."

A few minutes later, after a brief call, he threw the cell phone out the window, watching as it bounced several times on the pavement.

…Jim Brass had already called the sheriff before arriving at the hospital. As soon as he reached Sara, he hugged her. "He called me—Alan Caldwell called me from Dave's phone," he said. "Said he was leaving the little girl in a safe place—he said her name—I—I knew he had Libby." His voice choked as he said her name. "He said if I'd call off the cops, she'd be fine—he didn't mean to take her—son-of-a..." His fingers wiped his eyes. "The sheriff told me about Lindsey—that you were here—he is pulling back all marked law enforcement, get unmarked cars out." As he released Sara, he whispered, "I'll do anything—anything."

For long moments, Grissom and Sara, shocked at this development, were unable to do anything but hug their son. Sara continued to breathe only because she dragged herself out of this ghastly dream and looked into the dearly loved face close to hers. Between them, her hands caressed her first-born child; holding him to keep her sanity.

Finally, Grissom said, "Where was he when he called—is the phone still working?"

One of the deputies stepped forward and held an iPad for Grissom to see. He pointed to the screen, saying, "Threw both out on I-11 near Boulder City."

"Any reports on the truck?" Grissom asked.

Slowly, the deputy shook his head, saying, "Not yet—the tracking information went out—everyone's looking—he threw the phones away so we are…" another head shake, "fifteen to twenty minutes behind him—maybe. Must be a thousand white trucks on the interstate right now."

Grissom stood, picked up Anthony, and asked, "Jim, can I use your car?"

"Sure."

Sara looked at her husband with wide eyes, questioning.

He said, "Libby is hardwired to be a survivor—come on, Sara. We're going to get our girl."

"Where?" asked Brass.

"All the way to hell and back if I have to—somewhere along the highway, Caldwell said she'd be left at a safe place—I plan to be there."

Several moments of chaos followed with most of law enforcement objecting to the Grissom's plan. Jim insisted he would go with them. All talk ceased when the man who was Catherine's driver stepped forward.

He said, "I'll drive you—Catherine gave instructions that I was to stay with you."

The driver was a big man wearing an ill-fitting jacket because he had a gun holster under the left armpit.

Grissom gave the man a slight nod of consent; he knew Catherine hired several ex-military men as 'assistants' and this one had the appearance of more than a driver.

A deputy was adamant, insisting they were to look for Libby—not Caldwell.

A moment later, a dozen phones buzzed with the same text message.

"He's going to the dam," Grissom said.

"Below the dam," said one of the deputies. "We can stop him at Willow Beach.

"Not if he's got Libby with him," said Sara.

Grissom looked at Sara and said, "He'll leave her where he picks up the boat." Turning to the others, he asked, "Do we know what kind of boat he's renting?"

No one knew the answer, but in the ensuing confusion of texting and talking, the Grissoms headed to the door followed by Jim Brass and Catherine's driver. When they arrived at the car, the driver did some quick changes with seating that opened up a booster seat for Anthony.

"We're going to keep you safe, little guy," he said before turning to introduce himself to the adults. "I'm Owen Woods—I've worked for Catherine for four years. I know a guy with a boat—he'll meet us below the dam."

Sara, seated next to Anthony, had her phone in her hand. She said, "Allie found where Caldwell rented the boat—he left the ramp fifteen minutes ago in a shallow water Kingfisher." She stopped reading the text for a moment; her eyes closed. "He had a little girl with him."

Grissom put his hands over his face.

The car was moving when Owen reached his friend, who, without hesitation, said he'd have the boat at the ramp before they arrived.

Sara's hand was on her son's leg when Grissom covered it with his own.

Busy looking around the oversized luxurious vehicle, Anthony said, "Libby got to ride in a truck and now she's riding in a boat. Wait until I tell her about the helicopter." He turned to look at his dad, adding, "A helicopter is better than a truck, right, Daddy?"

Grissom closed his eyes as he kissed the top of Anthony's head. Sara's fingers threaded gently through his hair.

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