Disclaimer: If I owe you money, you own CSI. Well, not really, but anyway...

Grissom came into the lounge. "Hey, Sara, what have you found?"

Sara pushed a pile of papers across to him, followed by a phone in an evidence bag. "I found Mr Damien Peterson's phone in his car, and I traced the calls."

"Damien Peterson?" Grissom tilted his head, pretending to be surprised.

"Nice try, Grissom. The vic. But you already knew that."

Grissom smiled a little. "You know me too well."

"Do I?" She shrugged, then indicated the papers. "I traced his calls. Most were to a Gina Thompson and a Derek Powers. Brass already contacted Derek, and Derek agreed to speak with us. Brass hasn't been able to find Gina Thompson yet, but he's looking into it."

"Did you tell them that the owner of the phone was dead?"

Sara just looked at him. "No. Because if I did, it would give them time to make an alibi and an excuse."

The phone in the bag started to ring.

"I'll get it," Grissom said, opening the bag. He was still wearing his gloves.

"You're late," a voice rasped at the other end of the phone. "If you want to keep both your legs, Peterson, you'd better get that money tonight."

"And who am I speaking to?" Grissom asked politely.

The voice on the other end paused. "Who is this?"

"Gil Grissom, Las Vegas Crime Lab. Damien Peterson is dead, and I'm investigating this case."

"Holy crap!" The voice snarled. "He still owes us five g's!"

Grissom shrugged. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you. Listen, if you're not to busy, do you mind if I ask you a few..."

The line went dead.

"... Questions..."

Sara smiled at Grissom. "So, how'd it go?"

Grissom put the phone back in the bag. "Apparently, Mr Peterson owes some unhappy people a lot of money."

"So they killed him over it?"

Grissom shook his head. "If they killed Damien, why would they call and tell him to 'bring the money tonight'?"

"To avoid suspicion?"

Grissom just smiled.

Sara frowned. "You're not telling me something."

"I'm not telling you a lot of things, Sara Sidle." He rose to his feet. "Come on, let's go find Derek Powers."

Sara rose a little slower. I hate it when he does that, she thought to herself.

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"Roast in the oven, wineglasses on the table, half-empty wine bottle... And that's just the stuff out in the open." Valerie handed over her notes and the photos to Nick, talking as they walked through the corridors of the lab. "Stabbing has to be close and personal, and there were no defensive wounds on his hands or arms. Wanna hear my theory?"

"Be my guest." Nick said.

"He invites the woman home, for a little romantic dinner," Valerie sighed, a little disgusted. "She wore stilettos, and, I'm guessing, a very, very little black dress. He's made a lovely dinner, turned the lights down low, dressed to impress... and she kills him. And unsurprisingly, he wasn't expecting it."

Nick smiled. "Hey, maybe he was planning one thing, she another. Hell hath no fury, you know... No offence."

"None taken." Valerie sighed through clenched teeth. "But why does something stink?" She shook her head. "Something is not right about this."

"Well, there's one way to find out." Nick handed Val back her notes. "You know those fibres you found? I sent them to trace." He smiled. "Come meet Greg."

Greg had his back to the pair as they entered the lab, nodding his head to a heavy rock beat. Nick winced apologetically at Valerie, but the red-head was bobbing slightly along with the beat.

"Metallica. Nice."

Greg whirled, somehow able to hear the woman's voice over the incredibly loud music. He turned the stereo off immediately, then stood at attention.

"Hey Greg," Nick smiled, almost wearily. "Did you process those fibres yet?"

Greg smiled slightly. "Aren't you going to introduce me?" He gestured to Valerie. "I've not had the chance to meet this lovely partner of yours."

"Flatterer." Valerie smirked, and held out a hand. "Valerie Wilks, Seattle."

Greg took her hand and bowed over it. "Greg Sanders, Vegas."

"Nick Stokes, impatient." Nick stepped forward, stopping Greg before he could kiss Valerie's hand. "Answer my question, man!"

Nick stepped back, looking a little miffed. "Yes, I did process the fibres." He snagged a piece of paper off the printer. "They came back vic, vic, vic, unknown, unknown, and vic."

"Better than nothing." Valerie shrugged.

"And one fibre I couldn't process." Greg handed the paper to Valerie. "Because it's not human."

Valerie looked at the sheet, and frowned. "If it was animal, I might not be surprised."

Nick looked over Valerie's shoulder. "A non-organic fibre? So what is it?"

Greg stepped back and gestured extravagantly at the lab equipment. "Come to the scope, Stokes."

Nick came forward and looked through the microscope. Valerie looked through the other scope.

"It's not hair." Nick frowned.

"Could be a bit of shag carpet," Valerie hazarded, "I mean, I could have gotten careless."

"No, this isn't carpet," Nick squinted into the scope. "But it does look like hair..."

"Almost," Greg smirked. "I've got friends in the lab, remember? Ran some tests, ba-da-bing, ba-da-boom... wig fibre."

Valerie lifted her head. "Wig fibre?"

"So," Greg clapped his hands and looked insanely pleased with himself. "Did I solve the case?"

Nick shook his head. "No, Greg. You just made it harder."

"Anyone could have come into the apartment," Valerie frowned, her mind already working over the case. "He could have invited someone over, but someone came over dressed up like who Hunter was expecting, or maybe he invited someone over that wasn't who he wasn't expecting, or..."

"Slow down, Valerie." Nick held up his hands. "I don't know how you work in Seattle, but down here, we let the evidence tell the story."

Val pursed her lips in thought, still frowning. "Sometimes, Nick, the evidence tells a pretty fuzzy story." She flipped through her papers thoughtfully, then looked back up at Greg and Nick. "I'm going to get a few things, then head back to Mr Hunter's apartment. See what we can find."

"Yeah," Nick nodded, "I'll catch up."

Valerie nodded at Nick, then smiled at the labrat. "Bye, Greg. Thanks for your help." She left the lab and headed down the corridors.

"Y'see that, man?"

Nick raised an eyebrow and looked up at Greg. "See what?"

Greg nodded and smirked. "She was checkin' me out."

With mock seriousness, Nick nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

"No, no." Greg grinned. "I can tell. She was scoping me out." He smirked again. "It's the hair." He waved both his hands over his head, mockingly adjusting his 'do.

Nick shook his head pityingly. "You keep dreaming, player."

As Nick left the DNA lab, Greg called out, "I bet I get her number before you do!" Nick couldn't help but roll his eyes. Yah. Her number. Sure.

A/N: Greg has cool hair. Nick, when he shaved his head, did not. Nick without shaved head equals cool hair. Reviews?

i suck at disclaimers and author's notes today...