Title: A New Perspective
By: Rabidfan
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A vacation away from Vegas doesn't mean an escape from murder.

Nick had to keep reminding himself that he'd promised. He'd promised over and over again through the years, pretty much thinking it would never be payday…but now payday was here. Coughing up yet another mouth full of sandy surf, he dragged the stubborn surfboard still tethered to his ankle a little farther onto dry land. He needed a break.

He had, to his secret shame, not really believed Greg when he had told him years ago that he surfed. "Dude, I rip!" he'd said. And while it had taken a while to shake off the more than six years in the desert, it was clear that he did indeed 'rip'. Nick never tired of watching this new Greg he'd never seen before; commanding the waves, riding them nearly to the shore.

The surf that morning had been something of a disappointment to the small group of dedicated boardheads that had found this remote beach. It was supposed to be the 'holy grail' of surf spots, but today Greg declared it 'slushy'. Nick, Nick declared it a day. He ached in places he hadn't known he had, and there was an unhealthy amount of sand in places he was all too keenly aware of.

Nick felt more than saw a shadow fall over him. Looking up, it was yet another body double for Greg. Tall, slender. All lean muscle, whippet strong. "Nip out?" Newcomer asked, using that annoying insider language that left Nick confused and frustrated. He didn't respond, just yanked the Velcro tether off his ankle. He was saved from asking what the hell Newcomer meant by Greg's arrival on the shore.

Newcomer, clearly deciding that Nick was smoking the wrong stuff, turned his attention to Greg. Nick watched his appreciative eyes travel down Greg's wet, gleaming torso and felt his hackles rise. "Nip?" There was that word again! Was this guy some kind of racist?

"No, the waters' pretty warm," Greg answered. "You won't need your wet-suit. Slushy, though, and some churly-churly." Newcomer beamed at this sign of intelligent life and wandered a little farther down the beach.

"Churly-churly?" Nick asked. Really, what was wrong with people? Didn't anyone speak English anymore?

"The tide's starting to kick up some sand and stones. It can get pretty painful, if it really starts swirling."

"Why didn't he just ask if it was cold…why didn't you just tell him the tide was making it messy out there?" Nick was tired. He knew he was acting like a two year old, but couldn't seem to stop. "What's wrong with English, man? I expect to see Pauly Shore any minute."

"Pauly Shore isn't a surfer, Nick." Greg sighed. Nick was extremely resistant to change. Any kind of change. Greg was used to the process he had to go through to get Nick in the mood to try new things, but it was always exhausting. Once, after watching Greg jump through the necessary hoops to ensure cooperation from Nick, Papa Olaf had commented that it was like herding a stubborn goat through a minefield. It was an altogether apt simile.

"We have our own language in the lab." Greg smiled at his tired love. "We have another language at home, kind of our own shorthand." Nick nodded. That was true. "This is just another area of expertise, with it's own language, too. You'll pick it up." Nick gave him the patented Stokes Stare Of Death. "Or, I'll just interpret for you!"

"How do you get cold out of nip?" Nick hated feeling out of his element. Here, in what was clearly Greg's world, he felt like a stranger. He realized he liked being the one Greg looked to for answers; he didn't much like asking for them himself. He was a little afraid that Greg might decide Nick was too old. Too boring. Too not in touch with what Greg thought was cool.

"Nipple, Nick. You know, when you're cold…" Greg trailed off when recognition dawned in Nick's eyes. "Let's go get something to eat, and wash off the sand. Okay?" Here he wasn't going to face any resistance. The two started gathering their belongings, stopping when the sound of screaming drifted up from the far side of the beach.

Greg fumbled around in the pockets of the cooler they'd brought with them to find their cell phones. Cells in hand, the two sprinted towards the growing commotion about twenty yards away. On reaching the edge of the crowd, they pushed their way through to the waters edge. There, bobbing gently in the swells was a girl of about twenty. Sun burnt, pretty, and definitely dead.

"Everybody just take a step back." Nick took charge; at least this was language he understood. "Anybody know this girl?"

"She was just Gidgeting. Watching the buoy that was out there all morning," responded a boy clearly not old enough to be on the beach on a school day.

"Gidgeting? Watching what boy, do you see him around?" Nick frowned when the boy laughed. "What?" He was going to make sure Greg would never get him to the beach again. This was torture.

"No, Nick. Buoy, not boy." Greg fought to control his smile. He had no wish to antagonize Nick, and a crime scene wasn't really the place for humor. "He means the girl was just sitting on the beach, watching someone out in the water." Greg turned to the helpful boy. "Just being a decoy? Soaking through all the sets?" The boy nodded. "How long? Have you seen him before?"

"All morning. Like maybe three or four hours, just bobbing, duck-like." Here the boy paused to think. "I think he's been here before, at least someone else sat out there before. It might not have been the same guy."

"When was that?" Greg asked, wishing he had a notebook. The kid shrugged, clearly not sure. "A week? Maybe? I didn't really pay that much attention. It's just kind of Monty when the ducks line up, you know?" Obviously, there had been something else different about their mystery surfer besides his waiting out beyond the waves. "He was kind of Bolshoi. I think."

"Ducks, as in plural? How old do you figure?" Greg knew Nick was ready to explode, but he wanted to be clear before he let the kid stop. "Yeah, I think there were two today…but I only remember one before." The kid scrunched his face in concentration. "Old. Maybe thirty-five…forty." Nick grimaced at the reference of forty being old. He had scavenged an empty envelope from one of the by-standers and gave it to their witness to write his name and contact information. Once the police arrived, they'd want their own detectives to ask more questions. Information in hand, he turned to Greg.

"What the hell did all that mean?" He tried and failed to keep the petulant twist out of his voice. "According to our witness," Greg leaned over a little to read the name off the envelope Nick was holding. "Chris. Chris says this girl was sitting on the beach all morning watching someone, presumably a man about our age, sitting on a board out beyond the wave line. He just sat there, riding swells up and down, for hours." Greg looked perplexed. "Sometime during those hours, another man joined the first. Just sitting in the water."

"Sitting in the water…like a buoy." Nick felt a small surge of victory for figuring that out. "Yeah. Buoy, duck, decoy…all the same thing." Greg smiled. "Looks like lunch will have to wait until after the cops get here."

Nick was okay with that. Looking down at the dead girl and wondering how she'd ended up that way, he'd pretty much lost his appetite anyway. "Let's see if any of these other kids saw anything relevant."

The local sheriff arrived about ten minutes into the questioning of the crowd. The appearance of uniforms was like letting the plug out of the tub; kids flowed away, as fast and inconspicuously as possible. By the time the sheriff and his one deputy arrived at the shores edge, only Nick and Greg and the pretty but dead girl remained to greet them.

"Sheriff. I'm Nick Stokes; this is Greg Sanders. We're with the Las Vegas Crime Lab, here on vacation. We've tried to preserve the crime scene as much as possible, but you'll no doubt want to get more people out here and set up a perimeter.

"Stokes, Sanders," the sheriff gave them a brief handshake. "I'm Sheriff Prescott, this is my deputy, Bob Martin." Here, he eyed the two warily, "Just what makes you think this is a crime scene?" The sheriff was deep into his re-election campaign. The last thing he needed was a dead tourist and two noisy law-enforcement outsiders.

Nick and Greg exchanged a look. This was going to be interesting. "She's got ligature markings on her neck," Greg pointed to the area, not touching. Not that much physical evidence was left after her bath in the sea, but they could get lucky. "Plus, what witness accounts we were able to get placed her on the beach only. She never ventured close to the water's edge."

"Hmm," was the sheriff's only comment. Damn. This wasn't going to be something that just went away. It was going to make the news, and it could get really messy. He had a two-man department. Up to now, the biggest crimes they encountered were petty theft and drunk and disorderly. He felt distinctly out of his element.

"I'm going to have to ask you two to stick around for a while." He needed time to think. "Stay in town until I say you can go." Nick gave him the name of the hotel they were staying at.

Nick had the distinct impression that the sheriff had no clue how to proceed. They were out of their jurisdiction, out of their own state. They could, and would cooperate as much as possible, but without a request and permission, they were outsiders here.

"No problem, Sheriff." Nick held out his hand for a final shake. "Just let us know how we can be of assistance." With that, the two headed back up the beach to collect their boards and cooler. Neither had a good feeling about leaving the scene unprotected; neither had any idea what to do about it.

Nick was still thinking about the dead girl after his shower. He waited for Greg to finish getting cleaned up so they could grab some dinner. While he waited, he dug out Greg's laptop to do a little background check on the local police department. The ten minutes it took Greg to finish up was eight minutes more than Nick needed to read all that was available on the subject. He was mildly disturbed to learn that this was election year for the sheriff, and that he was in a tight race for reelection. That didn't bode well for the still unknown dead girl. Murder and reelection never mixed well.

"Ready?" Greg asked, exiting the bathroom. Nick didn't respond, still staring at the screen in front of him. "Nick?" Nick finally looked up at Greg. He liked what he saw, but his growling stomach was putting all other thoughts aside for now. He closed the computer and rose to exit the room with Greg.

"Our friend the sheriff is up for reelection in three months. I did a little snooping on line while you were in the shower." Greg looked over at Nick, brow furrowed in thought.

"That means this all will be handled fast. He's going to want it out of the way, settled soon, so the voters won't associate him with a murder on his watch." They both knew that was a bad thing for the victim. Not that she was in any position to complain.

They decided to walk the short distance to the Mexican restaurant on the corner. Nick was so hungry, he was sure no matter how bad the food was he'd enjoy it.

Sitting in a back booth, staring across at Greg while he finished his fish tacos, Nick couldn't help but think about the girl on the beach, and the way the locals had responded to the scene. He knew Greg was more than ready to let it go. He knew he should to. He didn't think he could just walk away. He had to find a way to get some answers without stepping on any official toes.

Later, as they settled in for the night, Nick wondered aloud what the unknown surfer could have been looking at for so long. Greg sighed and sat up. "Let it go, Nick." He really didn't expect that to happen, but he had to try. "It's not our case, our jurisdiction."

"I know. It's natural to wonder, though. Aren't you just a little curious?" Nick waggled his eyebrows at Greg, getting him to smile. Score!

"Sure I'm curious. I'm also on vacation! The first vacation we've had together in five years. I'm not ready to give that up just yet." He snuggled next to Nick, pillowing his head on Nick's shoulder. Nick sighed.

"I know, I know." He did understand how Greg felt. He felt the same, but that young girls face was haunting him. He wanted justice for her, and he was pretty sure she wasn't going to get it.

"We could paddle out there tomorrow, if you want," Greg ventured. "I doubt it will tell us much, but at least it will eliminate some possibilities." Nick grinned, kissing the top of his head.

"Thanks, G. That sounds like a plan." He was really pleased until he realized that meant he had to get back on a surfboard again. Nick groaned, Greg laughed.

"Good night, Nick."

The morning broke cloudy and cold. Not the sort of day Nick wanted to spend in the water. Still, pursuing this had been his idea, he couldn't just back down now. "Aren't we going to freeze out there, G?" Maybe if it were Greg's idea to call the days surfing off, it wouldn't seem so bad.

"We can wear wetsuits." He smiled at Nick's discomfiture. "You'll see. You'll be fine."

Struggling into the tight fitting neoprene garment didn't measure up to Nick's version of 'fine', but at least he was warm. The surf was a lot choppier than yesterday as well, making paddling out a work out. Greg complained good-naturedly that the surf was good, and here he was being a duck; Nick ignored him.

"See anything worth sitting here for?" he asked. "Yeah. I do," answered Greg, smiling at Nick.

"Geek." Nick teased gently. "Pay attention here. We figure this out early, you can get that surfing in you wanted." That was enough incentive to get Greg concentrating. The buildings on the other side of the highway were too far away to make out any real features.

"Did anyone mention seeing field glasses, or a hand telescope?" Greg was joking, but it was a valid point. There was nothing there to see. It didn't make sense.

"Well, if we can't see anything, we have to assume that Buoy couldn't see anything either." Greg paused to gather his thoughts. "So if he wasn't trying to see something, maybe he wanted something, or someone, to see him."

"Where are you going with this, G?" It was a logical leap of thought, but to what end?

"Think about it, Nick. It's empty out here. No one around, but still in plain sight." Nick was beginning to understand.

"Yeah, I see what you mean." He really did have to tell Grissom about this when they got back. Their boss seemed to get a kick out of Greg's intuitive leaps, and this one was a doozy. "It's a perfect place for a private conversation, as long as both parties know how to surf."

"This is a surfing community, Nick. I would imagine most people here surf, or have surfed well enough to paddle out and play decoy."

"So the girl was his look-out. His guarantee that the person he was meeting couldn't pull a fast one." Not that it had turned out so well for her.

"She's the key." Greg stated the obvious. "If we can get her identity, it will probably lead to Buoy." Nick looked skeptical. "Come on! He wouldn't have asked just anybody to do this. It had to be someone he trusted…trusted with his life."

Nick conceded the point with a grunt. "How likely is it, you think, that the sheriff will tell us who see is?"

"Better question…how likely is it that they've made any progress on figuring out who see is?" Greg pulled his legs out of the water, balancing on his knees. "We done here for now? 'Cause the waves are tasty, Nick…let's go grab some!" Receiving a nod from Nick, Greg paddled into position to catch the next set. Nick stayed were he was, lost in his own thoughts, playing 'buoy' while Greg made up for lost time.

Lunchtime found them on their way back at the same restaurant. At several intervals on the way, they could see political posters being stapled to any available surface. "Look at the guy on the poster, Nick. It's that guy from the beach." Greg was startled. Startled Greg was one of the best looks for him, in Nick's opinion.

He looked away from Startled Greg to take in the poster. Sure enough, it was Newcomer, the annoying guy that had checked out Greg just yesterday. It seemed a lot longer, somehow. "Interesting. I don't imagine he's going to win a debate with the sheriff using words like 'nip', do you?" Nick was having a hard time morphing the boardhead from the beach with the candidate for Sheriff on the poster.

They made their way into the restaurant, still debating the relative intelligence of the random surfer. Greg was affronted that Nick could think so little of his brethren. He had no doubt that Nick believed him to be intelligent. He was a genius after all. How could he believe he'd hang around with idiots. Really.


Nick decided that outraged Greg was every bit as delicious as Startled Greg. Maybe even more so. It made him want to do lot's of things that could be considered inappropriate in public. The waitress smiled at them, and seated them at the same booth as last night, all the way in the back…nice and private.

Nick was contemplating the possible ramifications vs. benefits of kissing Greg in public when the sheriff walked in. With a sigh, he shelved the idea of making out in favor of getting a little information.

"Stokes, Sanders," Sheriff Prescott gestured towards the empty chair next to Greg. Taking the hint, Greg pushed it away from the table, indicating the man could sit. "The day been less exciting than yesterday for you?"

"All quiet for us, Sheriff. Any luck finding out who our unfortunate girl is?" Greg asked. The sheriff shook his head. "We put her prints in the system, maybe L.A. will tell us something. We're waiting for the coroners' people to drive out to get her. Should be here in a couple of hours." He couldn't resist a jab at the two troublesome outsiders. "We don't have all the fancy stuff Sin City has. We're just a small town here."

Greg was surprised. "You don't have access to AFIS? I thought all of California was linked." The sheriff shifted uncomfortably. "We don't have the computer system in place. The funds have been allocated by the state, but we have to match them one to one and well, we just haven't done it yet."

Here the sheriff paused, "I did a little checking up on you two." Seeing the lack of surprise, the sheriff smiled. "Expected that, did you? Somebody named Ecklie had good things to say about the both of you. Seems like you know your stuff. He even offered the help of your lab, as a professional courtesy." He laughed again at the raised eyebrows of the other men. "I take it that doesn't sound like him?"

"Not unless there's something in it for him." Greg muttered. "He's not that bad," Nick defended. "He's a politician. He does what makes the lab look good. Helping out, well it looks good when the press gets hold of it. And they will. You won't be able to keep it quiet very long." Nick wondered how the sheriff would take that statement. He didn't have to wait long to find out.

"That what you think I'm trying to do, Stokes? Sit on this until it all just fades away?" Preston's face was blotchy with anger. "I'm a cop. Just a jerk-water cop, sure…but still a cop. Maybe this will lose me the election." Seeing the embarrassment on Nick's face, he continued. "Yeah, I know that's what you're thinking. If I lose, so be it. I've done a good job, as good as I could. I won't do less for this girl."

Nick held up placating hands. "Whoa, there. I'm not implying anything. We're strangers here, and you have your own ways of dealing with things. Just asking, nothing more."

The sheriff sighed. He hadn't slept and his temper was regrettably short. "Yeah, no problem." He shifted his big gun belt around, seeking a comfortable spot. "Since Mr. Ecklie says I can use the help of your fancy lab, I'm taking the chance that means I can use the help of his investigators too." Now it was Greg's turn to sigh. Nick was going to be happy, but he could kiss the rest of his vacation goodbye. "How fast do you think we could get a name back if you send the prints to your people?"

As predicted, Nick's grin was blinding. "If she's in the system, we'll have a fairly immediate answer. You have a secure fax?" He was already pulling his wallet out to pay for the lunch they hadn't finished.

"Yeah, we do. I've got her ten card in my office. We can send it from there." He led the way out into the still gloomy day.

The Sheriff's department turned out to be a storefront on Main Street. Just a small room, with a holding cell and a couple of old wooden desks. Seated at the nearest desk, the deputy pecked on a computer keyboard. "Bob, let this young man at the computer for a minute. We're going to run the prints we got over to the Vegas crime lab."

With seeming reluctance, Bob did as he was asked. He wasn't happy about having outsiders come in and take over his case. He could solve it, and he would. In two years, it would be Bob Martin sitting in the Sheriff's desk. He was sure of it.

Sheriff Preston handed the ten card to Greg. "Go ahead, son. Send them off." Greg took out his cell and dialed Mandy's number. Setting it to speakerphone, he waited for her to pick up. "Hey, Greg!" she chirped. "You're supposed to be getting burnt and making out with Nick." Nick flinched at that, but it wasn't as though they were a big secret. He manfully avoided looking at the sheriff or deputy.

"I wish. I'm sending a ten card on the secure fax. Go wait for it, okay?" He waited while the print tech agreed. "Run it, then call me back on my cell, okay? I'll be waiting, so if you can, run it fast?"

"You got it. Go ahead and send. I'll talk to you when I have results."

"Thanks Mandy." Greg closed the cell and sent the fax. Now all they could do is wait.

It took Mandy about twenty minutes to call back. Twenty minutes where the sheriff tried to ask in twenty different ways if the print tech had been kidding about the making out remark. He knew it was a brave new world. He knew that, but he wasn't really comfortable with it. Maybe he should step down. Let someone younger, more current take over. But this was his town, and he loved it and all the people in it. He wasn't ready to walk away from them just yet. He was relieved to be distracted from his own thoughts when the cell phone rang.

"Yeah, Mandy. What do you have for me?" Greg listened for a minute, nodding. "Can you fax them back to me? The numbers' on the first sheet I sent you." He listened again. "Good. Thanks, I really appreciate it. Listen; can you thank Sara for me? I appreciate the info she found." More listening, this time accompanied with a dark blush. "Just thank her for me, okay? And thanks to you again. I'll be in touch." He hung up, grinning sheepishly at Nick.

"She's got a name, and Sara got a record for us. She's sending them now." He didn't feel the need to explain the blush. He's tell Nick when they were alone, but not in front of the sheriff and unfriendly deputy. He was the uncomfortable focus of all three of the other men's attention until the squealing of the fax machine drew their eyes to it.

Reading over each other's shoulders as the picture and information spooled out from the printer, Nick and Greg exchanged a look. "We need to find Chris," said Greg, just a little smugly.

"Dude," was all Nick had to add.

The sheriff looked from one happy grin to the other. "Just what has you two so happy? All we have is proof that our victim wasn't all sweetness and innocence." In fact, the young woman had a long and colorful criminal career. The faxed report that Sara had sent included several male accomplices. Maybe they'd be able to track them down.

"Did you talk to the boy we first interviewed on the beach?" Nick asked. It was fairly obvious that they hadn't, but he'd already riled the sheriff once; he didn't want to anger him again. "He was the only one that could remember seeing our girl in connection with a man." The sheriff and deputy both looked a little sheepish. "We need to show him these pictures, see if anyone stands out."

"We did try to talk to him," Deputy Martin said. "He's fifteen, and speaks that surfer-speak. Makes me nuts." Both older men shook their heads. Kids. "We didn't get anything useful out of him, but go ahead and try him. He talked to you before."

"Honestly, he talked to Greg." Nick gave Greg a wink. "I didn't understand a word he said! Greg had to interpret for me." It made him smile now, with the end of the case tantalizingly so close. It hadn't seemed too funny just two days ago.

Chris agreed to talk to Greg and Nick, but not the sheriff. "He is all big forehead, dude. Too long around him and I'll be talking to the seals." Greg smiled, and made arrangements to meet him near the restaurant that had become a home away from home for the two.

"Talk to the seals?" Nick should have been taking notes all along. Maybe he'd be closer to figuring the 'language' out.

"Vomiting, Nick. Blowing chunks. Hurling. Yakking. Turning your toes inside out. Praying to the porcelain god." Nick put his hand over Greg's smiling mouth. "I get it, G. I get it." Nick had to smile too. Sometimes Greg was just fun. It didn't matter what they were doing. He was fun.

"I suppose 'Big Forehead' means something too?" Nick wasn't sure he needed to know, but it made Greg smile again. All good.

"Chris thinks the sheriff and deputy are intimidating. I suppose authority figures were to me when I was fifteen, too." Nick had to touch; he had to. He reached out, smoothing his fingers over Greg's jaw. "You're still fifteen, you Kak. You'll never grow up."

"Kak? Nick! You've been holding out on me! You've learned a swear word!" Greg was very impressed. If only they didn't have the appointment with Chris, he wanted to show Nick just how impressed he was.

They arrived at the restaurant only a little late, only a little out of breath. Chris was there, smiling at them in a way that told them he was fully aware of what they had been up to. "Chris, thanks for meeting us," Nick greeted the boy. He couldn't stop the red flush he knew was spreading across his cheeks. It had been worth it, but damn.

"We'd appreciate it if you'd look at some pictures for us. See if any of them look like Decoy from the other day." Greg was smirking, not a blush in sight. He pulled out the small stack of photos of the victims' known accomplices. "Just flip through these, take your time. If any look familiar, hold them out. Okay?"

Chris nodded, bending to his task. He carefully thumbed through each photo, showing the task the kind of seriousness it deserved. With a disappointed shake of his head, he flipped to the last one. This one he studied for a long moment. He looked up at Greg, smiling. "I'm pretty sure this guy was there. This is Decoy!" He was justifiably pleased with himself.

"You're sure?" Nick had to ask. "Absolutely positive? Remember, you may have to testify to it in court."

"Stay casual, dude." Chris was still smiling. "It's definitely him. Do I get to get out of school if this goes to court?" Fifteen year olds live to find ways of getting out of school.

"Probably." Greg matched Chris' grin. "Cool. Maximum real, Chris. Way to go." Chris couldn't help but be curious. "So, the dead girl, did Decoy kill her?" There wasn't a lot they could share with their helpful young friend. It wasn't really fair, but the case wasn't protected yet.

"We don't have all the answers yet, Chris." Nick hated disappointing the boy. He had helped them so much, and they couldn't even give him the vicarious thrill of insider knowledge. "By the time it all goes to court, we'll have the answers. We'll make sure, when your part is done, that you understand what happened. Cool?" Nick could sprinkle the lingo in conversation, too.

"Cool." One more sweet smile. "We done?" he asked. "We're done. Just stay close. Let the sheriff know if you have to leave town, okay?" That toned the smile down a notch. "Remember, you have the testimony needed to put away a killer. That makes you pretty important. You don't have to be intimidated by the sheriff or anybody else." Nick put his hand out for a shake. "Good man."

Chris shook Greg's hand as well, and turned to go. He saw one of the hundreds of posters bearing the likeness of the sheriff's rival and stopped in his tracks. He pointed mutely at the poster, looking back to where Nick and Greg were watching him.

"What is it, Chris?" asked Greg. "You okay?" The boy looked shocked. Frightened even. The two CSI's walked over to him, now concerned. "Chris?"

"This is the guy. It can't be, but it is!" His voice was shaking; his whole body was shaking. It suddenly got a lot more real for the youngster, and he didn't feel up to the challenges ahead. In fact, he was pretty sure he really would be talking to the seals any second.

"What guy, Chris." Greg pulled one of the chairs over from the patio area of the restaurant. He gently pushed Chris into it, crouching down to look into the boys face.
"What guy? You can tell me. We'll protect you." He meant that. He'd do what he had to do to make the boy feel safe again.

"The other Duck, man." Chris took a big gulp of air in, and looked better for it. "This dude is the other buoy, the one that sat out with the first guy. The one you showed me the picture of." He wasn't so shaky now. "Before you ask," a pointed look in Nick's direction, "I'm absolutely, 100% sure." He nodded firmly. "I can testify to that, too. But, I'm not sure I want to."

Nick smiled at their young witness. "Don't worry. You're not in danger. Every thing is going to be fine." He gently patted Chris' shoulder. "Come back to the station with us, and give the sheriff a statement." Chris rolled his eyes. "Do me a favor, though." Chris looked up, ready to give Nick what ever he asked for. "Give it to him in English, okay?"

Chris was the model of cooperation for the sheriff. So much so that he left a very favorable impression on the old man. His hope for mankind restored, he sat down across from the man that had killed once, probably twice, to gain political office in a tiny, jerkwater town. At least the kid turned out good.

Nick and Greg were content to sit against the far wall, leaving the interrogation to the sheriff and his deputy. They could have the 'collar' as Bob Martin had called it. They didn't need it. They had two days of vacation left, and Nick didn't want to waste any of it filling out paperwork.

Surprisingly, the killer was willing to own up to all he had done. As the girl had in several places before, she picked up a prominent man. She was pretty, and it wasn't hard to use her gifts to get her 'mark' interested in her. Then, one of her accomplices would step in with photos and threats. Money would be exchanged, and the con would move on to another town, another hapless victim.

But here, in this town, she chose the wrong man. A man willing enough to sleep with her, willing enough to kill to keep anyone from ever knowing about it. He just wanted to make it all go away. Maybe Buoy's body would float up to shore somewhere over the next few days, maybe not.

It had been his intent to drag the girl out past the surf line, too. But the alert teen had changed that plan. Instead, he'd just drifted away with the rest of the crowd when the police had arrived. He had very nearly gotten away with murder. So very nearly.

Once out on the pavement again, the two found themselves drifting yet again to 'their' restaurant. They were given the same booth, by the same smiling waitress. "I'm going to miss this place." Greg was wistful. Their vacation would soon be over. It was almost impossible to get time away together. It would probably be a long time before they could do it again.

"Hey, we made the lab look good. Ecklie will have to give us days off together next year." Nick laughed at Greg's excited expression. "Of course, we're definitely not spending them surfing!"

"Surfing is an art form, Nick. You have to keep practicing or you'll lose your skills." Greg's sage look made Nick laugh again. "Let's just get something to eat, then I'll show you my skills, okay?" Now Greg was blushing, a rosy tint flooding over his nose, across his cheeks. Nick leaned over, kissing the trail of pink. Greg's tremulous sigh was incentive enough to capture his lips in yet one more kiss.

Breaking apart, Nick smiled into Greg's glazed eyes. "You want to skip lunch, G?"

Greg's eager nod was all the confirmation Nick needed. They would be heading back to Vegas in two days. Nick intended to spend the rest of the time they had in a different kind of sport. One who's language he could understand loud and clear.

end