He passed them every day. Each day in the halls, he couldn't go by the DNA lab or the trace lab without seeing one of that team.

Starting from the break room, he turned left and started to walk.

Sure enough, Warrick Brown brushed past him on the way to the DNA lab, likely to ask for a report from the lovely Mia Dickerson. That young black woman was a knockout as much as she was talented at churning out the results for cases.

Warrick nodded at him, barely registering his presence, when the CSI strode by and into the lab. The up-and-rising, sharp-as-tacks investigator had to have either the case or Mia on his brain, to ignore the man like that. Well, whatever it was, it had him steamed. The lanky ex-gambler had just been added to his list.

The next one to pass him was Sara Sidle. The pretty young brunette smiled and gave him a fleeting "Hi", a greeting that had to be generic but still acknowledged his presence. He smiled back and continued on, but the smile turned into a frown when he saw her enter Gil Grissom's office. It was so common knowledge to him that the two had a thing for each other. Now that made him mad. With her brains under that brown hair and her feminist personality, she was attractive in her own right. Every woman was. That meant that he owned them all. Whatever that was good and beautiful in this place belonged to him.

He would let it go for now. Maybe with time – and a little encouragement – she would see the error of her ways. Meanwhile, he had other plans for Grissom.

He strolled by as Nick Stokes emerged from the autopsy room. The handsome young CSI's mouth was set in a hard line, heroic jaw squared. Probably had disliked whatever he had seen in the autopsy room. The man himself had never gone into Dr. Al Robbins' lair – he wanted nothing to do with the dead. Al Robbins also freaked him out, what with those prosthetic stumps of his.

Nick Stokes nodded absently as he passed the man. The latter glanced back; seeing Nick squeeze the bridge of his classic nose between thumb and forefinger and then rub his right temple. So far the CSI hadn't done anything to raise his ire, although his youth and his empathy with victims and their families placed him squarely on this side of naïve. Plus his friends-to-all nature did irritate the man more than just slightly.

Well, maybe he could give the boy a proper reeducation when he had the time.

Sofia Curtis hurried by with Captain Jim Brass, the former looking back at the man curiously. Her long, wispy blond hair floated around her head like a halo, her blue eyes searching but not suspicious. Although her beauty could almost rival Catherine's, she used to be formerly acquainted with Conrad Ecklie. The man now shuddered. That was her sin. He despised Ecklie's way of kissing butt and backstabbing. The guy wouldn't be out of place in a corporate setting – or among the vultures in Africa. Reminding himself to place Ecklie on his list as well, he mentally contemplated Sofia for a few more minutes. When he had his way with her, he would most likely take the time to correct her too. After all, mistakes had to be rectified.

Ah, here came Greg Sanders, on his way to the trace lab. The kid's unruly blond-highlighted brown hair remained firmly gelled on his head, his pretty-boy face pensive as he kept his eyes glued to a file. As he walked blindly into the lab where the hawk-eyed, sharp-tongued Hodges waited, Greg completely disregarded the man he passed.

Warrick and Nick looking over his head he could get, although he wasn't going to let it go. No sirree. But Grissom's starry-eyed protégé, ignoring him? Even though he knew that the boy was forever in his own world, the very thought of an insect ignoring a god was offensive. Moreover, the kid was open to the group's pampering just because he was the youngest. What sort of bias was that but in the highest form? Greg Sanders had better make up a will while he still could.

Catherine Willows sashayed round the corner, and he felt his breath catch in his throat. Pretending casualness he didn't feel, he greeted her briefly as he strode by. Her full lips curled into a smile that she tossed at him, her blue eyes glowing. When she moved, her strawberry-blonde hair and shapely body swayed and dipped with her. The very sight to him was an aphrodisiac.

Oh, for a moment where he could be alone with her. He was sure it wouldn't be an experience where he – or she – would forget any time soon.

Last in line but top on his list came Gil Grissom, as the man completed the 360-degree circuit and moved past the supervisor's office. The endless jars and containers of shriveled rodents and pickled critters and creepy-crawlies fascinated him, though he would never tell Grissom so. Gil Grissom seemed to have a bizarre interest in death, a fact that the man respected, but his free rein with his team and his holier-than-thou attitude were thorns in the man's side. Besides, as their supervisor he controlled them all; without Grissom in the picture they were his for the taking.

Naturally, the CSI maverick never looked up, writing something furiously on paper and surveying some artifact or other. The salt in his salt-and-pepper beard and hair seemed to have increased, not that Sara Sidle or Sofia Curtis seemed to care. Warrick and Nick respected and covered for him, Catherine was Grissom's right hand and close confidante, and Greg practically worshipped the ground the man walked on. Exaggeratedly, of course – for now. Bobby Dawson, Archie Kao, Mia Dickerson and the other lab techs all stood in awe of Grissom as well. That was the problem – and the solution. Once Grissom was out of the way, all eyes would shift to the man instead.

And if that didn't happen, well, he would have to teach them who the boss was.

The first on his list? He headed for the exit, humming a tuneless melody.

That was for him to know…and for them to find out.

The devil collecting his dues.