Charlie gazed at the picture as he tied off and prepared to fix. The unreadable face of the holier than though criminalist made him grit his teeth. What an arrogant prick, Charlie thought as he depressed the plunger on the syringe, sending a wave of pleasure throughout his body. His feet rested on the stained hotel coffee table and he purposefully brought his right boot heel down on Gil Grissom's nose, further marring the worn newspaper. He would find a way to hurt him. No more laughing when Grissom appeared awkward during press conferences. No more snickers when he caught a glimpse of him on the evening news. No more wishing he's done this or done that. Gil Grissom had hurt him. He had humiliated him. Gil Grissom would pay, in the most valuable currency Charlie knew.

Charlie saw his dealer before setting out. His back hurt and his legs shook. He fixed before heading out to the Arante foothills, enjoying the vague invincible feeling the drug gave him. He'd heard his scanner buzz with the activity of a double homicide call ten minutes prior. Awesome. This stuff didn't happen everyday. Charlie settled into the ripped upholstery and drove east against the darkness, into the desert. His mind was dazed, but alert. He loved that he'd see Grissom at the "scene." Double homicide. How could he not see him? Arrogant prick. Charlie pulled off beside a cluster of cars and curious onlookers. He spotted his nemesis talking to an older cop and pointing to various areas of the scene. Charlie watched Grissom even as he made himself blend into the mass of gawkers.

"Sara, Grissom called, be sure to get those drag marks to the left of the car."

"On it, Griss," Sara nodded back.

Charlie watched the cops, the EMT's, the CSI's, and was mesmerized by the yellow tape strung everywhere. This was so real. Much better than his dreams. The cracking of the radios was music to him. He was pleased to see several foothill residents remain on the scene. He imagined them trying to figure out why their ritzy neighborhood was suddenly "unsafe."

Slowly, as the hands on his watch crept, Charlie kept secluded watch on the police cars and emergency vehicles that began to exit the scene. He gazed to his left and praised himself for finding the alcove on the house. It had helped to conceal him as neighbors abandoned their positions and made their way into homes. His car was not more than forty feet away. It was parked close enough to a driveway to give the impression that the driver lived in the house.

"Griss, I've got this one cleared and bagged," Warrick looked up at his boss.

"Good, I'm almost ready on vic two," Grissom answered as he bagged a green headband.

I'll get him as he's walking back to his truck, Charlie thought. Stuff his arrogant ass into the trunk. Yeah. He's coming this way. Just wait. I've got the shadows on my side. It's dark. No one around. Charlie mentally kicked himself for not planning Grissom's capture better. Damnit! Charlie hated when he fucked himself over like this. Plan. Plan. Plan.

"Sara, Warrick and I are going to take the two vics back with evidence. How much longer will you be?" Grissom had detoured north toward one of his people.

"Probably another twenty, Griss," Sara answered. "Go on, I've got my Tahoe."

Grissom hesitated. Finally, he walked closer to his investigator and leaned toward her. Oddly, his voice was still a bit raised as he spoke, "Riley and Burns are here. They're not to leave until you do." Grissom's tone was somewhat harsh. For Grissom, concern always tended to come out as agitation.

Sara looked up at Grissom. Half-grinning, she shook her head slightly. "You know, Griss, I'm a big girl now. So go away."

"They're here until you are, Sara. Live with it." Grissom relented, giving her his own half-grin and began walking toward Warrick. Grissom wondered vaguely if he'd ever had a headache before he met Sara. He also wondered if he'd ever minded having a headache less. Suddenly, something crossed Grissom's conscience. He shuddered as a chill shook him. Glancing back at Sara, he slowly turned toward Warrick in the waiting Tahoe.

The CSI's exchange of smiles wasn't lost upon Charlie. He was pissed. Grissom was leaving with this unknown black guy and damnit, he should still be hanging around. Like he always did. Gil Grissom was one of the last to leave a crime scene. Damn him. It was obvious that Grissom thought highly of the dark haired woman he called Sara. Charlie had seen her before, at other crimes. This Sara person. She'd never seemed anything special before, at least in Charlie's mind. All of his attention had been on Gil Grissom. He thought more about what he'd just witnessed. The woman had called him "Griss?" An obvious term of endearment? "Son of a bitch, Grissom. I'll still get you," Gary muttered as he willed his foggy brain to conjure up a new scenario. He didn't have to think long as a plan unfolded before his eyes.

Sara started toward her Tahoe, camera slung across her back, kit in hand.

"Hey guys, she called to the two LVPD officers standing by the road. I'm all done here. Thanks."

"No problem, Ms. Sidle."

The officers got into their cruiser and signaled to get onto the highway. Sara swung herself up into the cab of the Tahoe and started the engine. The cruiser pulled onto the highway as Sara made preparations to follow suit. Suddenly, the Tahoe braked and Sara jumped out. Charlie had been cursing himself as he saw his chance getting away. He smiled, suddenly and crept toward the truck.

"Damned rear door never stays shut," Sara muttered as she opened the tailgate and thrust it forward. She kicked it for good measure. Almost instantly, Sara was caught from behind. She struggled until Charlie jabbed a syringe into her thigh. Sara yelped at the stab of pain, struggling for another half minute before folding her knees as the heroin turned her body and mind to jello and bliss.

What a fucking waste of smack, Charlie thought. Muscle shots were always a waste of a high. Not that he wanted this bitch to have a high. He just hated the waste. He carried Sara to his car and propped her swaying body against the rear door as he opened the trunk. Sara's body slumped and she landed heavily on the sandy roadside. Charlie smirked and grabbed her roughly from the ground. He placed Sara in the trunk and slammed it shut. Glancing around he knew they were alone. It was almost 2:00 am. A whistle suddenly played upon his lips and Charlie felt his pulse surge. He hopped behind the wheel of his Chevy and cranked the stereo. He could drive anywhere and he could do anything. Maybe his plans had changed, but just maybe, the change was for the better. Charlie pulled onto the highway, heading toward home. He thought of himself and he thought of his lure. Grissom would hurt. One way or another, Charlie would make Gill Grissom wish he'd never crossed Charlie Dunn.