Sophia hurried into Jim Brass' office, waving a piece of paper.

"We got it!" she said.

He looked up.

"The warrant for the wire!" she explained.

"Thank god!"

Wiring Catherine was a risk, he knew. Without the warrant, nothing they got would hold up in court. But they needed the wire to confirm whatever Braun told her and, more importantly, to make sure Catherine was alright.

*******

Stretch limos, high-end sports cars and an assortment of SUV's pulled up to the Braun mansion, depositing their well-dressed and well-oiled guests on the doorstep. Inside, a band in white tie and tails played the rumba. Champagne flowed like water. The foyer and main areas were decked in monstrous bouquets of tropical flowers. When Braun threw a party, he knew what he was doing.

Catherine was escorted into the house through the kitchen entrance.

"You disappoint me, Catherine," Braun said, his arms crossed in front of him like the irate father of an errant teen. He looked at his men. "Where's my grandchild?" he asked. They shrugged their shoulders. He turned to Catherine. "Well, where is she?"

The kitchen heat wrapped around her like a shawl, and she jumped when one of the chefs dropped a pot that clattered on the terra cotta floor.

"I dropped her off at a friends. She's spending the night," she lied, looking for a friendly face in the room. No one looked at her. But for Braun's unwanted attention, she felt invisible. She took comfort in having her service revolver tucked in her purse.

"That wasn't very responsible of you, Catherine," he chided, taking out a handkerchief and wiping the sweat from his face. "She has school tomorrow."

Catherine, wound tight as a corkscrew and trying to appear calm, tilted her head slightly to one side.

"After last night," she said, her voice sultry and barely above a whisper, "I thought it would be best if you and I had some alone time."

Sam froze, narrowed his eyes and took his time responding.

"We have guests," he said. "I expect you to dress for dinner."

He turned and left her standing in the kitchen, with his men guarding the door. Catherine, assessing the situation, took the backstairs to her room. She found Sam's choice of dress for the evening lying on her bed. It was sapphire blue, floor length, with a plunging neckline, a hip-high slit, a single strap around the neck and a back cut down just below the waist. For a second, she tried to figure out where she would hide a microphone on that dress, but it was useless. The gown was too revealing.

"Hey, guys?" she said into the mike, knowing she couldn't get a reply. "I have to do this later. After everyone leaves. Catch you, then. And watch out for the goons at the kitchen entrance." She put the mike and her service revolver under her pillow, for safe keeping.

Jim Brass swore. He was wearing his best suit and carrying his invitation, but he had hoped Catherine could get in and out rather quickly. Now, it looked as if it was going to be a long night. He was somewhat amazed that Braun had the audacity to invite him, at all. It spoke volumes for the man's ego and sense of control. Or perhaps his need to flaunt his control over Catherine.

"I'm headed in," he told Sophia, sitting next to him, who was monitoring the party from a utility van just down the street. Greg, in the driver's seat and playing lookout, was working with her. He had insisted on calling it a working date, despite Sophia's objections.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Greg told Brass, grinning.

"Dream on!" Brass responded, heading towards the house.

Catherine put on the dress, which fitted her perfectly. Then she carefully applied her make-up, put up her hair, donned her high heels, and floated gracefully down the stairs to the foyer, to the admiring stares and sighs of Sam Braun's high rolling guests, which included the mayor, the soon to be ex-sheriff, Rory Atwater, and Jim.

"How do you do it?" Jim asked, beaming at her.

"What's that?" Catherine responded, sliding next to him.

"Deal with dead people all day, put up with the bug man, and still manage to look hotter than a Vegas night in August."

Catherine rested her hand lightly on his arm and batted her baby blues at him.

"Looks aren't everything, you know," she said, smiling. Then she whispered in his ear. "Don't stay too far from me, tonight. I may need to be rescued."

"I always keep my eye on you," he replied, giving her a wink.

Sam quickly joined them, taking Catherine possessively by the arm.

"You look ravishing," he told her, completely ignoring Brass. "I want to introduce you to some people."

Catherine spent the next four hours securely attached to Sam's arm, as he escorted her around the room, made introductions, and basked in the compliments that came her way. Both were conscious of the fact that Jim was never far from sight.

"Must be the trophy wife," she heard someone whisper.

Catherine turned in the direction of the speaker.

"Actually," she said, glancing back solicitously at Braun, "I'm his daughter."

Braun shifted, slightly uncomfortable with the affirmation. He'd clearly been passing her off as his girlfriend. Several times, he offered her a drink, but she turned him down.

"Later," was all she'd say, and he would smile down on her. Catherine smiled back, fighting the sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. She played the part of the cool and collected hostess, all the time wondering if Gil and her daughter were okay and if she'd ever get out of this unscathed. Finally, Sam whisked her onto the dance floor, one hand threading his fingers through hers, the other low and firm on the naked small of her back. Sam was no fool.

"You know, Catherine," he said, his voice brushing her ear, "I can always tell a woman's intentions by the way she dances with me."

He pulled her close, into his heat. He felt her tense up. He felt her resistance to his touch.

"When I look in your eyes, pumpkin, I don't see me," he told her.

Catherine tried to look innocent.

"Who do you see, Sam?" she asked.

"Him."

His face turned hard as he stared at her. Catherine needed taming, he decided. And tonight, alone, with no one to interfere, he was going to do just that.

Catherine caught her breath.

"You were with him, tonight, weren't you?" he demanded to know. "I can smell him on you."

"I was with Lindsey. We went for pizza. I dropped her off at a friend's." The mantra.

"Her friend, or yours?" he asked.

Catherine tried to pull away, but he pressed her closer.

"When this is over, we need to talk," he told her.

Jim gripped his glass and didn't take his eyes off of her. For him, the night was interminably long.

*******

Lindsey curled up on the sofa next to Gil, resting her head on his chest. He pulled a blanket around her shoulders, feeling some kind of paternal need to protect her from everything she was going through. The movie had ended, and the two were now watching the Discovery Channel. But Gil's mind was somewhere else. He was thinking of Catherine, alone in that house, with Sam Braun. He pictured her trying to talk to the man. He imagined what Braun would do if he found out about the wire. No matter how Gil analyzed the situation, he didn't like it. He wanted to be there, but he didn't want to leave Catherine's daughter.

"What's the matter, Uncle Gil?" she asked.

He was surprised, at first, but then realized that any daughter of Catherine's would be tuned in to people's feelings.

"I'm worried about a case, that's all," he said, brushing back her hair and trying to soothe her worries.

"Want to talk about it?" she asked, being polite.

"That's alright. Thanks."

"When I have problems, I talk to my mom," Lindsey confided. "But she doesn't always listen to me."

"I know the feeling," Gil confided. "I had the same problem with my mom. I'd tell her things, but she never heard me."

"Didn't she like you?" Lindsey asked, curious.

"Yes, honey, she did," Gil said. "When I got older, I found out she was deaf. She really couldn't hear me."

Lindsey nodded, understanding.

"How did that make you feel, Uncle Gil?" she asked.

He stared off into space a moment, remembering.

"Like a ghost," he said, sadly.

"You can work if you want," she said, her mind already on a different topic. "I'm tired."

"Why don't you sleep in my bed, and I'll work out here," he said.

She nodded.

He picked her up and carried her to his room, still wrapped in the blanket. Then he kissed her goodnight on the forehead.

"I won't leave you alone, honey. Promise," he said.

"Thanks, Uncle Gil."

Lindsey smiled contentedly and was soon asleep.

Back in the living room, Gil paced the floor. He finally called Brass.

"What's all that noise?" Gil asked.

"A party. At Braun's," Jim explained. "Stop worrying, will ya. I got my eye on her."

"You were invited to the party?" Gil was amazed.

"Yeah. I think he's showing off."

Gil was quiet a moment.

"How is she holding up?" he asked.

"Stay out of this," Brass warned him. "We're handling it." He clicked the phone off.

The band died down, the champagne slowed to nothing, guests were escorted to the door and the servants were being sent home. Brass was almost the last to leave, looking back over his shoulder at Catherine and nodding to let her know he wouldn't be far. For the first time since the party began, Catherine extricated herself from Sam Braun and went to Brass. She gave the surprised detective a big hug.

"Be careful," he told her.

Braun, for once, didn't interfere. He was patiently waiting his moment.

When the last guest had left and the servants had been dismissed, Sam took Catherine by the hand and led her into his massive, mahogany lined study. A large oil painting of an attacking lion dominated the wall behind his desk. A collection of plaques and awards spilled from the wall and onto the desk and bookcases. On one side of the room was a large screen television, equipped with all the latest toys.

"You always knew how to live well," Catherine commented, looking around the room.

"You can cut the act, Catherine," he told her, grabbing her wrist. "I just want to know one thing. Why, after a week of fighting with you, are you suddenly so eager to play along?"

She jerked her hand away.

"What choice do I have?" she snapped. "I can live here and be miserable, or I can live here and enjoy it. Why suffer if I don't have to."

He smiled a little, still not trusting her.

"We shouldn't have to do it this way," he said. "You should want to be here, not because I'm insisting...."

"The word is blackmailing, Sam," she corrected him.

"But because you want to," he finished.

"Is that how you get all your so-called friends to play along?" she asked. "Blackmailing them?"

He studied her carefully.

"What is it you want to know?" he asked.

"How did you get Eckley to set up Gil?" she asked. "What did you have on him."

He grabbed her arm again and pulled her towards him.

"Come here," he demanded. "Are you wired?"

"In this dress? You've got to be kidding!" she snapped.

"I want to make sure," he said.

She stiffened as he ran his hands through her hair, pulling out the pins and checking each one. He then moved his hands down her side to her waist and up to her breasts, slowly and carefully feeling for the microphone he was sure she was wearing. She closed her eyes and didn't move, a shiver running down her back. His hands moved down her rear and hips and up her legs, reaching under her dress. She thought she would scream. When he didn't find anything, he stood up, facing her.

"Satisfied?" she asked, gritting her teeth.

"Not yet," he responded.

"Do I get an answer, now?" she asked.

"Conrad Eckley was a political animal," he said. "It didn't take much. A couple of drunk driving stops that were never filed, a 15- year-old girlfriend in a motel about eight years ago, a bank account depleted by betting on the ponies. The bookie is an old friend of mine."

"Of course," she said. "And the 15-year-old?"

Sam smiled.

"You're smart, Catherine. Sometimes I forget how smart. But you're right. She was a friend of mine, too."

"An investment," she said.

"Like you."

Catherine started to object.

"Sit down, please," he said, indicating one of the more comfortable chairs. "I want to show you something."

Catherine took her place, trying to appear as relaxed as possible.

"Did you see the game, today?" he asked, picking up a remote control

"You know I didn't, Sam," she responded. "Why?"

"I put money on that thing. Lost it, too. I don't often lose, Catherine." He flicked on the television and waited for a second. "I just want to show you what happens when I lose," he said.

The next picture on the screen was Gil and Carol, in bed, the night of Carol's murder. They were both naked. Her hands were bound to the headboard. And he....

Catherine jumped up and tried to leave the room, but Sam knocked her back into the chair and pinned her shoulders down from behind her.

Catherine closed her eyes, but she couldn't escape the sound.

"Open your eyes!" Sam yelled, grabbing her and shaking her.

"No!"

"Open them, you little slut! That's what you want! You want that instead of me!"

"No!"

She could hear their heavy breathing and the creak of the bed. She could hear Carol struggling, moaning, crying. She could hear Gil swearing.

"No! No! No!"

If she just kept shouting, she could drown it all out.

Sam circled around to the front of the chair and back slapped her across the face, leaving a trail of blood running from where his ring cut her lip.

"Open your eyes!"

"No!"

Sam pulled her into a standing position and slapped her again, knocking her to the floor. Catherine screamed, as Sam picked her back up and grabbed her from behind, so that she was facing the television.

"Watch it!" he ordered, pulling her hands back behind her back until pain shot through her. "Watch it, or I'll break both your arms, right now!"

"Break them, you goddam bastard!" she yelled.

Giving up, he threw her back on the floor. Then he ejected the video tape and put another one in.

"Maybe this will work better," he said.

Catherine, her eyes clouded with tears, could barely make out the house on the screen. Someone was using an electronic eavesdropping device to elicit sounds from an upstairs window in the house. No faces went with those sounds, but Catherine had no problem identifying the voices: Gil's and Heather's.

~~~

"You can't keep doing this, you know," Heather said. "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. You were in denial."

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

"And Catherine?"

"I don't know."

Silence.

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

"She looks so much like Carol. I thought, god I want her. I thought, I wonder if she's wearing underwear."

Silence.

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

Silence

"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."

~~~

"Do you have any idea how many times he screwed that whore AFTER you made love to him?" Sam asked.

Catherine didn't answer. She didn't want to listen to him. She was sure Gil could explain it all away. She had to shut it out.

"He promised me he'd never hurt me, again," she moaned, wiping the tears from her eyes and trying to pick herself up.

"When? When did he promise you?" Sam asked, wanting to use the tape to show just how fast Gil Grissom could break a promise.

"Tonight," she said. "I forgave him, and he promised, tonight."

Sam stood there in disbelief, his fears confirmed and trying to figure out when and where and how Catherine could have hooked up with Gil right under his nose.

"Is that where Lindsey is?" he demanded to know. "Is it?"

Catherine denied it, but he was beyond believing her.

"Don't you understand, Catherine?" he asked, pulling her up and into his arms. "I'm the only one who really loves you. I'll never break a promise to you. I'll never cheat on you. You're mine, and you will always be mine."

She felt him growing aroused, yanked herself away and slapped him.

Before he could react, she ran up the stairs to her room, slamming the door behind her. Braun was on her heels. When he got to the door, he pulled out a key and unlocked it. By then, Catherine was screaming into the microphone.

"Help me! Oh my god, help me!" she cried.

Braun, oblivious to the mike, pinned her onto the bed and pulled her dress up to her waist. He then planted his knee between her legs, as his hand grabbed her panties.

Catherine reached under her pillow and drew the revolver, planting it directly at his heart. For a second, he hesitated. But then he smiled, looked her in the eye, and slid his hand between her legs.

The gun clicked. Nothing happened. His smile widened. And the room exploded.

Blood splattered across Catherine's body and hands and face and over the entire bed, soaking the sheets and sticking to her skin. The echo of the gun was still reverberating in the room, as Brass, his revolver hot in his hands, stood over the body of Sam Braun, with Catherine trapped beneath him, crying.

-- TBC --