Part 3

Back at the lab, Greg stood alone in the locker room, carefully removing his vest, then shut his locker door. He stared at it for a humming three seconds before winding up his fist and socking the living daylights out of it. Then he sank onto the bench, burying his face in his hands, allowing the gravity of the situation to finally hit home.

How could this happen to him? He'd seen everyone else on the team go through unimaginable emotional horrors, but not him. He was probably the most emotionally stable member of the team, not to mention the least scarred. Now he was faced, by a set of rules and chances far beyond his control, with the possibility of losing his sister the way they'd nearly lost Nick the previous June. He prayed to God Renee wasn't living the same thing he had. Lost, terrified, fully conscious and aware of what was happening, knowing all the while, there was precious little she could do about it.

Unable to move, Greg didn't hear someone come in, until Catherine cleared her throat softly. He lifted his head from his hands, and just stared straight ahead at his now-dented locker with red-rimmed eyes.

"How you holding up?"

"I was six when she was born and I remember making this promise that no one would hurt her, nothing would happen to her," he said, in a voice that was not his own; it was huskier, thicker somehow. "She was always following me around, and when I left for college, it felt so strange not to have her there. She…" He broke off again as his throat closed up, and more hot tears slid their way down his cheeks.

The mothering side of Catherine refused to stand by and see one of her chicks so distraught. She sat down beside him, relieved when Greg instinctively leaned his head against her shoulder. She wrapped an arm around him, in a gesture of support.

"Why do you call her Gizmo?"

"Because when I got into trouble, she was always there to bail me out with some little gizmo or gadget. She actually figured out how to get my keys, which I'd locked in my car, with a hand-held can opener at the age of twelve."

Catherine laughed. "Well, now's your chance to help bail her out of trouble. I've got Archie with the AV footage from the Orpheus all cued up to look at."

They stood up, shared one more hug, which had Greg threatening to cut off her air supply he held on so tightly. Catherine merely patted him on the back.

"We'll find her Greg, don't worry."

Once in the AV lab, after a quick trip to the men's room to splash cold water on his red eyes, Greg turned all his energies to figure out what happened to Renee. Beside him, Archie tried to offer support.

"Dude, I am so sorry to hear about Renee. I got three sisters myself, I don't know what I'd do if they-"

"Let's just try to find her, okay?" Greg cut him off, his temper starting to fray with each more look or comment of sympathy.

They looked at the screen, with the frames showing Renee leaving her rented car at the valet parking. The time stamped indicated 10:07, so she'd gone right there after she'd left the lab.

"Okay, now fast forward to her leaving," Greg instructed. On screen, the figures moved at warp speed, which Archie slowed to real time when Renee emerged. Greg felt his neck muscles tense as he noticed she wasn't alone but rather with a man, whose arm never left her shoulders until he reached in his pockets for a valet stub, which he handed to the uniformed worker. A few minutes later, a black sports truck pulled up and Renee was escorted by her gentleman friend into the vehicle. The time stamp on the frame said 11:27. The prickles on Greg's neck stood at full attention as he noticed something familiar about the truck. Something a little too familiar for comfort. The tense moment was broken by the ringing of Greg's cell phone.

"I'll be in the break room, so come find me when you've got the plate info from our mystery vehicle."

Greg clapped Archie on the back as he left, digging his cell phone out of his pocket. Then he stopped dead in his tracks as he saw the caller ID lit up

Gizmo.

He flipped it open, then all but ran to the break room, so that if the waterworks started up again – this time out of relief, not fright – no one would see him.

"Gizmo? Honey, are you okay?"

"Yeah, Greg, I'm totally fine. No need to get all big brothery on me."

Greg didn't like the tone he heard in his sister voice. It was one he'd often heard with his lady friends after a nice sweaty romp through the sack. He'd only tuned out for a microsecond as she continued to talk to him.

"I'm just calling to tell you I can't make dinner tomorrow night. I…I've met someone, a very nice guy."

Greg clamped down on the irritation that was beginning to snap its teeth. "That's great Renee, but you're timing couldn't be worse."

The bounce left her voice as something registered with her. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry, you're at work. I completely gapped out."

Greg found a chair, as his knees threatened to betray him. "No, it's just…" He was somewhere between relief that his sister was okay, and the focus on his job. He decided it would be better to come clean right away. "Renee, one of the girls on your squad was murdered. Your room mate, Miranda Simpson, she was found in your roomed with her throat cut, and no one had seen you for awhile, so probably a good idea to keep this dude on the kibosh until we…"

Greg trailed off as a very scared looking Archie rushed in, handed Greg a print out then rushed back out again. He scanned it quickly, and in those three seconds, whatever pretence of keeping his rage on ice for Renee's sake was gone. When he spoke to her again, it was through clenched teeth.

"I'm going to kick your ass young lady," Greg said, hanging up on her in mid-sentence, as he flew out of his chair. "And then I'm going to kick his."

The printout still clutched hotly in hand, he dialled Catherine's cell number trying to make sense of the information he'd just been given. The print out read:

2003 Chevrolet SUV
PLATE NO:
475 GZI

LEASED TO :
Stokes, Nicholas W.
D.O.B: 08/18/71
Address: 455 West Desert Drive
Las Vegas NV
89117

FLASHBACK TO EARLIER THAT NIGHT

As she sat down at the bar, ordered herself a whiskey sour, Renee couldn't help but grin. Seeing Greg at work was amazing, and the uber-cutie black guy he was working with – Warrick, Greg said his name was – hadn't stopped staring at her. Maybe she was much prettier then Kenny had realized. Oops, don't go there, girl, you're well rid of him and you know it. Then suddenly, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck start to prickle. Glancing to her right, she saw a man of about thirty five or so staring at her, as if puzzled by her appearance. He certainly was handsome, but Renee knew that handsome often went hand-in-hand with pure unfiltered trouble. His long fingers tapped the beer bottle rhythmically as he continued to stare. As the feeling of uneasiness grew, Renee stared right back at him.

"You looking to buy something Junior or just window shopping the candy counter?"

"No, not it's just…you look kind of familiar," Nick replied sipping his beer, as he tried to puzzle it out. It was a combination of the eyes, and the nose, he thought. He'd seen them somewhere before.

Renee smiled back politely. "I doubt it. I'm from Miami and California before that."

Intrigued, bitten by the puzzle-bug of her, Nick rested on his elbow against the bar. "So what brings you to Vegas?"

Renee fought to not roll her eyes. Instead, she tried blunt honesty dripping with sweetness, a smile fixed on her face. "Why? So after we end up in the sack you can brag to your friends how you bagged a nurse or a teacher or whatever I happen to be?"

Nick put a mocking hand to his chest. "Ouch. Seriously let me guess. Company retreat and you're interning along for the experience?" When this elicited no response, he tried again. "Modelling convention?" Strike two, he thought, so I might as well go for broke. "Union meeting of women designed to make me feel like an idiot?"

Renee had to laugh at this last one. Relenting only a little, she combed a hand through her hair. "Close. Cheerleading competition with the added bonus of seeing my brother. He works in law enforcement so," she sighed, holding up crossed fingers, "hopefully I'll get to see him at least once this weekend." She picked up her drink took a slow sip. "I hope working in law enforcement has helped improve your powers of deduction."

Nick could almost smell his own fishy stench as he caught the bait she dangled, like a wall-eyed pike. "Now why would you assume I work in law enforcement, too?"

Renee smiled seductively, at least what she thought was seductively, then leaned in closer to him, so that she was almost whispering in his ear. "Well, it could be the striking physique, the penetrating and intense stare, but mostly, I think it's the fact that you're wearing a CSI Lab badge around your neck, Stokes comma Nicholas."

Nick looked down at his chest, and nearly burst out laughing at himself. He'd been in such a rush to get out of the lab, and find a place to grab a quiet drink; he'd forgotten to remove his ID tags. When he looked up at Renee, he could see she was struggling to keep from laughing as well.

What the hell, Renee thought. She held out her hand for him to shake. "Renee Sanders."

"Renee," Nick repeated, liking the way it rolled off his tongue, so naturally. "Is that French?"

"Laplander," she corrected. "What's it like working in the CSI Lab?"

Now completely hooked, Nick took a sip of his beer. "Why so curious?"

"I gotta figure out something to do with my doctorate in psych when I'm finished in a couple of months, and I'm interested in the criminology field."

"You any good?" Beautiful and intelligent, he thought. A very unusual combination for my track record.

Renee looked him up and down, which made Nick very nearly feel like a piece of meat hanging in the charcuterie window. Then what happened next made him nearly fall off his chair.

"You're originally from East Texas," she began, "grew up on a ranch where you were most likely involved with horses on a day-to-day basis. . You played baseball in college but had to stop when you broke two fingers on your right hand and couldn't throw anymore. You belonged to a frat house, a Delta House to be more specific, and you love the work you do, but very rarely get a chance to date due to the time-consuming nature of your job. How'd I do?"

Nick was blown away. "That's quite impressive. How?"

"Well the twang in the voice is a dead give away. When you sit in your chair, you hold your body very still while your arms move, suggesting years of equestrian training. You hold your beer bottle like you're going to throw a curve ball, but your two fingers don't quite bend all the way, suggesting improper healing there. The pin on your jacket lapel is a pledge pin from a frat house, and when I mentioned you were still wearing your ID tags, you didn't take them off and stuff them in a pocket. The tone in your voice when you speak to me suggests you are interested to a level, intrigued by me at the very least, but it's been a while since your last date, otherwise you wouldn't have such an eager-beaver boy-scout attitude."

Renee picked her drinking up again, sipped with great relish as he stared at her open mouthed before a grin spread across his face and he nodded. There was definitely something about this woman. She couldn't have been more then twenty five, tops, but that smart-ass mouth combined with the blue-green eyes Nick could have swam in for days made him want to…well, he wasn't quite sure what, but the thoughts were definitely x-rated. Before he knew what he was doing, his mouth was open again.

"Why don't I buy the next round?"