A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update. Life got in the way, as it does. Thanks to all who reviewed. I've almost written the next chapter of this as well, so it should be up really soon. As you can probably see, the story has changed names. The name I originally had i only used because i couldnt think of anything else.
Un-betaed, so all mistakes are mine.
Enjoy!
Las Vegas was a big city. Not only was there The Strip, and the downtown area, there were the other suburbs and made up the greater Las Vegas Area. Nick had no idea where to start looking. If he were a sensible man, he would have done more research, and worked out a search area. But he was a man on a mission. He wasn't thinking about the logic. He was thinking about that little girl.
About Emily.
He drove slowly down streets, looking, without a plan. Looking for that car. The Porsche. Brass still hadn't gotten back to him, and it was looking less and less likely that there was an unregistered Porsche in Las Vegas.
Suddenly, something clicked in his mind. He pulled over, and grabbed his phone from his pocket. He quickly dialed Brass's number.
"Brass."
"It's Nick," Nick said urgently. "There are three registered Porsche Boxsters' in Las Vegas. One of them was impounded last week. An old man had a heart attack?"
"Yeah, I know about that," Brass said, his voice sounding confused. Nick nodded to himself.
"I need you to tell me where it was impounded to."
Las Vegas had two police impound yards. One near Henderson, and the other closer to the Las Vegas Crime Lab. Cars that had been used in a crime were taken to the one closer to the lab, while minor car dealings were taken to the one near Henderson, a privately owned impound lot that the police used. Nick already had a sneaking suspicion.
"It was taken to the Henderson impound lot," Brass informed Nick, making his suspicion correct.
"How many cars have been taken there this past month?" Nick asked.
"I wouldn't have a clue," Brass admitted. "But I'd say there wouldn't be many. You know that's not the major impound lot?"
Nick knew, he just didn't care. All he cared about was the other cars that had been impounded there. Brass obviously didn't know.
"Thanks," Nick said hurriedly, and hung up the phone. Putting the car into gear, he sped off in the direction of Henderson.
He felt his phone ring, and he ignored it. It was probably Brass or Grissom. Brass reminding him not to do anything stupid, and Grissom reminding him not to make the case personal.
He didn't need to hear that.
He continued to ignore the phone ringing, but it didn't stop. He pulled out the phone, just as it stopped ringing. He shrugged, and stuffed it deeper into his pocket, turning the phone off as he did so.
He didn't want any disturbances.
It was almost dusk when Nick arrived at the impound lot. It was deserted. Nick parked his car, and hopped out, the sound the door made as it slammed sounding very out of place. It was so silent.
Big gates surrounded the lot, and as Nick walked towards it, he saw it.
The Porsche Boxster
There were a couple of other cars as well. Including one that looked exactly like Sara's car.
Ignoring the lump that formed in his throat whenever he though about Sara, he grabbed his phone out of his pocket. A sign hung on the gate, which held a number to call for after hour's assistance. He was so close to getting this guy. He could tell. A rush of energy pulsated through his veins at the thought.
Graeme Connors.
The name starred at him from the sign. His phone still in his hands, Nick started to walked around the impound. There were no houses around except for the small workshop at the back of the lot.
A light was on.
Graeme Connors was still there.
He continued to walk around the lot, and to his surprise, he found a small hole in the fencing. Small. About the size of his hand. He stuffed the phone back into his pocket, and grabbed the edges of the fencing with his hands, and with surprising strength, started to pull it back. The wire was cutting his hands, but he didn't feel it. He continued to make the hole bigger, until he could just squeeze through it.
Wiping his bloody hands on his jeans, he maneuvered his way through the fencing, the sharp wire cutting through his T-shirt, and into his flesh. He held back a moan of pain, and got through the fence. He glanced down at the cut on his side.
He'd survive.
Moving silently, Nick moved closer to the building, glancing through one of the small windows. He could just make out the head of a man. Graeme, most likely. There was only one room inside.
He couldn't see Monica Banks.
Was it possible that Nick was jumping to conclusions? Had he been so focused on saving that little girl that he was willing to blame anyone? Disgusted with himself, Nick turned away from the building.
And he heard a sniffle.
He stopped in his tracks.
Then he heard another.
It sounded like a little girl crying.
Nick glanced around desperately. It had been so faint that he wondered whether he had imagined it.
Would the guy keep the girl here? Hell, he'd seen crazier things.
With the trained eyes of an investigator, he looked around the area, and his eyes fell on what looked like a trapdoor, half concealed behind a bush. He approached it silently. Graeme Connors was still here. His breathing was fast, and it took everything he had inside of him to keep quiet. This could be it.
With a start, Nick realized that he was only a block away from the place they had found Emily's cell phone. She had been that close that whole time.
He could have saved her.
His little girl had been so close, and he still hadn't been able to save her.
Nick began to shake now, and with even more determination then he thought possible, he quickly walked over to the trap door, pushing the large scraggy bush away from it. It was about half a meter across both ways, and without the bush, stuck out in the dirt like a sore thumb.
And he heard another small sob, causing Nick to start breathing uncontrollably. Monica was there. She was right there.
He fell to his knees, and to his surprise, found no lock on the door. With a quick look around, he pulled the door open, letting the wood smack down into the dirt.
Without a second thought, Nick jumped into the hole, and started to run down the wooden stairs. It was steep, and he had to grab onto the walls to keep himself from falling. Monica's cry's becoming louder.
He reached the landing, and his eyes squinted around in the dark.
And all of a sudden, light flooded the room.
Graeme Connor's stood a few meters in front of Nick. He looked about as shocked as Nick did. His dark eyes scanned the intruder, and he wiped his hands on his dirty pants. But Nick wasn't looking at him. His eyes had fallen into the corner, where tiny Monica Banks sat huddled, her knees curled up to her chest. She was bruised, and her cheeks were stained with tears. And she was naked.
But she was alive.
Quickly, Nick drew out his service pistol, but just as quickly, Graeme had snatched up Monica, causing Nick to lower it again, as Monica let out a tiny whimper of pain as Graeme grabbed her tiny arms.
"You're not welcome here, Nick Stokes."
Nick knew that voice. God, it had haunted his dreams for weeks. The same voice that he heard on the phone. This was the man who had destroyed his life. Taken away everything that mattered to him. The man that had driven Sara away from him.
He held up the pistol again, anger pulsing through his veins.
"Let her go."
Nick's voice came out strong, but it wasn't how he felt. He was so infuriated. He wanted this man to die.
Graeme just laughed, and a malice grin crossed his face.
"You're daughter… she was a pretty one, wasn't she?"
Nick grabbed the gun harder, his hands turning white, his breathing becoming more erratic, and his heart beating faster and faster. How dare this man talk about Emily! He didn't stop, however.
"She was probably my favorite, you know," he continued. "Most of them lose faith after a while. She didn't though. All she would ever say is 'My daddy will find me.' 'My daddy loves me.' My god, she wouldn't shut up. But I made her."
Nick didn't say anything, and Graeme laughed again.
"How does it feel?" He asked Nick. "You spend your life trying to help people. Find people. Solve crimes. Bring closure. How does it feel knowing you couldn't even find your own daughter? That you couldn't save her?"
"I tried…" Nick finally whispered. "God, I tried…"
He felt his defenses coming down. But he couldn't do this here. Graeme was trying to make him break down.
And it was working.
He couldn't do this. He couldn't stay calm when this monster was talking about his daughter like this. Talking about her last few days on earth.
"She didn't cry a lot," Graeme added thoughtfully. "Strong little sucker too. Stubborn. Never stopped believing that you would come and find her. Too much hope. No matter what I did, she didn't stop thinking you would come and save her. It was kind of depressing in the end, because I knew you wouldn't. You were her hero."
The room was silent, save for Monica's quiet whimpering.
"Some hero," Graeme said, a twisted smile forming on his face. He was mocking Nick.
The gun was starting to feel heavy in Nick's hands, and he re-gripped it, hard.
He wasn't going to let this man get away with this, again.
Monica was still crying, and Graeme shoved her roughly against him.
"Let. Her. Go." Nick said angrily. "Don't… don't you dare hurt her…"
Graeme suddenly reached into his back pocket, and pulled out his own gun. Nick sucked in a breath, terrified he would shoot the little girl. However, Graeme pulled it on Nick.
"Drop it," Nick said. He shook his head.
"Look, you've been standing there holding that gun at me for ages. If you were actually going to shoot me, you would have already."
Graeme cocked the gun, and more tears streamed down Monica's face.
Nick didn't care if Graeme killed him.
But he did care about Monica. He couldn't let her die.
And that's what made him pull the trigger.
Unfortunately, Graeme pulled his trigger as well.
The two loud cracks of fire scared Monica, who let out a scream. Nick's carefully aimed bullet hit Graeme in the abdomen, causing the man to let go of Monica, and fall to the ground.
Graeme's bullet hit Nick in the shoulder.
Nick couldn't even begin to describe the pain. It was like a thousand knifes hitting his body, and he let out a moan, dropping his gun and grabbing his shoulder. Blood started seeping through his fingers, and he started to find it hard to breathe.
Monica's scream brought him back, and still breathing frantically, he struggled over to the little girl. Her eyes were wide and scared, but she immediately wrapped her arms around Nick's neck when he lowered down, trying to ignore the pain still shooting through his body.
Graeme lay unconscious on the floor.
Nick hoped he was dead.
Cradling her in his arms, Nick started to stumble towards the stairs. Monica had buried her head in Nick's neck, and was crying.
"It's okay," Nick soothed softly, biting his lip in pain. But somehow, the joy of finding Monica was numbing the pain.
He had saved her.
He reached the top of the stairs, and collapsed onto the dirt. Monica let him go, but stayed huddled at Nick's side as he pulled his mobile from his pants, his other hand continuing to apply pressure to his shoulder. But before he could even turn his phone on, Brass came running around the corner.
Nick should have known.
Brass would have come after him. His suspicious phone call about the impound yard would have made him wary about what Nick was going to do.
"I've got her," Nick said weakly, as Brass's eyes widened at the sight.
"Monica Banks…" Brass whispered. But his shock at seeing the little girl he expected to see dead the next day was short lived, when he realized Nick had been shot. He rushed to Nick's side, and quickly put a call out to an ambulance, police, and CSI.
"Graeme…" Nick managed to choke out. "Shot… I shot him… in basement… he had Monica… was gonna hurt… her… shot him…"
"Good work," Brass praised Nick. Monica had wrapped her arms around Nick's waist again, and Nick quickly dropped a small kiss on her head.
"It's alright," he told her again. The cold Las Vegas air was whipping around them, and she huddled closer.
"Thank you…" she whispered, her voice tiny, and Nick felt himself tearing up. He heard the sound of sirens nearing closer and a single tear slipped down his cheek. He had gotten shot to save this little girl, and it had been worth it.
If given the chance, he would have happily gotten shot if it had meant that Emily would still be here.
"You did good," Brass told Nick gently, as EMT's started to rush around the corner, followed by police officers. "You did good."
Nick shook his head, thinking of Emily.
"Not good enough."
TBC...
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