Chapter 11

Author's note: I don't own CSI but I do love to play with them! It's the sincerest form of flattery!

Have you ever wanted to kill the driver that just cut you off? I'm just asking!

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Greg hit the enter key on the computer in their shared work area.

"What are you looking for?" Sara asked.

"About a month ago, I noticed this website," Greg answered, distracted by his search, "I was just surfing when I found this site about bad driving in Vegas. It has a list of all of the people who got pulled over for excessive speed or aggressive driving."

"Well where would that info come from?" she asked.

"Where there's a will, you know these bloggers will find a way," Greg answered, continuing to refine his search until he finally found what he wanted "Ah-ha, here it is!"

Sara leaned over his shoulder to get a better look at the screen.

"You smell good, Sara," Greg mentioned as Sara leaned closer.

She laughed, gave him a friendly slap on the back of the shoulder, "Greg, focus, you are still not my type."

"Oh, Sara, you are just confused, I am so your type."

"Just type ok?"

They both laughed. It was no secret that Greg had a mad crush on Sara. He still did. But he had come to terms with the fact that he was not ever going to be her type. But once that was cleared up, it left them to become friends, maybe the closest friend Sara had ever had. Greg was like a brother to her, and she loved him in a way that made him feel good about coming in second place to whoever her new boyfriend was.

They worked together efficiently to find information on their three victims. It was a no-brainer. They had all been cited by the same police officer.

"Vigilante justice?" he asked.

"Well, it seems that it could be the case, but let's get Brass and go check this guy out."

"I'll drive," offered Greg, knowing what her reaction was going to be.

"Only if you get to the keys first," she answered, two steps ahead of him out the door, heading towards the garage.

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Grissom sat in his office, darkened as usual, deep in thought, when the phone rang, disturbing his reverie.

"Grissom," he answered.

Brass was on the other end. "Gil, I think we may have a lead on the Drive-By Killer."

"Great, what's up?" Grissom asked.

"Sara and Greg figured out that the same cop issued a ticket to each of these drivers, we are on the way to check him out."

"Let me know what you find out."

He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, returning to his thoughts.

Just for a moment, he was back in San Francisco. Teaching at the Forensics Academy Conference.

And there was Sara, sitting in the front row, hair up in a high pony-tail, low rise jeans, tank top, and jacket. He remembered noticing how inviting her breasts looked in that shirt, with a blue beaded necklace hanging just in the right spot to draw the eye to the scoop in her shirt.

He remembered being embarrassed when she caught him checking her out. But instead of being upset, she looked at him and gave him a brilliant smile. He noticed her slight gap, reminding him of one of his favorite actresses, Lauren Hutton. Her eyes, deep brown, made him feel relaxed, even though she had busted him checking out her chest.

When she approached him after the lecture, he had to put his jacket on again. He was so embarrassed by his body's reaction to her presence. But after speaking to her for just a few minutes, his entire body, brain and spirit were engaged. She was captivating.

She asked him to go have coffee, and against his better judgment, he agreed. Surely if anyone saw him out with a student, his credibility would have been severely compromised. But he didn't care, he just wanted more of her.

He remembered walking her home that night, seeing her to the door of her apartment, smelling her perfume, kissing her on the cheek and wanting so much more. He tore himself away, even though she practically begged him to come in for a "nightcap."

When the parted two weeks later, he was smitten. But he could not bring himself to acknowledge his feelings, embarrassed by the fact that he was in love with a woman twenty years younger, he reasoned that he must just be having a mid-life crisis.

When he returned home to Vegas, he remembered trying to bury himself in his work. They kept in touch by email and phone calls. He remembered thinking that this had to stop before he couldn't walk away, but then Holly Gribbs died, and the only person he knew he could trust, other than Catherine, was Sara.

Catherine should have been the one to help him. But damned if he didn't believe she was involved with Warrick. She couldn't be impartial. He needed to have someone he could depend upon. Sara was it.

He remembered hearing her voice behind him while he was doing an experiment downtown. Her laugh sent chills down his spine.

Why had he waited so long? What was his hesitation? His mother had all but given up hope on him ever getting married or having kids. Until he came home from San Fran, she thought he might never find the right woman. But even she noticed a change in him when he returned.

Once she decided to move to Vegas, he tried to distance himself from her. He pushed her away. He intentionally dated other women to try and create distance between them.

But now, he knew that she had been right all along. They did belong together.

In the blink of an eye, his mind went to the last night, the passion, the electricity, the ultimate release of the sexual tension that had built up for so long.

And now, all he could think of was that he wanted more, and he would never stop wanting her.

He picked up the phone as a text messaged dropped in, breaking the sweet daydream he was having.

"I'm thinking about you." Was all it said.

He thought for a moment and then slowly, fumbling with each letter, typed "Ditto."

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Office Petty was a twenty-year veteran. He proved to be very forthcoming with his answers and he remembered each incident involving the three victims.

He said that each ticket was for aggressive driving and had been reported by the traffic helicopter that flew over downtown Vegas, keeping the on the ground police up to date with any situations that were building.

In each case, the man receiving the ticket had claimed to be innocent, and seemed to be oblivious to the fact that the cutting in an out of traffic at 30 miles per hour over the speed limit was against the law.

"Would you mind telling me where you were last night at about 8 pm?" Brass asked.

"No problem, I was in traffic court from 7 to 10 last night," Petty answered.

Sara and Greg looked at each other, disappointed that they hadn't solved the crime, but happy to have more information, and pretty sure they were now on the right track.

Once they were back in the Denali, Greg excited said, "Let's check the IP addresses of everyone who has been on that blog in the last week and see if we can cross references anyone who might have a reason to kill these people."

"Great idea Greg," she answered him as she started the engine, "But I do have to leave at 6, its pretty important."

"Why, hot date?" he asked, laughing, expecting a slug on the shoulder.

"As a matter of fact…." She answered, smiling slyly.

"Tell me!" he insisted.

"No."

"Come on Sara," he encouraged her, I want details."

"Nope."

"Sa-ra," he whined, "If you don't tell me, I'll assume it was that nice girl from the bar that Nick told us about!"

That brought the punch in the arm that he had been expecting.

"Just for that," she said, "Now I'm really not going to tell you!"

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