Cardinality
Summary: A serial killer is stalking the citizens of Las Vegas. Started out as a case file but the G/S aspect demanded equal representation. This is the edited version for this site. The original version can be found at my web site.
Rating: R for subject matter
A/N: No real spoilers. Many thanks to Burked for teaching me how to be a serial killer, among many other things.
Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own anything related to CSI. If I did, certain characters would be getting more screen time – together!
"I cannot help it; in spite of myself, infinity torments me." – Alfred de Musset
Chapter 5
"You know, I've often been the center of attention, by sheer virtue of my size, but this," Max said, spreading his arms to indicate the lab, "has been unique."
Sara took her reheated meal from the microwave and sat across from him at the break room table. His smile seemed sincere, but she could tell he was curious about the reaction he was getting.
"You're younger than people expected," she started before giving him a grin. "And you're big in a different way."
"That first part made sense, but you lost me with the second part."
"When you were recommended to us, the dean's description implied you were … oversized. He didn't specify in what manner."
"Ah. That explains all the double takes directed at me," he said gently. "So why are you getting all the looks?"
"I, uh, don't have much of a social life," Sara admitted after slowly chewing her rice. "All your gifts, well, it raised a few eyebrows."
"And you never corrected them about my real age and stature," Max stated mirthfully.
"No. I was getting enough teasing as it was."
Sara didn't add she didn't want to see Grissom's reaction. Working under the presumption that Max was older and obese, he was already starting to act … well, like Grissom. Jealous wasn't the right word. To be jealous, he'd have to feel … something.
It made no sense. He didn't want to be involved, but he got upset whenever another man showed an interest. Grissom's reaction couldn't have been paternalistic – that idea was enough to be disturbing.
"Really?" Max said softly, causing her to look in quickly. His tone was friendly, but clearly indicated he wasn't buying her answer. "I must admit I'm surprised. You strike me as the type who would be used to being the object of … attention."
Sara sipped her coffee slowly, wondering how to respond. This was different. She wasn't used to being around a man who was perceptive, at least about her personal life. Hank had been nice, in his own two-timing, underhanded way, but he never thought to question any of her answers.
And Grissom was Grissom.
"None that ever went overboard on gifts," she said, raising an eyebrow when he shrugged.
"Well, I've always believed if you're going to do something, you should do it right," he said salaciously, causing her to blush. Chuckling, he took a sip of soda before giving her a friendly smile and changing the subject. "So, you told me how you got into forensics, but you never explained how you ended up leaving San Francisco to get to Vegas."
"I was invited," she said. "One of the CSIs here had been shot and later died. They needed someone to handle the investigation. I was a frie…, I had been a student of Grissom's. He asked me to handle it. When I was done, I was offered a job."
"No small feat. Asked to join the second-best lab in the country. Only the FBI is better," he said, enjoying her shocked look. "I looked it up after our first meeting. And I have friends at the FBI. They had some – shall we say, colorful – stories to tell about your boss."
"I can only imagine," she replied cautiously.
"Well, they did say he was very good at his job. And they spoke very highly of the work this lab does. You must have made quite an impression on your Dr. Grissom."
She was spared from having to respond by the appearance of Jacqui and Leah, both of whom stopped dead in their tracks when they entered the break room. Max rolled his eyes, before joining Sara in laughter.
Grissom walked down the hallway, for all purposes reading the paperwork on his clipboard. He'd stopped by his office to pick up the prop, along with his coffee mug. He didn't want Sara to think he was checking up on her.
Not that he was checking up on her. What Sara did in her private life wasn't any concern of his. He had no claim on her. He just wanted to meet the mathematician. It wasn't like Brandenburg was a competitor or anything. There was nothing to be concerned about.
Nothing at all.
As he approached the break room, he saw Jacqui and Leah exit, both with wide-eyed expressions. Sara's dating the older man really had caught everyone by surprise. He hoped she wouldn't be the brunt of too many jokes because of her folly.
Entering the room, he quickly scanned the vicinity. Sara was sitting with her back to him, and the mathematician sat across from her, his head resting on his arms on the table. From his vantage point, Grissom's view was blocked by Sara's back.
"Dr. Brandenburg? Gil Grissom. Thank you for your help," he called out as he headed for the coffee machine.
The mathematician watched as Sara swallowed her coffee nervously, turning to face her supervisor. Standing up slowly, he limped across the room, casting a curious look back to Sara, who'd yet to get up.
"Dr. Grissom," he said politely as he approached.
Grissom turned his head briefly, then set the coffee pot down sharply. Turning around he looked from Brandenburg to Sara and back again in confusion. This wasn't what he expected. The younger man was retired? He couldn't be much older than Sara or Nick. And he certainly wasn't out-of-shape.
Grissom stared at Sara intently. Her bawdy comments that first night in the break room came back to haunt him. They had an entirely different connotation now. What the hell was she up to? Was this some sort of payback for his assigning her to flirt? If she was trying to hurt him, she succeeded. This case was stressful enough. The mayor and sheriff were on him constantly, and they weren't making any headway.
Why was she doing this to him now?
"Something wrong, Dr. Grissom?" Brandenburg asked as he pointedly withdrew his hand, which the entomologist had neglected to notice.
"No," he answered shortly, casting a hurt look at Sara.
She started to make introductions, but realized the folly of that action right away. Returning Grissom's look, she wondered how to defuse the situation. She had been expecting her supervisor to be curt towards her; it was his standard operating procedure. But to be openly rude to a civilian who was volunteering to help them was too much, even for him.
Grissom noticed her harsh look, and her eyes darting to his hands. Looking down, he noticed the mathematician pulling his hand away.
"Oh, yes," he said, holding his hand out belatedly. "Sorry. Nice to meet you."
Quickly excusing himself, he stalked back to his office, his mind trying to re-evaluate all that had happened since he'd sent her to the mathematician.
Brandenburg turned to Sara after Grissom left, an eyebrow raised inquisitively. She gave him an embarrassed shrug before turning back to her lunch.
"Grissom isn't really known for his social skills," she offered.
"Is that a fact?" he asked, moving back around the table to his seat. He gave her a penetrating stare, then smiled slightly. "I think I'm going to get a complex if I keep showing up here."
Sara gave him a fleeting smile at his joke, before turning her attention back to her lunch. She shifted her vegetables around some, glad Max wasn't pursuing the topic. He had to have noticed the looks Grissom had given her.
"Am I competition?"
"What?" she sputtered, grabbing a napkin.
"That sounds something like a 'no'," he said, casting a look out the doorway. "Ex-lover?"
"No! Can we talk about something else?" she asked, feeling the blush creeping up her cheeks.
"Of course. You already said you don't have a boyfriend. Unrequited love?" he asked softly, causing her to snap her head up quickly. "You turned him down? No. He turned you down?" he asked incredulously.
"Max!" she exclaimed, turning to look nervously out the doorway.
"No one was around to overhear," he said in a low tone, leaning across the table. "I don't want to cause you any trouble. If our working together is going to complicate things for you, I can recommend another mathematician from the university to help you."
"That's not necessary," she said quickly.
"Are you sure? I can tell something's going on here. If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. But I do think I should have some warning if there're going to be … complications."
"It's not you," Sara exhaled sharply. "Don't worry about it."
"If you say so," he said uncertainly.
"I do," she said, smiling broadly. His level of concern was touching. Despite his flirtatious nature, Max could be very attentive and kind. It had been too long since someone had treated her that well, and she was enjoying their growing friendship.
"I guess I should head home," Max said after she finished her lunch. "Give me a call when you get some free time. We can try dinner again."
"Sure," she said as she escorted him out of the building, smirking as various techs paused to look out of their labs as they passed.
"Sara, we're getting ready to have a meeting," Grissom said when she came back into the lab, still smiling. He watched as she went to grab her notes, uncertain exactly what was going on as he followed her into the Layout Room.
"I've checked with Jacqui," Grissom started. "None of the prints lifted were found at both scenes. The ones that did get a hit on AFIS had reason to be at the warehouse and had an alibi for the time of the killing."
"I've been to Trace. The fibers we found in the blood at the warehouse are sheep hair. It's consistent with the hair we found at the first scene. The fibers Cath lifted from the security guard are common heavyweight cotton. It's used by several manufacturers of uniforms and work clothes. Lots of drivers coming into the warehouse would be wearing that type of material," Warrick said.
"I traced down all the sheep hair brushes sold recently. All accounted for. QD says the writing is the same as the first scene. The warfarin used in both victims is the same strength, probably from the same batch," Catherine said. "Brass is still trying to find the source."
"We scoured the guard's place. Nothing in the kitchen has been laced with warfarin," Nick said. "I even went back and checked water samples from both of their apartments. Nada. Checked the dumpster; none of the food in it was poisoned. The shoe print we lifted from the crates belongs to a size 9 ½ Wolverine work boot. We've gone through about half of the employees, and we have two guys so far that wear that type and size."
"According to the victim's girlfriend, he liked to eat out a lot, but he wasn't picky. He'd grab a bite anywhere. I checked his credit card records and receipts. In the time frame he was poisoned, he had the oil in his car changed, picked up his dry cleaning and rented videos," Sara explained. "There are over 300 restaurants, bars, convenience stores and fast-food joints along the route between those places. Brass is sending uniforms to interview them all."
"Did we ever hear anything from Rambar?" Grissom asked.
"He couldn't tell us much from the writing since it was print. Male. Trouble controlling his anger," Sara replied with a shrug.
"I could have told you that," Catherine muttered.
"What do we know about the signature?" Nick asked.
"The only connection we've been able to establish between the victims is they are both male. We know the killer is poisoning them in advance. That indicates he has a good idea where the victims will be 30 hours after they ingest the warfarin."
"He knows the victims somehow?" Sara asked warily, continuing after Grissom gave her a brief nod. "The killer's getting them to ingest a deadly amount of a blood thinner. Probably laced some food or a drink with it. The victims would have to feel comfortable ingesting the poisoned item."
"If it's in the food," Nick interjected. "We tested everything in both victim's apartments and dumpsters. Nothing had been tampered with."
"If the victims' food isn't poisoned, how else could the killer get it in the victims?" Grissom asked him.
"You said it's absorbed quickly. Could they be coming into physical contact with it?" the Texan ventured.
"Not likely," Catherine replied. "Skin exposure is the most common form of accidental poisoning, according to Doc. Usually people who work with rat poison a lot, but don't follow the directions, don't wash up afterwards, but it takes a long time to get enough exposure to be harmful. To get this much warfarin in their systems, they'd have to have been swimming in the stuff."
"What about the writing?" Warrick asked.
"Blood is very symbolic. Killers use it when they want to leave an impression. Why math? I don't know," Grissom admitted.
"And why is he using another victim's blood at the scene?" Sara asked.
"Another question I don't have the answer to yet," he said softly. "Anyone have anything else? Okay, let's get back to work."
Grissom looked up from his desk when he heard the laughter. Sara, with Bobby and Archie in tow, was making exaggerated hand motions, prompting another outburst from her audience. He tracked the procession as it passed by his door towards the break room, the tip of his pen tapping a staccato pattern on his crossword puzzle.
He frowned, wondering what had put her in such a good mood. It turned to a scowl as his mind insisted on providing detailed visuals of possible explanations. Unfortunately, they all involved a very tall, very strong, younger man.
Turning back to his puzzle, he gripped his pen painfully. What did he care? It wasn't his concern. He'd already decided he and Sara were better off apart. If she wanted to waste her time with another Hank, let her. You'd have thought she would have learned a lesson from her last dalliance.
The paramedic incident had been enough to anger him. What did he have to offer Sara? Hank had the intelligence of an overcooked turnip, at that was probably insulting the entire brassicaceous family. The only possible attraction had to be physical, and Grissom was angry that she had lowered herself to that level.
When Grissom finally heard of their breakup, he hadn't been surprised. The man seriously had nothing to offer Sara. Part of him was … happy … it ended. What had she expected she'd find with the fool? But when he learned the truth behind it, he'd been furious. She deserved better than that. It only reinforced his convictions the paramedic was a fool.
But Brandenburg wasn't a Hank.
The man, despite his many flaws, had a post-graduate degree. Assuming he didn't get it from a degree mill or Fuzzybottom State College, he had to have some functioning brain cells. And he was already retired; or he was covering up the fact he couldn't hold a job. Grissom grunted silently; the money he freely spent on Sara cast doubts on that fantasy.
No, he wasn't a Hank. The paramedic had been a … diversion.
Brandenburg was dangerous.
Dropping his pen abruptly, Grissom ran his hands through his hair. What the hell was going on? Sara had let the entire team operate under the assumption the mathematician was an old, out-of-shape bum. Did she enjoy pulling that joke on them?
He let out a sigh as he admitted to himself that Sara didn't play those types of games. There had to be another reason why she kept this a secret. None of the multitude of reasons why she would do so made him feel any better.
Looking at the clock, Grissom grabbed the assignments for the night. He was reading too much into this. Sara wouldn't fall for someone so shallow. The mathematician couldn't be her type. She was keeping it entirely professional.
Hopefully.
Walking into the break room, he cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. Grissom gave Sara a disapproving look as she chuckled at the joke Warrick finished.
"Cath, there's a suicide at the Tangiers. Get that, and then get to work with Archie. He's pulled together all the old messages off the victims' answering machines. See if there's anything useful. Nick, Warrick, I want you to go through their apartments again. Check for anything that could link the two together. Same church, clubs, sports. Anything. Sara, trick roll at the Monaco," he said, not bothering to look at her as he handed out the assignments.
"Ouch," Nick said softly after their supervisor left the break room. "Someone's on the boss's shit list."
She shrugged as they walked out of the room. All things considered, his reaction hadn't been that bad. It was only a matter of time before he started his snarky routine. He did have a reputation to maintain, after all.
"Hey, Grissom's actually talking to me, acknowledging my existence. That's better treatment than I expected. Let's see how long it takes him to get me transferred to days," Sara said as she rounded the corner and nearly collided with Grissom, who had been talking to Greg. "Excuse me."
Grissom turned to watch them as they walked away, Nick casting furtive glances back between them. What? Did she really think he'd want to get rid of her? She had to be joking – even if she had sounded completely resigned to that fate.
He'd never do anything that petty. Someone had to take the trick roll. There wasn't any significance to him giving her a minor case when she had been originally assigned to this serial murder.
None at all.
Once she was out of sight, he returned his attention back on the lab tech, who had been watching Sara leave as well. Noticing Greg's rueful expression, Grissom raised an eyebrow in empathy. He understood how the lab tech felt.
"Hey, Gil. Archie and I went over the messages."
"Find anything the two victims had in common?" Grissom asked as he looked up from the microscope.
"Does the fact that they probably had the most boring lives in Vegas count?" Catherine asked as she leaned against the lab table. "No threats, no arguments, nothing scandalous. I've got their phone records going back for the past six months. Maybe they had a common enemy who happens to be patient."
Grissom nodded his approval as he went back to his microscope.
"It'd go faster with some help. Our insurance salesman made hundreds of calls a month," she said, moving around to stand next to him. Again, he nodded, pausing a moment to jot down notes in a lab journal.
A voice clearing caused both of them to look to the doorway, where Sara stood, arms crossed.
"I've finished with the trick roll. Swabs have been sent to DNA, fibers are with Trace, Jacqui has the prints. What would you like me to do now?" she asked formally.
"What's the status of your stolen cat case?" Grissom asked as he returned to his microscope.
"The ex-husband admitted to destroying it. Last week. My report is sitting on your desk," she said, maintaining a professional tone.
"Hodges is backed up. Go help him."
"Sure," she said evenly, nodding to Catherine who felt her temper rising as she watched the exchange.
"You are something else," she muttered softly, pushing off the bench and heading towards the door.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing," she called out over her shoulder.
"Catherine," Grissom said shortly, causing her to pause.
"I don't have anything to say to you," she said firmly, waving her hands for emphasis.
"Yet you seem to keep talking."
"I … you … God, never mind," she said, resuming her path towards the door.
"If you have something to say to me, tell me. Otherwise stop making a scene."
"Making a scene!" Catherine exclaimed, turning around to stare at him crossly.
"Well?" Grissom asked, a touch of hesitation in his voice. His friend's anger was becoming obvious.
"No way. I'm not getting involved."
"Involved in what?"
"No way!" she repeated. "You don't want to hear what I have to say."
"Catherine," he sighed, turning around on his stool. "Just tell me what's bothering you."
"You."
"What?" Grissom asked in total surprise.
"You heard me," she said shortly, crossing her arms defiantly.
He cocked his head in confusion, waiting for her to continue. Instead, she returned his look with a glare. "Could you be a little more specific?" he finally prompted.
"Not if I want this serial killer to get caught."
"Catherine, I have no idea what you are talking about," Grissom said, taking off his glasses and staring at her intently. "Tell me."
"No way! The three of us are supposed to be working this case together, but in order to do that, you have to be talking to at least one of us. You're already blowing Sara off," she said, walking over to stand directly in front of him.
"I believe you heard us talking a moment ago," he pointed out.
"And you're sending her to do busy work while this case is still active. I told you I could use help with the phone records."
"Oh, well, if that's what's bothering you, tell Sara to give you a hand. Hodges can handle his own mess," he said, spinning around on the stool to look back into the microscope, wondering why the blonde had gotten so upset over a minor thing.
"Right. Sure. That fixes everything."
"Catherine," he sighed impatiently. "Would you stop speaking in riddles?"
"Like I said, you don't want to hear what I have to say. You'll end up treating both of us like dirt," she stated emphatically.
Setting down his pen, he turned from the microscope to see her eyeing him distastefully. This was more complicated than his not assigning Sara to help her go through the phone records. Getting off the stool, he grabbed her by the elbow and walked her towards his office. Once inside, Grissom closed the door and crossed over to sit behind his desk.
"We have a case that needs to be solved. You're implying I'm letting my emotions get in the way of that. If you need to tell me something, then just come out and say it."
"Gil, I'm not implying anything. I'm stating a fact," she said.
"And that fact is what exactly?" he asked impatiently.
"You can't stand the fact that your toy is being played with by someone else. And that she is enjoying it," Catherine sighed after a moment's hesitation.
"I do not treat anyone on my staff as a toy," he said, the warning clear in his voice.
"Right. And the sky is green in your own private world," Catherine snorted. "What do you call your little routines? Don't you think everyone notices when you pull these stunts? You're damned lucky she's never called you on it."
"I don't treat her like a toy," he repeated, looking down at the papers on his desk. Had his displeasure really been that obvious?
"How do you think it seems from her end? You get bent all out of shape anytime some guy pays her attention, but you ignore her."
Grissom looked up to look at his friend sadly. She was oversimplifying the situation; he wasn't that petty. The prospect of a relationship with her had been complicated enough without his hearing issues. It wasn't like he tried to hurt her on purpose.
Not that it hurt Sara any the less because it hadn't been intentional.
"You know it's not that simple. I'm her supervisor," he sighed eventually.
"You know it's not that complicated. You could have worked around that."
"Could have?" he asked, wondering if her use of the past tense was deliberate. Her dismissive shrug didn't give him any reassurance.
"Gil, sweetie, let's be honest, okay? In a lot of ways, you're really not that great of a catch," she said, giving him a sympathetic look as he stared at her with his mouth open. "You really aren't. How long did you think Sara was going to put up with you?"
Grissom continued to stare at her, his occasional eye blink the only motion he made. He knew Catherine was his closest friend on the team, and thought more of him than anyone else. And apparently she didn't think that much of him. What did Sara think of him? He wasn't sure he really wanted to know the answer to that.
"Look, you aren't the most socially graceful person in the world. You can be rude, even if it's not intentional. You're inconsistent. God only knows what days you're going to talk to her or ignore her. You don't let people know what you think, let alone what you are feeling. That doesn't exactly make you prime romantic material. Sara's not exactly Miss Congeniality herself, but she could do a lot better for herself."
"Like Gustav-Maximilian?" he asked bitterly.
"Yes, Gilbert. In a lot of ways he is a better catch. He's a flirt, but he treats her well. Max doesn't hesitate to tell her how he feels. She doesn't have to guess what on his mind. She doesn't have to worry if he's going to suddenly stop talking to her."
"So why are you telling me this? It sounds like she's better off with him," he said, an element of defeat clear in his tone.
"Yeah, but it doesn't mean she's happier with him," she said, shaking her head in disbelief at the fact. Getting up, she walked around his desk. Sitting on the corner of it, Catherine reached over to give his hand a gentle squeeze. "Gil, in a lot of ways, you are a good catch – when you let yourself. You can be helpful and supportive. God knows you've pulled my ass out of the fire enough times."
"A few," he admitted, twitching his lips slightly.
"Don't push it," she said in mock-warning. "Look, what do you want? If you aren't going to be involved with her, then get over it. You can't keep her locked away until you get in a mood to be nice to her."
Grissom looked up impatiently at her, but kept silent. He didn't like her implications, but doubted now was the time to debate with her.
Catherine smiled at his look. He might want to deny it, but he knew the truth.
"Sara won't stand for that type of behavior forever, and you'll end up driving her away. You know as well as I do what having the Las Vegas Crime Lab listed on your resume does in our field. She'd get snapped up by any other lab in the country."
"I know. I don't want that," he admitted petulantly.
"Then you better find a way to work through this," she said, getting up from the desk. "Gil, they're friends. It's not like they're picking out baby names."
Grissom looked up to give her a sharp look, but she ignored him. "Yet. Stop wasting time. I bet you haven't done anything since you sent her that plant," Catherine said, not waiting for confirmation. "Look, do something. Either move forward or fade away."
"Thank you, Catherine," he said pointedly, as he walked with her out the off the office. Giving her a nod, Grissom walked towards Trace, where he could hear Hodges arguing with Sara.
"It's not like I asked for this assignment. I was told to help you," she sighed impatiently.
"Oh, hi, boss," Hodges said when Grissom walked into the office.
"Sara, Catherine could use your help. She's going over the phone records from the victims."
"Fine," she said. "Can I finish this sample first? It's nearly done."
"I can do that, boss. I told her I'd do it next, right after I finished with these fragments…"
"Whichever you prefer, Sara," Grissom said softly, ignoring the lab tech's hurt expression as he headed back to reviewing his own evidence.
Sara pulled into the driveway of the Tudor home, feeling more relaxed after a hot breakfast, a shower and four hours sleep. Even knowing how Grissom was going to treat her, it still hurt. He didn't want to have dinner with her, but she wasn't allowed to have any other friends?
That's all Max was. He was a tease, but there was nothing going on between them. Not that Grissom would believe her. He hadn't believed her about Hank. Until that point, he'd only been a friend. It wasn't until Grissom shut her out that she pursued the relationship farther.
She shook her head at the irony. On a moment's notice, she'd been on a plane to Vegas when Grissom called her for help. He said it was because he trusted her to work the Holly Gribb's case, but he thought the worst of her in any personal situation.
Professionally, at least, she fared well. A stint at the best lab in the country – and being handpicked to join the team – would look good on her resume. If she ever decided to leave. She didn't want to, but Sara wasn't about to sacrifice her career to Grissom's moods. If he ever started to actively interfere with her job, then she would leave.
Walking over to the doorway off of the kitchen, she knocked lightly, smiling when Max quickly let her in. He'd called in the morning, inviting her over to watch a movie.
"Well, hello," he said with a smile.
"Hey."
"What type of popcorn do you prefer? I have regular, cheddar or toffee."
"Any of them. You pick."
"All of the above," he said, pointing out three bowls already popped. "Beer?"
"Great," she said, going over to grab two bowls, while he grabbed a six-pack and the other bowl.
Walking through the house, Sara was surprised by the number of empty rooms they passed on the way to the back of the building. Brandenburg noticed the inspection and gave her a teasing smile.
"Safety."
"What?"
"I wanted a house with the doorways tall enough that I wouldn't give myself a concussion. I'm a klutz," he explained. "I also wanted something with a separate office. This is what was on the market. I don't need all the room, but it seemed more practical than building a new home."
"You're a klutz?" Sara said, eyeing his form.
Brandenburg nodded towards the cast on his left hand. "You'd think I'd learned by now. Never was much of an athlete. This," he held his arms out, "is the result of genetics and work. My father was a fisherman, my grandparents were farmers. I was working ever since I was little."
He pointed towards a door with the six-pack, politely escorting her into a large room. Shelves held a vast collection of videotapes and DVDs. On the far wall, the largest plasma screen TV Sara had ever seen was mounted to the wall. In front of it sat a large leather sofa and a coffee table.
"I can grab a blanket if the leather bothers you," he offered.
"That's okay. I don't eat meat because of work. Grissom and I stayed up all night with a bug-infested pig," Sara explained when he gave her a puzzled look. "It's weird."
"Not really. I remember the first dead body I saw. It was a kid who had fallen out of a boat and drowned. We pulled up the body a few days later on one of our lines. I couldn't eat crabs for a long time after that. They're the vultures of the sea; carrion eaters," he explained. "Not a pretty site. Why don't you pick out a movie?"
"This is some setup you have here."
"I love movies, but I hate theaters. Seats are too small and too cramped," he said as he started the DVD player. Walking over to the couch, Brandenburg took a seat a respectable distance from Sara and handed her a bottle of beer.
Smiling, she leaned into the soft leather, giving him an appraising look. In the last few minutes, in a casual conversation, she'd learned more about Max – his background, his family, his likes – than she had learned about Grissom after years of knowing him.
Max was a nice guy. He was intelligent, friendly, didn't mind being seen with her in public. While he flirted openly with her, Max had never put any pressure on her.
Grissom had said no. Bluntly.
Was there really any reason to hold out hope any longer?
Taking a deep sip of her beer, Sara slid over, settling comfortably against Max's side, smiling when he gently draped an arm over her shoulders.
TBC