Chapter 1

Two Months Earlier

Las Vegas

"Gil,

You know I love you. I feel I've loved you forever. Lately, I haven't been feeling very well. Truth be told, I'm tired—"

The sun was setting as the pitcher for the Las Vegas 51s stood on the mound as the batter, Joel Guzmán of the Oklahoma City Dodgers stood in the batter box, swaying the bat back and forth before bringing it up to his shoulder. Baseball fans all over the city had flocked to Cashman Field to watch this much anticipated game. Joel Guzmán was a Major League prospect for the Los Angeles Dodgers, had been named the Minor League Player of the Year in 2004, elected to the Florida State League All-Star Game, and ranked fifth-best overall prospect in all of baseball. The man was a fantastic ballplayer, one that Kevin was dying to see play live.

The minute the game went on sale, he'd gotten them tickets along the left field line. All game, Kevin kept taking stats, pointing out techniques, even calling the pitch choices before a pitch was thrown. Most of the time he was right on the money. Great game, perfect day for baseball with his son. There was a cold cup of beer in his hand as he felt the condensation on his palm.

But his mind wasn't on the game. It wasn't on his son. His eyes blurred against the perfect sunset as he heard her voice in his head as he re-read the letter that had been awaiting him in his office.

"In that dark quiet, chained and helpless, I realized something, and I haven't been able to shake it.

Since my father died, I've spent almost my entire life with ghosts—"

A ball was pitched, he heard the smack of the ball against the catcher's glove as the umpire yelled out the strike. Cheers sounded as Kevin, who was sitting next to him, leaned forward in anticipation. It was the bottom of the ninth. This was it. Game on the line. Runner on third to tie or a homerun to win it outright.

"We've been like close friends, and down there in the dungeon, it occurred to me that it was time for me to bury them. I can't do that here. I'm so sorry—"

The pitcher took a deep, calming breath before throwing out the next pitch. It went wide to the right but the batter had already committed to the swing only to miss.

The umpire called strike two as cheers and intakes of breaths and then the release before everyone was on their feet. The anticipation was too great to stay seated. Clapping resonated throughout the ballpark as everyone cheered on the pitcher. One more strike.

"No matter how hard I try to fight it off, I'm left with the feeling that…I have to go. I know where I'm going, and I know that I have to do this. If I don't, I'm afraid I'll self-destruct, and worse, you'll be there to see it happen—"

Kevin said, "Curveball. He'll get him with the curveball, just watch."

He couldn't watch as he stayed seated, eyes blurry as her words were crisp and clear in his head as if he'd written them. He felt her confusion and pain inside his own body as he felt the tears sting his eyes.

"Be safe. Know that I tried very hard to stay. Know that you are my one and only. I will miss you with every beat of my heart. Our life together was the only home I've ever really had. I wouldn't trade it for anything—"

A solid crack of a wooden bat hitting the ball. Guzmán wasn't fooled by the curveball. He'd anticipated it, sending it high up into the desert sunset as it flew the four hundred and five feet to clear the left field fence.

The Las Vegas 51s lost the game, but it had been a hell of a good game, a good fight, and the coward, though disappointed in the loss, had been ecstatic that they got to see Guzmán play. Win-win for the fans.

"I love you. I always will—"

He felt devastated. Lost. His heart, the woman who'd been his home, was gone.

"Goodbye."

As they made their way out of the ballpark, Kevin nudged him on the shoulder. Glancing over at his son, he heard him say, "You've been distracted all day. What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Uh-huh. Who won the game?"

"Dodgers. Guzmán hit the curveball."

Kevin huffed out a laugh. "No, he didn't. Curveball wasn't pitched. It was a low inside slider. Worst pitch decision ever made. Guzmán loves the low balls. He nailed it."

He frowned as he realized that Kevin had thrown him a curveball. He knew he hadn't been able to see the last pitch of the game, that he wasn't paying any attention, and was messing with him. "Huh."

"Yeah," Kevin said as he pulled off his sunglasses now that the sun was almost set. As Kevin hooked them on the front of his t-shirt his phone rang. "Son—bitch," he muttered as he pulled out the cell and flipped it open. "This is Agent Collins." Must have been his work phone.

At that very moment, his cell also started ringing. He pulled it out of his jeans pocket and saw it wasn't Jim Brass but Detective Nowlins. "Grissom," he answered.

"Sorry to bother you," was the first thing out of the Detective's mouth.

"No bother, the game just ended."

"51s?"

He almost smirked into the phone. Almost. "Yeah. What's going on?"

"Now I'm kind-of jealous you got to see Guzmán play. Maybe I should call someone else about this dead body that has all your friends buzzing and crawling around it." He heard the teasing in Nowlins voice and tried to not hate it too much. The guy didn't know that Sara had left him, had left Las Vegas, and didn't know that his heart was breaking all over again. "I asked Swings if they knew what in the hell they were doing collecting bug evidence. I got some dazed and confused looks, so thought I'd give you a call. I don't want any mistakes on this one, Grissom. It's a bad one."

"Who's the primary on scene now?"

"Yeager."

"What's the address?"

"No address needed. You know the rest area on the Anthem East hiking trail? We're right on the other side of it. The only lights and signs of life out here are coming from us."

"I'll be there as soon as I can." He closed the phone as he saw Kevin waiting by his car. They'd driven separately and parked next to each other. His phone was back in his pocket and his arms were crossed over his chest. Face stern, lips pressed, and eyes as sharp as ever.

"It's Sara."

"No, that was Detective Nowlins."

Kevin didn't smile, didn't even budge from leaning on the trunk of his car. "Dad, you can talk to me. If no one else, and let's face it, you have no one else. So…what happened with Sara?"

There had been a time when he thought he'd never hear Kevin call him 'dad' again. Now every time he heard it, it sent a warmth into his heart that was hard to ignore. It also made him want to talk to him. Kevin was his son, his family, and he owed him a relationship that entailed everything that entailed. He had to trust him as intimately as he trusted Sara. Leaning against his car beside Kevin, he told him, "She left."

"What'd you mean she left?"

Going over her words again in his head, he said, "She, uh, she's been dealing with a lot since—with what happened with Lecter—"

"Right," Kevin said so he didn't have to explain.

"I knew she had secrets. Everyone has secrets. Hers are brutal ones. She doesn't have closure." He looked out at the city lights of Las Vegas before him and said, "I know what that's like. She had to go find it. Couldn't do it here."

"Why not?"

"Her ghosts aren't here in Vegas. They're in San Francisco."

Kevin let out a breath and gave a nod. "And you just let her go?"

"She didn't invite me along, Kevin. In fact, she didn't say anything about leaving at all; left me a letter."

Kevin eyed him with concern as he asked, "It wasn't a 'Dear John' letter, was it? I mean, she'll be back, right?"

He hoped so. He had no idea. "I don't know. It sounded like a goodbye."

"Then go after her!" Kevin nearly shouted as he pushed off the car and rounded on him.

He shook his head as he told him, "I won't. I want to, but…This is personal—"

"So what?! You're her fiancé, damn it—"

"And that's why I have to let her go, Kevin. If she wanted me to come, she would have asked me. We've talked about going to visit her mother, getting closure with what happened—This was her decision. Besides, she has friends, old colleagues, to help her if she needs it."

Kevin sighed and closed his eyes. Then he shook his head, pulled out his keys, and said, "If you're going to San Francisco, you're gonna meet some gentle people there."

He smirked at the song lyric before asking, "What was the call about?"

"Possible serial. They need me to work up a profile."

"Where?"

Kevin flipped his keys around his fingers, catching it in his palm, before saying, "Here. You?"

"Dead body with insects."

Shaking his head, he told him, "Don't be eatin' any of them. Breakfast later?"

"You're buying this time," he said as he pulled out his own car keys and started for the driver's side. "Be safe. Love you."

Kevin smiled wide as he opened his car door, "You too, Pops."

He waited for Kevin to leave out of the parking spot first before following him out of the congested lot. Enroute to the crime lab to change clothes and exchange his personal vehicle for a work truck, he called the Swing Shift assistant supervisor on duty, Sean Yeager.

"Grissom!" Yeager exclaimed into the phone a little too enthusiastically. "I heard Nowlins called you. You're heading to take over my crime scene?"

"After I stop by the lab first. Listen, um, make sure the paramedics don't leave and take photographs of the corpses at two-minute intervals until I arrive."

"Already on it. Anything else?"

"No," he said before hanging up.

The only other thing he needed was to be sure that Sara was okay. He was going to give her time to get in touch with him first. If she needed this time, this space, to do what she had to do, then he'd give it to her. How could he not? He loved her.

As he turned into the parking lot of the crime lab, his cell phone rang. He pulled it out and checked the caller ID. At the name he saw, he felt relief as hope filled his heart.

It was Sara.

Meanwhile, across the city…

The bright light from the strip cutting through his blinds woke him. Grumbling into the couch cushion, Nathan Cole rolled onto his back and nearly fell to the floor. He caught himself with a startled grasp at the coffee table. Blinking against the light, he groaned against the ache it caused his head and then groaned at the pain the groaning caused. He was in bad shape and needed to pee; bad. But first and foremost, he needed a smoke.

Picking up the near empty pack on the coffee table, he took out a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth as he found the lighter under a stack of newspapers. Lighting up, he took in a long drag and let it out as he sat back, rubbed at his head and eyes, before finally pushing himself up off the couch.

He slowly padded down the hall and into the bathroom, and without bothering to shut the door, took care of business all the while smoking his first cigarette of the day. Once done, he turned on the water for a shower and let it run as he left to go into the kitchen. He prepared the coffee pot and started it before putting the cigarette out in the sink. He showered, brushed his teeth and as he ran his hand through his shirt curly hair opted not to get a haircut or shave today. Leaving the bathroom, he went into his bedroom to dress.

There were boxes lining the walls. He passed them as he crossed the room to the dresser drawer. All his clothes were neatly and meticulously folded into the four drawers. There wasn't much of anything, but what he did have was his. A few t-shirts, jeans, hoodies and boots and sneakers. He chose a pair of dark denim blue jeans and a black band t-shirt.

He had no plans other than finishing unpacking. The pot of coffee was done brewing by the time he returned to the kitchen. He filled a cup and as he took a sip thought it was the best thing ever, especially hungover and feeling like shit. Going back into the living room, he lit another cigarette, turned on the morning news, and leaned back into the couch cushion.

Peering at the wall above the television, he tried to enjoy the space but it seemed that despite the openness of the room, the walls were too close. The nightly news changed from the weather to a breaking story. A homicide at a hotel. Some brave soul jumped. Good riddance.

There was a pounding on his door. He stilled at the pounding as he knew instantly who it was on the other side. Only one type of people made that noise. It was the police. He muted the TV as he got up and headed to the door.

Pulling it open, he stared at the man standing in front of him and frowned in confusion. One cop? Not like, fifty? "Yeah?"

The man showed him a gold shield and said, "I'm Detective—We talked last night, remember?"

It took him a moment, but then the image of the cop from the night before rushed into the forefront of his mind. Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, he said, "I, uh…What's this about, again?"

"You don't remember last night?"

Not really. He'd been drinking. A lot. He shook his head as he glanced over at the detective. "What's the name?" The cop held a package in his left hand, leaving his right one free just in case he had to reach for his gun, probably. His eyes then darted around the parking lot. There were people outside. "Come in." He left the door open as he retrieved his cup from the coffee table and headed to the kitchen. "Would you like a cup of coffee, detective?"

"That'd be great," the cop told him as he stopped at the entryway to the kitchen. "When did you move in?"

"About a month ago," he told him as he took down another cup and filled it with hot coffee. "How'd you like it?"

"I'll take it black, thanks." He handed the cup to the cop before topping off his own cup. "Nearly a whole month, huh, and half of your stuff's still in boxes?"

Rubbing a hand over his head, Nathan said with a shrug, "I haven't had much time to unpack. I take things out as I go. You didn't answer my question. I don't remember your name—"

The cop held up a thick packaged envelope that'd been in his hand and handed it out for him to take. "Your wallet," he said as he tossed it down onto the counter. "Confiscated it last night. Remember that?"

"No." He put the cigarette back in his mouth as he took it while asking, "Do I need to sign—" before he could finish, the cop was pulling out a pen and piece of paper. He took both and signed for his belongings before handing them both back. "Is that it?"

"You were pretty wasted last night. I wanted to make sure you were okay, Mr. Cole, and ask if anything came to mind after we talked, but uh, guess not, huh?"

As he took a long drag of the smoke, he wanted to ask the burning question on his mind. Deciding against it, he put the cigarette out in the sink before throwing it away.

Giving a nod, the cop said, "I'm also required to offer you any services you might need."

He stared at the detective for a moment before asking, "As in...?"

"Mental health services. You did find a dead body," he told him. "You might—"

Holding up a hand, he stepped toward the cop as he told him, "I appreciate it, but it's not necessary."

After taking a bigger gulp of the coffee, he asked, "You've seen dead bodies before?"

He glanced away. He doubted that the cop hadn't had a background check run on him. He was just seeing how he answered his questions. Opting to humor him, he answered, "I saw my first dead body twenty years ago. My father was murdered." The cop kept staring at him for a long moment. "Am I a suspect?"

"No. The body you found had been dead for a while. And according to the security cameras, and your, uh, lady friend, your story holds up." He waited for the other shoe to drop. "You have to know that we ran a background check on you, given the circumstances."

"I have no doubt," he said. They once again stared at one another, feeling the tension that settled in between them.

The cop had questions and so did he, but he wasn't going to ask. Neither was he. "All right," he said with a smirk. "I guess that's it." He downed the rest of the coffee before turning to head to the door. "Oh, and good luck."

"With what?" he asked as he slowly followed behind so he could lock the door.

The cop turned to him as he gripped the doorknob. "Getting back into the swing of things. It can't be easy."

He wasn't sure if this was a genuine gesture or not, but he said his thanks anyway. "Yeah, uh, thanks," he said again as he wondered if the detective was ever going to leave him alone. From the looks of it, he highly doubted it. He was now on the detective's radar.

Once the cop was out on the walkway, tapping his pen on his hand. "Okay," he said with a smile before leaving it at that as he walked away.

He pushed the door shut and locked it as he thought how bad this was. Going back into the kitchen, he put the cup that the cop had used in the sink. Leaning back against the counter as he sipped on his own coffee, he thought about the coming changes in his life and how from here on out it was going to get a lot harder.

The world was completely different from the world he'd known for close to two decades and so far it was proving to be a lot tougher than he thought to make the transition. There had been a lot of changes, the internet for starters. He'd tried to keep up with the outside world as much as possible but it still seemed as if he was too far behind. He no longer thought he belonged.

He thought once he started working that it would get a lot better, and easier. But the work wasn't what he wanted to do. It felt stifling. Just like the air in the tiny apartment. Sitting back down in the recliner, he went back to his cigarettes, coffee, and the news.

As he stared at the screen, he realized that he'd been at that hotel earlier. He knew the victim they showed on the screen. No wonder he'd come home and gotten blackout drunk.

San Francisco

Earlier that day

The city hadn't changed much since she'd last been in San Francisco, and neither had the crime lab. Though, some changes were made in personnel, who hadn't left was her old Assistant Supervisor and now Day Shift Supervisor, Dr. Jane Snyder. Her blond hair was shorter than it was six years ago, and her wedding ring was now missing from her ring finger. Jane was on the phone, so she stood outside the office door, rubbing her own engagement ring as she was reminded of Gil in Vegas.

All her reasons for up and leaving seemed to grow into guilt and fear. Guilt for not telling Gil in person about her decision to leave. Fear that he'd be upset and angry with her to not understand her decision. She didn't regret her decision. The regret was that the feelings she'd been trying to keep at bay had overwhelmed her enough to leave as quickly as she had.

She regretted not dealing with all this sooner. Now, everything she'd kept buried, all her secrets, seemed to be threatening to destroy her present and disrail her future. She didn't want her future with Gil derailed. She wanted to marry him. She wanted a life with him, always. But she saw no future as long as she kept burying her past. As long as she kept waking up screaming from her dreams, and ignoring the truth, then there was no future.

Jane glanced up from the file she was reading over into the phone, saw her, and gasped, "Oh, my Sara. Hey, uh, Adam, let me call you back. Thanks." She hung up the phone and smiled wide as she rounded her desk. "Sara Sidle, what are you doing back in Fresno?!" she asked before giving her a hug.

She hugged her back before telling her, "Taking care of some personal business. Thought I'd stop by."

Jane regarded her, noticed the ring, and exclaimed, "And engaged!"

She glanced at her ring, saying, "Yeah. Seven months now."

"Tell me all about him? Is he handsome?"

"He's the most handsome man I know. Intelligent. He's a uh, CSI too. Entomologist."

Jane thought about that and then her eyes widened in realization. "You went after him, didn't you? Grissom. I told you—"

"I know what you told me, what everyone told me. And, you all were wrong," she said before trying to drop the subject. She really had no idea why she was there, other than to see one man in order to resolve one of her ghosts. "Speaking of men…Is he still here?"

Jane knew exactly who she was talking about as she said, "He's been away a lot. Taking jobs all over the country. Last I heard, he was out East. All I know is that he changed after you left. He sold his apartment, and uprooted his entire life."

She tried not to feel bad about all this, but she couldn't help it. She knew that she was probably partly to blame.

"Come have a drink with me? I'm off in twenty minutes."

She could use a drink. "Yeah, okay. Where—"

"The Sunken Ship's still above water, down on the pier. When's the last time you saw the sunset over the ocean?"

It'd been six years. After she agreed to meet Jane for a drink, she left the crime lab and sat in her rental car, eying the building as her mind traveled back into the past.

"That's five—"

"Six—" she corrected.

"Six, already?" he asked as he stared at the shots in front of them on the table. His eyes were getting glassy as he counted them off on his fingers. "One, two, three, four, and five—"

"We both had one when we first got here, remember?"

He stared over at her before laughing, saying, "That one doesn't count—"

"Yes, it does. It's a shot! Every shot counts—"

"Not with this game," he said as he pointed to the shots in front of them on the table. "I've had six. You've only had five—"

"Doug's right, Sara," Jane said as she stood watch with everyone else standing around the table.

She rolled her eyes, grabbed up the sixth shot glass, and downed it before placing it upside down on the table. Her battle companion, Doug Wilson, an NTSB Investigator who worked out of the San Francisco crime lab, smiled slightly as he picked up his seventh. His eyes held a glint in them that made her stomach do a backflip, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol.

Truth be told, she wanted him to kiss her. It'd been back-and-forth between them for days, weeks, now. What made it worse was that she knew that he wanted to kiss her too. The only problem was that Doug had a girlfriend. A yoga instructor, or something. She was all kinds of wrong for him, and it seemed like every time they were on the phone with one another they were fighting about something. They were one drunken kiss with another person away from a breakup.

She might as well be that drunken person.

Doug licked his lips, enticing her desire more, before downing the seventh and final shot. He swayed in the chair as he flipped the glass upside down and with a wobble, sat it on the table. Smiling proudly across the table at her, he said with a slur, "Your turn."

She didn't remember how they got to this point. A game of shots. A game that Doug had seen from a movie. A movie! And here they were, proving themselves that they could drink the other under the table. Well, she wasn't going to lose. She didn't know how to lose.

Picking up her seventh shot, she eyed the liquor inside of it as she felt the desire fill up her chest. Oh, to hell with it. She sat the glass back down, reached over the table, grabbed Doug by his stupid Holiday tie, and kissed him as hard as she could.

She heard gasps, laughter, and someone said, "I knew it!" before she ended the kiss. "You win. Take me home. You can sleep in my bed."

Doug gasped for a moment in pure shock before saying, "I'll get a taxi. Neither one of us is driving."

Thirty minutes later, she was in a different bar at a different table with Jane sitting across from her. Jane had been the one to yell out "I knew it" when she'd kissed Doug Wilson for the first time at the Rusty Nickel back in 1996. Two years before she met Gil. At the time, she thought Doug had been the one. The chemistry they had, the passion that followed that kiss, she thought she knew her future that night.

She thought she had it all planned out. She knew where she'd be in five, ten, twenty years afterwards: in his life, in his arms, and forever in his heart. That hadn't been the case. It had all fallen apart and then the gulf between them once she met Gil had nearly solidified the evitable. It was over and what she'd thought she'd known about her life was forever ever changed.

When she'd met Gil for the first time, there hadn't been lust and passion, instead it had been a deep-seated feeling that she had met her husband. It was feeling that he was her home, where Doug was not. The connection she and Gil had made over a short weekend had been more meaningful, more forging of their hearts, than the entire two years she'd had within Doug's arm. And it all came without any sex involved. It had gone deeper than that and lasted a hell of a lot longer.

Still, even now, it weighed on her mind that it could be over for her and Gil. It wasn't that she didn't love him, or had fallen out of love with him, and she knew that he still loved her and always would. It was that she wasn't right. Her head, her heart, wasn't right. That was the best she could explain what it was that had driven her away.

And that's what she was trying to tell Jane. "Like I told Gil, it's a feeling I can't shake. It's constantly there. I couldn't stay."

Jane was sipping on a frozen margarita as she said, "I've never known a man who'd be okay with his fiancee leaving him like that."

"Well, you don't know Gil. He believes in personal freedom. It's one of the reasons I love him. We're both that way. Independent and…He understands. This is what I have to do."

"My ex-husband would never. If I did that to him, he'd have thought I was cheating."

She almost laughed. She should really call Gil and let him know that she was okay. It'd only been a few days, but she knew he was worried. He was waiting on her to make the first move so as not to intrude. It was her call to make when she was ready to make it. "We don't have trust issues. We know who we are. We know we love each other."

Jane smiled as she said, "That's good. I'm happy for you."

She looked out across the bay, at the setting sun, and thought about Gil in Vegas. Was he also watching the sunset? She hoped so. It was beautiful. And she hoped he was thinking of her as he did. "Have I ever told you about my parents?"

"No," Jane suddenly seemed concerned. It must have been her tone. How her voice shook slightly. "You never mentioned your parents."

It was the same wobble in her voice that night she told Gil. Sara knew what she had to do before this went any further. It was bound to come out sooner or later, so before she could talk herself out of it, she told Jane, "When I was fourteen, my father was murdered."

"And your mother?"

"She's schizophrenic. That night…She had a psychotic break and—"

Jane eyed her over her margarita as she said, "Are you saying—"

"That my mother murdered my father? Yes, Jane, that's what I'm saying." She looked away from the sunset and stared at Jane. This was why she was there. "I came here to finally confront her about it. I haven't talked to her since. The last time I saw her, it was in court."

Jane gave a nod as she told her, "Anything I can do to help, just ask."

"There is something. I've read the court documents but unable to review the casefile or see any of the evidence. It's been so long, all of it's in evidence storage and nothing was put in the computer except for the transcript."

Jane understood what she was asking as she told her, "I'll see what I can do. It's a closed case, but I might be able to pull some strings and allow you access."

"Thank you," she said before she finally picked up the bottle of beer that was in front of her and took a sip.

They talked for a while longer before Jane had to leave. She gave her another hug outside on the pier and watched as Jane headed to her car. Leaning against the post next to the waterfront, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed his number.

With tears in her eyes, she waited for him to answer. She needed to hear his voice.

On the third ring, he answered, "Hey, darlin'."

Smiling through the tears, she said, "Hey, babe. I am so sorry—"

Before she could finish her apology, he told her, "Sara, I love you. You never have to apologize. Are you okay?"

With her eyes scanning the waterfront, the tall buildings and lights of San Francisco, she told him the truth, "No. I'm not okay. I hope I will be, one day. I'm going to visit with my mother in a few days."

"I thought so. I told you that we could go together—"

"I know you did, but…"

They were both silent for a moment, then Gil said, "Good luck. I'm always here, if you need me."

The tears broke as she told him, "I know. I love you too. Are you at work?"

"Yeah, on my way. Got called out to a scene with bugs."

"Your favorite," she said and heard him smile through the phone. "Have a good night. I'll call you later."

"Get some rest, darlin'. And take as much time as you need. I'm not going anywhere."

She knew that, but it did her heart and mind wonders to hear it. After saying their goodbyes, she got into her rental car and headed to the hotel where she was staying. She needed sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.

TBC…