Foretold by SLynn

Summary: A woman walks into the crime lab only to tell Greg Sanders about her murder, a murder he's going to solve. Is she just playing games or is it something more?

Spoilers: Through 'Gum Drops'

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing and will return them all when I'm done, virtually untouched.

"You'll solve it and it'll stop."
Ashley Baker

Chapter 27: Perspective

"Jim, what are you doing here?"

Brass shifted uneasily at the door hating this part of the job.

"Anita, we're going to have to have a look around your house."

"What for?" the older woman asked, clearly thunderstruck to see so many people at her door so late at night.

"Is Saul home?" Brass asked instead of answering.

"No," she shook her head. "He's working late. On that case, what's the one? It was on the news."

"That's why we're here," he answered.

"But I don't…"

"We've got a search warrant," he handed over, not unkindly.

"Well," she said clearly unnerved, "come in. Of course you can look around."

Mrs. Harper took several steps back, letting Brass, Grissom and two uniformed officers inside.

"Does your husband have a study?" Grissom asked.

"No," she said, shaking her head clearly bewildered. "He does have a workshop. Jim, is Saul hurt?"

"No, Anita, he's fine."

"Ma'am?" Grissom gently reminded her.

"Oh yes," she said, fidgeting, "the workshop. It's out back."

Mrs. Harper led them out the back door to a rather large shed, opening the door and turning on the light.

"Saul loves to build. He's very handy. He loves this place."

Grissom scanned the room, his eye finally falling on the one thing that looked out of place.

"Do you know where your husband got this?" he asked, donning gloves and taking the object off the shelf.

"That," Anita responded, positively beaming, "is from our honeymoon. We've been married nearly thirty years now. We went to Sarasota. I bought that for him at the museum."

"Museum?" Grissom asked.

"Yes," she nodded, still smiling. "The Ringling Brothers Museum. It's a beautiful place, right on the gulf, but it stormed half the time we were there."

Grissom opened the palm sized box, shaped like a circus tent and examined the contents.

"He keeps that in here because he says it reminds him of me," Anita added.

"And these?" Grissom asked, holding up a necklace; one of many.

Anita gave it a once over.

"I don't know," she said. "I've never…"

"Officer Sorenson," Brass interjected, "why don't you take Mrs. Harper back inside."

The man accompanied him nodded and ushered her out.

"So…" Brass said once they were alone, letting it drag out into a question.

Grissom just looked back into the trinket box and shook his head. He didn't know what to think, what to feel. It was mind numbing.

"I've known Saul Harper as long as I've been on the force," Brass said. "I never… this isn't…"

He stopped, shaking his head to as if that would clear matters up.

Before saying anything further, Brass' phone rang. Before answering he exchanged a dark look with Grissom. True, it was news, but how good could it be? Sara was missing and Greg was in the hospital. The odds weren't in either of their favors. Still, he had to answer.

"Brass," he said into the phone.

Grissom looked on impatiently.

"Alright. Thanks."

Brass hung up and sighed.

"They've got him."

Officer Pete Paulson had been working the end of the strip for nearly three years. And it really was that, the end of the strip. After Nellis Air Force Base, all that was left was the speedway and then nothing.

It was a dull assignment, but that was alright with him. He got an occasional speeder and once the tail end of a high speed chase, but not much else.

Most of the real action in town was in domestic altercations, robberies, scams. The tourists were pretty safe; it was the locals that had to worry.

It was mostly boredom that led him to fire up his lights as a car, heading into that nothing, passed by doing just seven miles over the speed limit. Boredom and the fact that the car had a broken tail light.

The car pulled over with no complaints and Pete was just stepping out of his car when dispatch came on the radio, but he didn't have time to hear it. It was probably just another alert about the pile-up nearby. It didn't affect him; not even the worst of crashes affected the non-existent traffic on his stretch of road.

Unless it was a race day.

Pete pulled on his hat and walked up, ever alert, to the driver's window.

"Evening officer," the man inside said, smiling.

"License and registration," Pete returned.

"Guess I was going a bit fast back there," the man rattled on.

"Fifty-two in a forty-five," he answered as he looked over his identification. "And you've got a busted light."

"I do?"

Pete just nodded. He heard it all before.

"I'm going to…" Pete began, but stopped abruptly. "Did you hear that?"

"No."

Pete strained to listen, but his eyes never left the driver.

A soft thud could just be heard coming from the rear of the car. Pete heard it, and judging from the way the driver's eyes widened, he heard it too.

Pete didn't think, he just reacted.

"Get your hands up and step out of the car," he said loudly, gun drawn.

"Officer…"

"Get out of the car, now!"

The man didn't. Instead he slammed the door shut and threw the car into gear. Officer Paulson had no choice but to open fire, taking out both the front and rear tires on the driver's side.

The car veered sharply off the road before stopping, Pete already on his radio firing off all the necessary codes.

The car door opened again and this time the driver was compliant. His hands in the air, he stepped away from the car and knelt down.

"I know the drill," he said glibly. "I know."

Pete quickly handcuffed him before leading him off to his patrol car and for the first time in his career, he hesitated.

Finally, he decided what had to be done.

Retrieving the keys still in the ignition, he held his gun out and ready just in case.

"This is the North Vegas police," he said loudly. "I'm opening the trunk."

As quick as he could manage, Pete opened the trunk and gasped. Nothing could quite prepare him for the moment.

"We're going to need an ambulance," he said into his radio.

It wasn't the noise or the smell that woke her, but the motion.

Sara opened her eyes and struggled. Not just to move, but to breathe. Wherever she was, it was dark and the stench was overpowering.

Feeling lightheaded, Sara tried to raise herself up but couldn't. Her hands were bound tightly behind her and the space so small that there was no chance to free them.

Finally, adjusting to the little light there was, Sara caught sight of a neon glow.

She was in a trunk.

Sara fought down any instinct she might have to scream. Screaming would be pointless. There was already precious little air, no need to waste it. What she had to do was think.

Slowly she repositioned herself so that she was facing the rear of the car. It was slow work made harder by the continuous jolts of the moving vehicle.

Once she got herself ready, she kicked.

Sara kicked as hard as she could, as best she could, at about where she guessed the break light must be. Gaining as much leverage as possible by bracing her self first, she kept kicking until she thought she could see light; a lot of light which was a good thing.

Light meant they were still in the city.

Sara had to stop as a sudden wave of nausea swept over her. She had no recollection of what had happened or even how she'd gotten into this situation, but she imagined that she had been knocked unconscious.

Before she could recover the car had stopped.

Sara's whole body tensed up as she strained to hear what was happening. She could just make out muffled footsteps, but it was impossible to say if they were heading to or from but it was best to be prepared.

She strained to hear what was happening, but it wasn't easy. The car had stopped but the engine was still on.

Deciding she had nothing to loose, Sara braced herself as best she could and kicked both legs up into the lid of the trunk. Stopping to see if it had had any affect, she waited only a few minutes before trying again.

Suddenly the car was moving again and to her horror there was the distinct sound of gunfire.

She couldn't control the scream as it came this time, but it was brief. The car rocked hard before finally stopping. Sara could make out a man's voice, yelling something, but she didn't know what.

Then it was quiet.

Sara sat staring at the lid of the trunk, panic beginning to creep up on her. What if she'd just been abandoned? What if no one ever found her? A thousand 'what ifs' sprang to mind, each of them worse than the one before.

And then, footsteps.

A man, the one she'd heard yelling before, called out.

"This is the North Vegas police. I'm opening the trunk."

Part of her didn't believe it; couldn't believe it. It seemed too easy. Too simple. But he lifted the lid open and she saw it was true. She couldn't speak.

The man, the police officer, got on his radio and called for an ambulance.

Sara could only imagine she looked as bad as she felt.