My apologies for the length of the delay between posting chapters 42 and 43. I lost my muse. It seems to have come home though, so hopefully it won't be quite that long before chapter 44 makes it's appearance. I know that it is unfair to a loyal reader who has been following the story to keep them waiting so long, and I've felt badly about that. It took me a long time to get this one 'right' though, when it usually comes so easily. Hopefully it came together the way I wanted it to. Thanks all for your continued support! Cathy

Chapter 43

"I get what you mean now, when you said things were complicated," Annie spoke quietly, looking at Brass across the desk.

Jim looked up into the dark, assessing eyes. He frowned slightly, not understanding the remark. Brass and Annie Kramer had spent the last few hours reviewing the case, making conjectures, bouncing ideas off of one another, and trying to make sense of what information they had to date. They had found time, in between tasks, to consume a medium-sized pizza with the works.

Sitting with Jim Brass in his office, sharing pizza, had taken Annie back to the years when they had worked together in New Jersey. Logging overtime, working on one case or another. Jimmy jumping at the chance to stay late to avoid going home to the stress and misery of a lousy marriage. And she just happy to be near him. It had been over one of those thick-crusted, gooey, Jersey pan pizzas that their affair had begun.

Jimmy had handed her a warm slice on a thin, paper plate, juggling to keep it from sliding off as the paper, soaking up excess oil, began to bend beneath the weight. He'd given her a lopsided grin that was both so sweet and so sexy that her heart began to jackhammer in her chest, and her throat grew tight. Annie had touched the back of his hand before taking the plate. Allowing her fingers to linger there, softly, hesitantly. Caressing his skin. She didn't think that she'd ever been so nervous in her life.

The previous couple of months had been inexorably drawing to that moment. She'd hero-worshipped him, after his undercover work. Befriended him over beers as he'd gradually shared with her the unhappiness that marked his relationship with Nancy. Fallen in love with him, as the days of working together turned into weeks, and she got to know him not just as a cop, but as a man.

Annie thought that she'd been able to read the signals, but she was young, and though she'd had relationships before, she was still relatively inexperienced. But those times when their laughter would change to soft smiles, and lingering looks, seemed to indicate to her that on some level Jim Brass cared for her in the way she had come to care for him. At the very least, she could feel the physical chemistry between them.

But whether or not that would ever go anywhere, had remained the unanswered question. Many nights Annie had lain awake in the dark, agonizing on whether or not she even should pursue anything with Jim Brass. He was, after all, a married man, no matter how troubled the marriage. And there was a child involved. Before meeting Jimmy, Annie would never have entertained the idea of being any man's mistress. But as time had progressed, and she had fallen inretrievably in love with him, the line between right and wrong had blurred. Morality no longer seemed a concept of such absolutes.

And then she had taken the plunge, her move unplanned and unrehearsed, and the soft pads of her fingers had danced lightly, meaningfully, over the small hairs on the back of his hand. And for one long moment, one detached part of her looked on horrified at her boldness, while the other desperate part waited with all of the hopes and dreams her youthful heart could have contemplated.

The memory was so clear to Annie then, though she hadn't thought about it in years. Jimmy's hand had hovered in midair that fateful night, his lips pressed together uncertainly, his eyes dark with an emotion she was too afraid to decipher. His other hand reached up to cover hers, and Annie had held her breath, wondering if he would clasp it and remove it. Ending things before they had ever begun. She had been unable to speak. Unable to say all of those magical words she used to imagine she would say to him when this moment finally came. Instead, she waited silently, understanding that the next move was his, and wondering how she would ever live with the heartbreak and humiliation of his turning her down.

He did gather her hand in his, pulling it away, still grasping the plate in the other. And tears had pricked at the corner of Annie's eyes, blurring her vision. She didn't see him set the pizza on the desk, and couldn't make out his features, but then his face descended. And finally, his lips were on hers, and Jimmy was murmuring her name. And never in Annie's life, before that or since, had there been such a kiss.

And now, years later, there they were again, and once more he had been passing her a slice of pizza on a cheap, paper plate that bowed beneath its weight. Only they were older now. There were deep crevices in Jimmy's brow, and crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. His hairline had receded. And underneath the skilled colour applications of Annie's hairstylist, were more strands of grey than the number of weeks that had passed since that night.

But her affection for him, and her desire, had not been subdued by the passing of time. Annie had searched Jim's eyes for some sign of recognition to the similarity of that other night. Some sign of recollection. But there was none, just his distracted observation as he handed it to her, that the pizza was, thankfully, still warm. His gaze hadn't even been on her, but on the papers spread out across the desktop.

Of course, this was not a night for fond remembrances of elicit prior liasons, for Jim Brass. Not a time to relax and reminisce. The black hands of the clock on the wall, stark against the simple, white face, were a reminder that every second that ticked by and found them no closer to finding their adversary, might at the same time be bringing the killer one deadly step closer to Jim.

An email had come through late in the day from human resources at Wells Fargo, forwarded by Ian Gracie, as the bank manager had promised. They had quickly sorted employee names, rejecting outright those who were women, and then concentrating on the men who had been at the Sunrise branch nine years ago.

From these, they had narrowed the list down to four, including Gracie. The other three were a teller named Abe Harrison, a loans officer, Adrian Cortez, and Ron Kizinski, a security guard. The first two were still in Vegas, Cortez was with the bank but elsewhere in Nevada, and Kizinski was recently retired. It shouldn't be too difficult to determine if any of the men had been out of state in the last several years, at the time of the other murders.

While their efforts had been, and would continue to be time consuming, Brass didn't really consider them complicated and couldn't remember saying any such thing. In response to Annie's strange comment, he just crooked a bushy brow.

"Your lady friend," she continued, to his surprise.

Brass was taken aback by her reference to Cecilia.

"I was here at the station about ten minutes before I heard the rumours," Annie admitted, looking slightly uneasy. "They say she's very beautiful. I don't know if you'd started things before or after Detective Martens was killed, and I'm the last one to judge you either way. But if it was recent, just be careful Jimmy. I think it would be natural to, you know, turn to one another after a loss. And if things started before that, I'm sure there are a lot of feelings, guilt not the least of them." She hesitated. "I know it's not any of my business but...I just don't want to see you get hurt."

Annie was talking about Amy Martens, Brass realized in astonishment. There were rumours going around about he and Denny Martens' widow? He couldn't understand that. Then he recalled with striking clarity the day that Amy had brought him the letter she had found in her husband's safe. How, as she was getting ready to leave, she had admitted to missing Denny, and the tears had flown. Jim had put his arms around her, comforting her. And the sheriff had come into Brass' office just then.

Mobley! It would be just like him to start the spark of such a rumour and then fan it until it spread through the station like a dry season wildfire. A muscle in the detective's left jaw began to spasm then as he clenched his teeth against his fury. Mobley might be pissed at him, but to drag Amy Martens into things...to do something to compromise her reputation...was unconscienable as far as Jim was concerned.

Annie thought he had been refering to Amy Martens when they had had dinner in L.A. that evening. When he had mentioned that his current relationship was complicated. And now Annie believed that either he'd been having an affair with Denny's wife while the other cop was still alive, or that in the aftermath of the other man's death, grief had turned somehow to lust.

Brass struggled to keep his digust and irritation at the sheriff from spilling over towards Annie. It was just as well that she had decided to bring up what she had heard. And really, considering his history, it wasn't totally off the wall for Annie to think there might be truth in the rumour. It had probably been on her mind since he had first walked through his door, even as they had been discussing the case. And he hadn't told her anything about Cecilia, not even her name, so all that Annie had known was that there was someone.

Drawing a deep breath and expelling it in frustration, Jim looked levelly across the desk at his old friend. "There's nothing between Amy Martens and I," he told her. "Nothing like that. There wasn't before Denny was killed, there's not now, and there never will be. I think I know who's behind the rumour though, and why."

Annie looked confused. Then she coloured. "I'm sorry, Jimmy..." she began apologetically.

"It's okay, Annie. Forget it," he interjected with a tired smile. "Now," he said, deftly turning conversation back to the case, "Kizinski is sixty years old. That puts him outside the age range of the profile, but we can't rule him out on that alone, it's only a guideline. The other three fall inside the profile, as far as age goes. The first thing I think we need to do is feed these names in, and see if any of them have any kind of rap sheet."

Annie was grateful to get back to work. She was mentally kicking herself for having said anything to Brass at all. But since hearing the rumour she hadn't been able to put it out of her head. She had been both curious and concerned. She felt foolish and realized that it had been stupid to even bring it up in the first place. With all that Jim was dealing with...with his very life on the line...the last thing he needed was to waste energy discussing or negating rumours about his private life. It had been a real error in judgement on her part. She had let her own personal feelings of loss and envy colour her decision making, and Annie deeply regretted letting Jim down that way.

She returned her attention to the case with renewed vigour, determined to make it up to him by either quickly eliminating these four possible suspects, or if they found one interesting, in gathering as much information as quickly and adroitly as possibly.

They went over what they knew about each of the men. At the time of the murder, Ian Gracie, now forty-four, had been at the Tower branch, where Beth Marchison had her account. They would have to double check Marilyn Hegel's old receipts and records to determine whether or not there was anything to link her to the Tower. If she had, it was possible that Gracie had seen the two women there. They would also need to discover if he had had occasion to go to the Sunrise branch location during their timeframe.

Abe Harrison, the teller, had worked at the Sunrise branch at the time of the holiday murders, and had continued to work there steadily for the past nine years. He was now thirty-two.

Adrian Cortez had also been a teller at the Sunrise branch nine years ago. He had been promoted to loans officer and transfered to a branch in Carson City four years ago, where he had worked since. Cortez was thirty-six years old.

The personnel records that Gracie had provided had given the employees' work histories, names, and dates of birth, but not their home addresses, social insurance numbers, marital status, or other personal information. Names and birth dates would be enough to do a quick search for any criminal record. Unless there had been a pardon though, any kind of prior felony would mean that the men were not bondable, a necessity for working in such a field.

Their first hit was for Gracie, who had a history of traffic violations, including several speeding tickets, and one citation for reckless driving. He had always paid his fines in a timely manner though and there were no outstanding warrants. "I'd hate to have to pay his insurance," Brass remarked, imagining what the premium would be for the new Mercedes that was registered in Gracie's name.

Abe Harrison's' name also turned up in the search. There had been a domestic abuse charge against him six years ago, in Las Vegas. Charges had been dropped after Harrison had agreed to voluntarily enter an anger management programme. "That's interesting," Annie mused. "Guy's got a bit of a temper and apparently has a history of taking it out on women."

"I'll have to talk to these guys in person," Brass stated. "Size them up. I didn't get any weird vibes from Gracie. He didn't appear shaken at all to see us, but the secretary would have warned him that the police wanted an appointment and a slick guy would have had time to compose himself. But I'll have another chat with him, run his credit cards, see if he's taken any out-of-state trips in the last several years."

Brass had looked into Ian Gracie's face, stared into the other man's eyes, wondering if this was the serial killer who planned to make him his next target. He hadn't seen anything there, neither contempt, nor animosity, nor wariness that would indicate to him that Gracie was their man. But he'd been fooled before. Not often. But his instincts weren't infallible.

Brass sighed, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, then cranking it first one way than the other, in an attempt to alleviate some of the strain from hours spent bent over paperwork. He could feel the beginnings of a tension headache, hovering behind his eyes. Slithering tendrils radiated from the back of his skull, up into his temples, tentatively exerting those first exploratory fingers of pressure. He knew he should take a break. Worse...he knew that he couldn't. And the vexation that accompanied that realization only gave strength to gathering forces that intended to wage war against his cerebrum in the battleground of his cranial cavity.

"You're getting a headache," Annie remarked quietly, her perceptive gaze focused on him.

Jim shrugged. "I've got some Anacin around him someplace."

Annie stood, coming around the desk behind him. She laid one slim, warm hand on his right shoulder at the crook of his neck, feeling the knot of mucles beneath her fingers. "You're so tense," she said sympathetically. "Maybe a quick massage will help."

"Naw, it's okay," Brass mumbled discomfittedly.

Ignoring the protestation, Annie's fingers begin to knead the tight flesh through the fabric of his shirt. They seemed to remember the terrain of his physique, knowing each curve of muscle. Jim used to enjoy the neck rubs she would give him, kneeling behind him while he perched on the edge of her bed, and shared with her the stresses of his day.

His body seemed to remember too, and his head drooped forward the way it always had. Annie imagined that Jim's eyes would be closed, as he began to revel in the easing of the tension that banded his frame. From this angle, she could see the small, circular patch of pink scalp and the thinning of his hair. Annie felt a poignancy at the passing of time.

She didn't like to examine her own body too closely in the mirror these days. Age had seemed to suck the youthful plumpness and moisture out of her lips, leaving them thinner, with tiny, fine lines that her lipstick would bleed into, if she applied it too heavily. While she hadn't really put on much weight over the years, only half a dozen pounds or so, her body had redistributed itself in a way that she found depressing. The curves of her buttocks had seemed to flatten, and the mounds of her breasts had drooped somewhat. And no matter what she did, she couldn't get rid of the slight paunch at her abdomen.

They were no longer in their prime, neither of them. Annie wasn't sure just how or when youth had deserted her. She had been so busy with other things. One thing really. With her work, the career that had come to mean everything to her. Though whether that was because she had nothing else and being a cop filled the gaps in her life...or that because being a cop was so fulfilling that she simply hadn't needed anything else...Annie could never be certain.

Being here with Jim now, thinking of all of those years that she had spent alone...all of the years that he had been alone too...Annie wondered why she had never made the effort to reconnect with him again. Once his marriage to Nancy had finally ended...the legal demise coming years after the emotional death...and there had been nothing to prevent their being together, why hadn't Annie fought harder for him?

Instead of turning to her after Nancy had thrown him out, Jim had retreated from Annie. Putting a distance between them that had seemed insurmountable at the time. She had been hurt and bewildered by his rejection, wondering if, no longer forbidden fruit, her company...her bed...no longer held the same allure. She knew that while moving out had on one hand been a great relief to Jim, that on the other he had missed Ellie terribly, and mourned the dissolution of their family unit. It had been difficult for him, coping with his sense of personal failure.

Annie had wondered if Jim blamed her for the divorce, though the one time she had gotten him to talk about it, he had assured her tiredly that he didn't. And perhaps he hadn't, perhaps he had shouldered all of the guilt himself. If someone had ever pressed her to admit that there was one flaw in Jim Brass' character, Annie would have had to say that it was the way he tended to internalize things. Holding himself responsible for everyone and everything in his life. Jim never seemed able to forgive himself his own shortcomings, and that seemed to prevent him from ever believing that anyone else could forgive him for them either. And so there was always that impenetrable sadness locked somewhere deep inside him.

Then Jim had moved away from Atlantic City, transfering to another department, and Annie had known that it was really over. She'd gotten a postcard, after he had moved to Las Vegas. They had exchanged the occasional, sporadic Christmas card over the years. And following Jim's lead, Annie had thrown herself into her work, making her career the focus of her life. Subjugating that other part of herself that had blossomed for that short, precious time when Jim Brass had allowed her to love him.

She was happy though, Annie decided as her thumbs pressed into the solid flesh. She wasn't living a life of regrets, mourning missed opportunities. She had always cherished what she and Jimmy had shared, and despite the outcome wouldn't have missed any of it. She was proud of her professional accomplishments and the respect she had earned over the years. And while a part of her sometimes wondered what her life would be like if she had married...if she had had children...Annie was satisfied with the life she had now. It was natural, she thought, reunited with Jim now, especially under such emotional circumstances, to be questioning her choices, and regretting her what might have beens.

"Annie?" Jim queried again, more forcefully. He'd spoken to her twice and she hadn't responded to him.

"What's that?" she asked, coming out of her reverie. She had been on autopilot, her fingers working of their own volition, as they eased the knots out of the detective's neck and shoulders.

"I was saying," he continued, head still bent, enjoying her ministrations, "that I'll have to check to see if any of our potential suspects is showing any physical symptoms of HIV infection. Or living with someone who is."

"Oh, right," Annie agreed, recalling what he had told her about the Videx powder that had been confirmed to be present in trace amounts on the letter Jim had received.

"That feels a lot better," Brass continued. "Thanks, Annie." It had always amazed him, just how much strength there was in her small hands. His left hand moved up to his right shoulder, to take her slim fingers and give them a grateful squeeze. He swivelled his head to the side and back and smiled up at her.

Annie fought back the compelling urge to bend her head and touch her lips against his. Jim had made it clear the he was off limits to her, and she wouldn't embarass either of them making him have to reiterate that fact. Instead, she satisfied herself with reaching her left hand to brush back the hair at his temple, hoping that her longing did not show in the soft smile that she returned to him.

'Aw, hell,' Catherine thought to herself with irritation, 'are all men scum?' Swift on the heels of her aggravation was the ghost of past personal injustices, and the memory of Eddie's philandering ways, and more recently, the betrayal by Chris. Her arched brows knitted together, and the corners of her pink lips turned downward, as she surveyed Jim Brass and the dark-haired woman who stood behind him. There was no denying the familiarity in the tableau...the tenderness with which Brass was holding the woman's hand, and the possessive way she was touching his face. Catherine's disappointment was a leaden lump in the pit of her stomache. She had thought better of the detective.

Catherine turned her head as Cecilia stopped adjacent to her, the writer also surveying the friendly little scene. Cecilia's interpretation was clearly the same as her own had been, and Catherine watched the spots of colour appear high on the bronzed planes of her friend's cheeks, as the unnatural brightness shone in her dark eyes. 'Damn you, Jim,' Catherine thought with defeated resignation.

Cecilia stared at the attractive brunette who stood behind Jim, feeling stunned. She realized with cruel clarity just how little she had ever meant to the detective. It wasn't that he was too busy right now to be involved in a relationship with anyone, or that it might be dangerous for him to divide his attention...it was that he no longer desired to be in any kind of relationship with her. It certainly hadn't taken him long to move on and forget her. With that knowledge came a pain that clamped around her heart and threatened to stifle its beating, even as the breath was squeezed from her lungs.

Annie's fingers fell away from the side of Jim's face, as she stared across him towards the door. The detective swivelled his gaze to find Catherine and Cecilia standing just inside the room. The smile that began to curve his lips dissipated as he felt the tension in the office. Catherine's blue eyes glittered with accusation. Cecilia turned her head, eyes downcast, unwilling to look him in the face, but not before her caught her pained look of disillusionment. Brass released Annie's fingers as though they burned in his, with a quick, guilty motion.

"We didn't hear from you earlier," Catherine began, her tone as frigid as the icy, mid-winter winds that used to howl off the ocean to envelope the Jersey shore with air so sharp it would freeze the breath in a man's throat. "I had to come down to P.D. so we thought we'd check to see if you'd left yet. See if you'd made any progress." Her brow arched haughtily at the innuendo of that last statement. "I paged you when I got back in to the lab tonight, like you said, but I guess you were busy."

"I didn't get the page," Brass said with surprise. He unclipped the beeper from his belt, studying it for a moment. "Sorry, I guess I turned it off by accident." It was the truth, but the words rang hollow even to his own ears. "I, uh, got that email from Gracie," Brass remarked briskly, pushing up from his chair and moving around to the side of his desk, where he fumbled with some papers. "I've got it narrowed down to four guys who are worth looking into."

Annie felt his desertion, as Jim tried to put physical distance between them, in deference to the two women. She observed them coolly. Annie knew how it would have looked. The air of intimacy between she and Jim, even though it had been innocent. One of them must be the woman that Jim had turned her down for in Los Angeles. Which one? The stunning strawberry blonde? Or the lovely, exotic looking brunette? The blonde was clearly angry, which could be expected of a jealous partner interrupting a late night encounter that, on the surface at least, would look suspicious.

But it was the look of devestation in the dark eyes of the brunette that gave it away, Annie realized. And Jim was giving the woman a sideways glance, his features tight now with undeniable longing and concern. Surely if the woman cared about Jim, she should trust him, Annie thought inidignantly. At least wait to here his explanation. No matter how things might initially have appeared.

"Gracie's one of them, I take it?" Catherine queried and Jim nodded.

When it was evident that the flustered detective was not about to make imminent introductions, Annie stepped from behind the desk, and strode towards the two women. Fixing a smile, she extended a hand to the blonde first. "I'm Captain Annie Kramer, from L.A."

To her surprise, the brunette reacted immediately to her name. Her head swung up and she stared at Annie as though in disbelief.

"Catherine Willows," Catherine spoke automatically, as the other woman gave her a firm shake. "Vegas CSI." Catherine wondered if the woman was here on business...or if this was strictly a pleasure trip.

Annie extended her hand to the dark-haired woman who took it limply. "Cecilia Laval," she murmured. She didn't indicate whether she was CSI or PD.

Cecilia's own extremities felt like ice as she shook hands with the other woman, and her thoughts whirled. Annie Kramer? That was the woman that Jim had had the affair with all those years ago back in Atlantic City. The one that had been the catalyst for Nancy to end their marriage. He had made it sound as though they were no longer in touch, except for the occasional greeting card. Cecilia's stomache churned as she realized that Annie Kramer was working in Los Angeles now. It hadn't been long after his return from L.A. that Jim had told Cecilia he couldn't see her anymore. Citing that he didn't need any distractions in his life right now.

Jim had undoubtedly seen Annie Kramer when he went to Los Angeles, even though he hadn't mentioned that to Cecilia. Either they were better friends than he had initially let on to Cecilia, or meeting again had rekindled what had been between them at one time. She felt hot anger flare, and she hung onto that emotion, hoping it would drown out the pain that lay underneath. Jim hadn't even had enough respect for her to be honest with her! To tell her that he was seeing someone else instead!

They had made no promises to one another, either of monogamy or longevity, so there had been no reason for him to mislead Cecilia. Obviously, he had taken the coward's way out, not wanting to deal with any potential histrionics from the woman scorned. Her humiliation was complete. She couldn't believe that she had misjudged Jim Brass so badly.

"Annie's an old friend from Jersey," Brass said. "And she worked with Joe Takei," he added as further explanation of why she was now in Vegas.

Shifting her body so that her back was partly turned towards Annie Kramer...a physical display of her censure...Catherine spoke again to Brass. "I thought you'd want to know that that bus route that runs behind the mall has a fairly direct run back through the city, and that there's a stop just half a block from the Jade Gardens motel. So, Jada Miller could easily have taken a bus to the Sunrise Centre." She paused. "Were you able to talk to Marilyn Hegel's husband?"

Brass filled Catherine in on his visit to both Hegel's widower and Marchison's mother. Cecilia met his gaze only once, and the depth of her feelings of betrayal cut him. Jim wanted to hold her, to reassure her that there was nothing between he and Annie except the vestiges of an old and dear friendship, and a comforting familiarity from the past. He was aware that Cecilia would probably think he had been intimate with Annie on his trip to Los Angeles. He hated to know how much any respect Cecilia might once have felt him for him had been eroded of late.

But Jim knew that it was best to just let the hurt and the distance stand between them. Because until their killer was caught...it might be that very distance that could one day save her life. And in the midst of all of the recent confusion and turmoil one thought had been his constant. No matter how things eventually resolved...nothing must happen to Cecilia. He had spent a lifetime searching for her. Waiting for her. For the one who would finally pull his tormented soul out of the cauldrons of hell and return him to himself.

"Kramer?" Catherine said suddenly, her piercing sapphire eyes on Annie. "From L.A.? There was a Detective Kramer who worked the Hales case. The murdered co-ed." The tidbit had popped unbidden to the fore of Catherine's thoughts, retrieved by her subconscious from the vault where it had been stored.

Annie could feel Jim's stare, though now it was her turn to avoid his gaze. "Yes," she answered coolly, "that was me."

Brass hadn't delved into the other serial murders at all, concentrating instead on the original Vegas killings, believing that if their man was back in Nevada, the key to finding him would be to retrace the earlier cases and find the commonality that would be key to identifying him. He had known that the Hales murder had taken place in Los Angeles. If he had given it any thought at all, it would have occured to him that even on a force as large as that one, the odds were good that Annie, as a homicide detective, might have been involved with the case in some way. Considering that the Hales case had been high profile, with FBI involvement, the chances of a Captain being involved increased exponentially.

Did that mean that Annie was a potential target for their killer? Brass wondered. If she had worked the Hales case, then she would have come to the bastard's attention at some point. It was conceivable that once their serial killer had disposed of all of the cops who had worked the original Holiday Murders, he might go back and target other detectives, who had worked his other murders. Brass' mouth felt dry. Annie could be in double danger, being here in Las Vegas now. If, during the course of observing Jim, the killer saw and recognized Annie, who knew how that might set him off, or what kind of tangent he might take? It might even compell him to make his move even sooner, to try to take out two of his law enforcement adversaries at the same time. And he might not even care anymore about contriving to make it look like an accident, but might go for the quick, sure kill.

Why hadn't Annie told him of her connection to the case? There had been ample opportunity over the last several hours for her to have worked that little tidbit into their conversation, Brass knew bitterly. He also knew full well why she hadn't told him. Because he would understand the increased danger her prescence here and open involvement with this case would put her in, and he would refuse her help.

Brass' anger at Annie for not divulging her personal connection to the case, was tempered by his concern for her. Once more, he felt as though things were spiralling out of control, and that there was nothing that made sense, and nowhere for him to turn. It was not so suprising when the cruel, torturous fingers again began to wend their way from the base of his skull up into his temples. Tormenting him with a renewed vengence. The respite provided by Annie's caring hands, which had begun to fade away the moment Jim had observed Cecilia's crestfallen features, was washed away completely now.

CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI

"Hey David, how's it going?"

Hodges looked up in surprise, at the tall, lanky frame of Conrad Ecklie that filled the door to the lab. The daytime supervisor gave a casual, toothy grin, and Hodges even imagined that the man's salutation sounded sincere. "Well hi, Conrad!" he countered heartily. "Great, thanks. You're here awfully late."

"You know how it goes," Ecklie shrugged. "This sure isn't a nine to five job. I know you've pulled your share of double shifts. And the lab appreciates the dedication," Conrad stroked. It was Hodges who had told him about Jim Brass and Cecilia Laval being an item. He figured it was time to go fishing again. Every man should have a hobby, he thought acerbically.

Hodges chest puffed with pride. Grissom seldom seemed to notice he was there, let alone acknowledge the care, diligence and committment with which David went about his work. It was nice to feel valued once in a while.

"So, what's new?" Ecklie said, strolling into the room, maintaining an off-handed air. "Grissom got you running ragged with that serial killer case?" he asked sympathetically. "That's really something, huh?" Ecklie nodded sagely, imparting the impression that he was privy to all the details of the case. He used what little he had learned when Brass had stormed into his office the other day. "Us all thinking we had the killer in those Holiday Murders, only to find out that it was wrong guy, and the real murderer is still out there, and has killed again." Ecklie crossed his arms and shook his head solemnly.

Hodges nodded emphatically. He looked around and lowered his voice conspiratorily. "I know. I can just imagine how Captain Brass must be feeling too, though he seems outwardly cool about it."

Ecklie nodded too. "Yeah." Then his smile brightened. "I'm glad that they've brought you into the loop, David. A case as important as this one, it's pivotal to have the right people in place. It's good that Gil recognizes what an asset you are to the team."

"Well," Hodges said modestly, "I could tell he was pleased when I found that trace on the letter Captain Brass had gotten. I was the one who determined that it was Videx powder. Since I understand they eliminated Captain Brass as the source of the contamination, I guess that helps narrow down their suspects for them.

"I have to say," Hodges continued, "I am glad that it's not Captain Brass that's dealing with HIV. Bad enough to have some crazed, lunatic serial killer sending you weird, ominous letters. He doesn't need to be dealing with AIDS on top of that!"

"I know, I know," Ecklie agreed. He tried not to let his astonishment show. "I haven't actually read the letter yet," Ecklie admitted. "Maybe you can save me some time. What exactly did it say?" The supervisor was familiar of course with the original Holiday Murder letters that had taunted police in the aftermath of the murders of Miller, Hegel and Marchison. Had the letter Hodges was referring to been more of the same? Whose death was it in reference to? And how did all of this tie in with Brass' reopening of Denny Martens hit-and-run?

"It was a lot like the letter that was sent to Detective Martens," Hodges said. "You know, kind of vague, yet somehow threatening at the same time. It gave me the creeps...the whole stalker thing...and it wasn't even addressed to me. I bet Captain Brass does a lot of looking over his shoulders these days." Hodges sighed heavily and shook his head. "Actually, I'm kind of surprised that he's still on the case. Even if he's up for it mentally, I would have thought there'd be some kind of departmental policy that he would have to recuse himself. Maybe they made some exception in this case?" Hodges looked hopefully at Ecklie, thinking the other man might shed some light on the issue.

"I was wondering the same thing myself," the dayshift supervisor said, rubbing his chin reflectively. With Hodges he hardly even needed a hook and bait. This fish all but jumped in the boat for him, he thought delightedly. And what was this about some letter Denny Martens had gotten?

"I'm quite surprised that you aren't in charge of this case, Conrad," Hodges mused. "Since you were part of the original murder investigations. And you were the lead CSI on Detective Martens' hit-and-run."

Ecklie's eyes narrowed and the good humour drained from his sharp features. Hodges knew that he had hit a nerve, and he sought desperately to change the subject. "So, how's the Missus?" David floundered.

"Fine thanks, David. She's just fine," Ecklie replied distractedly.

"Well," Hodges went on, trying to undo the damage by pointing out the positive, "it'll end up being the FBI's show anyhow, what with the subsequent murders being cross-jurisdictional. And the last time that happened, when the Feds came in...that Strip Strangler case...CSI didn't get much of the glory." Hodges tilted his head contemplatively. "You know, I would have thought they'd have taken this one over by now, really. Wonder what the hold up is." David was relieved to see that the taller man was smiling again.

Conrad Ecklie glanced at his watch, wondering how late was too late to call Sheriff Mobley at home.

I had to chuckle at your comment after the previous chapter about expecting Cecilia to walk in on Brass and Annie, beaujolais, knowing what was in store for them.