SLOW BURN
~ Chapter 14 ~
"Why did I ever think you were going to need practice?" Holding up the last of the used targets, Jim stared at the tight cluster of bullet holes that decorated the center of the paper sheet as he pushed through the heavy glass door that separated the shooting lanes from the gun range's large reception area beyond.
"The fact that I hadn't fired any kind of weapon since I left Vegas might have had something to do with it." Following closely behind, Grissom held his new gun case in one hand and his safety glasses and earmuffs in the other. "Although, I have to admit, even I was surprised at just how quickly it all came back to me."
"Probably has more to do with the fact that once you've got something in that head of yours it's there for life," Brass countered as he folded the paper in half. "Anyone else would have walked in here and been rusty as hell while you come in, take aim like it's a daily occurrence and blow the bad guy away."
"If only I could," shoving his protective gear into the bag he'd been given at the store, Grissom shrugged. "It would certainly make life simpler at the moment, that's for sure." He cocked his chin towards the drink machine near the main door. "Come on, I'll buy you a soda."
Drinks in hand, and with nods of thanks to the security guard on the door, they stepped out into the bright, late morning sun and quickly made their way across the half-filled lot to the Murano. Rounding the back of the car, Grissom hit the unlock button on the key fob and, pulling the driver's door open, dumped both the gun case and carrier bag on the seat as Brass climbed in on the other side.
Removing the Glock from its case, he quickly swapped out its standard fifteen round magazine for the twenty-two round extended mag he'd chosen and reloaded it before reaching back and pushing it securely into the holster situated inside the waistband of his pants at the rear of his right hip. He tugged down the blue polo shirt he was wearing and, turning a little self-consciously, presented his back to Brass.
"Is that okay?" Smoothing the material, he looked back over his shoulder. "It's not too obvious, is it?"
"No, it's fine," popping open his can of Sprite, Jim chuckled. "You're not going to hit me with the 'does my gun look big in this' question every time I see you now, are you?" He grinned at the disdainful glare his joke elicited. "Seriously though, the way that holster sits, the only way someone's going to know that you're carrying is if they're looking for it so, as long as you don't suddenly feel the need to start wearing skin-tight clothes, you'll be fine."
"Well, I think that's pretty unlikely, don't you?" Reaching back, Grissom placed the carrier bag on the back seat and then climbed in behind the steering wheel before opening his bottle of water. "The main thing for me is that it stays out of sight and it doesn't get in the way when I'm carrying Ben."
"Way back there should be fine." Taking a mouthful of his ice-cold soda, Jim studied his old friend carefully. "So, you want to blow the bad guy away, huh?"
"Wouldn't you if you were in my position?" Both eyebrows rose in question as Grissom turned in his seat. "He's playing with her, Jim."
"Helen filled me in last night," Brass admitted, "but she also said that there's a chance that it was, maybe, nothing more than a lapse in concentration on Sara's part." Eyes locked on the hard set of his friend's jaw, he raised both eyebrows in question. "You really believe something happened?"
"I have to," Grissom said simply, "because it's the only thing that makes any sense." Turning again, he stared out at the busy street up ahead. "Sara's still not convinced it did and is leaning more and more towards it being a pregnancy-induced daydream but, after reading up on it, her 'baby brain' explanation doesn't work for me." He sighed heavily. "And the only other explanations I can come up with are that it actually did occur or I have a wife who's zoning out to such an extent while she'd driving that she's a danger to herself, our baby and everybody else who happens to be in the vicinity at the time." Raising his right hand, he massaged the area around his temple. "She gets tired, sure, but I can't believe she'd be so cavalier with her safety that she'd ever allow herself to drive in that state." He shook his head. "No, I believe he was in that car with her last Thursday and, since nothing else seems to have happened, I can only assume that he's doing it to mess with her head."
"Blind optimism on Sara's part versus worst case scenario on yours, huh?" Jim thought for a moment. "Well, as a retired detective, I should probably insist on something a little more tangible than feelings and suppositions but, as someone who knows only too well the kind of whackos that people working in law enforcement can attract, I'm more than willing to go along with you on this one. Did you check the car for prints?"
"Uh huh," Grissom nodded. "I had Catherine come over and process it yesterday but the only adult-sized fingerprints she pulled belonged to me and Sara." He shrugged. "There were plenty of small ones that were, undoubtedly, Ben's but nothing else turned up, there were no strange smears or partials and no trace either; for all intents and purposes, the Prius was perfectly clean."
"Well, that doesn't mean someone wasn't in it," Jim pointed out. "It just means they were careful, that's all." He thought for a moment. "The security system at the house was installed on Monday afternoon, correct?"
"Yeah, which, at least, means the house is safe; if there's one thing I'm confident about it's that no one is getting in there without the code."
"That's good," Brass nodded his approval. "And the Toyota and…", leaning forward, he gave the Murano's dash a quick pat, "…this will be replaced on Friday so, in that regard, we've, at least, made it harder for someone to follow her on the road; which now really only leaves the Lab and the journey to and from it."
"Cath promised me back when Sara was first taken that she wouldn't be sent out anywhere alone so there's always either someone else from the team or a couple of uniformed officers at scenes with her," Grissom told him. "But she's only cleared for fieldwork for another few weeks anyway so having her stuck in the lab will be one less thing to worry about." He swallowed a mouthful of water. "And I've made her promise that if she's feeling especially tired at the end of shift she'll give me a call so I can go and pick her up; I'd much rather deal with an early morning trip across town than I would the consequences of-"
He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes tight as the persistent headache he'd been dealing with for days suddenly ramped up.
"That's not the same headache as last week, is it?"
"Actually, it is," eyes still closed, Grissom gestured blindly towards the dashboard. "There's some Motrin in the glove compartment, could you get me a couple?"
"Sure." Keeping a watchful eye on his friend, Jim quickly retrieved the bright orange box and, popping two caplets free, placed them in Grissom's outstretched hand. "Shouldn't you see someone about it? That's not exactly normal you know."
"I know and, if it goes on too much longer, I will," Tossing both pills in his mouth, Grissom took a long pull from his water bottle and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I thought it was all part and parcel of the bug Ben and I had on the weekend but, considering he was back to normal in less than twenty-four hours and I'm still dealing with intermittent nausea and stomach pain plus this damned headache five days later, I'm starting to wonder." He fumbled his sunglasses from the center console and slipped them into place. "I actually thought I was getting over it yesterday when I just had the headache and nothing else but, after Sara left for work, it all came back with a vengeance and I spend most of last night throwing up."
"If you'd called and told me this morning we could have rescheduled," Brass bit his lip as went over everything he'd just been told. "You know, it kind of sounds like stress to me; maybe Sara's head isn't the only one he's playing with after all."
"Yeah, that's what I'm beginning to think." Grissom concurred. "I don't usually stress out to such an extent though, not like this anyway."
"Look at what's going on in your life at the moment, Gil." Lifting his hand, Jim bent his fingers one by one to illustrate his various points. "You've got a pregnant wife who is - and please don't tell her I said this – a little on the older side when it comes to having babies, especially her first; an healthy, active two-year-old running about the place and getting into everything which can be exhausting and stressful in itself; you've just moved house and are still busy renovating and now you've got this…" he shrugged, "… person playing god knows what game for god knows what reason." Reaching out, he gave Grissom's arm a friendly pat. "Given all of that, I'd actually be amazed if you weren't stressed." He nodded towards the painkiller packet in his hand. "Have you told Sara about any of this?"
"Well, she knows I was sick over the weekend, naturally, and she knows I'm still not feeling great but I don't want to worry her at the moment any more than I have to so -"
"So you haven't told her just how unwell you are," Jim finished for him adding a roll of the eyes at the end for effect. "You really think she's going to let you get away with that excuse?" Pursing his lips, he shook his head in mock derision. "Not a chance, my friend. Look, do me a favor, okay; after you drop me back at my place, I want you go home, lock the door behind you and spend some family time with your wife and son without worrying about what's going on in the outside world." Straightening in his seat, he suddenly sobered. "You let him get in your head and stay there, Gil and, whatever game it is he's playing, he'll win."
"I'd love to but I can't." Forestalling the protest he knew was coming, Grissom hurried on. "I wanted to be there yesterday when Catherine processed the car so I left the lake a little earlier than usual; I'm heading out there now to finish up which will take me a couple of hours and then I have to pick Ben up from daycare and do some grocery shopping or we're not going to be eating tonight."
"You really need to work today?" There was no mistaking the skepticism in Jim's tone.
"My report and the samples I'm collecting are due in on Friday so, yeah, I do but I'm willing to concede a point; I can probably skip the shopping and order in instead," he smiled and shrugged. "Ben will be delighted and I'm not going to pretend that some quality time with the two of them isn't appealing."
"Well, make sure that's what you do then." Reaching back, Brass pulled his seatbelt around himself and clipped the buckle neatly into its housing. "And if that headache doesn't sort itself out by the end of the day, I want you to promise that you'll finally tell Sara what's going on." Returning the Motrin packet to the glove compartment, he pushed the small door shut. "God knows, Helen loves to regale me with horror stories about men our age who keel over without warning and, if you don't do something about the stress you're putting yourself under, I'm worried that the next poor stiff she's telling me about might very well be you."
Crouching down beside his backpack a half dozen yards away from the shore of Merganser Cove, Grissom slid the last of the labelled water samples deeply into the bag's well-padded exterior pocket before pulling his Nikon D7500 camera free of its case and, pushing up off his knees, stood and turned to look out across the large expanse of Lake Mead.
Whether it was the brisk afternoon breeze blowing in across the water, the almost three mile hike he'd taken to get to his current position or the Motrin he'd downed in the gun range's car park, he wasn't sure but, while the headache still lingered, it was now little more than a background annoyance, something he was more than grateful for as he framed the water's edge in the camera's LCD screen and quickly snapped off a dozen or so shots of the surrounding area.
He loved it out here and, after Jim's prophet of doom proclamation, the peace and serenity that nature offered was more welcome - and needed - than ever before.
Situated almost exactly midway between Boxcar Cove and Callville Bay, the somewhat isolated inlet was rarely used by anyone other than long-term locals and, as such, escaped much of the wear and tear that the easier to access areas suffered. Thick patches of mesquite and desert-willow lined the banks while the waterline itself played host to a veritable jungle of cattails and rushes, making the cove a safe and secure nursery for the masses of striped and largemouth bass hatchlings that seemed to prefer the northern side of the lake.
Making his way carefully over the rugged terrain, he walked up past the thickest of the vegetation and was just turning back for a couple of overall shots when the wind suddenly strengthened and, pausing, Grissom frowned at the unexpected odors that washed around him.
One was a harsh chemical smell that he couldn't quite put his finger on but the second he was only too familiar with and, concentrating primarily on that one, he quickly traced a path back down towards the water and then into the edges of the nearest thicket. He looked around, still not seeing the source but the cloying, fetid stench confirming that it was definitely here somewhere. Squatting down, he studied the ground at his feet and, seeing nothing, expanded his search a little further afield.
The drag marks and single set of footprints, when he found them, were faint and in some places almost intangible, but they were enough to lead him to his quarry: propped against a tree trunk, bound, blindfolded and most definitely dead.
A/N: Thank you, SylvieT :)