XXXVIII:

 

            The city blocks went by at a painfully slow pace even though Brass was leading their two vehicle convoy significantly faster than the posted speed limit. They were following a lead that Grissom fervently prayed led them to Sara and Beo, safe and sound. Sitting behind the steering wheel of his Denali, Grissom’s only thoughts had been for them, for their safety. If Garrison Brooks eluded them, Grissom would double his focus and triple his resolve to find the evidence that would help capture the serial murderer but at that moment in time Grissom could only think of himself and his loved ones.

            It was with a start, after crossing the canal bridge that Grissom’s gaze fell on a frightened and wide eyed Sara driving a black Dodge Durango. Their eyes held one another for what seemed like forever, the moment hanging as breaths were held and hearts skipped beats before time sped up to warp speed.

            She’s alive! Grissom’s mind screamed. Instinctively Grissom’s hand went to the panel of illuminated switches that would bring the vehicles emergency lights flashing to live. The flashing lights of the Denali instantly caught Brass’ attention and without questioning Grissom’s reasons, Brass followed suit.

            “Gil?” Catherine asked, her voice rising with the speed of the vehicle.

            “Sara’s in that Durango,” he answered her unspoken question his voice coming out breathy as he hit the brakes of the truck and cranked the wheel.

            The Denali slid sideways in the street but its turn radius was too tight and the street to narrow for him to turn the SUV completely around. Throwing the truck in reverse before slapping it back into drive, Grissom, Catherine, and Nick were turned around and giving pursuit.

            Grissom had no idea why Sara was racing the Durango along the near deserted city streets, why she was frightened or where she was heading but he had every intention of catching up to her and finding out. His powers of observation had recorded the pickup following behind her, even as his mind had honed in on the fact that she was alive, following a couple of blocks behind her, Grissom realized she was being pursued.

            “The pickup,” Grissom said, Catherine and Nick realizing what he was saying.

            Catherine was quick to relay the information to Brass and Warrick her hand already reaching for the two way radio. A task that was made slightly more difficult by the rough jarring and bouncing of the truck as they raced to catch up to Sara.

            “JIM…SARA’S IN A BLACK DURANGO HEADING SOUTH DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF US,” Catherine reported, her body swaying in her seat as she watched the pickup behind Sara speed up as if to over take the Durango. “THERE’S A PICK UP-“

            Jim Brass couldn’t see beyond the CSi Denali but he could hear Catherine Willows’ voice go from all-business to excited terror.

            “OH GOD, OH GOD!!!”

            Grissom was certain his heart had stopped the moment that the pickup crashed sideways into Sara’s truck. From their vantage point he couldn’t tell if the pickup had smashed directly into the driver’s door or just behind but what they could all see and watch in absolute terror was the SUV bouncing wildly over the street curb, narrowly missing the concrete guardrail of the canal bridge before, in a moment that hung in the air and caused his mind to go blank in fear, launching out over the racing waters of the rain-swollen culvert.

            “Oh, my god,” Catherine hissed in the seat next to him, her hand flying up to grab the handle above her door to steady herself.

            Grissom’s body went on instinct following the bursting signals of his rapidly processing mind. Completely ignoring the pickup crumpled and smoking at the end of the concrete guardrail, Grissom followed Sara’s truck over the curb.

            “There!” Nick rushed, sliding from the passenger side of the backseat to the driver’s side, his eyes glued to the black SUV bobbing upside down in the rushing waters below.

            Grissom’s eyes rapidly darted back and forth the bobbing truck to the ground in front of him. They were racing along the canal. The muddy wasteland was uneven and littered with debris making the speed he was traveling at that much more dangerous. The Denali lurched and hopped, the traction slipping as mud shot up into the air from the tires..

            “We need to get down stream,” Grissom nearly yelled as he worked to keep control of the truck. “Nick, grab the rope from the back.”

            Nick quickly turned in his seat, half climbing over the rear bench as he lifted the long utility box that house the climbing gear stored there. “Got it!”

            “Give it to Catherine.”

            They had passed by the nearly submerged SUV. A few more yards! Grissom’s mind screamed, his knuckles white as he added a little more speed to the already flying SUV.

            * * * * * *

            The Denali carrying Grissom, Catherine and Nick had blocked most of Brass’ view of the crash that had sent Sara and Beo into the canal but he’d seen enough to have his heart rate ramp up to stratospheric levels. From his vantage point Brass could not seen down into the canal but it was obvious that Grissom, Nick and Catherine were on Sara and Beo and that left Brooks for him.

            The silver Charger came to a screeching stop, the rear end fishtailing minutely. Brass was the first out of the car, throwing open his door and using it as cover his weapon already covering the crashed pickup.

            “Warrick, back!” he hissed nodding his head stiffly in the direction of the rear bumper.

            Warrick didn’t question Brass’ ordered, more metal between him and the psychotic killer sounded damn good.            Tossing his door wide, Warrick slipped out of the car, making sure to keep his head low as he took up a position just behind passenger side rear bumper.

            “Do you see him?” Warrick asked, his weapon drawn and ready.

            The smoke pouring from the engine compartment had turned from gray to black and was now billowing heavily out from under the crumpled hood and fender wells. Brass could smell the distinct stench of burning plastic and motor oil, the possibility of the truck catching fire seemed certain but he wasn’t about to approach the vehicle until Brooks showed himself.

            “GARRISON BROOKS!” Brass yelled, his hawk like gaze taking in everything. “THIS IS THE LVPD. EXIT THE VEHICLE WITH YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!”

            “The pickup’s driver’s side door sprung open, the door bouncing back and forth as it hit the end of its hinges. Brass’ could see the man exiting the truck but didn’t have a clear shot. Brooks was using the cab behind the door as cover, his head darting out to take in Brass before ducking back behind his cover.

            “LAS VEGAS FINEST!” Brooks yelled across the distance, an unseen sneer on his lips.

            The inequity of it all was all Brooks could think. “To be caught by some moronic yokel,” Brooks hissed indignantly, his eyes searching in the opposite direction of Brass.

            Already he could see the cops back up coming, their lights flashing brightly. Brooks ground his teeth, his anger flaring. “HE WAS MINE!” He screamed into the air, the crown of his wet head resting against the metal of the truck as his hands massaged the grip of his pistol. “THEY WERE ALL MINE, FOR ME! THEY LIVED FOR ME…AND DIED FOR ME!”

            Their beauty, their lives given to him…life lived vicariously. If they had all followed the rules…Brooks tried to reason.

 

 

 

 

            * * * * * * *

            Sara’s truck was all but submerged within the churning, racing waters; the rear tires the only portion breaking the surface. The capsized truck and flowing water would not be their only dangers, there would be everything that was being washed downstream to contend with as well. Any manner of debris could be racing under the waters surface, preparing to snag a swimmer and pull them under.

            Grissom brought the Denali to a quick and decisive halt, the front end angled towards the canal and slightly down. The moment the truck came to a stop, three doors burst open, the three occupants launching into instant action.

            Nick ran straight for the rushing river, his black cap flying off his head as he dove in. His arms fighting against the swift current as he tried to swim up river to the mostly immersed truck.

            “TIE THE ROPE OFF TO THE WINCH!” Grissom yelled over his shoulder, running and following Nick into the roiling, muddy waters.

            Catherine didn’t hesitate, her hands quickly disengaging the winch’s lock on the front end of the Denali. Tying the rope off to the winch hook, Catherine grabbed the hook and rope and ran to the waters edge. The rope would be easier to throw than the cabled winch but if she was going to pull three adults and a child free of the canal, Catherine was going to need the help of the motorized winch.

            The water was colder than Nick had expected and difficult to navigate in, the angry, roiling, brown waves often obscuring his line of sight. With arms and legs pumping furiously he made for the exposed portion of the truck bouncing in unison with the water. Nick had no intentions of getting caught and rolled under the vehicle, possibly drowning, so once he was within a few feet of the truck he allowed it to sail by, snatching the rear-end as it did so.

            Sara came sputtering to the surface the moment Nick grabbed hold of the exposed bumper, her arms desperately grasping at the aft portion of the truck just in front of the rear wheel.

            “Beo,” she gasped, drawing in much needed air. “Can’t…find, lost…hold…”

            Sara was about to slip back under the dirty water, whether to search for Beo or because she simply did not have the strength to hold on, Nick didn’t know. Either way he knew he needed to get Sara to shore. The longer they were out fighting the current the weaker they would become and the less likelihood they would be able to get to shore.

            Grabbing Sara’s right arm, Nick pulled her towards him, placing her back up against his chest.

            “GRIS! BEO!” Nick yelled before using the truck’s bumper to kick off. With his right arm pumping hard, Nick pulled their bodies through the water towards the canal’s edge

            “No!” Sara weakly tried to free herself from Nick’s one armed grasp. “Beo,” she pleaded.

            “Sara, stop!” Nick argued, his words coming out breathy and harsh. “Grissom’s downstream…he’s looking.”

            Sara protested but was not physically able to fight Nick. She had been fighting the raging waters from the moment the SUV had plunged into the canal. Beo had been buckled in but the impact of hitting the water had thrown the small boy’s head up against the door knocking him unconscious.

            Sara had sprung in to action immediately, already feeling the SUV begin to list towards the driver’s side as they bobbed in the water. Snapping hers and Beo’s seat buckles, Sara tested the windows hoping that the electrical circuitry was still functional, knowing the water pressure would never allow them out the doors.

            The windows remained shut but water was rapidly filling the vehicle and with heart stopping lurch the SUV spun in the water, pointing Sara’s side of the truck downstream right before rolling over and capsizing. The water that had been filling the floor of the cabin had now submerged the roof of the truck, causing Sara to choke and sputter as she twisted herself around within the confines of the truck.

            Sara grabbed Beo instantly, pulling the boy up into her protective embrace his head flopping on to her shoulder. The front end of the truck was heavier, the weight of the engine pulling it down causing that section to fill with water faster. Feeling the truck rotate again within the raging waters, Sara floated to the backseat area making certain to keep Beo firmly attached to her chest. They needed to get out of the truck before it was completely pulled under and their pocket of air disappeared. It would be a horribly difficult task to do under any circumstances but was exponentially more dangerous with an unconscious child.

            Knowing once she broke the window out that the water would rush in quickly, possibly sucking them out of the truck, Sara’s grasp on Beo tightened. The terror of possibly losing him under the water’s dark surface was nearly debilitating. Taking several quick, deep breaths, Sara smashed her booted feet against the rear passenger side window. In the span of a heartbeat she and Beo were overcome by frothy brown water and swirling debris.

            * * * * * * * *

            Brass could see that his backup had secured the opposite end of the canal bridge; three police cruisers with flashing lights had effectively blocked any escape from that end. By shear force, Brass knew that if Brooks decided to make a break for it he would be heading his way. Until additional backup circumvented the blocked off canal bridge to join him and Warrick on their side, they would be seen by Brooks as the lesser of two possible captures.

            Bring it on, ass hole! Brass silently challenged. It wouldn’t break his heart a bit if he could aerate the man’s skull for him.

            “BROOKS! THERE’S NOWHERE TO GO!” Brass yelled.

            Brooks head darted out into the open before disappearing back under cover again, his eyes searching Brass’ position. ‘THEY WERE MINE!” Brooks screamed, his eyes wild as he thought of all his victims. “THEY WERE ALWAYS MINE! THEY LIVE FOR ME! IN ME, FOREVER!”

            Brooks sighed into the open, gray sky the exquisite memory of each of his prey stroking his mind like a seductive lover. Their perfect beauty, neither male nor female, just perfect, all for him to gaze upon, to enjoy. The feel of skin unflawed by age, warm to the touch. Their ability to feel life so intensely, their laughter and, yes, their cries. Mine!

            “YOU’RE GOING TO JAIL, BROOKS! MIGHT AS WELL MAKE IT EASY ON YOURSELF!”

            “Maybe, maybe not,” Brooks growled to himself.

            Popping up over the back end of the truck, Brooks leveled his weapon at Brass, squeezing off two rounds in quick succession. The first whistled over Brass’ head, the high pitched projectile causing the police captain to duck down further before the second one crashed into the driver’s side window, raining down on Brass.

            “Son of a bitch,” Brass growled. He’s going to make it hard!

            They didn’t have time for this psychopath to play shootout. Both Brass and Warrick had heard Catherine’s radio call for an ambulance and Emergency Rescue. Something bad’s going down and I gotta deal with this shithead!

            “Jim, Jim,” Warrick hissed at the back bumper of the car. “Cover me.”

            Brass cranked his head around as best he could without giving Brooks a shot. “What? No!” Brass rasped but Warrick was already backing away from the Charger.

            Keeping his head low and the car between him and Brooks, Warrick half walked-half ran back in the direction they had come, his eyes constantly vigilant for the killer. Warrick was not looking to get shot in the back but if he could make it to the cover of an abandon, rusty VW Caravan parked along the street, its front driver’s side tire completely flat, then he could make a dash into the open ground that paralleled the canal. Hopefully in time to help his friends.

            “Damn it!” Brass hissed, snapping his eyes back to Brooks, gripping his weapon a little tighter as he covered Warrick.

            Brooks had taken the two shots at Brass but wasn’t about to shoot wildly, at least not at the moment. This guy thinks he’s getting out of here alive and without the cuffs…fat chance, buddy,” Brass thought snidely.

 

            * * * * * * * * *

            Grissom bobbed wildly with the rushing water, the occasional rogue wave crashing over his head on a down swell of water. While Nick had fought the current and swam towards the capsized SUV, Grissom had swum straight out, keeping himself down stream from the vehicle. It gave him the option of meeting the submerged truck half way and helping Nick or acting as a safety net for anyone that slipped by Nick.

              Grissom felt his heart had started beating the moment he saw Sara’s dark head surface but felt it halt abruptly at Nick’s words shouted over the rumble and rush of the water. Beo, they couldn’t find Beo! Grissom’s eyes searched the roiling water more intently, praying to see Beo’s mop of white hair.

            “Beo!” Grissom called out, fearing the boy had been pulled under or lost in the water’s uneven surface. “Beo!”

            The SUV Sara and Beo had been riding in was fifteen feet upstream. Grissom warred with whether to approach the truck or not but almost immediately realized that Sara would have never let Nick pull her away from the truck if Beo had still been in the vehicle, which meant the boy was at the mercy of the current.

            “Beo!” He yelled again, his heart racing. “Bb-“

            Grissom spun abruptly, his eyes searching the water around him. Something had collided with him at thigh level, something flexible and feeling very much like a body! Grissom dove under the water, his arms making wide arcs as he searched blindly in the dirt colored water. Bits of debris pelted him and the current tried to roll and toss him but still Grissom searched.

            There! A hand!

            Grissom grasped at the unseen hand only to have it slip from his grasp. His body was tiring, fighting the water and he would need to surface for air soon but if he did that Grissom knew the boy would be lost for good. Arms waving back and forth he desperately sought Beo. Please! His mind begged.

            Grissom’s right hand snagged something that felt like billowing, wet cloth and instantly his fingers curled and grasped the garment. With a mighty yank, Grissom pulled the limp form to him even as he began kicking for the surface. Breaking the surface, Grissom barely got a moment to note Beo’s closed eyes and slack lips, then he was struggling with not being drug under by the sailing SUV.

            The truck had overtaken him as he had searched the darkened depths for Beo and threatened to roll the two of them back under. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear his name being screamed but it was all he could do to keep a hold of the limp boy in his right arm and avoid the truck preparing to drown them both. With a one armed backstroke, Grissom swam with every remaining ounce of energy he had left.

            Grissom had nearly cleared the bobbing vehicle when it smacked hard into his left leg, momentarily pulling him and Beo along with it. Bending his caught leg, Grissom shoved off of the doomed truck, a ripping pain barely registering over the momentary elation of being free of the death trap.

            They had floated past the initial rescue point but Catherine had been quick to realize their dilemma early on, jumping behind the wheel of the Denali and heading farther downstream. Nick took the winch attached rope and ran waist deep into the rushing water. The rope coiled in his right hand ready to be tossed.

            “GRIS!” He screamed, trying to get the attention of the man weakly backstroking in the water.

            Grissom pulled up in the water, his head spinning as he saw Nick a dozen yards downstream, rope in hand. Grissom worked to angle himself so that he was going downstream head first, his left hand free to grab at the rope. He needed to get this right on the first try, not for himself but for Beo. Grissom feared the boy had stopped breathing and he needed to get him to land immediately otherwise they would lose him.

            “We’re almost there, son,” Grissom whispered encouragingly in Beo’s ear.

            “CATH! SARA!”

            Nick heard Warrick yelling in the distance but he didn’t dare let his focus stray from the man and boy quickly floating his way. His heart was racing and the adrenaline was pumping wildly in his veins as he prayed for a sure hit. He’d aim for the spot just in front of Grissom’s head, giving each of them a split second to respond.

            With a prayer on his lips, Nick hurled the rope out over the churning water, the large loops unfurling as it sailed through the air. It seemed as if time had ground to a painful halt, each ring of rope disappearing at half speed before dropping into the brown waves.

            Grissom’s arms stretch out as far as he could make it, his hand flailing in an attempt to grasp the lifesaving rope. The moment his fingers found it, Grissom grasp painfully tight, wrapping the rope again and again around his wrist.

            “NOW, NICK, NOW!” Grissom yelled his voice gruff as he held tightly to Beo.

            Nick threw up his hand signaling Catherine who was standing by on the winch control. With the ease of a switch, the cable began reeling in Grissom and the boy. Sara, who had been standing nearby wrapped in an emergency blanket, began to walk forward slowly, each step terrifying and filled with hope. At the end of the rope were the man she loved so completely the lines separating the two of them seemed blurry and the boy who made a reality out of a dream she had never allowed herself to dream.

* * * * * * * *

            Garrison Brooks watched the cops scurry about at the opposite end of the bridge and realized the time had come for him to exert his will on the situation. There was only the one local flatfoot on his span of the bridge but that would be changing soon from the sound of the approaching sirens.  

            The ridiculous bug, Brooks cursed, finding it unthinkable that a city employee dared to stand in his way.

            Keeping his head low Brooks scooted his back along the bed of the wrecked truck, the black smoke billowing from the crumpled front was being caught gently by a light breeze and carried towards Brooks’ intended escape route. It was fortuitous cover for the serial killer who had no plan on being captured.

            Halting behind the rear wheel of his truck, Brooks’ grinned like the mad man he was. The thought of splattering Brass’ brains all over the Las Vegas street a fitting revenge in his mind for the cop’s audacity to stand in his way. The man would be lucky to get away with a bullet in the head as far as Brooks’ was concerned

            Testing the weight of Kopec’s weapon in his hands, Brooks prepared to put his plan in action. With the heat of the engine fire increasing and the black smoke becoming more dense, Brooks darted to the end of the truck before shooting two shots in Brass’ direction followed by two more. The revolver was empty as Brooks’ had planned and with a sideways toss of his hand he threw the gun a few feet away into the thickest part of the covering smoke. He was hunting and diversions were always the best way to get up close to his prey.

 

            Jim Brass’ squinted against the smoke that had begun to surround his car. The situation was beginning to get a little dicey and if backup didn’t arrive soon he was going to have to fall back. He didn’t like the idea of giving Brooks more running room but the idea of the sick bastard sneaking up on him and putting a bullet in his head was even less appealing.

            In the relative calm and quiet, Brass’ hyper sensitive senses picked up the pings and ticks of the over heating metal on the destroyed truck as fire slowly consumed it.Then…

            Bang, bang…bang, bang!   

            Brass instinctively ducked lower behind the door of his vehicle, his head swiveling as his ears tried to pick up which direction Brooks was coming from. The distinct sound of a gun hitting and sliding against pavement caught his attention off to his right but his eyes could see nothing but the black, acrid blanket of smoke.

            Brass scooted back along his car as he made his way around the rear bumper, coming to a stop at the passenger side, rear corner. Brass’ reasoned it was possible that Brooks was attempting to escape along the open ground bordering the canal, using the sparse Mesquite trees, sagebrush and dumped rubbish as cover. In the thick smoke the man could’ve tripped easily, dropping his weapon in the process.

            The police captain tried to pick up any movement on Brooks part, relying mostly on his ears as the smoke had finally over taken his area. It was time to decide whether to fall back and hope that Brooks wasn’t as slippery as Brass knew him to be or take the risk and stand his ground.

            With a sudden realization born of years of being a cop, Brass knew, as sure as the prickling sensation that ran up the back of his neck, that Brooks wasn’t just planning on escaping. Spinning on his toes, his weapon in front of him, Brass’ burning eyes flew open as the devil himself came stalking from the black smoke.

            Brass squeezed the trigger quickly, unable to get a proper bead on the man, the retort of the gun harsh in his ears. The killer kept coming, with lightning speed his right arm slashed widely in front of him. Brass’ finger was pulling back on the trigger again when the hot, slicing pain cut across his lower forearms before his gun was knocked forcefully from his hands.

            Weaponless, Brass didn’t hesitate as he rushed Brooks in a mad grab to disarm the mad man. With two hands Brass snatched up the serial killer’s wrist, trying to desperately control the hand that held the deadly curved blade. Brass’ initial attack seemed to momentarily startled Brooks’, the man assuming he would have the upper hand in his stealth attack and be able to maintain it.

            Stumbling two paces backwards, Brooks regained his footing and twisted to his left in an attempt to throw Brass off. But Brass was born and bred in Jersey, had done two tours in Vietnam and had been a cop for nearly thirty years, and he knew how to fight. Letting loose of Brooks left hand, Brass grabbed up the man’s weapon yielding hand with his right  and planted to bone rattling jabs into the man’s ribcage.

            Brooks groaned loudly, the air in his lungs being forced out in short pants with each blow as he crumpled slightly towards his wounded side. With an angry hiss, Brooks twisted his arm down and out of Brass’ grip the moment making him spin full circle before he faced Brass once more, the lethal knife held menacingly before him.

            “I’m going to gut you,” Brooks hissed, his eyes wild like a deranged animal caught in a cage. “You will bleed out… with the smell of your own blood filling your nostrils.”

            Brass supposed he should be terrified of the man before him, probably would have been, too, if he didn’t have decades of training behind him, if he wasn’t more concerned about surviving.  That and the fact that Jim Brass just didn’t scare easily.

            “Well, Georgie Porgie, you can try,” Brass returned, circling to his right, keeping his armed adversary at a distance. “But I don’t think you got it in you. I’m a full grown man…and you’re used to little boys.”

            Brooks’ lips curled into a sneer, his right hand stabbing in the air at Brass’ heart. “You- know- nothing,” he growled, a slight pause after each word. “Nothing. You’re some public servant imbecile that is going to die bleeding on this shit strewn street.”
           
            Brooks stepped forward, slashing at Brass who darted quickly away from the blade, before circling to his left.

            “I was smart enough to catch you,” Brass challenged, the grin on his face causing Brooks’ to growl angrily.

            “You are nothing like me, you are an ant to be squashed.” Brooks stabbed his knife at Brass. “Your life is worthless, not worthy of my admiration…I have consumed dozens, bathed in their richness, their lives…felt life as it should be felt.”

            “More like touched,” Brass countered. “As in, touched in the head.”

            Brooks made another lunge at Brass and with a quick side step, Brass stepped out of the path of the blade, his right fist colliding with the left side of Brooks’ temple. The force of the blow caused Brooks to stumble forward, looking as if he was jogging in slow motion. Spinning wildly Brooks slashed at Brass trying to ward off another attack by the older man.

            Jim Brass gritted his teeth, unwilling to show any sign of the pain throbbing through his hand and arms. He could feel the sticky trickle of blood along his forearms, the cloth of his shirt soaked and matting to his skin. Adrenaline was pumping madly through his veins giving him a strength his wounds might not otherwise allow him but Brass was well aware that adrenaline only lasted so long. Help needed to arrive soon or he needed to take the sick son of a bitch out quickly, his options were beginning to narrow.

            Unexpectedly, Brooks rushed forward, roaring angrily as he tackled Brass to the ground. Momentarily stunned, it was all Brass could to keep from being slice viciously open by the knife wielding psychopath. With Brooks straddling him, Brass used both hands to control the hand holding the knife, his arms shaking as Brooks pressed his weight behind the blade. Inch by inch, Brass was losing the battle, the blade sinking closer and closer to his chest.

            “You are a dead man,” Brooks grunted, the devil’s glint in his eyes as he stared down at Brass.

            Brass never heard the shot coming, his blood pounding so loudly in his ears but he saw the after effects in slow and gory detail. Staring up into Brooks’ crazed face, Brass knew he was about to lose the fight of his life. His arms were trembling, as he pushed with all his remaining strength. Brooks just had the better hand was how Brass’ mind played it out.

            Then,  Brooks jerked forward violently, his eyes rolling up and back in his head. A fine spray of blood mist showered down on Brass as his eyes blinked wildly, watching as a piece of scalp and skull flipped forward, hinged by flesh attached just above Brooks right brow. The impact of bullet had the dead man falling forward with a slight right hand twist, his grip on the knife going slack as he fell across Brass’ left shoulder.

            Recovering quickly Brass scooted out from under the dead man, scrambling to unsteady feet. With wary eyes, Brass frantically searched for the shooter. The smoke’s thickness waxed and waned enough for Brass to see his backup arriving with the ambulance at his rear and several police officer’s running across the bridge to his position.

            Taking in a huge breath, Brass had to resist the urge to give the dead man on the ground a hard, swift kick. Turning to the ambulance crew, Brass waved them back to their vehicle. “Not me!” He yelled, even though his arms were covered in blood. “That way!” He pointed in the direction that Grissom and the others had headed. Waffling, the driver of the ambulance finally gave in to Brass’ command, driving up and over the curb in search of their emergency.

            “Captain Brass!”

            Brass tiredly turned at his name, seeing Special Agent Mallory Kennon running towards him, a couple yards behind her were Sofia, Greg Sanders and Sergeant Metcalf. Brass smiled tiredly giving the FBI agent a weak wave.

            “Agent Kennon,” he greeted.

            Agent Kennon came to stuttering stop, her dark eyes glancing between the wounded policeman and the man that she had been hunting for the better part of a decade. She couldn’t begin to identify the myriad of feelings coursing through her at that moment. She was elated and relieved that the monster’s reign of terror had been brought to an end but also frustrated at having so many answers left unexplained and even anger that Garrison Brooks had gotten off easy as far as she was concerned.

            “Are you okay?” She asked her eyes traveling back to Brass and his wounded arms.

            “Lot better than I thought I was going to be,” Brass chuckled, his ordeal seeping into the tired but happy sound. “Do I have you to thank for this?” He asked gesturing towards the body of Brooks lying on the street.

            “Me,” Kennon huffed. “Hardly! If it doesn’t fit in a hip holster I’m no good at it.” Turning, the FBI agent pointed to her partner walking with self-assured strides across the bridge, a long rifle slung casually over his right shoulder. “Joe’s the one with mad skills at a hundred plus yards.”

            Agent Pak waved to his partner and Brass as he approached, a carefree smile on his face. They had known that their killer had been in the smoke with Brass but did not have a clear line of sight on either man. With Kennon’s go ahead, Joe Pak had set up his M40 on the trunk of a police cruiser, prepared to use his Marine training as a sniper to use. Peering through the telescopic lens, Pak had only been able to catch quick glimpses of the two men through the smoky haze, never having a clean shot.

            Not until there had been a momentary break in the black haze and the FBI agent could see that Brooks had gained the upper hand. Relying on instinct, Pak zeroed in on the back of the killer’s skull. Taking a deep breath then holding it, Pak squeezed the trigger, watching the man’s head smack forward at the bullet’s impact, blood spraying out.

            “Nice shot,” Brass said with a smile, extending his hand to shake the FBI agent’s hand.

            “Yeah, just sorry I didn’t get to ventilate’em sooner.” Pak said, adjusting the rifle on his shoulder.

            “Got no complaints from me,” Brass told him more than happy to walk away wounded because it sure as hell beats getting carried away dead!

“Mitch! Sanders!” Brass called over his shoulder. “Come on,” he said nodding towards the police officer’s cruiser sitting nearby.

            With a nod of appreciation, Brass left Brooks to the FBI agents. His friends had called for help just before Brooks had attacked and he needed to find out if everyone was alright.

            Loading into the cruiser, Officer Mitchell navigated the police car up and over the curb and into the muddy no man’s land following the overflowing canal. It was only once they had gotten past the sidewalk and concrete guardrail that Brass began to understand the true magnitude of danger his friends were facing. Days of rain water and an early morning downpour had swollen the city’s natural abilities to deal with precipitation, which were piss-poor to begin with.

            The tunnel opening leading into the sewers under the bridge were completely covered. The muddy waters bubbling out and rushing down stream, debris occasionally rising to the surface only to be sucked back under the brown, frothy water. Mitch sped along the cement banks of the canal, heading towards the flashing lights of the ambulance and Denali a hundred yards downstream from the bridge.

 

            * * * * * * * *

            Warrick had taken the entire scene in in one rapid sweep. Catherine was manning the winch on the metal guard covering the Denali grill, her blue eyes anxious, while she spoke to Sara. The brunette was drenched, wrapped in a long beige blanket as she walked zombie like a few paces towards the raging waters, stopping half way between Catherine and the waters edge.

            Nick was standing waist deep in the river of muddy, water his footing occasionally compromised, causing the Texan to do a small stutter step to keep from being washed down river. In his hands was a long length of rope coiled in large loops and attached to the Denali’s winch. With a giant sweeping arc, Nick tossed the rope out into the water and that was when Warrick’s breath actually caught in his throat.

            Fighting the current, one armed, was Grissom as he tried to reach the lifeline Nick had tossed out. Beowulf’s small form lay on Grissom’s chest, looking as if he was merely sleeping on the man through all the turmoil. Without wasting another second, Warrick rushed into the water, coming to stand near Nick as the two men helped the winch along by pulling on the rope.

            Daring to take another step forward into the rushing current, Nick grabbed a hold of Beo’s right arm easily lifting the boy’s slight weight from Grissom while Warrick grabbed a hold of Grissom’s stretched out arm.

            “he’s not…breathing,” Grissom panted, struggling onto the bank with Warrick’s help.

            Nick had already begun running with the little boy in his arms, up the bank towards the Denali. Catherine, took everything in and quickly dropped the second emergency blanket on to the ground, Nick lying the limp child down quickly. Pressing his ear to Beo’s chest, Nick pulled back and placing the heel of his hand just below the boy’s diaphragm,  began to thrust.

            Water poured out of the child’s mouth and nose with each thrust. Both Sara and Catherine dropped to their knees by Beo’s head, Sara was still shaking from her ordeal as she took the boy’s head in her hands, her fingers wiping the water away from his face.

            “Please, baby,” Sara whispered, completely unaware of the tears coming from her eyes or that Grissom had dropped down next to her.

            “Sara.”

            Grissom took Sara by the shoulders she was trembling, probably already in shock and …

            “Warrick,” Grissom stated firmly, almost pushing Sara to the side as he dropped his ear to the boy’s chest. “Come on, son,” he told the boy, checking his airway, before tipping his head back. “Let’s not do this.”

            Grissom and Nick began CPR on the boy. It had seemed like an eternity had past before they had been able to pull the child from the churning waters but Grissom realized it was really more like seven to ten minutes. Assuming the best because the worst was just to debilitating, Grissom figured that Beo and Sara had had two minutes before the SUV had flipped and submerged itself, with another minute or so before they had escaped the vehicle.

            Maybe three to six minutes…maximum, Grissom thought, grasping for the best case scenario as his breath filled the child’s lungs and lifted his delicate chest.

            Nick counted out the compressions, his jaw set in a determined line. When Grissom began to feel the effects of his ordeal in the water, Catherine quickly stepped in and replaced him the rhythm never missing a beat.

            Warrick spotted the ambulance bouncing its way along the canal and quickly ran to greet the paramedics, while Grissom made his way to Sara an arm’s length away and wrapped her up in his embrace. They watched the paramedics take over from Nick and Catherine, their anxious eyes barely leaving Beo.

            “He’s strong,” Sara told Grissom. “He’s the strongest person I know…he’ll be okay, he’ll, he…” Sara turned her sad, brown eyes to Grissom. “I promised him we’d be together.”

            Grissom’s eyes searched Sara’s gaze, a barely there pause hung in the air before he nodded and whispered, “We will.”

            The group was joined by Brass and Greg as the two men took in the situation with anxious eyes. Brass’ gaze momentarily holding on Grissom and Sara as they held each other, their fretful eyes on the boy.

            “Aww, man,” Greg quietly groaned before adding his silent prayer to the others already given up.

            “I’ve gotta pulse!” one of the paramedics announced excitedly. “Yeah, that’s it kid…come on.”

            Beo’s small chest heaved a mighty breath before being overcome with a body wracking spasm of coughs, his eyes squeezing tightly shut as the fit over took him. His arms flailed as the paramedics lifted him up on to their stretcher, the motion disorienting and frightening to the stunned boy.

            Breaking free from Grissom’s embrace, Sara rushed to Beo’s side. “Shh, shh,” she cooed, trying to calm the little boy, the sound coming out shaking as her trembling hands soothed away the wet hair from his face.

            Beo’s confused blue eyes looked up at the sound, his arms ceasing their wild movement. “momma,” he said in a whisper thin voice, his eyes fluttering weakly.

            “Yes,” Sara said softly at his ear. “Momma’s here.”

            A tease of a smile kissed the boys lips before his eyes closed. Sara pressing her lips to his damp forehead as the paramedics bound him to their stretcher and prepared him for transport.

            “Their going with,” Catherine informed the paramedics unnecessarily, the two having every intention of staying with Beo.

            They all watched as Grissom, Sara and Beo were loaded into the ambulance. Watching, pausing, all of them taking a moment to gather their frayed emotions together enough to move without shaking.

            “Brooks?” Catherine finally asked, breaking the silence.

            “Dancing in hell,” Brass told her.

            It was then that Catherine noticed, Brass’ blood caked arms. “Jim, oh my god, come on,” she said quickly, steering the man into the front seat of the Denali. “We need to get you to the hospital.”

            “My car,” Brass protested, pointing in the direction of the bridge and his beloved Charger.

            “I’ll get it,” Greg piped up instantly.

            “Like hell you will,” Brass growled before eyeing Warrick. “Warrick?”

            Warrick gave a tired chuckle and a nod. “I got ya covered.” Passing Greg, Warrick patted the younger man on the shoulder. “Maybe next time, “ he teased.

            “Come on,” Nick said his normal Texas accent taking on a clipped property as he loaded into the backseat of the Denali. “Let’s get to the hospital and get Jim fixed up and see how Beo’s doing.”

            The friends made their way hurriedly from the water’s edge. The scene on the bridge was secure and at the moment someone else could have it. They were planning on taking care of their own and that included a little blonde headed boy.