AN: I like writing cliffhangers. Thats really all that this story is. One giant cliffhanger. Please review. I'd like feedback.

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI. I wish I did, cuz I have a lot of ideas that I wish that they'd put in the show.

In A Plexiglas Prison With You

Summary: They were trapped, far from humanity in a prison cell where no one could possibly reach them. Their only consolation was that they were together.

Chapter Three: Searching For Something To Go On

"Cath! Catherine, stop!" Gil was able to grab her wrists to keep her from struggling. Their screams were unanswered and it was no use to continue to beat the sides of their cage.

"G-Gil, we have to get out of here!" she croaked, her voice hoarse from screaming.

"It's not going to budge, Catherine," he told her, panting slightly, "It'll be no good to use up all of our energy."

"Gil, we have to get out of here!" she argued, "If we don't…God, Gil, you know what almost happened to Nick," her voice shook as she tried to get out of his firm grasp.

"I know, Cath," he said, "But Nick was calm. We have to do the same, Catherine. We have to keep our heads, otherwise…we won't make it," he tried reasoning with her, but those words were meant for him as much as they were meant for her. She stopped struggling and let out a shaky breath.

"Gil…I-I don't want to die," she whimpered, "Lindsey-"

"We can't think like that, Catherine," he interrupted her, "Besides, our guys probably know that were missing by now. You know that they're going to do everything that they can to find us. We've taught them well."

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"Can't we speed this up, Arch?" Nick questioned, motioning to the screen, "We need to do this quick."

"Nick, we're lucky there was even an operating camera outside that motel. We may have to sort through hours of videotape before we come across anything remotely relevant," Archie Johnson, the resident AV analyst, reminded the CSI.

"I know," Nick amended, "But we don't know how much time Griss and Cath have. We have to go through these tapes as quickly as possible."

"That's what I'm trying to do, buddy," Archie told him, carefully scanning the video for any sign of Grissom and Catherine or their kidnappers.

"There's a print," Greg's swift voice made both men jump.

"What?" Nick asked, unsure if he had heard his younger co-worker right, "A finger-print?" he asked, rising from his seat.

"Off of the bucket," Greg replied, "It came back to Chris Bezich, owner of the club, the Acid Drop."

"Why do I feel like I know that name?" Nick questioned. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he was sure that he had heard the name somewhere.

"Remember the Trent case from three and a half years ago? It was one of the first times I was called out into the field. Millionaire and his trophy wife were found dead in the drive-way. The investigation lead to the Acid Drop," Greg reminded him, "I'm meeting Brass at the club. You coming?"

"No, I've got to help Archie sort through these tapes. Keep me posted," Nick requested. Greg saluted him and left.

"Nick, I got something," Archie announced suddenly. Nick leaned in for a closer look at the screen. He watched as two people approached a truck with a canopy. With a jolt, he realized that over their shoulders, the people were carrying two very familiar figures.

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"I'm sorry, Warrick. Everything about this bullet has been tampered with," Bobby Dawson explained, "The barrel of the gun was altered, leaving us with unique striations, however, without the original gun, we're out of luck."

"You have got to be kidding me," Warrick sighed, staring through the microscope at the bullet Doc Robbins had extracted from Kitchner's head.

"It's a .308, standard for most rifles, but other than that, its not unique," Bobby joined Warrick in his despair, "I wish I could do more to help find Grissom and Catherine, Warrick, but I don't have anything else."

"Bobby, this whole case is turning into a nightmare," Warrick sighed, shaking his head, wishing that he could do more for his co-workers.

"Warrick! We found the vehicle!" Nick panted as he rushed into the Ballistics lab, "It went west!"

Warrick's head snapped up, "Let's send out an APB. You got the make?"

"Yeah, but I couldn't get a licence plate number," Nick answered. Warrick shrugged.

"Something's better than nothing, Nick," he said, following his friend out of the lab, where he almost ran into Sara.

"Have you guys found anything?" she asked hopefully. Nick nodded.

"We've got a vehicle and a suspect," he told her. Her expression became more and more hopeful, as she went with them to call a detective.

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"Where's Bezich?" Brass demanded. The bartender of the Acid Drop seemed a little stunned, but pointed to the back once the surly detective flashed his badge. Greg, Brass, and several uniformed cops barged into the back room, however, Bezich was no where to be seen.

"Did he do a runner?" Greg asked, gazing around the room for any signs of the elusive club owner.

"We'll see about that," Brass growled as he flew back to the bar and shouted at the bartender, "Where the hell is he? He's not in the back, and so help me, if you are covering for him, I'll have you arrested for obstruction of justice!" he threatened. The bartender backed up in response.

"Hey, as far as I know, Chris is still here!" he cried defensively, "His car is still in the parking lot. I just got off of my break and it was still parked out back! Go have a look for yourself! It's the white convertible."

"I'll do just that!" Brass shot at him. Greg was fast on his heels as the detective rushed towards the back parking lot. They found Bezich's car, but no sign of Bezich.

"Son of a bitch," Brass cursed, staring at the convertible in frustration. He paced the lot in an effort to calm himself. Greg, on the other hand, caught something as he surveyed the scene. He knelt down to look closer at the bumper of the car. The same putrid smell from the alley-way wafted from the red drops on the white paint.

"There's blood on the bumper," Greg called to Brass, "Pop the trunk."

"You heard him," Brass motioned to one of the uniforms as he approached Greg. The uniformed officer did as he was told, and Brass and Greg were met with the sight of Chris Bezich, bound and gagged in his own trunk.