A/N: Though I wish it was, this story is not my main focus. I've got three other stories that are works in progress in the BtVS genre – one of which is a somewhat short story just under 300,000 words (and that's a sequel). They are posted under my other name, Niamh, at various Spuffy archives, including The Spuffy Realm, Elysian Fields and Vampire's Kiss, in case anyone's interested, and if you aren't no worries, I won't be insulted. I do have a plan for this, and will work on it until it's finished, so while updates will be coming, they're going to be a bit sporadic. My apologies if this upsets anyone. Disclaimers in full force and effect.
Previously: A headless corpse and a drug overdose were found in the same hotel room and other than proximity there's nothing tying the two to the disappearance of Sorcha Hannagan. Calleigh and Tim have slipped away, traveling further than either of them expected and the night shift has just discovered a head without a body. This picks up following the last installment.
Ten
The food was really good, home-style and very filling. Calleigh sat back with a huge smile that nearly blinded Tim. "Lord, I haven't had food this good in a while."
He smirked at her reaction. "Told you it would be."
"I'm sorry I ever doubted you." She toyed with her fork, debating with herself about taking another bite.
"I grew up in restaurants, Cal. I hope I know what I'm talking about."
Calleigh looked at him, surprise on her face. "I didn't know that."
A shrug and a small smile accompanied his elaboration. "My dad owns a string of restaurants. Some in Syracuse and a couple more in Queens."
"Really? So can you cook?" A sly look entered her eyes and Tim had the feeling he was about to get hooked by her.
"I can. My dad made sure of it. Spent my summers all through high school and college cooking in one or the other of the restaurants."
She was shaking her head in disbelief. "I learned more about you tonight than in the past three years of working beside you."
Tim looked away, his glance lighting on something to his right. Another slow shrug rolled across his shoulders. "It's not exactly a secret."
"No, but we've never sat down, just us two. Usually Eric's with us."
Silence fell between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable at all. Tim leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out beneath the table. His eyes finally settled on Calleigh's features and he watched as her cheeks pinkened. A sudden yawn caught her by surprise and her blush deepened.
Tim glanced down at his watch, surprised to see it was creeping toward eleven. He knew he might be able to get back on the bike and get at least part of the way back to Miami, but Calleigh wouldn't. And truth be told, he probably shouldn't try. It could be potentially dangerous. He needed to get some sleep, he just wasn't sure how to broach the subject to the woman sitting across the table from him.
Nor did he know if they were going to be able to get two rooms at this hour, but he had to at least bring up the subject.
Before he could speak, though, Calleigh beat him to the punch.
"Hey, Tim, do we have to head back now? Wouldn't it be safer if we got some sleep and headed back early in the morning?"
He chuckled, low and husky, which traveled right through her. "Was just about to suggest that."
"I don't think I could get on the bike just now." She grimaced from just the thought of the prospect.
"Figured you'd feel that way." He threw his napkin down on the table, saying, "C'mon, let's get out of here."
Minutes later, they were walking down Ocean Shore Drive in Ormond Beach, the full moon casting shadows on the sidewalk. Tim guided Calleigh toward the one hotel he figured had a good chance of having two rooms available at this hour of night. He was explaining all this as they walked, for once talkative, while Calleigh just listened.
They'd gone about five blocks or so, when the irony struck her. Her soft giggle caught his attention and Tim stopped, looking down at her. "What?"
"Listen to you, all chatty."
"I'm not mute." Slight irritation colored his words and Tim unconsciously tapped his hand against his leg.
"Hey, I'm just teasin' you." She reached over to smooth the wrinkles of his shirt. "It's nice. I like seeing this side of you."
His jaw flexed and a slight blush stained his cheeks and Calleigh took it a step further. "I'm glad you asked me. Thanks."
What hadn't started out anything remotely like a date suddenly took on that quality and Tim found himself responding to her. "Me too, Cal."
He cupped her hand, the one that was resting on his chest and after a long moment, he tugged her with him. "Let's see if we can get a room."
Neither of them noticed his Freudian slip.
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Because they'd issued a red flag on anything connected to the Hannagan case – specifically the recovery of a corpseless head – Horatio got a call on his cell just after eleven.
He arrived on the scene as the paramedics were loading an elderly woman into the ambulance. Stopping to talk to Tripp, who was working nights this week, he asked about the woman. "What happened?"
"Husband went to take out the trash, found a head in the flowers grinning up at him." Consulting his notes, he continued, "Went back inside to call it in and the wife had a panic attack. Names are George and Muriel Wysocki. Lived here for about two years."
He looked up, catching Horatio's eye. "He didn't recognize the head."
The redhead finally spoke. "No, I doubt very much they did know him."
"Why's that?" Tripp was confused.
"Because this guy's body is in Alexx' morgue."
"You sure about that?"
With a nod, Horatio said, "As sure as I can be without DNA."
Moving away from the big detective, Horatio headed toward where Edgar Martinez, one of the night-shift crew, was processing the head.
"What have you got there, Edgar?"
"Looks like a gunshot wound to the temple." Edgar tipped the head over, pointing out the small round hole. "No exit wound, so there might be fragments still inside."
"No blood drops?"
"Not a one." Edgar righted the head, shifting to look around at the flowers. "It's obviously a dump. This the guy you've been looking for?"
"Looks like it." Caine stepped to the left, looking underneath the plants.
"You want to take him, lieutenant?"
"No, that's okay. You can finish and leave it for Alexx in the morning. Thanks, Edgar."
Horatio left him there, heading over to where Tripp was speaking with the husband.
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The house was quiet. There were none of the usual sounds of guards pacing back and forth across tiled floors, nor did the soft whisper of sibilant Spanish being spoken interrupt the silence. It was so quiet that the lack of noise unsettled her. Sorcha was used to more racket than this. The stifling quiet presaged nothing good and every nerve was strung taut, waiting for something to shatter the silence.
She paced, moving from the bedroom to the garden opening, her footfalls the only distraction. The constant moving from one place to another had her on edge and she knew she needed to calm herself before her unease communicated to Mairin. The last thing she could deal with now was a restless and fretting baby.
Whatever patience she'd possessed had been thoroughly destroyed these past few days. Now she understood completely why she'd been drugged; it wasn't in her nature to just accept this confinement. Vague memories of fighting back, of trying to escape, once even stabbing her captor flickered through her mind. Sorcha felt a sort of grim satisfaction that she hadn't just rolled over and let him do whatever he wanted.
Moonlight sparkled on the gurgling water of the fountain and she found herself staring at it, her mind determinedly blank. She didn't want to think about Gonsalvo or whatever business he might be conducting, preferring to keep thoughts of him at bay. Instead, her mind wandered to the man sharing quarters with her.
Hector was her guard, yet she had a feeling he knew about what she'd done in the hotel. They'd talked, albeit in a round-about fashion, of her chances for escape. And about leaving Mairin behind, for her own safety.
Sorcha did not want to leave Mairin. She feared, if it came down to it that she wouldn't be able to abandon the infant and hope the authorities allowed her parents to take her. Could she take that chance? Was that decision the right one?
Frustrated tears filled her eyes and Sorcha angrily wiped them away. This second guessing herself wasn't going to help. Praying for divine guidance and intervention, she found herself inches from the fountain, her fingers trailing in the cool water. How long she sat there, she didn't know, but prayers formed and flowed from her lips in a jumble of languages, until the silence receded.
Hector watched her from the shadows, his heart clenching with an emotion he refused to give a name to.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
He'd entertained a brief hope, given the timing of this impromptu overnight trip, that they'd be able to get two rooms. The motel he always stayed in on trips like this, the Oceanic, usually had a free room or two, even when all the others were booked. It figured though, the way his luck worked, that they'd have one room and one room only. Tim sighed, shifting his gaze back to Calleigh, who was standing by the display of brochures touting fun and exciting things to do in and around Ormond Beach.
She wasn't going to like this. He had a bad feeling about it himself.
Girding for the outrage he knew was about to erupt, Tim braced himself and nodded to the clerk. Handing over his credit card, Tim headed straight for the petite blond.
"Hey, ah. . . " Tim stared down at her, realizing he had no idea what her reaction was going to be. So far, Calleigh had been an absolute trooper, not complaining much about anything. But he was very afraid this was going to be the last straw. "Hey."
Knowing immediately something was wrong, Calleigh looked up at him. His face was grimmer than it usually was and his eyes were focused on a spot over her shoulder. Uhoh. . . . "Hey. What's wrong?"
"Yeah. Hey." He was stalling and he knew it. Inhaling deeply, Tim just blurted it out. "About the room. There's only one available."
It took a moment for that news to settle. Her smile faltered, wavering for a moment and was then back. "Well, at least I won't have to worry about oversleeping when you're ready to leave."
Tim stared down at her for long seconds, disbelief coloring his expression. "Cal? You're not pissed?"
"Well, I'm not jumping over the moon about it, but I can't say that it really bothers me all that much. Unless you're bothered. Are you bothered?"
He shook his head before he realized he'd done it, quickly assuring her he didn't mind at all. Of course you don't mind, jackass. She's gorgeous and you get to see her . . . . "No, Cal, I'm not upset. I thought you might be."
"I could be, but what's the point? There's nothing either of us can do about it, and I know I can't get back on the bike for another couple of hours. We'll be fine. We're both adults."
"Yeah." He drew out the word, running his hand through his unruly hair. "Yeah."
"Mr. Speedle?" The voice of the motel clerk broke the increasingly awkward moment, and they both turned to face him. "Here's your room key."
"Thanks." Tim headed over to get it, while Calleigh waited for him, her eyes sparkling with amusement over Tim's discomfort.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Tim let her precede him into the room after pushing the door open. The room was like any other hotel room, nondescript decor in shades of ocean blue and tan, designed to soothe the weary traveler. During his trek around the country, Tim had learned a few things. Hotel rooms were all pretty much the same only the levels of cleanliness varied. – a truth that was only solidified when he became a CSI One of the other things he'd learned was always ask the locals where they ate.
Room 317 was like every other room, but he knew this particular hotel washed everything down once the rooms were vacated and even replaced the bedspreads every six months. Ormond Beach had been his last stop before Miami, and he'd worked briefly in the kitchen of the restaurant he'd taken Calleigh to earlier. For the month or so that he'd been in town this, was the hotel he'd lived in.
Calleigh moved toward the big windows on the water side of the room, immediately opening the blinds. Tim realized he was standing in the still open doorway and he took two steps in and kicked the door closed.
A sudden case of nerves hit him and he wasn't sure what to do or how to act. He just wasn't sure how to behave. Being here alone with Calleigh changed everything.
"Hey, Tim?" Calleigh's voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"Yeah?"
"Do you mind if I commandeer the bathroom?" She pushed a lock of hair back behind her ear, and his eyes followed the line of her hand as it dropped down to her side. Part of him really wanted to know what Calleigh was thinking, but a bigger part of him was afraid to even start down that path.
Shaking off his reverie yet again, Tim said, "Go ahead." He turned away from her, refusing to watch her go. The awkwardness struck once more, and he just wasn't sure of his footing at all.
The snick of the door closing behind Calleigh loosened something inside him. Before sinking down onto the bed, he shrugged out of his jacket, dumping it haphazardly on the lone chair. Dropping down on the bed closest to the window, Tim leaned down to take off his boots. He had no idea why being here now with Calleigh unnerved him so much. It wasn't like he hadn't crashed on her couch more than once. So why now?
Maybe it was because he hadn't allowed himself to think of Calleigh as a woman he could be interested in. Tim ran his fingers through his hair, sighing heavily. Since he was being honest with himself, he had to admit thinking of Calleigh like this made him uncomfortable. Calleigh wasn't some girl from a bar or a club that he could date casually and then just dismiss. And she sure as hell wasn't Pam, who, after two years of dating off and on just . . . . wasn't it. They weren't really suited to each other, though she did put up with his moods. He didn't love her, and she knew it. What was worse, he wasn't ever going to. This time, Tim knew they weren't going to get back together.
And now there was Calleigh. What the hell am I thinking? We work together. . . every damned day. I see her all the time. . . I don't even know if she feels anything beyond friendship anyway, so why am I all tied up in knots about this?
The sound of the shower running roused him from his lethargy and Tim stripped down to his boxers. Flipping on the television, he settled into the bed. He tucked his gun into the dresser drawer, after ensuring the safety was on and the clip loaded. Propping up a couple of pillows, he started channel surfing.
He refused to think of Calleigh showering in the next room.
to be continued. . . .