New York
Day 3- 12:45 AM
Mac Taylor's apartment

Mac's eyelids were dangerously close to dropping into sleep. He and Stella had stayed at the Lab until nine, finally leaving the cramped office to seek food and a more comfortable place to research. They had found themselves at Mac's apartment not long after.

He'd read every file. Gone through every telephone call. Logged all of the alarm traces. There was nothing to indicate any of the women were connected in any way, shape, or form. Stella had told him to take a break. Maybe he'd rest his eyes for a few moments-- right after he went through the credit card histories. After all, Stella had fallen asleep over forty-five minutes ago, why shouldn't he?

He opened the first file to the list of purchases of the earliest victim. Groceries…car payments…mortgage…gym fees…airline ticket…

Mac froze. Airline ticket? Quickly, he flipped open the next file. Credit card purchases. Airline, airline…Mac's head spun as he read the list. There! American Airlines Flight 272 from White Plains to Las Vegas.

"Stella!" Files became a blur. Mac rifled through every one, highlighting the same purchase as he went. Again and again: American Airlines, American Airlines. They were all the same. Every woman had booked a flight out of her home city and into another.

"What?" Stella came to a groggy focus to see her partner madly glancing back and forth as he lined the floor in front of him with what looked like the credit card statements of the Butterfly victims. "Mac?"

"I found it." He stood and looked down at the yellow lines that indicated the key piece of information he'd been looking for. "I found the connection."

Stella made her way over and flicked her eyes over the sheets. He was right. Sheila McCartney booked her way out of Miami and into Las Vegas; Anya Treeter wanted to escape Las Vegas for the bright lights of New York; Blair Ullta left the Big Apple for Miami warmth. It went on, and on.

"We need to trace these flights," Stella glanced at Mac. "Passenger lists. Attendants. Pilots."

Mac nodded. He pulled his jacket from the couch he'd tossed it on earlier and turned to his partner.

"We're leaving. Now."

Stella wasn't far behind.

New York
Day 3- 1:00 AM
The Sheraton Hotel, Room 413

The shrill ringing of the telephone went almost unheard in Gil Grissom's room. Catherine was comfortably curled against her partner, moulded perfectly into him, the curve of her back snuggled into his chest; Grissom's arm was slung protectively around his partner. She'd informed him of her nightmare when she had arrived—he had immediately insisted she stay with him, so he could watch over her. Now, two pairs of blue eyes snapped open as the phone next to them rang insistently. Grissom reached over the strawberry blonde next to him to pick up the troublesome object.

"Grissom."

"Grissom, Caine here. Mac just phoned. He's found the connection between all of our women—airline tickets. Every single on had booked a flight out of their own city and into another."

Grissom untangled himself from Catherine and sat up.

"Has this been researched? Do we know if any of them actually got on their flights?"

"Mac and Stella are on it right now. We're all going to meet back at the lab."

"Okay. I'm on my way."

Grissom began to climb out of the bed when Horatio spoke again.

"Grissom? Make sure Catherine knows, as well. I can't seem to reach her." Grissom glanced at the woman that had fallen back to sleep in the bed.

"Uh, yeah, she's with—I'll let her know."

He could practically hear the Miami CSI grinning as he snapped the phone shut.

New York
Day 3- 2:00 AM
NYPD Crime Unit

The NYPD Crime Unit looked strangely dark as the entire team arrived. The halls had taken on a soft blue glow; the light that filtered through the windows was an artificial yellow. Grissom felt strangely at home, amongst the dark of the great city, knowing that this was the time that he thrived best.

Men and women bustled by him at a slow pace. They had dark circles under their eyes, circles he himself knew intimately. They had the graveyard look to them.

"Okay," Flack jogged up beside the group and handed a file to Mac, who was leading. "I got the flight logs. It wasn't easy, either—you owe me," the detective grinned. "Captain Brass is chasing down the flight crew as we speak."

"Good, good."

They—all fifteen CSIs, plus one detective—entered the NYPD Crime Unit's Layout Room and filed around the table, each silent as Mac read through the flight logs.

"It's affirmative," he said, "every woman got on her respective flight. And, according to this, they each got off."

"So," Stella stood next to Mac, reading over his shoulder, "divide and conquer?"

The division was quick. The conquering would take a while.

New York
Day 3- 3:00 AM
NYPD SUV

Jim Brass was punching numbers into his cell phone as fast as humanly possible. He'd just attained the warrant for the flight crew information, and was now speeding back toward the NYPD Crime Unit, praying for Gil Grissom to answer his cell.

"Grissom."

"Gil—Jim. I've got it."

"Good. We'll have the airline fax over the information."

"Wait for the warrant, Gil!"

"We can't." Grissom sounded eerily serious. "A dead butterfly is due within ten hours."

New York
Day 3- 3:15 AM
NYPD Crime Unit—Layout Room

Bodies flew around the room, bumping into each other and apologizing, moving around case files that littered the floor and table, evidence boxes and bags, and a whole array of objects that Mac Taylor had requested to be brought in. The detective himself was locked in his office, a caged animal while waiting impatiently for the fax from an American Airlines representative. Stella wondered whether or not he'd wear a hole in the floor from all the pacing he was doing.

The fax machine beside the man buzzed and beeped, and a piece of paper was ejected and pulled from the feeder before it had fully finished rolling through the gears.

Mac's eyes scanned the paper, then snatched the next paper that came off the machine. Again and again he did this, until ten faxes had been sent over and Mac's eyes were wider than saucers.

"Gotcha."

He turned, ran to the door. The Layout Room went silent as he arrived.

"Joseph Dalano." He looked up at the assembled group. "American Airlines Pilot since 1992."

Catherine and Grissom watched as Mac flipped through the file feverishly. Catherine spoke.

"Do we know if he's flying out today?"

A tense silence surrounded the group. Mac continued to literally rip through the papers in search of the Pilot's schedule. Horatio's frown was prominent. Grissom's arms were crossed. Stella's hands were thrust in her pockets to stop herself was fidgeting. Catherine's hand ran through her hair frustratingly. Calleigh's foot tapped lightly on the floor.

Mac's face was stony as he met the eyes of the team surrounding him.

At once, six pairs of feet turned and began to run toward the door.

"Hey!" Eric Delko shouted after the retreating supervisors and their right hands, "Where're you guys going?"

Mac's head turned to yell over his shoulder.

"To catch a plane!"

A/N: So, this is me hoping that this chapter was more satisfactory for those of you hoping for a faster pace. MANY thanks to DrusillaBraun for your awesome reviews, which are a pleasure to get in my inbox and always very inspiring. And lurkers ('cause I know you're there!), take five seconds, leave a review. I really do listen to every one and try to accommodate all of your suggestions.

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