MIAMI'S HERO

Prologue

Frank Tripp pressed his face against the lattice of the interrogation room, staring out into the street.

"Do you know that girl?" he asked.

Horatio Caine stood up, dropping the case file on the table, and joined him. He peered through the lattice, knowing it was possible to see out, while anyone outside would see only their shadows. Across the street, beyond the parking area, and partially in shade, was the young woman Frank was referring to. Dark-haired, probably in her mid-twenties, wearing jeans and t-shirt… She seemed to be looking straight at them, although Horatio knew they couldn't be seen. "I don't think so. Why?"

"She's been out there most of today. And yesterday. Seems a bit odd…"

"I don't know, Frank. Go and ask her, if you're bothered."

The detective shrugged and turned away from the window. "No law against standing in a public street. Guess she's someone's girlfriend or something."

They both made to leave the room, collecting their papers as they went.

Frank opened the door for his colleague. "How's your arm?"

Horatio grimaced. "Sore."

xxxxxxxxxxx

Chapter 1

(Four days earlier….)

Their teenage suspect, cornered and desperate, had pulled a gun on them.

Horatio, his own weapon levelled at the boy's head, said quietly, "Don't do it…"

Frank said reasonably, "There are two of us. You're still going in… Don't make things worse…"

The boy seemed to hesitate, the gun wavering in his uncertain hand.

Horatio said again, "Drop the gun. Because I will shoot."

"Don't do this, boy," Frank added.

The boy gave a rueful smile, and lowered the weapon, as Frank stepped forward to get some handcuffs on. But the boy suddenly swung the gun up again, even as he made a charge at the two officers, and the door behind them. Horatio was caught very slightly off-guard. A split second, no more, but he felt a searing pain in his upper left arm, even as he heard the gunshot, and his finger tightened on the trigger. He would have made the shot, had Frank not resorted to low-tech methods and instinctively stuck his foot out, sending their suspect crashing to the ground. This time, the handcuffs were quickly in place.

With the boy on the ground, and his knee in the middle of his back, Frank looked up at Horatio. "Are you hit?"

"Winged." He felt his arm gingerly, through the shirt, and flexed his fingers. "Graze, I think. Nothing…"

"You're bleeding. You'd better give Rescue a shout."

"I'll see to it back at the ranch. Let's get out of here." He was embarrassed more than anything. At getting taken by surprise. Yes, he had been reluctant to shoot a young man who, almost certainly, had never committed more than a burglary, but it was hardly the first time he'd had to. But he must have hesitated. And that had been way too close for comfort. He felt the wound again. The shirt was torn, and he peeled it back. As he had suspected, it was just a graze, the bullet having ripped through the surface layer of skin and flesh, little more, though he was bleeding like a stuck pig.

There were reporters outside the building, but that often happened. They listened in to police broadcasts, and, these days, were often only a few minutes behind. It was irritating, but, as long as they were behind, it didn't interfere with the job too much.

Horatio stood on the steps of the building and drew a deep breath. He felt suddenly shaky… Too damned close… He holstered his own gun, drew another steadying breath, and watched Frank bundling the boy into the arms of a burly uniformed officer.

"Lieutenant?" A microphone was thrust into his face. "Was there a shoot-out?"

He almost said, You think I always bleed like this? But aloud, he snapped, "No comment." He pushed the man aside and headed for his car.

Keen to get away, and having no real means of bandaging his own arm, he drove quickly back to the lab, and, reluctantly, sought out Tom Loman.

"Can you cope with a live patient, doctor?" He gave the medic what he hoped was a cheerful smile.

"What have you done?"

"Bullet graze. Just needs a band-aid…"

"I think I'll be the judge of that. You're very pale. Sit down…"

But the ME concurred, agreeing that even stitches would be unnecessary. He cleaned the wound and applied a giant band-aid. "Tetanus up-to-date?"

Horatio nodded.

"I'll get you some painkillers."

"It's not that bad."

Tom shrugged. "You're the boss. Come back if you need something."

xxxxxxxxxxx

Horatio had slept badly. His arm was more sore than he cared to admit, and he kept turning over on to it. His mood was not therefore the best as he did his usual circuit of the labs the next morning. It soured further at the sight of Eric and Ryan sniggering - there was no other word for it - over the local newspaper.

"No work to do?" he said pointedly.

Eric's grin did not shift as he looked up. "You seen this?"

"I don't read that rubbish."

"You should." Eric held the paper out. "Report of your shoot-out…"

"It wasn't a shoot-out." But he took the paper and looked at the front page.

He was rendered temporarily speechless. The headline 'Miami's Hero' was set in large typeface above a photo of himself. He hadn't been aware it had been taken. He was standing on the steps of the building, right hand on the butt of his gun, sunlight catching the badge on his belt, left arm drenched with blood… Low angle, legs astride, expression deadly serious, hair ruffled by the breeze… He was embarrassingly aware that it was one of the best - and most flattering - photos he had seen.

Ryan murmured quietly. "I said we shouldn't show him…"

Eric was still grinning like an idiot.

"I was no hero," Horatio said firmly. "It was a complete screw-up. Frank'll tell you."

"Good pic, though. Very… Clint Eastwood."

"More Elliot Ness," added Ryan.

Horatio growled, "For God's sake, Eric! Bin it and do something useful!"

Still smirking, Eric put the paper carefully in a drawer.

Ashamed that he had got a frisson of pleasure at the picture, Horatio walked down to the police department and sought out Frank.

"Can we talk?"

The detective looked up, then looked round his busy department. "Want a coffee?"

They took their drinks outside and sat on a wall, enjoying a warm Miami morning, and a little privacy.

Horatio broke the silence. "About yesterday… I got it wrong. I thought he wouldn't shoot. I didn't freeze, but I did hesitate."

Frank shrugged. "Well, so did I - get it wrong. I went to cuff him without waiting for him to drop the gun. Fuck up all round… Are we getting old?"

Horatio smiled briefly. "Don't think so… Maybe getting blasé. But I apologise."

"Hell, I should be doing that! It was you got hurt. How are you, anyway?"

"Oh, fine. A scratch."

"Could have been a lot worse."

"And it would have been my fault. Are we okay?"

"Of course we are."

They sat in silence, sipping the coffee.

Frank chuckled suddenly. "You seen this morning's Herald?"

"Eric showed me. Embarrassing, in the circumstances."

"Great picture though. I think you're pinned up in the ladies' locker room. Be a fan club next."

"God help me!" Horatio drained the coffee, and stood up.