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Grissom pulled a list of every warehouse in the Vegas area up onto the large interactive screen behind him. Next to that he put a map of them, each one highlighted in green.

Warrick followed his train of thought. "So, we're looking for a warehouse with a concrete floor, near some source of engine noise. Doesn't narrow it down much, Gris."

"He said 'I wonder if you'll get the right person this time'. Any ideas?"

Catherine answered this one. "Someone who believes you got the wrong person."

Nick, getting it, elaborated. "That's what I thought. Relative, maybe? Significant other?"

Brass chipped in "Anyone come to mind, Gil?"

Before Grissom could answer, his cell phone rang. Pulling it out of his pocket, he eyed it warily.

Catherine's voice was a hushed whisper. "Answer it."

The caller ID was blank. He flicked it open, and held it to his ear, saying nothing.

"Suddenly quiet, Mr Grissom?" The voice was back.

Grissom hit the speakerphone button, and placed the phone on the table.

Grissom raised his voice a little, and the other CSI's picked up the strain in it.

"Is Sara Ok?"

An engine roared overhead.

"Oh yes, Mr Grissom. We've become the best of friends."

Nick stood up abruptly, and ran a hand through his dark hair. Catherine placed a calming hand on his arm. He mouthed 'If he's touched her…'

She nodded, and mouthed back 'We'll get him.'

Warrick grabbed a pen and paper and scribbled a note, and almost threw it to Grissom.

It said simply 'I hear Dogs."

Grissom listened harder, and, sure enough, there was the sound of barking.

Like a kennels, Grissom thought. It was distant, but there.

"What do you want?"

"Why don't you tell him, Sara?"

A series of muffled cries told the assembled criminalists that he had gagged her.

"Oh, I forgot. She isn't allowed to talk right now. We can't have another slip of the tongue, can we?"

Grissom's fists balled, and he repeated himself.

"What do you want?"

"Why, Mr Grissom, I want you to find me."

The phone clicked off, the loud beep of a dead line filling the briefing room.

Grissom just stared at it, upset, frustrated, scared, but above all, angry.

"Grissom…" Catherine's voice cut into his thoughts, and he spun his head in her direction, so abruptly it made her jump.

"What do you want us to do?"

He snapped into CSI mode. "Search for kennels – did anyone else hear the engine? Sounded like an airplane, maybe a jet?"

Brass nodded. "Yeah, I heard it."

Suddenly he remembered.

"Greg." Grissom raced from the room, and charged down the hall to the lab rat's cage.

Entering the lab, Grissom skidded to a halt just behind the spiky-haired, self confessed geek.

Between breaths, Grissom said "Got anything?"

"Yeah, Gris. Good news is, blood's not Sara's."

Grissom visibly relaxed. Thank Watson.

"Any matches on CODIS?"

"That's the bad news. Not a thing."

"Thanks Greg."

Grissom turned and bolted back the way he came, anxious to tell the
others the good – and bad – news.

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(A/N) If you aren't some weirdo science geek like me, Watson and Crick discovered DNA, by the way. Just one more interesting fact from my amazing collection of …3.

No, that's it. Just 3. And I appear to have forgotten the others.

Oh, wait! I have one! No, it's gone again. Never mind…

You may want to move on to the next chapter. Quickly.

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