A/N: A new chapter! This one is short-and will be finished by Christmas!

Christmas in Vegas

Chapter 3

By midnight, work in the lab had calmed to the whirring and clicking of machines, the soft tap of fingers on keyboards, the rustle of papers as evidence was placed into files.

Gil Grissom, showing everyone he had the holiday spirit, brought boxes of cookies, pastries, and candies into the break room and stayed around, eating cookies and drinking spiced tea someone had prepared. He picked out four cookies with jam centers and placed them on Sara's napkin. She smiled and met his eyes, briefly, as he moved a chair so he was directly across the table from her.

One-third of the usual lab employees were scheduled to work on this holiday and it appeared all smelled cookies and tea at the same time. During the next hour, the group swelled and decreased in number as they talked about cases, recent as well as several from past holidays, until most of the sweets were gone. Reluctant to return to work, conversations turned to Christmas stories, favorite memories and experiences as children, wishes granted, and dreams fulfilled.

Grissom noticed Sara's participation was one of agreement, of laughter at funny stories, but she did not share one memory of Christmas. Once, as several people laughed loudly at a story of a gift gone wrong, he moved his foot so it touched hers. Without looking in his direction, she smiled.

Dawn came and a comfortable quietness settled in—for thirty minutes, and then everyone's phone buzzed at the same time.

Jim Brass stuck his head into the break room, saying "4-0-7 and multiple 4-2-9's happening right now at Golden Nugget!"

Four officers were out the door before Grissom questioned, "4-2-9? Indecent exposure? It's barely dawn—on Christmas day!"

He and the three investigators left immediately, following the police cruisers to the Golden Nugget casino where every law enforcement officer on duty seemed to arrive at once. An all-night light show had kept the area around the casino filled with tourists of all ages and venders selling everything from almonds roasted with cinnamon to zucchini fritters and every kind of noise making toy, gaudy hats, and balloons.

In the casino, chaos ensued for half an hour until Jim Brass, with his excellent organization skills, divided tourists and employees, assigned officers to interview, and turned the cashier cages and security tapes over to the four CSIs and hotel security. Grissom divided his team into tasks required for robberies.

An hour passed before Brass stuck his head over Sara's shoulder and asked, "Where's Gil?"

Her head moved left as she said, "Looking at security tapes." She laughed, "This has got to be the most bizarre robbery of the year!"

"Yeah—that's not all—let's meet in the restaurant. Back corner in five."

By the time everyone working the case got coffee, another ten minutes had passed before Brass could began describing the robbery and the four—or was it six—female perpetrators of the attempted robbery of the casino cages. Hopefully, they had identified at least four—maybe six—women who had been in the casino wearing bright Christmas sweat shirts, moving between slot machines and blackjack tables, never touching anything, blending in with the crowd. Security tapes showed several women had entered different ladies room and reappeared, with ball caps over short hair and over-size shirts, mingling with an Asian tour group. A few seconds later, four of the women, stripped of shirts, wearing nothing but pastel colored panties and matching bras—or perhaps they were different colors—were standing in front of the cages, passing notes to the cashiers.

At the same time, more women—at least four—appeared on the casino floor, all dressed in nothing but panties and bras. No witness could clearly identify one of the scantily dressed women. And every witness had a different number of people participating in the robbery. The only obvious clue was—they were all women.

Due to quick alarms and slow reactions of the cashiers, less than one thousand dollars had been taken from the cages before the four women ran.

And as confusing as the robbery and descriptions of the robbers had been, it became more confusing as fire alarms had been pulled, smoke poured from one of the ladies restrooms, and the robbers had—incredible as it sounded—had disappeared. Vanished. Scattered in three directions, around corners, quickly blending into dozens of tourists curious about alarms and smoke; women wearing panties and bras had disappeared as fast as they had arrived.

Even parking garage cameras were of no use; only a few cars had exited by the time police arrived and would have to be tracked. But no person or groups of people leaving in vehicles appeared to match faces of the female robbers which turned the search inward to the casino hotel.

Sara dropped her head as the discussion continued; they wouldn't be out of here for hours, she thought. Two thousands rooms, over four thousand guests; who, she wondered, came to Vegas for Christmas. A rhetorical question, she knew.

Hotel security had managed to print a dozen large photographs from video tapes that everyone passed around. Women with dark hair wearing ball caps by the dozen, but women wearing only panties and bras…

Sara counted nine, then back-tracked to count again and realized every woman wore the same color and style of bra; panties differed slightly.

When she pointed this out, Todd, using a series of photos taped to the wall began to circle bras. Eleven women in bikini-style panties and push-up bras had stolen about a thousand dollars from one of the oldest casinos in Vegas. On Christmas Day.

A few minutes later, Grissom motioned for Sara to follow him.

Out of the restaurant, he said, "Let's take evidence back to the lab—talking isn't going to solve this robbery."

Together, they piled boxes and bags into her vehicle as she congratulated herself for unloading her earlier purchases.

By three o'clock, when their twenty-four hour holiday shift was officially over, no real progress had been made on the robbery. Numerous officers had theories but evidence wasn't there. There was not one clue.

Grissom leaned over Sara's work, softly saying, "Go home—this isn't going to be solved anytime soon. I'll go over everything with the day supervisor and be there soon."

When she gave him a doubtful look, he grinned, saying "Soon, promise."

Sara left knowing 'home' was an indeterminate state for her. Her apartment was where most of her things were—possessions she didn't use or need on a daily basis. Her clothing—what she usually wore—resided in a closet and drawers in Grissom's condo. Which is where he called home and she said she "stayed with him"—most of the time.

She made a quick stop at her apartment, grimacing at the small wreath she'd hung on her door. Not quite as pitiful as the plastic wreath on the door where the old couple had lived, but almost. Inside, she picked up a holiday gift bag and two items from her refrigerator, turned around, and was back in her car in five minutes.

When she pulled into Grissom's parking garage, she was not surprised to find his parking space empty. Hoping for a few minutes before he got home, she hurried inside.

The plant was where she'd left it; a two-foot tall holly trimmed to the shape of a Christmas tree, including small red ribbon bows tied among its sticky leaves. It really didn't look like a Christmas tree and it had no lights but she added two candy canes and three wrapped gifts around the table. She'd gotten Grissom a book she knew he wanted to read, a music CD, and—she'd stretched her budget—purchased a watch he'd admired.

She had one more gift but that was all fun and for later—after a shower and before they slept. She giggled as she thought of the look on Gil Grissom's face when he saw that present—especially after today.

Another hour passed without Grissom. Finally, Sara got in the shower and—of course—he arrived.

A/N: Thank you for reading and helping to keep GSR alive in fanfiction! We appreciate hearing from all of you!