Jim Brass was set to question the woman whose foot fit the shoe found in the foam pool; the shoe that had killed Trey Buchman. Everything about the woman oozed hot and sexy, in a very aggressive way. Despite his attempts to keep things light and cool, Jim’s temperature was rising.

“Comfortable?” He was trying to not to react to titillating vibes the woman was sending.

“So far,” she answered suggestively. “Thanks for asking.”

Remaining professional, Jim began the questioning. “You want to tell me how your shoe ended up in Trey Buchman's neck?”

Glancing at the shoe that sat in a bag on the table, she responded. “I don't know. Last I remember the foam was rising ...”

Her words drew a picture in Jim’s mind of the woman dancing with another man. He lifted her up above him and then put her down. The heel of her shoe pierced through the victim's neck. Buchman was under the foam.

“... and my heel went into something ... soft, I thought it was someone's foot.”

Assuming a hint of sarcasm Jim commented. “Jugular. There's a slight difference. Do you want to tell me why you left your shoe behind?”

“Heel broke.” She clearly wasn’t interested in the conversation.

“And the fact it had blood on it, that wasn't the reason?” He was interested in continuing the conversation but her thoughts seemed to be moving on.

“Never saw blood.”

Wanting to keep a professional tone, Jim tried but failed to keep the mockery out of his voice. “I see. I did some checking -- because that's what I do -- and you and our victim had a relationship a while back.”

Clearly bored with talking, she answered “I've "relationshipped" about a dozen guys on the circuit, including Trey. Nothing ends -- we still all meet up at The Club.”

“I see.” He looked at her. He was losing his battle with the sensory input that she exuded. She looked at him, salaciously. Not missing the meaning of her look, he took a breath. Her look changed. Slowly she stood up. Brass was puzzled by her action, but said nothing, carefully watching her as she walked towards him. She sat on the edge of the table suggestively.

Brass felt the room suddenly get hotter as she spoke. “... and the way he gave it to me ... believe me, he's the last guy I'd want dead.”

One leg coyly lifted her foot up and put her high-heeled shoe on Jim’s chair, slipping between his legs. Her hand adjusted the hem of her ultra-mini dress aiding its ride up her thigh, giving him a tantalizing view of what was beneath her skirt….and what wasn’t. Jim couldn’t take his eyes away, even though he knew he should. She had control of the room and to run a productive interrogation, he needed to maintain control. But at the moment, he was struggling to maintain control of his mind and body.

Gil Grissom stood in the doorway, momentarily observing the action inside. He knocked before entering the room. Painfully aware that he was caught in a situation that he shouldn’t be in, Brass cleared his throat and looked away. The woman turned her head to look at Grissom.

Gil Grissom was enjoying Jim’s discomfort. “Excuse me, Jim. Am I interrupting something?”

Jim waved Grissom into the room. Tugging at the hem of her dress, the woman inched it down, pleased by the reaction it got from Brass.

In a croaking voice, Brass spoke, “Gil, please ...”

Entering the room, she turned to look at Grissom, a slight smile on

her face.

“Miss ...” Grissom spoke too politely. Slipping on a pair of latex gloves he continued. “I'm going to need a sample of your DNA.”

Amused by him, she asked. “How do you want it?” Brass was still frozen in his chair, watching the other two like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“I like your hair.” Grissom studied her head as he spoke.

Not understanding what he meant, the woman gazed at his hair. “I like yours.”

“Are you a, uh, natural blonde?”

Deliberately not answering, she looked at Brass. Grissom also turned to look at the detective. Chagrinned, Jim shook his head, “no.”

Reaching over, Gil pulled a strand of her hair. The woman was surprised. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” said Grissom. “I needed a follicular tag.” After putting the sample in an envelope, he thanked her. He turned to leave but she called to him.

"Gil"? Any chance you found my thong? Silver lamé, probably twisted in knots.

“Oh, yeah, we did. You'll need to fill out a form, though.” Looking toward Brass he continued, “The Captain will help you ...” Turning again to leave, he couldn’t resist adding, “Surely.”

Brass sat uncomfortably, silently vowing payback for Gil and trying to figure out how he could regain control of the interrogation. Finally, he surrendered and let her go.

Later, he wandered through the hall at the lab, finding his way into the break room where Catherine Willows was pouring coffee. “Hey Jim,” she smiled. “Want some?”

“Sure...thanks,” he replied as he sat at the table.

Catherine poured a second cup and headed his way. Handing him his cup, she lid onto the edge of the table, watching him with amusement. “So, Jim…..” she began as her foot made its way to his chair, working between his legs. “How was your day?”

Sheepishly he looked up at her, seeing the amusement in her eyes. “I’m going to exterminate a bugman,” he said with conviction.

Catherine chuckled and nodded as she sipped her coffee, enjoying Jim’s petulance. Jim sat quietly, understanding that he hadn’t heard the last of it. Yeah, there would be payback for Grissom. In the meantime, he would just grin and bear.

--

Just my twisted mind playing with that scene from the show and how the writer's could have some more with it. Let me know what you think. Reviews keep my twisted mind going:-)