A Trial of the Heart: Chapter eleven
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Unless you can find some sort of loyalty, you cannot find unity and peace in your active living.
-- Josiah Royce
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Sara focused on the idle patter of rain on her window as she sat on the sofa, curled securely under a blanket and with the TV on mute, its flickering images casting a bluish glow in the dim interior of her living room. Sleep, as usual, eluded her. However for the first time in weeks, it wasn't the lingering visuals of nightmares or recurrent anxiety plaguing her thoughts, but their session with Dr. Muller that afternoon.
"I love you, and that will heal us."
Grissom… had said the words. For the first time her feelings weren't questionable, or unreturned. Their experience hadn't changed them for her, and somehow, they had managed to strengthen them in him.
She sighed, burying her face against the softness of her pillow and closing her eyes.
It wasn't long before she drifted into a state of blissful unconsciousness, the sound of Grissom's loving words lulling her into a comforting sleep.
"JIM!"
Brass's head snapped up as Catherine skidded to an unceremonious stop beside his Denali, steadying herself on his passenger door. Brass frowned, leaning over and rolling down the side window.
"Cath, I'm on my way down to question a few leads now. I'm doing the best I can".
"No, you don't understand", she gasped, uncharacteristically flushed with panic.
Brass frowned. "What's going on?"
"It's Gil!" she hissed, bracing one hand on the door to catch her breath. "I tried his cell phone. He hasn't come back".
Brass stared at her. "What do you mean, he hasn't come back? He left three hours ago! I thought he was at the lab".
"Well, so did I", she snapped impatiently. "But apparently he never arrived for the results. He never went back to the lab, Jim".
His brow furrowed, and felt his palms going clammy with sweat. He swiped them on his trousers, unease welling deep in his gut. "This isn't good, Catherine".
"You don't need to tell me", she muttered softly, and he could see frustrated tears welling behind her eyes.
Unprepared to deal with her sudden irrepressible emotions, he leant over and unlocked the door. "Come on. Get in. We'll check his place on the way. Maybe he went home for a breather".
She stared at him like he had lost his mind, and he grimly admitted it was a long shot. The likelihood of Grissom going home when Sara was missing and in danger was about as likely as the two of them actually admitting they had to sort out their relationship.
"Right", he muttered, as she climbed in and buckled up her seatbelt. "You're gonna have to help me out here because I'm drawing a blank. Presuming whatever nut got Sara hasn't got Grissom… where the hell would he go?"
Sara snapped awake when a steady, rhythmic knock sounded at her door.
She swallowed, feeling an irrational surge of anxiety as she gazed at it uneasily. Slowly, she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, crossing the carpet. She peered through the peephole, fingering the chain lock reassuringly.
She felt a small, uncertain smile tug at her lips at the face that met her on the other side, and unlocked the door.
"Hi", she said softly.
Grissom offered a tentative smile in return, and she wondered when they had turned into awkward teenagers. His thoughts must have run on a similar tangent to her own, and he snapped out of his awkward pose, jerking abruptly forward into the room.
"How do you feel about road trips?"
She blinked, stepping back to close the door behind him as she took in this unprecedented question. "Um… good road trip songs?"
He shot her a brief scowl, and she felt a smile tug at her lips when she realised how the ease had returned between them. His gaze scanned her living room, and she stepped closer to him, tilting a tentative eyebrow. "What's going on, Grissom?"
"We're getting out of Vegas", he announced unequivocally. "Unless you have any objections, right now".
Sara stared at him, and he heaved a deep sigh. "Really. I already cleared it with Ecklie. In fact, he practically pushed me to the door."
"This was your idea?" she asked slowly, doubtfully.
Grissom shrugged, an uncharacteristic gesture for him. "Well, no. I must admit Dr. Muller had a hand in that. She thinks the space might help a little".
Sara frowned. "How is the lab going to manage without half of the nightshift?"
Grissom's eyes were narrowed and strangely determined. "You know, I really don't care. I'm sure they'll work it out". She continued to stare at him, mouth slightly ajar, utterly in awe of the abrupt shift in his priorities.
"So", he said, oblivious to her astonishment clasping his hands together. "Where do you keep your suitcase?"
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"David Trenton", Nick announced, staring down at the crumpled deliveryman in deep thought. "Delivery guy for Xing Zu's Chinese Take-Out. Who wants to bet this is the guy who let Sara's attacker into her apartment?" They had slowly pieced together Sara's last moments before she was taken, and verified she had ordered take-out from her cell, and confirmed that it arrived by the remnants of the order on the wall just outside her door.
Beside him, Greg shifted uneasily, fingering his forceps in one hand. He realised his hands were shaking slightly, out of his reluctant to collect any evidence. He felt suddenly utterly unexperienced. Any simple, minor mistake and the identity of Sara's attacker was lost. Sara was lost. Sara and Grissom were both lost.
Nick paused in his examination, eyeing his friend with growing commiseration. "Hey, you okay, man?"
Greg swallowed, stepping away slowly. The body had been dumped in the alley behind Sara's apartment complex, propped in an unnatural position against a hefty dumpster, concealed by several mounds of hastily strewn garbage. Whoever had dumped him had not gone to much effort to ensure he remained hidden.
'Probably because they had a hostage with them', Greg thought, stomach rolling. 'Because they had Sara with them.'
"I can't, um… I think I'm going to go back to the lab and help Mia… with those samples", he announced unsteadily. "I think I might be um, needed there more."
Nick nodded slowly, an unusual amount of understanding filtering behind his brown eyes.
"Sure, Greggo. I get it, man. Go do what you can, okay?"
Greg nodded, lowering the forceps to his kit and closing it with a snap. He started to retreat, but paused when Nick's voice carried over to him.
"Hey, Greg", he called seriously. "We're going to find them. Both of them".
Greg nodded, managing a weak smile. He had to make himself believe Nick's words. The alterative was just too horrible to consider.
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Catherine strode into the PD lobby, unconsciously wringing her hands together in front of her. Black rings circled her eyes as she gazed into the glass walls on her way to the interrogation rooms, and her normally bouncy blonde hair hung slack and limp around her wan features.She drew in a shuddering breath spotting a grim Jim Brass waiting for her at the end of the corridor. Dealing with the loss of Sara had been a shock enough for the now disjointed graveyard shift.
Her feelings towards the younger brunette were conflicted. She had never liked another experienced, capable female CSI coming into her team, and she had certainly never approved of the hold she seemed to have over Grissom, or the unnamed history they shared. On the other hand, she knew how much her friend cared for her, even if he would never admit it, and God knew he needed a steady woman in his life. Sara had proven she was a professional and she had a strong moral backbone that Catherine had to admire, if not envy a little. Yet the thought that Grissom had gone out on some misplaced kamikaze rescue mission and wound up abducted himself, or worse… was just too much for her to deal with.
He was her best friend, the one person who managed to stand by her all her life and help her become the person she was today, instead of shedding her clothes for a few bucks, and losing her self-respect in the prospect. She owed Gil a lot. She had never really told him that. It was nearly unbearable when she realised she might never be able to.
"Who's in there?" she asked Brass, not bothering with pleasantries. They had seen each other all too much in the last twenty-four hours.
"Melissa Gordon", he said evenly.
Catherine glared at him impatiently.
"David Trenton's fiancé", he added.
She scowled with immense irritation. "You're still not dazzling me, Jim".
Brass sighed deeply. "Okay. How about this, then? She's Dr. Lee Wilson's ex wife".
Catherine's mouth fell open. "Lee Wilson? From Sara's high profile?"
Brass tapped his nose grimly. "One and the same".
"There is… no way this is a coincidence."
"Just what I was thinking. Care to join me?"
Sara shifted, squinting as her eyes flickered open, and she realised she had dozed against the passenger door.
The steady hum of the engine was the only other sound, and she straightened her head, realising the bright, mingled hue of sunset had begun to haze over the distant horizon.
She glanced down, fingering the soft fabric of Grissom's jacket, which she had somehow begun using as a pillow. She cleared her throat, straightening in her seat, glancing at Grissom thoughtfully.
"Sorry I fell asleep. I guess I must be catching up on all the hours I missed".
Grissom glanced at her, tapping his fingers lightly against the steering wheel. "You haven't been having nightmares?"
She shrugged, stretching slightly. "No. They… um, stopped."
He didn't need to ask when that had happened, and she was glad she didn't have to tell him. The sense of comfort in the vehicle was enough for her. She wasn't up for analysing it at that moment. They knew they loved each other, and right now, that was all they needed.
She gazed out at the looming highway, stretching on into oblivion. "Hey, Grissom", she asked, folding the creases out of his jacket. "Where are we going, exactly?"
Grissom shrugged, looking completely unconcerned. "I don't know. I thought we'd just find out when we get there".
She titled an eyebrow, still taken aback by his apparent carelessness. "This spontaneity is refreshing, Griss", she teased, feeling an unintentional smile tug at her lips. "Where did my boss go?"
Grissom glanced at her, smiling. It really did take several years off his face. She basked in the unfamiliar gesture, realising it had been several hours since she had even thought of Lee Wilson.
"He's on vacation with a very beautiful woman", he replied naturally. "And at least for the moment, he isn't her boss".
"Greg called", Warrick said, clasping his cell phone closed and turning to Nick's expectant face. "The blood is a match to Lee Wilson."
Nick felt a small, weak smile pull at his lips. "She fought back", he murmured proudly. "Good girl".
Warrick nodded in silent agreement, and they both unconsciously scanned Sara's living room. "Should be enough for a warrant", he said seriously.
Nick followed him into the hall, moving with deliberate quickness towards the elevator.
"Have Catherine and Brass finished questioning the ex yet?"
Warrick nodded. "Yeah. Apparently Wilson didn't take the break-up too well. I'm guessing Trenton's death was a convenient way to kill two birds with one stone. Get Sara to open the door, and get rid of the competition".
"The competition was over", Nick grunted, pressing the down button on the wall.
Warrick shrugged. "You wanna analyse what goes on in this guy's head? Anyway, apparently just before their divorce, he was counselling a particularly badass kinda patient. Charlie Heathrow. A serial murderer out on parole. He was serving time in the mental ward and Wilson was the one assigned to him. Brass verified all this with Wilson's secretary and got access to his patient files through some gift of god. Here's where it gets interesting. Guess what this guy's M.O. used to be?"
Nick's mouth opened in growing comprehension. "Electrocution and torture".
Warrick nodded grimly. "Yeah. Either Wilson figured he'd fob the whole thing on Heathrow if it went bad… or he was just getting pointers".
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Despite his earlier reservations, Greg found himself feeling ironically useless in the lab once the DNA results came in. He met Warrick, Nick and the rest of the team at Wilson's apartment complex.
Police scattered the area, but Catherine had deemed the apartment strictly off-limits for everyone but CSI and Brass. The homicide detective stood just inside the door, quietly watching the guys and Catherine as they meticulously processed every inch of space.
Nick came back from Wilson's bedroom, shaking his head in grim hopelessness. "I've got nothing".
"Me either", Warrick agreed unhappily, rising from his crouch in the living room.
Catherine glanced at them from behind the kitchen counter, closing a drawer with one hand. "Guys… we're not looking for anything hugely incriminating here. Just something, anything, that would tell us where he's taken them".
Warrick shot her a slightly impatient look, snapping his gloves off with a pointed SNAP. "We'll I'm telling you, Catherine, there is nothing here. How are we supposed to find Sara and Griss without any breadcrumbs? This guy is meticulous. He doesn't even keep patient files anywhere except his office. Nothing that would cast doubt on his credibility".
Nick sighed. "He's right, Cath. We've got nothing. They could be anywhere by now. They could be out of Vegas. Out of Nevada. They could be—"
"DON'T you DARE say it!" Catherine screeched, voice frantically shrill.
"Cath—" Warrick tried, unable to meet her piercing gaze.
"WHAT!" she snapped, slapping her hands down on the Formica counter. "I'm supposed to stand here and listen to you tell me they're DEAD? Is that it? We don't give up! That's not our job, not when its one of our own. We will find them; I don't care if we have to search this whole Goddamned city!"
"Guys", Greg interrupted quietly, standing in the doorway between the living area and hallway.
They all stared at him, and he met their glares calmly. "What about the warehouse? That's where he took them the first time".
"Why would he go back to the same crime scene, Greg?" Catherine said, tiredly, lowering her head.
Nick eyed Greg pityingly. "He wouldn't be that stupid, man".
"Do you have a better idea!" Greg snapped, his own emotions coming to the fore. His features were drawn and pale and he looked even more sleep-deprived and affected than any of them. "You're brushing it off now. Maybe he thinks we'd never suspect it. What do you have to loose?"
"Besides valuable search time?" Brass spoke up from the door.
Greg glared at him. "Come on. What the hell else do we have to go on?"
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It took ten minutes, but the crime unit assembled with several officers and headed for the inactive crime scene. None of them actually expected Greg's suggestion to have any substance. But they were operating on pure adrenaline by this point.
Brass pulled his Denali to a halt outside the imposing structure, and beside him, Warrick, Nick and Greg pulled up in their Tahoe. Unconsciously, the detective checked the folds of his jacket to ensure his firearm was suitably fitted.
Then he opened his door, giving the signal to the others to wait behind.
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