Spreeing

"Where is she now?" Grissom asked Brass as they convened in Grissom's office. Nick, Sara, Catherine and Warrick gathered as well, though none as tense as Nick.

"She got away," Brass said bitterly. "She had asked to speak with Nick and Jason Henler, separately. Nick declined, and while she was talking with Jason, she went nuts. She started attacking him, and the officers watching them had to separate them."

Nick closed his eyes. He could see it happening.

"Let me guess," he said softly, grabbing everyone's attention. "During the chaos, she managed to grab a gun from the officers." She'd manipulated the police before—Nick saw that first hand.

Brass slowly nodded. "She held Mr. Henler at gunpoint, and escaped."

"How do we know Jason Henler didn't help her?" Sara asked. "I mean, he could have played a part."

Nick shook his head. "I don't think so," he said. "He was really torn up about everything she did."

"Yeah, well, she doesn't seem as torn up," Brass said. "The media has already caught wind of this, so heads up."

Time was of the essence whenever someone was missing. The police put out APB's about Mr. and Mrs. Henler, and the media added further fury to the case. Everyone was on alert and working.

Except Nick. Call it being too close to the case, or call it a lame excuse, in his opinion—but Grissom ordered him to go home.

He hated being left out.

But Nick went home. As he walked up to his door, he stopped, keys out and frozen mid-air.

What if she comes for me?

That thought freaked him out enough that he grabbed his gun. The only problem was holding it with his gimp arm. Nick switched the gun to his left hand and opened the door.

It was quiet. And dark.

Like he'd left it. In the dark shadows, though, something was there.

In the middle of the room.

Nick fumbled for a light switch, his gun still awkwardly in hand. Tension wound his body like a clock. The light came on, and washed over the room.

There in the middle of the room on his coffee table was a tall house plant, complete with a colorful card. He rolled his eyes at his reaction and went for the card.

It was from the team, wishing him well and saying how glad they were that he was back. It came a little late, in his opinion, but he appreciated it just the same.

Nick studied the plant. It was tall, and had long, sleek leaves.

What do I do with a plant?

Nick glanced at the clock as he got dressed after his shower. It was 4 a.m. His sense of time was still a bit off, after sleeping and lying around for a few days.

He didn't really feel tired, so instead of sweats he chose a pair of drab cargo pants and a navy t-shirt. Comfy, but not sleepwear.

The cuts on his wrists were healing nicely. They'd healed over into thick scabs—not the prettiest thing, but Nick took off the bandages. The brace, though, had to stay. Warrick had caught him twice trying to ditch it. He kept saying a cast would be worse, so suck it up. That reminded Nick--I'm supposed to go see a doctor today.

He logged that away in his memory, just as someone knocked on his door.

"Who is it?" he called out. It is 4 in the morning.

"It's Grissom!"

Nick smiled. Checking up on me. That guy was always giving Nick a hard time, but part of him knew it was Grissom's way of showing he cared.

He opened the door with a grin on his face. "Hey, I'm not—"

Nick choked on his words as he saw Jason Henler standing in front of him. And he wasn't alone. Amy was off to the side, with a gun aimed at her husband's head.

"I'm sorry!" Jason whispered, his eyes wide.

Suddenly Amy came forward, and in one swoop, brought the gun down hard on Nick's head.

It sounded like a gun shot. That's what brought him around. Nick cracked open one eye at a time. His head felt like it was splitting apart.

Gun shot. Was it? He wasn't sure. He was lying on his side, and as he tried to move, he found his hands were tied in front of him. Panic started to seize him, until he heard someone groan.

He rolled on his back, turning towards the source. It was Amy.

And she was pushing her husband's body, sobbing as she moved him. He had a hole in his head, no doubt a close-range bullet. His eyes were open, lifeless, staring at some void. Nick fought back a gag reaction.

"You killed him," Nick barely said. Amy didn't even hear him, but she saw him move.

"He had to go," she said, sniffling. "He loved her the whole time."

She kept moving Jason Henler's body, rolling him towards . . . Nick squinted his eyes. What is that?

Nick looked beyond it to his surroundings. Bare cement, wood, steel bars . . . the smell of sawdust and rock. They were at a construction site. And Amy was moving the body to a pit of newly mixed cement.

"You understand, don't you, Nick?" Amy said. She sounded hopeful, her voice shaky. "He betrayed me. He acted like he loved me, but never forgot about her."

Nick swallowed. He hadn't thought being kidnapped could be topped. But Amy just escalated her crime spree to a brand new murder.

"And you," Amy said, "you didn't really care either. You probably don't even care now." She sighed unevenly and coughed on another sad cry. "It's too painful for me, Nick."

With a final stretch, she pushed Jason's body to the edge of the pit. Her attention was focused on getting him into the cement, and Nick knew he had to move.

He got to his feet, thankful they were unbound this time. He heard a soppy splash behind him as Jason's body started to sink. He couldn't look back, not even as Amy gasped when she saw him.

"Nick!" she screamed. Nick started to run, albeit crookedly. He braced himself for some shot, at least one. It came, but didn't hit him. Nick ducked instinctively, but kept running.

He had no idea where he was. He just darted behind foundation walls, weaving around until he found a bare-bones flight of stairs. Nick took them up three levels, figuring the farther he went, the safer he'd be.

Amy fired another shot, and this one hit into the wood by his feet. Nick picked up his pace as quickly as he could. He could hear her desperate sobs behind him, somewhere.

His hands hindered his speed, oddly enough. He thought about stopping to untie them, but Amy seemed too close. He ducked behind another wall, this one wooden.

His breathing was too loud, he thought. His heart beat hard against his chest, and he struggled to hear where Amy was now; she was quieter now. Slowly, he peeked around the wall.

No one was there. Nick stepped slowly, trying not to draw attention with his footsteps. He managed a few careful steps before breaking out into another panicked run. His eyes scanned the building as he ran. He didn't know what place this was. Through the empty spaces for exterior walls, he could see and hear traffic, but it didn't look familiar. It wasn't too close either.

Something scraped close by, and Nick froze for the briefest of moments. He quickly changed directions and hid behind another wall.

The sound had come from the middle of the building, which seemed like it'd be an open lobby or courtyard. The levels dead-ended at the opening. Was Amy out there?

He wasn't about to go look and find out.

Nick searched around for another flight of stairs. He had to get away, get to someone who could help. To his right was an open space. Maybe for a reception area. Maybe there . . .

He scuffed his shoes against the wood boards as he headed for that area. He winced.

Another bullet sounded, but Nick never heard the impact. Wherever she was, Amy wasn't aiming the right direction. Nick would take that as luck—he needed it. The open area produced a large square hole in the floor. He stopped just short of it.

Where are the stairs? This must have been slated to be an elevator. Nick turned around, his bound hands swinging in front of him.

Back the way he'd come, he saw it. The stairs were tucked back in a corner. Nick ran for it.

Amy fired again, this time echoed by a frustrated scream. Both made Nick's skin chill to goose bumps. The bullet hit by him as he ran.

Where is she firing from?! He still couldn't see her. It was dark out still, but the sun had to be close to rising. Suddenly, more bullets rang out, all hitting close to him and in the floor boards.

Nick ducked and quickly cut to his left. The bullets seemed to follow him. He half-dove behind a wall, and fell on his hands.

He suppressed the yell as much as possible, but the pain was inevitable from his right arm. It felt like fire, and it burned his broken bone. Nick's stomach lurched, and he heaved, trying to get the pain to pass without throwing up. His eyes watered until the pain eased up.

The quiet settled around him again.

Nick swallowed, and cradled his hands to his chest in some lame effort to protect his arm. He had to move. The quiet scared him more than the bullets.

She could be anywhere.

The panic surged through him, begging a flight response, but Nick suppressed it. Running only made it easier for her to hear him.

Nick quickly turned. Something small clattered on the wood boards, maybe forty feet from him. He gulped and backed away from the invisible noise.

His eyes darted to every wall, every opening, every space. Somewhere . . . she was back there, and she wanted him to be like her husband.

He continued to back up, not trusting his instincts to dare look away.

"Nick."

It was only a whisper, but Nick gasped and jerked away as Amy suddenly appeared at his side. He stepped back, but didn't notice how close he'd come to the edge. Nothing stood between him and the open courtyard.

He fell back, and Amy grabbed at him, snagging his shirt. He only fell inches, but Amy's hold didn't last. Nick's weight was more than she could handle. She let out a terrified yell as he started to slip from her grasp.