Hello readers! Here's a short chapter to whet your appetites! This will be my only note as I want this story to read through without any interruptions from me! Few things I want you to remember about this "story universe": 1) Established GSR: team knows about them, Ecklie does not. They also will become parents before story is over! 2) Grissom doesn't take a sabbatical and 3) Warrick is not married and doesn't die ;). As always, I own nothing! And please, please, drop me a line - Reviews are LOVE!

Sara rolled over in bed and winced as a strong shaft of sunlight hit her full in the face. "Gil," she moaned. "Did you open the curtains? I'm trying to sleep-" she opened her eyes and peered around the room, trying to locate her lover, but the room was empty. "Gil?" she called again, louder as she sat up, her feet hitting the floorboards with a thud.

Where has that man snuck off to?

She yawned and stretched lazily, noting that it was just after 10am. Nine times out of ten, Sara was the early riser, having to peel Gil's arms off her body to answer nature's call or when she felt the urge to move around their condo while he continued to sleep for another few hours. But on the rare occasions she woke up alone, those were the times she worried. She knew that something was eating away at him – that he hadn't been able to sleep because of a migraine, or the latest case was still replaying itself over and over in his mind.

Sara shrugged her silk robe on and tied it shut as she padded out of the bedroom to find her missing bedmate. She didn't have far to look for he hadn't left the condo. As Sara came down the short flight of stairs that led into the open floor plan of the living area and the kitchen beyond, she saw Gil sitting on the sofa, staring into space, his shoulders slumped, one hand wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. A pained expression crossed her face as she saw him sitting there alone in the semi-darkness, obviously hurting, and wrestling with something. She'd lost track of the number of nights over the past three months that she had found him just like this. All because of some psycho killer that built miniature crime scenes. It had taken the team awhile – and three people had died – but they had caught him. Well, sort of – Ernest Dell had taken his own life rather than be arrested and tried for his crimes.

And Gilbert Grissom had watched the whole thing on a live feed from Dell's basement.

"Gil," Sara said softly as she dropped her hands onto his shoulders.

Gil jumped at the contact and then relaxed under her touch. "Sara – I didn't wake you, did I?"

Sara began to knead his shoulders. "No, the sun did that."

"The sun? Oh, I left the curtains open again, didn't I? I'm sorry-"

"Shh, Gil, it's fine. I would have woken up when I rolled over and found that you weren't next to me-"

He chuckled. "After so many years of sleeping alone – it's kind of funny how fast we've become used to sleeping together, isn't it?"

"I don't know if 'funny' is the right word-"

He turned and met her gaze over his right shoulder. "You know what I mean – I don't think I can go back to sleeping alone – not now that I know what it's like-"

She pursed her lips. "Are you trying to distract me?"

"From what?"

"The reason you're sitting out here – alone – in what qualifies as the middle of the night for us. Talk to me, Gilbert. Tell me what's eating away at you-"

"Sara-"

She lifted her hands from his shoulders and came around the sofa to perch next to him, her body tense. "No, I want you to talk to me. I thought things would be better now that we've caught the miniature killer – but you still seem troubled – why?"

He sighed and set his mug down on the coffee table. "I don't think Ernie killed anyone."

Sara felt her stomach drop to her toes. "But – we have proof that he built the miniatures – and he confessed to you – on camera – just before he –"

"I know, Sara." Gil ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends in frustration. "I – I don't know if I can explain my thinking – my doubts – to you. I don't have any proof – all I have to go on is my years of profiling serials."

Sara let his words hang in the air for a few moments before she drew her legs up onto the sofa, wrapping her hands around her knees. "I'm listening."

He blew out a deep breath and began to count on his fingers. "One, we do have some proof that Ernie loved to build miniature scenes and therefore it is possible for him to be the builder. Question: does it necessarily follow that he is also the killer?"

Sara blinked. "I guess I never thought otherwise. I mean, why would someone go to all that trouble to build something so detailed if they weren't intimately involved – if they weren't the killer?"

He nodded. "That had always been my line of thinking as well – but just for a moment, let's play devil's advocate. If Ernie wasn't the killer-"

She interrupted him. "Then he was still closely involved – perhaps even an accomplice to the crimes."

Gil held up another finger. "Two, who would Ernie assist in building the miniatures – and go to such great lengths to protect by confessing to the murders?"

"Well, I'm only speaking for myself here, but if it was me, the list of people I would do something like that for would be very short."

Gil's eyebrow rose in surprise. "You'd aid and abet to murder?"

She smirked. "For you? Yes. For someone on our team? Probably."

"You're scaring me right now."

"Hey – I didn't say I'd murder someone!"

"No, you're saying you'd help me cover it up-"

"Only because I know you wouldn't kill anyone, Gilbert."

He shook his head. "Don't be so sure, Sara. Anyone, when pushed far enough and think there's no other way out, is capable of murder."

"Then how can you be so sure that Ernie Dell isn't the miniature killer?"

Gil held up three fingers. "Number three, the lack of details. All serials, in my experience, once they know their back is against the wall and they are going to jail, love to talk about their victims and their kills in explicit detail – if for nothing else than to see the horror on your face. Ernie gave no details in his video confession – in fact, he didn't talk about his victims at all. He talked in generalizations about the evil in the world. The most specific he ever got was just before he shot himself, he said: 'A man could kill from sunup to sun down and never be done'."

"But Brass and the LVPD were storming the house – he was running out of time – perhaps you're just grasping at straws-"

"He never said the words, Sara. He sent me an email confession, but that's not the same thing. How many crime scenes have we been to over the years where we've found a typewritten note from the victim saying, 'I did it. I'm sorry.'? Do we take the note at face value, or do we keep digging?"

Sara shivered and tightened her arms around her knees. "You really think this isn't over? That there's someone else out there – like an ex-wife or a grown child of Ernie's?"

"I don't know who it is – but yes, I do think that there is someone else out there. And no, I don't think we've seen the last of the miniature killer."

72 hours earlier

Natalie watched with the aid of binoculars from the safety of the shadows as LVPD stormed her dad's house, breaking down the door and shouting their presence loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear. A few minutes later, she heard the report of a gunshot and the shaking started as she waited to see what had happened.

Natalie watched as more cop cars arrived on the scene, and soon after an ambulance followed and the EMTS rushed inside. Natalie waited, hoping that her dad was OK, that the gunshot she heard hadn't injured him. She had made him a promise, as his special girl, that she wouldn't kill any more people.

But if he was dead – if the police had killed him – Natalie lifted her hands to her mouth to stifle the sob that threatened to escape.

The EMTS were coming out now – and they were carrying someone on a stretcher between them. Natalie watched as a van pulled up, the letters on the side read CORONER. She lifted the binoculars and focused on the stretcher, catching a glimpse of the man's face just before the body bag was zipped shut.

NO!

Natalie's knees buckled and she sank to the damp pavement, her sobs breaking through. Fortunately, she was far enough away that the cops didn't notice or hear her.

But one day they would. She was going to learn each of their names. Learn who was responsible and make them pay. Make them hurt like she was hurting.

Natalie dried her eyes and stood back up.

I'm sorry, Dad. I know I made you a promise, but that was before they took you away from me. I'm going to find the one responsible and make them hurt.

Natalie knew that CSIs would be coming to go over the crime scene – to look over everything with their powders and special kits. She didn't think she had left anything behind that could lead back to her, but Dad wasn't as careful about disposing of things as she was. She would need to stay and keep an eye on things, until they had come and gone, and she could sneak in to get a look for herself.

Natalie watched as two Tahoes pulled up and two teams of two got out of each vehicle. The older man seemed to be in charge as he talked to the other three, directing two men inside the house, but a dark-haired woman kept close to his side. Together, they walked over to one of the cop cars where a man in a suit was talking into a radio. He hailed them both and the three of them talked for a bit and then left in his car, leaving the older man and woman alone. She placed her hand on his arm and he gave it a squeeze before they turned and walked up the sidewalk into the house together.

Natalie's blood boiled. Her dad told her that he had been questioned by a CSI – an older man – was this the same man? She needed to find out his name, so that she could make him hurt. But how could she ever get close enough to find out the specific details necessary to build-

Her lips curved in a slow smile. Of course, she would visit the temp agency in the morning. Every office building in Vegas was hiring part-time janitorial services, and her special skills would come in handy once again.

Until then, Natalie would continue to watch and wait for the perfect moment to act.