"Alright, let's put together what we've got."

Grissom was standing at the head of the meeting room table. Catherine, Nick, Sara, and Brass (Warrick had been taken to the hospital) all sat around it, their eyes fixed on him intently. They had all decided against going home that night. Instead they stayed, united in their hatred of the bastard who was doing this, and in their hope that they would find Greg...alive.

"We have our killer's DNA, blood and saliva," said Catherine.

"But no match," added Nick.

"Two bloody knives, one with Dustin Orwell's prints," said Brass.

"Catherine, did you print the knife that he used to attack Warrick?"

"Yeah, it's being scanned right now. I told Hodges to come to us with the news if it was matched."

"What else?"

"We have our attacker's voice," said Sara. "Male."

"Great, that narrows it down to just a couple million suspects," said Brass.

"He's got size nine feet," said Nick. "And from the tracks, Warrick determined he wears Guccis. Real nice. Real pricey."

"He also chews tobacco," said Catherine. "Real high-end, expensive stuff."

"So he wears expensive shoes and chews expensive tobacco. He's probably a wealthy man."

"A wealthy Las Vegas resident," said Catherine skeptically. "That could be anyone...casino owners, restaurateurs, hoteliers, pimps, racketeers, movie stars, anyone who's won the jackpot..."

"I got it, Catherine," said Grissom, cutting her off snappily. "Don't vent on me."

"I'm just trying to make a point, Gil!"

"You should be saving your anger for the guy who's doing this."

"Well I'm sorry, but he's not here right now, is he?"

"So you're going to take it out on me instead?"

The argument was getting quite heated. There was fire in Catherine's eyes, and Grissom's brows were getting closer together by the second. Presently, Nick took it upon himself to intervene.

"Whoa, whoa, guys...calm down," he said, but slowly and cautiously. He didn't want Catherine on his back too...or Grissom, for that matter. Both pairs of sharp eyes turned on him. He didn't like it.

"Nick, stay out of this," said Catherine. She didn't sound too happy with Nick.

"I'm just saying..." said Nick defensively, raising his hands.

"He's right," Sara piped up. Now it was her turn to receive the menacing stares. "Well, he is," she continued. "You guys have to tone it down a bit."

"We're not going to get anywhere arguing," added Nick.

"Gil, Catherine, I hate to disagree with you but...I'm with them on this one," said Brass.

Grissom's eyes darted from the captain to Nick to Sara. Finally, he looked back at Catherine, and she looked back at him. Grissom saw that they were right. Fighting was going to get nothing accomplished.

"You're right," he conceded. He softened visibly. "We have to remain objective, even when it's one of our own who's missing. Catherine?"

"I'm sorry," she said after a momentary pause. "I was wrong to get mad. But I just don't understand how you can be so...so calm, when Greg's missing."

"Calm? I'm anything but calm," said Grissom. "The last time I was this worried, Nick was six feet underground. Sorry to bring that up, Poncho."

Nick nodded in acceptance of the apology. The memory was still a terrifying one, one that haunted him in his sleep.

"From now on, we all keep our heads and remain cool, got it?" said Grissom. Four heads round the table nodded. "Good. Now we're getting somewhere."

It was at that moment when there was a little, muffled electronic beeping. It was coming from where Grissom stood. It was his cell phone. He quickly dug it out of his pocket and looked at the screen.

Someone was trying to send him some files.

He flipped the phone open and told it to accept the file transfer. A few seconds later, Grissom started and slowly put on his glasses, as though not believing what he was seeing.

Catherine was uneasy about this. When Grissom started, then put on his glasses, something was up.

"Gil, what's up?" Catherine asked nervously. Grissom, his manner dark and foreboding, passed the phone down to Catherine, who examined the picture on the screen. Her mouth dropped open in shock.

It was Greg. He was tied to a pipe by a zap strap around his neck. There was a bottle of unpleasant looking water next to him. He was not looking in good shape. He had no shirt, and this served to reveal his wounds. He had a slash across his torso, a stab wound in his chest, and some sort of wound on his left upper arm. There was gauze wrapped around his arm and torso, and some more simply stuffed into his stab wound. He was bruised and battered, and had a bloody broken nose. It looked as though he was in a lot of pain.

Catherine, her mouth half open, passed the phone on to Brass. After he had looked at it, it went to Nick, then Sara, then back to Grissom.

This was getting too deep. They had to stop it before someone actually got killed. They had been very lucky so far, in that none of them was dead yet. But how long could that go on for?

"Greg's alive," said Nick. "He's still alive."

"Or he was when those pictures were taken, anyway," said Sara.

"The pictures were taken precisely two hours ago," said Grissom, squinting at the photo.

"How can you tell?" asked Brass.

"There's a clock in the background," said Grissom. "It reads ten forty."

"That could be AM," said Catherine.

"It isn't," said Grissom. "There's a window behind Greg. It's dark out."

"He was alive two hours ago," said Nick, "so he's probably still alive now?"

"It's likely," said Grissom.

"What else do we know?" said Brass.

"This guy obviously has a pattern," said Grissom. "That's important."

"He picks out his victims beforehand," said Nick.

"Why else would he have gone for Mia, then thought better of it at the last second?" It was Sara that brought up this influential point. "It wasn't conscience."

"So what's his pattern?" asked Brass.

"Archie, Greg, Warrick, in that order," said Catherine.

"But why that order?" added Grissom

Just then, there was a knock on the door. Everyone swiveled to see who their visitor was as it swung open. Bearing a piece of paper in his left hand and a confident half-smile on his face was the form of David Hodges.

Grissom took a step towards him. "Well?" he asked.

"I ran your prints through AFIS," said Hodges. "And you'll be pleased to know, I managed to get a hit."

"Who?" The question came from everyone in the room, almost in unison.

"This is the best part," said Hodges, his grin increasing in smugness. "They were a match to none other than Dustin Orwell."

Grissom started. "Dustin Orwell's prints were on the knife used to attack Archie," he said, turning to the others.

"And I bet if we test his blood," said Catherine, standing, "it'll match the sample I found at Greg's crime scene."

"Jim!" said Grissom.

"I'm on it," said Brass and jumped out of his chair.