New Dawn

Brass hung up his phone, a bit miffed at what he'd just heard. Nick dismissed his guards.

He waited for the young CSI to arrive at the lab, then pounced.

"Nick!" The younger man turned around to face the detective. "What are you doing?"

"What?"

Brass rolled his eyes. "Your escort?"

"Oh," Nick said. "I don't think I need them." Brass must have shown his incredulity, because Nick explained himself. "I've been thinking, a lot. I think Paige was left out so we could find her."

"Which doesn't make things less dangerous for you," he pointed out to the CSI. Nick shook his head and pulled Brass aside. They were starting to get an audience.

"No, I think it was a warning," Nick said quietly. "They could have killed her and we could have never known about it. But instead, they leave her by a garbage bin, not inside it."

Brass could see the logic in Nick's thinking, but there was a certain amount of recklessness in it as well. He sighed and ran a hand over his sparse hair.

"I can't force you to keep them around," Brass said. "But be careful."

Catherine leaned back in her chair, her hands covering her face as she sighed tiredly. Nick watched her for a moment before clearing his throat.

"Hey."

She glanced at him and smiled.

"Hey, Nick," she said. "I just finished running the murderer's picture through the facial recognition scan." From the lack of enthusiasm, Nick guessed it wasn't successful.

"Nothing, huh?" he said. Catherine nodded. "I'm not too surprised."

"You know the case will have to be closed," she said. Nick nodded. He'd known that, and expected it.

"I think that's best."

And he really did.

From across the hall, Sara looked through Grissom's office window at Nick. He and Catherine were talking, and by all appearances, Nick seemed fine.

"Do you think he's really okay?" she asked over her shoulder, but not taking her eyes off her coworker. She heard Gil grunt from his desk.

"He's softer than he'd like us to believe," he said. "But that will help him face this ordeal."

Sara nodded silently. Her eyes focused on Nick as he left Catherine in the lab. She turned from the glass and faced her boss, who now stared at her. She was struck by how intently he watched her as he made his point.

"He's gotten over worse."

Part of Nick felt guilty. Paige Landry was being buried today, on the city's dime. He felt like maybe he should help foot the bill, or go pay his respects to Paige. But that didn't seem right either.

No matter what attraction he felt, Nick couldn't justify any action. Paige wasn't . . . there wasn't a connection with her beyond the mystery and misery she'd triggered. She wasn't Kristy, someone he'd grown to care about and for after she died.

He sighed as he turned on the radio in his SUV. Ever since he'd been in Las Vegas, life had thrown some curve balls at him. Nick survived—that's what he did best—but that didn't mean he enjoyed the challenges. He would rather they never happened, especially Kristy's death, the whole Nigel Crane thing, and many others that he didn't want to dwell on now.

An upbeat song came on, some spunky rock with lots of guitar. Nick felt a small smile tug at his lips as he listened and drove.

He stopped at a grocery store and picked up some items. The song replayed in his head, and he found himself humming at the checkout.

Nick continued home. He pulled into his driveway. It was getting hot outside as the afternoon sun shone, and he quickly escaped into his house.

The blinds were closed, which kept the inside cool. He flipped on a light and dropped the grocery bags on the counter. He went over to his coffee table and picked up the remote to his stereo. He felt like listening to more music.

The tunes blared a bit loudly but it was effective at making him stay in a good mood. Nick pulled off his holstered gun from his belt and set it on the coffee table. He went back to the kitchen, grabbed the groceries and started putting them away.

He opened the fridge door for the last couple of items—some orange juice, milk and bottled water. He almost shut the door, but stopped to grab that orange juice. The fridge door shut on its own as he started to guzzle the drink.

Over the music, Nick heard a rustle behind him, like plastic. Suddenly something hit his back, and he lurched forward, dropping the orange juice. It splattered on the floor, and before Nick could react, that plastic he heard covered his head.

He immediately gasped for breath, and struggled against the attacker. He felt the plastic bag tighten around his face, and as he tried to breathe, it just suctioned to his skin. Nick pulled away, trying to shake off the hold. It wasn't working. The attacker hit him in the side, weakening Nick even more.

Nick's mind raced. It was getting harder to move with the lack of air. He quickly jabbed his elbow back at his attacker. He heard the person groan, and Nick felt the grip on the bag give.

He tore it off his head and heaved in a huge breath. He'd never been starved for air like that, and it actually hurt to restore the air to his lungs. Nick knew he should think about getting out of here, but the need to breathe superceded that.

And it gave the attacker time to resume. He slammed into Nick, and the two men tumbled to the floor. Nick rolled the momentum off, trying to gain any advantage. The attacker was dressed in all black, complete with a ski mask. Nick pushed at him, trying to get away. But the attacker was quick. He punched Nick in the stomach and grabbed him by the shirt collar.

Nick felt himself being lifted and thrown across the room. His back slammed into a wall, and all that air seemed to leave him again on impact. Nick slumped to the floor, but braced himself as the attacker quickly came to his side. Nick feebly put up a hand to shield himself, but the man just kicked him in the side.

Nick shrunk away from the pain, but the man just kicked him again. He tried to catch the foot, throw off the kicks, anything, but eventually just managed to roll out of reach. The man dove down on him.

He braced his arms above him, trying to keep the man away. He could feel the strain, the effort the attacker made. And suddenly Nick saw a knife in the man's hand, the blade descending at his throat. Nick kept his hands up, trying to protect himself.

The two men struggled. Nick wiggled his body around, trying to unpin himself and get the knife away. As he did, the knife cut at his hands. He cried out, grimacing as he felt drops of blood fall on him.

I have to get out of this! Nick pushed up with all his might, and when he had an opening, kneed the attacker. The man recoiled some, and Nick quickly pulled away and got to his feet.

The music still blared, some angsty rock song that just intensified what he felt. Nick quickly went for his gun on the coffee table, but he heard a click behind him.

Nick froze even though he was just a foot from the gun.

"Don't move." The attacker's voice was husky and rough. It intimidated Nick enough to obey. "Turn around."

Nick's eyes stayed on the gun for a second, but he turned around. The attacker was built, a hard one to defeat. He was average height, but beyond that Nick couldn't identify anything.

Not that it mattered. He suspected he knew who it was, or who he was associated with. And if Nick was right, he wouldn't survive much longer.

"Why?" It was the only question Nick could think of. The attacker just laughed.

"You had plenty of chances before," the man said. "It's too late for questions." He kept the gun pointed at Nick's head. "On your knees."

Nick gulped as he sank to his knees, while his eyes never left the attacker's masked face.

"If it's any consolation, I'm not going to shoot you," the attacker said. Nick raised an eyebrow.

"Gee, thanks."

The attacker smiled through the mask. "I'd rather it look more accidental. Hands behind your head."

Nick swallowed, and crossed his hands behind his head. The attacker—or assassin, as it seemed—slowly walked to him.

a/n: This is a shorter chapter, but the next one should be intense, so I thought it'd be good to break it up some. Enjoy!