Day One
The one with the British accent seemed to be in charge. The other two, and the driver also, hardly talked. They just obeyed, it seemed.
There wasn't a bank or anything in the building. What the thugs were after or why the police were alerted, Nick didn't know. But he did know that he'd stupidly gotten himself into this mess.
The girl seemed shocked. She didn't move, but just stared at the leader. Her brown eyes were abnormally large, wide with terror. It occurred to him he should try to comfort her, but seeing as he still had guns aimed at him, he wasn't about to move.
"You're a cop?" the leader asked, his accented voice calm but authoritative. Nick slowly nodded his head.
"I'm with the crime lab," he said as briefly as possible. The leader smirked.
"So you're not as valuable of a commodity."
Nick shook his head. "No, I still work closely with the police. I'm a crime scene investigator." He gulped as the Brit seemed unconvinced. "Look, no one seems to be following us, so I don't think you need the leverage."
That smirk reappeared. "Are you saying I should go ahead and kill you?"
The girl jerked at that, drawing a flicker of a glance from the Brit. He almost smiled at her reaction. Nick glared at the man.
Before he could think of any rebuttal, the Brit motioned to his accomplices.
"Tie them up."
Nick watched as one of them taped his wrists together. The guy was probably in his late 20s, maybe 30 even. He had dark hair, in a grown-out buzz. His eyes were dark as well, adding to the overall sinister feel the guy radiated. He didn't seem bothered by what he was doing.
The other accomplice trained a gun on Nick and the girl. He looked to be in his early 20s, and was arrogantly confidant. His light eyes blended in with his fair complexion and short blonde hair. Over all, he just seemed prematurely cold.
Nick took a deep breathe. Whoever these guys were, they meant business. Nick just had no idea what business they were in.
The sound of sirens startled everyone in the van. The driver suddenly accelerated, gunning the van ahead with gusto and expertise. The Brit jumped into the front passenger seat.
"How many?" he asked.
"Four."
The leader simply nodded and loaded a fresh clip into his gun. He lowered the window and leaned out.
Shot after shot sounded, eight or nine of them. The girl flinched at each one, and Nick joined in when he heard a loud crunch of metal behind them. The leader merely grinned and sat back in the seat.
"Get us out of here," he ordered.
Nick didn't know where they were going, but he leaned his head against the back of the van as he thought. He was going to the building to see Mr. Lloyd about a case.
It wasn't uncommon that cases were connected. But he didn't know why it would be. Mr. Lloyd might have known the victim in a homicide, but that was it.
The building was big, though. Nick closed his eyes as he thought what else was in it.
He wasn't aware of those watching him though. Particularly the leader.
"Lane," the dark haired accomplice said. The British man turned his attention from the crime scene investigator.
"What?" he said shortly. The younger man gestured to the hostages. Lane knew the question. He was trying to decide the best course of action himself. He merely nodded confidently at his men, making sure they both knew he was in control.
Lane stared at the two hostages. The girl would be easily controlled. She responded to fear, and that was simple enough. She kept staring at him, not challenging him, but no doubt wondering what her future would be. Lane offered a shark-like grin to her, and she finally shifted her stare to her boots.
The crime scene investigator, as he called himself, was a little more complicated. Just the nature of his job made him a risk. It also made him a valuable asset, if used correctly.
The assignment had gone wrong, obviously. What they sought wasn't where it was supposed to be—or rather it was but a failsafe damaged the information they needed. Before they could do anything about it, someone triggered an alarm.
Lane frowned. Both of them, the crime guy and the girl, could be used when the time came. The police would look for them. The press would report everything, and the information they needed would be harder to get because of it.
But maybe the police could do the work for them—in exchange for two live bodies. Ransom wasn't a safe card to play, but Lane knew safety was highly overrated. One didn't get into this business and not take risks.
He smiled, his rough features spiking at his hostages.
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So far, all he'd heard was two people were taken with the three intruders. But Grissom didn't often go by just what was heard.
The first thing he noticed was a bouquet of flowers on the floor. They were slightly trampled, and the petals drooped. A purse lay by the bouquet, and the ID showed it belonged to someone named Jill Parker. Other than that, the only evidence of disturbance he saw were the bullet holes in the entrance's glass doors.
But this was just part of the scene. At the back of the lobby, a double homicide awaited.
Catherine and Sara stepped carefully in the office. It was quiet, and though they knew what awaited them, nothing ever prepared someone to see a dead body.
The first victim was a woman, somewhere in her thirties, maybe early forties if she moisturized. Her arm was extended, reaching out to a fallen phone. The phone beeped repeatedly.
"Off the hook," Sara commented. She started to photograph the scene. Catherine continued on, following bits of glass and smudges of blood. It wasn't far from the first victim where the second lie.
Male, probably 40-45 years of age. He had a pool of blood around him, from the two holes in his chest.
"Shot," Catherine said, more to herself than anyone around. By the man's body was a bloody foot print. She raised her camera and snapped several shots of the body and print.
The rest of the office was in disarray. Whoever killed these people also tossed the place.
"They were looking for something," Sara said, briefly startling the more experienced CSI. Catherine tucked her bangs away from her face and nodded.
She stopped, not moving as she listened. She glanced at Sara. "Do you hear that?" Sara began to shake her head, but stopped as well.
A buzz. Or buzzing. "Where's that coming from?" Sara asked. She started to look around, and move carefully, trying to find the source.
"Back there," Catherine said, pointing to a closed door. The CSIs moved to it, and flung the door open.
In front of them was a white, sterile room. White walls. White tile floor. Cool air. And lots of black machines.
They were scattered over the floor, some crushed, and others still working. Catherine frowned at them.
"Servers," Sara filled in. "This is a server storage facility."
"So . . . they were after information? Something stored here?" Catherine said. "Then why take two hostages?"
"They felt threatened, when the patrol cars showed up." Sara shrugged. "Hostages taken like that are used very quickly. When the threats over, the hostages . . ."
"Will be killed," Catherine filled in. She sighed. "Well, let's see what we can find."
Back in the lobby, Grissom's face bleached out as he rewatched the surveillance footage. He thought maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him, that maybe it was some other man in a vest that looked like a CSI. But it was Nick.
Gil vaguely recalled Nick and Warrick's case, a homicide on the Strip. He didn't know what led Nick here, but it didn't matter.
Nick was now involved in their case, and in the worse way.
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The van veered into a garage, in a suburban area. The fading light outside dimmed further as the garage door came down, enclosing them all and the vehicle.
The driver and Lane stayed inside, but the other two jumped out. Before either of the hostages knew what was going on, the back doors swung open, and Jill almost fell out. The dark-haired criminal caught her, and roughly put her on her feet.
Nick frowned at the treatment, but he could hear Lane talking.
"Dump it and careful on your way back," he said in a low tone to the driver. He got out of the van, and the driver opened up the garage door again to leave.
It was a house, and not the newest one. It must have been ten or fifteen years old, and though it could be nice, the place was obviously unused for some time.
There was a basement, and the young blonde man shoved Nick down some stairs towards it. Jill was ahead of him, being led still by the dark haired one. The basement itself was unfinished, just bare concrete and industrial carpet scraps laid down like rugs.
Lane watched with a rugged smirk on his face as his men pushed the hostages ahead. The girl quickly turned, while the crime investigator turned slowly.
Kostya, the dark haired man, signaled to his boss. He and Lane moved to the side, out of range for the hostages to hear.
"We should get rid of them," Kostya said in his garbled Russian accent. "They'll only be trouble."
Lane smiled at the younger man. "I knew you'd say that." He glanced to the hostages. "No, they'll be useful. And we can control them."
Kostya's gaze flickered to Jill, lingering a bit. "Her, yes. But him . . ."
Lane just smiled again. "Search them, Kostya," he said a little loudly, with a pointed look at his right hand man.
Kostya nodded and flicked out a knife from seemingly nowhere. He went to Nick and cut off the shoulders of the vest. He tossed the vest to the floor and patted Nick down, tossing his wallet and keys to the floor as well. It was quick but thorough.
But for Jill, Kostya changed his tone. He made the pat-down slow, and closer than necessary. His hands roamed over her smaller frame, down the sides of her torso, and over her waist. She tried to stare down Kostya, knowing he was trying to intimidate her. Even so, she squirmed.
Nick clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth. Lane watched it with a sly grin, and shot a look to Ethan, the blonde accomplice. Ethan stepped forward, his gun raised at the hostage.
Kostya let his hands wander over Jill's legs.
"Enjoying yourself?" she said with disgust. Kostya just smirked at her, but suddenly stopped. His hand lingered over her left knee, where her gray dress pants had a styled cargo pocket. He reached in and pulled out a pocket knife.
He actually seemed pleased that she had such a weapon, even if it was trivial. He tossed it over his shoulder, and lunged at her.
"No!" Nick yelled. Ethan put the gun against Nick's chest, keeping control of him. Meanwhile, Kostya pushed Jill against the bare foundational wall, and pressed his body over hers. She was kept immobile as he kissed her, hard.
She whimpered and tried to struggle, but Kostya had a good hold over her. Lane grinned, especially as the crime lab guy yelled out.
"Back off, man!"
Kostya ignored him, but finished his kiss. He gave Jill another shove, pushing off her and turning to his boss. He and Lane shared a look.
Yes. The crime scene investigator would be easy to control, as long as they had the girl as leverage.
She seemed stunned. Her back stayed against the wall, almost more to distance herself from Kostya. It almost warmed Lane's heart.
He picked through the investigator's wallet.
"Nick Stokes," Lane said aloud, studying the ID. Beside him, Kostya went through the vest, throwing aside random items that they didn't recognize.
"And your name?" Kostya asked the girl. She shuddered.
"Jill Parker," she said quickly, looking away from the man's gaze. Kostya smiled to himself. She was pretty, and easy to scare.
"Nick," Lane called loudly. "Where do you work?"