-1Author's note: Sorry about the delay! The last few chapters are written, it's just a matter of finding time to type and all! I hope you like this… only a few chapters to go… and I'm planning a sequel for afterwards! Enjoy!

…………

"What do you mean they never checked in?" Brass sighed heavily as the attendant on the other end responded, "Well, check again and call me back."

He hung up, and turned to the team sitting at the break room table. Despondent looks graced all their faces. They had put in more hours in the last few days then should have been humanly possible, and it was starting to show.

"Brass, ya gonna fill us in?" Nick asked tiredly.

Brass shrugged, "Grissom and Sara never made it to the motel."

"Maybe they changed their minds and headed back to the townhouse," Warrick said.

"If they did, they're not picking up," said Catherine as she walked in, taking a seat next to Warrick.

"Why'd you call the house?"

"Grissom didn't sound keen on leaving earlier, so I'd thought I'd call and see if they'd left."

The group nodded and looked at the information spread out before them. Papers and receipts all pointing to one man: Matthew Charbonneau. And so far, their only suspect.

"Have we found any connection between this guy and Griss or Sara?" asked Warrick as he started his third cup of coffee.

"Besides the fact that he kidnapped Sara? None," said Nick.

"Now, wait, we don't know for sure that this is our guy," argued Brass, "Pardon me for pulling a Grissom, but let's not jump to conclusions before we have all the evidence."

"Guys, I've got it!" yelled Greg as he ran breathlessly into the room.

Slamming the folder in his hands onto the middle of the table, he grinned. Everyone stared at it as Catherine slowly picked it up. She let a lingering stare fall on the young CSI before she opened it and looked down at its contents. A frown spread across her face as she read it over.

"Greg, who is this?" she asked, jutting a chin at the picture in the folder.

Greg took a seat next to her, "Samuel Maguire, a graduate from Berkley. Was there a little over 11 years ago. Wanna guess who is brother is?"

"Matthew? Greg, the last names not even the same."

"Yeah," said Greg, "because he's a half brother. They didn't find out about each other until Matthew's senior year of high school, according to Matthew's parents, because Matthew had been accepted there and they didn't want him finding out while he was on his own. Which is how I found out about him, by the way. I was doing some checking around to see if he's been seen lately. But keep going, it gets better."

Catherine skimmed over the pages, but stopped when she came across a familiar name, "Grissom worked a case involving him. He was suspected of the kidnapping and murder of a little girl. He nailed him. Sara worked with him," she read on and gasped.

"Yeah. That case was closed four months before Sara was taken," finished Greg when Catherine looked up from the folder.

"Yeah, but why Griss and Sara? Revenge for convicting his brother of doing that to a little girl? He was guilty," said Warrick.

"Wait, Berkeley? Didn't Grissom and Sara meet there? I think he told me that once," mumbled Brass.

"Yeah," breathed Catherine, "A little over 10 years ago."

"Just after Matthew would have gotten there."

Shaking her head, Catherine stood from the table, taking the folder with her. Staring down at it, she searched her memory for something Grissom had said to her on the way to Denver just a few days ago. She bit her lip as she remembered.

"One thing the kidnapper said to me on the phone was, 'Hell hath no fury like a student scorned.' My guess, this guy was someone I ignored at that lecture… I opted for coffee with Sara afterwards instead."

"A pupil scorned," she whispered, then focusing on the team again, "He was at the seminar Grissom met Sara at. There was a picture left at the scene from the lecture and he spoke to Grissom before taking Sara. Grissom took Sara out for coffee after that lecture, it's possible this guy didn't take that well. He may have set up his brother to lure CSI's, or maybe he was stalking them. Or maybe, he just got lucky."

"If this is our guy, he may be on a list of people who registered for that seminar. I'll get a hold of Berkeley, see if they don't still have a copy of that list," said Brass.

"Greg, go with him and see if Matthew has checked into any hotels in the Vegas area recently."

"Catherine, that may be hard…"

"I don't care if you have to go to every seedy motel in Vegas by foot, Greg. Just find him."

Greg nodded, "I'm on it."

"Warrick, Nick, you're with me," she said, gathering the things on the table. Everyone stood.

"Where are we goin'?" asked Nick.

"To find Grissom and Sara."

As soon as her sentence was finished, Brass's phone rang. Holding up a finger, he flipped it open, "Yeah, Brass. What? When?" There was a pause in the conversation as he listened, "Yeah, I'll… we'll be right out."

Slowly, he closed his phone and slid back into his chair. Everyone stood before him, waiting for an explanation.

"Well?" pushed Catherine after a few tense seconds.

"That was dispatch. An anonymous caller reported an accident about 30 minutes ago. They sent some uniforms to check it out, and they sent back a plate number. It came back Gil Grissom."

"Oh my God."

"Is everyone alright?"

Brass sighed and shifted in his seat, "That's the problem. That's why they sent a plate number. No one was in the vehicle. If they weren't in the car and never showed up at the safe spot, where the hell are they? It's like they vanished."

"Or were taken," said Catherine, rushing out the door.

…………

He heard her laugh somewhere outside the darkness of his eyes.

"What are you thinking?" she asked quietly.

Grissom ran a hand through Sara's hair, and sighed, "You."

Sara laughed, "Me?"

And if he tried hard enough, he could feel the soft press of her lips against his.

Sara turned around in his arms and planted a kiss on his lips, softly caressing his cheek as she pulled away.

"This may sound kind of selfish… but I wish you weren't going to Denver," he said.

When he strained his ears, he could hear her voice echoing in his head.

"I love you, Griss."

"…Show me how much you'll miss me…"

"…don't let me go…"

"…I do trust you…"

"… love you…"

His head hurt. And when he tried to open his eyes he was met only by inky black. He tried to reach for his sore head, but his arms wouldn't move. As a matter of fact, his whole body felt tied down. Heavy.

Restrained.

His eyes shot open again, but the black was replaced with murky white light, which came from the small lamp that was being shoved in his face. He tried to blink it away, but it moved, shifted to reveal a tense face. Greasy strands of hair hung over the man's eyes, and he flashed a toothy grin as Grissom tried to sit up. Grissom's eyes tried to focus, but the room spun around him. He managed to make out a strap pulled snuggly against his torso as a clammy hand came to rest against his injured head.

"Head wound is looking better. At least it stopped bleeding," the man said, his voice holding a whisper of familiarity, "Of course, I'm not a doctor, so I could be wrong."

Grissom looked away from the man's steely gaze, trying to search the shadows. He had been with Sara, hadn't he? They had been driving. Where had they been going? The man huffed, and leaned closer.

"Still looking for her. Here I am, standing right in front of you. I mean, you can't even move, for God's sake, yet you keep looking for her! Notice me, damn it!"

Grissom slowly turned to face the man leaning over him. His eyes and that voice, they were vaguely familiar. But he was sure he didn't know his name, and that scared him the most. Unless, of course, this was the man his team had as a suspect. The man who's name Sara only whispered once since being returned. Matthew? Was that his name? It had to be. Sara had warned him about this man, and Grissom's foggy brain was starting to clear. Slowly, he took in a breath and nodded his head.

"I notice you… Matthew," he licked dry lips, "but it would be easier if you moved that light back a little and let me sit up."

Matthew laughed, a deep, cynical laugh. He wiggled his finger at Grissom and stepped back, "The light I can do, but I know better than to release you."

Grissom sighed and let his head fall back onto whatever it was he was lying on. He fought the urge to look around once more. The darkness behind Matthew would have kept him from seeing much anyway, but the nagging feeling that Sara was passed out in the shadows made him uneasy. Judging from his own headache, whatever had happened to them had been violent.

The black emitted a moan, and Grissom snapped his head to the left, sending a spike of pain through his head and down his spine. As Matthew pushed his way around the table and into the darkness, images of the ground crashing towards Grissom, bright lights in the rearview mirror, Sara's screams over the crunch of metal on metal, his own rough yell before the world went dark, they all came back to him. He gasped for air as he fought back the images, and then the room went bright. Matthew had run them off the road. Followed them from Vegas. They had been trying to hide, trying to run away. And he had stopped them.

Matthew had turned the room lights on to reveal a damp basement. Dusty corners, cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. And Sara, lying on her side on the ground not far from him. Grissom squinted to adjust to the intensity of the light. His neck was cramping, but he kept it facing Sara. She struggled to sit up as she lifted her head, rapidly blinking eyes meeting Grissom's only for a heartbeat, before turning away. In any other situation she probably would have added, "I told you so."

Not this time, though. The heavy sound of Matthew walking across the room reminded Grissom of where they were and he quickly looked away from Sara's shaking form.

"Let's play a game," Matthew smiled, licking his lips as he kneeled next to Sara, running a hand down her spine.

Grissom wondered if they'd ever be free.