Title: A Wolf at the Door
Author: Spike Speigel
E-mail:
Rating: PG-13
Classification: Grissom/Sara
Disclaimer: As usual, these characters don't belong to me. Just taking them for a joyride.
Spoilers: Everything before Viva Las Vegas. Sequel to No Surprises.
Summary: The crime lab gets a wake up call when they become the focal point of a new case.
Status: Finished
"Baby, please. I'm sorry."
Bob Miller is standing in the pouring rain talking on a dripping wet cell phone outside a nondescript coffee shop because he's trying his best to apologize to his girlfriend. She's angry with him because he misheard her about their dinner plans with her parents. Innocently enough, Bob thought the dinner was supposed to be tomorrow when in reality it was roughly four hours ago. The only reason he receives Mary Donnell's phone call is because he left his book to get another muffin which are inconveniently placed near the shop window. Lucky for Bob, he gets one bar on his cell phone, just enough for the text message to be received.
Unfortunately, he now has to stand in the torrential rain to apologize to Mary. It was a simple mistake. He's very sorry. She believes him but she's just stringing him along because she wants him to feel bad. They'll make up tonight once he gets home. After all, the sex is usually better after a fight, as ridiculous as it sounds. Simply because Bob feels as though he has to make up for his prior mistake.
However, unbeknownst to Mary, this is the last time she'll talk to Bob. In turn, the last thing Bob Miller hears is shattering glass. However, he hears it after he feels the explosion in his head. The last thought that goes through Bob Miller's mind is he's sorry he missed out on the dinner. Unfortunately for Bob, he doesn't hear Mary screaming into the phone, nor the people in the coffee shop screaming as well.
"Got a through and through." Grissom continued to narrate his discoveries to Brass, Warrick and Catherine patrolling the periphery of the coffee shop for anything that might be useful. The rain had lessened some, but still at a volume to be considered a nuisance. "Bullet might have gone inside the store."
"Hold on, I'll go check."
Grissom nodded absently at Brass, his focus still on Bob Miller's body. A makeshift tent had been placed above the body, but by the time they got out there, the body was essentially waterlogged, any chance of getting anything meaningful all but pointless. All they had at the moment was the absent bullet. That, and whatever Warrick and Catherine might turn up, highly unlikely at that. Grissom picked up the cell phone next to the corpse, scrolling through the call list. Nothing suspicious about the numbers, most labeled with a name. However, it was too early to tell at that point. Hodges could follow up on the list to see if anything out of the ordinary popped up.
He rose from his kneeling stance, brushing his knee absentmindedly even though he was soaked to the bone. Walking toward the coffee shop, he finds Brass examining the area near the shattered glass from the widow pane. "Any luck?"
Brass shook his head, a hint of fatigue in his voice. "Wherever it landed, it didn't do it here. And you're sure it's just the one shot?"
"That'll have to wait until he gets onto Robbins' table. But based on the entry wound in his head, I'd say the shot came from up above."
"Rooftop?"
Grissom looked out into the night, moonlight beginning to break through the cloud cover. "Looks like we've got a possible sniper in our midst."
"Perfect. Exactly what this city needs."
Brass moved to his feet, stepping away from the pile of glass. At that moment, Warrick and Catherine walked into the coffee shop, frustration evident. Grissom greeted them as he always did, short and to the point. "Anything?"
Warrick shook his head, partly to expunge some water from his hair, partly to answer. "Nada. If anything was there, rain's washed it away."
Catherine followed his lead, but instead of a slight shake, she tousled her hair as though it was akin to a bobble head. "It's like the perp knew exactly when to pull the trigger. Not much worse scenarios to collect evidence in."
"But, why this guy?"
Grissom answered Warrick's question, curiosity evident in his voice. "That is the question. Cath, I want you to use the metal detector. There's a chance our bullet's somewhere in here." Catherine nodded, making her way back outside and to the parked Tahoe. "Warrick, Jim. We're going roof jumping."
Warrick spoke, a hint of concern in his voice. "You don't mean literally, do you?"
Grissom simply walked past him, Brass looking on as the head CSI left the shop. "Let's go, just in case he is. He might need one of us to catch him." Both men shared a small chuckle before following Grissom out into the rain.
Sara gently traced circles upon Grissom's chest, each circle concentric to the previous one. Her head remained nestled against his shoulder as her legs entwined with his, her nude body pressed against his. She never told him, but she enjoyed just laying next to him while he was sleeping. Sure, she enjoyed the sex (God, the sex!). But, just laying next to him, hearing his heart beat against her ear. It was soothing in a way. The rhythmic pulse, the rise and fall of his chest. It somehow made it all the more real to her. Because, she never thought she'd ever get this close to him.
So, that's why she treasured these moments, just grazing her finger idly against his warm flesh. Because she could. It was intoxicating in a way, being able to be this free with him. It had been almost three months since Grissom revealed his feelings for her. And now, here they were, in his townhouse. He wasn't surprised to see her when he got home now. Instead, he was happy. Grissom, happy. Before, she didn't really know Grissom to be a happy person. But now. Now…
"Can't sleep?"
She felt his arm reach down her side before wrapping around her waist. Sara made no move to look up at him, instead remaining focused on the finger moving about his naked chest. "Not really."
He placed a tender kiss in her hair, his speech muffled. "Wanna talk about it?"
Sara sighed against his chest, her finger stopping. "It's okay. Go back to sleep, Gil."
"Can't."
"Why not?"
"Because you've piqued my curiosity. And now my mind's racing, thinking about what's going on in your head."
Sara placed a small kiss against his chest before speaking. "It's stupid. You don't want to hear it."
"How can you be so sure? I haven't even heard it, so how could I even know that I don't want to hear it. You see the conundrum I'm in, don't you?"
"Stop thinking, Gil. Before you give yourself a headache."
His fingers gently stroked her hair, his voice soft yet serious. "Tell me, Sara. I promise, I won't think it's stupid."
Sara remained still, her eyes gazing off into the depths of the bedroom. She hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I keep having this dream. I guess you could call it a nightmare. But…"
"But what?"
"It's stupid, really."
"And here I thought I was the one that had trouble talking." He could feel Sara's smile against his skin, his thumb gently massaging the base of her neck. "Do I have to force this deep, dark secret out of you? Because, I have ways of making you talk."
Sara laughed softly, her palm now pressed against his chest. "I have this dream that we're together."
"So far, so good."
"Shh. I'm trying to talk." She felt the chuckle resonate in his chest as she continued. "Anyway, we have this perfect life. And I'm happy. I mean really happy. The kind of happy that you only see in fairy tales and those cheesy romantic comedies. But then…"
"Then what, honey?" She remained silent, as though she's not sure whether to continue the explanation or not for fear of his reaction. "Sara?"
"I wake up. I wake up and you're not here. You're not here and it's all been a terrible, cruel dream, us being together. And…yeah…" She looked up at him, a sheepish grin on her face. "See, told you it was stupid." And as quickly as she looked up at him, she turned away, afraid to see his reaction.
She can feel his hands on her sides, pulling her body up to meet his. Their eyes meet, both gazing into the other for what feels like an eternity. Before Sara can react to what's happening, Grissom places a delicate kiss against her forehead.
"Does that feel like a dream?" She shakes her head, their eyes still locked in their gaze. His lips move to her cheek, another tender kiss placed against her silken skin. "How about that?" Another shake. His mouth slowly grazes her lips, teasing her as he keeps his lips a hair's width away from her. She can feel the heat emanating from Grissom, Sara's breath catching in her throat. "Do you feel this?"
Sara speaks in a whisper, her eyes now closed, focusing on the sensation of Grissom's lips gently moving against her own. "Yes."
His voice is now deep and husky even though he speaks in a hushed voice. "What does that feel like to you?"
She doesn't hesitate, her hands on either side of his face. "Tomorrow." Her mouth is now on his, their kiss tender yet passionate. She relishes the touch, the taste of the man in her hands. She moans as his hands slide down her waist, pulling her close to him. She pushes him down to the bed, her trepidation quickly subsiding. There's no doubt in her mind now as she feels him under her, inside her. This is the man she's going to grow old with, nightmares be damned.
Robbins removed the sheet from Bob Miller's body, folding the edge when the sheet reaches his shoulders. Grissom examined the victim's face, no hint of emotion apparent.
"Your initial guess was right. See the entry wound, how it's not parallel to the head?" Grissom nodded slightly. "Based on the angle of entry, this was done above ground. As for the height, I'd guess somewhere between ten and twenty feet. But, that's just a rough estimate. Computer simulation should be able to give you a more accurate number."
"Any chance you found the bullet in the body?"
Robbins shook his head, pulling the sheet further down the body until it reached the torso. "I played a hunch that the bullet might have ricocheted back into the body. However, I was partly right." Robbins lifted the lifeless body slightly, indicating to Grissom to move closer. Once Grissom moved to the other side of the table, Robbins continued his narrative. "See the slight discoloration near the small of the back?"
"Bruise from the fall?"
"That's what I thought at first, but from the photos you gave me, Mr. Miller was found on his left side, knees bent. If he were lying prone, I'd discount it as bruising. But, the discoloration's more to the center of his back."
"So, you're telling me what?"
"Your bullet ricocheted off the glass and against the small of his back. It's got faint residue. I'm guessing the way his body was oriented after the fall shielded the area from the rain. Which also means the bullet should have been in close proximity of the body."
Grissom nodded, a thought emerging. "Anything else odd about our Mr. Miller?"
"Other than the bullet wound and bruise, nothing in particular."
"Thanks, Doc. Let me know if you find anything else."
"Will do."
"Alright people, I'm pulling everyone off their cases. The coffee shop shooting is top priority as of now. There's a chance this may get worse before it gets better." Grissom looked over his group, deciding the best avenue of investigation. There wasn't much to go on in the first place, but if Grissom knew anything about serial killers, they rarely waited for an encore performance. "Warrick, Catherine, I want you two to follow up on the rooftops surrounding the area. There's a chance we might have missed something the first time. Nick, I want you and Greg to follow up with Hodges on the cell phone. Find out if Mr. Miller had anyone that didn't think too highly of him." Nick was about to object about taking Greg along, but thought better of it since Grissom shot him a preemptive glance. "Sara, you're with me. We're going back to that building and we're not leaving until we find that bullet." Sara nodded slightly, silence beginning to settle.
Fortunately, the silence quickly dissipated when a cell phone began to chime. Grissom looked at his group, a hint of annoyance on his face. However, when no one made a move to answer his or her phone, he absentmindedly pulled his cell from his jacket pocket. Sure enough, it was his. He looked at the number, not recognizing it. Now was definitely a bad time for a wrong number.
Grissom flipped the phone open, speaking tersely. "Grissom."
Unfortunately for Grissom, it wasn't a wrong number. "Still haven't found the bullet?"
Grissom held the phone tighter, unsure of what to make of the question. "I'm sorry?"
"Must be driving you crazy. A dead body, but no evidence. I know, maybe it was a magic bullet. Made its way from Kennedy right to good ol' Bob."
Grissom continued, a hint of confusion in his voice. "Can I assume you're the one responsible for his current condition?"
"Let's say yes, shall we?"
"In that case, how do you know that we didn't recover the bullet?"
"Because I picked it up after I shot him through the head. All those panicked people, scattering like so much flotsam. It's rather funny how simple it was." Catherine began to motion at Grissom, seeing his countenance beginning to change. Grissom waved his hand at her, trying to focus on the conversation at hand. The remainder of the group looked on, knowing that his conversation had taken a serious turn. "I would be worried about leaving something behind, but I think the water pretty much washed away my sins, wouldn't you say?"
"Why Mr. Miller?"
The answer was succinct, yet disturbing. "Because he was there. C'mon. You think I'd do all this if he was screwing my ol' woman? I'm nuts. Out of my gourd, you could say."
"Crazy people are crazy because they deny that they are."
The voice on the other end of the phone chuckled heartily, playfulness evident. "You got me there, doc. I'm not crazy. I'm just eccentric."
"So, are we going to talk like a couple of old buddies, or was there a reason for this call?"
"Right to the point. Very well." The voice paused, contemplating his next words. "It's a game. I've made my opening move, and so have you."
Grissom's brow furrowed, not exactly following. "What are you…"
"Already covered the scene. Couldn't find me. Not that I made it easy on you."
"Well, if you know anything about me and my people, we're the best in the country. We'll find you eventually."
The voice chuckled once again, the casualness of his tone beginning to disturb Grissom. "Well, that's why we play the game. Let's see how good a player you are. Oh, and since you couldn't find anything your first time out, I'll give you another chance."
"Another chance?"
The man laughed softly into the phone, his words reflecting the seriousness of the situation. "I've just made another move."
Grissom tensed, a feeling of disquiet overcoming him. "Where?"
Another chuckle. "Not as far as you'd think. Oh, by the way, love what you did you Bob. Tell Doctor Robbins that his y-incision is a thing of beauty, will you?"
Grissom could feel the fear overcoming him, his mind beginning to put the pieces together. "How do you know Robbins?"
The voice answered calmly, his message curt yet unsettling. "Man down, Sherlock." Before Grissom could respond, the line went dead, Grissom dropping the phone onto the table. Before anyone could query about the phone call, Grissom makes his way out of the break room, his legs not moving as fast as he'd like them to. He doesn't realize that he's struggling to breathe as he runs toward the morgue. Instead, he prays that he isn't right.
Grissom pushes the morgue doors open, looking around for Robbins. He calls out, but doesn't get an answer. Grissom moves cautiously, further into the room, pulling his gun from the holster. He turns quickly to the noise behind him, lowering his gun when he sees Warrick and Nick standing in the doorway. Then another noise.
It sounds of liquid, of desperation. That's when he notices it. There was only one body before. Grissom walks toward the second table, hesitantly pulling the sheet away. The sight takes him aback. The blood, so much blood. Grissom turns around, the emotion evident in his voice. "Call an ambulance! Now!"
Nick pulls out his cell phone, visibly shaken by the sight of Robbins on the cold steel table. However, he manages to punch in the numbers, his voice urgent as he speaks to the operator. Warrick moves closer to the table, Grissom checking for a pulse and barely finding it. That's when he notices the object underneath Robbins' head.
"Warrick, I need a glove."
Warrick pulls a pair from the box sitting next to the Miller corpse. He hands them to Grissom, Grissom grabbing one, the other falling to the wayside. He places the glove onto the foreign object before pulling it away from the table.
Grissom holds it up to the light, slightly blood spattered. He doesn't open the envelope. Instead, he focuses on the font gracing the front of the envelope, a sensation of trepidation overcoming him. There are only two words on the envelope, but the two that are chosen have their user's intended effect.
ONE DOWN…To be continued