She'd been driving for twenty hours straight, her foot heavy on the gas pedal, the window cracked open just enough so she could hear the wind and other sounds of traffic race past her ears.

She ignored how sore her butt was or how cramped her knees felt. She just had to get to Los Angeles as fast as she could. She had made it out of Louisiana and then Texas safely enough, but she had a feeling that she wouldn't feel safe until she had crossed the state line into California. She stopped only to eat and use the bathroom. The only thing keeping her awake was ambition.

It was four AM, the traffic was light. She clicked on her overhead light and studied her map. Eleven more hours on the road would take her to her destination. There was a light at the end of this tunnel.

She crossed the line into Nevada and a shiver of excitement went up her spine. She was beginning to ease up and her adrenaline began to slip away. She pulled into the first motel she came across—a no-name dump that advertised a queen-sized bed and a color TV for forty dollars a night.

Once she was settled into a room that had seen its better days in the seventies, she was able to scrutinize her path more carefully, using a tube of Coral Sunburst lipstick to mark exits and routes.

She realized she was a little more than an hour's drive away from Las Vegas. She'd always loved Las Vegas, the bright lights, the intrigue…there was a smell of sex and money in the air, a scent she wished could be bottled and dabbed behind her ears.

There was one other thing that held her interest in Las Vegas: Nick Stokes. Nick was in Las Vegas, he worked there! Not only that, he worked on the side of the law, just like his folks. Good old Nicky.

It would be lovely to see Nick again, it seemed like so long ago. It had been nearly two years since that one night they got together, that wild, crazy night when her whole world changed.

He had to help her now, she had no choice but to ask for his help. Why wouldn't he help her? They definitely weren't strangers.

Feeling confident, she circled Las Vegas with her lipstick, making a pinkish-reddish loop around and around. "Looks like I'll be paying Nick Stokes a visit. Tonight," she said.

It was mornings like these Nick was grateful he was a graveyard shifter. His eyes snapped open like a window shade as the sun swept over the bedroom of his townhouse but all he did was groan—loudly—and turn over, wrapping the comforter around his head.

Last night was insane. He'd just closed a two-week-long case with Warrick and together, victoriously, headed to their favorite bar for a few celebratory brews. They'd hooked up with a trio of sexy UNLV seniors that introduced themselves as Butterfly, Desdemona and Verde. Who knows if those were their real names or not, Nick and Warrick couldn't have cared less.

After an hour of sharing shots and flirting, the girls insisted on taking them to a club they frequented at called Dionysus, a favorite simply because Desi knew the DJ. Warrick had taken a liking to Verde and they spent the entire night on the dance floor. Nick wasn't interested in neither Butterfly or Desi, but Butterfly seemed smitten with him. Desi disappeared during the course of the evening and Nick lost track of Warrick and Verde. Butterfly was hanging all over him, stroking his leg and kissing his neck. Nick wasn't ready to form a relationship with anyone, let alone a co-ed he'd just met, but he took it all in stride, humoring her. Towards the end of the night, she'd scribbled down her number for him on a purple Dionysus napkin but had signed her name Janet.

Nick poured himself into bed around three AM. He had given up on trying to find Warrick in the crowded club and ended up taking a cab home. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Damn the sun, he thought as he tried to grab at sleep once again. It felt like there were marbles rolling around in his head. Thank God he didn't have to be at work until much later. There was nothing to do but sit back, watch ESPN and stay hydrated (the only real cure to hangovers).

Falling asleep for Nick was like taking a long drive. You began down the road, slowly at first but gradually faster. As you became closer and closer to your destination, the sky grew darker and before you knew it, you were heading towards a long tunnel. This was deep slumber.

Just as he was about to enter the tunnel, he heard a strange sound that pulled him back. He couldn't place exactly what the sound was…but it was persistent. It sounded anguished. A scream, maybe? At this realization, Nick sat up in bed. He was tempted to reach for his gun, but decided against it. It was nine o'clock in the morning, what could possibly be out there that required the use of a gun?

The screams continued. He slid out of bed and tiptoed out his bedroom and into the hallway. Then he made his way to his living room and peered out the window into the street. Nothing. No cars, no people. However, the screams grew louder. Finally he swung open his front door. It took him a few moments to figure out the origin of the screams: sitting on his doorstep, bundled up in a car seat, was an infant. And it was yelling its head off, its tiny face beet red. Beside the car seat was a green and yellow plaid tote bag. Otherwise, there was nothing.

"Hey, Stokes!" yelled a voice. His next-door neighbor, Marty, was standing in his doorway wearing a wife beater and pajama pants. "Get that little rugrat to shut up, huh? It's too early in the morning for this shit!"

Nick, too shocked to say anything, just gave Marty a nod. His neighbor grunted and lumbered back into his house. Once Marty was gone, Nick knelt beside the car seat and stared at the baby, whose cries were not soothed to an irritating whimper at the presence of another human being.

"Who are you?" Nick asked. He stood and looked around again, up and down the street. He looked among the bushes. Nothing. As a CSI, he was hungry for evidence as to who this child was and who left him here of all places. Shoeprints, tire marks—anything! Who in their right mind would pick my doorstep out of all the identical doorsteps on this street? The kid could have very well been left at Marty's.

"I can't just leave you out here, can I?" Nick now said to the baby, who stared up at him, still sobbing quietly. He scooped up the car seat, which was heavier than he expected, and kicked the tote bag inside with his foot and closed the door by maneuvering his shoulders. It wasn't until Nick had set the baby down on his kitchen counter when he saw the note pinned to its jacket:

Dear Nicky,

I need your help. I can't take care of Ryder right now. I'm in a bit of trouble and I don't want him to get mixed up into all of this. I can't explain it. Just please, please, please don't ask any questions and do this one favor for me.

Love, Rachel

"Rachel?" Nick said aloud. Now there was a blast from the past. He looked back down at the baby and gave a great sigh. He put one of his fingers into the baby's palm which he grasped tightly and made an attempt to stick Nick's fingers in his mouth. "Well, Ryder, looks like you're my newest nephew. And it looks like my sister sure knows how to screw things up, huh?"