A/N: Takes place directly after "Grave Danger."
Summary: My thoughts on how Grissom and Sara might have started their relationship...
Disclaimer: CSI belongs to CBS and no one else... I'm just renting the characters :-)
Note: This is my first fanfic EVAR! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated...
Nick can barely remain standing when Catherine tells the three of them the situation. Archie and Warrick respond with appropriate gravitas, but Nick says nothing. He can't believe this is happening… Grissom and Sara, trapped in a small place, surrounded by explosives… He thinks it's too similar to his own recent torture to be a coincidence. The taunting voice, the targeting of CSIs, the damnable cleverness of all. But the person who kidnapped him was dead—killed himself rather than give them any useful information. Not that they're getting anything useful here.
When he looks over at Warrick, his friend is studying him intently. Nick cracks a smile to diffuse the situation but Warrick knows him too well to buy it. Warrick starts to speak and Nick can already hear the deep compassion and concern and it's more than he can bear right now. He has yet to open up to any of his coworkers about his ordeal, and he has no intention of starting now of all times. Nick waves him off and Warrick accepts his decision wordlessly.
They both focus on Archie who's gingerly examining the LCD on the mounting pole. Knowing how sensitive it is, Archie has to sustain himself with a visual examination. "This is incredibly sophisticated work," Archie says, almost in awe. "This little guy works on infrared and they don't seem to have the ability to receive communication. I think the LCD screen is preprogrammed… so it's unlikely that our mad bomber is monitoring." The relief that follows that last comment is palpable. "But this transmitter is extremely sensitive… and since it has such fine-tuned transmission capabilities, I think it's safe to say that there are others out here… communicating with each other." He turns back to Catherine who's assumed defacto leadership of the group. "Until I can open it up and take a look, I can't tell you much more."
Catherine thanks him and pulls Nick and Warrick aside. "I think we've done as much as we can here with the bombs and triggers. We have to assume there are more bombs on this site and that anything can set them off." Nick and Warrick exchange worried glances. "Our best course of action at this point is to get the perp into custody, sweat him, and make him tell us how to disarm them." She pauses for emphasis. "It may be our only shot."
Brass joins their discussion, "David's back at the lab with the body. Greg just called and he's identified the tire track as a 265/70R17 tire, standard issue on the 2004 Cadillac Escalade. And wouldn't you know it? Devon Wright drives a 2004 Escalade."
Catherine flashes an exultant smile. "Once we find that car we can test it for soil samples… I imagine this site is pretty unique."
Brass pulls Warrick aside and they start heading to his Denali. "I'm taking 'Rick back to the lab… we'll get Wright for you and bring him to the site." Catherine gives him an acquiescing nod. "We need to go back over the case, find what we missed in the first place."
"Okay, Brass, but this guy is long gone. How are we going to find him?" Warrick's brows are knit as his mind runs any possible scenarios that would make him believe they could succeed where Las Vegas' finest had failed. "The police have been looking for him for a month."
"True," Brass agrees. He brandishes his cell phone like a mystic sword. "But we have something now that we didn't have before."
"Which is?" Warrick asks.
"A body."
Sofia finds Greg in the lab. It amuses her slightly because Greg seems so comfortable here, even though he worked his ass off to get out of the lab. She supposes they all come back there. It's where they all started and there is a kind of nostalgia about working with sterile microscopes and slides instead of gruesome crime scenes.
"Hey Greg," she says quietly to avoid startling him. "Just heard from Brass… he and Warrick are on their way to give us a hand."
"Good," Greg says vaguely as he scrapes dirt particles from his plaster tire track cast.
Curious, Sofia sits down next to him. She watches him work for a moment, impressed by his quiet efficiency. Greg has a reputation for being something of a spazz in the lab, but when he's concentrating, you'd never know. "What do you know about the original case?" she asks him.
"I can tell you about the evidence we collected. Vics were Christine and Brad DeSoto. Perp kicked in their front door as they were unloading their bags from a camping trip to Yosemite. We matched the shoe print to one found in Devon Wright's home. After he knocked over Christine, a struggle ensued… Brad managed to fight him a bit, got some epithelials under his nails that we later matched to Devon Wright, before getting his head slammed against the door. A neighbor phoned in the disturbance. Police found him there, unconscious and bleeding from the head. Christine was nowhere to be found and all of their valuables—mostly jewelry and some cash—were gone."
"Wow," is all Sophia can manage. "We didn't hear much about this case on days. Sounds like you got your man."
"Wish we had. He was long gone by the time we got to his house. He disappeared completely along with Christine. We thought maybe he was still keeping her alive… until now." Greg's voice is calm and even, but Sofia can tell by his trembling hands that this case bothers him. It bothers all of them—the brutality, the pointlessness of it. Wright was just a guy who was pissed about going to prison. It wasn't enough for him to jump bail—he had to ruin the life of the cop that brought him down. Dirty revenge, plain and simple. Sofia rises in disgust and turns to leave. Before she does, she reassures Greg, "We're going to get this guy."
Greg sighs, nods, and goes back to his microscope.
Warrick assumes he and Brass are heading back to the lab, but they make a stop first. They pull up to a somewhat run-down neighborhood. The fences are all chain link, the windows are barred, and the lawns are brown and untended. It's after midnight, but Brass doesn't care—he doesn't get to sleep, so why should anyone else? Especially when the sleeper in question knows where to find their killer.
After a few pounds on the door, Brass hears movement. "Who is it?" a deep feminine voice asks. He had expected her to sound more afraid, after all, who gets visitors in the middle of the night? But she sounds more annoyed than anything else.
"Las Vegas PD, ma'am. Can we speak to you for a moment? It's urgent."
He hears a bolt turning and the door opens a crack to reveal a tall, portly woman in a house dress glaring at them. "What do you want, Las Vegas PD?" Her last few words drip with contempt.
"I'm so sorry to disturb you at this hour, Mrs. Wright," Brass oozes charm, which might seem genuine to the untrained eye. But Warrick knows better—this is Brass' "Good Cop" at its finest. "I hate to give you information this way, but we have reason to believe we may have located your son." Warrick fights to keep his face expressionless as Brass blatantly lies to the poor woman.
"You found Devon? Where?" She seems more suspicious than concerned and Warrick knows that she's been holding information on his whereabouts for some time. Hardly surprising—it's what mothers do.
"Well, we found a body at an old water treatment plant. We don't know how long it's been there… maybe less than 24 hours… but we found an Escalade registered to your son at the site. And in the car, there was evidence of…" he whispers in maudlin horror "…foul play."
Mrs. Wright is aghast and covers her mouth with both hands. Then she stands back from them, her hands out as if she were banishing the devil. "If someone killed my son, it was probably one of you cops! You tried to railroad him and you couldn't! So you killed him!"
"Ma'am, please, we need someone to identify the body."
"Identify it yourself!" she screams and slams the door.
Brass walks a few feet away with a Cheshire cat smile. He speed dials Greg. "Sanders, trace the call being made right now from 47155 Chrysanthemum Road. Call me back when you have a location." He glances at Warrick whose smile is full of amusement and awe. "He'll be in interrogation room one within the hour."
I realize that I've somewhat abandoned Grissom and Sara, which is who this fic is supposedly about. But I wanted it to be a complete CSI story--not just a pairing story. Don't worry, though, I'll get back to them in the next chapter!