Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS, inc.

A/N: I found an energy in this chapter that pushed me through twelve pages in two days which is a pretty good average with my schedule. I hope you enjoy. I had to amp it up a little. The good news is that I finally know where it is going. Thanks for the weary travelers who have stuck with this story. Lord knows you are a patient bunch. Your reviews make me feel all warm and happy. Thanks for that.

Oh, and Marlou rocks crazy.

Sheila

Hope Springs

Chapter 12

Her cell phone buzzed insistently. Slowly, she lifted her head from her pillow and turned to the clock on the bed stand. The red numerals flashed 5:45 a.m. She picked up the phone and squinted at it. The ID said Las Vegas Lab. She let the ringing stop and laid back. It was probably just Grissom, and she wasn't sure she was ready for another disappointing conversation. Yet the call was from the lab. Grissom surely would wait until he was home before he checked up on her. He had always done that in the past. She wondered if there was a problem. It was easy to forget that investigating crime scenes could be dangerous. Images flashed in her head, and the anxiety became palpable. She picked up the phone and hit redial.

"Sara," came Grissom's smooth greeting.

"Is there something wrong?" She mumbled.

"Only the fact that you won't talk to me unless I get sneaky about it."

Sara sat up. "Our conversations tend to be a lot of emotional work. I'm trying to pace myself."

"I miss you and I worry about you."

Sara dropped her head back into her pillow and sighed. "Surprisingly, I think I believe that."

"I don't want to be so much work for you. I want it to be better than this."

She tried to make sense of his words. It was too easy to just give in to him. "Gil, do you really know what you want?"

"Yes, I do. With all certainty I know what I want."

"And if you get what you want, what then? Think about your need for control. What will you do when you have things ordered in your life again? Let's say you have me and you have your baby. Won't the great brain need to go exploring again, find some new thing to distract itself with?"

Grissom chuckled. "With you and a baby in my life, there would be no order. No matter what I want, you will always be you, and you will always be challenging and intriguing to me. And a baby? Forget about control."

"You can give up order and control?"

"Oh, there will be some kicking and screaming. It has protected me for a long time, but, Sara, I need you. I never knew how much until you left Vegas, and with each passing day it gets harder and harder to not have you in my life."

Sara rubbed at her face with her free hand. "It's nice to have a civilized phone conversation, but that's all this is, you know."

Grissom paused for a moment and then moved in another direction. "I've been reading."

"Of course you have. Me too. Just finished a book called, "Delivering Your Baby." It was illustrated. I have now decided to have this baby delivered by mail."

"Worried about it?"

"Imagine passing a bowling ball through your rectum."

Grissom cleared his throat. "Well, okay. Ummm…..Ouch!"

In spite of herself, Sara giggled.

"Don't worry, Sara, we'll arrange for drugs, lots of them. Legal, illegal, whatever you want. I'll put the word out on the street."

She clamped her hand down on the phone because she couldn't quiet her laughter. It had been quite some time since they had laughed together.

Grissom felt the silence and got serious. "Sara, I am going to be there for you. Even if you don't want me there, I'm coming. I am going to be there."

"You talk a pretty good game there, Grissom," she drawled once she composed herself.

"Do you want to know what I've been reading?"

All right. Tell me, Grissom."

"I've been reading about relationships, and I think I learned something."

She snuggled into her pillow. "I'm waiting."

"We are always worried that our…disagreements mean that we are not suited for each other."

Sara held her breath for a few seconds. "It's logical."

"Not necessarily, Sara. We're both strong, independent people and we are used to getting our way. From what I have read, this is normal for people like us. It doesn't mean we can't make it work. We would be unsuited for one another if we didn't have any passion or feeling for one another."

"So…we get together and just fight and fight and fight. Sounds exhausting."

"We have to understand the fighting in a new way."

Sara propped herself up on her elbow. "Huh?"

There was a moment of silence and then the shuffling of pages. "Hold on. It's right here. It says here that we are probably moving to despair too quickly. We have to see our fighting as purposeful rather than a sign of dysfunction or incompatibility…" He waited for her reaction.

"Go on."

"Well, the author here says that if we see the fighting as dynamic rather than dysfunctional, we are less apt to become discouraged about our ability to be together. We fight because this is who we are. We have opinions. We are strong willed. But if we stop giving up on our relationship every time we disagree, we can move beyond our fights."

"You're kidding?"

"Just think about it, Sara. It's interesting to think about this in a different way. I feel inspired by this."

She was sitting up now, no longer able to contemplate sleep. "Are you drinking on shift?"

"You'll think about this?"

She threw her free hand up. "I guess."

"That's all I ask."

"Do I know you?"

He chuckled. "I don't know." Then his tone softened. "Sara, I'm worried. You quit your job. You're sitting in a hotel room in South Dakota chasing windmills for a little girl you never knew."

Sara smiled into the phone. "Sounds a little like a guy I know who is chasing windmills for a little girl without a mother."

"I owe her. What's your excuse?"

Sara felt strangely trapped by the question. "You should feel ashamed about waking a pregnant woman in the middle of the night. We need all the rest we can get."

"Why don't I come and help you out there? I can be on a flight sometime this afternoon."

She closed her eyes. She wanted to make things easy. She wanted to let him come and take over. It would be nice to let someone else figure her life out for a while. But Sara had never traveled an easy road, and she had no idea how to start.

"Sara?"

"I'm okay, Grissom. It's just going to be a couple of days."

"I want to come get you. I want to bring you home to Vegas."

"Thank you. Thank you for wanting to take care of me." She whispered.

"Then I'm coming."

"No." Her voice came sharply. "I…I…want to finish this first."

"I won't get in your way. I still have plenty of leave to take at the lab."

She heard the unease in his voice. "I can still stand on my own two feet. I want to do right by this child. Then I will come see you, and we can talk about all your new ideas on relationships. How does that sound?"

"Sounds promising. Are you sure—"

"I'm good. I promise you." She wanted to hang on. She didn't want to say good-bye yet. She let a silence hang there.

"You'll call me tonight?"

"Yes." She breathed.

"We did pretty good, didn't we? It feels peaceful."

She creased her brow. "What?"

"The conversation. I'm saying that we did pretty good with this conversation. No misunderstandings or hurt feelings. It's really very nice."

She chuckled. "I'll call you tonight, Gri—I mean, Gil."

"I'll be waiting."

Sara clicked the phone and dropped back onto her pillow. She swivel her head to see the clock. 6:15 a.m. Bellecourt wasn't picking her up until 9, and so she contemplated more sleep, but she recognized it as an exercise in futility. What she really needed to do was figure out exactly what he said that had her feeling all giddy in her stomach like the time Tommy Wilson told her he wanted to sit next to her in the lunch room.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Sara and Bellecourt pulled into the cousin's driveway, and Sara immediately noted the difference between this and Marianne's place. The lawn was lush and green. The white home had a lovely front porch laden with flowered plants. A woman came to the door wearing an apron around her thick midriff. Sara couldn't remember the last time she saw someone wearing an apron who wasn't working the grill at a diner. The woman pushed the hair off her face and squinted at Bellecourt. He walked up the steps. "Hello April."

"What can I do for you, Maurice?" She didn't shift from her place in the doorway.

"April, this is Sara Sidle. She's come all the way from Las Vegas to bring Attica home. She's helping me finish this investigation."

The woman nodded grimly at Sara and then turned back to Bellecourt. "I wished you would have called. I have so much going on this afternoon. Could we make it another time?"

"Sorry April. We need to do this now. I don't think we're needing to take up too much of your time."

April breathed a heavy sigh. She gestured at some wicker furniture on the porch. Bellecourt smiled. "Any other day, and I would say thank you kindly, but Ms. Sidle here is pregnant, and the humidity out here is a little much. How 'bout we just sit down in your living room a few minutes. I promise we won't stay long."

The woman set her mouth. "The house is a mess."

"April, you're infamous for your meticulous housework. I would eat off your floors any day of the week. Now I know you're busy so if we could quit pussyfooting around, then we could get you back to your work."

Reluctantly, the woman stepped aside and ushered them in. As predicted, the house was painfully clean. Thick carpet, mismatching overstuffed couches, knickknacks, and photographs littered the room with an almost anal precision. A clock clicked loudly on the wall. April gestured to the couches. Sara noticed that she looked around with a worried expression on her face; her attention focused on the stairs to the second floor.

Bellecourt settled in, and leaned forward. "I notice an extra car in front of your house. One of your boys home?"

"Ah, no. One of…Les' friends left it here while he went on vacation. We're just watching it for a few days." Sara could tell that the woman was entirely uncomfortable with their presence.

"Can you tell us about the weekend that Attica disappeared?" Sara asked.

The woman let out a breath. "I've done that so many times. That little girl haunts me. I can't believe that foster mom lost her like she did."

"Well, April, here's the thing. We have no evidence that the foster parent lost anybody. In fact, we only have your word that you dropped Attica off."

"Maurice, have I ever had any trouble with the law? I have never been anything but a law abiding citizen. I'm telling you that I dropped her off because I did. You should be over there questioning her instead of harassing me."

"I promise you, April. I am an equal opportunity harasser." He looked over as Sara struggled to get off the soft couch.

"April, do you have a bathroom I could use?"

The woman looked like she was holding her breath for a moment. "There's one off the kitchen. You just go through there."

"I'm sure there's one upstairs too." Bellecourt offered, keeping an eye on April as he did so.

She turned sharply in his direction. "Upstairs is no good. Ah…we're doing repairs. Use the kitchen one, Ms. Sidle."

None of this was lost on Sara and she eyed the stairs as she walked past. The kitchen was small and scrubbed spotless. There was a faint smell of fried food that one could often find in an unventilated, older kitchen. She found the tiny bathroom. It was decorated in all sorts of pink frill. She winced.

A few minutes later, she wandered back into the living room. April was quite agitated with Bellecourt, and informing him of her husband's relationship to the sheriff. Sara suppressed a smile as she watched Bellecourt deflect this without even a blink of an eye. She wandered over to a table filled with framed photos. April turned her head sharply at her. "What are you looking for?"

Sara gave her a look of innocence. "Looks like you have a lovely family here."

"So now you want to talk about my family."

Bellecourt furled his brow and cocked his head. "You know, April, how are your boys? The only one left in the area is Lloyd, right?"

She gave him a hard stare. "That's right, Detective."

"Where did Richie and Jesse ever end up?"

"Richie is working construction down in Florida. And you know all about Jesse. He would have loved to stay in the area, but you all run him off with those false allegations." The woman had her arms folded tightly across her chest, glaring at him unabashedly.

Sara swung her head around and Bellecourt looked at her. "April is referring to her youngest, Jesse. Roughed up his girlfriend quite a bit in high school. A few years ago, she broke up with him, but he wouldn't leave her alone. She came in one day alleging that he kidnapped and raped her."

"All of which was a lie." April interjected. Her mouth was a grim line of anger.

"What happened?" Sara ignored the woman's agitation.

"Not enough evidence to hold him. A week later, the girl left town to go live with relatives in another state. We kept an eye on Jesse after that."

"Harassed him is what you really did. He had a good job out to the quarry, but you ruined everything for him."

Bellecourt smiled at Sara. "I wasn't even on the case, but it appears that April imagines the conspiracy against her boy to be widespread."

"Are you finished?" The woman looked to be on the verge of tears.

Bellecourt started to get up, but Sara's voice stopped him. "Ma'am, is this a picture of Jesse?" She held up a picture of a young man grinning wildly in front of an ocean pier.

"He sent that for my birthday." April said, glaring at the both of them.

Bellecourt screwed up his face. "April, remind me when your birthday is."

She stared at him hard as if trying to devine his thoughts. "None of your damn business."

"April, you do remember that my brother Jerry dated you. I remember he got in trouble with you because he forgot your birthday and we all laughed about how ridiculous it was that a girl named April had a birthday in June. April, did you just have your birthday?"

While Bellecourt kept April distracted, Sara peeled back the frame. The date on the photo hit her hard. She turned to watch their conversation.

April's face colored. "I had my birthday a few days ago. Now I want you out of this house. Now."

He smiled. "I just think it was nice of Jesse to bring such a nice photo home for his mother. You might be right about him. We've probably been misjudging him all this time."

He caught Sara's eyes and saw them widen. He started off the couch. Sara brought the photo over to him. "It seems that Jesse was in California recently."

Agitated, April reached for the photo, knocking Sara backward. Sara landed against a table and held on. April clutched the photo to her chest. "This is an old photo."

Bellecourt lunged for Sara. "You okay?" he asked as he helped her upright again. She nodded and looked past him. "It's time dated April, and that doesn't lie. Jesse was in California three days after Attica disappeared. I recognize the pier. He was just north of San Francisco in this photo. Her body was recovered within ten miles of that spot."

Bellecourt kept his eyes on April while he listened to Sara. "Did he come by for your birthday, April? Is Jesse in town?"

She shook her head slowly, seemingly afraid to use her voice. A crash sounded above their heads, and Bellecourt's eyes shot upwards. Sara fixed her eyes on April who was looking at the stairs in horror. Fear gripped her gut and she backed up.

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Grissom approached the park with some trepidation. The little social worker inspired fear in him. She could look right through him. He imagined that dealing with abusive people for so many years toughened her. Whatever it was, she was one tough cookie.

Mary Revoy looked up from the picnic table where she was sitting. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "We talked about this, Grissom."

He cocked his head. "You talked about this, actually. I sat and listened."

She gestured with her head. "She is starting to adjust. She likes her foster family."

Grissom walked past Mary to the edge of the grass. Lucy Bell was up to her elbows in sand. Her hair was neatly tied back in a ribbon. And he noted with no small satisfaction that she was wearing one of the outfits he purchased her. "Any problems?"

Mary shrugged. "The foster mom has arthritis. She doesn't have the energy to be outside running around after this little pumpkin. That's why I'm taking her for a play date once a week."

He turned and frowned at her. "She needs more than that."

She looked up at him. "You want to take a couple of times a week?"

He looked away. "I can't. I promised someone." He shook his head. "I have a baby coming, and it's been made clear to me that I have to get my priorities straight."

She nodded. "Your girlfriend is smart."

"Girlfriend!" He chortled. "Haven't talked her into that yet."

"So you just came to see how she's doing." A wind blew in and ruffled her short, grey curls.

He kept his eyes glued on the small girl so intent on her play, oblivious to all activity around her. "I've established a trust fund. $20,000 to start and another $500 every month until she is twenty one. You'll be the executor. You can make withdrawals from it for basic needs whenever you feel it is necessary. It's a conservative fund, but I think it'll be more than healthy by the time she is of age."

"That's very generous." She talked softly as if not to startle him.

"I understand that it is better that I don't see her; better for her and for me."

"You never really had a chance to say good-bye."

He swiveled his head toward her. "Do you think it matters at this age?"

"I think transitions are important and should always be marked with closure."

"I don't want to confuse her."

She smiled at him. "Frogs are her thing now. She saw some on TV. She looks for them everywhere. She is digging for them right now. The shirt she's wearing, you purchased it, has frogs on it. She wants to wear it every day. Maybe you could tell her a little something about frogs."

"She's too young to understand."

She snorted. "You'd be surprised."

He sighed heavily and just stared at Lucy for a while. Then he walked toward her slowly. Mary watched, almost holding her breath, as he crouched before her. Lucy looked up and Mary could hear the faint sounds of "Bunny!" being carried in the wind.

He eased himself to the ground in front of her pile of sand. Her little arms flew about as she talked to him. Mary guessed that he was probably only understanding bits and pieces, but he nodded seriously at her. She threw sand up in the air and shook her head as it rained down on her. Grissom yelped and duck. Her giggles carried in the wind. Mary could see the smile grow on Grissom's face.

…………………………………………………………………….

For a moment, they all stood frozen. Then Bellecourt quietly unholstered his gun and pointed it at the staircase. He hissed at April. "Is he up there?"

She shook her head back and forth violently.

"Don't lie to me, April. I swear to God, if you are lying to me, I will have you up on obstruction charges and you'll be writing your grandkids from a jail cell."

Her eyes widened, but she stayed silent.

Sara swallowed hard. Bellecourt spoke in a low tone. "Sara, go out to the car. Radio for back up. Take April and keep her outside."

Sara reached over and grabbed the heavy woman and pulled her to the door. April began keening a high pitched cry. Sara ignored her and pulled her out to the porch with every last bit of strength she had that was not being used to carry a human around in her belly. The woman stopped struggling when she got outside. Sara pulled her shoulder around so they were facing each other. "April, if you go back into that house, you will go to jail for a very long time. Do you understand?"

The woman collapsed to her knees and started to sob. Sara dragged her off the porch and into the grass. Her back aching, she pulled upright with a groan and stumbled to the cruiser. Inside, she grabbed the radio and called for back up. Static flowed back at her and then a woman's voice. With horror, Sara learned that the nearest backup was 35 minutes away. She turned and faced the front of the house. There was no sound coming from within. She turned back to the car and popped the trunk, finding a heavy assault rifle. With much effort, she hefted it onto her shoulder and walked past a heaving April huddled on the grass, and climbed the steps to the porch.

Grissom's voice stopped her at the door. She remembered the look on his face when he learned that she had disobeyed an armed suspect. His words of this very morning echoed in her head. He was worried about her and their child; a child who filled her with visions of possibilities: love, laughter, joy. She could just imagine him frowning at her right now, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed her situation. 'Please understand,' she whispered to herself. 'I didn't choose this, Gris, but now I got no choice but to see it through.' Tears stung her eyes and she swallowed a sob.

She sagged against the door, the rifle sliding down past her knees. She was breathing heavy, wishing she could hear something over her panting. April was still wailing in the front yard, and for a moment, she considered shooting her. Sounds erupted from inside the house. She held her breath, her ear pressed to the door. There were shouts and then the explosion of gunfire. Sara jumped and edged away from the door. Four pops and then silence. With what little energy she had left, she raised the rifle and pointed it at the front door. The rifle shook wildly in her grip.

She could hear someone calling her from the car radio, imploring her to respond. April lay on the lawn, her sobs growing quiet and rhythmic. Sweat ran freely from her face and down her arms. Her wet palms started to slide and she tightened her grip on the rifle.

The sound of running came from the house and she stood ready, trembling but waiting. Then a man started calling for his mama, and Sara knew that this had gone all wrong. A wiry, young man burst through the door, blood pouring from his shoulder. He saw his mother sprawled on the ground. Then he turned and found Sara pointing a large rifle at him. He slowly backed away from her. "Don't move," she croaked, dehydration already beginning to take a toll. Slowly he raised his hands. He was young looking, a sort of little boy expression still marking his features. His hair was straggly and unkempt and his eyes were a startling light blue.

"Where's Detective Bellecourt?"

He didn't say anything. He just stood there staring at her with soulless eyes that made her shiver.

"Where is he?" She barked.

He gestured with his head at the door, and she realized that he wasn't going to give her anything useful about Bellecourt's condition. She raised the rifle again, doing her best to keep it steady. Then she saw something she hadn't noticed before. The safety on the gun was still on. She struggled to keep her face passive. She knew that with a rifle this heavy, she was going to have to put it down in order to release it and she had no doubt that Jesse planned on taking advantage of such an opportunity.

"On your knees!" She commanded. "Hands over your head."

He hesitated and she could see in him the coldness of a predator. He started to lower himself, but just before he dropped, he launched himself at her. She tried to jump back, but he was on her, pushing her against the railing. He wrenched the rifle away from her, and gave her a crooked smile. Then he shoved her violently and she spilled over the railing onto the yard below. She fell with a dull thud, and lay there motionless. He looked down at her, a grin spreading across his face and raised the rifle, pointing it down at her. Sara closed her eyes. A shot rang out and a bullet tore up the lawn next to her head. Bits of dirt and grass landed on her face. April's screaming intensified and Sara curled up around her womb, trying to protect the one thing she could..

………………………………………………………………………………………

Grissom had to be on shift in an hour, and he hadn't yet heard from her. She was still so unsure of everything and so he hated to push too hard, but there would be no rest for him until he had talked with her again. He had played so many conversations over in his head, and felt, for the first time, ready to tell her everything. He was ready to share his fears and hopes, dreams, and insecurities. Whatever the outcome, he felt certain that this was what she deserved from him after these many years.

He tried her cell phone again, looking for reasons to justify his initiating the phone call. There was still no answer. This was the third time this evening he hadn't even gotten her voice mail. A restless anxiety sloshed about in his gut that he couldn't seem to squelch. Impulsively, he called Information, and was soon waiting for the South Dakota state police, Sioux Falls office to answer. He asked for Sara and got nothing but confusion from the first officer. He persisted until another officer got on the line, and asked him his relationship to Sara. The feeling in his gut intensified. He thought for a moment, and then identified himself as her fiancée. It was his best chance at getting information, and he would deal with the fallout later. On the other end, the officer sighed and began to recount the events of the last few hours. Grissom became instantly numb as words pounded their way into his head. There was a suspect and an incident, and people had been rushed to the hospital, Sara included. He heard words about preterm labor and gunshot wounds and intensive care. It wasn't until hours after the call that he realized he had no idea whose injuries were whose. The only thing he could recall with any clarity was the officer telling him that it would be best for Sara to have family there as soon as possible. He became acutely aware of the man's gentle tone as if preparing him. Grissom was more than familiar with this tone of voice. He'd heard Brass employ it many times. Grissom pressed for details but the officer insisted that no other information was yet available. The phone clicked and Grissom stood there in the middle of his living room, a numbing paralysis enveloping him. He shook his head violently, trying to loose himself of this malaise, but everything still felt dreamlike. He opened a suitcase, but couldn't organize his mind around filling it. Instead, he stuffed three pairs of underwear and a toothbrush into his briefcase and headed for his truck.

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TBC