One Night Stand
Nick's breathing had leveled out, but his knuckles were still white as they gripped the steering wheel. Meanwhile, Amy Henler had settled on soft hiccups instead of sobs as she held the gun towards him.
"Just . . . go west," she'd said. Nick had been doing just that. They passed a sign on the interstate. It wouldn't be long before they were in California.
Nick really didn't want that. His chances of . . . everything were better if they stayed within Nevada. Once they crossed the border, it could mean a mess in terms of jurisdiction.
Of course, Nick was hoping that the rest of the CSIs knew he was being held at gunpoint.
Part of Nick wanted to break the silence as they drove. Maybe he could talk some sense into Mrs. Henler. He'd managed not to get shot so far.
He scowled at himself. Talking to her meant risking upsetting her, and right now, Nick didn't want to see that gun any closer than he had to.
"Slow down," Mrs. Henler said, her voice timid but in control. "You speed like Jason does."
Nick immediately slowed down below the speed limit. He checked the speedometer. If he sped, he'd draw more attention to the car, and maybe someone would see and help and then maybe there would be a car chase and then a crash and then—
Nick shook his head. Shut up, man. He kept his speed five under the limit.
"Mrs. Henler," Nick started, his voice a bit shaky. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her jerk the gun up. He tried not to move or startle her into shooting. "I was just wondering how far we were going tonight."
"Tired?" she asked. It wasn't the first concern that came to his mind, but Nick nodded anyway. "Pull over at the next motel you see."
He tried not to breathe out a sigh of relief that was too obvious. There was a motel just ahead. Only ten miles before they entered California. And not a mile too soon, Nick thought.
He pulled into the parking lot, and turned off the car. Normally he would have gotten out and gotten a room, but he wasn't running this show. Mrs. Henler stared at him, suddenly worried.
She doesn't know what to do now.
"Get out, slowly," she ordered softly. "We'll go in together."
Nick obeyed, and it wasn't long before Mrs. Henler was close to him, the gun jabbed into his side.
The clerk behind the desk wasn't really awake, or sober, but he noticed that they wanted a room.
"How're you payin'?" he asked. Nick automatically reached for his wallet.
Why are you paying? Stop being a gentleman! But he felt the pressure from the gun increase, and Nick handed over a credit card.
He was glad Mrs. Henler didn't object to that. It might just help him.
The room was far from roomy, but it could have been worse. Mrs. Henler pushed him inside gently with the gun, and quickly locked, bolted and chained the door. Nick stood still in the middle of the room with his hands slightly raised by his sides.
They stared at each other, neither knowing what to do. Inadvertently, Nick's eyes wandered to the beds, and immediately he was glad there were two.
Nick cleared his throat nervously. "Um, do you mind if I, uh, use the . . ."
Mrs. Henler started to nod, but stopped herself. She quickly moved behind him and checked the bathroom, never lowering her gun from Nick's body.
"Okay," she said. Nick nodded, and moved into the bathroom.
The tiny facility lent nothing that he could use to escape. There was a window, but the size of an air vent. Aside from the soap, plastic cups and towels, Nick had nothing to use to defend himself.
He frowned and sighed as he opened the door.
Mrs. Henler was waiting.
"On the floor please," she said. Nick thought it was odd she said 'please.' There certainly wasn't anything polite about the situation.
Nick kept his hands in plain site as he sat down. The floor was hard—no doubt just thin carpet glued directly to concrete. Something caught his attention on one of the beds. There were strips of white fabric, the bed sheets probably. Mrs. Henler picked one up.
"Lie down," she said. "Put your arms up, above your head." Nick frowned, but complied. As soon as he lay on his side, Mrs. Henler knelt by him. She quickly grabbed his hands and wound the torn sheet around his wrists. Nick winced as she tied them in a knot, inadvertently pinching his skin.
He glanced at his hands as she tied the remainder of the sheet to part of the bed frame.
"I'm sorry," he heard her say. "I just can't . . ." She never finished the sentence, but moved to his feet. She grabbed another strip of the bed sheets and tied his feet together and to the end of the bed frame. She moved to stand up after that, but then stopped. Mrs. Henler reached for another strip of fabric, and knelt by his head again.
She hesitated, the sheet in her hands, as she stared into his eyes.
"What—" Nick started to ask. She cut him off with the sheet, deftly pulling it over his mouth and behind his head. She pulled on it again, and the sheet moved between Nick's teeth. She tied it tightly, and Nick fought not to gag on the fabric.
"I'm sorry," she said again. "Please don't make any noise." With a last look over him, Amy Henler disappeared into the bathroom.
Nick let his head fall back against the floor. Great, he thought. He wasn't sure how to get out of this, but the use of his hands would help. He started wiggling his arms and wrists, trying to loosen the bindings.
After five minutes, they still didn't budge. The shower was running still, so Nick figured he had a few more minutes. His eyes darted back and forth around him, trying to find something to help.
Suddenly his eyes fell on a phone line. The cord led to the nightstand between the beds. Nick's eyes lit up. Not that he could talk, but he could at least call 911. The cord was close, just behind the nightstand. He stretched his fingers out, and tried to move his body closer. The bindings at his feet didn't allow it, but Nick tried anyway.
His fingertips brushed the plastic cord. So close. He flexed his hands out and—
He pulled back and the telephone suddenly came crashing down on him. Nick shut his eyes and hoped it wouldn't hit him too hard. He smiled when he opened his eyes. The phone was off the hook, and just waiting for instruction.
Suddenly the bathroom door swung open. Amy Henler was drying her hair with a towel, until she saw him. She quickly grabbed the gun and rushed to his side.
"No!" she hissed at him. She yanked the phone away, quickly ripping the cord from the wall. "How could you!"
How could I? Nick almost snorted at that, but Amy was by his side, the gun very near his face.
"Don't ever do that!" she said, her voice cracking with emotion. "I trusted you!" Her hands were shaking, and all Nick could focus on was the bobbling nozzle of the gun. Nick fought the urge to panic, though his lungs instantly went into overdrive.
Suddenly, she pulled the gun away, and grabbed the last strip of fabric. She wound it around Nick's eyes and head, blinding him. Again, she tied it tight, enough that Nick groaned as it was given a final yank. He felt her recheck his hands and the gag, and also his feet.
"Please don't make me hurt you," she said. It was a soft request, and in it, Nick could hear desperation. There was silence, except for the sounds of her breathing. She was still by his side, and Nick could tell she was watching him. He tried to cover up his quick breath and just lie still.
"What's your name?"
It was a ridiculous question, and she must have realized she shouldn't expect an answer. Nick heard a rustle of her clothes, and then felt her hands on his waist. Her fingers seemed to creep over his hips. Nick tried not to shudder.
My wallet, he thought with limited relief as she slipped it from his back pocket.
"Hmm." Nick wondered what she found interesting, but just listened. "I know you introduced yourself when you and your partner came to our house," Mrs. Henler said. "I didn't really catch your name then, but I didn't think it was Nick."
He heard his wallet almost snap shut as she closed it. It was shoved back into his pocket, and then the bed next to him creaked.
"Get some rest, Nick Stokes."
The SUVs carrying the CSIs were silent inside. Catherine and Warrick sat in one as Brass, Grissom and two officers rushed to the front desk of the motel.
"Her car is here," Warrick said into a walkie.
"Hopefully Nick is too," they heard Sara say back over the radio from the other SUV.
The patrol cars' lights flashed, the red and blue lights rotating and creating a nice strobe-like effect on the small motel building.
From the car, Catherine could see Brass hold up the two photos, one of Nick and the other of Amy Henler. Catherine prayed that they'd find Nick here, alive.
He didn't know how he fell asleep on that insanely hard floor, but it didn't last. Someone shook him awake, violently, and ripped his blindfold off.
"Get up, now!" It was Mrs. Henler. She knelt over Nick again, this time tugging furiously at the bindings on his wrists. Suddenly she lurched backwards as they gave.
She quickly grabbed her gun and leveled it at him.
"Untie yourself, quickly!" she hissed. Nick tried to obey, but he was a bit disoriented. For some reason, all these lights were flashing outside.
His eyes widened as it dawned on him why.
They're here. His hopes soared as he quickly untied his hands and feet. Mrs. Henler was on her feet, peeking out the window as Nick worked on his gag.
Should I yell? It wasn't a bad idea, except for that gun.
"Come on," Amy said, motioning for him to come to her. Nick wasn't wild about that, but she raised the gun as incentive.
Sara drummed her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. She itched to get out of this car and storm whatever room Amy Henler was in.
She sat up straight as Brass, Grissom and the officers emerged from the front desk. Grissom raised his hand at the SUV, a firm stop sign that ticked Sara off. So she watched.
They moved to a room near the end of the building. All the rooms exited to the parking lot, and this one was no exception. Sara held her breath as the officers broke through the door. She watched Grissom closely, hoping for some sign, maybe a smile or relief.
He came out of the room quickly, with no relief but instead more tension. He looked around wildly, as if he expected to see Amy Henler close by.
Sara jumped out of the SUV, and heard Warrick and Catherine not far behind.
"What is it?" Sara shouted to her boss.
He didn't answer, but continued to scan the area with his eyes. He frowned, and Sara felt ill.
She swallowed and sternly walked to the motel room. Process.
The room was dark, no doubt how it was left. There was no body, and that relieved Sara to no end.
Until she saw the ripped sheets. She adjusted the gloves on her hands, and grabbed evidence bags.
The sheets were in long strips. They were wrinkled, creased. One of the strips was damp. Sara swabbed it and bagged the strip.
Catherine started scouring the bathroom, and Warrick took Henler's car.
Suddenly Sara heard shouts outside. She dropped the evidence bags and ran outside.
The police officers were frantically calling on their radios, while Gil and Warrick stared at the dark and empty roads in both directions. That's when Sara saw what was wrong.
One of the SUVs was gone.