((Warning- Strong language and action. Not explicit enough for M, but felt it necessary to caution.))

The cement was barren, cold. The couch: pleather, worn, torn at the edges with the disintegrating stuffing leaking from the corners. Fresh scrapes had worn the pitted rust on the armrests shiny in some places. Bloody handcuffs were still attached limply to the broken doorframe.

Grissom watched the coroner prop the gurney, bagged body ready for transport. He was drawing all the details together in his brain, eyes sliding from place to place silently as he contemplated what had happened, taking pictures.

"No sign of 'em," Warrick said as he stepped carefully through the door, watching the coroner roll the gurney out the door to the awaiting van. "Four in custody, dead guy makes five."

Grissom squinted at the room again, "Neck's broken," he said absently.

The window was open, Grissom's head tilted gently to one side.

"What're you thinking?" Warrick observed.

Grissom's eyes followed the line of sight out the window, looking at the bent bloody bobby pin sitting on the windowsill, and a break in the fence to the trees beyond.

His eyes flicked to the blood on the floor.

"They're out there…"

Warrick followed Grissom's gaze, rubbing his chin slightly.

"How do you figure?" he asked.

"She's leaving us a trail."

"You think they got away?" Warrick said bluntly. He pressed his lips tight together. "I don't want to be the devil's advocate here," his voice was incredibly quiet, intimate and sad. "But we have to start considering the possibility that they were killed and dumped."

Grissom's eyes closed for a moment, reopening to look at him. "I don't believe that."

Warrick's lips pursed. "Gris, they're not here. There's blood all over the floor. We have to look at the evidence and consider the possibility…"

"No!" Gil's face was dark, pained. His eyes closed again as he pulled the uncharacteristic frustration carefully back under control. He began to speak, jaw setting. "I see other evidence. Follow my thoughts for a moment," he began. "Kara shows up, talks her way into the room, finds Nick handcuffed to the couch there." He walked over to the corner of the couch, studying the room again. "She makes a deal, gets cuffed to the other end; there." He moved to the opposite side.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Bad guys don't make deals," Grissom grinned slightly. "They keep them both. Now Kara's in a room alone with the person she came to get, window, tree cover within running distance. She had a plan. Her plan was to get Nick out."

"Explain the blood," he crossed his arms.

"Hers. Unlucky there turns her jaw into hamburger; there were cuts on his knuckles. She bled enough to convince him to leave them alone. "

"Then how'd they get out? That's a helluva lot of blood."

"She was here when she got hit," he pointed at the floor. "She got out of the cuffs, went to get Nick out; there's blood on the handcuffs on the floor. During the process somehow, bad guy gets his neck snapped. She secures the door, and they go out the window."

"How you figure?"

Grissom held up a small bobby pin sitting on the windowsill with his gloved fingers. "She had this in her hair when I saw her last. They're on the mountain," he smiled slightly.

"But why keep them alive?" Warrick asked. "Assuming they still are. Why would anyone keep two liabilities?"

"Someone went to a lot of trouble to get her on their terms. Nick was taken to flush her out. When they had her, the biggest bad guy comes and finishes the job."

"Which probably means the guy we want isn't even here," Warrick said absently, squinting as he looked out the window.

Grissom thought a moment, his face paling as he looked out the window. Warrick's eyes snapped to his at the same moment.

"He's out there with them," Grissom said quickly. "We need a chopper, thermal imaging… it's getting dark and we don't have much time."

"If any," Warrick commented as he moved through the door.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Her elbows dug into the ground, her hands up next to her shoulders to show she was unarmed. The pistol was within reach, a dark blob on the ground out of the corner of her eye under the foliage. He'd come out of nowhere, waiting until she had cleared the line of brush from their hiding spot to make his move. Nick was still hidden and damn well had better stay there…

She squinted slightly, refusing the urge to look at her gun.

"Easy… easy easy…" his voice grated, the rifle's muzzle tracing her eyebrow.

The tone was low; almost a whisper. It slithered with the irritated timbre of a chain smoker with a southern accent.

"I've been looking over my shoulder ever since I got wind you were here," he began, lips lit with amusement at an undisclosed humor. "Six months they told me. And here we are… Tell your boyfriend to stop moving or he'll be putting your skull back together."

She drew a slow breath, eyes flicking to Nick.

"We can talk about this," Nick said slowly, the discreet snap of brush had ceased. "Just tell me what you want."

Damn him!

The muzzle thumped against her skull as he answered Nick. "I want her."

"You can't have her," Nick said.

Ricker laughed slightly. "Do you even know what you are protecting?"

"Enlighten me," Nick said.

"Fine," Ricker smiled, deep cheeks stretching over gaunt cheekbones. "You're protecting a whore. The Man's hooker."

Nick's eyes flinched around the edges.

He was going to tell him their dirty little secrets, which meant he was going to kill him.

"A woman who sells herself to the highest bidder. A woman who thinks she is saving the right of the world by selling her soul. A woman that will do anything to get paid. Ask her if she enjoys it." He paused. "Go ahead, ask her," his voice was hushed.

Nick looked at her, an expression of confused hurt on his face.

She couldn't meet his eyes.

Ricker smiled. "What a catch… you got this guy snowed good."

"Shut up," she hissed. "Shut up! He can still walk away from this."

"Come on…" he made a face. "You know how this works. You can't honestly think he could walk away after he knew who you were? Who else did you condemn to a death sentence?"

"They figured it out on their own," she quipped.

"Only after you screwed up."

Her lips pressed together. "Then kill me, but they didn't have any part in this. They don't know who you are, where you are."

"You think that they couldn't find me? They found you, I kill someone they are willing to protect and damn straight they'll find me."

"You're going to kill them all then? Even you're not good enough to get out of that one," she said darkly.

"One by one…" his voice was quiet, only to her. "Starting with you, then him… or maybe the other way around just for fun. You can die knowing that you ruined the lives of dozens of people. A car accident here, mugging there; mark my words, everyone involved will die," he paused, "and it's your fault."

She clenched her teeth, watching his eyes divert. He looked at Nick; that was all she needed.

"Once, I was scared when I heard that she was after me. Now… I realize what happens when good killers get lazy," he started, interrupted when an angry gritted scream preceded a sharp hit to his rifle, her hand grabbing the muzzle. She jerked his aim to the side, shoving it back into his chest with an intense jab and tackling him as he caught his breath. The rifle clattered away.

They rolled over each other in the loose dust; she was the first to break the grapple as she flipped to her feet and threw several strong punches to his face.

Nick had grabbed the gun and was aiming, trying to follow Ricker's movements.

"Shoot him!" Kara hissed, diving for the rifle with both hands.

They both grabbed for it at the same time.

She twisted, trying to pry it from his hands. Her arm wouldn't hold; she couldn't hang onto it.

Nick couldn't get a good shot; they were too close, moving too fast.

She felt the air move before she saw it, the chop of rotor blades in the air. The time to think was over, and Ricker knew it too. If he stayed, he would be caught. If he fled, he would lose his prize. He suddenly pulled the rifle up sharply into her face and she let go.

Nick fired a shot into the air as the rifle snapped to Nick. He had a clean shot on Nick's face.

Nick had a clean shot on Ricker's face.

Brightness flooded her vision as she slid to the ground and landed against Ricker's legs, her nose began to bleed again.

"A moment and this will be all over," Nick said. "How's this gonna end!" He wasn't trying to be heroic; he was terrified. Glitter around the rims of his eyes betrayed him. Tears. Undeterred, he stood staunch with a two handed aim, posture threatening.

"Can you shoot me?" Ricker's voice slithered. "I can shoot you before you pull the trigger. No matter how fast you are…" his eyes narrowed, "I'm faster. Look at you… you're a kid, a little boy with a gun."

Blinking to clear her vision, she was spent; their words were muddy in her ears but Nick's situation sharp in her brain. She tried to get up, her fingers brushing Ricker's boot.

A knife.

She breathed in short gasps, praying Nick could hold the standoff as her fingers reached undetected to Ricker's boot; sliding out the knife. Ricker's eyes snapped to her just as she reached back to strike, sinking the blade into the meat of his thigh with a sickening 'thuck'.

A curse was lost in the pop as the rifle went off; aim skewed as he fell backward holding his thigh and dropped the rifle. He staggered to his good leg, holding his thigh as the spotlight of a chopper sliced through the wane light of evening. Brush and dust whipped in the clearing as it crested a line of trees, creating a blind wall of swirling dirt.

She shielded her face, reaching for the rifle where it had fallen.

It wasn't there. She regained her bearings to see the back of Ricker's coat as he staggered into a line of trees.

"Shoot him Nick!" she screamed.

"I can't see anything!" the panic and tears were caught in his throat. Several pistol shots went off, the dust swirling around them. He was shooting blind.

She staggered to her feet, turning in a circle; fear irrepressible. There was no way she could protect Nick, her breath was ragged as tears streamed down her face. She kept turning in a circle, knowing what had to happen, knowing what she had to do. Her neck prickled. She could smell Ricker; feel his eyes burning the back of her neck from the tree line.

He was lining up a shot, hatred burning through the sight.

She glanced at Nick through teary eyes, knowing that looking for Ricker was pointless. There was no time. He gave her a questioning look, waving his arms as the chopper settled above them.

She heard the crack.

It seemed to take forever.

She drew a breath, loud in her ears, reaching out to grab Nick's jacket and spin him out of the way. They both hit the ground with a grunt in slow motion, the sharp sting to her chest reeling time back to its normal speed. She grappled the gun from Nick's hand, firing off the last shot into the dark trees.

"I hate you!" she screamed after Ricker into the darkness, tears over her lips. Her finger continued to fire in dry clicks after the gun had emptied. Tears burned her eyes, feeling warmth flood her lungs as her sobs became choked.

Gunfire erupted from the chopper into the tree line.

Nick regained his bearings, the back of his neck warm. The warmth became a steady stream, oozing across his jaw as he felt her weight collapse on top of him.

He panicked.

"Kara.. no…no no no! Kara!" Nick screamed as he turned beneath her, watching her eyes flutter and close. He grabbed her shoulders and turned her onto her back, pulling off his jacket and pressing it to the front of her chest. "Get down here now!" he looked frantically into the spotlight at the chopper. "Now!"

There was blood all over his hands, he looked at them with disbelief; catching the calm expression that had settled over her face as his flinched in horror.

"No… no!" he screamed desperately as his hands went back to his jacket. "Get down here! Please!"