Author's Note: I was bored yesterday and made another video trailer for this story. It's linked in my profile if you're interested, or if not then that's fine. Or if you're too lazy to go to my profile: http://www.youtube. com/watch?v(Equal Sign)HgHcIaN-QkY. As usual, remove the space between . com and translate (equal sign) into an actual equal sign. Stupid FFN and linking in stories...

In the meantime, here's chapter three.

Chapter Three: Copy Cat

Greg and Catherine returned to the lab to see it buzzing with life. It was busier than it had been when they'd left. They saw Grissom talking to Judy. Greg headed over to talk to him when Catherine grabbed his shoulder.

"What?" he asked, but she was looking up at the TV. It was that redheaded reporter that had been asking her questions earlier.

"… victim was Catherine Willows, a Crime Scene Investigator who was ambushed on the scene and held hostage by the suspect, who used her to escape before cutting her throat and throwing her away like dead weight. Ms. Willows received immediate emergency treatment and luckily came out of the event alive, though bleeding profusely."

"That's bullshit!" Catherine exclaimed. "He nicked me, that's all! I'm not even wearing that stupid bandage anymore."

"Yeah!" Greg said, equally annoyed. "They didn't even mention how I awesomely saved your ass."

She turned to him. "Oh you saved my ass? Mr. I-have-a-gun-and-I-am-afraid-to-us-it?"

"It all happened really fast, in case you didn't notice, I never had a good shot!" Greg snapped defensively.

"Catherine, Greg!" Grissom said, noticing them staring at the TV. He walked over to them. "How are you feeling?"

Catherine gestured at the TV angrily. "If Brass told that little harlot that I played damsel-in-distress, I swear—"

"I'll take that as an 'I'm fine, thank you.' OK, look, something's come up," Grissom told the two of them.

"What's…" But Greg trailed off as his eyes gravitated to the redheaded reporter again.

"The suspect escaped into the woods behind the house, and police were searching it until a call came in from a neighborhood halfway across town with the same calling card as the serial killer who has come to be known as the Sneaky Santa Killer."

"No way…" Greg said, his jaw dropping. "Copy cat?" he asked Grissom.

"One of them is," Grissom agreed. "There's no way the suspect could have gotten between the two crime scenes that fast. If he was still at the scene when you and Catherine were there, then it's impossible for him to have committed both crimes. Sara, Nick and Warrick are all over there right now. Family of five, this time. One of them was a two-year-old infant, too."

Catherine looked at Greg to see his reaction to this news, but to her surprise he seemed unfazed. "But… but that scene was classic Sneaky Santa, right down to the lumps of coal in the stockings!" Greg argued.

"The problem with high profile cases, Greg, is that there are very few details the media doesn't weasel out of us," Grissom told him, bitterly. "The style of murder, the fact that there's no forced entry, and the lumps of coal was all information released to the public. Someone obviously thought it would be a convenient way to—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Greg said. "Hold on. Rewind. Are you trying to tell me that someone who's not a deranged serial killer planned to kill a happy little family? What sane person would kill a six-year-old-girl?"

"She was nine, Greg," Catherine said quietly.

"Not the point," he snapped angrily, in very un-Greg-like tones. He took a deep breath and sighed. "I'm sorry, Catherine, but I... Grissom... Ugh!" He grabbed his hair with his hands. "I'll be in the break room."

"Not so fast, Greg," Grissom said. "You need to talk to the sketch artist."

"We already gave our statements to Brass!" Greg whined.

"And now you need to give a physical description," Grissom said. "You know all this, Greg why are you acting so..."

"Immature?" Catherine said.

Greg glowered at her. "Watch it," he said.

Catherine and Grissom exchanged looks. "OK..." Grissom said before turning to Catherine. "Do you want to brief me on what exactly happened down there?"

"There's not much to tell," Catherine said, and Greg noticed she was suddenly uncomfortable. "Greg and I were... processing the scene, I was talking to Greg and then he jumped out from behind the tree and grabbed me."

"I saw the ornaments move," Greg said, suddenly calm again in the face of Catherine's unease. "I was... expecting it."

Catherine nodded. "And then he grabbed the knife and held it to my throat and Mr. Drama Queen over here decided his gun was more of a decorative piece than a working tool."

"I bet if you were in my shoes..." Greg mumbled.

"I would have shot him," Catherine said without hesitation. "In the foot, probably. It's distracting enough. And poetic."

Greg folded his arms and pouted.

"Did he say anything to you guys?" Grissom asked. "Do you have... words, a voice, maybe an idea of where he was from or going?"

Greg opened his mouth to reply when Catherine beat him to it. "No, not a word."

Greg stared at her as Grissom looked at him. "Are you sure?"

He dropped his childish pout and nodded, still watching Catherine out of the corner of his eye. "That's how it all went down, yeah."

"OK," Grissom said. "The sketch artist is in the layout room, she'll help you out. I'm going to go talk to Doc Robbins to see if everything is as clear cut with your vics as we think it is."

Grissom disappeared, once again leaving Catherine and Greg alone as they headed for the layout room. "You know," Greg said, "if you're gonna keep getting on my case for not shooting a guy, then I'm going to tell Grissom that you just lied to his face."

Catherine sighed. "I'm sorry..." she said, and Greg was so surprised by the guilt in her voice that he nearly stopped walking entirely. "Look, he... he didn't say anything of consequence, nothing Grissom or anyone else for that matter needs to know about. It won't help the case. It just... bothered me. OK?"

Greg nodded. He also had things that were bothering him, and he had a feeling Catherine knew it was more than just the age of the victims. But he recognized that neither one felt it was quite sharing time yet, and wondered if he would ever know what was whispered in Catherine's ear. If it meant telling Catherine about Lucy, then he was content to let sleeping dogs lie. His desire for his own secrecy outweighed his curiosity.

For now.

"We need to go to the library," Mickey said.

Danny groaned and rolled over in his sleeping bag. "Now? What? Why? Mickey, it's nearly Christmas day by now!"

"We need to go," Mickey insisted. "The one at the university is open twenty-four hours, come on."

"It's eleven o'clock, Mickey, and I'm tired," Danny wined. "You had me up at five this morning, planning all day for your perfect murder."

He heard Mickey crouching down behind him. "I know, Danny," he said in soft tones. "But this is important. It's about those people back at the house, those police-type people."

"They were CSIs Mickey, didn't you see their vests?" Danny yawned.

"I did, I did," Mickey said, excitedly. "And that's exactly why we need to go to the library."

Danny opened his eyes, annoyed. Mickey knew that the way to catch his interest was with a good mystery. He rolled over and propped himself up on his elbow. "OK, fine. I'll ask. What are you talking about?"

Mickey grinned, elated that his plan had worked. "Her name is Willows," he said. "It was on her vest, right? The guy, she called him Greg, he called her Cath, figure it's short for Catherine or something, whatever, it doesn't matter because we have her last name. Anyways, Danny, I did it, I spooked her!"

Danny yawned again. "What'd you say to her?"

"Stuff," Mickey said ambiguously. "You know, the threatening kind of stuff, I used her name, and started making threats, you know, and she totally froze up, and— I gotta tell you, Danny, I think this chick is damaged."

"Damaged how?" Danny asked.

Mickey's eyes darted left and right as though worried he would be overheard and then he leaned in close to Danny before saying in a whisper. "You know— sexually."

"Ah, you mean like you are," Danny said.

Mickey hit him. "I'm not damaged, you asshole!"

"You think she was raped?" Danny asked.

"May have been, I don't know, do I? That's why we need to go to the library. Google her. Check the papers, whatever, the thing is if she has a history it's on the Internet. Everything is on the Internet these days."

"Why do you care anyway?" Danny asked, stretching. "She's just a chick. Like you put it, a 'police-type person.' She doesn't matter."

"Of course she matters because I spooked her, Danny, don't you get it?" Mickey said excitedly. "If I spooked her, it means I got power over her, and if I got power over her, it means we can use her, ya hear? So if she thinks that I know something really painful about her, she'll do whatever I say. Believe me, I know a thing or two about manipulation and blackmail. Learned it from my old man."

Danny had lost interest and rolled over in his sleeping bag again. "You're nuts. You know that?"

"I'm a genius and you love it," Micky said, mussing up Danny's hair.

"Quit it," Danny muttered sleepily.

Mickey didn't say anything, but he lay down close to Danny and shared his pillow. He wrapped his arms around Danny, who opened his eyes and stared at the side of the old wooden tree house, confused at the thoughts flooding his mind.

"Just you wait, Danny," Mickey whispered in his ear. "We're going to be kings of Las Vegas in no time."

Danny stared at the wall for a long time before he sat up, breaking free of Mickey's embrace. "OK," he said. "Let's go to the library."

Mickey grinned. "That's my boy!"

Nick followed the notes that floated through the crime lab until he reached the break room and saw Greg with his back to the door. He was leaning back on the hind legs of his chair. His head was tilted as far back as it would go as he crooned along to the country music with his eyes closed. He obviously didn't know the words. Or the pitch. Or the notes. Nick wondered if he was singing along at all, or singing a completely different song.

Greg opened his eyes and saw Nick. He was so startled that he lost his balance and the chair fell over backwards with a crash. Nick suppressed a chuckle.

"I never had you pegged as a Tim McGraw fan, Greg."

"I'm not," Greg replied stiffly as he rubbed his back and shoulders which had taken the worst of the fall. He sat up and cracked his neck. "I accidentally grabbed this CD from your locker."

"Accidentally," Nick deadpanned.

"Accidentally," Greg repeated. "I'm depressed."

"That's probably the music," Nick reasoned.

Greg stood up and lifted the chair up again. "I thought that's what you do when you're depressed. Listen to country music."

"Was that a specific 'you' or a general 'you'?" Nick asked.

Greg shrugged as he went to turn off the music. "You're Texan, you can't help being backwards."

"What's up?" Nick asked.

"Catherine," Greg replied, and now he had turned serious. He walked past Nick and closed the door to the break room before leaning against it and turning to Nick. "You're friends with her, right?"

"Right, because you and Cath get along like a snake and a mongoose," Nick said sarcastically.

"No, no, no, no, no," Greg said quickly. "No, Cath and I get along swimmingly, I think she's one hell of a gal, but Nick… something's up, and I don't exactly know how to broach the subject."

"Try asking her," Nick suggested.

Greg narrowed his eyes. "Like I didn't think of that."

"You wouldn't," Nick replied.

Greg rolled his eyes. "Look, maybe if someone else asked her, someone she's closer to, she'd talk to you."

"Or maybe she's fine," Nick said. "And even if she's not, people don't talk about things for a reason. You can't press the issue just because you're curious."

Greg thought of his own secrets for a moment. "OK, yeah, I get that, but this has to do with a case."

"It does?" Nick raised his eyebrows, intrigued.

Greg nodded. "You heard what happened at our scene, right? Well… You probably didn't hear the whole story."

"There's more?" Nick asked. "It sounded pretty straightforward to me."

"Yeah, it was," Greg said. "Except for one thing. Catherine didn't tell Grissom, or Brass either probably, but the guy… said something to her. And she won't tell me what it is."

"It's probably inconsequential," Nick said with a shrug. "Like… 'Don't move or I'll kill you' or something. Leave her alone, Greg." He turned to leave, but Greg stopped him.

"No!" he said sharply. Nick turned and eyed him curiously and he sighed. "I mean… You didn't see her, Nick. She was pissed, and then she was… different. And then she was pissed again. It was more than a death threat. I think it was something else."

Nick nodded slowly. "OK," he said. "I'll look into it."

Greg smiled. "Thanks." He turned on the music once more and sat back in his chair to mope again. Nick made to leave then paused at the door and looked at Greg over his shoulder. "Hey… That's all you're depressed about?"

His eyes closed, Greg simply nodded. "Now shut up, I love this part."

Nick rolled his eyes and left. Greg was lying. He seemed focused on Catherine, as though he was trying to distract himself from something… bigger. And if that wasn't enough, Nick had noticed another red flag.

Greg absolutely loathed country music.