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...

Getting DeSoto into the interrogation room takes far less time than he imagined. Brass has Vartann do the honors while he observes on the other side of the one-way mirror. He watches DeSoto sit calmly in an uncomfortable metal chair, at ease in the environment he knows so well. Based on what they've uncovered so far: the frame job, the explosives, the cover-ups, DeSoto has to be one of the smartest people Brass has ever had to sit across from. It gives him pause. Gil Grissom could go against this guy in the brains department—he'd probably have no trouble outsmarting DeSoto. But Gil isn't here, and Brass feels completely outgunned.

Brass expertly conceals a nervous swallow as he walks into the room. He takes his time sitting down, arranging his files, sipping his coffee, hoping to put Brad DeSoto more on edge. It always works.

Finally, DeSoto slams his fists on the table and shouts, "What the hell is going on here? I come in to identify my wife's body—my dead wife's body—and you have the nerve to arrest me?"

"When you put it that way," Brass deadpans, "it seems horribly unfair."

"No one's even told me the charges!"

"Murder, for one." DeSoto's almost black eyes widen theatrically. He's going to play dumb here, Brass predicts, but that's only because he doesn't know that we found Wright.

"This has got to be a joke. Who am I supposed to have killed?"

"That would be Mrs. DeSoto."

"Devon Wright kidnapped then killed her after attacking me. I was unconscious on the floor when she was taken. Everyone knows that."

This is going nowhere, Brass thinks. Time to switch gears. "Tell me about your bank accounts in the Caymans. Seems a bit pretentious to have offshore accounts when you're only pulling in a policeman's salary."

"I use them for sting operations against white collar criminals. Some of those guys are only comfortable wiring money to offshore accounts. Makes me more believable." Brass listens intently to the reply, hearing how rehearsed it sounds. He's astonished by how well DeSoto has covered his tracks and wonders if he's smart enough to uncover them.

"Sure, that makes sense," Brass allows amiably. "What about your wife's life insurance policy. The timing is interesting, you see—you call in the policy, they tell you that they need a death certificate, and somehow Christine's body turns up as though you wished for it."

DeSoto sets his jaw almost imperceptibly. He had to know this was coming, Brass thinks. It's how we got him in here in the first place. "I'll admit that's an unfortunate coincidence," DeSoto replies.

"Any idea who made that anonymous call?"

"I would guess it was Mr. Wright. Seems he wasn't done taking his revenge on the police force—he couldn't get to me, so he just struck out randomly."

"Well, that's not what he told us."

DeSoto's face registers his surprise and Brass is gratified to see it. So Devon's arrest wasn't part of DeSoto's plan and it may very well be the only chink in his armor. "You have Mr. Wright in custody?" Brass nods. "May I speak to him?"

Brass shakes his head dolefully. "I don't think he wants to talk to you. Seems he holds a grudge."

"Well, he's a liar and a criminal anyway—he' still up for those fraud charges."

Brass' pulse quickens. He feels that DeSoto is in his grasp, that he can't fail to ensnare him now. He peruses the file for a moment before he finds the documents he wants. "Funny thing about those charges—it appears that all of the evidence against Mr. Wright has vanished into thin air."

DeSoto is unreadable now—if he's angry about that, Brass can't be sure. At the very least, he doesn't seem surprised. Brass continues, "You may not know this, but that particular storage facility was shut down a few weeks ago to be moved to a larger building. Everything was sealed—we just opened it up a few hours ago when we looked for Mr. Wright's files. And, another unfortunate coincidence, you were the last person to look at that evidence."

"So what?" DeSoto says grandly. "Why wouldn't I want to look at the evidence against the man who attacked me and kidnapped my wife?"

"We did find your fingerprints all over the place in there." DeSoto is unimpressed. "We found them on the cabinets, the tables… the paper shredder…" The calm resolve drains from DeSoto's face and Brass smiles genuinely. He waits for DeSoto to spin out another excuse, but the younger man seems to have lost his powers of speech.

"So with the fingerprint evidence and Mr. Wright's statements, we feel we have a pretty good case."

And with that, the game is up. DeSoto's patina of an innocent man fades completely. His already deep-set ebony eyes seem to recede further into his face. His thin lips twist into a smirk and his shoulders hunch forward. He looks suddenly like a killer. When he finally speaks, contempt drips from every word, "You think a jury will convict me with that paltry evidence? I'm a decorated police officer whose wife was tragically murdered. No one will want to convict me. You've got my word against that of a convicted felon!"

"You forget, we haven't convicted him yet. And, thanks to you, we never will…" He lets the blade fall, "…Edina."

DeSoto chuckles—it's a low, menacing sound that resembles a growl. "And I thought only my wife watched that stupid show."

All the cards are on the table now. They've got him and he knows it. Brass has to use this only chance to get what he really wants. "You can make all this go easier on yourself, you know." DeSoto gives him an amused smile. "You set those bombs. Two of my people are in serious trouble. Tell us how to disarm them and maybe the DA will drop some of these charges."

DeSoto leans back in his chair, folds his arms, and says nothing.

Shit, Brass thinks.

Vartann, Greg and Warrick say virtually nothing in the car on the way to the crime scene. Even the loquacious Devon respects the gravitas and keeps his mouth shut. Warrick drives fast, well, fast for him. Greg sits in the passenger seat, his face turned toward the window.

Catherine is waiting for them when they pull up. She looks tired and genuinely stricken. Greg gets out first and Catherine leads him over to the site. Vartann follows right behind them, soaking up all the information he can.

Warrick helps Devon out of the backseat, then unlocks his handcuffs. As the hacker starts to walk away, Warrick grabs him by the shoulder and rams him against the side of the car. He levels his hazel eyes with Devon's and glares at him for a moment before saying, "I don't know what your stake is in all this, but let me make one thing very clear." Devon is all ears. "Two of my friends could be dead or dying because of some gadgets you made." He prods Devon's chest with his index finger for emphasis. Using his height to full advantage, Warrick leans down into Devon's face and says with dangerous softness, "Unless you are going to be completely, and I mean completely, helpful in this situation, I will personally cart your bottom-feeding ass back to hold up and lock you up just to protect you from me."

Devon gulps audibly, but manages a nod. "So what's it going to be?" Warrick asks, still maintaining aggressive eye contact.

"You got me right, CSI," he says, somehow finding his bravura again. "I've never been one to do the right thing—I always thought it wasn't in my nature. I always thought if I looked out for numero uno, I'd stay out of the path of the big dogs. But I seem to have found myself knee-deep in someone else's shitstorm."

Warrick steps back. The kid's got some spark in him—he might just prove useful after all. "What are you going to do about it?"

Devon walks past him toward Archie, the bombs, the unknown future. He pauses for a moment and says over his shoulder, "I'm gonna grab a shovel."

Two more chapters to go, I think! Thanks for all your comments... they really keep me motivated!