The grey armoured truck made its way through downtown Las Vegas. The roads were relatively clear this time of night, at least by Las Vegas standards. A passer by in any other town might have wondered about a security van driving in the business district at eight in the evening, but not here in Las Vegas the city that never sleeps.

Once a month the bank asked for a collection at this time. As Henry Stevens steered the vehicle around a corner, he pondered how it always seemed to be him and his partners who had this late pick up. Not that it was ever any trouble, in many ways it was one of their easier assignments, as the absence of traffic contrasted with the traffic chaos their colleagues working at this time, serving the strip businesses, would have to negotiate. Just get this last pick up over then they were rostered off for the next forty-eight hours. After tonight, he only had to work this route three more times, then he would begin a new life with his Pearl, his love and wife of some thirty five years. Who would have thought Henry Stevens ex Las Vegas police officer, current security guard, would ever be persuaded to enter a snowbird community. But Pearl could be persuasive and after all he'd put her through, the nights she'd sat up worrying whether he'd make it home in one piece, he owed her something. They'd visited her sister, who lived outside Scottsdale. Having seen the complex and assuring himself there were no fences or walls to pen him in like a prison, as he'd previously thought, he'd agreed to take up an option on a unit for the two of them. He was beginning to look forward to the move, it would be good to make a fresh start somewhere new, away from the memories. Las Vegas had been good to him, but there had also been times when he would have gladly left, never to return.

His partner of the last five years, David Breene, had come to the company straight from the army. He was a good man to have as a partner. Henry knew he'd miss him. He also knew the pressures the younger man was under. Much like his wife Pearl had done, David's wife Janine worried over her husband's choice of career. Since she'd found out about Henry's imminent retirement, she'd tried to persuade her husband to leave at the same time. Her brother James had a small accounting business and had agreed to not only provide David with a job but also pay for his training in accounting, providing him with a professional career. So far, David had resisted his wife's efforts, it wasn't out of fear for academia, he'd been a good student throughout high school. It was a life choice, he honestly didn't think he could face sitting in an office pushing papers from one side of his desk to the other day after day. He needed something more, that was what had prompted him to join the army straight from school, and then the security job had seemed the perfect option once he'd served his country.

Henry glanced across at his silent partner, "Got any plans for the weekend?"

David let a sigh escape, "I was planning on watching the football game, but Janine's brother is having a barbeque, so it looks like I'm going to spend the better part of the day avoiding the inevitable career questions. That is unless you need some help packing?" He added half hopefully.

Henry chuckled lightly, "You know I'd love to help you out, but Pearl's in league with your Janine, it'd be more than my life's worth to provide you with an alibi, sorry."

"Hey, don't worry about it. With any luck, I'll come down with the flu or something, requiring me to lie on the sofa watching TV all day." He grinned, knowing full well he'd have to go to the barbeque even if he was at death's door. Like Henry, he found it hard to resist his wife's persuasion, especially when he was having to hold out on her requests for a career change.

They continued their journey talking about the football games scheduled for this weekend and making plans for Henry's retirement party.

The eight people riding the six Kawasaki motorcycles were dressed in identical leathers and black helmets. Nothing unusual to the casual observer, many biker gangs and groups passed through the city throughout a year. What made this group different was that up until two blocks ago they'd all be riding separately as if attempting to hide their association. Only now with their quarry in sight did they join together, dropping their speed, holding back, and waiting for that perfect moment.

The armoured truck came to a halt in front of the bank. David offered a quick smile to Henry before he opened the door and climbed out of the cab.

That was their cue. The moment they saw the door start to open they revved their machines. Before David Breene realised what was happening, an arm was around his neck, the barrel of a gun pushing into his chest. Although he had a bullet-proof vest on, he knew if the gun went off it would at least crack a rib, if not have a bullet go through the vest depending on the calibre, no vest was totally bullet-proof, well no vest their security firm issued them with anyway.

It was Henry that broke the moment, realising his partner was in danger, he reached forward under the passenger side console, fingers desperately searching for the weapon he knew was concealed there for emergencies, totally illegal, but right now that didn't matter, it might be the difference between life and death.

Of the seven motorcycles that had encircled the security van, one now peeled off. A machine gun held by the biker was aimed at the glass door and several rounds dispersed, before the machine smashed through the weakened glass. As the engine roared and glass shattered around him, the bank's one security guard tried to stand firm, ready to defend the occupants of the building. He was prevented from doing this, however, when the butt of the machine gun, held by the passenger, connected with the back of his neck rendering him unconscious. The motorcycle was brought to a skidding stop in front of the cashiers' desks. Five nervous faces stared at the two intruders, there was no doubt they would co-operate.

As the riders dismounted, the bank employers heard a gunshot, three of them instinctively ducked their heads down, covering their heads with their hands. They needn't of worried as the shot was outside.

Henry Stevens now lay in a pool of blood across the two seats in the cab of the truck. Above his left ear an exit wound from the bullet that had killed him slowly leaked blood onto the tan vinyl of the seats.

David Breene was now kneeling beside the vehicle a gun at his temple, his hands cuffed behind his back.

"Persuade your third man, in the back of the truck to co-operate." A rough voice behind him ordered.

"Jon, open up the back." David knew this was pointless it was against company policy. The third man in any armoured vehicle was under orders not to surrender to any threat, he was to sacrifice his partners rather than sacrifice the contents of the van. It was clear he'd have heard the gunshot, most probably the motorcycles as well. David realized that this was it. After dodging bullets in the army for fifteen years, surviving a couple of futile attempts to grab a payroll he was delivering during the five years he'd worked for the company, his luck had finally run out.

The voice now took over. "Jon I'm counting to five. If you don't open up by the time I reach five your partner will be killed. One...two...three...four...five."

During that count David sent a final silent message to Janine, of love, of regret, a promise to always watch over her.

The barrel moved to above his right ear, he managed one quick breath as the trigger was pulled back. He didn't hear the shot itself, by then darkness had overcome him, his eardrum exploded, and like Henry his life force left him.

After hearing the first shot, the two intruders had ordered the five employees to come one by one around the counter and kneel on the floor, holding their hands on the backs of their head. The fifth person had just joined the group when the shot that killed David Breene rang out. It was as if the bank itself had drawn in a gasped breath. The five people tried to control their emotions, not shake, or breathe out of turn, not give these people any reason to single them out.

The motorcycle passenger stood in front of the five of them, "Who's in charge?"

Rather shakily, a thin, balding man in his fifties raised his hand. "I am."

"Okay. Good. I can assure you, that you and your colleagues will survive tonight so long as you can follow my instructions."

The manager nodded. He had no desire to play the hero. The higher management within the bank actively discouraged it, the publicity drawn from employees who fought back had, over the years, been found to encourage more and more ruthless robberies, with the perpetrators setting themselves up for a fight, usually killing innocent employees or customers with no reason, just to prove a point. The negative publicity that resulted from this only discouraged future customers. A raid where no one was hurt, publicity wise, was far less damaging to future profits, the insurance would cover the losses.

"I need to be in your vault."

"Follow me, I'll just need to get my keys."

Meanwhile, outside the bank the truck now had incendiary devices attached to its doors. Giving Jon one last chance to surrender before the charges were set, the owner of the voice banged on the side of the van. "Jon, I have to tell you, one way or another we are going to get in there. We have explosives attached to the back doors. This is your last chance to open them before we do." Hearing no reply, no sound of locks being undone, the voice gave the order, "Okay, clear the doors. On the count of three. One...two...three."

The subsequent explosion was really quite impressive. The back wheels of the truck were lifted from the tarmac by the force of the blast. The doors flew open and bank notes fell like confetti.

Huddled in the back of the truck holding his head, Jon Watts at least was reassured by the fact the company would know he'd not given in. Maybe they'd make sure his mother was looked after, her care home bills paid, it was the least they could do, after all didn't this job come with some death in service insurance. Those were his last thoughts as a hail of bullets ripped through his body. More out of frustration at this guard's stubbornness to accept the inevitable, than out of fear for his possible ability to retaliate, the voice had allowed a free range shooting of him.

Assured the guard was dead, the six gang members outside formed a human chain as they emptied the contents of the vehicle into the various panniers attached to the motorcycles.

Inside, the bank the manager opened the vault. He wanted this whole experience over as quickly as possible, knowing full well the numerous people he'd now have to relate the details of the events to, he'd be lucky to see his house tomorrow evening let alone tonight.

"The diamonds, where are they?"

He pointed to a safety deposit box, quickly moving to it, fumbling a little with the keys until he found the correct one, then opening it. As quickly as the box was opened, the gloved hand reached in and snatched the five small bags contained within it.

"Right, we'll get back out now and join your colleagues." As he said this, the diamonds were quickly secured within three pockets on the outside of the leathers he was wearing.

Seeing the manager's head reappear, indicating he was climbing the stairs to rejoin them. The driver slowly raised his gun pointing at the four employees one at a time. He raised his voice for the benefit of the returning manager, "We're going to leave you now, but if anyone contacts the police within five minutes of us leaving, we will return, each one of you and your families will pay with your lives, do you understand?"

He watched as five heads slowly nodded, then returned to the motorcycle. He kick-started it and waited for his partner to join him on the back, before riding out of the doors. As their machine met the tarmac of the street they were greeted by the sound of five identical machines being started. As quickly as they'd arrived, they left the scene.

Inside the bank, the manager and his employees watched the red, second hand make its journey five times around the clock face. Just to be safe, the threat still clear in their minds, they waited for one more rotation before the manager rose from the floor headed for the nearest telephone and dialed 911.

Three quarters of an hour later Gil Grissom and Catherine Willows ducked under the yellow crime scene tape, to be followed a couple of seconds later by Sara Sidle, Warrick Brown and Nick Stokes. A grim faced Jim Brass met them.

"Good. You brought the team. We've got three dead, a security guard on the way to Desert Palms and five frightened employees, not to mention the loss of money and diamonds."

Gil sensed Jim had more involvement in this than he was initially disclosing. He decided to quickly dispatch his team to their different tasks allowing himself to work initially with Jim to discover what his colleague was hiding. "Okay, Nick I want you and Sara inside, Nick see what the security tapes have to tell us, Sara start to work with the employees. Warrick I want you to go to the buildings across the street, gather whatever security videos they have pointed in this direction, I want to see as much as I can of what went on out here. Catherine start out here, see what the security van has to tell us."

He watched as his team quickly settled to their assigned tasks. He went towards the open cab door of the armoured truck, following Jim.

"Jim?"

"Do you remember Henry Stevens? A great officer. When I first came out here, he worked a few cases with me, showed me around, went to dinner with him and his wife Pearl."

Gil nodded, "Yeah, vaguely, I thought he retired."

"He did. Took a job with the security firm. Was going to move to Scottsdale to be near Pearl's sister. Well that's not going to happen now."

Jim stepped aside allowing Gil a view of the inside of the cab.

"One shot. This is professional." He put down his kit, reached into his pocket to retrieve the digital camera taking a couple of photographs.

Catherine meanwhile was in the middle of examining the tarmac. She could make out tire prints. She ensured each one had a measurement scale placed next it before photographing it.

Warrick had managed to attract the attention of the security guard in the building directly opposite the bank.

"What's going on? I came back from my rounds at the rear of the building to see all the police cars pull up."

"So you didn't see anything happen to the armoured car out there?" Warrick asked, pointing in the general direction of where the vehicle was parked.

"No, not at all, as I said, the first time I knew something had happened was when I saw the police lights."

"Do you have any security cameras that could possibly give a view outside the building?"

The guard looked at Warrick a little confused. He ran his fingers through his mousy hair, appeared to chew on his bottom lip for a second before answering, "Camera 7b possibly."

"Could I have a look at the tapes from that camera for tonight?"

"Sure. No problem." With that, the security guard led Warrick into a room behind the console he'd been sat at.

Catherine had just finished photographing the tire prints; she spotted something on the road near one. It looked like some liquid. "Hey, Gris can you come and have a look at this?"

"Give me one minute, I'll be there."

She stood up, stretching her back. She looked around giving the scene a quick scan.

The man on the roof couldn't believe his luck. He thought they always wore bullet-proof vests, yet here was one of them standing there, in the middle of a scene, no protection, no one nearby. He settled himself, ensuring he was steady. Took aim and squeezed the trigger.

Upon hearing the shot Gil quickly looked up, in time to see Catherine start to crumple to the ground. The cobalt blue blouse she was wearing now decorated with a red stain on the right side.

"Noooo!" He seemed to be speaking in slow motion, he started to run along the side of the armoured truck, trying to reach her, break her fall, but something stopped him.

He was tackled from behind, Jim Brass pulling him down to the ground, resting on top of him while screaming into his radio. "Take cover, I repeat everyone take cover, we have gunshots from an unknown location."

Gil was aware of a few screams from the bank. He angrily shouted at Brass, "We can't just leave her out there! No protection! I will not let her be a target!"

Brass gripped hold of his shoulders, "And what do you want to do? Go out there and get shot? Have me explaining why two CSI's have been shot? There's nothing you can do until we secure the area. Believe me I wish there were, I care for her too."

As if to support his reasoning, the shooting commenced again. One bullet penetrated the tire of the truck, allowing the air to slowly hiss out, a second went into an undamaged pane of glass at the front of the bank, sending it into a series of splinters. A third hit the pavement, sending dust into Grissom's face, the fourth found a home in the prone body of Catherine Willows. Gil looked on helplessly as her body jerked with the impact, her shoulders trying to allow her body to curl into a foetal position, but lacking the energy they jerked back down. The blouse now had a second stain, on the left side.

Brass during this was engaged in two important tasks. The first was restraining Gil, preventing him from running out into no-mans land to heroically rescue a member of his team. The second was to scan the rooftops, to try to discern where this shooter was based.

The fourth bullet gave him that information. More by luck than anything else, he caught the flash of the laser sight. He picked up his radio, barking into it, "On the roof, the white building opposite the bank." He watched the area where the red beam had been moments before. He could make out a shadowy figure hurriedly standing, running across the roof, and making for a fire escape. "He's going for the fire escape on the West side of the building. Approach with caution." Assured the immediate danger was over, he released his grip on Gil turning his attention to calling dispatch for back up and paramedics.

Gil bolted from the grip that had restrained him. Coming to a halt before his colleague and best friend. He knelt beside her, wanting to cradle her in his arms but unsure, if by doing so he would cause some greater harm. He settled for grasping her hand. It felt clammy and cold. He gently stroked her face, "Cath, Catherine, honey, open your eyes. Let me see your eyes."

Slowly Catherine's eyelids fluttered. Her eyes were rolled back, she fought to control them, and they turned clockwise once as she fought to regain her focus. "Gil?" She half gasped.

"That's right honey. I'm right here."

"Scared."

"I know Cath. But you're going to be okay. Do you hear? You are going to be okay. I'm going to stay here with you and make sure of that."

She squeezed her eyes shut as a wave of pain passed through her. He noted with concern her lips were starting to turn a purple/blue colour.

"Catherine, I need to get to Lindsey, let her know what's happened. Is she with Nancy?"

"No...out...of...town..."

"Nancy's out of town?"

"Yes...Laura's...slee..."

He interrupted her, "Is she at a sleepover?"

Cath tried a nod, grimacing as it caused pain to shoot through her once again. Her teeth started to chatter involuntarily, she didn't have the energy to clamp her mouth shut to prevent their movement.

"How do I find Laura?"

"Refrig..."

"The number's on the refrigerator?"

"Yeah," she gasped, once again squeezing her eyes shut.

Gil was stopped from asking more by the sound of the rest of his team arriving. He looked up to see three nervous faces. He needed to take control, maintain the professionalism. They had the bank robbery to investigate, and a fallen colleague to gather evidence for. He took a deep breath, hoping his voice came out in its normal controlled manner and didn't betray his own fear for what he'd just witnessed. Unconsciously, he tightened his grip on Catherine's hand before starting to speak.

"I know you are upset. I know you probably all want to go with Catherine to the hospital, but I'm afraid that's not going to be possible. We've got a crime scene here and we need to contact Catherine's family, well Lindsey at least. Warrick could you..."

"No problem Grissom, where is she, with Cath's sister?"

"No she's at a friend's for a sleepover. Laura, the phone number's on Catherine's refrigerator. Take an officer with you. Catherine's neighbour should have a spare key."

"Okay. You going with her to the hospital?" His voice full of concern, as his eyes tried to convey some comfort, he wanted to reassure his supervisor that it was okay, this is what he should be doing, but also he didn't want to push him into an action he would regret. Warrick knew how close the two older CSI's were, they all did. He'd often wondered if they'd ever make something more of their relationship, but hadn't had the courage to question either one about that. He only hoped now that he would have that opportunity in the future. That Cath would make it not just for the little girl he was about to shatter with heartbreaking news but also for the man who now knelt beside his friend, looking as broken as the body that lay before him.

Gil nodded. "I'll need to let the doctor's know her medical history. Someone's got to..."

Nick jumped in, "Hey Gris, no problem. I didn't think you'd just leave her; she'll need someone there for her as will Lindsey. You need to be there."

Gil nodded again briefly in thanks. "Nick, Sara, I want you two to stay close together. Work the bank robbery, but I want you in bullet-proof vests and helmets on throughout. Brass will give you them. You are to have a police officer with you at all times. If anything, anything at all looks unusual or makes you think this shooter has returned you are to return to the lab immediately. Is that clear?"

"We'll be careful." Sara offered a half smile. "Just take care of Catherine, make sure she's okay."

The sirens of the paramedics and the requested back up approaching broke the team up. Nick and Sara returned to the bank to await Jim Brass, while Warrick went in search of the officer Brass would have by now assigned to him.

Gil returned his attention to Catherine. He was concerned at her pallor, she'd surely not looked this pale before, and there were also hints of purple appearing on her cheeks and around her face. "Cath, honey, the paramedics are here. We're going to get you to the hospital, okay. Warrick's on his way to your house, he's going to get Lindsey. You just need to hold on a little longer."

As if in answer, Catherine opened her eyes again, searching Gil's face. She no longer had the energy to speak; it was becoming harder to just breathe. She hoped he understood knew how grateful she was that he was there. Knew of the reassurance he offered by his mere presence.

Gil stroked her hair, gently, hoping to provide some comfort by this small act. Wanting to take the pain away, but knowing that was beyond his capabilities. The arrival of the paramedics briefly broke his contact with her. He stepped back to allow them the room to work.

"I assume you're going to the hospital with her."

He turned to face Jim Brass. "Yeah. I promised her and I need to talk to the doctors..."

"No, that's fine, I've just told the paramedics to let you ride along with them. I'll have an officer stationed at the hospital until we can discover a reason for this. Make sure it's nothing personal against Catherine. I'll stay with Nick and Sara; don't worry about them, the units that have just arrived have brought helmets and vests. But there's one thing I can't keep from you." Gil looked puzzled, "The sheriff will need to speak to you, no doubt he'll come to the hospital. I'll try and delay him, but you know what he's like."

"Thanks Jim."

Gil followed the stretcher they'd loaded Catherine onto and climbed into the back of the ambulance. He sought out her hand, as much to comfort himself as her.