I'm back! I figured since people seemed to be reading this story again (and liking it!), I might as well go through with it. Please keep reading and reviewing, because you keep me writing! I apologize for the delay. Er, even if it's close to a year.

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What was the point of a cell phone if one didn't pick it up?

Grissom could feel a slight annoyance rising in him as he waited for Brass, who was calling Luke's girlfriend, Rachel Jackson, again. Beside him, Sara shifted her weight, and he could tell that she was getting impatient as well.

"Still no response." Brass hung up. "Well, I certainly can't send out a team to look for her – she would have to come in voluntarily – so I guess you guys gotta wait."

"Try again," Sara insisted. "According to Luke, she just texted him not more than ten minutes ago."

Brass cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah, well, that's plenty of time to wipe the blood off the cell phone, ditch it, and then run away." He saw Sara's expression. "And no, I can't get a warrant for her for making stuff up."

"Look," Grissom cut in. Brass was an excellent detective, but his sarcasm got out of hand sometimes. "This isn't helping. Just keep trying. Sara, we've got better things to do. Back to the lab."

Sara gave Brass one more smoldering glance before following Grissom out of the office. "She was just using her phone!" she said. "She texted him during interrogation."

"He could have lied, or she could purposely not be answering," Grissom replied. "Both actions are slightly suspicious but nothing that we can do." He paused. "Let's go over what we have as of now. Vic was found dead approximately three nights ago. Boyfriend was still at the casino—I had Archie check the surveillance tapes, and he's in the process of confirming that Sammy was there all night. Luke Nigers has a valid alibi—the soccer game, and Warrick checked with the friends and reported that they had been playing cards all night, and Luke joined them around 9:30, which is about right if we assume that Luke watched the entire game."

"So then—" Sara cut in, but Grissom held up a hand. She was being uncharacteristically impatient, even more so than usual on cases like these.

"Wait," he said. "Warrick also reported that Rachel Jackson is unaccounted for. According to a certain Jackie Harlan, Rachel went out to explore the city of Las Vegas last night."

"… So we need to get this girl in even more," Sara pointed out.

Grissom paused for a moment. "Okay, so we do. But," he quickly added, "physical evidence. We've got a bloodied car, containing fingerprints from the victim in the blood around the door handles and on the door handles themselves. We have a lock of blond hair from outside the car, on the pavement, and a blond hair inside."

"And," Sara continued when he stopped, "we have a fiber that Nick found that he says is an outside transfer."

There was a small silence. Grissom closed his eyes, thinking, trying to imagine the motives of each character involved. Sammy was an obvious choice – girlfriend was with his best friend on the side – but neither he nor Sara believed that it was him. Oftentimes, Grissom had come to learn, the killer was the least obvious one. For all he knew, it could have been one of the other friends that were also in town. Sammy and Mackenzie were both well off, and who knew what could happen with college students when a small burst of jealousy erupted…

"Hey." Warrick's voice intruded upon his thoughts, and Grissom opened his eyes. "Just got Doc's report back on the embryo – it's confirmed to be Luke's." He glanced back and forth between Grissom and Sara. "Come up with anything?"

"Nothing yet," Grissom admitted. "Brass is trying Luke's girlfriend Rachel, but she isn't picking up."

"Did Nick get anything from that fiber?" Sara asked as Warrick seated himself.

"Actually, Nick did," Nick answered himself, standing in the doorway. "The fiber, it turns out, is not from a car, but from a chair."

"So it could be from any of the casinos," Sara quickly said. "Sammy, right? Luke said that he and Mackenzie were the only ones who went out that night."

"Actually—" Nick started.

"Well, you don't know if it has to be from that night," Warrick answered. "I mean, you're a bunch of college kids in town from far away; it's your last couple of nights down in Vegas; who has time for dirty laundry when you could be out grabbing the time of your life?"

"Guys—" Nick tried.

"That's gross, Warrick. Who would do that? Surely they would have packed enough clothes."

"Listen, I think—" Nick said a bit louder, to no avail.

"Yeah, they might have, but I'm just saying, having fun beats personal hygiene anyday."

"I THINK YOU'LL WANT TO HEAR THIS!" Nick almost yelled, scaring a passing lab tech into pausing before quickly scurrying away. "The fiber I got isn't from a casino. In fact, it's not from anything that could be considered modern." He held up the plastic bag. "Dyed horse hair."

There was a small silence.

"Horse hair," Sara repeated.

"Itchy on the butt," Warrick muttered.

Nick shrugged. "I dunno why you would ever want a chair made of red dyed horse hair, but that's all I'm saying. I'm sure. I cross-checked everything."

"Well, that's good news," Grissom, who had been listening quietly this entire time, said. "I mean, how many people in Vegas own chairs with horse hairs?"

"More than you guess, I bet," Warrick replied. "I wouldn't be surprised if you had one in your office, Griss."

"I'm hurt, Warrick," Grissom replied emotionlessly. "Nick, I'm sure you know what to do with this."

"Aye aye, Cap'n." Nick turned to leave. "Just figured I'd give everyone a head's up, 'cause this case just got a hell of a lot more interesting."

"Horse hair," Warrick was still musing as Nick left, "I mean, how uncomfortable can you get?"

"Maybe you can ask the owner if you can try it out when we visit him," Grissom responded dryly. "So. Horse hair. What do you think? Antique, or a whim?"

"Well, there's only one way to find out," Warrick groaned, standing up. "I'm gonna pay the antique shop a visit, see if I can find anything." He left, still muttering to himself about the absurdity of horse hair.

"Well, at least this is getting somewhere," Grissom said, leaning back in his chair. He studied Sara's face. There was still something amiss. "Sara, you okay?" She always got emotional around these cases, but she usually wasn't like this. Perhaps it was just something in the way she walked, the way she talked, the way she conducted herself. He couldn't put a hand on it, but it concerned him. She won't answer me honestly, he knew the moment he asked the question. How do I make her answer me honestly? She'll always just say what she thinks what I want to hear so I don't take her off. She doesn't know I don't give a damn about this case in comparison to her. She doesn't know that I just want her to be happy, to see her smile… but she would never know if he didn't tell her, and it wasn't like he was going to break his record now, after so many years.

"Hmm?" She had been staring at the table, and looked up abruptly. "Yeah, yeah, of course I'm okay." She gave him a small smile. "Why, are you?"

Her question took him by surprise. "Well… yeah," he said. "Why wouldn't I be?"

She cocked her head. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He knew he wasn't going to get anywhere. "All right, all right," he conceded. There was a small, awkward silence in which her gaze drove him to finally flick his eyes quickly to the opposite wall as nonchalantly as he could.

"So," Sara cleared her throat, looking back down at the folder in front of them, "we were getting places."

"Yeah." Grissom leaned in to get a better look of the folder, taking care not to get too close to Sara. "Well, the lock of hair found on the pavement belongs to Mackenzie; the strand on the inside belongs to an unidentified female source. The lock was probably lost due to struggle – which means that Mackenzie struggled even before she reached the car."

"Probably likewise for the hair inside," Sara added. "Lost in the struggle. Except it's not Mackenzie's. So, our attacker is whomever that strand of blonde hair belongs to!"

Grissom frowned. To assume that was too rash – they were jumping to conclusions. Still, he knew better to argue with Sara over theories. Better to prove with evidence. "Okay, maybe…" he said slowly, entertaining her idea, edging her on. "But at this point, we don't have a source for that hair."

"Yes," Sara agreed impatiently, "but that hair was long, right? It probably belongs to one of the friends that they had been hanging out with. My bet is on Rachel Jackson – I mean, her boyfriend impregnated this girl…"

"They said that they had all worked this out," Grissom said, trying to make Sara see reason. It wasn't like her to do this; did she realize exactly how many assumptions she was making?

"The boys said that they had all worked it out. There was no mention of Rachel." Sara was getting excited. "Griss, we need to find this girl now!"

"Hm, you may be in luck," Grissom said, feeling a small buzz in his pocket. He took out his phone and flipped it open. "Brass," he reported upon reading the message. "He's got Rachel coming down to the station."

Sara raised an eyebrow. "Excellent." Gathering the contents of the folder, she quickly stood up.

Again, Grissom wondered if he really wanted her on this case. Not that you have much of a choice, at this point. Well, if anything, he wanted to be there, with her, for her, even if she didn't know. "All right," he finally sighed. "Let's go."