Title: A Wolf at the Door

Author: Spike Speigel

Rating: PG-13

Classification: Grissom/Sara

Disclaimer: As usual, these characters don't belong to me. Just taking them for a joyride.

Spoilers: Everything before Viva Las Vegas. Sequel to No Surprises.

Summary: The crime lab gets a wake up call when they become the focal point of a new case. Part VI.

Status: Finished


Officer Hoyt didn't want to be there. However, given the situation over at the CSI lab, coupled with the fact that a Federal Agent was now on some madman's hit list, and it was the most logical choice. Agent…what was his name? It was like that comic book writer who wrote all those messed up comics. Ennis? Not Ennis. Started with an M. Moore? Morrison? Yeah, Morrison. That sounded right. Agent Morrison had been adamant in refusing a protective detail, but since he was reluctant to bring in the FBI until more concrete evidence was brought to light, Brass had assigned Officer Johns (who was currently at Morrison's side inside the condo) and himself to act like the man's shadow. Always at his side. Hoyt and Johns had been shown the pictures of the maniac's other victims, and being bodyguards for a Fed seemed the best answer for this particular situation.

Hoyt futilely tried to stifle a yawn, but instead emitted a loud, almost baritone sigh, into the car's cabin, stretching his arms instinctively in the process. While he and Johns were no longer in rotation at the department, the new assignment proved to be every bit as challenging. You try following a Fed around for a day and see how much sleep you actually get.

Sleep. He missed sleep. Well, not so much the sleeping as the aspect of sleeping in his own bed. With his new girlfriend. It'd been a great two-month run so far, with Hoyt and his female companion spending less time in the bed sleeping than they did focusing on their physical needs. He missed his bed. Almost as much as he missed the fuzzy handcuffs Amy kept under the bed next to the silk sheets that performed as makeshift restraints. He'd never been a 'kinky' lover, but he was willing to learn if it was this much fun.

The radio squawked into Hoyt's ear, Hoyt stirring from his pleasant thoughts. He grumbled under his breath at being rudely interrupted before making out the garbled static. Apparently Morrison was on the move, Johns indicating to Hoyt to start the car. The car. That was another thing. Since he was out of rotation, he no longer drove in a squad car. Instead, he was stuck playing chauffeur to Special Agent Morrison's Daisy, while Johns and Hoyt sat up front escorting him from place to place. He wouldn't have despised the thought as much, but given the fact he was currently behind the wheel of a civilian vehicle, that meant he had to adhere to the posted speed limits. After all, it wouldn't do well for Hoyt and Johns to get pulled over by one of their own.

He could see the large metal gate to the complex swing open, Morrison and Johns walking side by side toward the vehicle. Johns pulled his parka closer to his body as the rain continued to pour. Hoyt turned on the windshield wipers to discern that Morrison was also donned in a slicker, however from a distance it looked like a common overcoat. As the two men walked into the street, Johns waved at Hoyt, Hoyt reciprocating in kind. His hand moved to the ignition where the key was already nestled inside. A quick flick of the wrist and the engine started. Well, that's what was supposed to happen at any rate. Two weeks in, and Morrison's battery had gone dead? When it rains.

Hoyt gave the ignition another try, this time holding the key at the terminus of the turn, hoping it was just the rain causing grief to the engine. Nothing. No engine groan. No sputtering. Only a click. Just like the last time. Hoyt sighed, resigned to the fact that he was going to be stuck in the rain waiting for a tow truck to get the car. He shook his head slightly at the thought. He'd be damned if he was going to sit in this car for another hour waiting for a tow. It was the rain. That's all. He gave the key another turn, holding longer than the last time.

Unfortunately for Hoyt, he didn't see Morrison running from Officer Johns' side, trying to signal to him to stop what he was doing. Apparently, the click that Hoyt had heard from the inside of the car was also audible to people on the outside as well. It was a click Agent Morrison knew all too well, given his military background. Fortunately for Officer Hoyt, the last thing he heard was the click that sounded like metal popping under stress. He never heard the explosion that ultimately engulfed the vehicle in flames.


Even though his cell phone began to chime incessantly, it didn't stir him from his slumber. That was impossible for Grissom, simply because he was still awake, never actually falling asleep in the first place. Grissom looked over to his nightstand to see the limelike light pouring from the seams of the phone. His hand moved of its own volition, flipping the phone open as his gaze moved back to its initial position of the ceiling.

"Grissom."

"Gil, it's Jim. Did I wake you?"

Grissom sat upright, his attention focused intently on the call. From the sound of Brass' voice, it sounded important. "No, I was already up. What's up?"

"Need you to get out to Agent Morrison's place as soon as you can."

"What happened?"

There was a slight pause on the other end, Grissom beginning to think that the call had been dropped. However, when he heard the voices in the background, he realized that Brass was no doubt giving orders to the other officers on the scene. After a moment, Brass spoke once more into his cell.

"Your masked man's struck again. From what we can put together, Morrison's car was carrying enough C4 to put a hole in the world. Pretty much did at that."

"Morrison okay?"

"Paramedics just took him away. Superficial cuts and a ringing in his ears that won't let up. Nothing serious. But according to one of the officers assigned to him, the other one was in the car when it went up. Morrison was trying to warn the driver when it went up."

"How did Morrison even know?"

"Dunno. Officer Johns' said from what he could see, Officer Hoyt was having trouble starting the car. Maybe Morrison saw more than just a stalled car."

Grissom was in the process of getting dressed, switching the phone to his other hand while he finished putting his shirt on. "Maybe. I'll be there in a few minutes. Call David. I'll call Sara and Nick."

"Alright. See you in a few."

Grissom didn't even wait for the line to go dead, instead flipping the phone close. He hurriedly placed the phone in his pants pocket as he walked to the bedroom door, picking up his kit in one hand, his jacket in the other. Slinging the jacket into the crook of his arm, Grissom opened the door and walked out into the living room, where he ultimately encountered two rather large men dressed rather casually, sitting in front of the television. One rose from the couch, the other simply turning his head toward Grissom. The one with manners spoke. "Something wrong, Mr. Grissom?"

Grissom's answer was short and to the point. "Unfortunately, yes. Grab your things, officers. We have a crime scene to get to."


When Catherine first stepped into the hospital room, she thought she had the wrong room number since it was considerably empty. However, since she'd been visiting this room for a little over two weeks, she highly doubted she had the wrong room. But, it was indeed empty, bringing Catherine back to her present quandary. Her eyes swept the room for any indication that Warrick had been here previously, but to no avail. To a passerby, it would just be another empty generic hospital room, complete with over starched linen. But, to her, it was a sign that something was wrong.

Catherine stepped out of the room, looking around until she caught sight of a nurse. Quickly walking up to her, Catherine spoke. "Excuse me, but do you know what happened to the patient in room 236?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Warrick Brown. He's not in his room."

The nurse looked at Catherine quizzically before looking down to her clipboard. Her finger hovered over the paper, moving downward as the nurse looked for the name Warrick or Brown. When the finger stopped, she spoke.

"Warrick Brown. He was released a little over an hour ago."

"What?" While the wound in Warrick's shoulder had pretty much healed up with the aid of extensive surgery, he was still recovering. What was he trying to pull, that idiot? "I'm sorry, but who let him check himself out? He still needs time to recuperate. He can barely move his arm, let alone without being in pain."

"I'm sorry miss. But we've done all we can for him. The rest is up to him. The pain is in his mind, I'm afraid. Physically, he's just as good as he was before he came through those doors. I'm sure Dr. Ramcharan's recommended a good psychiatrist for Mr. Brown."

Catherine nodded, knowing that the nurse was most likely speaking the truth. But, it still didn't make her feel any better that Warrick was missing. What if he'd gotten hurt again? After all, that psycho was still out there. What if Warrick… She didn't want to think about that possibility.

"Well, do you know where he is?"

"I'm afraid not. Sorry. He's most likely gone home by now. Is there anything else I can do?" Catherine shook her head slightly, the nurse nodding as she did so. "In that case, I have some patients to look in on. I'm sure he's okay."

"You're probably right. Thanks." Catherine was about to pull out her cell phone to give Warrick a call, but remembered that they weren't permitted in this wing. Sighing somewhat frustratingly, she began to walk to the nearest exit, her step hastened. However, it retarded as soon as she reached the intersection in the hallway, something catching the corner of her eye. She turned to her left to see Warrick standing all alone in front of a door, a solemn look on his face. Not wanting to make any unnecessary noise by raising her voice to call out to him, she instead walked toward her friend, stopping near his side. "Warrick?"

"This shouldn't be happening." Catherine finally realized where she was standing, feeling somewhat uneasy that the rooms were beginning to become familiar to her based on the amount of time she seemed to be spending within the confines of this particular building.

"I know, honey. None of this should be happening." She was about to touch his arm, but thought better of it once she noticed the sling. "Doctors say he isn't ready for visitors yet. Of all of us, he took the worst of it."

"So far, you mean." Warrick turned his gaze to the floor, no longer wanting to see Greg in his current state. "So, how bad is it?"

Her first instinct was to lie to him, change the subject, just get him the hell out of this place, but she knew better. Warrick was the type of person that needed the truth. So, with a deep breath, she gave it to him.

"It's pretty bad. There's swelling; his brain is pressed against his skull right now. The doctors relieved the pressure, but right now there's nothing we can do but wait. Only Greg can decide when he wants to get up."

"And Robbins?" Even though Warrick was trying to remain steady; strong, Catherine could hear his voice beginning to waver. "His room's empty."

"Yeah. Al checked out about a week ago. He's on paid leave. Took his wife and went to visit his daughter. He tried to get back to work, but he's still too close to what happened to him." Warrick nodded as Catherine hesitated, looking over Warrick to decide whether or not to broach the subject of his taking time off as well. She decided to risk it. "C'mon. The officers are outside waiting for us. We'll take you home."

Warrick raised his head once more, shaking it vehemently, a look of determination on his face. "No. I need to get back to work."

"Warrick, I understand what you're trying to do, but…"

"But what?" He turned his head, now looking directly at Catherine, his voice rising in volume. "Robbins deserves better! Greg deserves better! And I'm not gonna…I'm not…" Try as he might, he couldn't keep up the charade any longer, his emotions pouring out as well as the tears. "I can't…I can't…"

Catherine's arm gently encircled Warrick's waist, pulling him closer to her, her hand caressing his head as he found solace in the crook of her neck, the tears continuing. "It's okay. Shh." Neither noticed the onlookers in the hallway, both together yet alone all at once. Catherine was near the verge of tears herself as she placed a soft kiss against Warrick's cheek.

"It's okay. I've got you."


Sara could see Grissom talking to Nick and David once her car finally stopped outside the taped off section of the street, undoubtedly waiting for her. Sara grabbed her kit from beside her, her hand reaching for the door handle. However, before she could, the car door swung open, Officer Stevens holding it for her. Sara smiled politely, thinking that she was beginning to hate being under escort, as she got out of the vehicle. Standing next to the officer, she spoke.

"Thanks, Bill." She peered back into the vehicle, waving to Officer Rodriguez, before making her way toward Grissom and the others.

It had already been two weeks since the nightshift had been placed under lock and key per Ecklie's request. Two weeks with having strangers in her apartment. Two weeks with having two extra shadows accompanying her own God given one. Two weeks without being alone with Grissom. The only time they seemed to talk now was either at work or on the phone. But even then, their conversations weren't as intimate as they had previously grown to be, simply because even on the phone, they weren't alone, not when you're within earshot of two very physically imposing men.

Sara sighed as she finally reached Grissom, thinking to herself that the newfound distance between them was only temporary. Things would go back to normal once they got this maniac off the streets for good. At least, that's what she hoped. "Hey, sorry to keep you waiting."

She meant the comment to be directed toward Grissom, but Nick spoke, interrupting a now rare moment the two had. "Don't worry. We just got here a few minutes ago."

Sara nodded curtly at Nick before turning toward Grissom. Unfortunately for her, Grissom was now invested in the crime scene, his eyes darting about the depressed area of roadway.

"Nick, Sara, see if you can pull anything out of this crater; ignition device if you can. Also keep an eye out for an unmarked envelope. For all we know, this might not even be related to our perp. David, you're with me."

David spoke, a hint of surprise in his voice. "Me? Wh…why?"

"To aid me in deducing where our blast point originated from."

"And, how am I going to be of any help?" Grissom finally turned his attention away from the blast site, an eyebrow slightly raised as he looked at David. "I mean, I'm just a coroner."

"Because your knowledge of anatomy is substantially stronger than mine."

David nodded, finally understanding what Grissom was getting at. "Do you really think there's enough of Officer Hoyt in this rubble to effort a reconstruction?"

"I guess we're about to find out." He never looked at Nick or Sara, instead opening his kit to start processing.

Nick and Sara gave Grissom a final look before looking at each other, Nick motioning with his head. "You first."

Sara mock smiled, watching her footing as she entered the hole. "You're a true gentleman, Nick." Her reward was a small chuckle from Nick as he began to follow her into the crater. Sara quickly looked back, wondering if Grissom was looking at her as though this separation was as hard on him as it was for her. Unfortunately, all she saw was Grissom holding up what looked like a portion of clavicle bone, David nodding as he wrote feverishly into a notepad. She frowned slightly, turning back to Nick.

"Let's see if we can find what punched a hole in the world."


There was just no getting around it. Even though he was one of the more powerful individuals in Las Vegas, even the U.S. Postal Service managed to worm its way into his inner sanctum. To tell the truth, he wouldn't mind it if it wasn't for the fact that even he got junk mail. Sam Braun. Did the Postmaster General not know who he was? Braun tossed the stack of mail on his desk, thinking that even the POTUS didn't have to put up with flyers. And he made less than Braun did. What was the world coming to?

Braun sat back into his leather chair, his eyes skimming the video monitors situated on the wall adjacent to his desk. However, his eyes stopped upon reaching the monitors in the lower left, recently installed based on the haphazard wiring strewn about them. He had made a promise to his little girl, to look after Lindsey and his ex-wife, and he intended to hold true to said promise.

However, since Catherine had made it abundantly clear that she didn't want him a) upsetting his ex and b) not telling Lindsey that he was her grandfather, he decided this was the best solution. Both were guests in one of Braun's more lavish hotel rooms, with electronic eyes concealed therein. Just enough to keep an eye on them yet allow them sufficient privacy. Add to that a bodyguard stationed outside the room at all times and Braun felt that he was keeping up with his end of the bargain. Hell, his ex even managed something of a smile upon seeing the accommodations he'd laid out for herself and Lindsey. Braun grinned, remembering why he'd married her in the first place. They hadn't all been bad times, after all.

The sudden shrill tone of the phone pulled Braun from his thoughts, Braun grimacing slightly as he picked up the receiver, ceasing the incessant ringing. "Braun."

He'd expected it to be one of his pit bosses or someone along those lines; someone familiar. Unfortunately, it was a voice that was very foreign to him. His first clue was the jovial tone on the other end. Everyone that Braun knew had a hint of fear in their voices when they spoke to him. But not this guy. "Hello, Sam. How's the view from up there? Absolutely breathtaking, I'd wager."

"Who is this?"

"Nobody of consequence."

Braun's tone was beginning to border on angry, his hand clenching the receiver more tightly. "Look fella. I don't know who you are and I don't care. Unless you've got something to say to me, I'm hanging up."

"Oh, Sam. I'm deeply hurt. After all the trouble I went through to get your granddaughter closer to you."

And just like that, the voice now had Braun's complete and undivided attention. "So, you're the animal that put my girls in harm's way." A slight chuckle was Braun's answer. "Well, you may be having your way now, but this is my city fella. I'm gonna find you sooner or later. And trust me, you do not want me to find you."

There was a slight pause on the other end, Braun smiling at the thought that he had finally instilled some fear into the person on the other end of the phone. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. Far from it, based on the voice's retort.

"Yes, Sam. I know you've sent your bloodhounds to rustle me out of my cave. But, I'm afraid you're wasting your time. I won't be found unless I want to be. And, to tell the truth, I'm not ready to come out, so to speak."

"Well, that isn't your choice, boy. 'Cause the way things work around here, I want something done. It gets done. And right now, I want you. So, to tell you the truth, you have no say in the matter."

Braun's reward was another small chuckle before the voice spoke once more. "Yes! That's the Sam Braun I've read about. Take no crap from anyone and all the other witticisms fit to print. You're a remarkable man, Sam. You truly are."

A lesser individual would have accepted the compliment, but not Sam Braun. He was all business at this point, especially since said business pertained to the well-being of his little girl. "You going somewhere with this?"

"Let me ask you something, Sam. Do you think you're a powerful man?"

"What?"

"Simple question, Sam. Do you think you're a powerful man?"

Becoming weary at the direction the conversation had suddenly taken, Braun answered, quick and to the point. "Yes."

"As I thought. And after all, why shouldn't you think so? I'd bet you identify with the line, 'The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away', don't you? But, if you'll allow, just one more question, and then I'll end this conversation. Put you out of your misery, yes?"

"Your dime."

"Tell me, Sam. Are you powerful enough to stop a bullet?"

"Wha…"

Braun never heard the bullet as it shattered the windowpane behind him. He also never felt the bullet puncture the back of his skull. The last thing Sam Braun thought before his head hit the marble desk was the horrible way he'd kill the bastard that even dared to hurt his little girl.

His Catherine.


From where she was standing, she could see that Grissom was alone in his office, mulling over the data he and David collected from Morrison's car bomb. Sara gently tapped her thigh with the folder in her hand, deciding whether or not to bother him since he seemed so preoccupied. Yes, she wanted to talk to him. Yes, she missed him. And, yes, the folder in her hand pertained to the make of the bomb attached to Morrison's car. But even so, she wasn't sure if she should tell him now or not.

"What's on your mind, Sara?"

Grissom looked up from the papers on his desk, an almost haggard expression greeting Sara. Well, at least she didn't have to worry about bothering him anymore. She stepped into his office, sitting across from him as she placed the folder on a less crowded area of his desk. "Nick and I found traces of cyclotrimethylene-trinitramine all about the blast site."

"C-4?"

Sara nodded as Grissom flipped open the manila folder. "We also recovered what looks like the remains of a blasting cap. Our guess is the detonator cord was wired to the ignition. Once the car started…"

"It supplied the cap with enough energy to finish the job." Sara nodded, Grissom flipping through the report. "Anything else?"

Well, he asked, Sara thought as she answered. "I miss you."

Grissom looked up from the report, a perplexed look on his face. "What?"

"I miss you. It's been over two weeks since we've been together. I just thought you'd want to know, is all."

Grissom shook his head slightly, finally understanding what Sara was trying to say. "I'm sorry, Sara. I miss you too."

"Then let's tell everyone about us so we won't have to be apart anymore. I hate being alone in my place with strangers. I'd be happier if I were with you…with strangers. You know what I'm saying, right?"

"Trust me, I don't like this arrangement any more than you do. But now isn't the right time to focus on this. After we've closed this case, then I'll do whatever you want. But, for now…"

Sara nodded, realizing that Grissom was probably right, even though it pained her since it meant going back to her place instead of his tonight. "Yeah, you're right. But it doesn't change the fact that I miss you. I miss us."

Grissom managed a weak smile. "I…" Unfortunately for both parties, that's as far as he got, the reason for his abrupt hesitation standing in his doorway. "Conrad?"

Ecklie observed Grissom and Sara for a moment before turning his attention to Grissom. "Get your things. You've got a DB over at the Rampart."

Sara spoke, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Has the body been identified?"

Ecklie nodded, somewhat annoyed that Sara had made herself a part of the conversation. "Sam Braun."

The look of shock was evident on both Grissom's and Sara's faces, Grissom collecting himself before rising from his seat. "Sara, you're with me. Grab your kit."

"Don't bother. I need Sidle in the lab to help Stokes finish processing the Morrison evidence." Ecklie didn't have to speak, Grissom already knowing what he was going to say. "I called Catherine. She'll meet you over there."

Grissom walked past Sara, disdain in his voice as he pushed past Ecklie. "Dammit, Conrad."

Sara continued to look on, slightly perplexed to Grissom's reaction. As Grissom began to disappear in the sea of lab technicians, Ecklie spoke, a hint of confusion in his voice. "What?"

Sara seconded the sentiment.


By some miracle, Grissom had made it to the Rampart before Catherine. When the elevator door to Braun's penthouse opened fully, he stepped out, Brass waiting for him.

"Hell of a thing, huh?"

Grissom nodded, staring at Braun's lifeless body, as it remained seated behind his desk. It was almost as though he was taking a nap, but the puddle of blood belied that supposition. His gaze then moved to the windowpane behind Braun, the frayed bullet hole catching his attention.

"He was shot from distance?"

Brass nodded. "Got men in the adjacent buildings. Might be something, but the way this guy works, I'm not holding my breath." Brass paused, reaching for a plastic bag on top of Braun's desk, holding it out for Grissom. "And before you ask why I assume it's our mysterious assailant, I found this while rummaging through Braun's mail." Grissom took the bag from Brass, holding it up to the light as he read the typeface on the envelope.

GLIB SLY BOHR

See you soon, Sherlock.

"So, what do you make of it?"

Grissom shook his head, his voice pensive. "I think this envelope was meant for me." There was that word again. Sherlock. The voice had called him that during their first conversation when Robbins had been discovered in the morgue. And once more, with Braun. It couldn't be coincidence. Could it?

Brass was about to ask why Grissom meant, but never got the chance, what with the elevator doors opening once more, Catherine stepping out into the penthouse, her eyes already watering.

"Oh, God. No."

Grissom and Brass as well as the other officers on the floor turned their attention to Catherine as she began to run toward Braun's corpse. Grissom acted quickly, stepping in between Catherine and Braun.

"Catherine."

Her fists came crashing down on Grissom's chest as she lost herself, tears now streaming down her face. "No, I have to see him! Get out of my way!" Her pounding became less intense, Catherine collapsing into Grissom's arms. Brass solemnly lowered his head while Grissom pulled Catherine closer to him. "I need to see him. I need…" She continued to sob into his chest, Grissom looking over her shoulder at the envelope still in his hand, his voice filled with grief.

"It's okay, Catherine. I've got you."

To be continued