AshleyFirst223
Pathologist
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I love the "CSICSICCSICSI".
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I love the "CSICSICCSICSI".
Sara's Secrets
- Thread starter MegBreanne
- Start date
MegBreanne
Police Officer
Chapter 10:
Nick stood there silently for a while, observing her from behind. He'd gone up to the roof, and she was there, just like Hodges said she'd be. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself as she stood at the edge of the roof, looking out at the bright lights of the Strip.
He just allowed her a few moments to herself, knowing that's what she needed. But he also knew that she needed to talk about whatever it was that was weighing her down. He believed that she would deny there was something bothering her as that is what she always did in the cases of rape. And he believed that she'd deny it again even though she'd given him some glimpses into her horrifying past recently.
Whenever she got emotionally involved, he became immediately concerned for her. True, whenever anyone on their team became emotionally involved he became concerned, but it was different with her. He felt the need to protect her. Take her in his arms and never let go. Many times before, just like now, he'd watch her from afar without her knowledge, just to make sure that she wasn't going to do anything crazy that she'd regret later.
"Hey," she said softly, not bothering to turn around.
A smile spread across his lips and he had to surpress a chuckle. Now was not the time to laugh. "Hey," he countered back, just as softly. "How'd you know I was here?"
"I always know when your near," she answered. "You might think you're being subtle, but I know this isn't the first time you've watched me."
A faint blush swept across his cheeks, but he knew that she hadn't seen it as she still hadn't turned around. Even if she had, there was a large amount of space between them, and it was nearly dark on the roof. Plus he could always blame the coolness of the November air. "I didn't know you knew . . . I'm sorry, I know that you value your privacy, but-"
"You're worried," she stopped him. She smiled. "It's kinda nice. Knowing that you care."
"I've always cared, Sar. And I always will," he tentatively started towards her, slowly closing the distance. Once he was at her side, he placed a hand at the small of her back. She turned towards him, and he saw large tears rolling down her cheeks. "Hey, hey," he said quickly, bringing his free hand up to her face to wipe away the offending drops. "It's OK."
"I want to believe you, Nick," she said, leaning into his hand that was wiping the tears away, "but I can't let myself believe something when I know it'll never be OK."
"Sara," he started tentatively, "I know these cases have always been hard for you, but if anyone can catch this guy, it's us." She forced a smile. "That always make you feel better. And then that big smile sweeps across your face. You can light up a room with that smile, you know."
"Do you know why I left San Francisco?"
He inhaled deeply. "Because of Grissom," he stated, but it was more of a question.
"No," she shook her head vehemently. "He only gave me what I needed to leave. He gave me the security of another job to go to. But I wouldn't have left if . . ."
"If what?" he asked after a long pause.
"If I hadn't been involved in this case," she admitted quietly. "When we initially made the connection to those girls in Boston," she swallowed, "my first thought was to run, Nick. And I would have. But I wanted justice. And when we'd closed the case without so much as a suspect, I felt like the walls were closing in. And I feel like that is going to happen again," she sobbed. He pulled her close. "I can feel the urge to run again."
Nick felt his throat restricting. "Please don't," he said quietly.
"I don't want too, Nick," she remained in her position, her body against his in his embrace, but she looked up. "I don't want to leave you." Her admission was so quiet that he almost hadn't heard. He was processing her words and she felt vulnerable to have said such a thing. She wasn't the type to wear her heart on her sleeve and the silence was deafening. She felt like his silence was rejection, so she quickly ammended, "I don't want to leave any of you. You guys are the closest thing to a family that I've ever had."
Nick nodded, a tear slipping down his own cheek. He was about to lean down and kiss her until she continued with admitting that she didn't want to leave the team because they were her family. So, he held her a little tighter, his heart aching. "Promise me that if you feel like running, you'll come to me."
She knew she shouldn't make that promise as it was not a promise that she felt she could keep. And the last person in the world she wanted to lie to was craddling her in his arms, making her feel safe and protected from the world. But she looked away from his eyes that were buring into her soul. She placed her ear over his heart, and held him a little tighter. "I promise," she heard herself mumble.
After a few minutes of silently holding each other, staring out at the neon lights of the Strip, he broke the silence. "Why did you feel like running when you made the connection to the girls in Boston." She suddenly stepped out of his embrace, the cool air hitting them both at the sudden loss of contact. She turned away from him. "Talk to me, Sara," he pleaded.
She heard the desperation in his voice. Once again, the tears started to flow. But this time, she couldn't mask the fact that she was crying by not looking at him. Her soft sobs betrayed her. Nick quickly stepped in front of her and craddled her face in his hands.
"Sara, you have to talk to someone about this," he said. "It's eating you alive. I can already tell and this case just started."
She sighed, knowing that he was right. "It's like this case is following me." She could see the confusion etched in his features, and continued. "When this guy started, I was at Harvard."
"Oh, Sara," he said quietly, pulling her into another hug. "It could have been you. Thank God it wasn't." He felt relieved. She fit the physical profile, and would've been in the target age range.
"I think it was me," she said softly. "I think I was the first."
Nick felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. "You? But . . . "
"Why didn't I report it?" she asked him. He nodded his head, needing to know. "I did. But there is no record of it."
"I don't understand," Nick said quietly.
"Neither do I," she laughed bitterly, before breaking eye contact with him. She studied the shirt that he was wearing, nestled beneath her finger tips. He removed himself from their hug and took her hand in his. He slowly lead them over to a bench, waiting for her to sit down before he did the same.
"It was January. And it was extremely cold. But I didn't care. I had finished everything that I could for my classes and had some most of the day off. I decided to go see a movie in the afternoon. It was pretty bad, so I left early and decided that I'd take a walk in the park near the campus. The sun was shining for the first time in weeks. I sat down on the bench that was in front of a beautiful fountain. I loved it the moment that I saw it. Sometimes I'd take my books there when the weather was warmer so I could study. The sound of the water has always been calming. Strangely, it still is."
Sara had stopped and Nick noticed a far away look in her eyes. Her hand was nestled in his, so he squeezed it gently for support. She seemed to snap out of her daze as she instantly took a deep breath.
"I don't know how long I'd been there, but I remember thinking that I needed to go because it was almost sunset. The temperature was getting colder. But the forecast was saying that the sun wouldn't be making another appearance for a while. So, I decided that I'd just enjoy it for a few more minutes. After that, everything kind of jumbles together. Someone grabbed me from behind and was dragging me into the bushes. I was fighting as best I could, but," she shook her head trying to rid herself of the images that were starting to flood her memory, "I couldn't. He was too big. No one tells you how to get away from someone who is obviously bigger and stronger when they get to you from behind. I remember he was wearing a ski mask, and he had a knife. The sunlight caught the blade. It was sharp. He pressed it against my neck and whispered something in my ear. I don't know what exactly that was. I couldn't concentrate. I remembering thinking that he was going to kill me. I could feel him on me, hurting me. The ground was cold because of the snow and ice. But I focused on the sound of the water from the fountain. Then, I remember hearing the zipper on his pants and he told me not to say a thing or he'd kill me and them. I saw a couple of teenagers near the fountain and I think I nodded my head to say that I wouldn't say a word. Then he was gone. I stayed there until the girls left because I didn't want them to get hurt."
She broke down sobbing and Nick pulled her fully against his chest, allowing her head to rest against his heart. The steady, but fast, beat was soothing to her as he stroked her hair, placing kisses on the top of her head.
"After they left the fountain, I somehow managed to get to the hospital that was a couple of blocks away. I remember the nurse who saw me. She was kind and I didn't want her to leave me. She had processed rape victims before," her voice suddenly changed. Nick noticed and was concerned because now she was disassosiating herself from the experience. "She gave me scrubs to change into because she knew that the CSIs there would need my clothes. She was with me through everything. From the time I came in, to the time I left. The only time she was told that she had to leave was when I was giving my statement to the officer. The CSIs were apparently backed up, so a member of the Boston PD would have to take my clothes and the SART findings to the lab, as well as take my statement. I didn't think much of it. He told me that someone would be contacting me to give me an update, or to ask any further questions that they might have had. He didn't even give me his card . . . "
Nick knew that this was probably a small detail in a horrible nightmare that had plagued her. From his dealings with LVPD and other officers from different jurisdictions, he knew that an officer was required to leave his details with anyone that he came in contact with in a professional capacity. And a victim of such a brutal crime was no exception.
"I went back to my dorm and locked myself in there for three days. I didn't even go to class. I called PD to get an update since no one had called. I was always put on hold, and eventually, the line would just go dead. I got so pissed off that I finally went to the station. I couldn't go beyond reception because from what the woman told me, there was no report ever filed. I knew the officers name -- Alexander Danes. But since I didn't have his card, it was of little value. I was so angry that I guess I made a scene because the Captain came out to see what the 'ruckus' was. He ushered me into the station where the police desks were. We sat down and somehow, he managed to access my personal information. Knew that my mom had killed my father, that she had a mental breakdown, that my brother had died of an overdose, that I was a Foster kid . . . . he told me that I was a screwed up kid looking for a little attention. That Officer Danes was an upstanding member of the department and I was trying to bring him down. Apparently the week before, he had received a medal of bravery or something for saving a woman from a burning building. The local papers and news outlets had been all over the story and his name was everywhere. He said that if I had a card from Officer Danes, he might take me as a more credible victim, but I didn't have that. All he could offer me was a new SART exam, but he said that the physical evidence that could help identify whom ever had done it to me, if anyone at all, was gone. At best, all they'd have was proof that it had or hadn't happened."
Nick sniffed back a few of the tears that he was now shedding. "What about the release forms from the hospital?" Every single CSI or PD member needed to sign a release form when taking anything pertaining to any case - new or old.
"Conviently, there was no record," Sara smirked. "I hoped that maybe it hadn't been checked out, so when I saw the nurse that had been with me, I asked her. She remembered me and checked, but everything was gone. She hadn't been the one to release it to the officer, and with so many nurses at a busy hospital -- it would be impossible to find out who had signed it out." Suddenly, she stood up and ran both her hands through her hair.
Nick stood up. "I'm so sorry Sara," he was very quiet. He reached out to touch her, but she flinched when his hand made contact with her back. Suddenly, he realized that with the memories that were haunting her and the fact that her attacker had come from behind, it hadn't been the smartest thing. "I'm sorry," he apologized again.
"I hate telling women that it isn't about sex, that it's about violence. I hate it because I know that it doesn't matter what its about. The fact is, it happened. And you feel . . . I felt - dirty." Sara looked into his eyes and knew that he knew what she meant. His own ordeal had been a sexual assault
"But you're not," even though his voice wavered with emotion, she knew that he meant it. But it had been the thought that she was dirty that had lead her into so many bad relationships. It had been the fact that she had been a victim without closure that had made her into the workaholic that she was. "You're beautiful," he said a little more softly. "You didn't deserve to have that happen to you. No one does." He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. "You're safe now, Sara. I will not let anything like that ever happen to you again."
"I know I don't have proof," she continued, "that this is the same guy who is raping and murdering these women, but it fits. Harvard. Science Major. Brown hair. Brown Eyes. Age. 1991. And if he really does work on a timeline like we think . . . I was attacked four days before the second victim."
"We're going to get him," he said confidently. "If it's the last thing I do, we will get him." He pulled her into his arms again. "I know that this is going to be hard for you, but you need to tell them."
"No, Nick," she said forcefully, pushing him away. "I can't."
"Sara, it could help the investigation. You should at least tell Grissom," he said.
"Please, Nick, don't say anything. I don't know anything in this case that could help. He wore a ski mask like he did with the others. We found the fibres on those victims. But I didn't see his face, and I don't have any physical evidence that links him to me. And if I told Grissom, I know he'd take me off the case. I need to do this."
"Sara, I think you need to tell him -"
"I told you, Nick," she said, her eyes pleading with him to understand.
He sighed, knowing that this was something she had to do. "Alright, Sara," he conceded, "but just know that I'm going to be watching over you. If you let this over take your life to the point where it isn't healthy, I will pull you back. Make sure you eat and sleep."
"Thank you," she smiled softly, allowing him to pull her back into his embrace.
He kissed the top of her head as he craddled her in his arms again. He silently cursed everyone who'd ever caused the beautiful woman in his arms pain. He felt her shiver against him. "Cold?"
"A little," she admitted, though she wasn't complaining if it meant standing there, alone with Nick. He was the first person that had truly made her feel safe.
"We should go inside before you get sick," he commented, upset with himself for having not grabbed a jacket to offer her. She was standing out in the cool night air in a T-shirt. He'd have offered his own jacket as warmth, but he hadn't been wearing one either.
"Just a few more minutes," she quietly pleaded, holding him a little tighter.
"I do anything for you, Sara," he dropped another kiss on her forehead. "Anything." He held her close to his body, his arms running up and down her arms and back in a feeble attempt to warm her.
She smiled into his chest. "I'd do anything for you, too, Nicky."
Nick stood there silently for a while, observing her from behind. He'd gone up to the roof, and she was there, just like Hodges said she'd be. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself as she stood at the edge of the roof, looking out at the bright lights of the Strip.
He just allowed her a few moments to herself, knowing that's what she needed. But he also knew that she needed to talk about whatever it was that was weighing her down. He believed that she would deny there was something bothering her as that is what she always did in the cases of rape. And he believed that she'd deny it again even though she'd given him some glimpses into her horrifying past recently.
Whenever she got emotionally involved, he became immediately concerned for her. True, whenever anyone on their team became emotionally involved he became concerned, but it was different with her. He felt the need to protect her. Take her in his arms and never let go. Many times before, just like now, he'd watch her from afar without her knowledge, just to make sure that she wasn't going to do anything crazy that she'd regret later.
"Hey," she said softly, not bothering to turn around.
A smile spread across his lips and he had to surpress a chuckle. Now was not the time to laugh. "Hey," he countered back, just as softly. "How'd you know I was here?"
"I always know when your near," she answered. "You might think you're being subtle, but I know this isn't the first time you've watched me."
A faint blush swept across his cheeks, but he knew that she hadn't seen it as she still hadn't turned around. Even if she had, there was a large amount of space between them, and it was nearly dark on the roof. Plus he could always blame the coolness of the November air. "I didn't know you knew . . . I'm sorry, I know that you value your privacy, but-"
"You're worried," she stopped him. She smiled. "It's kinda nice. Knowing that you care."
"I've always cared, Sar. And I always will," he tentatively started towards her, slowly closing the distance. Once he was at her side, he placed a hand at the small of her back. She turned towards him, and he saw large tears rolling down her cheeks. "Hey, hey," he said quickly, bringing his free hand up to her face to wipe away the offending drops. "It's OK."
"I want to believe you, Nick," she said, leaning into his hand that was wiping the tears away, "but I can't let myself believe something when I know it'll never be OK."
"Sara," he started tentatively, "I know these cases have always been hard for you, but if anyone can catch this guy, it's us." She forced a smile. "That always make you feel better. And then that big smile sweeps across your face. You can light up a room with that smile, you know."
"Do you know why I left San Francisco?"
He inhaled deeply. "Because of Grissom," he stated, but it was more of a question.
"No," she shook her head vehemently. "He only gave me what I needed to leave. He gave me the security of another job to go to. But I wouldn't have left if . . ."
"If what?" he asked after a long pause.
"If I hadn't been involved in this case," she admitted quietly. "When we initially made the connection to those girls in Boston," she swallowed, "my first thought was to run, Nick. And I would have. But I wanted justice. And when we'd closed the case without so much as a suspect, I felt like the walls were closing in. And I feel like that is going to happen again," she sobbed. He pulled her close. "I can feel the urge to run again."
Nick felt his throat restricting. "Please don't," he said quietly.
"I don't want too, Nick," she remained in her position, her body against his in his embrace, but she looked up. "I don't want to leave you." Her admission was so quiet that he almost hadn't heard. He was processing her words and she felt vulnerable to have said such a thing. She wasn't the type to wear her heart on her sleeve and the silence was deafening. She felt like his silence was rejection, so she quickly ammended, "I don't want to leave any of you. You guys are the closest thing to a family that I've ever had."
Nick nodded, a tear slipping down his own cheek. He was about to lean down and kiss her until she continued with admitting that she didn't want to leave the team because they were her family. So, he held her a little tighter, his heart aching. "Promise me that if you feel like running, you'll come to me."
She knew she shouldn't make that promise as it was not a promise that she felt she could keep. And the last person in the world she wanted to lie to was craddling her in his arms, making her feel safe and protected from the world. But she looked away from his eyes that were buring into her soul. She placed her ear over his heart, and held him a little tighter. "I promise," she heard herself mumble.
After a few minutes of silently holding each other, staring out at the neon lights of the Strip, he broke the silence. "Why did you feel like running when you made the connection to the girls in Boston." She suddenly stepped out of his embrace, the cool air hitting them both at the sudden loss of contact. She turned away from him. "Talk to me, Sara," he pleaded.
She heard the desperation in his voice. Once again, the tears started to flow. But this time, she couldn't mask the fact that she was crying by not looking at him. Her soft sobs betrayed her. Nick quickly stepped in front of her and craddled her face in his hands.
"Sara, you have to talk to someone about this," he said. "It's eating you alive. I can already tell and this case just started."
She sighed, knowing that he was right. "It's like this case is following me." She could see the confusion etched in his features, and continued. "When this guy started, I was at Harvard."
"Oh, Sara," he said quietly, pulling her into another hug. "It could have been you. Thank God it wasn't." He felt relieved. She fit the physical profile, and would've been in the target age range.
"I think it was me," she said softly. "I think I was the first."
Nick felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. "You? But . . . "
"Why didn't I report it?" she asked him. He nodded his head, needing to know. "I did. But there is no record of it."
"I don't understand," Nick said quietly.
"Neither do I," she laughed bitterly, before breaking eye contact with him. She studied the shirt that he was wearing, nestled beneath her finger tips. He removed himself from their hug and took her hand in his. He slowly lead them over to a bench, waiting for her to sit down before he did the same.
"It was January. And it was extremely cold. But I didn't care. I had finished everything that I could for my classes and had some most of the day off. I decided to go see a movie in the afternoon. It was pretty bad, so I left early and decided that I'd take a walk in the park near the campus. The sun was shining for the first time in weeks. I sat down on the bench that was in front of a beautiful fountain. I loved it the moment that I saw it. Sometimes I'd take my books there when the weather was warmer so I could study. The sound of the water has always been calming. Strangely, it still is."
Sara had stopped and Nick noticed a far away look in her eyes. Her hand was nestled in his, so he squeezed it gently for support. She seemed to snap out of her daze as she instantly took a deep breath.
"I don't know how long I'd been there, but I remember thinking that I needed to go because it was almost sunset. The temperature was getting colder. But the forecast was saying that the sun wouldn't be making another appearance for a while. So, I decided that I'd just enjoy it for a few more minutes. After that, everything kind of jumbles together. Someone grabbed me from behind and was dragging me into the bushes. I was fighting as best I could, but," she shook her head trying to rid herself of the images that were starting to flood her memory, "I couldn't. He was too big. No one tells you how to get away from someone who is obviously bigger and stronger when they get to you from behind. I remember he was wearing a ski mask, and he had a knife. The sunlight caught the blade. It was sharp. He pressed it against my neck and whispered something in my ear. I don't know what exactly that was. I couldn't concentrate. I remembering thinking that he was going to kill me. I could feel him on me, hurting me. The ground was cold because of the snow and ice. But I focused on the sound of the water from the fountain. Then, I remember hearing the zipper on his pants and he told me not to say a thing or he'd kill me and them. I saw a couple of teenagers near the fountain and I think I nodded my head to say that I wouldn't say a word. Then he was gone. I stayed there until the girls left because I didn't want them to get hurt."
She broke down sobbing and Nick pulled her fully against his chest, allowing her head to rest against his heart. The steady, but fast, beat was soothing to her as he stroked her hair, placing kisses on the top of her head.
"After they left the fountain, I somehow managed to get to the hospital that was a couple of blocks away. I remember the nurse who saw me. She was kind and I didn't want her to leave me. She had processed rape victims before," her voice suddenly changed. Nick noticed and was concerned because now she was disassosiating herself from the experience. "She gave me scrubs to change into because she knew that the CSIs there would need my clothes. She was with me through everything. From the time I came in, to the time I left. The only time she was told that she had to leave was when I was giving my statement to the officer. The CSIs were apparently backed up, so a member of the Boston PD would have to take my clothes and the SART findings to the lab, as well as take my statement. I didn't think much of it. He told me that someone would be contacting me to give me an update, or to ask any further questions that they might have had. He didn't even give me his card . . . "
Nick knew that this was probably a small detail in a horrible nightmare that had plagued her. From his dealings with LVPD and other officers from different jurisdictions, he knew that an officer was required to leave his details with anyone that he came in contact with in a professional capacity. And a victim of such a brutal crime was no exception.
"I went back to my dorm and locked myself in there for three days. I didn't even go to class. I called PD to get an update since no one had called. I was always put on hold, and eventually, the line would just go dead. I got so pissed off that I finally went to the station. I couldn't go beyond reception because from what the woman told me, there was no report ever filed. I knew the officers name -- Alexander Danes. But since I didn't have his card, it was of little value. I was so angry that I guess I made a scene because the Captain came out to see what the 'ruckus' was. He ushered me into the station where the police desks were. We sat down and somehow, he managed to access my personal information. Knew that my mom had killed my father, that she had a mental breakdown, that my brother had died of an overdose, that I was a Foster kid . . . . he told me that I was a screwed up kid looking for a little attention. That Officer Danes was an upstanding member of the department and I was trying to bring him down. Apparently the week before, he had received a medal of bravery or something for saving a woman from a burning building. The local papers and news outlets had been all over the story and his name was everywhere. He said that if I had a card from Officer Danes, he might take me as a more credible victim, but I didn't have that. All he could offer me was a new SART exam, but he said that the physical evidence that could help identify whom ever had done it to me, if anyone at all, was gone. At best, all they'd have was proof that it had or hadn't happened."
Nick sniffed back a few of the tears that he was now shedding. "What about the release forms from the hospital?" Every single CSI or PD member needed to sign a release form when taking anything pertaining to any case - new or old.
"Conviently, there was no record," Sara smirked. "I hoped that maybe it hadn't been checked out, so when I saw the nurse that had been with me, I asked her. She remembered me and checked, but everything was gone. She hadn't been the one to release it to the officer, and with so many nurses at a busy hospital -- it would be impossible to find out who had signed it out." Suddenly, she stood up and ran both her hands through her hair.
Nick stood up. "I'm so sorry Sara," he was very quiet. He reached out to touch her, but she flinched when his hand made contact with her back. Suddenly, he realized that with the memories that were haunting her and the fact that her attacker had come from behind, it hadn't been the smartest thing. "I'm sorry," he apologized again.
"I hate telling women that it isn't about sex, that it's about violence. I hate it because I know that it doesn't matter what its about. The fact is, it happened. And you feel . . . I felt - dirty." Sara looked into his eyes and knew that he knew what she meant. His own ordeal had been a sexual assault
"But you're not," even though his voice wavered with emotion, she knew that he meant it. But it had been the thought that she was dirty that had lead her into so many bad relationships. It had been the fact that she had been a victim without closure that had made her into the workaholic that she was. "You're beautiful," he said a little more softly. "You didn't deserve to have that happen to you. No one does." He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. "You're safe now, Sara. I will not let anything like that ever happen to you again."
"I know I don't have proof," she continued, "that this is the same guy who is raping and murdering these women, but it fits. Harvard. Science Major. Brown hair. Brown Eyes. Age. 1991. And if he really does work on a timeline like we think . . . I was attacked four days before the second victim."
"We're going to get him," he said confidently. "If it's the last thing I do, we will get him." He pulled her into his arms again. "I know that this is going to be hard for you, but you need to tell them."
"No, Nick," she said forcefully, pushing him away. "I can't."
"Sara, it could help the investigation. You should at least tell Grissom," he said.
"Please, Nick, don't say anything. I don't know anything in this case that could help. He wore a ski mask like he did with the others. We found the fibres on those victims. But I didn't see his face, and I don't have any physical evidence that links him to me. And if I told Grissom, I know he'd take me off the case. I need to do this."
"Sara, I think you need to tell him -"
"I told you, Nick," she said, her eyes pleading with him to understand.
He sighed, knowing that this was something she had to do. "Alright, Sara," he conceded, "but just know that I'm going to be watching over you. If you let this over take your life to the point where it isn't healthy, I will pull you back. Make sure you eat and sleep."
"Thank you," she smiled softly, allowing him to pull her back into his embrace.
He kissed the top of her head as he craddled her in his arms again. He silently cursed everyone who'd ever caused the beautiful woman in his arms pain. He felt her shiver against him. "Cold?"
"A little," she admitted, though she wasn't complaining if it meant standing there, alone with Nick. He was the first person that had truly made her feel safe.
"We should go inside before you get sick," he commented, upset with himself for having not grabbed a jacket to offer her. She was standing out in the cool night air in a T-shirt. He'd have offered his own jacket as warmth, but he hadn't been wearing one either.
"Just a few more minutes," she quietly pleaded, holding him a little tighter.
"I do anything for you, Sara," he dropped another kiss on her forehead. "Anything." He held her close to his body, his arms running up and down her arms and back in a feeble attempt to warm her.
She smiled into his chest. "I'd do anything for you, too, Nicky."
MegBreanne
Police Officer
Chapter 11:
Just like Sara had predicted, the guy left little evidence to go on. No leads had presented themselves and it was wearing the team down. A case like this would've had them all pulling doubles and triples, but there was no evidence, there for, no leads to follow, or objects and samples to analyze.
"Damn it!" Warrick cursed as he kicked at the dirt in the park four nights after Vanessa White had been found. The next victim, #8, was lying in the morning light. She had also been raped and murdered.
Everyone had sat at CSI head quarters earlier that night waiting with baited breath for the call to come in, knowing that since it had been four days since Vanessa had been found, and despite having warned the public that there was a serial rapist and murderer on the loose, they knew that another victim would be found.
But the call hadn't come in until nearly 8am.
This time, the body was left near a childs play area. A young family had taken their twin sons to the park and just like one child, two had not been an exception. Both kept running, keeping their parents incredibly occupied. When the mother had chased her son into the trees near the garbage cans, she'd found the body and screamed loudly. Her husband had rushed over and quickly dialed 911, as had people who lived in the houses near the park who'd heard the blood curdling scream.
Nick had seen the way Sara looked at the young womans body and had immediately offered that they take the perimeter, wanting to get her as far away from the victim as possible. Like he'd promised her, he had been keeping his eye on her and though she was deeply invested in the case, as they all were, he was concerned. As much as he'd wanted to find the culprit, they had little evidence to go on. That didn't mean that he would ever stop looking, the desire to make the man who'd hurt her so badly pay, but it was taking a long time. Not that four days was a long time. Sometimes it took weeks. But given her 'involvement' for a lack of a better word, it couldn't be over fast enough.
He'd noticed that she ate only when she had to and she was surviving on coffee and occasional naps on the break room couch. He hadn't left her alone after they clocked out after shift either. He either went with her to her place, or took her to his - worried about what she might do if she were alone. He supposed it wasn't much different than what she was doing when they were together. She had made copies of the files to study when she wasn't working, and from time to time, he saw her making charts and diagrams trying to find a common link between the victims beyond their education majors, physical attributes and locations. At times, he'd fought her to take the files away, locking them away in his wall safe so she couldn't get to them. He knew she needed to sleep and with those files sitting freely around, he knew she wouldn't even try. Not that lying awake in bed was any better, but at least she could rest her eyes and maybe in her exhaustion, sleep would claim her. The times that it did, she would wake up in a cold sweat, or would be thrashing around. He would comfort her as best he could, like she had with him after he'd been freed from the plexiglass box he considered to be his coffin.
In the four days that they'd been spending all their time together, he realized that if he continued to wake her up from her nightmares, she would fight off sleep. But a soothing voice and whispers of "shh, it's OK, I'm here, you're safe," and a gentle hand on her arm, would slowly calm her down and she would fall out of the nightmare and into a restful slumber.
Grissom poured through the womans purse and once again ruled out robbery as a possibility. Her cash and credit cards were still in the wallet, as well as a student ID card from UNLV. He continued searching through the purses contents and found Student Union fees as well as receipts from the UNLV book store where she'd purchased used copies of Science text books.
"Looks like it was a body dump," Greg said, approaching Nick and Sara who were still scouring the earth for any sign that the attacker could have been there. But with a public park, it was a nearly impossible job. "Catherine is thinking that since we released the info to the public, women became more dilegent about parks near dusk and during the night. Looks like she worked at a convient store about a mile from here," he continued.
Grissom had given Warrick the girls name and he'd called the lab, intent on getting any and all information possible. Quickly, they'd learned that the victim drove a blue '98 Civic. Catherine had spotted one sitting the parking lot of a middle school just across the road, near the back of the lot. When they'd received confirmation that it was the victims car, she and Greg had processed it. The ALS light had shown sexual activity in the back seat, possible from the rape. And a pay stub had been found in the console with the address of her work place. Dirt was also smudged between the front and passenger side seats on the side. The floor in the backseat held some specs as well.
"Warrick called the store, and apparently she had been working last night. Shift started at four, and ended at ten," he sighed. "Apparently they aren't allowed to park in the lot because the spaces are only for customers, so employees have to park elsewhere. There is a lot directly next to the store that is abandon, so most of the employees have started parking there. But there are no street lamps or cameras."
"I'm going to check it out," Sara said, removing her gloves.
Nick held Greg's attention and nodded his head in Sara's direction, indicating he'd go with her.
"We're heading back to the lab in a few minutes," Greg stated. "Catherine already took some of the samples from the backseat in to have Mia analyze them, and Doc has apparently received the body and is starting the autopsy. Should have a post mortem SAE kit to Mia soon, too."
Quickly, the CSIs finished packing their kits back up and headed towards where the rest of the team had assembled, the young girls body long since having been removed. They motioned toward the silver Denali that they'd arrived in signalling that they were on their way out.
Upon arriving at the store, Sara and Nick spoke to the young woman behind the counter. She'd just taken over for another young woman who'd worked through the night. The girl before her had been there victim.
"Such a nice girl," Marilyn said quietly, sad that her co-worker had succumbed to such a horrible fate. "Heard about the guy being on the loose too. We've all been watching one anothers backs as best we can. Sometimes though, we just have to take our chances and hope for the best."
"What do you mean?" Sara asked.
"Mr. Parker didn't believe in letting his employees park in the parking lot," she motioned to the cement grounds outside of the convient store that was well lit up in the morning light. "At night, it's not so scary because we can see all around us. But he still wouldn't let anyone of us park in the lot after dark. We continually asked him. One of the girls who worked here thought it was a stupid rule. Mr. Parker is never here after four in the afternoon anyway, so she decided to move her car into the lit area. Well, that day he came back, saw her car and fired her on the spot. Said she didn't listen to his request. Insubordination or something. Maybe it saved her life. She was supposed to be the one working last night, not Mary."
Mary Bishop. The eighth victim.
The girl looked up at the photos that lined the wall above the cash register. Mary Bishop's photo was prominently hanging there the worlds "Employee of the Month" etched into a plaque. "This here," Marilyn continued, "is Annie. The one who was fired. She's pretty shaken up. She's room mates with my best friend at UNLV." Annie was a red head. Doubtful that she would've been a victim.
"Have you seen anyone hanging around here the past few days?" Nick asked. "Anyone at all?"
"Loitering isn't permitted," Marilyn said quietly.
"I'm not going to tell Mr. Parker," he said. The girl didn't look completely convinced. "Marilyn, if you saw anyone, anyone at all, it might help us find whoever it is that did this to Mary. And to the other girls."
The girl sighed. "There was this guy," she said. "Mary and I had been working together. After she left, he was gone. But while he was here, I saw him at the payphone. It didn't really look like he was talking to anyone. Just kinda held it up to his ear." She shrugged. "I saw him looking inside a few times, but that isn't exactly uncommon. He was here the entire time that Mary was, though."
"Are there any cameras outside?" Sara asked.
"No," she shook her blond curls. "We only have cameras inside," she pointed to a number of black orbs on the ceiling. "We watch them from the monitors here," she motioned to the small TV on the counter. "They are recorded though. Fancy little DVR system or something," she shrugged. "Mr. Parker always had the latest in security 'cause he didn't like feeling like his business wasn't safe," she rolled her eyes and her voice took on a bitter tone. "So what if you're workers aren't safe?" she tacked on.
"We're going to need to see those tapes," Nick nodded his head, understanding why the girl was upset. She'd lost a co-worker to a brutal crime and it very well could've been prevented had the owner of the store allowed the clerks to park their personal vehicles in a well lit area.
"Mr. Parker won't let you take them without a warrant," the girl answered. Sara sighed, and Nick pinched the bridge of his nose. Valuable time was being wasted. "But that prick isn't here, now is he?" she smiled sweetly, pulling out a key to the office.
"What've you found?" Nick asked as he and Sara entered the break room, each grabbing a quick cup of coffee and a donut from the box on the table.
"Her car was broken into. The lock on the drivers door was opened from the outside. Probably how the attacker got in. Figure he hid in the back of the car and waited until the girl got off shift," Brass answered, swallowing some of the cream filled donut.
"The prelim on the tox report shows chloriform. Probably passed out immediately which is why no one heard a commotion. After she passed out in the drivers seat, he probably slid her into the back before climbing up front and driving away. Somewhere between there and the park, he raped her and killed her. Good news is she probably never woke up. TOD is estimated at 1 am, three hours after she left work."
"What about you?" Catherine asked, rubbing her eyes. She was frustrated. Between the case, the hours and her arguments with Lindsay being at an all time high, all she wanted was to curl up in bed, throw the covers over her head and not come out until Christmas.
"Got the tapes," Nick smirked.
"Parker said he'd never give them up," Brass said, popping another bite of donut into his mouth. "We put in for a warrant."
"Girl at the counter this morning is pretty pissed at the guy. He sounds like a real winner," Sara shrugged. "She gave them to us voluntarily."
"She knows she'll probably get fired for this, right?" Catherine asked.
"It's what she's counting on," Nick answered. "If she gets canned, she's going to collect unemployment insurance."
"Where's Warrick and Greg?" Sara asked.
"Here we are my darling," Greg winked. Sara smirked and rolled her eyes.
"We just finished the door to doors," Warrick chimed in, collapsing in the a chair.
"My tootsies hurt," Greg pouted as he fell onto the break room couch. The room laughed a little at Greg's choice of words. Apparently they hadn't all been heading back to the lab like Greg had said earlier. Grissom decided that he and Warrick would do door to door questioning immediately. No time to waste.
"Anything?" Grissom asked the two, peering over his glasses.
"Nothing even remotely close to anything usable," Warrick's eyes were downcast. "There was an older eighties model chevy pick up. Not a truck anyone recalled having seen before. Everyone who mentioned the truck mentioned about having new neighbors and assuming the vehicle belonged to them or a friend who was helping them move in, so they didn't think much of it. Most of the people on that street who'd seen the truck are young families and went to bed before midnight, and when they woke up this morning, the truck was gone. The park is only a couple of blocks to the east of that street though. So, he probably had a game plan."
"Maybe he was checking out the park earlier in the day, deciding where to drop the body," Grissom said. "We did find dirt in the victims car."
Sara's pager started to buzz so she pulled it off of her belt. She turned to Nick. "It's Archie."
The two made there way to the A/V lab quickly.
"Sorry, guys," the tech said quietly. "I've gone over all the time codes that overlap when Mary and Marilyn were working together that day, and I'm just not getting anything. I can see someone standing over here," he pointed to the screen where a torso was present near the window at the payphone, "but I can't see his face at any point."
"It might not be a total loss," Nick said, leaning in a little closer. "Is that a sunglasses stand?"
Archie nodded smiling, "reflection in the mirror. Sorry I didn't catch that earlier."
"It's OK, man," Nick clapped Archie's shoulder and then leaned back on his heels. His hand quickly found Sara's and gave it a quick, reassuring squeeze. She glanced at him quickly, in appreciation. She was nervous. What if it really is the same guy? What if, by some miracle, some little detail that she'd surpressed came back from her own attack and she could ID the guy? She was terrified at the idea of coming face to face with him, but excited that maybe she, and the other victims, would get their justice.
"Just enhance this," Archie mumbled trying to make the frame a little clearer. "Well, it's the best I can do," he informed them.
"It's the best lead we have so far," Sara smiled gratefully at him. She grabbed the print off from the laser printer next to the door. "We'd better go show the others."
"I'll get this picture out there," Brass informed the group. "At the moment, we can't exactly call him a suspect, so try not to get your hopes up, alright?"
The group of people nodded their heads in understanding. The best Brass could do was release the picture, which was still grainy, to the local TV stations and send the picture to the newspapers to get it printed for the next issue coming out in the morning. At best, all they could say is that they were looking for this man who may have information about am on going investigation. Those public pleas rarely did anything in their favor, but every now and again, someone who paid close enough attention to TV and newspapers was able to make a connection . . . but even those, most of them ended up being a mistaken case of identity.
"Well," Grissom said, standing up, "I think we should call it a day. If something comes up, Brass will call me, and I'll contact you all, but until then, go home and get some sleep." And with out anything further, he walked out of the room and closed the door to his office behind him.
Just like Sara had predicted, the guy left little evidence to go on. No leads had presented themselves and it was wearing the team down. A case like this would've had them all pulling doubles and triples, but there was no evidence, there for, no leads to follow, or objects and samples to analyze.
"Damn it!" Warrick cursed as he kicked at the dirt in the park four nights after Vanessa White had been found. The next victim, #8, was lying in the morning light. She had also been raped and murdered.
Everyone had sat at CSI head quarters earlier that night waiting with baited breath for the call to come in, knowing that since it had been four days since Vanessa had been found, and despite having warned the public that there was a serial rapist and murderer on the loose, they knew that another victim would be found.
But the call hadn't come in until nearly 8am.
This time, the body was left near a childs play area. A young family had taken their twin sons to the park and just like one child, two had not been an exception. Both kept running, keeping their parents incredibly occupied. When the mother had chased her son into the trees near the garbage cans, she'd found the body and screamed loudly. Her husband had rushed over and quickly dialed 911, as had people who lived in the houses near the park who'd heard the blood curdling scream.
Nick had seen the way Sara looked at the young womans body and had immediately offered that they take the perimeter, wanting to get her as far away from the victim as possible. Like he'd promised her, he had been keeping his eye on her and though she was deeply invested in the case, as they all were, he was concerned. As much as he'd wanted to find the culprit, they had little evidence to go on. That didn't mean that he would ever stop looking, the desire to make the man who'd hurt her so badly pay, but it was taking a long time. Not that four days was a long time. Sometimes it took weeks. But given her 'involvement' for a lack of a better word, it couldn't be over fast enough.
He'd noticed that she ate only when she had to and she was surviving on coffee and occasional naps on the break room couch. He hadn't left her alone after they clocked out after shift either. He either went with her to her place, or took her to his - worried about what she might do if she were alone. He supposed it wasn't much different than what she was doing when they were together. She had made copies of the files to study when she wasn't working, and from time to time, he saw her making charts and diagrams trying to find a common link between the victims beyond their education majors, physical attributes and locations. At times, he'd fought her to take the files away, locking them away in his wall safe so she couldn't get to them. He knew she needed to sleep and with those files sitting freely around, he knew she wouldn't even try. Not that lying awake in bed was any better, but at least she could rest her eyes and maybe in her exhaustion, sleep would claim her. The times that it did, she would wake up in a cold sweat, or would be thrashing around. He would comfort her as best he could, like she had with him after he'd been freed from the plexiglass box he considered to be his coffin.
In the four days that they'd been spending all their time together, he realized that if he continued to wake her up from her nightmares, she would fight off sleep. But a soothing voice and whispers of "shh, it's OK, I'm here, you're safe," and a gentle hand on her arm, would slowly calm her down and she would fall out of the nightmare and into a restful slumber.
Grissom poured through the womans purse and once again ruled out robbery as a possibility. Her cash and credit cards were still in the wallet, as well as a student ID card from UNLV. He continued searching through the purses contents and found Student Union fees as well as receipts from the UNLV book store where she'd purchased used copies of Science text books.
"Looks like it was a body dump," Greg said, approaching Nick and Sara who were still scouring the earth for any sign that the attacker could have been there. But with a public park, it was a nearly impossible job. "Catherine is thinking that since we released the info to the public, women became more dilegent about parks near dusk and during the night. Looks like she worked at a convient store about a mile from here," he continued.
Grissom had given Warrick the girls name and he'd called the lab, intent on getting any and all information possible. Quickly, they'd learned that the victim drove a blue '98 Civic. Catherine had spotted one sitting the parking lot of a middle school just across the road, near the back of the lot. When they'd received confirmation that it was the victims car, she and Greg had processed it. The ALS light had shown sexual activity in the back seat, possible from the rape. And a pay stub had been found in the console with the address of her work place. Dirt was also smudged between the front and passenger side seats on the side. The floor in the backseat held some specs as well.
"Warrick called the store, and apparently she had been working last night. Shift started at four, and ended at ten," he sighed. "Apparently they aren't allowed to park in the lot because the spaces are only for customers, so employees have to park elsewhere. There is a lot directly next to the store that is abandon, so most of the employees have started parking there. But there are no street lamps or cameras."
"I'm going to check it out," Sara said, removing her gloves.
Nick held Greg's attention and nodded his head in Sara's direction, indicating he'd go with her.
"We're heading back to the lab in a few minutes," Greg stated. "Catherine already took some of the samples from the backseat in to have Mia analyze them, and Doc has apparently received the body and is starting the autopsy. Should have a post mortem SAE kit to Mia soon, too."
Quickly, the CSIs finished packing their kits back up and headed towards where the rest of the team had assembled, the young girls body long since having been removed. They motioned toward the silver Denali that they'd arrived in signalling that they were on their way out.
Upon arriving at the store, Sara and Nick spoke to the young woman behind the counter. She'd just taken over for another young woman who'd worked through the night. The girl before her had been there victim.
"Such a nice girl," Marilyn said quietly, sad that her co-worker had succumbed to such a horrible fate. "Heard about the guy being on the loose too. We've all been watching one anothers backs as best we can. Sometimes though, we just have to take our chances and hope for the best."
"What do you mean?" Sara asked.
"Mr. Parker didn't believe in letting his employees park in the parking lot," she motioned to the cement grounds outside of the convient store that was well lit up in the morning light. "At night, it's not so scary because we can see all around us. But he still wouldn't let anyone of us park in the lot after dark. We continually asked him. One of the girls who worked here thought it was a stupid rule. Mr. Parker is never here after four in the afternoon anyway, so she decided to move her car into the lit area. Well, that day he came back, saw her car and fired her on the spot. Said she didn't listen to his request. Insubordination or something. Maybe it saved her life. She was supposed to be the one working last night, not Mary."
Mary Bishop. The eighth victim.
The girl looked up at the photos that lined the wall above the cash register. Mary Bishop's photo was prominently hanging there the worlds "Employee of the Month" etched into a plaque. "This here," Marilyn continued, "is Annie. The one who was fired. She's pretty shaken up. She's room mates with my best friend at UNLV." Annie was a red head. Doubtful that she would've been a victim.
"Have you seen anyone hanging around here the past few days?" Nick asked. "Anyone at all?"
"Loitering isn't permitted," Marilyn said quietly.
"I'm not going to tell Mr. Parker," he said. The girl didn't look completely convinced. "Marilyn, if you saw anyone, anyone at all, it might help us find whoever it is that did this to Mary. And to the other girls."
The girl sighed. "There was this guy," she said. "Mary and I had been working together. After she left, he was gone. But while he was here, I saw him at the payphone. It didn't really look like he was talking to anyone. Just kinda held it up to his ear." She shrugged. "I saw him looking inside a few times, but that isn't exactly uncommon. He was here the entire time that Mary was, though."
"Are there any cameras outside?" Sara asked.
"No," she shook her blond curls. "We only have cameras inside," she pointed to a number of black orbs on the ceiling. "We watch them from the monitors here," she motioned to the small TV on the counter. "They are recorded though. Fancy little DVR system or something," she shrugged. "Mr. Parker always had the latest in security 'cause he didn't like feeling like his business wasn't safe," she rolled her eyes and her voice took on a bitter tone. "So what if you're workers aren't safe?" she tacked on.
"We're going to need to see those tapes," Nick nodded his head, understanding why the girl was upset. She'd lost a co-worker to a brutal crime and it very well could've been prevented had the owner of the store allowed the clerks to park their personal vehicles in a well lit area.
"Mr. Parker won't let you take them without a warrant," the girl answered. Sara sighed, and Nick pinched the bridge of his nose. Valuable time was being wasted. "But that prick isn't here, now is he?" she smiled sweetly, pulling out a key to the office.
"What've you found?" Nick asked as he and Sara entered the break room, each grabbing a quick cup of coffee and a donut from the box on the table.
"Her car was broken into. The lock on the drivers door was opened from the outside. Probably how the attacker got in. Figure he hid in the back of the car and waited until the girl got off shift," Brass answered, swallowing some of the cream filled donut.
"The prelim on the tox report shows chloriform. Probably passed out immediately which is why no one heard a commotion. After she passed out in the drivers seat, he probably slid her into the back before climbing up front and driving away. Somewhere between there and the park, he raped her and killed her. Good news is she probably never woke up. TOD is estimated at 1 am, three hours after she left work."
"What about you?" Catherine asked, rubbing her eyes. She was frustrated. Between the case, the hours and her arguments with Lindsay being at an all time high, all she wanted was to curl up in bed, throw the covers over her head and not come out until Christmas.
"Got the tapes," Nick smirked.
"Parker said he'd never give them up," Brass said, popping another bite of donut into his mouth. "We put in for a warrant."
"Girl at the counter this morning is pretty pissed at the guy. He sounds like a real winner," Sara shrugged. "She gave them to us voluntarily."
"She knows she'll probably get fired for this, right?" Catherine asked.
"It's what she's counting on," Nick answered. "If she gets canned, she's going to collect unemployment insurance."
"Where's Warrick and Greg?" Sara asked.
"Here we are my darling," Greg winked. Sara smirked and rolled her eyes.
"We just finished the door to doors," Warrick chimed in, collapsing in the a chair.
"My tootsies hurt," Greg pouted as he fell onto the break room couch. The room laughed a little at Greg's choice of words. Apparently they hadn't all been heading back to the lab like Greg had said earlier. Grissom decided that he and Warrick would do door to door questioning immediately. No time to waste.
"Anything?" Grissom asked the two, peering over his glasses.
"Nothing even remotely close to anything usable," Warrick's eyes were downcast. "There was an older eighties model chevy pick up. Not a truck anyone recalled having seen before. Everyone who mentioned the truck mentioned about having new neighbors and assuming the vehicle belonged to them or a friend who was helping them move in, so they didn't think much of it. Most of the people on that street who'd seen the truck are young families and went to bed before midnight, and when they woke up this morning, the truck was gone. The park is only a couple of blocks to the east of that street though. So, he probably had a game plan."
"Maybe he was checking out the park earlier in the day, deciding where to drop the body," Grissom said. "We did find dirt in the victims car."
Sara's pager started to buzz so she pulled it off of her belt. She turned to Nick. "It's Archie."
The two made there way to the A/V lab quickly.
"Sorry, guys," the tech said quietly. "I've gone over all the time codes that overlap when Mary and Marilyn were working together that day, and I'm just not getting anything. I can see someone standing over here," he pointed to the screen where a torso was present near the window at the payphone, "but I can't see his face at any point."
"It might not be a total loss," Nick said, leaning in a little closer. "Is that a sunglasses stand?"
Archie nodded smiling, "reflection in the mirror. Sorry I didn't catch that earlier."
"It's OK, man," Nick clapped Archie's shoulder and then leaned back on his heels. His hand quickly found Sara's and gave it a quick, reassuring squeeze. She glanced at him quickly, in appreciation. She was nervous. What if it really is the same guy? What if, by some miracle, some little detail that she'd surpressed came back from her own attack and she could ID the guy? She was terrified at the idea of coming face to face with him, but excited that maybe she, and the other victims, would get their justice.
"Just enhance this," Archie mumbled trying to make the frame a little clearer. "Well, it's the best I can do," he informed them.
"It's the best lead we have so far," Sara smiled gratefully at him. She grabbed the print off from the laser printer next to the door. "We'd better go show the others."
"I'll get this picture out there," Brass informed the group. "At the moment, we can't exactly call him a suspect, so try not to get your hopes up, alright?"
The group of people nodded their heads in understanding. The best Brass could do was release the picture, which was still grainy, to the local TV stations and send the picture to the newspapers to get it printed for the next issue coming out in the morning. At best, all they could say is that they were looking for this man who may have information about am on going investigation. Those public pleas rarely did anything in their favor, but every now and again, someone who paid close enough attention to TV and newspapers was able to make a connection . . . but even those, most of them ended up being a mistaken case of identity.
"Well," Grissom said, standing up, "I think we should call it a day. If something comes up, Brass will call me, and I'll contact you all, but until then, go home and get some sleep." And with out anything further, he walked out of the room and closed the door to his office behind him.
MegBreanne
Police Officer
Chapter 12:
The picture that had been released did nothing but create false leads. Most of them were flat out hoaxes, while others were cases of mistaken identity.
It was nearly Thanksgiving now, and weeks had passed since the seventh and eighth victims were found. Number nine was either hidden well, or hadn't happened. Everyone was hoping that it hadn't happened, but were quite upset about the possibility that this serial killer had once again gone underground and wouldn't resurface for eight years.
The pattern had been broken though. The eighth victim had been drugged at a separate location, and the body relocated. And if number nine hadn't happened, then the timeline was broken. The question that was nagging on both Sara and Nick's minds, as well as the rest of the teams, was why?
With no new evidence, only new victims, the trail had once again grown cold and the CSIs were told by Ecklie to move on. The case, by law, couldn't be closed and labeled a cold case until at least six months had passed, but they were the number two lab in the country for a reason. It was time to move on. If a new lead presented itself, he assured them that they would be the team on the job, but until then, their hands were tied.
Nick and Sara had continued to pour over the case files in their spare time. She had insisted that he didn't need to involve himself in her drama because she even felt like it was pointless. Just a way to torture herself, she'd joked. But Nick refused to let her do it alone.
He'd promised her that if it was the last thing he did, he would make sure the person was brought to justice. As a result, they continued to spend their waking hours outside of the lab together. The only exception was that there were no more platonic sleep overs. Those had stopped immediately following Ecklie's decision to have the team move on. It wasn't something that either Nick or Sara had discussed, but it seemed appropriate to no longer spend the night at the others house. And it was far to uncomfortable of a conversation to have . . . And though neither would admit it to the other, or to their friends, they missed it. Waking up the others company, getting ready for work together, having to split their bathrooms, playfully fighting over the sink when they wanted to brush their teeth. They had even taken up cooking together while not at the lab. That was something that hadn't fallen through the cracks, though.
They still worked harmoniously together, side stepping the others movements in their modest kitchens, handing the other an ingredient they were sure to need before it was even asked for. And laundry . . . that was a task that Nick hated the most. Something about having to sort the clothes, then remove them from the washer and place them in the dryer . . . then to have to fold the damn things. Though it wasn't much, it was a task that he hated. A task that he felt went on forever. But with Sara there, carrying on a conversation with him, helping him with the laundry and even folding, it hadn't seemed so bad. Actually, he'd even pitched in with helping her with own laundry when he was at her home.
A number of times, they'd laughed over the fact that a few of their clothing items had ended up in the others washer and dryer. Having spent so much time together, a few of their personal belongings had made their way into the others home. And it always seemed to fit. It wasn't forced. It was natural.
Again, it was a slow night at the lab. The grave shift, plus Wendy, Archie and Hodges all took in the silent company of one another in the break room. The TV droned on in the background with some cheesy movie.
Two Days Earlier
"I've always wanted to make pie," Sara admitted one night after she and Nick had put away the dinner dishes. She saw the look on his face. "I've made pie before. What I meant was, I've always wanted to make pie from scratch. You know, the pastry and all."
"Seriously? You've never made pastry?" He asked, cocking his head to the side as he wiped down the counter with a rag and some bleach water.
"I've tried, but I always manage to screw it up pretty badly," she smirked. "I'm not a chef, but I can find my way around the kitchen easily. Pastry is just one of those things that alludes me though. I generally end up buying the premade pastry from the grocery store, but by the time I open up the box, the shell is split in half. Do you know how difficult it is to eat a pie with a cracked crust? You can't get a nice looking piece of the whole damn thing!"
He laughed. "Well, you're in luck," he reached up, pulling down a cook book from his cupboard. "My mom swears by this recipe." He scanned the index at the back then flipped to the appropriate page. "Ha! Here it is. Never Fail Pastry."
"Have you made it before?" she asked him, scanning over the ingredients. He handed her the book and their fingers touched, a shock going through both of them. He stood closely behind her, continuing to scan the ingredients himself.
"I think I have all the ingredients," he said softly, his breath tickling her neck. "Ah," her question registered in his mind, "no, I haven't. I end up buying the premade stuff too. Not because I don't like home made stuff, but it's just me. It's not exactly fun going to so much work when I'm the only one enjoying it."
"Yeah, I know what you mean," she nodded. "That's why I have so many take out menus. What's the fun in cooking for one?"
"Yeah," he looked into her eyes as they both came to the realization that since the case had started, and they were spending all they're free time with one another, they'd been cooking. No take out had been ordered, no meals had been brought back. They'd even done the grocery shopping together.
Nick leaned in and glanced from her mouth to her eyes and back again, trying to gauge her reaction. He felt a knot in his stomach when he realised that she was leaning in as well, their lips just inches apart . . . and moving closer . . .
HONK a noise fom the street in font of Nick's home interrupted them. The sound of a loud muffler continued to rumble down the street. Obviously a neighbor had had company and they were bidding one another a final farewell for the evening.
The two jumped apart, shocked at the sudden intrusion of noise. The moment was broken.
"So, ah," she fumbled with her words, looking helplessly at her hands. She was terrified that if she looked up, he'd see how flustered she was. And maybe, just maybe, that he hadn't wanted to kiss her at all. That it had all been in her imagination.
"Do you want to, ah -" he fumbled with his words, not able to string a sentence together. He pointed at the book with one hand, while his other nervously scratched the back of his head. "You want to give that a shot? I think I have all the ingredients."
Sara glanced between the cookbook and Nick, then over to the stack of files with the case notes. "Yeah, sure. What kind of pie should we make?"
He shrugged. "Apple? Maybe Pumpkin? Something seasonal, I suppose," he smiled, relieved that she wasn't awkward about what had almost just happened. "We don't have to decide today. We can make the pastry and then let it sit over night. I think mom mentioned to let it sit in the fridge over night for the best results." He pulled out the ingredients as Sara pulled out the mixing bowls. "What kind of pie would you like to make?"
"I'm thinking Pumpkin," she smiled wide. "Its been a long time since I've had some. Fresh whipping cream to top it off."
"And a scoop of vanilla ice cream," he agreed. Of course, vanilla ice cream one the side of any pie would work.
Sara unrolled the crease of the flour bag before opening the sack up. A poof of white air greeted her as she giggled. "Why the hell does that always happen to me?" she turned to Nick who slowly turned around to see what she was giggling about. He let out a laugh.
"Attack of the flour," he smirked. He motioned to her cheek, "you've got some right . . ." he motioned to the side of her face, just under her eye.
"Did I get it?" she asked, using the back of her hand.
"You've got some more, right here," he motioned again, but she missed. He shook his head and she tried again, waiting for an answer. "Here, let me," he took a step forward and tentatively reached out and brushed the small white particles away from her creamy skin.
"Is it gone?" she asked quietly, his body so close to hers. It was effecting her.. His hands were undoubtedly soft. She hadn't imagined any mans hands to be so delicate, but she assumed that it was just a part of Nick's gentle demeanor. Her tongue peaked out from between her lips, wetting them. She could only imagine that his hands could be rough at just the right times, too. The thought, along with Nick's thumbs running gentle circles on her skin was exciting her a little too much and she fought to stiffle a groan, only managing by biting her bottom lip between her teeth. She silently chastised herself, telling herself to keep her hormones in check.
"Almost," he smiled, though he knew he was lying. The flour was all wiped away from her beautiful features, but he knew what Sara was feeling, as he was feeling it too. She was incredibly easy to read, and he just didn't want to stop touching her. It was innocent, but the idea of pulling away was just not appealing. How could he when he had the most incredible, beautiful woman standing in front of him, in his kitchen? He fought hard to stiffle his own groan when her tongue darted out, wetting her lips, and again when she bit her bottom lip. Didn't she know that all that did was make him want to nip at her lip in a loving gesture?
Finally, she worked up the courage to look him in the eye. She could get lost in the pools of chocolate that reflected back at her.
His fingers stopped rubbing their soft, deliberate circles across her cheeks. They slid down to her shoulders, one hand snaking it's way to the back of her neck, playing at the soft silky strands of her hair, while the other traveled down her arm and settled at her hip.
One of her own hands found his as it sat on her hip and she mirrored his movements by placing that hand on his hip. Slowly, her other other hand came to rest on top of his heart, feeling the steady, but fast, beat.
Neither knew who did what after that, but their lips met in a slow, soft kiss. Both were stunned as they pulled back a few moments later, slowly opening their eyes.
"What took you so long?" Sara smirked as she brought her lips back to Nick's for a second kiss. It was still slow and soft, exploring the contours of each others mouths. But it was more passionate as they slowly opened their lips to the other, their tongues meeting for the first electrifying moment, dueling for control.
"I could ask you the same thing," Nick smirked as the need for air over whelmed them and they pulled apart, breathless.
The pastry was forgotten about as the two made their way to the living room couch, wanting nothing more than to explore the others touch. Still tentative when they leaned in for a kiss, they remained slow and torturous at first, both wanting and needing to show the other how much they cared. By the end of the night, both were more confident that they were where they were meant to be and that the other had no doubts. Soon, they were claiming the others lips in fervent attempts to show just how much they'd wanted this. Just soaking in the feelings of overwhelming bliss.
Though nothing more than kissing had taken place, they'd reached a new point in their relationship. And neither could've been happier.
End Flashback
Nick was hurled back into reality by the sound of Sara's muffled cries of agony from her sleep. She's taken over the break room couch, stretching out. No one had said anything when she declined the offer of coffee, though everyone knew it was unlike her.
"Sara!" Greg called out, in an attempt to wake the brunette from where he sat.
"Shut up, man," Nick snapped as he removed himself from his chair and towards where Sara lay with an arm covering her eyes in an attempt to block out the lights of the room. He knew that she was still having difficulties sleeping. The bags under her eyes told him so, and she did nothing to try and hide her exhaustion when he was around. She knew that he'd see straight through her facade.
Catherine and Warrick watched in curiousity as Nick gently touched her arm, whispering something to her quietly. No one else was able to hear, but it was obvious that Sara hadn't woken up but was calming down from whatever was plaguing her.
Catherine saw Nick's eyes suddenly go wide and was immediately alarmed. "What's wrong, Nicky?"
"She's burning up," he answered, gently stroking the hair away from her forehead. It was matted in a thin layer of sweat.
Doc Robbins, who'd had a quiet night in the morgue had been sitting the corner quietly sipping his Tea when he heard Nick. He stood up and walked over to where Nick was standing and placed a hand on the CSIs forehead.
"You're right," he shook his head. "Definitely running a fever."
"Sara," he called out quietly, waking the beautiful woman from her trouble slumber. "Sweetie, wake up."
She grumbled something that he couldn't quite make out, but he knew that was just how she woke up. Slowly, her eyes opened and squinted as she tried to become accustomed to the bright lights. "Nick?" she asked, struggling to sit up, slightly embarassed that she'd fallen asleep. She shivered involuntarily.
Nick looked at Doc Robbins, concerned.
"Sara, you've got a fever," he informed her. "How do you feel?"
"Fine," she said, trying to regain her barings. Upon receiving doubtful looks from both Nick and Doc, as well as a few people at the table who were now curiously glancing in her direction, she sighed. "Fine, I have a headache, all right?"
"And?"
"And I'm a little achy, but it's nothing I can't handle, I swear," she said.
"It's a slow shift," Grissom said, looking up from his crossword. "I'm letting you go home, Sara. I don't want you to come back to work until you feel better."
"But-"
"You hardly get sick, so when do, I think it's cause for concern," Grissom put his pen down on the paper, then folded his arms over his chest, daring her to challenge him.
"Fine," she grumbled again.
"I think it's time you expand your vocabulary," Hodges smirked, but was ignored by most everyone in the room. Those who didn't ignore him gave him scornful looks.
"First thing in the morning," Doc Robbins said, "I want you to see a doctor. No exceptions. For tonight, just have some soup, drink some water, pop a tylenol and get plenty of rest."
She nodded her head and stood up, swaying slightly.
"I'm taking her home, Gris," Nick said, slipping an arm around her waist.
"Nick, I am -"
"Perfectly capable of driving yourself," he finished, rolling his eyes. "Uh huh. You just got a little dizzy. I'm sure the citizens of Las Vegas would agree with you."
She just sighed in resignation, realizing that she probably shouldn't be driving because she was a little dizzy, and definitely exhausted. And because she didn't have the energy to argue, which she knew wasn't like her.
"I'll be back soon," Nick said as he escorted her out of the room. "Thirty minutes, maybe 45."
Grissom nodded his head in acknowledgement. "Take you're time. Just keep your pager on."
"Will do, boss." And with that, he helped her to the locker room to grab her purse and jacket. Then, together, they made their way to Nick's Denali and toward Sara's home.
TBC . . .
The picture that had been released did nothing but create false leads. Most of them were flat out hoaxes, while others were cases of mistaken identity.
It was nearly Thanksgiving now, and weeks had passed since the seventh and eighth victims were found. Number nine was either hidden well, or hadn't happened. Everyone was hoping that it hadn't happened, but were quite upset about the possibility that this serial killer had once again gone underground and wouldn't resurface for eight years.
The pattern had been broken though. The eighth victim had been drugged at a separate location, and the body relocated. And if number nine hadn't happened, then the timeline was broken. The question that was nagging on both Sara and Nick's minds, as well as the rest of the teams, was why?
With no new evidence, only new victims, the trail had once again grown cold and the CSIs were told by Ecklie to move on. The case, by law, couldn't be closed and labeled a cold case until at least six months had passed, but they were the number two lab in the country for a reason. It was time to move on. If a new lead presented itself, he assured them that they would be the team on the job, but until then, their hands were tied.
Nick and Sara had continued to pour over the case files in their spare time. She had insisted that he didn't need to involve himself in her drama because she even felt like it was pointless. Just a way to torture herself, she'd joked. But Nick refused to let her do it alone.
He'd promised her that if it was the last thing he did, he would make sure the person was brought to justice. As a result, they continued to spend their waking hours outside of the lab together. The only exception was that there were no more platonic sleep overs. Those had stopped immediately following Ecklie's decision to have the team move on. It wasn't something that either Nick or Sara had discussed, but it seemed appropriate to no longer spend the night at the others house. And it was far to uncomfortable of a conversation to have . . . And though neither would admit it to the other, or to their friends, they missed it. Waking up the others company, getting ready for work together, having to split their bathrooms, playfully fighting over the sink when they wanted to brush their teeth. They had even taken up cooking together while not at the lab. That was something that hadn't fallen through the cracks, though.
They still worked harmoniously together, side stepping the others movements in their modest kitchens, handing the other an ingredient they were sure to need before it was even asked for. And laundry . . . that was a task that Nick hated the most. Something about having to sort the clothes, then remove them from the washer and place them in the dryer . . . then to have to fold the damn things. Though it wasn't much, it was a task that he hated. A task that he felt went on forever. But with Sara there, carrying on a conversation with him, helping him with the laundry and even folding, it hadn't seemed so bad. Actually, he'd even pitched in with helping her with own laundry when he was at her home.
A number of times, they'd laughed over the fact that a few of their clothing items had ended up in the others washer and dryer. Having spent so much time together, a few of their personal belongings had made their way into the others home. And it always seemed to fit. It wasn't forced. It was natural.
Again, it was a slow night at the lab. The grave shift, plus Wendy, Archie and Hodges all took in the silent company of one another in the break room. The TV droned on in the background with some cheesy movie.
Two Days Earlier
"I've always wanted to make pie," Sara admitted one night after she and Nick had put away the dinner dishes. She saw the look on his face. "I've made pie before. What I meant was, I've always wanted to make pie from scratch. You know, the pastry and all."
"Seriously? You've never made pastry?" He asked, cocking his head to the side as he wiped down the counter with a rag and some bleach water.
"I've tried, but I always manage to screw it up pretty badly," she smirked. "I'm not a chef, but I can find my way around the kitchen easily. Pastry is just one of those things that alludes me though. I generally end up buying the premade pastry from the grocery store, but by the time I open up the box, the shell is split in half. Do you know how difficult it is to eat a pie with a cracked crust? You can't get a nice looking piece of the whole damn thing!"
He laughed. "Well, you're in luck," he reached up, pulling down a cook book from his cupboard. "My mom swears by this recipe." He scanned the index at the back then flipped to the appropriate page. "Ha! Here it is. Never Fail Pastry."
"Have you made it before?" she asked him, scanning over the ingredients. He handed her the book and their fingers touched, a shock going through both of them. He stood closely behind her, continuing to scan the ingredients himself.
"I think I have all the ingredients," he said softly, his breath tickling her neck. "Ah," her question registered in his mind, "no, I haven't. I end up buying the premade stuff too. Not because I don't like home made stuff, but it's just me. It's not exactly fun going to so much work when I'm the only one enjoying it."
"Yeah, I know what you mean," she nodded. "That's why I have so many take out menus. What's the fun in cooking for one?"
"Yeah," he looked into her eyes as they both came to the realization that since the case had started, and they were spending all they're free time with one another, they'd been cooking. No take out had been ordered, no meals had been brought back. They'd even done the grocery shopping together.
Nick leaned in and glanced from her mouth to her eyes and back again, trying to gauge her reaction. He felt a knot in his stomach when he realised that she was leaning in as well, their lips just inches apart . . . and moving closer . . .
HONK a noise fom the street in font of Nick's home interrupted them. The sound of a loud muffler continued to rumble down the street. Obviously a neighbor had had company and they were bidding one another a final farewell for the evening.
The two jumped apart, shocked at the sudden intrusion of noise. The moment was broken.
"So, ah," she fumbled with her words, looking helplessly at her hands. She was terrified that if she looked up, he'd see how flustered she was. And maybe, just maybe, that he hadn't wanted to kiss her at all. That it had all been in her imagination.
"Do you want to, ah -" he fumbled with his words, not able to string a sentence together. He pointed at the book with one hand, while his other nervously scratched the back of his head. "You want to give that a shot? I think I have all the ingredients."
Sara glanced between the cookbook and Nick, then over to the stack of files with the case notes. "Yeah, sure. What kind of pie should we make?"
He shrugged. "Apple? Maybe Pumpkin? Something seasonal, I suppose," he smiled, relieved that she wasn't awkward about what had almost just happened. "We don't have to decide today. We can make the pastry and then let it sit over night. I think mom mentioned to let it sit in the fridge over night for the best results." He pulled out the ingredients as Sara pulled out the mixing bowls. "What kind of pie would you like to make?"
"I'm thinking Pumpkin," she smiled wide. "Its been a long time since I've had some. Fresh whipping cream to top it off."
"And a scoop of vanilla ice cream," he agreed. Of course, vanilla ice cream one the side of any pie would work.
Sara unrolled the crease of the flour bag before opening the sack up. A poof of white air greeted her as she giggled. "Why the hell does that always happen to me?" she turned to Nick who slowly turned around to see what she was giggling about. He let out a laugh.
"Attack of the flour," he smirked. He motioned to her cheek, "you've got some right . . ." he motioned to the side of her face, just under her eye.
"Did I get it?" she asked, using the back of her hand.
"You've got some more, right here," he motioned again, but she missed. He shook his head and she tried again, waiting for an answer. "Here, let me," he took a step forward and tentatively reached out and brushed the small white particles away from her creamy skin.
"Is it gone?" she asked quietly, his body so close to hers. It was effecting her.. His hands were undoubtedly soft. She hadn't imagined any mans hands to be so delicate, but she assumed that it was just a part of Nick's gentle demeanor. Her tongue peaked out from between her lips, wetting them. She could only imagine that his hands could be rough at just the right times, too. The thought, along with Nick's thumbs running gentle circles on her skin was exciting her a little too much and she fought to stiffle a groan, only managing by biting her bottom lip between her teeth. She silently chastised herself, telling herself to keep her hormones in check.
"Almost," he smiled, though he knew he was lying. The flour was all wiped away from her beautiful features, but he knew what Sara was feeling, as he was feeling it too. She was incredibly easy to read, and he just didn't want to stop touching her. It was innocent, but the idea of pulling away was just not appealing. How could he when he had the most incredible, beautiful woman standing in front of him, in his kitchen? He fought hard to stiffle his own groan when her tongue darted out, wetting her lips, and again when she bit her bottom lip. Didn't she know that all that did was make him want to nip at her lip in a loving gesture?
Finally, she worked up the courage to look him in the eye. She could get lost in the pools of chocolate that reflected back at her.
His fingers stopped rubbing their soft, deliberate circles across her cheeks. They slid down to her shoulders, one hand snaking it's way to the back of her neck, playing at the soft silky strands of her hair, while the other traveled down her arm and settled at her hip.
One of her own hands found his as it sat on her hip and she mirrored his movements by placing that hand on his hip. Slowly, her other other hand came to rest on top of his heart, feeling the steady, but fast, beat.
Neither knew who did what after that, but their lips met in a slow, soft kiss. Both were stunned as they pulled back a few moments later, slowly opening their eyes.
"What took you so long?" Sara smirked as she brought her lips back to Nick's for a second kiss. It was still slow and soft, exploring the contours of each others mouths. But it was more passionate as they slowly opened their lips to the other, their tongues meeting for the first electrifying moment, dueling for control.
"I could ask you the same thing," Nick smirked as the need for air over whelmed them and they pulled apart, breathless.
The pastry was forgotten about as the two made their way to the living room couch, wanting nothing more than to explore the others touch. Still tentative when they leaned in for a kiss, they remained slow and torturous at first, both wanting and needing to show the other how much they cared. By the end of the night, both were more confident that they were where they were meant to be and that the other had no doubts. Soon, they were claiming the others lips in fervent attempts to show just how much they'd wanted this. Just soaking in the feelings of overwhelming bliss.
Though nothing more than kissing had taken place, they'd reached a new point in their relationship. And neither could've been happier.
End Flashback
Nick was hurled back into reality by the sound of Sara's muffled cries of agony from her sleep. She's taken over the break room couch, stretching out. No one had said anything when she declined the offer of coffee, though everyone knew it was unlike her.
"Sara!" Greg called out, in an attempt to wake the brunette from where he sat.
"Shut up, man," Nick snapped as he removed himself from his chair and towards where Sara lay with an arm covering her eyes in an attempt to block out the lights of the room. He knew that she was still having difficulties sleeping. The bags under her eyes told him so, and she did nothing to try and hide her exhaustion when he was around. She knew that he'd see straight through her facade.
Catherine and Warrick watched in curiousity as Nick gently touched her arm, whispering something to her quietly. No one else was able to hear, but it was obvious that Sara hadn't woken up but was calming down from whatever was plaguing her.
Catherine saw Nick's eyes suddenly go wide and was immediately alarmed. "What's wrong, Nicky?"
"She's burning up," he answered, gently stroking the hair away from her forehead. It was matted in a thin layer of sweat.
Doc Robbins, who'd had a quiet night in the morgue had been sitting the corner quietly sipping his Tea when he heard Nick. He stood up and walked over to where Nick was standing and placed a hand on the CSIs forehead.
"You're right," he shook his head. "Definitely running a fever."
"Sara," he called out quietly, waking the beautiful woman from her trouble slumber. "Sweetie, wake up."
She grumbled something that he couldn't quite make out, but he knew that was just how she woke up. Slowly, her eyes opened and squinted as she tried to become accustomed to the bright lights. "Nick?" she asked, struggling to sit up, slightly embarassed that she'd fallen asleep. She shivered involuntarily.
Nick looked at Doc Robbins, concerned.
"Sara, you've got a fever," he informed her. "How do you feel?"
"Fine," she said, trying to regain her barings. Upon receiving doubtful looks from both Nick and Doc, as well as a few people at the table who were now curiously glancing in her direction, she sighed. "Fine, I have a headache, all right?"
"And?"
"And I'm a little achy, but it's nothing I can't handle, I swear," she said.
"It's a slow shift," Grissom said, looking up from his crossword. "I'm letting you go home, Sara. I don't want you to come back to work until you feel better."
"But-"
"You hardly get sick, so when do, I think it's cause for concern," Grissom put his pen down on the paper, then folded his arms over his chest, daring her to challenge him.
"Fine," she grumbled again.
"I think it's time you expand your vocabulary," Hodges smirked, but was ignored by most everyone in the room. Those who didn't ignore him gave him scornful looks.
"First thing in the morning," Doc Robbins said, "I want you to see a doctor. No exceptions. For tonight, just have some soup, drink some water, pop a tylenol and get plenty of rest."
She nodded her head and stood up, swaying slightly.
"I'm taking her home, Gris," Nick said, slipping an arm around her waist.
"Nick, I am -"
"Perfectly capable of driving yourself," he finished, rolling his eyes. "Uh huh. You just got a little dizzy. I'm sure the citizens of Las Vegas would agree with you."
She just sighed in resignation, realizing that she probably shouldn't be driving because she was a little dizzy, and definitely exhausted. And because she didn't have the energy to argue, which she knew wasn't like her.
"I'll be back soon," Nick said as he escorted her out of the room. "Thirty minutes, maybe 45."
Grissom nodded his head in acknowledgement. "Take you're time. Just keep your pager on."
"Will do, boss." And with that, he helped her to the locker room to grab her purse and jacket. Then, together, they made their way to Nick's Denali and toward Sara's home.
TBC . . .
Lvodkadiet
Rookie
Just read this from beginning to end, couldn't stop, its brilliant, excellent story lines, Great snickers moments, I want more!
MegBreanne
Police Officer
Chapter 13:
Nick glanced over at the sleeping woman in the passenger side seat of his Denali. Placing the SUV in park and then turning the ignition off, he reached over and gently brushed a piece of hair out of her face and behind her ear. "God, you're so beautiful," he whispered, though he knew she hadn't heard him.
He got out of the Denali and walked to the passenger side, making sure that the copy of Sara's apartment key she'd given him was still firmly in his pocket. He pulled it out, and kept it in the palm of his hand. Satisfied, he slowly opened the passenger side door, careful not to jar her or make any unnecessary noises which might cause her to wake up. He opened the door fully and leaned over her, carefully removing the safety belt. He held the strap until it had fully wound back in its plastic casing. Then, he placed an arm under her legs and an arm around the back of her shoulders, easing her into his arms and out of the vehicle.
Once out of the vehicle, she nuzzled herself into his arms, her head lolling to the side, resting against his chest. "Mmm," she murmured, still sleeping.
He smiled slightly before using his leg to kick the door shut. He made sure that the keyless remote locked the Denali up.
"Mr. Stokes," Anita greeted him. She had lived next to Sara for almost the entire time since she'd moved to Vegas, but only a couple of months back, Sara had left her apartment for a slightly larger one on the main floor that had a view of the garden and pool.
"Hello, Ma'am," he nodded, his twang making her smile up at him with a large toothy grin.
"Poor dear looks exhausted," she commented.
"She is," he agreed. "Not feeling so good, either. Our boss sent her home early, and I drove her. She fell asleep and I just don't have the heart to wake her up."
"Let me get the front door," she said, walking back towards the entrance and keyed in the pass code for the residents. The building didn't have a doorman, but that didn't mean that just anyone could come and go as they pleased. There was a security system in place, and the building had always been safe because of it.
"Thank you," Nick smiled politely as the elderly woman held the door open and he gratefully stepped through the threshold. He turned around and cocked his head to the side. "It's Thursday night, aren't you late?" He winked.
The woman blushed and smiled just a little wider. It was always nice when a young person actually listened the mindless babble of an elderly citizen. "Yes, I'm meeting the ladies from my church at the Mandalay Bay tonight. We're going to play the penny slots and maybe take in a show or two," she giggled at the thought of watching young men prance around in next to no clothing. "I may be old, but I still have a pulse!" she smiled even wider.
"You have a wonderful evening," Nick smiled warmly, then added, "don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
She chuckled again and then declared, "I won't. And you take care of her. She's a precious girl, you know."
"That I do," his voice was decidedly soft. She smiled softly at him once more before offering a small wave and turning back towards the parking lot. He offered a small nod of his head since his hands were otherwise occupied.
Nick struggled with the key once he made his way to her apartment door.
"Nick?" Sara questioned groggily as she slowly opened her eyes, taking a moment to become accustomed to the bright hall lights.
"Sorry, I didn't want to wake you," he said softly. He felt her shifting in his arms and took that as his cue to set her on her feet.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep on you," she steadied herself by clasping her hands around Nick's arms.
"You OK?"
"Yeah," she nodded her head. Truth was, she wanted to soothe her achy muscles in a hot shower and then collapse on the bed and not wake up until whatever was making her feel gross was out of her system.
Now that his hands were free, he inserted the key and unlocked the door, pushing it open for Sara to enter.
"Thanks for bringing me home, Nicky," she yawned, removing the jacket she was wearing and hanging it up on the hook near the front door.
"Why don't you go change? I'm going to make you some soup," he stated.
"No, Nick, you have to get back to work," she told him. "Besides, I want to jump in the shower."
"Alright, then you jump in the shower, and when you're done, soup will be ready." He knew that she was going to protest, so he gently took her by her arm and lead her through the master bedroom and into the master bath. "Crawl into bed once your done and I'll bring your dinner to you." And with that, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze and then left the bathroom, leaving no room for argument.
Ten minutes later, Sara slowly made her way out into the open living area.
"I thought I told you to go straight to bed? I distinctly remember saying that I'd bring your dinner to you," he admonished quietly, not even bothering to turn around.
"You did."
"Problems following directions, Sidle?" he teased. This time he turned around and saw what she was wearing. Nothing sexy about it, but it turned him on. Light blue cotton draw string track pants, and a white tank top. Her clean wet hair had been thrown up in a messy knot at the top of her head.
"Yeah, that must be it," she smirked back at him. The smirk dropped from her face and she started to cough. "Damn," she muttered after her short, but sudden, bout ended.
"Sore throat?"
"A little," she nodded. "It just started. I think I'm going to grab some cough drops."
"Uh uh uh," he shook his head no and pointed back towards the bedroom door. "You get into bed."
"Nick, I just want -"
"I've already got them," he picked up the cough drops from the tray table that was resting on the counter, proving that he'd anticipated the need for the candies. "And, I found your tylenol," he held up the bottle. "The soup is almost ready. I'll be in in a minute, so you go get comfortable."
A warm feeling took over her as she watched Nick work in her kitchen, wanting nothing more to take care of her. Although she was capable of taking care of herself, it meant the world to her that Nick wanted to do it.
Sighing in mock annoyance, she turned on her heels and headed back into the bedroom, preparing for Nick to serve her.
"I don't think I can eat anymore," she pouted, dropping the spoon back into the bowl.
Nick sighed, but understood. Sara had been saying as much for the last five minutes and all but had to spoon feed her to keep her eating. She'd at least eaten half the bowl, and a few of the dry crackers that he'd put on the tray.
She leaned back against the pillows and felt her eyelids growing heavier. "Not that I haven't appreciated this, Nick, but,"
"I know," he smiled at her lightly. "You want me to go back to work."
She nodded slightly, her eyelids drooping. "Besides, I'm going to pass out in a minute or two, so what kind of company would I be?"
"The best," he smiled at her, standing up from his perch on the side of the mattress. He leaned over and removed the tray from her lap and placed it on the bedside table. He leaned down and placed a kiss on the top of her head as she snuggled down into the sheets and comforter.
"Sorry, you're still running a fever," he pointed out as he removed the comforter from over top of her body. He gently squished it down at the foot her bed, but straightened out the sheet set so that she was covered in a thin layer.
"As soon as I hear that front door close," she yawned, her eyes closing, "I'm . . . pulling . . . it . . . back . . . over . . . me," she spoke quietly.
"Yeah, uh huh," he smirked. He waited for a response, but when he didn't get one, he realized that she had just drifted off. "Dreams of Gold," he whisperd once again leaning down and kissing her, only this time, it was the tip of her nose. He stood up straight and made sure to leave the bottled water and cough drops beside her bed on her nightside table. He double checked the trash can beside her bed, making sure it was empty - just in case she woke up sick and couldn't make it to the bathroom.
He tugged on the string of the lamp, letting darkness consume the room. He wandered out, skillfully avoiding the furniture, knowing where it was placed in the room, and barely aided by the dim light that filtered in from the kitchen.
He paused briefly to scratch the black and white cat that Sara had adopted behind it's ears. It purred softly and rolled over for a tummy rub and Nick obliged for a quick moment before focusing again on the task at hand.
He made a quick check over the apartment, making sure the stove was off, and kettle was unplugged. Windows were securely locked, as was the patio door. Finally, he made his way back to the front door, opening it slowly, making a mental note that the next time he came over, to bring some oil to quiet the squeaking noise it made when opened or closed. Turning off the lights, the apartment bathed in darkness, he let himself into the hallway of the building, securely locking the door behind him.
An hour later, at nearly 10pm, a figure crept through the apartment, making almost no noise. He headed straight for the bedroom, cloth soaked in cloriform. Standing over Sara's sleeping form, he swiftly pressed the cloth against her mouth. Her eyes shot open at the sudden force on her face, but the cloriform had done it's job -- she passed out like a rag doll.
It had happened to fast that she didn't have the chance to fight or scream.
He pulled the slim digital camera out of his jacket pocket and snapped a few photos, smirking. No one would ever catch him. Not ever.
He picked up her limp body and craddled her in his arms much the same that Nick had done, but not nearly as gently or as lovingly. He stepped through the dark apartment. He grabbed the jacket she'd hung up near the front door only hours before, then dropped a small object on the kitchen counter before stepping out through the patio door and into the night . . . .
Nick glanced over at the sleeping woman in the passenger side seat of his Denali. Placing the SUV in park and then turning the ignition off, he reached over and gently brushed a piece of hair out of her face and behind her ear. "God, you're so beautiful," he whispered, though he knew she hadn't heard him.
He got out of the Denali and walked to the passenger side, making sure that the copy of Sara's apartment key she'd given him was still firmly in his pocket. He pulled it out, and kept it in the palm of his hand. Satisfied, he slowly opened the passenger side door, careful not to jar her or make any unnecessary noises which might cause her to wake up. He opened the door fully and leaned over her, carefully removing the safety belt. He held the strap until it had fully wound back in its plastic casing. Then, he placed an arm under her legs and an arm around the back of her shoulders, easing her into his arms and out of the vehicle.
Once out of the vehicle, she nuzzled herself into his arms, her head lolling to the side, resting against his chest. "Mmm," she murmured, still sleeping.
He smiled slightly before using his leg to kick the door shut. He made sure that the keyless remote locked the Denali up.
"Mr. Stokes," Anita greeted him. She had lived next to Sara for almost the entire time since she'd moved to Vegas, but only a couple of months back, Sara had left her apartment for a slightly larger one on the main floor that had a view of the garden and pool.
"Hello, Ma'am," he nodded, his twang making her smile up at him with a large toothy grin.
"Poor dear looks exhausted," she commented.
"She is," he agreed. "Not feeling so good, either. Our boss sent her home early, and I drove her. She fell asleep and I just don't have the heart to wake her up."
"Let me get the front door," she said, walking back towards the entrance and keyed in the pass code for the residents. The building didn't have a doorman, but that didn't mean that just anyone could come and go as they pleased. There was a security system in place, and the building had always been safe because of it.
"Thank you," Nick smiled politely as the elderly woman held the door open and he gratefully stepped through the threshold. He turned around and cocked his head to the side. "It's Thursday night, aren't you late?" He winked.
The woman blushed and smiled just a little wider. It was always nice when a young person actually listened the mindless babble of an elderly citizen. "Yes, I'm meeting the ladies from my church at the Mandalay Bay tonight. We're going to play the penny slots and maybe take in a show or two," she giggled at the thought of watching young men prance around in next to no clothing. "I may be old, but I still have a pulse!" she smiled even wider.
"You have a wonderful evening," Nick smiled warmly, then added, "don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
She chuckled again and then declared, "I won't. And you take care of her. She's a precious girl, you know."
"That I do," his voice was decidedly soft. She smiled softly at him once more before offering a small wave and turning back towards the parking lot. He offered a small nod of his head since his hands were otherwise occupied.
Nick struggled with the key once he made his way to her apartment door.
"Nick?" Sara questioned groggily as she slowly opened her eyes, taking a moment to become accustomed to the bright hall lights.
"Sorry, I didn't want to wake you," he said softly. He felt her shifting in his arms and took that as his cue to set her on her feet.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep on you," she steadied herself by clasping her hands around Nick's arms.
"You OK?"
"Yeah," she nodded her head. Truth was, she wanted to soothe her achy muscles in a hot shower and then collapse on the bed and not wake up until whatever was making her feel gross was out of her system.
Now that his hands were free, he inserted the key and unlocked the door, pushing it open for Sara to enter.
"Thanks for bringing me home, Nicky," she yawned, removing the jacket she was wearing and hanging it up on the hook near the front door.
"Why don't you go change? I'm going to make you some soup," he stated.
"No, Nick, you have to get back to work," she told him. "Besides, I want to jump in the shower."
"Alright, then you jump in the shower, and when you're done, soup will be ready." He knew that she was going to protest, so he gently took her by her arm and lead her through the master bedroom and into the master bath. "Crawl into bed once your done and I'll bring your dinner to you." And with that, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze and then left the bathroom, leaving no room for argument.
Ten minutes later, Sara slowly made her way out into the open living area.
"I thought I told you to go straight to bed? I distinctly remember saying that I'd bring your dinner to you," he admonished quietly, not even bothering to turn around.
"You did."
"Problems following directions, Sidle?" he teased. This time he turned around and saw what she was wearing. Nothing sexy about it, but it turned him on. Light blue cotton draw string track pants, and a white tank top. Her clean wet hair had been thrown up in a messy knot at the top of her head.
"Yeah, that must be it," she smirked back at him. The smirk dropped from her face and she started to cough. "Damn," she muttered after her short, but sudden, bout ended.
"Sore throat?"
"A little," she nodded. "It just started. I think I'm going to grab some cough drops."
"Uh uh uh," he shook his head no and pointed back towards the bedroom door. "You get into bed."
"Nick, I just want -"
"I've already got them," he picked up the cough drops from the tray table that was resting on the counter, proving that he'd anticipated the need for the candies. "And, I found your tylenol," he held up the bottle. "The soup is almost ready. I'll be in in a minute, so you go get comfortable."
A warm feeling took over her as she watched Nick work in her kitchen, wanting nothing more to take care of her. Although she was capable of taking care of herself, it meant the world to her that Nick wanted to do it.
Sighing in mock annoyance, she turned on her heels and headed back into the bedroom, preparing for Nick to serve her.
"I don't think I can eat anymore," she pouted, dropping the spoon back into the bowl.
Nick sighed, but understood. Sara had been saying as much for the last five minutes and all but had to spoon feed her to keep her eating. She'd at least eaten half the bowl, and a few of the dry crackers that he'd put on the tray.
She leaned back against the pillows and felt her eyelids growing heavier. "Not that I haven't appreciated this, Nick, but,"
"I know," he smiled at her lightly. "You want me to go back to work."
She nodded slightly, her eyelids drooping. "Besides, I'm going to pass out in a minute or two, so what kind of company would I be?"
"The best," he smiled at her, standing up from his perch on the side of the mattress. He leaned over and removed the tray from her lap and placed it on the bedside table. He leaned down and placed a kiss on the top of her head as she snuggled down into the sheets and comforter.
"Sorry, you're still running a fever," he pointed out as he removed the comforter from over top of her body. He gently squished it down at the foot her bed, but straightened out the sheet set so that she was covered in a thin layer.
"As soon as I hear that front door close," she yawned, her eyes closing, "I'm . . . pulling . . . it . . . back . . . over . . . me," she spoke quietly.
"Yeah, uh huh," he smirked. He waited for a response, but when he didn't get one, he realized that she had just drifted off. "Dreams of Gold," he whisperd once again leaning down and kissing her, only this time, it was the tip of her nose. He stood up straight and made sure to leave the bottled water and cough drops beside her bed on her nightside table. He double checked the trash can beside her bed, making sure it was empty - just in case she woke up sick and couldn't make it to the bathroom.
He tugged on the string of the lamp, letting darkness consume the room. He wandered out, skillfully avoiding the furniture, knowing where it was placed in the room, and barely aided by the dim light that filtered in from the kitchen.
He paused briefly to scratch the black and white cat that Sara had adopted behind it's ears. It purred softly and rolled over for a tummy rub and Nick obliged for a quick moment before focusing again on the task at hand.
He made a quick check over the apartment, making sure the stove was off, and kettle was unplugged. Windows were securely locked, as was the patio door. Finally, he made his way back to the front door, opening it slowly, making a mental note that the next time he came over, to bring some oil to quiet the squeaking noise it made when opened or closed. Turning off the lights, the apartment bathed in darkness, he let himself into the hallway of the building, securely locking the door behind him.
An hour later, at nearly 10pm, a figure crept through the apartment, making almost no noise. He headed straight for the bedroom, cloth soaked in cloriform. Standing over Sara's sleeping form, he swiftly pressed the cloth against her mouth. Her eyes shot open at the sudden force on her face, but the cloriform had done it's job -- she passed out like a rag doll.
It had happened to fast that she didn't have the chance to fight or scream.
He pulled the slim digital camera out of his jacket pocket and snapped a few photos, smirking. No one would ever catch him. Not ever.
He picked up her limp body and craddled her in his arms much the same that Nick had done, but not nearly as gently or as lovingly. He stepped through the dark apartment. He grabbed the jacket she'd hung up near the front door only hours before, then dropped a small object on the kitchen counter before stepping out through the patio door and into the night . . . .
MegBreanne
Police Officer
Chapter 14:
"Oh, My, God!" Greg groaned dramatically in boredom. "Worst shift ever!"
"I'd say would-be victims would disagree with you," Doc Robbins said flipping through a National Geographic magazine that had been left in the breakroom. It was six years old or so, but he couldn't really tell . . . the print had faded and he wasn't entirely sure . . .
"They are blissfully unaware," Grissom sipped his coffee, filling out yet another crossword. Probably his eighth or ninth of the evening.
"Cable TV sucks!" Bobby Dawson yawned, tossing the remote onto the break room table.
Grissom had been the commander of the lab during the evenings and most of the staff had gone home. Fortunately he was unable to play favorites. For a night like this, Ecklie had put a system in place. One team of CSIs on shift that night had to stay within the lab until calls came in, while the other teams were able to go home and get some much needed rest. So long as they knew not to go partying because they were on call and could get a phone call at any moment. Unfortunately for the Number One grave shift team, they were stuck inside, just itching for an assignment.
"BULL SHIT!" Wendy shouted, drawing attention to her and Hodges who were sitting in the corner playing a game that she'd learned of when she first saw her favorite movie How To Loose A Guy In Ten Days. "Sorry," she giggled. She turned her attention back to Hodges and composed herself. "I said, bullshit."
He sneered at her and picked up the two cards on the top of the pile that he'd thrown down, turning them over and showing Wendy that he had, indeed, been bluffing.
"Pick up the whole pile, boy," she laughed triumphantly as David Hodges picked up three quarters of the deck of the cards and tried to hold them in one hand, put failing miserably.
"Seriously," he grumbled, "we need more than two people playing this game." He glanced around the room and saw that Warrick was flipping idly through an old car magazine. "What about you?" Warrick looked up, unsure if Hodges were addressing him or not.
"You interested in making time go by faster?" Wendy smiled.
"Trying is more like it," Hodges rolled his eyes. But the idea of adding another person into the mix to allievate the amount of cards in his hands was appealing.
Warrick shrugged, tossing the magazine down and joining the two. "What about you Cat?"
She tossed the old Cosmo magazine down ontop of the InStyle she'd been reading next to Warrick's car magazine. "I guess it's a foursome."
Nick's Blackberry started to chirp, so he placed his mug on the break room table. Glancing at the clock, he noted that it was almost eleven thirty. His email icon flashed, but he didn't know the sender name. But the tag line grabbed his attention. Dreams of Gold. The words he'd whispered to Sara only hours before. His brow furrowed in confusion. He knew Sara's email address, so it couldn't have been from her . . .
"Is it work related?" Greg asked, jumping at the sound of the blackberry. Maybe they'd get a case tonight after all. Or a lead on a cold case.
Nick shrugged his shoulders before using the little plastic pointer on the screen to open the email.
"OH, FUCK!" Nick yelled, his entire face turning red in an instant.
Everyone started asking what was up, but he couldn't answer them. All he could do was reach for the phone on his belt and dial Sara's cell phone. He didn't get an answer, so he hung up and motioned for Grissom to pick up the Blackberry when he dialed her home number. Nothing.
"What's going on?" Catherine asked, dropping the cards from her hand of Bull Shit face up on the table, ignoring the fact that she'd just 'spoiled' the game.
"It says, 'I'm going to finish what I started so long ago,'" Grissom answered. He felt his throat go dry as he starred at the attachment that had been sent as well. "There's a photo of Sara. She's passed out. The time stamp says it was taken an hour ago."
"Shit," Warrick mumbled. Catherine was stunned into silence, and Greg went pale. Nick was so angry as he continued to dial numbers into his cell phone. He couldn't even get a hold of the building manager or the supervisor.
Nick stood up so quickly that the chair he was sitting on fell backwards behind him, hitting the floor with a clatter. He raced out of the room.
"I'm calling Brass," Bobby Dawson muttered, grabbing the phone on the wall. The rest of the people in the room were stunned into silence. How in the hell could this be happening again? First Nick was taken, and nearly killed, and now Sara?
"We're heading out there now," Catherine had regained her composure -- well, at least some of it.
Warrick, Greg and Grissom all followed her through the door that Nick had just bolted through. By the time the three CSIs made there way to the parking lot, running at full speed, Nick's Denali was already out of the parking lot. The only thing visible of him was the tail lights of the SUV as it sped down the road, law enforcement lights flashing.
CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI
Nick slammed on the breaks near the front doors of the apartment building, tires burning rubber as they left skid marks. Throwing the car in park, he leapt out the drivers side door, leaving the door wide open, and not giving a damn about the possible threat of theft. The CSI part of brain was working as he used the material at the waist of his shirt to press in the security code, gaining access to the building. Once the light flashed from red to green, signalling the door would be briefly unlocked, he again used the hem of his shirt, grabbing the handle and yanking the door open, hurling himself inside.
He raced down the carpeted hallway, yelling her name. A few of the occupants poked their heads into the hall, wondering what the commotion was. Some looked at him oddly, while others chastised him for making such noise at such a late hour.
His palm fisted the hard wood of her door as he pounded, furiously calling out to her. "Sara?! Baby, it's Nick! Open the door! God, open the door!" He was on the verge of tears, terrified.
Struggling, he finally managed to unlock the door for the second time that evening. Everything was in tact. The exception was that her coat was missing and the patio door was off it's track, leaning against the wall. The white billowy curtains that had hung on the inside were sucked outside of the room into the gentle breeze.
"Please, please," he muttered, stepping towards the door. He noticed that it was slightly ajar and he reached for his gun, preparing for a stand off with an intruder who sat at her bedside. Hoping that it would be over in a few short seconds and that he would be holding her close to him, whispering how it was over.
He hugged the wall of her walk-in closet, the wall of the master bathroom on the opposite side of him as he travelled down the small hallway within the master bedroom. He heard nothing. No rustling, no breathing. Nothing. Just utterly unbearable silence. Still, he gripped the gun tighter, and sprung away from the wall, cocking the gun towards the bed where they may have been.
No one was there.
In frustration, he kicked the wall, cursing himself for leaving. She was already sick and that had probably aided the kidnapper in his quest. Whatever it may be . . .
He glanced up as the rest of the team, followed closely by Brass and Sophia, who were entering the bedroom.
"She's gone," he whispered quietly.
"We're going to find her, Nick," Brass spoke softly, clasping a hand on the young CSIs shoulder. He could see how much pain Nick was in. He'd just lost someone that he completely loved. He'd loved his wife with the same devotion, but she hadn't returned it. It caused him to turn to the bottle . . .but Sara, well, he could see that Sara felt the same way about Nick. "We will. I promise." And he meant it, but he couldn't help but wonder if he were really trying to convince Nick, or himself. Maybe both, he thought sadly.
"Lets get to work," Catherine said, snapping on a pair of rubber gloves and flicking on the lights in the bedroom. "Greg and Warrick have the main living area."
"He came in through the patio door," Nick pointed out the obvious.
"We noticed that," Sophia tried to lighten the moment, but it was useless. Even though she and Sara had started out on not so friendly terms, they had come to a silent agreement to not let it effect their work. And slowly, they'd even become friends.
"I remember locking it before I left," Nick said, feeling his knees start to give way. Brass grabbed his arm to steady him.
"Don't blame yourself," Catherine said softly. "This is not your fault."
Nick nodded his head in acknowledgement of her statement, but he wasn't convinced.
"Did you kick in the toe jam?" Grissom asked him. It was the second locking mechanism on patio doors and without it, any intruder could simply lift the glass door out of its track and gain access to any residence.
He was silent for a moment, going over his earlier actions. "I don't remember," he admitted.
Grissom nodded his head. He forgot from time to time to lock his own with the second lock as well. "We'll dust for prints."
"Oh, God," Greg muttered before he lost his balance and fell backwards into the stove, he braced himself as best he could, but his heel made contact with the drawer beneath the oven, and the metal made a loud clinging noise.
"What's going on out here?" Grissom's lips pursed together. Now was not the time for games. Deep down, he knew that they knew that. Sara was their friend too.
"We have a suspect," Greg announced.
"What? Who?" Nick pushed his way through the people in the bedroom and walked into the living area. He saw Greg standing at the breakfast bar, holding a silver chain.
"Nine," he said, closing his eyes as the chain dangled from his finger tips, the flat circle dangling at the end, the number nine taunting him.
The small crowd of CSIs and law enforcement that had gathered in the apartment all went deathly silent. The only sound was of Sara's cat who meowed in discontentment. It sat down looking up at Nick expectantly. He bent over, on autopilot, prepared to pick up the cat, but it bolted away from him. He stood up and looked at the cat, who was making a quick exit through where the patio door had been. But it stopped and turned to look at Nick, crying once again.
"Dust for prints and collect everything," he instructed, inadvertantly taking the lead from their supervisor. He followed the cat through the door and into the apartment courtyard.
"You heard him," Grissom nodded, "get to work."
Brass and Sophia started conducting the door to door investigation as the others started their jobs. Catherine went into Sara's bedroom and found a shirt that she'd worn earlier in the day, at work, in the hamper. She picked it up in a gloved handed and bagged it. "I'm calling in the scent dogs," she stated.
CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI
Nick quickly sprinted after the cat, following its every move. It ignored seemingly everything, intent on leading the CSI to something. It stopped suddenly, sitting down in a curb side parking stall on the streetm which was to the side of the buildings actual parking lot.
"Is this where he brought her, buddy?" he asked the cat, squatting down and examining the pavement.
Satisfied, the cat meowed once again, only this time, the pitch of its cry was normal. He rubbed his body against Nick's leg as if to say yes. The water run off slot was there and Nick noticed a piece of white cloth just a few inches down from the opening of the space. He reached his already gloved hand down and retrieved the item before it could fall away into oblivion, perhaps washing away all traces of whatever that might be on it. If it pertained to the case. Sighing, he stood up and looked around. The street was empty and all the lights in the surrounding apartment buildings were mostly off. But a slight red flickering caught his eye.
Nick pulled his phone out and quickly hit speed dial -- calling Warrick. He'd called him on his way back from Sara's to get coffee orders. He decided to make a pit stop at the Starbucks around the corner and decided that everyone back at the lab could use a jolt too. "I think I have something on the southwest corner of the lot."
In no time, Warrick and Brass had joined him. He handed the white cloth to Warrick. "Have this sent back to the lab to have it analyzed."
"What else have you got?" Brass asked.
"Lucky," he pointed to the cat that was now sitting on the sidewalk watching everything unfold with curiousity, as if he actually knew what was going on,
"lead me here. I think this is where the getaway vehicle may have been."
"Because of a cat?" Warrick asked incrediously.
"I know it sounds insane," Nick said, "but I found the cloth in that drain," he pointed to where the cloth had been. "And up there," he pointed to a window in a corner unit on the third floor, "is a flashing red light. Perhaps from a camcorder. If we're lucky, we might have a clear shot of the guys face, the vehicle he was driving, license plate number, or the direction he went in." He took in a shaky breath. "Anything."
"Good luck, man," Warrick held out his fist for Nick to bump like they always did.
"Thanks," he bumped fists. "Lets go, Jim."
Jim nodded his head. Together, they sprinted across the deserted residential street, gaining access to the secured building by a door that had been propped open. A resident had probably forgotten to close it after a quick smoke outside. Quickly, the two flew up two flights of stairs and knocked on the door of the corner apartment. "LVPD!"
"What do you want?" a woman in her thirties threw the door open, exasperated. "Do you have any idea of what time it is?"
"We saw a red light in your window," Nick started impatiently.
"Yeah, and?"
"We need it," Jim stated in a professional manner.
"Why would I help you? The only reason why I have the damn thing recording every night is because some little vandals decide to either egg my windows, or throw stones through them. My insurance company has refused to pay up, and the managers of the building are accusing me of doing it. I need proof that it isn't me, and you guys wouldn't help me. So tell me, what's in for me if I give you the tape?"
"We're investigating an abduction from across the street. It happened a little while ago and we have reason to believe that your camera might have critical evidence on it for our investigation. Time is of the essense, Ma'am."
"Please," Nick was ready to drop to his knees and beg. "We don't have a warrant and it could take hours to get one. We believe the person who kidnapped Sara is the serial rapist and murderer."
The woman visibly started to shake. "My little sister was good friends with Vanessa White," she was shocked. She stepped into her living room, leaving the door open for Jim and Nick to step inside. She grabbed the camera, hands still shaking. "Here," she handed the camera to Nick, "take the whole thing, I don't want to ruin the tape."
"We'll get this back to you soon as possible," Jim said as he watched Nick bolt straight for the door and back down the stairs.
"This Sara person . . . the one who was taken, she's something special to that guy, huh?"
Jim just nodded his head slightly. "Yeah. To all of us. She's a CSI, just like Nick."
"He loves her," she stated. "Good luck."
"Thanks," he smiled. "To show you how much we appreciate this, I'm going to have some under covers placed outside for a few days. We'll see if we can nail those little punks for you."
"No rush," she shook her head. "Just find her and put that creep behind bars."
TBC . . . .
"Oh, My, God!" Greg groaned dramatically in boredom. "Worst shift ever!"
"I'd say would-be victims would disagree with you," Doc Robbins said flipping through a National Geographic magazine that had been left in the breakroom. It was six years old or so, but he couldn't really tell . . . the print had faded and he wasn't entirely sure . . .
"They are blissfully unaware," Grissom sipped his coffee, filling out yet another crossword. Probably his eighth or ninth of the evening.
"Cable TV sucks!" Bobby Dawson yawned, tossing the remote onto the break room table.
Grissom had been the commander of the lab during the evenings and most of the staff had gone home. Fortunately he was unable to play favorites. For a night like this, Ecklie had put a system in place. One team of CSIs on shift that night had to stay within the lab until calls came in, while the other teams were able to go home and get some much needed rest. So long as they knew not to go partying because they were on call and could get a phone call at any moment. Unfortunately for the Number One grave shift team, they were stuck inside, just itching for an assignment.
"BULL SHIT!" Wendy shouted, drawing attention to her and Hodges who were sitting in the corner playing a game that she'd learned of when she first saw her favorite movie How To Loose A Guy In Ten Days. "Sorry," she giggled. She turned her attention back to Hodges and composed herself. "I said, bullshit."
He sneered at her and picked up the two cards on the top of the pile that he'd thrown down, turning them over and showing Wendy that he had, indeed, been bluffing.
"Pick up the whole pile, boy," she laughed triumphantly as David Hodges picked up three quarters of the deck of the cards and tried to hold them in one hand, put failing miserably.
"Seriously," he grumbled, "we need more than two people playing this game." He glanced around the room and saw that Warrick was flipping idly through an old car magazine. "What about you?" Warrick looked up, unsure if Hodges were addressing him or not.
"You interested in making time go by faster?" Wendy smiled.
"Trying is more like it," Hodges rolled his eyes. But the idea of adding another person into the mix to allievate the amount of cards in his hands was appealing.
Warrick shrugged, tossing the magazine down and joining the two. "What about you Cat?"
She tossed the old Cosmo magazine down ontop of the InStyle she'd been reading next to Warrick's car magazine. "I guess it's a foursome."
Nick's Blackberry started to chirp, so he placed his mug on the break room table. Glancing at the clock, he noted that it was almost eleven thirty. His email icon flashed, but he didn't know the sender name. But the tag line grabbed his attention. Dreams of Gold. The words he'd whispered to Sara only hours before. His brow furrowed in confusion. He knew Sara's email address, so it couldn't have been from her . . .
"Is it work related?" Greg asked, jumping at the sound of the blackberry. Maybe they'd get a case tonight after all. Or a lead on a cold case.
Nick shrugged his shoulders before using the little plastic pointer on the screen to open the email.
"OH, FUCK!" Nick yelled, his entire face turning red in an instant.
Everyone started asking what was up, but he couldn't answer them. All he could do was reach for the phone on his belt and dial Sara's cell phone. He didn't get an answer, so he hung up and motioned for Grissom to pick up the Blackberry when he dialed her home number. Nothing.
"What's going on?" Catherine asked, dropping the cards from her hand of Bull Shit face up on the table, ignoring the fact that she'd just 'spoiled' the game.
"It says, 'I'm going to finish what I started so long ago,'" Grissom answered. He felt his throat go dry as he starred at the attachment that had been sent as well. "There's a photo of Sara. She's passed out. The time stamp says it was taken an hour ago."
"Shit," Warrick mumbled. Catherine was stunned into silence, and Greg went pale. Nick was so angry as he continued to dial numbers into his cell phone. He couldn't even get a hold of the building manager or the supervisor.
Nick stood up so quickly that the chair he was sitting on fell backwards behind him, hitting the floor with a clatter. He raced out of the room.
"I'm calling Brass," Bobby Dawson muttered, grabbing the phone on the wall. The rest of the people in the room were stunned into silence. How in the hell could this be happening again? First Nick was taken, and nearly killed, and now Sara?
"We're heading out there now," Catherine had regained her composure -- well, at least some of it.
Warrick, Greg and Grissom all followed her through the door that Nick had just bolted through. By the time the three CSIs made there way to the parking lot, running at full speed, Nick's Denali was already out of the parking lot. The only thing visible of him was the tail lights of the SUV as it sped down the road, law enforcement lights flashing.
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Nick slammed on the breaks near the front doors of the apartment building, tires burning rubber as they left skid marks. Throwing the car in park, he leapt out the drivers side door, leaving the door wide open, and not giving a damn about the possible threat of theft. The CSI part of brain was working as he used the material at the waist of his shirt to press in the security code, gaining access to the building. Once the light flashed from red to green, signalling the door would be briefly unlocked, he again used the hem of his shirt, grabbing the handle and yanking the door open, hurling himself inside.
He raced down the carpeted hallway, yelling her name. A few of the occupants poked their heads into the hall, wondering what the commotion was. Some looked at him oddly, while others chastised him for making such noise at such a late hour.
His palm fisted the hard wood of her door as he pounded, furiously calling out to her. "Sara?! Baby, it's Nick! Open the door! God, open the door!" He was on the verge of tears, terrified.
Struggling, he finally managed to unlock the door for the second time that evening. Everything was in tact. The exception was that her coat was missing and the patio door was off it's track, leaning against the wall. The white billowy curtains that had hung on the inside were sucked outside of the room into the gentle breeze.
"Please, please," he muttered, stepping towards the door. He noticed that it was slightly ajar and he reached for his gun, preparing for a stand off with an intruder who sat at her bedside. Hoping that it would be over in a few short seconds and that he would be holding her close to him, whispering how it was over.
He hugged the wall of her walk-in closet, the wall of the master bathroom on the opposite side of him as he travelled down the small hallway within the master bedroom. He heard nothing. No rustling, no breathing. Nothing. Just utterly unbearable silence. Still, he gripped the gun tighter, and sprung away from the wall, cocking the gun towards the bed where they may have been.
No one was there.
In frustration, he kicked the wall, cursing himself for leaving. She was already sick and that had probably aided the kidnapper in his quest. Whatever it may be . . .
He glanced up as the rest of the team, followed closely by Brass and Sophia, who were entering the bedroom.
"She's gone," he whispered quietly.
"We're going to find her, Nick," Brass spoke softly, clasping a hand on the young CSIs shoulder. He could see how much pain Nick was in. He'd just lost someone that he completely loved. He'd loved his wife with the same devotion, but she hadn't returned it. It caused him to turn to the bottle . . .but Sara, well, he could see that Sara felt the same way about Nick. "We will. I promise." And he meant it, but he couldn't help but wonder if he were really trying to convince Nick, or himself. Maybe both, he thought sadly.
"Lets get to work," Catherine said, snapping on a pair of rubber gloves and flicking on the lights in the bedroom. "Greg and Warrick have the main living area."
"He came in through the patio door," Nick pointed out the obvious.
"We noticed that," Sophia tried to lighten the moment, but it was useless. Even though she and Sara had started out on not so friendly terms, they had come to a silent agreement to not let it effect their work. And slowly, they'd even become friends.
"I remember locking it before I left," Nick said, feeling his knees start to give way. Brass grabbed his arm to steady him.
"Don't blame yourself," Catherine said softly. "This is not your fault."
Nick nodded his head in acknowledgement of her statement, but he wasn't convinced.
"Did you kick in the toe jam?" Grissom asked him. It was the second locking mechanism on patio doors and without it, any intruder could simply lift the glass door out of its track and gain access to any residence.
He was silent for a moment, going over his earlier actions. "I don't remember," he admitted.
Grissom nodded his head. He forgot from time to time to lock his own with the second lock as well. "We'll dust for prints."
"Oh, God," Greg muttered before he lost his balance and fell backwards into the stove, he braced himself as best he could, but his heel made contact with the drawer beneath the oven, and the metal made a loud clinging noise.
"What's going on out here?" Grissom's lips pursed together. Now was not the time for games. Deep down, he knew that they knew that. Sara was their friend too.
"We have a suspect," Greg announced.
"What? Who?" Nick pushed his way through the people in the bedroom and walked into the living area. He saw Greg standing at the breakfast bar, holding a silver chain.
"Nine," he said, closing his eyes as the chain dangled from his finger tips, the flat circle dangling at the end, the number nine taunting him.
The small crowd of CSIs and law enforcement that had gathered in the apartment all went deathly silent. The only sound was of Sara's cat who meowed in discontentment. It sat down looking up at Nick expectantly. He bent over, on autopilot, prepared to pick up the cat, but it bolted away from him. He stood up and looked at the cat, who was making a quick exit through where the patio door had been. But it stopped and turned to look at Nick, crying once again.
"Dust for prints and collect everything," he instructed, inadvertantly taking the lead from their supervisor. He followed the cat through the door and into the apartment courtyard.
"You heard him," Grissom nodded, "get to work."
Brass and Sophia started conducting the door to door investigation as the others started their jobs. Catherine went into Sara's bedroom and found a shirt that she'd worn earlier in the day, at work, in the hamper. She picked it up in a gloved handed and bagged it. "I'm calling in the scent dogs," she stated.
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Nick quickly sprinted after the cat, following its every move. It ignored seemingly everything, intent on leading the CSI to something. It stopped suddenly, sitting down in a curb side parking stall on the streetm which was to the side of the buildings actual parking lot.
"Is this where he brought her, buddy?" he asked the cat, squatting down and examining the pavement.
Satisfied, the cat meowed once again, only this time, the pitch of its cry was normal. He rubbed his body against Nick's leg as if to say yes. The water run off slot was there and Nick noticed a piece of white cloth just a few inches down from the opening of the space. He reached his already gloved hand down and retrieved the item before it could fall away into oblivion, perhaps washing away all traces of whatever that might be on it. If it pertained to the case. Sighing, he stood up and looked around. The street was empty and all the lights in the surrounding apartment buildings were mostly off. But a slight red flickering caught his eye.
Nick pulled his phone out and quickly hit speed dial -- calling Warrick. He'd called him on his way back from Sara's to get coffee orders. He decided to make a pit stop at the Starbucks around the corner and decided that everyone back at the lab could use a jolt too. "I think I have something on the southwest corner of the lot."
In no time, Warrick and Brass had joined him. He handed the white cloth to Warrick. "Have this sent back to the lab to have it analyzed."
"What else have you got?" Brass asked.
"Lucky," he pointed to the cat that was now sitting on the sidewalk watching everything unfold with curiousity, as if he actually knew what was going on,
"lead me here. I think this is where the getaway vehicle may have been."
"Because of a cat?" Warrick asked incrediously.
"I know it sounds insane," Nick said, "but I found the cloth in that drain," he pointed to where the cloth had been. "And up there," he pointed to a window in a corner unit on the third floor, "is a flashing red light. Perhaps from a camcorder. If we're lucky, we might have a clear shot of the guys face, the vehicle he was driving, license plate number, or the direction he went in." He took in a shaky breath. "Anything."
"Good luck, man," Warrick held out his fist for Nick to bump like they always did.
"Thanks," he bumped fists. "Lets go, Jim."
Jim nodded his head. Together, they sprinted across the deserted residential street, gaining access to the secured building by a door that had been propped open. A resident had probably forgotten to close it after a quick smoke outside. Quickly, the two flew up two flights of stairs and knocked on the door of the corner apartment. "LVPD!"
"What do you want?" a woman in her thirties threw the door open, exasperated. "Do you have any idea of what time it is?"
"We saw a red light in your window," Nick started impatiently.
"Yeah, and?"
"We need it," Jim stated in a professional manner.
"Why would I help you? The only reason why I have the damn thing recording every night is because some little vandals decide to either egg my windows, or throw stones through them. My insurance company has refused to pay up, and the managers of the building are accusing me of doing it. I need proof that it isn't me, and you guys wouldn't help me. So tell me, what's in for me if I give you the tape?"
"We're investigating an abduction from across the street. It happened a little while ago and we have reason to believe that your camera might have critical evidence on it for our investigation. Time is of the essense, Ma'am."
"Please," Nick was ready to drop to his knees and beg. "We don't have a warrant and it could take hours to get one. We believe the person who kidnapped Sara is the serial rapist and murderer."
The woman visibly started to shake. "My little sister was good friends with Vanessa White," she was shocked. She stepped into her living room, leaving the door open for Jim and Nick to step inside. She grabbed the camera, hands still shaking. "Here," she handed the camera to Nick, "take the whole thing, I don't want to ruin the tape."
"We'll get this back to you soon as possible," Jim said as he watched Nick bolt straight for the door and back down the stairs.
"This Sara person . . . the one who was taken, she's something special to that guy, huh?"
Jim just nodded his head slightly. "Yeah. To all of us. She's a CSI, just like Nick."
"He loves her," she stated. "Good luck."
"Thanks," he smiled. "To show you how much we appreciate this, I'm going to have some under covers placed outside for a few days. We'll see if we can nail those little punks for you."
"No rush," she shook her head. "Just find her and put that creep behind bars."
TBC . . . .
Lvodkadiet
Rookie
oooh this is soo exciting, hurry we need more!
MegBreanne
Police Officer
Chapter 15:
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"What've you go so far?" Catherine asked Archie.
The first order of business had been to obtain the security camera tapes from Sara's building. They had been easy to get since the Building Manager had come home to police all over the apartment complex. He demanded to know what was going on and then promptly started asking if he should lawyer up. Someone had been taken, most likely against their will, in his building. He didn't want any legal action taken against him. So, he'd readily handed over anything that could help find Sara. All the tapes from all the different cameras for the last two weeks) and the blue print of the apartment building and grounds.
"Warrick told me that Nick believes this guy took Sara from her apartment, and headed this way," he pointed to the blue print, dragging his finger along the paper, in the direction of where the cat had lead Nick. "Based on that, only two cameras would've caught anything. I've gone over them, and at first, they came up clean."
"At first?"
"Yeah," he nodded his head, quickly queing up one of the tapes. "If you look closely, when this tape begins, you can see the back end of Nick's Denali pulling away from the curb."
"Obvious from earlier tonight," she nodded her head.
"Yes. The way the camera is positioned, you can't see the front door, or the drivers side door. Not much has been going on around the building, so I wasn't really seeing anything at all . . . but then," he fast forwarded about fourty five minutes from the time that Nick had pulled away, "the feed loops back over and replays. Nick's Denali is back. And at this time," he motioned to the timestamp, "he was already back at the lab."
"So, who ever did this knew how to manipulate security camera feeds?"
Archie nodded. "It's not the easiest thing to do, but you don't have to be a genius to figure it out."
"What about the other tape? You said there were two?"
"Same thing, it loops back over. And given the fact that Nick left the building, the tape replays about fourty five minutes later, and the time stamp on the photo that was emailed to Nick of Sara was about fifteen minutes after that, it seems plausible that this guy knew what he was doing. Probably planning it for a while."
Catherine nodded her head sadly. "The picture was emailed to Nick about an hour after he took her. Probably waited just long enough to get a head start."
"Drop whatever you're doing," Nick said, racing into the lab. "I've got a tape! It could be," he panted, thrusting it into Archie's hands, "our best chance."
Quickly, he changed the tapes and fast forwarded the contents, looking for anything that could be to their advantage.
"Bingo," Archie said, his heart racing increasing slightly, a small smile tugging on his lips. The vehicle pulled up to the curb.
"Wasn't there a strange, late 80's Chevy truck a few blocks from the Mary Bishop crime scene?" Catherine asked, watching as the man, dressed in black, face pointed away from the camera, jumped out of the vehicle and headed across the lawn towards Sara's apartment.
"Yeah," Nick answered, his knuckles turning white as he clutched the back of Archie's chair. He stood a little straighter when a few minutes later, the man came out, craddling Sara's limp body in his arms. He flinched when he noticed how she was roughly thrown inside the cab. He could see Lucky, the cat, trying to attack the man's leg. When the man leant over to grab the cat, Lucky got a good swat in on his bare arm.
Catherine whipped out her cell phone. "The cat managed to scratch the perp. If we're lucky, he's still got some of the guys DNA." She nodded her head as Greg announced that he would try and extract the skin cells, both hoping like hell that the DNA hadn't rubbed off in the grass, or been licked away with the cats grooming skills. Even though they already had the serial rapist and murderers DNA, they needed to know if this was in fact the same person.
"Go back," Nick said. Archie qued the tape back up a bit . . . "Five seconds . . . slow it down . . . . There!" Archie quickly paused the tape, freezing on the mans face. "Print that off."
Archie did as he was told and then started on the next obvious lead. The license plate. He isolated the frames, making the plates enlarged. "Fake," he sighed upon seeing the tags. The serial number read 00000.
"Dammit!" Nick's fist hit the desk in frustration. He rubbed his hand over his face in an attempt to calm down.
"At least we have a picture of him and the vehicle," Catherine pointed out, grabbing the print out of the guys face and rushing out of the room. "We're gonna get him, Nick. We're gonna get Sara back."
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"Have you located him yet?" Nick nearly snapped into his cell phone.
"Nick, the APB has only been out for ten minutes," Sophia said, her nerves frayed. "We have to give it a little time."
He sighed, knowing that she was right. He bid her a hasty good bye before snapping his phone shut and walking into the breakroom.
"How do you think she's doing?" Greg asked Warrick quietly.
"C'mon, man, you know Sar," Warrick answered in the same hushed tone. "She's going to be fine."
Brass and Grissom exchanged looks knowing that when her back was against the wall, and she felt cornered, she fought. That wasn't always a bad thing, but in this case, it might mean the difference between life and death. Brass remembered when she had drawn her gun and gone into the apartment with him and other officers before the room had been cleared. And she found the guy trying to escape through the window. It had been right after the explosion and everyone knew that she needed to take some time off to clear her head, but she refused. Grissom couldn't help but remember the man at the Institution who locked them into the officer together and held the makeshift knife to her throat.
"I know this is going to sound stupid, Nick, but what's going on?" Catherine asked. They were once again at a stand still with nothing to track down. All they had was a face and a vehicle -- but where they were, no one knew. Nick looked over at Catherine and then glanced around at his team mates who were looking at him, waiting for him to respond. "There is something you're not telling us," she pressed. "I can see it in your eyes."
He sighed, knowing that whatever the out come, they would find out anyway.
"Sara wasn't completely honest with you guys," he hedged. "I don't mean that she lied, but she withheld some information in regards to the case -" he saw all the shocked expressions and raised his hands, palms towards them, in an effort to keep them quiet so he could finish. "It's nothing that would've told us who," he stopped for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts, "this is. But I whole heartedly supported her decision."
"What didn't she tell us?" Brass asked.
He remained quiet for a few moments trying to decide just how much he could tell them without breaking her trust. But he knew that he had to come clean and tell them everything. If when they got Sara back, and she was pissed at him, he could deal with that. It would make him more than happy for that. "She was the first victim."
Catherine let out a shaky breath. "That explains a lot."
"How does she know?"
"Everything fits," he shrugged. "In the time line -- she was the first, it happened in park, in Boston in '91 when she was at Harvard. He wore a ski mask too. She said she felt like the case was following her. But she couldn't offer any other information because she didn't see his face. She told me that she thought he was going to kill her. But two girls showed up in the park and so he bolted. Saved her life."
"Why didn't she report it?" Warrick asked, leaning back in his seat.
"She did, but the officer who took her statement apparently didn't create a case file, and pretended like he had no idea what she was talking about when she showed up at the Boston PD demanding answers."
"That's unacceptable!" Grissom shouted, startling the occupants of the room. The man rarely ever raised his voice or got angry. "Did she speak with the Police Chief?"
Nick nodded his head. "He accessed her file. Life history seems more accurate, really. It's a long story, but Sara had a rough past. I think we all figured that out for ourselves. She only recently confided in me about it," he took a shaky breath. "Anyway, after glancing at her file, Sara told me that he decided she was a screwed up kid looking for attention. The officer, Alexander Danes, had just been given a medal for bravery or something, so no one thought he was capable of doing something against policy. By the time she had gone to the PD demanding that someone update her about what was going on, it had been a few days and all the evidence would've been gone. There was nothing she could do. At best, it was his word against hers, and she didn't even know who he was. The next night, the second rape and first murder happened. She is convinced that if those girls hadn't shown up in the park when they did, she'd have been dead."
"Why didn't she say anything?" Grissom's voice was decidedly soft now. "To us?"
"Because," he rubbed his eyes. "She needs to find this guy. To give her some peace. Give her justice. Give those other girls justice. She knew that if she told you about it, you would pull her off the case." He looked at Grissom. "And if you had, there is no doubt in my mind that she wouldn't have been able to handle it. She's lived with this for 16 years. I think she felt like if she was able to know that something she found helped put him away, it would really give her closure. And she wouldn't get that if she wasn't on the case."
"Do you think it's the same guy?" Brass asked.
"How could it not be?" His eyes filled with water. "The email said that he was going to finish what he started. If she was the first victim, and he had planned on killing her?" He swallowed against the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. "It started in Boston. Then the guy goes underground and shows up again in San Francisco, where she's working the case. And now, here . . . it's not a coincidence."
"But it goes against his pattern," Greg muttered.
"Fuck the pattern!" Nick said, sweeping his hand over the table top, newspapers and paper cups floating down to the ground.
Greg jumped at Nick's outburst though he knew that it wasn't aimed at him.
"He's deviating from what he knows," Warrick calmly spoke, telling the youngest CSI, and voicing what everyone else in the room knew, but needed to hear anyway. "He's going to slip up."
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Sara's eyes fluttered open, her head throbbing. The fast motion of a moving vehicle made her queasy.
"How nice of you to finally wake up," he taunted her.
Her eyes opened wide and she attempted to focus, but her vision was blurry. "Who are you?" she asked timidly, beginning to tug at the ropes that were around her wrists.
"You know," he sneered.
His face came into focus, but she didn't recognize him, though his eyes were framiliar. She just couldn't place them.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice becoming stronger. The CSI part of her brain was kicking into gear. She needed to get information, she needed to process what was going on and formulate a plan to get herself out. Or to get word to someone else who could help her . . .
Suddenly, he let go of the steering wheel with his right hand and grabbed a fist full of her hair, yanking her head towards him. She made him focus on his eyes. "January 13th, 1991. The bushes in the park. Ring any bells?"
"Oh!" she choked, her eyes watering.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," he released his grip on her hair suddenly, pushing her head away from him with such force that she wasn't able to get her equilibrum balanced and she hit her head on the passenger side window. "Playing dumb never suits the smart girls. Of course, how smart can you be? You ignored me for months!" He shook his head furiously, glancing from the road, to her. "If you'd just paid attention, this never would've happened! I'd never have had to take from you what was mine, and I never would gotten a taste of what it was like. Exhilerating. Intoxicating. Freeing. Those girls never would've lost their lives. But they did . . . and I think maybe I should thank you for that. You know, because it gave me the knowledge that I'm smarter than those . . . those idiots who think that they can keep people safe. They couldn't keep me safe. They certainly couldn't keep you safe. They practically handed you to me on a silver platter."
"I think I'm going to be sick," she muttered before the soup that Nick had made her resurfaced, hitting the floor between them.
"UGH!" He fumed. "Look what you've done!" When she vomitted a second time, he lost his temper and hit her from across the seat.
When she recoiled back in her seat, trying to bring a hand up to the stinging flesh, he smiled proudly. He'd put her in her place, and the vision of her struggling against the restraints he'd tied to her made him feel oddly giddy.
"I'm sorry," she fought against throwing up again. "I'm not feeling too well. I think it's the flu."
"I don't care what it is," he laughed. "It helped me get you out of your place. I thought it would've been more difficult. But you made it especially easy. I thought I was going to have to kill your little boyfriend to get you outta there. But you sent him on his way. Probably saved his life," he sneered.
She closed her eyes, wishing that Nick would take her in his arms. She prayed that he would find her.
"I need some water, or something," she said.
"Oh no," he shook his head. "We have a long drive in front of us and we have no time for unplanned pit stops."
"Please," she begged. "If I have some water or something, it'll probably help settle my stomach."
He glanced over at her and realized that she was right. He didn't have his rag of chloriform anymore since he'd lost it somewhere along the way. "I could beat you into silence," he pondered outloud, seeing her flinch. He smirked. "But I want you to be conscious when I torture you. Then there is the main event. I've been waiting and planning for a long time," he said in a quiet whisper that made her shiver in terror. "It's perfect."
"You'll need to untie me," she held up her hands to show him the binding.
"I'm going in alone," he shook his head. "You're staying put."
"Please," she begged. "I need to go to the bathroom. My stomach really is unsettled, and I don't think either of us want anymore accidents. Not like that," she nodded her head at the vomit on the floor, "or any other kind of accident."
He visibly cringed and he started to think. "Fine," he conceded. He reached into his left pocket and grabbed a Swiss Army Knife. "I will let you out to go to the washroom, and get a drink, but I'll be with you the whole time. And if you try anything, and I mean, anything at all, I won't hesitate to kill the clerk," he nodded his head at the small gas station that seemed to be oddly out of place in the desert, looming just ahead of them. No buildings were around it, it just sat in solitary silence next to the two lane highway. "But don't worry, I still plan to have my fun with you, no matter what. And then," he smiled at her, flashing his dirty teeth, ". . . you die."
TBC . . . .
CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI
"What've you go so far?" Catherine asked Archie.
The first order of business had been to obtain the security camera tapes from Sara's building. They had been easy to get since the Building Manager had come home to police all over the apartment complex. He demanded to know what was going on and then promptly started asking if he should lawyer up. Someone had been taken, most likely against their will, in his building. He didn't want any legal action taken against him. So, he'd readily handed over anything that could help find Sara. All the tapes from all the different cameras for the last two weeks) and the blue print of the apartment building and grounds.
"Warrick told me that Nick believes this guy took Sara from her apartment, and headed this way," he pointed to the blue print, dragging his finger along the paper, in the direction of where the cat had lead Nick. "Based on that, only two cameras would've caught anything. I've gone over them, and at first, they came up clean."
"At first?"
"Yeah," he nodded his head, quickly queing up one of the tapes. "If you look closely, when this tape begins, you can see the back end of Nick's Denali pulling away from the curb."
"Obvious from earlier tonight," she nodded her head.
"Yes. The way the camera is positioned, you can't see the front door, or the drivers side door. Not much has been going on around the building, so I wasn't really seeing anything at all . . . but then," he fast forwarded about fourty five minutes from the time that Nick had pulled away, "the feed loops back over and replays. Nick's Denali is back. And at this time," he motioned to the timestamp, "he was already back at the lab."
"So, who ever did this knew how to manipulate security camera feeds?"
Archie nodded. "It's not the easiest thing to do, but you don't have to be a genius to figure it out."
"What about the other tape? You said there were two?"
"Same thing, it loops back over. And given the fact that Nick left the building, the tape replays about fourty five minutes later, and the time stamp on the photo that was emailed to Nick of Sara was about fifteen minutes after that, it seems plausible that this guy knew what he was doing. Probably planning it for a while."
Catherine nodded her head sadly. "The picture was emailed to Nick about an hour after he took her. Probably waited just long enough to get a head start."
"Drop whatever you're doing," Nick said, racing into the lab. "I've got a tape! It could be," he panted, thrusting it into Archie's hands, "our best chance."
Quickly, he changed the tapes and fast forwarded the contents, looking for anything that could be to their advantage.
"Bingo," Archie said, his heart racing increasing slightly, a small smile tugging on his lips. The vehicle pulled up to the curb.
"Wasn't there a strange, late 80's Chevy truck a few blocks from the Mary Bishop crime scene?" Catherine asked, watching as the man, dressed in black, face pointed away from the camera, jumped out of the vehicle and headed across the lawn towards Sara's apartment.
"Yeah," Nick answered, his knuckles turning white as he clutched the back of Archie's chair. He stood a little straighter when a few minutes later, the man came out, craddling Sara's limp body in his arms. He flinched when he noticed how she was roughly thrown inside the cab. He could see Lucky, the cat, trying to attack the man's leg. When the man leant over to grab the cat, Lucky got a good swat in on his bare arm.
Catherine whipped out her cell phone. "The cat managed to scratch the perp. If we're lucky, he's still got some of the guys DNA." She nodded her head as Greg announced that he would try and extract the skin cells, both hoping like hell that the DNA hadn't rubbed off in the grass, or been licked away with the cats grooming skills. Even though they already had the serial rapist and murderers DNA, they needed to know if this was in fact the same person.
"Go back," Nick said. Archie qued the tape back up a bit . . . "Five seconds . . . slow it down . . . . There!" Archie quickly paused the tape, freezing on the mans face. "Print that off."
Archie did as he was told and then started on the next obvious lead. The license plate. He isolated the frames, making the plates enlarged. "Fake," he sighed upon seeing the tags. The serial number read 00000.
"Dammit!" Nick's fist hit the desk in frustration. He rubbed his hand over his face in an attempt to calm down.
"At least we have a picture of him and the vehicle," Catherine pointed out, grabbing the print out of the guys face and rushing out of the room. "We're gonna get him, Nick. We're gonna get Sara back."
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"Have you located him yet?" Nick nearly snapped into his cell phone.
"Nick, the APB has only been out for ten minutes," Sophia said, her nerves frayed. "We have to give it a little time."
He sighed, knowing that she was right. He bid her a hasty good bye before snapping his phone shut and walking into the breakroom.
"How do you think she's doing?" Greg asked Warrick quietly.
"C'mon, man, you know Sar," Warrick answered in the same hushed tone. "She's going to be fine."
Brass and Grissom exchanged looks knowing that when her back was against the wall, and she felt cornered, she fought. That wasn't always a bad thing, but in this case, it might mean the difference between life and death. Brass remembered when she had drawn her gun and gone into the apartment with him and other officers before the room had been cleared. And she found the guy trying to escape through the window. It had been right after the explosion and everyone knew that she needed to take some time off to clear her head, but she refused. Grissom couldn't help but remember the man at the Institution who locked them into the officer together and held the makeshift knife to her throat.
"I know this is going to sound stupid, Nick, but what's going on?" Catherine asked. They were once again at a stand still with nothing to track down. All they had was a face and a vehicle -- but where they were, no one knew. Nick looked over at Catherine and then glanced around at his team mates who were looking at him, waiting for him to respond. "There is something you're not telling us," she pressed. "I can see it in your eyes."
He sighed, knowing that whatever the out come, they would find out anyway.
"Sara wasn't completely honest with you guys," he hedged. "I don't mean that she lied, but she withheld some information in regards to the case -" he saw all the shocked expressions and raised his hands, palms towards them, in an effort to keep them quiet so he could finish. "It's nothing that would've told us who," he stopped for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts, "this is. But I whole heartedly supported her decision."
"What didn't she tell us?" Brass asked.
He remained quiet for a few moments trying to decide just how much he could tell them without breaking her trust. But he knew that he had to come clean and tell them everything. If when they got Sara back, and she was pissed at him, he could deal with that. It would make him more than happy for that. "She was the first victim."
Catherine let out a shaky breath. "That explains a lot."
"How does she know?"
"Everything fits," he shrugged. "In the time line -- she was the first, it happened in park, in Boston in '91 when she was at Harvard. He wore a ski mask too. She said she felt like the case was following her. But she couldn't offer any other information because she didn't see his face. She told me that she thought he was going to kill her. But two girls showed up in the park and so he bolted. Saved her life."
"Why didn't she report it?" Warrick asked, leaning back in his seat.
"She did, but the officer who took her statement apparently didn't create a case file, and pretended like he had no idea what she was talking about when she showed up at the Boston PD demanding answers."
"That's unacceptable!" Grissom shouted, startling the occupants of the room. The man rarely ever raised his voice or got angry. "Did she speak with the Police Chief?"
Nick nodded his head. "He accessed her file. Life history seems more accurate, really. It's a long story, but Sara had a rough past. I think we all figured that out for ourselves. She only recently confided in me about it," he took a shaky breath. "Anyway, after glancing at her file, Sara told me that he decided she was a screwed up kid looking for attention. The officer, Alexander Danes, had just been given a medal for bravery or something, so no one thought he was capable of doing something against policy. By the time she had gone to the PD demanding that someone update her about what was going on, it had been a few days and all the evidence would've been gone. There was nothing she could do. At best, it was his word against hers, and she didn't even know who he was. The next night, the second rape and first murder happened. She is convinced that if those girls hadn't shown up in the park when they did, she'd have been dead."
"Why didn't she say anything?" Grissom's voice was decidedly soft now. "To us?"
"Because," he rubbed his eyes. "She needs to find this guy. To give her some peace. Give her justice. Give those other girls justice. She knew that if she told you about it, you would pull her off the case." He looked at Grissom. "And if you had, there is no doubt in my mind that she wouldn't have been able to handle it. She's lived with this for 16 years. I think she felt like if she was able to know that something she found helped put him away, it would really give her closure. And she wouldn't get that if she wasn't on the case."
"Do you think it's the same guy?" Brass asked.
"How could it not be?" His eyes filled with water. "The email said that he was going to finish what he started. If she was the first victim, and he had planned on killing her?" He swallowed against the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. "It started in Boston. Then the guy goes underground and shows up again in San Francisco, where she's working the case. And now, here . . . it's not a coincidence."
"But it goes against his pattern," Greg muttered.
"Fuck the pattern!" Nick said, sweeping his hand over the table top, newspapers and paper cups floating down to the ground.
Greg jumped at Nick's outburst though he knew that it wasn't aimed at him.
"He's deviating from what he knows," Warrick calmly spoke, telling the youngest CSI, and voicing what everyone else in the room knew, but needed to hear anyway. "He's going to slip up."
CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI
Sara's eyes fluttered open, her head throbbing. The fast motion of a moving vehicle made her queasy.
"How nice of you to finally wake up," he taunted her.
Her eyes opened wide and she attempted to focus, but her vision was blurry. "Who are you?" she asked timidly, beginning to tug at the ropes that were around her wrists.
"You know," he sneered.
His face came into focus, but she didn't recognize him, though his eyes were framiliar. She just couldn't place them.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice becoming stronger. The CSI part of her brain was kicking into gear. She needed to get information, she needed to process what was going on and formulate a plan to get herself out. Or to get word to someone else who could help her . . .
Suddenly, he let go of the steering wheel with his right hand and grabbed a fist full of her hair, yanking her head towards him. She made him focus on his eyes. "January 13th, 1991. The bushes in the park. Ring any bells?"
"Oh!" she choked, her eyes watering.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," he released his grip on her hair suddenly, pushing her head away from him with such force that she wasn't able to get her equilibrum balanced and she hit her head on the passenger side window. "Playing dumb never suits the smart girls. Of course, how smart can you be? You ignored me for months!" He shook his head furiously, glancing from the road, to her. "If you'd just paid attention, this never would've happened! I'd never have had to take from you what was mine, and I never would gotten a taste of what it was like. Exhilerating. Intoxicating. Freeing. Those girls never would've lost their lives. But they did . . . and I think maybe I should thank you for that. You know, because it gave me the knowledge that I'm smarter than those . . . those idiots who think that they can keep people safe. They couldn't keep me safe. They certainly couldn't keep you safe. They practically handed you to me on a silver platter."
"I think I'm going to be sick," she muttered before the soup that Nick had made her resurfaced, hitting the floor between them.
"UGH!" He fumed. "Look what you've done!" When she vomitted a second time, he lost his temper and hit her from across the seat.
When she recoiled back in her seat, trying to bring a hand up to the stinging flesh, he smiled proudly. He'd put her in her place, and the vision of her struggling against the restraints he'd tied to her made him feel oddly giddy.
"I'm sorry," she fought against throwing up again. "I'm not feeling too well. I think it's the flu."
"I don't care what it is," he laughed. "It helped me get you out of your place. I thought it would've been more difficult. But you made it especially easy. I thought I was going to have to kill your little boyfriend to get you outta there. But you sent him on his way. Probably saved his life," he sneered.
She closed her eyes, wishing that Nick would take her in his arms. She prayed that he would find her.
"I need some water, or something," she said.
"Oh no," he shook his head. "We have a long drive in front of us and we have no time for unplanned pit stops."
"Please," she begged. "If I have some water or something, it'll probably help settle my stomach."
He glanced over at her and realized that she was right. He didn't have his rag of chloriform anymore since he'd lost it somewhere along the way. "I could beat you into silence," he pondered outloud, seeing her flinch. He smirked. "But I want you to be conscious when I torture you. Then there is the main event. I've been waiting and planning for a long time," he said in a quiet whisper that made her shiver in terror. "It's perfect."
"You'll need to untie me," she held up her hands to show him the binding.
"I'm going in alone," he shook his head. "You're staying put."
"Please," she begged. "I need to go to the bathroom. My stomach really is unsettled, and I don't think either of us want anymore accidents. Not like that," she nodded her head at the vomit on the floor, "or any other kind of accident."
He visibly cringed and he started to think. "Fine," he conceded. He reached into his left pocket and grabbed a Swiss Army Knife. "I will let you out to go to the washroom, and get a drink, but I'll be with you the whole time. And if you try anything, and I mean, anything at all, I won't hesitate to kill the clerk," he nodded his head at the small gas station that seemed to be oddly out of place in the desert, looming just ahead of them. No buildings were around it, it just sat in solitary silence next to the two lane highway. "But don't worry, I still plan to have my fun with you, no matter what. And then," he smiled at her, flashing his dirty teeth, ". . . you die."
TBC . . . .
AshleyFirst223
Pathologist
Seriously, I Love You! This is so creative, I like it a lot, and you better continue!