"At the time I was shaken up a bit, but not so much so that I lost my head. Here, these are for you." Sara said, handing a grocery sized paper bag to Jim

Looking inside it, he saw several bindles, small zip lock bags, clothing and another, larger zip lock bag with collection implements. He looked from the bag to Sara and he was momentarily dumbstruck. He couldn't think of why she hadn't turned this in earlier or to someone at the lab. Why did she wait until she saw the guy again and they had identified him? There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but instead he stood up, grabbed his car keys, shouted over his shoulder that he'd be back soon and walked out the front door, leaving Sara to try and rationalize her actions or inactions, as the case may be.

In her mind she was detached from what had happened to her. She knew that she had been raped, she wasn't in denial about that, but as to why she held onto the evidence for so long…….she had tried to put it out of her mind. Kind of the "Ostrich Effect" as in "I can't see you, you can't see me"; if I put it out of my mind, out of sight, out of mind. But when she saw the guy in the car and then again in the folder her attitude changed from "Agh, no big deal." To one of "I wanna cut his balls off and feed them to him with chopsticks." Still, she had hindered any possible investigation by not only holding but withholding key evidence. Jim had never asked any questions about the incident as he figured she'd come to him when she was ready. Now that he had the evidence an official investigation could be conducted, however late in the game it was……………the lab had done far more with far less, so there was no doubt that between the evidence she'd collected off herself and the ID in the folder they'd find the guy and Sara had an odd sort of feeling that it would be Jim that would find him and she feared that. Her fear wasn't for Jim, he could most certainly hold his own any time. Her fear, oddly enough, was for the other guy and what Jim would do when he got his hands on him……Lord, help the bastard.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

By the time Jim got to the lab Grissom was still there doing his belated case overviews. Seeing him, he immediately walked in with no notice and dropped the bag on the desk, right atop an open folder. Removing his glasses, Grissom looked up at Jim and gave an odd sort of look.

"What's this?" he asked

"This is the evidence that Sara collected off of herself right after the attack."

"Why are we getting this now?" Grissom snapped

"Because she only just now gave it to me. She also identified her attacker. He's got a record. I'm going to head to the precinct and see if I can't dig up the rock that this guy lives under." Jim explained

Without another word he turned on his heel and left Grissom's office, heading down the hall towards the double doors of the entrance. He had just opened the door when he got the urge to call home and see if everything was well. He pulled out his cell and dialed home. The phone did not ring, the line was busy. Jim thought this an odd sort of thing given Sara's current state. He thought the last thing she'd be doing would be chatting on the phone. This worried him immensely as he walked more briskly to his car and floored it out of the lot. Normally the drive from the lab to home would be about fifteen-twenty minutes, max. This time Jim did it in ten. As he pulled into his drive he could see the front door was opened a crack and as he walked the walkway to his front porch, he drew his weapon and with the toe of his shoe, nudged the door open to see horror. The place was a mess. The couch overturned, his college ice hockey stick broken in two, the mirror by the front door smashed into a thousand pieces and blood……..blood all over the place. Calling out to Sara, he got no response, so he flipped his cell and called the lab and the police.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

There were cops and CSIs everywhere and to be honest, Jim didn't like it one bit. Sara had gone missing and now his house was a crime scene. Standing by as Grissom et al came and went through his home, Jim's knuckles turned white with rage and frustration. If it was the same guy that had attacked her the first time, how did he find her this time? Jim's home phone number was unlisted as was his address, so again, how did this guy find her? He thought that by bringing her to his place he could keep her safe, but he was obviously wrong in that assumption. All he had to do was one thing and he couldn't even do that; he felt impotent, useless. As a man, he should be able to protect his home and his loved ones and now that he had been shown his vulnerability he was more determined than before to catch this guy and string him up by his short and curlies.

He was, however, glad that it was the night shift that was tromping through his place than the day shift. He'd always associate Conrad Ecklie with the day shift even though he was no longer head of it, but just saying the name gave Jim the creeps, but at the same time there was one bit to Conrad Ecklie that made him laugh inside, and that was the fact that every time you looked at Ecklie he looked cross-eyed. Ecklie aside, Jim watched as Greg, Warrick and Nick carried evidence bag after evidence bag out of the house and load them into the boot of their truck. Warrick and Greg walking ahead of him, Nick stopped to give Brass a few words.

"Don't worry, man. We'll find them. We'll find them and when we do, I'll have first crack at him."

"No, I get first crack. He invaded my home, kidnapped my friend and broke a bunch of my shit in the process. He's mine and Lord, help him if I get to him before anyone else." Jim growled

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Sitting in a dank, dark room that smelled heavily of mildew and various molds, Sara sat, her hands and legs bound as well as her eyes covered. She could hear water running and curses shouted by the same voice that she had heard that night she was attacked. She figured he was tending to his wounds; wounds inflicted by her. He had been crafty, though. He'd shown up at Jim's as a courier and when she'd opened the door to sign for the package he held, he had forced the door open, and seeing his eyes, she ran right for the kitchen and grabbed the first thing she could get her hands on; a knife steel. That was only good for the first blow that she delivered to the side of his head. While he was momentarily disoriented, she grabbed a large knife form the block on the kitchen counter and struck at him. She got him on the upper arm, the left lower abdomen and the right leg, just shy of the femoral artery. For herself, she'd been given another blow to the face and losing her balance, she stumbled and hit her head on the mantle above the fireplace.

That was the last thing she remembered.