A/N: This chapter's a little on the short side (like the last one. Sorry.). I promise that the next one will be longer. I've been very, very busy with work, but surely it will slow down now. I hope. G
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Sara Sidle arrived at the crime lab nearly two hours early the following morning. She had tossed and turned throughout the night, replaying in her mind her entire conversation with her supervisor. A gut feeling told her that she had missed the significance of something he'd said; there was some detail she had overlooked. Then, as the clock struck four in the morning, it hit her like a bolt of lightning: Grissom had stated that his father had worked with a Harkness.
It was entirely possible that the revelation meant nothing; after all, there was more than one Harkness family in the world. The elder Grissom's business partner was not likely to be related to the man who claimed to have seen the vehicle at the crime scene. But it was worth looking into, on the off chance that a connection did exist.
Staking out a workspace among the computer terminals, Sara filled her coffee cup and got down to business. Big brother is watching, Sara thought caustically as she searched for background information about Roger Harkness. There were several individuals listed, but through process of elimination, she quickly narrowed it down to the one she felt reasonably confident was her witness.
She was so absorbed in her research that she failed to see the shadow pass by the door. Catherine backtracked, coming into the room. "I thought that was you. I almost didn't see you there."
"Hey," Sara responded. "How was your night?"
"Short. I got called in at midnight. Thankfully, the criminal masterminds of Las Vegas have been very unimaginative this week. You're in early—break in the case?"
"Oh, I just needed to use the computer to follow up on a potential lead," Sara said evasively. "Would you happen to know what Grissom's father's name is?"
"Not a clue. Is? Was? Is he even still alive? He's mentioned his mother, but never his father."
"I don't know."
Catherine squinted at the screen. "Who's Merrill Harkness?"
"Probably no one." Sara shrugged.
"You want me to go away so you can work, right?"
Sara said nothing, but flashed her colleague an apologetic grin.
"Okay, but keep me posted," Catherine urged as she exited.
Sara focused on her computer monitor. Roger Harkness was the son of Merrill L. Harkness. After another hour had passed, she learned that Merrill had been the proprietor of a long-defunct company called Merrill Enterprises. There seemed to Sara to be no connection between him and Grissom. She was quite close to conceding defeat when the next clue jumped out at her.
The co-owner of Merrill Enterprises was a man named Gilbert Grissom. Could it possibly be coincidence that the main witness in case was the son of Grissom's father's business associate? What was the relationship between Roger and Megan Phillips? What reason would either of them have to persecute Grissom? She'd reached the end of the information available. She needed to have another chat with Grissom.
It was just past eight a.m. when she logged off the computer. On her way out of the lab, she left a message on Ecklie's desk, informing him that she'd be in later. She pushed the buttons on her cell phone as she got into her car. It took four rings for him to answer.
"Hello?" Grissom asked groggily.
"Hey, it's me. I think I might be on to something, but I need to ask you a few more questions."
"…Okay."
"Can we meet for breakfast? The diner on Warm Springs, maybe?"
"I'd rather not."
Sara felt the familiar sting of rejection. She was putting her reputation on the line to help him, and he was doing this to her again. "Grissom, this is important."
"I know…what I meant was that I'd rather you come over here. I'll make you breakfast. I'm sorry…I'm not awake yet."
She breathed a sigh of relief. She was definitely gun shy when it came to that man. "All right. Is now okay, or would you rather I wait?"
"Now's fine."
"Okay, I'll be there in twenty."
"I'll see you soon, Sara."
As Sara drove, she considered the situation. It seemed bizarre to her that in three and a half years, she'd been in Grissom's house only once. Now she would be there in consecutive days. This time she was invited, which only served to confuse her more. What was he trying to do? Why didn't he just meet her at the neutral diner? Was he interested in privacy? Perhaps having her over was the lesser of two evils in his mind; if he invited her to his townhouse, he had to give up a measure of personal privacy, but if he met her at the diner, there was the possibility that their conversation could be overheard, making a very private issue public. That must be it, she supposed; he didn't really want her in his home, it just seemed like the better option at the moment.
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Grissom sat in his bed staring at the wall after he'd hung up the phone. Had he just invited Sara over for breakfast? She was going to be in his home for the third time in two days. And now he'd agreed to make breakfast? What was he thinking? He hadn't cooked for anyone but himself for many, many years; for all he knew, he was a lousy cook. What would she like, anyway?
He pondered his options as he got dressed and cleaned up, mentally inventorying the contents of his refrigerator. She wasn't a vegan, right? No, he was pretty sure he'd seen her eat eggs and dairy products. By the time he made his way into the kitchen, he'd decided on omelets.
Opening the refrigerator, he located the necessary supplies; eggs, of course, then bell peppers, ham, cheese…Dammit! He kicked himself internally. No ham! Why was this such a challenge for him? Once he'd figured out what to put in his omelets, his mind drifted back to the case. Her words had given him hope. I think I might be on to something. When she thought she was onto something, she was usually correct. He wondered what lead she had, and what questions she was planning to ask him. He chuckled over the sheer absurdity of his thought processes: everything he'd worked for in his life hung in the balance. He stood to lose his professional reputation, his career, and his very freedom and here he stood obsessing over omelets.
He popped four slices of bread into the toaster and began to set the table. The coffee finished brewing, so he poured coffee in addition to the glasses of orange juice. A feast fit for a king, if he did say so himself. He held the silverware up to the light for inspection; sometimes the dishwasher left spots, and that wouldn't do at all.
There was nothing left to do then but wait for Sara to arrive. Grissom switched on the television to catch the morning news, and headed out his front door to find the newspaper. At first glance he didn't see it. Paperboy must have hit the bushes again, he thought. As he stooped to search the hedges lining the walk, he looked up to see Sara standing over him, his newspaper in her hand. The morning sun served as back lighting for her, nearly silhouetting her. He didn't know how she did it, but she always managed to find a way to glow.
TBC