Back at the lab, Greg and Grissom were hounding the tracing team, trying to get a specific location for the vehicle which was carrying the precious cargo of their teammates. The trace line so far had brought the vehicle within a two mile radius of a transmitter just south of the I-15 and had traced the route from the place where Nick picked up his phone, thirty miles away from the current display. The red dots on the screen blinked mockingly at the team that sat anxiously in front of them, and suddenly another dot appeared a half mile north of the previous one. The vehicle was still moving. Grissom stood up from his seat in front of the monitor and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair.

"Where are you going?" asked Greg, anxious to do whatever he could to get Nick and Sara back.

"To the diner. It's dayshift's crime scene, but Sara's our team member. I'm sure Ecklie will understand," he said through gritted teeth, which gave the impression that if Ecklie didn't understand, Grissom would make him.

"I'm coming too, then," said Greg, with all the impatience of a superhero's rookie sidekick which, standing next to Grissom, was a role he easily could have played.

"Keep the trace line up," Grissom instructed the concentrating technician left at the monitor, who simply nodded tersely and continued to watch the screen intently for any sign of new movement.

"What about the Vanderton case?" asked Greg, referring to the actor who had so mysteriously been murdered in her own dressing room.

"Let's see if we can convince Ecklie to switch with us then; Vanderton's case for Sara and Nick's," Grissom muttered as he set a clipped pace down the hall to the elevators.

"And if he doesn't?" asked Greg anxiously.

"We'll give Vanderton to Catherine and put in a little overtime," said Grissom.

The two CSIs reached the department Tahoe at the same time, Grissom stalking his way to the driver's side and Greg riding shotgun. Sooner than Greg could reach around to pull his seatbelt on, the car was speeding out of the car lot and racing towards the diner, which was chillingly now a crime scene instead of an eatery. The effect of the different situations was eerie; Greg tried not to think that this place that the CSIs liked to unwind in after a case was now a major part of another case.

Grissom ducked underneath the crime scene tape, waving his badge around for anyone who cared to see it, Greg pulling his badge out as well. The two men entered the diner, kits at their sides as a sign that they would not be leaving any time soon. Ecklie looked up from a puddle of blood that Greg got the sinking feeling once belonged to Sara. He stood up as Grissom approached him, Greg holding back a bit, and pulled a bit at his gloves but didn't take them off.

"Conrad."

"Gilbert."

Both men spoke at the same time and nodded civilly, a glint in Ecklie's eyes betraying the merely cermonial gesture. He was the first to speak.

"How can I help you boys? Did you not get enough fun out of the night cases? Had to transfer to day? Well I didn't see any transfer papers, wonder if they were misplaced..." he smirked maliciously, but without humour.

"Droll. I suppose you know just who was taken, then, am I correct?"

"If that means do I know that our own were taken, then yes, and you may kindly step away from the crime scene. Surely you know this is my case?"

"What I meant was that OUR own were taken, and yes, but I'm sure you wouldn't mind us taking this case off your hands, then, would you?" countered Grissom, irked by Ecklie's mere presence in the room.

"That's where you're wrong. You work your cases, I work mine, and never the twain shall meet," snarled Conrad, his voice growing ever so slightly.

"Ah, but you see, this case involves..."

"I realize who this case involves, Grissom. I'm not that thick," he snapped, and Greg scoffed and looked away, innocently. "And what's more," Ecklie continued, "You know this case is too personal for your team to investigate. We can't have you around to bias or compromise the investigation!" Conrad was nearly yelling by now.

"We are now two hands short and can't investigate any more cases while we're still missing a member from both night shift and swing shift," explained Grissom, as calmly as possible, but in his mind he was choking Ecklie to death and kicking him repeatedly. "So we have two choices. To 'borrow' two members of your team, or offer help from two members of ours for this case solely. Otherwise, we'll never make any progress at all on any cases. So you can accept our help or keep the case to yourself with two less investigators. Your call..." Grissom trailed off.

Ecklie frowned in frustration for a moment and let out a tense sigh, then looking down and up again he held out his glove-clad hand.

"A week on our team. Any longer and you drop the case entirely. You compromise the case in any way and your ass is not only off the case but off the force as well. Deal?"

Grissom stared with hard eyes, and then reluctantly reached his hand out as well to shake Ecklie's. Suddenly, Ecklie withdrew.

"Why do you want this case so badly, Grissom? It's not exactly protocol to have two different shifts working together without an all-hands call..."

Grissom didn't know what he was getting at, but it didn't sound at all reassuring. He simply raised an eyebrow quizzically and offered his hand again. This time, Ecklie hesitantly put his hand out again, grasping Grissom's firmly and shaking it weakly. 'An odd sort of handshake,' thought Grissom to himself. Nevertheless, it sealed the deal Grissom had bargained for. He dropped Ecklie's hand like a hot coal and picked up his silver field kit while Greg picked up his, and together they squatted over the blood pool that Ecklie had been standing over. Understanding he had been replaced, Ecklie moved over to where some bewildered looking bystanders waited to be interviewed, and pulled out his notepad. "Hi ma'am, my name is Conrad Ecklie..."

Greg pulled on his gloves and took snapshots of the blood pool while Grissom, already gloved, took a swab, just to confirm that it was indeed the blood of one of their missing coworkers. There appeared to be an area that wasn't touched by the blood in a semi-circular shape; this was where Nick had held Sara so carefully in his lap. There were blood smears on the seat and back of the booth; this was where Sara had been placed while Nick stood under threat of death. Sara's purse was shoved under the booth from when Nick had so gallantly hidden it from their captors. Sara's jacket displayed a bullet hole, but no blood spatter; she hadn't been wearing it when she was shot. There were drag marks and fibers; this was where Sara and Nick had been bound and dragged out of the restaurant. Foot prints and drag prints on the back door mat showed where Nick and Sara had been so unceremoniously escorted to the vehicle in which they now lay, trapped. Greg measured and photographed several shoe prints and a smear of blood along the pavement outside. Witnesses described the getaway vehicle as a silver grey Kia Rio, and there was silver grey paint transfer on the brick wall outside, which Greg dutifully measured, photographed and swabbed. Inside, Grissom was working the booth in which Sara had lain. There was a plethora of medium length auburn hairs, without a doubt Sara's. There were several other hairs as well, but they could easily have been left by any number of the many patrons who had occupied the restaurant at any given time. Grissom painstakingly collected and labeled them anyways. He reached for his phone to call the lab and ask about the vehicle's progress when he remembered the cell was what the team was using to track them. He placed his evidence bags with hair and Sara's belongings with his tweezers in his kit and walked outside, pulling off his gloves. He approached Greg, who was taking pictures of anything and everything, still green in the field and eager to find his friends.

"Hey shutterbug," called Grissom, interrupting Greg who let the camera hang on the strap around his neck as he turned to face Grissom. "What've you got for me?"

"Some paint transfer, some tire tracks, a footprint in mud and a lot of broken beer bottles and other crap. Do these people not take care of their grounds? The place is covered in garbage!"

"It might be evidence..." Grissom sing-sang. Greg sighed and bent down to bag a sample of every piece of "other crap" that he could find.

Nick felt the car stop suddenly and heard Sara's unconscious body hit the side of the trunk with a sickening thud. He shuffled around to get to Sara as best he could in the confined area, with his arms protesting painfully to the ropes and his head protesting painfully when he hit the top against the roof of the trunk in the same spot where his kidnappers had knocked him out. The car began to move again. He had awoken half an hour ago and checked for his cell phone, immediately finding it where he had left it; apparently these people were not well versed in kidnapping, only in robbing; they hadn't thought to cut off his connection with the outside world. After he had phoned Grissom he left his phone connected so they could run a trace on his phone at HQ, and it sat in a lonely corner of the otherwise cramped trunk, shedding its backlight and displaying the still existing connection. Nick turned himself around so that he was now beside Sara and could prevent her from rolling around anymore and accumulating any more bruises. He checked her over visually and it didn't look like they had done anything to her after he was knocked out other than stuff her into the trunk. Her shoulder, he noticed, now sported his shirt tied tightly around the wound. He nudged it with the side of his face and felt it was still warm and wet; she was still bleeding. The chances of her living were dwindling, but she was still alive. He rested his head on top of the shirt to add pressure to the wound, trying futilely to staunch the blood flow. Nick fumbled with his ropes to try and remove them, but only ended up increasing his frustration and feeling of claustrophobia, so he let his arms rest where they lay. Sara's head twitched and her eyes began to flutter. Nick looked over in surprise - he hadn't expected Sara to regain consciousness at all, but then again he knew she was a tenacious fighter. He started whispering to her, to try and prevent her from panicking and hurting herself if she recovered enough to realize what was going on.

"Shh, Sara. It's okay. Stay calm, okay? Go back to sleep. Shh..."

Sara's eyes flew open and she yelped, trying to get up and feeling Nick's weight on a pain in her shoulder, trying to move Nick and finding her arms bound behind her back and trying to gather her bearings but only being able to see a small light coming from the corner. She felt the floor beneath her moving and stifled the urge to throw up from motion sickness. She tried to flail but Nick rolled himself partly on top of her to keep her from moving. Sara shivered at the proximity of her best friend, but continued to try and move.

"Take a deep breath, Sar," Nick whispered, "Just calm down. Calm down! Shh, it's okay..."

Sara's fighting subsided and she managed to slow her breathing. "Where - where are we?" she asked breathlessly.

"I don't know. Do you remember what happened at all?" Nick asked.

Sara furrowed her brow and thought about her last recollections. "We were... at the diner... then the bill came... then people came in the door with guns... and I guess I got shot cause my shoulder started hurting... then you were there... then I was back in the booth... and that's all I remember..." she looked around. "So I guess we're not at the Bellagio, huh?" she asked.

"Hardly," answered Nick. "The people who robbed the diner, they took us. They knocked me out but I woke up and phoned Grissom; they're trying to track us at HQ and I gotta leave my phone on for them to do it," said Nick, semi-gesturing to the phone in the corner, still forlornly shining its blue backlight on the pair. "Are you okay, Sar?" asked Nick, taking his head off of Sara's shoulder to look her more or less in the eye.

"As well as I can be in a trunk with a bullet in me," she answered weakly. Nick smiled ironically and laid his head back down on Sara's shoulder. "Thank you, by the way," said Sara.

"For what?" asked Nick.

"For the loan of your shirt," she answered simply, and left it at that. Nick sighed and shifted a little to allow Sara more room now that she could keep herself from rolling around. Sara leaned her head into Nick and sighed as well. The proximity of Nick's body and the scent of his shirt, though soaked with her blood, made her feel strangely at ease with the situation. She shifted into his form and felt reassured that everything would turn out alright. Nick felt her shift into him and smiled a little, leaning in as well in turn. Suddenly the car went over a sharp bump and began jolting, a movement Nick recognized as that of a car traveling over the end of pavement onto a dirt road. Nick pressed Sara carefully into the corner of the trunk where the floor met the hatch and pressed one of his legs into the opposite corner and the other over Sara's legs, so they would move as little as possible and not get nearly as bruised and broken as they would have if they were bucking around the trunk freely. Sara looked down at Nick who was straining to stay in place, when suddenly her vision began to waver and grow blurry in front of her eyes. She tried calling out but found her voice to have stopped working. She struggled a little under Nick to let him know she was losing consciousness again but he only pressed against her tighter, thinking she was moving because of the bumpy road. Her eyes began to close and she fought to keep them open, but to no avail. She craned her neck downwards and kissed Nick's forehead gently before losing her battle and falling unconscious again.

A/N: Review, S.V.P.