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Gil Grissom's Romance
Chapter 5
Hours later, Gil Grissom crawled into his bed, smiling as he thought about Sara sleeping in his guest room. Dinner had been easy and enjoyable—a simple pasta and salad meal they had prepared in his kitchen. They had worked well together, talking about cooking for one—both admitting that take-out was often on the menu—as he handed Sara the ingredients for the salad.
As he settled into bed, he realized the evening with Sara had been the most pleasurable he had experienced in his home. As it was being decorated—his mother and a contracted decorator had spent most of a week doing the job—he had chosen to stay away simply because he had very little interest in what was hanging on the walls.
But Sara's admiration and compliments had given him a sense of ownership.
For the most part, he had outgrown the amusements of his youth with the opposite sex—and what interest he had now was often a passing flirtation with no intention of any serious development. Over the years, he had learned to compartmentalize his life, parallel lines that never crossed, and his social interactions had become a very narrow compartment. Simply, work consumed his life. Now, what was he doing—now, with a much younger woman sleeping in his guest bedroom. Without doubt, he knew Sara would—he wasn't sure how she felt about him.
He knew he had a natural charm; he had enough experience to know that a smile, a look out of the corner of his eye, a vague hint, and most women would respond. As he had gotten older and more involved in work, he had not sought a long-lasting romance. Except for an occasional 'date'—often with a colleague in law enforcement or sales rep—he considered himself a confirmed bachelor.
Which was one reason he did not fall asleep as quickly as he should have—thinking about Sara Sidle in his guest room was enough to make him reconsider his life, causing certain physical responses that he usually kept well suppressed. He moved, adjusted his position in bed, and punched his pillow. No, he thought, he wasn't going to change his life. This friendship, this unusual closeness with a young woman, would be just that.
If he managed to present Vegas to Sara in the right way, perhaps she would consider a career move at some point in the future. He was not in the position to offer her a job, but the lab was growing just as fast as the city was and he knew he had a voice in who was hired. Most of the time—nepotism was rampant—but Sara, already a level two investigator, would be better qualified than most.
Another thought popped into his brain; Sara in the lab. Sara working with young men—men her age—flirting, as attractive and fascinating to them as she was to him. He almost groaned out loud. Shaking the covers away, he got up, found a favorite book, and returned to bed to read until he slept.
Waking up to the smell of coffee in his own house was a startling experience for Grissom. Taking only minutes to shower and dress, he found his guest standing before a sun-filled east window.
"Sorry," he apologized as he realized he had not put on shoes. "I should have been up hours ago."
Sara turned, putting her face in shadow. The morning sun wreathed her body in a halo of gold; his breath caught in his chest. Beautiful did not describe the vision before him.
"Coffee's ready," she said.
Her voice, still husky with sleep, caused him to stumble as he quickly crossed the floor to the coffee pot.
"It really is beautiful here. You can see for miles—and the mountains are stunning!"
Grissom had been in Vegas for so long that he often forgot to see its beauty. After taking a sip of hot coffee, he said, "Why don't we grab breakfast at a local café and get started on our sight-seeing tour—lots of places I want you to see."
After a quick breakfast at his favorite diner, they set out on a driving tour. Explained Grissom, "Vegas isn't much of a walking kind of place in most places." And as they moved into traffic, he described the history of the city—a scrubby ranch in the desert that evolved into a town before growing into a neon city of hotels and casinos.
"The Strip is the stem—all the casinos—Venetian, Bellagio, the Grand—all of them—are fertilizing the dream. The tourists are growing by almost unbelievable numbers."
They moved slowly through a traffic jam as he pointed to ornate and extravagantly decorated buildings, sparkling fountains gushing jets of water, colorful cranes extending skyward, and large craters in the ground with billboard visions of more to come.
"What brought you here? Really? Why Vegas?"
Grissom chuckled. "Came the first time when I was in college—to gamble, and later, I wanted more sun than snow—and a good lab. And the politicians wanted a safe place for all the tourists—or the illusion of safety—so they pump money into law enforcement and what it takes to get arrests and convictions."
His fingers nervously tapped the wheel. "The lab is growing. Every building on the Strip adds personnel to law enforcement."
Letting out a frustrated groan, he made a right turn into a parking garage. "Let's walk." With a grin, he added, "We'll see if you can hit a jackpot."
Inside a casino, he noticed Sara kept her hand on the small shoulder bag she carried so he handed her a quarter as they passed a slot machine.
"Drop a quarter—see what happens," he said as he extended the coin.
Sara gave him a cute grimace; her eyebrows arched as her mouth twisted into a quirky smile. "I'm not real lucky," she said as she took the quarter.
He guided her to one of the machines where she dropped the coin and pulled the arm. The machine blinked, chimed, and flashed lights but nothing dropped into the tray.
Sara laughed. "It wants more—one more! Always hope for the gambler!"
Grissom touched her elbow saying, "Which leads to frustration for most."
Thoughtfully, Sara said, "It's all phony—styrofoam walls, fake plants. No clocks—nothing to indicate time of day!"
"That's the intention—time stops."
They continued strolling through the casino, one of the newest and most elaborately decorated casinos in the city, and suddenly, he realized she had no interest in gambling or the casinos. Which was a good trait for anyone in law enforcement.
They left the gambling area and entered a hall lined with expensive designer shops. Windows displaying glittering clothes, sparkling jewelry, leather bags and shoes, did not attract Sara's eyes. A candy store caused her to pause for a few seconds but then they wandered on in a companionable way for several minutes.
And then his thoughts actually fell into some kind of order as he realized in San Francisco they had been outside. His tour of the Strip ended when he said, "Let's go someplace else. A place I think you will enjoy."
Retracing steps to his car and then creeping through slow traffic for another twenty minutes, Sara asked about the university. He changed directions and drove through the campus.
"The trees are some of the oldest in Vegas," he said, "planted when the university was a new campus." He pointed out several landmarks on the campus before turning west. "Have you ever seen the dam—Hoover Dam?" He already knew the answer, adding, "We can get a tour—I know a guy."
He did know a guy—several of them. They stopped at a small convenience store for gasoline and food; Grissom knew the owner had a booming lunch time business serving smoked chicken and pork sandwiches and a sweet coleslaw. He ordered one of each while Sara selected a couple of canned drinks.
"Add more drinks and cookies," Grissom called from the back of the store as he pulled a small cooler from a high shelf.
The owner rang up the food but refused to charge for the cooler as he added ice, saying "Just bring it back when you return. Going fishing today?"
"No—taking a friend to see the dam."
They ate their lunch at a picnic table outside and then continued driving west. Grissom slowed with traffic.
He said, "Close your eyes" as the highway made a gradual rise. A minute later he said, "Open!"
It was a view that was always beautiful and from Sara's surprise exclamation, she thought so too.
She said, "In the middle of the desert—water!"
"If Lake Mead wasn't here, there would be no Las Vegas," he said.
He knew she was happy—delighted—by the tone of her voice as she asked questions and talked about the dam, the lake, the canyon below the dam. As they got out of the car, he laughed.
"The tour guide is going to love you!"
Once inside, he placed a call and ten minutes later, he introduced Sara to Peter Carter, a career engineer at the dam. The man arrived with two hard hats, greeted Grissom with a long-time familiarity, and quickly took Sara's hand in his own which rapidly turned into an amiable meeting of kindred minds. Before leaving the visitor's center, Sara and Peter were deep into a conversation that left Grissom in silence as he followed the two on a tour of the dam.
Nearly three hours later, the trio returned to daylight at the top of the dam. Grissom was not bothered by the attention Peter Carter had given Sara—or at least that's what he told himself as he watched the two in an animated discussion of massive generators. Of course, they had discovered a shared background in physics; they had similar understandings of engineering and Peter had been eager to explain finer points of the workings of the power plant.
Grissom was ready to leave yet Sara and Peter continued talking about—walking across the dam they were talking about the river and canyon below the dam.
Quickly, he joined the conversation, saying, "One day, we'll float the river. It's as magnificent down there as it is up here." And their talk turned to the natural beauty below the dam.
Slowly, the three returned to the visitor's center; Grissom thanked his old friend and chose to ignore the obvious flirtation between Sara and Peter Carter—who was at least ten years older than Grissom. Did the old guy know how ridiculous he appeared as he told an old joke to Sara?
"We need to go," Grissom said as soon as Peter finished his joke. Another round of "Good-bye" and "You made my day" followed but finally they were out the door and headed to the car.
Sara's hand touched his arm. Quietly, she said, "That was enjoyable—I appreciate you thinking of this way to spend the afternoon. And your friend is quite a character, isn't he?"
Grissom agreed. "We fish together a few times a year." Softly, he chuckled, "He was taken with you—someone smart enough to keep up with his knowledge and ask intelligent questions."
Smiling as they approached his car, Sara said, "He appreciated having an audience."
On the way back to Vegas, they stopped for dinner at a lakeside restaurant he frequented—where waiters knew his name. It was enjoyable to have Sara's undivided attention as they ate. They found things to talk about—preferred sweeteners, coffee or tea, fried or broiled fish—that dinner guests around the world talked about while eating.
"We'll drive along the lakeshore before returning, if that's okay," Grissom said. "And tomorrow, we'll go to Red Rocks." His fork stopped mid-way to his mouth. "There's so much I'd like to show you, Sara."
She avoided a response—and he said no more as their desserts arrived; he had ordered two favorites—a cheesecake topped with syrupy cherries and a chocolate 'volcano' cake. Sara selected the chocolate cake, dug her spoon into the top and warm, dark melted chocolate oozed over the edge and flowed onto the plate.
Both laughed and stated the obvious—together: "Just like a volcano!"
Spooning a large bite into her mouth, her eyebrows lifted in surprise and then she quietly laughed. "This is absolutely decadent," she said as she licked the spoon, stuck it into the gooey liquid, and filled her mouth with more chocolate, making a low, satisfied moan. With a mischievous grin, she said, "And I'm not sharing!"
Afterwards, he drove along a scenic highway while she marveled at the sight of desert pastels meeting the immense body of water of Lake Mead. He pulled into a roadside parking area; both got out and walked over rock and sand and a few small desert plants to what looked like the edge of the world—an infinite expanse of blue sky. A few clouds drifted overhead.
"Got your parachute?" Grissom joked.
A few yards farther, and Sara understood what he meant. They stood on the verge of an elevated area and looked hundreds of feet down to scattered and shattered rocks as large as boxcars and buses.
Sara was breathless. "This is magnificent!"
"It is." Almost placing his hand around her shoulders, he quickly pulled back and stuck both hands in his pants pockets. "In the spring, it is becomes a butterfly heaven—wild sunflowers, asters, Indian paintbrush, hundreds of wild flowers everywhere."
"Really? Even in the desert?"
He nodded, "Even in the desert—especially this spot." He pointed to the sky, saying, "And the perfect spot for star gazing. Have you ever watched the stars in a wine-dark sky? A sight that makes you realize how small our universe really is."
They stood in silence for a while. Sara placed her hand over her eyes as she turned to face west and the setting sun. "You'd never know this was here if you stayed in Vegas."
Grissom rocked back on his heels and smiled. He had discovered what Sara Sidle enjoyed. He watched as her face tilted skyward and a light breeze fluttered her hair. He felt an enormous sense of calm.
The night slipped by too quickly; sleep came easily for Grissom and when morning came, he was up and dressed before he heard movement coming from his guest room. When Sara came out of the guest room, her face glowed; she had an energy that seemed to charge the space around her.
Grissom was prepared, handing her a cup filled with hot coffee as he met her halfway. "It's another beautiful day, Miss Sidle."
In short order, he prepared a breakfast sandwich for both of them, wrapped each in foil, and packed food and drinks into a cooler. Explaining his plan, he said, "Sometimes if I get to Red Rocks early, I see a gray fox—she looks like a coyote with larger ears—I think she has several little ones."
Sara added a couple of apples to his sandwiches and cookies. She said, "And it's prettier than what we saw yesterday?"
"Oh, yes."
"And closer to Vegas?"
"Less than twenty miles." Grissom handed her a ball cap. He was already thinking about her departure in a few hours; quickly, he pushed the thought out of his mind, preparing to enjoy the day.
Despite the early hour the streets and highway were alive with cars. Changing of shifts at casinos and hotels, he explained.
Sara was amazed at the change as she starred out the window. The drive was like taking a time capsule into the past. Modern buildings and wide, smooth streets morphed into small homes and a two-lane highway and then nothing—nothing except wide-open space and red orange sandstone formations—like frozen dinosaurs punching through the earth.
"I've never seen anything like this," Sara whispered as Grissom turned into the park's entrance.
Grissom, pleased with her compliment, smiled, reached across, and patted her arm. "It's a place of natural beauty—something different around every turn."
Following a paved road, unhurried, Grissom drove through an area of towering domes and jagged blades of rose red and blazing orange, painted in horizontal stripes.
"It's like a fairyland out here, so beautiful."
Grissom agreed. "No swimming pools, no golf courses, no condominiums, no postcards or hot dogs for sale."
"Do the wildflowers bloom out here?"
"Even more. There's a trail that climbs higher with a meadow on the south side—you would never expect to find it in a place like this—in spring, after the first rain, it is an open, untrammeled space of wildflowers." He slowed and turned into a pull-out. "We'll go up there one day." With a grin, he pointed to a sign for a trail. "Up for a walk?"
They packed their foil wrapped sandwiches and bottles of water into a small backpack and walked in the direction of a trail sign. Sand drifted on either side of the path; in fifty yards, there was one slim twig of a tree. After fifteen minutes, the well-marked trail ended in a small box canyon. Grissom pointed to an almost invisible chipped out path going up a steep sandstone wall.
"The path—more like steps—has been here since—since the first humans arrived here and someone found—are you willing to see what's up there?" He asked.
"Sure," answered Sara. So they started upward following footholds that had been worn smooth by others. Sara's amazement continued as she said, "The steps are carved—almost the same distance from the next."
After two hundred feet, they reached the top, a giant dome of stone shaped like the back of an elephant. Sara looked down and could see the car and paved road far below them. On three sides, red and orange mountains of rock seemed to touch the few white clouds floating above them.
Before she said anything, Grissom called her name. "Sara—we aren't there yet!"
With a backward glance at the view, she followed him along the dome, stepping over geodes the size of ball bearings and down a narrow crevasse between two vast globes of stone and through a natural eroded window—to an oval clear pool ten feet wide and twenty feet long with a sandy bottom at least a foot deep. Surrounded by small green bushes and a few trees, it was an oasis on the lowest part of the domed rock.
"Oh, Grissom—this is beautiful!"
He smiled and put his backpack under the shade of a rock. "It is—and I'm hungry enough to eat a live lizard. If we are quiet, we might see the little fox."
"You come all the way out here to watch a fox?" She smiled as she asked the question.
"I come out here for peace and quiet—to watch for insects—and the fox has been an added attraction." Before he opened the backpack, he took off his boots and his socks and dangled his bare feet in the water. "Come on," he encouraged. "It's rainwater."
So the two sat, backs against a warm rock, and ate their sandwiches, quietly waiting for the fox. Who never showed up. They folded the foil that had been wrapped around sandwiches and emptied the bottles of water. Still no fox. Just as they were making movements to find shoes and socks, Grissom held his hand out and motioned for Sara to remain seated as he did the same.
A rustling among the scrubby undergrowth caused Sara's eyes to widen while Grissom put a finger to his lips. More rustling as the bushes moved aside and a grown bighorn sheep glided into the clearing. She looked around, seemed to determine the area was safe, and made a soft sound.
Sara's intake of breath caused Grissom to touch her arm. She glanced in his direction and smiled. Grissom nodded, pleased with himself.
Two small baby sheep, one as white as a cloud, came into view. The mother led them to the water's edge and kept watch while the little ones drank before she lowered her head to water. They—the two people watching and the sheep—stayed beside the water for an hour; the sheep at one end of the pool while Sara and Grissom sat in still silence and watched.
Six months later, Sara Sidle stood at the window watching the refueling of the jet that would fly to Vegas. She was going again—officially, at the request of the new Las Vegas crime lab supervisor, Dr. Gil Grissom. Remembering—her first and only visit to Vegas—she thought she had ended their friendship with her question at the airport.
They had enjoyed two days together—walking along the Strip, trying a slot machine, eating food that made them both groan, touring the dam, seeing the bighorn sheep at the protected Red Rocks area west of the city—and both nights, they slept in separate bedrooms. She was as confused when she left as she had been when she arrived.
At the airport, Grissom had walked with her to the gate and as they stood together, much as she stood today, he had said, "A penny for your thoughts."
After a long moment, she had turned to him. "I wished we worked together."
He replied, "The last thing you need is some old-fashioned guy slowing you down."
Several minutes passed before she said, "You think you're too old for me, don't you?"
When he responded, quickly, she knew he had already thought of his answer. He said, "Sara, I know I am too old for you!" And then laughed, softly, before adding, "I'll always—I wish I could work with you."
She had been embarrassed but finally shrugged, saying, "Well, you know where I am—should you—should you…"
He had smiled. "I'd enjoy that."
Suddenly, she had turned to him, without warning, leaned to his face and kissed him on the lips, quickly. When she pulled away, he smiled. And she was also smiling.
Briefly, he touched her face with his index finger. "Go save the world, Sara Sidle," he whispered.
Bewildered to the point she could not think clearly, Sara had stood like a statue, a grin on her face. Softly, he had laughed, a warm, deep chuckle that she remembered for weeks.
Again, he said, "Go save the world, Sara. I know where you are."
Six months later, numerous emails and phone conversations that never mentioned the kiss or anything personal, he had called and asked if she would come to Vegas—it was work related. A young investigator had been shot at a crime scene and he had been made supervisor. He wanted her—needed her—to conduct an independent investigation.
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