a/n: My next chapter is giving me some trouble, so don't expect a second post today. But I'll get it up as soon as it's good. For now, enjoy this one.
Bait
Nick's palms were sweaty. He could feel his pulse racing as he climbed the stairs to Nigel's home. Part of him wondered if he was there. Probably not. The police had been watching the place since Nick was found.
He knocked on the door, and consciously patted the audio equipment. But it wasn't strapped to his chest. Panic surged through him, and Nick instinctively went for his gun.
It wasn't there either.
Suddenly the front door opened, and Nick was face to face with Nigel Crane.
Nick gasped and suddenly sat upright in his bed. He grabbed his gun under his pillow and aimed around the room.
Where—the hotel . . . He sighed and wiped a hand over his damp face. You're okay.
Just a dream. Nick put the gun back under his pillow and got out of bed. His sheets were twisted and damp from his sweat.
He went to the kitchenette and poured himself a glass of juice. He hadn't thought that he'd be so nervous about baiting Nigel Crane. Grissom had talked to Brass, and the plan was in place. Tomorrow it'd be put in motion.
But tonight, he was still worried. He worried that Crane had already managed to infiltrate this hotel and his room. Brass had two officers outside his door for that reason. Nick felt silly for it, but he told himself it'd be over soon.
He hoped.
Greg taped down the wires on Nick's skin. The recording device was strapped to his chest, ready to roll.
"Okay, you're all set," Greg said. "You just have to switch it on before you leave." Nick nodded and pulled his white t-shirt down. He then buttoned up a gray shirt over it—he figured he needed slightly looser clothing for this.
"Oh, your tracker," Greg said suddenly, snapping his fingers as he remembered. He scurried around the lab until he found the small device. It was a thin adhesive plastic strip, like a 5-in Band-Aid. "This thing is higher tech than high tech. I know a guy at the FBI." He handed it to Nick.
Nick stared at it. "Uh, where do I put this?"
Greg laughed. "Anywhere. Skin, clothing, it doesn't matter," he said. Nick nodded and lifted his shirts, slapping the adhesive tracker on his abs.
"Okay," Nick said with a sigh. He shook out his shoulders like a boxer about to go in the ring, and turned for the door.
Grissom and Brass were waiting for him.
"All ready?" Brass asked. Nick nodded, then held up a hand. He lifted his shirt again and turned the recorder on.
"You're on the air," Gil kidded. It brought a much needed smile to Nick's lips. "Now we'll hear you remotely, both here where Greg will track you, and also through our channels." Gil held up a small receiver.
Nick nodded. "Who's going to tail me?"
Brass jumped in. "Warrick and I will be in a car, and I'll have two plain clothes officers circulating near you when you're on foot."
Nick nodded again, but couldn't help and think that he would be alone. Four men weren't enough to stop Crane.
You're going after Crane, remember? Besides, Warrick will be there. He was grateful for that.
"Nick." It was Grissom, staring at the young's CSI's concerned face. "Sara, Catherine and I are going to be processing, but we'll monitor you from here as well." He put a hand on Nick's shoulder. "You'll be fine."
Brass started to pull on Nick's elbow to lead him out, but Gil stopped them.
"Do you have your gun?"
Yeah. Sure, you'll be fine.
Nick knocked on the door to Nigel Crane's place. He immediately felt stupid for that. He knew Crane wasn't here—or not likely to be there, especially when cops had been watching the place.
He opened the unlocked door and let himself inside. The first thing he felt was a shudder, like a bitter cold wind had come through the place. He remembered when he was here last time.
The place was just as empty now as it was then. Grissom had said something about Crane living in the attic. Nick went through the kitchen and to the pantry, where the attic access was.
He could tell things had been removed, probably now in the lab. Nick didn't pull himself up into the attic, but merely looked around. It spooked him. It was like his own attic, and just the memory of someone looking down on him made Nick decide it was time to leave.
Where to next?
He hopped in his SUV and drove to Luna Cable. He was well aware of the car following him, with Warrick and Brass inside. It was reassuring. Sort of.
Nick's visit to Luna Cable was fruitless. He poked around, talked to a few people, but the whole time he wondered if he was being watched by someone other than those he trusted.
He sighed as he left the building. Nick pulled out his cell phone and called Grissom.
"Grissom."
"Hey," Nick said. "As you might have heard, I'm not getting anywhere."
"Well we weren't expecting you to find him, remember?" Gil said. Nick swallowed.
"Right. I'm going to Freemont Street," Nick said. He hung up the phone.
Freemont Street was always populated, enough to make Crane comfortable and enough to disguise the police following Nick. Nick strolled along, his hands tucked in his pockets. Occasionally he would nudge his side with his forearm, bumping his holstered gun.
He looked at the shops, not really seeing anything, but trying his best to appear interested. It was difficult for him. Shopping had never been his forte and especially with tourist items. He considered himself a local, another resident unfazed by playing cards with hotel logos and t-shirts that proclaimed where he'd been.
I could stand to get some new clothes though. Crane had, after all, taken a decent amount, though Nick had blamed his dry cleaners. He spotted a men's clothing store across the street.
Inside were some viable options. Suddenly his phone rang.
"Stokes," Nick answered.
"Hey man." It was Warrick. "Back up to that blue shirt, the one on your left." Nick started to laugh, but went for the shirt.
"You want me to get it for you?" he asked with a slight chuckle in his voice.
"Yeah. Extra-large, okay?"
Nick shook his head. "Sure, but it's $80 bucks," he said. He heard Warrick laugh at that.
"So?"
"What pay grade are you on?" Nick asked with a smirk he hoped Warrick could see. Warrick laughed again.
"Same as you, Nick," he said. "Hey, you should check out that green shirt on your right." Before Nick could comment, Warrick hung up.
Nick had to laugh again. It felt refreshing. He found himself liking the green shirt Warrick had pointed out, and picked it and the blue one up and headed for the cashier.
His stroll continued until he stopped to get something to eat. It was just a hot dog and a drink, but hey, it was food.
He chewed loudly for a second, smiling as he did. "I hope you all are enjoying my meal as much as I am," he muttered towards the mike. He could imagine Warrick and Brass laughing in the car.
Suddenly he felt it. That eerie feeling and that fear that he hated. Nick looked around in the crowd. No one stood out, but it spooked him enough. He got to his feet and chucked the rest of his meal.
As he turned to go on his way, he froze. There he was—
But no one was there. Or was he? Did I just see Crane? He shook his head, and quickly walked the way back to his car.
Nick started into a parking garage. His car was up on the fifth level, and as soon as he saw it, he felt his pace quicken. He heard other vehicles in the garage, their engines revving and tires squealing slightly on the concrete.
There was a car nearing him. Nick willed himself to get to his car faster. He didn't dare turn and face it. So he practically dove behind his SUV, his hand going for his gun.
The car went by him—it was a white convertible, with a gray-haired man driving gleefully by, completely unaware of the paranoia he'd passed.
Nick sighed loudly. "False alarm," he muttered to anyone who was listening. He winced at the thought of how stupid he must have appeared, and got in his SUV.
As he went for the ignition, something shifted behind him. Before Nick could react, he was hit in the back of the head.