I AM SOOOOO SORRY FOR THE LATENESS OF THIS CHAPTER! School just got in the way, and so did icon making… But here it is. Friday.

A mug of coffee (black, strong and bitter) and a plate of French toast on her round mahogany table.

The newspaper was spread out in front of them, turned to the comics section.

In her line of work, a little laughter was essential at the start of the day.

Sherman had just stuck his fin up his nose when her house phone rang.

Annoyed, she glanced over the rim of her mug at it.

She was about to turn away again (a morning person, she was not) when she glimpsed the name on her Caller I.D.

Gilbert Grissom.

The man, she instantly remembered, whom she had become smitten, almost obsessed with, two years ago, at the Forensics Conference she had attended.

They had gone out to dinner after all, at a small Italian restaurant Sara had always wanted to dine in but never had the guts to, due to the overwhelming number of couples who ate there everyday.

A glass of wine or two, more for him; they had shared a pizza (half mushroom, half pepperoni, she remembered) and had stayed there till midnight chatting about random topics, like what kind of coffee they liked.

“Black. No sugar.”

“Strong and bitter?”

“Yeah. You too?”

“Mmmm.”

For Grissom, ‘mmmm’ could mean a lot of things.

But accompanied by that boyish smile which spread all the way to those swimming pool-eyes, she knew he approved of her choice.

And that made her look down at her swirling red wine, hoping against hope that her hair would cover her flaming cheeks.

He had driven her home in a rented Mercedes, the two talking animatedly about their jobs. She discovered that he was as big a workaholic as her (possibly bigger) and couldn’t help but smile at how much they had in common.

Well, not that much.

But enough.

When he had walked her up the three flights of stairs leading to her apartment, she had done something very un-Sara like by grabbing his hand and writing her phone number on his palm.

He had responded by taking her slim fingers into his hand and doing exactly the same thing to her.

They stood there for a while, each staring at their own palms, pretending to memorize the scrawled digits, puffs coming out of their mouths.

“Well. Uh, have a safe trip home.”

She had tried to be cheerful about it. They were going to see each other. Or at least talk over the phone.

Who was she kidding? She was probably never going to see him again.

Looking up, he had laid one finger—just one finger—on her cheek.

Feeling his warm skin against her cool cheek, Sara was rendered speechless.

Then in a whirl of a black coat, Grissom had trotted down the stairs without a word.

And left her standing at the door to her apartment wondering what in the world had happened.

“Sidle.”

“Sara?”

It wasn’t a mirage, a hallucination.

It was him.

“Uh, yes, this is she.”

“It’s Grissom. Gilbert Grissom. Remember, from the Forensics Conference two years ago?”

How could she forget?

“Yeah, uh, hi. What’s up?”

“I need you. To, uh. Come to Vegas. A girl on my team got shot, and I need someone—you—to come down and investigate. And, uh, if you like, you could, uh, join my team. You know. Permanently. Although it’s nightshift, so-”

If Gilbert Grissom had asked her to skydive without a parachute, Sara suspected she would have.

“Yeah. Yeah. Uh, I’ll come. When do you want me? In, I mean. When do you want me in?”

She was already reaching for her purse.

“Oh, thank you, Sara, today would be good. We’re really shorthanded right now, we could use the extra help.”

Damn, where had she stored her suitcase? “I’ll catch the first flight over.”

“Put the ticket and all your other expenses on Vegas’ Crime Lab’s tab. Call me from the airport when you’ve figured out what time you’re landing.”

She smiled into the phone. “I will.”

“I’ll pick you up,” his voice continued. “See you.”

“See you,” she almost whispered.

When she arrived in Vegas, she saw a man in a black coat.

She smiled up at Gilbert Grissom.

He stretched out a hand clutching a tall Starbucks disposable cup, depositing it in her hands, the corners of his mouth turning up.

“Black. No sugar. Strong and bitter.”