Okay, so this is the beginning of my new story, Alliance. For those of you who haven't read the prequels Recovery, KT, or Favor, I am going to make this as stand-alone as possible. Just ask questions if you get confused.

Dial Tone.

"Yes?"

"I made it to the hotel."

"Easy part."

"What about you?"

"I talked to one of my contacts. We got a lead."

"I meant your sleeping arrangements."

"I' got a safe house in the city."

"This'll get dangerous."

"We knew that before we started."

"Then we had the element of surprise."

"We still do. They don't know that we know."

"They know we got Claypool."

"They know that I got Claypool. They think you are dead."

"You have an escape route?"

"House-boat in the Keyes. Enough food and water to get us to Mexico."

"That looks tempting."

"We run now we'll always be running."

"If I choose to run?"

"I'm tired of playing lone wolf. You have more at stake than I do. You run, I run with you."

"And bitch every step of the way."

"He he. Of course. Would you expect anything less of me?"

"No."

"Are you in, or should I ready the boat?"

"Where's the rendezvous?"

Two days later...

A beautiful day in Miami. The sun was shining, a slight breeze blew away the oppressive humidity. A day spent surfing, a night spent clubbing.

A perfect day for a murder.

"Victim's name is Salazar Ramón," Detective Sergeant Frank Tripp said, "Has a record. Busted twice for illegal possession of dope. Served five years in New Mexico, moved here recently."

"And now he's dead," Horatio Caine observed, leaning over the body, "Any ideas, Doctor?"

"I'm going out on a limb here and saying subdural hematoma," the ME replied, "Looks like his head was bashed into the wall over there. There's also peri-mortem bruising at the throat, so it looks like he was hit there as well. I'll know more when he's back at the lab. "

"Wall belongs to Santiago Córtez," Tripp informed them, "It's why we're here in the first place. Mrs Córtez called in a kidnapping of her husband. Mr Ramón here worked as private security for Córtez."

"Córtez," Caine whispered, "That sounds familiar."

"It should," Tripp answered, "He's big on the smuggling scene. We've been trying to nab him since '99, but we haven't had any luck. Half the ICE agents in Miami are on a task force trying to nail the sumbitch."

"So, in the kidnapping attempt, Ramón was killed," Caine confirmed,"But why here?"

"Well, maybe our guy tried to scale the wall here," Tripp said, "Or he could have used it as an escape route."

"Only one way to find out," Caine replied.

Eric Delko looked down at the top of the wall, "That's new."

Glued to the top of the plaster covered brick wall was broken glass, sharp edges to the sky. A common third-world anti-burglary system, it was out of place, and highly illegal, in Miami. On this, however, a pair of hands had crushed the glass into two distinct handprints, fingers pointing away from the yard.

"Yeah, someone definitely tried to get out of here this way."

Natalia Boa Vista examined the alarm sirens in the yard. Spray on insulation had been applied to their inside to dampen the alarm. In addition, the floodlights were shot out with a small caliber weapon.

"We're dealing with pros."

"So, smuggling business pays well, I see," Ryan Wolfe observed, "I mean look at this place: hip, modern, what in the world is that?"

"Modern Art piece," Calleigh Dusquesne observed, tilting her head to the right to get a new perspective, "It looks like a seal kissing an elephant."

Wolfe tilted his head the opposite direction, "From this angle it looks like Abe Lincoln."

She tilted her head the same way, "I see George Washington. Tilt your head the other way."

He did so, "Yep, seal kissing an elephant."

They continued down the hallway, flashing their UV lights up and down the walls. Calleigh's sharp eye caught a minor spark along the wall.

Carefully pulling it out of the wall, she shined a light on it, "I found some sort of glass embedded into the wall."

Ryan, however was looking at the other one, "I found footprints... on the wall."

Whirling around, Calleigh confirmed that, yes, there was indeed footprints, toes pointed to the floor, on the adjacent wall.

"I'd say, size 13?" Calleigh guessed.

"It looks like someone walked down the wall," Ryan said, "Wait, wasn't there glass glued to the top of the wall outside?"

"Yes," Calleigh agreed, "So maybe it was transferred?"

"Which would mean that our guy must have scaled both walls," Ryan twisted his head between the two, noting that they were at least four feet apart, "Are we dealing with Spider-Man?"

Trev

I think I saw this in a Spider-Man comic. Only, it was less cruel.

You know, there is some sort art in a slightly potbellied, demonicaly hairy, almost naked Cuban hanging from feet in a hot, dark Connex, illuminated by floodlight. Man, I need to stop reading about impressionist art.

"Oh, Mr Cortez," I sighed, picking my fingernails with a K-Bar for effect, "What a tangled web you woved..."

PLEASE REVEIW