Catherine's hands were trembling as she read Nick's unofficial report. Fingerprints lifted from Gil's hospital bed and matching those found in Sara's apartment confirmed that nurse Molly was really convicted murder Laura Sidle, Sara's mother. Catherine put down the report and picked up the clear evidence bag containing the pill bottle, proof positive that Molly had tried to murder Gil and evidence that she was behind the other homicides.

Gil had taken the news hard, withdrawing into himself and slinking away to his townhouse. He sent a stranger to pick up his things from the office. He didn't say goodbye. He didn't even leave a note.

Catherine still felt uncomfortable in the chair that had once been his. A part of her wanted all new furniture and a fresh paint job, just to lift the atmosphere and wipe away the feeling of loss. Another part of her clung to the memories that haunted that room.

She set the bag down as Greg strolled in. Removing her glasses, she looked up at him expectantly, but was met with a long face. Hands shoved dejectedly into his pockets, Greg shook his head.

"Sorry. Nothing. She must have skipped town."

Catherine nodded in disappointment, the tip of her glasses pressing thoughtfully on her lower lip. "Someone smart enough to fake her identity, portray a nurse, and commit a string of murders without getting caught isn't going to wait around to be picked up," she said.

Greg mumbled his agreement and turned to leave.

"How is she?" Catherine called after his slouching back. They both knew she meant Sara.

He stopped at the doorway and glanced back. "Better," he said. "Nick's with her now." He frowned, adding, "I guess they've gotten pretty close."

"Yes, he's very fond of her," Catherine said absently, as she slipped her glasses back on, her eyes returning to the report.

"We all are," Greg countered a little too sharply.

Catherine glanced up in surprise, catching the pained look on his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…." The rest of the sentence hung unspoken in the air.

Greg shrugged. "Hey, it's not like it's a surprise. Grissom. Nick. Hank. Whoever. There was always someone else."

"I'm sorry, Greg," Catherine said softly.

"Nothing to be sorry about," he countered with a shrug. "She made her choice and that, as they say, is that."

For a second, Catherine was struck by how much Greg reminded her of a young Gil Grissom. "You deserve better," she said.

Greg smirked. "You're right. I do. I should have been going out with you!" With a wink, he disappeared into the hallway, Catherine's warm smile on his back.

For the fifth time that evening, Catherine picked up the phone and dialed Gil's number. For the first time, she didn't hang up before it rang. She waited, holding her breath and counting the rings. By nine, she was forced to breathe again. "It's nothing," she told herself. "He's probably in the shower, or running errands, or sleeping. He probably unplugged the phone." The uneasiness ate at her, so she tried his cell phone, surprised to find it was out of service.

A few minutes later, Catherine was pacing the office, trying to decide if she should stay or go. "This is silly. If it was anyone else…." She snatched her purse and jacket from the sofa and headed out the door.

*******

Laura Sidle slithered under the yellow police tape and into her daughter's abandoned apartment, using the key she'd purloined over a year before. She stood before the bookcase, her fingertips brushing the silver picture frames, her eyes searching for a little girl who no longer existed. Laura sucked her bottom lip as she pulled the scrapbook from its nook and opened it on the coffee table. She sank into the deep purple leather sofa and began to thumb through the book's worn pages.

Memories flooded the room. A child's scream, wailing sirens, blood on her hands…. Laura clenched her eyes tight against the onslaught of emotions as her heart pounded in her ears. Eyes still shut, she reached blindly for her purse and pulled it into her lap, clinging to it.

For the first time, Laura realized she was not alone. Perhaps it was the slight increase in air temperature, or the gentle sound of steady breathing, or the earthly scent of leather. She couldn't ­ didn't ­ analyze it. Instead, she opened her eyes and looked up into Lady Heather's stern features.

"It's over," Heather said. "The police are on their way."

"How did you know…?"

"That you'd be here?" Heather asked, her head tipped slightly to the side in contemplation. "Where else would you go?"

Laura chuckled softly and nodded to herself. She leaned back on the sofa, still clenching her purse in her lap. "How long have you known?' she asked.

"Not long enough," Heather responded, hands on her hips, her dark form dominating the room like an angry schoolmistress.

"You owe me," Laura said, her eyes flashing.

Heather raised a questioning eyebrow.

"You put my daughter in jail."

Heather scowled, thinking a minute. A flicker of guilt came and went as she understood her mistake. "You may be surprised to know that it isn't about you," Heather chided. "I made a mistake, and Sara paid the price, not you. But you're the one who put her in harm's way. You cast your spell. The guilt is yours."

Hot rage flooded Laura's eyes. "She was her daddy's girl," she snapped bitterly. "She never did a right thing in her life. She should have sided with me. She should have stood by me. But she didn't. She betrayed me." Her fingers found the scrapbook and the newspaper article pasted there. Sara, the child witnesses, had made the statement that sent her mother away.

Heather's eyes widened in surprise. "This is all about Sara?" she asked, her voice thick with disdain. "You murdered all those men just to get at Sara?"

"She was supposed to find them! That's her job! She was supposed to know…." Laura's voice drifted off. "They were useless. Meaningless. No good. They were better off dead." Her eyes fell on some invisible spot in front of her.

"Would you have killed Captain Brass?" Heather asked, holding her breath for the answer.

Laura nodded. "He got to close. He would have found out sooner or later. I had to know…." She glanced up at Heather with a confused look. "I liked him," she added.

Heather lowered herself to a seated position on the coffee table, facing Laura. She was growing increasingly worried at the calm tone of Laura's voice. Heather knew, in that instant, what the words "cold blooded killer" meant. A shiver ran up her spine, but she didn't move. "Why Dr. Grissom?" she asked, knowing the answer before Laura spoke.

"Because she loved him," Laura said.

Heather never saw the knife until Laura plunged it into Heather's chest with an upward stab, shoving it behind the sternum. Heather, paralyzed with shock, never made a sound, but fell backwards to the floor, her eyes wide open, her mouth gaping, blood spurting from her chest. The last thing she ever heard was the distant wailing of police sirens and Laura's heartless chuckle.

*******

Catherine hesitated at Gil's door. His vehicle was parked in the street. His blinds were closed. His phone remained unanswered. Taking a deep breath, Catherine rapped quickly on the door. No one answered. She rapped again and called his name. Nothing. She hit the buzzer. Still nothing. Nearing panic, she went back to her vehicle, pulled out her forensics kit and pawed through it until she found her lock picks. Catherine tried not to think about the ethics of what she was doing, as her trembling hands worked the lock. When the door quietly swung open, she held her breath and stepped into the darkened room.

Gil was stretched out on the sofa, his shoes kicked off, an old blanket thrown over his knees. One arm covered his eyes as the other dangled to his side, the fingers grazing the concrete floor.

Catherine shut the door as quietly as she could, then tiptoed into the room. Her eyes fell on the pill bottle and drained water glass on the coffee table and for a brief second she feared the worst. Picking up the bottle, she recognized it as Gil's migraine medication and noted it was due for a refill. Catherine glanced at Gil, her eyes resting on his chest until she could see it rising and falling with his breathing. A relieved sigh escaped her lips as she set the bottle down, curled up in the leather chair and tucked her feet under her. In the monastic silence of that darkened room, she quickly fell asleep.

*******

"You don't want to do this," Jim Brass said. His hand shook as he held it out in front of him, palm facing Laura as she knelt over Heather's lifeless body.

Several officers with drawn guns huddled behind Brass. In front of him, Laura held the blood-smeared knife to her own throat, her eyes locked with his.

"Please, Molly. I'm begging you. Don't." Jim's face was pale. He had no business being there. He should have been barred from entering, but no one could stop him. He cursed himself for being unarmed.

Laura Sidle smiled at him with a look of pity. The sharp knife sliced through her jugular with one clean stroke. Brass dived for her, his fingers trying to apply pressure to the gaping wound as the blood spurted out. Her weight dragged him down until he was kneeling in Heather's blood. He held Laura tight in his arms and watched the light go out in her eyes. A deep groan escaped his heart as he broke into sobs.

Behind him, expressionless and kit in hand, Greg Sanders entered the room. Greg knelt next to Heather's body, waiting for the coroner to pronounce. He softly touched Heather, brushing her hair back from her eyes. "She's still warm," Greg said. He glanced at Brass as an odd thought invaded his mind: Brass was contaminating the crime scene.

*******

Catherine was awoken by a phone ringing. Startled, she sat up and wiped the sleep from her eyes. The sofa was empty. She scanned the room until she found Gil, perched on a kitchen stool, sipping orange juice and watching her.

"How'd you get in?" he asked, sounding more surprised than irritated.

"I picked your lock," Catherine admitted, stretching and straightening up her clothes. She bent over and massaged the circulation back into her legs.

"Why?" He frowned. He continued to ignore the ringing phone.

"I called you. I knocked on the door. I rang the buzzer. I called your name. Nothing. I was worried." Catherine stood up and eyed the phone. "Aren't you going to get that?"

"What ?" he asked, oblivious.

For the first time, Catherine noticed how his eyes followed her lips. "Your phone is ringing," she said slowly.

"They'll call back," he responded. His face blushed in embarrassment and he knew that she knew that he couldn't hear it. The ringing stopped.

Catherine felt like an idiot. She realized why he never answered the phone or the door. He couldn't hear them. She approached him, took the glass from his fingers and set it on the counter. She cupped his face in both hands as she fought back tears. "Let me help you," she begged.

He turned away from her and got up. "I'm fine Catherine," he said, walking towards the door and opening it, his back to her. "You'd better go now."

Catherine passed him on her way out the door, then turned to face him, making sure he was looking at her. "Don't be such a goddamn stubborn old fool, Gil," she said. "You don't have to do this alone."

He swallowed and averted his eyes. "I'll be fine," he said.

Rising up on her tiptoes, she cupped his cheek with one hand and kissed him firmly on the lips, startling him into almost tripping over backwards. "I'll be back," she said, imitating Dirty Harry as he stared at her. Then she turned and walked out the door.

Gil stood in the doorway, leaning against the jam and watching her drive away with a confused look on his face.

*******

Catherine's phone went off as she turned the last street corner towards the crime lab.

"We have a situation," Det. Sophia Curtis said, her voice soft.

"A situation?" Catherine felt her throat tighten.

"Two dead at Sara Sidle's apartment. Murder suicide."

Catherine's heart constricted and she pulled off the side of the road, trembling. "Who?" she asked quietly, afraid of the answer.

"Laura Sidle and Lady Heather Kessler."

Catherine shuddered and threw the car into park. She was hyperventilating. Sophia's voice emanated from the phone, which had been discarded on the car seat.

"You still there?" Sophia asked.

Catherine snatched up the phone and pressed it to her ear. "Yes, yes. I'm fine… I…." she stammered. "I'm coming…. No…. I have to tell Gil… I'll send someone." She hung up and rested her forehead on the steering wheel while she regained control. She was unexpectedly grateful that Gil couldn't hear his phone ring. When she could breathe again, she picked up the pone and called the office to learn Greg was on the scene. She called Greg. "Lay it out," she ordered.

"It's a mess," Greg said, his voice strained. He slowly and methodically gave her the details.

"Call Warrick. Get him over there. Tell him he's reinstated," she said. "I'm headed to Gil's."

"I don't envy you," Greg answered, examining the crime scene before him.

"Feeling is mutual." She turned the car around in the road and headed back to Gil's place, growing nauseous with every mile and brushing away sudden tears with the sleeve of her jacket.. When she drove up to the townhouse and got out of her vehicle, she looked up to see Gil staring down at her from his window. As he read the expression on her features, he frowned. He beat her to the door.

"Catherine?" he asked, concerned by her pale face and make-up smeared eyes. "What happened? What's wrong?"

She didn't know where to begin. In an attempt to gather her thoughts, she brushed past him and into the apartment, tucking her hair behind her ear. "You'd better sit down," she said.

He startled her by grabbing her arm and spinning her around. "Here! Look at me, Catherine! I can't hear you! What happened? Is Lindsey all right? Your mom? Someone at work?"

Catherine covered her lips with a trembling had as she began to speak, but Gil grabbed her hand and roughly removed it from her mouth. "I need to see your lips," he said sternly. "Now, talk to me. What happened?"

"It's Heather," Catherine forced out, her eyes brimming with fresh tears. She watched the look of disbelief give way to shock in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Gil."

He shook his head. His mouth moved but nothing came out at first.

"Gil, I…." Catherine rested her hand on his chest.

He locked his jaw. As quick as it surfaced, the pain was locked behind steel eyes. "How?" he asked.

"She confronted Laura Sidle at Sara's apartment."

His eyes widened. "How?" he demanded to know.

"Knife. To the heart."

She expected him to yell, or cry, or collapse, or something, but instead he let her go, grabbed his jacket and headed out the door.

"Gil!" Catherine screamed after him.

He never heard her.

-- TBC --