A/N: Anyone ever notice how badly the timelines were managed in this show? shakes head No one, but no one was paying attention at all. And I thought Joss Whedon was bad. . . . My thanks to my wonderful beta, Spikeslovebite. Disclaimers in full force and effect. I own nothing but the plot and the original characters.
Seven.
The trace lab was quiet, the silence only broken by the scrape of scalpels brushing across the soft cotton sheets and the ever present hum of electrical equipment. Calleigh was running evidence tapes over the pillowcases while Tim was scraping the fitted bottom sheet. They'd been at it for only a little while when the silence started weighing on Calleigh.
She was trying to think of something to say to breach the heavy silence when Tim started speaking. "You gotta wonder about this guy. He snatches this girl from a crowded hotel and disappears for almost two years. And no one sees anything, no one knows anything. Where the hell has he stashed her for two years?"
He paused, staring down at the sheet. "What kind of arrogant asshole are we dealing with?"
Calleigh thought for a moment, adding, "There must be some reason why he's keeping her."
"Yeah. She's a pretty girl." His comment got more of a reaction than he'd expected.
Calleigh had no idea why his observation sparked a flare of jealousy, but it did and she snapped a retort before she could bite her tongue. "No prettier than other girls."
Her tone pulled him up short and Tim jerked his head up in her direction. "It was just an observation. She's not really my type."
Now it was Calleigh's turn to stare at him, surprise on her face. "And what is your type?"
He grunted at her, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "blond", which had her blushing for some reason.
Tim didn't give her the chance to follow up, launching into another commentary. "I'm thinking since most of the victims have been foreign nationals, our guy might've had her out of the country."
"But he wouldn't risk taking her on a commercial flight." Calleigh played along with him, pretending his earlier comment hadn't been overheard. "So we should be looking for private flights."
"Private international flights have to register flight plans and the passengers have to register with the State Department." He transferred some of the scrapings to a test tube, adding it to the growing batch of substances awaiting testing. "One good thing to come out of September 11th."
Calleigh thought for a minute while she peered into the microscope. "Hey, take a look at this."
When he moved to look into the scope, Calleigh didn't move very far, just enough to let him see. His cologne had dissipated hours ago, though when he moved to stand up, Calleigh swore she could smell it. Her mind wandered for a bit, wondering what exactly the scent was and she didn't hear him speaking until he called her name.
"Cal?" She looked up at him, blinking rapidly. "Where'd you go?"
"Sorry. I was just thinking."
"Well, that was obvious. You wanna share?"
Not really, she thought, but recovered quickly. "Just trying to imagine what she's going through. Poor girl."
"Whatever she's thinking, she's not rolling over."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning; she's leaving us clues. I don't think those bloody fingerprints were a mistake."
Calleigh stared up at him. "You think she did it deliberately." Considering that for a second, she asked him, "So what about before?"
He grumped a bit, looking away, then glanced down at her. His eyes snared hers and held her gaze for long seconds. "Her hair will tell us."
Calleigh didn't dare look away and for those long minutes, the world narrowed to just the two of them. A hush grew in the air and she didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until he reached out to brush a stray hair out of her face. Tim very rarely stared at people, though he didn't want to look away. Calleigh's eyes captivated him and for the first time, he actually was close enough to see all the colors swirling there.
Somewhere down the hallway a door slammed, breaking the spell enclosing them. Tim looked away first, fumbling for the slide under the lens. "You should get this to DNA."
He dropped the slide in her hand, his eyes following Calleigh as she walked out the door.
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Sorcha sat on the bed, nursing Mairin. The baby's tiny mouth could barely wrap around the nipple and for some reason just the sight of her daughter brought tears to her eyes. Her situation crashed in on her, and Sorcha finally gave into the despair constantly hovering around her.
She missed her family, even her sisters. The fights, the laughter, everything. Sorcha wondered if her parents were still searching, if they were both okay, wondered if they were worried. Too much time had passed. Surely life must have gone on without her, babies born, marriages, graduations. . . . and, God forbid, deaths. When she disappeared, her grandmother hadn't been in the best of health, and she'd been pushing eighty-five . . .
The drugs Gonsavlo had used to control her were long out of her system, though she knew the only reason he had stopped them was because of the infant at her breast. Why he'd made that decision escaped her. The thought that he wanted Mairin healthy chilled her to the bone, afraid of what he might want her for.
Mairin's hand curled around the swell of her breast, Sorcha's tears wetting her tiny fingers. "This is no life for you, mo croi. It's not safe. I can't keep you safe. . . . "
Knowing she was going to tear out her own heart, Sorcha whispered her intentions to her daughter. She didn't realize she'd spoken in English until a deep voice interrupted her.
"Might not be the worst idea."
Sorcha turned wild, fearful eyes to the intruder, her body poised for flight. She relaxed infinitesimally when she realized who it was.
In the whole time she'd been with Gonsalvo, and heaven only knew how long that really was, Hector had been there. And in all that time, he'd probably directed no more than ten sentences at her. The most he'd ever said was right after killing Lopez. Sorcha eyed him warily, her gaze flitting to the locked door behind him.
His voice was low, pitched so that anyone outside the room would be unable to hear them. "We're still in Florida."
The statement took her completely by surprise until she registered the importance. Her quick glance up at him was rife with unspoken questions, but she only responded with a rhetorical remark. "Are we now."
Hector nodded, moving closer to the two of them. Careful not to crowd her, he still didn't bother to resist the urge to brush a gentle finger over the baby's head. The contrast – the smallness of Mairin's head compared to Hector's big hand – brought home to Sorcha how very fragile her daughter really was. And how dangerously vulnerable.
Sorcha backed away, covering the baby's head protectively. Though she trusted him a little, he was still working for the man holding her captive. So why now, after all this time was he approaching her . . . and what were his motives?
"For at least another week."
She said nothing, waiting for him to finish. He didn't disappoint her. "His business here isn't finished."
"I don't want to know," she shot out before he could finish speaking.
Hector had no intention of telling her. Instead he hunched down, squatting in front of her. Telling himself it was only to make her move comfortable and had nothing to do with seeing her eyes, Hector kept his gaze averted from her exposed breast.
"When this deal is completed, he's moving us all. He hasn't said where yet, but my guess is someplace where I can't . . . won't be able to help you." He paused, his attention caught by the baby's milky burp. Sorcha's nipple popped free and Hank found his mouth suddenly dry.
Covering his inattention with a soft cough, he smoothly continued, "At least here, she'll probably end up with your family."
Sudden hope flared in her eyes, but died just as quickly. "You can't promise that."
Fresh tears fell, covering her bared breast and the sleeping baby. "I don't know if I can do it."
Though neither one said it, they were both more than aware of the subject. Letting the baby go would destroy Sorcha, but keeping her would, no doubt, destroy Mairin.
Raising her teary gaze to Hector's kind one, she repeated her earlier statement. "I don't know if I can."
His warm hand reached out to cup her cheek, wiping away her tears. "I know." His thumb settled just under her eye and he whispered, "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
And before she had a chance to decipher his actions, Hector was gone.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Calleigh blew back into the Trace lab, like the hounds of hell were on her heels, DNA reports in hand. Tim looked up when she started speaking before she cleared the door.
"Breast milk and saliva, specifically baby drool."
When he didn't respond, she huffed at him. "Aren't you gonna ask if we got a profile from the DNA? Huh?"
"Dazzle me."
"It's a girl." Her smile faltered a little when he blinked, his look suddenly grim.
"So it's a baby girl. Any idea how old she is?"
"There's no traces of colostrum, so it still fits within the time line and our guess was pretty accurate." Grabbing the marker, Calleigh put a star on the baby's approximate date of birth, adding the symbol for female. "At least we have that."
"Be better if we had some idea where they are." Tim's expression hadn't changed, and his dour mood squashed Calleigh's exuberance.
"I know." Her voice dropped a bit when she continued, "Maybe Eric's found something."
He nodded, and before he could speak the mass spectrometer beeped, indicating it was done. Another grim look entered his eyes as he scanned the reports and he tossed the results onto the table. "This isn't getting us anywhere. We already know where she's been."
Tim stared off into the distance, not really seeing the lab walls in front of him, a faraway look in his eyes. Calleigh hated it when he got distant, when he retreated from all contact. It made her uncomfortable. She liked Tim – if she was honest with herself, she more than liked him – but she couldn't bear his moodiness sometimes. It was bad, especially in the last couple of weeks. Despite knowing the truth about the shoot-out and intellectually knowing he wasn't responsible for Officer Hollis' death, Tim still blamed himself.
They'd never crossed the line between co-worker and casual acquaintance to something else, but Calleigh's instinct was urging her to make a move here and now. If he rejected the comfort she was offering, so be it. But she had to try.
His posture spoke loudly of some deeply felt unexpressed emotion and Calleigh couldn't stop her instinctive response. Tim Speedle looked like a man in need of a hug. Lord knows she wanted one.
Before her logical brain could override her instincts, Calleigh's feet took her to his side.
Tim looked down to find her standing beside him, an emotion swimming in her eyes that he didn't dare give a name to. Unsure of himself, his own emotions in turmoil, Tim found himself responding. Without giving it much thought, he snaked his arm around Calleigh, holding her against his side.
"Gets really hard, you know, dealing with this all the time." She looped her arms around his waist, letting her face rest on his chest. "There aren't many happy endings."
"We're lucky if we get closure." Thinking of the cases, the few unsolved they hadn't been able to close, the suicides, the accidental overdoses, and the ones where the evidence was so inconclusive, it could drive even the strongest person to despair.
"This isn't just about the Hannagan girl, is it?" Calleigh looked up at him, putting her hand on his chest, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. Tim's hand covered hers, his warmth spreading through her.
"Just the last in a long line." He shifted, hugging her close, then stepping away. Taking a look around the lab, Tim knew he needed a break. Making a quick decision, he turned back to where Calleigh was still standing.
"Wanna go for a ride?"
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Interpol was a gold mine, providing complete dossiers on both Vanegas and Lopez. And, after knowing how the Feds showed up, Eric kept expecting a James Bond type to come strolling through the doors.
What he did get was Horatio suddenly standing behind him, watching as Eric pulled up all the files on the identified victims.
"Have they come through with our request for known associates?"
"Ah, yeah. So far we have a list of six names in common. I figured we should start with the commonalities, then move out from there."
"Good job." Something on the screen caught Horatio's eye and he focused Eric's attention on it. "What's that?"
"State Department tagged them on a private flight arriving on March third."
"Together?" At Eric's affirmation, he then asked, "Where did that flight originate?"
Pulling up a different database, Eric checked the information. "Flight arrived at four thirty in the morning from the Azores."
"Who owns the plane?"
"Not clear. I'm gonna have to do more digging." Eric glanced over his shoulder at his lieutenant, who was smiling grimly.
"You do that and get back to me."
"Okay, H."
But Horatio was already gone.
to be continued. . . .
