Scorned
Summary: Tensions rise when a dead body is found in the desert, and the only evidence suggests one of the team is the murderer. G/S.
A/N: Thanks to Burked for her beta skills and for all the tips in choosing a murder weapon. All mistakes are mine. Potential spoilers through season 4, including the finale.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Yeah, like I own anything related to CSI. Get real.
Chapter 14
Grissom quickly walked into the break room during the middle of the next shift. Vartan and Brass, along with the rest of his team, were already there. Word had come down from the sheriff; Alcott's attorney was causing trouble. If they didn't solve the case soon, it would be referred to Internal Affairs.
Legally, Grissom knew Sara wasn't in trouble. There wasn't enough evidence to charge her with the murder, but it could cast doubt on her role in Peddigrew's death. The odds that she'd be able to keep her job under those circumstances were slim, especially if Lockhart started a smear campaign to draw attention away from Alcott.
That bothered him on a number of levels. Professionally, he hated the thought of losing one of the best CSIs he'd ever worked with, especially one he considered a protégée and had brought to the city.
Personally, he knew that the loss would hurt Sara. She had always been highly ethical; having her reputation being publicly trashed would be heartbreaking. Grissom didn't want to think about how losing the job would affect her; Sara valued her work – possibly too much.
As if I'm one to talk. I'm the one that ran from this, afraid of what would happen at work, afraid of the consequences. She was always the brave one, the one willing to give us a chance. How many times did I push her away? I hope I didn't wait too long.
Damn.
Sara's about to lose something she values, and I'm thinking about myself. What did I ever do to deserve her? I don't know, but I'm going to do everything I can to help her.
"Let's go over what we know so far," Grissom said as soon as he sat down. "Peddigrew was shot three times in the chest at fairly close range, sometime between late Friday night and early Saturday morning. The body was stripped, cleaned and somehow dumped in a deep ravine without causing any injuries to the corpse. The gun used came from our evidence vault and was returned."
"Indicating an inside job," Brass noted with an odd smile.
"There has been an amazing lack of physical evidence," Grissom said, pausing briefly and taking a deep breath. "In the months before his death, a number of phone calls were made from his house to Sara's apartment, and there was a box of mementos of her in his locker. She denies having talked to him since they broke up after learning Peddigrew had another lover."
"But Sara volunteered to be investigated," Nick interrupted, slouching in his chair when Grissom eyed him shortly.
"The last person to see the victim was his girlfriend, Elaine Alcott. According to her, things between them were fine. On the night of the murder, she says she ran out of gas, walked to a diner and called Peddigrew. After dinner, they made love, returned to her car, and he was putting away the gas can when she drove off."
"Right," Catherine snorted, rolling her eyes when Grissom stared at her impatiently. "She didn't volunteer that information until Brass told her a cop saw her car abandoned on the side of the road."
He raised an eyebrow, silently conceding her point. "Peddigrew's truck was found in his garage. The house was locked and the alarm set. Besides his parents, the only people who knew the code were Sara and Alcott. Nick, when you examined his house, did you find any luggage?"
"Not packed, but there were suitcases and gym bags in the closet. His tickets for the whitewater trip were on the nightstand."
Grissom scratched his beard as he jotted down notes. 𠇍id you find anything in the area where Alcott's car was spotted?"
"Not much," Warrick admitted, tossing the bag of shell casings on the table. "Only thing we found were those."
"But they're the right caliber," Greg said, looking around uncertainly.
"Take a closer look," Grissom said, moving the bag towards him. He frowned when Greg protectively snatched his coffee mug away. "Peddigrew was shot with a .357. Those shell casings are from a .38 special. The caliber is the same, but the length is different. Did you work on the bullet angles?"
Nick nodded, sharing a quick, embarrassed look with Warrick. "Yeah. Peddigrew was shot from below. Angles line up perfectly if he was standing in his truck bed when he was shot."
Grissom nodded, turning to Catherine. "What about the other evidence?"
"Archie went over the computers. He found old e-mail messages on Sara's machine, but the last one was from about the time they broke up. Nothing recent. Hank's hard drive had been upgraded; there's nothing on there older than six weeks. No messages to Sara."
"Any sign of the original hard drive?"
"No," she continued. "Archie's working on Sara's answering machine. It's fairly old; it's going to take some tricks to lift all the overlapping messages off of it."
"What about the timing of the calls?"
"There's nothing that contraindicates Peddigrew made them. He was off at the time all of them were made. No receipts or anything from the same time. I'm still going over Sara's records."
"Any leads on how the gun was taken from the vault?" Grissom asked the detectives.
"Possibly. One of the clerks, Chuck Saunders, recently received an insurance settlement from Silmont for one hundred grand," Brass said.
"Did Alcott have anything to do with the claim?" Catherine asked quickly.
"No. It was handled entirely by a Tyrone Walker. I had a nice chat with him yesterday afternoon. He was nervous, but he didn't give anything up."
"It could just be a coincidence," Warrick pointed out, although doubtfully.
"The claim was for his brother's death. Coroner ruled it a clear-cut suicide, no pun intended. Saunders sued, trying to get it declared an accident. It's been in paperwork hell for four years, and then it was suddenly awarded," Brass said.
"Nothing suspicious about that," Nick joked.
"You think the settlement was in exchange for the gun?" Greg asked.
"If we could find Chuck, I'd ask him. He's called in sick for the past two days. Went to his house, and he wasn't there. No one knows where he is. We're still looking."
"Nope, nothing suspicious at all," Catherine chimed in.
Grissom tapped his pen thoughtfully before looking at Brass. "How do you tie Alcott to this?"
"She's withdrawn thirty thousand dollars from her bank accounts over the last several months. She gives it to Walker. He signs off on the claim in exchange for the gun. Walker gives the gun to Alcott."
"Any proof?" Grissom asked.
"No," Brass said with a long sigh. "Walker offered to let me check his bank records to show that no cash deposits have been made. Either he's not involved, or he's smart enough to hide the money."
"So even if Saunders confirms your theory, it's still his word against Walker's. Saunders could have given the gun to someone else," Grissom said, not adding that it would have been trivial for the evidence clerk to pass the weapon to Sara.
"And Alcott claims she lost that money gambling," Vartan added. "The waitress at the diner Alcott goes to for breakfast remembers her playing the quarter slots every day. And the folks at Gamblers Anonymous say she's showed up for some meetings."
"Could be establishing an alibi," Catherine said. "Take your time dropping a few quarters in the machine each morning, tell the waitress that your luck is going to get better soon. Wouldn't take long to get a reputation."
"Seems like a lot of forethought," Vartan replied.
"This killer gave it a lot of forethought. There's no evidence. That means they had a plan and followed it closely."
"Or it was someone who knew how to dispose of evidence," the detective said, holding up his hands when Nick looked at him angrily. "Hey, no one is cleared yet. We have to consider all the possibilities."
"He's right," Grissom said, surprising the others. He blinked as they directed their glares at him.
What? Do they think I'm seriously considering Sara as a suspect? God, they really don't know me.
And whose fault is that? Yeah. No wonder Sara is hesitating. I need … no, focus. Clear her first.
"We know Sara didn't do it. The evidence will ultimately back that up. Treat this like any other case," Grissom urged as he repeated Sara's earlier words. "If we don't, we could overlook something crucial."
The others nodded, some grudgingly, but Catherine's smile was only partially hidden by her coffee mug. Grissom blinked in confusion when he noticed it.
"You were there when we found the body," Warrick said to the younger detective. "Sara wasn't expecting to find Hank there. You can't fake that type of reaction."
Vartan nodded. "Or she didn't know that's where the body was. She could have had an accomplice. How did she get the body down that embankment? There are no marks on the body or the cliff side. That's not something you can cover up."
"That's a problem with Alcott as a suspect. She's smaller than Sara," Nick said gruffly. "Hank was a buff guy. It would take a lot of muscle to haul his body around. Are there any other suspects?"
"At this point, not really," Brass answered. "Saunders worked the night of the killing. He may have supplied the gun, but he didn't do the shooting. We talked to everyone that knew or worked with Peddigrew. They all said he was a good guy, no enemies."
"A good guy that used Sara," Nick muttered under his breath.
"What about insurance?" Catherine asked.
"His parents are the recipients. Not even that big of a policy."
"Well, Hank's tox screen came up negative. And no elevated adrenaline levels. He wasn't expecting to be shot," Greg offered, clearing his throat nervously. "Which probably means he wasn't surprised when the killer walked up."
"Which also means that it was probably someone he knew. Sara ran some errands that night, but nothing that would have taken so long that it precludes her," Grissom said.
"And that takes us back to Sara and Alcott as the only potential suspects," Brass replied, leaning forward and resting his hands on the table. "We have evidence that suggests either of them could have done it."
"Or both of them," Vartan added. "They work together to murder Peddigrew, then each claims the other did it. Becomes a she said/she said defense. It would never go to court."
"Wouldn't be the first time we had a case like that," Catherine said.
"But why would Sara use the handgun?" Greg asked out loud, looking frightened when Grissom snapped his head around quickly to stare at him. "I mean, well, uh, why would she use a gun from the vault? Then put it back? It's an added danger. And, uh, she could alter the barrel, right? Just being the Devil's Advocate, that's all."
"Right," Grissom said, tilting his head in thought. "Go back to your first statement, Greg. Why would Sara use a handgun?"
"Damn," Catherine huffed out, smiling broadly as she leaned back in her chair. "Right."
"Okay. Uh, someone want to let the new guy in on it?"
"If I was going to kill someone in the middle of nowhere, I wouldn't use a handgun," Nick explained excitedly. "They're too easy to trace, and they aren't accurate from a distance unless you really know what you're doing. You have to get up close to the victim, and the closer you are, the higher the odds that you're going to leave some kind of evidence behind, or get blood splatter on you. It's too risky."
"A rifle is the way to go," Warrick added. "From a distance, it's a hell of a lot more accurate and has a lot more killing power. You can pick your spot and hide. No one would see you, you'd have plenty of time to make sure you didn't leave any evidence behind."
"It was at night, though," Greg pointed out, eagerly soaking up the information. "How easy is it to get a thermal imaging sight?"
"Shotgun, then," Catherine said. "Perfect weapon. It's impossible to match the shot to a specific brand or gun. The cartridge is destroyed, there's no rifling on the barrel. You never handle the shot, so there are no prints to lift. Lots of models don't eject the shells automatically, so you don't have to worry about losing one."
"And since the shot spreads out, accuracy is less of an issue. At close range, a shotgun blast to the head or torso is almost always fatal. The sound doesn't travel as far, either," Grissom added.
Catherine nodded her head knowingly. "And a sawed-off shotgun can be hidden under a jacket. The kick would be a bitch, but you only need one shot. It'll blow apart anything within six feet. Any pieces left over would be next to impossible to identify. Yeah, if I was going to kill a bastard, that's what I would do."
"Remind me to never cheat on her," Brass said a stage whisper to a snickering Warrick.
"Like you'd have a chance."
"Ouch," he said, holding his hands over his chest dramatically. "You're so cruel."
"Don't piss me off," she said in mock-warning.
"Catherine, you get back to work on the paper trail. Greg, get caught up in your lab. Nick, Warrick, we're going to go over the physical evidence again. Start with the truck and gun, then go back to the scene once the sun is up," Grissom said, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his beard thoughtfully.
"What's on your mind?" Brass asked when the others left the room.
"Whoever did this thinks they're being smart, but they're not. They're following the stereotypical behaviors. Most murders are done with a handgun, so they used a handgun to kill Peddigrew. And the body was cleaned. That was an unnecessary precaution. It wasted time, increasing the odds of being caught. A CSI wouldn't make those mistakes."
"Unless the CSI was trying to throw off suspicion," Vartan said, getting up as his pager went off. "Might have a lead on Saunders. Catch up with you later."
Grissom watched the detective leave, feeling a strange sense of relief. Vartan seemed to take the possibility that Sara was a suspect too seriously; he was only doing his job, but the efficiency with which he did it was becoming annoying.
Never thought I'd ever feel that way.
I never thought Sara would ever be considered a suspect in a murder. This is impossible. She'd never kill someone, especially not in cold blood. Not for being hurt. Hell, my bones would be bleaching somewhere by now if that were true.
But what about the phone calls? And why use a gun from the lab? The real killer went to a lot of trouble on those counts. Why? There has to be a reason. It's not random. What purpose would it serve?
"Sara's being framed," Grissom declared.
"Or someone is trying to frame Alcott," Brass said, holding out his hands diplomatically. "But there's just one problem with either of those scenarios."
"Just one?"
"The body was in the middle of nowhere. Those rock hounds just stumbled on it. Unless you think that Alcott tracked their movements, so she'd know where to dump the body so they'd find it."
Grissom sat up quickly, a happy grin crossing his face.
"What do you need to go rock hunting inside of a mine?"
"A group of nerds in serious need of a social life?"
Grissom gave him a short, confused look. "A waiver from the insurance company. It's mandatory."
"I won't ask how you know that. But Silmont handles health insurance."
"It's a wholly-owned subsidiary of Sierra Silmont, and they handle most of the liability insurance for mines in this region."
Brass smiled as he stood up. "I'll track down the insurance waiver, see if Alcott could have know about it."
Grissom headed to his own office, pausing when he spotted Greg talking to Catherine. He was supposed to do something. After a moment's thought, he headed to the DNA lab, pulling out his wallet as he went. "For the coffee," he said, laying the bills on the workbench.
Their amazed looks made Grissom frown. Do people really think I'm so rude that I wouldn't repay Greg for taking the last of his good coffee? I would have … if I remembered.
Well, Sara made a point of reminding me that I needed to do it, so she must think I am that rude. Or she knows that I tend to forget social niceties. Well, I'll make a point of letting her know at breakfast. That'll make her happy.
Grissom's lips twitched in spite of his dour mood. He found the idea of making Sara happy very appealing. It was something he'd never had the opportunity to do before, and a mental list of things he could do to make Sara smile started to form. The sounds of Nick and Warrick working in the garage sent the list to the back of his mind.
Solve this case and see how happy Sara will be.
Once in his office, Grissom reviewed all the evidence they had, searching for anything that might have been overlooked. The entomological facts were consistent with a body shot and dumped in the desert. None of the tests run on pistol or the evidence box turned up anything out of the ordinary. Nothing unusual had been found in the autopsy. Peddigrew's clothes had never been found, and no one was using his credit cards.
Stretching wearily, Grissom looked at the bags of dirt and gravel recovered from the tires of Peddigrew's truck. Most of it was common to the region, but some of the gravel was unusual. He reached for Hodge's analysis when Catherine walked in.
"Hey. Find anything?" she asked, sinking into one of his chairs.
"No. You?"
"So far, there's one call that's iffy."
"Iffy?" Grissom queried slowly, peering over the top of his glasses.
"Sara was in court that day. Considering the time the call ended and the time she was due in court … well, she could have made it if she broke a few speed limits, but it would have been close."
"So nothing that clears her. Damn."
"My feelings. So, how's Sara taking this?"
"How do you think? She's upset about it, but she understands why it's happening."
"I think 'upset' might be an understatement, Gil."
"Sara is very …mature," he said, looking at her with a baffled expression.
"When she found out that Hank was cheating on her, did you know? Have any clue that something was wrong? I can guarantee that she was more than 'upset' about that," she said, making quote marks in the air with her fingers.
"What exactly are you trying to imply?" Grissom asked darkly.
"Nothing! Look, all I'm saying is that Sara will let you know if you piss her off at work, but she keeps her private stuff, well, private. She's not going to let on how much this is bothering her. Now's a time she could really use a friend," Catherine said, getting up and giving him a smile. "Okay?"
"Okay," he said, scratching his beard after she winked at him on the way out of his office.
He was trying to make sense of the exchange when his watch started beeping. Frowning, Grissom checked the time in disbelief, thankful that he'd thought to set the alarm. It was time to leave if he was going to be on time for his breakfast date with Sara.
He knew some things needed to change if he was going to have a chance with Sara. But change didn't come easily to him. It was a small thing, but Grissom was determined to make time to spend with her everyday, even if it was only to share a meal.
I have to start somewhere.
Opening the door to her apartment, Sara greeted Grissom with a shy smile. She moved away before he could initiate his hug, though, leaving a somewhat confounded entomologist on her doorstep. After closing the door, he watched her scurry around the breakfast bar into the kitchen, his eyebrow rising slowly.
Why does this make me nervous?
"Hi," he said uncertainly, moving to the proffered stool. As Sara worked in the kitchen, Grissom observed the surroundings carefully. Her movements were smooth, but there was an unmistakable tension in the room.
Plates, utensils, juice glasses and napkins were already neatly arranged, confirming that she was expecting him. He took his seat, quickly checking his watch to verify he wasn't late. Safe on that count. I haven't been around a decomp, so I don't smell. She did invite me, so why can't I shake the feeling Sara doesn't want me here?
"I thought you might be getting bored," Grissom said, pulling a stack of journals from his briefcase. "You should find these interesting."
"Thanks." Sara flashed him a brief smile as she took the reading material. When she placed them on top of the refrigerator without even a cursory glance, Grissom began to feel an uncomfortable knot in the pit of his stomach.
What's wrong? We left on good terms yesterday. Even I couldn't have screwed this up already. I think. No, no. I'm sure I didn't do anything wrong. I think.
What could I have done wrong? I haven't talked to her since I left yesterday. Sara did kiss me then, but she seemed a bit … unsettled by it. Did I rush things? If that's true, she wouldn't have asked me over.
Picking up a glass, Sara took a long sip. As she turned around, she noted Grissom's intense gaze and swallowed nervously. "Iced tea. Would you like some? Or I could make coffee," she said, pointing to the pot.
"Tea is fine."
Sara grabbed two containers from the fridge, setting them down in front of him. While she retrieved another glass, Grissom poured orange juice for both of them. Looking up, Sara noticed his continued examination and gave him a hesitant smile.
If it was meant to be reassuring, it failed miserably.
"Did you sleep okay?" Grissom asked, wondering if her current state was due to nightmares.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah. Fine," she answered, hurriedly moving back to the fridge, taking out a bowl of fruit and platter of sliced tomatoes. She placed them on the counter without meeting his gaze, heading back to gather other items. "There's bagels and toast, too."
Her avoidance made the knot in his stomach started twisting.
She's definitely stressed. I think Catherine was onto something. Sara's trying to hide how much this is bothering her. She won't come out and admit to it, but she is on edge. I wish I could get her to talk to me.
Would I even know what to say if she did?
Grissom knew he wasn't the most socially talented person. In nearly 50 years, he had never been in a long-term relationship. Hell, he was lucky to get second dates. And none of his previous attempts had been complicated by the fact the woman in question was his subordinate or 15 years younger than himself.
And I hadn't spent the last two years trying to put as much distance between us as possible. If I couldn't make one of those simple relationships work, do I really have a chance at this?
God, I hope so.
None of those women were Sara. That's the difference. She's the difference.
I would give anything to be able to take away her pain, to get her to trust me again. I'm afraid there's more going on than she's telling me. Something has been bothering her for a while now. I never pushed to get her to talk to me, but I wonder if I ever did enough to let her know that I was available. It's been so long since we talked freely. When was the last time Sara even volunteered how she felt about a case?
Well, it took time to damage our relationship; it's going to take time to rebuild it. Take one step at a time. Let Sara set a pace that's comfortable for her. Deal with what's going on now.
She's too tense. I need to do something, get her to relax somehow.
"No bacon?" Grissom asked when she was finished gathering the rest of the meal. Sara's head jerked up suddenly, and he smiled innocently before picking up his juice glass.
She didn't laugh at the joke but gave him an eye roll. "I don't care what you want, I'm not handling your meat."
The glass of juice stopped in mid-journey to his mouth. Swinging his head around, Grissom stared amusedly at Sara as she rounded the corner to join him at the breakfast bar. She froze, dropping her head in embarrassment when she realized the meaning of her statement.
"That's not what … I mean that I'm not going to eat it … Ah, shit."
Grissom's smile faded when she exhaled slowly and grabbed the edge of the counter. Slipping off the stool, he rested a hand on her shoulder, nearly jerking it back when her muscles tightened. "Sara?"
"I'm trying to think of something safe to say," she muttered.
"It's okay," he said, giving himself a mental kick for not coming up with something better.
Grissom slid his hand across to her other shoulder, cocking his head in concern when he had to coax Sara to face him. When she rested her hands on his chest to resist his efforts to pull her into an embrace, his tongue licked his lips anxiously.
Damn. Something is wrong. Sara doesn't want me to even get close, to touch her.
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "Tell me what I did wrong."
Sara's head snapped up quickly. She gave him a half-smirk, lifting her shoulder slightly. "Relax. You didn't do anything."
"Are you sure?" Grissom whispered, prompting her to nod her head. "Tell me what's wrong."
"It's … just don't get your hopes up."
The knot in his stomach reached Gordian proportions as she turned out of his grasp.
"Sara?"
The pain in his voice was too much to ignore, and Sara stepped back, wrapping her arms around him automatically. This time, it was Grissom who tensed, and she rubbed her hands against his shirt, trying to give him some comfort.
"It's not you, babe," Sara said tenderly, pulling back to match his gaze. "I'm not going to let you get hurt."
"I don't understand," Grissom said, tentatively touching her shoulder.
"I'm not going to let this case hurt you."
"I still don't understand. How can it hurt me? You're the one that's being hurt. I, I want to help."
"Grissom," she sighed sadly. "Face it; things were going to be complicated – at work – before. You know, keeping us quiet, avoiding conflicts of interest."
"I know, but we can work that out."
Sara shook her head, once again stepping away from him. "Not this. This case … If you're involved with someone who was never cleared as a suspect in a murder, your career would be over. I can't do that to you. I won't let that happen."
Grissom stared at her for a moment. That was something that he'd never considered, not because it hadn't occurred to him, but because it wasn't a concern of his. He'd hid behind work too long; it wasn't going to happen again.
For many long years, work had provided all the gratification he needed in his life. It was a lonely existence, but it always seemed natural for a man who by nature was a loner.
Then Sara came into his life, and suddenly everything changed.
Work was no longer enough. The stillness of a crime scene no longer provided solace. It only highlighted the fact that he only came into contact with people under terrible circumstances. Sara's vibrancy served as a stark contrast to his mere existence.
Grissom wanted more, and he wanted to share it with Sara.
"Don't I have a say in this?" he asked gently, walking to her and placing his hands on her waist.
"You already have," she said with a sad, yet resolute, voice.
He blinked uncomprehendingly. "I have?"
"Not in so many words, but I know," Sara said.
"No, you don't," he insisted, moving his hands around her, frowning when she braced her hands on his chest.
"Grissom … Everything that's been between us, all the pushing away, the anger, it's all been because of work. You're not willing to risk it. I know how you'd react, Grissom. It's who you are. Just … wait. Let's see what happens in this case."
When she pulled out of the hug and headed to a stool, he stood still for a moment as he processed what she said. He had to acknowledge that her concerns were well-founded. For most of his life, her fears matched his probable actions exactly. Work had always been his priority.
Before Sara climbed in the chair, Grissom was beside her, his hands grabbing her shoulders quickly. Turning her around, he stepped forward and pulled her in close to his body before she could resist. He kissed her cheek softly before dropping his head to her neck, breathing in her scent. "You don't have to go through this alone."
She leaned back to give him a remorseful look, but her eyes showed how deeply his offer moved her. "Thanks, but I do. Don't get caught up in this mess."
"This is my choice. I know what I'm doing. Give me a chance, Sara."
"Why?" she asked, pausing to steady her voice. "Your job could be on the line. I know how you'll react. I, I don't want to be hurt again. And I won't let you get hurt. I won't put you in a position where you have to make that type of choice, Grissom. I'd never do that to you."
Does she really think I'd leave her? I've never given her a reason to think otherwise. She's right. I've always picked the job over her. I have to make her understand.
"You aren't doing this to me. I'm offering. I can't let you go through this alone."
"You job is your life. It means too much for you. I can't ask you to give that up. And I … I can't lose you to that."
"It's not enough of life, not anymore," Grissom said. "I want more."
Sara looked at him in surprise, her eyes starting to water before she broke eye contact. Her head shook minutely, even though she silently fought back the tears.
Grissom didn't let her step away that time, firmly but gently wrapping his arms around her. He slowly moved his hands over her back, trying to get her to relax. "Honey, I can't change what's happened in the past. I can't promise what's going to happen in the future. But I'm here, now. I am trying. I…"
"Shh. No," she said, patting his chest softly. "Look, your being here, you don't know what that means to me. But I'm not joking, Grissom. I'm not going to risk you getting hurt. Not going to happen."
"If the plan is to prevent me from getting hurt, it's not working," he sighed miserably.
"And if you're trying to make me feel guilty, that's not working, either," Sara stated with a trace of ire.
"I'm not," Grissom said, looking down in defeat. He ran a hand through his hair before resting it on her shoulder, giving her a hopeful look. "How about a friend, then? Can you use one of those now?"
"That works."
Seeing Sara with a true smile helped ease some of Grissom's concerns. If she was worried about how he'd react, it was his own fault. She based her conclusion on years of evidence. And deep inside, Grissom feared she might be justified – he'd recognized too much of himself in Dr. Lurie. While he'd never physically hurt Sara, he had hurt her emotionally.
It was one thing to want to be with her, but how would he react to losing his job if it came to that? Could he give up the one thing that had been the core of his entire adult life that easily? He wanted to believe he could, but Grissom had his self-doubts.
I don't want to think she's right. I want to believe I'm a better man than that. But if nothing else, I have to wait for her. And she's not budging until this case is solved.
"If you want to wait, Sara, I can do that. You've waited long enough for me," he said, giving her a cocky wink before drawing her closer. "And don't worry – I'll see that this case is solved."
"Don't make promises you can't keep," Sara said in a small voice, but leaning cautiously into his embrace, her arms sneaking around his neck.
"I'm won't," Grissom whispered into her hair, sorry for his last comment. It was a gratuitous boast; they both knew that it was impossible to predict which cases would be solved, and which would remain open forever.
Stroking her back soothingly, Grissom made a silent vow: he would never let this case end up forgotten on his bulletin board. Until Sara was cleared, this case was his life.
TBC