Previous part of Good Enough.

***

Chapter 11

*****

Greg Sanders is standing in my doorway, pizza in hand.  I know I should say something, or do something, but I seem to have gone numb.  

Finally, Greg says, "Nick?  Can I come in, or are we eating this in the doorway?"

"Oh," I say, jolting back to reality.  "Yeah, man.  Come in."

I hold open the door so Greg can come in.  I'm still holding my cordless in one hand, and I can vaguely hear my mom screeching at me. 

Greg points at the phone.  "You gonna talk to her?"

"No," I say, pushing the button to hang up the phone. 

"Nick."

"Yeah?"

"You just hung up on her."

I gaze dreamily at the phone.  "Well, it'll give her a reason to yell at me later.  She usually has to sit around and think of one."

Greg cocks his head at me.  Licking his lips, he says.  "I'm gonna stick this in the oven."

Nodding, I say, "Sure, man.  I'm going to be in the living room."

I need some time to collect my thoughts.  I wanted to talk to Greg.  Really.  I intended to do it earlier today.  But I figured I'd have the time to prepare myself, to plan my words.  Now he's in standing the kitchen, and I'm flying without a net.  I don't know what to say to him, or even if I should say anything.  Maybe if he's not mad at me, I should cut my losses and save our friendship.  But then how do I look at him every day, knowing I want to be more than friends?

Letting out a haggard breath, I bury my face in my hands.

After a minute, I feel Greg's hand stroking my hair.  "Hey," he says.  "You all right?"

"I don't know," I say quietly. 

Greg sits down next to me.  "The pizza's done," he says gently, pointing to box on my coffee table.  "I found some plates."

"Okay," I say.

He's opened a door for me, but I'm not ready to talk. So I grab a plate and load it up with pepperoni and sausage pizza, grateful for the time to think. 

Greg's just sits there, watching me for the longest time.  Then he finally follows my lead and grabs some pizza.

We sit together eating, but not talking.  Every now and then, I see him out of the corner of my eye, trying to sneak a clandestine glance. 

After four or five pieces of pizza, Greg says, "So, Catherine told me if I didn't come over here tonight, she was going to drag me over."

"Yeah?"  I shift my body slightly.  "She was over here last night trying to get me to spill my guts."

Greg grins sheepishly.  "Well, you can thank Warrick for that."

I smile suspiciously.  "Trying to foist the blame onto Warrick, huh?"

"He was like, 'We're all worried about Stokes, Catherine.  Somebody should talk to him.'"

I laugh and shake my head, and wonder if Greg knows about the confrontation between me and Grissom today.

Greg turns his body until he's facing me.  "He was concerned after you wigged out in the lab."

"I didn't wig out."

"You wigged out, man."  He gazes at the ceiling.  "And I'm sorry if I did anything to cause that."

I lean back and look at him.  "What would you have done to make me wig out?"

"I don't know," he shrugs.  "You were avoiding me."

"You're right," I say. "I kinda was."

"Aha," he says with mock enthusiasm.  "You admit it."

"Well, I was, man.  I couldn't face you."

He starts savagely twisting a napkin in his hands.  "After my theories the other night . . ."

"Yeah," I say.  "What were those theories?  You never said."

He looks embarrassed.  "You know."

"Greggo, I really don't."

Sighing, he says, "You know, Nick.  I get mixed messages from you."

I frown.  "What mixed messages?"

He leans back and starts balling up the napkin.  Then he unfolds it, and balls it up again.  Then he unfolds it, and balls it up again.  "I get this vibe from you."

Uh oh.  Now we've made it to the main event.

"What vibe?" I say, with feigned ignorance.

He throws the napkin across the room.  "Half the time I think you're attracted to me, and half the time I think you're repulsed by me."

"What the hell are you talking about?  You don't repulse me."

Gazing over my shoulder, Greg says, "I don't know how to act around you."

"How do you want to act?" I ask casually. 

Greg stands up and starts to pace.  "This is what you do.  You do this."

"What?"

"This."

"Speak English, Sanders."

"You send off . . ." He gestures wildly, as if he's drawing something in the air that will make his words clear to me. "Vibes."

"What do you mean?"

"This," he says incoherently.  "You send off these vibes and I don't know what you want from me."

What I want . . .

He leans against the coffee table, supporting his weight with his fists.  "What do you want?"  His words sound angry and bitter.  I've never heard Greg sound like that.

"I want us to be friends."  It's a partial truth.  I do want us to be friends.  But at the same time, I want to be much, much more.  I want hearts and flowers and sappy love songs. 

"Friends," he says.  "Okay, pal."  He turns his back to me.

"You know," I say, standing up.  "You're the one who gives off mixed signals."

He spins back around.  "Oh do I?"

"Yeah, you do!"

Greg puts his hands behind his head and paces some more.  "I'm not the one . . ."

"What?"

"Stop playing dumb," he snaps, picking up an empty can of soda.

I cross my arms.  "I'm not."

He throws the can across the room.  Then he walks over to me, closing the distance between us before I can even process what he's doing.  Grabbing me by the shoulders, he pulls me closer to him, and then presses his lips to mine.

***

Chapter 12

*****

I'm barely aware of what's happening right now.  I know Greg has his arms around me, and I know he's kissing me.  But I honestly don't remember how we got this way.  But I barely remember my own name at the moment.  All I'm really cognizant of is the fact that Greg is licking my bottom lip.

My legs must start to buckle, because I feel Greg slide his arms around my waist.  "Whoa," he half-laughs.  "Steady there."

"I need to sit down," I say hazily.

"All right." 

He starts to lead me to the couch, but I plunk right down on the floor.

"Have it your way, Nicky," he laughs, lowering himself to the ground.

We sit there a minute, not really saying anything.  Then I laugh self-consciously, "So."

"Yeah," Greg chuckles.  "I've wanted to do that for a long time."

He has?

"You have?" I say distantly.  "I didn't know."  I swallow and then repeat, "I didn't know."

Greg shifts his body so he's sitting beside me.  Putting an arm around me, he whispers, "It's okay."  He half-hugs me with his arm, and then kisses me on the neck.  "I think we got our wires crossed."

I turn my head to face him.  "If I'd have known . . ." I can't think of anything to say, so I let my words trail off.

"I know," he says quietly.  "I've been walking around afraid that you'd find out about my feelings for you."

I smile sheepishly.  "Ditto, man.  We definitely got our wires crossed.  After that day in the lab, I figured I'd wrecked our friendship."

"I thought you ran out of there because you knew."

We both laugh softly, and then Greg starts to nuzzle my neck.  When he finally comes up for air, he asks, "So, what now?"

I lick my lips.  "Uh, I guess we should talk.  Really talk."

Greg nods and stands up.  "Let's move this to the couch."

I stand up shakily.  My knees aren't made for sitting on the floor.  "Hang on a sec, okay?"  I say.  "I'm gonna grab something to drink." I disappear into the kitchen, and reemerge a few minutes later with two cans of cherry cola.  "No matter how fast I run out of food, I always seem to have a steady supply of soda."

Greg smiles.  "Thanks," he says, taking a can from me.  Then he pats the cushion beside him.  "Quit stalling."

Letting out a breath, I slump down onto the couch.  Greg slips his arm across my shoulders and pulls me close.  It feels nice to just sit here, but we've got some things to sort out.

Taking his free hand in mine, I say, "I think Catherine knows."

"Oh yeah," he nods.  "She knows."

I narrow my eyes.  "As in she told you she knows?"

"As in she said if I didn't tell you how I felt pretty soon, she was going to clock me one."

I grin.  "So, who else do you think knows?"

Greg squeezes my hand.  "I don't know."  He pauses, and then cocks his head to look at me.  "My family knows.  About me."

"Yeah?" I say.  That surprises me, because I can't imagine telling my family. 

"Yours?" Greg asks.

"No way.  Not even."

Greg purses his lips.  "I've known I'm bisexual since I was in high school."

"I've been trying to pretend I'm not since high school."

Greg wraps his arms tightly around me.  "So," he says tentatively.  "Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"With a guy."

"Oh," I say.  "Yeah, but not since college. I mean, it's one thing to have a couple of flings in college.  It's another to be a cop in Texas and openly date men."

"You're not a cop in Texas anymore."

I lick my lips.  "Yeah, man, I know."  Then I pull out of his embrace and say, "You know, Greggo, I've known you for quite a while.  I had no idea you played for both teams."

"Yeah, well."

"Yeah, well, nothing, man."

He smiles.  "Point taken."  He pulls me back into his arms.  "Nick, I only started hiding it when I figured out I had feelings for you.  I don't know.  I guess I thought you'd freak if you knew."

"Brass and Warrick would freak."

"No doubt," he nods.  "Sara would be broken-hearted, of course.  Losing me to you."

I laugh.  "She's probably just glad you stopped hitting on her."

He smirks.  "What about Grissom?"

"Oh, man," I say.  "I don't know."  I twist my body so that I'm facing Greg.  "So, did anybody tell you what happened today?"

"Well, Catherine said she wasn't buying my sick act."

I take a deep breath, and then release it.  "I blew up at Grissom."

Greg scoots forward.  "Get out!  Really?"

"Yeah," I smile guiltily.  "In front of Warrick, Sara, and Brass."

"And I missed it?  Did anybody get it on tape?"

I take his hand.  "Listen, man," I say.  "I got to tell you something because you're gonna hear about it."

"Okay."

"Well, Gris and I had this interview with a potential suspect and her father.  Gris treated them like serial killers and I went off.  Told him he didn't know how to talk to human beings."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, Brass tried to stop me, but I was venting, man."

"What did Grissom do?" Greg asks excitedly.

"He just stared at me.  But listen, here's what I have to tell you."  I swallow.  "Remember, I was venting.  I told Grissom that I was starting to think I'd have to be a dead body to get his attention."

Greg gapes at me.  "You were just mad, right?"

I rub my hand up and down his arm.  "Yeah, I was going off.  I didn't mean anything by it.  Sara's all worried, though.  And to make matters worse, Gris called me into his office so he could tell me how he cares about all of us—it was really weird, man—and then Sara comes in and says Cody Briers tried to kill himself."

"Harsh, Nicky."

"So, right before I left today, Sara kept asking me if I needed to talk.  I'm hoping she doesn't hover the next few days."

"Rough day at the office."

"So, I wanted to hear what happened before Sara tells you the dramatic version."

Greg takes my face in his hands.  "You'd talk to me—or someone—if you ever felt like hurting yourself, right?"

"Yeah, I would."

Wrapping his arms around my neck, Greg kisses me gently on the lips.  "I don't want anything to happen to you."

We sit quietly in each other's arms for a while, and then I say, "I'm having a hard time with this case."

"How so?"

"It's hitting a little too close too home."  I burrow further into his arms.  "My parents are a lot like the Kincaids and the Briers.  I don't know.  I'm missing something.  I can't figure out what."

"Maybe you're ignoring for the obvious."

"Possible.  And something else," I say.  "When we went to the hospital about Cody Briers today, the Kincaids were there.  And that girl Brass and I interviewed at the school."

"Kincaid's girlfriend?"

"Yeah.  And the girl and her dad—the people we talked to today—they were there.  It was weird.  They just sat by themselves and everyone ignored them."

"Who were they to Kincaid?"

"Well, the girl says she and Kincaid were dating."

"So, Kincaid had two girls?  Hmm…"

"Grow up," I grin.  "But it's weird.  The whole situation is weird."

"Does the girl have a connection to Cody Briers?"

I frown.  "I don't know.  I was wondering that.  She never said anything.  I know Cody is friends with the Cooper girl—the girl from the school—but the Cooper girl said that Natalie—the other one—doesn't travel in her social circle."

Greg slides his hand along my leg.  Feels nice. "Hmm . . . Okay," he says. "Then you got one girl who openly dated Kincaid and knew Briers, and another one who stayed in the shadows."

"But not so much in the shadows that she and her family didn't show up when Cody Briers tried to kill himself."

The hand that's been massaging my leg stills.  "Hmm . . ."

When I sneak a quick glance over my shoulder, I can see in Greg's eyes that he's starting to analyze this whole situation.  In other words, he's slipping into CSI mode.

Reaching down, I cover his hand with mine and start slowly moving our hands along my leg.  I crane my neck around and kiss him on the cheek. "We can think about this tomorrow, Greg," I say smiling roguishly.

***

Chapter 13

*****

Sara's sitting across from me, her head resting in her hand.  "You're in a good mood," she says.

I glance up, grinning like an idiot.  "Maybe I am."

"What gives?" She asks.

My relationship with Greg is one day old, but so far, so good.  Real good.  I'm not exactly ready to advertise this thing with Greg and me, though.  I have serious reservations about how Warrick, Grissom, Brass, and Sara are gonna take it. 

Shrugging, I smile, "I just worked some stuff out,"

Sara takes my hand.  "You know, you had me pretty scared."

"Sara, I'm sorry.  What I said to Grissom I said in anger.  I didn't mean it."

She brushes a strand of hair over her shoulder.  "Not even a little?"

Licking my lips, I say, "Maybe a little.  But listen, I want you to know that I don't have a death wish.  I'm not that far gone."

"If you get that far gone . . ."

"I'll talk to someone."

Just then, Grissom walks in.  He stops in the middle of the room and gazes at me like he's waiting to find out if I'm going to explode or something.  Finally, he takes a seat next to Sara.  "What've we got?"

Sara and I are rereading the personal information on all the major players in Danny Kincaid's life.  Or in the case of the Ames', we're going over it for the first time.

"Well," I say.  "All the kids are stellar students.  Mostly honors and college prep classes.  Kincaid, Briers, and Cooper were all involved in extracurricular activities, but Natalie Ames pretty much just shows up for class."

Grissom nods and gets a far off look in his eyes. "Any serious behavioral issues?" 

"Other than what we already know about Kincaid, no.  None of them are problem kids.  Natalie Ames' English teacher said she's been depressed and withdrawn, though."

"Here's something," Sara says. 

"What?" Grissom asks.

Sara looks up, a smile plastered on her face.  "Cody Briers mom . . . her maiden name is Ames.  She's Garret Ames' sister."

*****

Grissom and I decide to pay the former Susan Ames, now Susan Briers, a visit.  We arrive just in time to see the front door opening, and Garret Ames storming out of it.

"You're blind!" he yells at Susan Briers, who follows him out the door.

"Don't you tell me how to raise my children, Gary!" Mrs. Briers yells.  "Don't you dare!"

Ames spins around.  "I'm just telling you to listen to him!  Or is that too hard?"

Mrs. Briers points crosses her arms fiercely.  "At least my child isn't a freak!"

Ames' jaw tightens, and his whole body becomes rigid.  Turning on his heel, he says, "Bite me."

He thunders down the walk and runs right into me.  When he realizes who I am, he says, "Are you stalking me?"

"We're here to see your sister, actually," Grissom says.  He sounds a bit pleased with himself.

Susan Ames swoops down the walk and stops next to her brother.  "I have to leave soon," she says.  "They're going to let me see Cody."

I notice Garret Ames roll his eyes. 

"Well," Grissom says.  "I'll try not to take much of your time."  Then he turns to me.  "Nicky, you wait out here."

He wants me to talk to Ames, apparently.  I don't think I'm much higher on Ames' Christmas list that Grissom is, but I'll have a try.

"So," I say to Ames.  "We weren't aware that you and Mrs. Briers were related."

"Well, we're not close," Ames says. "I'm the family freak."

Grinning, I say, "I know the feeling.  I'm one of seven kids.  Mostly doctors and lawyers.  My mom keeps calling to tell me how well my sisters and brother are doing, and how she hopes I figure out what I want to do with my life."  Laughing, I shake my head. 

Ames smiles.  "My parents went nuts when I got married at eighteen.  They were hoping I'd follow my dad into the law practice.  Can you see me as a lawyer?"

I laugh.  Then I say, "Sir, I'm sorry about yesterday."

He bites his bottom lip and nods.  "Ah," he says.  "I was over the top.  I felt as though I was being put the defensive."

"We could've handled things better."

Ames starts pacing along the sidewalk.  "Natalie was watching her brother the night Danny was killed.  I work evenings, and she takes of Logan.  I mean, he's thirteen, but she doesn't leave him by himself."

"Yes, sir."  I cross my arms.  "How well did you know Danny Kincaid?"

He shrugs.  "Danny and Cody were friends since they were tiny.  Nat used to hang around with them."

"When did that change?"

"When they were freshmen.  They were into different things."

"Does it surprise you that Natalie was dating Danny?"

He nods.  "I never would've allowed it, and she knows that."

"Why not?"

"Because he was drinking.  He was violent.  People can say what they want, but he had a temper.  He gave Cody five stitches a couple months ago."

"How did that happen?" I ask.

Ames shoves his hands into his pockets.  "I don't know the whole story. Cody called me one day and asked me to pick him up from a free clinic downtown.  He didn't want his parents to know what happened.  I asked him what went down, and he told me that he and Danny had a fight, and Danny'd been drinking.  And Danny hit him."

"Was this an isolated incident?"

"With Cody maybe.  But I'm sure sweet, porcelain Molly Cooper had been knocked around a little."

That would throw a new ingredient into the pot.  We haven't been looking at Molly Cooper as a suspect at all. 

Over Ames' shoulder, I see the Briers' front door burst open.  Grissom bounds cheerfully down the steps followed by an irritated looking Mrs. Briers. 

"Ready to go, Nicky?" Grissom asks.

I hold out my hand to Mr. Ames.  "Sir."

Ames regards me hand for a few moments, and then he grasps it tightly.  "Mr. Stokes."

I nod at Mrs. Briers, who scowls back, and then I round the car to passenger side. 

***

Chapter 14

-----

Greg's got the thumb of one hand hooked into one of the belt loops of my jeans.  With the index finger of the other hand, he's tracing my spine.  Considering we're in Greg's lab, him feeling me up probably isn't a good idea. 

"Greg," I say, "C'mon.  We're in public."

Are you ashamed of me?" Greg asks.  There's a hint of amusement in his voice. 

"I'm not ashamed of you," I say.

"Good," he says, as he slides one hand under my shirt.  "You have nice skin."

Glancing over my shoulder, I whisper, "I'm serious, Greggo.  What if someone sees us?"

"Then they see us."

Greg is ready to tell the world about us, and believe me, I'm flattered.  But I'm just not ready to go public.  I mean, my parents would go nuclear.  Sara would be polite—too polite.  And there's no telling how Warrick, Brass, and Grissom would react.  If I had to guess, though, I'd have to say Warrick and Brass will have a problem with this.  We've all gone out together after work, and every now and then, a couple of guys will walk by—obviously together.  Warrick and Brass aren't outright mean, but they crack a joke, or make a little dig.  Maybe they're just being guys, but I just can't take the chance.

I yank Greg's hand out from under my shirt.  "Not here, Greg.  I mean it."

Greg takes a step backward.  Licking his lips, he says, "Okay."

I've hurt him.  I know that.  But this is my job, and these are my friends. "We have to set up boundaries Greg."

"Okay."

"Work is no place for…this."  I take a step forward.  "Grissom would blow if he saw us getting…romantic in the lab."

"I know," he says.  He walks to the other side of the lab and starts moving things around.  "So, your DNA analysis will be done soon."

After I told him about my conversation with Garret Ames, Gris asked Molly Cooper to come in and give us a DNA sample.  Molly wasn't too thrilled about the idea, but her mother brought her in anyway.

"Y'know, Nicky," Greg says.  "If it was just about the touchy-feely stuff at work, I'd be fine.  But I get the feeling you'll never be ready to tell anyone about us."

"This is moving pretty fast," I say.  "I'm sorry."

"It's cool," Greg says, his tone indicating that it's anything but cool.

"You're upset," I say.

"I'm cool.  We're cool."

About then, Grissom wanders in.  "How's that DNA sample coming?"

Greg flashes a forced, but Greg-like smile.  "It'll be hot off the presses in a sec."  He points at the machine, and, as if on cue, the printer spits out a piece of paper.  Greg rips the paper off the printer and reads it to himself.  Then he glances up at Grissom and me.  "Any guesses?"

"We don't rely on guess," Grissom says.

"We rely on evidence," Greg finishes.  "Molly Cooper is a match."

-----

I'm in Greg's lab, waiting for Brass.  We're going to interview Molly and her mother together.  After the incident with the Ames', Brass pretty much barred Grissom from interviewing the kids involved in the Kincaid murder. 

Greg is still angry with me.  He ditched me at lunch and went out with Catherine.  Now, he's just leaning against the counter, his arms crossed, glaring at me.  

"Look, Greg," I say.

He sighs wearily.  "Nicky, I'm not asking you take out a full page add in the morning paper.  I just don't want to hide.  It was hard enough for me to hide it from you."

I lean my body forward and rest my weight on the upper part of my arms.  "I'm not comfortable doing this in a fishbowl."

"And I'm not comfortable in the closet, Nick."

"You have to give me time," I say.  I reach out to take his hand, but he pulls it away.

"We're at work," Greg says. "Boundaries, remember."

I gaze at him for a long moment.  As much as I care about—love the guy, I can't let him force me to do something I'm not comfortable doing.  And I'm not ready to come out of the closet.

"You're not being fair," I say.

"No, you're not," he snaps.

"Nicky," a voice says from the doorway.

I glance up and see Brass standing there.  Oh God.  How long has he been there?

If Brass heard anything, he doesn't act like it.  He points over his shoulder. "The front desk said the Coopers are here."

"Cool," I say.  "Hey Greg, I'll call."

"If you want to," he says shortly.

-----

Brass and I round the corner to the front lobby.  Sure enough, Mrs. Cooper is standing there.  And she's got company.

"Isn't that Garret Ames?" Brass whispers. 

"Yeah," I say. 

Mr. Ames and Mrs. Cooper are standing pretty close to each other, talking quietly.  Mrs. Cooper is gesturing with her hands, while Mr. Ames stands with his arms stolidly crossed. 

Brass and I walk toward them and finally wind up close enough to hear the tail end of the conversation.

Mrs. Cooper runs a hand through her hair.  "I just don't see why you have to shut everyone out."

"That's your interpretation, Kim," Mr. Ames says. 

"Gary…"

Mr. Ames takes a step forward. "I haven't seen you make much of an effort."

Taking a breath, I say, "Mr. Ames, Mrs. Cooper."

They both jump a little, like teenagers who've been caught smoking behind the school.

"Mr. Stokes," Ames says, holding out his hand.  "Could I talk to you for a moment?"

"Sure."  I glance at Brass.  "I'll meet you in the interrogation room."

Mrs. Cooper waves Molly, who'd been checking out the vending machines, over, and they follow Brass down the hall.

"What can I do for you, sir?"  I ask.

Ames reaches into his pocket and pulls out a stack of letters.  "My son brought these to me.  He likes to sneak a peek at Natalie's things. They're letters from Danny to Nat."

"Does your daughter know you brought these?" I ask.

He nods.  "She's less than thrilled right now."  He hands me the stack of letters.  "They're disturbing.  But I think you need to see them."

"Thank you," I say. 

He nods again, and then turns on his heel and walks out the door.

***

Chapter 15

-----

"C'mon Molly," Brass coaxes, half-smiling, "Tell us what happened the night Danny died."

Molly is a nervous wreck. She's twisting a tissue into a mangled mess, and she keeps glancing at her mother. "I don't know what happened," she croaks.

"Molly," Mrs. Cooper says firmly. From the look she's had plastered on her face since I walked in here, Mrs. Cooper was floored by the knowledge that her daughter was in Danny Kincaid's house the night he died.

Tugging at her bottom lip, Molly says, "I don't know, Mom. He was fine when I left."

"What were you doing there anyway?"

A short, impatient sigh escapes Molly's lips. "He was my boyfriend."

"You said you were at the library."

I decide to intervene before this becomes a mother-daughter fight. "Molly," I say. "When did you leave Danny's house?"

She looks startled. "After Cody. Right after."

"What time exactly?" Brass asks.

"I don't know. Six?"

Brass raises his eyebrows. Cody didn't leave anywhere near that early.

She tries again. "Seven?"

Brass glances at me. I ignore him and lean forward in my chair. "Molly," I say gently, "tell us what happened."

"We hung out," she shrugs, trying to be casual, but failing miserably.

""Who?"

"Mmm....Me, Cody, and Danny."

"Anybody else? Or just the three of you?"

"Just us," she says.

"Molly," I say. "Why didn't you just tell us you were there?" Actually, why didn't Cody tell us she was there?

"I don't know," she mutters.

"You don't know?" Brass asks suspiciously. Brass has a way of asking a question…I don't know how people are dumb enough to think they can possibly get away with lying to him.

Molly glances at her mother, then she looks at Brass. "Look, Cody and I had a blowout, y'know?"

"Enlighten us," Brass says.

Molly frowns. "I don't know what happened to Cody," she snaps.

Brass plunges on. "What did you and Cody fight about?"

"It's personal," she says.

"This is a murder investigation," Brass says. "Your personal matters are my business."

All the color drains from Molly's face. She takes a labored breath, and then says in a monotone voice, "Danny wasn't murdered."

"Molly," I say. "Did you drive you car to Danny's?"

"No," she says. "I walked."

"From our house?" Mrs. Cooper asks incredulously.

"From IHOP," Molly says irately. "The one two blocks from Danny's house,"

"How did you get to IHOP?" I press.

She lets out a long-suffering breath. "My friend Emma dropped me off."

"What's Emma's last name?" I ask.

"Miller."

"Okay. Did Emma stay at IHOP with you?"

"No," Molly says. "She just dropped me off on the way to her dad's house."

"Did you meet anyone at the restaurant?"

She frowns. Licking her lips, she says, "I met a lot of people. We hang out there. Y'know, I talked to a lot of kids."

"Anyone in particular?" Brass asks.

"I said lots of kids," Molly snaps. "I didn't write down their names."

The sweet girl Brass and I talked to in Mrs. Ling's office is long gone, replaced by a snotty teenager who won't give a straight answer. My minds resonates with Garret Ames' sarcastic description of Molly—"Sweet, porcelain Molly Cooper."

"Look," I say. "Let's go step by step. Where were you and Emma before you wound up at IHOP?"

"The library," she answers.

"What time did you arrive at Danny's?"

"5 or something."

"Was Cody already there?"

"Yeah."

"What did the three of you do?"

Molly shoots me an acidic glare. "We hung out. Talked. Stuff."

"What did you talk about?" I ask.

She shifts in her chair and squares her jaw. She wads up the mangled tissue and tosses it on the table. "The weather."

Okay, so she's playing the tough girl. "Molly," I say. "Did Danny ever hit you?"

"Whoa," Mrs. Cooper says. "What?"

"He wouldn't hit me," Molly says defensively.

"C'mon," Brass says. "Maybe he had a few, pushed you."

Molly stares at the table. After a minute, her hand snakes out to grab the abandoned tissue. "He didn't mean anything by it."

Mrs. Cooper covers her mouth with her hand. "Oh my God. Molly." She turns her daughters face until Molly is looking directly at her. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You would've made me stop seeing him," she says, her voice two octaves higher than normal.

"Mrs. Cooper?" I say solemnly. "What time did Molly get home that night?"

Mrs. Cooper looks stunned. "I don't know," she says. "I was on a date." She looks guiltily at her daughter. "I'm recently divorced." She shrugs helplessly, pulls off her jacket, and then runs a trembling hand through her hair. "I didn't get back until 1. She was in her bedroom then."

Handing Molly another tissue, I say, "Why don't we take a break? Okay? You want a soda?"

Molly shrugs, so I get out of my chair and head for the door. "We'll be back. Jim?"

-----

Once outside, I turn to Brass. "Well, this puts things in a whole 'nother light."

"Do you like her for it?" Brass asks.

"I don't know, man." I look through the window at the Coopers. "I don't think we've gotten the truth from any of these kids. Or most of their parents."

"Mrs. Cooper seemed sincere."

I narrow my eyes and cross my arms. "Yeah, but…She seemed pretty chummy with Mr. Ames. That was news."

Brass cocks his head. "Didn't Molly say Natalie Ames wasn't in her social circle?"

"Yeah. And when we went to the hospital after Cody's suicide attempt, the Ames and the Coopers didn't acknowledge each other. But out in the lobby, they were on a first name basis, and it seemed as though they were having a pretty intimate conversation. Before we interrupted it."

Brass futilely tries to straighten his tie. "Well, you can always tell when two people are treading personal territory."

"Yeah. Okay, Molly's hiding something," I mumble. "And I think Mr. Ames and Mrs. Cooper are hiding something."

"There's a lot of that going on around here," Brass says.

I feel my mouth go dry.

Before I can say anything, Grissom walks up. "How did it go?"

"It's still going," I say. "But she has no alibi for the time of the murder, and she was being battered by Daniel Kincaid."

"Okay," Grissom says as he turns to leave. "Good work."

Grissom's been handling me with kid gloves ever since I went nuclear on him in the hall.

"Grissom," I say. "Something else. Garret Ames stopped by and gave me these." I hand Grissom the letters. "They're notes from the vic to the Ames girl. Ames said they were disturbing."

"Disturbing for the father of a teenaged daughter, or disturbing for anyone?"

"I don't know," I say. "He gave them to me right before I went in to question Molly."

Grissom clutches the letters in his hand, looking for all the world like I've just given him a prize. "Come find me when you finish with Molly. In the meantime, I have a little reading."

-----

After the Coopers leave, I head toward Grissom's office to fill him in on everything. As I walk past Greg's lab, I pause. Greg's hunched over the table, looking into a microscope. I don't know why, but I'm seized by a sudden urge to rush into his lab, wrap my arms around him, and kiss him breathless. That can't happen, though. Not here.

I start to walk away, but Greg looks up and sees me. Catching my gaze, he waves me over.

"Hey," I say, as I walk into the room. I'm surprised Greg wants to talk to me at all after our argument—lover's spat?—today.

"Hey," he says. "You coming over tonight?"

"Am I welcome?"

He grins. "Well, if you bring those muscles and that Texan charm."

I feel my body begin to relax. "Greg, I'm sorry about today."

"Me too." Greg props his elbows up on the counter. "You're coming from a different place than I am. I'm comfortable with my sexuality. You aren't." He nods, as if that settles the matter. Then he says, "I can't keep this a secret forever."

I struggle to say something, but nothing comes out. Finally, I reach behind the counter and squeeze his hand, hoping that the physical connection says what I can't.

***

Spoilers: "Overload." Also, if you haven't read "Murder on the Orient Express," be warned that I spoil the ending to it.

Chapter 16

Shifting uncomfortably in my chair, I glance around Grissom's office. I'm here to discuss my interview with Molly Cooper and her mother, as well as the letters Garret Ames dropped off. Still, I can't help but feel like I'm in the principal's office. I'm waiting to be scolded for something.

Not to mention the fact that the last time I was here, Grissom tried to bond with me.

Leaning forward in his chair, Grissom finally says, "So, how did the interview go?"

I shrug. "Well, everybody's hiding something."

Grissom gets a far-off look in his eyes. "Well, that's true of life, isn't it? We're all hiding something."

Raising my eyebrows, I say, "These people are. Molly Cooper admitted to being in the house, but she says she left right after Cody. She met friends at IHOP prior to meeting Danny, but she shut up when we asked for names. Add to that the fact that Cody never mentioned Molly's presence at the house."

"True. Perhaps Molly is covering for Cody?"

I lean back in my chair. "Cody's parents put him at home when the murder took place."

"Nicky, would your parents lie to protect you?"

Without a second's hesitation, I say, "Absolutely." Cocking my head, I tug on my bottom lip. "You figure the Briers' have been lying to us all along?"

Grissom clasps his hands. "Well, I don't know, but it's a possibility. Remember that eyewitnesses are the least reliable form of evidence."

I nod. "We don't have anything that puts Cody in the house when Danny was killed."

"We don't have anything that puts him at home when Danny was killed," Grissom counters, "Expect the word of his loving parents."

"Speaking of parents," I say, "Mr. Ames and Mrs. Cooper are hiding something as well."

Looking intrigued, Grissom says, "Okay, what's your theory?"

"Well," I say, "Kim Cooper mentioned that she was on a date with someone the night Danny was killed. She and Garret Ames looked pretty chummy when I saw them in the lobby. I'm guessing he's the mystery date."

"Hmm…" Grissom crosses his arms. "That could explain the animosity between Molly and Natalie. Tell me something, Nick. Did you read 'Romeo and Juliet' when you were in high school?"

"Sure. Freshman year."

Grissom pulls a letter from the stack Garret Ames handed to me. "Give me a summary."

Frowning, I say, "Uh…feuding families. True love. They died to be together."

Oh.

I sit up straight. "What are you thinking?"

"Well," Grissom says with a near-grin, "In these letters, Daniel refers to himself as Romeo to Natalie's Juliet. He goes on to say that their families are the Capulets and the Montagues."

"Sounds like Danny was more troubled than people thought."

Licking his bottom lip, Gris says, "He wrote that life wasn't worth living if he didn't have her."

"What does he say about Molly?"

"Nothing. He talks about Cody and about the trip to LA."

Stretching, I ask, "What else?"

Gris rifles through the letters, finally, tugging one free of the stack. "Here he apologizes for hurting her. Says he wasn't mad at her. He was mad at the world."

"Sounds like he hit her, too." I shift in my chair. "I asked Mr. Ames, and he said he was sure Natalie was never beaten. He seems like a good dad, y'know?"

Grissom shrugs, "Well, even the best of parents don't want to believe that something horrible can happen to their child."

"So, we've got one girlfriend who was being battered, another who was probably getting battered, a best friend who got clocked at least once."

"Let's look at our major players: We know that Cody and Molly were in that house. Cody is the best friend. Molly is one of two girlfriends. Cody and Molly are friends."

"Natalie is the other girlfriend, but she was home with her brother when Danny was killed." Anticipating Grissom's question, I add, "But we have no proof of that."

"Additionally, if you're correct about Mr. Ames and Mrs. Cooper, then Natalie and Molly also have a connection."

"And Cody is Natalie's cousin. According to Mr. Ames, Nat and Cody used to hang out, but haven't recently. But there seems to be at least a minor relationship between Cody and the Ames'. I mean, Cody called his uncle after Danny hit him."

Grissom cocks his head the way he does when he's pondering something. "They're all interconnected. Nick, did you ever read 'Murder on the Orient Express'?"

"Yeah, years ago."

"Remember who the killer was?"

"About everybody on the train," I half-laugh. "Twelve people who all knew the vic and each other got together, and each one took a swing at the vic. It was like they were the jury, passing sentence on him."

"Right! They covered for each other. Each passenger on the train misled Poirot just enough that the murder couldn't be pinned on one person."

I stand up and begin to pace. "These are kids, Gris. Are you saying that they got together to kill Danny, and that they've been covering for each other?"

"What do we know about what happened in the room?"

I bite my bottom lip. "Well…"

"What does the autopsy tell us?" Gris asks, slightly irritated.

I've been so out of it lately that I really can't remember. "He didn't have enough pills in his system to kill him."

"Right," Grissom nods. "We also know that there were bruises on his hands. They could be defensive marks, or they could be the result of an attack against one of the suspects. We also know that Daniel had bruises on the back of his legs, consistent with falling backward over something. And," Grissom says, "There was a bruise on his chest that is consistent with someone striking him."

"Or pushing him," I mumble. "Grissom, none of this adds up."

"Well," he says. "We're going to have to do the math until it does."

"I'm just saying you're getting too emotionally involved with this case. You're tied up in knots." Greg rubs the ball of one hand into my right shoulder. "Not that I mind working them out, but dude, your stressin'. It's unhealthy."

I adjust my body so it's more comfortable, and so Greg can reach my upper arms. He's right. My muscles are tight as a drum. The case is only part of it, though. I don't know. I guess I thought getting together with the man I love would solve all my problems, but it hasn't. Most of the old ones are still with me. And my relationship with Greg has caused a few new ones.

Letting out a deep, labored breath, I say, "I guess I identify with Cody a little. And Garret."

"Why?"

"Why?" I crane my neck back to look at Greg. "I guess we all have similar parents. And similar life experiences."

"You never murdered anybody."

"How do we know they did?"

Greg's trying to keep me in perspective. I know that. But I just can't see these kids or their folks as murderers. Maybe I am feeling too close to some of the suspects, but I've always trusted my gut before. And my gut is telling me that none of our suspects are murdered Danny.

Greg pats my left shoulder. "All right, you stay there. I'll get the door."

I flinch. "The door? I didn't hear the doorbell."

"Relax, Nicky," Greg says, a hint of frustration in his voice. "We're friends. You're allowed to be at my apartment."

With my shirt off? I snake my hand to the floor and snatch up my shirt. I just managed to get it buttoned when Greg swings open the door.

"Hi, boys!"

Catherine. I feel my breathing start to relax.

Ever since our little heart-to-heart over breakfast burritos, Catherine has been hovering over me. For want of a better word, she's been mothering me. Yesterday, she dragged me down to the grocery store. "You can't live on fast food," she told me. And this morning, she reminded me to do my laundry. I have to admit, I kind of like her fussing over me.

"So," she says, flopping down on the couch. "What are you two studs up to?"

Greg grins mischievously. "Sorry Cat, there's a lady present."

"Who?" She winks.

Smiling, Greg says, "Hey Cat, want to stay for dinner?"

"Did it come with a good-looking delivery guy?"

"That could be arranged."

"Hey," I say, trying to sound put off. "Are you flirting with her?"

Greg chuckles. "Ooh. Jealous." He strides toward his kitchen. "I cooked pasta. Is that cool?"

"Yeah. Lindsey had a sleepover last night. I don't have to pick her up for a while."

After Greg disappears into the kitchen, Catherine pats the seat next to her. "Let's talk."

I trudge dutifully over and drop down next to her. "Listen, Cat. If you're going to join the Greg Sanders chorus about coming out, I'm not ready."

"That's fine," she says. "Don't do anything you're not ready to do."

"Really?"

"Yeah. How are you two doing otherwise?"

I smile. "Good."

Catherine grins. "Nicholas Stokes, you're blushing."

I am?

"I am?" I laugh a little. "I'm way too old to act silly and lovesick."

"You're too young not to," Catherine says evenly. "So, what happened with Mom?"

I bite my bottom lip and glance toward the kitchen. "We're walking on eggshells."

"Have you told…?" She points toward the kitchen.

"Are you nuts?" I whisper. "He doesn't have to know."

She gazes at me. "Your call. But you need to talk to your parents. They may not want to hear it, but…" Catherine trails off.

I look up and see Greg, leaning quietly against the wall. "And the room fell silent," he says. "Talking about me?"

I feel my chest tighten. I know Catherine and I didn't say anything to tip Greg off about what we were really talking about. But I can't help but notice that Greg has the same look on his face that Brass did after he walked in on Greg and me in the lab.

Noticing my discomfort, Catherine winks at me, and says, "Maybe he was flirting with me."

Greg posture relaxes somewhat. "I wouldn't doubt it," he says dramatically. "Anyway, food's getting cold."

***

Chapter 17

-----

Sometimes I feel like I'm haunted.

When I was a kid, I was molested by a last-minute babysitter. It's a secret I've been carrying around with me since I was nine. The only people in the world who know are Catherine, the babysitter, and me. And my mom, sort of. The last time I was in Texas, I tried to tell my mom about it, but she got uncomfortable and wouldn't listen. Catherine's been on me to try again. She says this thing is going to bother me until I get it out in the open. I know she's right. My secret is like this ghost that's always hanging around in the background, waiting to rattle its chains.

But still, the idea of facing down my mom is terrifying. When I tried to open up to her in Texas, she got this look on her face. I don't know what it was . . . revulsion? . . . guilt? But I'm scared to see that look again.

And then there's Greg to think about. I've always had this fear in the back of my mind that my significant others would learn my secret, and that they wouldn't want to be with me anymore. That they'd see my as damaged. The rational part of me knows Greg wouldn't see it that way. But for all my trust in Greg, there's this little kernel of doubt.

Actually, he and I had a pretty lousy night last night. Greg overheard Catherine and me talking about my problems with my mom. After Catherine left, Greg and I were left with uneasy silence. We sat up for forty-five minutes just making small talk.

Right now, I'm pacing around the living room of Greg's apartment, my cell phone in one hand, a cinnamon donut in the other. Greg's still in the shower. He likes to take insanely long showers, so I figure I've got a while before he comes out.

I've dialed Mom's number. All I have to do is hit the send button.

"Might as well get it over with," I mutter under my breath.

After one ring, my mom answers the phone in her elegant Texan drawl. "Hello?"

"Mom," I say, trying to sound cheerful, "What's up?"

"My long lost son," she says dramatically, "I'm surprised to hear from you this late."

"I've been up an hour, mom," I say, dropping onto the couch, "Graveyard shift."

"Of course," she says, "How are you, son?"

"I'm all right," I lie, "I'm about to head to work." Taking in a deep breath, I say, "Listen, Mom. I was sort of wondering if you could come to Vegas for a few days."

"Aren't you the son who ran away to a different state to get away from me?"

I laugh dryly. "The same. Mom, there's some things we need to talk about, and I need to do it face to face."

"Like what, dear?"

"Like that thing we started to talk about in Texas."

My mom clears her throat. "I don't know what you mean."

Chuckling, I say, "You can play that game if want, but you know exactly what I'm talking about. Can you come?"

"I don't know if I can get away," she says awkwardly.

"That's what I thought, Mom," I say. Without waiting for a reply, I hang up and toss the phone onto the couch.

---

"Have a falling out with Mom?"

I glance up at a towel-clad Greg. A wet, towel-clad Greg.

"I had a nice, little chat with Mom," I say as I watch a droplet of water slide down Greg's shoulder. Shifting on the couch, I fight the urge to run over and help Greg dry off.

I'm amazed I can be this shallow with all the rotten crap I have going on in my mind.

Greg narrows his eyes. "Want to talk about it?"

"No, I don't, Greggo."

He sighs. "That's cool."

"It's nothing about us," I say quickly, "It's something totally different."

"No problem," Greg says.

Shutting my eyes, I rub my left temple. "Sometimes I think my mom should have stopped having kids before I was born."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I open my eyes. "I'm just talking."

Licking his lips, the now loosely-towel-clad Greg sits down on the couch. "Nicky, I want to say something to you, and I don't want you to get mad."

"What's up?"

Greg closes his eyes. "I think you should consider talking to someone."

That's the last thing I expected Greg to say. "What?" I ask incredulously.

Greg shrugs. "Lots of people talk to the department shrink. That's what he's there for. It's not going to hurt your career."

"Wait, wait." I let his words process in my mind. "You're telling me to see a shrink."

"You could talk to him about us and your concerns about coming out."

"You've got to be joking," I snap.

Greg puts a hand on my shoulder. "Before I came out to my parents, I used to talk to my guidance counselor. It helped."

I glare at Greg's hand as if it's some kind of mutant bug. "I'm not talking to a shrink about our love life, Greg."

Greg stares at the wall for a long few seconds, and then shifts uncomfortably, grasping the towel in order to keep it in place as he moves. Taking a long breath, Greg says, "Look, Nick. I think you've got deeper problems than just your sexual orientation."

I feel my chest begin to tighten. "What?" I almost laugh, "So, you're diagnosing me now?"

"I'm just thinking—"

"You know what, Greggo?" I say harshly, "Maybe my problem is that you're pushing too damn hard. Maybe I'm not ready for this. You're so freakin' emotional and touchy-feely."

All the color drains from Greg's face. "If you think that," he says, his voice shaking, "We can slow down."

I should shut up, but I'm on a roll.

"We can stop," I snarl.

Greg glances at me, and then averts his eyes. "Nick, see what I mean? I'm trying to talk to you. You're pushing me away."

"Then take a hint and go away," I snap. As soon as the words burst out of my mouth, I shake my head. "I'm sorry, Greg. I didn't mean that."

I'm not sure why Greg's comments set me off like this.

Maybe because a part of me thinks he's right about me seeing a shrink?

Greg bites his bottom lip. "If I'm pushing you too hard—"

I cut him off. "You're not."

"Look," he says, "Just forget the whole 'coming out' thing. We need to slow down." Then he adds almost in one breath, "I still think you should talk to someone."

I swallow. "My mom and I are having a thing right now," I say, "I took it out on you."

"We need to slow things down," Greg repeats, "We've been together every night since we started this. And you've got problems right now, so you don't need this."

"Greg," I say, "I want to be with you every night."

"I have strong feelings for you," he says, "You're not ready for that yet."

Shaking my head, I say, "Don't tell me what I'm ready for and what I'm not."

I've been in love with the guy for months. I'd call those strong feelings.

Greg leans forward. "Nicky, I need more than just a physical thing. Or a guy to hang out and watch sports with. I need to be a part of your personal life, to share it with you. I need to know what's going on in your head. Yeah, I'm emotional and touchy-feely." He stands up, flustered. "And I need to get ready for work."

***

Chapter 18

Patty Bennet crosses her arms and nods her head curtly. "Sure I remember her. She has an attitude, that one." Patty twirls her graying blond hair between her thumb and index finger.

"What kind of an attitude?" I ask, glancing sideways at Sara.

Gris sent Sara and me to IHOP almost as soon as we walked through the door this evening. We're checking out Molly Cooper's story.

"Oh," Patty says, "You know the kind." She leans forward as if to tell me a secret. "Privileged."

"So she gave you a hard time?" Sara asks.

"Oh, yeah. She always does."

"You mean she's a regular?" I ask.

Patty shrugs. "She comes in about twice a month."

I cross my arms. "So was she with anyone?"

Stepping to one side so a woman carrying a tray of food can pass, Patty says, "Yeah, another girl. Her age. And a boy. He was younger."

"Younger?" I say.

"About twelve."

Sara raises her eyebrows. "How long did they stay?"

Patty shakes her head ruefully. "I have no idea. I was so busy that night, hon."

"I believe it," I say, "One more question, ma'am. Did the three of them seem to be friendly?"

"Not really," Patty says, "When I brought them their food, the girls were arguing in these catty whispers. You know how girls do."

Sara and I thank Patty for her help and head out the door into the parking lot.

"So," Sara says, a hint of excitement in her voice, "Garret Ames has a thirteen-year-old son, doesn't he?"

"Yeah," I sigh, "Logan."

Garret Ames swore to me that Natalie never left Logan home alone. I guess he was right.

Gris wants me to arrange a meeting with Garret Ames and his kids. I'm really hoping this turns out to be a coincidence, that Molly was with another girl and another boy at IHOP. Maybe Greg was right when he said I'm too emotionally caught up in this. They're suspects. I shouldn't feel any differently about them than anyone else. But I do.

Right now, I'm sitting in the break room, staring disdainfully at a chicken salad sandwich. I'm just not in the mood to eat today. My fights with Mom and Greg are weighing heavily on my mind. Consequently, I almost don't notice Brass when he sits down.

"Hey, Nick," he says.

Startled, I look up from my sandwich. "Hey, Jim. What's up?"

"Not much," he says, "Gris said you have a lead."

"Maybe."

Right about then, Greg walks in and stops short. "Hi guys," he mutters. He glances from me to Brass, and then he walks to the refrigerator.

"Hey, Greggo," I say pleasantly.

He stares intently at me for a moment. "You know what?" Greg says, with a manufactured laugh, closing the refrigerator, "I think I'm going to go out for lunch. Egg salad doesn't sound appetizing."

"I hear you," Brass says, letting his gaze go from Greg to me and back again.

"I'll go with you," I say.

"You know what, Nicky," Greg says, his voice unsteady, "I'm in one of those moods. I think I'll go alone."

"Okay," I say.

As I watch Greg walk out the door, I run my fingers through my short hair. It looks like Greg's serious about slowing down. What does this mean for tonight? I am going home to my place alone? Damn. I don't want to be alone tonight. Awkward silence with Greg would be better than the hollow sound of my own footsteps.

"Hey, Nick," Brass says.

I glance up. "Yeah?"

"What's going on between you and Sanders?"

Damn.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

Brass shrugs. "I don't know. It just feels like something's going on."

"He's in a mood, you know," I mutter weakly.

Narrowing his eyes, Brass says, "You seem to know a lot about his moods."

I lean sharply forward in my chair, placing my hands on the table for support. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Whoa, Nicky," Brass says, holding up his hands, "I don't know what I mean. It's just that people have been talking lately, you know?"

"About me?"

"Yeah, about you," he says, "About how you've been slipping up."

I shake my head. "Hey, that's settled as far as Grissom's concerned."

"Look," Brass says, "All I'm saying is people are talking. I just don't want to see things get ugly for you."

Frowning, shift uncomfortably in my chair. "Why would things get ugly?" I ask.

Brass lets out a dry laugh. "Come on, Nick," he says, "They've been talking about Sanders for years. Yeah, he's a whiz kid in the lab, but he's got a reputation."

"What kind of reputation?"

Glancing over his shoulder, Brass says, "He's weird, Nicky."

All at once, I feel my blood start to boil. "Yeah?" I say venomously, "Well, Jim. You wanna know some of the rumors I've heard about you?"

Brass grimaces. "You're gonna hit below the belt now?"

"You have been since this conversation started."

"Look," he says, leaning forward, "Bottom line. You two are looking real cozy. That's gonna get noticed, Nicky."

I stare at him. "What are you accusing me of?"

"What should I be accusing you of?"

Later that day, I hurry down the hall and out the door. I manage to spot Catherine just as she's about to climb into her car.

"Hey, Cath," I pant, "I need to talk to you. Right now."

She reaches out and practically catches me as I come to a stop in front of her. "All right, Nick," she says, "Calm down. What's going on?"

I rub my hands briskly together. "Okay, well, Brass knows about me and Greg," I say. "Or he thinks he does, and that's as good."

Catherine rubs my shoulder. "Okay, Nick. It's just Jim."

I shake my head. "No, Catherine, he's having a real problem with it."

She shrugs. "He'll get over it."

I start to pace. "Catherine, he practically threatened me. And Greg and I are fighting, and . . ." I kick a stray rock across the parking lot.

Catherine grabs me by the arm and pulls me close to her. "Okay," she says, wrapping her arm around my shoulder, "So, you and Greg are at it. That's probably making the thing with Brass seem worse. What happened?"

I lick my lips, trying to let my breathing slow down. Finally, I say, "Well, last night, after you left, things were real tense."

"Okay."

"So, this morning, I called my mom and asked her to come to Vegas so we could talk."

Catherine squeezes my shoulder. "What did she say?"

"She turned me down," I croak, fighting back the tears, "She's not coming. And then Greg walked in at the tail end, and he thought . . . I don't know what he thought. But he told me I should see a shrink, and I said some things I shouldn't have said, and he said we should slow down." I rub my face. "I love him Catherine. I'm not ready to broadcast it to Las Vegas, but I love him."

"Okay, Nick," Catherine says, "Now what do you think Greg's main problem is? Is it the coming out thing?"

Shaking my head, I say, "No, he's not like that. I think he knows something's going on with me, and he's upset because I haven't shared it with him. But I can't."

"Well, he'd understand."

"Rationally, I know that, Catherine," I say, "But I just can't do it."

"All right," she says, leaning against her car, "What if you made an appointment with the department shrink? Just a one time thing to placate Greg?"

I take a step back. "No way," I say, "You know how I feel about shrinks. I'm not trusting a stranger with my personal problems."

Catherine gazes at me. "You don't have to say a thing. Just sit in the guy's office and talk about cars."

I cross my arms. Catherine's obviously trying to use some kind of psychology to get me onto a shrink's couch. I know she means well, but it ain't happening.

"No way," I say firmly.

"Well, you're going to have to do something," she says, "Greg won't let this go."

***

Chapter 19

-----

Grissom sits across from Garret Ames, his hands politely folded on the table. Gris decided at the last minute that he would join Brass and me for the interview with Garret, Logan, and Natalie Ames. Considering how the last meeting between Ames and Gris went, this could be rough. To be honest, though, I'm kind of glad Gris is here. I've felt a little uncomfortable around Brass since he "warned" me about my relationship with Greg yesterday. So much so that I pretty much freaked out on Catherine.

Following my minor meltdown, Catherine and I went out for breakfast. We talked a lot about family—parenthood in particular. Catherine keeps telling me that my mom will come around, that her refusal to deal with the abuse I suffered is because she can't cope with the idea of her child being in pain. And Catherine thinks that maybe my mom feels like she failed me somehow, that she blames herself for what happened to me.

Truthfully, some small part of me—some irrational, angry part of me—blames my mom, too.

Gazing at Garret Ames, Gris shifts in his seat. "You were supposed to bring your son along, Mr. Ames," he says.

"Logan has band practice," Ames says, staring impassively at Gris.

"Mr. Ames," I say, "We spoke to a witness who saw Molly Cooper at IHOP with a girl and a boy fitting the descriptions of your children."

"The night Daniel Kincaid was murdered," Brass adds, leaning forward, the palms of his hands flat against the table.

Ames glances at his daughter, who is sitting quietly beside him. From the look on Ames' face, I'm guessing this is news to him.

After a moment, Ames leans closer to Natalie and says, "Well?"

"Well what?" Natalie says, "It's not true, Dad. Molly and I aren't exactly friends."

Ames turns to me. "There you go," he says.

"It's not that easy, Mr. Ames," Gris says, "We need some answers."

"Ask a different question," Ames says curtly.

"All right," Gris says coolly, "Where were you the night Daniel Kincaid was killed?"

Shaking his head, Ames licks his lips, "You people amaze me." Leaning back in his chair, he says, "Mr. Grissom, I work two jobs."

Undeterred, Gris says, "Were you working one of them the night Daniel Kincaid was killed?"

"As a matter of fact," Ames says, "I wasn't. I had a meeting."

"With Kim Cooper?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Natalie Ames shift in her seat. She's been pretty quiet this time around. Not a glimpse of the "tough girl" she showed us during our last interview.

Ames lets out a breath. "Why does my personal life have anything to do with your investigation? I wasn't home. I admit that. So, no, I don't know if Natalie and Logan were home. No, I'm not able to vouch for them."

"Were you with Kim Cooper?" Gris asks.

Ames glares at Grissom for a long while. I can feel any nugget of trust I'd built with Garret Ames slipping away. Finally, Ames snarls, "Yeah, I was with Kim. Do you want me to provide an itinerary of our evening?"

"Perhaps later," Gris says, "Right now, I'm more interested in Natalie's itinerary."

Natalie looks pleadingly at her dad, and then runs her fingers through her hair. "I was with Logan," she says.

"Natalie," I say, "I can take a picture of you and Logan and show it to our witness. She recognized Molly."

Licking her lips, Natalie glances at her dad. "We were there," she half-whispers, "I had to talk to Molly."

"About what?" Gris asks.

"We weren't plotting murder," Natalie says, scowling.

The tough girl's back.

Gris leans forward. "Were you plotting suicide?"

"Whoa," Ames says, holding up a hand.

"Mr. Ames," Gris says, "The letters you brought me indicate that Daniel might have . . . lost perspective. The references to 'Romeo and Juliet'—"

Natalie shakes her head. "We weren't plotting anything. We were talking."

Brass walks around the table, stopping when he's directly behind Natalie. "The waitress at IHOP says you were arguing."

Way to go, Brass. Intimidate the girl.

As it turns out, Natalie Ames doesn't intimidate as easily as I thought. Instead of shrinking back, she spins around in her chair and looks Brass in the eye. "She was on my last nerve, and I was telling her to get the hell off of it."

I bite my lip to suppress a smile.

"Nat," Ames says, "Were you talking about Danny?"

"Ask Logan," Natalie snaps.

"Look," Ames says, "I'm sorry if you're pissed about the letters, but I'm glad Logan brought them to me. I mean, you don't tell me anything anymore."

Natalie stares at Ames. "Like father, like daughter."

This interview is dissolving into a family sniping match. I'm not sure what can really come of this. Natalie isn't giving us any information. And even if we compelled her to give a DNA sample, we don't have anything to compare it to. All we really have is a waitress that puts her in front of a plate of pancakes the night of the murder.

As the Ames' glower at each other, Gris stands up and gestures for me to follow him into the hall.

"So, what do you think?" I ask.

"What do you think?" Gris tosses back, folding his arms across his chest.

I gaze at the door of the interrogation room for a moment, and then I say, "I think she's innocent. But I think she knows something." Tugging at my bottom lip, I add, "I also think that any momentum we had in the interview is gone."

"All right," Gris nods, "I agree. What else do you think?"

Shifting my body, I say, "To be honest, Gris, I think you blew whatever rapport I'd managed to establish with Garret Ames. I mean, he might've told me something. But not now."

"Well," Gris says, "I guess you're going to have to use those famous people skills of yours, Nicky. But for now, we're going to cut them loose."

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My people skills haven't done a thing for my relationship with Greg. After breakfast yesterday, I swung by Greg's place to sweet talk him into forgiving me for being a jerk. I managed to get in the front door and about half-way into Greg's bedroom. Unfortunately, Greg remembered his decision slow things between us down. So, he pretty much told me to go home and take a cold shower.

Consequently, I spent the remainder of a sleepless day staring at the ceiling of my bedroom.

Maybe Catherine's right. Maybe I'm gonna have to throw the guy a bone. I could make an appointment with the department shrink—just for show—and then tell Greg the shrink said I'm a little stressed-out, but overall, normal.

But my luck, the shrink would lock me up on sight. Or worse yet, he'd get me to cry and totally embarrass myself. Or he'd tell Grissom I'm a loose cannon and he needs to take me off the field . . .

No way. I'm going nowhere near that quack.

Still, I have to figure out how to fix things between me and Greg. We haven't been together long, but I'm already used to the feel of Greg's body next to mine. It just doesn't feel right, lying in bed all alone. I mean, even when we're fighting, just his presence next to me, his warmth, helps me feel better.

Besides, I'm in love with the guy.

Letting out a breath, I creep around the doorway of Greg's lab. The lab tech in question has his "music" blaring out of a boombox. He's hunched over a microscope, mouthing the words to whatever's currently deafening my ears. Greg doesn't notice me, so I walk over to the boombox and flip the volume down.

The sudden silence causes Greg's head to snap up. "Nicky," he says. A ghost of a smile flits briefly across his face, then disappears. "You here on a social visit, or is it business?"

"What won't get me kicked out?" I ask.

Greg takes a step toward me. "I'm sorry about that, Nicky. I just thought we needed to stop going down that road for a while."

All at once, I feel a swell of loss erupt in my gut. Worrying that I might break down right in front of Greg, I turn my back to try and pull myself together. After a moment, I turn back to face Greg.

"So, you're gonna run away?" I say.

"Nicky, I'm not running away. I just—"

"Then what do you call it?" I counter.

Greg shakes his head and leans against his station. "You need to deal with your problems."

"So until then, I'm banished from your life?"

"That's not what I said."

Throwing my hands up in the air, I walk a few steps across the lab. I'm not going anywhere in particular. I just feel the need to keep moving. "Here's what I'm hearing," I say, "You're issuing me an ultimatum. Either I do what you want, or I'm out."

Greg takes a step toward me. "Nicky—"

"Know what, Greggo?" I say, "I can't live like that."

"I didn't give you an ultimatum," Greg says, his voice cracking.

"Sounded like that," I shout, "Well, you know what, man? You were right about us. This isn't working—"

"Stop putting words into my mouth, Nick. I never—"

"We're done, Greg," I snap, "We're done."

For I don't know how long, we both stand there, simmering. I don't know about Greg, but I feel a little shell-shocked. I think I just shattered our relationship for good. But right now . . . I don't much care.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, I hear a cough. When I glance up, I see Bobby Dawson standing in the doorway, looking more than a little embarrassed. He looks like he's headed out for the day.

When neither Greg nor I say anything, Bobby takes a step into the lab. "You guys all right?"

Greg and I simultaneously nod and mutter something about how "we're good."

Bobby smiles pleasantly and walks the rest of the way into the room. "Just so you know, you guys got a little loud."

Damn.

"How loud?" I ask.

Bobby runs his fingers through his curly hair. "I-heard-you-down-the-hall-loud."

Greg peers into his microscope. "Well, shift's up. Most people are gone. Day shift's probably having a morning meeting."

"Probably," Bobby says.

Bobby's being pretty cool about this, but I don't feel much better. Brass already warned me that Greg and I might get a hard time if anyone finds out about us. And anyone could have heard us.

"Listen," Bobby says, "I'm meeting David down at the diner. You guys want to come?"

"I'd love to," Greg says, sporting what I'm sure is a forced smile, "But the zany day shift version of me is going to be late. I'm covering for him."

"How about you, Nick?" Bobby says placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Ah, I don't know, Bobby" I say, shifting from one foot to the other.

Undeterred, Bobby smacks my shoulder. "Come on," he says, gesturing toward the door.

I gaze briefly at Greg, and then, shoulders-slumped, I follow Bobby out the door.

***

Author's Notes: First of all, this is a short chapter, not much action. I needed to set this up to explain Nick's feelings, to bring Bobby in for later, and to set up the next chapter. Additionally, even though the scene where Bobby comes out was never shown on the air, I'm going to consider it canon that Bobby is gay. Cool?

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Bobby and I are sitting in the diner with David, working our way through pancakes and eggs. David's been gushing for twenty minutes about his girlfriend, Rachel. It sounds pretty serious. I'm happy for him, because he's a good guy who deserves to be happy. He does. But to be honest, just listening to him is making the gnawing pain in my stomach throb. All in all, though, I'm pretty relieved that David's with us. Right now, he's the only thing saving me from an awkward emotional thing with Bobby.

I'm still kind of stunned that Bobby overheard Greg and me fighting. All my talk about keeping a low profile, and I'm the one who blows our cover. As far as I know, Bobby is the only person who heard our fight, but who knows.

"Well, guys," David says, standing up, "I'd better get home."

"Scared of the little woman?" Bobby asks, a grins filling his face.

David smiles shyly. "She rented Love Story."

I can't help but smile at the thought of David trying not to cry over some sappy old movie. "Come on, SuperDave," I tease, "Be a man. Stay a while."

"I would," David says, turning bright red, "But she has this…romantic afternoon planned."

"Well, you have a good time," Bobby says, winking at David. "I got the check."

Nodding, a flustered-looking David stumbles to the door, waves awkwardly, and then disappears outside, leaving me alone with Bobby.

After a few seconds, Bobby pops a spoonful of eggs into his mouth. "So," he smiles pleasantly, "you want to talk about it?"

"You've been waiting all through breakfast to say that, haven't you?" I ask, glancing down at a piece of lint on my jeans.

Bobby nods. "Well, you look like you could use a talk. You took an emotional beating today."

Letting out a breath, I say, "Well, I gave one, too."

Bobby chuckles. "The nicest people can take the gloves off when they fight. The last big argument my partner and I got into—I don't even remember what it was about—but I thought he and I were done with. Some of the things I said…" He shakes his head and snatches the bill off the table.

I narrow my eyes. "Your partner? Partner in what?"

This time, Bobby laughs out loud. "My boyfriend, Nick. Although, we've been together a little too long and we're a little too old to call each other 'boyfriend.' Don't you think?"

The blood rushes to my cheeks, making them, I'm sure, a dark shade of scarlet. "I didn't know."

"That's all right," he says, not masking the amusement in his eyes, "I don't guess too many people do. I mean, I don't hide it, but I keep it to myself."

"Anyone at work know?"

Bobby nods. "Grissom. And Ecklie probably. I don't know. I told Grissom when I started because I wanted to make sure it wouldn't be a problem. He's been great about it, though. Archie and David know, too."

I sit back, reflecting on this new information. I guess it stands to reason that other people at the lab are gay or bi. It's not like Greg and I are the first men to discover an attraction to other men.

Taking a sip of apple juice, Bobby says, "I always told David you and Greg have a thing for each other."

"What?" I say, blinking.

Bobby grins. "It's pretty obvious." After a few seconds, Bobby reaches over and pats me on the shoulder. "Well, it's probably not obvious to everybody."

"It's pretty new," I say, shrugging, "Over and done with now, though, I suppose."

"Do you love him?" Bobby says seriously.

"Yeah, I do," I say.

"Then get your butt back there and apologize."

I shake my head. "No way. He gave me an ultimatum. That's not right."

Bobby points at me. "That's pride talking."

"Well, I'm from Texas," I say.

"Look, Nick," Bobby drawls, "Problem ain't going to fix itself."

"I know that," I say. I gulp some orange juice, and then lean forward. "Bobby, can I ask you something?"

Bobby nods. "Shoot." Bobby pauses a beat, and then grins, "No pun intended."

Licking my bottom lip, I ask, "Have you ever had any problems because of your…orientation?"

Leaning back, Bobby grabs a napkin off the table and starts to rip it into pieces. "I'm not going to lie to you, Nick. The last place I worked, there were comments. But nothing physical, if that's what you mean."

I shift in my seat. "Brass kind of told me things could get ugly if news about Greg and me gets out."

"You tell Grissom?"

"Oh, that'd make me popular," I half-laugh.

"Look," Bobby says, tossing the torn napkin onto the table, "Brass is old school. He was probably just talking."

"But he might have a point."

Bobby crosses his arms. "Was that the ultimatum? Greg wants out of the closet?"

"It's more than that," I say. Taking a breath, I continue, "I'm having some problems with my mom, right now, and since Greg and I are together, he thinks I should share everything with him."

"So, you don't want to emote and get touchy-feely."

I smile. "Not so much, no."

"That still sounds like the pride talking, Nick. Just think about it." Bobby stands up. "I'm going to take off, all right? I'll take care of the check." He regards me for a moment. "Call me at home if you want to talk some more."

I nod and watch as Bobby strolls up to the counter. Deep down, I know he's right. I'm being stubborn, proud, and silly. If I want to save this relationship, I need to drag myself back to the lab and grovel. But right now…I just can't let seem to my guard down.

***

Next part of Good Enough.