Findings

Nick almost shut his eyes, anticipating a bullet, but the man in him made him face his fate.

The man and his guard stood in front of him, just watching him. Nick tried not to squirm. But the guard moved, only to holster his gun. Nick furrowed his brow.

No gun? That just means they have another way to kill me.

"Mr. Stokes," the man said. It dawned on Nick that he had no idea who this man really was, beyond one of Paige's bosses. She'd never told him his name, or even the name of their group. "I trust you'll go back to your life. I don't expect to see you ever again."

He nodded at his guard, and Nick was grabbed around his upper arm and dragged out of the office.

"Wait!" Nick said. "What about Paige?" He didn't think he was out of danger yet, even though . . . isn't that what he said? Are they letting me go?

"Paige is dead, Mr. Stokes," the man said, following as his guard dragged Nick down the hall. "Let it go."

"Why me?" Nick asked. He winced at the force with which the guard was dragging him. He had to know though. They'd chased him, tried to kill him, and now, suddenly they were letting him go?

He's lying.

The man didn't answer until Nick shouted the question again.

"This wasn't about you, Nick," the man said. "I consider you an unfortunate byproduct of collateral damage."

"Why let me go after you tried killing me?" Stop asking questions, Nick! The logical side of his brain was pushed to the background though.

The man smiled. Again, it wasn't victory. It wasn't mean. It was sad, almost mournful.

"Because you really have nothing," the man answered. "Have a nice life, Mr. Stokes."

Suddenly the guard dragging him stopped, and just let Nick rest against the floor. Nick couldn't help but still be afraid.

It didn't matter. They were outside the elevators, and as the man stepped inside of one, the guard turned back to Nick and knocked him out.

Warrick looked up at the directory for the building, searching for anything that seemed like it would fit. He couldn't find any names that worked, but the suite number that matched the file's info was here.

Warrick frowned. That suite number didn't have any name by it. It was late, but the building security guard, a simple rent-a-cop, waved him on when he saw his badge. Warrick was just glad the guy didn't look closer to see Las Vegas PD, instead of New York.

He didn't know what to look for. Not that that was new—how many times on a case do you just go and see what jumps out at you? But this wasn't a case. Not a normal one, anyway.

Not when it involved a friend.

Warrick frowned as the elevator climbed, beeping as it passed every floor. It was starting to annoy him.

The elevator slowed and beeped with its final arrival. Warrick stepped out and blinked in the darkness. The power seemed to be off up here. Granted, the floor was vacant, but still.

It was a nice area. Marble, expensive fixtures . . . just empty, though.

Warrick pulled out his flashlight and started down the hall one way.

The beam of the flashlight revealed . . . nothing. The level seemed completely empty. Warrick sensed a dead end. He sighed and turned around.

"What the . . ." Down the hall, something was on the floor. Warrick squinted his eyes, and walked back the way he'd come. But as he got closer, Warrick felt his breath catch in his throat.

It was Nick.

He quickly went to Nick's side, noting with dread that his hands were bound behind his back.

"Nick!" He felt at his friend's neck. Nick groaned as soon as he was touched. Warrick breathed in relief.

His head look like it'd sustained a hit. Blood crusted around his temple. But otherwise, Nick looked okay.

Warrick immediately went to work on the plastic tie around Nick's hands. It was tight, cutting into Nick's skin. He tugged at it, but it wouldn't give so easily.

"Hang on, Nick," he said. His friend just groaned in response. "Talk to me, man. You okay?"

Nick nodded his head slowly.

"They killed her," he whispered. Warrick froze momentarily before digging in his pockets for a Leatherman.

"Paige Landry?" Warrick clarified. Nick nodded again. He winced as Warrick cut off the restraints. "Where?"

"The office," Nick said vaguely. Warrick helped him sit up, and Nick instantly went for the bump on his head. He rubbed it gingerly. "She's over there."

Warrick noted Nick's tone. Aside from being groggy and in pain, Nick sounded . . . despondent. He tried to steady himself as Warrick went towards the room Nick indicated.

He braced himself as he entered the room.

It was empty. Warrick frowned and made a round through the room. Nothing, no blood stain, no body, no furniture. Just ripped up carpet.

"Ah, Nick?" Warrick called. He turned back to see him stumbling towards the room. He almost tripped, but Warrick caught him. "Whoa, man, you okay?"

Nick just nodded. He peered into the room, his body tense as he expected to see—

"What?" Nick whispered, aghast. "She was in here." Nick's jaw dropped, trying to figure this out.

Warrick glanced at the ripped carpet. "Was the floor like this before?"

Nick frowned.

"No," he whispered. Suddenly he shut his eyes and just leaned against the door frame. "The carpet was perfect. They must have done this." His eyes fell on a certain spot, now bare and showing the wood floorboards beneath it. "That's where she was."

Warrick studied the area. It looked like someone had cut through the carpet and taken any blood evidence with them. The rest of the carpet must have ripped to make the spot "blend in" more.

"It's gone, man." Warrick looked to Nick, who just seemed stunned. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

"Yeah, he's got a few bumps and bruises, but he'll live," Warrick said into the phone. Nick could hear Grissom on the other end, his voice now an electronic buzz through the phone. "Yeah, we'll be on the next flight back."

Nick grimaced at a pain in his chest. He cradled it with his arms, hugging himself and trying to will the discomfort away. Warrick hung up his phone as they both descended into a subway station.

"How're you feeling?" Warrick asked, shooting his friend a side-ways glance.

Nick chewed on the question. How do I feel?

Paige is dead. Death just passed me over. I've had the worse time of my life. And I have nothing good to show for it.

He settled on just nodding.

The subway trains shrieked again as they braked. Nick tried to tune it out as they stepped on a train.

He could tell Warrick was staring at him. He was concerned, and while Nick appreciated that, he didn't want the attention. Nick leaned his head back against the swaying train and shut his eyes.

He was still like that when he decided to speak. He almost felt Warrick jump next to him as he did.

"We're closing this, aren't we?" Nick asked. He opened his eyes to see Warrick nod.

"Yeah."

Nick sighed. "He was right."

Warrick raised an eyebrow at that. "Who?"

"I don't know," Nick said, with a hurtful laugh. "The main guy. He told me. He said I had nothing. Nothing to go on." He leaned forward slowly, resting his elbows on his knees. "That's why he didn't kill me."

Nick covered his face with his hands and groaned.

"I've made a mess of everything, haven't I?" he said. Warrick gave up a sigh of his own.

"It wasn't your fault, man."

"Did you find anything about the building? A lease or anything?" Nick looked hopeful, in a tormented way.

"No," Warrick said. "Even if it did, would you want to keep at it?"

Nick froze as he thought about it. Slowly, he shook his head. "No." He sighed heavily and shut his eyes.

As the train screeched to a halt, Nick saw in his mind the woman who had taken him through this rollercoaster. He felt a pang in his chest as he pictured her.

Paige.

a/n: enjoy!