a/n: here's the next chapter! I hope you like it! The next one is pretty exciting as well, so I'll post that relatively soon (probably Wednesday). Enjoy!

Tracking without a Tracker

"Tell us what you can, Nick," Catherine prodded gently. Nick nodded and clasped his hands in front of him at the table.

"Three men. The leader's name is Lane. British, in his 40s. Long blonde hair, hazel eyes. There's another English guy, Ethan. He's maybe in his early or mid 20s. Short blonde hair and blue eyes," Nick said. He took a deep breath. "The other guy is Russian. His name is Konstantin, but goes by Kostya. Dark hair, shaved short. Dark eyes."

"That's good, Nick," Catherine said. "It's enough to narrow our search. We haven't found anything on them, but Brass has a contact who can search Interpol's database, now that we have more info."

"We should get their photos to the press," Gil said, suddenly adding his voice to the conversation.

"You haven't done that already?" Nick asked. Gil shook his head.

"Surveillance footage was too grainy to get a hit. Work with one of the artists and we'll get any drawings to the press from there."

Nick nodded, but inside he knew it would take too much time. He wanted to be out there, banging down doors and tracking them. Follow the evidence. Wasn't that always the rule? But there wasn't evidence to follow. There hadn't been enough to track them down when Nick was still held. And there wasn't much more now.

He found himself sitting at another table, describing the kidnappers in detail. Nick went through the motions, but felt empty. His conscience plagued him. He should have pushed harder to have him stay behind, to have Jill go free.

"Is this Ethan?" the artist asked, holding out a finished drawing. Nick glanced at it and nodded. "Okay. The last guy was Russian?"

Nick felt his pulse pick up. "Yes." He drew another deep breath. "Short, dark hair. Kind of a buzz-style . . ."

What if Jill started to like Kostya? Where that thought came from when he was supposed to be concentrating, Nick didn't know, but it stayed with him. To be honest, she had gotten to know him. Kostya knew her better than Nick did. What if she wanted to be kept hostage?

"What else?'

Nick glanced back to the progressive drawing. "Thin, kind of gaunt face. Scruffy—he had stubble, kind of the slow-growth type."

Did he push her into liking Kostya? He knew the answer to that, and it made him frown.

"Not quite right?" the artist asked, seeing his expression. Nick put an instant grin on his face.

"No, no. That's close. Um . . . his mouth was small, but not thin or like a line," Nick added. He returned to his thoughts as the artist worked. It was useless to keep doubting and questioning how Jill felt. He promised her he would find her.

He turned his gaze to the drawing, feeling more focused and determined than before. He had work to do—and Jill to find.

The motel was anything but quiet. Now was its peak time, with shady individuals coming and going, paying for a room by the hour. It was the perfect place to stop, so long as the police didn't stop by. Even if they did, no one knew the car the foreign men drove.

Ethan paid cash for the room and checked it out before signaling for Lane and Kostya to come with their things. Jill watched the motions with groggy fascination until Kostya grabbed her arm and led her to the room.

She thought she might be seen, that maybe someone would help her, but the people at the motel weren't interested in anything but themselves and whoever they were with. Drunk laughter and drug-induced rambling created a dull roar that covered any rational talk.

The room smelled. It was mold or dust or both, and then that old vacuum smell. Jill crinkled her nose, but the men didn't seem to mind. There were two beds, one that looked like it'd hardly been made since the last occupant. Jill shut her eyes for a moment.

"Sit down," Lane ordered behind her. She sat stiffly on the bed. The men looked tense as well. She could sense the mood, like something unexpected had happened. Jill frowned in the silence.

They started to speak in Russian, quiet mumbles as if she might understand the language if they spoke louder. Jill rolled her eyes.

"Excuse me," she said, a little haughtily. Lane glared at her. "Can I take a shower?"

She could hear the voices escalating through the paper-thin walls as she showered. Whatever had happened, it was stressing them. Was the hard drive corrupted? Probably not, or Lane would kill her. Was it because of the tracker? Jill doubted that one—she'd gotten rid of it for them, though not willingly, again thanks to Lane.

She shuddered under the lukewarm spray of the shower. Suddenly someone pounded on the door.

"Enough, Jill!" she heard a British voice say. She rolled her eyes.

"Just a minute!" she shouted over the water. Suddenly she heard a loud thump and felt a draft of air as the door was kicked it. She shrieked and backed against the wall of the shower.

"What are you doing!" she shouted. A towel was tossed over the top of the shower, and she caught it and quickly draped it around her just as someone pulled the curtain back.

She was shocked to see it was Ethan.

"Lane wants you out, now," he said. His eyes were cool, and his voice wasn't loud anymore. He was completely calm, and that made Jill even more nervous. His eyes flickered to the towel, which Jill fiddled with to pull tighter around her body. "Get dressed." With that, Ethan turned his back to her, but stayed firmly in place within the bathroom.

Jill gulped. She could hear Kostya and Lane, arguing about something from the other room.

"Um," she started, glancing at the floor, "could you pass me the bag?" It still held a new change of clothes, thanks to Kostya. Ethan kicked the bag towards her without even turning around. She was grateful for that, because her towel slipped at that exact moment.

She dressed with lightening speed, and Ethan led her out to the room. Kostya and Lane weren't talking at that point, but the air in the room was heavier, with more than just dust and mold. Ethan didn't seem to notice or care, and he tied her hands together in the silence.

"Get some sleep," he told her. She nodded, and laid down where he left her.

"You too, Ethan," Lane said suddenly. "I'll stay up tonight." Though it might have seemed a kind gesture, Lane's tone wasn't nice. It was forced, threatening even. Maybe he didn't trust either of his men to stay up.

Despite her nap in the car, Jill fell asleep quickly. But sometime later, she felt something being placed over her. She stirred, and cracked her eyes open. Kostya was going back to his bed, sitting on its edge and facing Lane.

He'd placed a blanket over her. Jill almost smiled at that but quickly pretended to be asleep again as she heard Lane speak.

"She found the tracker," he said. "Computer Science?"

"That's what the cop said," Kostya said. "Why?"

"What else can she do?"

Silence followed that, and Jill froze.

"No," Kostya said, though to what, Jill wasn't sure.

"Why not? She found the tracker, so she's obviously able to do a lot more," Lane said.

Kostya suddenly switched to Russian and said something lengthy.

"Would you pick a language and stick with it?!" Lane hissed. "If she can't hack into the servers, she knows someone who can. We're sitting on millions in information, and we can't access it!"

"You want her to be an accomplice, not a hostage," Kostya said, growling a bit. "Why would she agree?"

"She's hardly a hostage with you seducing her," the Brit shot back. "Look, it's either this, or our whole plan has been wasted, and we get nothing."

Kostya didn't say a word, though Jill could feel his gaze on her. Her body was tense as her mind tried to process everything they were saying.

They wanted her to get into the information? Not that she couldn't, but she still didn't know what it was for, and what it was tied to. Even if she could or couldn't do it, she didn't want to. Kostya had been right. This would make her an accomplice.

How would Nick see this? After everything with Kostya, would he see it as her willingly helping? Would he think she really liked Kostya?

Did she really like Kostya? That was an issue in itself. Sure, if he was normal, involved in non-criminal things, she'd like him. He was nice—when he wasn't angry—and he was mysterious and gorgeous. Did I really just think that? Jill shut her eyes tighter. What about Nick? Nick was gorgeous and kind, funny, smart—that whole scientist/criminalist thing—and he wasn't wanted for kidnapping. Automatically that gave him a one-up on Kostya.

But there was something about Kostya that made Jill feel for him. What Lane had said about his past, not being able to be with his family . . . somehow she identified with that. With his pain. His regret. Lane had said Kostya wanted to "retire." He wanted out of this—and that gave Jill hope.

"She'll do it, Kostya," Lane said, breaking her thoughts and the silence. "Tomorrow, we'll find out what she needs, get it and have her start."

The Russian mumbled something in his language and then Jill heard him move. Quiet followed, and for several minutes, Jill only heard the sounds of light breathing. She kept her eyes shut and just listened.

There was no way she would help them. She knew that, and maybe Kostya did too. But Kostya was under Lane's thumb, and Jill questioned if he'd ever stand up to the British man. She replayed in her mind what she'd heard the men say. If she was to be forced to do something, even by Kostya, she wasn't safe anymore. And Kostya could only protect her so much when he followed Lane.

Courage and adrenaline surged through her with inspiration.

She had to escape.

The breathing was heavier now, all around the room. Jill opened her eyes. Ethan lay not far from her, dead to the world and amazingly innocent-looking as he slept. She could hear Kostya as well, but her real worry was Lane. Jill ventured a glance at the Brit. He was sitting up on the other bed, leaning against the headboard. His eyes were shut, and Jill could see his chest expand and contract slowly.

She gulped and glanced at the clock. It was 4 a.m. Amazingly, it was quiet outside, and in some ways, that frightened Jill. But all she needed was just one moment. . .

She carefully rolled on her stomach and pushed herself up with her bound hands. She froze when she was six inches off the ground, and listened. No movement. As she got to her feet, her eyes stayed on Lane.

He was asleep, and hadn't stirred yet. Jill moved for the door. It was locked, and as she turned the deadbolt, she winced with every metallic whisper.

Kostya shifted in his sleep and Jill's heart rate soared. She hurried with the bolt, trying to be quiet, but too scared to be silent.

She was out the door and running to the parking lot when she realized she didn't even shut the door behind her. Jill told herself that didn't matter. She was free, but not safe, and that was a priority now.

The desert air was way too cold. Jill shuddered, but kept moving. The light for the motel's front desk was out, and Jill knew better than to knock on doors of who knows who might be in this questionable establishment.

She looked to the road, and started for it. A gas station lay down the street, and Jill hoped she could find someone to help her. She didn't realize it but she was whimpering. Her body was still so cold and tense, not just from the night air, but the fear that coursed through her. Had Kostya woken up? Or Lane?! That made her pick up her pace.

Lights shone behind her, and Jill panicked. She didn't dare turn around, but the lights got closer, and she could hear the vehicle approaching. It slowed next to her.

"You all right, miss?"

Jill glanced at the driver and let out a sob. It was none other than a cop driving his police car.

"Help me, please," she whimpered. The officer stopped the car and got out, circling around the front. He looked over her. The bindings on her hands obviously stood out.

"What happened?" he asked, pulling out a Leatherman to cut away the ropes. Jill flickered a glance to the motel, where it seemed quiet still.

"Please, they could be coming," she said, still glancing back and forth between the officer and the motel. "My name is Jill Parker. They kidnapped me in Vegas."

The officer looked a bit alarmed at that, and he backed away from Jill.

"Just hang on," he said. He pulled at a hand radio clipped to his shirt. "Dispatch, we have a situation out on . . ." He kept talking, but Jill wasn't listening. She rubbed at her sore wrists, savoring the near feeling of safety. Relief started to comfort her. She'd been found.

Suddenly the police officer sank to his knees as the sound of a bullet echoed off the sandy plains. Jill screamed as blood splattered and split freely over the ground. She looked around in the darkness, but the police car's headlights blinded her from everything else.

And then she knew they were there. They were on foot, shrouded by the night's blackness. Jill backed away from them, but it was useless. It was Lane that stepped forward first, his gun raised at her.

"That was a stupid thing, Jill," he said, moving closer and closer to her and the front of the police car. Jill just stepped back, her eyes not daring to look away from Lane.

Someone grabbed her from behind. She didn't know how he could have gotten behind her, but he did. Ethan encircled her with his arms, holding her firmly and preventing her from struggling.

"Please let me go," Jill said as the tears started to fall. It came out as a hoarse plea, sounding even more pathetic than ever. Lane came within inches of her, his face harsh and livid.

"No, Jill," he said, roughly grabbing her chin. He held the gun by her head, and she could feel the cold steel. New headlights shown on them as their car approached. Lane whispered harshly in her ear. "You still have a part to play in this."

Jill shook her head.

"No, please, Lane—"

He brought his hand back quickly and backhanded her across the face. Jill yelped and would have staggered if it weren't for Ethan holding her up.

"No-pycckn," she heard from the car's direction. It was Kostya's voice. He'd left the car idling and joined the group in the headlights. He looked mad as he shoved Ethan back. The younger Brit released Jill and was about to shout off a string of words when Kostya said a string of his own in Russian.

Whatever it was, nothing escalated from it. Lane and Ethan got in the car, leaving Kostya to bring Jill. But Lane kept his eye on her, and she shuddered from the combined cold and fear he triggered.

She shot a mournful look to the police officer's body. He'd only tried to help, to do his job . . .

Kostya pushed her in the SUV and climbed in after her. She shrank from him and as far from the Brits, compacting her body in what corner she could. Her face stung from Lane's hit. She put a cold hand to it, trying to soothe the pain. Her hand shook, and wouldn't still.

It wasn't long before she realized her entire body was shaking.

It was 8 a.m. when they got the call. Technically, the shift was over, but Nick didn't dare leave. He was glad he hadn't.

Arizona's police had called, saying they had a sighting of Jill Parker and three men. The kidnappers' dossiers hadn't come back yet from Brass's contact, but Jill's picture circulated in the media and various PDs surrounding Vegas.

But it wasn't her photo that caught attention. It was a police cruiser video, usually used in episodes of "COPS" and to back up alibis. The camera in the hood of the car acted as the only available witness in this case.

Arizona's Highway Patrol uploaded the footage. Nick, Grissom, Catherine and Warrick sat around to watch it. Sara was still coming in, and Greg was actually asleep at home.

Nick couldn't wait for them.

The footage began, starting with just a road. Suddenly it picked up someone running on the side of the road.

Nick's heart skipped a beat. It was Jill.

He watched, silent and unmoving as the police officer tried to help. All four CSIs jumped when the man was shot in the head. The shooter was off-camera, but judging from Jill's reaction, he was close. Nick could see Ethan behind her as she backed into him, but he still jerked when Ethan grabbed her. He clenched his fist tightly when Lane hit Jill.

Kostya showed up, and said something or other before the group left. Jill cried, her body shaking from the terror. Nick felt a lump in his throat. She had no one to help her.

He wasn't there for her. And she was still out there, alone.

"Back it up to just after the officer is shot," Grissom said. Behind Nick, Catherine placed a hand on his shoulder, patting it once or twice. The tape replayed as Lane came into view. His face was stern and he seemed angry, but the words were lost as he leaned towards Jill.

"What's he saying?" Warrick asked.

"Replay that part again," Grissom said, squinting at the screen. "'You . . .still have . . part'—back it up again." The footage replayed yet again, and Nick watched in hopeful awe as Grissom studied Lane's mouth. "He said she still has a part to play in this."

Nick felt a thud of dread go through him.

"What about the Russian?" They could all hear him speak, but that wasn't the problem.

Again, Grissom leaned forward towards the screen. "Replay it again."

Catherine and Warrick glanced at each other and then to Gil. "Don't tell me you can lip-read Russian," Catherine said. Grissom shot her a look.

"I wanted to see his body language," he clarified. "Call in a translator. Whatever he said, it stopped the other two from doing anything more."

"We have to find her," Nick said, more to himself than anyone in the room. Catherine patted him again on the shoulder.

"We will, Nicky," she said. "We will."

Someone knocked at the lab's door. It was Brass, and judging by his face, his news wasn't the best.

"I just got off the phone with Arizona Highway Patrol," he started. "There's a state-wide hunt for the kidnappers. Highway Patrol's ticked."

Warrick nodded. "You kill a cop, you have every one of them after you."

"And they're authorized to shoot on site," Brass said. Silence followed as the CSIs digested the consequences. Brass cleared his throat and continued. "The drawings of them are all over the news. CNN is outside right now, requesting an interview. And Jill Parker's dad just showed up."

Nick tensed quite visibly.

"What is it, Nick?" Grissom asked, instantly observing the Texan's mood. Nick took a deep breath before answering.

"There's something you should know about Jill's dad," he said. "They aren't close, with good reason."

"What?" Catherine pressed.

Brass spoke up. "He was suspected but never proven to be involved in the disappearance of Jill's mother." The detective sighed and turned to leave as the other CSIs took in the new info. "I'm sure CNN will bring that up, so be careful what you say."

He left, and Nick found himself staring after him. His eyes glazed a bit as thoughts flooded his mind.

"With the shoot-on-site order, Jill's in more danger now, isn't she?" Nick said hollowly. No one answered vocally. Nick bowed his head, shutting his eyes. "When is the translator coming?"

To him, it might be the only lead they had.