He knew the look of her personal pages so well that he could have described them from memory. That's why it was such a surprise when, tonight, he was greeted with a totally new look. Instead of the usual plain black and white there were festive balloons scattered across the background. The big, bright red letters at the top said HUZZAH! and the picture right below it, obviously taken in one of those four-for-a-dollar booths, showed a close up of a hand giving the 'thumbs up' sign. He was a little frustrated. She'd never posted a photo of herself--she was too cautious for that. *Not that it matters.* He touched the screen, stroking the picture. *You can't hide from me for long.* The exuberance of the graphics made him smile. *She's celebrating something. It must be important. She didn't redecorate when she graduated.* He read, and his excitement grew to delight.

//Rejoice! Rejoice with me, children. No longer must I drudge in the florescent lit salt mines of the corner convenience store. I now have letters after my name that my Mama didn't put there on the birth certificate. Yours truly has finished her masters in electronics and I have waved bye-bye to minimum wage and no benefits.//

//I'm also waving good-bye to my beloved SE Texas. I'm finally going to get brave and explore new horizons. With my new piece of paper came several good job offers. I thought about joining up with a couple of big companies on the east coast, and closer to home, but I've decided to really bust out. Friends, I'm moving to Sin City. That's right--I'm going to Las Vegas and opening my very own, at home web design company. Y'all have already seen a little of what I can do on my website. I'll soon have a commercial site up and be open for business. So if anyone has a little work to throw my way--hint hint. In the meantime I already have my first client. Go, me! Chris Besick has hired me to do a promo site for his hot club--Acid Drop. I'm gonna make it the place to be, so if y'all are ever in Vegas, drop by and give it a look. Tell 'em I sent you. *smile* Talk to y'all later. I'm actually writing this from my new place, and you know what it's like to set up a new home.//

The man sitting in the dimly lit office stared at the screen for a long time, then shut down the program. He leaned back in his swivel chair and folded his hands over his belly, then smiled into the darkness. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured. "You're the first one who's ever come to me." He'd been checking her website at least once a day for over a month. Now he had a reason to check even more often. He didn't need her to publickly post personal information, but any little tidbit of information was appreciated. The less he had to dig, the better.

He was curious as to what sort of business she'd get. Judging from her website she was competent, with perhaps even some talent. Not quite up to his standards, but then so few people were. In any case, he loved talented amatures. Perhaps she'd finally be the one who listened to him, who was willing to be guided and molded. All the others so far had been sad disappointments. He wondered if he shouldn't think about finding someone in his own life to mentor. This need to form someone else could easily become an obsession.

He started to leave, but after a moment's thought he rebooted the computer and connected to the Internet to check her website one more time. No change, so he sent her a little email.

Mozell was checking her email on the computer in her office while Greg cleared up a few bits of paperwork before taking her home. She'd requisitioned a laptop from the department, but as she told Greg, "I want one more time on one I'm familiar with before I break in the new one."

Greg was just finishing the last form when he heard her across the hall. Her voice was high pitched. "Greg."

Greg was out of his seat and moving so fast that the paper floated unnoticed to the floor. He managed a run in the short distance between his desk and the entrance to her office, and he barely managed to skid to a halt before running into her. "What is it?" She pointed silently at the monitor, and he leaned over her shoulder to study it. His eyes darted over the print, and he said softly, "Son of a fucking bitch." Then he turned and leaned out into the hall, barking, "Clark! Donaldson! Now!"

Mozell sat, still staring at the screen, hearing the hurried thud of footsteps. "What is it?" asked Donaldson.

Greg, grim faced, jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "The asshole has upped the ante."

Mozell pushed her chair back as far as she could to allow the agents to get a good look at the computer.

//Dear Scribe, You haven't been posting much the last few days, and I've been very disappointed, but now I know why. So, you're venturing out into the wide, wide world, leaving the safe haven of your place of birth. Brave girl. But then I've known you were brave for some time. Your writing shows that. I can only hope that you're going to be brave enough to take another step. You know a lot, but there are things I can show you...//

Mozell had turned aside, putting her head in her hands. Detective Donaldson had wedged in close to the desk. Now Greg said sharply, "Out of my way if you don't want me to climb over you." There was some fast shuffling, and Greg moved up beside her chair, leaning down to put his arms around her. "It's okay," he whispered.

She blindly reached back to pat him. Her tone was ragged as she said, "No, it's not, sweetie. From what I've seen in those folders this is just a mild start."

"Did you read the entire email?" asked Donaldson.

"No. I was getting sick to my stomach. I don't want anyone telling me they want to do that to me." She gave a forced chuckle. "Not in such a hateful way, anyway. You feel free to keep talking dirty to me."

Several of the CSIs had heard Greg's call, and had come down to see what was going on. Nick had gotten a brief sketch of what was happening, and made a fast trip to the break room. Now he returned and poked Donaldson. "Here." He handed the Special Agent a cold can of Diet Coke. When Donaldson looked at him, Nick gestured toward the office. "For her. Give it to her. Caffine seems to soothe her rather than making her hyper."

Donaldson took the can and turned, offering it to Mozell. "From Stokes. He seems to think you need it."

Mozell grabbed at the can, popped it open, and took a deep swallow, then sighed. When Donaldson looked at her she shrugged. "You wouldn't be looking at me funny if it was alcoholic, would you?" She leaned around him and called. "You're a lifesaver, Nick." Nick gave her the okay sign. "No, seriously. If I ever get any really good girlfriends, I'm going to matchmake you like a mad bitch. Good looking, steady job, considerate, charming, and from Texas." Greg sniffed pointedly. "That last is the only thing you have up on my boy, though."

"We were expecting him to move from the suggestive to the explicit..." said Donaldson.

"What a nice way of saying 'spew filthy obscenities'," said Mozell.

"But it's this last bit that's the most significant." Donaldson read from the screen. "//Consider what I've told you, dear one. Prepare yourself for me. We WILL meet, and SOON.// He capitalized both 'will' and 'soon'."

"He can't be sure I have html enabled on my email program," said Mozell wearily, "and since he couldn't be sure I'd see bold or italics, he wanted to be sure I got the emphasis. Old net writing formatting trick."

"Well," said Grissom. "I guess we can bump it up from being only ninety-nine per cent sure to one hundred per cent."

Donaldson looked at Mozell. "I really think that we need to work out some sort of modified protective custody." He saw the mulish expression forming on her face. "Look, I'm not talking about you stuck in a motel room with a couple of armed guards, but there has to be some middle ground between that and you making a sitting target of yourself."

"I thought that my being a sitting target was what this was all about."

"Miss McClain, you know what I'm getting at. While I'm sure that Mister Sanders here is absolutely dedicated to your safety, let's face it--he hasn't been trained for situations like this. No offense meant."

"None taken," said Greg. "And you're right. The worst I've ever been in was a couple of minor dust ups in high school. That one time I chased down a purse snatcher and tackled him he kicked me in the face and got away."

"Did they ever catch him?" asked Mozell. "I'm asking because I'd like to hunt him down and mess him up."

Catherine whispered to Nick, "I wouldn't want to mess around with either one of them and get the other down on my case. But my bet for most effective would be Mozell. Physically Greg could do more damage, but she seems to have a little more practise at being devious, and she can ruin your credit score online."

"It's unlikely that the perp has managed to track down your actual physical location," Donaldson was continuing. "We can get a safe house that has another safe house located next door or across the street. That way we can have constant observers close to you without them being seen in the house with you. We could set up a mixed sex team of three so that they could trade off without it being too obvious. A casual observer will think that it's just a normal household, with the various members going about their daily routine."

"Really?" said Mozell. "I know that if I saw a household with more than two adults, and one of them wasn't obviously the elderly parent, I'd think there was something mighty interesting going on in there." She leered and wiggled her eyebrows.

When he'd first arrived this might have disconcerted Donaldson a bit. Now he took it as a good sign, a sign that she was feeling better. "We have agents who can pass as college age, or even high school students."

"Do they really look young, or is it that 'all models are over 18' or 'Grease, they're supposed to be teenagers, but all of 'em can probably remember their fifth, if not tenth year reunion' sort of young?"

"So young that they occasionally get turned away at bars even after they show two forms of ID, and one of them an FBI badge."

"Get an actual teenager to dress them, and it might just work."

"So you agree?"

"I didn't say that." She looked at Greg. "Did I say that?" He shook his head. "Those words did not come out of my mouth."

"Miss McClain..."

"I didn't say I wouldn't, either. I just need to have a few things explained. First off, am I going to be able to take a reasonable amount of my stuff with me? And I'm talking my computer and CDs mostly, but I'll want a few other items, too."

"Such as?"

"Personal stuff." She gave him an arch look. "Feminine protection."

He rubbed his ear in embarrassment. "Whatever you want, though we could probably get it for you at a local store."

"Oh yeah?" said Greg. "I'm not even comfortable with the thought of buying female products for her out in public, and we've..." He trailed off, realizing that everyone was looking at him expectantly. He blushed. "Been intimate."

Mozell kissed his hand. "If y'all want to buy me new clothes, I'm all for that, as long as I get to do the picking." She looked at Greg again. "They might try to buy me heels or ruffles, and that must not come to pass." He nodded.

"Of course."

She looked at Donaldson. "I'm going to assume that you realize that air conditioning is a non-bargainable necessity?"

"Contrary to what you might think, Miss McClain, I'm neither cruel, nor stupid," he said dryly.

"I never thought you were stupid. A tad slow on the uptake, perhaps. And I want cable tv, if not satelite."

"Of course. You'll also need an Internet hook up for this to work..." His lips quirked, "And if I'm not mistaken, for you to remain even marginally sane."

She smiled at him. "You're learning. A supply of healthy food for my diabetes, and some junk food also for my sanity. Make it more carbs than sweets. The carbs aren't as bad for me as the sweets are."

Greg squeezed her shoulder. "I'll police the food."

"You will, huh?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "I'm not going to be a diet Nazi, but I'm not going to have you do the dietary equivalent of beating your head against a brick wall, either."

"Beating my head against a brick wall?"

"Something that won't kill you immediately, but will in the long run, and damn sure isn't good for you. Don't worry--I've been scoping out places to get sugar free, low carb goodies."

"I love you, Gorgeous. I'm not doing housework."

"I doubt you'll be there long enough for that to be an issue," said Donaldson.

"This is Vegas. With all that sand, do you have any idea how fast dust collects? But we'll leave that for now. Any chance of a pool?"

"Do you think it would be wise to be outdoors swimming, considering the situation?"

"That means no. Can I have a cat?"

"Miss McClain..."

"No, you're right. As many thrillers and slashers as I've seen, I know better. I'm not going to endanger some poor, innocent pet--they're always the first targets for psychos."

Greg nodded. "If you see a cat or a dog within the first half hour, odds are high that it will be targetted."

"Unless we need to be made to believe that it's dead, but it turns up at the last second to distract the villain long enough for our hero to get the upper hand," Mozell agreed.

"Miss McClain..." said Donaldson tiredly.

"I think you know me well enough to call me Mozell," she said, "And yes, I'll go to the safe house under those conditions. One other, though--Greg gets to visit whenever he likes."

"Visit?" said Greg. "Hell, I'm coming with you."