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Grissom parked his car just within sight of the warehouse, but not so close that his arrival could have been heralded by his car engine.

He scoped out the area. In the distance he could see planes taking off and lading at what he presumed was macarren airport. Across the street from the warehouse was 'doggie day-care', which Grissom presumed was the source of the barking.

He pulled his pistol from the holster at his hip and checked it over, before replacing it. He threw his jacket on, but did not button it, for ease of access to his weapon. He didn't want to go in there barrel first, as he was trained to. He wanted to keep the situation under control, and guns always seemed to make things worse.

He opened the door and slid out.

Skirting round the perimeter of the warehouse he checked the place out. There was a large metal screen door, and next to it a small wooden door. There were a couple of windows, but they were high up, way out of Grissom's reach.

The wooden door looked like his means of entry, and he stepped up to it. Adrenaline was bubbling in his veins, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He'd been in this situation before, clearing a crime scene, but it had never, ever made him feel this nervous.

Swallowing hard, he burst through the door, hand hovering above holstered pistol.

At first, his eyes made out little in the pitch blackness. The sun had disappeared from the Vegas sky, and the neon night lights did not reach into here.

As his eyes adjusted, he made out a figure, obviously Sara, sat slumped in a wooden chair. The gag was back on, but Sara's eyes did all the screaming for her. A figure, clothed in black, stood behind her, facing Grissom.

"Sara!" Grissom started at a run towards her, but froze, as something caught his eye. Brooks had a knife at Sara's throat.

"Not another step, Mr Grissom."

Grissom nodded quickly.

"Your pistol…" Brooks hissed. "Slowly."

Grissom reached inside his jacket, and pulled it out. Holding it slack in his wrist, he placed it on the ground, and slid it over to Brooks. It slid underneath Sara's chair, and she wondered if he'd done that deliberately.

"Well, it took you longer than expected, but at least you got here in time to start the party."

"Mr Brooks, please. Just put the knife down." Grissom's tone was as soothing as he could manage. "It's me you want, right? You let Sara go, I'll do whatever-"

Brooks cut him off. Sara made a sharp noise through her gag as he pushed the knife in harder on her throat.

 "You know how he killed my wife? He used a knife, just like this one. He took it and he cut her throat. I could do that right now. You know I could."

"Mr Brooks-"

"She's what, Mr Grissom, Thirty two? My wife was Thirty. She'll always be Thirty."

In the silence they could hear each other breathe.

"Sara hasn't done anything wrong. I was the one who… It was my fault. You and I both know it's me you want in that chair. Let her go."

Brooks slowly looked from Sara to Grissom. Then, in a twitch, he pulled back the knife. Grissom held his breath as he saw it glisten in the night.

Brooks grinned at Grissom, and his eyes flashed green.

"Come to me. Slowly. Walk it."

He wasn't sure if it was a trap, but Grissom did as he was ordered. He had no choice, realising that one of them was probably going to be dead by the end of this, and he knew he couldn't let that be Sara.

He stopped when he got within a few feet of Sara and Brooks. From here he could see her eyes, staring up at him, questioning him.

"It's Ok, Sara." He whispered.

"Shut up." Brooks snapped, turning the knife on Grissom now, pointing it at his Adam's apple. "And don't move."

Grissom now got a closer look at the knife, a lot closer than he'd wanted. Brooks was eyeing him suspiciously, expecting an attack at any moment. Grissom stood stock still, not showing any of the alarm that he felt.

Sara sat stunned for a moment, the immediate danger over. Then, as her head started to kick back in, she realised something. Brooks had his back to her. This was her chance. She started to work once more at her bonds, silently.

She pulled, and twisted, and wriggled, but nothing. She tried again. After a moment she felt the left rope give, a little.

Or did she? It could have been her imagination. The adrenaline could be playing with her mind.

She pulled again, and it gave a tiny bit more. Soon it was large enough for her to slide her arm out of.

Quickly she decided what to do.

Grissom caught Sara in the corner of his eye, but was careful to not give her away by looking straight at her. What was she doing? He saw her free hand dart under the chair and grab the gun.

She tried to aim it at Brooks, but she couldn't fire it with her left hand. She mouthed a curse, and tried to think through something to do.

She slid it up the outside of her shorts, hiding it was all she could think of to do. Grissom saw her do this, and it gave him an idea.

This must have shown on his face somehow, because Brooks whirled around on Sara. "What are you doing?" The harshness of his gravely voice almost made Grissom jump.

Sara, now with both hands reattached to the chair, shook her head erratically.

"You're up to something."

He pulled his penknife from his pocket, and palmed it. Taking a deep breath, he stepped between Sara and Brooks.

As soon as he had moved, the knife was back at his throat.

"What the hell is going on?"

Brooks was agitated, and to Grissom, that wasn't a good state for a man wielding a knife.

"Why don't you just kill me right here, right now?" Grissom questioned, not giving him a second to answer.

"I'll tell you why. Because you want to make me suffer. And I don't blame you."

He held his hands behind his back, and showed Sara the penknife.

Her eyes widened.

"But why make Sara suffer? Why not let her go? She didn't even work that case."

He flicked it and it landed softly in her lap. She swiftly let it fall between her thighs, and hid it from sight.

He started to circle round, keeping Brooks' eyes on him.

"My wife is dead because of you!"

Soon he had Brooks exactly where he wanted him, and he didn't even know it. His back was once again to Sara, and she began to cut the rope on her right hand. Soon both her hands were free, then her feet.

Now, she pulled out the gun once more, and pointed it at Brooks' head, holding it with both hands. She stood, and slowly she pulled off the safety. It clicked.

The click resonated throughout the warehouse, so loud because of the silence.

Brooks was fast for his size. He rounded on her, using the back of his hand to knock the gun from her grip. It skidded to a halt, and Grissom soon had it in his own hand.

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