"Okay, here's what we know," Sara began, glancing at Grissom and Brass, who sat beside and across from her at the table. "On Thursday night, Jamie was at her apartment. Her boyfriend Eric Anderson dropped by around 7 PM, then left for Tangiers with his friends."

"Including Shawn Miller, the ex-boyfriend," Brass added, sipping his coffee.

"Ironic," Grissom remarked. "Two possible suspects with the same alibi. If the ex knew, we'd probably be looking at a straight-up homicide."

"That would be nice for a change."

"Yeah, really," Sara agreed with a wry nod. "So, at about 9 PM, Jamie's roommate Kristen left to go clubbing with their friends. Jamie was alone, studying. At some point between 9 PM and 1 AM, the killer came to her door. He gets inside without a struggle, suggesting that it was someone she knew."

Grissom tilted his head thoughtfully, picking up his own coffee. "There are other options, too. Maybe he had a key somehow. Or he seemed trustworthy or non-threatening, like a delivery guy or cop or something."

"I like that last idea," Brass nodded. "You know, my guys talked to everyone in that building. No one heard or saw anything. They all said it was a typical Thursday night."

"We should look into the apartment manager, and anyone who may have made deliveries that night," Grissom suggested.

"Anyway," Sara went on, "he got inside somehow. They struggled briefly, and Jamie was subdued. The tox results came back—he used chloroform to sedate her."

"Old-school," Brass commented.

"Yeah," Grissom agreed, "but effective. He could have soaked a cloth in it and put it over her mouth and nose. She would have been sedated for at least an hour."

"Long enough to get her in his vehicle and transport her somewhere," Sara nodded. "Over the course of a week, she was physically abused, given little food, and raped multiple times with an indeterminate object. Then the killer strangled her to death with a belt."

"Ligatures are often weapons of opportunity," Grissom commented. "People will grab the first thing they can find. With a crime this planned out, though, I doubt that was the case."

"That's how he intended to kill her," Brass stated with a sigh. He pointed to the autopsy photos on the table. "He didn't leave any evidence from himself, but he did want to leave his mark on her. Like a signature."

Sara nodded grimly. "And after he'd killed her, he dumped her body at the roadside where we found her. The rain washed away any evidence besides the body."

"You know, maybe he was waiting until it rained to kill her," Brass suggested. "He seems concerned with not leaving evidence."

"So what can we surmise about our killer?" Grissom mused, leaning back in his chair. "He's either a serious forensics buff, or involved in the field. Or maybe he's been doing research, planning for this murder for some time. He probably appears non-threatening, since Jamie may have let him in. He has access to chloroform, which doesn't limit our pool by much. He has a vehicle, and a place to keep Jamie for a week without anyone noticing."

Sara frowned, studying the photos. "This is a lot of trouble and hate just to kill one woman. It doesn't feel right." She paused at the photo of Jamie's face and neck, noticing the four small cuts. "Guys, what's this?"

"We don't know," Grissom shrugged. "Seems to be a random wound." Then his forehead creased, blue eyes sharp. The three of them stared at the picture, minds working in rapid unison.

"Four," Sara said simply, tracing her slender finger across the picture. She glanced up, her eyes solemn.

Brass met her gaze with a grim nod. "I've got a hunch."

Light from the large projection screen shone across the room, casting a cold blue glow. Photographs of three female bodies were spread over the screen, positions mirroring each other. Their bodies were unbound, wearing only undergarments, long hair splayed around them.

"Like fallen angels," Grissom remarked quietly, his expression solemn. "So Jim, these are all the unsolved cases matched to our M.O.?"

Brass nodded, rubbing his left temple. "Three women beside our victim, all in Nevada. Our theory is right—it's a serial. One who numbers his victims."

Sara gazed at the screen, arms folded tightly around her slim figure. The images of the three fallen women were reflected softly in her eyes.

Lauren Clark, eighteen, college freshman.

Julie Palermo, nineteen, waitress.

Lisa Bates, seventeen, high school senior.

"They all look different," she commented after a moment. "Light brown hair, black hair, dirty blonde. Similar builds and ages, though."

"Well, not every serial has a specific type," Grissom commented. "Some are just looking for a general category, or even select victims randomly."

"So then our guy's not that picky," Brass sighed. "How reassuring."

Grissom glanced at Sara. "What are the stats on these three murders?"

Sara glanced over the sheet they had printed. "On January 20 of this year, Lauren Clark was kidnapped from her Reno apartment. One week later, her body was found dumped at a medium-traveled roadside. Julie Palermo was reported missing on the 29th, possibly kidnapped the previous day. On February 3, her body was also found, not in the same place but a roadside similar to the first. On the 5th, Lisa Bates was kidnapped from Sparks. Her body was found in a similar area on the 12th. Twenty-five days passed before Jamie Martin's kidnapping."

The three of them stood in silence for a few minutes, studying the photographs and case information. Grissom tilted his head, eyes intense as he worked out the situation in his mind. "Something's not right here," he muttered.

Brass glanced sideways at him with a raised eyebrow. "Besides four women being dead."

Grissom moved closer to the screen, gesturing to the photographs. "Lauren Clark and Julie Palermo were from Reno. Lisa Bates was from Sparks, less than five miles from the first two victims. But Jamie Martin lived here in Vegas."

"Yeah," Brass frowned. "That's like a four-hundred mile leap."

"Right," Sara agreed, catching on to Grissom's idea. "The first three victims were clustered together in location and time of death. They were kidnapped and killed in just over three weeks."

"Then the killer waited about three-and-a-half weeks before kidnapping Jamie Martin," Grissom continued, turning from the screen to face them.

Brass tilted his head thoughtfully. "So why the change in M.O.?"

"I don't think it's a change in M.O.," Grissom frowned. "I think it's really part of the M.O."

"He works in threes," Sara stated, staring at the screen.

Brass glanced at her, his eyes somber. "Three victims in each area."

Grissom nodded slowly. "And it's been six days since Jamie's murder."

"Which means he already has his next victim," Sara sighed.

"Which means, in less than two days, we'll have another homicide," Grissom finished grimly.

"I'll contact P.D. in Reno," Brass sighed wearily. "And check out missing persons, see if there's anyone similar to the victims who's been reported in the last week."

Sara nodded. "Until the next victim comes in, I'll go over the evidence from the other four. Try to find something they all have in common, that maybe ties them to the killer."

"I'm gonna talk to Ecklie." Grissom frowned slightly, as if the name was distasteful. "And Catherine. We're short of help as it is, and this is a big case. Maybe he'll let us combine shifts again."

"Where are your flunkies, anyway?" Brass asked with a raised eyebrow, making Sara hide a faint smile.

"Greg's in court for that case he finished last month," Grissom replied, vague irritation seeping into his voice. "Sophia left for the east coast yesterday, on a scheduled academic leave. She'll be gone for a month."

"We could use the extra hands in the lab, to look over evidence," Sara said firmly, "but it's still our case."

"Oh, definitely." Grissom started for the door with a resolute nod. "So, let's get to work."

"So let me get this straight." Catherine Willows leaned back in her chair, fingers laced together, lip curled slightly in annoyance. "You want me to hand off my case, and have me and my team join your case."

"Yes," Grissom nodded, jaw tense. "I already spoke to Ecklie."

Catherine shook her head, eyebrow raised in disbelief. "Ecklie can go to hell. My team is dealing with a gang-related double homicide. It's a big case."

"So's mine. Serial rapist and murderer, at least four women killed so far, and we think he has his next victim already."

"Look, Gil, every crime's a tragedy," she said with an honest sigh. "I really hope you catch your guy. But Ecklie can't keep combining shifts for every case that looks good on TV. What happens to all the other cases? A victim who isn't pretty or famous gets their case dealt with by some kid who just puked their way through their first autopsy? Sounds fair to me."

Grissom removed his glasses slowly. "I know, Cath. Every case is important. It's just that my team is seriously cut back. Right now I've only got Sara. Jim is on the case, too, but he's no criminalist."

Catherine shook her head with a sarcastic smile. "Dream team. So are you guys all pulling quadruples or what?"

"That's my point." He sighed, shaking his head. "Right now we're waiting on Reno. We may need someone to go there to check out the evidence from those murders, or they might send the evidence to us. They're all body dumps, with no primary crime scene. Victimology is the only thing we have that might point to a suspect. If we can find somewhere all the women went, or something they all did . . ." Grissom shrugged. "If you don't want to transfer your team, maybe you could just spare Nick or Warrick."

"Possible road trip," Catherine nodded. "That always gets the boys excited. I'll talk to them and get back to you."

"You know," Grissom remarked, fiddling with his glasses, "it really was easier when we were all on the same shift."

Catherine tossed her reddish-blonde hair with a dismissive shrug. "Easier doesn't mean better, Gil."

Grissom gazed at her for a moment, wondering if she really was the same person he used to work with. So much had changed since the shift split. The veneer of friendship was still there, but the old sense of family and mutual trust had fractured."Thanks for your help," he said quietly, then stood and left her office.

"Hey, Gil."

Grissom glanced up from the pile of papers engulfing his desk, a flood of white in the office's warm light. Brass was standing in the doorway, hand resting against the doorframe. "Jim," he nodded absently, attemting to straighten the stack.

Brass took a step inside, lines of hard experience in his face seeming harsher than usual. "Got a minute?"

"Is it about the case?"

"No. It's a, uh, personal matter."

Grissom raised an eyebrow, but gestured to a chair in front of the desk. "Go ahead."

Brass sat down carefully and took a deep breath. "I've been at this job for half my life, and some of my best experiences have been working with you CSIs. You guys—you're like a family, you know? I'm all alone out here, so it's nice to work with some people I can consider my friends." He loosened his tie with a vague sigh. "I'm the outsider, the guy who never really made it through the narrow gate. But I see things, and I've learned how to read people." He paused, frowning slightly. "For the past six years I've been watching from the sidelines, noticing the looks, the words exchanged. Hell, you pretty much came right out and said it in front of that doctor in the Marlin case."

Grissom removed his glasses slowly. "This is about Sara."

"What are you doing, Gil?" Brass asked, forehead creasing. "One day everything is fine, and you're joking around like a highschool kid with a crush. Then you get all angsty, or worse, withdraw completely."

"What's the point of this, Jim?" Grissom leaned back in his chair, frowning. Irritation seeped into his voice. "What are you trying to tell me?"

"Gil." Brass tilted his head slightly, raising an eyebrow. "I think you know."

Grissom sighed heavily, rubbing his temple. "Look. I like Sara. She's vital, intelligent, great at her job. She's one of the best CSIs I know. Yes, she's attractive, and I admit I find her interest in me flattering. But I can't—"

"Yeah, I know. I heard what you said to Lurie." Brass shook his head, mellow voice lowering. "I've been alone for a long time. If you want to get real technical, I've never been with someone who really got me. At this point, I've resigned myself to the fact that I'm going to be alone until I die. But you . . ." He paused, dark blue eyes weary. "You had a chance. A brilliant, beautiful young woman who would do anything for you. Men have killed for less."

"She's not an angel," Grissom said curtly, voice strained.

"Neither are you. None of us are." Brass' eyes hardened. "And you know, last time I checked, being angelic wasn't exactly on your list of qualities for a mate."

"Jim." His voice carried a harsh warning.

"I don't get it. I really don't. I mean, you're willing to do a dominatrix who's one step away from a whore—and a suspect in a murder investigation."

Grissom's jawline tightened sharply, but Brass gave him no room to reply.

"Yet when our own Sara Sidle asks you out to dinner, you turn her down, then go babbling to some murderer about risking too much."

"Do you hear everything or what?" Grissom's tone grew louder. "And don't give me that detective crap."

"It's not about being a detective. It's about being a compassionate human being, and thinking about other people's feelings." Brass' voice rose to match Grissom's. "Oh, I'm sorry. Maybe you've been staring in a microscope for so damn long that you forgot about that."

Grissom threw up his hands, growing angrier. "What the hell do you want me to say? It was bad timing. It was bad judgment. It ended. I screwed up, okay?"

"Finally some truth."

"You can't possibly tell me you haven't done something like that."

"Actually I can. I have never gotten involved with anyone in an investigation, and you know why? We're human, and we're not blind. But no pretty face or million-dollar figure is worth compromising an investigation, especially a murder. There are people connected to all the DNA and fingerprints, and that's more important than anything. If she had been the killer, do you really think she would have been convicted once a lawyer heard about it? That case was rough enough without your added drama." Brass shook his head, the steel in his voice tempering slightly. "But you know what, Gil? It doesn't really matter in the end. It's not about you, and it's not about me. It's about Sara."

They glared at each other in the sudden silence, two shades of blue crashing together in the space above the desk. The strength of their wills cut knifelike through the tense air, driven by inner forces neither of them fully understood.

Grissom took a deep breath, calming himself down. "I can't pursue a relationship with her," he said quietly. It sounded harsh, but there was no other way to say it.

"What are you afraid of?" Brass' voice had fallen to just above a whisper, rich and subtle. "It's not because she works for you, or that she's younger. Maybe you're just married to science. You think real people are too dangerous, because they can hurt you. Is it her baggage?" He paused thoughtfully. "We all have stuff we carry around with us that we'd forget. Even you."

"I'm not going to explain it to you, Jim." Shadow dimmed his clear blue eyes. "I have reasons, and that's it."

"You know what's really weird?" Brass mused. "If she went out with some other guy, you'd be green with envy. Like that EMT who ended up being a jerk. You weren't too happy about him. Or anyone who looks at her sideways."

"Can I ask you a question?" Grissom's eyes narrowed with deadly irritation. "Why are you so protective?"

"Of Sara?" Brass tilted his head. "Someone around here has to be. It's not like there are people lining up." He sighed, rubbing his temple. "Look, I'm just trying to set some things straight here. It's your move, and, well, you're not moving. Consider this a nudge."

"To do what?" His brief calm was starting to wear off.

"Either get up off your ass and do something about it, or let it go."

"Maybe I'm not ready for that yet."

"So when will you be ready, Gil? In another six years? Do you really think she'll be sitting in some tower, waiting for her knight in shining latex gloves to come save her?" Brass shook his head. "You're not the only man in the world. Someday, someone will notice her, and sweep her off her feet so fast you won't know what happened. But it will be too late."

Grissom rolled his eyes, his jawline tense again. "Thank you for your sagely advice, fairy godmother. Or is it Prince Charming?" A sneer flickered across Brass' lips. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to end this little session and get some work done."

Brass stood sharply. "I'll send you the bill."

At that moment, his cellphone rang, jarring the quiet aftermath with its cold trill. He shook his head, withdrawing the phone from his pocket. Grissom leaned back, lips tight together. "Yeah," Brass answered it curtly. A shadow crossed his face as he listened. "Okay. We'll be right there." He snapped the phone shut with a sigh, and glanced up.

Grissom took a deep breath. As their eyes met, their anger ebbed, replaced by a sharply refocused knowledge. Grissom knew what it was without Brass saying a word.

Brass slid his phone into his jacket. "We have our fifth victim."