A/N: Sorry about the lack of dividers. System was having difficulties when I uploaded and wouldn't let me fix it. Hopefully it's fixed now. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

"Shasta!" Mrs. Hawthorne's eyes popped open at the loud, almost hysterical sounding voice. Not so much from the noise itself, but from the word being screamed, echoing off the pavement of the asphalt driveways between houses, directing the sound into her cracked window. Even at night, Vegas stayed hot in the middle of August. Her air conditioner had broken down yesterday, a Sunday of all days, and tomorrow – today, she realized, blinking several times to clear the blur from her sleepy eyes to squint at the clock – was the day before the workmen were to come fix it. "SHASTA?" The voice quivered a bit, cracking at the end into a rattling cough. Mrs. Hawthorne bolted upright the moment she realized the owner of the voice, and she slapped the bedside table, fingers searching in the dark for her glasses. Seconds later, she was standing at the front door, glancing around nervously, modesty forgotten for the moment as she ventured toward the steps of her porch in only a white cotton night gown, printed with little bunnies and trimmed with lace around the sleeves.

"Nika?" she asked quietly, almost whispering as her bare feet took her to the bottom of the steps. Her eyes turned to the left, her mouth falling open and feet carrying her quickly to the girl's side just as she collapsed to the pavement, scraping her knees. "Good god, child, what happened to you?"

"I can't find Shasta, Betty," the girl, Nika, whimpered, shaking her head as tears flowed down her cheeks.

"Let's worry about Shasta later," Betty said, pulling Nika back to her feet. She wrapped a wrinkled age-spotted arm around the girl's waist and led her into the house, setting her on the couch. "What happened?" she repeated?

"She got out. He left the back door open, I think" Nika said slowly, obviously still in shock, but from what, Betty Hawthorne didn't know.

"Who left the back door open?" she pressed.

"I don't know," Nika said. "I didn't recognize him." Betty's brows furled, and she took the girl's hands into her own. Betty Hawthorne was a widow, and had taken in every neighbor that was young enough to be a grandchild or child – nearly everyone on the street, actually – but this girl was special to her. "I have to find Shasta."

"What did he do to you?" Betty asked gently, brushing the hair out of Nika's eyes, her eyes narrowing at the bruise turning the pale skin around her eyes an angry purplish color.

"I have to find Shasta," Nika repeated, whispering this time, shaking her head and rocking slightly.

"We have to get you to the hospital," Betty said firmly, moving both of Nika's hands into her right as she reached for the phone on the end table with her left, dialing 911 without glancing at it.

"I was going to go after I found Shasta," Nika said, turning her head toward the older woman. "I promise."

"I believe you," Betty said with a gentle smile, "but I'm sure Shasta's fine, and I'm more worried about you at the moment." Nika nodded, her head lowering as she fidgeted with her fingers. As Betty explained the situation to the dispatcher, she watched Nika's hands shake, teardrops falling onto her bare, bruised knees. It was at that moment Betty realized they were both in pajamas, though Nika's white wifebeater and orange and white striped boxies were a far cry from her own cotton bunny nightie. She cradled the phone between her ear and her shoulder, rubbing Nika's arm soothingly. "They'll be here in a few minutes," she said to Nika, watching the girl's eyes and head shoot up toward her.

"What?"

"The police and EMS," Betty said. "We're taking you to the hospital to check you out."

"I'm fine," she said blankly. "But Shasta's missing. She got out the back door." Betty nodded, though she wasn't sure why, and dropped the phone onto the couch next to Nika.

"I'll look for her when we get you to the hospital." Nika nodded absently. "Are you thirsty?"

"No, I'm fine," she said. "I can't have anything. They might need it." Betty's eyes narrowed, brows furrowing in confusion.

"Who might need what?" Betty asked, settling a motherly hand onto Nika's cheek. The girl jumped a little, but didn't pull away.

"I bit him," she said quietly. "Hard." Then Betty understood, and she sighed, clicked her tongue, and pulled Nika into a tight embrace, holding her there even as blue and red lights flashed, casting an eerie, pulsating glow through the window.

xxx

Warrick groaned, seriously considering throwing his cell phone out the window and barely thinking better of it before he opened his eyes and reached for it. With just a glance at the numbers blinking on the tiny, glowing screen, he scrunched his eyes shut and threw the covers back, silently cursing last night's double shift. After one of the world's quickest showers and a set of fresh clothes, he was out the door in fifteen minutes and in the Tahoe, lights flashing as he scuttled through traffic, he and Nick arriving at the scene at the same time. They shared one of those nods only men seem to pull off well, and headed toward Captain Brass, who was speaking with an older – make that downright elderly – woman in a white cotton nightgown with little pink rabbits dodging carrots. Brass' eyes flicked toward the pair of CSIs, and he nodded at the woman, gesturing to the two approaching 'copologists,' as Nick had once said.

"Mrs. Hawthorne, this is CSI Brown," Warrick nodded, "and CSI Stokes," Nick flashed her a bright, toothy, Texas smile, and she mirrored it.

"I was telling Captain Brass here," she continued, glancing at the man with large, grey, rapidly blinking eyes from behind thin glasses in delicate wire frames. "I couldn't get her to tell me what the hell happened to her." Both Warrick and Nick blinked in surprise at Mrs. Hawthorne's chosen words. "She just kept saying over and over Shasta's missing, Shasta's missing, and I was more worried about her than that damn dog." She tsked, shaking her head, eyes squeezed shut. "I didn't mean that. That dog is more important to her than anything else in this world. Sweet thing, too," she insisted, nodding vigorously at Nick as she gripped his forearm with a strength that surprised him. "She needs Shasta more than I need my damn coffee first thing in the morning."

"Whoa, whoa," Nick said, shaking his head a little. "Who's 'she'?"

"Nika," Mrs. Hawthorne said, her voice taking on a 'duh' tone. She blinked spastically again, shaking her head. "Right, right, I told Captain Brass before you two youngin's got here." Nick and Warrick shared a bemused glance. "Nika's my neighbor. Sweet young thing, she is." They followed her gaze to a young woman clutching a blanket around her shoulders, her face hidden behind long, straight black hair as her head tipped forward, watching one of the EMTs clean the scrapes on her legs and shins. "Whole neighborhood's fulla kids," she continued, her eyes lingering sadly on the girl as she spoke. "I take 'em in as my own, you know, children and grandchildren. With mine married and relocated, you know…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "I bake for them, check in on them," she said, turning back to the CSIs and officer. "Empty nest, I guess," she said with a quiet chuckle and a shrug of one misleadingly frail-looking shoulder, judging by the grip she'd had on Nick's arm. "Anyway, she wouldn't stop talking about Shasta until I'd promised her I'd look for her once I got her off to the hospital."

"What made you think she needed to go to the hospital?" Warrick asked after a beat, his eyebrow rising slowly as Brass glanced at him.

"She's beat all to hell," Mrs. Hawthorne sighed. Nick nearly snickered. "But I was just getting ready to tell Captain Brass," she said, turning toward him, "that I'd asked her if she wanted some water or something, you know, calm her down while the police were on their way and all." Brass nodded, trying not to enjoy the woman's rambling. "She said no, and said she couldn't."

"She couldn't," Nick repeated.

"Right. She said she couldn't have anything, and then she said the damnedest thing, and, Lord knows I had to have her explain."

"What'd she say?" Brass pressed.

"She said 'they might need it'," she said slowly, scrunching her eyes tight to remember the girl's exact phrasing, the expression drawing a grin from all three men. "And, shit, well I just didn't know what to make of that," she concluded, crossing her arms over her chest and thrusting her chin forward as though the statement was still attached. Brass' eyebrows rose. Mrs. Hawthorne's stance relaxed as she drew another breath to continue. "And so I asked her what the hell she was hangin' onto in there, and she said she bit him."

"Bit who?" Nick asked.

"Well, the man who came in through the back door, she said," Mrs. Hawthorne said, motioning once again toward Nika. "That's how Shasta got out, you know." Nick blinked a few times. Evidently Mrs. Hawthorne had gotten through most of the story before they'd arrived.

"That's a good piece of information, Mrs. Hawthorne," Brass said, flipping his notepad shut.

"Betty," she said shaking her head and waving her hands around. "Call me Betty. Mrs. Hawthorne makes me feel old." Her hands stopped suddenly, eyes popping open. "Well, hell, I am old, but I sure as hell don't feel like it, so don't call me that. Call me Betty," she finished with a stern nod.

"Thank you… Betty," Brass said, bowing slightly. "You have my card?" Her hands searched around her body, flattening where any pocket would be, but coming up empty.

"Oh… the coffee table," she said, rolling her eyes. "I put it on the coffee table while I was getting you some coffee a while ago. But yes, I have your card, and I expect to hear from you if you need anything as well, you hear me?"

"Yes ma'am," Brass said, shaking the woman's hand. She shuffled off, dodging the crime scene tape blocking off a good half of her front yard. They watched with smiles as she plopped on the porch swing and watched the goings on, rocking slowly as she twiddled her thumbs in her lap, evidently having forgotten to care about being seen in her pajamas. Brass turned back to Warrick and Nick. "So we've got a home invasion and assault."

"Sexual?" Nick asked.

"Not sure yet," Brass sighed, turning back toward the ambulance. "Haven't gotten the chance to talk to her yet, with Mrs. Hawthorne – Betty­ – bending my ear for the past half hour."

"So what do we know?" Warrick asked, shifting his grip on his crime scene kit.

"Well, according to… Betty…," Brass started, nodding toward the woman, still swinging on her porch, "Someone broke into Annika Shaughnessy's house – that would be Nika – assaulted her, left the back door open for her dog to escape. Vic bit the assailant, hard enough to save some evidence in there, assailant left, and the vic went looking for her dog. Betty found her calling the dog's name in the street and took her inside to call us." Warrick nodded. "And we have a wrinkle." Nick and Warrick both looked at Brass expentantly. "Nika Shaughnessy is blind." Realization seeped into Warrick's features as he tilted his head to the side, and Nick heaved a sigh, shaking his head.

"Didn't see anything because she can't," Nick said, closing his eyes as though they'd just lost the case.

"Well, she's got evidence, her house might have some, and Grissom's always saying that evidence gives more up than even the most reliable witness," Brass said.

"Yeah, but without a suspect description…" Nick trailed off, and Brass shrugged.

"I'm gonna go talk to her," Brass said. "See if there's anything else."

"Find out what the dog looks like," Warrick suggested. "If the dog's as attached to the girl as Mrs. Hawthorne –" he glanced over his shoulder at the woman quickly, turning back to Brass, "Um, Betty seems to think, the dog may have fought back too." Brass nodded, turning toward the ambulance. The sun was starting to peek over the mountains as Warrick and Nick headed into the house cordoned off with crime scene tape, flashing their IDs at the uniform standing next to the door.

xxx

"Find anything?" Warrick asked, returning to the dining area at the back of the small house, after searching the bedroom and collecting a small box filled with sealed evidence bags. He dropped the box on the floor next to a couch and glanced around.

"Got quite a bit actually," Nick said, nodding his head toward the evidence bags he'd collected so far. Warrick let out a low whistle, rewarded with a satisfied grin from his partner. "I already checked the back porch. Got some prints."

"Nice." Nick nodded, bagging a piece of fabric that had snagged on a rough spot on the frame of the sliding glass door. "You about done?"

"Yeah, almost," Nick said, going over the doorframe one more time with his flashlight. He paused, glancing up at Warrick. "You know, even with all this evidence, it would definitely be helpful to have a victim who could have seen something."

"Well," Warrick drew out, rubbing his eyes. "She could have heard something or smelled something – heard the guy's voice." Nick shrugged, bobbling his head side to side as he considered it.

"Yeah, maybe," he said after a beat. "But sketches are nice."

"True," Warrick granted. "But from what… Betty… said, the vic was a bit shaken. Might not be reliable anyway." Nick shrugged.

"Well, let's just hope all this evidence gets us somewhere."

"I hear that," Warrick said, picking up his box again as Nick loaded his, both nodding at the uniform to close up for now as they headed out to the Tahoe, both noting that the ambulance – and the ever entertaining Mrs. Hawthorne – had disappeared. Brass appeared as Nick and Warrick were both shutting the back doors to their trucks, smacking his notepad against his palm. "What's up?"

"Vic's on the way to the hospital now," Brass said. "I just spoke with her friend Casey Barnes – caretaker of sorts. She checks in on the vic every day, stops in, and calls several times to make sure all is well." Nick nodded. "Miss Barnes said she'd call once Miss Shaughnessy is up for having guests. In the mean time, we got a workplace for the vic, and her usual routes. Got a schedule to the minute, pretty much." Warrick couldn't help but smile. Something told him this Nika girl could help their case somehow. "And we gotta find that dog."

"When you talked to the vic, did she tell you if she'd saved anything from biting the guy?" Warrick asked.

"Yeah, I had the EMT swab for any blood," Brass said. "She said she tried to get a chunk for us, but didn't get a good enough grip on him except to draw blood." Nick and Warrick shared impressed smiles. Brass produced a capped cotton swab from his pocket, in a plastic bag, and held it out. Nick snatched it up and nodded toward Warrick's Tahoe.

"I'll get the evidence back to the lab," Nick offered. "Dig in." Warrick took a breath to protest, but Nick leveled a stare at him to remind him he owed Nick a not-so-fun duty, and he closed his mouth, rolling his eyes as he nodded.

"I'm gonna go talk to the boss," Brass said, flipping through his notepad. "Lawson's Books," he read, looking back to the men with a small shrug.

"Do we know what kind of dog I'm looking for?"

"German shepherd," Brass said. Warrick nodded, flipping through his keys to unlock the Tahoe so Nick could move the box of evidence to his vehicle and head back to the lab. "I'll call you when I hear from the friend."

They split up, Nick going back to HQ, Brass heading off to the bookstore, and Warrick cruising the neighborhood in the Tahoe, windows rolled down. He'd shed the button-down shirt, opting to let the air tickle his skin in his undershirt as he drove around, intermittently yelling out the dog's name. He rounded a corner and rolled to a stop, glancing around before pulling into the parking lot of what appeared to be a tiny park. After making sure his phone was clipped to his belt, he hopped out of the truck and started down the circular path, alternating whistles and the dog's name, just hoping he'd get lucky. As he started around the curve to head back to the parking lot, a large dog hopped out of the bushes, barking ferociously. He took a step back, holding his hands out, as the dog continued its frenzy. Slowly, he dropped to a knee.

"It's okay," he whispered, trying to keep his voice soothing. "Good dog. Good Shasta." At the mention of the name, the dog stopped barking for a moment, then lowered its front half, its ass-end in the air, tail thrashing wildly as it started barking again. "Good girl," Warrick continued, reaching out slowly for the dog's collar. As soon as his fingers closed around it, the dog leapt forward, knocking Warrick onto his back and pinning him, licking his face mercilessly. While sputtering, laughing, and trying to avoid the attacking tongue, he managed to find the tags on the collar, the names Shasta and Nika Shaughnessy, along with an address, phone number, and veterinarian information imprinted on a pair of circular metal plates. "Alright, enough," he said, wriggling out from under Shasta, who let out a low whine as though he'd insulted her by escaping. He sighed, wondering how he'd get her back to the truck to get her back to the lab, and finally decided to just carry her, meeting little resistance as he scooped her into his arms and staggered back to the Tahoe, loading her in the back and keeping the windows down on the way to the lab.

xxx

Nick looked up, brow raised, as Warrick waltzed in, rope in hand. As Nick's eyes moved along the rope, a smile broke out on his face, shaking his head as Warrick hoisted the panting German shepherd onto a table.

"What?" Warrick asked, noting Nick's grin. "I don't usually keep a spare leash in the truck," he said. "I did what I could."

"Nice improvisation," Nick said with a nod, turning back to the computer.

"You wanna help me?" Warrick asked, more of a suggestion than a question. Nick joined Warrick at the table, holding the dog's mouth open so they could search for tissue, and combed her coat for any trace she may have picked up from the assailant. They didn't find much.

"Guys." They both looked up, Shasta letting out a bark, and Brass jumped a little. "I see you found the dog."

"They bonded," Nick said, nodding at Warrick, who let out a mocking snort. "What'cha got?"

"The friend just called. We can drop the dog off at the pound on the way," Warrick took a breath and paused, prompting both men to raise a brow at him.

"The pound?" Brass shook his head, silently asking if there was a point. "She'll have to pay to get her out."

"We can write up a waiver. Just for holding," Brass said. Warrick nodded, helping Shasta off the table before wrapping the rope around his palm as they headed back out to the parking lot.