Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or any of its characters. I do, however, own my original characters.

Author's note: This takes place after Hands of Fate as if Father's Day never happened. I warned you it never did!

Chapter 1

The cool ocean breeze ruffled through Alex Hart's hair, now jet-black. It gently brushed her cheek and past the scar that had all but disappeared. It was an ever-present reminder of the ordeal she had gone through. She stared out at the vast expanse that was the Atlantic and took in a deep breath of the salty air.

She always loved the ocean. It was kind of ironic, though, as she had never learned to swim. There was just something about that great abyss that frightened her. Still, as a teenager, whenever she wanted to get away, she would drive the two hours to the coast. She especially loved times like this, when the season was changing and there was almost no one there. It was great for thinking and today her thoughts were hundreds of miles away in Las Vegas.

Las Vegas was a city that held many good times for her. She had met her father, Gil Grissom, there. In her pursuit of her father she had met Greg Sanders, with whom she now had a wonderful relationship. She also had many friends, a nice new apartment, and, as of next week, a new job.

The new job and apartment were products of the many bad things that Las Vegas held. The cast on her leg was gone, but the one still on her arm was a reminder: she had been kidnapped and almost lost her life there. After she had returned to her position at the Bureau, she had tried to make it work. But after a month, she just couldn't stand the way every one looked at her so she quit.

She laughed to herself as she remembered telling Gil about her change in occupation. It was during one of their dinners. She didn't know how to bring it up, so she just spit it out.

"I quit the Bureau," she told him.

His fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "Quit the Bureau?" He wasn't sure if he had heard her correctly.

"I just couldn't take it anymore," she said. "I needed something else. Something without a gun." She laughed a little.

"Do you have another job?" he questioned, not sure what to say about her quitting.

She nodded. "Catherine got me a job as a blackjack dealer."

Gil's jaw dropped. "What?" He was incredulous.

Alex let him stew for a moment and then she burst out laughing. "The look on your face is priceless!"

Gil softened his expression, realizing she was joking. "You're not a blackjack dealer?

"Please!" she replied. "You think they'd let me deal with this cast?" She paused again. Then she added, "I got a job as a CPA."

"Oh, well, that's good," Gil added, trying not to act flustered.

She laughed out loud this time and then looked around. Nope, no one but her on the beach. No one could hear her laughter.

The apartment had also been a struggle. She had to beg her landlord to let her out of her lease. After she had been almost killed—again—she just couldn't return to her old apartment. She spent the three weeks she was with Catherine trying to find a new place. Finally she found one across town.

Between the change in jobs, she had decided to take a week and return to Virginia. She hadn't been back since she moved to Vegas almost a year ago. She had wanted time alone. But now that she had spent almost a week alone, she wished Greg were here.

Back in Las Vegas, Greg was thinking the same thing: he wished he were in Virginia. But instead, he was in a dirty motel room collecting evidence along with Catherine Willows.

Greg was searching around the room looking for blood, footprints, bodily fluids, fibers, anything that would shed some light on the body in the bathtub. Of course, in a room like this, there was sure to be plenty of each. Most of which would probably be useless.

In the bathroom, Catherine was taking pictures, waiting on David Phillips to clear the body. It appeared to be a woman, her black hair in a bun. The bathtub was full to the woman's shoulders of water mixed with what appeared to be her blood. One arm hung over the edge, the other was somewhere beneath the murky water.

"Time of death?" Catherine asked, as David moved back from the body.

He furrowed his brow. "It's hard to tell. The body being almost totally immersed in water definitely effects body temperature. And not knowing whether the water was hot or cold to begin with makes it more difficult. But it appears as if rigor mortis has already subsided and decomp has barely started. I'd say she died 36 to 48 hours ago."

"Any apparent cause?" Catherine questioned.

"My guess," David replied. "From the amount of blood in the tub is exsanguination."

Catherine nodded. She had guessed the same thing. There was a lot of blood in that bathtub, but oddly, nowhere else. It appeared as though not a drop had spilled anywhere outside of the bathtub.

"Can we move her now?" Catherine asked him.

He nodded. "I'm not going to be able to tell anything else until we get her back to the morgue."

Catherine left the bathroom to get the pump and filter from the car. The water needed to be filter before it was drained in case any fibers, hairs or other evidence was in the water. Before she started, she took a sample of the blood and water mix.

As the water was drained, it revealed its mystery. The body was barely bruised. There only appear a few marks on the arms and a few on the torso. Catherine took pictures as more became visible. She stopped for a moment when she saw it.

It was a cut about a foot long, just below the woman's sternum. She could tell it was fresh and probably the cause for all the blood loss. It had been sewn, for lack of a better term, with 4 large stitches. The stitches were obviously not meant to heal the wound, but probably to get the woman's insides from getting out.

"Maybe our killer likes to play with needles as well as knives," Catherine mused out loud to herself.

In the motel office, Jim Brass was questioning the motel manager.

"Who rented the room last night?" Brass impatiently asked for the second time.

The manager, an overweight man of about 50, tossed his logbook in front of Brass. "That's what I've been trying to tell you! No one rented that room last night or for any night of the previous two weeks."

Brass didn't look pleased with the answer. He was also having a hard time believing it.

The manager, being a proprietor of human nature, didn't appreciate Brass's suspicion. "Listen, this ain't exactly the Ritz. We don't attract a lot of tourists. We're half full on our best nights. Some rooms go for months with rentin' and we don't waste housekeeping on empty rooms."

"Then how was the body found?" Brass was annoyed.

"The rooms do get checked once a week to make sure we don't got any freeloaders and tonight was the night to check the rooms," the manager answered.

"So the body could have been put in there anytime in the last week?" Brass didn't like asking the question.

"Yeah," the manager replied. "And I didn't see nuthin' suspicious either. But then again, the room ain't exactly in my line of sight. Now can I get back to work?"

Brass nodded as he walked out the door. He had had enough of the manager's indifference to the life that was lost.

He walked along the front of the motel and around the corner to the back where the room was located. He hoped Greg and Catherine had found something more useful.

As he entered the room, he saw Greg. "Find anything?"

Greg nodded. "I've found lots of stuff, just don't know if any of it's useful. I'll have to get it back to the lab."

Brass scowled. This was not what he wanted to hear. He walked past Greg and into the doorway of the bathroom. He could tell by the look on Catherine's face she wasn't having much luck either.

"Get anything out of the manager?" she asked him.

He shook his head.

"Nothing too useful here either," Catherine informed him. "It's so weird. There's a body in the bathtub, but no clothes, ID, or personal belongings. Hell, there aren't even any towels."

"Of all the places to die," Brass muttered as he walked out the door.

Sometime later after the sun rose, Alex was just getting off of the airplane. She had taken an early morning flight, trying to get in not too long after Greg got off work. She checked her phone as she walked down the jet way—no messages.

As much as she loved Virginia, she was happy to be back in Vegas. This city she hadn't been in for quite a year had become her home. She was also glad she still had a few days before she had to start her new job.

As she walked out of the gate area, she wondered if Greg would be able to pick her out of the crowd. He didn't know about her new hair color. But, she figured the black cast on her arm was a dead give away.

She looked around, trying to find him, but he was nowhere to be found. She checked her phone again, thinking it might've needed time for the messages to show. Still nothing.

She thought maybe his shift ran late. However, he'd been pretty good about letting her know in the past. So she decided to call him.

Greg was in the lab, busily combing through the evidence he had collected from the motel room when his phone rang. He swore at himself under his breath when he saw the number.

"I am so sorry," he answered the phone.

"It's ok if you're running late," she replied. "I can wait."

"I'm not late, I forgot!" he told her.

"Oh," was her disappointed reply.

"I'm in the middle of processing evidence," he tried to explain.

Alex, who had learned from Gil that work for a CSI always came first, tried to be less disappointed. "It's ok," she attempted to be convincing. "Is Nick working?" She didn't even ask about Gil. She knew he was working.

Greg hesitated. He was a little leery of Alex's friendship with Nick. It's not necessarily that he was worried, however he couldn't help but feel a little jealous. He really didn't like to say anything about it, though. Nick was the one who saved her life. "No," he finally answered. "It was his day off."

"I'll give him a call," she replied. She knew Greg was jealous, but also knew it was unfounded. Nick was like the brother she never had. She always thought Nick was also too good for her; she liked a guy with a little edge. "You get to work!" she said playfully.

"I'll come by later," he said. "But I don't know how much later."

"Ok," she replied. "But you better come by! I've missed you."

"I've missed you too. I'll see you later," he hung up and got back to work.

Alex flipped through the numbers on her phone until she found Nick's. Then she hit send.

After a few rings, he answered. "Hello?" he sounded half-asleep.

She heard the tiredness in his voice. "Hey, It's Alex. I'm sorry did I wake you?"

"Hey, Alex," he said, trying to sound more awake. "No, it's ok. What's up? Are you back in town?"

She could hear him yawn. "Yeah, that's why I called. I'm at the airport and Greg's stuck at work. So, I was wondering…"

"If I could come pick you up?" Nick finished her sentence.

"Yeah," she sheepishly replied. She hated asking people for favors.

He was beat. He'd only been in bed a couple of hours, but he hated to turn down a request from a friend. "It may be like forty-five to an hour," Nick stated.

"That's ok," she answered. "I can wait. I'll grab a cup of coffee. Call me when you get to the airport and I'll meet you outside."

"Will do," he replied and hung up.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. His legs felt like lead weights. He stretched for a brief moment. Then he tried to wipe the sleep from his eyes. He really didn't want to get up, but for Alex, he'd do anything. Especially when it was something Greg couldn't.