Day Two
Grissom didn't like how quiet it'd been. By now he expected to hear something, and either it'd be good news or bad—with finding live bodies or corpses.
But still nothing. Brass had the entire PD on alert for Nick.
Gil sighed as his phone's intercom beeped at him.
"Mr. Grissom," the receptionist said. "There's a package at the front desk for you."
"Okay," Gil said. He groaned as he got to his feet and stalked through the halls.
Something about the package made him frown. It was a large padded envelope, with no evidence of postage. There was no return address, but just his name and the address of the crime lab in large, block letters.
Gil took it to the breakroom and started opening it. He ignored Catherine and Warrick as they sat discussing life and tragedy over coffee.
Gil slit the envelope and poured the contents on the table. His throat tightened as a vest and various items like swabs and powder and tape lifts came out. Behind him, Catherine gasped.
On the front of the vest was the name 'Nick Stokes.' And next to it was a folded note.
"Gloves!" Gil ordered. Warrick dropped a pair on the table. Grissom quickly put them on and unfolded the note.
We have your investigator.
We won't kill him or the girl if you do what we ask.
If you don't, we'll kill them both slowly.
You'll get instructions tomorrow.
It was unsigned.
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Nick watched the blonde and dark haired men as they spoke lowly in some language he didn't understand. It was the first time he'd heard the blonde man speak.
Lane, the leader, was English. These guys were . . . Russian, or Polish, or something. At least that's how they spoke.
Suddenly the blonde one switched to English, and Nick stared as the accent seemed to be naturally British as well.
Who are these guys? The dark haired guy—Kostya??—was definitely not British, and that made this all seem more dangerous. What would bring two British guys and maybe a Russian together, in Las Vegas
Nick doubted it was the gambling. Or the lights.
His wrists itched beneath the rope. Their captors had switched from the tape and tied him and the girl to thick metal support poles in the basement. He was secured to one pole, while in the middle of the room, the girl, Jill, was tied to another one. She was staring at her own bindings.
He worried about her, though he knew he shouldn't show it. Kostya obviously targeted her already, and Nick didn't trust Lane or the other guy. He figured mistreating her was a way to keep him in line, and though Nick despised it, he knew he couldn't look the other way. His own conscience demanded that he not let her get hurt. And his position as a criminalist for Las Vegas PD dictated the same.
"Ethan! Kostya!" came a call from upstairs. The two men glanced towards where their leader was. "Take shifts. I need one of you now."
Ethan, which must have been the blonde, nodded to Kostya, and he left the dark haired man to watch over the hostages.
Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw Jill shudder. She tried to bring her arms closer to her torso, as if she were cold. It was a tad chilly down here, but this was still Vegas.
Maybe her reaction was more to Kostya. Not that Nick blamed her. He glared at Kostya, hoping the look might convince him not to harass Jill. Since the pat-down last night, Kostya hadn't done anything, but still. . . .
Across the room, and tied to the pole, Jill sat on the ground. She kept her eyes away from anything but the floor.
If she looked ahead, she saw Kostya. If she glanced to the side, she saw the cop, Nick.
Both of them gave her chills.
She was grateful to the cop. He tried to step in, get their kidnappers to let her go. And he had tried to help when Kostya . . . kissed her. Not that it made any difference, but she was glad she wasn't alone in this.
Too bad he was too attractive to look at, while Kostya was just too dangerous. All she wanted was to go back in time, and hide out in that flower shop just a few moments longer. Then maybe she wouldn't have bumped into the blonde guy, Lane. Or been kidnapped. Or tied up with some shady guy staring at her. Or . . . a million things.
Jill shivered again, and this time it persisted. She suddenly stopped herself, tensing up to freeze her movement. Slowly she relaxed her muscles, and for a few moments the shivering was gone.
But then it started up again.
"You're cold," Kostya said. His voice was very rocky, definitely Russian, Jill decided. Jill didn't look up at him, but just nodded.
The Russian grabbed his jacket that hung from a chair in the otherwise empty basement. He knelt down by Jill, and she immediately froze again. She felt the jacket being placed over her shoulders, and then Kostya's hands lingering. Her breathing stopped until he seemed to sense it, and moved away.
She hated to admit, especially given the circumstances. But the whole jacket thing . . . was nice of him. She wasn't sure if that was good or not.
Very slowly, she looked up at him.
"Thank you," Jill said in the quietest voice possible. He merely nodded back but kept his eyes on her.
Jill cleared her throat, trying to assuage the awkwardness he elicited from her.
"You're name is Kostya?" she asked. Why, she wasn't sure. It probably didn't hurt to get the kidnappers to be somewhat friendly to her. Either way, Kostya raised an eyebrow at her question.
"Yes," he said. He proceeded to stare at her, and Jill found herself unable to bare it. She looked down, studying her boots.
"Is that Russian?"
It was Nick who piped up. Jill swiveled her head towards him, grateful for the distraction. Kostya, on the other hand, didn't seem as pleased.
"Yes," was the dark-haired man's short reply.
Nick nodded. "What does it mean? 'Kostya,' I mean."
Kostya flickered an annoyed glance to Nick, then settled on Jill. He spoke more to her, as if she'd asked the question. "It's short for Konstantin."
"Constantine," Jill found herself whispering. Kostya nodded, a faint but pleased smile on his lips.
"So what brought you to Vegas?" Nick piped up again. Kostya's smile was short-lived.
"I know what you're trying to do, crime scene investigator," Kostya said. His voice was low and deliberate. "You think you can find information about me, and outthink me."
Jill glanced at Nick. He didn't reply, but it was answer enough.
"What have you learned so far?" Kostya asked, pacing evenly towards Nick. The tension washed over Jill, even as she was no longer Kostya's focus.
Nick's eyes narrowed as the kidnapper advanced. "You've kept us as a bargaining chip," he said, his drawl coming out more. "My vest. Lane, or whatever his name is, wanted the address where I work. You sent the vest there as proof."
"Proof of what?" Kostya asked, his head tilting to the side.
"Proof that you have me. For a ransom," Nick added. Kostya smiled.
"Very good, Nick Stokes." Kostya turned away, and approached Jill. She found herself leaning away from him, but Kostya didn't seem to care. He reached a hand towards her, slipped it in the jacket with his hand brushing her torso. Just as quickly, he withdrew his hand clutching a long strip of cloth.
"I had hoped you were intelligent," Kostya said, turning back to Nick. "You proved me correct. But you talk too much."
He quickly wrapped the cloth over Nick's mouth, tying the cloth in a knot behind his head. Nick grunted into the cloth, but Kostya didn't seem to care.
He turned back to face Jill.
She gulped. Kostya walked towards her, and each step seemed to vibrate through her. But he didn't stop as he reached her. He walked by, and up the stairs, leaving Jill and Nick alone.
Jill couldn't help but breathe out loudly in relief.
She ventured a glance at Nick. He didn't seem comfortable, but neither of them were. She watched him as he leaned towards the pole, using his bound hands to tug at the gag. It took a few moments, but he got it off.
"Much better," he mumbled. He looked her way, and suddenly seemed at a loss for words.
"Thank you," she said quickly to cover the moment. "For standing up for me. And for trying to get them to let me go."
He didn't answer, maybe a bit unsure of what she was saying.
"You didn't have to do that. It was . . . brave of you," she continued. "Thanks."
She started to study her boots again when Nick spoke.
"I'm sorry it didn't work," he said. That Southern drawl caused a shiver to go through her. She shrugged politely, brushing it off. "Are you okay?"
She nodded. "To be honest," she started, "I'm glad I'm not alone." Nick smiled.
"Well for your sake, I wish I were alone," he said. "But it is nice to have company."
Another silence settled between them, during which Jill studied the man. There was no contest to how attractive he was—face it, Nick was just fine. He had that firm jawline that seemed so fitting for someone in law enforcement. Yet his eyes were intense and soft at the same time. Jill was impressed—if nothing else, he was kind, and he'd proven that time and again since she met him.
"So where are you from?" Nick asked. Jill shrugged.
"All over. My dad's in California now," she said.
Nick sensed a lot was left out of that answer, and decided to move on. "What brought you to Vegas?"
"School," she said shortly. "I'm getting my masters at UNLV." Her brown eyes flickered to him. "Computer Science."
Nick nodded. "Difficult field," he commented. Jill merely shrugged again.
"Everyone has their strengths," she said. "So how long has it been since you moved from Texas?"
Nick looked surprised. "The accent," he said finally, realizing how she knew. "It's been a few years."
"Why'd you leave?"
It was Nick's turn to shrug. "I wanted to get out on my own. I love my family and all, but it was time to try something new."
"Crime scene investigator?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. Nick gave a short laugh and nodded.
"Yeah."
"Sounds . . . difficult."
Nick flashed her a winning grin. "Everyone has their strengths."