Requital 7 of ?

Hey kids. This part ended up being pretty long so I chopped it in half. So the good news is, I'll probably have part 8 up tomorrow. Thanks for the feedback.

Notes 'n stuff in Ch. 1.

The sparse Nevada landscape flew by as the blue Cadillac sped up US-95.

She adjusted the mirror to check on Nick; the guy hadn't made a peep since they passed out of North Vegas. Pity. She rather missed getting him all worked up. He was an easy one to play. In fact, they all were.

Juliette assumed the BOLO was out on her '98 blue Dodge Caravan… too bad it was sitting back in her garage. Did they think she was an idiot? Apparently. She lightly caressed the leather-covered steering wheel of the swank Cadillac. It hadn't been driven since she moved it from Mulberry to Vegas. Doug loved driving his car… all throughout the Nevada wastelands, looking for his "bargains." She smiled wanly at the bittersweet memory.

A familiar sign was fast approaching in the distance and Juliette read its quaint, wooden painted planks with a twinge of longing. Welcome to Mulberry. Easing pressure on the gas pedal, she slowed the car down to the strict, crawling speed limits of town. Although it was a necessary trip to make, being here again gave cause to her convictions. She felt more vindication with each passing mile. This was absolutely the right thing to do… for Doug.

Eventually, she turned into a quiet, secluded self-storage center and advanced past the seemingly endless rows of garages. The further back she drove, the larger and more spread-out the units became. After a few minutes, the receptionist made a hard right into the driveway of the large unit reading "Box #5584." Sparing a glance at Nick before stepping out of the car, Juliette quickly keyed in the door code and waited impatiently as it opened.

She walked past the dusty black Toyota 4Runner and headed for the piles of boxes and furniture. After a few minutes of seemingly fruitless prodding, she dug out a small box containing pictures and a few other objects. Carrying it over to the SUV, she opened the front passenger door and stuck the box on the floor. The receptionist then moved around to the rear of the vehicle and opened the back latch door, revealing a spacious trunk area and a large, heavy object already situated to her liking.

Juliette ran a hand along its smooth, white edge before shutting the door again. Satisfied with the way everything looked, she climbed in the driver's seat and slowly backed up until the SUV was even with the parked Cadillac. Finally, she returned to the Cadillac and opened one of its back doors.

Now for the fun part.

She lightly slapped Nick's cheek, trying to rouse him.

"Nick." No response. "Come on. We don't have time to dick around."

She paused for a beat, trying think of what those obnoxiously good-looking doctors on ER would do in this situation. Not the assholes on the show now, mind you, we're talking the glory years here. What she would do to that Clooney in an exam room…

Anyway.

Focusing back to the present, she finally remembered a trick they used. She fisted her right hand with the index finger knuckle sticking slightly out further than the rest and then moved it in circles below Nick's clavicle.

That did the trick; as she lifted her hand away, his eyes slowly opened.

"Let's go Nick. Into the other car." She pulled him up by his still-cuffed hands.

He was too disoriented to refuse or to cause a scene, not that anyone was watching, though. Their storage lot was in a fairly secluded area – those who could afford privacy relished in it. As he stumbled into the back of the SUV, he looked up at her with foggy eyes.

"…Sssar?…"

The receptionist stared at him quizzically. "What?"

"Ssarr…" he said, words slurring together, "Tell Griss n'to worry."

Juliette rolled her eyes. She'd wondered when or if he was going to start hallucinating, but being mistaken for Sara Sidle was a laugh and a half. Giving him a patronizing pat on the shoulder, she couldn't hold back the chuckle in her response.

"I think it's a little too late for that, Nicky dear."

He fell back onto the seat and was out again within seconds.

Juliette felt like whistling as she put the Cadillac in the garage and hopped back in the 4Runner, arranging a map on the passenger seat. If those moron cops talked to her neighbors, everyone would be looking for a shiny blue Cadillac speeding down the Interstate – not a dusty black SUV putzing along the back roads.

She wasn't looking to evade, rather, she just needed to buy some time. Grissom would figure things out just when the time was right.

She pulled out of the storage site and headed towards Good Springs.

Warrick noticed some odd things.

Namely, the way his boss had been behaving throughout these latest … developments. Grissom just seemed to be on the verge of implosion. He'd retreated as far within himself as Warrick had ever seen – and for a guy like Griss, that's sayin' something. His boss had barely spoken a word to anyone since reading the letter. Besides that, he was treating the case differently. Of course, it was different, Warrick knew, but Grissom almost seemed determined to fix this himself – he wasn't exactly calling in the National Guard to stand at the border looking for this woman. Probably, he thought, because Mrs. Mason made this so personal, Grissom thought it needed a personal solution. And his boss? Not exactly the world's greatest living expert in "personal" anything.

He glanced over at the subject of his thoughts; Grissom had finally quit reading that damn letter over and over and started combing through Millander's case file for anything relevant. Warrick took a swig of his coffee and ran a hand over his face. Some of the recent history on Mrs. Mason's computer had been erased, so Warrick figured they could find out more if the hard drive was hooked up to lab computers. Archie had been hard at work setting everything up, and seemed almost ready to roll.

"Okay, I've cracked the archives open. You start with the e-mails and I'll take the browsing history."

Warrick put down his coffee. "You got it."

The first e-mail was from a "Crockpot228" and addressed Mrs. Mason as "Sis." He guessed it was from the woman who left the voicemail Catherine and Sara found – Mrs. Mason's sister, who apparently lives in Desert Shores. They left with Brass right away to go question her and maybe even get some answers out of the kid, Craig. But Warrick wasn't counting on anything.

He scrolled through nonsensical junk mail, growing more and more frustrated. Every minute he spent futzing around on this damn machine was another Nick was being subjected to God knows what by that woman.

That woman!

He couldn't believe the malice with which that letter was written. Where does somebody learn to spew such hatred? She definitely had a few screws loose, which made him even more worried for his friend. And Grissom… this was definitely a side of his boss he'd never seen. Back in the house, he'd heard Brass calling Grissom's name; when Warrick looked up, he saw the supervisor just standing with a limp arm dangling and a piece of paper on the floor. Then he made a bee-line for the front door, walked down to the end of the driveway, and just stood there with his hand on his forehead. After Warrick read the letter, he knew why.

He sighed and continued scrolling through the sent and received email folders. So far nothing unusual had turned up. Recipe exchanges, entertainment gossip, and an untold amount of spam. He was just about to read something from her son's school when Archie sucked in a sharp breath.

"What is it?"

Archie's finger continued clicking the mouse as he spoke. "About two weeks ago she spent a good amount of time browsing the United States Plant Database." Warrick looked at the AV tech, knowing there was more coming. "Particularly in the sections about Nightshade."

"Nightshade?" Warrick's brow furrowed. He definitely wasn't expecting that. "But that would make everything taste really bitter. How could he not notice that?"

Grissom, who had just walked over behind Archie, shook his head. "You know how Nick loves his Tex-Mex. It's possible he didn't notice the first time, and then was too sick to notice after that."

Warrick didn't respond, too caught up in what his best friend had to endure, but Grissom continued speculating about the poison.

"Depending on what type she used… black nightshade, pokeweed, belladonna, jimsonweed…" the supervisor trailed off. "We won't know for sure until Greg and Hodges finish with the analysis of the soup."

Warrick was hardly an expert on Nightshade, just knew that it was a family of bitter, poisonous plants easily grown in a variety of areas – including Nevada. He vaguely recalled a case involving jimsonweed from several years back, but knew nothing about the other types.

Grissom still continued his scientific muse out loud. "So much of it is toxic… solanine, atropine, hyoscyamine, scopolamine…"

Warrick jerked back out of his chair and gestured angrily at the screen. "Well none of this is going to matter unless we find him!"

He immediately regretted his outburst – he knew Grissom felt guilty enough. The tall CSI's voice returned back to its normal tone. "Nick's excellent physical condition is going to help, but we still don't know how much she gave him."

He saw his boss eye the letter, still opened on the table top. "Or what she's planning to do next."

An uncomfortable silence fell across the AV lab for a few moments as they considered the increasing seriousness of the situation.

"Guys!"

Both CSIs turned to the lab tech, who had continued working throughout their discussion.

"I've got several visits to MapQuest in the history, including driving directions from Arbor Trace to Mulberry."

Grissom looked encouraged, then slightly confused. "Why would she need directions to her own hometown?"

Archie shook his head. "I don't know, but right after that, she visited the "Store it Up, Lock it Up" website. It's a self-storage facility in Mulberry."

The CSI exchanged a glance with his supervisor; they both knew this was a start.

Grissom was already halfway out the door. "I"ll call Catherine and Brass."

Warrick nodded. "Meet me at the truck in two minutes."

Time to haul ass.

Catherine stepped up to the front porch and knocked, eyeing the two-story house carefully.

After she and Sara found a voicemail from Mrs. Mason's sister at the house, they immediately drove the short distance to Desert Shores. She was almost glad to get out of the house and give Grissom some space.

She looked over at the other CSI who was waiting, arms crossed and sporting her typical "game face." On her other side, Jim Brass looked like the proverbial cobra ready to strike, just willing that door to open so he could get down to business.

Finally, a thin, red-headed woman wearing an apron answered the door.

"Excuse me, Mrs… Price?"

She eyed the three of them warily. "Ye—yes?"

"Captain Jim Brass, Las Vegas Police. This is Catherine Willows and Sara Sidle from the crime lab." He held up his badge. "Are you the sister of Juliette Mason?"

"Yes, why? Has something happened to her?"

Catherine and Sara exchanged an annoyed glance.

Brass cleared his throat. "Ah, may we come in?"

They stepped inside the meticulously decorated country home. Not a knick-knack was out of place, and the aroma of freshly-baked bread filled the air. The only thing breaking up Norman Rockwell was the group of irritated cops in the foyer.

She led them into the small living room and everyone sat down.

"When was the last time you talked to or saw your sister?"

"Well, that would have to be when she dropped Craig off…" she twisted the bottom of her apron around in her hands. "I haven't spoken with her since then either, I mean, she works such strange hours at the, um, lab, you know?"

"Yes," Brass responded dryly, "We know."

"Why… why are you looking for her? I don't understand. Has she done something wrong?"

"We have reason to believe she has, yes."

Catherine wondered if Brass was going to elaborate. Instead, he just stared at Mrs. Price, eyes narrowed. She'd seen that same look in the interrogation room many times. Jim had a better stare-down than most TV cops. But in this instance, the woman in question just seemed confused.

Catherine figured this was a good time to jump in. "Your nephew Craig is spending the week with you."

"Yes, he's been here for about five days now. Jeffrey's asking if he can stay longer."

"Was there any particular reason for his visit?

"No… he—" Mrs. Price fidgeted in her seat. "He says he likes it better over here than his house. I think he's still having a hard time with—"

Brass held up his hand, interrupting. "We're gonna need to talk with him right now."

"Well they're at… at school now. I'd have to—"

The shrill ring of Catherine's phone broke the uneasy silence.

"Excuse me." She stepped back into the foyer.

"Hey, Grissom?"

"Cath, we found a bunch of stuff on her computer, including where they may have gone. I need you guys back here."

"We were gonna talk to the kid."

"Have Sara do it… send Vega with her. You and Brass meet us in Mulberry."

"You think they went there?"

Catherine looked back down the hall at Mrs. Price, who now appeared to be crying.

"Just get there. Call me back from the road."

"Okay." Catherine took a breath. "Listen… I don't think the sister knows anything. I don't think the kid will know anything. Mrs. Mason plays just like her dead husband – way out in front."

"No kidding."

And the line went dead.

The slam of a car door brought Nick back to full awareness.

He squinted, puzzled at the feeling of a thick, scratchy blanket covering him from just under his nose all the way past his feet. Trying to sift back through hazy memories, he barely recalled that it wasn't out of charity; rather, it was for self-preservation. Juliette's self-preservation.

They stopped driving. A door opened. The smell of gasoline. A blanket tossed on him, completely obscuring his form. A voice outside. No, two voices. Friendly.

"…usually don't get much business way out here…"

"…heading on a day trip down to Good Springs… hear there's a nice antique shop…"

"… a good day, ma'am…"

And then nothing again.

Did she really drive them all the way down to Good Springs? Nick could have sworn she was headed for Mulberry again, but then everything seemed so confusing. He pulled at his cuffed hands and sighed in frustration. Helpless was not his nature. Just because he had the most rotten-awful luck in the world didn't mean he had to sit around and wait for his demise. 'Rick would even call him on that. Call… call. That's right! Nick felt a surge of relief. It wasn't MacGyver with a paper clip, but it was good enough for him.

He gritted his teeth and slowly moved his cuffed hands down to his right jeans pocket. Somehow maneuvering his index and middle fingers of one hand, he was able to barely grip the razor-thin cell phone and pull. After several tries, it finally fell onto the seat beside him.

He paused, breathing hard. Nick couldn't believe how much effort such a simple task took. He was already so tired, but Mrs. Mason could be back at any time. He moved his hands down further and angled the phone into one hand. His arms and fingers felt weak and they shook slightly, but he held on fast. Slowly moving his arms toward his head, he dropped the phone right in front of his face on the seat cushion. Nick then pressed what he prayed were "2" and "send," which would automatically dial Grissom's cell phone.

Nick tried tilting his head forward and was able to just make out the familiar ringing sound. His boss, predictably, picked up right away.

"Nick?"

"…Gr…" He decided trying to say the supervisor's name was only wasting both time and energy. Grissom's voice was unnervingly frantic.

"Nicky! Nick, are you there?"

Nick's eyes closed on their own accord. This was a lot harder than he thought it'd be. He suddenly felt like he was outside his own body… and… couldn't remember why he had to call his boss. What details did he know? He swallowed and willed himself to remember. Griss was depending on him.

Suddenly a name popped into his head, and decided he had no choice but to trust his instincts and go with it. He opened his eyes again, took a shuddering breath and hoped his boss's altered hearing was in full, working order.

"P… Pete…" He licked his lips, trying desperately to make his voice stronger. His mouth was so dry that it was hard to ground anything out. "Walk… err."

"What? Nick?"

"Pe…"

"Pete Walker?"

Exhausted by the effort, Nick panted harshly, completely wiped out. He hoped – no, he knew – Grissom would make sense of whatever he was trying to relay, because right now Nick had no damn idea. The Texan's eyes fluttered closed with his boss still on the line.

TBC (pretty soon?)