… part 2, chapter 5 …

Sara was studying him quietly as he finished the last bite of his tuna sandwich. He didn't have a very good grasp on what she was thinking, but her demeanor towards him had changed. They'd driven over in silence, in her car, and she had said little while eating her soup and salad.

Grissom smiled at her, swallowing the last of his meal. "So," he said, "shall we go hunt down Northwind, or do you have something else in mind?"

"No, we can go stop by and see if he's in. If not, there are some other people we can ask for help. But, given the time, he should be there, stuffing his face."

"Ok. You lead the way."

Grissom left the money for their meal, along with a reasonable tip, and the two of them walked out of Fidelia's together. Sara led him past that large backlit mountain-thing into another lounge area. She walked to a door marked 'Employees Only' and swiped a key card Grissom wasn't aware she had.

She then led him through another maze of doors and hallways, similar to her lab. They came to a door with a small plate that read 'Northwind, Jonathan'. They both peeked through the window, and Jon was indeed inside, munching away on what appeared to be the largest sub sandwich that Grissom had ever seen.

Sara knocked before turning the doorknob. "Jon, can we bother you for a sec?"

"Mmm... shure. Whazzup?" Jon clearly did not have issues with talking while eating. He did finally swallow and clear his throat with a swig from the soda bottle on his desk.

"We need you to run a check against all the employees here at the Sun. We're looking for people who have worked or lived in Las Vegas within the past few months. Our only connection between the murder in Vegas and the murders here is the casinos."

"True. I had assumed it was a guest, but you're right. It could be an employee. We do background checks on everyone who works here, but if this guy doesn't have a record, nothing suspicious would have shown up."

Grissom spoke up. "Does this casino employ subcontractors? Perhaps for food service or repairs?"

"I'm pretty sure we do," Jon replied. "I'll see if I can get a list of those as well, but it'll take a bit longer. We don't keep all the subcontractors' employee information in our database. I'd have to request that from the contractor themselves." Jon frowned. "That might pose a problem if we're to keep this low-profile. But you're right; some of those folks have access to a lot of the things back here that the regular guests do not. I'll have to run it by a few people, but I'll see what I can do."

"Anything you can find is appreciated, Jon. Give us a call when you have something." Sara grinned at him, her tone lightly flirtatious.

Jon gave her a wink, and a two-fingered salute. "Aye-aye, babe."

Grissom and Sara left, her leading him back through the maze of hallways.

"He so reminds me of Brass," she quietly murmured to herself with a smile.

"I don't see it," Grissom replied.

"Oh c'mon. If Brass had a son, he'd be just like that. You haven't seen him grill a suspect yet. It's like Brass on a sugar high."

"You miss him," Grissom said quietly.

Sara sighed. "Yes, I do. He… watched out for me."

"He misses you too, Sara."

"Yeah, I'm sure he does," she said bitterly. "But he's there and I'm here, and that's the way things have to be."

Grissom said nothing, not wanting to start another argument with her. And really, she brought it up. What's with that? Did she want to fight with him?

They finally walked through a large set of doors, and they were in the parking garage again.

"How did you learn your way around this maze?" Grissom asked.

"I spent three nights getting lost. Then I asked Jon to show me around. He told me a couple of tricks about the layout, and after that it was pretty easy. There's a trick to how they built this place. Specifically, if you worked there and you knew the secret, you'd be fine. But if you were an outsider, and somehow found your way into the heart of the casino, you'd be totally lost."

"So, what's the trick?"

"Can't tell you."

"Oh? Why not?"

"Hello… it's a secret." And with a devilish smile, Sara opened the door to her car and hopped inside. With a click, she unlocked the passenger side door, and Grissom scrunched down into her tiny little car. They drove back to the state police barracks the same way they had come, in silence.

Once they arrived, Sara led him to Dr. Nave's office. She stood in the doorway and knocked to get Nave's attention. Flashbacks of her doing the same outside his office fluttered through Grissom's mind. Yup, he definitely did not like her working here. She should be knocking on his doorway, not this bozo's.

"Mike? We met with Detective Northwind at the Sun after our break. He's going to query his employee database, but he said he might have some trouble looking into subcontractors. I know they want to keep this quiet, but is there anything you can do to have them expedite this? We need those names."

"I'll talk with the sheriff. If that doesn't work, I'll talk with the director. We'll get your names for you," Mike said with a smile.

"Good. We're going to go check with Tom about the photos, and then we're going to run by trace for results."

"Make sure you are off the clock and out of here by 6 a.m., Sara." Nave's voice was firm. There was a spine beneath all that psychological fluff. "You know the rules."

"Yeah," Sara muttered complacently. "I know."

Dr. Nave then focused his attention on Grissom, and the look in his eyes was somewhat disturbing. "Dr. Grissom, I'd like to speak with you once you are finished for the evening. That is, if you have the time?"

"Of course," Grissom responded politely.

"Good. I'll see you when you're finished."

Three hours later, after a visit to the morgue, complete with a rather drawn out conversation with Tom, and a disturbing visit to trace, Grissom and Sara had new photographs of the two bodies, as well as partial results from trace on the wrist swabs. The vaginal swabs results were still pending and the full results on the wrists' material would be in by the next evening's shift.

It seemed the two women were bound with a type of tape. Trace came back positive for a composite compound similar to plastic, along with traces of rubber, and an adhesive that wasn't specifically identified. A tech was searching the databases of adhesive manufacturers for the proper combination of plastic and rubber, along with the names of the adhesives used. It was their first solid clue, and both he and Sara were pleased to have made progress.

"Well," she said in a light tone as they walked back to Nave's office, "shift is over for us, and you heard – no overtime. I'll drop you off at Mike's and I'll see you later, okay? Meet me here at four tonight and we'll go interview Diana Somers' parents. And maybe trace will have more for us by then."

They had stopped at Dr. Nave's doorway, and Grissom could tell Sara was ansty; anxious to leave. He wanted to talk to her about the past 10 hours, and explain why he was really here, but it looked like it was going to have to wait.

"Okay," he said to her retreating form as he walked into Dr. Nave's office.

Mike rose and extended his hand, and Grissom shook it politely.

"Please, have a seat," Mike said with a gesture to the chair.

Grissom sat. He'd been to a therapist before, years ago. The program was the predecessor to P.E.A.P counseling today, and when he was coroner, it was mandatory for him to go once a year to ensure the stress of working with the dead wasn't driving him insane. Please. Grissom had pointed out each year that dealing with the dead was a hell of a lot easier than dealing with the living, and each time the therapist would look at him strangely and make cryptic notes in his notepad.

Michael Nave was not a state-mandated therapist, but he radiated the same calm demeanor as that old fart back in L.A. Grissom wasn't about to have a "Let's Share" session with this guy.

"So," Dr. Nave began, "I'd like to talk about Sara for a moment, if you don't mind. Off the record."

Okay, so this isn't about me. This is about Sara and her reacting to cases again.

"What would you like to discuss?" Grissom asked in a reserved tone. He wasn't about to do this guy any favors.

"I'd like to know if you had observed her sensitivity to some of the crimes, particularly those that involve women as the victims."

Grissom was torn, but he answered honestly. "Yes, I have."

"And have you noticed that she seems to share a common bond with these women, almost as if she were putting herself in their place?"

"Yes, I have." Grissom scowled slightly, wondering where this was going.

"Sara has presented herself as a quite competent forensics investigator; I can assure you of that. I'm incredibly pleased with her work thus far. I'm not trying to slander her or her reputation, if that's what you're thinking."

That's exactly what Grissom was thinking. "Then may I ask why you are asking these questions?"

"I believe Sara is empathic."

Grissom agreed. "Yes, Sara does feel a great deal of empathy for the victims."

"Yes, but this isn't about her feeling sorry for what happened. She actually feels the victim's pain because she is empathic with them." Mike sighed. "I can see I'm not describing this correctly. This isn't a mainstream condition, so you aren't going to see a lot of scientific documentation on this. But let me try to explain." Mike shifted in his chair, leaning back to get more comfortable.

"People who are empathic sense the feelings of others. To some degree, they sense their thoughts, but what I'm describing isn't telepathy. An empathic person can tell that you're sad, but not the reason why. Well, that's not entirely true. Those at a very high level can do this, but that is extremely rare and not as clearly documented as the lower levels of empathy. Most of us have some degree of empathic ability, especially with those we care deeply about, or those we spend a great deal of time with. Then there are people like Sara. These people can sense the emotions of everyone around them. They 'feel' the emotions of others. Of family members, friends, and complete strangers. It's more like they read emotions rather than feel them, but the distinction can get blurred. In Sara's case, if a stranger has something in common with Sara, something Sara can relate to, the 'feeling' she reads is stronger."

Grissom was frowning visibly. This is bullshit.

"I can see you disagree. But I can assure you, I've seen this ability first hand. It does exist in some people. Some consider it a genetic mutation, as it seems to run in family lines. And, as you can imagine, it presents itself in women much more frequently than in men."

Grissom wasn't convinced. This guy probably believed in psychics and all that other alternative medicine voodoo that he, as a scientist, did not believe in.

"Dr. Grissom," Mike said firmly, "I asked to speak with you because I strongly believe Sara is a medium to higher level empath. I haven't worked with her long enough to judge accurately, so I wanted to ask you about her past history with her cases. If she is empathic, she should attend counseling that will help her deal with her ability. If controlled properly, it could be a great asset to her career."

Grissom's frown deepened. "I'm not going to deny that Sara has gotten emotionally involved in some of her cases. I personally felt that in some instances it helped her focus. In others, it was a distraction for her. Overall, she was, and still is, an excellent criminalist. However, I can't readily accept that she's some type of psychic."

Dr. Nave spoke quickly. "Did she ever mention that she felt the victim's pain? The victim's fear or sorrow? Did you ever see her in a situation where she believed she was the victim?"

Sara's conversation from years ago came to the forefront of Grissom's mind. She had asked him to sleep with her, in order to be there when she apparently woke from hearing a victim's screams in her dreams. Grissom's frown faded into a more melancholy expression.

"She did mention she heard a victim's screams in her dreams," Grissom admitted grudgingly.

Nave sighed. "Then it is probable. I'm not sure how to talk to her about this, but for her own safety she should know what she is. There's help she can get to control her abilities. Did she have a boyfriend or significant other in Las Vegas?"

Awkward territory. "She did at one time, but I believe it ended a couple years ago."

"Forgive me for prying, but was it serious? Did it end badly? Sara seems to be running from something, and to be honest, I am surprised she accepted this position. It is mostly an internship, but a friend of the department arranged for it to be converted into a temporary re-assignment for her. I assure you, I am not disappointed in the arrangement, but I am curious as to why she's here."

Grissom was quiet for a moment, mulling over this new information, before he answered, "I can't say whether her relationship with that man was serious or not. Nor am I aware of her personal reasons for accepting this position. Perhaps it would be best to ask her these questions."

"True, true. Forgive me, I don't mean to sound callous. It's just … well, I would feel more comfortable supervising her if I knew more about her. It's clear she is very devoted to her career, a true workaholic if I ever saw one. And she's extremely intelligent, and, if you'll pardon my candor, quite attractive. Some young man should have come along and swept her off her feet years ago. I can't help but think that something's happened with her along those lines, and now she's burying herself in her work. " Dr. Nave sighed heavily. "Plus, if she is empathic, she'll need to overcome whatever it is that she's avoiding. I was just hoping you might be able to shed some light on the subject."

"I'm afraid you'll need to speak with Sara directly about that," Grissom stated simply as he tried to maintain control of his temper. The nerve of this guy! To ask him personal questions about Sara… what gave him the right? And this empathic crap was just that… pure crap.

"Yes, yes. Well, I do appreciate you speaking with me. It substantiates my suspicions, and I will have to approach this subject with Sara at some time. And, on behalf of the state, we are delighted to have you here working with us."

"Thank you," Grissom said professionally, still controlling his ire. He stood stiffly. This conversation was over as far as he was concerned.

"Before you leave, I must ask if you have a problem with her working this case with you. She seemed to indicate earlier that she felt uncomfortable. I assured her this was normal, given the situation, and that I could assign her to another case. She was rather vehement in declining my offer, however… if you feel it would be best for her to be re-assigned, I will do so."

"I see no reason to remove Sara from this case."

"Good. Your reputation of professionalism precedes you. I'm sure once Sara overcomes the natural awkwardness of working with you again, things will run smoothly. She seemed to be much more relaxed by the end of her shift."

Grissom stared at the kiss-ass Michael Nave, his dislike for the man growing by the second. Dr. Nave stood, and again reached out to shake Grissom's hand. Grissom grudgingly complied.

"Thank you again for meeting with me. If there is anything you need, please don't hesitate to ask."

Grissom nodded, and turned to walk towards the door. A mental light bulb went on in his head, and he faced Dr. Nave and asked, "Is it possible for me to get Sara's work and cell phone numbers? We were quite busy tonight, and I forgot to ask her."

"Certainly, I have them here." And Grissom grinned politely as Dr. Nave handed him a slip of paper with Sara's work number, her new cell phone number, and her home number and address.

"Thank you," Grissom said, sincerely this time. "Thank you very much."

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Gil sat on his bed in his hotel room, staring at the beige telephone sitting two feet away from him on the nightstand.

He wanted to call her. He did. He wanted to tell her that her boss was a lunatic, and that he really came here to see her and convince her to come home. And after talking to Michael Nave, he was positive she needed to come home. She couldn't, couldn't stay here.

Warrick's words were his lifeline. "At least you know how she feels… we all knew… she wore her heart on her sleeve for everyone to see…"

No one doubted that she would return. They had faith in her feelings for him, and they had faith in him to do… well, whatever it was that he was supposed to do, in order to bring her home. His team; his friends; were counting on him because they had faith.

His own faith was wavering. She wasn't happy to see him. She seemed to want nothing more than to pick fights with him. And his skills in rectifying his past mistakes were weak at best. And of course, there was some creepy bastard out there raping and murdering women, so catching him had to be their number one priority.

Grissom sighed and continued to stare at the phone, lost in his own remorse. A moment later, much to his surprise, it rang.

"Hello?"

"Gil! It's Jim. I tried your cell phone earlier but it wasn't going through. You should check it – maybe it's dead. How are things going?"

"It's okay. We haven't got much on the case; we're waiting on trace and getting information back from the casino. It seems like the three are connected, though. These two were almost carbon copies of the one we found."

"Uh, Gil, that wasn't what I meant. How is Sara? How's she look? How's she doing?"

"She's… she's fine, Jim."

"Uh oh. That didn't sound so good."

Grissom sighed into the phone. "She isn't very happy to see me."

"Well, probably not. Have you told her why you're really there? Have you said anything to her at all?"

"Uh… not yet."

"Well, maybe the two of you should sit down and have a nice long chat. A little groveling on your part wouldn't hurt, either."

"I know."

"Well, we're all thinking about you here. I'm calling because Ecklie wants to know why you haven't checked in yet, so you'd better give him a call."

"I will. How are things back there? How is everyone doing?"

"We're all fine. Sofia runs a tight ship, Gil. She really is good. Brown is tired, but he's getting it done. Catherine and Stokes are fine. And Sanders must be bored, or over his depression, or something, because he's been working up a storm. He's here almost all the time, and he's happy about it."

Gil felt a pang. Clearly his presence at the lab wasn't as critical as he would have liked. Still, it was his job, and he knew Ecklie wouldn't get rid of him. "Maybe I make him nervous," Gil replied half-heartedly.

"Gil, you make everybody nervous. But we like ya anyways. Take care and hurry home. Bring our gal back with you, too."

"Wish me luck, Jim. I need it."

"You've got it. Take care."

"Later."

Gil hung up the phone and settled in for the night. Tomorrow was another day.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

About 1200 miles away, Jim Brass stared dejectedly at his own phone. It had been a long night, and he was hoping for a bit of good news from Grissom. No such luck. A voice from the doorway broke the silence. "How is he? And how is she?"

"He's freaking," Brass blurted, not consciously realizing who he was talking to. "He won't admit it, but you can hear it in his voice. He said she's not happy to see him. My guess is she's ripping pissed that he's there."

"You're probably right."

"They haven't solved the case yet, but he thinks it does tie in with the Walker case we had earlier this year."

"The two of them will figure it out. They're good."

"Yeah, just as long as they don't kill each other first."

"Hey, you know how it is. Sometimes the road to happiness has a few speed bumps."

"This would classify as one hell of a speed bump." Brass paused. "What's it to you, anyways?"

Sofia shrugged. "Living vicariously through others? A woman's love of fairy tale romance? Pure, morbid curiosity? Pick whichever one you like."

Brass eyed her strangely as she turned from his doorway and walked towards one of the interrogation rooms down the hall.

…continued next chapter ->