CHAPTER 16
“Sara?” Catherine shouted into the handset before releasing the mic button.
Static crackled over the radio. “Go ahead.” It might have been Sara. It was hard to tell.
“You’ve got
There was a long pause, and Catherine considered trying again. Reception in the desert was always uncertain. Before she could rekey the mic, though, she heard Gil’s excited voice. “Go back. I thought I saw something.”
Sitting forward in her chair, Catherine strained to sort out the voices and the gist of the rest of the radio traffic.
“There! Do you see that?” Gil was still shouting.
Static fuzzed the next bit out. It cleared up in time for Sara’s, “…under the surface. Set her down! Set her down right now!”
***
As soon as the chopper touched down, Sara leaped onto the hard ground. The blades mixed with the bright spotlight, creating a surreal strobe effect. Blinking against the flying debris kicked up by the helicopter, Sara ran after Grissom. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know. We should be almost on top of her,” he shouted back. “Start over there.” Grissom pointed into the dark desert. “Look for signs of recent disturbance.” He turned away, trotting crouched over in the opposite direction.
Sara had taken only a few steps when a primal scream spun her around. Head whipping back and forth, she tried to locate its direction.
“Help me! Please!” This time the voice was more defined.
“Sara! I think it’s coming from over here.” Grissom was on his hands and knees, digging through the dirt and gravel.
Sprinting across the spotlit area, Sara joined him. For every handful of dirt she moved, the still beating helicopter blades blew half of it back into place. What felt like hours passed. Arms trembling from strain, Sara kept digging. On the next pass, her hand banged against something that rang hollowly. “Grissom, I’ve got something.” Pushing aching muscles to the limit, she scrabbled through the soil.
More hands joined in as the chase vehicles caught up and
***
Catherine knocked softly on the doorframe of the hospital room. “Mr. and Mrs. Garris?”
Two heads turned in her direction. “Yes?” Jack Garris asked brusquely. The harsh hospital lighting turned what Catherine supposed was tanned skin sallow.
“I’m Catherine Willows from the Crime Lab. I’m here to ask your wife some questions.” As Garris started to object, Catherine moved quickly into the room, hand outstretched.
Jack Garris shook it automatically.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your wife’s rest, but it’s best to take statements before the memories start to fade.” She smiled charmingly then turned her attention to the battered woman in the bed. “Mrs. Garris, I know this has been a difficult time. Could you tell me everything you remember since last night?”
“It’s not much.” Voice husky, Laura Garris began her tale. “I was in the hallway when someone grabbed me from behind.”
Listening intently, Catherine made some notes in her notebook.
“He put…he put something over my mouth,” Laura continued. She pressed trembling fingers to cracked lips.
Catherine’s gaze zeroed in on her fingers. The nails were chipped, completely torn in some places. The damage was from trying to claw her way out of the box, probably. However, despite their current state, the nails were long. “Mrs. Garris,” Catherine interrupted, voice deliberately low key, “did you grab the man’s arms, fight to get away?” If so, those nails would have marked her assailant’s arms.
“Of course.” Catherine fought to keep from reacting to the defensive response. “I fought for a few seconds, but whatever he put over my mouth…He must have drugged me. I don’t remember anything after that. Not until I woke up…” Laura Garris seemed to shrink into the bed at the memory.
“She’s been through enough.” Jack sprang to his feet, hand stroking his wife’s hair. “Can’t this wait?”
It could, yes. Catherine knew, however, that with a suspect in custody, the evidence and Laura’s information would be a vital part in the arrest process. “Just a few more questions,” she pressed, ignoring the glare from both of the Garisses. “How did you get that bruise on your eye?”
“I don’t remember.” Shifting in the bed, Laura Garris looked away.
Catherine focused more intently on her reactions. Mrs. Garris was lying. Why? “Do you remember anything? A sound? A smell? Did your attacker say anything to you?” She fired questions at Laura, hoping to rattle her further.
“No.” Jack Garris moved even closer to the bed, hovering over his clearly relieved wife. “That’s enough. If you have more questions, you’ll have to ask them another time.”
“Sure,” Catherine murmured. “But I’d like to get a blood sample, if you don’t mind.”
Her trained eyes caught Laura’s look of fear before it was masked. “Why…Why would you need that?” Laure stuttered, clinging to Jack.
Smiling slightly, Catherine waved a hand at Laura. “You have scratches on your arms. If we can match it to blood traces in the suspect’s truck, it will make our case that much more air tight.”
“Come on, Ms. Willow, you have the guy who took my wife. Isn’t that enough?” Jack demanded, voice rising.
“So far, we have very little physical evidence linking Mr. Rundle to the crime. There were no fingerprints on the duct tape and our audio techs haven’t been able to make a positive voice match to the voice from the ransom call. So far, the only thing we have is his presence at the drop site.”
A slender hand rose from the bed, gripping Jack’s arm. “It’s OK, Jack. Whatever it takes to put this guy behind bars, I’ll do it,” Laura vowed.
“I’ll stop at the nurses’ station on my way out,” Catherine said before Garris could convince his wife to change her mind.
***
“Sara, what have you and Catherine got on the kidnapping?” Grissom leaned back in his chair, sipping from his coffee mug.
“Nothing so far.” Sara rubbed the back of her neck in frustration. “The box was bare. I did manage to scrape some skin off the bottom and the lid. They’re with Greg.”
Grissom raised an eyebrow. “We have a suspect. What about a voice match?”
“Sorry, Gil. The techs are working on it.” Catherine sat at the end of the long conference table. She looked almost haggard. “Brass got a recording of Rundle’s interview. I got a promise from the lab boys to call me the second they get to it.” Yawning suddenly, Catherine waved a hand in apology.
“I’ve got the suspect’s truck in the garage. Cath and I are heading there next to process it. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” Sara grinned mirthlessly. “For an amateur kidnapping,” she shot a wry look at Catherine, “we’ve got almost no concrete physical evidence.
“Yeah, yeah. Rub it in.” Catherine narrowed her eyes, pointing a finger at Sara. “Just remember…push too far, and I make you tuck Lindsey in every night for a week.”
Laughing, Sara stood up. “You’re all bark and no bite. I’ve got your number. Lindsey told me all your secrets,” she lied. “Come on, Meanie Mom, we’ve got a car to search.” She hustled down the hallway, listening to Catherine’s footsteps chasing after her.
“You know, Gil’s eyes almost popped out of his head back there.” Catherine caught up, long legs matching Sara stride for stride. “Forget about the case. He’s going to spend all night trying to figure out how you know Linds and why reading her a story would be a threat.”
Sara could just see her new boss doing just that. “Well, as long as it keeps him out of our hair…” She let her words trail off as they entered the large bay. A red pickup sat under the bright lights. “Where do you want to start?” Sara got back to business, studying the gleaming vehicle from the doorway.
“Take the cab. I’ll do the exterior.” Catherine accepted the change in topic with a companionable hand on Sara’s arm.
***
Stripped down to her tank top in deference to the stifling heat in the garage, Sara sighed in frustration. Nothing. There were no clues to definitively tie Rundle to the crime. “You got anything, Cath?” she called hopefully as she dropped into the passenger seat and rested her head on the sheepskin seat cover.
“You’re joking, right?” Sara had to smile at the wry bite in Catherine’s voice. “This baby’s been wiped clean. Detailed, polished – it’s in show room condition.”
Sara wiggled impatiently in the seat. How were they going to
make the case against the suspect? Placing her hands on her thighs, she rotated
her neck – and froze. “Cath!
It came out sharp and demanding. “Come
here for a minute.”
Footsteps echoed in quick time. “You OK?”
“Well, I’ll be better when you tie me up,” Sara answered, not really paying attention to her words.
Her head snapped up, though, when Catherine whistled softly and said, “Wow. The things I learn about you get better and better. Issues with kids and now a bondage fetish. Anything else I should know?”
CHAPTER 17
Face burning in embarrassment, Sara tried to glare at a madly grinning Catherine. Her lips twitched, though, at the older woman’s expression. “Let’s stay focused on the job, Cath. I think I’ve figured this out.”
Catherine relented. “Just this once, I’ll let you off the hook,” she announced. “Next time, I’m getting an answer to the question.” Stepping back from the open truck door, Catherine retrieved a roll of duct tape from the tool kit a few feet away. She strode back, leaning toward Sara. As she grabbed Sara’s wrists, her shoulder brushed the front of Sara’s shirt.
Sara jerked in response – then prayed Catherine didn’t notice the two very visible peaks tenting the front of her shirt.
Green eyes stared up at her.
Still frozen in the seat, Sara choked out, “What?”
The eyes rolled. “Give me your hands,” Catherine demanded.
***
Leaning back a little, Catherine wrapped the tape around Sara’s wrists. Carefully avoiding brushing against Sara again, she steadfastly ignored the nipples on display. “So what does the tape tell us?” Catherine asked, curious – and trying to give Sara a chance to regain her composure.
Turning until she sat correctly in the seat, Sara took a noticeably deep breath before elaborating. “When we collected evidence from Laura Garris, we found traces of sheepskin on the backs of her arms and her shirt.”
“So she was in the front seat,” Catherine interrupted impatiently. She’d read the lab report, too. “We knew that.”
“We did.” Sara turned her head, dark eyes intent. “I think we made some really bad assumptions, though.” She held up her hands for Catherine to see. “I’m bound, just the way we found Mrs. Garris. Watch.” Lowering her hands to her lap, she looked at Catherine.
“I’m watching. What am I supposed to see?” Catherine snapped. She’d been on duty too long to play guessing games.
Sara’s sigh reminded Catherine of Grissom when he was doing one of his ‘learning experiences.’ “What part of me is touching the seat?” Sara asked.
Still not understanding, Catherine took a couple of steps back and studied the scene. “Just your shoulders.” She frowned. Why was that important?
“Exactly.” Sara nodded in agreement. “If Laura was sitting like we thought, there would have been no trace on her arms.”
Catherine’s mind raced. She’d thought Mrs. Garris had been lying when she’d taken her statement “She wasn’t tied.” Walking to the open truck door, she leaned her forehead on the top of the frame. “God, how did we miss this?”
“On the surface, it looked like a standard kidnapping,” Sara said, voice mocking.
From her close position, Catherine noticed the grin that accompanied the words. “Yeah, yeah, rub it in. Just remember,” she reminded Sara, tongue in cheek, “I’m the one with the scissors.”
She grunted when Sara’s bound hands smacked into her stomach.
“More cutting, less talking. We need to let Grissom know so I can get you home to read to Lindsey. I’m not ready to throw caution to the winds.” Although Sara looked a little tense, she smiled shyly.
“We’ll consider tonight your break in period.” Catherine raised the scissors and cut through the bulky tape. “I’ll introduce you to Olivia and let you settle in before you start your new duties.” She winked and stepped back.
Sara groaned and slid out of the truck. “I still can’t believe you have a pet pig.”
Waiting for Sara to close the truck door, Catherine just grinned.
“OK. Let’s go give Grissom a new puzzle to work on.” Donning her over shirt, Sara led the way out of the garage. “I’ll deliver the news. Why don’t you grab your stuff and get the Tahoe cooled off?”
As usual, Sara was moving too fast. “Don’t you want to hang around? Watch your mentor in action?” Catherine asked curiously.
“Nah. I’m here for good now. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of chances to watch Grissom think.” Grinning, Sara picked up her pace, leaving Catherine staring bemusedly after her.
***
An hour later, Catherine parked the Tahoe in the drive and looked tiredly over at Sara. “Home sweet home,” she announced. “Let’s get your bags. Lindsey should still be awake, so we won’t have to worry about waking her up.”
Sara simply nodded and hopped out. She’d been quiet, almost reserved, since leaving the lab.
Together, they dragged the luggage to the front door. Catherine didn’t even bother fumbling for her house key. She rang the bell. Footsteps pounded inside and the door wrenched open. “Mommy!”
“Hey, Linds.” The body wrapped monkey-like around her legs meant Catherine stayed where she was. “Sara and I are really tired, baby. You think you could let us inside?”
Lindsey giggled. “Sure. Aunt Nancy was just getting ready to read me a story. Can you do it since you’re home?”
Briefly, Catherine considered telling Lindsey that Sara had volunteered. No. She didn’t want to push. A quick glance at the younger woman showed Sara pale and tensed a few feet behind her. “I’d be glad to.” Her legs were now monkey-free, so she staggered inside. “Why don’t you climb into bed, and I’ll be there in a minute?”
“OK.” Beaming, Lindsey hugged her again before bestowing an equally hard hug on Sara. Then, in a second roar of thundering feet, she disappeared upstairs.
Starting down the hallway to their right, Catherine yawned. “God, I’m tired. Gil’s going to regret giving us tomorrow off. When all hell breaks loose and he calls, I’m pretending not to hear the phone.”
“You wouldn’t,” Sara announced disbelievingly.
“Watch and learn.” They reached the guest bedroom. “If you aren’t careful, you’ll wake up one day and realize you haven’t been off in six months. Even if there isn’t a new case, Gil will find a way to call you in. A new piece of equipment. A conference. Some personal lesson on the stages of the South African whatever bug.”
Dropping her suitcase onto the floor just inside the large room, Sara nodded. “Got it. Phones and days off don’t go together.” She stood next to the abandoned bag, staring blankly at the bed.
“Is…is the room OK?” Catherine hadn’t even thought about that. It was bigger than most hotel rooms and had an en suite bathroom. “Sara?” she prodded when there was no answer.
***
“The room’s fine, Cath. Sorry. I think I just dozed off with my eyes open.” Sara flashed a smile. “I don’t know how you’re even still upright.” Forcing herself forward, she grabbed the comforter and pulled it from under the pillows. “Some rest in a room where I don’t hear the ice maker all night and I’ll be fine.”
“No ice makers here.” Catherine turned, heading for the hallway. “Good night, Sara.”
Sara hesitated a second, debating with herself. It wasn’t really a huge issue. It wasn’t. “Cath?”
“Yeah?” Sara heard the exhaustion in Catherine’s husky voice.
“Thanks for inviting me.” It wasn’t what she meant to say. Wiggling a little, Sara tried again. “Um…About Olivia,” she started, nervous about the family pet wandering into her room in the middle of the night. “Can she open doors?”
Catherine stared at her. “You’re really worried about this, aren’t you?”
“No, of course not.” Sara turned away, smoothing and then plumping the pillows. “I’m sure it will be fine.”
“Sara…” Catherine’s voice trailed off in a huge yawn. “Are you up for a trip to Lindsey’s room?” Her voice got louder with each word, and then a hand dropped on Sara’s shoulder. “Let me show you Olivia. You’ll be able to sleep better once you see her, I promise.”
Still holding the pillow, Sara turned. “I’m being an idiot, aren’t I?” She certainly felt like one.
“Maybe just a little.” Smiling, Catherine pulled the pillow out of Sara’s hand. “I’m the one that got this all started, though. In the end, it’s all my fault. Come on. Let me ease your mind. I don’t know how much longer I can stay upright.”
***
Not waiting for Sara’s answer, Catherine left the room and started for the stairs. She regretted the offhand comment about the little pig. Poor Sara. This wasn’t going to go well. At the second-floor landing, she turned left, away from her own room.
Lindsey was sitting in her bed, surrounded by stuffed animals. “Hey, sweetie. I mentioned Olivia to Sara at the park. Could you get her for us?” Catherine asked, sitting next to her daughter.
“Sure, Mommy.” Scrambling out of bed, Lindsey moved to a small bookcase on the far wall. Tiny fingers caressed the spines as she peered at the titles. She finally found what she was looking for. Pulling a slim volume from the lower shelf she skipped to Sara. “Here she is, Sara.”
Face blank, Sara took the book.
“I told you not to worry about her getting into your room,” Catherine couldn’t resist saying into the suddenly quiet room. Grinning, she waited for Sara to say something.
Brown eyes slowly lifted.
Catherine’s grin faded.
“When I’m through with you,” Sara intoned softly, “they’ll never even find the pieces.” Without another word, she strode out of the room.
A/N: Olivia is a real (story) pig. She can be found in bookstores near you. Her creator’s name is Ian Falconer.
CHAPTER 18
“Mommy, did you make Sara mad?” Catherine winced at the accusation in Lindsey’s voice.
Out of the mouths of babes. “It looks that way, Linds,” she answered. Sighing, Catherine scooted up the bed, wrapping an arm around her daughter and resting her back against the headboard.
Lindsey peered up at her, frown firmly in place. “You need to apologize, Mommy.”
Catherine picked up a stuffed animal, pressing its soft nose against Lindsey’s freckled face. “I will.” Just as soon as she thought it was safe to do so. While she wasn’t taking Sara’s final comment seriously, Catherine wanted to avoid an argument.
Tiny arms wrapped over a thin chest. “Mommy…”
Meeting the blue-eyed stare, Catherine bowed her head. “I will. I promise.” She kissed Lindsey’s cheek and hugged her tightly. “When did you get so grown up, huh? I’m going to have to work harder so we both know who’s the mommy.”
She closed her eyes and smiled when soft lips pressed into her cheek. “Love you, Mommy.”
“I love you, too, Lindsey.” A yawn garbled the name, and Catherine sat up. “Now, if you want a story, you need to grab another book. Sara took Olivia with her, and I’m about to curl up here next to you and go to sleep.”
“I don’t need a story, Mommy.” Lindsey patted the mattress. “Having you home is better.”
Blinking back tears, Catherine stood up and pulled back the blankets covering Lindsey. “Being here with you is the best, baby.” Before she climbed between the sheets, Catherine flicked off the bedside light. The warmth and softness of the bed drew a groan. Holding Lindsey to her chest, she let herself relax.
***
Sara made it all the way back to her room before laughing. God, she’d been an idiot. Of course Catherine wouldn’t have a pet pig. Standing at the foot of her bed, she looked at the book in her hands. “Olivia,” Sara read out loud. “Well, Olivia, you and I need to get acquainted.”
Tossing the book onto the bed, Sara lugged her clothing suitcase to the closet and quickly unpacked. Shorts and a T-shirt in hand, she wandered into the small bathroom to wash up and change. Now ready to unwind a little before sleeping, she climbed into bed and picked up the book, “OK, pig, show me what you’ve got.”
Sara started to read. As she turned the pages, she chuckled as Olivia sang her loud songs and cringed as the little pig’s redecorated the living room. Fifteen minutes later, Sara closed the book and shook her head. If Lindsey was anything like Olivia, Catherine was in trouble. More than that, Sara knew exactly how she was going to pay Catherine back for her joke.
***
The house was quiet as Sara searched for the kitchen. Too quiet. Didn’t kids make a lot of noise? Sara’s mouth went dry at the thought of meeting Lindsey unexpectedly. She relaxed marginally when she reached the safety of the large, airy kitchen without seeing Catherine’s daughter. The room was empty. An upended bowl dried in the drain tray, accompanied by a single spoon and juice glass.
Maybe her fears were fruitless. Maybe the dishes belonged to Lindsey. Sara padded to the refrigerator and pulled a gallon of orange juice from the door pocket. It took far longer to locate a glass in the many cabinets lining the wall. Finally, though, she stood at the sink, admiring the small backyard through the small window and sipped her drink.
A wry smile tilted her lips. The house…Lindsey…it was so surreal. Sara’s eyes slid down to the bowl and glass in the drain. Neat and tidy. Just the way her mother had always demanded.
The bright, white bowl in Catherine’s kitchen flickered. The image of another bowl overlay it. Sara fought the change. No. No! Despite her inner struggle, Sara lost touch with the here and now. The clean and modern lines of Catherine’s cabinetry and appliances faded, replaced with dull, chipped laminate.
Loud voices filtered into the once silent room. The words were unclear. Their anger was not. No longer standing at the sink, Sara sat at a scarred kitchen table. She stared into the bowl of cereal in front of her. Trying to ignore the argument going on the living room, Sara took a bite of the soggy cereal.
For just an instant, Sara saw the sunshine through Catherine’s kitchen window. It’s not happening. Not now. It was a long time ago, she told herself. Taking a deep breath, she pushed at the memory, muscles aching from the strain. It didn’t work.
One of the voices from the other room cried out in pain, and Sara jumped, her spoon falling back into the bowl.
Giving up on breakfast, Sara quickly poured out the remaining mixture of milk and rice puffs and rinsed the bowl. The voices were getting louder. Closer. Her hands shook as she dried the bowl and thrust it into a cabinet with the others. Everything had to be neat. It had to be perfect before her mother came in. Breathing in shallow gasps, Sara scanned the kitchen. Just one more task, and she could run upstairs and hide. Turning back to the table, Sara grabbed her empty milk glass.
“Sara!” Her mother called.
Barely stifling a scream, Sara spun around, the glass slipping from her fingers. It shattered on the floor…
Still shaking, Sara stared at the glass shards littering the wood floor. Wood. Not vinyl. Heart pounding, she looked up and met Catherine’s worried stare.
“Don’t move. I’ll get the broom and dustpan,” Catherine commanded just before she disappeared into the pantry.
The order was easy to follow. Rocked by the memory and Catherine’s sudden arrival, Sara stood frozen in place. Nausea cramped her stomach, the orange juice threatening to reappear. Swallowing convulsively, Sara sucked in a slow breath and held it…one, two, three seconds…then let it out. She repeated the gesture until Catherine came back.
“You didn’t cut yourself, did you?” the other woman asked. She carefully swept the bits of glass into a neat pile. Sara saw her shooting concerned glances her way. “Sara?”
Sara finally realized she hadn’t answered the question. She didn’t, in fact, know the answer. Holding out her arms, Sara scanned them. Nothing. She moved on to her feet and legs. “No. I’m fine, Cath. Thanks.” The words came out in a staccato rhythm.
Catherine didn’t say anything for a moment. Keeping her eyes on the broken pieces of glass, she meticulously cleaned the kitchen floor. “OK. Just checking,” she eventually said.
***
Not wanting to set Sara off, Catherine didn’t press for more. “Did you find everything OK or would you like me to fix something? According to Linds, my pancakes are the bomb.” She grinned at Sara and stood.
“Ah…I don’t want you to go out of your way. I’m not really a guest.” Sara looked pale and uncomfortable at her offer. Her eyes darted frantically around the room and her feet swung restlessly.
“No trouble,” Catherine assured her as she walked back to the pantry and dumped the contents of the dustpan into the trash. Setting aside the broom, she closed the pantry door. “I have to eat, too. Pancakes, then?” Her stomach rumbled at just the thought.
The irritated noise garnered a real smile from Sara. “How can I argue with that? Sounds like your stomach has already made up its mind.”
With a chuckle, Catherine poked Sara’s side on her way past.
Sara shied away at the contact.
Holding her hand palm outward, Catherine signaled her withdrawal. “I know what I want, Sara,” she murmured, watching the other woman closely. Something was obviously wrong. Lindsey? Olivia? “You better speak up if you don’t want the same thing.”
Sara’s grin widened, showing the tiny gap between her front teeth. She appeared to be recovering from…whatever. “Hmmm, I guess you’re not a Libra then.”
“No, all that fairness and equality…” Picking up the teasing thread, Catherine shuddered dramatically. “I might make the wrong decision, but at least I make a decision.” She reached into a cabinet and pulled down a large mixing bowl and measuring cups. “It gets me into trouble. A lot,” Catherine admitted.
The bowl went on the island in the center of the kitchen. Getting the water required moving closer to Sara. Catherine considered options as she did so.
Sara stared at the floor between her feet, lips vibrating lightly as if she were humming to herself.
Now was as good a time as any. “Speaking of trouble…” Her voice trailed off as she turned on the tap in the sink. “I’m sorry about the pig thing,” Catherine continued, turning her head to look at Sara.
Slowly raising her eyes, Sara looked back. “Trying to avoid some payback?” Narrow eyebrows wiggled. “You’re too late for that. Maybe you should think before making those decisions.”
“I’m too old to change now.” Catherine turned off the water and carefully carried the liquid back to her mixing bowl. She poured in the pancake mix and grabbed a whisk from the utensil caddy. “If it helps at all, I never intended the joke to go so far. We were at the park; you made an assumption…”
“I’d just freaked out over your daughter, Cath. Couldn’t you cut me a break?” Two soft thuds announced Sara’s move from the counter.
Biting back a grin at the near-whine in Sara’s voice, Catherine shook her head. “Nope. Not my style. I have a seven-year old daughter. It’s strike first, or get steamrolled.” The batter was smooth. Time to make pancakes. Striding to the stove, Catherine asked, “Will it help you get used to my kid if I make the pancakes into letters and numbers?”
“You do what you have to, Cath.” Sara’s voice was close.
Catherine jerked in surprise when a pair of hands gripped the oven door handle, and Sara’s arms bracketed her body.
The husky voice drifted down as Sara continued, “Just keep in mind: so will I.”
CHAPTER 19
The spatula Catherine had been clutching clattered to the stove top. “Sara?” Her voice squeaked out. “What…what are you doing?”
“Making sure you’re paying attention, Cath.” Sara’s arms – and warm body – moved away. “I don’t like when people don’t realize I’m threatening them.”
Catherine cleared her throat and tried to unobtrusively cross her arms over suddenly hard nipples. “Threats? Before breakfast?” She tried to get herself back under control. “Didn’t you make one last night, too? Something about them not finding my body?”
“See? That’s my point.” Sara sounded aggrieved. “People never take me seriously. I’m a professional. If I decide to dismember you after we eat, you should respect my skills.”
Turning the pancakes in the skillet, Catherine rolled her eyes. She’d gotten all wound up over this? Sara’s mood swings and on again, off again personal space problems were worse than Lindsey’s tantrums. At least she generally knew what triggered those. “I respect your skills.” She glanced down at the peaks slowly fading under her robe. “More than you probably realize.”
“Good,” Sara commented. She reappeared briefly to Catherine’s right, digging through cabinets. “I’ll set the table.” A grin flashed. “As soon as I find the plates.”
“Hmmm, real plates and company for breakfast. I may never recover,” Catherine answered. “I can’t remember the last time that happened. When I do manage to eat with Linds, she wolfs down her cereal and bolts for the door.”
More cabinets opened and closed. Catherine resisted the urge to help out. Sara was more than capable of finding what she needed.
Right on cue, Sara exclaimed, “Score!” Plates clattered. “I’ll make sure not to eat too fast for you, Cath. Might be hard, though. I’m usually a toast and go girl myself.”
“No coffee sipping, reading the paper, discussing the day?” Catherine asked curiously. Work and one personality issue aside, she knew next to nothing about Sara.
“It’s hard to discuss the day with yourself, Cath.” Sara laughed softly. “Besides, I get enough coffee at work.”
So…”No boyfriend?” Catherine resisted the urge to change the gender. She’d break Sara in slowly before going for the good stuff.
“No.” Catherine waited, but Sara didn’t elaborate. She heard glasses join the plates on the table. “Juice, milk, coffee?”
Conversations with Sara might not be so different than ones with Lindsey after all. One step forward, two back. Or no step at all. Catherine gave up her plans for subtle interrogation. She’d dig deeper as the day went on. Right now, the smell of the pancakes caused her stomach to growl. “Milk, please. I’ll grab a coffee refill on my way.” The last pancake slipped out of the skillet and onto the platter. “Could you grab the butter and syrup, too, please?”
Turning, she set the platter on the table and made a beeline for the coffeemaker.
***
Sara opened the refrigerator and peered inside. Syrup, milk, butter. All right in the door. Arms full, she took the few steps to the table and dropped her burdens. “Looks good, Cath. Thanks.” She sat down and waited for the other woman to join her.
“I may not win any awards as a chef, but I can manage breakfasts.” Catherine was quick to sidestep the compliment. “My mother was the real cook in the family. I don’t think she’s ever forgiven me for not letting her teach me more than the basics.”
“My mom never tried to teach me.” Eyes wide, Sara stared at the fork in her hand. What the hell was she doing? She didn’t talk about her family. Ever. Trying to cover her slip, Sara stabbed the tines into a pancake and lifted it from the platter to her plate. She avoided looking at Catherine as she buttered the still-steaming food.
Catherine took her own turn at the platter. “Well, your mom probably didn’t spend her entire life waiting for her lover to come home.” Scorn oozed from the soft words. “Mother had a thing for one of the up and coming casino owners here in town, Sam Braun. Sam was…is, in her mind, the love of her life. I swear she didn’t buy anything or cook anything without wondering if he would approve.”
Sara’s hand tightened around the butter knife. They had to change the subject before she said too much or another attack manifested. Already, her chest was tight and her hands shaking. “You got any plans for later?” she blurted out.
She could tell Catherine was confused by the abrupt change. “Uh…” Catherine stammered. “I need to do a little shopping and cleaning. Normal household chores. Did you need to borrow the car?”
“Just the phone.” Sara forced her hand to unclench from the knife and stuck it back in the butter tub. She could do this. Breakfast didn’t have to end with another flashback. Sweat turned her clothes into a clammy, sticky mess. “I need to call my boss. Well,” she corrected, “my now ex-boss and share the news.”
Catherine was watching her closely; however, she didn’t comment on anything she might be picking up. Instead, she chuckled. “Is he anything like Gil?”
“No.” Just the thought of comparing Frank with Grissom helped Sara relax further. “He’s not nearly so clinical. In fact, you might hear him yelling when I call. He warned me not to fall for Grissom’s lines when I left. I was supposed to do the case and come back. End of story.”
“Looks like the story got a new plot.” Catherine raised her glass in a mock toast. “What about your things?”
Frowning, Sara tried to figure out what Catherine meant.
“Your clothes and personal items?” Catherine clarified with a raised brow.
“Oh.” Rubbing her face with her left hand, Sara struggled to pull herself together. “Yeah, I guess one suitcase of clothes won’t be enough, huh?” Her mind moved sluggishly, trying to keep up with the conversation.
A warm hand gripped her wrist. “Hey, are you OK?” Catherine asked softly.
For once, Sara didn’t shy away from the touch. It felt good. Solid and supportive. “Getting there,” she answered truthfully. The press of memories faded slowly. Taking a deep breath, Sara leaned back in her chair. “I guess the realities of the move haven’t hit me. I understood needing an apartment,” she smiled wryly, “after I talked to the hotel clerk about staying on. The rest?”
“One more reason to curse Gil.” Catherine let go, moving back around the table and picking up her abandoned fork. “He seems to infect us with his tunnel vision. Too bad the transfer of talents doesn’t go both ways. Maybe one of us could give him better people skills.”
The pancakes were mostly cold now. Sara didn’t care. They tasted better than anything she’d had in a long time. She stuffed in a large bite, syrup dripping off her lips. “We wouldn’t recognize him,” she mumbled around the mouthful.
“You want to try that in English?” Catherine took a much more manageable bite of her own food.
Sara swallowed and tried again. “None of us would recognize Grissom if he suddenly knew about people and not evidence. It’s his unique charm.” She dug in, quickly finishing off the pancake and reaching for another.
***
“I could do with a little less charm,” Catherine admitted. “Not just Gil, though.” She stood and took her plate to the dishwasher. “Men in general. I specialize in charming men.”
The scrape of a utensil on a plate followed her comment. Then Sara’s quiet, “Eddie?” filled the conversational lull.
“Eddie. Sam. Gil.” Catherine settled the plate in the rack and closed the door. “All charming. All about whatever it is they want at the time.” Turning to lean against the counter, she watched Sara work on finishing up the last of breakfast. “Even Greg. It’s hard to resist that smile.”
Sara raised a sardonic brow. “Don’t tell me you fall for that Little Boy look, Cath. You’ve been reminding me since yesterday, ‘I have a daughter…that won’t work with me.’”
“Rub it in.” Catherine smiled at the lighthearted teasing. Sara seemed better now, not so up and down emotionally. “I just go all weak in the knees for big eyes and smiles.” The urge to push was just too strong. With a wink and a toss of her hair, she said, “Keep that in mind if you ever need a favor.”
Knife dropping to the floor with a thud, Sara stared at her. “W-what?”
Catherine mentally repeated Sara’s earlier cheer, Score. Hands smoothing down the front of her robe to yank unnecessarily at the tie, she purred, “I just wanted to help you out. Give you some insight into what works when you need a favor.”
“Right. OK. Thanks,” Sara babbled in staccato fashion. Her head bent studiously over the table, and she appeared to be frantically searching for something.
“The fork’s on the floor, Sara.” Catherine smothered a laugh when Sara nearly dove under the table to retrieve it. She considered staying to see just how much Sara could take, but…it was early days. Maybe just a taste for now. “I’m going to take a shower. Stick your head in if you need…anything.”
***
Sara ignored the leading comment. Wiping her fork off with a napkin, she avoided even looking at Catherine as she strode by. When she used the edge of the utensil to cut a bite of pancake, she wasn’t surprised to see her hand shaking again. At least this time, there was no fear of a panic attack. Panic was the last thing Sara felt.
Eating the last of the pancake took only minutes. Sara sat for longer, though, letting the peace of the kitchen seep in. Breakfast had been nice. When she wasn’t being a bitch, Catherine was fun to be around. The teasing, though… Sara sighed. She was going to have to tell Catherine soon.
Putting that off for later, Sara followed Catherine’s lead, placing all of the dirty plates and glasses into the dishwasher and returning all the condiments to the refrigerator.
“Time to get moving.” She glanced out the kitchen window. “Literally.” Her voice sounded loud and out of place in the now empty kitchen. Grimacing and shaking her head at her sudden need to talk to herself, Sara spun on her heel and went back to her guest room.
Perching on the edge of her neatly made bed, she dialed the first number from memory.
“Frankel,” a terse voice growled in her ear.
Palms suddenly sweating, Sara mumbled, “Hey, Boss. It’s Sara…Sidle.” Then she mentally rolled her eyes. She’d been gone less than a week. He hadn’t forgotten her yet.
He didn’t answer at first. Finally, Sara heard his chair squeak in the background. “Thought you might be calling. I just got off the phone with that friend of yours. Grissom. He seems to think you’re moving to Vegas.”
Damn. Sara hunched forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “He’s right, Frank.”
“That wasn’t the deal, Sidle,” Frankel snapped. “Remember that part of the conversation? I authorized a leave. You were supposed to come back after it was over.”
“I know.” Sara cleared her throat. “I know,” she said more firmly. “He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” Sara acknowledged to herself she hadn’t wanted to refuse. “I’m staying here, Frank. Permanently.”
She endured the next few minutes of increasingly angry arguments. The call ended with a grunted, “Good luck, kid,” and the bang of Frankel’s receiver slamming down.
“That went well,” Sara consoled herself.
The next call was less upsetting. She made arrangements with a large full service mover to pack up her things and ship them to Vegas. Luckily, the agent had been good at her job. She’d known the numbers for some storage facilities near Catherine’s house. Sara’s things would be delivered there until she had a place of her own.
Move complete, Sara tapped her lips thoughtfully. Should she
let the Olivia thing go? She remembered the smirk on Catherine’s lips when
she’d asked if Olivia could open doors. Hell, no, she wasn’t letting that go. She
picked up the phone again, dialing information.
“I need the number for RC Farms, please. It’s in
CHAPTER 20
Sara’s pager went off as she hung up the phone. She read the display out of habit and grinned.
Grissom.
It looked like Catherine had been right. Hopefully, her new landlord was right about other things. Ignoring the backlit number on the display, Sara tossed the small unit onto the nightstand and began to unpack. Last night she’d only done the minimum necessary. Now…well, now she needed to move in.
Her clothes barely put a dent in the closet. Looking at the
meager collection of outfits, Sara decided this had to be one of her first
tasks. It would be at least a couple of weeks before the rest of her things arrived
from
The book – and the rest of the ones on the bookshelf – went into the closet. Sara unloaded her last suitcase of the bulky journals and smiled. There. Almost like home.
A knock interrupted her examination. “Get everything settled?” Catherine inquired.
Sara turned her head. “Mostly. I hope you don’t mind; I put your books in the closet.” She grinned. “Nice collection of porn you had there, Cath.”
A sandy eyebrow rose. “Porn? Oh, honey, if you want that, you need to talk to my ex. The stuff in here is far tamer than I saw every night in the club.” Catherine strolled in and perched on the end of the bed. “Those romances were my way to escape the reality of marriage. If only all men were that good in bed.”
“They aren’t?” The questioned popped out, and Sara’s face flamed.
***
Catherine waited a beat. Was Sara about to admit her orientation?
Brown eyes skittered around the room, and a pair of hands jammed into the pockets of Sara’s jeans.
Another day. “Sadly, no,” Catherine dryly commented. “If you want arrogant male chauvinists with sleazy friends…I can hook you up with those. Just don’t expect a forever love and sex outside a nightclub bathroom.”
“I’ll pass. Thanks.” Sara’s words were an indistinct murmur.
Chuckling, Catherine stood and smoothed the front of her jeans. “I did a check of the cabinets. Groceries have been added to today’s list. Do you want to tag along or stay?”
“Tag along.” With an almost shy smile, Sara said, “I need to pick up a few more clothes. Now that this is permanent, I don’t think a couple changes of clothes will work. Even Grissom would notice that I’d worn the same outfit three times in the same week.”
“Speaking of Grissom…” Catherine picked up Sara’s pager and tapped the button. “I see you got one, too.” Tilting her head, she wondered aloud, “Did you call him back?”
“No.” The gap between Sara’s front teeth flashed. “I took your advice and ignored it.”
“Good girl.” Catherine held out the pager. “If I were you, I’d leave this here. Gil usually pages every thirty minutes or so for the first few hours. After that, he starts calling here.”
Sara took the pager and examined it. Catherine could almost hear the internal argument and snickered.
Brown eyes lifted from their perusal of the pager. “What?” Sara’s voice held a defensive edge.
“I just had this image of you with those cartoon characters on your shoulders.” Moving toward the door, Catherine winked at Sara. “You know, the angel and the devil?”
With an eye roll worthy of Lindsey, Sara stuck the pager to her belt. “Well, if that’s the case, the angel won. Now that I called Frankel and shared the good news, I can’t afford to piss Grissom off. If he keeps paging, I’ll have to call him back.”
“Oh, no, you won’t.” If Sara chose to take the overtime, Catherine would have to go in, too. They’d left Sara’s vehicle at the lab. “I have duct tape and I know how to use it,” she threatened as she strode down the hall.
***
Wheeling into the lab parking lot, Catherine stifled a sigh and parked. “You ready for another fun filled night in Vegas?” Days off were never long enough. After nearly three days on the clock, a single day seemed far too short.
“If it means my pager will stop going off, I’m all for getting back to work.” Sara opened her door and hopped out.
“I don’t want to say, ‘I told you so…’” Climbing out of the vehicle, Catherine glanced across the hood at Sara.
The other woman grinned. “You’re going to, though. I can sense it.”
“Well, you did insist on taking the pager with us while we shopped.” Looping her purse strap over her shoulder, Catherine closed the Tahoe’s heavy door and walked toward the building.
“Yeah, but I really didn’t think he’d keep calling.” Sara flung her hands up in the air. “How was I supposed to know Grissom would blow my pager up?”
Catherine cleared her throat. “I told you so,” she announced in ringing tones.
Hands dropping to her hips, Sara scowled. “You had to say it.”
“Yes,” Catherine agreed with a cheery smile. Sara’s expression was cute. “Yes, I did. I told you not to take the pager. I even outlined the ‘Grissom Plan to Drive You Mad.’” She yanked open the front door and waved Sara inside. “I keep telling you to listen to the voice of experience. Do you?”
Chuckling, Sara walked past. “Hell, no. I’m a scientist. I learn by trial and error. I need proof before I believe.”
“This is Grissom we’re talking about. He defies scientific reasoning.” They moved down the hallway side by side. The wide corridor gleamed under fluorescent lights. When they reached the break room, Catherine saw Nick and Warrick on the couch, gaming consoles in hand. “Looks like Gil’s hiding in his office. Go tell the boys to put their toys away. Grissom always has a fit when he sees them playing.”
Sara took a step across the threshold. “Where are you going to be?”
“Dragging the mad scientist away from his latest experiment,” Catherine replied. She pointed at the two men on the couch. “No toys when we get back.” Ignoring Sara’s sarcastic “yes, ma’am” and salute, Catherine hurried down the hallway to Grissom’s office. The lights were off, the only illumination a lamp over a lab table. Peering through the gloom, she knocked on the doorframe.
Grissom’s head appeared from behind the lamp. “Cath, nice of you to come in. I got a little worried when you didn’t answer your pager this afternoon.”
“You paged?” Playing the game, Catherine kept her face blank as she took a few steps into the office. “I’ll check the batteries. It never went off.”
An eyebrow rose over the frame of Grissom’s glasses. “You might want to check Sara’s, too. I think it may be something in your house that drains the batteries. She didn’t answer hers, either.”
Blithely ignoring the sardonic comment, Catherine asked, “Did you want to come out and give us our assignment or do you want us to take the night off?”
“I’ve become a paper pusher, Cath. That’s all I do. No one wants me to solve crimes anymore,” Grissom griped. He didn’t get up. Catherine watched him adjust the light several times, brow furrowed in concentration.
Pursing her lips, she tried to keep her irritation in check. He’d been the one to accept Brass’ old job. Reminding him of that, though, wasn’t going to help the situation. For a brilliant scientist, Grissom didn’t always see what was right in front of him.
The light adjustments continued.
Catherine glanced at the wall clock. Ten forty-five. If she didn’t do something, they’d end up working a double just to catch up. Striding across the room, she grabbed the light and slammed it into the liquid-filled pan on the lab table. Flames erupted instantly. “You’re too old for flash paper, Gil. We’ve got work to do, Boss.”
Grissom’s cell phone rang and vibrated on his desk. They both looked at it.
“Don’t answer it.” Picking up the phone and the stack of assignment sheets, Catherine walked toward the door. “If you don’t come with me, I’m handing these out myself.”
“Are you going to answer my phone, too?” Grissom inquired as he scrambled along in her wake. “If so, I might decide to stay here.” He grinned charmingly.
Shaking her head and laughing reluctantly, Catherine walked down the hallway. “Save it, Gil. I’m not saving you from your own bad choices. You didn’t have to take this job. You could have told the Sheriff no.”
“Could I?” Grissom met her eyes. “If I hadn’t taken the job, you know you’re next on the list.”
Her steps slowed then stopped entirely. “I’m next in line by seniority, Gil. That doesn’t mean-“ Catherine started to protest.
“The only other name on the in-house list is Conrad,” Grissom interrupted.
“Whoa.” Clutching the paperwork in her hands tightly, Catherine leaned against the window behind her. “I…I didn’t realize.” Supervisor. She’d never considered that an option, not with her background.
Grissom cleared his throat. “So you see, I saved you from all the paperwork, paperclips and number crunchers. You can thank me later. As someone recently reminded me, we have work to do.”