As soon as the team got back to the lab, controlled chaos ensued. Evidence techs mixed among the investigators, aiding in logging and beginning the processing on the collected evidence. Blood, trace, DNA, audio-visual, and other labs shunted most work to the side, prioritizing the missing investigator over anyone else. No further contact had come in their absence, so they only had to go on what they'd collected and the initial package containing Greg's shirt and wallet.

Though each investigator wanted to work their own evidence specialty, they let their highly trained techs do it. Rather, the group met in the cramped briefing room, a grim echo of a meeting interrupted mere hours ago by a plain brown package. No one sat down.

"Okay, what do we know?" Gil kept his voice calm, neutral, despite the rage and fear pulsing with every beat of his heart. They'd gone through this two months previously when Nick had been kidnapped and buried alive. Gil had experienced it again in June when Lindsey was taken. Now they all lived it again with Greg. Gil Grissom felt old and tired.

"Greg was last seen this morning coming off shift. He drove away in his Passat." Gil began the rundown as he looked around the table. "He didn't mention any plans to stop anywhere or meet anyone. He never showed for work and his wall phone was off the wall when weCath called at the beginning of shift. His cell phone wasn't at the scene, but later used to phone both Cath and Sara."

Jumping right into it, Brass nodded. "At shift change tonight a package was delivered to the police station. The woman claimed it was sitting on her porch. The package contained a knife, a crowbar, a wallet, and a t-shirt."

Nick nodded, taking up the recital. "There was broken china and food from the refrigerator through part of Greg's kitchen. Someone walked through it, something was drug through it, and something or someone bled on the debris. The food and china did not lead out of the kitchen to the rest of the house but appeared to be dragged with the heavy object towards the back door." He glanced through his notes. "No knives were missing from the kitchen, but the trash can didn't have a bag in it."

Drawing a breath and shifting his stance, Warrick straightened then said, "trail of blood down the hall to the living room where the laptop was smashed. Blood . . ."

The door opened, interrupting Warrick and drawing all eyes. Archie leaned in the door, panting. "There's a call for Grissom on the main line, and I got a hit on Greg's car."

Gil rose and hurried out, followed by the entire group. They headed to the hall outside the audio-visual lab, Gil and Archie heading directly inside. Gil grabbed the phone and said, "This is Grissom."

"Are you supervisor?" The voice sounded electronically altered and Gil stiffened.

Keeping calm, voice turning colder, Gil responded "who is this?"

"Are you father?" There was no change in inflection. The modulated voice could have been produced by an emotionless machine.

"Who is this?" Gill repeated, fighting his anger.

"Are you parole officer?"

Gil frowned severely, but continued calmly, "tell me what you want."

The phone clicked then buzzed in a disconnected drone.

Slowly, Gil handed the phone to Archie without hanging up. "Were we tracing that call?" He met the Asian-American's eyes, keeping his thoughts private for the moment.

Archie nodded. "Yeah. We always trace incomings." He hurried to his computers and brought up the right program, while a second screen blinked with the information about Greg's car. "We'll have that . . . oh," the tech sighed and his face twisted in confusion. "Greg's cell phone. Give me a moment and I can find the latest pings, triangulate the locale." His fingers flew over the keyboard as he worked.

Sara cleared her throat and asked, "Griss, what did he say?"

Without pulling his eyes from Archie's screens, Gil responded, "He said 'are you supervisor. Are you father. Are you parole officer.' No change of tone."

"Father?" Cath went pale, hands beginning to shake.

Gil finally turned to look at the team, his eyes meeting Cath's and holding them, blue on green. "Brass, bring Lindsey and Mrs. Flynn to the lab. I want them guarded at all times but near Cath. I want someone sent to check on each of the local families of lab personnel. Check on each of the day shift crew to make sure they're okay."

Cath's eyes softened in gratitude as Brass hurried out of the room, pulling out his phone to get the process started. "He's called me, Sara, and you, Gil. He's got Greg."

Nodding, Gil turned back the Archie's screens. "I think he's targeting the lab. Hodges, I want to know which papers ran the story about Nick's kidnapping." He ignored the wince from Nick. "Cath, call New York and see if Taylor has had problems. Archie, you mentioned a hit on the car?"

As Cath took Hodges's suddenly offered phone, offering a smile for the trace tech, Archie turned back to his second screen.

"Yeah. He was pulled over this morning just before eight. He was given a warning but nothing on his record. I found it in the routine logs." Archie, glanced up from where he still worked the trace, not bothering to look at the other screen. He knew what it said.

Gil never took his eyes from the police log. "Bring that cop in, Sara. He just became the last person to see Greg alive."

Las Vegas: Friday, July 22, 2005, just after midnight:

Greg slowly made his painful way around parked RV's and tow cars. The rain had ended any campfire parties and the vacationing families remained tucked up warm and dry in their mobile quarters. Shifting his grip on the forensics kit, Greg wrapped his other arm around his injured side and slogged on. Water ran down his almost nude body, his boxers clinging uncomfortably with each step.

Shivering, the investigator rounded the back end of a large SUV parked next to a rather tiny pop-up camper and jumped in shock, falling backwards onto the muddy grass.

A scream ripped through the air as the little girl he'd nearly run into responded in equal shock. She held her raincoat tight over her bathrobe, her boots sloshing as she stepped back and drew breath to scream again.

"Kara!" The camper door screeched open and a lady tumbled off the step, picking herself up from the mud. She was dressed in a pink nightgown and had bare feet. "Kara! What happened?" She reached for her daughter then noticed Greg and screamed.

"My god, woman! You'll wake the whole camp!" A small, lean man with pajama bottoms and a thin undershirt leaned out from the camper door, his posture stiff with annoyance.

The woman pulled her daughter to her, glaring at Greg. "Get away from my daughter you freak!"

Holding up his hand and gasping, Greg shook his head. "No . . ." his teeth began to chatter and his vision started to go into a tunnel effect. "Need help . . . hurt . . ." Greg tried to stand but collapsed, face first to the mud, wrapping both arms around his abdomen and groaning at the stab of fresh pain through his side. "Damn!"

The world darkened and sound grew distant as he tried once more. "Hurt . . . please . . . gre . . ." and he passed out before he could tell them his name.