CSI: Ghost: Chapter 9

A/N: I just want to thank Ev for correcting my storm mistake in the last chapter: "Lightning comes before thunder. Thunder is the result of a bolt of lightning heating up the air around it very quickly, which causes a shockwave, which we hear as thunder." I guess when I'm in the middle of a thunderstorm I hear it first and see the lightning second, which is what I was thinking with Nick too. He's probably so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't see the lightning until he hears the crash of thunder. Or, you could just look at it as me making an excuse... lol. Anyway, here's chapter nine! Hope you enjoy the update!

Geoff swaggered through the mansion in his new suit, hat, and shoes, following a servant of The Devil's. When he was lead into the large dinning room he almost stopped and stared at the other man sitting across from his boss. His target was none other than Slick Willson, the largest crime boss currently in Las Vegas, right above The Devil. Shit. The Devil certainly wasn't making his job very easy. Not like he wanted it easy, the last few hits had been too easy, but this? This was huge, almost too huge.

While Tony Biggs was a little overweight with short, dark hair and a suit that was a little tight on him, Slick maintained a slim waist, and looked good in his clothes, even though Geoff knew he could have done better in the suit department. He wasn't even trying to cover up his neatly graying hair. But with Slick, it didn't matter. His hair made him look more distinguished and oddly, more trustworthy, even if he was a crime boss named Slick.

Before he could get caught staring, he got his legs into gear and moved into the room, sliding easily into the chair the servant had pulled out for him.

"Ah, Sluggs, good to see you," The Devil greeted him, using the nickname they'd arranged for the dinner to give the hit the slip. They shook hands and he introduced Geoff to Slick.

"Sluggs?" Slick wondered.

"It's a nickname, from my business," he explained.

"You do look like a man of wealth and privilege. What is your business, pray tell? I'm always interested in those that Tony knows, whom I haven't had the pleasure of meeting yet. Have you been in Vegas long? I'm sorry, I don't mean to be so intrusive with my questions."

"Don't be, I'm used to it, actually," Geoff commented as three plates of lobster were set in front of them.

He couldn't help but notice the men standing along the wall on the other side of the elegant table. Men he'd never met before. He was sure these were Slick's bodyguards. He was also equally sure that Tony's bodyguards were lining the wall directly behind him, though he hadn't seen them when he'd come in. He had a feeling Tony Biggs was feeling even more safe than Slick just because he had a hit man sitting at the table and only the two of them knew it.

"Actually, I deal in weapons. Anything you want, I can get. And everything is reasonably priced. I've been here all my life, I just prefer to play things quiet. In my line of business I don't need the whole world knowing where my front door is," he joked.

"Really? Weapons, you say?" Slick began to eat, as he pondered what Geoff had said. "Tony and I were just considering doing business together ourselves."

"Well, in that case, perhaps you have a need I can fulfill?"

"Mmmm, perhaps."

But Slick Willson didn't say anymore about a possible deal between them after that. A few minutes later, after a pleasant silence, he turned to Tony.

"You must tell your chef how wonderful this lobster is. I believe it's the best I've ever had."

"Why thank you."

If he'd been alone, perhaps watching this scene unfold through a two way mirror, Geoff would have laughed his ass off. It was all pleasantries. All stupidness. They were both pretending and he knew it. Of course Tony was. The Devil wanted him to kill the other boss when dinner was over. But the way Slick was handling himself, the way he was talking, clearly suggested he had ulterior motives as well. Maybe one of the men standing behind the table was another hit man, sent to kill Tony once dinner was over. Well, in that case, they were even, weren't they? If they were, or they weren't, it didn't matter. Slick would die, either way.

Geoff brought himself back to the conversation and found them discussing their business arrangements. They were going to take over the city jointly, it seemed. He suppressed another laugh. It sounded like a really bad children's cartoon. The one where the bad guy is trying to take over the world by stealing all the cheese or something equally dumb. But it wasn't like he'd grown up watching cartoons. He'd missed all the good ones.

So, they were going to jointly own the city, be crime bosses working together for a common goal. Ha! The whole idea sounded ludicrous. If Slick had been a smart man, smart enough to become the top crime boss in Las Vegas, how the hell had he fallen for this trick of The Devil's? Lord only knew.

When Tony brought up Sluggs' name again he looked up from his delicious dinner and threw in a few comments of his own. His boss had the idea that he could supply them with all the weapons they'd need to cover the city. He assured them he could. Sure he had a whole warehouse full of machine guns just ready to be used for whatever purpose they had in mind. Sure.

He stifled a laugh into a bite of his lobster.

Two hours later when all six courses had been served and eaten, and Slick and Tony had discussed things through, the three men stood up to leave the table. And just as he'd suspected, The Devil's own men lined the opposite wall, just in case. Tony escorted them to the front door, Slick's bodyguards following close behind. Geoff found his Viper waiting right where he'd parked it while Slick's had been brought up to the door by his personal driver. He got into his car and watched carefully as two bodyguards got into the limo with Slick. The rest of the troupe got into other equally high end cars and the motorcade like parade left the driveway and made a right outside of the gate at the end of the property.

Geoff gunned the Viper's engine and roared to the gate where he made a left turn, down the hill. When he couldn't be seen by anyone, he pulled off the road and gathered his weapons onto the passenger seat. When he was sure all was ready, he pealed out and spun around speeding after Slick and his motorcade. Once he had them in sight he made sure to keep a safe distance.

Reaching into his breast pocket he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and slid one out of the half empty box. Putting it to his lips he flicked the lighter and lit the cigarette. This was going to be fun! How many chances did one get to take out a huge crime boss? Not many, and Geoff figured this would be his only chance. In previous years he'd only taken out the smaller criminals, the ants on the sidewalk. Now, he had the chance to wipe the city clean of a large menace, the fat kid who fed the ants by dropping food everywhere he went, drops of ketchup and mustard along with bits of a large hot dog that hadn't made it all the way into his greedy mouth. That's who he was going after this time, though he wasn't looking to put him on a diet.

As they neared the edge of the city he wondered where they were going. As far as he knew Slick's estate was on the other side. But his job wasn't to care about that. Just to kill him and be done with it. Up ahead was a lonely gas station. It was now or never. He was far enough away, that they couldn't tell who he was, or that he'd been following them. But that didn't mean his aim was any less good than it was up close.

Finding his revolver in the darkened car, he cocked it and rolled down his window. Reaching out with his left hand, the cigarette between his fore and middle fingers on his right hand wrapped around the steering wheel, he squeezed off a shot. The first car in front of him swerved off the road toward the gas station, it's rear tire blown out. He fired again, the second car following the first. Next came the limo.

He was prepared for this. His weapons were ready on the passenger seat when he needed to jump out of the car and finish everyone off, it would only take a few seconds. And one last bullet in his revolver would find its mark in the forehead of Slick Willson. He grinned at the thought. Maybe this job wouldn't be so hard after all.

The limo's back tired blew out with the next squeeze of the trigger, and followed the first two cars. But the last two, leading the way stopped. They slowed down and spun back to the failing limo. Geoff cut his wheel hard to the right, pulling off into the parking lot just as the limo hit one of the gas pumps. He saw the manager step outside to see what was going on as a spark came alive and the limo burst into flames.

Geoff jumped out of the Viper, moving the cigarette back to his lips, clutching an AK-47. He wiped out the bodyguards from the first two cars, as they climbed out and began aiming their own weapons at him. He turned to the limo just to see Slick being hurried and pushed into one of the last cars, already speeding out of the lot. He aimed his AK-47 and slammed bullets into the back of the car, but none of them made it to any of the tires, and the car got away. Still frozen in the doorway of the station, the manager gaped at the destruction, and the car on fire.

"You'd better get down, before that thing blows," Geoff said in a calm manor as he raised the weapon one more time and sprayed bullets that brought the man to the ground in a heap. He hadn't wanted to kill the innocent bystander, but he also hadn't want the guy to ID him to the cops.

He leaped back into his Viper, threw the gun on the other seat and sped out of the lot, after the getaway car, not even looking into his rearview when he heard the explosion of the gas pump and the limo. He puffed on his cigarette, nearly begging it to calm his nerves down. Never before had anyone dared escape the wrath of his guns. Never. And now, someone had, and had succeeded. Pushing the pedal all the way down to the floor he searched madly for Slick, but it was as if the crime boss had vanished into the dark night. Simply vanished.

Not willing to let the anger he felt at his loss control him, he put out the stub in the ashtray and reached for another cigarette. He would find the bastard and kill him good. Teach him a lesson in not running away from an assassin who's job it was to kill him. Never again would he let this happen, would he let someone escape. But he had to admit, Slick was making this a lot more interesting than anyone else ever had. He was testing him. Testing his skills as a hit man. He flexed his muscles and loosened his grip on the wheel as he slowed down. He would just have to rethink his next maneuver. This one had been too quick. Next time he would be a little slower, corner him, make sure he couldn't get away.

The Devil wouldn't be disappointed in his work.

Greg slammed the front door behind him and leaned heavily on it, as he dumped his keys on the nearby table. He heaved a huge, tired, sigh and shouldered off the door.

"Hey, where have you been?" Nick asked when he emerged from the bedroom in his pajamas. He looked tired and Greg wasn't sure whether he'd slept the entire day or not.

"Did you get my note?" he asked in return as he slumped down on the couch, letting his muscles relax.

"Yeah, I got your note. You went on a long drive. Again."

"What more do you need. I told you where I was."

"Greg, I'm just concerned," Nick said as he sat down beside his husband. "I thought I knew you, knew who you are, but now? I'm not so sure. You're coming out with these stories about your childhood I never knew. You're going on long drives, more than you used to. A lot more. You've picked up smoking, and you freak out over little things like my mother calling you at work. G, honey, I know something's wrong. Would you please talk to me about it?"

Greg cringed because it sounded like Nick was begging, and he hated it when he begged for things like this. Begging for sex was entirely different, very sexy actually coming from Nick, but he wasn't begging for that. He almost wished he was, even though he was too tired to do much of anything right then.

"You think I like talking about my childhood?!" Greg heard his voice rising with anger, but did nothing to correct it. He was too tired. Too stressed out. "You think I want to tell the world about it?! It's hard for me to even think about! Never mind telling anyone! For God's sake Nick, you waited four years yourself to tell me about the babysitter!"

"They are two completely different things!" Nick yelled back. "Mine was a one time incident! Yours was most of your life!"

"Like hell that matters! What if she saw you regularly! Huh? What if your whole childhood was spent with her, trying to forget her, trying to cover up what she did to you?! What then?! How would you like it if people started to drill you about it?!"

Nick looked like he was about ready to blow a fuse, his face was flushed, his eyes angry, as if he were in an interrogation room with a suspect. "Don't even go there, Greg," he said, just barely containing the anger in his voice. "Don't even touch that subject."

"See? You don't like it either!" Greg finally took a deep breath to steady his own anger. "I told you I threw the pack away. I don't smoke."

"That's not what Warrick told me."

"Screw Warrick! What does he know?!" Greg was immediately sorry for saying it, but he couldn't take it back. It was already out in the air, hanging between them like a knife waiting to find its victim.

"I know you two don't get along well, but he's my friend, Greg! My best friend right after you! We work together, you, me, and him. How could you say that? He's good at his job..."

"Oh, so what?! You're having him tail me or something? Did you ask him to smell me for cigarette smoke?! Are you that paranoid? How does he know I wasn't just hanging out with the smokers outside, chatting it up without lighting up myself? Huh? How do you know? You couldn't ask me yourself? You don't trust me anymore?!"

Greg got up and stormed off to the bedroom and began stuffing the dirty laundry into the laundry bag. It was his turn to do the laundry this week anyway, and he needed something to do. Crossing the livingroom again Nick stood up, looking lost. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. Greg didn't say anything.

Finally words came out of Nick. "I'll... I'll cook dinner," he almost sounded defeated, as if he didn't know what else to say.

"Don't bother for me. I'm not hungry."

Greg stormed off to the laundry room and proceeded to dump the first load into the washing machine. When it was running, he grabbed a forensics journal from the bookshelf in the livingroom and sat down to read it. He ignored Nick's movements in the kitchen, and shoved all his private thoughts out of his head, instead, concentrating on the article in front of him about bullet striations, even though he already knew everything it was telling him.

Once all the laundry was done he brought it back to their bedroom and began to fold it and put it away in the dresser and the closet they shared. Nick was still in the kitchen, though he didn't know what he was doing. Putting away the last of Nick's shirts, he suddenly felt a twinge in his stomach. He clutched at it and leaned on the bed, grimacing at the pain. Once the initial sensation was gone a few minutes later he felt a little queasy, though he knew he wasn't going to throw up.

Without a second thought he grabbed his freshly washed pajamas and headed for the spare bedroom. Upon opening the door he found the air a little stale and musty, but he didn't care. He closed the door behind him and crawled into the empty bed after changing out of the jeans and t-shirt he'd been wearing.

This wasn't how he wanted things to end up between them. He held his stomach under the covers, willing the queasiness to go away. He was pissed at Nick for even suggesting, whether he meant to or not, that he didn't trust him, that he trusted Warrick more. Sure, he knew he shouldn't have said what he did about their friend, but still. Nick didn't have to carry it further. And now, he didn't know what to say. What more was there to say? He didn't like talking about his childhood. It had been crap, the whole way. Why would Nick be mad at him for that? And so he liked to take long drives to think. Was that a crime now? Of course he hadn't thrown the pack of cigarettes out. But it was still nearly full. He'd only had one or two since that night Nick had found him smoking. Right now, he would give anything for a cigarette to calm him down. Maybe he should have left the house, rather than hole himself up in the guest room. But what was done, was done.

He moved his left hand up so he could see the silver ring engraved with Nick's name on it. He turned it around on his finger and read 'I (heart) U" on the other side as his eyes filled up with tears and one fell down his cheek.

It was all in his head. Everything that had been going on was in his head. The fear of mixing work with pleasure, the need to smoke, the need for long car rides to think, everything. It was all in his head. He just didn't know how to get it out. If he could only stop the fear maybe it would all go away like some old nightmare from when he was a kid and he could go on living again, go on loving again. But he didn't know how to get it out of his head. He just wanted it out, but knew it wouldn't leave easily.

His tears flowed freely, as he pictured a broken relationship with Nick down the line. Nick was his life. He couldn't let it get away that easily. He lived for Nick. He felt like his soul purpose for being was to be with Nick, to love Nick. Nick was his world, and if that crumbled...

Outside the door, he heard the bathroom door creak open, but didn't hear it shut. Was Nick out there listening? Could he hear his sobs? The thought only made Greg cry harder.

It wasn't supposed to go like this...

At work that night they'd been called out to an explosion at a gas station on the edge of the city. Nick was walking back along the road with his flashlight, looking over the tire tracks, and logging the tire shreds along the way. Grissom was inside the station and the other three, Warrick, Catherine, and Greg were processing the cars.

"Man, I'm surprised this wasn't called in earlier," Catherine said, peering into the burned out limo. "This was big bucks that got lost here."

"Well, maybe whoever was in it got burnt to a crisp, so they couldn't call it in."

"Sure. Makes sense. Though I don't see the remains of a body back here. Driver's dead though. Probably on impact."

"It's hard to tell," Greg spoke up. "I can't determine these plates at all. All of them are completely gone. Guess we'll never know who these cars belonged to."

"Dental records will help with that, I suppose. Provided the correct owners are in the correct cars."

"Don't bet your life on it."

"Maybe there was no passenger in the limo."

"Right, and maybe it was a kidnaping gone wrong."

Greg stopped moving the moment a twinge caught at his stomach. The queasiness from earlier had never fully gone away and nothing he'd taken had helped. Apparently, the twinge was back again.

"You ok, Greg? You don't look so hot," Catherine commented.

"I'm fine," he assured her, as Warrick followed her gaze to the younger CSI. "I'm fine."

He ignored the twinge and carried on about his processing.

"Yeah, well, don't yak all over the evidence, please."

"I'm not that stupid, Cath. I know what I'm doing and I don't have to yak."

"You sure?"

"Hey, I may be feeling a little ill, but I DON'T have to yak!"

"You should go get Nick to take care of you."

Greg felt his face drain of color at the mention of Nick's name, though Catherine had already gone back to processing the limo for evidence.

"You still smoking?" Warrick asked. "Cause you're looking really pale."

"Smoker pale?" Catherine looked up at him again. "Yup. Smoker pale. God, Greg, don't you know that stuff'll kill you?"

"Yeah, come on, man. Nick's worried about you."

Now, Greg felt as if he really would throw up.

"Would you both just keep your noses out of my business! Leave me alone! Please!"

Greg spun on his heels and began processing the car behind him, effectively ending the conversation.

But Catherine didn't see it that way. "Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed tonight. We're just worried about you, Greg, that's all."

"Yeah, well, I don't need you worrying on top of Nick."

His barriers were breaking, just like he knew they would and he was doing everything in his power to keep himself under control. If only just barely. Another twinge hit him again and he found himself hiding behind the car, clutching his stomach, almost doubled over in pain.

A/N: Apparently, Greg's got a lot more issues than I originally figured. I, myself, am blown away by the magnitude of what's happening here. Will these two once lovers be able to forgive each other and return to a happy marriage? And will Geoff Baker finally be caught? The answers lie within the future chapters I have yet to write. So, keep reading, and you'll find out!