Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in getting this next chapter up. I've been wrestling with a rabid plot bunny who kept chewing on my ankle, trying to force me into introducing another source of angst into a story that should have been winding down to its conclusion. :sigh: Then my beloved beta, Maekala, had to go and agree with the bunny! The following is the result of the battle that I lost in rather spectacular fashion.

Chapter Eleven

Suspicious Minds

Catherine ran out of the LVPD complex and started toward her car, but stopped and looked around when a horn beeped close by. She turned and saw Jim Brass bring his department sedan to a stop just behind her. The time it had taken to relay Warrick's report that Grissom and Nick had been found alive to the rest of the team and to the higher-ups in the department had allowed Brass time to return. He leaned out the open window and said, "Get in. I'll drive you."

She hesitated only a moment before she trotted over to the sedan and slipped into the passenger seat. "I thought you were going home," she said.

"Sleep can wait," Brass replied with a shrug Catherine didn't believe was as nonchalant as he made it seem. "They're my friends, too." After a brief pause, he asked, "What kind of shape are they in?"

Catherine's relief that her friends had been located and freed from the collapsed mine dimmed when she recalled Warrick's terse words describing their condition. "Pretty rough," she told Brass. "Nick was shot in the leg and has some other injuries. Gil…" She hesitated, swallowing back a wash of fear. "He may have broken his back. The medics on scene couldn't make a positive diagnosis."

"Damn." Brass's knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel harder. "They're being air-lifted to the hospital?"

Catherine nodded. "The chopper had just taken off when Warrick called. He stayed behind to recover the body they found in the mine before everything went to hell." Her lips lifted briefly in a wry smile. "Even injured, Grissom was still giving orders."

Twenty minutes later they arrived at Desert Palms Medical Center. Catherine saw that the Medi-Vac helicopter had already landed and now sat empty on the pad near the emergency entrance. She jumped from the car almost before Brass was completely parked and ran inside, stopping at the desk and flashing her identification at the same time she asked about the two men who had just been brought in.

The nurse gave the ID only a cursory glance. "You'll have to wait until the doctors have assessed their conditions," she said with neither emotion nor much interest. "The waiting room is over there." She scarcely looked away from the computer screen on her desk as she gestured vaguely to Catherine's left.

Catherine restrained the urge to reach across the desk and shake the woman. "Listen…"

Brass materialized beside her and interrupted to identify himself as well. "Miss, I realize that you have your policies and procedures," he began, his tone both reasonable and assertive. "But you need to understand that those two men are LVPD personnel and victims of criminal activity. I need to get statements, and Ms. Willows needs to collect any evidence that may be compromised or mishandled by your medical staff."

The nurse looked up then, her demeanor clearly communicating that she didn't like pushy people. She stood up from the counter-height stool on which she was perched. "I'll speak to the doctors," she conceded stiffly. "Wait here."

The woman had scarcely disappeared from view when the outer doors opened again and Catherine stiffened at the sight of two unwelcome newcomers striding through with all the purpose of a mission from God. Captain Garza and Lt. McNabb wore matching expressions of grim determination. Almost in lockstep they approached the intake desk, and neither looked any more pleased to see Catherine and Brass than they were to see the IA detectives.

"You shouldn't be here," Garza said flatly.

Catherine didn't know whether to laugh or spit in his face. "Excuse me?" she retorted in disbelief. "Those are my friends -- my boss and a close colleague – in there," she reminded him sharply. "I have every right to be here."

Garza flicked a glance at Brass. "Captain, would you like to educate Ms. Willows on the finer points of an internal investigation?" he asked with deceptive mildness.

Brass smiled the same smile that had crumbled the resolve of more than one stubborn suspect. "So, is this an official investigation, Garza?" he asked in return. "Or is this just you trying to save face after you let Stevens fool you the first time around?"

"It is official," Garza said. "A cop is dead, two department employees are injured, and two million missing dollars suddenly surfaces after almost a year. We have an obligation to find out exactly what went on."

"Did you guys even bother to read the reports Ms. Willows and her people sent over?" Brass inquired, his temper starting to show in the clipped precision of his words. "Stevens was the only one armed, and the money was found in the trunk of his car. It looks to me like he was the only one planning to benefit here."

Garza's expression did not change. "Ever heard of a falling out among thieves?"

Catherine could no longer stand back and watch the two detectives; nor could she contain her indignation. "Just a damned minute," she cut in hotly. "The only thief is Dan Stevens. There is no way in hell Grissom or Nick would have been in on his schemes!"

"Two million dollars is a lot of temptation for any man."

"Not these two," she insisted, furious at the mere suggestion.

McNabb had stepped up beside his partner, forming a united front to counter that represented by Catherine and Brass. He, however, played the role of reluctant peacemaker. "We understand your loyalty, Ms. Willows," he said smoothly. "But you have to understand that we can't take anything for granted. Procedure requires a full investigation of this incident."

Catherine stepped up and jabbed a forefinger into the detective's broad chest. "You go right ahead and investigate," she challenged. "You won't find a damned thing to even suggest that our men were anything but victims."

"I hope you're right," he returned, glancing down at the hand that still threatened. "We will, of course, be taking both their statements as soon as the doctors allow. And until we've done so, they won't be allowed any other visitors."

"What?" Catherine stared at him with open dislike. "You can't do that."

"Yes, we can," Garza interjected. "Again, Captain Brass can verify this as standard procedure. Their answers cannot be influenced by any information that you might – even inadvertently – pass on that could change what they tell us."

Catherine turned to Brass, her wide, flashing eyes asking the question she was too angry to voice. He sighed in response and nodded with obvious reluctance. Too angry to speak, Catherine swung away from all three. Almost immediately she found herself facing the intake nurse as she returned from the treatment bays beyond a set of wide swinging doors.

The nurse looked warily at each member of the small but noticeably unfriendly group gathered near the counter. Her expression hardened when Garza and McNabb advanced on her like a pair of circling vultures. "You're with the police, too?" she asked.

Both men showed their ID's, with Garza adding that they were from Internal Affairs. "We'll be taking statements from two of your recently admitted patients – Grissom and Stokes," he informed her.

The woman frowned, obviously unimpressed by their insistence. "As I told your colleagues," she said without regret, "you'll have to wait until the doctors give their approval."

"And when will that be?"

"I really can't say," the nurse replied. "It may be some time – depending on whether they will need to be taken directly to surgery."

Catherine stepped closer. "What about evidence collection?" she asked.

"They understand the situation," the nurse conceded, "and they have handled crime victims before. One of the nurses will collect their clothes and other personnel effects and bring them out to you. Now, if you'll all just have a seat in the waiting area…" She gestured to an open space to their left.

Catherine turned away in frustration, hearing Brass's footsteps a short distance behind her. When she reached the waiting area she flung herself into a chair and raked her fingers through her disheveled hair in a gesture of complete exasperation. A quick glance revealed the two IA investigators still standing near the intake desk, heads bent close in urgent conversation.

"Want some coffee, or a soda?" Jim asked, breaking into her dark thoughts.

Catherine shook her head briefly. "What I want…" she began sharply before cutting off her own tirade. Her eyes stung with furious tears and she covered her face with both hands.

Jim Brass sat down beside her and reached for her nearer hand. She allowed his larger fingers to enclose hers, seeking reassurance from that simple touch. Damn it, she didn't want to cry! But the emotions she'd kept bottled up for so many hours screamed for an outlet. She clung to his hand as tears oozed from between her tightly closed eyelids.

"Catherine?"

Sara's voice, hesitant and scared, snapped her back to full awareness, and she opened her eyes to see the younger woman standing rigidly in front of her. She wiped her face and mustered a watery smile, knowing that Sara would assume the worst from seeing her having a melt-down. "It's all right," she said quickly. "They're both alive. I'm just madder than hell because they won't let us in to see them. And now IA is here," she added with even more heat, "and they insist on ­being the first ones to talk to the guys – something about not wanting their statements influenced by anything we might say to them." She all but spat the last words.

"Bastards," Sara succinctly summarized her feelings about IA. She took the chair on Catherine's other side and leaned forward slightly, arms resting on her knees. "Do you know anything yet about how bad the guys are hurt?"

Catherine shook her head. "Only what Warrick told me from the scene – which wasn't very much." She quickly filled Sara in on the few details Warrick had been able to give her.

Sara said nothing for several moments, but Catherine could see her working to keep her reaction in check. Her long fingers clenched themselves into a tight ball of white knuckles, and her lips took on the pinched look of someone who'd bitten into something extremely sour. When Catherine reached over and patted the younger woman's arm, Sara turned wide, intense eyes on her and said, "They'll be all right, you know. They have to be."

Before Catherine could frame a reply, one of the scrub-suited nurses, a woman she knew from past cases involving live victims, approached with a large paper sack in each hand. Catherine and Sara stood to meet her.

"Their clothes and things," the nurse, Peggy Cates, explained. "I collected everything myself and sealed the bags. And you'll get a copy of the medical assessment detailing their injuries as soon as all the test results are in."

Catherine nodded. "How are they doing?"

The nurse glanced around, her expression uncertain. "Catherine, you know it's not my place…"

"Peg, please."

"Look, I could lose my job if I give you any details. But they're both stable, and you know they'll get the best possible care. The doctors will answer your questions as soon as they can."

She turned away before Catherine could press for more information. Catherine looked down at the two bags she now held. Someone would have to take them to the lab. She didn't want to leave, and she felt fairly certain Sara would refuse.

"I'll call Greg," Sara offered, forestalling the inevitable argument. "He's still at the lab, working on evidence from another case. He can come pick these up, process everything…"

Catherine nodded slowly, at once relieved to have another solution and oddly reluctant to give up possession of the bags. She didn't release her grip until Sara gave them a small tug, and immediately tucked her now empty hands under her elbows so neither Sara nor Brass would see them shaking.

To be continued...