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Author’s
Note: The characters of CSI were created by A. Zuiker, and are the property of CBS and its affiliates. All other characters depicted in this story are fictional; they are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author. Although the locales in this story are real, all events, incidents and characters are pure invention. © April 2003. LSI. |
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Grissom's Overture is the
conclusion to the Seduction of Sara Sidle.
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Grissom's Overture by LSI Gil Grissom stared at his computer screen and the animated e-card Sara had sent him for his forty-eighth birthday. He wouldn’t have labeled it a lover’s card exactly, at least not in so many words, but he was warmed by her short friendly greeting after which she’d tagged on, ‘See you on the 29th’—a sure sign that she still intended to visit him in a couple of weeks.
But it wasn’t just a friendship card either, he noted.
In fact it was somewhat sexually suggestive—even if
the tse-tse flies were doing things to each other that he knew to be
physiologically impossible. It
had to mean something—hadn’t it?
He grinned and replayed the card.
As he began to dissect it this time, looking for some deeper
meaning in her choice of imagery, a frown quickly replaced his smile.
The tse-tse fly, while charming in its comical rendition here,
was also a deadly pest which had destroyed entire herds of cattle from
certain parts of
But Sara wouldn’t know that—would she?
He shook his head and cursed himself for entertaining such ridiculous thoughts.
Ever since
he’d come back from
And he knew why.
Still, as he replayed it for the third or fourth time, her e-card
coaxed another smile—and that’s how Brass found him.
“You’re chipper today,” he said as he came into his office.
With a swift click Gil closed his browser and turned to the
stocky man.
“What’s up, Jim?”
Brass settled comfortably into the guest chair across from
Gil’s desk, crossing his legs at the ankles.
“Nothing,” he said. “Actually,
I’m much more interested in what’s gotten into you.”
“What’s gotten into me?”
“Yeah. You’ve
been in a much better mood lately, and I actually saw you smile just
now. So what’s up with
that?”
Gil shrugged and threw Brass a deliberately obtuse glance.
“Nothing,” he lied.
“Look, Gil, how long have we known each other?
Thirteen, fourteen years?” he answered his own question.
“I know your moods, pal. But
the last couple of weeks, you’ve been different.
Like you’re… well…” Confronted
with Gil’s silent stare, he lost some of his confidence and cleared
his throat. “I don’t
know; I was in love once. But
that’s…something else, I suppose.”
He took a deep breath and continued awkwardly.
“All I’m saying is, is a woman responsible for this new mood
of yours?”
Gil grinned and cocked a brow.
Brass getting personal wasn’t what he’d expected, but
surprisingly, it didn’t make him feel uncomfortable.
Still, he didn’t respond.
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” Brass said after a
while. Gil pursed his lips.
“I get it. Don’t
ask, right?”
“Right,” he said softly.
“Okay.” Brass
lifted his hands in defeat and promptly changed the subject.
“So what did you think about
“I think she’s lying, and so do you.
But the evidence will confirm it.”
Brass nodded.
Gil wasn’t particularly interested in the case.
It had been an easy one—open and shut.
Greg still had to confirm some of their conclusions, but there
was no doubt in his mind that Derek Cameron’s wife was responsible for
his murder. All the evidence
pointed in her direction, which Brass was well aware.
No—Brass hadn’t stopped by to discuss the Cameron case.
Would it have been so terrible to confide a little of what was
going on to him? Not that he
was ready to tell anyone about him and Sara—Catherine was the only one
who knew, and only because she’d found out by accident; she hadn’t
even mentioned it which surprised him and, as certain as he was that
curiosity was likely eating her alive by now, he appreciated her
discretion.
But even if he had no intentions of discussing Sara with his
colleagues, it didn’t mean he couldn’t have thrown Brass a
bone…tell him that a woman was indeed responsible for his
‘chipper’ mood. Instead,
he’d stomped on his offer of friendship as he always did and with a:
“Okay, see ya later, pal,” Brass had stood and abruptly left his
office.
He let out a long breath. Sometimes
he hated the recluse he’d become.
Sara was right. He’d
always been so intensely private that the people he considered his
closest friends barely knew him. Or
maybe they did know him. How
the hell should he know?
Of everyone at the lab though, Sara had been the only one he’d
occasionally allowed through his impenetrable exterior, and even then it
had only been to serve scraps of himself when the situation warranted
it. Still, whether she
realized it or not, she knew him better than anyone.
Gil was convinced of it. And
if she needed time to decide whether or not to return to Vegas, it
wasn’t because he was a stranger to her, it was because she no longer
trusted him. Or maybe
that’s just what he preferred to believe, since the alternative—that
she no longer loved him—was too painful to consider.
He hadn’t heard from her since the day he’d left
“Boo!” Gil jumped. He
hadn’t heard Catherine come in.
“Catherine!” His glare didn’t deter her one bit.
She was all smiles as he turned to face her, heart still pounding
in his chest.
“You’re miles away. And
I bet I know exactly how many miles.”
Okay, here it comes. “Well,
well, Catherine,” he said sarcastically.
“I suppose I should thank you for letting me off the hook for
as long as you have.”
“Ah, Sara warned you,” she said, dropping into the chair
Brass had just vacated.
“Did you think she wouldn’t?”
“So what’s…the deal…with you two?”
Catherine had the grace to hesitate, evidently appreciating that
she was treading into highly personal territory.
Gil didn’t respond immediately.
He debated whether to tell her everything or just enough to
satisfy her for another little while—until he
had some answers. He chose
the latter. “No deal
yet,” he said curtly.
“What’s wrong with you, Gil?
I have to say it—you are the most thickheaded, clueless guy I
know when it comes to relationships.”
“By definition, Catherine, ‘thickheaded’ and ‘clueless’
are synonyms, so…one of them is redundant.”
“Don’t even try your avoidance game with me.
That girl has loved you for as long as I can remember—“
“Oh really!” He
leaned forward and rested his forearms on the desk, threading his
fingers. “And you know
that how, exactly? Have you
been in touch with her at all in the past year?” he asked coldly, his
reaction revealing much more than he would have liked.
Catherine’s jaw dropped, astonishment replacing the
unmistakable exasperation that had twisted her features only moments
ago. “Sara’s the one
holding back?”
“She needs to think about it,” he spat out.
Catherine shook her head quickly as if to clear it of that last
bit of information. “Well,
there’s something almost satisfying about that.
You ignored her for years and now she’s giving you a taste of
your own medicine.”
“And I thought you were my friend,” he mocked.
“I am, but not a very good one or I would have given you a good
kick in the pants a long time ago—“
“Spilt milk.”
“So what did she say?”
“Well, she didn’t say yes.
Yet,” he added with more bravado than he felt.
He had his pride.
“What was the question?”
Gil’s gaze shot up and collided with Catherine’s.
She held his stare briefly then stood, an all-knowing smile
tugging at her lips, before spinning around and leaving his office
without another word.
He felt like he’d been sucker-punched.
What he wanted from Sara—what he wanted for both of them—had
been very clear to him. He
removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Had it been clear to her? He
hadn’t spelled it out exactly, but one would assume—
“Damn,” he swore under his breath trying to recall the
details of his proposition and how she might have interpreted it.
Suddenly, it wasn’t all that clear to him either.
What if that’s why she’d held back?
Hell, what had he offered her?
Her old job back? Gil
mentally kicked himself.
What was he supposed to do now?
Wait until Sara’s visit and try to make his intentions less
ambiguous then? Or break his
promise and make sure she had all the facts before she made a
life-altering decision?
He leaned back in his chair and stared into space, an idea slowly
forming in his mind. But
what if it was another faux-pas? He’d
never been what one would call brilliant in affairs of the heart; in
fact he was anything but as Catherine had correctly pointed out, so how
could he be sure? Maybe he
should ask Catherine, but as quickly as the thought came, he dismissed
it. The very notion of
involving Catherine or anyone else in his quest to win Sara made him
shudder. He’d just have to
trust that this was the right thing to do.
After all, it had worked before.
Maybe it would again.
He flipped the cards in his rolodex until he found the one he
wanted, and, picking up the phone he punched the number.
Cradling the receiver between his shoulder and his ear, he
searched his wallet for the card on which Sara had scribbled her home
address and telephone number.
“Town and Country Flowers,” a female voice answered.
“How may I help you?”
“I’d like to have a plant delivered to someone in
“Certainly sir, what kind of plant?”
“An orchid,” he said. “It
has to be an orchid, the…uh…Phalaenopsis?”
After being put on hold briefly, the clerk came back to confirm
that they did have that orchid, and rambled off a list of names for that
variety. Gil was at a loss;
there was only so much he knew about orchids, but he remembered the one
he’d sent Sara a couple of years ago.
The florist had recommended the white Phalaenopsis, the perfect
one for a beginner they’d said because it was easy to care for.
“It’s the white one.”
“Okay, good choice. Where
would you like it delivered?” Gil
gave the clerk Sara’s home address and his credit card information,
and when she asked for the sentiment for the card, he didn’t hesitate
this time.
“Marry me,” he said, surprised at how easily the words had
rolled off his tongue. “And
sign it ‘Grissom’. No, no.
Make that ‘Love, Grissom’.”
“Fine sir. This
should be delivered before the end of the day.”
Heart pounding, he thanked the clerk and hung up the phone.
It didn’t get any clearer than that.
That afternoon, sleep eluded him. BY
THE BEGINNING of the next shift, that sense of imminent doom weighed
more heavily than ever on Gil. He
hadn’t heard from Sara. He’d
expected a call or an e-mail, some indication that she’d received the
orchid. To make matters
worse, it was a slow night. His
team was tying up loose ends on other cases while he tried to catch up
on paperwork. But his mind
kept wandering. This was a
new experience for him; where his work was concerned, very little ever
distracted him. Then again,
he’d never asked a woman to marry him before.
By the time Greg
sauntered into his office, he welcomed the intrusion.
The colorful lab tech plopped himself into the chair across his
desk and waited as Gil perused the Cameron case file.
“Well, nothing unexpected here, Greg.
Good work.” Gil
gave him a passing glance. “I’ll
give Brass a call,” he said as he dropped the file on his desk.
Lydia Cameron’s life was about to take a turn for the worst.
When Greg didn’t move, he looked up, peering over the top of
his glasses at the spiky-haired lad.
“Was there anything else, Greg?”
“Uh, yeah, actually. I’ve
been wondering… Did you see Sara when you were in
If the very mention of her name hadn’t set his heart racing,
Gil might have taken some pleasure in Greg’s discomfiture.
Poor kid, he’d always had a thing for Sara.
Heck, Greg hadn’t been the only one.
David, Bobby even Nick in the beginning; they’d all behaved
like school boys around her at one time or another, and if he were
honest with himself, he’d have to add his name to the Sara Sidle
Admiration Society.
A couple of years back, he recalled, after witnessing one too
many goofy glances directed at her, he had snapped.
“Tell me, Sara, is every guy in this place enamored with
you?” he’d blurted out without thinking.
She’d given him that flirtatious smiles of hers, the one that,
even when it wasn’t directed at him still managed to increase his
heart rate. And, when it was
directed at him, as it had been then, well, he’d have to remind
himself to breathe.
“Every guy?” she’d quipped.
“Uh… I dunno, Grissom. Are
you enamored with me too?”
The heat had crept into his cheeks and, as much as he wished he
could have come up with some clever retort, he’d just looked away
like a dumb teenager. He was
quite certain his response, or lack of one, had been exactly what
she’d expected and that she’d thoroughly enjoyed his
discomfiture that day.
In retrospect, he realized she’d given him plenty of
opportunities over the years to voice his feelings.
No wonder she’d lost interest.
If he’d only said yes to her that day instead of blushing like
a school boy and tripping over his emotions and letting his fears rule
his heart, he might not be going half out of his mind now wondering if
she would ever say yes to him.
“Uh, Gil?” Greg
prompted, snapping him back to the present.
“Yes, Greg, I did see her.
She says ‘hello’.”
“Did she say anything else?”
At Gil’s obvious confusion, Greg continued.
“Did she ask about me?”
Poor Greg, he still had it bad.
It was time to put a stop to this infatuation of his.
Gil chose his words carefully.
“Yes, she did ask about you, Greg, and about Nick, and Warrick,
and Catherine, and Hodges, and—“
“Hodges? She
doesn’t even like Hodges!” Nobody
liked Hodges. Greg thought
about that for a split second then threw him a disappointed look.
“Okay…got it. I’d
better get back to work.”
He’s a smart kid, Gil thought as he watched him leave,
sympathizing with him. He
knew only too well how his DNA specialist felt.
Picking up the phone he called Brass to give him the good news.
Another murder solved. THE
LAST TWO weeks had crawled by at a snail’s pace, but finally, the day
Gil had been waiting for was upon him.
He’d asked Catherine to cover for him during Sara’s visit.
He had plenty of vacation time owed to him and wanted to spend every
possible minute with her. That’s
if she was still coming.
As his final shift for the next four days wound down, Gil
wasn’t certain of anything. He
still hadn’t heard from her. He’d
left messages at her house and on her cell phone yesterday, but she
hadn’t returned his calls. He
wondered not for the first time if the orchid, or rather the proposal
attached to the orchid, had been a mistake.
He wished he could talk to Catherine about this, get her insight
into the situation, but frankly he wouldn’t know where to start.
Gil Grissom didn’t do confidences easily.
What a sorry excuse for a human being he was, he thought.
He suddenly felt very alone.
Giving himself a mental shake, he headed for the locker room.
One thing was certain: moping
around here wasn’t going to make him feel better.
He’d keep going on the premise that she would arrive this
evening as expected and he’d pick up some groceries and some wine, and
a few odds and ends he knew would please her.
He’d have to get used to having a woman around the house, he
mused. The thought made him
smile. He looked forward to
getting used to having Sara in his house, in his bedroom, in his bed.
He pictured her in his kitchen and wondered if she knew how to
cook. He frowned.
There was so much he didn’t know about her.
BY THE TIME Gil had run his errands and reached home, a good part of the morning had vanished. He balanced a couple of grocery bags in the crook of his left arm while he fumbled with the key to his townhouse. Stepping inside, he pushed the door closed with his shoulder and made his way to the kitchen, groping for one of the bags with his free hand before it emptied on the floor. After dropping the groceries on the island counter that also served as a visual separation between kitchen, dining area and living room, Gil scanned the ‘great room’ with a sharp eye, trying to see it from Sara’s perspective. She’d only been in his house a couple of times when Sheriff Mobley had suspended him for not cooperating with the FBI on the Strip Strangler case. In a show of support, the members of his team had declared themselves civilian investigators in the serial murder case, and had made his home their control center. In the end, they’d solved the case, Gil had been reinstated as shift supervisor, and the FBI had accepted all accolades for his CSIs’ work. He’d never felt prouder. That was a long time ago. Back then, Gil had been much less concerned with Sara’s opinion of his home than he’d been about protecting his privacy. He hadn’t liked having his team in his house, period, but the circumstances had made it necessary. Now he worried whether Sara would like his decorating style which bordered on the functional and necessary, only made interesting, in his opinion, with his personal touches—his bug and butterfly collections and his miniature live stock of spiders and cockroaches. Catherine had once said it was a kid’s dream home, and looking at it now with as much objectivity as he could muster, he had to agree with her. He suddenly wondered if Sara would want children. The thought made him pause. Fatherhood was not a state he’d ever contemplated for himself, and somehow he doubted Sara had any interest in becoming a mother—hadn’t she said once that she wasn’t good with kids? He tried to recall the event that had led to that confession, but it eluded him at the moment. He added this to his mental list of things he needed to learn about Sara. An hour later, he had finished putting the groceries away and had collected his other purchases from the car. He stood in the middle of his living room admiring the half grown tropical plant he’d brought in. The plant added life—non-bug life—to the room which he hoped would please Sara. He’d also put away the candles and the scented soaps and the bath salts—items he’d purchased because they looked feminine and he thought she would like them.
He glanced at his watch. Almost
GIL WOKE WITH a start. The small clock on his night table told him it was seven in the evening; he was surprised he’d slept so long. He threw his legs over the side of the bed, and reached for the phone to check for messages just in case he’d slept too soundly to hear it ring. Nothing. His cellular phone didn’t yield any messages either. On a sigh, Gil headed for the bathroom for a shower and shave. If his time estimate was correct, Sara would be here in a couple of hours. After his shower he dressed casually in black jeans and a blue golf shirt and reheated a light supper of left-over cod in a lemon-butter sauce and vegetable rice. He then loaded the dishwasher, tidied the kitchen, and moved to the living room to relax with his latest bug book, and wait.
He wasn’t angry with Sara—well maybe a little angry that she hadn’t bothered telling him she wasn’t coming—but he didn’t blame her. No, he was mad as hell at himself, in part for letting her slip through his fingers a couple of years ago when he might have had a chance with her, and in part for allowing himself to hope he still had a chance now. Gil had spent his entire adult life protecting himself from this kind of pain. For years he’d carefully avoided Sara outside of work instinctively knowing that she could destroy the sheltered existence he’d created for himself. But his heart had had a mind of its own; it had let her crawl into it and settle there and that’s where she’d lived ever since. But by the time he’d realized just how much he wanted her in his life he’d already lost her to someone else. Or so he’d thought until he read the Tom Havilland trial transcripts. He’d dared to hope then that it wasn’t too late, and had taken a chance. He smirked humorously. He’d had a taste of paradise, and look where that had left him! He let out a ragged breath and got up, grabbed his car keys and a light jacket. Gil was going to do what he did best. He headed for the lab. “WHAT ARE YOU doing here?” Catherine said popping her head into his office. “Where’s Sara?” Gil threw the pen he’d been holding down on the desk and leaned back into his chair. He closed his eyes briefly and rubbed a spot above his right eyebrow with the pads of his fingers. “She didn’t come,” he said wearily. As she approached his desk, Gil looked at her, unprepared for the pity he saw in her eyes. Damn! This would be so much easier if she hadn’t found out about Sara and him. “Did she say why?” Catherine asked gently. “No. She just didn’t show up. Listen—Catherine, I really don’t want to talk about this. Is there anything going on that you need my help with? I came here to work.” “No, it’s a surprisingly slow night.” Catherine studied him silently for a beat, then said, “Gil, aren’t you worried?” He looked up quizzically. “Worried about what?” “Sara. Don’t you think it’s odd that she just didn’t show, without even calling? That’s not like her.” Catherine went into investigator mode. “When was the last time you talked to her?” He thought about that for a moment, and a frown marred his forehead. What if something had happened to her? A jolt of anxiety replaced the now familiar steady burn in his chest. He’d been so self-absorbed that it never occurred to him that something might have happened to Sara. He felt a pulse jump in his throat.
“Do you think…? I
haven’t talked to her since “Well, before we jump to conclusions, let’s try calling her,” she said soothingly. “I have been calling her, for a couple of days now. She doesn’t return my calls.” He saw apprehension settle on Catherine’s features and fear gripped his gut. He glanced at his watch. He hadn’t tried her at work, but she wouldn’t be there anyway at this time of night. He shared that information with Catherine. “Okay, let’s try her home number and cell phone again.” Gil nodded and, from memory, punched her home number first. The service picked up after the first ring so he hung up. He immediately dialed her cell number. No answer there either.
“Nothing.” He
glanced at his watch again. It
was going on “What?” Catherine asked, recognizing the look. “There’s someone who might know where she is,” he said, looking through his rolodex for the number, and finding it, placed the call and waited for an answer. “San Francisco Crime Lab, Tanya, speaking.” “Tanya, this is Gil Grissom of the Las Vegas Criminalistics Bureau. I’d like to speak to Martin Hunt please.” Catherine’s brow furrowed as she listened to Gil’s end of the conversation. She didn’t recognize the name. “One moment please.” Grissom took a deep breath. “Dr. Grissom?” “Yes. Hi, Martin… I’ve been trying to get in touch with Sara for a while but she seems to have vanished from—“ “Damn,” Martin interrupted. “You don’t know.” Gil’s chest constricted until he could scarcely breathe. “Don’t know what?” his voice increased by a few decibels. “She’s going to be okay,” Martin said quickly. “But she’s been hurt on the job and—“ “Hurt how?” He met Catherine’s worried gaze. “She was attacked—“ “What?”
“She was processing a scene in one of the suites at
Gil felt a headache coming on. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose reminding himself that Martin had said Sara was going to be okay. Still, he braced himself for the rest of the story. “He struck her in the head with a baseball bat,” Martin continued. Gil gasped. “The whole thing is still under investigation, but what we think happened so far is that before Sara passed out, she shot and killed the guy,” he delivered bluntly. “Oh no.” “Yeah… Well the bastard deserved it. He put her in a coma… not long, just a couple of days, but she has no memory of what happened, so we’re trying to piece it together.” “Where is she?”
“She’s gone to her parents’ place—they run a Bed and
Breakfast on Tomales
Gil nodded. He remembered Sara telling him that once. “You wouldn’t have a phone number by any chance?” “No, I’m sorry, I don’t.” Gil hated himself for the sensation of relief that flowed amid the pain and fear that had been ravaging his body for the past few hours. “Burns would probably have it, but he won’t be in for a couple of hours at least.” Gil thanked Martin for the information and hung up. Catherine was sitting on the edge of her seat, concern on her face. “What happened?” He relayed the story. “HR will have a next-of-kin contact on file,” she said as soon as he finished. “They won’t be in for a few hours,” Gil said, frustrated. He’d always preferred the graveyard shift because it was quieter in the lab at night, but right now he would have given anything for the bustle of day shift if that meant he could put an end to this nightmare. Then, as another idea lit his face, he removed a ring of keys from his desk and unlocked one of the cabinets behind him. He shuffled through some file folders until he found what he was looking for. “Sara’s old file,” he said to Catherine as he began leafing through the folder. “Here we go,” he muttered under his breath as he pulled a sheet of paper from the bottom of the file. “In case of emergency contact, John Sidle, father…415-555-3132.” He stared at the piece of paper for a moment then shot her a glance. “Can you take care of this place for a while?” “Sure.” Of course, Catherine liked nothing better than to be in charge. “How long?”
He shrugged. “I
don’t know. Could be two
days; could be two weeks. I’m
going to Tomales
* * * * * BLUE
HERON INN emerged unexpectedly from behind a patch of tall redwoods off
Although he hadn’t given much thought to what Sara’s
family’s B&B would look like, he was surprised.
Whatever he might have expected, this wasn’t it.
Nestled between a valley to the left where horses and sheep
grazed and the blue waters of
He stopped the car in the graveled parking lot directly across
from the center building but didn’t immediately get out.
He continued to scrutinize the premises with the same attention
he would have given a crime scene. While
the buildings’ architecture reminded him of east-coast salt boxes,
their exterior finish of redwood siding was a reminder that they were
indeed in
On closer inspection, he saw that one of the connecting ells
housed a store of some sort, perhaps a gift shop, and the other the main
entrance. An old fear
gripped his gut. Sara was on
the other side of these walls. Would
she be the one to greet him? Would
she be angry and ask him to leave?
When he’d called to make a reservation yesterday, he’d spoken
to Sara’s mother, Pat, and other than a brief pause when he’d given
his name, there had been no indication that she knew who he was.
And he hadn’t told her. There
would be plenty of time to explain when he got there, he’d thought.
Well, he was here now and it was time to stop procrastinating.
Mustering his courage, he climbed out of the car and removed his
luggage from the trunk.
The sign at the front door said to ring and walk in.
He took a deep breath and lifted his hand to ring the doorbell,
but before his index could reach the tiny button, the door flew open to
reveal an attractive woman he immediately guessed to be Sara’s mother.
“Welcome. You must
be Mr. Grissom,” she said pleasantly.
Other than being a little shorter than Sara he noted as she
ushered him in, there was a striking resemblance between the two women.
“Yes. And you must
be Mrs. Sidle.”
“Please call me Pat.” She
smiled widely then, and if there had been any question in his mind as to
her identify, that smile would have given it away.
He couldn’t help but smile back.
“And you should call me Gil, or Grissom as Sa…”
He stilled, eyes darting to her face, wondering if she’d
noticed his slip.
“I know who you are, Gil,” she said softly, confirming that
she had. He nodded, unsure
how to proceed, so was relieved when she continued.
“I didn’t tell Sara you were coming, and before you see her,
her father, John, and I would like to talk to you about her
condition.”
“Her condition?” he replied, perplexed.
“I know she was injured at work, but I was told she was going
to be okay.”
“And she is, eventually. But
there’s something more you need to know.”
He frowned. “Try
not to fret. John and I will
fill you in on the details in a few minutes.
But first things first. This
is our busiest weekend of the year, and we were full up when you called.
Luckily one of our guests checked-out about an hour ago otherwise
we would have had to give you our son’s old room for tonight and move
you tomorrow. Gracie—that’s
our maid—is making up your suite now.
If you don’t mind, I’ll put your luggage away in the back
office and we can have that talk while you wait.”
“Where’s Sara?”
“She’s gone for a walk on the beach.
We don’t expect her back for at least another hour—she spends
a lot of time on the beach. We’ll
have plenty of time to plan our strategy—“
“Strategy?” He
needed a strategy to see Sara. That
didn’t sound good.
“Well, strategy’s the wrong word, I suppose.
But we do need to prepare you.”
That sounded even worse. Prepare
him for what? But he
didn’t ask the question. He
just wanted this little talk to be over so he could see Sara, and
hopefully she’d let him stay and care for her, and then she’d come
back with him to Las Vegas where they could put the past behind them and
get on with the rest of their lives, together.
That’s all he wanted.
“Show me where I can put these,” he lifted the two black
travel bags, one which carried his toiletries and enough clothes to last
him a couple of weeks, and the other, his laptop computer and a little
something he’d picked up for Sara.
After dropping his luggage in a small office behind the reception
desk, Pat escorted him through the foyer.
His practiced sense of observation kicked in and he mentally
collected details of the room despite his preoccupation with his
upcoming meeting with Sara’s parents.
He noticed the antique pine furniture, the colorful rugs and what
appeared to be original artwork on the walls.
There was a small wood stove in a corner, an overstuffed armchair
which was home to a brightly colored overstuffed pillow that matched, at
least in style, the Turkish rugs.
As they passed a staircase, Pat mentioned that it led to the
family’s private rooms. All
guest rooms were in the other buildings.
The ones on the east side, facing the meadow, had private
entrances and sun decks. His
room would be on the east side, she said.
All other amenities—except for a small spa and a gift shop and
snack bar where guests could purchase a picnic basket of goodies to take
to the beach, were on the main floor of this building which housed, in
addition to the reception area, the kitchen, a solarium where they
served breakfast, and a living room, which is where they were headed
now.
They sat in facing armchairs on each side of a large field stone
fireplace. Pat offered
coffee, but he declined. He
wanted to talk about Sara, and wondered where her father was.
As if on cue, a tall, fair-haired lanky man Gil would have
guessed to be in his mid-sixties strolled in.
Gil rose, and shook hands with John as Pat introduced them.
John didn’t beat around the bush.
He sat in the small sofa across from the fireplace, and, looking
him straight in the eye, asked in a raspy voice, “How much do you know
about what happened to my daughter?”
Gil repeated the information Hunt had given him.
“Well, there’s a little more to it than that,” John said.
Gil bit the inside of his lower lip.
It was bad enough as it was; he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear
more. He took a deep breath
and waited for John to continue. “According
to the neurologist, Sara may never regain her memory of the attack.”
Gil nodded. He’d
done a lot of research on the Internet about head injuries and memory
loss in the last day. “I
read that it was quite common to forget the details of the accident—or
the trauma—that caused the coma. For
Sara, I think it’s better if she never remembers.
She wouldn’t cope well knowing that she killed someone.”
Pat smiled. “You
know our daughter well, Gil. Unfortunately,
she already knows that she killed this man.
She found out when they interrogated her about the incident.”
“How is she taking it?”
“Not well. She
wants to quit her job. She
says she doesn’t want the kind of job that makes her carry a gun
anymore. She even said
she’d be content running this place when we retire, but this is not
Sara. She’s just reacting,
and we’re hoping you’ll be able to get her back on track.
We figured if anyone could, you could.”
That surprised him. So
they’d known who he was, but how much did they know about the true
nature of his relationship with Sara?
“Why? Why do you
think I can influence that decision?”
“Well she’s always spoken highly of you,” Pat continued.
“You’re the reason she went into this business you know.
And as much as we don’t like that it’s a dangerous job, we
know she wouldn’t be happy doing anything else.”
“It’s not a dangerous job,” he said quickly.
“At least, it shouldn’t be.
Someone screwed up, that’s why Sara got hurt.
And you’re right—I don’t think she’d be happy doing
anything else.”
Pat nodded. “So
will you try to help her?”
“Do you think she’ll let me?
I mean, uh, we…” Stop
stammering you idiot! “I
think it’s my turn to ask how much you know…about my relationship
with your daughter.”
Pat and John exchanged a glance, and in their silent
communication—the kind that happened between two people who had been
together a long time—they decided Pat should handle that question.
“I got a call from her at the beginning of August.
She told me that she ran into you in
“Is that all she told you?”
“Well, no…Let’s just say that I know you care about my
daughter,” she said softly. “The
fact that you came here to be with her proves it.”
“I don’t think she feels the same way,” Gil said
dejectedly. “She hasn’t
returned any of my calls… Frankly, I don’t think she’ll want me to
stay.”
Another glance passed between Sara’s parents.
It was John who spoke this time.
“There’s something else you should know,” he began in his
raspy voice. “Sara also
suffers from remote memory loss. It’s
unusual in this case. The
neurologist said this rarely happens in mild trauma cases, but it’s
not unheard of either. He
thinks she’ll regain full memory eventually.
It could take a few days or a few weeks, but it will come
back.”
“Are you saying…” Gil
frowned. He was trying to
process all this. He knew
what remote memory loss meant. But
how remote—
“I’m saying she might not remember seeing you in
This shook Gil. His
breath locked in his throat and he stood abruptly, shoving his hands in
his pockets. Pat and John
watched silently as he strolled over to one of the two large windows
that looked like book-ends at the back of the room.
Each one was set deep enough to house a window-seat and a few
more overstuffed pillows. He
leaned against the ledge and peered out at the gardens which were full
of colorful blooms at this time of year, but through the mist in his
eyes, they resembled a Monet painting—only a vague impression of
nature.
Sara might not remember
He jerked around, his gaze darting from Pat to John.
“When did this happen… the attack?”
“A couple of weeks ago—“
“I mean on what day exactly.”
“On the seventeenth…”
His birthday! Gil
turned to the window again. He
closed his eyes tightly and fought back the myriad of strange emotions
that threatened to spill as the full realization of the last two
weeks’ events hit him squarely in the chest.
“…Why? Is it
significant?” John’s
gruff voice broke into his painful thoughts.
He swallowed hard and blinked a few times before rejoining
Sara’s parents on the other side of the room.
In answer to John’s question, he merely shook his head.
The date wasn’t significant to Sara’s recovery.
Too agitated to sit, he leaned against the cold hard stone of the
fireplace, and let out a ragged breath.
“Okay,” he said, all business now, “What are we supposed to
do to help her?”
“The neurologist says we shouldn’t try to precipitate
anything… It would only frustrate her.
He is confident that once she’s in familiar surroundings
that… well they’d trigger some memories, but she’d have to be home
for that and we don’t think she’s well enough yet to go back,”
John said. “I have to say
that when my wife told me you were coming out here…well we both hoped
that seeing you might be one of those triggers.”
Gil didn’t have to state that he hoped for the same thing.
Gracie chose that moment to announce that his suite was ready.
After brief introductions and an understanding to continue their
discussion after he’d seen Sara, Pat escorted him to his room while
John fetched his bags.
According to Pat, his suite was one of the nicest at the Blue
Heron Inn, but as she unlocked and pushed open the door, he only had a
vague impression of luxury and comfort—his thoughts too preoccupied
with what he’d just learned about Sara.
It would be much later before he took in the vibrant elegance of
the room with its fireplace, red rattan furniture and red, black and
beige pillows, set against a warm sand background, and punched with an
occasional blue accent. Pat
slid open the patio door letting in a gush of warm air which managed to
somewhat capture his attention. He
absently took in the view of the meadow from the private sun deck
decorated with flower pots filled with more bright blooms, and a couple
of comfortable-looking black chairs, ottomans and a low table.
“Here you go, Gil,” John said as he entered the room and set
his bags on the floor at the foot of the Queen-size bed.
“Thank you, John. And
you too, Pat. You’ve both
been very gracious.”
“Don’t mention it,” John said.
“We’ll leave you to unpack… Would you like us to call you
when Sara gets back from her walk?”
“Yes. I’d
appreciate it.” And with a
nod to their guest, Pat and John left the room. GIL
FELT THE familiar tug on his heart when he found her sitting sideways in
the window seat, head resting against the wall, her long legs curled up
to her body almost in a fetal position.
She was staring out the window, oblivious to his presence.
He leaned on the doorjamb, hands buried deep in his jeans
pockets, and gazed at her. He
remembered the first time he’d set eyes on her.
It had been at a weekend seminar he gave at Harvard.
There were two hundred people in the auditorium, but she’d
stood out. Her questions had
been intelligent and curious, and she hadn’t been afraid to challenge
him. He’d felt an
immediate attraction to her mind. Later,
she’d sought him out, wanting to know more.
It was very innocent—for her at least; he couldn’t deny his
interest. So when she’d
asked him out for a coffee to pick his brain she said because she wanted
to become a CSI, he hadn’t resisted.
By the end of the weekend, he’d felt that first tug on his
heart. He hadn’t known
then that it was the beginning of love; he’d denied it and had kept on
denying it even after he’d asked her to come and work for him in
But he couldn’t deny it anymore.
As if sensing that someone else was in the room, she turned
suddenly and her gaze froze on him.
“Grissom?” The
brightness of the day coming through the window behind her cast her face
in shadows.
“Hi, Sara.”
“What—the—hell are you doing here?”
“Is this a way to greet an old friend?”
“You’re no friend of mine,” she said, getting up from the
window seat. He flinched
inwardly. But she smiled as
she approached him, taking the sting out of her words.
“My friends said goodbye to me when I left Vegas.”
He had his answer. She
didn’t remember
“And I would have if—“
He winced.
“If what?”
Gil ignored the question. With
her face now completely out of the shadows, he saw the ugly gash above
her right temple just at the hairline, and with unsteady fingers, he
reached to lift her hair away from the cut.
Sara flinched. Hand
suspended in mid-air, he searched her gaze, noticing the dark circles
around her eyes. “Sara?”
She stared at him, anguish visible in her dark eyes, and it took
a super-human effort not to take her in his arms and tell her again how
much he loves her and that everything will be alright.
Instead, he swallowed hard and returned his attention to her
forehead, gently brushing her hair away so he could get a better look at
her injury. “This looks
painful.”
“It’s fine. Grissom—why
are you here?”
His hand fell away. “I
heard about what happened to you and I wanted to make sure you’re
okay.”
“Did my mother ask you to come?”
“No. I found out
from…the crime lab where you were.
I didn’t even realize your parents would know who I am until I
arrived.” He had carefully
avoided mentioning Hunt. If
she didn’t remember their recent encounter, she wouldn’t understand
why he knew him and would ask questions he wasn’t ready to answer.
“I must have…mentioned your name at some point.”
A short vertical line formed between her eyebrows and he wondered
if she was remembering something, but just as quickly her features
cleared and she whipped around and headed for the couch.
“As you can see, I’m fine.
You didn’t have to come all this way.”
He followed and leaned back against the fireplace facing her as
she perched herself on the arm of the sofa, one bare foot on the floor,
the other up on the seat cushion. It
struck him again just how pretty she was, and when she smiled, which she
did now, she had that kind of striking beauty that made men pause and
take notice.
“It’s strange you being here.
I’m not sure what to say.”
He returned her smile. “Well,
it’s too late to say ‘hello’,” he almost whispered the last
word.
Sara pursed her lips and looked away—timidly?
He could have sworn she was blushing, but a small smile persisted
on her lovely lips. “Sorry,”
she said softly.
“You can make it up to me, you know.”
Her gaze shot up and settled on his face for a heartbeat, and
then, smiling coquettishly she said, “Oh…and how would you have me
do that?”
His pulse quickened. She
could be such a flirt! “I
don’t know yet—but I’ll think of something.”
Now that his feelings for her didn’t scare the living daylights
out of him, he quite enjoyed this side of Sara—as long as it was
directed at him, he reminded himself.
He’d watched her flirt with Nick in the beginning until it had
so annoyed him he’d almost regretted hiring her.
If he’d only known then that there would come a time when
he’d long for the innocence of those early days.
He pushed away the still bitter memory of Hank Peddigrew, and
shook himself back to the present. He
was with her now, or would be, he amended if it was the last thing he
did. There was no going back
for him, and if she never regained her memory, if she never remembered
“When are you leaving?”
The question—he’d expected.
The melancholy in her voice and in her expression caught him off
guard. Could the thought of
him leaving be the source of this sudden sadness?
The first glimmer of hope lit his heart, and he dared ask the
question that had plagued him all day.
“Do you want me to stay, Sara?”
“I’m okay, you know. You
didn’t have to come all the way here.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
The seconds ticked by as he held her gaze, wishing he could read
the range of emotions that progressively darkened it.
And just as it looked like she was going to say something,
laughter filled the room reminding them they were in a public space.
He and Sara jumped at once, he away from the fireplace, she off
the couch, like two teenagers who’d just been caught necking, yet
several feet had separated them. A
young couple Gil would have guessed to be in their mid-twenties strolled
in, arm in arm, obviously sharing an intimate moment.
He doubted they even noticed them as they crossed the room to the
rear patio door and left through the garden exit.
His gaze sought Sara’s again, but the moment was lost.
“Honeymooners,” she explained, stifling a yawn.
“Oh.”
“Grissom…I’m…uh…flattered that you came all this way to
see me, but I’m beat. These
pain killers they’ve got me on make me drowsy…I need to get some
sleep.”
“I understand,” he said, and bit his tongue before he could
invite her to his room, to his bed, for that nap.
Without her memories of
She came closer to him and took his hand in hers.
He was surprised. She’d
never done anything like that…well, not pre-San Francisco.
“It was really nice seeing you.
I’ve missed you…guys,” she said softly.
And then she did something completely unexpected.
She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Say ‘hi’
to everyone for me,” she said, and left the room. * * * * * *
SHE’D FEIGNED EXHAUSTION to get out of there.
But it couldn’t have been further from the truth; if she’d
felt a little tired after her long walk earlier, all vestige of
weariness had fled the moment she’d set eyes on Grissom.
Why was it that whenever she found herself in that man’s
vicinity all her senses sharpened, and like little radars, registered
his every move, his every mood? Even
when she wasn’t looking she was intensely aware of his presence.
Her blood rushed violently through her veins warming her from the
inside, her heartbeat accelerated sending a pulse thumping in her
throat, her voice trembled, and breathing became laborious.
And she felt alive.
Damn! Those feelings
were supposed to have been buried a long time ago!
They’d been buried alive—and way too close to the surface.
He’d dug them up again way too easily.
One look at him this afternoon had negated all attempts she’d
made to forget him this past year. And
because she didn’t want to have to start all over again, she’d
defied all rules of etiquette and booted it out of there before her
heart could betray her again. It
had been difficult enough to get over a distant and grumpy Grissom, a
thoughtful and gentle Grissom would be impossible to forget.
She lay back on the blanket she’d brought with her to the
beach, knees up toward the sky, and shielded her eyes from the sun with
her right arm. This beach
had always been a refuge for Sara. Whenever
something had troubled her, she’d escaped to the soothing sounds of
crashing waves and the chattering of the hundreds of species of birds in
this ornithologist’s paradise.
And this afternoon, she’d badly needed an escape.
What was it about this one
man? He was an
anti-social, introverted scientist for God’s sake!
Not the heartthrob of the month… Although she had to admit, he
was quite an attractive anti-social, introverted scientist.
With blue eyes that a woman wanted to lose herself in; a mouth
that held…oh, such promise; a voice that captivated when his passion
was engaged…not to mention the rest of his body…not
exactly a man a woman would throw out of bed for eating crackers;
the old cliché made her smile.
She’d once told David, the assistant coroner, that to attract
women he’d have to lose the lab coat, drop the glasses and grow some
scruff. And here she was, in
love—still—with an anti-social, introverted scientist in a lab coat
and glasses most of the time, who also happened to be fifteen years her
senior.
He was her heartthrob,
and she knew there wasn’t a whole lot she could do to change that.
He was just too unique to replace.
She would never know if it was the slight frisson on her skin or
the loss of the sun’s brilliance or a combination of both that alerted
her to his presence. It was
as if a cloud had moved over the sun.
She lifted her arm from her eyes and looked straight up into the
face of the man that had been dominating her thoughts.
“Grissom!” She
sat up abruptly. “You’re
still here?”
“Evidently. Mind if
I share your blanket?” he said, pointing a cleft chin at the empty
spot next to her. Although
the blanket was big enough for two and there was plenty of vacant space
for him, Sara still inched over as far as she could to the edge.
She didn’t miss his wry smile as he dropped down beside her.
“I thought you would have left by now.”
He lay back in a pose very similar to the one she’d held only
seconds before. “Disappointed?”
he asked on a sigh.
Still seated, Sara spun her head in his direction but not enough
to see his face. Was she disappointed? She
turned back to stare at the rocky shore across the bay, a view she’d
seen so many times its beauty no longer impressed her.
She could feel his eyes on her back as a battle of will raged
between her heart and her brain. She
lowered her head, and let the question continue to hang between them.
She wasn’t disappointed, she was terrified.
She’d thanked her lucky stars earlier for sending in the
honeymooners when they did because she’d been dangerously close to
falling under his spell again. And
they’d been in the same room all of what…ten minutes?
Damn him!
Why couldn’t he have just stayed away?
Assertive and direct Sara won the battle.
She turned full round to face him…
“I’m not—“
…then almost forgot what she was going to say.
He looked too damn sexy laying there, his hands supporting the
back of his head; he’d removed his sunglasses revealing the darker
blue version of his eyes which squinted slightly against the sun.
A muscle leapt in his cheek and his lips reacted to it, finishing
in half a smile.
“Good, because I got a room.”
He’d taken her words at face value, unaware that she had much
more to say like, ‘I’m not disappointed, I’m confused.’
It’s not as if they’d parted on good terms.
But all that was forgotten as she exclaimed, “You what?
Why?”
“I needed a vacation?” He
made it sound like a question.
He had to know she wouldn’t buy that.
“Tell me something I’ll believe.”
“Okay… I realized that I couldn’t live another day without
you so I came here to woo you.”
What?
Sara’s jaw dropped, eliciting mild amusement from her former
boss.
“You don’t believe that either, do you?”
He sat up. “Are you
hungry? Your mother tells me
there’s a great little seafood restaurant not far from here.”
He was still doing this to her!
He’d deliver a line like that, deadpan, and then retreat just
as quickly, leaving her to wonder if he was teasing or if he was sending
her a message. It was that
kind of behavior that she’d found so confusing in the past.
She took a deep breath and gave him her 200-Watt smile.
“Bernie’s…a fabulous seafood restaurant and oyster bar.
We could go by the beach; it’s not a very long walk.”
And then, gathering her courage, she stood abruptly.
“C’mon, Gris, help me fold the blanket.
I can’t wait to find out how Gil Grissom woos a woman,” she
teased. And, as an
afterthought, or was it? she added, “By the way, do you like oysters?” THE
RESTAURANT WAS crowded and loud and fun.
Most of the customers were tourists staying at neighboring
B&Bs; in fact Sara recognized several of their guests.
Although the number of rooms at her parent’s Bed and Breakfast
classified them as an ‘Inn’ since the expansion a few years ago,
they’d never progressed to serving dinner, so their guests usually ate
at Bernie’s, much to their neighbor’s delight.
She’d always liked coming here—but even more so now that her
best ‘childhood’ friend owned it.
Bernard or Junior or
“Sawa!” She and Grissom had just settled into a couple of
stools at the oyster bar when she heard the girl’s shriek above the
din. Her smile grew as Katie
ran up and flung herself at her legs.
“Hey, Katie…watch it sweetie, you’ll hurt yourself.”
Sara picked her up and sat her on her lap, and after a quick hug,
Katie’s smile faded as she lifted her right index finger to Sara’s
face. It was wrapped in a
tiny white band-aid sporting colorful cartoon characters.
“What happened to your finger?”
“I hurt it,” she said. “But
I didn’t cwy! I’m four
now, I’m a big girl.”
“You sure are,” she said, swallowing a giggle.
Grissom chuckled, catching Katie’s attention.
She swung her head around, whipping Sara’s arm with her long
blond ponytail.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Gil Grissom,” he said, with the same deference he
would have given an adult.
“G-i-l,” Katie tried his name slowly.
“Mr. or Dr. Grissom to you, young lady,” Sara interjected,
good manners prevailing over the difficulty a four-year old would have
articulating his name.
Katie gasped and turned two big blue eyes on Grissom.
“You’re a doctor?” she said, duly impressed.
“Yes, I am.”
“Can you make Sawa feel better?”
He shot Sara a quick glance.
“Well, Katie I’d like to but…I’m not that
kind of doctor.”
The little girl frowned while she digested this information.
“What kind are you?”
Grissom seemed at a loss for words, and justly so.
How did you explain the difference to a four year-old?
He shot Sara another glance.
“Dr. Grissom is a bug doctor, Katie,” she said, coming to his
rescue.
“Bugs get sick too?”
A giggle escaped Sara’s throat.
“I think you just opened a can of worms, Sidle,” he said,
barely containing his laughter.
“I think you’re right.”
“Katie…”
In chorus, Grissom and Sara turned to see Bernard Hamel emerge
from the kitchen in search of his missing daughter; his face broke into
a smile when he saw Sara, but as he approached them he stared at Katie
with eyes that contained an equal dose of love and exasperation.
He reached and lifted his daughter off Sara’s lap.
“Young lady, how many times have I told you not to come out
here by yourself?”
Katie took the reprimand in stride.
“Sowy, daddy. I
forgot,” she said as she wound her small arm around his neck; she then
kissed him on the cheek and on a loud whisper in his ear said,
“Daddy… I love you.”
Grissom and Sara smiled widely, amused by Katie’s manipulations
and Bernard’s inability to resist them.
He gave his little girl a squeeze then turned his attention to
Sara and her companion.
“Hey, Sara… How’re
you feeling today?”
“A little better, thanks.”
Silence momentarily fell between them as he glanced from Sara to
Grissom and back again. “
A flash of annoyance crossed Grissom’s features, but he quickly
recovered and turned a charming smile on Bernard as he shook his hand.
“Nice to meet you,” Bernard said.
“He’s a bug doctor,” Katie piped in, having been silent
much too long.
“A bug doctor?” Bernard
looked quizzically at Grissom.
“An entomologist,” he supplied wryly, shrugging both
shoulders. “Katie thought
I could make Sara feel better, and this was Sara’s way of explaining
why I couldn’t—well not in the medical sense, anyway.”
Sara’s head spun around and her gaze leveled with a shamelessly
flirtatious blue one. Her
breath caught in her throat as a flicker of a flame ignited deep within
her heart. She couldn’t
remember Grissom ever looking at her quite like this… Not like he
would a friend; more like a lover, she thought.
Or was he just getting her back for the ‘former boss’
comment? If she’d ever
thought his behavior confusing in the past, this took the cake.
“Well, I think it’s time I take this young lady home.
It’s way past her bedtime.
Honey?” Bernard dipped Katie toward Sara, “Say goodnight to
Sara.”
The girl reached down, pulled Sara’s head to hers and planted a
kiss square on her mouth. “Nite
Sawa.”
“Goodnight, sweetie.”
“Are you going to say goodnight to Dr. Grissom too?”
“Nite, Dr. Gwissom,” Katie said, almost throwing herself out
of her father’s arms to give him a hug.
Sara caught the unexpected pleasure on Grissom’s face and she
smiled. The hug had
surprised him. She doubted
he was accustomed to being around children.
As far as she knew, he was an only child so he wouldn’t have
nieces and nephews. A new
emotion stirred in her chest at the sight of Grissom hugging this little
girl.
“Goodnight, Katie,” he said.
“It was very nice to meet you.”
Katie beamed.
After giving them a few dinner recommendations, Bernard wished
them a nice evening and disappeared in the kitchen with a giggling Katie
hanging around his neck.
Sara was still smiling when she turned to Grissom.
“She likes you.”
“She loves you,” he countered.
She shrugged. “Yeah…kids
seem to gravitate to me.”
“I didn’t think you even liked them.”
“Who—kids? What
gave you that idea?”
“I don’t know. Just
an impression I got over the years; things you said or did… I’m not
sure which.”
Sara frowned as she tried to remember when she would have given
him that impression. They
had worked a couple of cases involving kids, and she did recall the
first time she’d had to baby-sit a little girl on a case—she’d
felt very uncomfortable around her at first, but after a couple of days
she’d found herself becoming very attached to her.
And, of course, her brother had since made her an aunt, so kids
were not alien to her anymore. “I
guess I didn’t feel comfortable around children until a couple of
years ago. But I assure you
I’m quite fond of my nephews, Ryan and Marc—they’re fraternal
twins—and, little Katie, well…she’s kind of irresistible, isn’t
she?”
“Yes, she is,” he smiled, and then said, “Do you want
children of your own some day?”
She grimaced. “I’m
getting a little too old for that.”
“You’re only thirty-three, Sara, there’s still time.”
It occurred to her that she should be surprised that he knew
exactly how old she was, or that he could recall it so easily, but she
was past being surprised by anything he said or did.
She wondered if his unpredictability was deliberate, a way to
keep people off balance. He’d
certainly done it often enough to her over the years, until she’d had
enough and quit.
Except that this was different.
He was different.
For one thing, they’d never been together like this—their
relationship had revolved around work, never anything too personal.
Still he’d managed to make her fall in love with him, a
condition she suspected would plague her for the rest of her life.
But it struck her for the second time tonight that his behavior
was more amorous than the detached friendliness she would normally
expect, and that made her pause. She’d
wanted to run from him earlier because she’d been afraid to fall under
his spell again—she already knew what a waste of energy that was—but
the man sitting in front of her now was so different from the Grissom
she remembered. Had she
missed something? She gave
herself a mental shake. What
was it her mother had often said? ‘Don’t
look a gift-horse in the mouth?’
This was the Gil Grissom she’d always dreamed of, and here they
were away from
“I’d need to find a father first,” she finally said,
“which, given my track record won’t be tomorrow, and we’d have to
date for a while, then get married, that would be nice, and of course
there’s the nine months’ gestation period, so…”
“Fatalistic Sara? This
is not you.”
She shrugged. “Maybe
it is. I’m not so sure
I’d make a good mother anyway,” she said unevenly, staring at her
fingers. She wasn’t about
to tell him that she’d given motherhood a lot of thought recently.
Not unlike most women her age, she feared her biological clock
was winding down, and after having come this close to death, she
couldn’t help but reflect on her life.
What was missing was a family of her own.
Her job, which had always been important to her, had begun to
pale in comparison to having someone to love, and someone who would love
her; someone to build a life with.
“I think you’d make a terrific mother,” he said softly,
breaking into her thoughts.
She threw him a startled glance.
“Thank you,” she smiled.
Was there a more heart-warming compliment a man could give a
woman—especially a man she loved?
Perhaps Grissom was more practiced in the art of wooing than
she’d given him credit for.
Whoa girl! Grissom
wooing her… Oh, no, don’t you
dare go there! As much
as she would have liked to indulge that fantasy, she was way past
deluding herself. It was one
thing to decide to go with the flow and enjoy his company, and quite
another to get carried away again in some dumb fantasy.
She looked up at him, then hurriedly away because his eyes were
such a powerful force, she didn’t think she could resist what she
detected in them. On some
level, she’d always known he wasn’t immune to her—he couldn’t
have flirted the way he had in the past if he hadn’t felt a little
attraction. But she was now
smart enough to know that his had been a passing interest.
She’d had a year to accept that they were on different planets
when it came to how they felt about each other.
“I think it’s time we ordered something to eat,” he said,
waving Wally, the bartender, over. “What
would you like?”
“I’ll just have my usual Shrimp salad.
The chef knows how I like it.”
Grissom shot her a surprised glance.
“Shrimp? I thought
you were a vegetarian.”
“Not a strict one. I
occasionally have fish and seafood.”
“Oh. What about
oysters?”
“Nope. Afraid
I’ve never acquired a taste for them.”
In truth she’d never tried one because, she really didn’t
find them visually appealing.
He ordered the shrimp
salad and a dozen fresh oysters for himself and, glancing at her
questioningly, “A couple of beers?” she nodded, he ordered those
too.
“Coming right up,” Wally said.
He served them the beer before heading to the kitchen to order
the salad. When he returned
he stood directly across the bar from them to shuck the oysters.
They admired his skill in silence for a while and then Grissom
lifted his beer bottle.
“A toast?”
She picked up her bottle and nodded.
“Sure.“
“Okay,” he hesitated but a moment.
“Here’s to… Aphrodite.
May she work her magic.”
“Ah, yes…the oysters,” she dipped her head to the left and
smiled.
“Actually, I really was just referring to the Greek goddess of
love. You know, Sara, the
oyster isn’t really an aphrodisiac.
It only earned that reputation because it looks like—“
He stopped abruptly, a slight flush creeping into his cheeks.
She knew that he’d been about to say ‘a woman’s genitals’
but decided to feign ignorance. Wally
had chosen that moment to deliver his platter of freshly-shucked
oysters, making this one of those rare moments in life when the timing
was perfect, so she wasn’t about to let it pass without exploiting it
to the fullest. She looked
at the oysters quizzically, and then at Grissom.
“Because they look like…what?” she asked seriously.
He picked one up and seasoned it with a little too much shallot
vinegar. “Never mind,”
he said a hint of irritation in his voice, and then threw his head back
slightly to let the oyster and its juices slide off the shell into his
mouth.
She grinned shamelessly as she watched him suck on the shellfish
before swallowing it.
“Do they taste like they look?”
His gaze shot up, and he slowly dabbed his lips with his napkin.
She loved to throw him off balance, in fact had done it
frequently in the past with a few carefully chosen or suggestive
comebacks. In that respect,
she supposed they were very much alike.
“You’re very amusing, Sara,” he said sarcastically, but the
gleam in his eyes betrayed his delight with her banter.
She laughed.
She dug into her light meal of shrimp salad and avocado which
they served in two halved avocado shells.
She hadn’t been very hungry of late so the shrimp salad had
become her fare of choice at Bernie’s.
“So…is it true?” she asked in between bites.
“Is what true?”
“That oysters aren’t an aphrodisiac.”
“Absolutely. In
fact,” he said, picking up his beer bottle, “alcohol is the only
substance known as an aphrodisiac that has any real effect on sexual
desire, but only because it removes inhibitions; however, overindulgence
has the opposite effect.” He
became distant as he stared at the beer bottle.
“It increases the desire
but it takes away the performance,” he quoted.
At Sara’s quizzical look, he shrugged, took a swig of beer and
said, “From Macbeth.”
“Of course,” she smiled.
He was so adorable. And
with a quick wave at Wally, she said jokingly, “Bring this guy one
last beer.” IT
WAS ALMOST completely dark when they left Bernie’s.
While it had been quite appropriate earlier in the day, Sara’s
tank top was too light for the early September evening’s chill.
She shivered.
“Here,” Grissom partially unfolded the beach blanket they’d
used earlier and wrapped it around her shoulders.
He grasped both arms in his hands and briskly rubbed up and down
through the blanket to warm her. “Does
this feel better?”
“Yes,” she said, swallowing past something that had suddenly
lodged in her throat—whether as a result of his touch or his
thoughtfulness, she didn’t know.
Their dinner had been at the very least amicable.
They’d talked about his feelings on children and parenthood.
He’d told her he’d never really imagined himself in the role
of father, but that given the right circumstances, he wouldn’t oppose
it. “It’s a man’s
primitive instinct to procreate. Otherwise,
the human race wouldn’t exist,” he’d said.
“But not everyone wants to have children,” she’d countered.
“True. But most
people do.”
“Why haven’t you? I
mean, why haven’t you married and done all those instinctive things
like…make little Grissoms?”
“I guess I’m one of those exceptions.”
He’d given her a lop-sided grin and shrugged.
Then, on a more sober note, he’d added, “Or maybe I was
waiting until I met the mother of my children.”
Had it been her imagination or had he made that sound like he’d
already met the mother of his children?
A shiver of fear ran down her spine.
She’d wanted to ask, but at the same time was terrified of the
answer. What if he had?
Did she want to hear that on the very day he’d re-awakened her
sexually and emotionally?
Her gaze lingered on his face as he massaged her arms.
She felt the heat of his warm hands through the blanket and
imagined what they would feel like against her bare skin, gliding softly
up her arms and down her back to her waist, around to her side and up
again until they cupped her breasts…his breath fanning her cheek just
before his lips burned tiny kisses at the base of her neck where it met
her shoulder…
Her sharp intake of breath drew his attention back to her face.
“What’s wrong, Sara?”
“Nothing. I’m
uh…warmer now, thanks.” His
hands stilled on her arms, but he didn’t release her.
He’d said that alcohol was the one known aphrodisiac that
actually did affect sexual desire because it made you lose all
inhibitions. She’d only
had two beers—not enough to blame the alcohol for what she desired at
this very moment, and unfortunately not enough to make her lose all
inhibitions, or she would have leaned in a little closer and discovered
rather than just imagined what it would feel like to kiss him.
As if he’d read her mind, he suddenly released her and shoved
his hands in his pockets. “We’d
better go.”
They walked down the dimly-lit walkway to the beach in silence.
The full moon, which would light their path back to the
“A Great Blue Heron,” he whispered back.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen one this big.”
They watched silently as the bird stood very still, patiently
waiting for its prey. In a
matter of seconds, the bird folded its neck back then plunged its head
below the surface, emerging with a small fish wriggling in its bill.
With a deft movement of the head, the Heron dropped the prey
headfirst into its gullet, then opened its wings to an impressive span
and flew away.
Sara met Grissom’s gaze and smiled.
His eyes glowed as he smiled back.
They slowly continued their walk along the beach, each immersed
in his or her private thoughts. When
a slight breeze lifted off the water, she wrapped the blanket a little
tighter around herself. Grissom
cast a protective eye at her.
“You’re cold…we should hurry back.”
“I’m okay. But
aren’t you cold?” Her
eyes dropped to his chest, taking in the short-sleeved white
Indian-cotton shirt which hung loosely over his jeans.
The gentle breeze was whipping the thin cotton around his torso
flattening it in some places on his back and his chest.
Sara had to tear her eyes away.
“No, I’m fine,” he said.
She wondered if he was as reluctant to end the evening as she
was. Under the full moon she
could make out the roof line of the
As her eyes adjusted to the growing darkness, she spied a
familiar figure running up the beach toward them.
In no time, he was upon them.
“Steve! Isn’t it
a little late for your run?”
“Hey! Sara.” Steve
stopped and dropped his hands to his knees, gasping to catch his breath.
“I didn’t see you at the restaurant.
Did you take the night off?”
Steve nodded and stood to his full six feet.
“I’ve been packing. I’m
going back to college tomorrow so I wanted to see you before I leave.
Your mom told me you were at the restaurant.”
Sara turned to Grissom who’d been standing quietly by.
“Gris, this is
Steve seemed a little uncomfortable when he looked back at Sara.
“Uh…I’ll be back for Thanksgiving; will you be here
then?” he asked hesitantly.
“I don’t know yet. Probably.”
He’d had a crush on her since puberty and although she’d
never encouraged it, in fact had fully expected him to outgrow it by
Junior High, he hadn’t. She
felt sorry for him now as his eyes darted from Grissom to her,
undoubtedly seeing him as a rival.
He plunged his right hand deep into his pocket and fished out a
folded piece of paper which he handed to her.
“My phone number in
“Thanks,” she said, and leaned forward to kiss his cheek.
She hoped Grissom hadn’t heard his gasp.
“Bye, Steve.”
“Bye, Sara.” He
stared at her for a second then with a brief nod in Grissom’s general
direction, he jogged away.
She watched him go then turned to Grissom.
The incredulity on his face prompted her to say, “What?”
“Another one?”
Not following, Sara shook her head quizzically.
“Another what?”
“Victim. I know
I’ve asked you this before, Sara, but how do you do it?”
“You’ve lost me. What
have you asked me before? And
how do I do what?”
“Make every guy fall in love with you!”
His tone was serious, but she didn’t miss the amusement that
lit his eyes.
“Ah… The lab techs back in Vegas.
They weren’t all
enamored with me, you know.”
“It sure looked that way. And
when I get back, they’ll all be lining up outside my office for news
of you.”
“Really?” she smiled.
Sara fondly recalled the time Grissom had become testy after
another lab tech—she couldn’t even remember which one—had flirted
with her. Not bothering to
hide his irritation he’d asked her if every guy in that place was
enamored with her. Without
thinking, she’d asked him if he was one of those guys, but he’d just
walked away, without responding. But
where could he escape to now?
Ask him.
“You never gave me an answer, you know.”
“To what?”
“I remember asking you if you were also enamored with me, but
you never answered.”
“Oh, that.”
“So…were you?”
He shrugged. “What
do you think?”
“I think I have a fifty-fifty chance of getting this right,”
she said, looking at her sandaled feet as little clouds of sand lifted
with each step. She smiled.
They walked closely together, not so close that they could
accidentally touch, but almost, and Sara was sorely tempted to fix that.
He shot her a sideways glance.
“What makes you think it was that black and white?”
She looked at him, mocked annoyance twisting her features.
“My odds are getting worse by the minute,” she said. “Okay,
so…let’s say I have one in three chances of getting it right, your
odds are obviously much better than mine so why not just tell me and
that’ll be that?”
“Oh no. You’re
not giving up that easy.”
“You just don’t want me to know,” she teased.
He thought about that for a second.
“Not true—but I am enjoying the game.”
He smiled. “Okay,
here’s a hint. Your odds
would greatly improve if you asked me that same question today.”
“Great, that tells me you’re less confused.”
She sighed and concentrated on the puzzle.
“So, I go from ‘yes’,
‘no’ and, what? ‘maybe’ or ‘don’t
know’ to a possible ‘yes’
or ‘no’, or ‘no’ and ‘don’t
know’—“
“God, Sara,” he stopped abruptly and, grasping her arms, he
turned her to face him. “You’re
making this way too
complicated,” he chuckled. Then,
as his eyes met hers, his smile faltered.
He cradled her neck in the palm of his hand and gently pulled her
to him. “Would you like
another hint?” he asked softly as he ran his thumb over her jaw.
She nodded slowly, and her breath caught somewhere between her
lungs and her throat as he lowered his face to hers and captured her
lips in the most tender kiss she’d ever experienced.
Sara was so surprised that her mind went momentarily blank… Not
surprised that he could be so tender or that his lips were so full and
warm, but astonished that he would be kissing her at all.
Yet hadn’t all their blatant flirting these past few hours been
leading up to this very moment? Yes, but this is Grissom! The
full realization of what he was doing finally hit her and she pulled
away.
Grissom drew a breath, but didn’t retreat.
He was searching her gaze with eyes that were more charcoal-grey
than blue in the moonlight.
Why would he, after a year without so much as a word to her,
suddenly turn up as if he had every right to be there, and seduce her?
What was she missing? She
dropped the left side of the blanket to circle his forearm with her
hand—not to push his hand away from her neck, but to hold it there.
The simple act of touching him sent shivers up her spine.
How could she be so completely in love with a man she’d never
touched, let alone kissed?
The blanket slipped to the ground in a heap, but she didn’t
notice, in fact, the cool breeze that now lapped against her exposed
skin barely registered.
“Grissom… What are you doing?”
He looked away, closed his eyes and swallowed hard.
When he looked at her again, she marveled at the longing in his
eyes. She also detected
sorrow there, but surely that couldn’t be?
Could it? Nothing
made sense anymore, and she began to suspect that her accident had rid
her of much more than her memories of the attack.
How else could she explain everything that had happened, that was
still happening, today?
He reacted to her question by breaking all contact between them.
A chill coursed through her, and the acute loss she felt at the
separation made her realize that this wasn’t what she’d wanted.
Her reaction had been all wrong…she was confused, wanted an
explanation for the kiss, but not discourage his advances.
Tell him.
He picked up the blanket, wrapped it around her shoulders and,
the fabric bunched up in his fists, held it there to prevent it from
falling to the ground again. She
flattened her hands against his chest and looked into his guarded eyes.
“Gris…” she started on a ragged breath and lifted her chin
in a silent invitation for him to kiss her again, but he didn’t move.
She raised her hands from his chest to take the ends of the
blanket from him and, winding her arms around his neck, enclosed both of
them within its soft folds. “Gris…please…”
she pleaded again, incapable of putting into words all that she wanted
from him. But he must have
understood for the next thing she knew his strong arms had circled her
waist and his lips descended on hers with such desperate hunger it set
her heart racing.
Sara opened her mouth to his, welcoming his invasion and matching
his passion with a fierceness of her own.
There was nothing remotely tender about this kiss; it was the
kiss of a man barely hanging on to his control, and its sheer intensity
sent delicious tremors of need to the most private part of her body.
Under the blanket, his warm hands had moved under her tank top
and were roughly caressing her bare back.
Desire like she’d never known swirled through her.
She desperately wanted to touch him too, but her hands were
already occupied, so she arched her back and pressed her body even
closer to his.
He groaned and strengthened his hold on her revealing the extent
of his desire and fanning the flame he’d ignited earlier into a raging
inferno. She wanted him so
badly it hurt.
By the time he dragged his lips away, there wasn’t an inch of
her body that hadn’t responded—wasn’t still responding—to his
erotic assault on her mouth. Wow!
That man can kiss! She
opened her eyes and her heart pounded against her ribs when she saw the
raw desire in his darkened gaze.
He touched her swollen lips gently with the tip of his thumb.
“Sorry,” he said unsteadily.
“I got carried away.”
She kissed his finger and smiled.
“Don’t be. The
only thing I’m sorry about is that we’re not somewhere more
private.”
“We can remedy that.”
Her smile widened. “Let’s
go.”
As they resumed their path to the
She smiled up at him and was pleased that the sorrow she’d
detected in his eyes earlier was gone.
The man who returned her gaze now looked much more relaxed,
and…happy? She pursed her
lips and looked straight ahead. “I
think you like me.”
“That, my beautiful
Sara, is the understatement of the year,” he said, and cocking his
head sideways to gauge her reaction, he met her startled glance. * * * * * * PROTECTED
BY THE trees and the bushes, it was much warmer out on his private
sundeck than it had been by the water, but still not warm enough to sit
out there without a sweater. Sara
had wanted to go to her room to get one, but reluctant to let her go,
almost afraid that if he let her out of his sight he’d lose her again,
he’d offered her his fleece roll-neck pullover, and he’d donned a
light jacket.
His sweater in hand, he’d smiled affectionately, enticing her
to come to him. “Come
here.”
She’d complied and stood in front of him, returning his warm,
intimate gaze with one of her own. He’d
raised the pullover above her and, careful to avoid her injury, had
brought it down over her head then helped her slip her arms through the
sleeves. It was too big for
her of course, but he’d never seen her look more adorable.
He’d lifted her hair out of the collar and pushed a few strands
behind her ear, and because he hadn’t been able to resist, he’d
dipped his head and kissed her with a gentleness his desperate need for
her moments before had not allowed.
Their need urgent, they’d
made their way back to the
And he hadn’t been strong enough to resist her.
They’d tumbled into bed feverishly pulling at each other’s
clothes and, with surprising dexterity under the circumstances, her long
fingers had skillfully undone the buttons on his shirt; pushing the
fabric off his chest, she’d captured one flat nipple then the other in
her mouth, licking and sucking until they were taut and he thought
he’d explode with desire.
As much as he’d wanted to show her how he felt with all his
being, when she’d breathlessly whispered “I want you so much!”
against his neck, he knew the time for gentle caresses had come and
passed. He rolled on top of
her and, taking pleasure in her small gasp as she became fully aware of
his arousal, he’d taken her mouth in a hungry, demanding kiss.
His recollection of the next half hour would always be
dreamlike…disjointed flashes of clothes being hastily discarded, silky
soft skin against his own, flowery scent mingling with his, desperate
kisses, limbs tangled together, mouths and hands and fingers pleasuring
each other…until she’d cried out his name and an explosion of blind
ecstasy had rocked him to his core.
Afterwards she’d lain in the circle of his arms, her head resting on
his chest, her right hand flattened against his heart.
He’d listened to her breathing until it had settled into a
slow, steady rhythm, wondering what she was thinking.
Just as he was about to ask, Sara spoke.
“Gris?” she said softly.
“Yes?”
“We need to talk.”
At first, her request hadn’t alarmed him; of course they needed
to talk, he couldn’t disagree with that.
It was only when she’d insisted they move out to the deck to
have that talk that apprehension had set in.
She’d claimed she wanted to take advantage of the last days of
summer before it became too cold to sit outside, but he didn’t buy it.
He strongly suspected that whatever Sara had on her mind was not
something she’d felt comfortable discussing in the intimacy of the bed
they’d just shared.
Would she give him a repeat performance of
They’d dressed quickly, their silence unbearable, until he’d
helped her put on his pullover. The
simple act had eased the tension between them, and when he’d kissed
her she’d moved closer willingly and hugged him.
Right then, the words he’d so wanted to say to her had almost
spilled, but he’d caught them just in time.
Confusing her with declarations of love would only have
complicated matters.
They needed to talk. She
needed to remember. He
needed to be more careful.
He lingered now just inside the room with a glass of cognac in
each hand, admiring how the moonlight’s glow lit her face.
She’d settled into one of the deck chairs, her long jean-clad
legs stretched out on the ottoman. Her
eyes were closed, but he knew she wasn’t sleeping.
She looked so beautiful and peaceful, and despite her tall frame,
almost fragile. She brought
all of his protective instincts to the surface.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked softly as he came out to join
her.
She nodded and smiled. “Mmm…
Thanks for the sweater. It’s
very comfortable.”
He handed her a drink then positioned the other chair parallel
to, but facing hers. He
wanted to sit close to her but still be able to see her face.
He stretched out his legs and crossed them at his ankles.
“Keep it,” he said. “It
looks good on you.”
“So do you.” She
looked up quickly, a tinge of blush coloring her cheeks, then dropped
her head and stared into her brandy.
“Uh…I don’t believe I said that.”
He grinned, enormously happy all of a sudden.
“You can keep me too.”
Her eyes shot up to meet his in the briefest of glances then
looked away just as quickly. Her
frown was not the reaction he’d hoped for.
Careful, Gil. One step at a
time. He changed the
subject. He was good at
that.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“What?” She
looked at him again.
“What happened to you.”
She shrugged. “You
probably know as much as I do, if not more.”
“Your parents told me you want to quit your job.”
“Yeah, well…it’s time,” she said on a sigh.
She took a long sip of cognac and grimaced as it burned a trail
down her throat. “I need a
change.”
Twice before she’d told him she needed a change.
The first time she’d claimed she wanted to check out the FBI
system, but he’d diffused that situation.
The second time he’d felt powerless.
They’d been at odds with each other for months, and, well…
she hadn’t given him any choice—he’d
had to accept her resignation.
The road she’d taken then had set them miles apart—literally
and figuratively. The only
thing that had tied them together in the past year had been the nature
of their job. He’d been in
touch on occasion with Burns—her supervisor in
But despite his distress over her decision, which in itself was
enough to incite him to influence her not to quit, he couldn’t fault
his objectivity when he gave her his professional opinion of her
abilities.
“Come on, Sara. You’re
one of the best CSIs I’ve met. And
you love that job, you live for it.”
She titled her head sideways to look at him.
“Not anymore, Gris. I
don’t love it anymore; and how can anyone do this job unless they love
it?”
He couldn’t argue that point.
“So what would you do, if not this?” he braved the question.
“Anything I want, I guess…”
“Which is?”
“I’ve always wanted to continue my education—get my Masters
degree, maybe my Doctorate someday.
This ‘not having a life’ has its advantages, you know.
I’ve saved a lot of money—enough to pay for at least another
year of college, and I could always work part time.”
“Physics, still?”
Sara nodded. “Mmm…
Environmental Health Physics.”
“Really? That’s
interesting.” He smiled,
but he was dying inside. His
next words slipped out before he could stop them.
“What happened to your dream of having children?”
Her eyes flashed at him. “I
never said I wanted children. I
said—“
“Your eyes told me,” he said dryly.
She looked away broodingly. “Sara,”
he softened his tone, “Are you sure this is not just a reaction to
what happened at the ball park?”
“Yes. I know…I
mean I’m pretty sure I was considering this before…” her voice
trailed off. She frowned,
then shook her head and looked at him again.
“I thought of doing this a long time ago; I don’t remember
exactly when I decided to do it, but I know it was before the
accident… so, no. I
don’t think I’m being impulsive.”
He let out a long breath. “Well,
the world of crime scene investigation will be losing one hell of a
brilliant investigator.”
“Thank you,” she said, a little taken aback by his praise.
“I wish you’d been that complimentary when I worked for
you.”
“I’ve always considered you a top-notch investigator,”
he said, surprised that she’d think otherwise.
“Yeah, well…it doesn’t matter.
I don’t need anyone else’s approval.”
“I know; that’s one of the things I love about you.”
He looked at her quickly and met her confused glance.
What had happened to him? He’d
not only lost control of his emotions, he’d also lost control of his
tongue. He drained his
glass.
“Can I offer you another drink?”
She handed him her empty glass.
“Sure.”
He went back inside to get the last two airline-size bottles of
cognac from the mini-bar, and emptied them into their glasses.
On his way back he paused by the cassette player.
He set the glasses down on the credenza and looked through the
tapes. There was music for
all tastes…contemporary country, pop, 70’s and 80’s rock, jazz,
classical. Just as he was
about to ask Sara what she’d like, he noticed a familiar album; it
intrigued him. Would she
remember?
He decided it was worth a try so he slipped the tape into the
player and adjusted the volume, then rejoined her outside.
“Mmm… music,” she said dreamily.
“Do you like this?” he asked of the soft lullaby quality of
Jim Brickman’s piano solo.
She shrugged. “I
like all kinds of music. Depends
on my mood.”
“What’s your mood now?”
“Perfect for this music,” she smiled and closed her eyes.
She seemed utterly relaxed as she listened to the soft melody.
The song he was waiting for—the trigger to a memory he
desperately wanted her to find—was somewhere in the middle of the
album. As he anxiously
waited for it to begin, he was content to watch her breathe, to watch
the soft movement of her chest against his sweater—hers now, if she
wanted it, just like he’d be hers in a heartbeat if she wanted him.
The intimacy in the simple act of Sara wearing his clothes had
given him an odd and surprising sense of belonging.
For a man who’d succeeded in not feeling much of anything most
of his life, he mused, he’d certainly put himself through a whole
range of emotions in the past month.
And it was all because of her.
In the dark recesses of his subconscious he’d always known she
would have that power over him, just as he now knew without a shadow of
a doubt that he had always loved her.
And she’d loved him too, once—she’d said as much in
He tensed perceptibly as the first notes of the love song he
associated with her flitted through the patio door and out on the cool
night air. He watched her
closely as the lyrical voice of the singer followed… From the moment I saw you From the moment I looked into your eyes There was something about you – Sara’s eyes flew open and stared directly into his. A frown pinched her brow, digging a deep vertical line between her eyebrows. ‘She remembers!’ he thought. “What is it, Sara?” he asked urgently, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears. A look of confusion settled on her face. “Nothing, really. It’s um…I’m sure I never heard that album before, but that song…” her voice trailed off. “It’s familiar?” “Yes—no… I don’t know.” She shook her head quickly as if denying the possibility that the song should mean something to her. He did his best to hide his disappointment. He sat up and took the untouched glass of cognac from her and set it down next to his on the small table. “Come here,” he pleaded softly. That look of confusion still on her face, she didn’t move. “Please,” he added. She rose and skirted her chair, halting in front of his. He coaxed a small smile from her as he took her hand and pulled her gently down on his lap. She nestled against him, her long dark hair spilling over his shoulder and tickling his neck; he kissed her forehead and wrapped his arms around her, awed by how protective of her he felt. They sat like that until the last song had been played, and all they could hear were the faint sounds of the night around them. Sara stirred and he relaxed his hold on her. She pulled back, bracing herself on the armrest, and looked at him. “Make love to me,” she said quietly. His sharp intake of breath didn’t go unnoticed. Sara offered him a wobbly smile, her dark eyes burning into his, launching an erratic pulse at the base of his throat. Then, they stood as one, and taking her hand in his, he led her inside, closing the patio door behind them.
Through the glass door, the moon and the stars were the only
witnesses to his gentleness as he carefully lifted the oversized sweater
over her head, and captured her lips with his own.
And whatever it was that Sara had wanted to talk about was, for
now, forgotten.
THE
BRIGHT MORNING SUN seeped through the glass door, warming the lone
figure laying sprawled out on his stomach, his arms hugging his pillow;
a thin cotton sheet covered him up to his waist.
As the cobwebs began to clear, Gil remembered where he was and
sudden joy welled inside him. He
immediately reached for Sara, but when his hand only encountered a cool
sheet, all vestige of sleep disappeared and his eyes snapped open.
He lifted himself up on an elbow, skimmed the room, then rolling
around checked the deck. She
wasn’t there. “Sara?” he said loudly, thinking she might be
in the bathroom. Silence.
He grabbed his watch off the night table and saw it was a little
past eight. She could have
gone to get some coffee, he reasoned, or she might have slipped out
during the night—they were after all in her parents’ home which
might have been awkward for her. Hell,
it would have been awkward for him too.
Deciding that was the most likely explanation he got up and
headed for the shower. He
couldn’t wait to see her.
An hour later Gil made his way to the center building looking for
Sara. From the front desk
where she was checking out a couple of guests, Pat spotted him and
signalled for him to wait.
“Thank you, come visit us again,” he heard her say as the
young honeymooners from yesterday started to leave.
Then, her smile faded as she turned to him.
“Good morning, Gil,” she said hesitantly.
He approached the desk and leaned against it, feeling suddenly
clumsy in her presence. It
had been easy last night to forget that he and Sara were in her
parents’ home, and not in some neutral hotel room as they had been in
“Good morning,” he managed warmly enough.
“Is Sara still in bed?” There.
If there was any question in Pat’s mind as to her daughter’s
whereabouts, this should ease her mind.
Little did he know that the last thing on her mind this morning
was where her daughter had spent the night.
Her next words stunned him.
“No. I’m afraid
she’s left.”
He frowned. “Left?”
He wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.
At Pat’s nod, he continued.
“Left to go where?”
“Home.
“Why?”
She sighed, as confused as he was.
“I’m not sure… We didn’t talk much.
She was already packed and ready to go when John and I came down.
She said goodbye, that she’d call soon and not much else.”
Well—that’s more than I
got! Gil didn’t know
if it was anger, or disappointment, or fear or just plain hurt that she
could, after last night, simply pick up and leave without so much as a
word to him, that twisted
his gut with pain. As if
sensing his distress, Pat put her hand on his clenched fist.
“I’m sorry, Gil,” she said.
“Give her time. She’s
had a lot to deal with in the past year.”
He knew she wasn’t only referring to the accident.
Sara had already told him in
He’d been such an idiot for such a long time, he didn’t
deserve better treatment from her—he knew that.
But how could last night have meant so little to her that she
could leave without warning or explanation?
“She did ask me to give you this.”
Pat broke into his thoughts and he looked up to see the plain
white envelope she held in her hand.
So she hadn’t left without a word to him.
Still he felt a strange sense of foreboding as he took the
envelope, almost reluctantly, from her.
He examined it—his name appeared to have been hastily scratched
on the front and it was sealed.
“Thanks, Pat. I’ll,
uh…read it later.
Pat nodded and threw him a sympathetic glance, understanding his
need for privacy. SARA’S
LINGERING SCENT greeted him when he returned to his room.
Still reeling from her departure, he glanced at the rumpled
sheets and forced the memories from last night from his mind.
How could she leave like that?
He’d seen much in her expressive eyes, and although she
hadn’t said so, he’d dared hope that she still cared about him.
How could she respond to him the way she had and not feel
something? And if she did
feel something, how could she leave the way she had this morning?
He looked at
the envelope. It would
undoubtedly have the answers to those questions, but he was afraid to
open it. As long as he
didn’t open the letter, he could hold on to some hope; but his gut
told him the letter wouldn’t contain the answers he wanted.
Her unexpected departure had pretty much made that clear.
All of a sudden, the room suffocated him.
He had to get out. The
letter still clenched in his hand, he opened the patio door and stepped
outside. But he couldn’t
escape her, even there. Their
glasses of cognac sat side by side on the low table, where he’d put
them just before… Damn!
His hands trembling, he slid a thumb under the flap, ripped open
the envelope and withdrew the single sheet of paper.
A muscle jumped in his cheek as he carefully unfolded the letter
and began to read. ‘Gris,’ It was nice seeing you again…
Nice? As if they’d
been no more than mere acquaintances.
Gil gave his head a quick, disbelieving shake, and continued to
read. …I don’t know why you came here, but I’m not sorry you did.
I suspect that I’ve forgotten something important that would
explain why you’ve suddenly re-appeared in my life.
That’s what I wanted to talk to you about last night before
I… well, you know what happened. But even without the memories—if there are some—it’s clear that
I’m at a cross-road and I need to decide which path is best for me.
I suppose I don’t have to tell you that I once cared very
deeply for you—that’s why the time we spent together yesterday was
so special…a gift really…something tangible to add to my memories of
you. So, even if it took me a step back in my healing process, I want to thank
you for that gift. Now it’s time I go back to reality before I lose myself again in some
wild, impossible dream. I’ve
wasted enough time dreaming; I need to find my life in the real world. Take very good care of yourself, and please say ‘hi’ to the gang back
at the lab for me. I’ve
missed you all very much. Sara.
He clenched his teeth and fell back into the chair he’d used
last night. He’d been
afraid to read this with good reason.
He’d known it wouldn’t be good; still he hadn’t fully
prepared himself for how bad it would be.
This letter talked about the past, the present and the future,
but he only figured in the past. Sara
was telling him she was moving on. She’d
told him in
And how the hell was he supposed to go on without her now?
If he hadn’t taken that first step a month ago he might have
gotten over her—eventually. But
it was different now. He’d
opened his heart and let her penetrate it even deeper than she already
had. The very thought of
never touching her or making love with her again was almost too painful
to bear.
It was little consolation that he had no one to blame but
himself. She’d opened that
door for him so often in the past and he’d let his stupid fears smack
it shut in her face. He’d
hurt her badly. He knew
that. Catherine had been
right. There had to be some
justice in that he was finally getting what he deserved.
Except that it was ripping him apart.
He had to get out of there.
He pulled his suitcase from the closet and started filling it
haphazardly. Normally an
orderly person, it was the last thing on Gil’s mind this morning.
There was an underlying violence in his movements, a strength and
anger fueling him on until he’d thrown the last piece of clothing in
his bag, and all that was left in the drawer was a small jeweler’s
box.
In his anguish, he’d forgotten about the ring.
He picked up the box his throat tightening, and opened it to
reveal the large square diamond set in a wide platinum band.
It wasn’t one of those dainty engagement rings; this one he’d
been sure Sara would like and he’d looked forward to slipping it on
her finger. Well, so much
for that. He closed the lid
with a resounding snap, and flung it in his suitcase with the rest of
his things. BEING
BACK AT the lab was the best thing for Gil.
He could immerse himself in his work and forget that he’d had
his insides ripped apart in the last twenty-four hours.
He’d left the
He’d driven to the airport, dropped off the car, and waited for
the next available flight. He’d
then taken a cab home, unpacked, read Sara’s letter one last time to
immunize himself to its content, and left for the office.
None of his team was there yet—it was still early in the
evening—and he welcomed the time to himself.
He closed his office door, something he’d never done, and sat
back in his chair wondering how he was going to field the many questions
about Sara he knew would be coming.
He practiced a standard response in his mind and even managed to
think her name without emotion.
It was going to be a long night.
Much later, Gil entered the break room.
They were all there, and they reacted predictably to his
unexpected appearance. They
all knew what had happened to Sara, and that he’d gone to see her was
no secret either. He just
hoped they didn’t know anything more.
He focused on Catherine who was perhaps more surprised to see him
than anyone else. Her
expression confirmed that she’d kept the true nature of his
relationship with Sara to herself. She
didn’t say anything, but Nick and Greg were full of questions.
“Gil, did you see Sara? How
is she?” That was Nick.
“Is it true she lost her memory?”
That was Greg. “I’m
sure you know that brain injured people can look and act normally, while
the injury continues to slowly progress.
It can be due to prolonged bleeding into the brain, or the injury
can set off a self-destructive process where the neurons continue to die
for many weeks or even months.” Gil
glared at him over the coffee pot. “It’s
called apoptosis or programmed cell death.”
Greg cleared his throat. “Uh,
how’s Sara?”
“She’s suffered some memory loss, but it’s temporary,” he
said, putting down the coffee pot. “She’s
going to be okay, and it looks like she hasn’t forgotten any of you
since she specifically asked me to say ‘hi’ to you guys and told me
that she’s missed all of you.”
The mood around the table was somber.
He met Catherine’s gaze and almost felt uncomfortable under her
scrutiny. Warrick just
looked morose and said, “That’s tough man.
Poor Sara.”
Catherine never uttered a word.
“So, Cath,” he said, “Care to update me on what’s going
on?”
“Nothing new. We’re
still working the same cases we were working on a couple of days ago.”
He nodded absently. “Good.”
His gaze took in each one of them as he said,
“Carry on then, I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.”
And he left the room.
The rest of the night was uneventful.
He checked his email, answered some memos, returned some calls,
signed some documents and it was four in the morning before he knew it.
Work was the best cure for most things, he mused.
Here he could lose himself, forget his sorry existence.
He’d even managed not to think of Sara all night—mind over
matter; well…to be honest, he’d somewhat succeeded not to think of
Sara most of the night. She’d
popped into his mind every thirty seconds or so, but each time he’d
been able to push her from his mind and concentrate on what he was
doing. It was a beginning.
Problem was he didn’t really want to push her memory from his
mind. He could almost see
her standing at his doorway asking for something, or sharing her
feelings about a case. Why
hadn’t he reciprocated when it would have mattered to her?
God knows he’d loved her, even then.
He remembered a street person, a woman, a couple of years ago,
who’d told him that you never knew what you needed until you found it.
Well, he mused, he hadn’t known what he needed until he’d
lost it.
And when that had happened, all the reasons he’d given himself
for staying away from her had sounded stupid to his ears.
He’d justified it in so many ways …his age, the fact that he
was going deaf, or that he was her supervisor.
But they’d all been excuses to mask the real reason he’d
ignored her attentions—he was afraid she’d end up hurting him.
Well she had hurt him! He
felt empty and ached with missing her and, okay, it sucked, but he was
still standing, and no amount of pain would ever make him regret the two
wonderful nights he’d spent with her.
If this was the price he had to pay for knowing Sara intimately,
well...some things were worth the cost.
Near the end of shift, Catherine came into his office looking for
answers. She’d given him
the night, had gone about her work without interruption.
It was over, but he didn’t mind.
If he couldn’t talk to Catherine, who could he talk to?
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” she delivered
bluntly, taking residence in the guest chair across his desk.
“Why are you back so soon?”
He couldn’t help teasing her a little.
“Ahh…you didn’t get to play supervisor long enough.”
Her lips twitched then turned into a grin.
“You might not have realized this, Gil, but I do the same thing
regardless if I’m supervisor or not.
So you being away doesn’t really have an impact on me.”
“Really! Next time
I’ll have to stay away longer and see if you still feel that way when
I get back.” Catherine had
always wanted his position, but she really didn’t know the half he had
to deal with in addition to working cases and processing evidence with
the rest of them. One day
wasn’t sufficient to give her a taste of what the job was really
about.
“You’re on. But
that’s not what I want to discuss.
Why are you back so soon?”
He leaned back into his chair and drew a deep breath.
For the first time in his life he realized that he wanted to
confide in someone, but when he opened his mouth the words didn’t come
out. He was tired and fed up
really. And bless her heart,
Catherine understood.
“Why don’t we take off? I’ll
let you buy me breakfast,” she smiled.
He knew what ‘buying her breakfast’ meant.
It meant his house, he cooks and she has a couple of screwdrivers
before her meal. It actually
sounded good.
“Tell the kids we’re off,” he said referring to the rest of
the team. Sara was the only
one who’d ever objected to being called a kid.
Well, the only one who’d ever said anything about it.
Maybe Nick, Warrick and Elaine, the new girl who’d replaced
Sara, would like a little more respect too.
Except for Elaine, they were CSI 3s for God’s sake.
He decided then and there that he wouldn’t refer to them as
‘the kids’ anymore. FORTY
MINUTES LATER he was scrambling eggs, the Canadian back-bacon was
cooking slowly on the stove and Catherine was sipping on a screwdriver.
He’d been tempted to have a drink too but had opted for coffee
instead. He added a sprinkle
of chopped fresh chives to the egg mixture and a teaspoon of
“So,” Catherine said after a while, “are you going to tell
me what happened with Sara?”
He wanted to tell her. But
confiding in her or anyone else was so foreign an idea that he didn’t
know how to begin. But
Catherine would. He shrugged
and didn’t say anything, she could take the lead.
“I take it your reception was not what you’d hoped it would
be?”
Gil shook his head. “There
was nothing wrong with the reception.
It’s what happened later…”
His voice trailed off.
Catherine swirled the liquid in her glass, her ice cubes clanking
together. Her eyes finally
settled on the envelope and the jeweler’s box on the counter.
Gil had wondered how long it would take her to notice them.
He’d left them there earlier not expecting anyone to drop in,
but when Catherine had, he hadn’t attempted to put them away…not
that he’d had an opportunity to do so anyway.
She picked up the small box.
Gil had always been a little put off by her boldness, but not
surprised. She never asked
for permission, only considered it her right to do whatever, however she
pleased. That was Catherine,
and if you didn’t like that, the best thing to do was stay away.
She hadn’t had an easy life, but she’d been determined to
make something of herself and be taken seriously.
Gil admired that she’d accomplished that.
A lesser woman would not have been able to make the transition
from stripper to the male-dominated field of law enforcement, but she
had, and she now commanded as much respect as any CSI, male or female.
He stopped what he was doing as she opened the small box, and
gasped at what she found inside. “This
is a serious ring, Gil.”
“Yeah, well…it turned out to be a mistake.”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
He swallowed hard and slowly started telling her the whole
story—minus the highly personal details which he kept to himself.
Catherine listened intently, shaking her head at him sometimes,
sadness filling her eyes at others, and then occasionally she’d smile
or frown, a couple of emotional responses Gil actually understood.
And then he said something he’d never thought he’d share with
anyone else but Sara. “I
love her, Catherine.”
“Then don’t give up,” she said.
“Go to her. Make
your feelings and your intentions clear and until you do that and she
looks you in the eye and says no, don’t give up.”
“You’re right.” He
slapped the kitchen towel on the counter, turned off the stove and
forgot all about the eggs. Re-energized
by his decision—despite the fact he’d been up almost twenty-four
hours—he took the ring from her and shoving the box in his pocket,
headed for his bedroom to pack once again.
“Do me a favor Cath, call my travel agent and get me on the
next flight to
“Oh…okay,” she said. Then,
“Hey, you’ve got your travel agent on speed dial?
You really have to get more friends Gil.”
He stopped and smiled at her from the hallway.
She looked up. “Out
of curiosity, who’s on one and two?”
“You’re number two, Catherine.”
She didn’t have to ask who number one was.
He had almost finished packing when he heard the doorbell.
He wondered who’d be at his door this early in the morning but
ignored it. Catherine would
get it. He zipped the
overnight bag, grabbed a light jacket from his closet and left the room.
He looked for Catherine as he came down the hallway but
couldn’t see her in the kitchen or the living room.
“Catherine,” he called out, but she didn’t answer.
And then as he came around the corner he spotted her near the
door with—
“Sara!” he said on a sharp intake of breath.
“Hey.” Her voice
broke, and his throat tightened at the sight of her.
She looked pale and tired, and her eyes brimmed with tears…and
she wore his pullover. He
felt a quickening in his heart and soul.
He watched her as he slowly lowered his bag to the floor, as if
he was caught in her gaze and there was no way he could look away.
Then, her eyes darted to Catherine and back to him reminding him
that Cath was still there. He
glanced at his friend briefly noting the small smile that lit her face
as she glanced at them in turn.
“I was, uh…just going,” she said, and picking up her purse,
exited in a hurry, leaving behind a deafening silence and tension so
thick you could cut it with a knife.
Gil took a small step toward Sara, and she matched it.
“How…”
“I drove.”
Another small step.
“You drove all night?”
“I…uh, needed to see you.”
Another small step.
“Have you found your life, Sara?”
She nodded and a lone tear finally spilled from her tormented
eyes. “It was tucked away
in this beautiful orchid.”
A last step closed the distance between them.
“I love you,” he said simply.
“I know that now. I
love you too…I never stopped loving you.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and he pulled her in his
arms, desperate to hold her again. They
stayed that way for a long time, until joy pushed out the dull ache that
had settled in his heart in the last twenty-four hours.
Then, he pulled back slightly, and reached into his right pocket
for the small box. There was
one more thing he needed to do.
When she noticed the box, Sara dropped her arms and stepped back
a little. She turned
perplexed eyes up at him, beautiful eyes bright with unshed tears again
as he pulled the ring from its velvet bed and, taking her left hand in
his, he asked her to marry him. Epilogue
Gil stood outside the Blue Heron Inn, watching little Kathryn
Patricia Grissom, the love of his life—or rather the second love of
his life, her mother having been the first—play with her favorite doll
on a grassy patch of ground. It
was an unusually cool mid-September day, but the sun shone brightly so
from where they stood protected from the cool gust off the Bay, it
wasn’t all that bad.
It was difficult to believe that five years had passed since Sara
had shown up unexpectedly on his doorstep and promised to marry him.
He’d later learned that when she got home on the day she’d
left him at
It was that orchid that had been the trigger to Sara’s memory,
and without even stopping to pack a toothbrush she’d hopped into her car
and driven to Vegas.
They’d been married soon after that, and Kathryn—named after
the little girl they’d met the night she was conceived, and not after
the dear Ms. Willows, as Catherine still believed—had come along much
earlier than they’d have planned, if they would have eventually
planned to have children. The
decision had been taken out of their hands, but they’d never regretted
it for a minute. They both
doted on their little girl.
“Daddy!” Katie’s high pitch voice caught his attention.
“Can we go to the beach—puhleeze, daddy?”
“It’s a little cold for the beach, sweetheart.”
“I won’t be cold, I promise.”
No, but I will, he thought. She
turned chocolate brown eyes up at him, eyes so much like her mother’s,
said ‘puhleeze’ again, and he couldn’t resist her any more than he
could resist Sara when she looked at him a certain way.
“Okay,” he said on a sigh, “you win, but only for a little
while. It will get cold fast
on the beach.” Engulfing
her small hand in his, and matching her small steps, they slowly made
their way to the beach.
“Don’t go too close to the water,” he warned Katie a few
minutes later. Gil lay back
on the sand, watching his daughter run back and forth with her little
doll clutched tightly in the crook of her elbow.
She’d stop and crouch down every once in a while to play with a
bug and explain all she knew about the particular bug to her doll.
He closed his eyes and listened. Smart
kid, with a memory that amazed him, she was always teaching her doll
what he taught her, and he’d listen to the lessons, as proud as a
father could be.
“Daddy,” she whispered now and he opened his eyes to find her
kneeling next to him in the sand. “Tell
me about mommy again.” This
was his clue that his little Katie was tired.
She always wanted him to tell her that story when he put her to
bed, and she’d fall asleep with a smile on her face.
“Again?” he teased her. “You
know this story better than I do. How
about you tell it to me?”
“Noooo, daddy,” she giggled.
“I wasn’t there yet, remember?”
“You’re right—Give me a kiss.”
He knew she’d be sleeping soon.
She gave him a peck on the mouth and settled in the crook of his
arm. He pulled one side of
his jacket open and covered her small body with it as much as he could
to keep her warm. Then he
started telling, for perhaps the hundredth time, the story of when
he’d met her mother, and how beautiful he’d thought she was, as
beautiful as Katie—she always wanted to hear that, and how he had
fallen in love with her, and she’d made him run after her… Katie
normally giggled somewhere around this part, so when she didn’t, he
looked down and found his daughter fast asleep.
He smiled and closed his eyes.
Sleep sounded good to him too.
“There you are.” Gil
looked up a few minutes later, and smiled at his wife.
“Hey, Dr. Grissom, how did the meeting go?” he said a little
above a whisper. Sara fell
to her knees beside him and casting a tender glance at her sleeping
daughter, dropped her voice measurably.
“Very well, actually. I
think I’m beginning to get through to them.”
“Good.” As it
turned out, Sara had been serious about quitting her job as a CSI. It’s a decision she’d made after they’d met in
San Francisco . Knowing they couldn’t continue working together if they were a
couple, she’d decided it was as good a time as any to pursue her
education, something she’d always wanted to do. As it turned out, UNLV had an excellent program in her field of
interest, Environmental Health Physics, so she’d enrolled immediately.
She’d just received her PhD, held a fabulous job in Las Vegas,
and had left him and Katie here to attend a meeting in San Francisco
today.
“Has she been asleep long?”
“No, about ten minutes, no more.
She wanted me to tell her the story about mommy again.”
She smiled. “Ahh…the
story about how much you loved me and how I made you fly all over the
place to catch me? Too bad I
missed it; I think I would have liked to hear that story again.”
Sara stretched out next to him and settled herself in the crook
of his other arm.
“Remind me to tell you later.”
He kissed her forehead and closed his eyes.
“You can count on it.”
THE END |
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