Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them; any others are mine, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.

This is a sequel to "In the Center", and as such has spoilers through the end of Season 4 but will not take Season 5 into account.

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"So what have we got?" Grissom looked around the breakroom table at his team. They were all busily stuffing their faces with Chinese food, and Sara cocked a brow at him in a subtle reminder that he, too, should eat. He picked up his cup of coffee in self-defense.

Warrick swallowed his mouthful and sat up straight. "No shoe prints outside the front or side door," he reported. "The mat inside the back door has a number of prints; all of them are pretty small. My next step is to run comparisons with the shoes we collected from Mrs. Caffrey and her mother."

Grissom nodded, and turned his gaze to Nick, who had wisely emptied his mouth already. "Lotsa prints on the door itself, but I'm betting that they'll all turn out to be members of the household," the younger man said glumly. "The lock was picked by an expert."

"No obvious motive for the kidnapping," Catherine chimed in. "Neither of the Caffreys appear to have any enemies, and Mrs. Caffrey has a decent salary as a personal assistant but no real savings. Her parents aren't wealthy, and neither are Mr. Caffrey's."

"Life insurance?" Grissom asked rhetorically, and Catherine shook her head.

"Apparently he had an appointment scheduled with an agent for the day after he was killed. Ironic, huh?"

Sara set down her carton of noodles. "I found a few hairs and stray fibers in the crib," she said. "Most of the hairs are fine enough to be Jeremy's, or are a visual match for his mother or grandmother; they're waiting on identification. Two of the fibers are a match to Jeremy's missing blanket, and one is white cotton. Probably a towel." She fiddled with her napkin. "No prints that don't belong, but also, no signs of blood. Nothing to indicate that Jeremy was harmed."

It wasn't much, but the tension around the table cranked down a notch, and Greg took up the thread. "The organic substance on the crib sheet was basically regurgitated breast milk," he reported tersely, eschewing his usual flourishes. "Nothing out of the ordinary. But--" he paused, obviously switching mental gears. "--There was nothing in the back yard, Grissom, and I do mean nothing."

He matched Grissom's frown with one of his own, more puzzlement than anger; as the rookie he'd been assigned to look over the back yard for signs of the intruder. "Nothing outside the window, or anywhere in the yard. No broken plants, nothing dropped in the grass, nada. Are you sure the kidnapper used that window at all?"

Five gazes were suddenly fixed on Greg, and he shifted uncomfortably. "I know it sounds crazy, but--"

"It's not crazy," Grissom said abruptly. "You've raised an important question, Greg, well done. The window may have been left open to throw us off the scent."

"What scent?" Warrick asked, frustrated. "We've got nothing."

"Wrong," Grissom countered. "If Greg's theory is correct, then we have a piece of information about the kidnapper that we didn't have before."

xxx

Sara slipped into Grissom's office and shut the door behind her, sinking wearily into a chair. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" she asked.

Grissom regarded her over his glasses. "If you're thinking of a possible connection between the thefts of precious objects and the Caffrey kidnapping, then yes," he admitted. "Even though there is no evidence to support it."

"No concrete evidence," Sara corrected. "There's plenty of negative evidence."

"Negative evidence?" Grissom asked, amused despite himself.

Sara ignored his raised brows. "The lack of evidence is a link in itself," she argued. "It's the same modus operandi, a picked lock but no prints of any kind, even shoe prints. And Jeremy w-is definitely the most precious thing in his mother's life."

"But to jump from theft to kidnapping--"

Sara shook her head, her eyes wide as she came to the realization. "It isn't a jump for this person, Griss," she said slowly. "Whoever it is, they want the thing that's most precious. Whatever it is. Or whoever. Jeremy's not a person to this perp, he's an object."

Grissom's mouth tightened. "The question is, will he--or she--treat Jeremy as an infant, or a trophy?"

xxx

Neither of them could sleep. Instead, they sat entangled on the couch, watching one of Grissom's DVDs, the silent figures in black and white making their way across the TV screen while the two scientists held each other and waited. This was the worst part.

They'd worked a long shift on the scanty evidence from the Caffrey case, but they'd come up empty at every turn. All prints and hairs matched the house's inhabitants; the white fiber was technically untraceable but most likely came from the soft hooded towel that Mrs. Caffrey had used to dry her son's body after his bath. She still waited by the phone; Sara's theory linking the thefts with the kidnapping was tenuous at best, and they had no evidence to show that a ransom call would not be made.

"I still think we should be looking for a connection between the theft victims and Mrs. Caffrey," Sara grumbled into Grissom's hair.

He shifted a little in her arms so he could tilt his head back to look at her. "Sara..."

"You know as well as I do that there's something, Gil," she insisted.

"I think there may be something," he corrected. "I have no proof that there is."

Sara scoffed. "We should be finding the proof."

He put his hands over hers where they were crossed on his chest. "Where would we start?"

The tone of his voice told her that he was slipping into professorial mode, wanting to see what she would come up with. She squeezed him a little in reproof. "Go back over the interviews. Then talk to the vics again. See if we can find any common person in their lives who would know what was most important to them."

Grissom chuckled a little. "And the best time to interview subjects is...?"

Sara began laughing, and shoved at him. "Off! We need to go back to work."

They conducted the interviews by phone, rather than in person; their questions were few, and it saved a great deal of time. An hour before shift was due to start, they met in the breakroom, red-eyed from lack of sleep but both of them cautiously pleased.

"Well?" Grissom asked, lifting his brows.

"The insurance agent," Sara said, her tone wondering rather than smug. "I mean, come on! But they all seem to have the same insurance agent."

Grissom nodded. "A small quiet woman--people kept describing her as 'elfin'--from whom they purchased their property insurance."

"Someone who would know what they valued," Sara mused. "And all she would have to do is keep them talking to find out what they thought most precious, even if it wasn't technically valuable."

Grissom looked down at his notes. "Laurie Carroll, age fifty-seven, an independent agent who places policies with a variety of insurers."

"I have an address," Sara said, sounding predatory, and Grissom nodded again.

"Take Vartan if he's on, and see if you can get a warrant. It's still pretty flimsy," he warned. "Most of these robberies aren't urgent, even the ones for more valuable objects."

"I'll see if Judge Nguyen is available." Sara stood, her mind already racing ahead. "He's usually pretty accommodating."

"Good. And Sara--call me when you get it."

xxx

The house was out at the edge of one of the newer developments, but obviously predated them by at least several decades. It was low and long, and slightly shabby; a modest late-model sedan sat in the driveway. Grissom and Sara arrived at the same time as Det. Vartan and his two subordinates, but were surprised to see a couple of beat cops climbing out of a squad car as well.

Vartan seemed equally surprised. "What's up?" he asked the officers as they all gathered on the front walk.

The redheaded woman replied. "Neighbors reported a baby crying at this address," she said with a shrug that indicated bafflement. "They're known busybodies, but the resident doesn't have any children."

Grissom and Sara exchanged glances, and Vartan's mouth tightened. "You two, around the back," he directed. "We have a warrant and reason to believe that the kidnapped Caffrey infant may be held at this address."

The two officers stiffened, all casualness dropping away, and they drew their weapons and hastened silently away. Vartan gestured to his own officers to attend him, then unholstered his own gun and took in the two CSIs with a glance. "Backup only, you understand?" he said in a low voice, and they nodded, setting down their cases and reaching for their weapons.

Grissom wanted very much to make Sara stay outside, but he knew better, and when he glanced over at her he realized with a touch of humor what her narrow-eyed look meant--both a don't-you-dare warning to himself, and a hint of the same protective feeling. Instead, he pursed his lips and tilted his head, an ironic after-you gesture, and Sara stepped up onto the low porch behind the officers.

The detective knocked loudly on the door. "Ms. Carroll, Las Vegas Police. Please open the door, we have a warrant."

His gaze flicked back over the CSIs, and Sara remembered for an instant the last time she and Vartan had apprehended a suspect, and shivered. But Grissom's free hand touched the small of her back, and she straightened her spine. This is different. No raving madman with a shotgun.

I hope.

Vartan repeated his knock and bellow. When there was no response, he leaned back and kicked the door carefully, and it splintered at the lock and flew open. Grissom managed to step in front of Sara as they followed the police inside, but there were no signs of life in the living room beyond, no sounds--

A wail filled the air, the sound of a very young infant who was not at all happy. Vartan grabbed Sara's arm as she started to move past him, giving her an exasperated look, but changed his path so that they could follow the crying. Judging from the volume, the baby in question was probably in good health, Grissom thought--hoping hard.

They found the baby in a small nursery off the hallway, lying in an antique cradle. His face was screwed up with rage and his fists were waving, but his voice was strong. Grissom holstered his weapon and crouched down, brushing back the covers. The baby's cries slowed and its eyes opened, fixing on the face above it with wonder.

"It's Jeremy," Grissom reported with relief, noting no signs of neglect. The baby's ebony skin glowed with health, and when Grissom lifted the small body in his arms the curly hair was fragrant and clean; he blinked as one small fist immediately tried to grip his beard.

"Outside," Vartan said shortly. "All three of you, until we clear this place."

Sara snorted, but jerked her head, and led the way back outside. The two CSIs prudently retreated to their SUV, in case cover turned out to be required, and Grissom looked down at Jeremy, who was now quiet, apparently fascinated by the scientist who held him.

Sara put her gun away. "He likes you," she commented, a wealth of amusement in her voice. Grissom smirked back, tilting Jeremy up a bit so he could look around.

"No reason why he shouldn't." He frowned a little. "Will you take him for a minute? There's a blanket in the back of the truck."

"I'll find it." Sara opened the back door and pulled out the fleece blanket, handing it to Grissom, who wrapped Jeremy in it with some awkwardness. A thought struck her as she watched, and she reached into her vest for the small digital camera there.

Grissom looked up at the flash, startled and indignant, but it was too late; Sara lowered the camera with a full-fledged grin. "If that goes up in the break room, you can forget about your holiday bonus," Grissom warned, but her smile didn't abate.

"Personal use only," she replied. "Hey, Jeremy." She stepped closer, wiggling her fingers at the infant, whose face had wrinkled with confusion at the flash.

"We need to report that we've found him," Grissom said, and abruptly handed the baby to Sara. Her arms came up automatically, though her own face showed distress, and Grissom's hands didn't release Jeremy until he saw she had a good grip.

"Hey, Grissom, I don't--" But it was too late; Grissom was already pulling out his cellphone. Sara grimaced, staring down at the wide eyes gazing back up at her. "Sorry, kid," she muttered.

One tiny arm came free of the blanket, grabbing for Sara's chin. It was too short to reach, but Sara found herself smiling again. Slowly, Jeremy returned the smile, blowing a bubble as he did so, and Sara had to chuckle.

"Clear!" Vartan shouted from the house. "You guys can come back in."

The CSIs walked back towards the house, Grissom still talking on his phone. As they neared the door, he looked at the detective. "Can an officer take Jeremy to the hospital and his mother?"

"Sure." Vartan ducked back inside and gave the order, and Grissom relayed the information and closed his phone. Playing a hunch, he walked over to the car in the drive and peered inside.

"What's up?" Sara said, coming up behind him, and Grissom straightened.

"There's a car seat in there." He pointed, and Sara snickered.

"I'll get the officers to pop the door open."

"Good. When you're relieved of duty--" he nodded at the baby-- "join me inside."

xxx

The house was a wonder, in a twisted sort of way, Sara supposed. They hadn't had much time to look around when searching for Jeremy--at least she hadn't, she wouldn't speak for Grissom's observational skills--but a more leisurely inspection revealed a disquieting decorating scheme. In themselves, the carefully tended display items indicated nothing but a very eclectic taste in decorating, but with what the CSIs knew, it was eerie. There was little doubt that Laurie Carroll was their thief.

Paintings, ranging from a small and priceless Impressionist to Warrick's velvet Elvis, hung at intervals along the walls. A four-hundred-year-old Bible was stored carefully in a glass case next to a stand holding José Habrano's dented student flute. Various ornaments and objects d'art lined the mantelpiece, and a huge cut-crystal bowl that Sara recognized from one of the files she'd found sat on the coffee table.

The other rooms were the same, each holding items ranging in value from wildly expensive to utterly worthless; each object displayed with such care, they suspected, had once been some person's most beloved possession. Grissom and Sara moved from room to room, documenting and photographing, and waiting for Nick to come help.

Vartan and his officers remained on guard. There had been no sign of Carroll in the house, and no hint of where she might have gone. The land beyond the development was low hills and scrubland, and while there were several trails leading into the semi-desert land, they appeared to be well-used by bikes and walkers. Vartan had issued an APB for the woman, and for the moment that was all they could do until the CSIs turned up something more.

Sara pulled out a drawer in the master bedroom's dresser, and shook her head in wonder. "Grissom, come take a look at this."

He looked over her shoulder, their proximity pleasantly familiar but without the aching tension that had plagued them in the past. "Impressive."

Sara took another photo and then reached in with a gloved hand, lifting out the velvet jewelry tray. As she laid it on the dresser top, the gemmed necklaces within sparkled. "There's at least three more layers in here," she reported.

"Well, we already surmised that Ms. Carroll had been stealing for quite some time," Grissom said. "It would seem that she keeps all her prizes."

A knock made them both look up. Nick stood in the doorway, fist resting on the frame and a grin on his face. "Y'all are cute," he said, and let the twin glares bounce off of him.

Grissom straightened away from Sara. "Just for that, Nick, you can do the perimeter," he said coolly. "Stay alert, though--"

Nick nodded. "Yeah, Alex briefed me." He winked at Sara and vanished.

"I'll get him for that," she muttered.

"Later," Grissom admonished, and opened the closet doors. "'Her clothing is silk and purple'."

Sara's brows rose at the quote. "Care to repeat that?"

Grissom gestured at the closet. "I would guess that Ms. Carroll's mania for collecting extended to clothing as well."

Sara joined him, and whistled softly as she looked into the space. One side of the closet was taken up with ordinary work clothes and sensible shoes, but the other held at least two wedding gowns and several other formal dresses, all carefully covered in plastic. Multiple pairs of shoes lined the floor, and three elaborate hats sat on stands on the shelf above.

Sara waited until Grissom had finished taking photos, then reached in and pulled out a floor-length mink coat. "Too big for her," was her only comment.

"I don't think usage is the point," Grissom answered, and Sara nodded, carefully replacing the coat.

"This is weird," she added, returning to the dresser.

"It's definitely worth a write-up," Grissom agreed, but she shook her head, shivering a little.

"It's not just this, Grissom," and she gestured at the room. "There's something else. It feels like we're being watched."

Grissom stared at her. "I thought it was just me," he said after a moment, and they exchanged somber looks. Grissom craned his head back and swept the beam of his flashlight across the ceiling, but there were no signs of cameras or holes. He stepped up next to Sara and leaned over to speak quietly into her ear.

"Get one of the officers to check the attic. And...don't mention this to Nick just yet."

Sara nodded, and hurried from the room.

Five minutes later she reported back to Grissom. "The attic's full of furniture, but it doesn't look like anybody's been up there in weeks."

As she finished speaking, Nick appeared, face a little flushed. "Hey, you have to come see this."

They followed him out to the backyard. Night had fallen as they processed, but Nick had turned on the back porch light, "I was checking out the perimeter like you said, and I stuck my foot in a hole," he said, leading them across the grass towards the back fence. "Nearly ended up on my face. Anyway, I took a look, and found this."

The beam of his light picked out a grotesque sight--the apparent limb of a small infant protruding from the dirt. A closer look revealed it to be the leg of a doll.

"So someone buried a toy?" Sara asked, and Nick grinned again, clearly excited.

"That's what I thought--you know, some kid playing funeral or something. But look." He crouched down and held his light parallel with the ground, passing the beam slowly over the lawn at grass level. The moving shadows hinted at low swells and dips in the ground--regular ones.

"Get the ground imaging equipment, Nick," Grissom ordered, his voice tight. "Call Greg to help you."

The three of them stood surveying the yard for another moment, hoping desperately that there was nothing buried there but toys.

See Chapter 8