Summary and Warnings

This is a Snickers story. In other words, the pairing will be between Nick Stokes and Sara Sidle.

When CSI Las Vegas is the only department willing to take the case, Sara Sidle and Nick Stokes are sent to investigate the death of a young woman in the small mountain town of Hickory, Arizona. This tiny speck in the vast wildness encompassing the southern boarder of the Arizona Strip conceals a great many secrets and conceals them with ease. Can Nick continue to conceal his?

DISCLAIMER

Ask yourself this question….If I actually owned CSI, Sara Sidle, Nick Stokes, Nevada, or Arizona….why on earth would I be writing a story to publish on (which I also do NOT own)? Exactly. I don't own much of anything so please, don't sue me?

Sketch Chapter 1

Feathery wisps of fine textured dust dance and swirl, ends tapering to sharp tongues lapping at the dry heat above the unpaved main street of Hickory, Arizona. The few lights of this minuscule mountain town reside more than one hundred and fifty miles to the northeast of Las Vegas, more to the east of "Sin City" than to the north. She is nestled in the wilderness, surrounded by life and drenched in the sun but her silent winds are that of loneliness; her refuse in shade washes despair over any that venture there. But this misery is never immediately evident to the few and far between visitors.

They see the deep canyons and valleys cutting away into the earth; they see the distant horizon lined by blue mountains in the north and breath taking color schemes at sunset and sunrise; they see mysteriously abandoned mines and empty sheds but they only see what their eyes will allow them. They smell the baking of dirk, sand and shattered Anasazi pottery with the midday sun; they smell the dry heat itself, and feel the refreshment of spring water slicing through rocks.

This place holds more than what their eyes can see, more than can the touched, held or conquered. Something unholy inhabits the empty spaces here, weighing down the air, carrying all ill intended whispers and silencing the most fierce of screams. Only time and the darkness of vanishing corners can give this sickness the needed consent to burrow into a living creature.

Nick Stokes glares at his cell phone in a vain attempt to will away the 'roaming' icon that seems to have taken up permanent residence across the display. 'Roaming' has effectively dissected him away from the real world outside of this hidden town and left him waiting in the entrance of the only motel-like ordinance within at least 100 miles, without his partner and no sign of her approach.

Although, this is a different sort of entrapment from that which plagues his nightly excursions into dream land, it still offers very little comfort. Trapped is trapped regardless of the size of the box. A thought occurs to him At least this time I was in a box and before he can grasp it, the notion is lost in the way that most pleasant dreams fall away in the morning sunlight.

"Ain't no tower 'round here," a woman's voice informs him thick with the rasp of a long time smoker.

The Texas native turns his attention to the owner of the cryptic statement to find a forty-something nicotine addict waiting patiently for him to offer up some sort of response…equally as cryptic, "I beg your pardon?"

"A tower," she enunciates none too effectively, "Fir yer phone there. Most folks haff-ta use them satellite cell phones 'round 'ere if they ain't got a land line."

Albeit begrudgingly, Nick does allow the tension in his body to fall away so that his facial expression doesn't betray his unease as he listens to the colloquial speech from the woman behind the make-shift counter of the "Hickory Mountain Pass Inn." She is a relatively short woman not much over five feet tall with a rosy moon shaped face, short pudgy fingers, an evident knack at cross stitching, and if her label has anything to say about it, her parents blessed her with the name Linda-Maye.

"None-the-less, I 'spose yer in search fer a place-a stay tonigh'?"

Her question is quickly followed by a wide smile and a hopeful gleam in her eyes…a look that in a fairly disturbing way reminds Nick of his Aunt Kathy's golden retriever. Imagery, being a strong suit for him lately, nearly floors him with an image involving nicotine flavored dog biscuits and hoola-hoops. After forcefully stuffing back this image, he briefly considers a possible future in the use of antipsychotics before fielding his reply.

"I sure am Ms. Linda-Maye! Two of your finest if that wouldn't be too much trouble?"

"Ah, see, here's the thang…. there's only the one," She answers with a mix of frustration and hesitancy.

Nick glances back at the completely vacant parking lot and then to the room-key infested wall behind Linda-Maye. He raises an eyebrow in question. This could be interesting,

"Just the one?"

"Yes, the one."

"You only have one room left available?" Nick asks as Linda-Maye follows the young man's gaze to the plethora a keys lining the wall behind her.

"Actually, it's jus' the one…total," Linda-Maye answers and continues quickly inadvertently explaining her earlier frustration, "We are remodelin' the otha' rooms and my ignert husband has not got the time ta finish what he has started but he shur' has the damned time ta watch the tube aAAaaalll damn day!" She ends her tirade with a bright red face and a balled up fist banging on the counter that perfectly hides the ding of the front door swinging open.

"One'll be fine" Nick answers quickly and rather quietly to avoid further conflict and watches as Linda-Maye turns to fish out the only key to the only open room available at the Inn.

"What have you done now, Cowboy?"

Sara's quiet, low, yet undeniably sexy whisper sends a tortuous wave through his body that serves to curl his toes. Of course it would take a day or two burning in the pits of hell to admit to this unnerving fact; a fact that he has been very effective at squashing to the back of his conscience for quite a long while.

Yes, yes, yes… being buried alive did teach him that life is short; God it's short as hell. The more important thing is that it also taught him a few other, more illusive, idioms about life and living it.

Simply put, Death is bad. Death is usually associated with pain and therefore pain…is bad (Generally speaking, pain is pretty bad without the death element but this is a progressive logic we're working with here so try staying on the side-walk and off the grass. We have a box here and we don't need to think outside of it). To recap, death equals bad, death equals pain, ergo pain equals bad. The scenario expands when taking into consideration that he Nick has a seriously dangerous attraction to his partner; the kind that doesn't shake; the kind that holds on like a pit bull locks down on a T-Bone steak. Yeah, it doesn't sound all that romantic but at least it is the truth and that is enough to make it pretty dang scary. Furthermore, he knows good and damn well just how much love can rip a person apart and being ripped apart is pretty easy to associate with pain. In summation, death equals bad, death also equals pain, pain equals love therefore, love equals bad and, if this is so and the depth of the feeling has any significant influence at all, loving Sara Sidle falls into a category of unmentionable corruption.

"Here ya are," Linda-Maye cuts in before Nick can blurt out a response to the brunette bombshell at his right and hands him a key to room number five, "Miss, can ah help you?"

"Oh, no thanks," Sara responds with such a level of respect inherent in her voice, she could say just about anything and be appreciated for it. It's a concept difficult to express like the awe of a magnificent sunset or the exhilaration of a thunderstorm but Sara has a way with the tone of her voice that is more powerful than the words she chooses to speak. She can make you feel accomplished or down right ridiculous effortlessly and seamlessly within the span of just a few moments. It's sometimes a bit frightening that she has no idea of the effect her voice can have on a person. She simply doesn't realize that she has managed to dissolve many situations (including this one) that would have, if otherwise managed, escalated out of control.

"Actually, Linda-Maye," Nick interjects when he finally recovers the ability to do so, "We're looking for Sheriff Wakefield. You wouldn't know where we could find him would you?"

"'Course ah can," Linda-Maye answers, her face darkening a shade or two as her anger starts to resurface, "Four doors down on the right, the lazy basterd's prolly watchin' TV right now!"

"Uh, yes Ma'am" Nick answers and quickly regrets it as Mrs. Wakefield continues to fuss about Mr. Wakefield.

"Thank you Mrs. Wakefield," Sara voices sincerely as she steers Nick out the front door by his elbow and waits for the door to close behind her before deciding to continue, "Nick, I think you may have hit a nerve with the Wakefields"

"Ya think?" he asks feigning bewilderment with a grin.

"I think, that woman was about to get violent with you," Sara answers with a small smile lighting up her features.

"Linda-Maye? Violent? Never!" Nick counters as he opens the driver's side door of his Tahoe.

"Why, thank you Mr. Stokes," Sara grins as she climbs into his seat, "She nearly had her fist through the counter…you gonna get in or…."

"You're in my seat, little missy and maybe that counter deserved it, it may be an evil counter," Nick replies using a wave of his hands for emphasis before moving to rest his forearm above the driver's side doorframe and tilting his head to watch Sara's reaction. All the while, he is completely oblivious to what his nearness is doing to his partner.

"An evil counter…the woman beat up an evil counter and it's my seat now. Besides…." her grin falters a little when he locks his eyes with hers. Without warning, her mind runs off without permission and evaluates quickly that, despite the subject matter, his eyes are pooling deep with emotion, multiple, drastically different emotions. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck rise with pin pricks glancing across her shoulders; it's almost as if she can see straight into soul of the man in front of her.

"Besides?" he asks stoically abruptly and with a blink slams her window to the sight of his turmoil.

"Besides, I have your keys," she answers recovering her stance on the situation with a toothy grin and dangles the keys out of his reach.

"You little thief! How on earth!"

"Will you get in!" Sara asks spilling laughter into every syllable, "and don't you dare try crawling over me!"

"Damn" Nick fires in return before trotting around the car and jumping in.

"Well, I think, I could'a taken her…." Nick states as he shuts his door.

"Ya think?" she replies as she starts the engine.

"No, not really. Actually, I'm not too sure I could handle the counter. We really should notify the CPS"

"The child's protec- oh….Nick, that is…oh that is just awful," Sara responds shaking her head slowly as Nick laughs, "The counter protection services? Quit laughing," she demands biting into her bottom lip, "Quit it, what is wrong with you!" but she can't help it, his laughter is contagious.

TBC...

CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI

runs out to Jeep...returns with axe...string of four letter words...glares at computer and pats flat side of axe against open palm Now, I know that my loving fiance built you...out of Legos and you're really damn cool but if you don't shape up...so help me GOD...I will destroy you.

looks up Oh...howdy yall...drops axe and smiles sorry 'bout that… This is the first thing I've written in a VERY long time so….benefit of the doubt please?

Oh and if anyone would like to help beta the next chapters...PLEASE let me know!