Title: In the Crosshairs
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: gen - 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 Ryan Wolfe, unfortunately, just borrowing him for a while. Please do not sue.

***

He hated being cooped up in a hotel room.

Greg paced from one side of the room to the other, wishing that he was anywhere but here. He wanted to be back at home, with the case of his mysterious solved and in the past.

Of course, he couldn't go back home. Not until his stalker was caught, and put behind bars. His colleagues had made that clear to him, and he knew that they were right.

Underneath his surface bravado, and his irritation at having to be here isntead of in his own home, he was more scared than he had ever been in his life. He had dealt with people who were the targets of stalkers before, but he'd never been a target himself.

That was terrifying, to know that he was the object of someone's obsession. Someone who apparently wanted to kill him, if their "gifts" were anything to judge by.

Sending him dead flowers said a lot, didn't it? He didn't even want to think about what this person's psychology must be. He was definitely messed up in the head.

The thought of being in that person's crosshairs sent a shiver down his spine.

It was absolutely terrifying to think that someone was so obsessed with him. Now he knew how the stalking victims he'd had to talk with in the past had felt.

It was as though he was in a trap, with the walls closing in on him. A trap that he had no way out of until this person was caught and put away.

All of the stalking victims that he'd had personal contact with in the past in his job as a CSI had known who was after them, he thought sourly. That made his situation all the more frightening -- he had no idea who was doing this, or even why he had become such an obsession.

Was it someone he knew? He sat down on the bed, propping his chin in one hand, trying to concentrate on everyone he knew and sifting through the suspects.

He knew that it couldn't be a person he worked with. That just wasn't possible. No one at the crime lab would think of doing something like this, not even to play some kind of sick joke on him.

Whoever was doing this, he didn't think it was anyone who actually knew him, or even anyone that he had put away in his time as a CSI. It just didn't feel like that. It felt like someone who had focused on him, fixated on him, and who was moving closer and closer, tightening a noose around him.

That thought made another shiver go through him. He didn't want to feel like a fly caught in a spider's web. He didn't want to see himself as some kind of victim.

He was not a victim, Greg told himself firmly. There was no reason to see himself in that light, none at all. He was merely someone who had the bad luck to be in a stalker's sights.

A stalker who obviously wanted to snuff out his life.

Greg looked down at his hands, surprised to see that they weren't shaking. He was holding firm and steady; he wasn't letting this unnerve him completely.

Maybe it would have, a few years ago. But now, he had been a CSI for quite a while, and he'd seen things like this happen to other people before.

He'd just never thought that he would be the one who was in the sights of a stalker, he thought ruefully. It had always seemed like something that happened to people who weren't careful enough about who they were around, not something that could take place in his own life.

But now that it was happening, he had to search his memory and try to figure out if it could possibly be anyone who he'd had some kind of personal contact with.

After what seemed like a very long time, but was probably only a few moments, Greg clasped his hands together with a sigh. He couldn't think of anyone it could be.

No person came to mind. No face was in his mind's eye.

Still, he wasn't going to give up hope, he told himself as he got to his feet to pace around the room again. Sooner or later, they would catch this creep. The law of averages told him that.

With another sigh, he headed for the phone on the bedside table, deciding to call room service and have dinner sent up. It was going to be another long night, just him and the television.

Hopefully, there wouldn't be any more "gifts" being sent to him, at least not tonight.

He just wanted to relax and forget about all that he'd been dealing with, but he knew that would be far more easily said than done. He couldn't just push this into the back of his mind.

Picking up the receiver, he turned the menu over, giving the person who answered his order and then hanging up the phone. Now he just had to wait for it to be delivered.

Something told him that it was going to be a long, lonely night.

***