Note: had this chapter ready to post last night...but the site was a little psycho...so I was afforded time to make a few changes...to take things a little deeper...and alas...chapter four is ready. Thanks again for all the reviews...hope you enjoy this next installment...as usual, let me know your thoughts! It'll probably be the New Year before I get the next chapter up...site will be down this weekend for whatever their doing...we'll see what happens...i may surprise you...

The air was heavy in the closed bathroom; making it hard for Nick to regulate his breathing. He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there, he only knew he'd been standing there too long. If Warrick wasn't concerned before, he would be by the time came out of there with no evidence to show.

He glanced into the mirror over the sink as he bagged his latex gloves worn in the living room and pulled on a new pair. He looked like death warmed over. His slightly shaggy brown hair was matted to his forehead. He really needed a haircut. No wonder Warrick was so freaked. A splash of cold water over his face was out of the question, he thought as he began to examine the small bathroom sink. He'd save the drains for last. The slightest bit of hope still hung by a thread.

He gave the room a quick once-over with his eyes. Warrick was right, it was gross. No telling when it had been cleaned last. The rust stain surrounding the top of the tub clearly showed the general water level. There had been a lot of baths taken in that tub, or the pipes were full of rust. Nick liked the odds for the latter best. The house itself was ancient. The mob was still running Vegas when this house had last been renovated.

The toilet was running, a chronic problem to be sure. He'd have to be sure to check the plunger and the tank. Don Tedesco was obviously no handyman.

The small countertop surrounding the sink was cluttered with the typical bathroom accoutrements. A pink toothbrush and some toothpaste, a green hair brush, some hair ties, and soaps left little room for anything else. Nick bagged each item separately and placed them by the bathroom door.

The countertop, made of white Formica, was cause enough for the CSI to get a slight twinkle in his eye. It really was a great surface for holding prints. Nick took a deep breath and pulled out his print powder. Hopefully Grissom had gotten the father's prints when he got back to the lab. They'd need them for comparison.

The father was the best suspect they had so far. If he was perverted enough to hurt his own daughter, Nick was going to be sure he got what he deserved.

Within minutes he'd tape lifted several prints. Though mostly partials they were still workable. They'd gotten hits off less.

It took him nearly an hour to process the small room. Finding evidence amid the grime was a chore. He let out a sigh of relief, though, as he switched off the ALS and opened the bathroom door for the first time since he'd gone in. There was no evidence of blood in either drain, the sink or the tub.

"Hey man, almost done?" Warrick asked from the doorway.

"Just finished," Nick nodded. The look wasn't completely gone from his partner's eye, but it had faded in intensity. "I've got the girl's toothbrush and hairbrush for a DNA profile. I got some workable prints off the countertop."

"Any blood?"

"If there is, I can't find it," he responded picking up his kit and walking down the hall to the living room. "What did you come up with?"

"Well, the blood in the oven…" Warrick trailed off noticing Nick clench his jaw as he stiffened, his muscles tensing in his back. "I found some blood in the sink and drain. Could just be some nasty cooking accident," he shrugged.

"You honestly think this guy's a culinary chef?" Nick smirked. "Take a look around, this guy's a pig. He couldn't care less about his daughter, not to mention his own life."

"Yeah, seems like the man gave up after his wife died," Warrick nodded.

The criminalists gathered up their evidence and loaded up the Denali. They didn't talk much, which suited Nick.

Before leaving the scene they made sure to secure the door and seal it with crime scene tape. No telling if and when they'd need to return.

The girl was still missing. It had been nearly nine hours since she'd disappeared or at least since her father had called it in. Time was running out.

It was almost seven; their shift was coming to an end. The CSIs would drop their evidence off at the lab, report their findings to Grissom and head home for a few hours. DNA took time to process, they'd be lucky to get results the next day let alone next shift. They'd let the lab techs do their jobs and they'd do their best to catch some sleep.

Nick knew sleep was out of the question. He ran out of sleeping pills over a month ago, hadn't needed them so he hadn't refilled the prescription. He was beginning to regret his tendency to procrastinate and the fact that he'd neglected to keep the prescription full. He'd really like to sleep, if only to forget the case for only a few hours.

He hated even more, the most recent tendency to be haunted by his job. It was reason enough for the sleepless nights, or days, that plagued him every now and then. It was even more reason for the empty bottle of sleeping pills sitting on the counter in his kitchen. He didn't take them regularly, only when he needed them. He didn't need Grissom, or Warrick even, to think he'd become dependent on the sleep aids. Still, he'd have to remember to call the pharmacy when he got home, he thought as he climbed into his truck in the lab parking lot.

He had just missed Grissom in the hallway as he came out of the locker room. He knew Warrick had gone to their boss, and they had had some words, possibly about his reaction at the crime scene, though he couldn't be sure. He didn't feel like facing off with his boss. He was tired. He wanted no more than to go home and crash. He'd face him tomorrow.

As he pulled into his driveway, though, he knew it would be nearly impossible to do what he wanted. He couldn't shut off his brain, as hard as he tried to; scenes from the crime scene kept flashing before him. He couldn't get the pictures of the happy little girl out of his mind's eye.

Susan Tedesco lived with her parents in Loveland, Colorado. She was a happy child. She had hopes for her life, things she wanted to do; she wanted to be a writer, a vet, and an actress. There was little for her to worry about as she ran across the green lawn playing with her golden retriever. Her long brown hair flowed freely down her back. Her toothless grin lit up her face as she laughed with each wet kiss she received from her dog.

Her mom sat on the front porch with a cup of coffee watching her daughter play. She'd been sick a long time. The doctors said the cancer was inoperable. She had chosen to keep the dark news from her daughter. She didn't want to cloud the girl's sunny eyes with the darkness of death.

It was that sun from the girl's eyes that made life worth living, worth fighting for. And she'd managed to hang on for three years. She'd watched her daughter graduate from preschool, kindergarten, and now first grade. But she was weak, unable to fight anymore. The cancer was progressing, and time was running out.

Susan knew things were changing. Her mom was always sick, sleeping more and more. She was unable to play like she used to. Her dolls now sat on the top shelf, forgotten and dusty. Now, she read to her mom instead of her mom reading to her. She'd read to her books of far off places, castles and dragons, princesses being held captive only to be released by their knight in shining armor.

Life was changing. She knew it the morning her mom didn't wake up from her nap. Her father had come into her room. His eyes were sad, but it really wasn't anything new. She really couldn't remember the last time she'd seen her dad with happy eyes. He'd taken her onto his lap and told her that mommy had gone to see Jesus. That she was just too sick, and that Jesus wanted her for himself.

It sounded selfish to her, but she knew better. She'd been to church before, knew that Jesus loved her and her mom and dad. With Jesus, she wouldn't be sick anymore.

Life kept changing. The one thing that was stable in her life was now gone. She cried the day she and her dad drove to Las Vegas. She didn't want to leave her home, her school, and her friends. She wanted to things to stay the same.

But, things never stay the same. In Vegas, she noticed a lot of things changing. Their house was smaller and dirtier. Her dad even started changing. He was sad all the time. Slowly that sadness turned into anger and she slowly grew to fear her father. She didn't like it when he smoked. She may have only been nine, but she knew enough that cigarettes were bad, and the bottle that seemed glued to his hand wasn't good either. Most of the time he didn't even use a glass, he just drank straight from the bottle.

He was always home when she got home from school, usually watching TV or passed out on the couch. On a good day she'd find a frozen dinner in the freezer and manage to fix it herself for supper. She learned fast to take care of herself, to fix her hair, to get ready for school, to do her homework when she got home, and to get ready for bed. She cried herself to sleep almost every night.

She missed her mom.

She missed her dad.

It'd been a long time since she'd really seen her dad. The man that resided on the couch was a shell of a man left back in Loveland. It wasn't the man she knew to be her father.

She didn't like the man on the couch. Didn't like what he did to her when it was dark, when he thought she was asleep. It scared her, and as grown up as she appeared to be, she still didn't know what to do. She was afraid of what would happen if anyone knew about their secret, what they would think about them.

Though she was scared of her father, she loved him. Longed for him to return, to be the man he used to be.

Nick woke and sat up abruptly, in a cold sweat. What time was it?

6:23 p.m.

The sun was setting outside, he could tell by the orange-red color streaming in through the shades drawn across his bedroom window. The headache he'd been battling earlier had now dulled to a gently rumble behind his eyes.

He slowly stretched his back, his muscles screaming back at him from being on his feet so long the night before. His back had never been the same since his football playing days.

He was reluctant to get up, but knew if he didn't pop some Ibuprofen soon, he'd regret it later. So, he left the soft comfort of his bed and made his way to the medicine cabinet in his kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, he easily swallowed the two capsules. One last long chug from the bottle emptied it, and he threw it in his recycle bin as he headed to the bathroom.

He turned on the hot water, letting the steam rise and fill the room. Almost immediately he felt his tired muscles relax. The pulse of the hot water felt like heaven beating against his bare shoulders. He could almost feel the tension of the last twelve hours melt away. Letting the water wash away most of his pain, he lathered up and rinsed off.

The images of Susan Tedesco, though faded somewhat, still blinded his vision. As he drove to work, Nick felt his determination slowly building into vengeance. He needed to find that little girl. He needed to know if…

He needed to know if she was alright.

He needed to know the truth.

He needed to bring her closure.

He needed to bring himself closure.

He felt that all too familiar sinking feeling in his gut as he pulled into the parking lot of the lab complex. Warrick was pacing the sidewalk, waiting for his partner to arrive. His hands gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, as he clenched his jaw.

Nick climbed down from his truck, approaching his friend, wary of what he was about to hear. He knew it wasn't good news.

Warrick's eyes met his partner's. The man looked rested, more so anyway than he did the night before. He hated to be the one to tell him, but it came with the job.

"What's up?" Nick asked stepping up onto the curb.

"They found her," Warrick said somberly. "They found Susan Tedesco."