A/N: Thank you again everyone so much for reading and dropping a review. I truly appreciate it!

Chapter 18:

The sun was starting to set behind the mountains as he passed a sign that read, "Thank You For Visiting Pahrump. Travel Safely". He was about 70 miles outside of Las Vegas when he pulled the forensic SUV alongside Jim Brass's detective's car. Laid out before him was a long stretch of a two-lane highway with mountains in the distance all around him. Gil got out and rounded the truck to the back and opened the hatch. Despite the setting sun, it was still about a hundred degrees outside. He pulled on his field vest and immediately felt his body heat increase. Soon he'd be sweating through the vest. Grabbing his field kit, he shut the back hatch before heading towards the yellow tape.

He could tell that the box truck matched the description they had for the one in the area. A fourteen foot all white ISUZU. Greg had already done the homework on the box truck they were looking for. It was called a Vanscraper. They were mainly used for hauling around equipment for landscaping, lawn care, even golf course maintenance. Perfect truck to park outside of a residential neighborhood with a golf course right around the corner. No one would think it odd, just routine lawn care. Though they were common, he hoped there weren't too many abandoned alongside deserted Nevada highways.

As he ducked under the yellow tape, Brass met up with him. Deputy Grant was securing the scene and took his name for the log and checked his ID. "Hop back in your truck, drive for another minute, and you'll be in California, in case you were wondering where in the hell we are."

"I know where we are. Don't you remember Ted Binion? The casino owner who buried a treasure of silver in an underground vault out here. I worked on his suspicious circ's death in '98, before I had to hand it over to Robinson. It was the last case he worked before being promoted to Assistant Director. That's when Catherine took his spot on our team."

"That's right," Brass said after giving it some thought. "One of Binion's accused murderers was apprehended while trying to dig up the vault. I can't remember why you had to hand off that case. It was a career maker, at least for Robinson."

"Forensic conference in San Francisco," he said as he remembered that if he hadn't had handed the case off to the lab's current Director, then he never would have met Sara.

"A State Trooper called it in," Brass said, getting them back on the case. "Any reason why you think they decided to take this road out to Nowhere Desert, USA?"

Gil slipped on a pair of latex gloves as he said, "I think it's called the scenic route, and it doesn't take you to nowhere, but to the town of Shoshone as well as Death Valley."

"What's in Shoshone?"

"Well, many things, but most notably the historical landmark of Dublin Gulch. Back in the 1920's, miners made homes for themselves by digging into clay embankments. The dwellings are still there. Some are even split level with garages."

"Garage for what, their horse and buggy?"

He smirked as he said, "Probably. Did the trooper touch anything?" he asked as he approached the box truck.

"He checked to make sure no one was inside dead and rotting. It was unlocked. This might not even be the same truck. Didn't Sanders say that they lost track of it going—"

"If they were trying to keep a low profile, they wouldn't have taken the main interstate out of town. Like you said, this leads nowhere, including away from roadblocks." He searched around the highway and saw a dirt road that veered off the main highway. "Where does that go?"

"I don't even know what that road is," Brass said as he looked around for a street sign. There wasn't one. "An educated guess is desert, desert, and oh…more desert. I stand corrected." He pointed down the highway and said, "Shoshone," and then pointed up the dirt road, "Nowhere Desert, USA."

He shook his head as he stopped at the front of the truck and peered into the cab. It was empty, not even a soda can. "The thing about these trucks is that they have a side door for quick access," he said as he stopped in front of the side door. He sat his kit on the ground and pulled out his fingerprinting powder and brush. "Did the Trooper open the side door or the rear door?"

"Uh," Brass checked his notes before answering, "the back door."

He glanced over his shoulder before going back to checking for prints. "We can't assume which door."

"I'll go talk to him," Brass sighed before walking back along the desert highway to where the State Trooper was parked.

It didn't matter anyway. There were no prints on the handle or anywhere around the handle. He dropped everything back into his kit and then opened the side door. He saw the pine hardwood flooring first and then the fold down rear ramp to unload and load cargo. The walls had air vents but no windows. There were storage shelves and, on the floor and walls, were straps, D rings, and metal racks to secure tools or equipment. Lifting his camera, he started taking pictures before slipping on some booties over his shoes so he could climb up into the back of the truck.

Taking out his flashlight, he did a quick check around as he swept it left to right along the floor. It immediately landed on a folded-up piece of paper in the far corner. It was partly under the loading ramp. After he used an evidence marker to identify it, he took a picture. In one of his vest pockets was a pair of tweezers and he used them to pick up the sheet of paper. It appeared blank.

A blank piece of paper? Not from a notebook. It appeared to be copy machine paper.

"What was Kevin doing in the office to begin with?" Sara asked. "He didn't come in here to look through old photographs."

"Research?" he said as he stepped away and touched the desk chair while looking at the desk, the computer and printer. The printer was on, but the paper tray door was open. "Tray's empty." He saw the open package of printer paper on the floor beside the box. "He went into the closet to get the printer paper and found the box."

Not wanting to risk losing any trace evidence that might be in it or on it, he dropped it into a paper evidence envelope and sealed it up. Before he could continue processing, there was a tap on the side of the truck. The moment he looked up to see who it was, he heard Sheriff Atwater's voice.

"Grissom, a word?" Atwater asked as he appeared in the opening. Behind him, he could see the sky getting darker. Soon they'd have to set up lights to be able to see their own hands in front of their faces.

"I'm in middle of—"

"Catherine's here to replace you." Atwater walked away and he knew he was meant to follow.

Ecklie. He let out a breath as he put the tweezers back into his vest before heading out of the truck. Catherine was already processing the cab of the truck. She spotted him but didn't say anything as she glanced back at the Sheriff before raising the camera to take a picture.

"Any fingerprints?"

"Wiped clean. You?"

"Same."

Atwater cleared his throat, getting his attention. "Bring your kit."

He worked his jaw as he knew where this was going. It wasn't a recommendation. "You rode with the Sheriff?" he asked Catherine.

She gave a nod. Pulling out the keys to the SUV, he tossed them to her. "What about that?" Catherine asked as she pointed to the evidence envelope.

"Finders keepers." He closed up his field kit, and taking the evidence envelope with him, he followed behind the Sheriff until they were clear of the crime scene, back under the yellow tape, and next to his Sheriff's car.

"Gil, no more rain checks," Atwater said as he opened the passenger seat.

"Are we getting coffee? Look, Sheriff—"

"Get in the car." The way Atwater said that let him know that he was very close to being fired.

Reluctantly, he said, "Okay, but we need to stop by my house first," he told him as he opened the back door and placed his field kit and evidence envelope into the back.

The drive back to the city was irritating as Atwater kept talking politics. He wouldn't have minded so much except for the fact that he hated politics of all kinds. Interpersonal politics all the way up to political systems. At the moment, Atwater was talking about departmental, or office, politics.

"You are the singular senior night shift supervisor. Everyone looks to you, Gil. How you treat those under you, and over you, carries weight. Assistant Director Ecklie—"

"Is uninjured."

"That doesn't mean anything. You attacked him."

"He provoked me." Without taking his eyes off the scenery, he told him, "We have history. We also know one another. He intentionally provoked me after I warned him. He wouldn't listen."

Getting everything that he was going to get out of him at the moment, the Sheriff drove him home as requested. "If you're thinking about skipping town in a secondary vehicle, I wouldn't."

He gave him a look as he got out of the car, saying, "I don't have a second vehicle. And my personal one is at the lab. I'll only be a minute."

Taking out his keys, he entered his townhouse and hurried down to his home office. Grabbing a piece of printer paper out of the pack, he inserted it into the empty tray and then ran it through the printer. He found a manila envelope in the desk drawer and dropped it inside. Then he hurried back out where he found Atwater on his cell phone in the driver's seat.

"...He's back. Keep me posted." Atwater closed the cell and was pocketing it as he opened the door. "What was this all about?"

"Had to feed my pet spider," he quipped as he put the envelope in the back, next to the one that held the piece of paper he'd found inside the box truck. "We are going to the lab, correct?"

As Atwater pulled away from the curb, he told him, "We are. You have a meeting with Director Robinson."

Ten minutes later, as they entered the lab, he told Atwater, "I have to make a stop along the way." He held up the two envelopes.

"You have five minutes until we send out the hunting party."

His first stop was the locker room where he deposited his field kit into his locker. Then he headed toward Documents. "Ronnie," Gil said as he entered the Documents lab.

Ronnie lifted his head up from his workstation. Spread out in front of him on the table were shredded documents that he had to piece back together. "Insurance fraud case."

"Mine trumps it." Handing over the first evidence envelopes, he told the tech, "This sheet was found in a box truck that could have been used to abduct Agent Collins. It hasn't been through Trace yet."

"I'll be sure to use the draft free room for processing and then get it right over to Hodges."

"This," he said as he handed over the other envelope, "is a printed sheet from my home printer. Do a comparison. I'll be back soon for the results."

He left the lab room and headed towards the Director's office. First, he'd stop by the break room and grab himself a bottle of water. He was thirsty, being out in the hot desert. Director Robinson could wait.

Sara swore she was being given the run around as she sat in the inventory management office. She'd already been to the security office. They had already gotten all the footage from the night Hannibal Lecter had been there talking to Gil. Now, she wanted to see if anything was missing. With how many visitors the hospital gets in a day, it might be impossible to find Lecter or Starling on camera from any time previous. That was unless she had a starting point.

Right then, one of the overseers of the inventory was telling her, "We use a system that tracks orders, purchases, current inventory to avoid supply losses—"

Holding up her hand, she said, "Cut me speech. I want to know if anything is missing or when the last physical inventory audit happened?"

The young man behind the desk sighed as he started typing away on the computer. He was shaking his head as he told her, "Last storage check was three weeks ago."

"Then you wouldn't know if anything's missing until the next scheduled check, which is?"

"Next week. We do one once a month. The first week of September we have one scheduled."

Sara smiled at him as she read his name plate on the desk. "Looks like we're doing one now, Austin." Austin sighed as he went to protest. "Unless you want to hinder an active investigation and delay the apprehension of a known serial killer. What will it be?"

Leaving Austin with no other choice, he got up and grabbed the key for the storage room.

Ecklie was sitting beside him in Director Robinson's office, retelling the incident that had happened in the conference room. "...and while I was reprimanding Supervisor Grissom for not attending the meeting, he grabbed me, pushed him against the wall, and then threatened my life."

"Gil," Lab Director Robinson said. "Do you have anything to say?"

He had a lot to say, but none of it pertained to this inquiry.

Lab Director James Robinson was promoted to the position after serving as AD for eight years under Robert Cavallo. Robinson started as a CSI 1 the year he joined the Las Vegas crime lab in 1991. The former linebacker out of Rutgers had always been career motivated and moved up quickly. Even surpassing Conrad Ecklie in that department. Currently Robinson was Director with Ecklie his underling.

Gil doubted that anything he said about the 'incident' would make any difference. Taking off his glasses, he rubbed at his eyes as his head started to hurt, then said, "The threat that Lecter posed to Las Vegas is over. He got what he came for, he's not sticking around to get caught. What's left now is for us to find Agent Collins and hope he's alive when we do. Everything else…" he left it unsaid.

"We can't halt an investigation based on your belief," Atwater spoke up. "You can't ask us—"

"I'm not asking. And it's not a belief, I'm telling you the facts."

"Facts," Atwater said. "Based on what? The proximity of the box truck to the border isn't definitive—"

"In order to catch the hunter, you have to know the game. I know Lecter's game. I've played it before. I am telling you, Hannibal Lecter is no longer in Las Vegas. I doubt Kevin and Starling are as well."

"We have roadblocks—"

"He's been on the lam since '90, with Starling since '01, and you honestly think that your roadblocks have kept them here?" Looking at Director of the BAU, Agent Pearsall, Gil told him, "You're wasting your resources if you limit your search—"

"If that's the case, then the FBI has jurisdiction," Atwater kept saying. "Their agent is missing. Whether we stay on the case is their call."

Pearsall regarded him as he said, "I have every bit of confidence in the LVPD and the crime lab. We'd appreciate your assistance in locating Agent Collins and apprehending Starling and Lecter. As for limiting ourselves, Doctor Grissom, with all due respect," Pearsall started to say before Gil cut him off.

"Normally when someone starts a sentence off with that, they don't mean any respect."

Pearsall stared at with such annoyance he was certain he was about to be kicked out of the room. He'd gladly leave.

It wasn't Pearsall who spoke next, but Robinson. "Grissom, we don't want to relieve you. It's up to you how this will end. Take a day."

Atwater interjected, saying, "I don't want to order you off the case either. Director Robinson's right, Gil. You need to go home."

"My home's a crime scene because Clarice Starling got inside and took Agent Collins. She took my son. Even if you ordered me off this case, I'm still going to find him, find Lecter, and there won't be a damn thing you can do to stop me." He looked right at Atwater and told him, "The last time the Sheriff kicked me off a case when the FBI was involved, they arrested the wrong guy, while me and my team found the real killer—"

Ecklie choose that moment to cut in, saying, "We're not going to get anywhere with you undermining the—"

"I'm not undermining anyone or anything."

"With what proof do you have? Like you always say, a theory is just theory unless you can prove it. Gut instinct—"

"My instinct isn't based on hypotheticals, Conrad, but real understanding and insight into the mind of the person we're after. My instinct is what caught Hannibal Lecter in the first place. I know him, how he thinks. But if it's solid proof you want, we'll get you evidence; I can guarantee you that."

Director Robinson spoke up as he told him, "We'll take all this under advisement, but as of now, you need to take a break, Gil. Cool down before you become a liability. Though you claim that you were provoked—"

"I'm not claiming anything. It's what happened—"

"—your actions towards AD Ecklie were out of line," Robinson kept saying. "No one was hurt, except for the AD's pride, which—from personal experience—does not require any medical attention," he scoffed.

Ecklie ducked his head away at the underhanded jab from the Director. If he didn't know Conrad any better, he'd think he was embarrassed.

"I don't want there to be a next time. You will take the rest of the day," Robinson told him. "Your team will be supervised by Ms. Willows until this time tomorrow. When I say a day, Gil, I mean it. Twenty-four hours. Is that understood?"

"And if I refuse?"

"Your break will be much longer than a day."

Gil let out a sigh as he shook his head in annoyance. There wasn't anything else he could do except to get up and leave. Without another word, he did just that, but he didn't go home. He went to the Documents lab to check in on the results.

Ronnie looked up from the computer screen and said, "Just the man I was wanting to see. Have a look."

Going around to the front of the computer screen, Gil saw the split images of both sheets of printer paper and the various colored dots on each. The dots couldn't be seen with the naked eye.

Behind him, Ronnie said, "Machine Identification Code, or MIC—"

"Printer steganography," he said, cutting him off. "Tracking dots. Digital watermarks that color laser printers and copiers leave on every printed page, allowing identification of the device which was used to print a document. And like fingerprints, no two printers are the same. These are a perfect match." He wanted to smile as he thought about his son. Nice going, kid.

"Confirmation that the box truck found was the one used in the abduction of Agent Collins. Hodges might have something for you by now." Ronnie was silent a moment as he printed off the results for the record. "I heard he's your son." Gil glanced up at Ronnie. "You'll find him. I've been praying for you."

He found himself smirking as he took the results. "I need all the help I can get. Thanks, Ronnie."

Leaving the Documents lab, he spotted Sheriff Atwater watching him. He didn't look happy seeing him still there. Ignoring the disapproving frown on the Sheriff's face, he went to find Hodges.

Entering the Trace lab, he didn't see Hodges anywhere. "David?" he called out to no answer. Sighing, he turned to leave when Mandy appeared in his way.

"Hodges was summoned to the principal's office. I guess he was a witness."

Gil realized what she was saying as he remembered that Hodges, Phelps, and Harlyn had seen what had happened in the conference room between him and Ecklie. "Do you have something for me?"

"Prints," she said as she handed him the evidence envelope back with the sheet of printer paper in it. Her initials were on the line along with the date, right under Ronnie's and his own. "Two sets of fingerprints were found. Kevin Collins and Clarice Starling when they were both printed for the FBI."

He stared at her in disbelief as he said, "Starling touched this? That means she found it, but left it?"

Mandy shrugged, saying, "It's blank, so, maybe she didn't think anything of it?"

Maybe, but he doubted it.

Sara walked into the crime lab and headed for Gil's office. Hopefully he was in. As she rounded the corner, she nearly collided with the Sheriff as he was walking out. Sidestepping her, Atwater raised his hands and regarded her a moment before stopping her. "Sidle, can I have a word?" She went to speak when he cut her off, saying, "It's about Grissom."

"Okay? What about Grissom?"

"He's about to get himself kicked off this case if he doesn't go home. Director Robinson ordered him a twenty-four-hour mandatory day off."

"What? Why?"

"I'm not at liberty to say. You two are friends, aren't you? I mean, he'll listen to you?"

"Yeah, sure, I mean…I can try to talk some sense into him."

"Could you? I'll be back in an hour. If he's not gone by then, it'll be an indefinite leave of absence," Atwater told her before continuing out of the lab.

Sara could not believe what she'd just heard. What was he doing? Tracking Gil down, she found him right where she hoped he'd be, which was in his office. Walking in, she shut the door behind her.

Gil glanced up at her as he was on the phone. Upon seeing her, he said into the phone, "I'll be there as soon as I can," before hanging up. "How did it go at Desert Palm?"

"You're supposed to be home."

"I'm not going home," he told her. She knew that tone and look. He was being stubborn.

"I spoke with Sheriff Atwater. He said he'll be back in an hour. You're facing indefinite leave of absence if you don't—"

Gil leaned on his desk, glanced at the folder file in her hand, as he asked again, "What did you find out, Sara?"

She leveled him with a look of her own before caving as she handed over the folder that she had in her hand. Sitting down in the chair, she told him, "Several things were missing. Two oxygen tanks, an ETT, which is an endotracheal tube and airway mask, and Isoflurane. It's a general anesthetic used to maintain anesthesia. It can cause airway irritation, so they normally don't use it to start it, and it's inhaled." She saw his face as he read over the information that she'd just told him. She could feel his pain. His fear. This was Nick in the ground all over again. "It's not your fault."

"Thanks, Sara," he said nearly dismissively. He was creating a distance. Suddenly there was a huge gulf between them. She wondered when he'd let her reach him again. "Catherine's out at Highway 372, quarter mile from the border of California west of Pahrump. You're with her. It'll take you a little over an hour to get there."

"You need—"

"I'll be gone before the Sheriff comes back. But, I'm not going home."

She understood that. His home was a crime scene. He wouldn't be able to sleep there. "You have a key to my place."

Setting the file down on his desk, he told her, "Heather's awake. I still have to get her statement."

"Gil—"

"I can always say that I'm visiting a friend," he said as if that was her only concern. "Which, I am."

When she first heard that Hannibal Lecter had attacked Heather Kessler, she felt relief that it wasn't anyone else. She actually thought 'good riddance' before immediately realizing what she'd done. It hadn't been compassion or sympathy, worry for another human being, but jealousy and bitterness. No matter how she felt about the woman, one thing was clear to her for a long time and that was Gil was her friend. If anything, even though she didn't have to like her, she couldn't hate her.

Gil stood and rounded the desk as he grabbed his jacket. "Keep me updated?"

"Yeah. Sure." She let him leave as she felt that bitterness creep up again.

She trusted him, she reminded herself. And he loved her. He loved her. If he didn't, they wouldn't be together.

She tried not to doubt that last part as she grabbed her field kit, vest, and coat before heading out of the Nevada-California border. Despite it being August and having reached a temperature of a hundred degrees today, the desert could get very cold at night.

TBC…

PS: I know that no one cares but me, but the actor in my head for Lab Director Robinson is Chi McBride. If anyone's familiar with the old TV show Boston Public, he was the principal, and he was the Captain on the Hawaii Five-O reboot.