Gil never mentioned Catherine's absence to the crew. He didn't know how to talk about it. She had told him she'd be back Monday night. Now Monday was here, and all he could do was wait. He felt as if he was carrying a burden on his shoulders, knowing she wouldn't be back and not telling anyone. He locked himself away in his office, until Sara came knocking on his door.

"Hey, boss," she said, that demure grin of hers cheering him up. "What's up?"

He raised his hands to indicate the piles of unfinished paperwork around him.

"Work?" he responded. "What's up with you?"

"I just wondered if you were feeling any better."

"Yes, Sara," he said. "Thank you. I'm feeling much better."

He lied, but there was no need worrying her, he told himself.

"Good," she said. "Then I thought you might need this."

She pulled his gun out of her purse and laid it on the desk. Next to it, she set down the ammunition.

Gil bit his lip and looked up at her, without touching it.

"Do me a favor, will you, Sara?" he asked, fighting every urge to pick up the gun and use it.

"Sure, Griss. What?"

"Take care of this for me? For awhile longer?"

Sara tilted her head a little, trying to read his mind.

"Sure," she said softly, putting the gun and ammunition back in her purse. "If you ever need to talk...." she began.

"I'll come looking for you," he finished.

She smiled a little and left him to his work.

That night, Gil slept on the sofa in his office. If he didn't go home, he reasoned, maybe he wouldn't miss Catherine so much. Maybe he wouldn't spend the night looking at old photographs. Maybe he wouldn't be tempted to find another gun. He awoke to the bustle of people flooding in for dayshift. Jim Brass was the first to pop his head in.

"Hey," he said, "you seen Catherine?"

"She's in Montana," Gil said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Went to see Lindsey."

"You sure?" Brass asked. "When did she leave?"

"Friday," Gil said. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing," Brass responded, in his usually evasive manner. "Just need to check something with her, that's all."

Gil nodded.

"Did you sleep here last night?" Jim asked.

Gil looked guilty, but didn't answer the question.

"For god's sake, man," Jim said, making a face, "at least put on a clean shirt. Between you and your bugs, it's getting rank in here."

Humor lives in the commonplace, Gil thought, smiling a little.

Once Brass was gone, Gil headed for the locker room, where he started to change his clothes. His moment of peace was interrupted by Nick and Greg in an elevated dispute.

"She said THIS morning," Greg was saying. "And if that's what Catherine wants, that's what Catherine gets."

"I told you, I couldn't do it this morning," Nick answered. "Besides, she just told me that tonight is fine."

"Who just told you?" Gil asked, suddenly interested. He came around the corner of the lockers, wearing a fresh shirt only half buttoned.

"Catherine," Nick said.

"She's here?" Gil asked, stunned.

"Yeah. In her office. Why? Where else would...?"

Gil didn't wait for the entire answer. He did something he hardly ever did, he ran, down the hall and straight to Catherine's office.

Charging in, he stared at the redhead, peacefully working away behind her desk.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, out of breath.

She looked up, stunned, at both his sudden entrance and his half- buttoned shirt.

"What do you mean what am I doing here? Last I heard, I work here. Why?"

Gil fell back against the door, closing it behind him. He planted his shaking hands on his thighs, to hold himself up. On top of the shock of seeing her, he realized how close he'd come to ending it all, to never seeing her again, and it made him sick.

Catherine, worried, went to him.

"Gil, what's the matter?" she asked.

"I thought you were gone," he said, his words punctuated by gasps for air.

"I was gone. I went to Montana. I told you...."

"No, Catherine. I thought you were GONE. I went to your house. All your stuff is gone. All...."His knees started to give out beneath him, and she quickly helped him into a chair.

"Whoa, there, cowboy," she said. "Take it easy and start from the beginning."

"I went to your house Sunday, and everything was gone. Your furniture. Everything. I didn't know how to reach you."

"I told you I was going to be out of state, Gil," she said. "What would possess you to go to my house?"

He looked up at her, his eyes begging her to understand.

"It's my safe place," he said.

Catherine sank into the chair next to him.

"Oh, Gil. I'm so sorry. I should have said something before I left. I just didn't think it would happen this soon."

"What?" he asked.

Catherine glanced nervously away, before answering.

"Sam asked Lindsey and I to move in with him."

Gil stared at her in shock.

"And you said yes?" he demanded to know.

She pulled back from him a little, and he realized immediately that his approach was all wrong.

"Why?" he asked.

She was sure he knew about the video tape, but somehow, in his fear of losing her, he failed to connect the dots. Catherine looked down at her hands.

"I need to do this," she said. "For both of us."

Gil forced himself to reign in his emotions.

"I told you I have no right coming between you and your father, no matter how I feel about him," Gil said. "And I won't. I just want to understood why."

Catherine remembered Sam's words: 'You used to trust him with everything. What changed?' What had changed? she wondered. Why couldn't she tell him? What would he do?

"Sam has the video," she said, finally. "He promised that, if I went along with this, he wouldn't release it to the press."

"He's blackmailing us?" Gil looked like he was about to explode. "I won't let him! Tell him to release the goddam tape. I don't care. I won't let him do this to you."

"Gil," she said, softly, buttoning the rest of his shirt, "let me do this. Maybe it will help. Maybe I can get my hands on the tape, or get information on Eckley's murder. I don't know. All I know is I want to try. For your sake. For our sake."

"Don't do this for me Catherine," he warned, shaking his head and seizing her hand in both of his. "He won't rest with having you back. He'll pull that video out whenever he needs a favor, whenever he gets his hands dirty. And what about your job? Can you live with Sam Braun and still be Assistant Director of the Las Vegas Crime Lab?"

"I guess that depends on you," she answered, pulling away from him. "Do I still have this job?"

Gil caught his breath, considering the dilemma.

"Why not?" he finally said, bitterly. "If they can have a rapist for a director, why not the daughter of a murderer for the assistant director."

Angry with himself for putting both of them in this position, he got up and stomped out, leaving Catherine, her nerves frayed, shaking her head and wondering what would happen next.

Catherine left work early that day. She had boxes to unpack and she wanted to make sure Lindsey settled in okay. Gil stood by the window, looking out into the parking lot. He watched her walk up to the black limo that Sam had sent for her. She paused a minute, before getting in, then turned and looked directly up at him, as if knowing instinctively that he would be there. He looked back at her, unmoving. The black limo swallowed her up.

Gil went back to his office and was just settling down to work when he had an unexpected visitor. Forensic anthropologist Teri Miller walked through the door as if she'd been doing it everyday, and Gil instantly found himself glad he was wearing a long lab coat and sitting behind his desk. He had been immediately attracted to her: petit, blonde, smart. She had left him tongue tied and feeling like a high school nerd at the senior prom. They had tried to date, and had failed miserably at it. Now, realizing how much she reminded him of Carol, he was relieved the relationship hadn't gone any further.

"Hi," he said, unable to keep the surprise and pleasure out of his voice. "What brings you here?"

"Actually, I've been in town a few days, and I'm on my way to the airport. I just thought I'd swing by and say hello."

She leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs. Everything about her screamed sultry and seductive and cool as ice. He wondered if she was wearing underwear.

"I'm glad you did," he said, without getting up. "Last I heard, you were in Boston."

She laughed a little.

"That was six months ago. You have to keep up with things," she said.

"Well, I've been a little busy," he said.

"I know. I heard."

Gil sighed.

"I'll be back this way in a few months," she said, when he didn't go on. "Maybe we can make up on that missed dinner?"

"Maybe." He knew it was a bad idea, but he couldn't bring himself to say no. "What were you doing in Boston?"

"A thirty-year-old serial case. Found seven bodies. A lot of reconstructive work," she responded. She was reading his body language. He was uncomfortable around her. He was even more pulled into himself than she had remembered. "Well, I'd better get going. Maybe next time," she said, getting up.

He smiled up at her, but remained seated.

"It was good seeing you, again, Teri," he said.

She smiled and walked out the door.

Gil picked up the phone and called Heather.

*******

"Mom! Look at this! I gotta show you this!" Lindsey said, running to meet her mother at the door of the Braun mansion. The 13-year-old grabbed her mother's arm and dragged her upstairs to her room. A canopied four-poster bed was covered in satin and lace, a bookcase filled with porcelain dolls lined one wall, and a large desk with a computer and small library lined the other. But Lindsey wasn't interested in any of that. She dragged her mother to the huge walk-in closet and opened the doors.

"Look what grandpa got me!" she squealed.

Catherine's heart went cold. She had never referred to Sam as 'grandpa' in front of Lindsey, and it never occurred to her that Sam would take such liberties with her child.

Lindsey was gleefully pulling out one outfit after another from the closet. All were designer clothes. All were hip and beautiful and would be the envy of every girl at her school. All were bought by Sam Braun, without Catherine's knowledge or consent. Her heart constricted further.

"They're beautiful," she was forced to admit. "But what about your old clothes?" She knew every piece of clothing Lindsey wore. She had bought them herself, often with Lindsey. She had watched her child try them on and decide which ones they could afford. Their shopping trips were one of her fondest memories of bonding with her daughter.

"Mom! They're OLD!" her daughter laughed.

Sam walked in behind them.

"Are my girls having fun?" he asked.

Catherine, scowling, turned on him.

"We need to have a talk!" she said, pulling him into the hallway and shutting the door so Lindsey couldn't hear.

"Why the hell did you tell her to call you 'grandpa'? And where do you get off buying my daughter clothes, without telling me?" She was furious.

Sam, however, was as cool as ever.

"I AM her grandpa," he said. "And I will buy her whatever makes her happy. Get used to it, pumpkin."

He quickly pulled her into an embrace and planted a kiss on her lips, and just as quickly let her go and walked away. Catherine, her head spinning, thought she was going to be sick.

"Mom," Lindsey said, popping her head out of her room. "Where did you go? Did you see your stuff, yet? Come on!"

The child grabbed her arm, again, and dragged her down the hall to another bedroom. Once there, Lindsey went right for the closet and opened the large doors, revealing a boutique's worth of designer fashions meant for Catherine to wear.

"Honey," Catherine said, trying to keep her daughter from knowing how upset she was. "Mommy has a headache. I'm going to take a little nap, okay? You go play, now, and I'll join you a little later."

"Okay, mom. But isn't this fun?"

Lindsey dashed out of the room, and Catherine closed and locked the door behind her. Then she sat on the bed, trembling. She didn't know what she felt more: rage, fear, repulsion, or something else. Gil had been right. Of course he'd been right! The bastard! Why couldn't he have just kept it in his pants! Why did he have to screw Carol! What the hell had she gotten herself into? At first blush, it had seemed so simple. Now, it was anything but.

She pulled out her cell phone and called the office, but he wasn't there. She called his home, but he wasn't there, either. She called his cell, and all she got was his voice mail. She called the cell one more time, just to listen to his voice, and left a message for him to call her. The way things had gone that day, she wasn't sure he would call her, or even if he was alright.

*******

Gil didn't wait for Heather to answer the door. He went right to her rooms, where he knew she'd be waiting. He'd been in pain the entire ride there, and he knew why. Teri had triggered in him the same response he'd felt for Carol, and he didn't know what to do with it. So he took it to Heather.

She was waiting for him, dressed in a gingham gown and clearing the dishes from the table. She knew exactly what he was going through, and exactly what to do about it. Gil didn't need an invitation. He knew he was safe with her. Whatever he did, she would handle it. He couldn't hurt her. He turned off his phone.

Later, wrapped in a sheet, he stretched out on her sofa while she made them both tea.

"What did she do to arouse you?" Heather asked.

"She walked in the room."

Heather nodded, understanding, and passed him a cup.

"You can't keep doing this, you know," she said, scooting his legs over and sitting down next to him. "You can't keep running to me every time you feel out of control."

"I know. I don't know what's happened to me. I never used to do this. I was always in control."

"You were never in control, Gil," she said. "You were in denial."

"You're the only person who understands," he said.

"And Catherine?"

He shook his head.

"I don't know."

Heather sipped her tea.

"You've come a long way, you know."

"How's that?" he asked.

"What was the first thing you thought of when Teri walked through your door?" she asked.

"I didn't think. No, I take that back. I thought: I damn well better not stand up."

Heather smiled.

"And then what did you think?"

He didn't answer right away, and she had to urge him to respond.

"I thought... She looks so much like Carol. I thought, god I want her. I thought, I wonder if she's wearing underwear. I thought, I can't do this."

"Exactly," Heather said. "You recognized her as a trigger for your reactions. You knew you were in trouble the minute you saw her, and you made a choice to walk away from her. That's progress."

"But I had to come here for relief," he said.

"True, but that was a healthier choice for you than to pursue Teri, right?"

"A healthier choice for her, too," he said.

Heather nodded.

"Now, we need to find a better way for you to cope with these feelings than running to me," she said. "I have a feeling Catherine isn't going to want you doing this much longer."

"Catherine doesn't know," he said. "I've been too embarrassed to tell her."

"You can't hide from her forever," she said.

*******

Someone was knocking on Catherine's bedroom door.

"Come in," she said, still stretched out on the bed.

A maid entered carrying an emerald dress in a clear garment bag.

"What's that?" Catherine asked.

"It's your dress, for dinner," the woman explained.

"Are we having company?" Catherine asked.

"No. Mr. Braun likes to dress up for dinner. He said this goes with your eyes."

She laid the dress on the bed. Catherine sat up.

"You can tell Mr. Braun...." She stopped. "Never mind," she said, dismissing the maid.

Lindsey came running into the room.

"Mom, do I have to wear a dress for dinner? Do I?" She was carrying a dress very much like the one the maid had left for Catherine.

"Do you want to wear the dress?" Catherine asked.

"No way!" Lindsey said, screwing up her nose.

"Then you don't have to," Catherine told her. She motioned her daughter to her. "Lindsey, Sam means well, but he's never had a little girl in the house, before, and we're going to have to teach him a few things."

"What kind of things?" Lindsey asked.

"Like how to take no for an answer," Catherine said.

Lindsey smiled.

"I'm pretty good at saying no," she said.

Catherine smiled.

"I know you are honey. I'm counting on it."

When it came time for supper, mother and daughter appeared in the dining room wearing tank tops and jeans. Braun looked up, surprised.

"Catherine, we dress for dinner, here," he said. "I thought Annie explained that to you."

"She did," Catherine said. "We don't."

For a moment, the two squared off across the dining table. Lindsey clung to her mother's hand, fearful of the tension in the room.

Finally, Sam relaxed and motioned for them to sit down.

"You have such beautiful hair," Sam told Catherine. "Have you ever considered wearing it up?"

"Like my mom did?" Catherine rebutted.

He smiled. "You are far more beautiful than she was at your age."

Catherine ignored the comment.

"I was just saying, it would look so pretty up," Sam went on.

"I'll wear my hair any damn way I please," she snapped.

Lindsey cringed.

A servant brought out their plates. Lindsey tugged on her mom's sleeve.

"What honey?" Catherine asked, admittedly delighting in the entree.

"Can I have pizza?" the girl asked.

"Tomorrow," Catherine said. "We're guests here, so tonight we eat what they serve, okay?"

Lindsey reluctantly tested the food on her plate.

"It's very good, Lindsey," Sam told her.

The little girl looked him straight in the eye and said, "I'd rather eat Uncle Gil's grasshoppers!" Then she jumped up and ran out of the room.

Sam started to go after her, but Catherine stopped him.

"She's tired," she said. "This has been a little overwhelming for her. She needs time."

He sat back down.

"And what about you, Catherine? Are you going to need time, too?" he asked.

She never answered.

*******

"Gil," Heather whispered quietly in his ear. "It's time to go home."

He rolled over and put his arm around her.

"Go back to sleep, Catherine," he said.

-- TBC --