The county wasted money sending me to that Elko seminar, I have to admit. I mean, I could have taught the thing; the only reason I was going was because management wanted us to keep up with developments in forensics, and required proof of it in the form of seminar certificates.

It’s just as well I knew it all, anyway, because I was having a little trouble concentrating. I spent most of the first lecture trying not to grin, and wondering when Grissom would be investigating my personal spaces. I couldn’t help imagining him doing so; walking through my apartment notebook in hand, or frowning in concentration as he peered into my locker. And I wondered just how thorough he would be--would he look under the bed? Would he look in the freezer? Would he notice that I didn’t vacuum under the couch, or that I had more makeup than I ever got around to using?

Would he care?

I asked a few questions during the second lecture, but the speaker refused to pick up on any of them and expand his mind-numbing talk, so after a while I gave up and went back to thinking about Grissom. By the time the speaker finished a seemingly endless series of PowerPoint slides, I had half-convinced myself that Grissom had been called in on some huge case at work and had never found the time to visit my apartment at all.

But he had. I don’t know quite how I knew--pheromones, maybe, some remnant of him lingering in the air when I pulled my suitcase back through the door.

Nothing was out of place anywhere; I resisted an urge to dust for fingerprints to see what he’d touched. Even Percy seemed undisturbed. But he was my clue; when I crouched down to peer into the bowl, eye to eye, he didn’t move, didn’t flare his tail and glare at me.

I.e., he wasn’t hungry; Grissom must have fed him.

“Ungrateful brat,” I told Percy absently, and straightened. A strange sweet feeling was curling in my stomach. Grissom had been in my apartment, he’d been as far as this room. He now knew a few more of my secrets.

It took me a long time to get to sleep.

*** *** ***

Monday night was normal, at least on the surface; Grissom blew in to hand out assignments as though nothing at all had happened, but when he gave me our slip, two keys dropped into my palm as well. I managed not to fumble them and gave him a grin, slipping them into my pocket and pretending that the amused twitch of his mouth had nothing to do with me.

It didn’t surprise me that he’d assigned us both to the same case. As he drove out of the parking lot, I couldn’t resist. “Snooped to your heart’s content?”

He raised one brow and gave me one of those smiles he uses when he’s found a particularly juicy bit of evidence. “It was an informative foray.”

Riiiiight. Now that was a loaded statement. But he didn’t say anything else on the subject, and before too long we’d reached the scene.

“House of Love...yeaaaah,” I muttered. The Chateau L’Amour had never really seen better days any more than it had seen correct grammar, but it was definitely in a state of neglect. I hate those dirty little motels--they’re the backside of Vegas glamour, and I do mean backside. Full of germs and desperate people, they’re as ineradicable as gambling. And we see much more of them than we do of the high-end places.

I took a deep breath as we got out, trying not to wince at the faint reek of the place. “Maybe it’s Cupid’s night off,” Grissom suggested, and I glanced over; somewhere underneath that deadpan expression was a hint of rueful humor, and it did make me feel a little better.

Brass looked as tired of the whole thing as I was. “The victim is Roagy Hollister, from Dumfrees, Kentucky,” he told us. “According to the manager, Hollister was a down and outer with no luck at craps or pretty much anything else.”

He gestured at the corpse on the floor. “Seems he and a buddy had a falling out around eleven with Roagy being on the receiving end of various kitchen implements.” Brass snorted. “Long and the short of it, our vic’s been tenderized to death.”

“Weapons?” Grissom asked, not looking amused at Brass’ attempt at humor.

“Missing, although it’s pretty clear a knife was among them.” Brass sighed. “I’ve got a man checking the garbage cans all along this block, but I’m not holding out hope.”

The room was trashed, with all kinds of junk and dirt, so of course it took forever to process. I was dusting the television and cursing the number of prints on it when Grissom came out of the bathroom with a hole in his sleeve, in the shoulder seam. I wondered if he’d caught it on something in there. “Grissom--your shirt.”

He poked at the hole with a grimace, but all it did was widen, and I had to laugh a little. “Terrific,” he grumbled. “Maybe I have a stapler in the car.”

“A stapler?” The image of the ever-tidy Grissom trying to staple his shirt together made me laugh again. He shrugged; I guess he doesn’t carry a sewing kit in his case, which didn’t surprise me. Catherine does, but then that’s Cath.

We finished processing, and as I was piling the bags together Grissom handed me one. “Let’s go turn the evidence in, and I’ll check to see if I’ve got another shirt in my locker.”

I nodded, and tried to suppress the thought of watching him change shirts.

*** *** ***

Turns out, he didn’t. I’d just finished logging in the evidence when Grissom stuck his head in the door. “I must have forgotten my spare shirt at home. Want to go to the mall and help me pick out a new one?”

I wasn’t expecting that. I blinked at him, and opened my mouth to ask him why the hell he didn’t go home and get one, or just find a safety pin, but fortunately my brain caught up to me. Grissom wanted me to go with him on a non-work-related expedition, one that actually involved his personal tastes.

I gave him a bright smile. “Sure, why not?”

I wouldn’t have picked the Mesa Mall myself, I prefer the Orange Street Plaza near my place, but it was open and airy and didn’t feel like a casino, and it wasn’t far from the lab. We took Grissom’s car, which was a very nicely maintained classic Mercedes, and I couldn’t help a quiet purr when I slid into the seat. One thing about pulling apart vehicles in search of evidence--you develop an appreciation of a sweet ride, and his definitely fit the bill.

The mall wasn’t busy. I love that aspect of Las Vegas, so much is open twenty-four hours. I started scanning one of the mall directories, noticing a number of good shops including a Heathmoors. There were several men’s clothiers, too. “So--what’s your usual, Grissom? One of the department stores, or do you have a personal favorite around here?”

He was fiddling with the rip on his shoulder. “I buy what fits,” he admitted, and I chuckled, looking back to the map.

“What fits. Hmmmm, a two-X usually, right? Got a preference in fabrics? Styles? Colors?”

“Yes, yes, yes, no,” Grissom replied rapidly, looking a little defensive. I smirked at him--he’d invited me along and I was going to take advantage of that.

“Okay then. We can hit a few places on our way towards Penney’s and take a look,” I told him, gesturing towards the far end of the mall.

We didn’t hurry. Grissom seemed to be lost in thought, so I took my time and glanced in windows as we passed them, occasionally slowing down for a better look at something. The rug place had a gorgeous array of carpets hung on the walls and draped on chairs, a sort of patterned rainbow I could have stared at for hours, but that wasn’t what we were there for.

The Hot Topic store had a window display with three mannequins playing with a Ouija board, which made me roll my eyes, but I couldn’t resist. “Ever use one of those, Grissom?”

He gave me one of those indulgent looks he usually bestowed on Greg. “Which--a mannequin or a Ouija board?”

Ooh, loaded question. I chose not to call him on it. “Ouija board,” I specified, enjoying his teasing.

Grissom shrugged. “Jane Howland and Melanie LaBond talked me into a session once in between lab write-ups in ninth grade. I remain unimpressed with the results--at least those related to anything supernatural.”

Whoa. Fifteen-year-old Grissom getting smooches from his lab partners? Now there was a tidbit--and I couldn’t help feeling just slightly jealous. “Two girls, huh? Should have been Spin the Planchette,” I retorted, and his brows shot up.

Before he could answer, we’d reached Picantos. It was slightly more high-end than I’d first had in mind, but I suddenly decided that I wanted to see how he looked in a really nice shirt. Grissom could afford it, and court days came far too seldom in my opinion. “Here.”

“Here?” he asked, looking a little hesitant. I gave him a nod and went in, and he trailed right along behind me.

The clerk offered to help, but when I glanced back at Grissom he was looking a little lost, so I smiled at the woman. “We’re just browsing for the moment, thanks.”

She nodded, and I moved on to a table of shirts. They had short sleeves, but they were some kind of poly blend, and I knew he’d never go for that. The next stack was cotton, so I found a navy blue one that I knew would look good on him. “This one.”

“This one?” he asked as he took it, but he didn’t seem to be arguing. I watched him head for the dressing room and shook my head. Guys usually hate clothes shopping, and Grissom appeared to be normal in that respect.

After a moment I followed him into the dressing room area. I had a sneaking suspicion that if I didn’t, he’d say it was fine and buy it even if it was hideous, just to get out of there sooner.

Besides, I admit it, I liked the idea of Grissom bare-chested just on the other side of a flimsy door. A girl has to dream, you know.

I heard the rustle of cloth, and a sort of sigh. “So?”

Another rustle. “It’s...too large.”

What? I had double-checked the tag. “It can’t be. I picked the right size!”

“Then the shirt’s been mislabeled. It’s too large,” he said. I frowned.

“Let me see.” I didn’t think he was lying, but I wasn’t too sure Grissom had that good an idea of what suited him, either.

The door didn’t open right away, and when it did he looked...shy. It was unbelievably cute. I fought back a smile. “Don’t be sheepish, Grissom.”

I’d swear he was blushing. He stepped out, and I took a closer look at him, realizing I’d missed something. “You’ve lost weight since I took sizes for that new vest order.” And boy, did it suit him. “You’ve got to be about a one-X now. Everything else okay?”

He nodded as I walked around him. Hey, it was a legitimate opportunity to look him over, I wasn’t going to waste it. “Yes, it’s a good selection.”

I grinned at him. “Then we’ll get you another one, a size smaller.”

There weren’t any more in his size in the navy, so I picked up one in a dull green that set off his eyes, and when he came out of the dressing cubicle it obviously fit perfectly. On the way back out, I spotted a rack of windbreakers on sale a few feet from the shirt table, and I pulled one. “Here, give this a try too.”

Grissom frowned a little. “Sara, I don’t--“

I rolled my eyes. “Grissom, I know for a fact that your jacket is totally shot from that body in the crawlspace for the Grummond case. C’mon, it’s on sale.”

He took the windbreaker, and sighed theatrically.

It didn’t really work on him, but we moved on to some sport coats, and since he let me I made Grissom try on several of them. He kept making protesting noises, but I noticed that he really wasn’t trying to stop me, so I just kept looking for jackets I thought would suit him.

And a lot of them did. It was fun to choose the coats that fit him the best, and I was amused to see the tips of his ears turn pink when I told him how good he looked.

The charcoal one really did it, though--it was the perfect shade and cut. “Catherine was right--you do look great in a suit, Grissom,” I told him. “Not even Warrick can pull it off they way you do.”

His ears got pinker still. “I wasn’t aware Catherine was taking notes.”

I smirked. “Are you kidding? She’s got everyone’s size, colors, and styles down to the last stitch. Part of it is being good with the databases in Trace, and the other part is sort of a natural…”

I trailed off, not quite sure what word to use, and Grissom’s mouth turned up. “…Nosiness,” he supplied, looking up and making me laugh as an idea hit me.

His smile got soft, and I moved closer, poking at his sleeve and very aware of his proximity. “Think you should get this one.”

He cocked his head in that “I’m listening” pose, and I cleared my throat, trying not to break into babble. “Um, I get the calendar of events flyer from the LVU Anthropology department, and this Saturday they’ve got Doctor Ari Kammelman coming in to lecture on his work with the Bog people. I was thinking of going, and if you’re not busy, if you’d like--“

I could hardly believe I was actually asking him out, again, but before I could panic--

“--I’d like,” Grissom said softly. “So I guess I’ll need a coat.”

He was looking down at me, and standing so close that I could smell him, that soap-and-Grissom scent that goes right to my hormones, and it took me a second to process what he’d said. “So…that’s a yes?”

He nodded. “Yes, thank you very much. Kammelman’s reputation is world-wide; it should be a fascinating lecture.”

Despite the warm awkwardness of that moment, we had no problems talking as he bought the stuff we’d picked out and walked back to his car. I had no idea how he was going to explain our being gone from the lab for over an hour in the middle of shift, but I didn’t really care. If it wasn’t worrying him, I wasn’t going to obsess over it.

*** *** ***

I didn’t see much of Grissom the next shift; when I glanced into his office, he seemed to be buried in paperwork. He does tend to let it pile up until he has to deal with it. I missed him, some, but it was also good to dive into work without the, ah, distraction. I mean, I’m good at ignoring it--we both are, at this point--but there’s something to be said for the occasional solo case as well.

When I got back from my scene--nothing but another breaking-and-entering--I ran into Catherine in the breakroom, and she gave me kind of an odd smile, like she knew a secret. I ignored that, just saying hi and heading for the counter to get my mug.

“Lose anything lately?” she asked, slicing into an apple.

Yeah, she was definitely up to something. I considered the question, and answered it honestly. “Yep, several things.”

When I didn’t go on, she looked exasperated, but I wasn’t in the mood to play her game, whatever it was. I pulled out the box of tea bags. “Is Judy complaining about the lost and found getting full again?”

Catherine sighed, and set down her knife. “No, Nick finally took all his sweatshirts home. Sara--”

I dunked the bag in my mug and gave her an inquiring look, but all she did was sigh again and look back at her apple as though it were annoying her. Shrugging mentally, I headed for the door. Whatever her problem was, I didn’t feel like asking. “Take it easy, Cath,” I told her, and left her to stew.

The rest of the week was business as usual. Grissom kept giving me these warm little smiles when we were alone, but neither of us referred to his, um, experiment. It was partly that we were trying not to jinx it, I guess, and partly because we were pretty busy the rest of the week. Quiet nights are pretty rare these days.

And then it was Saturday.

If I wanted to, I could figure out exactly how many months it had been since my last date, but the number was way too depressing. I slept as well as I usually did, which is to say not, and then spent about forty-five minutes panicking about the evening with Grissom before I finally got a grip.

It’s up to him, I told myself. He’s supposed to be seducing me. Okay, yeah, I asked him on the date, but it’s on him to carry through...or not.

So I took four deep breaths, willing myself to calm down, and had a long look in the mirror. I’d just finished drying my hair; all I had on was a shortie robe.

I’ve never really thought of myself as pretty. I mean, I know I get a lot of geek attention, but I’m a girl with brains, working in a male-dominated field. It’s kind of inevitable. I’ve had a few boyfriends--not many since college--but I’m tall, and not blonde, and I have a small chest and the diastema.

But when Grissom looks at me--that intense gaze that just sucks the breath out of me--none of it matters. I don’t see it very often, but when I do...

I took my time with my makeup, and refused to second-guess what I’d already chosen to wear. This was a lecture, after all, not dinner and a club, so I’d settled on a pair of soft black slacks in a silky fabric and a camisole top in a really deep burgundy. Top it with my long jacket and a scarf, and I could pull off intellectual-slash-professional and mildly sexy at the same time.

I was picking out a scarf when I realized that I’d forgotten to choose shoes. I opened my closet and stared at my collection. I’m not a footwear hound--even if I had time my feet are too long and narrow for me to have much choice at a standard shoe place--so it was easy to pull out a pair of black ballet-style flats. One thing you learn when you’re my height--most guys like to be the taller one of the pair. Grissom has just a couple of inches on me, and I knew heels would bring our eyes level.

And our lips.

Down, Sidle. I rolled my eyes and closed the closet door, trying to ignore the pair of heels sitting in the back corner and the old wondering if Grissom was a leg man. I mean, it would be an advantage. Mine may be thin, but they go on forever.

I gave myself a mental smack to change gears and sat on the bed to put on my flats, then grabbed the coat and scarf to put on in the living room. All done.

Of course, then I had to wait. Being obsessively prepared can be a bitch sometimes. Calming exercises or not, I was too keyed up to settle, so after about two minutes of pacing I started rearranging my CDs.

The knock almost made me drop one, but I managed to fumble it into place and take another deep breath. I shrugged into the coat and wrapped my scarf around my neck, and opened the door.

Damn, he looked good. Grissom’s eyes were a little wide, but he was very hot in a professorial sort of way, and I had been so right--the sports jacket fit him to a T.

It was as though the sight of him calmed me down on some level. Suddenly I felt confident, balanced, ready to move forward with this...thing. “Hi, Grissom.” My eyes caught a tiny movement along his sleeve. “Um...you still have the tag attached.”