a/n: I don't normally write this fast. I normally sit on a chapter for a couple of days and make sure I like it. In this case, I just want to write quickly. So I apologize if it's not as polished, but hopefully I've avoided obvious errors. Thanks for the reviews, and please keep them coming!
Bad to Worse
Nigel Crane wasn't much to look at. He was shorter than average, had a receding hairline, and wore thick-rimmed glasses. Nick normally wouldn't have suspected anything. But now as he saw him, Nick knew Nigel Crane was dangerous.
He just hoped Crane was also stupid.
As soon as Nick emerged from the bathroom, Crane set upon him with gauze and ointment. Nick tried to calm his stomach as Crane worked on the gash on his head.
"There," Crane said. "All better." Nick watched him, and behind those thick glasses was . . . doubt? Guilt?
Is he so eager to get me better because he feels bad he hurt me in the first place? Nick logged that away, just in case.
Everything about Crane was fidgety. The man kept wringing his hands, glancing at Nick and at the items in the room. So he's nervous.
About what?
Profiling was never Nick's strong point. No, he followed evidence. Do the same here. He's kidnapped you, fixed you up, and is now staring at you. What does that evidence point to?
Part of Nick didn't want to think about it. He had to admit that he was scared where that would lead him.
He . . . cares about me. Nick tried not to shudder. He said we hang out all the time.
He wants a friend.
"Uh," Nick started with a stutter, "thanks. For, you know . . ." He motioned to his forehead and wrist. Nigel let out a loud sigh and started nodding profusely.
"You're welcome," Crane said. He smiled now, and Nick knew he said the right thing. He's relieved. He thought I'd be mad.
Just how much control do I have then?
"Are you hungry?" Crane asked suddenly. Nick glanced out a window, but it was covered. He glanced at his watch. It was late, close to ten. Undoubtedly it was pitch-black outside.
"Sure," Nick said. Nigel smiled again and went to the kitchen. Nick watched as he dug through the fridge and cabinets, pulling out food and pans.
Quickly.
Nick moved as fast and as quietly as he could, ambling to the front door. He could still hear the clatter of dishes in the kitchen. But when he reached the front door, he froze.
There were three different locks on the door. All were dead-bolts, but none of them had a simple knob to twist open. Instead, three keyholes stared back at Nick.
"You need the keys to leave, Nick."
He almost jumped, but Nick forced himself to hide anything but casual behavior. Nigel stared at him from the top of the stairs, and in his gaze Nick saw the suspicion.
"My stomach's a little queasy," Nick said. "I thought some fresh air would help before dinner." He added a smile for effect. Nigel started down the stairs. His steps were slow, and something in the way the man moved made Nick feel threatened—challenged, even.
There were only five stairs up to the top split of the home, and five to a basement, but each step sounded like doom to Nick. He swallowed, and immediately wished he hadn't shown that visual tell.
Nigel stopped by Nick, glancing at the locks and back at Nick. He started to grin, but it wasn't just weird this time. It was menacing, as his lips curled in an awkward gnarl.
"You know, Nick," Crane said, "I think you were trying to leave."
Nick had no idea what to say. He opened his mouth to deny it, but nothing came out.
"I think you're not well enough yet anyway, to leave or decide anything," Crane continued.
"Actually," Nick finally managed to croak out, "I have something I forgot at my apartment. My j-jacket. I actually wanted to give it to you, Nigel." What? How did you come up with that?
Crane's gnarled smile spread, and soon he was laughing. It only lasted seconds, and then he stopped and glared at Nick.
"Are you humoring me?"
Nick quickly shook his head, but Nigel suddenly waved a gun for Nick to see. Nick felt his heart skip, especially when he noticed it was his gun. Crane aimed the gun at Nick's head.
"I think you're lying to me," Crane said. He nodded to the basement. "Down the stairs, now."
Nick swallowed and started down the stairs backwards as Crane advanced. The gun never left Nick's face, and yet he found himself staring at Crane. How serious is he?
"Down the hall," Crane ordered. His face looked flustered now, and that frightened Nick too. Dangerous and unstable. Bad combination.
"Nigel, I'm not trying to insult you," Nick said slowly. "But I think you should put the gun down."
Nigel's face suddenly hardened. Any nervousness disappeared, and as he spoke, his voice became eerily cold.
"Nick, back up into that room, and put these cuffs on." He pulled out a pair of handcuffs and tossed them to Nick. Nick didn't move for a moment, unsure of what to do. Nigel cocked the gun and refocused his aim.
Nick quickly put the cuffs on, though as loose as he could make it. Crane narrowed his eyes, and suddenly reached forward. He squeezed the loops tighter around Nick's wrists, even his bandaged one. The metal pinched his skin, and Nick winced.
Unexpectedly, Crane lunged forward and pushed Nick back. The force of it made Nick almost double over in pain. Before he could object, Nigel shut the room's door, and Nick was left alone.
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Jim Brass looked at the vehicle, frowning at it. He pulled on a latex glove, and drew his gun.
He carefully opened the side door.
Nothing.
But Luna Cable said it was one of their vans, the one signed out to Nigel Crane. Brass sighed, and whipped out his cell phone.
"Gil," he said as the man answered. "I've got your van. But no Crane, and no Nick."
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The van was abandoned by a gas station. Catherine and Sara were combing the van over, for anything. They'd already found drops of blood.
Warrick was taking pictures of the road and the area. But Grissom knew they had nothing. He ran a hand over his hair and went into the convenience store. Brass was already talking with the attendant.
"No, I haven't seen him," the female attendant said, shaking her head at an ID photo of Crane from Luna Cable. Brass produced a photo of Nick. "Nope, not him either."
Grissom wasn't surprised at that. He sighed and looked around the store. Every convenience store had surveillance, but the cameras weren't geared towards the parking lot. Only the front camera might catch something, but Gil knew it was a long shot.
"Did you notice any vehicles parked outside for awhile, maybe left there for days?" Brass asked. The girl started to shake her head, but then stopped.
"Well, yeah, actually. There was this blue truck that was there for a couple of days," she said. "We were going to tow it today, but, well, you know . . ."
"Was the truck dark or light blue?" Grissom asked. His sudden interest took the girl off guard, but she answered him.
"Dark."
"Did you see the make of it?" Gil asked, pressing his luck. The girl shrugged.
"Maybe a Chevy. No, it was a Ford," she said, gasping as if she suddenly remembered. "An F250. Is that right? Do those exist?"
Gil smiled, and glanced at Brass.
"Yes, they do," Brass said. "Did you happen to see the license plate?" Grissom turned away as the girl shook her head. He glanced back over his shoulder and caught Brass's eye. Gil nodded up at the cameras.
When he emerged from the store, his team was finishing up the search of the area. They all looked up at him, waiting for the next order.
"Warrick, take everything back and start processing. Tell Greg this is priority one, and have Archie analyze the surveillance tapes," Grissom said, firing off the orders of business. "Tell him to look for a dark F250, and get a plate. Catherine, Sara, I want you to dig in and find Nigel Crane—his past, family, friends, anything."
The three CSIs acknowledged him as he turned on one heel and got in his SUV. He drove off, away from the crime scene, and also away from Vegas.
"If I were Nigel Crane, where would I go? Where would I take Nick?"
The silence didn't answer, but Grissom didn't expect it to. He drove on in the darkness, keeping his eyes out for anything that would be a possibility.
Isolation. "Crane kept Jane Galloway isolated. He'll keep himself and Nick isolated." If Nick's still alive.
Grissom floored the gas pedal.