"We've got squat," Brass rumbled, frustrated, throwing up his hands as he walked into the lab. "Someone better come through with something soon or I am going to go all vigilante and buy a mask and a white horse." He frowned at Greg, who looked confused. "And no one wants Jim Brass going vigilante. What have you got on our dead guy, Greg?"

The tech pulled a paper off the printer and held it out. "His shoes had traces of alfalfa and manure., horse to be exact. The chlorine watered down the sample but there was enough to get a read. And also trace amounts of Dimethyl Sulfoxide, and Phenylbutazone. Our real Adam was also working around sick horses as well as watching the pools."

"Sick horses?" Brass grunted, taking the paper from Greg and looking it over as if it would open like Aladdin's lamp and give him a genie with answers. "That's all we got is sick horses?"

"Well," Nick spoke up, striding into the lab. "If Adam has the same chemical compound as the footprint that we found where Grissom disappeared, maybe he was our kidnapper. Might explain why he took Grissom."

"How does that explain anything," Brass frowned at him. "Grissom's gone, and the guy who matches the footprint is dead."

"Ah, well see there's the rub," Catherine interrupted, entering holding up a hand.

"Turning into a party in here," Brass grumbled, shoving his hands in his jacket pocket. "What have you got, Catherine?"

"Same chemicals, but not the same guy. We ran the footprint with the shoes found on the victim in the pool and they aren't a match. The victim had size 9 feet, the print was as size 11."

"What about our imposter?"

"A bust too. Size 9 and a half."

"I might have something," Warrick announced from the hallway. He poked his head in. "I ran records looking for vets who made visits to farms in the area, and you'll never guess whose name kept popping up. A guy names Tweed Mathis. He was a bodyguard for David Meyers, our model father who is in the pen."

"Bodyguard?" Catherine repeated, her face crumpling in confusion. "Why on earth would a gambler need a bodyguard."

Warrick smirked. "There's all kinds of reasons. But the main one is that he had run up a large debt, about 19 g's. I'm sure there were some people knocking on his door."

"So this bodyguard," Bras asked, raising his eyebrows. "Does he have a place of employment?"

"Working on that now."

"Also look for shoe purchase records," Nick added. "If we can pin him as a size 11, then we can get a warrant for his house and his shoes. I will get on the address, see what I can find."

"Let's go, guys," Brass prodded. "If we can find this Tweed guy, maybe he can tell us something. Has anyone figured out the angle on why our real Adam got murdered and why he was around sick horses?"

"Not yet," Catherine replied dryly. "But I will keep digging. We also need to identify who our guy in custody really is."

"We can't hold him much longer, Catherine. We need to link him to the scene to keep him. Right now, his only crime is punching an officer when they went to pick him up for questioning. I can't hold him here for that, he will have to go down to the station. The burglary and peeping tom rap sheet belonged to our dead guy."

"Stall for just a couple hours, Brass," Warrick replied. "If I can link him to this Tweed guy, we can hold him."

"How are you going to do that?" Brass took a deep breath. "Fine. You got two hours."

"Has anyone seen Sarah?" Greg asked, glancing around the room, as Catherine and Nick started to leave.

Nick shook his head. "She was going back out to examine the pool area. I told her to take Warrick or Catherine."

"Well she obviously didn't take your advice," Catherine noted in concern. "I'm going to head out there and check on her. Let me know what you guys find out."

The moment Holly fell silent, a stab of panic ran through Grissom, flip-flopping in his stomach. Instinctively, he reached for Sara, cradling her still bloody face in his own blood smeared hands, scooting over as far as he could to cradle her against his chest, running a hand across her matted hair, trying to alleviate the strain on her limp arms chained above her head. The smell of her perfume, mixed with the iron of blood turned his stomach again and he glanced at the box of food their captor had brought, knowing it wasn't going to make it into his stomach tonight, and most likely not hers. He was also going to get her a new perfume when they got out of this mess.

"Sara," he whispered softly, rubbing a rough hand across her cheek. "Sara, honey, wake up for me, alright?"

He honestly would have preferred that she didn't, if they were not going to make it out alive. Survival always wins though, and he had to believe his team were working feverishly to find them. And he had to talk to her, see her dark eyes again, convince himself that things would be okay.

"Grissom-" Sara murmured painfully, slipping slowly out of the unconscious cocoon of ignorance, her hand drifting toward her head. "Gris-ow!"

"Shh, shh," he soothed, resting his chin gingerly on the top of her head. "Come on, wake up, darling, all the way, there you go."

Her eyes fluttered open, and the moment she registered the scene around them, she scrambled to a sitting position, a small shriek escaping her lips as the chains stopped her flight, arms still stretched tightly above her. He scrambled to his knees, cupping a hand behind her head to keep her from hitting the stall wall, and he laid a finger on her lips. The sheer terror in her dazed eyes hurt him to the core.

"Shh, shh, Sara, take a breath. I'm right here."

For a moment, she looked around, her lips parted slightly in shock and confusion, taking in the bloody straw, the chains around his wrists, and his state of half-undress. She glanced down at her own ripped pants, bloody knees, rumpled shirt, and the streaks of mud and straw that clung to the fabric.

"Grissom," she pleaded fearfully, and he knew what she was asking. He hated that he knew.

"I don't know," he said simply, one hand wandering to rest softly on her bare, scraped knee. "He brought you in unconscious, and you just now woke up. Nothing happened while you were here."

He watched her thinking for a moment, mentally examining her body to find out where the aches and pains were and what they could tell her. It was a pitiful sight, watching the trembling fear of a victim playing out on his wife's face. He had seen that expression many times, and it didn't get easier with each new occurrence. To his immense relief, she finally shook her head.

"No, he - didn't - I don't think he did. Just my head hurts, and my knees, and my arms."

He ran a hand down her jaw, gentle, wincing at the blood drying on her pale skin. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," she replied, nodding. Relief replaced the fear in her face, and she finally took a proper look at him. "Grissom, you look awful."

He thought back to the blood on his own face, exacerbated by the cuts on his wrists as he had fought desperately, wildly, to free himself from the shackles to get to Holly, and he wondered how haunted his face still looked as her screams perpetually echoed in his mind.

"He took Holly," he said simply. "I - I am not sure why he took me too. Did you guys see the note I dropped?"

Sara nodded, shifting closer to Grissom, and he put an arm around her, pulling her close to his side. "Gave it to Warrick, he took it to the lab."

"He left it on my SUV. Was a distraction, I took it off and was reading it and it gave him the element of surprise. How did he even find you?" Grissom asked worriedly, looking down at her. Her face fell slightly, and she could not meet his gaze.

"Sara?"

She took a deep breath, and her face twisted in that familiar way when she was trying to avoid his questions, and he knew she had made a mistake.

"Sara." He called her name softly, in a tone of understanding, and she looked up at him, sighing.

"I went back to the pool to investigate."

"Alone?" His disapproval was clear in his tone and she shifted uneasily against him.

"Well, you weren't there," she replied defensively, and Grissom pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily.

"I really wanted to find you," Sara finally said, her voice pained. "I didn't know where you were and it was driving me crazy. We really didn't have anyone free to go with me. I know I should have waited, but you were missing and I was so scared..."

Her voice trailed off and she turned her head to rest on his chest. He couldn't be mad at her, not when any moment might be their last.

"We will deal with that when we get back to the office," he rumbled. "Besides, he was so determined to find you I am not sure that any amount of precautions would have protected you."

"What does he want with us?"

"He wants me," Grissom replied, his lips curling in disgust. "He want's to hurt me for some reason." He didn't have the heart to tell Sara that she was leverage.

But she already knew.

"So he took me to force you to do whatever he has planned?" Sara gazed up at him with those wide, frightened eyes, and he kissed her forehead in a reassuring manner that he did not feel.

"Yeah."

"Where's Holly?"

Grissom's jaw clenched, and he shook his head. "He hauled her out of here after he left you with me. She- she's out there in the main area somewhere." He winced, and Sarah rested her head against his chest again.

"And?"

Grissom's breathing hitched, and his voice became grim and thick with emotion. "He did something to her. I - I think he raped her. She - screamed - forever, then just - stopped. She hasn't made a sound since. He left right after, hasn't been back. It's been maybe twenty minutes."

Sara said nothing, and he dropped his head to rest on hers again, squeezing his eyes shut. Maybe if he slept, he could wake up, and the terrible nightmare would stop.

He wasn't that lucky though, as at that moment the barn door slammed open. Instinctively Grissom wrapped a shackled arm around Sara and held on tight. For a moment, there was simply rustling in the straw in the room beyond, then the sound of a heavy weight being dragged as Tweed arrived at the stall again, dropping Holly at his feet.

"Make a sound and I stomp on her head," he warned, entering the stall behind them and yanking Grissom's chains, shortening them until he too was arched against the wall, arms extended above his head, several feet away from Sara.

Grissom wanted to tell the man off, growl at him, threaten him within an inch of his life, but one glance at the fear in his wife's eyes, and the limp girl lying in the hay, and he bit his tongue.

Tweed walked back into their stall, grabbing one of Holly's limp, white arms, and dragging her carelessly to the chains that hung on the other side of the stall that she had been shackled to earlier. he securely locked the metal bands around her small wrists again, heedless to her now ragged clothing and her nose that was bleeding again.

He dusted the hay off his hands once she was secure, and he turned to Grissom and Sara. "Ah, I see the little wife is awake. Don't worry about the girl. She's still alive. Killing her will be your husband's job, in the morning. You've heard of death by a thousand cuts, Mr. Grissom?"

Grissom tilted his head in understanding but didn't speak. Tweed laughed. "You can answer the question, Grissom."

"Yes, I've heard of it."

"Ah, yes, a man of your intelligence would have. You also know that it can be drawn out as long as possible by the executioner. Well, I am sure you are also familiar with the concept of a pound of flesh?"

Grissom tilted his head back a bit in what he hoped appeared as disdain and replied simply, "Yes."

"Well, good. We are on the same page then, you and I. You see, this minx was sold to me one time." He kicked at Holly, and Grissom winced at the impact. "To pay a $19,000 gambling debt. Well, I want my pound of flesh, you see. You stepped in and ruined everything with your investigation, and I had to track down my purchase all over again."

"I think you took your pound of flesh earlier," Grissom growled at Tweed. "You've done more than enough to this child. Let her and Sara go, and you and I will deal with this. Your argument is with me."

"Oh no," Tweed exclaimed, kneeling next to Holly. "You mistake both my actions and intentions, Mr. Grissom. The menial element of rape alone does not excite me. You see, the knife does."

He pulled a long slim knife from beneath his t-shirt where it had rested in his belt and he held it up in his fingers. "See, rape breaks her. Makes her fragile, pliable, like putty in my hands. What truly, genuinely, excites me is the blood."

He reached over and yanked Holly's tattered white shirt upward, revealing two very thin red, seeping lines across her torso. "Death by a thousand cuts. This merchant exacts exact change, Mr. Grissom. $19,000 is owed to me. 19,000 I will get. Starts tomorrow, Mr. Grissom I suggest you get some sleep."

"You're a -"

"I know," Tweed replied, tucking the knife back into his belt. His grimy beard twitched as he nodded at Grissom. "Oh, better go ahead and feed your wife. She's probably hungry. Don't say another word. You're right to speak has been revoked. Or little girl's head becomes a watermelon run over by a tractor, and the pound of flesh is transferred to Miss Sidle. And remember, any infraction from you, and she's completely mine. Get it? You don't want her broken, fragile, and pliable do you?"

Without waiting for an answer, Tweed relaxed both CSI's chains, giving them ample room to move around but not escape, and he left the barn, throwing a manic laugh over his shoulder.