Title: I Want You
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Greg Sanders
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Greg Sanders, unfortunately, just borrowing him for a while. Please do not sue.

***

Greg frowned when he heard the doorbell ring; he didn't like having to deal with salespeople coming to his front door when he'd just gotten home from work in the morning. He was already tired, and he didn't want to fend off some pushy salesman.

Sighing, he got up when the knock came again, more insistently this time. Whoever it was, he would send them off with a firm "No," and hope that would be enough. He was sure that it wasn't anyone he knew, not at this time of day, and he needed to get some rest.

He removed the chain from the door, then slid the bolt before he turned the knob and opened it. When he did so, his brow furrowed, and he stepped forward, looking all around the open space in front of the door. There was no one around; it was as if he'd been hearing things.

But no, that wasn't true. Greg looked down as his foot struck something; a small package that had been left in front of the door, tied with a red ribbon. Slowly, he bent down to pick it up, wondering what it could be and who would have left it there without waiting for him to answer the door.

It couldn't have been the mail carrier; they didn't usually come around until after noontime, Greg told himself, frowning. So it must have been delivered by FedEx, or some other carrier. But as he examined the package, he realized that wasn't so.

There was no return address, no writing on the package other than his name. He was almost hesitant to take it inside his apartment, in case it was some kind of booby trap, but there didn't seem to be anything threatening about something so innocuous.

Greg took the package inside, closing the door and locking it again before he set it on the coffee table and sank down onto the couch. Was this something that had been left on his doorstep by an admirer -- or an enemy? The only way to know was to open it.

This was too small to be a bomb; he didn't think there was any danger in untying the ribbon and tearing away the paper. He did so carefully, his dark eyes widening in surprise as the wrapping fell away and he removed the cover of the small box it had covered.

A rose. No stem, just one perfect bloom, nestled in pink paper inside the box. It had obviously been taken from the stem with great care; the bloom had been preserved just as it would look if it was still dewy and fresh. He could almost see the dewdrops on the soft petals.

There was no note, nothing to let him know who had sent it. Greg sat back on the couch, unable to take his eyes off the flower in front of him. It was beautiful, but somehow, it seemed sinister, too. It was creepy to not have any idea who had sent this unexpected gift.

The fact that the flower had been removed from the stem bothered him; it looked as if it had been severed, like a head carefully removed from a body. Greg shivered at the thought, closing his eyes. That was an image he'd rather not have in his mind.

The phone rang shrilly, startling him out of his thoughts. Getting up, he went to the table where it sat; frowning as he looked at the caller ID. It wasn't a number that he knew; it was probably some telemarketer who had somehow managed to get his unlisted home number.

He picked up the phone, hesitating a moment before he spoke. "Hello?" His tone sounded a bit strained to his own ears; it took a moment for the person on the other end to answer, and when they did, the voice made Greg shudder again.

"Did you get my gift?" There were no other words, no greeting, no hint of who this might be. It was a voice that Greg hadn't heard before, yet it wasn't disguised in any way. It was low, guttural, the words either a growl or a purr, depending on what he read into them.

"Yeah, I did," he answered slowly, not sure of what to say. "Why didn't you deliver it to me in person? I'd like to meet you, if you're that interested in me. If you want a date, you should just introduce yourself. We could meet somewhere and talk."

"It's not just a date that I want, Greg," the voice intoned, the tone deepening until it was almost seductive. The sound of that voice sent a shiver down Greg's spine; it was sensual in a way, but there was a dark undertone to it that scared the hell out of him.

"Then what do you want?" Greg asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He had to fight to control the timbre of his voice; he didn't want this person, whoever they were, to hear the tremble in his voice, to know that he was seized by a sudden terror.

"Your soul," the voice whispered into his ear. "I want you, Greg. Totally. Completely. I want to take everything you have to give. I want your soul -- and your body. I want your heart. Pumping and bleeding in my hand. And I want ... your life."

Greg slammed down the phone, cutting off the connection, cutting off the words that struck terror into his heart. He was wide awake now, his heart pounding, his senses reeling. That voice was still in his head, the words it had spoken branded into his consciousness.

He had to go to Brass about this, as quickly as he could. He had to tell the rest of the team about it, had to let his colleagues know that he was apparently the target of a criminal. He had to tell them that he could very well be stalked, that this person was after him.

How was he going to tell them? It would be embarrassing to make it common knowledge, and to have everyone he worked with feeling that he was a victim and that they had to look out for him. He didn't want to have to deal with that kind of situation.

And he didn't want to be looked at as a victim, Greg thought angrily. This person, whoever they were, had put him into that position, and he didn't appreciate it in the least. He wanted to find this guy and put him behind bars, or at least put an end to his threats.

He went back to the coffee table, picking up the box and looking at the blooming rose that rested inside. He didn't want to touch it; somehow, it had taken on an even more sinister aspect now that he'd heard that voice over the phone, heard the words it had spoken.

Greg sat down on the couch, his knees suddenly feeling too weak and rubbery to hold him up. The words that the man had said went through his mind again, replayed with crystal clarity. I want your heart. Pumping and bleeding in my hand.

Whoever this person was, they wanted to kill him. Greg shuddered as thoughts of what else this man more than likely wanted to do to him crowded into his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to force those thoughts back and lock them away.

He had no choice; he had to go to Brass about this. And he had to do it now, before this person had a chance to get near him. For all he knew, that could have been his stalker who had knocked on the door, not just some delivery person.

It had to be. Greg's heart seemed to stop for a moment at the thought; the man who had been threatening him on the phone had been right outside his door. This man knew where he lived, where he worked -- and he had probably been studying Greg's habits for some time.

There was no way he could feel safe again, not until he went to Jim with this. He didn't want to have a protective detail watching his apartment, but he might have to. There was no telling what this man would do; he'd already made it clear what his goal was.

Greg swallowed hard, turning his gaze away from the rose in the box. He had to take this to Jim Brass -- and he had to tell the police chief everything that he could. Even if he had to deal with a protective detail, he would do it. He'd do whatever it took to neutralize this threat.

Picking up the small box, he headed for the front door, taking his cell phone out of his pocket as he went. He would call Brass on his way there, fill him in on what had happened, and see where things went from there, and hope that he was doing the right thing.

***

Next story in series - Painless.