The door opened, and Greg entered, brown eyes dancing over the paper mask. "Ah, Miss Lilli von Schtupp, I presume."

"For the moment. C'mon in, handsome, and tell me if it's twue what they say about..." She snickered. "No, wait--I've already seen evidence. It's twue, it's twue!"

"Flatterer."

"What can I do ya for, Greg? And remember that this is the 'clean room'. Suggestiveness only, no out-and-out smut."

"Drat. I just wanted to invite you back to my place for dinner/breakfast."

"I won't have to cook? You're on!"

His eyebrows wiggled. "I hope so. See you in a few." He left the room.

Mozell chuckled to herself. *That boy is a caution and a half when he gets going. God bless him.* She went back to work. It looked like the heat had only damaged the case--she shouldn't have any problem pulling information off the hard drive. *And God bless stupid crooks, because those are the ones we catch. When are the assholes going to learn that just trashing the case doesn't keep them safe? Never, let us hope. Well, if you have any kiddie porn on this sucker, you possible perv, and I will have your skanky ass trapped slicker than a clumsy mouse sittin' on a trap with a mouthful of Swiss and a pinched tail.*

*Oh, man. Now he's talking to himself about her. This has to be nipped in the bud. It shouldn't be too hard to distract him.* "Greg? Everyone talks to themself a little, but most of us don't actually hold conversations."

Greg glanced up. "Oh, hi, Sarah. I haven't finished with that analysis, yet." He gestured at the machine. "It'll be at least another fifteen minutes."

"Yeah, I know. I just thought I'd check in and see if you wanted to go have breakfast when the shift was over." *As often as you've asked me out...*

"Sorry, Sarah. Mozell is coming over to my place." He grinned. "I'm gonna make my Aunt Deedee's beef stroganoff. She won a hundred bucks for it in a local cooking contest. I think I have everything I need, but I'm doing a last minute check on ingredients. Is this considered too early in the day for wine, even if it's the middle of the evening for us?" Sarah opened her mouth, but for the life of her, couldn't think of what to say. Greg waved. "Well, I have iced tea, too. Maybe after we eat, before..." he trailed off, staring into the middle distance, eyes gleaming, "whatever." He blinked, then looked at her again. "What do you think--raspberry swirl crunch cheesecake, or chocolate cake?"

"Probably both," said Sarah acidly.

He nodded. "Yeah, that's what I thought." He sighed. "I love to watch her eat. Can't wait to see what it's like in private. Say, did you ever see Tom Jones--that eating scene with the fruit and oysters and stuff?" He blew out a breath, waving his hand like he was fanning himself.

"You know what you need to do, Greg?" Sarah was feeling nasty. "You need to introduce Mozell to your Aunt Deedee. Or maybe your Mom. They're about the same age, aren't they? They should have a lot in common."

He wasn't paying much attention, scribbling on the list. "Nah, Mom thinks that wearing white shoes after Labor Day is getting buck wild. I should have enough time on my break to run over to the gourmet deli and pick up some quick appetizers--maybe shrimp puffs, and they make that nuts n' bolts snack mix fresh. I think they call it Texas Trash in her home state."

Sarah started to say something about different kinds of 'Texas Trash', but she stopped herself in time. Greg didn't seem interested in hearing anything the least bit negative about his new interest. *Besides, he'll probably be like a teenager--the more she's criticized, the closer he'll cling. Maybe I can enlist Grissom, get him to say something about excess schmoozing on the job.*

She glanced at him. "Can you wait a few minutes? Since I'm not going right home, I'd like to check my email."

"Sure. I have an errand to run, anyway. Didn't get to take my break, what with that rush fiber analysis I had to do. I'll be back."

As he left, Mozell logged onto her Yahoo account and opened her inbox. She grunted. *Lordamighty, ardent, don't you have a life? Five, six... seven. Seven emails, and they look like chunky ones, too.* She opened the first one.

//Dear Scribe, when are you going to update Genteel Obsession? It's been quite a while now.//

Mozell sighed. *She's gotten out the Pointy Stick of Encouragement. The honeymoon is over.* She kept reading. *Damn. I know that sometimes the readers are attracted to the 'bad boy' characters, but Dominic is a fucking sociopath, and she sounds like she admires him. Then again, I haven't made it clear yet that he's been responsible for killing one or two of Stephen's 'pets', but his actions and attitudes toward women are pretty damn clear.* She fired off a quick, carefully worded reply. *After all, literature is a subjective taste. I'm sure there were people who really liked the main character in American Psycho. These people scare me, but hey, it's a free country.*

She opened the second message, and muttered, "Son of a bitch." *She's wondering why I didn't respond to the first message. And this was posted an hour later. What the hell does she think I am--smut on demand? People get paid for that sort of thing. Anyway, I'm not ready to advance on Obsession right now. I have other things on my plate.* She thought of Greg, and smiled to herself. *Well, maybe not on my plate.* Thinking about Greg made her feel mellow, so she sent a 'be patient' email to ardentadmirer, instead of the 'get off your fucking hobby horse' she'd been tempted to do. *I spoil these people--really I do.*

There was a knock on the office door. "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here," she called. She looked up as the door opened. "Hiya, Grissom." She pointed at the paper in his hand. "I hope that isn't more work for me. I'm just on my way out. I have a cute guy who's willing to cook for me, and I have to guard him from predators." She peered past him. "Hi, Sidemeat."

Sarah glared, then looked at Grissom. "See what I mean?"

"Hey!" Mozell said innocently. "Sarah, you obviously don't know the place of sidemeat in Southern life. It's the flavorful addition that makes eating greens or beans worthwhile. We couldn't live without our sidemeat. The pintos would be bland and insipid. Plus if you fry a couple of good slices, you don't need to add grease before you crack your eggs into the skillet. You..."

"Yes," interrupted Grissom. "Culinary lectures aside, there isn't any more work right now, but we're expecting something important from Mesquite tomorrow."

Mozell arched an eyebrow. "Barbeque?"

"There was a murder that is probably part of a string of killings that may have a cyber connection. They'll be sending in what's left of the victim's computer. Apparently it was very badly damaged by the intruder, but they're hoping you can do something with it. They'll also bring along all the victim's internet information, and we'll need you to see what you can glean. Whoever did this may be responsible for several more deaths, and if he is, it's likely he'll kill again."

Mozell sobered immediately. "You got it, chief. The fraud and embezzlement cases go on the back burner."

Sarah muttered, "Is food all you think about?"

Greg appeared behind the two, holding up a couple of bags from the deli. Mozell grinned. "Nope, Side-straddle. Often I think about sex." She indicated the paper Grissom was holding. "Is that to do with the case?"

"Yes. It's a memo that's being sent out to all Nevada forensic electronic experts, and all the ones in surrounding states." He offered it. "It details the red flags for this case." She took the memo and tucked it in her purse. "Be sure to read it."

"Don't worry. As long as it's actually about a case, and not instructions on proper behavior in the break room. Now, if you'll excuse us?" She gently herded the others out of the office, and locked it. "Not that I wouldn't trust you to lock up behind yourself--actually, I wouldn't. I'm paranoid about my electronics. That's one thing about this job--you see the damage that can be done." *sniff* "Greg, what have you got there?"

"Ain't tellin'." She reached for one of the bags, but he held it out of her reach. "One advantage to being taller than you are."

"You've never seen me jump for a set ball in basketball, have you? Besides, you'll have to leave them unprotected while you drive. Bwha ha ha."

As they were walking down the hall, Greg was saying, "That's it--either you or the bags ride in the trunk."

"Happy to." He scraped onions and mushrooms into the pan and stirred vigorously. "How'd you like the shrimp puffs?"

"Not bad at all, and I know my shrimp, coming from next door to Louisianna. The cayenne cleared my sinuses." She wiped her nose with a paper napkin. "Sorry."

"Like you could stop a runny nose by force of will."

She was looking around. "You keep your place nice, Greg."

He bowed slightly. "I thank you. My mother raised me right."

"She sure did. I know a lot of boys your age who never learned that it was possible for them to bend at the waist and pick up an article of clothing. Tools--yes, socks and underwear, no. Is there anything I can do to help?" She took a sip of iced tea (Greg was rather proud that she'd praised his choice of Luzianne).

"I thought we'd put that 'boy' business to rest, and you can decide if you want this over rice or noodles."

"You have both? A man who stocks his carbs. Joy! Let's do noodles--it's quicker, even if it is a greater risk for sauce-on-the-chin. Okay, I'll admit that twenty-seven does not constitute a boy. Happy?"

"Blissful. How do you feel about wine this time of the morning?"

"For most people it's an indication that they need to look into a good twelve step program. For nightbirds like us..." she shrugged. "But not with a meal for me. Perhaps I'm hopelessly unsophisticated, but I think it spoils the taste of the food. I have absolutely no objection to a post-prandial snort, though."

"She can unselfconsciously use a term like 'post-prandial'. Is it any wonder that I love her? Could you get me the colander out of that cabinet over there?" He was opening a package of noodles, eyeing a pot of just simmering water.

"Don't look at that! Do you want it to never boil? Anyway, I have to get some use out of all those English courses I took." She opened the cabinet. "Oh, God. You even stack your pots neatly."

He looked at her wryly. "Don't be too impressed. You don't know how much time I spent on this place before you came over." He looked back at the stove, and blinked. "Son of a gun--it started boiling while I wasn't looking."

"Toldya." She set the colander in the sink. "Greg, you DO have a computer, don't you?"

"Of course."

"And an internet connection?"

"Duh."

"Why did I ever doubt you? Could I check my email?"

"Sure. I have unlimited access, and it'll be a couple more minutes on this, anyway. It's in the bedroom." She stepped up behind him, slipped her arms around his waist, and hugged him. "Oo, nice, but what was that for?"

"Mostly general principals, but also because you have consolidated the major pleasure areas of your home. I don't guess you have a mini-fridge in there?"

"No, but if you need anything, just holler and I'll do the houseboy bit."

She pinched his ass before stepping away. "Carefu

l--you don't know the sort of fantasies I've had about houseboys." As she walked out he dumped noodles into the water, calling, "Maybe not, but I can hope!"

Greg stirred, and began getting out serving dishes. He drained the noodles, stirring in a healthy *Or I suppose that should be Unhealthy* dollop of margerine, and some fresh parsley flakes. He was just turning things into the dishes when he heard, "Aaargh!"

He hurried back to his bedroom, to find Mozell sitting at his computer station, glaring at the monitor. "What? Did it zap you?"

"No, but if you could zap someone through the connections, I'm about ready to do it to a pushy fan."

He blinked. "Fan? Okay, I know that you were good at the karaoke, but..."

"Not singing, dollface. One sec..." She typed busily in the address bar. In a second a website popped up--Scribe Scribbles. She indicated it. "That's me--Scribe."

"No shit?" Greg leaned over her shoulder, studying the site. "Cool. Kinda retro looking."

"That's what I was going for."

"So, what do you have on it? Your innermost thoughts?"

"Those, too. My LiveJournal entries are pretty from the gut. But mostly it's humor and smut."

He blinked. "Beg pardon?"

"You heard me--smut. Or as I prefer to call it--high quality cyber erotica. I write both slash fanfiction and het original works." She shrugged. "An occasional haiku or poem about a fuzzy kitten pops up, too, but I've warned readers about those."

"You're not kidding?"

"Why would I kid about something as important as sexy writing? I have a bit of a rep on the net. Look." She pointed at the counter at the bottom of the page.

"Whoa."

"Yep. Not up in the millions catagory, but doing all right for a one woman free program jobber."

"What... uh... what kind of... stuff do you write."

She sighed. "Well, actually, some of it isn't that far off the mainstream--I just layer in the sex with greater frequency and more detail. No fade into vague metaphores. I call a 'throbbing symbol of masculinity' a cock, in other words. And you're blushing." She pinched his cheek. "You're so cute. Is dinner almost ready?"

"Oh, yeah." As she reached to close the internet connection, he said, "No, wait!" He grabbed the mouse, went to Favorites, and bookmarked the site. "For future reference."

"You're the guest."

"But you cooked for me."

"You make that sound like a big thing."

"It isn't? In my experience, most men don't voluntarily cook, unless it's tending a grill, a smoker, or a crab boil." She shrugged. "Maybe that's just a Southern thing."

He finished and sat, pulling his chair close to hers. "Maybe. My mom insisted I learn. She said that while it was possible to live off fast food, delivery, and heat up canned food, it wasn't good for you, and she didn't want to have to worry about whether or not I'd found a girlfriend who'd feed me."

"I bet she taught you to do laundry, too."

"You should see me separate clothes." He looped an arm around her. "I could demonstrate. If you'll just be so good as to let me put my clothes and your clothes in one pile..."

She laughed. "Oh, that gets high points on the originality scale, GS." She cocked her head, eyeing him. "Think I could lay down on your bed for awhile?"

"Sleepy?"

"Not in the least."

They exchanged smiles. "I think it may be time for that wine."

"One glass, to help relax." She reached over and ran a thumb over his chin, tapping it gently against his bottom lip. "You're fun drunk, Greg, but I like you sober, too."