Title: A Near Fatal Mistake
Chapter 1 - A Deadly Trap

Summary: Horatio finds himself in the clutches of a twisted serial killer; his life in hanging in the balance. Will he be saved in time? Will he and Calleigh ever get the chance to make amends? Will the killer ever be stopped for good?

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the CSI Miami cast. You know the rest write (grin)? All other characters are my own. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. Thanks

A/N: This will be my last DuCaine (multi-chapter) story so hope you like it.


As his world slowly starts to come back to him, he knows instantly that something isn't right. He struggles to get his eyes open, but when they finally do, all he sees is black. Being able to blink he knows he's not blindfolded but being kept in something dark; a few slits of light teasing his brain; taunting his helpless state. He tries to pull his hands free, but is unable, his fingers quickly inspecting the hard plastic zip tie that is keeping his wrists painfully but securely restrained behind his back. He tries to call for help, only to be hindered by the heavy piece of tape firmly applied over his mouth, drowning out any attempts at making himself known; or the predicament he's found himself in.

Horatio closes his eyes, praying for the pounding in his head to cease as he thinks back to a heated discussion he had with Calleigh only hours earlier that led to his rash actions and subsequent capture.

'You can't tell me not to go and inspect those damn trucks alone when you did the same thing. A bit hypocritical don't you think Horatio? You're just a woman...isn't that what you said?'

'Ryan threw that out and...'

'And you didn't argue back. Don't ever patronize me Horatio!'

'So now I can't show concern?'

'There wasn't concern in your voice when you backed that claim earlier and you know it.'

And the argument and tension escalated from there, causing their tension filled rift to widen. Neither meant what they said but both were unable to verbalize their apologies and so they remained tense and contrite toward each other.

Oh Calleigh, I'm so sorry, his mind laments as he closes his eyes, willing the painful throbbing in his head to stop and his mind flashing back to the point this all started.

It had all started a few weeks ago with an ill fated phone call.

'Lieutenant Caine? Detective Stan Grimes from Philly, you got a moment?'

The call came in from the CSI office in Philadelphia that a suspected serial killer that drove a beat up big rig was possibly in the Miami-Dade area, another victim in his sights. His name was Carl Wheeler and he was as twisted and sadistic as they come; an ironic last name for a man who used an eighteen wheeler as his instrument of death. Standing just over six feet tall, greasy black hair, a few well placed tattoos, nicotine stained teeth, powerful hands, haunting black eyes and a conscience that was seared from birth. His victims were all male, kidnapped and tortured, carved up before stabbed in the lungs; their bodies, still alive, dumped in some deserted area where they died alone, futilely gasping for air, but unable to do to anything but remain bound and gagged and pray for a quick death; any kind of release from their physical torment.

'How is it that no one has been able to catch this guy yet? Surely a big rig isn't that hard to hide,' Horatio had discussed with the lead Philadelphia CSI.

'Horatio, this bastard has the whole trucker force thinking he's some kind of untouchable hero; even paying off those that'll help him. He's twisted out stories to make it seem like we are fingering the wrong man on some kind of trumped up charge. They don't believe us. The only way to catch this guy is to set a trap and pray he falls for it. Because none of his kind will turn him in to help you.'

The team was anxious to find Carl Wheeler and put him away, tirelessly following leads; Calleigh working long hours into the night just the same as him. However one time she came back from following a lead on her own and that ignited inner fears for her life; a battle inside constantly waging at telling her that he was falling in love with her and holding back for fear of professional propriety and his own inner demons.

'Next time call for backup!' He had ordered in frustration.

'There wasn't time!'

'That's an order Calleigh.'

'I'm not his type Horatio, you are! Will you follow the same order?'

She had firmly countered; thinking that if he was once again reminded of the fact that the killer wasn't interested in women that all would be okay for her. And while she was right, his feelings inside kept him from seeing the rational truth; he was the next target, she wasn't. And while he knew her words to be true, he told himself that he wouldn't end up like them; he would stop this bastard before another body would be discovered.

'What's this really about Horatio? Protocol or something else?'

'Calleigh...'

'Can you tell me the truth?'

'I am worried.'

'Why?'

'This man has no conscience. You can get Eric to...'

'Horatio he's never targeted a woman! Now if you'll excuse me I have a lead to follow up on. That call came to me and I'm taking it.'

'Damn it!'

With that she had turned and stormed out of his office, blond strands swinging behind her shoulders, her posture firm and her whole frame on edge. But he had hurried after her, gently taken her aside and tried to make amends before the tension got out of hand; knowing it was his place to take the lead in smoothing this over and getting back on the right track.

'I can't go with you on this one. When Eric is back?'

'I'll take Natalia with me. I think we should both be safe.'

She had looked at him; an intense emerald stare starting to pierce his sapphire shield, threatening to force him to break down right there, take her in his arms, kiss her long and hard and prove to her why he was so on edge.

'What is it?'

'It's nothing.'

'Horatio you can tell me. Please?'

'Not here.'

'We are alone.'

'Just wanted to...it's just not the right place. Not for this. Not for what I want to tell you.'

'Okay then, I'll see you later.'

'Calleigh?'

'It's okay, I'm not going anywhere, we'll talk later.'

Later never came.

He stood fixed in time, watching her leave in misery; cursing himself for not just telling her the truth right there; he was in love with her and would fear his life would end if he allowed her to walk into some kind of twisted trap alone without warning. Thus he played right into the killers hands; Calleigh unaware of the life threatening danger he was now in. She had offered him a soft smile as she departed, a small glimmer of hope being offered, something he so desperately wanted to cling to. He had told himself in that moment, as soon as she was back, he would take her for coffee, some place private and at least tell her how much he cared, wanting to take it slow and not scare her away with a full blown confession. That would come. Or would it?

But right after she left he then got a call on what he thought was a credible source on the truck responsible for the deaths and chased after it, not calling for backup; telling himself there was no time and it was just one man. He had heard that Calleigh wisely taken Natalia with her, Ryan and Eric already trying to fish out another lead in the everglades with Frank. The drive to the spot his mind kept nagging at him that something wasn't right; that he had nothing to prove to anyone on this solitary, foolhardy mission. He didn't listen.

Instead, he had caught up with big rig on a deserted stretch of road just on the edge skirts of a part of the everglades that wasn't frequented by any human, his team at the far end of the area; away from help and any needed backup. So far the source's information was correct; but that is what the killer wanted.

'Show me your hands!' Horatio remembered himself demanding.

When he saw the mans face in the side mirror, a masked image the devious killer had flashed; Horatio told himself this wasn't the man and it was okay to proceed. The man hands appeared through the open window and he figured all was fine; and per his usual always rushing in where angels fear to tread, he made his move. A near fatal mistake he would soon be forced to ponder.

But the killer was ready and so when he asked him to step out of the cabin, he was met in the face with the side of the truck door which dazed him and allowed his, now captor, to finish the job, hitting him again on the head with something hard before stuffing him into the back of the sleeper cabin, bound and gagged.

Stupid! Horatio curses himself as he tries to shift his weary and throbbing frame. His foot kicks at the side of what he assumes is the sleeper cabin of the big rig he's being kidnapped in; but to no avail, his captor merely turns the music louder, drowning out the helpless police officers vain attempts at being heard to anyone in the outside world.

'And if you get your ass kicked by one of them, don't come asking for some nursing either! Because maybe this time I won't be there!'

He remembers Calleigh tossing at him one night; his own snippy remark prompting her callous comeback. Now he wonders if this will be the end and he'll never get the chance to say he's sorry for the stupid argument that was ignited, mostly due to his own arrogance. He actually wonders if he'll ever get the chance to tell her how much he does care; his own life void if hers was taken. Would she mourn him as he would her? Would she even notice him missing until it was too late? Would anyone?

He slightly shifts on his side, the plastic biting into his tender skin as he does so; a painful reminder that the man holding him, the man already responsible for six grisly deaths in his big rig, was in charge and he wouldn't be going anywhere, much less escaping without help. Would help even arrive in time? Who knew where he was? When he had gotten the call he didn't tell anyone, the rest of the team was busy. Where was his phone? Still traceable?

For the next while he does everything he can to try to find a way out, kicking at the side his feet are facing; the space too small to turn around effectively with his arms pinned tightly behind his back. But knowing he cannot just go down without a fight or doing everything he can to find a way out; never going to just lay still and accept defeat, Horatio doesn't care that he works himself into a useless sweat, he has to try. His fingers try their best to inspect the surrounding area behind him, his brain offering futile curse upon curse when he realizes there is nothing there he can use to even try to gnaw at the firm plastic.

For a moment his fingers rest on something and his elation starts to rise until he realizes that the item he had hoped he'd be able to use to cut himself free was in fact just a firm edge of the blanket and nothing more than an item to taunt his helplessness. Horatio slumps his head back down onto the mattress and closes his eyes for a second. Is this how the others felt? That moment of despair? He knew what his captor was capable of and now his own mind races with how he'll face his seemingly inevitable death.

His wrists pull again, trying so hard to summon any bit of strength or energy; hoping to find some kind of give between his wrists - none could be found. He could only hope now that his captor would somehow become lax in his actions and he would be afforded any opportunity; any opportunity at securing his escape. That's all that mattered now.

Horatio feels the big rig starting to slow but his own heart rate starting to pick up the pace. The report from Philadelphia confirmed that the men where held captive for about twenty-four hours; none reported missing until it was too late. He hopes that in his case it would be less because he was expected back. Would they track the Hummer's GPS? Would they find its location? But if they did would they even know which direction the big rig took? He didn't even know if they were still in Florida.

The large truck finally comes to a dead halt and the small door slides open, revealing the smug smile of the man that now holds his very life in his murderous hands. The men that were later discovered, were tortured, slowly sliced while they remained bound, helpless and alone; begging for death but unable to make their cries heard. Horatio tries to bring his feet forward, but while there might room inside the actual sleeper cabin for his entire frame, the opening doesn't afford him much opportunity to attack. He tries to kick at his captor once more, only to receive a blow to the gut, winding him and allowing his captor to fill the cabin with taunting laughter as he arranges the passenger seat so that Horatio could only kick at the back of the firm leather seat.

"Comfortable Lieutenant Caine?" Carl Wheeler mocks as he leans forward and roughly yanks the tape from Horatio's lips; forcing his face to wince from the sting.

"My team...is not far...behind," Horatio pants, praying his voice comes across as firm and not shaky due to his inner fear; his mind already knowing what his captor is capable of.

"I doubt it," he retorts. "I disabled the GPS. Yeah I know, pretty smart for a dumb ass trucker right? Wasn't that the comment you pegged us all with a few hours back?" He yells as his fist adds another blow to Horatio's already bruised and slightly cut forehead, a wound just above his eye that his kidnapper isn't taking any pity on. He feels a small droplet of blood escape the angry wound and slowly seep past his sun kissed brows.

"You know what I am capable of right Caine?" Wheeler sneers as he slowly retrieves his cutting blade, his favoured instrument of death; letting the crimson stained weapon slowly swing before Horatio's slightly watery blue eyes.

"Do you know what I am capable of?" Horatio counters, forcing the man to chuckle.

"You know kinda surprised you took the bait so easily. But trust me I am flattered you came here alone. Makes me feel soooo special," Wheeler smugly ponders as his fingers casually play with the weapon.

"My team knows..." Horatio tries again.

"I watched you the past few days...at the yard; barking out orders like some high priced dog," Wheeler's voice turns gruff. "Thought you sounded pretty sure of yourself there," he pauses with a snicker. "I'm so glad my disguise worked," he boasts. "Brought you down pretty fast. Yeah you don't look too sure of yourself here. In fact you look pretty damn SCARED!" He finishes with a shout.

But in a swift second, before Horatio can offer another word, the blade is pushed up against his lips, shutting Horatio up in seconds and forcing his heart rate to race toward critical. The mans other hand rests on his neck, just above the folds of his dark dress shirt, applying some pressure and forcing Horatio's lips to purse for air; the tender skin now feeling the edge of the blade and his tongue forced to ingest the coppery sludge of victims past.

"I know we don't have much time, because unlike the rest of the worthless men who dared to cross me were basically a bunch of nobody's you have people expecting you. So your stay here will be short and painful."

Horatio looks at him, not daring to blink or swallow; his brain not willing yet to accept defeat at this man's hands.

"Beg me Lieutenant...beg me to spare your life. Beg me like the others did," Wheeler growls as he pushes the blade back against Horatio's face, leaving faint traces of blood and dirt against Horatio's fair skin.

"Go...to hell," Horatio manages weakly as his crystal blue eyes lock with the dead black ones before him; his very soul offering an involuntary shudder as he sees the victims past dancing in the haunted pools before him; their calls for help, to save their lives, landing on unresponsive ears.

"Beg me Caine! Beg me like a worthless dog!" His captor shouts.

Horatio merely narrows his gaze but refuses to give the man anything more in the way of twisted satisfaction.

"BEG ME!" Wheeler shouts again; Horatio remaining silence in defiance. "No?" Wheeler snides as he merely pulls back with a look of anger and disappointment, his fingers putting the knife away and retrieving the heavy roll of tape.

"Well you know I am not one for talking for long periods," Wheeler states matter of factly. "And now I am going to make you scream. I only like to hear women screaming my name; so you'll forgive me if I don't take the same pleasure from you."

"You are nothing more than a filthy coward!" Horatio growls.

"Ooh sticks and stones," Wheeler laughs. "Last chance Caine," he warns as his fingers go to tear away a strip. "Want to beg me for your life?"

"You will never succeed."

"Yeah yeah heard that before. How about you try this, 'okay Mr. Wheeler, I know you are going to offer me a painful death so please don't hurt me.' Wheeler finishes with a laugh.

"I'll not give you the satisfaction!" Horatio growls in defiance once more.

"Got a family Lieutenant? Anyone you care about? Love? Or who will miss you? I didn't see a ring earlier," Wheeler shrugs. "How about your team? Think they'll like the sight they find?"

"My team will find you and put you where you belong."

"Yawn," Wheeler huffs. "Last chance Caine. I usually don't like to rush my work, but you got a bigger target on you than the rest. You want to beg me not to kill you?"

"I'll not..."

"BEG ME!" Wheeler shouts impatiently.

"Go to hell."

"Been there," Wheeler sighs as he finally tugs a piece of the tape free. "Now it's your turn to experience hell."

"You will not..." is all Horatio manages before his captor once again silences him by pressing down hard on his mouth, drowning out the rest of his firm but futile warning.

"Actually I will," Wheeler smiles as he pats Horatio on the cheek. "I have already gotten away with this," he smiles as he retrieves the knife once again. "No one knows where you are and by the time I finish with you all that will be left will picked away by the crocs and vultures. Just like the others."

Horatio's mind quickly flashes him haunting images of the grisly victims; men, about his age and stature, but each targeted for a different reason, their lives, however, all taken in the same manner. All carved up, unrecognizable in the end. Dental records and a few personal effects, the only things that garnered them their ID and the grief stricken families some closure.

"You know you always dress so nice," Wheeler goads as the tip of the knife rests just above the waist band to Horatio's dark dress pants. "But it's a little boring," he laughs. "Time to remedy that," and before Horatio can make another move; offering any kind of vain attempt to defend himself, the tip of the blade slices open the dark fabric of his dress shirt, leaving only lightly tanned and very vulnerable smooth flesh exposed. "Ah there you are. Much better."

Horatio's stomach automatically sucks in as the cold blade is pressed against it, his arms struggling in vain to pull himself free of the biting plastic restraints; the folds of his tender skin around the edges of the plastic binding already being bruised and cut further. He feels the tip press slightly into his warm skin and yells into the gag; his heart now beating painfully in his chest and his mind racing with thoughts of his own painful death.

"Let's see if you bleed blue," Wheeler taunts as he digs the tip into the soft flesh just above his belly button and draws the knife upward, Horatio's lips offering muffled screams as his stomach wants to throw up, his throat quickly swallowing down the bile; the feeling of his own warm blood slowly trickling down his sides forcing his body to buckle further and his mind to race faster; his heart about to give way; his ear drums ready to burst.

"Not blue. Kinda disappointed Caine," Wheeler pulls back with a mock pout, allowing the blade to once again swing in the air, a few droplets smattering to the bed of the sleeping cab, Horatio's mind screaming with pain. However, he knows it was just a surface cut and will heal, that is if he's found in time; before his demented captor can do further harm.

However that isn't to be. The knife nears him again and Horatio knows that his torment is only starting.

"You know one of the fondest memories I have with my father; may the rotten bastard rot in hell," Wheeler chides. "Sorry, where was I? Oh yeah a memory, right...so it was when my father gave me a personal tattoo. I too bucked at first, but then got used to it. You won't have time to really enjoy it however. So would you like a tattoo Lieutenant Caine? Yes? Excellent!"

Horatio tries to pull back, his lungs once again heaving for air as his cut chest begs for some kind of relief; any movement his body offers, resulting in shooting bursts of pain. He watches as the blade nears him once more, this time slicing a patch open toward his shoulder, the crimson tip; skilful in the hands of his demented captor, starts to cut into his shoulder, forcing Horatio's body to buckle.

Once again the cut only superficial, healing with time if he would be so permitted; his mind begging for help, praying for a rescue, but his heart yelling that it was already too late and he would die alone in a grisly and painful manner. His mind quickly flashes moments in his life where he knows he could have made amends and now wonders if he'll ever have the chance. And what about Calleigh? He would never tell her he loves her. Kyle? He would never see him grow up to be the responsible man he knows he has the potential for. Wheeler finally places the knife on the seat and looks at Horatio with a frown before glancing at his own watch.

"One for the road, I have time."

Wheeler pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one up, blowing the smoke into Horatio's small enclosed space, forcing the air to thicken and his lungs to constrict further, his watery eyes stinging from the putrid fumes and his nose fighting for whatever amount of fresh air it can find.

"You know what's funny," Wheeler pauses as he holds the half smoked butt between this thick dirty fingers. "They say these things will kill you," he finishes with a hearty laugh; his large frame twitching with delight.

Wheeler leans back in his chair, watching Horatio's captive frame as it lightly struggles; his movements now slow, trying to keep the searing pain at bay.

"You know you might call yourself high and mighty but right now...damn I gotta tell ya, you look as pathetic as the rest. Course most of them were kinda wimpy. You still have your defiance Caine, very refreshing. Short lived but still amusing, so I thank you."

Horatio flashes him a searing gaze of hatred, his mind vowing revenge if he should ever be afforded the opportunity. He had always told his team not to take liberties with their leads or their lives; yet it was something he always failed to ensure himself, telling himself that although he had to set the example he knew he was the one that took liberties the most; always trying to prove to himself that he was indestructible and untouchable. He would have been screaming if it was Eric, Ryan or any other male team member in his predicament; his mind unable to even wonder what Calleigh would be thinking. If he got out of this alive, the next pep talk would be for him.

Wheeler finishes his butt and tosses it into the back with Horatio, the slightly smouldering piece landing a few inches from a freshly created wound; the blood slowly seeping down his smooth skin and creating a red circle on the tattered blanket beneath him. Thankfully a blast in the distance is heard, signalling the killer that it's time to move on.

"Well time to get moving," Wheeler states with an uninterested sigh. "I get bored being in one place for too long. But if I were you, I'd start praying right about now because the next time we do stop, it could be your final resting place. All depends on my mood and if you don't piss me off again!"

With those haunting words, his captor slams the small compartment door shut, sealing Horatio back inside his stuffy dark coffin and starting up the big rig once more; the music blaring as it was before; Wheeler's taunting laugher ringing in his ears.

Horatio tries to move, wanting to shift his now sweat wracked frame to a better position, but in doing so opens the ribbon of flesh a bit more and yells out a muffled curse and slumps his damp head back down onto the musty bed in defeat. He had wanted to shift to his back, not caring about his wrists but decides to just remain put, less strain on his chest and try to calm his heart rate and think of something...anything he can do to try to escape. He wasn't about to give up just yet.

Oh god what have I done, his mind laments in pain as he closes his eyes in misery.


A/N: Okay so how was that? Who will find Horatio? How will Calleigh feel? Will Wheeler get away? What will happen when Horatio is found? Hopefully you want to see the rest and thank you in advance.