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 complete 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 12

Grissom sat upright in the bed, one hand running through his hair as he listened to Brass relay the details about Carrasco. The little bit of information he provided did little to help explain the situation.

Fleeing the state and committing suicide were an unexpected turn of events. Why? Carrasco may have realized they were on to him.

He'd made a terrible mistake going after two victims at one time. It limited the opportunities for the poisoning could have taken place. This time they could link Carrasco to the killings. He hadn't covered his tracks.

They had never recovered anything tainted with warfarin from the previous scenes. Presumably, he gathered any incriminating evidence when he came back later to kill his victims and harvest their blood.

His time schedule had been thrown out of whack by Brandenburg's trip to the doctor. Carrasco hadn't thought this attack out carefully. Brandenburg's insult had set the killer off, making him break his normal pattern.

But if he had been driven to change his signature out of rage, why had he gone after Sara instead of the mathematician who had insulted him?

It didn't make sense. Until he had the answers, he wasn't going to take any chances.

"I want the car, the body, everything back in Vegas," Grissom barked.

"No can do. Bakersfield isn't letting this one go."

"Dammit, Jim, they don't have our resources."

"Hey, I'm on your side here. It's politics. They got the 'Pied Piper'; it's one of the hottest cases around. No way they are going to pass on him."

"I want protection on Sara and Brandenburg until we get verification this is really Carrasco. He's smart; this could be a ruse," Grissom stated.

"I do know something about how to do my job," Brass said without rancor. "Relax. None of us want to see Sara hurt."

"I know," he sighed.

"Look, Gil. Be careful," Brass said cryptically.

"Call me when you get more information. I'll see you tonight," Grissom said, hanging up the phone. At the moment, he didn't feel like talking, or listening, to his friend's advice. He already knew what the detective thought of intra-office romances and older men dating younger women.

It wasn't anything he hadn't considered himself.

Grissom winced as his muscles protested when he reached over to set the phone down. Falling asleep bent over Sara's hospital bed had played havoc on his back muscles.

Rubbing his hands over his face, Grissom debated going back to sleep. So far, he'd managed less than nine hours sleep in two days, spread out over two naps. Deciding an extra hour wouldn't do much good, he padded off to the shower.

Standing under the hot spray, he let the water relax his aching muscles. He wasn't as limber as he used to be. Running the soap across his midsection, Grissom let out a sigh. He wasn't as fit as he used to be, either. Even though he'd lost a good bit of the extra weight he let creep on, he had a definite middle-age spread.

Why did she pick me?

Tilting his head back, Grissom closed his eyes as he let the water run down his face as he recalled, again, his earlier conversation with Sara. For hours after he returned from the hospital, he thought about all she had said.

She wasn't dumb; that would be the last adjective he'd ever use to describe her. Of course she was aware of their age differences. Sara wasn't flighty, either. It wasn't likely this was some sort of crush, especially after his behavior towards her.

But did Sara really understand what a relationship with him entailed? Did he?

Sara said she'd fallen in love with him. Giving his head a shake, Grissom braced his arms against the shower wall. He'd often dreamt of hearing her say that. Of course, in his dreams she'd never been in the hospital, nor did she sound disgusted with herself for feeling that way.

He had screwed things up. Still, she wanted to try to make things work. It was a risk. If it didn't work out, the pain and embarrassment would be incredible. Not that things were all the great anyway.

First things first. Until they verified the killer was dead, Sara was still in danger. He'd worry about how to fix this once she was safe. He wasn't procrastinating.

Not at all.

Her safety was the most important thing. Hopefully, Bakersfield wouldn't botch this case. He'd often worked with them. They were in relatively close proximity. The smaller city didn't have anywhere near the resources of the Las Vegas Lab, and in the past he'd been glad to help them out.

The CSIs at Bakersfield were adequate; none of them were really outstanding, but none were incompetent. Normally, he'd have no qualms about them investigating an apparent suicide. This case was too important, though.

Why the hell did the politicians try to score points on cases that involved lives?

Grissom dressed slowly, and then went into the kitchen to fix dinner. Bakersfield would fax them a report as soon as they had anything definitive. It would probably take at least a full day to make a positive ID on Carrasco. They'd probably have to rely on dental records; a bullet to the head often made visual confirmations impossible.

He debated about whether he should call Sara to update her on the case. Glancing at the clock, he decided against it. If she was asleep, he didn't want to disturb her.

Besides, he should have some additional details by the time he picked her up tomorrow.

Maybe he'd have some answers by then as well.

Heading towards the break room, Grissom saw the crowd watching the television set. He could hear the news anchor reporting on Carrasco's apparent suicide. When the cheering started, he raised an eyebrow in surprise.

They harbored no lost love for the criminals they dealt with on a daily basis, but they didn't relish in seeing them die. Their objectivity had been compromised. Not only had Carrasco targeted Sara, all of them were potential targets.

Scowling deeply as he entered the break room, Grissom walked over to get some coffee. He refused to join in the celebratory high-fives going around the room. That by itself wasn't surprising; it wasn't his style.

Instead, he had some lingering doubts about this case. Something didn't seem right, but he had no idea what it was. In all probability, Carrasco was just an atypical signature killer. Grissom frowned as he tried to figure out why the case still bothered him.

It was personal.

He silently admitted he was in no position to chastise the others for their behavior. Ever since accompanying Sara to the hospital, he'd lost his objectivity. That was dangerous in this line of work. It was coloring his perceptions.

His job was to follow the evidence. If that evidence didn't give him the answers he desired, it wasn't his place to start second-guessing everything. This is exactly why you never handled a case that involved someone you were close to. The answers you wanted personally couldn't always come from the evidence.

In hindsight, Grissom supposed he should have let Ecklie handle Sara's poisoning. As much as he disliked the day-shift supervisor, the man was a good CSI. Ecklie wouldn't have taken the case personally, would have been more detached.

Going over to the table, he sat down, waiting for the rest of the team to join him.

"How's Sara?" Catherine asked immediately.

"Better. She might be able to come home tomorrow afternoon."

"Did you tell her the good news?"

"What good news, Nick? We haven't verified that it really is Carrasco in that car. Until then, we're working on the premise that he's still on the loose."

"You think he pulled a switch?" Warrick asked.

"I don't know," Grissom said shortly. "I'm not taking any chances on this. I want to wrap this case up completely before we consider Sara or Max safe."

"You been able to link Carrasco to the other victims yet?" Catherine asked, noticing that he had started using the mathematician's first name.

"No. Brass is still piecing together his whereabouts for the past few weeks."

"It could be hard to figure out how he killed the others. He broke his pattern going after Sara. We may never find out how he poisoned them," said Warrick.

"And why did he go after Sara?" Nick asked. "It was Max that insulted him. Are we looking at a copycat killer?"

"I don't think so. Tox verified it was warfarin in the mortar. Same strength as used in the other killings. The press thinks he was using rat poison, not a prescription medicine. A copycat would know that," Warrick offered.

"And Carrasco had photocopies of mathematical texts," Grissom said, pausing as he brought his cup of coffee to his lips.

"What?" Catherine prompted.

"Huh? Nothing," he said, sipping his coffee. A frown formed as he swallowed the bitter brew. That had been one advantage of Sara dating Brandenburg – they always had decent coffee. Hopefully, the man would be in good enough shape to answer questions tomorrow.

"You get any sleep?" she asked softly.

"Not enough," he admitted. "Look, I'm going to review the evidence we have on the killings, try to wrap this up. Nick, you and Warrick go to Desert Sands Motors. Vandals damaged a bunch of cars. Catherine, there's a DB down in Sandy Valley."

"Yippee. Road trip," she muttered, pointing to the door with her head. The guys quickly left the room. "Why don't you go home?"

"I'm fine, Catherine."

"I'm sure you are. Look, there's nothing new the evidence can tell you now. Let it go, Gil. It's over. Don't obsess over this. It'll drive you nuts if you let it."

"I'm not going to let it," he said, giving her a pointed look over the top of his glasses. "Besides, I have a backlog of paperwork. If I don't get it done, the secretaries are going to start following me home."

"Poor things. Can't have that," she replied with a grin. "If I don't get back from my road trip before you leave, tell Sara to give me a call if she needs anything."

Grissom nodded as he headed towards the Layout Room.

Catherine raised an eyebrow as she approached the house. The number of green-around-the-gills officers standing outside was never a good sign. Checking in with the deputy, she slipped under the tape, to be greeted by an overpowering smell.

"Oh, God," she said, looking at the withering mass on the bathroom floor. This guy had been dead for weeks. Most of the tissue had decomposed to slime, exposing the bones. A variety of bugs crawled over and through the remains, devouring what was left of the body.

"Nope, just Vince Morabito. Sorry," said a Nevada State Trooper when Catherine turned to glare at him. "Guy had a bit of an ego."

"You know him?"

"Everyone around here does. He was an eccentric. Had a way of starting fights. Always getting into some sort of trouble."

"You find the body?"

"Yeah. When he skipped his rent payment, the landlord called and asked us to do a courtesy check. Vince has been pretty ill for a while."

"Didn't he have any family?"

"Vince had some nieces and nephews. Like I said, he had a way of starting fights. Got to the point no one could stand to be around him anymore."

"How old?"

"Would have been eighty seven next month."

"Why was it called in?" Catherine asked. Normally, CSI didn't investigate deaths of the elderly. Natural causes weren't a crime. Nothing in the room gave any clues that something else had happened.

Shining her flashlight around the small room, she saw the tub faucet had a steady drip. In the enclosed space, it would have kept the humidity high enough to allow the body to rot, rather than mummifying in the heat.

"His van is missing. It looks like someone went through the drawers in the kitchen and bedroom."

"Okay," she said, heading out of the bathroom to investigate the rest of the house. Until David came, she couldn't touch the body. It was silly. The guy was obviously dead, but it was procedure. "What the hell?"

Her flashlight swung across a blackboard. A tarot card was taped to the center of the board, near the top. Underneath, a group of symbols were arranged in rows. What looked like Hebrew letters and the word "Abel" were sprinkled among the writing.

Great. One serial killer dead, and now they had a cult killing.

"Oh, don't mind that. Vince found out he had a terminal heart condition about six months ago. Ever since then, he got real philosophical about death. Starting reading all that stuff. Astrology, I Ching. He had stuff like that up all the time."

"Okay," she said in relief. The last thing the lab needed was another high-profile case. She was worried enough about Gil now. Despite his assurances, he had let this case get to him. If he didn't get some sleep soon, she was concerned he'd crack.

Setting her gear down, Catherine began the process of photographing the house. The guy was a slob. It was hard to tell if his things had been disturbed or not. If he had a terminal condition, he could easily have died and had his van stolen later.

She debated calling Grissom out. The bugs would be a nice distraction for him. Unfortunately, it would also mean him having to drive out here. In his current state, Catherine would feel better if he stayed off of the highways.

On her own drive out, she'd been on the phone with Brass. Both of them were concerned with their friend. Gil was taking the Pied Piper case too personally. He was letting the taunts Carrasco left for them at the house get to him.

Then there was Sara. He wasn't being very discreet about his feelings. The two of them probably could get away with a relationship, but not if Grissom couldn't keep it professional. And if she ended up with Max, Gil had to learn to control his disappointment. He could lose his job either way.

Seeing David rolling in a gurney, she quickly finished photographing the messy bedroom. She'd get a lot of bugs off of the body. It would give Grissom something to play with when she got back to the lab.

"Gil, just got off the phone with Bakersfield," Brass said, leaning into Grissom's office. "They've made a positive ID of Carrasco."

"How?" Grissom asked, snapping his head up quickly. It was too soon to have gotten his dental records.

"Guy used to be in a band. He has some unique tattoos with their name on his body. He also has a pin in his leg from a motorcycle accident."

"Thanks," Grissom said, dropping his head back to the paperwork. "Let me know when they get the dental records verified."

"Yeah," the detective said, shaking his head as he left the office.

Once Brass was gone, he leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against the file. After spending hours reviewing the cases, he'd been unable to find a link between Carrasco and the other victims. That lack of connection irked him.

Now he understood how the victims' families felt. They may have found the killer, but not knowing the 'whys' of the case was very frustrating. They never figured out his motive, why he wrote the mathematical equations or who the first victim had been.

Catherine was right. He had to let this go and accept that there would be no answers. Carrasco could have been insane. There may have been no logic to his killings. If he weren't careful, he would become obsessed with this case.

It was over. Sara would be fine, and it looked like Brandenburg would recover. All that was left was deciding what to do with the rest of his life, and what role Sara would play in it.

Trying to figure out Carrasco seemed like the easier option.

Letting out a sigh, Grissom took his glasses off and rested his head in his hands. He was exhausted. A quick glance at his watch verified the shift was nearly over. Hopefully, Sara would be discharged from the hospital today. Since she wouldn't be released until the afternoon, he had time to get some sleep.

First, though, there were some details he needed to take care of. A quick trip to the locker room secured the items he wanted. Swinging by the DNA Lab, he called out to the technician.

"Greg, you said you wanted to help Sara."

Grissom frowned as he walked down the hospital corridor. No guard was outside of Sara's door. As far as the sheriff was concerned, the 'Pied Piper' was dead, and this case was over. He wished he could put the experience behind him as easily.

Knocking lightly, Grissom was greeted with a broad smile when he entered the room. Sara was sitting on the bed in her pajamas, her left arm resting in a sling and no IVs present.

"Ready to blow this joint?" he asked lightly.

"In a few minutes. The doctor's going to take a last check of my arm before they kick me out."

"I thought you might want something clean to wear out of here," he said, holding out a bag. "I grabbed you a set of coveralls."

"Thanks. I think the old set dissolved," she said, taking the bag and heading to the bathroom to change. When she came back a few minutes later, she held her vest questioningly.

"Humor me. They haven't verified Carrasco by dental records yet," he said with a smile. "I don't want to make a habit of falling asleep in hospital chairs."

"You could have gotten in my bed," she teased as she gingerly donned the vest.

"I wouldn't have wanted to leave," he said gravely, giving her an intense look.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

Grissom shrugged. "Not bad. More like overwhelming."

"Like you're in over your head?" Sara asked, recalling the statement he had made in her apartment earlier.

"Something like that," he said hesitantly.

"I won't push you. I'm not asking for a lifetime commitment," she said softly.

"That wouldn't be a problem," he admitted, shocking them both. "It's, well, it's an all or nothing situation, Sara. Once I let you in, I won't want you to leave. I don't want to think what that would be like."

When the doctor entered the room, Grissom turned away and stared out the window while Sara's arm was quickly examined.

"Now, Ms. Sidle, you'll need to come back every day for blood work until your INR is back to normal. Right now, it's at three point seven. That's low enough that you shouldn't have any spontaneous bleeding, but you'll still have trouble clotting if you get injured."

"Right."

"Here's a list of symptoms to watch out for. If you experience any of these, call nine-one-one immediately. We'll check your arm again tomorrow. You can probably ditch the sling afterwards. We're giving you some iron tablets to take with you since you're still anemic."

"Thanks," Sara said, quickly signing her discharge papers. She shook her head in disgust when an orderly pushed in a wheelchair.

Grissom gathered her things, handing them to her once she was seated. Giving the orderly a nod, he stepped behind the wheelchair.

"Would you like to visit Max before we leave?" Grissom asked as he pushed her towards the elevator.

"I already did this morning."

"How is he doing?"

"He still hasn't completely come around, yet. The doctor said it should only be another day or so."

"Oh. That's good," he said as the doors closed.

They settled into an uneasy silence when others joined them on the next floor. Sara played with the leaves of the plant the lab had sent as a get-well present, wondering if Grissom had been the one to suggest it. If so, it had been a good call on his part. She appreciated the beauty of cut flowers, but preferred the living plants.

Had that been a guess on his part, or did he actually know her well enough to realize that? With Grissom, it was always so hard to tell. The walls he built over the years were impressive, but he was slowly allowing her to see glimpses of what was behind those walls.

What she had seen surprised her. Grissom seemed so confident. Well, at work he was. It would be hard to find someone with a better forensics background than his. But apparently, his personal life was another matter.

At least she now understood him better. Knowing he was insecure helped to explain his behavior. It didn't excuse his actions, but it did make it easier to comprehend. Unfortunately, it didn't give her any idea how to deal with the situation.

Grissom's insecurities were his own personal demons. He had to confront them himself. All she could do was offer encouragement and be patient.

But for how long?

It had taken him years to get this far. Now that he'd admitted that he cared, would things progress faster? Or would it take years before he could trust her?

More importantly, Sara wondered how long she'd be willing to wait.

She loved Grissom. There was no doubt on that point. But she didn't want to spend the rest of her life alone. If he was never going to let her in, she didn't want to hold out false hope. But if there was a chance, even slim, she wanted to take the chance.

The silence was beginning to bother her.

"You know, I don't like being pushed around," Sara deadpanned as he pushed her towards the parking garage.

"I never noticed," he said lightly, giving her a gentle smile when she turned to look at him.

"Thanks. For everything," she said as he helped her into his car.

From her strained motions, it was clear she was still in pain. Robbins had said it would take a few days before the swelling in the joints went down, and there were the multiple bruises where needles had been injected into her skin.

"You're welcome," he said softly.

Grissom kept the conversation light as they headed back to her apartment. Once there, he scanned the area, looking for potential trouble. Despite his efforts to be discreet about it, Sara's hint of a smile showed she had been aware of his efforts.

"Red Creeper."

He gave her a curious glance. She pointed to the edge of the doorframe, the bright red dusting powder still evident in places.

"I'll clean that up later."

Sara made no response as she entered her apartment. Grissom walked around to the breakfast bar to set down her presents, placing the bag of clothes on one of the stools. Turning around, he was surprised to find her staring around the apartment, her right hand absentmindedly rubbing the back of her neck.

"Sara?" he asked gently, moving to stand behind her. He resisted the urge to touch her shoulder, knowing it would be painful.

"Poor David."

Grissom blinked in confusion, moving to stand in front of her.

"He's so sweet. It would have been rough on him," she said, giving Grissom an odd look, before turning around, looking at the ceiling. "I wonder where he would have hanged my body."

"God," he whispered. She was imagining what the crime scene would have looked like. He had purposefully tried not to think about it, fearing the nightmares it would cause.

"I don't think the shower rod would have supported my weight."

"Sara!"

"Sorry," she said, giving her head a shake. "This is very surreal."

"I can only imagine," he said softly. "Sara, my offer still stands. If you're uncomfortable staying here, I have a guest room."

She shook her head again, giving him a brief smile. Her attention kept drifting to the red walls. In the past, she'd always considered the color rich, now it reminded her of blood.

"No. I'm not letting this guy get to me."

"All right. How do you feel? Think you could handle a full meal, or do you want something light?"

"What?" Sara asked, turning to look at him in bafflement.

"I still owe you a meal."

"Oh. Didn't you take all the food from here? You had to have checked things."

"Already taken care of," he said, directing her to the breakfast bar, where a series of grocery bags sat.

"Thanks," she sighed. "What do I owe you?"

"Nothing. It's a get-well present."

"Grissom!"

"I know you don't like to cook, and I didn't think you'd be comfortable with carryout for a while."

"You did this for me?" she asked, her head cocked in wonderment.

"Well, I sent Greg to the store this morning. I told him to get things that were easy to fix," he explained as he started to empty the bags. Grissom frowned at the contents. Pop-Tarts, cookies, sugarcoated cereals.

"I didn't think I needed to tell him to pick up healthy food," he groused as he pulled out another box of cookies.

"There's canned fruit and soups in here," she said, peeking inside another bag. She found a note beside the last bag. "Says there's more stuff in the fridge and freezer."

"Hmmm," Grissom grunted, moving to check the contents. "Okay, there's some microwave entrees up here. All vegetarian, of course."

"Glad you remembered."

"Like I'd ever forget that."

"Sorry," she said with a shrug,

"I'm sure I deserved it," he said evenly, checking the contents of the fridge. "Now about your dinner."

"Something light for me," she said. "Stomach's still a little upset."

"Soup and crackers?" he asked, pulling out the offerings from a bag.

Sara nodded, moving to open a cabinet. The kitchen was small. It was going to take some creative packing to put away all of the groceries, even if all the previous food was missing.

Not missing. Evidence. In her attempted murder.

She shivered at the thought of Carrasco poisoning her food and waiting to come back to kill her. That he'd tracked her down. Been back to her apartment. It was disturbing. Now she understood why Nick had wanted to move out after the Nigel Crane incident.

"Hey, I'll take care of that," Grissom whispered in her ear, causing her to start. How long had she been staring at the shelf with a box of spaghetti in her hand? "Why don't you go sit down? It'll only take a few minutes for the soup to heat up."

"No thanks," she said, looking away.

"Go ahead," he gently urged, prompting her to mutter something.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing. Really," she said, sighing when he raised an eyebrow in challenge. "Hematomas."

He looked at her arms in confusion. They were covered in them; the bruising from one merging into the next. What did that have to do with sitting down?

"My ass is one big bruise," she said quietly, blushing as she turned away.

Grissom watched her, his mouth half-open. How was he supposed to respond to that? On top of being embarrassed and in pain, this whole experience was clearly upsetting her. What would cheer her up?

"Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

He smiled when she whirled around to stare at him.

"You didn't just say what I thought you said. Did you?"

Grissom nodded, his grin widening when she shook her head and started chuckling.

"What would you do if I answered 'yes'?"

His grin faltered until she gave him a wink, letting him know she was only teasing.

After dishing up their soup, they stood on either side of the counter, making casual conversation. Grissom offered to wash and put the dishes away while Sara sorted through her mail and e-mail.

"I'll pick you up after work tomorrow and drive you to the hospital," he said as he walked out of the kitchen.

"Thanks," Sara said, moving to stand by him. "Would you like to have breakfast first? I think I have enough for two."

"I'd like that," he said softly, mentally kicking himself for not being able to come up with a better response. She'd nearly died. The least he could do was make some sort of gesture.

Licking his lips, Grissom opened his arms and stepped forward hesitantly. Sara placed her right hand on his chest, a gentle reminder that she was still in pain as he wrapped his arms around her.

The warning had been unnecessary; Grissom kept his embrace gentle, his hands barely making contact with her body as they slid across her back. She could feel the heat from his body more readily than she could feel his skin. He was taking considerable care to avoid hurting her.

Sara closed her eyes, as she slid her arm around his neck and leaned a bit closer to him. The bulky vest he still wore prevented her from getting as close as she wanted, but it was enough to electrify her.

When he dropped his head beside hers, she enjoyed the smell of him. Sara felt the tremor when his warm breath hit her neck, causing goose bumps to rise.

Grissom turned his head slightly, bringing his beard in contact with her cheek, rubbing his whiskers gently against her as his hands tenderly caressed her back, the tips of his fingers barely coming into contact with the material of her shirt.

When he finally pulled out of the embrace, he twisted his head more, his lips grazing against her skin sensuously. Realizing what he'd done, he blushed and started to step back. He hadn't meant to rush things and feared she would be upset with him.

Sara recognized his panicked look. She couldn't fight Grissom's demons for him, but she could let him know it was all right. Her hand moved forward to stroke his cheek, stopping his retreat. Seeing the confused look in his eyes, she smiled reassuringly as she moved her hand to run her fingers gingerly through his beard.

Keeping eye contact, Sara moved her hand gently down until it reached his chin, where she allowed her fingers to roam through his whiskers then over his lips before moving back up to repeat the motion.

Grissom closed his eyes at the touch, feeling his breath growing ragged. When she delicately started another stroke, he leaned softly into her hand, being careful to not cause her any pain. His eyes shot open when he felt her lips dancing lightly across his own.

"Thank you," she whispered, finally stepping back and breaking the contact.

Grissom alternately smiled and gaped at her. The look of adoration in her eyes was impossible to miss. She smiled sweetly, walking with him to the door.

She really does want to be with me.

Unable to think of something coherent to say, he told her to call him if she needed anything before they shared another brief kiss goodnight.

Grinning widely, he headed towards his townhouse to change before going into work early. There was no way he'd be able to sleep now, no matter how much he needed it.

After giving out the night's assignments, Grissom went to the Layout Room. He still couldn't put this case down. The dental records confirmed it was Carrasco. His family was complaining that he couldn't have been the killer, but that wasn't unusual.

Sorting through the evidence, Grissom fought to keep the smile off of his lips. If nothing else, this case had brought he and Sara closer together. They still had a long way to go. He realized it would take time before he completely trusted her, and vowed to make sure she found the wait worthwhile.

Letting out a sigh, he began packing away the evidence. When he came to the stack of photocopied materials, he made a note to check with QD to see if they'd had any luck deciphering the notes Carrasco had written on the pages before he photocopied them.

Grissom froze as he started to put the pages into the evidence box.

"Dammit!"

Grabbing his kit, Grissom ran out of the building, nearly colliding with Catherine on his way out. He quickly drove back to Carrasco's house. Breaking out the fingerprinting supplies, he headed to the bathroom. Packing those away, he headed to the bedroom.

"Goddamn it!"

Pulling out his cell phone, Grissom made his way back the Tahoe quickly.

"Brass."

"Jim, get officers back to Sara's place now. And the hospital," he exclaimed as he pulled into traffic.

"What's up, Gil?"

"Carrasco couldn't have been the killer. He's still out there."

TBC