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CHAPTER 5

"The next best thing to knowing something is knowing where to find it."

Samuel Johnson

CATHERINE POV

"I don't care who you are, or what kind of history we have, that was a bullshit move."

I don't respond to DB's heated words. I don't have to since I agree with everything he's said so far.

"You put people's lives at risk when you keep secrets like that, Catherine," DB continues. "Sara's, yours."

He seems to want some sort of response this time, and so I nod. "I know."

"Do you?" DB questions seriously. "Because it seems like you weren't thinking much through when you decided to keep this from us."

He shakes his head.

"Not to mention from Sara, who you personally requested to work this case."

I wish I could say I was angry at the fact I'm being yelled at like a 5 year old. But, to be honest, I'm the most upset with myself.

Stomach churning tightly, I keep my focus on DB, when all I really want to do right now is talk to Sara.

It takes about another twenty minutes before DB finishes with me, and the disappointment in his gaze is something that's going to stick with me much longer than the length of the meeting.

Sighing, I move through to another lab, finding it empty.

"Damn it," I curse, turning in a circle as I jam my fingers into what I'm sure is very tangled hair.

"Can I assist you in some way?"

I turn, coming face to face with an amused blonde.

"Finn," I breathe out. "Have you seen Sara?"

"Sure," she nods. "She was working in the ballistics lab with Morgan."

"Oh," I raise a brow. I never would've thought to look there as our case doesn't involve the use of a gun. "Thanks."

"Yup," Finn smiles, sauntering off down the hall.

Turning around more corners and hallways, I finally arrive at the lab.

Sure enough, Sara's there, leaning against the table while Morgan shows her something on what looks like a Smith and Wesson.

"But how do you get a perfect print on the inside of the barrel when the barrel itself is unaltered? Never removed from the gun?"

"What were the bullets like?"

Morgan furrows her brows. "What do you mean?"

"Their composition."

She shrugs, "I don't know, we never recovered any fragments at the scene."

Sara nods. "We caught a case once, the guy used meat bullets to kill his victim."

Morgan makes a face. "Gross," she offers. Then she pauses. "But kinda cool…."

Shaking her head, she puts down the gun. "Regardless, I'm not sure I'm getting where you're headed with this…"

"You don't touch the inside of the gun barrel, but you do touch bullets, which then transfer into the barrel."

Sara pulls her own gun from her hip, showing Morgan the bullet in the chamber of her own weapon.

"Normally, you shoot the gun and what happens?"

"The bullet ignites and is fired, reducing the bullet and any prints on it to almost nothing due to the heat of the reaction and force of impact."

"Unless…"

Morgan's face slowly transforms into a smile. "Unless you aren't using an ordinary bullet."

She quirks her head, "But the print should still be lost after the gun is fired."

"Which leads you to what conclusion?"

Morgan's smile now expands to her ears. "He's either firing some weird bullets that don't ignite, or this isn't the weapon."

Shaking her head, the blonde groans, "That cheeky bastard."

Sara smiles slightly, her gaze shifting upward. Her smile immediately leaves when she sees me standing in the doorway.

"Hey Catherine," Morgan greets, following Sara's gaze. "Sorry to borrow your casemate here, but I needed some help with this pesky murder case of mine."

"No problem," I tell her, smiling. "But do you mind if I talk to Sara alone for a bit?"

Knowing a dismissal when she hears one, Morgan nods. "Of course."

"Thanks again," Morgan offers to Sara. "I owe you one. Or twelve."

Sara smiles back, watching Morgan as she leaves.

The moment we're alone, the tension in the room nearly triples.

Standing up to her full height, Sara checks the safety on her gun before returning it to her hip.

"Trace is back on the evidence from yesterday's scene."

"Sara," I cut in, still hesitating near the doorway. "We need to talk about what happened."

"There's nothing to talk about," Sara disagrees. "DB probably spent the last half hour lecturing you about your 'decision making process,' but can't do anything other than lecture you because technically you outrank him. So, the case is still yours."

Sara is sometimes too damn smart for her own good.

"But," I offer. "The case doesn't have to be yours."

Sara looks over at me.

"Doesn't it?" she questions. "You tell me the killer is targeting you, that your life is in danger, and you expect me to just up and walk away?"

"I wouldn't blame you if you did," I answer honestly. "With everything that's happened to you-"

"Don't," Sara gets out, tone controlled but with a distinct edge to it. "Stop bringing that up. This has nothing to do with me or Basderic."

I watch her, taking in her dark features. "You have a right to take the proper time to deal with it, Sara. And my asking you to work this case took away that option for you. It wasn't fair. And my keeping the fact that we're dealing with another psychopath-"

Tension radiating off her, Sara shakes her head.

"Seriously, Catherine, stop," she cuts me off. "You asked me to work this case, and I'm a grown adult who can decide for herself what she wants to do. But, one thing I won't do, is continue to talk about Basderic."

Her gaze is piercing.

"I mean it."

"Fine," I raise my hands.

Taking a couple deep breaths, I try to recenter myself.

I know Sara's avoidance of the Basderic issue isn't healthy, but I don't really have any right to call the shots with her.

Not after what I just did.

"We need to talk about the previous packages," I tell her. "You need to know everything that I do."

Sara's eyes move away from mine, and I know she's biting her tongue regarding how long it took me to come to that conclusion.

But, instead, she takes a deep breath, keeping her expression stoic and herself silent.

"So, the first package…"

I continue to tell Sara about every package he left me, showing her pictures, trace evidence reports, all the information I have.

It takes us the better part of an hour to make our way to the current package.

When I finish, Sara's expression still hasn't changed much, but I can see her working through the information in her head.

Finally breaking her silence, she takes the opportunity to fill me in on the results of the trace evidence from our latest victim. Not surprisingly, there isn't much that's of any help.

Sighing, I gather up the papers spread out on the table in front of us. It was a hard conversation, but it feels good finally having everything out there. Having Sara and I exactly on the same page.

"Catherine," Sara's voice stops me as I finish. "What are you doing about your living situation?"

"What do you mean?"

Sara narrows her eyes.

"You want him to keep sending bloody packages to your mother's house?" She raises a brow. "Your mother may not be my favorite person at the moment, but that seems a bit harsh, even to me…"

I shrug, thinking it over.

"I don't know, Sara," I state. "He never really did much besides leave them there. I don't want to go to a hotel or something where I'm putting other people in danger."

Sara pinches the bridge of her nose.

"I have an extra room."

Her expression and her tone tell me she isn't quite sure how she feels about her words that now hang between us, despite her choice to voice them.

"What?"

She doesn't repeat herself, knowing I heard her just fine even though my brain is clearly struggling to catch up with my ears.

"No," I shake my head. "I can't."

She lets out a snort.

"Right, instead you can just wait to see what happens when your mother sticks her hands on a bloody package," she shrugs. "Or, better yet, wait and see what happens when you're there alone."

"I know Brass will loan me some guys to keep watch…"

"Of course he will," Sara agrees. "But that isn't the point."

Sara takes a deep breath.

"Look, Catherine, I think you know how I feel about you and the current situation. But you know as well as I do that you being alone, or you being with your unarmed mother, is not the best of options right now."

As much as I try to convince myself otherwise, she's right, I know she is. But, it's a hard reality to accept. And, taking her help, after all she's already done for me, is an even harder reality to accept.

But, I need to put my safety before my pride right now.

"Fine," I give in. "But the moment you change your mind, you let me know."

Sara nods, but we both know she won't change her mind until we see this case through.

Grabbing my shoes from my closet, I toss them in the bag, zipping it up and walking out to add it to the one by the door.

"I think this is it," I mutter, mostly to myself.

"No," my mother corrects. "There's something else."

"What?"

Gesturing, she beckons me closer.

Rolling my eyes, I do as she asks, moving towards her where she stands in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Here, Cathy," she says, using that stage whisper she seems to have perfected. "Take these."

Glancing down, I note the granola bars she's shoving in my hands.

"Mother, what in the world…"

"You're going to need some food," my mother states in her whisper. "Apparently Sara doesn't believe in eating."

Hearing a choking noise, I note Sara coughing on the water she was drinking.

"I, uh," Sara coughs. "I'm going to go take these bags out to the Tahoe."

Glancing up at my mother, Sara pauses before shaking her head, clearly at a loss.

"It was great seeing you again, Ms. Flynn."

With that, Sara takes my bags and heads outside.

"Really?" I question my mother, eyes wide.

"What?" she asks innocently.

"Jesus, mother," I curse under my breath.

"What?" she asks again. "That girl looks like a walking skeleton. Someone should feed her."

"I'm sure Sara, a grown woman, can feed herself."

"Apparently not."

"Goodbye, mother."

Giving her a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, I escape out the door as quickly as I can.

"Should I bother apologizing?"

Sara smiles slightly from her place behind the wheel. "While I'm curious to see you try, don't worry about it."

"I swear…that woman…at times…"

I trail off, my frustration with my mother's lack of tact clearly evident.

It's not that she was wrong, per se. Sara has definitely lost weight since I left Vegas. It's one of the first things I noticed when I saw her, in fact.

Sara was always thin, often bordering on too thin, in my opinion. Now, she's no longer bordering – she's simply much too thin.

But, knowing the recent events in the brunette's life, I figured the last thing she needed was someone telling her she looks like shit.

But, clearly, my mother did that for me.

While I grow more nervous as we get closer to Sara's home, I also selfishly get a bit more relieved as well.

While us being thrown together may not be the best of ideas, keeping in mind our rocky past, one that now includes our most recent debacle, it will at least provide me with more time to figure out what in the hell's going on with the quiet brunette.

The dodged phone calls, her pulling her gun on me in the locker room, her weight loss.

She may have been able to hide what's going on from me before, but it's going to be a hell of a lot harder for her to hide anything from me now.

AN: Thanks for reading.