Entry #5 in the "A Year in the Life" series. An open case of Brass's has knock-on effects in the form of a vengeful husband, and Wendy Simms is caught in the crossfire. You know the drill -- CSI is not my sandbox. If it were, Wendy would've thrown Hodges to the lab floor and had him by now.

It Catches Up To You
by Alice Day

CHAPTER TWO

Sullivan's was busier than usual; judging from the crowded tables, everybody wanted to wait out the deluge. Ellie grabbed a bottle out of the speed rack, upending it over the glass for a count of eight. A fill of Coke and a wedge of lime completed the drink; she put it and a dirty martini in front of the waitress. "Any more rum in that, and we'll have to charge him double," she told the waitress, a curly-haired redhead named Tracy. "And I hope to hell he's not driving."

"You and me both, girlfriend," Tracy said as she headed back to the table.

Shaking her head, Ellie scanned her bar customers -- a group of businessmen, three tanned and thoroughly blinged-up women on an obvious girl's night out, and one guy waiting for his date. The shy, hopeful look on his face reminded her of a certain upstate veterinarian. Maybe he'll be on AIM later on -- I really should ask him about the vet program at UNLV. Or the convention. Or something. Um.

She grinned at herself. Yeah, you don't like him at all, do you?

The customers seemed good for the moment, and Tracy and Eric were still out in the main room working the tables -- time to wash glassware. Ellie started running dirty rock and wine glasses through the bar sink's soapy water, humming to herself as she thought about strong hands and deep green eyes. As a result, she didn't notice the two police officers walk up to the bar until they signaled her.

The reflex twinge of resentment towards badges was almost gone, and she gave the cops a pleasant smile as she dried her hands on a bar towel. "Hey -- you two off duty, or do you just want coffee?" she asked

The taller cop shook her head. "Neither. Are you Ellie Brass?"

Her smile faded. "Yeah -- why?"

"I'm Officer Havens, and this is Officer Smith," the cop said, nodding at her partner. "Las Vegas Police. We need to take you downtown."

Her hands clenched on the bar. Keep it cool -- you didn't do anything. "Can I see some ID?" she said, stalling.

Havens pulled out her wallet, flashing a LVMPD ID card. "Your d-- uh, Captain Brass," she cleared her throat, "said to tell you this wasn't prom, whatever that means. We're your protection detail."

Protection detail? A chill went down Ellie's spine. "Protection? From what?"

Smith shrugged. "Captain didn't say, and we didn't ask," he said. "He did tell us that if anything happened to you before you got to his office, we'd be lucky if we got crossing guard duty in North Las Vegas."

Havens nodded agreement. "If your boss gives you grief, send him out here and we'll explain the situation," she added. "But you're coming with us now. That's a direct order from the captain."

Ellie pressed her lips together, a wave of irritation swamping the fear. She decided she preferred the irritation. "All right. I just need to get my purse."

Leaving the cops at the bar, she turned and headed for the manager's office. Dad, you better have one hell of a good explanation...

###

A half hour later, she walked into the Las Vegas Metro police department flanked by Havens and Smith. Memories of the last time she was there flashed through her, making her skin prickle. How many people were watching her, she thought, wondering what Captain Brass's wild child did this time?

Screw 'em. Where's Dad?

Her bodyguards took her through a maze of hallways to the captain's office. Brass looked up as the door opened, his relief almost tangible when he spotted Ellie. "Ah, good," he breathed. "Thanks, guys -- that'll be all."

He closed the office door behind the uniforms, then surprised Ellie when he pulled her into a strong hug. "First off, I'm sorry about yanking you out of work, honey," he said, his voice gruff. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Ellie allowed herself a moment to enjoy the hug, then pulled back. "Dad, they said they were my protection detail," she said. "Why do I need protection?"

He sighed, letting her go and guiding her to the couch. "I'm hoping you don't, but I wanted to cover all the bases," he said. "I got a call this evening from someone calling me Daddy, saying that I had to solve a murder or she wouldn't be coming home."

Ellie blanched. "Oh, my God. That wasn't me, I swear--"

"I know, honey -- it wasn't your voice or your number." His expression was neutral; only his eyes showed the rage inside. "But I think someone tried to kidnap you, Ellie. And they got the wrong girl."

Her mouth went dry. "Oh," she whispered. "Oh, shit. Who -- I mean, who did they get?"

He reached over and took her hand, holding it gently. "I don't know -- our A/V tech is tracking down the number right now," he said. "But whoever she is, she's smart enough to play along and call me Dad. If we're lucky, we'll get her out of this in one piece--"

His desk phone rang, and he let go of her hand to reach for it. "Brass," he said, listening. His expression changed again, becoming intent. "Okay, we're on our way."

He hung up the phone. "I left my cell phone with Archie so he could set up a trace -- she called back again," he explained, standing up. "He got a partial trace and a recording of the woman's voice, so I need to go over to the lab. You're going to stay here--"

"Oh, hell no." She stood up, jaw sliding forward. "I'm coming with you."

Brass scowled. "You're gonna stay here where you're safe, Ellie."

"I'm safer if I'm with you. And I want to hear what this woman sounds like. If you're right--" if someone tried to kidnap me, oh God --"and this guy grabbed someone else by mistake, maybe I know her."

His eyes narrowed, but he nodded. "Okay, you've got a point. But you stay right by me, you understand?"

She nodded, suddenly wishing that he'd hold her hand again. "Fine. Let's go."

###

Catherine Willows met them at the Crime Lab's reception desk. She smiled at Brass with her usual friendliness; only Ellie recognized the little spark in the Grave shift supervisor's eyes, and the answering glow in her dad's. "Archie's got everything keyed up for us," she said, walking with them to the audio/visual center. "Your mystery daughter didn't stay on the line very long, but we got some data."

Archie Johnson nodded at them as they entered the A/V lab. "I was able to run the number -- unfortunately, it's a pay as you go phone, so no way to verify the owner," he explained, his fingers dancing along the computer keyboard. In front of them, a monitor lit up with the broad squiggling signature of a sound file, while another monitor displayed a street map of Vegas. "I was able to triangulate the cell towers that relayed the signal -- it placed them somewhere between Pecos Road and Green Valley Parkway."

A section of the map highlighted in yellow. Brass made a disgusted noise. "Great," he said. "That's gonna be one hell of a door-to-door."

Archie shook his head. "Watch the signal progression."

He tapped a key, and the highlighted section shifted to a new cell, then to a third. "They're moving, probably in a car or van judging by the speed. Looks like they're heading north on Pecos."

Catherine studied the screen. "I'll get Greg to pull footage from the traffic cameras," she said. "If we can match a vehicle to the signal movement, we can run the plates."

"Good idea. Now here's the recording of the call." Another tap, and a woman's strained voice came out of the speakers. "Daddy, are you there? Please, say something."

Ellie shivered. "Captain Brass isn't here at the moment," Archie's recorded voice said. "Can I help you?"

There was an audible gulp. "Please, tell him to hurry. Find out who killed Alana Rodriguez. Uh, maybe Archie could help him--"

The phone call cut off, and the A/V tech turned to them. "Catherine, I'll bet you anything she recognized my voice," he said. "I think she asked for me on purpose -- she was trying to tell us something."

His meaning sank in. "She works here," Catherine said, grim. "Dammit. Play it again, Archie."

He did. The Grave shift supervisor shook her head, as if trying to shake a memory loose. "I know that voice," she said. "I'll do a headcount, see if any women on Grave are missing--"

"Don't bother."

All four turned to the lab door. David Hodges stood there, his narrow face pale and strained. "That was Wendy's voice," he said tightly. "I'd recognize it anywhere. And she's not here, and she hasn't called in sick."

Ellie clapped a hand over her mouth, horrified. "Oh, my God," she breathed. "Wendy Simms?"

Hodges stared at her. "You know her?"

"I ran into her tonight, before work."

"Where?" her dad said, alert. "We need details, Ellie."

"Um." She ran a shaking hand through her hair. "I-it was at the west entrance of the Galleria, near the club. It was still raining, and she didn't have an umbrella or anything, so I gave her your slicker. She said she'd give it back to you tonight." Her eyes became huge. "She had the hood up -- he must've thought she was me. Dad, he was in the parking lot."

"All right." Brass pulled out his radio. "Catherine, have Archie check the traffic cameras and keep monitoring the phone -- I'm going to send a couple of uniforms over to the Galleria, get their security tapes and check the parking lot."

"I'll send Greg with them. But if he left any evidence, it's probably gone in this rain," Catherine pointed out.

"I want it checked anyway," Brass growled. "This fucker took one of our people -- we are not losing her." The unspoken names of Holly Gribbs and Warrick Brown hovered in the air. "And you," he turned to Ellie, "are not stepping foot out of my sight without two armed cops on your six, you hear me?"

Hodges moved in. "What do you want me to do?"

Before Brass could say anything, Catherine put a hand on the Trace tech's arm. "David, go back to Trace and clear the boards -- if Greg finds anything from the parking lot, it gets priority," she said gently.

Hodges nodded and almost ran out of the lab. "What the hell was that about?" Brass asked.

She shook her head. "He took his hero worship a little too far," she said cryptically. "I'll explain later -- let's work on finding Wendy."

As they consulted with Archie, Ellie backed up against the lab wall, arms wrapped around her ribcage as she stared at the floor. God, please, if you're out there, don't let Wendy die because of me. Please.

Please.

###

The house was small, and smelled like old cologne and stale air. Wendy sat on the edge of a battered leather couch, trying not to stare at the man pacing the small, cluttered living room. At the other end of the couch, an old man glared at both of them, his face furrowed in anger.

After she got into the old car, her kidnapper handed her a disposable phone and told her to call her father. The first thing that came to her mind was At least I'll get the chance to say goodbye. It wasn't until the man said, "Papi Brass better get his ass in gear and find out who killed my Alana" that she figured out what was happening. He must've seen a girl in an LVPD slicker get out of Brass's car, and followed her.

And wound up with me.

One piece of sheer stupid luck worked in her favor -- the week before, during one of their running spat/flirt sessions, Hodges was showing off how he'd memorized the cell numbers of everyone on the Grave shift. She decided to go one better and memorize the cell numbers for the Homicide detectives, too. If she hadn't been able to pull Captain Brass's number out of her head, her dead body would be occupying an alley by now.

After the second call, the man grabbed the phone out of her hand. "Who's Archie?" he growled. "You trying to pull something on me?"

Wendy shook her head. "Archie works in the crime lab," she said, trying to sound younger. The frightened tone came naturally. "Dad says he's really good at getting evidence."

The man's cold, dark eyes studied her for what felt like an eternity, but he finally nodded. "Okay, you can call papi again later. Time to go home."

He grabbed her seat belt, yanking it tight. Wendy gasped at the sudden pressure, trying to stay calm. She knew the statistics; after the first 48 hours, the chances of a kidnapping victim surviving their ordeal dropped like a stone. In those 48 hours, though, anything could happen. I should've listened to Ray and finished the CSI training -- at least I'd be armed.

A sudden burst of black humor bubbled through her. Oh, right, like you could've cleared your holster under a damn slicker. Who are you -- Xena, Warrior DNA Technician?

They followed a meandering path north, past the city limits and into North Las Vegas. She vaguely recognized the area -- small, battered stucco houses, gravel front yards, dingy storefronts with signs in Spanish. The man finally turned into a driveway, pulling into an opened carport. He turned off the engine and pulled the gun out of his coat again, holding it on her. "Do anything stupid, chica, and I'll shoot you -- you got that?" he said.

She swallowed hard and nodded.

"Good. Get out and go straight through that door. I'll be right behind you."

And that was how she wound up in a little stucco house somewhere in North Las Vegas. She still didn't know the name of the old man propped up on the other end of the couch

The kidnapper stopped in front of her. "Okay, this is what we're gonna do," he said. "While you're here, you're gonna take care of Grandpa over there," he jerked his head at the old man. "Take him to the john, feed him, whatever. You got that?"

She risked a glance at the old man. The anger in his face was deeper now, overlaid with humiliation. "All right," she said quietly.

The kidnapper studied her. "I'm hungry. Go check out the fridge, see what Grandpa has. Make us some dinner."

She nodded again, getting to her feet and heading into the tiny kitchen. I'm going to get through this. I'm going back to the lab, and I'll give Mandy her birthday present, and then I'm walking into Trace and giving that stupid smart guy a kiss he's never going to forget, and to hell with the fraternization rules.

She blinked hard against the water rising in her eyes. Dammit, David...