A/N Thank you to everyone who is still with me. I'm out of town next week with work, will try to post again next weekend, if I don't manage before Monday night.

Chapter 8: Hovering

When Grissom caught up with Sara, she was pacing a circle into the carpeting outside the corridor leading to the conference rooms, cell phone to her ear. He stood back and watched her, his eyes lingering on her hands. Palmistry was not science, not even close. Nothing remotely provable about it. Still, he couldn't help thinking of Sara's reading. She had chosen the less traveled path. He winced as he remembered the rest of Paulo's words. That her life required more work and endurance than others could imagine. Did it? Watching her closely, he had to admit she seemed tired. And not just from her normal lack of sleep, there was something more there. Something almost painful to look at. When had that started? She looked thinner too, and Sara could scarcely afford to loose weight. How had he not noticed any of that?

Sara snapped the phone closed and turned to him, blowing out a long breath as she shoved the phone back in the holster at her waist. He watched as her eyes tightened, a frown claiming her lips. "Sara…"

"That was the lab. Still nothing on the prints in Simmons' house. Doc says the finger marks on his neck are most likely from a male. Large finger span. Trace identified the thread found near the body as silk. Silk…" She gestured back to the Vendor's floor, where half the booths they had passed were either draped in silk, had silk on their tables, or their proprietors. "Damn."

"Sara." Grissom stepped closer to her, his hands remaining at his side, though he reached out to her with his voice. "We now know we're looking for a man. That's narrowed it down."

"Right." Sara laughed mirthlessly, and then corrected him. "It most likely narrows it down. To what, sixty percent of the people here? Maybe more. Seems we've run into more men than women at this convention."

"We'll find him." Grissom's eyes searched hers, his hand lifting for a moment toward her arm, but falling back to his side. "And when we do, we'll have the prints to match to him. And the trace from the lab. We'll get him Sara."

She blew out another breath, letting her fingers unclench at her sides. "You're right. Sorry. You're right. Let's see if we can find this Mr. Summers." She glanced down at the schedule in her file, "We're looking for Egyptian A."

The pair made their way to the conference room, the placard outside the door confirming that they were at the metaphysics lecture. They stepped inside the room, glancing at the gathering crowd. Grissom cleared his throat, "Excuse me. We're looking for Jacob Summers?"

For several moments no one seemed to notice the question, the din in the room didn't change, people still spoke softly in small, compact groups. Those who weren't engrossed in conversation idly flipped through the conference brochure, or glanced through purchases made on the vendor's floor. The only indication the CSIs had that they had been heard, was the odd head that turned to glance in their direction. Grissom sighed, and lifted his voice, "Mr. Summers? We're told he would be in here."

Sara watched as several of the head-turners glanced their way again, one or two of them let their gazes flicker to the front of the room, where a tall man in a gray sport coat stood talking to one of the conference techs, gesturing to a bank of microphones and a slide projector. He didn't lift his eyes toward them, even as her boss' voice rang out over the crowd. She nudged Grissom, tilting her head toward the man at the front of the room. Her lips parted in a small smile at the quirk of his brow, and almost as one, they turned and made their way around the chairs, to the table at the front.

"Mr. Summers?" Grissom's voice was quiet, though Sara could hear the frustration growing in the tone. She shook her head as his voice dropped; a quiet Grissom was an angry Grissom. To bad the witness didn't know that. "You are Mr. Jacob Summers?"

The man straightened with a long sigh, pulling himself to his full height. As he rose, they could both see the name badge clearly proclaiming him as Jacob Summers. The silver ribbon dangling from the badge identified him as a speaker at the Con. He glanced at Grissom for a moment, before turning to Sara, letting his eyes linger on her.

"It would seem you are," Grissom nodded to the badge. "My name is Gil Grissom, this is Sara Sidle. We're with the Las Vegas crime lab. We need to ask you a few questions."

Summers ignored Gil, focusing instead on Sara as he reached out for her hand. "Jacob Summers, at your service. Have we met, Miss Sidle?"

"No sir, I don't think so. If you'd please come outside with us…" She paused, glancing at her hand, still enclosed in the psychic's. "It's…ah… quieter there…we'll be able to talk more easily."

The man shook his head, still not releasing Sara's hand. "No. I'm very sure we've met someplace before." He smiled then, as Gil tensed beside Sara, "I think we have met before, in a previous life. Perhaps?"

Sara sighed, pulling her hand firmly from his grasp. "I'm afraid this life is my first time around. Now, if we may?"

Summers' sigh echoed Sara's. "Of course it isn't, Miss Sidle. This can't be your first life. Not with an aura like yours." His eyes moved from hers, now narrowed in annoyance, to Grissom's, which were fairly glaring. "All right, very well. Let's step outside." He gestured to one of the men in the front of the crowd, "Harry. Take over for me, will you. I'll only be a moment." He turned to Sara, giving a low bow. "After you."

"No sir," Grissom's hand found its way to Sara's back again, the other gesturing toward the door. "After you."

The corridor was much quieter, the afternoon sessions having pulled most of the people into the conference rooms. Grissom took the credit card receipt, sealed in its evidence bag, and presented it to Summers. "A Clarence Simmons purchased services from you yesterday afternoon, at five-thirty."

"That's….not possible." Summers looked from Sara, to Grissom, and back again. "I don't know a Mr. Simmons. And I was…otherwise occupied at five-thirty yesterday."

"No sir." Grissom once again gestured to the receipt, "That's definite. The evidence tells us you were with him at that time. The receipt doesn't say what kind of…services…you provided. We'd like you to answer that question for us. As well as tell us what time you last saw him."

"Honestly, I don't know what you're talking about. Sometimes the other practitioners borrow my credit card reader. Not all of them have access to their own, you know." His eyes moved from Sara's to Grissom's, "I can check, if you like?"

Grissom's phone rang at that moment. He sighed as he pulled it to his ear, "Grissom…"

"Griss I…"

"Nick?" He pulled it from his ear, staring at the display. "Nick I'm barely getting a signal, hold on." He turned to Sara, his eyes catching hers for a long moment, "Be right back."

He moved toward the lounge, just off the conference room corridor. Glancing at the signal again, he was relieved to see three bars. "All right Nick, go ahead."

"Hey Griss. I've spoke to all the lecturers that our vic was supposed to hear. Last one he attended was at one, yesterday. He hightailed it out of that one when another of the conference presenters came in." Nick's voice tingled with excitement as he went on. "It did lead us to Simmons' girlfriend, Margaret Baxter. She says Simmons had been in an on-going dispute with one of the presenters. Something about a business outside the convention. It was him that Simmons ran from during the Alien lecture. She says this man has threatened the vic several times in the last few days…Griss? You there?"

"Yes Nick," Grissom glanced nervously toward the Egyptian corridor. "Who is this presenter, Nick?"

"Jacob Summers. She seems convinced he killed Clarence Simmons…"

"Nick," cutting him off sharply, Grissom tightened his grip on the phone as he moved back the way he had come. "Get Vega down here to the conference level. Now. Egyptian rooms." He snapped his phone shut as he rounded the corner back to the meeting rooms.

Sara and Jacob Summers were gone.