Chapter 1: Prologue

(A/N) Well, look at that. My first Fanfic. I know it's not the best, and I know, I'm writing about C.S.I Miami. It's been a while since I've actually seen it, so I'm sorry if some of the info is incorrect. I'm not even sure if anyone is still even reading stories about C.S.I Miami. Oh well. To the few people who are reading this, criticism is welcome.

I knew the minute I stepped through the door, something was wrong. There wasn't the usual fresh fragrance of dinner on the stove. There were no songs blaring from Tracey's iPod. And the drawers were open and junk was all over the floor. Something was wrong. I reached for my gun, un-holstered it, and cautiously stalked across the living room, towards the master, where Tracey kept her jewelry. If a thief were here, they would most likely go for the most expensive item.

Oh Tracey, I hope you safe. The defense classes had better be worth it, I thought. If anything were to happen to you… I couldn't go there. I shook my head. Don't think like that. Suck it up. She's ok.

Gun raised and on high alert, I slowly approached the door. I reached for the doorknob, and… "Jesse!" I raised my gun and swiveled towards the hall.

"Tracey," I sighed. Holstering my gun, I ran over. With Tracey in my arms, the scent of her hair surrounding the air, finally safe, my shoulder finally relaxed. Tracey was safe, and that's all that matters. "Oh thank goodness."

"Hon', what's wrong?" she asked, lifting her head from the crook of my neck.

"Sweetie, there was a mess in the living room, and-"

Tracey grinned and burst out laughing. I raised an eyebrow, confused. Looks like I missed something, I thought. "Hon' that mess was because I lost my iPod. I basically flipped the whole house over looking for it." I grinned, but it slowly faded. I hugged her even tighter this time.

"Jeez, you got me so worried." We rocked side to side in complete silence, just enjoying each other's presence.

"Well, time to make dinner," Tracey announced, wiggling out of my arms. I grinned, and together, we made dinner, laughing and chatting like it was any other day.

But it wasn't.

The next day after work, I came home, and there was blood on the carpet. Blood. Bile started to slip up my throat. I swallowed. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. This has to be a dream.

Un-holstering my gun for the second time in 24 hours in the house, I pursued down the hall, following the drag marks. I swallowed and reached for the doorknob that had blood smeared on it. The master bedroom.

I opened it, and the sight knocked out the air out of the chest. This can't be.

Tracey, covered in blood, was sprawled on the bed. I dropped the gun and rushed over. "Tracey, Tracey," I said, cupping her head with my hands. Her eyes fluttered open, and I felt relief rush into me. She's alive.

I looked towards her body, and I froze. So much blood. Too much blood. My hands fumbled to her shirt and I slowly peeled it off her. There was a deep stab. Too deep. I can't do anything, I thought. I shook my head. Stop. Don't give up. 5 years. 5 freaking years. Don't let a knife get in your way. I stripped off my shirt and held it against the wound. I grabbed my phone and dialed 911. Please don't be too late.

After I hung up, I looked at Tracey. Her blue eyes were foggy, and tears trickled down her cheek. Blood stained her long, brown hair, and her face scrunched up in pain. This can't be right. 5 freaking years of marriage. 5 freaking years of love, and this was what she got? This isn't fair. She was the kindest person I've ever meet, her smile and laugh contagious. And there she was, lying on the bed, blood flooding out of the stab wound. Tears trailed down my face, and I didn't dare to wipe them. I needed to spend every second with her.

"Tracey," I croaked out. I wiped a tear from her cheek. "Honey, everything's going to be ok." She shook her head.

"I can't feel anything, Jess. I can't feel anything," she whispered. I choked down a sob, knowing what it meant.

"It's going to be ok. We're going to get out of here, and fly away to France, like you always wanted to. And you'll finally be able to finish the novel you started, and we can visit the If Eiffel Tower, and take all the pictures you want," I whispered.

She fought out a smile. "Promise?" she croaked.

I smiled "Promise." I held her hand in mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"I love you Jesse," she said. And with that, she took her last breath.

My eyes flung open. I sucked in the air, my clothes soaked with sweat. I blinked rapidly, trying to see through the dark. I groaned through the gag, trying to sit up, only to fall down again. Tracey. Her smile was stained in my mind. I would give anything to see her again. After 7 years, everyday I thought of her, never forgetting that night. Not forgetting the time the ambulance came only a minute too late. How my coworkers arrived to investigate the scene. How I found the note on the night stand. A plain, typed note with 5 letters on it: Catch me if you can. How I remembered that Tony said, during the investigation, "Catch me if you can." But they had no hard proof. None at all that Tony, who was suspected of killing his wife, had killed Tracey.

I tried to wiggle out of my bounds. No luck. I tried to shout. No luck. I really wanted to punch something. Really, really hard. But right now, I'm the one who's being punched at. Funny how the world works huh?

I shivered. Why is it so cold? Oh, right, I'm in a freaking fish storage building with a psychopathic killer and his accomplice who is also a psychopathic killer but twice as big and twice as bad. This is my punishment for being late to work, isn't it?

How'd I get into this mess anyway? I thought. Oh right, the stupid alarm clock.