A/N: Again, I am indebted to the incomparable LosingnTranslatn and Mingsmommy. They cranked this beta out in record time.

January 2, 2009

I watch her as she sleeps. Because I am studying her so closely, I can tell by the change in her breathing that Elizabeth is awake. Her arms and legs are flexing, testing the strength of her bonds. Her mouth works around the gag, testing it with her teeth and tongue. I remain calm in my chair beside the bed, waiting…waiting…waiting…NOW!!!

I feel the adrenaline rush through my body as her eyes fly open and her gaze focuses on me. I can hear her muffled scream through the thick knot of material stuffed in her mouth. I watch as she attempts to move further away from me, her body floundering like a whale out of water. Tears fill her eyes and overflow, leaving streaks along her ruddy cheeks. Then her eyes zero in on the scalpel in my hand and her tears turn into sobs. I look on in disgust as her bladder releases, soaking her white cotton panties and filling the room with the acrid odor of urine.

I shift forward in my chair, trying to calm her, but she jerks away, another scream captured by the gag. Her eyes roll in her head, fear reducing her to the animal I have always known her to be.

"Elizabeth," my voice is low and even. "Don't be afraid. I don't want to hurt you."

Finally, when I make no move to harm her, she calms. Her eyes are still wide and I can read the terror there. Each breath a shuddering pant she forces into her lungs. "Wa u wan," she whimpers over and over.

"What do I want?" Her head nods frantically. "I just want to talk to you. Calmly. Rationally. Honestly." I lean forward, my eyes staring into hers. "Is that possible?" Again, her head bobs. "Good. Just relax, and I will explain the rules to you."

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The first time Grissom's cell phone rang, Sara pulled her mouth from his, fully expecting him to answer it. With a brief shake of his head and a gentle tug on the hair he had fisted in his hand, he brought her lips back to his.

The second time, he was pinned beneath her on the couch and she was driving him crazy with her teeth and tongue on his nipples.

The third time, Sara's focus was lower and Grissom muttered a curse that would have made a sailor blush. Sitting up, she found the phone and handed it to him with a smirk.

"Grissom," he ground out between clenched teeth.

"Doctor Grissom?" The voice had a nasal twang that Grissom didn't recognize. "This is Roland. Roland Belcher?"

Grissom searched his mind for a face to go with the name and came up empty. "Um…"

The man chuckled. "It's okay if you don't remember me. I work at the Lucky-U-Motel over on D Street. You was here 'bout a year ago when that hooker got killed. You's the only one believed it wasn't me that done it."

Grissom's mind conjured up the image of a forty something, overweight man with an unfortunate amount of body hair, and a penchant for bad cigars. "I remember. What can I do for you Roland?"

Sitting back on her heels, Sara watched as Grissom tried to juggle the phone and work his underwear back over his feet. Suppressing a giggle, she slid off the couch and knelt beside him. Straightening out the fabric, she placed a quick kiss on his left knee before she drew it up over his calves.

Roland's voice droned in his ear while Grissom let his hand shift through Sara's hair. Her eyes were dark with passion, her lips still kiss swollen and his body throbbed with the need to feel her beneath him. He wanted nothing more than to hang up on the man and pick up where the two of them had left off. As if she sensed his intentions, Sara rose gracefully to her feet and headed for the bedroom.

"….so anyways, this man, he registered with your name." The man's voice rose until he was practically shouting.

Grissom's attention was jerked away from Sara's lithe, naked form and back to man on the other end of the line.

"I'm sorry, Roland. It's my night off and I was…asleep." Grissom rubbed a hand over his eyes and tried to focus. "Can you repeat that?"

With a knowing chuckle, Roland said, "Asleep? Riiiiiiiiiiight." He drew in a deep breath. "Like I was sayin'…this man showed up here tonight with a woman in his car. She was passed out. But that's nuthin' I ain't seen before." He chuffed with a heavy breath and Grissom could almost see the cigar smoke circling the man as he spoke.

"The reason I called is that when this guy filled out the form, he used your name. Now, I know there ain't really that many John Smith's that need a room in Vegas, but…

Grissom's voice cracked like a whip. "What did he look like?"

"Well, you know, I don't make a habit of checkin' out guys or nothin'. I don't swing that way, Doc."

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Grissom patiently asked, "Hair color? Height?"

"Oh." Roland was silent for a moment and Grissom could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. "Well, he had dark hair, almost black. And he was tall…over six foot. And skinny. That's about all I remember."

"And the woman? Did you see her?"

"I didn't get much of a look, but she was a big girl, if you know what I mean. I tried to joke with the guy about makin' it with a tubby, but he didn't get it."

Tamping down his irritation, Grissom asked, "Are they still there?"

"Yeah. Room one thirty-five." Roland's voice conveyed his excitement. "Is that woman in trouble, Doc? Cause I can go around there and…"

"No." Grissom snapped out. Drawing a deep breath he tried to calm himself. "No, Roland. Don't go around there."

"Well, I can't just let him do something to that poor woman."

"What you can do is wait for me to get there. If he leaves make sure you get a plate number." Grissom was on his feet, tugging at his boxers with one hand while holding the phone to his ear with the other. "I mean it Roland, do not confront him."

With the man's begrudging agreement, Grissom hung up.

"Sara? Honey?" Grissom turned toward the bedroom only to see Sara coming out, already dressed.

"Get dressed. I'll call Brass." She smiled at his perplexed look and took the cell phone from his hand. "I might have been away for a while, but I still know your 'emergency' voice when I hear it. Now go."

"It's the Lucky-U on D Street between Sixteenth and Seventeenth." With that, he hurried into the bedroom to get dressed.

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"It's very simple really." I can feel the false smile as it spreads over my face. "I will ask the questions and you will answer. Simple questions, requiring only a yes or no response."

I can tell she is listening to me, because she has stopped struggling against the tape which binds her.

"Can you do that, Elizabeth? Can you answer with just a nod, or a shake of your head?"

She nods, slowly, and I can see her mind working to sort everything out. Finally, I hear her muffled question.

"Capl?"

Holding it up, I let the blade catch the light. "This?" Her entire body begins to tremble and she nods jerkily. "Well, this is part of the game. You see, Elizabeth, if you lie to me I will know. Think of this…" I smoothly turn the blade over in my hand, "as a bit of negative reinforcement." I watch closely and recognize the exact moment my meaning becomes clear. "Do you understand?"

Again she nods.

"Wi?" she asks through the gag.

This time I shake my head, amused at her utter stupidity. "Because God's Will must be done, Elizabeth. And you have endangered His work."

I pause now, letting my mind settle, pushing out any doubt, girding myself for the battle ahead.

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The Lucky-U-Motel was in the middle of a block of strip joints and crack houses. The entrance and exit were nothing more than one huge pothole that led to the parking lot. A low concrete block wall separated the rest of the lot from the sidewalk. The lot, littered with broken vials, used condoms, discarded needles and empty beer cans, was a sad testament to the seedier side of Las Vegas, the side not usually seen by tourists. When Grissom and Sara pulled in, Brass was leaning against the front of his car waiting for them.

"Gil, what's this about?" Brass had his hands shoved in his pockets and a scowl on his face. Turning, a brief smile flickering over his lips, he winked at Sara. "Hey. You're looking good."

"Thanks." She grinned at the gruff detective and tugged her knit cap down over her ears.

Grissom zipped his jacket and tucked his hands in his pockets. "I got a call from the desk clerk here. Somebody checked in tonight using my name. His description sounds like Doctor Malachi Rosenthal. The man I think has been killing those women I talked to you about."

With the jingle of a bell, Roland Belcher pushed through the door and plodded across the broken asphalt. A grin split his face when he saw Grissom.

"Hey, Doc. How you doin'?" The man extended a hand which Grissom shook, cringing inwardly at the feel of Roland's clammy palm against his.

"Roland." Grissom glanced around, noticing the lack of cars parked in front of the rooms that faced the street. "Are they still here?"

Instead of answering, Roland focused his attention on Sara. "Well, aren't you a pretty little thang? You work with the Doc, here?"

With a quick shake of her head, Sara said, "Um…no…not exactly."

The glint in his eyes became even more lascivious as he leered at her. "He tried to tell me he was asleep. But if I had a woman like you I wouldn't a been sleepin'." His eyes slid over her from top to bottom and back while Sara fought not to shiver in disgust.

"Roland, are they still here?" There was no mistaking the ice in Grissom voice.

Roland quickly turned to face him, hands held up in surrender. "Can't blame a guy…."

"Hey, pal. The man asked you a question." Brass stepped between the clerk and Sara, effectively blocking his view. "Are they still here?"

Backing up a couple of steps, Roland wiped the sweat off his forehead and looked at Grissom. "Yeah. They're still here. Room one thirty-five. I been watchin' the entrance ever since I called you."

Again, it was Brass who spoke. "Thanks. Glad that wasn't too difficult for you. Why don't you go back inside and we'll call if we need you?"

"But…but…" Roland's eyes darted from Grissom to Brass and back.

Grissom shrugged. "He's got the gun and the badge. You should do what he says."

Reluctantly, Roland turned and headed for the office, disappointment evident in the set of his shoulders. He muttered something under his breath that sounded unsurprisingly like 'stupid fucking pig' but he kept walking, never once looking back.

When the door swung shut behind him, Brass turned to Grissom. "Have you lost your mind? Aren't you already in enough trouble over this? Do you want to get fired?"

Grissom eyebrow slid slowly toward his hairline and he crossed his arms over his chest. Holding Brass' gaze, he said, "Maybe I do."

Both Brass and Sara started to speak, sounds sputtering about without actually forming words. But Grissom merely held up a hand. "However, the thing I want most is to make sure Elizabeth Bethune and Doctor Rosenthal are not in that room back there."

"Gil," Brass pursed his lips, gathering his thoughts. "You can't expect me to go back there and knock on the door based on the word of that guy." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the motel office.

Shaking his head, playing his last card, Grissom said, "No, Jim. I expect you to do it based on my word."

Stunned silence followed his quiet statement, as if no words could possibly suffice. Grissom held Brass' gaze, refusing to back down from the challenge he had issued. The silence was tense, broken only by the cars passing on the street.

Finally, Brass dragged a hand over his face. "I suppose, if I don't go with you, you'll just go alone." Grissom nodded and Brass gestured toward the dilapidated building. "Come on then. Let's get this over with so those people can get on with their night."

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"So, Elizabeth…have you seen Gil Grissom lately?" My voice is soft, calm.

I watch as she considers the question. Is she trying to determine what I mean by lately? Is she trying to figure out why I asked? Her eyes close and I see her lips moving. Could it be she is praying?

"Answer me, Elizabeth." Again, the words are quiet.

Finally, her eyes slide open and she shakes her head. Slowly, I stand. The scalpel is clutched in my hand which hangs loosely by my side. I take a couple of steps closer and I see her eyes widen with every inch. She knows she has lied. And she knows that I know. Her head begins to shake back and forth so rapidly I am afraid she will injure herself before I have all the answers.

"Oh, Elizabeth," I whisper. "Why?"

Like a snake striking at its prey, my hand darts out and runs over her. The touch is gentle, almost a caress. Then a narrow line along the pale, doughy flesh of her abdomen begins to weep, blood beading along its length. And her scream, this time, is primal.