Georghe opened the heavy, decorative oak door to Cezar Elescu’s inner sanctum, watching as Daciana and Andre Garbeaux were escorted in by two similarly dressed men. Their dark Italian suits covering black dress shirts and accentuated with black ties almost seemed like a corporate uniform.
Pointing to Cezar behind his ornate mahogany desk, the two escorts made certain the two new arrivals knew where they were going. Daciana had the forethought and intuition enough to look sheepish as she and Garbeaux were told to take a seat, their serious looking companions taking up positions directly behind their high backed leather chairs.
Daciana had the urge to speak but held her tongue. She had fallen out of favor with her cousin before and knew it was best to remain silent for the moment. Garbeaux, on the other hand, was new to the Elescu organization. Crossing his legs in a nonchalant manner, he attempted to portray a cool that he didn’t feel.
“Mr. Garbeaux,” Cezar began affably, even if there was a thread of danger in his tone, “Do you recall when we first met?”
Garbeaux relaxed slightly. “Sure, Bogotá, ’98,” he supplied as he laced his long slender fingers together across his abdomen.
He had finished up some black bag job in Nicaragua, an assassination, when he had met up with the Romanian-American. At first it had seemed coincidental but since then Garbeaux had come to learn there was nothing coincidental involving Cezar Elescu or his rarely seen partner, Cassiopeia.
“Yes, that is right,” Cezar mused, “You had to given some pesky general a lead tipped inoculation as I recall and decided to enjoy the sites of Columbia before returning to…Biloxi, is it?”
Andre Garbeaux looked to Daciana, who kept her eyes glued to the top of Cezar’s desk. Cezar never forgot anything. The man had a bottomless pit for a memory, colleting, hoarding, gathering, remembering anything and everything that may be useful. The fact that he questioned Garbeaux’s hometown flipped the caution switch in Garbeaux more than the escorts had.
“Yea, Biloxi,” he answered his eyes sliding up to look at the stony look of Cezar’s man, Georghe.
“Mmm,” Cezar looked down as he nodded his head. “I have never had the pleasure of seeing Mississippi but I understand my cousin has,” Cezar stared directly at the man in front of him, “on her way to Miami,” he finished knowingly.
Full understanding crossed Garbeaux’s face a half a second before he felt the needle stab into his neck and heavy hands hold him down in the chair. The man’s dark lashes fluttered, his eyes rolled back as he slumped down in the chair.
With a flick of his wrist Cezar sent the man to his doom. The two escorts that had brought him in now took him out. No body, no trace of Andre Garbeaux would ever be found. Like a fart in the wind, he would simply be gone.
“Cezar,” Daciana half pled at seeing her companion being carried from the room.
“Oprire!” he commanded holding up his hand, telling her to cease her begging. “I ask for only one thing from my family, Daciana. What is that?”
Daciana looked to Georghe, his face still a mask of controlled danger. “Loyalty,” she answered in a small voice.
“THAT’S RIGHT!” Cezar screamed his fist crashing on the desk in front of him as he launched out of his chair.
“WAIT, COUSIN!” Daciana threw up both her small hands, “Let me explain.”
Cezar rounded his desk, his face livid as he looked at the girl. His eyes like black fire as he tried to rein in his emotions.
“I think explanations are sometimes overrated.”
Daciana turned in her seat at the familiar voice of Cassiopeia. “Cassi,” she whispered her fear increasing.
She watched as the striking woman gracefully came up to Cezar, pressing her body to the man’s side, his arm snaking around her hip. With Cassiopeia present, Daciana knew her chances of getting out of the meeting unscathed had been completely negated. Cezar had a small soft spot for his female relatives, considering them his responsibility. Daciana had used this against him before to get out of trouble but with Cassiopeia…
“…Don’t you, Lyubimy?” the woman purred to her lover.
Daciana always hated when Cassiopeia fell into one of her native tongues. Unlike Cezar, Daciana had never learned Russian or Greek or any of the other languages that helped in his business dealings. It had always been a sore spot with Daciana, but not enough for her to change it. Now as the two of them conversed quietly in Russian, Daciana cursed her laziness.
“Georghe, make sure that Daciana is packed and ready for her trip,” Cezar instructed his man. Turning to Daciana, “Roman will drive you to the airport,” he told her, his voice dripping with barely concealed anger, “You would do yourself a large disservice if you go against me Daciana, is that clear?”
Daciana’s eyes grew wide, his meaning clear as she nodded. “Where am I going?”
Cassiopeia smiled at the younger woman. “Why, to meet your intended, Little Bird,” she said as if Daciana had asked the silliest of questions.
Daciana looked between the woman at Cezar’s side and her cousin. Cezar had told her once he would marry her off to a strong man able to resist her beauty, one that would show her the benefits of hard work. Daciana had teased him that he sounded like he was betrothing her to a goat farmer at which Cezar had replied, “Exactly.”
Georghe took hold of her arm and led her from the room. A backwards glance saw Cassiopeia consoling her cousin. The young woman finally realized that she was being banished and no amount of pleading on her part would help her cause.
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No one could ever recall Greg Sanders losing his temper but he was showing it to them in full force as he was being physically restrained by Brass and Nick. Nick had half a mind to let the younger man lose but had enough control to know it would probably mean Greg’s job.
“WHY DON’T YOU GET IN THERE AND DO YOUR JOB THEN!” Greg screamed at the daytime CSI supervisor.
Nick had been in the process of dropping Greg off at his apartment when they heard the call come over radio and had quickly turned around, sirens and lights flashing. They had pulled into Sara’s apartment complex just minutes before the day shift CSIs that were covering for them. Immediately the dayshift supervisor had gotten territorial over the scene and had Greg and Nick removed. It had almost broken down into a fist fight when Brass and Sofia arrived on the scene.
“Greg, Greg,” Brass shook the younger man to get hi attention, “this isn’t going to help us. I need you to get it together, okay.”
Seeing the serious look on the police captain’s face, Greg nodded, “Okay.”
“Tell me what you know,” Brass said. He had already sent Sofia to scour the complex for any possible eye witnesses. He wanted to get moving as quickly as possible since he feared they were dealing with Markus and knew how fast the rodent could scurry underground.
“Her apartment door was open,” Greg began, “the next door neighbor said that he noticed it called in, went into check and saw the mess in the kitchen and decided to call 9-1-1.”
“Yea, everything looks the same from when we brought her home, except the mess in the kitchen,” Nick added.
Brass looked towards the apartment building. He had a feeling this was a simple snatch and grab and very little would be found that would help them find Sara quickly.
“Alright, listen,” Brass began, “You two stay with Sofia. If these bozos come up with anything let me know.”
“Jim, when Grissom hears about this…” Nick knew that this might be the shove that pushed Grissom into no return territory.
Brass could only nod. If anything happened to Sara, there would be nothing left to save of Gil Grissom. “Keep me informed,” he told them as he headed to his car.
The two men nodded before turning to search out Sofia and keep a watch on the investigation.
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Sara could feel the motion of the truck before her fuzzy head and eyes could take in her surroundings. She wasn’t blindfolded but both her wrists and ankles had been bound with an overabundance of gray duct tape.
Arching her back to look towards the cab of the truck, all Sara was able to see was the tops of two heads and neither one of them were black. Either her abductor had more than the female accomplice or she had been handed over to someone else. Neither possibility helped calm the nausea in her stomach or the sickening fear filling her chest.
From the occasional bright light that would filter through the windows, Sara had to assume they were in the city but where and to what end she did not yet know. And she really wasn’t willing to sit idle and find out.
Looking around the rear of the Explorer, Sara tried to see if there was anything that would help her loosen or break her bonds. Aside from a cardboard box and a black duffle bag the back end of the truck was spotless.
Sara moved her hips and shoulders slowly as she tried to snake her way over to the box and duffle bag, hoping to find something to help her get lose from her bindings. Pausing to make sure her progress across the rear of the vehicle had not been detected before continuing, Sara strained her neck and upper body to try and get a glimpse into the box.
In the darkened recesses of the truck Sara tried desperately to make out was in the box. She could only make out general shapes until they passed a semi-truck, its roof lights shining in through the back, side window and temporarily illuminated the box. What Sara saw only made her anxiety increase.
Inside the box was detcord, blasting caps, a few sticks of dynamite and what might have been a brick of C-4. Sara reached into the box with her bound hands, carefully feeling around for anything of use. She was about to give up when she came across the familiar feel of a small screwdriver.
Pulling the screwdriver out of the box, Sara lay back down. She could use it as a possible weapon, it wasn’t very large but could definitely do some damage, but she didn’t know if she’d be able to free herself with it. Feeling the road terrain change as they made a left hand turn, Sara decided to hide her find for the moment, slipping it between the heels of her hands and wrists. Her hope was the duct tape and her bound hands would hide the screwdrivers presence.
They must have gone off road was the only thing Sara could think of as the truck rocked and bounced from side to side. She could no longer hear the ambient sounds of other cars or trucks and the night sky seemed especially brilliant. We must be out of the city, Sara thought as the truck slowed to halt.
The two men opened their doors to exit the truck just as one of them got a cell phone call. Sara strained to hear what was being said, in the hopes that it would somehow help her but the man’s voice was muffled once the door was shut. She seemed to lay in the darkness, alone for what seemed to be an eternity.
Was this the plan? Sara wondered, abandoned in a truck in the sticks? It wouldn’t be the most sophisticated plan but depending on where the truck was abandoned it could be effective.
A man’s voice, cursing in the dark, warned Sara her kidnappers had returned. Feigning unconsciousness, Sara laid her head back and tried to remain calm. At the first opportunity she would either get herself lose or use the purloined screwdriver against her attackers. Either way, she wasn’t going down without a fight.
Donny turned the latch that opened the back window before dropping the gate. Grabbing the woman by her bound ankles, Donny pulled her roughly from the truck. Moaning at the rough treatment he stooped down and hoisted her over one shoulder. He would take her down to the old wood shop before coming back for the other stuff
“Your boyfriend better get here quick,” Donny spoke to himself, not knowing Sara could hear him, “otherwise there won’t be much left of ya for him to try and save.”
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Catherine had tried to get Grissom to lie down and get some sleep. He was emotionally drained and mentally fragile and she just wanted him to rest. She figured if he was well rested, he might think clearer in the morning and realize he needed more than old friend to cry on, he needed professional help.
He had been willing to lie down but chose the chaise on the deck. He had an overwhelming desire to see the sunrise in the morning and didn’t trust Catherine to wake him up. She would insist he needed more sleep and he would miss it.
Warrick had let Catherine know he would stay with Grissom and she was about to head out the front door when Brass showed up. His face was a mask of worry and fear and Catherine felt the urge to scream and vomit at the same time as dread surged within her.
“What now,” she groaned quietly hoping Grissom had fallen asleep.
“Sara’s missing,” Brass blurted out. There was no time for finesse.
“WHAT!” Catherine exclaimed in a hushed voice.
Warrick noticed Catherine talking animatedly with Brass through the missing patio door at the same time he cursed the inventor of the cell phone.
Grissom reached into the front pocket of his jeans hoping that it was Sara. He was desperate to talk to her, to make sure she was taking care of herself and not worrying her ass off about him.
“Grissom,” he answered quickly.
Warrick decided to see what was up with Catherine and Brass and leave Grissom to his call.
“Mr. Grissom it is in your best interest if you listen to me and do not hang up,” the caller said.
Grissom sat up; pushing the blankets Catherine had covered him with from his legs.
“Who is this?” He asked.
“Time is wasting. If you want to see Sara alive again listen well.”
“Sara!” Grissom came to his feet. “Where’s Sara?”
“I know it is unavoidable but I must inform you I have a horrible allergy to law enforcement, so if you must bring them, leave them at the door.”
“Where?”
“The Black Cherry Club in twenty minutes. Don’t be late because I won’t wait.”
Catherine was the first to see Grissom coming into the house and she feared what would happen next.
“Gil-“
“Where’s Sara?” Grissom interrupted looking intently at Brass.
Brass looked confusingly between Catherine and Warrick, not sure if Grissom was simply asking about Sara or if he knew she was missing. If he did, he was mystified as to how he did.
“We don’t know, yet,” Brass tried to put as much emphasis on the “yet” as he could.
Grissom turned on his heel and marched through the kitchen out the side door that led to the carport. Catherine and the two men quickly followed, exiting the door they saw Grissom slipping the key into his motorcycle before grabbing up his helmet.
“Where the hell are you going,” Brass demanded. He didn’t have it in him to fight two fronts.
“I have to get to the Black Cherry Club in twenty minutes,” Grissom began to explain, slipping on the helmet and flipping up the visor, “Meet me there but do not enter the club, alright?”
A round of confused looks had all eyes turning back to Grissom. Straddling the motorcycle he turned the key, making ready to leave.
“Trust me,” he begged feeling the weight of time ticking away. With a roll of his wrist and a release of the clutch he sped down the driveway and out on to the streets of Las Vegas.
Brass wasted no time, leading the way to his Charger parked on the street.
“We’ll follow you,” Catherine called as she jumped into the passenger side of the Denali she and Warrick arrived in.