* * * * * *
Sears glanced up as she saw movement from the corner of her eye. Giving Cohen a small nod, she went back to her phone conversation.
"Ok...so you haven't carried Clopramine in years? Yeah...right...out of date? Ah...yeah...Ok...." Sears looked up at Cohen and gave her an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes. Cohen stifled a small laugh, sinking into a chair across the table from the younger CSI. "No...I don't need to see your supplies. Thank you." She hung up the phone quickly, taking the time to strike out a name on a printout before sitting back in the chair. "Fifteen clinics in this area alone. None of them carry that stuff...Say new stuff has come out."
Cohen smirked, turning the paper over to see it better. "Don't look so down."
"Please...I've been awake for roughly twenty-four straight hours. Twelve so far have been spent here. Give me a break."
Cohen gave her a small smile. Having known the Louisiana native since she'd come to Vegas, Cohen knew that she wasn't near as tired as she made it out to be. She tapped the paper. "Still one more."
Sears shook her head. "That one's closed. The vet shut it down about three months ago because he was getting sued left and right." She turned to the wall, losing herself in thought for a moment. "What about Henderson? That's close enough that someone could have gotten it from there..."
Cohen nodded. "Sure. You need the names of the clinics?"
It was Sears' turn to smirk. She reached into a folder and pulled out another piece of paper. "Way ahead of ya, as usual."
Cohen rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Sure..."
The younger CSI smiled, then began reading the list to herself. Then she looked up at Cohen, an undecipherable expression on her face. To Cohen, it looked as if she were planning some maniacal plot. "Hey, Jame...You want to piss Ecklie off?"
"I usually try to avoid that," Cohen said simply, choosing to study the table.
"Well...I was thinking that we could get someone from nights to help us with this. You know...knock out these clinics a little faster?"
Jamie smiled, catching onto the plot. "Pooling our resources? Are we allowed to do that?" she asked, still smiling. The smirk from her colleague was answer enough. "You know, that kind of stuff could get you fired."
Sears rolled her eyes. "Right."
"Seriously. I worked with a girl a few years ago. She called Ecklie an ass, he heard and fired her."
Sears grinned. "Whatever. Let's go find Stokes!" With enthusiasm that would have impressed Greg Sanders, she slid off the stool and rushed out of the room. Cohen smiled to herself, then went after her.
* * * * * *
Grissom groaned as he reached down to pull a sock on. Stretching the muscles in his abdomen sent fire through his body, but he would not allow himself to give in to it. He felt he had been an invalid for far too long, and didn't want to have to depend on anyone anymore. He managed to get the sock on, then sat up with a small, triumphant smile on his face.
"You look like you just won a gold medal," a familiar voice said. He looked up to see Warrick leaning against the doorjamb.
Grissom held up his hands. "When you've been bed-ridden for weeks on end, anything feels like winning a medal."
Warrick smiled, then made his way into the room, sinking into the chair. "How you feeling, Gris?"
"Good." He smirked when Warrick raised his eyebrow. "Actually, I feel good. Still hurts, but it will for a while, according to the doctors. But they say I'm good to go home."
Warrick broke out into a huge grin. "That's great, Gris. Do they have a specific day?"
"Today, tomorrow. I was just getting ready. I was going to call Sara to come get me."
"Sara's on a case." It was Grissom's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Yeah, she felt she needed to get back into some type of 'normal' schedule. You know, back into her routine? Calms her nerves, which have been shot since you were...well...shot."
"That's understandable," Grissom said, his expression unreadable. He stared at his feet for a long moment, then looked back up at Warrick. "So are you playing chauffer?"
Warrick smirked. "Sure am. Here to escort you to the dwelling of your choice in the extravagant CSI SUV."
Gris shook his head, pulling on a dark button-up shirt over a black undershirt. He studied Warrick as he adjusted the collar and began to button it. "I hear days got my case."
The CSI shrugged. "Yeah. Ecklie passed it off, though. Gave it to Cohen and Sears."
Grissom thought for a moment. "Well...I know Cohen's been there for years, 'bout as long as you, Warrick. She's good, I know that. Sears...I don't know her so well."
"Came in a year after Sara got here. Came from Louisiana or something."
Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Long way from home."
"Maybe that was the point." Warrick stooped to pick up a pair of shoes. "So, Gris, where you gonna stay?"
Grissom froze, midway through a button. He glanced at the wall for a moment, then looked back up at his friend's face. "Sara's offered to let me stay with her," he finally said, unsure of the reaction he'd get.
To his surprise, Warrick just nodded his approval. "That's good, Gris. She'll be able to keep you in line."
Grissom smiled. "Yeah. I've no doubt of that."
Warrick returned the smile. "Well...I can go flag down a nurse and see if we can get you out of here? Would that work for ya? Or are you too attached to this place?"
"That would be wonderful, Warrick."
* * * * * *
Nick shivered slightly and pulled his jacket closer around his body. He glanced at his companions--Cohen, Sears, and Vega--for a moment before turning his attention to the building in front of him. It was the fifth vet clinic they'd been to already, and none of them so far had yielded any results. None of the clinics had carried Clopramine or recognized the woman from the surveillance tape.
Cohen was reading off of a piece of paper: "Desert Palms Pet Clinic. Serving the people of Henderson/Las Vegas since 1992. Owned and operated by a Dr. Aaron Ritchie. Employs ten people, not including the doc."
The group stepped through the front door into a crowded lobby filled with clients and their pets. Many of the them watched the group curiously as they passed, and Nick noticed one person who seemed to cower. Vega squeezed between a woman holding a poodle and a man with a lizard at the front desk. He tried to flag down one of the techs, but they were in such a frenzy that they didn't seem to notice him. Finally, he was able to get the attention of one girl who looked like she was still in high school.
"Detective Vega from the LVPD." He gestured towards the others. "Cohen, Sears, and Stokes of the crime lab. We need to speak with Dr. Ritchie."
The girl froze, then nodded and took off down a hall. She returned a moment later and led the group through the lobby into a small kitchen. She asked them to have a seat, saying that the doctor would be able to speak with them in a moment; he was with a client. Sears and Cohen sank into chairs, taking a moment to look over their notes. Vega leaned against a counter, and Nick made his way to a shelf hanging over another counter, peering at the medicines lined up on them.
He snapped on a pair of gloves, reaching deep into the shelves. "Hey, guys," he said, pulling out a large bottle. The criminalists and detective looked up, and he turned the bottle so they could see the label: Clopramine.
Sears raised an eyebrow. "Well then..."
Nick said nothing as he reached into the shelf again. pulling out a second, half-empty, bottle. "Think we found our place?"
Cohen shrugged. "We'll find out soon enough."
The CSI went back to her notes, but her partner, meanwhile, was studying the bottles intently. The curious look on her face reminded Nick of Grissom whenever he found a new bug, and it almost made him laugh. Snapping on her own pair of gloves, Sears stood up and moved over to the bottles. She frowned, first picking up one, then the other, turning them around to study the whole bottle.
"This one's never been opened," she said, almost to herself, as she held up the first bottle. "And this one," she pointed to the first bottle, "seems to be much older, judging by the expiration date."
"And this means..?" Nick asked.
She shrugged. "Dunno. At the moment, it could be nothing." Glancing at the bottles once more, she made her way back to her chair just as a frazzled-looking man stepped inside.
He stopped next to the sink, rolling up the sleeves of his lab coat. "I'm Dr. Ritchie. I was told that there were cops who wanted to talk to me?"
Vega moved away from the counter, pulling out his badge. "Detective Vega from the LVPD. This is Sears, Cohen, and Stokes from the crime lab."
The man raised his eyebrows, making his eyes seem abnormally large behind his glasses. "All of you? Geez.what's going on?"
"We were hoping you could answer a few questions for us," Vega said briskly. The vet nodded, and Vega pulled out his notebook. "You carry a chemical called Clopramine, do you not?"
The vet nodded again. "I do. I use it as a sedative when tagging cattle or chipping them. Why?"
"You're the only clinic in the Vegas and Henderson area that uses it, Mr. Ritchie."
The vet shrugged. "Yeah. So?"
Cohen leaned forward, sliding a piece of paper over to Ritchie. "We're investigating an attempted murder. Clopramine was injected into a man's system."
For a long moment, the man didn't move. He just stared at Vega with a blank expression. Finally his eyes shifted to Nick, who was still standing next to the bottles he'd pulled from the shelf. He looked at Cohen, then Sears, and back to Vega. "Wait a minute.You don't think I had anything to do with that, do you?"
"That's what we're trying to figure out," Cohen said. "Do you recognize the man in that picture?" she asked, pointing to the paper she had.
The vet leaned forward and peered at the picture, the same photo used on Grissom's ID. He studied it for a long while then shook his head. "No."
Cohen nodded, looking to the youngest CSI. Sears leaned forward and handed the vet another piece of paper, this one containing the picture from the security camera. "Do you recognize her?"
Ritchie stared at the paper for a moment. "Yeah.I do. That's Kenneth's girlfriend. Kenneth Schultz. She comes in sometimes to hang out. Sometimes she'll help the girls a bit."
Vega tilted his head. "Kenneth?"
"Yeah. He's one of my techs. Worked here for about a year." He scoffed. "Kid's kind of an idiot. You have to tell him stuff over and over before he gets it."
Vega exchanged glances with Nick, who stepped away from the counter. "Is Kenneth here now?"
"Yeah. He's in the back, running some blood work. You want to talk with him?"
"Yes."
The vet nodded, then stuck his head around the corner, telling the receptionist that he was taking the cops to the back. She nodded, giving him an exasperated look and gesturing towards the small hoard of clients waiting to be seen. He waved her off, then led the group to the very back of the clinic. He pushed open a door and revealed a man standing in a lab. The man turned as the door opened, confusion spreading across his face as he took in the sight of the detective and CSI's.
"Kenneth," the vet said, moving to the side to allow everyone through, "these people are from Vegas. They wanted to ask you a few questions."
The man nodded, then panicked when the vet turned to leave. "Wait! You're not gonna stay in here with me?"
Ritchie shook his head. "No. I have a dozen clients up front that need help. If you're in trouble, you're on your own."
Schultz worked his mouth wordlessly as the doctor stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Nick stared at the door for a moment before turning to study the suspect.
Schultz was probably in his mid-twenties, close-cropped hair topping off a thin face. His eyes were small, and he gave Cohen the overall impression of a weasel. He wiped his hands on a towel before turning to face Vega completely.
"Yeah?" he asked rudely.
"Do you recognize this man?" Vega asked, holding up the photograph of Grissom.
Schultz tried to keep a stoic expression, but a facial tic at the corner of his mouth gave him away. "No," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "Why?"
"Because your girlfriend may be involved in an attempted homicide."
"Homicide? What are you talking about? Jennifer? What the hell is going on?"
"We're investigating the attempted homicide on the life of Dr. Gil Grissom. The name ringing any bells?" Cohen asked, irritation seeping into her voice. She knew they should be looking for more evidence, but she knew in her gut that this man had something to do with the attack on Grissom.
"Nope. Can't say that it does."
"Well.we have pictures taken from a surveillance video and an eyewitness placing your girlfriend ?Jennifer, was it??at the crime scene," she said, holding up the photos of the woman for him to see.
He glanced at them for a moment, then turned back to the lab machines. "I don't see where you're going with this."
Vega stepped forward, putting a hand on the man's shoulder. "I think you need to?"
The detective never got a chance to finish. Before anyone could react, the man whirled around out of the detective's grasp. He slammed his fist against Vega's shoulder, and the man cried out as a sharp pain erupted through his arm. Schultz pushed him backwards into the counter, then took off through another door.
Nick darted forward to catch the detective as he fell, and both female CSI's rushed after the suspect, weapons drawn. They found him stuck in a small room lined with cages, prying at the door to the outside. He whipped around to face the women, a wild look on his face.
"Don't move," Cohen warned, stepping slowly towards him.
"You really don't want us to have to use these, do you?" Sears asked, also advancing on the man. He glanced at the door, and contemplated wrenching the gun away from one of them and making another run for it. Those plans, however, didn't get very far, as Vega and Nick stepped through his escape route a second later. Nick also had his gun drawn, and Vega held a hand to his injured shoulder.
The detective handed Nick a pair of handcuffs, and Nick proceeded to cuff the man's hands behind his back. He cast a glance at Vega, then drug the suspect out of the room, Sears following close behind.
Vega winced as he moved his arm, and Cohen stepped up to him. "Here. Let me see." She pulled back one side of his shirt, rolled up the sleeve of his undershirt, and peered at the wound. "Looks like a needle puncture. He stab you with a needle?"
Vega nodded, holding up the syringe Nick had pulled from his arm. Cohen took it and began inspecting it. "Doesn't look like it's been used, but I can run some tests to make sure. You got a first aid kit in your squad car?"
The detective nodded. "Yeah. I'll just stick some anti-biotic and gauze on it. Just stings like hell."
Cohen smirked good-naturedly. "I'll bet." She glanced at the door where Nick had disappeared. "Shall we find Mr. Schultz' girlfriend?"
A smile was Vega's only answer.
Sears glanced up as she saw movement from the corner of her eye. Giving Cohen a small nod, she went back to her phone conversation.
"Ok...so you haven't carried Clopramine in years? Yeah...right...out of date? Ah...yeah...Ok...." Sears looked up at Cohen and gave her an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes. Cohen stifled a small laugh, sinking into a chair across the table from the younger CSI. "No...I don't need to see your supplies. Thank you." She hung up the phone quickly, taking the time to strike out a name on a printout before sitting back in the chair. "Fifteen clinics in this area alone. None of them carry that stuff...Say new stuff has come out."
Cohen smirked, turning the paper over to see it better. "Don't look so down."
"Please...I've been awake for roughly twenty-four straight hours. Twelve so far have been spent here. Give me a break."
Cohen gave her a small smile. Having known the Louisiana native since she'd come to Vegas, Cohen knew that she wasn't near as tired as she made it out to be. She tapped the paper. "Still one more."
Sears shook her head. "That one's closed. The vet shut it down about three months ago because he was getting sued left and right." She turned to the wall, losing herself in thought for a moment. "What about Henderson? That's close enough that someone could have gotten it from there..."
Cohen nodded. "Sure. You need the names of the clinics?"
It was Sears' turn to smirk. She reached into a folder and pulled out another piece of paper. "Way ahead of ya, as usual."
Cohen rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Sure..."
The younger CSI smiled, then began reading the list to herself. Then she looked up at Cohen, an undecipherable expression on her face. To Cohen, it looked as if she were planning some maniacal plot. "Hey, Jame...You want to piss Ecklie off?"
"I usually try to avoid that," Cohen said simply, choosing to study the table.
"Well...I was thinking that we could get someone from nights to help us with this. You know...knock out these clinics a little faster?"
Jamie smiled, catching onto the plot. "Pooling our resources? Are we allowed to do that?" she asked, still smiling. The smirk from her colleague was answer enough. "You know, that kind of stuff could get you fired."
Sears rolled her eyes. "Right."
"Seriously. I worked with a girl a few years ago. She called Ecklie an ass, he heard and fired her."
Sears grinned. "Whatever. Let's go find Stokes!" With enthusiasm that would have impressed Greg Sanders, she slid off the stool and rushed out of the room. Cohen smiled to herself, then went after her.
* * * * * *
Grissom groaned as he reached down to pull a sock on. Stretching the muscles in his abdomen sent fire through his body, but he would not allow himself to give in to it. He felt he had been an invalid for far too long, and didn't want to have to depend on anyone anymore. He managed to get the sock on, then sat up with a small, triumphant smile on his face.
"You look like you just won a gold medal," a familiar voice said. He looked up to see Warrick leaning against the doorjamb.
Grissom held up his hands. "When you've been bed-ridden for weeks on end, anything feels like winning a medal."
Warrick smiled, then made his way into the room, sinking into the chair. "How you feeling, Gris?"
"Good." He smirked when Warrick raised his eyebrow. "Actually, I feel good. Still hurts, but it will for a while, according to the doctors. But they say I'm good to go home."
Warrick broke out into a huge grin. "That's great, Gris. Do they have a specific day?"
"Today, tomorrow. I was just getting ready. I was going to call Sara to come get me."
"Sara's on a case." It was Grissom's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Yeah, she felt she needed to get back into some type of 'normal' schedule. You know, back into her routine? Calms her nerves, which have been shot since you were...well...shot."
"That's understandable," Grissom said, his expression unreadable. He stared at his feet for a long moment, then looked back up at Warrick. "So are you playing chauffer?"
Warrick smirked. "Sure am. Here to escort you to the dwelling of your choice in the extravagant CSI SUV."
Gris shook his head, pulling on a dark button-up shirt over a black undershirt. He studied Warrick as he adjusted the collar and began to button it. "I hear days got my case."
The CSI shrugged. "Yeah. Ecklie passed it off, though. Gave it to Cohen and Sears."
Grissom thought for a moment. "Well...I know Cohen's been there for years, 'bout as long as you, Warrick. She's good, I know that. Sears...I don't know her so well."
"Came in a year after Sara got here. Came from Louisiana or something."
Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Long way from home."
"Maybe that was the point." Warrick stooped to pick up a pair of shoes. "So, Gris, where you gonna stay?"
Grissom froze, midway through a button. He glanced at the wall for a moment, then looked back up at his friend's face. "Sara's offered to let me stay with her," he finally said, unsure of the reaction he'd get.
To his surprise, Warrick just nodded his approval. "That's good, Gris. She'll be able to keep you in line."
Grissom smiled. "Yeah. I've no doubt of that."
Warrick returned the smile. "Well...I can go flag down a nurse and see if we can get you out of here? Would that work for ya? Or are you too attached to this place?"
"That would be wonderful, Warrick."
* * * * * *
Nick shivered slightly and pulled his jacket closer around his body. He glanced at his companions--Cohen, Sears, and Vega--for a moment before turning his attention to the building in front of him. It was the fifth vet clinic they'd been to already, and none of them so far had yielded any results. None of the clinics had carried Clopramine or recognized the woman from the surveillance tape.
Cohen was reading off of a piece of paper: "Desert Palms Pet Clinic. Serving the people of Henderson/Las Vegas since 1992. Owned and operated by a Dr. Aaron Ritchie. Employs ten people, not including the doc."
The group stepped through the front door into a crowded lobby filled with clients and their pets. Many of the them watched the group curiously as they passed, and Nick noticed one person who seemed to cower. Vega squeezed between a woman holding a poodle and a man with a lizard at the front desk. He tried to flag down one of the techs, but they were in such a frenzy that they didn't seem to notice him. Finally, he was able to get the attention of one girl who looked like she was still in high school.
"Detective Vega from the LVPD." He gestured towards the others. "Cohen, Sears, and Stokes of the crime lab. We need to speak with Dr. Ritchie."
The girl froze, then nodded and took off down a hall. She returned a moment later and led the group through the lobby into a small kitchen. She asked them to have a seat, saying that the doctor would be able to speak with them in a moment; he was with a client. Sears and Cohen sank into chairs, taking a moment to look over their notes. Vega leaned against a counter, and Nick made his way to a shelf hanging over another counter, peering at the medicines lined up on them.
He snapped on a pair of gloves, reaching deep into the shelves. "Hey, guys," he said, pulling out a large bottle. The criminalists and detective looked up, and he turned the bottle so they could see the label: Clopramine.
Sears raised an eyebrow. "Well then..."
Nick said nothing as he reached into the shelf again. pulling out a second, half-empty, bottle. "Think we found our place?"
Cohen shrugged. "We'll find out soon enough."
The CSI went back to her notes, but her partner, meanwhile, was studying the bottles intently. The curious look on her face reminded Nick of Grissom whenever he found a new bug, and it almost made him laugh. Snapping on her own pair of gloves, Sears stood up and moved over to the bottles. She frowned, first picking up one, then the other, turning them around to study the whole bottle.
"This one's never been opened," she said, almost to herself, as she held up the first bottle. "And this one," she pointed to the first bottle, "seems to be much older, judging by the expiration date."
"And this means..?" Nick asked.
She shrugged. "Dunno. At the moment, it could be nothing." Glancing at the bottles once more, she made her way back to her chair just as a frazzled-looking man stepped inside.
He stopped next to the sink, rolling up the sleeves of his lab coat. "I'm Dr. Ritchie. I was told that there were cops who wanted to talk to me?"
Vega moved away from the counter, pulling out his badge. "Detective Vega from the LVPD. This is Sears, Cohen, and Stokes from the crime lab."
The man raised his eyebrows, making his eyes seem abnormally large behind his glasses. "All of you? Geez.what's going on?"
"We were hoping you could answer a few questions for us," Vega said briskly. The vet nodded, and Vega pulled out his notebook. "You carry a chemical called Clopramine, do you not?"
The vet nodded again. "I do. I use it as a sedative when tagging cattle or chipping them. Why?"
"You're the only clinic in the Vegas and Henderson area that uses it, Mr. Ritchie."
The vet shrugged. "Yeah. So?"
Cohen leaned forward, sliding a piece of paper over to Ritchie. "We're investigating an attempted murder. Clopramine was injected into a man's system."
For a long moment, the man didn't move. He just stared at Vega with a blank expression. Finally his eyes shifted to Nick, who was still standing next to the bottles he'd pulled from the shelf. He looked at Cohen, then Sears, and back to Vega. "Wait a minute.You don't think I had anything to do with that, do you?"
"That's what we're trying to figure out," Cohen said. "Do you recognize the man in that picture?" she asked, pointing to the paper she had.
The vet leaned forward and peered at the picture, the same photo used on Grissom's ID. He studied it for a long while then shook his head. "No."
Cohen nodded, looking to the youngest CSI. Sears leaned forward and handed the vet another piece of paper, this one containing the picture from the security camera. "Do you recognize her?"
Ritchie stared at the paper for a moment. "Yeah.I do. That's Kenneth's girlfriend. Kenneth Schultz. She comes in sometimes to hang out. Sometimes she'll help the girls a bit."
Vega tilted his head. "Kenneth?"
"Yeah. He's one of my techs. Worked here for about a year." He scoffed. "Kid's kind of an idiot. You have to tell him stuff over and over before he gets it."
Vega exchanged glances with Nick, who stepped away from the counter. "Is Kenneth here now?"
"Yeah. He's in the back, running some blood work. You want to talk with him?"
"Yes."
The vet nodded, then stuck his head around the corner, telling the receptionist that he was taking the cops to the back. She nodded, giving him an exasperated look and gesturing towards the small hoard of clients waiting to be seen. He waved her off, then led the group to the very back of the clinic. He pushed open a door and revealed a man standing in a lab. The man turned as the door opened, confusion spreading across his face as he took in the sight of the detective and CSI's.
"Kenneth," the vet said, moving to the side to allow everyone through, "these people are from Vegas. They wanted to ask you a few questions."
The man nodded, then panicked when the vet turned to leave. "Wait! You're not gonna stay in here with me?"
Ritchie shook his head. "No. I have a dozen clients up front that need help. If you're in trouble, you're on your own."
Schultz worked his mouth wordlessly as the doctor stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Nick stared at the door for a moment before turning to study the suspect.
Schultz was probably in his mid-twenties, close-cropped hair topping off a thin face. His eyes were small, and he gave Cohen the overall impression of a weasel. He wiped his hands on a towel before turning to face Vega completely.
"Yeah?" he asked rudely.
"Do you recognize this man?" Vega asked, holding up the photograph of Grissom.
Schultz tried to keep a stoic expression, but a facial tic at the corner of his mouth gave him away. "No," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "Why?"
"Because your girlfriend may be involved in an attempted homicide."
"Homicide? What are you talking about? Jennifer? What the hell is going on?"
"We're investigating the attempted homicide on the life of Dr. Gil Grissom. The name ringing any bells?" Cohen asked, irritation seeping into her voice. She knew they should be looking for more evidence, but she knew in her gut that this man had something to do with the attack on Grissom.
"Nope. Can't say that it does."
"Well.we have pictures taken from a surveillance video and an eyewitness placing your girlfriend ?Jennifer, was it??at the crime scene," she said, holding up the photos of the woman for him to see.
He glanced at them for a moment, then turned back to the lab machines. "I don't see where you're going with this."
Vega stepped forward, putting a hand on the man's shoulder. "I think you need to?"
The detective never got a chance to finish. Before anyone could react, the man whirled around out of the detective's grasp. He slammed his fist against Vega's shoulder, and the man cried out as a sharp pain erupted through his arm. Schultz pushed him backwards into the counter, then took off through another door.
Nick darted forward to catch the detective as he fell, and both female CSI's rushed after the suspect, weapons drawn. They found him stuck in a small room lined with cages, prying at the door to the outside. He whipped around to face the women, a wild look on his face.
"Don't move," Cohen warned, stepping slowly towards him.
"You really don't want us to have to use these, do you?" Sears asked, also advancing on the man. He glanced at the door, and contemplated wrenching the gun away from one of them and making another run for it. Those plans, however, didn't get very far, as Vega and Nick stepped through his escape route a second later. Nick also had his gun drawn, and Vega held a hand to his injured shoulder.
The detective handed Nick a pair of handcuffs, and Nick proceeded to cuff the man's hands behind his back. He cast a glance at Vega, then drug the suspect out of the room, Sears following close behind.
Vega winced as he moved his arm, and Cohen stepped up to him. "Here. Let me see." She pulled back one side of his shirt, rolled up the sleeve of his undershirt, and peered at the wound. "Looks like a needle puncture. He stab you with a needle?"
Vega nodded, holding up the syringe Nick had pulled from his arm. Cohen took it and began inspecting it. "Doesn't look like it's been used, but I can run some tests to make sure. You got a first aid kit in your squad car?"
The detective nodded. "Yeah. I'll just stick some anti-biotic and gauze on it. Just stings like hell."
Cohen smirked good-naturedly. "I'll bet." She glanced at the door where Nick had disappeared. "Shall we find Mr. Schultz' girlfriend?"
A smile was Vega's only answer.