DISCLAIMER: The characters do not belong to me. I'm only borrowing them for a little madness andmayhem.

Chapter Four

Trapped by Treachery

Wednesday, Early Afternoon

Two hours after entering the mine, Grissom and Nick stepped back out into the blinding sunlight. After so long in darkness relieved only by their helmet lamps and flashlights, both men grimaced and shielded their eyes until they could fumble their sunglasses into place. Grissom went to the Tahoe and opened the back hatch to retrieve the larger field kit. He set the camera down and opened his preferred briefcase-style case to be sure it held everything he would need.

"Looks like Stevens finally made it," Nick said, pointing to the sedan parked beyond their Tahoe and near the dilapidated structure where ore from the mine had once been processed. The car's presence had been hidden by the SUV's larger profile until he stepped toward the far side of the rear end. The sedan's trunk lid gaped half open, but they saw no sign of the detective.

"Guess he decided to check out the building," Nick surmised, moving away from the Tahoe for a closer look. He opened his mouth to call out and alert the detective to their presence just as Stevens emerged from the structure carrying a heavy canvas money bag in each hand. "Hey, man, what are you doing?" Nick demanded, lengthening his stride to close the distance between him and Stevens. "Don't you know better than to move stuff before we process the scene?"

Grissom left his equipment in the truck and moved quickly to catch up with Nick. He saw the flash of anger on Stevens' face and suspected that a verbal confrontation could quickly escalate. "Nick, back off," he commanded in a low voice, reaching up to place a cautioning hand on the younger man's shoulder.

Nick turned his attention to Grissom for a moment, and that was all Stevens needed to drop one of the bags and draw his gun. The two CSIs suddenly found themselves staring into a danger that neither had anticipated.

"Your weapons," Stevens said, gesturing to each man in turn. "Take 'em off – holster and all – and drop 'em on the ground."

Grissom gave Nick a small nod as he slowly retracted his hand and reached with exquisite caution to remove the seldom-used weapon from his belt. He knew Nick was looking to him for some sort of guidance, some reassurance that they could find a way out of this predicament, but at the moment he could do nothing except will them both to remain calm.

As Grissom bent to deposit his gun on the ground, he tilted his head to one side and stared up at Stevens. "You knew exactly where the money was," he mused. His voice was steady, very little different than if he'd been describing a piece of evidence. The only outward sign that his composure was less than complete was a slight narrowing of his eyes and a miniscule tic at the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah," Stevens agreed curtly. He took a couple of short, harsh breaths, and barked a laugh that held no humor. "I had it all planned out. In a couple of months when I have my thirty years, I'd retire, get a new start somewhere away from my ex, with my pension – and a nice little nest-egg." He thrust the gun forward a few inches to punctuate his words. "And you two had to go and screw it all up! If you'd just stayed inside the mine another five fucking minutes…!"

Grissom straightened slowly, careful to make no move that Stevens might misinterpret. Beside him Nick seemed frozen in place, jaw clenched, lips thinned to an almost invisible line. The finely chiseled nostrils flared with each rapid breath, and a pulse beat visibly in his neck.

"I'm waiting," Stevens said impatiently, raising his gun a few inches and taking a half step forward.

Nick had made no move to surrender his own weapon; in fact, there was something almost defiant about the rigid set of his shoulders. That scared Grissom as much as Stevens did. Twice before Nick had been backed into a figurative corner by a lunatic wielding a gun, and Grissom knew that both times he felt his response had lacked courage. Now was not the time for any ill-conceived heroics born of Nick's need to prove himself.

"It's all right, Nick." Grissom tried to infuse both warning and encouragement into his voice. "Do as he says."

"Better listen to your boss, Nicky-boy," Stevens said derisively. "You don't have the balls to take me on." He gestured again, and waited until Nick removed his weapon and crouched to lay it carefully on the ground. "You're a coward," he taunted. "The whole damned department knows it. I don't know why Grissom keeps you around. Every time you get yourself in a tight spot, somebody else has to come along and bail your ass out."

The muscle in Nick's jaw twitched and his lips compressed even more, but he did not look away from the scorn in Stevens' gaze. A deep wash of color stained his cheeks, but Grissom wasn't sure if it was anger or shame – or both.

Stevens' sneer became even nastier. "What? No denial? No attempt to excuse yourself?" he went on, his attention shifting from one man to the other. "What about you, Grissom? Aren't you going to speak up for your boy?"

Grissom answered with a brief shake of his head. "Nothing I say will change your opinion," he said matter-of-factly. "Nick knows his value to the unit, and so do I. I think you're trying to goad one or both of us into some action that will make it easier for you to kill us. I'm not going to do that. Neither is Nick." He hoped the younger man would hear and obey the implicit command.

Stevens made another impatient gesture. "Enough," he said finally. "Take three steps back, then get on your knees, hands behind your heads. I'll deal with you soon enough."

They had no choice but comply, which both men did with noticeable lack of enthusiasm. The rocky ground made kneeling a painful exercise, and the position made sudden moves impossible – which, Grissom knew, was exactly what the detective intended.

Stevens picked up and pocketed the forfeited weapons before he quickly loaded the remaining bags into the trunk of his car, exchanging their bulk for a flashlight and a small canvas knapsack before he slammed the lid closed. The entire time his gun never wavered from the two men in front of him, and when he had finished stashing the stolen money he ordered his captives onto their feet and back into the mine.

Grissom exchanged a silent look with his companion as they stood and turned to retrace their steps back to the mine with Stevens keeping a safe distance behind them. At the boarded-up mine entrance, Grissom stepped through first, with Nick following. The younger man stumbled a bit as he eased between the rough planks, and Stevens reached out to give Nick a rough jab in the shoulder with his flashlight, careful to keep his gun hand out of range.

"Move it," Stevens ordered. "Back away, then stand still."

Grissom and Nick stood as ordered, shoulders almost touching. "What do we do now?" Nick asked in an urgent whisper, his gaze on Stevens as the detective followed and switched on his flashlight. The slight sound attracted their captor's attention, and Stevens barked a command to shut up.

"We'll need our flashlights, too," Grissom said reasonably, "or our helmet lights."

"Flashlights only," Stevens said. "And keep them pointed down. Now, get moving. Grissom, you go first."

So much for any attempt to communicate with Nick to devise a way to neutralize Stevens, Grissom thought grimly as he moved deeper into the mine. He could only hope that Nick would be as vigilant as he himself intended to be for anything that could be turned to their advantage. "We found more of your handiwork farther back in the mine," Grissom said conversationally, raising his voice enough to carry back to Stevens. "Who was he? The fourth man from the armored car robbery?"

Stevens snorted a laugh. "What makes you think I had anything to do with what you found?"

"Because my belief in coincidence is limited," Grissom responded.

After a pause Stevens admitted that Grissom's supposition was correct. "He was stupid enough to think he could buy his way out jail if he cut me in for part of the take. Dumb bastard. As if I'd let him have that kind of a hold over me! As soon as he showed me where the money was hidden, I killed him."

"And now you're planning to dump us there, too," Grissom concluded. "You know, Stevens, there are people back in Las Vegas who know where we are. You won't be able to keep our bodies hidden very long. And if you're planning to shoot us…"

"Shut up!" Stevens ordered roughly. "I know what you're trying to do. And I've already decided how you're going to die. There won't be any way to trace it back to me."

"Every murderer leaves a trail," Grissom countered. "It's just a matter of time before someone uncovers it."

Stevens' answering laugh held deep contempt. "Look around you," he said, "at these timbers shoring up the shaft. They're so old and rotten, it wouldn't take much to bring this place down. It's a damn shame that it just happened to come down with the two of you inside it."

For the first time, Grissom felt a small flash of hope. He was fairly sure Stevens hadn't really thought out exactly what he planned to do. If he was making it up as he went along, he likely would make a mistake. It would be up to him and Nick to be ready and willing to act when that occurred.

Grissom turned suddenly when he heard ragged, scuffling noises and a thump behind him as Nick's flashlight went skidding past his left foot. He saw Nick on the ground, rolling quickly to sit up facing Stevens. The beam from the detective's light hit Nick full in the face, causing him to squint against the blinding brightness and bring up a dusty hand to shield his eyes.

"Nick, are you all right?" Grissom asked. He didn't know exactly what had happened, but judging by the anger imprinted on the younger man's face, he suspected that it hadn't been purely accidental.

"Yeah," Nick replied slowly. "I'm fine. Just stumbled a little, and our friend here decided it would be fun to watch me eat dirt."

"A coward and clumsy," the detective spat. "You got a real prince here, Grissom."

Grissom bent to lend Nick a hand getting back to his feet, then retrieved the dropped flashlight while Nick brushed dust from his hands and straightened his jacket and the set of the backpack straps on his shoulders. The two exchanged a long look as Grisssom handed back the light. Grissom had the distinct impression that Nick was trying to communicate something to him, but for the life of him he couldn't decipher the silent message. He was still considering the possibilities when Stevens ordered them to keep moving.

They once again neared the point where the tunnel branched toward the dump chamber where Stevens had hidden his first victim, and Grissom's earlier hope that they might yet survive Stevens' plotting faded. Even if they weren't crushed under falling rock, being trapped in that confined space would almost certainly spell their end. They would run out of air long before a search party could locate and free them.

Grissom tilted his head slightly as the sound he had been hearing for the last few seconds suddenly became clearer. Nick was humming, not quite under his breath, but so softly that it was difficult to distinguish the tune. Grissom slowed to close the distance between them, and finally recognized the song and the lyrics belonging to the line Nick repeated over and over. 'Get ready, 'cause here I come…Get ready, 'cause here I come…' And that silent, urgent look suddenly gained clarity and meaning. Nick had taken the flashlight with both hands, the left supporting the long cylinder from below, the right curling over it from above. And the cuff of his right sleeve had fit too tightly over his wrist, as if something was stuffed inside it.

Nick stopped humming and whispered, "Now."

Grissom turned quickly, raising his flashlight to shine directly into Stevens' face as Nick pivoted on one foot, bringing his right arm up and around in a smooth arc to launch the baseball-sized rock he'd managed to palm earlier. A major league pitcher couldn't have put more power into the move.

"Son of a bitch!" Stevens roared, flinching from the light a split second before the unexpected missile slammed into his chest just below the base of his throat. The impact rocked him back two steps, his mouth dropping open as he gasped for breath. His right hand tightened reflexively and his gun discharged, deafeningly loud in the confined space.

Grissom saw and heard Nick fall back, a pained cry escaping his throat. At that moment, the rational scientist vanished in a rush of primal survival instinct; he dropped his light and charged forward to tackle Stevens.

He had the initial advantage of surprise, which gave him a momentary edge over the larger, more physically aggressive detective. His first priority was to take the gun out of the equation. Stevens' training in self-defense would be difficult enough to overcome. He wrapped both hands around Stevens' wrist to force him to drop the gun. The move brought him within range of the detective's other fist, and he forced his shoulder up into the man's armpit to make it more difficult for him to get in an effective punch. Stevens stubbornly kept his grip on the automatic despite the pressure Grissom exerted on the bones and tendons of his wrist. It seemed that the battle for possession of the gun went on forever in a weird, disjointed dance that carried the combatants back down the mine shaft, bouncing from wall to wall like an ungainly pinball. The gun discharged again and again, kicking dust and stone from floor, walls, and ceiling, and filling the air with the acrid stench of burnt gunpowder.

Stevens' fist connected sharply with Grissom's jaw, and the CSI's grip loosened. He found himself spun around and slammed with bruising force into the corner of a shoring timber. The groan of overstressed wood and a cascade of dirt raining down alerted him to the immediate peril of the very thing Stevens had wanted. He summoned every ounce of his strength to shove Stevens back as he released his weakening hold and scrambled back toward the spot where Nick was struggling to rise. An ominous crack raised the hair on the back of Grissom's neck, and he ducked his head like a startled tortoise just as the first larger stones began to fall. He half expected Stevens to shoot him in the back, but a quick glance revealed the detective too busy trying to save himself from the rapidly increasing rock fall to worry about his intended victims.

Grissom was within three strides of his fallen companion when something crashed into him from behind and he went down hard. His breath exploded from his lungs, and he had only a momentary glimpse of Nick's pained and terrified expression before a stone clipped his head and he spiraled down into darkness.

To be continued…