A/N: Last chapter of this story! Enjoy! Leave a review if you haven't done so, let us know who is reading! Thanks!

A Few Days in a Canyon Chapter 10

Later, they lay across his bed. The robe was off, somewhere on the floor or lost in the bed along with his clothes. He had wrapped the sheet around both of them capturing her hands against his chest. He had finally asked about her trip to Flagstaff.

"The little girl didn't know. She looked at it as an adventure, thinking her mother would be there waiting for her. Before we landed, she was waving saying she knew her mom would be there watching." Sara sighed, remaining quiet for a few minutes before she continued. "A social worker was there—an older woman, how many of those women have I met in my life? Only when they started to leave did Katy realize something wasn't right."

Grissom remained quiet, keeping her hands within his as she talked.

"She turned back to look at us—a detective was there and the pilot—and tears were streaming down her face. But she wasn't making any noise, just crying silent tears."

Sara's own tears had formed and spilled from the corners of her eyes.

He gently wiped her face. "Any time kids are involved…" his voice trailed off. He knew whatever he said would be meaningless to her right now. Instead of words, he pulled her close. "Sweet Sara, you are too kind hearted for this business we are in."

Her voice was muffled against his shoulder when she said, "We are supposed to be, Gil. We are the victim's last voice. How can we do the right thing if we don't care?"

She was correct. He did care; he was better at concealing his concerns, his emotions. Only rarely would anyone see the rage he felt when a child was a victim of a senseless crime.

"Can you sleep?" He asked. She had curled against his shoulder in that place where she fit so perfectly.

She nodded. "I can always sleep with you."

XXXX

Sara woke to Grissom's voice in the next room. One-sided, phone conversation, she thought. She stretched out in the center of the bed—a man's room she thought, one that did not have a woman's touch. There were framed butterflies on one wall and one long painting above the bed. She rolled over to check the bedside table and grinned. He had one photograph—the two of them—sitting beside his phone charger and his wallet. When he walked into the room, he found her holding the photograph.

"You're awake!" He sat beside her and took the photograph. "From the first day we spent together." He said. "We laughed all day—I laughed all day. I think you were having fun teasing me!"

"I think I knew you were special that day."

He pulled her to him, lightly kissing her. "Get dressed while I fix breakfast. We have a place to go."

Grissom let her drive his vintage Mercedes, quite possibly the most expensive car Sara had ever driven—it's big engine purring like a contented cat as she followed him to return the rental car. The leather seat felt like soft butter and her foot wanted to press the accelerator just to hear its sound.

He got into the passenger seat saying "Drive, I'll direct."

When he told her to hit the pedal, she did so, the big car never hesitated as she glanced at the speedometer. He was grinning as he gave her a hand motion to keep accelerating as wind blew her hair away from her face. She was smiling as much as he was. She slowed only when he indicated an exit and several turns later, they drove into a golf club.

"Are you ready for a lesson?" He asked.

"Sure." It was easy to be agreeable in a classic car with the sun shining with a special person holding her hand.

"I called to get you an instructor—I don't want our first argument to be about golf!"

Grissom knew Sara would be a natural with a club. She quickly picked up on directions from the instructor and after an hour on the practice range, they walked the short course, both men giving advice, but Grissom always deferred to the teacher. The instructor appreciated the potential he saw in a new golfer. He also realized he had a pupil with the budding skills of a good player. And what she did not know, she was willing to learn.

"You're good, Sara." Grissom said as they ate on the patio. "A little practice, another lesson or two, and you might move out of my league."

She laughed. She wasn't sure how much she liked this game, but she would give it a try. This artificial green in the desert was a little weird to her; well, she thought, all of Las Vegas was a little weird.

That night, Sara made love to him. She would never say those words, not yet. With slow and deliberate fingers, she undressed him after dinner, starting in his living room, on his dark sofa. He had dimmed the lights earlier when an old movie was on his television but neither had watched much of it.

He let her move to face him, her knees against his hips. When her lips touched his neck below his earlobe, he groaned. The silk robe and the feel of her breast against his chest, her mouth, what she was doing with her hands caused an impulsive sound to jump from his throat.

She pressed him against the sofa as she moved her lips to his.

"The bed."

He heard her soft giggle as she released him.

In his bed, one he had never shared with another person, she continued with erotic play, teasing with her lips and teeth, light touches with her fingertips, her hair tracing the path of her warm breath against his skin. He responded with his own touches, but once she said "Not yet", he gave her control. When he thought he would explode if she touched him again, she whispered "now" and her lips came to his.

XXXX

It was becoming more difficult to watch her leave. He walked to the gate holding her bag and she waited until the last call to board the plane. Then she turned at the door and waved, smiling as she hitched the backpack on her shoulder.

He had not told her the fate of the little girl's parents. An early morning call the day before had been from a national park officer reporting the parents had been found after hikers had found their car; both had been killed instantly when the car crashed into the rock face of a canyon. Nothing from the car provided evidence as to why they had abandoned the little girl. Sara did not have to know and, unless she asked, he would not tell her.

Grissom promised to visit.

Soon, she said.

He would call her when she landed; for that one purpose, he loved the little phone clipped to his belt.

He wanted Jim Brass to meet her, but when she was here, he wanted her to himself, not shared and paraded around as an unexpected indulgence. He would think of something; he always got his way—eventually.

A/N: We will try to get the next one up in a few days; at least started before Thanksgivining! Thanks again.