It was a hot day in Las Vegas. The kind of day where people wilt like flowers in the afternoon, the kind of day where you sweat from walking to your mailbox, the kind of day where air conditioning is essential. Luckily for Sara Sidle she got to sleep through most of the heat, seeing as she worked nights. When she woke up her stomach growled but a shower was also vital so she headed for the bathroom instead of the kitchen. Over the next hour Sara got ready for work in her usual manner.
At six, she turned on the TV to see what news she had missed while she was sleeping. Apparently not much because most channels were reporting on the local dog show and the record breaking heat. "Thank goodness for A/C." thought Sara. She clicked off the television and decided to tidy her apartment before heading to work.
By the time Sara arrived at work the heat had subsided to a mere eighty degrees but she still felt overheated in her long-sleeved shirt. Sara headed for the locker room. When she entered, she found a very wet, very shirtless Nick Stokes looking through his locker. "Oh…uh…sorry." Nick looked up, very surprised.
"Sorry Sara," said a blushing Nick," come in. I can't find my shirt."
"Nick your shirt is on the bench." Nick looked to where Sara was pointing and picked up his shirt.
"It's the heat."
"Is it getting to you too?"
"Yeah, I spent two hours trying to fix my A/C before calling AAA." Nick took this pause to put on his shirt, covering up his very nice six pack. Sara was a littler disappointed and silently scolded herself for helping Nick with his search. Just then Greg appeared in the door way.
"Nice to see you Sara," said Greg with a devilish grin," Grissom needs everyone stat." He left and Nick followed. "I guess I'll have to change later."
The trio joined the rest of the team in the break room to get their assignments from Grissom as usual. He started right in, "Nick, Sara you have a double in Henderson. Take Greg with you. Cath, you've got a B and E on the strip. Warrick, you're with me on a suspected homicide at UNLV." Everyone headed out towards the parking lot. Greg and Sara grabbed their kits and tossed them into the trunk of Nick's Denali.
"Can I drive?" asked Greg.
"No." said Nick and Sara in unison.
"Why not? I never get to drive," complained Greg.
"First, I've heard Warrick's horror stories of your driving skills, or lack there of," stated Nick.
"That was once!"
"And you're CSI level one, which makes us your superiors," added Sara. Greg slumped into the backseat as Nick high-fived Sara. Sara was glad that she and Nick were on the same team. It was something she enjoyed. Nick started the engine and Sara jumped in the passenger seat.
"Guys, it's too quiet, can we turn on some music?" inquired Greg.
Nick turned on the radio and, of course, country music filled the car. Greg muttered something about 'country crap' and 'Marilyn Manson'. Nick ignored him and began to sing along. Sara sat back in her seat laughing. Soon enough Greg quieted down and then it was just Nick singing.
Sara liked the sound of Nick's voice. It was steady and surprisingly in tune. He also knew all the words and his accent gave his singing authentic love of country music. Nick was so confident with his singing. The only time Sara sang was in the shower where no one could hear her. Sara liked Nick's confidence and recently, she had been liking more things about Nick.
Forty minutes later they arrived at the crime scene and Nick shut off the radio and stopped singing. Greg leaped out of the car mumbling again about 'hazing'. Nick heard him.
"Relax Greggo, you can choose the radio station for the ride back." The three grabbed their kits from the trunk and began to process the scene.
Sara took photos and lifted trace off victim one. She was a young girl, probably in her late teens, with shiny red hair and a pool of blood around her. Sara heard Nick interviewing a neighbor who a repeating his account of what had happened that night.
"It was getting late, I was about to go to bed when I hears some shouting from their house. I walked over to ask them to quiet down. When I got to the front door, I heard three gunshots. Bang. Bang. Bang. And then John, the husband and father, came running out of the house with someone else behind him. I didn't get a good look at the second person because I was pushed off the porch but I'm positive that the fist guy was John Wilcox."
"Thank you," replied Nick who looked up and saw Sara watching him. She panicked for something to say.
"Uh…did you get anything new info from the guy?" though she had already heard their conversation.
"The neighbor said that three gun shots were fired, then two people fled the house, one was the husband, Mr. Wilcox." Nick began to process the second body and Sara went back to snapping pictures. She was close enough to hear Nick softly humming a song that they ha heard on the radio earlier. Sara smiled; Nick's singing made it looking at a dead girl a little easier.
Two exhausting hours later, the three investigators headed to Nick's car. Nick turned on the radio but Greg stopped him.
"I believe I get to choose the music genre for this trip. 101.2, please." Nick reluctantly changed the station for Greg who had a very smug look on his face. Nick grimaced as a loud rock song filled the car.
"You are enjoying my pain aren't you Greggo?" Nick asked. Sara turned around in her seat to see Greg singing loudly and badly and wildly bobbing his head to the song. Sara missed Nick's nice voice.
"He's gone," commented Sara.
"At least not for the next forty minutes."
"Why would you let Greg choose the station?" Sara shouted over the music.
"I guess I'm just a nice guy." Nick flashed one of his classic smiles. Sara's heart melted.