Disclaimer: don't own CSI. Wish I did, at least we wouldn't have annoying cliffhangers all summer, and I might actually have money.

Spoilers: season seven

Greg was still in no mood to drive, so he climbed into the passenger's seat of the Denali beside Brass. Nick and Horatio sat in the back.

It was a short, quiet trip to Jack Ripley's apartment. They left quickly, not wanting to attract the attention of the under sheriff on the way out.

Greg stared out the window, hoping that this went smoothly. He was too close to proving who the killer was to screw this up now. He was only half listening as Brass reminded them that Jack had a very nasty temper, and that he wasn't likely to come quietly.

They finally pulled into the parking lot of the suspect's building. The four them headed up the stairs to his doorway. Those who carried weapons had pulled them out, while Sanders hung back a little bit, thinking that he really should get a gun soon. Being the only one who wasn't carrying was starting to become a liability.

They reached Jack's door and knocked, with Brass shouting, "LVPD, Open up!"

No response, unless you counted the distinct yelping of a Shetland Sheepdog. Brass nodded to Nick. Stokes kicked in the door.

The apartment looked empty, save for the dog running around and barking. She looked like Buddy, only a little smaller. The room that the four of them entered seemed to be a living room, complete with leather sofa and plasma TV mounted on the wall.

"Looks clear." Brass commented. He ducked into a bedroom to make sure that the guy wasn't waiting for them inside.

Nick and Horatio went to check behind another door, leaving Greg alone in the living room. He looked around the room, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Just a TV, couch, coffee table, and DVD player. Greg still felt exposed, like someone was watching him.

Heavy footsteps thudded in the hall behind the open door. Greg turned around to find himself staring down the muzzle of Jack Ripley's Desert Eagle fifty-caliber handgun.

Of course. Greg sighed. Definitely should get myself a gun. Jack glared at him. "What the hell are you people doing in my apartment?"

"Sir, we have a warrant." Greg was surprised at how steady his voice sounded.

The two of them locked eyes for a moment. Greg was terrified. He needed help now.

Ripley seemed to be reading his thoughts. "Open your mouth and you'll be dead before you can scream."

Sanders didn't trust him to respond. Fortunately for him, Brass reentered the living room. It took the detective less then a minute to assess the situation.

"Let him go, Jack. You shoot him and there's no way that you're walking out here. We've all ready got you for murder. "

Jack grabbed Greg's shoulder and dragged him closer. He put the gun against his temple and glared over at Jim. "I let him go and I still won't get out here. How about you drop the gun and I think about letting your little friend live to fight another day."

Greg tried to wriggle free, but only succeeded in earning himself a hard smack from the butt of Jack's gun. That made Sanders more pissed off then scared.

Nick and Horatio appeared out of nowhere, with guns drawn. Jim continued to talk to the suspect. "You aren't leaving here either way. Why not make it easier on yourself?"

"How? If I shoot him are you going to give the death penalty twice?" Jack laughed.

Greg took advantage of the distraction and stomped on his foot as hard as could. Jack yelped in pain but didn't drop the gun. Greg grabbed for it and wound up with a tight grip Jack's wrist. He tried to point the gun away from himself and his friends.

As the two of them struggled for it, the huge handgun went off. It was one of the loudest sounds that Sanders had ever heard. He wasn't sure what happened next, except that his arm hurt like hell and he could smell smoke and gunpowder in the air.

Greg finally managed to get the guy down and kick the gun across the room. He looked up at his colleges. "Would one of you help me cuff this guy before he remembers that he outweighs me by at least fifty pounds?!"

That seemed to snap Nick out of the shock from seeing one of his best friends with a gun to his head. He and Brass stepped forward and cuffed their killer while Caine called the paramedics.

Brass yanked Jack to his feet while Nick helped Greg. The young CSI was bleeding pretty badly, but one look at the injury told Nick that it could have been a lot worse. It looked like the shot had only grazed Greg's arm.

Greg was still losing blood at an alarming rate and the struggle had aggravated his injured ribs as well.

The paramedics arrived within minutes. It turned out that Hank had been the one to respond to this call as well.

"Can't you stay out trouble?" Pettigrew muttered. He got the wound on Greg's arm to stop bleeding without too much trouble.

Greg shrugged as best he could. "Guess not."

Hank rolled his eyes. "I suppose that it's pointless to ask you to go to hospital?"

"You suppose right."

Nick shook his head. "I'll drag his ass down there as some as we close this case." Greg glared at him, but didn't protest. He knew that he probably hurt worse then he thought, anyway. They were close to solving this anyway.

A/N: One-maybe two more to go. Thank you for all the reviews. I like hearing from you guys, so please keep them coming. -Lefty