Why yes, I do believe I have a chapter two, and I really hope you guys like it as much as I do. Thanks to Iris Johansen, I've been able to find quite a bit of inspiration to be sneaky and mean and just all around creative. No need to review, I'll be updating as I write. I won't be holding out until I get a certain number of reviews, because it's just not my style. Enjoy!

Slamming her locker door shut, Catherine turned to go home for the day. The job was starting to take its toll on her. She was beyond exhausted, and the more she dealt with burglary, assault, rape, and murder, she began to wonder if it was worth it. When Sam had passed away, he'd left her enough money to send Lindsey to an Ivy League school and still have enough to retire to a remote Caribbean island where she could escape everything. The only reason she hadn't was because she didn't want to leave behind her friends and give up the career that had given her the means and the courage to leave her bastard of a husband.

But now, it was what she wanted more than ever. Her letter of resignation was sitting on her nightstand at home, signed and ready to be handed in. She wasn't quite sure why she was still putting it off. Maybe because she wasn't quite ready to let go of the job. No, that wasn't it. She was damn sure that she'd had enough of the crime that was running rampant in Las Vegas. All she wanted to do was just take herself out of the mix and away from the madness. No, the reason she was putting it off was because she was in charge. She was the head of the lab, and now she was realizing just how difficult it must have been for Gil to leave. Well, at least she knew that if she were to leave, the lab wouldn't be going into incapable hands. Nick Stokes knew his job and did it damn well.

So why not just do it?

She froze as she approached her car. The driver's side window was shattered. A few stray pieces of the glass had landed on the pavement, but the bulk of it was lying on the seat. I KNOW was scratched into the paint on the door in bold letters. Knew what? Her life had been less than eventful in the past few years. No really high profile cases aside from a couple of serial killers, and she hadn't even really been caught in the middle of those. She immediately dialed Nick.

"What's up, Cath?" he said when he picked up.

"Someone busted the window in my car and carved I KNOW in the door."

"What the hell?" His tone was as flabbergasted as she felt, and for good reason. The parking garage was well guarded, and you didn't get in without a badge. And even if someone managed to get past the guard, they'd have to have balls to pull something like this off in front of one of the cameras. "Is anything missing?"

She hadn't even thought to check. "I don't know. I haven't had a chance to check."

"Well, don't touch anything. I haven't clocked out yet. I'll come and take prints, if there are any."

"Alright." She ended the call and slipped her phone back into her purse. She doubted if he'd find any, but there was always a chance.

She approached the sedan, glancing in the shattered window at the shards of glass piled in the seat. She noticed a photo envelope laying atop the pile. She knew she shouldn't touch anything, but it was just too weird to ignore. Catherine picked it up and lifted the flap. There were about ten photos inside, and she slowly pulled them out. It only took the first picture to send her into a whirlwind of grief--it was of Warrick's crime scene as they lifted the sheet over his head. Her heart sank deep as she continued to flip through the first five pictures, all of that horrific night and of the team in the aftermath. But it was the sixth picture that shocked and confused her.

It was of Warrick, sitting on the porch of an old Victorian home, holding a glass of lemonade and smiling with the older, graying man that sat beside him. The picture looked as if it were taken from a close distance, and there was what looked like a leaf in the bottom left corner of the photo. She couldn't remember him ever telling her about someone who lived in a Victorian house. But hell, he hadn't told her much of anything in the last year he was alive.

As if that were a cue, her gaze shifted to the date stamp that had been slightly obscured by the flash that had hit the leaf in the corner. It took her a moment to read it, but when she was able to make it out, she nearly lost her head.

12/10/2010.