Author's Note: I know these chapter's are a tad short that's why I'm giving you two at a time but they will lengthen again soon. I promise

DISCLAIMERS: I do not own any of these characters. They belong to Jerry Bruckheimer and the wonderful writers for CSI: NY. Any resemblance to scenes from the episodes is included for clarity and continuity and I do not claim any of those as my own work. However everything else is mine.

Sensing Danger

When Lindsay awoke she was laying across her bed dressed in an old college t-shirt. She couldn't even remember getting out of the tub. As she sat up, her head spun, her stomach lurched and she flopped back onto the bed. She needed coffee and ibuprofen pronto. She tried again to sit up and was able to stem the dizziness just long enough to make her way to the toilet.

Minutes later after paying the appropriate homage to the porcelain god in atonement for guzzling a whole bottle of wine, while sitting in a steaming tub of water, with nary a bit of nutrition in her stomach, she inched her way down the hallway into her kitchen.

Five interminable, agonizing minutes later she had a mug of strong coffee in her hands and four ibuprofen tablets in her stomach. She nibbled on some saltines as she drank her coffee. She couldn't remember when or where or what she had eaten but hopefully saltines would be easy enough on her stomach that she wouldn't be sent back to the toilet for round 2.

She went into the living room, sat on the couch and flipped on the TV. She mindlessly stared at it not sure of what she was even watching. After her fourth cup of coffee and a whole package of saltines later she felt some normalcy returning to her body. She walked back into her bathroom to relieve herself, coffee sure does go through you quick she thought, and saw the two wine bottles on the floor, one from last night and one from this morning. This was becoming a daily habit with her. She sighed, picked up the wine bottles, took them back to the kitchen and set them next to her phone on the little counter that partitioned her living room from her kitchen. Her message light was blinking. She checked her display to see who it was from. Mac Taylor, it read. Nope, there was really nothing she wanted to hear from him right now so she tabled checking the message until later. She called her parents quickly and left them a message that she had been called back to a case and that she wasn't making it home today after all. She was relieved they weren't there to pick up the phone. She didn't want to explain why she was coming home suddenly and then she wasn't.

She looked at the microwave clock in the kitchen. It read 10:30 pm. Maybe she ought to go down and check her mail. She couldn't remember the last time she had checked it. It was probably chock full of useless catalogs and annoying bills. She opened the door and left it ajar as she walked down the three flights of stairs to the mailboxes in the lobby. She absentmindedly leafed through the mail as she climbed back up the stairs and chunked it on the table beside the door and turned around to lockup. As she slid the last bolt in place, the hair on her neck went up.

"Lind---say" a male voice sing-songed softly and menacingly from somewhere behind her.