Part II

Declan’s hotel room...

Flopping back onto his bed, Declan stared at the ceiling. “So he had no bruises, scratches or wounds of any kind?”

“None.” Miranda affirmed, not looking up from her laptop. “According to the officer who interviewed him he doesn’t remember the fall. All he can remember is waking up with casino personnel standing over him.”

“So he lost consciousness.” Sitting up, he rubbed at the stubble lining his jaw. “Had he been drinking?”

“Not much.” She held out a paper. “His blood alcohol level wasn’t even enough to be considered legally intoxicated.”

“What?! I thought it was his 21st?”

“It was.”

“Whoah. Kid hits legal age, takes off to Vegas, and *doesn’t* get totally hammered?” Declan grinned in remembrance. “When I was...” He abruptly bit off his words at her inquisitive look. “Never mind.”

In typical Miranda-fashion, she ignored the comment, moving to take the paper back while pointing out. “He’s Canadian.”

“So?”

“Legal age is 19.”

“Ahh...so the really big party’s already happened.” He got up and walked to the window. “Kid falls 13 floors and walks away without a scratch...somebody has to be watching out for him.” Leaning back against the wall, he ran a hand down his face. “I can’t think of anything that would have helped that kid survive. Did you see anything that could have slowed his descent?”

“Not really.” She hooked her hair away from her face before returning her hands to the computer keys. “There was awnings but no sign of impact, glancing or otherwise.”

“We should check the scene again, air currents, that sort of thing.”

“Ok. It should be at the same time the fall occurred. There may have been factors present at that time of night that aren’t active at any other time.”

“Good point; think your uncle might have equipment we could use?”

“Uh huh, he’ll probably want to help. This sort of thing he really enjoys.”

Declan smiled at her. “So that’s where you get it.” Watching her turn to look at him, azure eyes assessing his face as she tried to determine whether or not he was joking.

A feeling of confusion swept through him as he found himself admiring her. The shade of her eyes and the smooth arch of her eyebrows. Why was he suddenly so fascinated by Miranda’s face?

Abruptly, the question was replaced by another more pressing one.

Why hadn’t he seen her like this before?

Thinking on that, he realized he’d always known she was beautiful. He’d just never allowed himself to truly *see* her that way.

He’d been afraid to. Afraid of what would happen.

What was already happening.

He was falling in love with Miranda.

Abruptly, he opened his mouth, fully intending on inviting her to lunch, dinner, a walk...to anything that involved being alone with her. Alone with her in a non-investigation related situation, but when he spoke, what came out was, “Think we can get in to talk to the Cavanaugh kid?” Boy, that name sounded familiar. Somethin’ to do with Canada too...

He shook off the musing when he realized Miranda was saying something to him.

“...can’t tonight. Maybe tomorrow morning?” She was looking at him with a distinctly uncomfortable air about her. “I...uh...agreed to meet someone for coffee.”

At first he was puzzled as to the reason for her discomfort but then he thought it was probably just Miranda’s usual reluctance to share personal details. It took a second for it to sink in. “Oh...” Understanding dawned in his dark eyes. “Warrick?”

She closed her laptop as she looked at her watch. “Uh huh.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“Where?”

“Lounge.”

“Just coffee?”

“Declan!” Her eyebrows drew together as she directed a stern look of warning at him. “Stop it.”

He had the grace to look abashed and dropped his gaze to the carpeted floor. “Sorry. He seems...interesting. If you like the Denzel Washington/Vin Diesel type.”

Miranda rolled her eyes as she gathered up her things. “He’s a very interesting man, sweet and charming.”

“And?”

She shook her head, slipping by him. “I’ll see you tomorrow Declan.”

When the door closed - quite firmly - behind her, he winced. “Oops.”

Automatically, he looked to where he’d expected to find Mole. It was an instinctive reaction, to talk to his dog. It was literally on the tip of this tongue to say, “Well, I screwed that up royally.” but there was no one to say it to. He didn’t know when Mole had officially become ‘his dog’ but he had. It was kind of like how he felt about Miranda - which, if she ever found that out, would be the end of him - but different. She meant...more.

That thought gave him pause and he dropped down onto the edge of the bed. With an expression of intense concentration he very carefully began the age-old male habit. Brooding.

“Dude, you’ve got it bad.”

----------

CSI Division
Grissom’s Office

“Man, you spend *way* too much time in this place.”

At Warrick’s voice, the CSI supervisor lifted his head with a smile. “Hot case.”

“They riding you on this?”

Grissom nodded. “It’s the politics.” He leaned back in his chair, holding up several slips of paper. “And a mother who’s very worried about her son.”

“The Prime Minister called *you*?” The taller man’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“No, a woman on her staff did. Katherine MacMillian.” He paused. “She’s on her way here.” He dropped the messages on his desk. “

“Pressure’s gonna be pretty intense.” Warrick commiserated.

“I hate politics.” Grissom sighed out.

“Don’t we all.” Lightly hitting the doorframe, the tall CSI turned to leave. “Better you than me, man. I’d have the Canucks declarin’ war or somethin’...Anyway, see ya.”

“Where’re you headed?” With a sharp eye, he examined his subordinate’s appearance. “Freshly showered, new shirt... Date. Who’s the lucky lady?”

Warrick’s grin could only be described as the essence of mischief. “Miranda.” with that he was gone.

Grissom’s brows drew together in a confused expression and he did a mental inventory of all the facts he’d taken note of. “Odd. I was sure she and Declan...” His face took on the infamous ‘Grissom look’.

Something was wrong with the whole picture and he had every intention of finding out what.

-----------

“Uh, Mr. Grissom?”

Declan’s hesitant voice brought the CSI Supervisor out of his work again, a surprised look on his face. “Professor Dunn?”

“Just Declan, please.” The younger man flashed a smile as he ambled into the office. “You, uh, had a chance to talk to the Cavanaugh kid yet?”

“The police took a statement but I haven’t had a chance to talk to him personally.” Grissom replied, picking up the aforementioned statement. “May I ask why you’re interested?”

“I was hoping to come along.” The anthropologist explained. “See if I can find out how he survived. It’s pretty much looking like a miracle at this point.”

“Right,” an amused glint entered the scientist’s eyes. “Miranda said you enjoy investigating such events.”

“She did, huh?” Declan flashed a nervous smile. “What else did she say?”

“That you were absolutely insane.” Grissom deadpanned before smiling. “All good things, Declan. My niece thinks very highly of you.” Standing, he moved out around the desk. “Little late to be interviewing a witness...” Declan started to protest but he was cut off before he could. “But I’d already arranged a meeting with the victim in about a half hour. Seems the young Mr. Cavanaugh’s representative wanted to be there for it.”

“Representative?” Declan’s eyebrows rose. Who was this kid?

---------

Las Vegas Medical Center

His confusion only deepened at the sight of the uniformed RCMP officers stationed outside Sean Cavanaugh’s room.

“Canadians are big on personal security apparently.” He murmured as a tall, cool blonde approached.

“Mr. Grissom? I’m Katherine MacMillian.” She held out a hand, shaking his firmly. “Pleasure to meet you, despite the circumstances.”

“Indeed.” He nodded. “Ms. MacMillian, this is Professor Dunn. He’s somewhat of an expert in miraculous survivals.”

Katherine smiled, an act that transformed her face, shedding the professionalism. “Sounds very intriguing. Nice to meet you Professor.”

“Likewise, and uh, call me Declan.”

“Only if you call me Kit.” She returned.

“How is Mr. Cavanaugh feeling?” Grissom interjected.

“Well enough to drive me crazy.” She replied wryly. “So, yes, he’s more than up to answering your questions.” Turning, she led them into the young man’s room.

-----

Sean Cavanaugh was a handsome young man who - considering recent traumas - was in possession of a very pleasant demeanor.

Reclining in his bed, he smiled. “Please Kit, tell me I can get out of here before Hurricane Mom blows into town.”

The blonde smirked back at him, folding her arms loosely across her midsection. “I’m thinking about it. Though, to be honest, keeping you locked up in here under armed guard is quite possibly the best way I’ve found to keep you out of trouble.”

“You wound me, Kit.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “Are you trying to insinuate I’m trouble?”

She snorted. “Who’s insinuating? I’m flat out saying it.” Moving to stand at his bedside, she gestured to the waiting men. “This is Mr. Grissom from the Vegas Crime Lab, he’d like to ask you a few questions. The man with him is Professor Declan Dunn...” She paused, brow wrinkling in a frown. “I’m sorry Declan, I didn’t ask what university you teach at.”

“NOU.” He replied, eliciting a grin from Sean.

“Little far from home aren’t you?”

“Look who’s talking.” Declan countered with a grin of his own, liking the kid. “I’m still in my own country, man.”

“Point taken.” The young man agreed. “So, Mr. Grissom, what do you want to know?”

“I’d like you to describe the attack again, there may be some details I could use that the police don’t have at this moment.”

Sean nodded, humor fading as he thought back, describing the evening he and his friends’d had. When he mentioned an altercation they’d had with some men hassling casino staff, Katherine frowned and questioned about an escort - something that confused Declan but everyone else seemed to understand - but Sean’s answer placated her concerns and she sat back to listen to him describe how they’d been attacked upon emerging from their hotel rooms and dragged out to the balcony.

When he got to the part about them hanging his second friend over the balcony, Sean shuddered and sucked in a steadying breath before looking up. “I think I saw the profile of one guy’s face. The one that was holding Chris over the side.”

Grissom seized on this and gleaned as much from the description as he could, promising to get a sketch artist in to work with Sean, before Declan spoke up.

“Uh, mind if I ask something?”

Everyone seemed to have no problems with this so he plunged ahead. “Do you remember hitting anything or grabbing anything as you fell? Anything that would slow your descent?”

Sean shook his head, scratching his arm at the same time.

It was that action that drew the anthropologist’s attention to the young man’s arm. “That a tattoo?”

“Yeah.” The Canadian grinned, pulling his short sleeve out of the way to give Declan a better look. “It’s the symbols for Ch’uan Chung-li."

“One of the eight Immortals?”

“Uh huh.” Sean’s head bobbed in a nod. “Got it when I enlisted.”

Grissom moved closer to look for himself. “Chinese mythology right? Represents the military man?”

“That would be him.” Declan agreed, straightening up. “Very cool.”

“Thanks.” The young man smiled widely, resting his head against the pillow.

Katherine’s cellphone began to ring and she excused herself, moving to the far side of the room. While she was talking, Grissom asked his remaining questions, writing down relevant information before making the arrangements for the sketch artist.

The end of the interview came a few moments later when she returned to her former position and addressed Sean. “Your mother’s plane just touched down.’

He groaned. “Oh man...”

“You’re doomed.” Declan commiserated with a nod.

“Get me out of here, please?”

“No can do, man.” He shrugged, pointing in Katherine’s direction. “She looks like she could totally take me in a fight.”

“You have *no* idea.” Sean agreed with a laugh. “Thanks Mr. Grissom, Declan. For everything.”

The two men nodded and turned to go, only to have Katherine follow them out into the hall. “I’d like to stop by your offices soon, Mr. Grissom, to review the evidence.” She sighed. “There is still the matter of jurisdiction. The Canadian government will want in...”

He smiled faintly, nodding. “I suspected as much. Call and I’ll have everything ready.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Good evening Ms. MacMillian.”

 

Not mine. Not even close.

 

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