"Glad you decided to grace us with your presence," he said sarcastically, "Greg, Nick, you have two DB's at the rampart hotel and Sara, you and I have a hit and run. We're a little shorthanded 'cuz Warrick and Catherine are at a forensics conference in New York."
Greg and Nicks case was a open and shut murder suicide. All of the evidence pointed to the husband shooting his wife then turning the gun on himself.
"See ya, Nick. I'm headed home," Greg said stifling a yawn, "I'm sooo tired."
"Bye Greggo," Nick waved.
Once arriving home, Greg noticed that something was off. His door was stightly ajar. It was one of those times he wished he carried a gun. He slowly nugded the door the rest of the way open. From here he could veiw most of the apartment. He breathed a sigh of relief. He may have been robbed, but the burglar was nowhere to be seen.
Greg went to check to see what was missing. He set his keys down on the kitchen table and was about to phone Grissom, when he felt the cool metal of a gun barrel pressed against his skull. Greg tensed up and stood still, practically holding his breath. He expected to die and shivered when an icy cold voice said, mockingly repremanding him, "Always check behind the door, Greggy."
'Oh god' he thought, this man knew his name, but how?
An envelope was slid in front of him on the table. "Open it Greggy," the harsh voice commanded. Greg did so and was outraged when he saw it contained several photo's of Sara. Sara at work, Sara at home sleeping and Sara at the park with him that evening.
"You sick bas-" Greg started, but the voice cut him off.
"Now, now Greggy, where are you manners," the voice taunted. Increasing the pressure of the gun against his head. "If you do what I say I won't hurt her, ok?"
"Ok," Greg answered weakly.
"Go started packing Greggy my boy, and tomorrow put in your two weeks notice. You're going to Washington to do me a little favor," he said. Greg nodded slightly and then the pressure dissappeared. He turned around, but no one was there.
Greg slumped down on his couch and was ashamed to notice tears drifting down his cheeks. In the whole of a minute, his life went down the drain. His girlfriend's life was in danger, he was being forced to quit his job and to move away from everyone he cared about and everyone who cared about him. He knew if he told anyone he'd be signing their death certificate. He trembled slightly and went this bedroom to start packing, no one would die because of him.
Four Weeks Later
Greg now knew his captor as one Horace Gordan; the one and only brother of Walter Gordan,
who had kidnapped and buried Nick alive. It had been two weeks since he'd seen any of his friends
from the lab. Greg didn't know why he hadn't been taken to Washington yet. For whatever "favor"
Horace was going to force him to do.
Greg had been confined to a chair for the better part of his two weeks of captivity.
The other two weeks before that, Horace had 'checked up on him' everyday with new photos. Greg's
hands were currently cuffed behind him. He hadn't yet been told why he'd been taken either. His
situation was hopeless and was about to get worse when the door of the room burst open.
Horace had returned and was pushing a struggling Sara in front of him.
"You promised-" Greg began.
"I promised not to hurt her, "he turned to Sara, asking menacingly," Are you hurt?"
Sara shook her head, "Greg, what's going on?" She looked up at him confused," I thought you moved to Washington."
Greg just looked at her sadly, "I wish it were that simple."
"Nough talking Greggy, let's go. If you try anything I'll kill her," he said uncuffing Greg while skillfully keeping a firm grasp on Sara's arm, "not hurt, kill."
The long car ride to Washington was unbearably silent, but Sara and Greg didn't dare say a word. The next few months would be hell.