Chapter 2

“I feel cheated. You don’t even have me spread out on a couch.”

Sara paused in cutting her waffles, looked up and saw Greg watching her intently as he leaned over his plate. Setting down her knife and fork, she cocked her head quizzically as she waited for an explanation.

“If you’re going to play psychoanalyst, I insist on a couch. It’s traditional.”

Taking a leisurely sip of coffee, she waved to the waitress to refill Greg’s juice. The diner was fairly busy that morning, but no one else from the lab was there. It was a good place to chat, but she hadn’t mentioned her concerns, instead hoping he’d feel comfortable enough to talk. Considering his look, she decided that insisting he join her for breakfast probably hadn’t been the most tactful approach. But he didn’t seem angry, at most maybe a bit weary.

“Actually, I’m not sure how traditional the whole couch thing really is. And I haven’t asked you a single question,” she pointed out lightly after the waitress left.

“Technicality. Now, if you want to play doctor, I’m game,” he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Ah, no.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“Just don’t try too hard,” she said in a mock-warning, earning a brief smile. Going back to her breakfast, she stole glances as he pushed his omelet around his place, finally taking a few bites when he noticed her attention. She tried not to stare when he started to shred his paper napkin into tiny strips.

“So, Dr. Freud, what is the significance of my destroying a helpless object?” he asked when he looked up and let the pieces of paper flutter to the table.

“That you have a deep-seated fixation on sex. And your mother.”

His eyes snapped open wide and she grinned. “I think that pretty much summarizes all of Freud, doesn’t it?”

Out of the blue, he let out a sigh. “Everyone keeps…”

When he paused for a long time, she mimicked his position, leaning closer and lowering her voice for a semblance of privacy. “Don’t feel like you have to tell me anything, Greg, ‘cause you don’t. But I can listen if you need to rant.”

His voice was tight when he continued. “Everyone keeps telling me I did the right thing. Like that makes a difference. I killed a kid. I took his life, and I can’t give it back.”

“I understand.”

Cocking his head, he stared at her for a moment. “I think you’re the only one who really does. It’s why you always said you’d never kill someone. You knew what it would mean.”

She gave a brief nod. More than the others, she knew firsthand the damage done by murder, the disruption in the lives of the survivors. It was a pain she swore never to inflict on another, a responsibility she’d never assume for herself.

Greg hadn’t intended to kill James, had only been trying to protect another man, but the consequence of his actions carried an indisputable finality. For all his bluster and impishness, he had a sensitive soul, and it wasn’t hard to imagine how difficult this was for him.

“I wouldn’t kill someone, but you weren’t trying to kill that gang member,” she said. “I know the result is the same, but you can’t dismiss the circumstances.”

“I know! And if I had done nothing, James probably would have killed Mr. Tanner. So I’d have been responsible for his death if I hadn’t …stopped…James.”

He dropped his head, and Sara waited quietly for him. She understood his guilt, and she knew she’d feel the same in his place. But as far as she was concerned, Demetrius James forced Greg’s hand. Her rage at his suffering flared, but she kept it hidden; it was the last thing he needed to see. Right now, he needed a friend.

“I, there are times, uh, God, this sounds really, really bad, but there are times I wish that Grissom had sent out someone else that night,” he admitted reluctantly. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“No one does.”

“I mean, you would have handled it so much better. You wouldn’t have killed him, you wouldn’t have let yourself get caught by…”

“Stop,” she said firmly but kindly. “You don’t know that.”

“Come on, you have so much more experience.”

She shook her head, reaching across the table to rest a hand protectively on his forearm. “People can say that they’d have done things differently, Greg, but that’s a load of crap,” she told him gently. The truth was she had considered what had happened, what she would have done differently, but that was with the benefit of hindsight and in the safety of Grissom’s arms. She hadn’t been there, seen the beating, had to make the life-and-death decision on her own. “No one knows how they’re going to react until they’re in that position.”

“I can’t imagine what you coulda done worse,” he said with a bitter laugh.

“I panicked. I confronted James with my pistol and let myself get attacked from behind by the gang. Then they killed me and Tanner.”

The blunt way she stated the scenario caused Greg to pale.

“And they had my weapon to use on their next victims. They killed three more people before they all died in a massive shootout with the police. A family of tourists got caught in the crossfire. Their baby died, and the father’s paralyzed.”

“But you can’t know that,” he insisted.

“That’s my point. If you’re going to play ‘what if’, you have to consider every possible outcome, because there is no way to know what would have happened.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I won’t think about that particular consequence. Ever.”

“It’s a waste of time to beat yourself up over it. Yeah, I know, that’s easy for me to say, but I mean it,” she said. “You’ll drive yourself crazy if you dwell on what-could-have-beens. Life is short. Learn from the past, but don’t ever live there. Trust me on that. It’s a bad way to get by.”

The emotional honesty carried in her voice, and Greg’s expression grew curious. She wanted him to know that she understood regret and pain, even if it meant having to reveal her past. When he didn’t press for details, she felt a momentary pang of guilt at the relief she felt.

Greg drained his juice and moved his head slightly from side to side. “I understand what you’re saying. I know it’s true here,” he said, tapping his head with a finger. “But, it’s hard.”

“I can only imagine,” Sara said softly, rolling her eyes when her pager went off. “My scene’s ready. How do they manage to do that so quickly whenever we want to get breakfast first?”

“One of life’s mysteries,” he intoned solemnly before grinning. “Don’t worry about it.”

The waitress, use to sudden departures by lab members, appeared with the check, and Sara paid with her typical smile and generous tip. She waited until they were alone again before pulling a business card out of her purse.

“Uh, here,” she said, thrusting it into his hand quickly.

“A PEAP counselor?”

“Yeah. If you need someone to talk to who might have some answers or advice. Uh, he’s nice,” she said, giving a quick nod at Greg’s questioning look and waving goodbye as she left the diner.

Sara followed behind the officers, automatically scanning her surroundings and making mental notes. What she saw wasn’t encouraging. Broken needles, used condoms and empty bottles covered the floors, indicating that multiple people used the space. Worse, it was all soaked from the rain leaking through the roof.

Sofia called an all clear as the officers herded the last of the addicts out of the building. Setting her kit down, Sara frowned. Even if there were something here that related to John Dough’s death, she’d have a hell of a time finding it. Too much time had passed, too many people had been in the building.

A brief cry and a crunching sound caught her attention, and she turned in time to see an officer knocking bugs off his leg and crushing them under his boots.

“Some of Grissom’s friends,” another joked, and first officer blushed as the others started laughing at his reaction. She joined the soft chuckling, quickly verifying the bugs were typical cockroaches and nothing unusual.

It was telling that in all the years she’d known the officer, she never suspected he was afraid of bugs. No one dared kill any insect at a scene because of the certain knowledge that they would have to answer to Grissom. His absence caused everyone to react differently, but she doubted anyone else missed him the way she did. The whole department depended on Grissom the scientist, but only she knew Grissom the man.

Turning her attention back to the wreck of a building, she looked for anything that would help determine why Dough died. The winter air was cold, but not excessively so. The power company had disconnected service over a year ago, so that made an electrical shock unlikely. The walls were moldy, but she was certain Robbins would have noticed if it contributed to the death. Opening her case, she took a sample to be safe, though.

“Do I want to know who you pissed off enough to get us stuck here?” Sofia asked jokingly as she directed the officers to the front door.

Sara paused for a moment, briefly wondering why Doc had asked her to check into this. Ideas of her tenaciousness and dedication, her ability to be discreet – although Doc had no idea the depth of that talent – floated through her mind before she went with the obvious answer. Now that Grissom was gone, she was the least likely to have a social life to interrupt.

“Doc noted something odd with the guy found dead here,” she explained. “He asked me to check it out.”

“Odd?”

Taking out her camera, she debated how much to share. She hated withholding information from a colleague, but it was a touchy subject. Neither the lab nor the coroner’s office needed a reputation of following hunches, and while the deaths seemed odd, there was no evidence yet that they involved a crime.

“Yeah. Nothing that he can say is a sign of foul play, but…”

Sofia gave her a nod. “Gotcha. He wants answers, but he doesn’t want to get the mayor in a tizzy over investigating something that might not be anything. So, what are we looking for?”

“You know, I don’t think I have an idea about that at most scenes I process.”

Laughing, the detective ran her flashlight along the walls. “That’s true. This place is a dump. The wiring’s been ripped out of the walls. Probably to sell the copper. Do these guys even realize how little they make for the amount of work that takes?”

“The very first case I had on my own back in San Francisco was investigating a guy who was stealing bricks – from buildings.”

“Did you ever find him?”

“Yeah, it was a short case,” Sara said, lowering the camera as she reminisced. “He started at the bottom of the wall.”

“He didn’t!”

“He did. For days after that, I got sick every time I saw a seagull.”

“Why?” Sofia asked as she started examining random items on a window ledge.

“Carrion eaters. Those bricks spread him out all over that alley. Three officers tried to keep the seagulls chased away while the coroner gathered him up.” Sara made a face at the memory, gave her head a shake and put the camera away. Taking a look at the thick debris on the floor, she exhaled loudly as she uncovered a dead rat. “Lovely.”

“According to the officers on this route, this is a favorite hangout for the local druggies,” Sofia said. “There’s always traffic in here. This place has been compromised since they took the body out of here. Not to mention the rain.”

“I know,” she said. “There’s no way to get evidence in here. It’s all contaminated.”

“What are you going to do now?”

Sara shrugged as she sat back on her heels. The building was a dead-end, and she considered her next step carefully. How do you proceed when you don’t even know there was a crime? What were the options?

If the deaths were a statistical anomaly, there was nothing she could do but wait for the odd streak to end. It was a tragic, albeit not unexpected, end for drug addicts.

A tainted drug supply was a possibility, but one that was likely to be self-correcting. Drug dealers didn’t generally kill their money sources, and whoever supplied the bad drugs was probably already dead or permanently out of town. But was it probable? Heroin wasn’t the most common drug in the city, but enough people used it. The number of deaths should have been higher, unless a small-time dealer was cutting it for the local population. She’d have to talk to Narcotics to see if they had any names.

Had the dead men found or stolen something lethal? Tox screens were very accurate, but only on substances they covered, and that was a tiny fraction of known chemicals. An addict desperate for the next high wasn’t likely to be too discerning about what they injected, especially if it was a medical supply. In that case, it was also likely that the vial was running low by now, possibly even empty, and the rash of unexplained deaths would come to an end.

It was also unlikely that she’d ever find that vial. Some other addict would have taken it before the police arrived. If it had been broken, she doubted the department would free up the resources it would take to test all the broken glass in here, especially considering that the rain probably washed most of the trace evidence away.

The last option was murder. It was the most pressing case, but also the one she found hardest to believe. It would be easier to poison food and place it in dumpsters, or walk into a room like this with a shotgun. One victim at a time suggested something more personal, and what enemy did drug addicts in different buildings have in common? She’d have to check their records, but she wasn’t expecting to find anything too helpful.

Robbins mentioned potassium chloride. That meant the murderer had to go into a drug den to administer the deadly shot. That definitely screamed a personal motive, as well as some sort of medical background. He also said it was widely used. How hard would it be to get? It was a lethal drug in the concentrations sold, but it was also just essentially saltwater. She’d have to investigate that as well.

Standing up, she turned to Sofia. “I’m going to drop this off at the lab and go home.”

Working at the lab was bound to raise questions, and she’d rather keep this quiet until she had more information. She also needed the diversion.

Too many things reminded her of Grissom. When she read, she missed the feel of his arm around her shoulders while he worked a crossword puzzle. When she watched TV, she missed the sound of his heartbeat and his warmth. She still felt a trace of anxiety from her nightmare, and it was too easy to let the uncertainty of his leaving weigh down on her.

And that was something she didn’t want to think about it, half-afraid that she’d convince herself it was over, and then inadvertently driving him away with her distance when he returned. If it was over, then it was over. She’d deal with it when she knew for sure. Until then, she tried to remain positive.

The irony wasn’t lost on her; the most stable relationship in her life left her the most shaken. She never really expected her prior encounters to last, although she tried to make them work. With Grissom, she barely had to make an effort. Once together, they simply fell into an easy relationship, and he treated her with a reverence she had never known. The security of it made her open up more than she ever had in the past. She wanted this to work, and the fear that it wasn’t slowly chiseled away at her confidence.

Work provided an escape, something to concentrate on other than her own dark mood. She hummed softly as the CD moved to a favorite song, methodically researching one fact after another. After a few hours, she let out a grunt and stretched, looking over the neat columns of information she’d gathered together so far.

The amount of drug arrests in the area increased recently, as developers revitalized neighboring communities, driving the addicts to other areas. A higher number of addicts in the area meant more deaths were likely, but the increase in deaths still seemed unusual.

Dough had only one arrest on his record, and that was from three years earlier. He had managed to avoid trouble since then, at least with the police. If he or the others ran afoul of a dealer, why the subtle death? Typical street justice was bloody to make an example to others.

The other five victims also had records, all with more arrests, mainly for robbery to fund their habits. She found nothing to link them except that they were all male, all addicts, all dying within a five-block radius.

Letting out a yawn, she thought about bed, but her stomach insisted on attention first. Carefully putting her notes away, she headed into the kitchen for a snack. While she was getting out a pot to heat up some soup, she found the frying pan, playfully hidden behind her other supplies, and the memory washed over her.

“It works,” she said. Well aware of her tendency to over-talk around him, she was afraid to say more. He was in her kitchen, offering to fix dinner. The fact that she just realized they had probably – well, possibly – been dating for the past three months only added to her nervousness.

It had started innocently enough. He’d been in one of his moods, discouraging any conversation while he worked in his office. She needed his signature on a file, and that was when she realized the paperwork he was trudging through related to Nick’s abduction. She’d left as soon as he signed her form, but she returned at the end of shift with breakfast.

He seemed startled by the gesture, and she gave him a brief smile before making a hasty exit. She suspected the ordeal with Nick bothered him more than he let on, and she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by making a big deal out of it.

Grissom didn’t mention it again, but the next week he pulled into an all-night diner on the way back from a crime scene and insisted on buying her lunch. “I owe you a meal.”

She tried to tell him that he didn’t, saying it was just a gift between friends. His, “Then I really owe you a meal,” had made her smile, and they shared a quiet lunch.

Two days later, they worked a case outside of the city, and he had disappeared briefly. When the sun came up, he walked down the road from a truck stop carrying a sack of fruit, donuts and two large cups of coffee. This time they talked about the scene as they ate their breakfast.

It seemed they worked a lot of cases together after that, and it wasn’t long before they stopped for another lunch on the way back to the lab. He told her trivia about the music playing in the background, once even making a joke about it. She took the bill from the waitress before he reacted, but the look on his face almost made her laugh.

“It’s only fair,” she said, giving him a lopsided grin when he reluctantly put his wallet away.

Over the next two months, the number of meals they shared gradually grew, so that now they normally ate together at least four times a week. They didn’t even restrict it to returning from crime scenes, but met after work or on their days off. Grissom even told her stories from his childhood.

That had to mean something, but now she wasn’t sure what.

He had never made an overt move on her. True, he held doors open for her, held her elbow on slippery pavement, but he’d always been polite. Now that she thought about it, they almost always ate something inexpensive when it was her turn to pay, and always ate in nice restaurants when it was his turn. Even that was probably explainable by his upbringing.

Maybe he was just being friendly. Whatever was going on, she liked it, but she wasn’t sure how to react. If this was his idea of dating, she wanted to encourage him. If it wasn’t, she didn’t want to scare him off.

It was then that she noticed he was watching her with a curious expression. “This kitchen was furnished by someone more interested in the way something looked than the way it worked.”

“It works,” she repeated, taking refuge in finding a bag of rice in a cupboard.

They had just finished a robbery, and Grissom had noticed a picture in the perp’s home. They had a disagreement over who painted it, and while in the parking garage, Sara mentioned it was in one of her art books. He shrugged and asked to see it. He had read the book, agreed she had been right, and then offered to fix dinner. Now he was in her home, and she was suddenly feeling very self-conscious about her pots and pans.

“I can’t believe you don’t know how to cook,” he said profoundly. “It’s a mix of chemistry and art. You’d be a natural.”

“I can cook. I don’t like to cook. Big difference. And there are people that like to cook, and that’s how they make their living, so I pay them to cook for me,” she gushed out, quickly turning to the sink to measure water for the rice. Over-talking didn’t begin to cover it.

Grissom gave her an amused look before searching through the handful of vegetables she had on hand. “It’s not very economical.”

“I don’t eat every meal out,” she said. “The overtime adds up. And it’s not like I have a lot of vices.”

“What vices do you have?”

His voice was soft, with a tenderness she rarely heard from him. She swallowed nervously as she considered her answer. She finally gave up smoking. She drank on occasion, but that topic was sure to spoil the pleasant mood. Finally giving him a grin, she said, “I go out with my boss a lot.”

She immediately turned around, silently cursing herself for dropping the ‘to eat’ from the sentence. If this had just been a friendly overture on his part, he’d be ready to run from the building.

When she turned back, his eyes locked onto to hers, and she couldn’t read his expression. “Do you really consider that a vice?”

The question had been unexpected and she responded the only way she could think of. “Uh?”

“A vice is an absence of virtue. Someone vicious is full of vice. It’s a deviant behavior, something to be avoided,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Uh,” she repeated, backing into the counter as he closed the distance between them. “No. I like it. I like being with you.”

“So do I.”

“Good,” she managed, licking her lips nervously.

She wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, staring into each other eyes, neither making a move to breakaway nor to get closer. He seemed to be searching her for a clue, or maybe reassurance. Her heart pounding, she slowly lifted a hand.

He followed the motion with his eyes as it moved closer to his cheek. It hesitated above his beard, and when she finally brushed against his whiskers, he closed his eyes and leaned into her hand. When she started to caress his cheek, he turned slightly, pressing his lips into her palm.

That encouraged her other hand to find his shoulder, and when his arms went around her waist, she didn’t resist as he gradually drew her body against his. Locking her arms around his neck, she kissed his cheek softly.

His lips found her neck, tenderly nuzzling her skin as his hug grew tighter. He kissed his way upward, eventually reaching her lips. There he hesitated, barely brushing his lips against hers. He repeated the motion several times, always keeping his touch feather-light, tender and teasing at the same time.

Then he broke off, keeping his hands resting lightly on her hips as he stepped back.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing. I don’t want to rush you. I know this probably seems sudden.”

She blinked several times, her mouth opening and closing as various responses went through her mind. She finally settled on a half-smirk. Leaning forward, she kissed him once, firmly and passionately. When she pulled back, the open desire in his eyes took her breath away.

“Griss, I moved to Vegas to be with you. I’ve been waiting for this for years. You’re not rushing me.”

“Oh,” he said, slowly breaking into a grin. Looking over his shoulder, he indicated the start of the meal. “How hungry are you?”

“Extremely,” she said, waiting a moment before adding, “but not for food.”

He laughed lightly, pulling her close for another deep kiss. His hand slipped under her hair, cradling her head as his tongue danced around her lips before dipping in momentarily.

An unexpected blush stole over her face as she nodded in the direction of her bedroom. Brushing his hand through her hair, he cocked his head in question, not moving until she said, “I’m sure.”

Kissing her once more, he wrapped his arm around her possessively and let her lead him to her bed and body. Afterwards, he rolled her on top of him, keeping his arms wrapped tightly around her. When he noticed the tear rolling down her cheek, his concern was immediately evident.

“Honey?”

“I’m fine,” she said with an embarrassed shrug. “I’m just happy. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“I’ll try to make it worth the wait,” he vowed, kissing her softly and cradling her body until she fell asleep.

Chapter 3