Author's Note: 1). I'm not dead. 2). The reality of being a post-grad adult and the moving-in-to-a-new-apartment stress, bill-paying, overworked-and-under-paid lifestyle it induces gave me a writer's block. The first second of this story was written within two weeks of the last time I posted. The rest—well, let's say I've been writing it sentence by sentence, because I literally have not had the time to focus on it more than that. 3). This is a transition/background chapter, so the plot only moves a step forward. What's written isn't everything I meant to be in it, but I've waited long enough to update, so chapter 15 will ultimately be longer as a result. 4).The goal is to have the next chapter, which I've already started, posted by the end of September because I WILL NOT ABANDON MY STORY!
Again, not beta read. No surprise, I haven't had the time to look for a proper beta.
My mother was a phoenix who always expected to rise from the ashes of her latest disaster. She loved being Judy Garland.—Lorna Luft
The team split. Speed went to talk to Keaner one more time while Eric and Yelina went to pick up the Claymores. Calleigh would catch up to them after she got the warrant to search the Claymore home and for the clothes they were wearing the night of the murder. Calleigh, however, had one more task. She wanted to let Horatio know what was going on, both professionally and personally.
She knocked on her boss' office door. She could hear him talking—probably on the phone—so she knew he was still in. She was more than a little surprised that her lieutenant hadn't been more involved in their murder investigation. She only saw him this rarely when the team was working more than one fresh case. As luck would have it, this week was a slow one for the dayshift. The nightshift, on the other hand, reportedly had their table filled with a rash of tourist murders and robberies. So, no other cases.
Unless it was a personal matter…
"Come in." Calleigh had a signature knock, so Horatio would have been surprised if anyone else besides her came in. He was, in fact, on the phone with the warden for the Florida State Penitentiary in Tampa, finally hearing back that he was allowed a visitation. "Thank you, Sir. I'll be heading there now. If you have Castenada in a holding room when I get there, I'd appreciate it."
He hung up the phone. He felt like it had been attached to his ear since the moment he walked in to his office this morning. Another reason he didn't stay in his office for long. "Morning Calleigh. What can I do for you?"
"Thought I'd let you know we're bringing the Claymores in for questioning and I'm running to get the warrant. Anything I can do for you while we're out?"
He shook his head. He wasn't surprised that the team was reaching towards the final stages of their investigation in less than two days. Horatio had taught them to be thorough and objective, working for the victim and yet working quickly, knowing time was crucial as both pertinent evidence and the ability to capture the perpetrator were affected by it. "Good work. Just continue to keep me updated."
"Thanks, and I will." Calleigh almost closed the door before she turned right back around, clearly nervous. "Actually, Horatio, there is one more thing."
Eyebrows raised, he motioned for her to sit down, which the ballistics expert gladly did. She chose the chair not 24 hours ago he had sat Miranda in.
"I really don't know how to say this," Calleigh admitted.
"Take your time then, sweetheart," Horatio said easily. If he made the warden and the prisoner wait, then he made them wait. Ever since Calleigh had learned about him and Speed, the two had developed more of a brother/sister relationship. Although less flirty, it was a stronger one; a relationship built on years of friendship and trust. After Speed, Calleigh was his best friend and, sometimes, she even understood him better than Speed did.
Calleigh took a breath. "Eric and I have been—well, we've been seeing each other for awhile now. But I wouldn't say we've started a real relationship until recently." Her eyes narrowed at the smile on his face. "But I'm guessing you already knew that."
"Know? No. But between the looks and touches you two were sharing, I assumed it would be only a matter of time," Horatio explained. "I'm glad you told me."
His soft tone had her smiling. "I know department regulations frown on romantic relationships—"
"Calleigh—" he interrupted. "I trust you and Eric to behave in a professional manner on the job, no matter what the circumstances are."
"And you don't have any idea how happy I am to have that trust. I just don't have the greatest track record dating a member of the MDPD or the New Orleans DP for that matter," Calleigh replied. "Stetler's already snoopin' around here enough then any of us are comfortable with. If he gets wind of me and Eric—"
"Let Stetler be my concern," Horatio interjected. He himself was not acting in accordance to department policy, for some very obvious reasons, and not for the first time, either. If anyone should be taking Stetler's ire, it would be him,
"Horatio, you alone shouldn't have to stand between us and the bully," Calleigh complained. While she appreciated the chivalry, she was a grown adult and she did not want her friends' careers being hurt because of her actions. "We're not children on the playground. I was goin' to say that Stetler havin' any reason to mope around here can't be good for you and Tim either. You know I have your back if anything happens, but I don't want anything to happen to any of us. Which is why I wanted to tell you now, so we can compile evidence for all of us; that in the event the department has a problem, that these relationships haven't affected our working relationship negatively. Because I can't imagine not working with you and Tim, Alexx and Tripp, every day; not seeing Eric almost every hour of every day."
"You've given this a lot of thought," Horatio commented.
Calleigh nodded. "All my other relationships, work's always gotten in the way or compromised them. I can't let that happen this time. There's too much at stake, even more than there was all those other times before. Because this time, I've found a family with you guys, and I know Eric feels that he has too. There's so much to loose that, at first, I couldn't think about taking the risk: it just wasn't an option."
She took a breath. "But now that I have—I've got to do everything by the book: letting you know so you can separate Eric and I when it's necessary and any other measures that might have to come about."
"I do appreciate your concerns and your honesty, Cal," he said. "I'll let you know if anything comes up."
"Alright." Calleigh rose. "Now I believe I've taken enough of your time and I've got a warrant to fetch." She went to the door. "I'll see you later."
"You can count on it."
Still a little emotional, Calleigh didn't dare think about what she had just confessed. Instead, as she took the elevator down to the garage, she thought about the conversation she had overheard. Horatio was going to visit an inmate named Castenada. Funny, wasn't that who's DNA Valera was comparing to an unknown sample on one of the machines Calleigh had seen briefly when she stopped in the DNA lab after she had come back from her B&E? Was it just a coincidence that it was also Valera who told her not to pay attention to the gossip running amok yesterday among the techs?
Call it a hunch, but she thought the two incidences were connected. Maybe Eric was on to something—well, at least possibly about Horatio working on a side project. And everyone in the lab seemed to think they could keep it from the rest of the team, didn't they? Well, they were sorely mistaken. Just as soon as Calleigh helped solve Olivia Delacroix's murder, she was going to find out what that connection was.
CSIMIAMICSIMIAMICSIMIAMI
Speed found himself wandering down to holding. Good thing suspects got stashed down there for 24 hours, or else he would have had to drive down to the courthouse or even Biscayne County Jail in order to talk to Keaner. That would have soured his already salty mood, sitting in the Hummer through the morning rush hour, which would be twice as clogged with tourist traffic, with the radio station DJs constantly yacking instead of playing music. Because it wouldn't be an emergency, he couldn't use the siren to clear a way through the congestion.
Yeah, there was more than one reason he usually rode a bike to work.
And that was more or less the point, wasn't it? He hadn't woken up on the wrong side of the bed, he'd just woken up alone in bed. His morning routine was in shambles.
To those who didn't know him well, Speed might have come off as someone who didn't care for procedure or professionalism, with the rock-n-roll T-shirts and the rebellious hair. That was of course, not the truth. He detested the rules that curbed individuality and free-thinking, but understood the necessity of a uniform process for analyzing evidence better than 95% of the department. Megan had been worried about his wild streak, too, but that hadn't stopped her from hiring him once she realized he understood laboratory technique better than she did.
He liked his routine, damn it. He liked going to sleep next to someone else, waking up next to someone he cared about, letting desire awaken both body and mind and remind him there was something better out there than murder and greed, that there was something worth fighting for.
It wasn't the first time Speed had woken up to find his lover in some level of distress. Horatio frequently had nightmares, although he said he hadn't had as many since he and Tim had gotten together. But this was different. Horatio was deliberately avoiding him.
Speed knew the signs; hell, he had used the tactics himself when matters of his own past had come up that he didn't want to talk about. But Horatio was the confrontational one, the one that nine times out of ten, would face the issue head on. Except, of course, when it came to family. After all, his lover would rather let Yelina think that he'd fathered a child with an informant than tell her that not only did her husband cheat on her, but also that her brother-in-law was more partial to men than to women.
And that's where, really, Speed's nerves were worn raw. Because this wasn't about a Caine-Family-Mess-Up as far as he could tell. This was about her and her kid and, he theorized, what could have been and as much as he tried to keep Alexx's words in mind, it was hard to do without the reassurance he usually got from Horatio every minute they were together. Maybe he needed to get 'his mom' to that 'what happened, happened' conservation with his lover too.
"Speedle." The uniformed officer on duty recognized him, so there was no need to flash his badge, though he did sign on the log that he was heading into holding.
"I need to speak to Keaner before he's arraigned. Just a few follow-up questions, so there's no reason to drag him up top."
"You know the rules," the officer—O'Tool was patched on the top pocket of the uniform—said as of a way of giving them. Speed nodded as he handed over his gun—not that he was a fan of carrying it anyway—through the slat.
"Any more than ten minutes with this guy and I might be tempted to shoot him anyway," Speed said. A second later, the buzz rang out and he was able to walk down the aisle of holding cells, most filled with those formally drunk or on drugs. A few of the night shift's collars were waiting for morning transport as well. Finally he found the cell he wanted. He wasn't surprised that the doctor was alone, his clothes only a little more rumpled than the day before.
"So did you complain loud enough that you got a cell by yourself or did you lawyer already stop by?"
The glare Speed got was entirely expected. "You all may get away with treating the rest of them like animals, but not me," Keaner snarled.
"Uh huh, I guess a long time user like you would start feeling withdraw right about now." Was Speed sympathetic? Not really.
"What the hell do you want now? Here to accuse me of murder again? Let me guess. One of the receptionists that work the front desk died and because Carl-lee told you about a crush I had on her, you think I killed her too!" the doctor ranted bitterly. Speed was beginning to think the man might have actually had feelings for his office romance, but that was part of his MO too.
"I've got a couple of questions for you about 'Carl-lee' and Olivia."
"I'm not talking to you without my lawyer."
Speed ignored him. "You can either answer them and help yourself out, or not and wonder why your best friend gets away with murder while you're in a 6 by 6 room cell, which, just to let you know, is nothing like rehab."
It was the 'gets away with murder' line that did the trick. The tired eyes widen in shock.
"Carl killed Olivia? Why?"
"That's what I was hoping you would tell me," Speed answered honestly. "After all, you accused him of killing her, and you were the one desperate to get in his files and Dr. Hicks'."
"I didn't think you would believe me."
"Really, I don't. I'm following the evidence and, as annoyed as I am to say this, you hold a piece of that evidence."
Keaner went from shocked to smug. Speed immediately wanted to knock it off his face. Smug was not what he needed, not today or any other day. What he needed, and what Horatio was usually great at delivering, was a cause for duress.
"What is it you think I know and what's in it for me if I were to tell you?"
"What's in it for you?" Speed almost huffed. "Depends on how useful your information is. If it leads us to a conviction, then you might manage to scrape out of that prison sentence. If you jerk us around, you can expect the state's attorney to definitely not be lenient on you. How does that sound?"
"That's not good enough," the man grounded out, his back straightening with the assertion.
"Hey, I'm not the DA and I'm only interested in solving Olivia's murder. You know, Olivia, the woman you claimed to care about? You have a funny way of showing it," Speed retorted.
"How dare you!"
Speed rolled his eyes at the indignation and then proceeded to check his watch. "And three minutes have already been wasted with chit-chat, so you've got less than another minute to decide if you're going to be helpful or not."
The waiting game lasted about twenty seconds, five more than Speed had expected, the time spent by Keaner proclaiming that what the CSI was doing couldn't be constitutional, that he wanted his lawyer, the he wasn't letting some self-righteous badge give him a guilt trip. Considering he didn't even know what the questions were, the trace expert thought he sure had a lot to say.
Then, when he finally closed his mouth for two seconds, Speed took his shot. "I want to know what Claymore had on you that had you rifling through his office. It has something to do with Olivia, because you've already given that away. You looked both at your best friend's office and the office that Olivia had access to as Dr. Hicks' secretary. It can't just be about the affair because everyone at your office knew about it. What I don't get is why you would be stupid enough to trust the guy who married your ex-wife."
"You don't know what you're talking about. He owed me. That was enough. Or at least, it should've been," Keaner retorted.
"Then don't fry your brain again and use little words to explain it to me," Speed belittled, his thumb and forefinger spacing over the word 'little.'
"Carl and I met in med school. We helped each other out. We became fast friends. When Carl got out with a psychiatry degree, I was the one that talked the practice into taking him on," Keaner started. "Then I met Crista. She was beautiful and willing to put up with the strain of being with someone under the strain of dealing with the wailing ill every day. Carl met her first, but hadn't the courage to ask her out. But he said he had no harsh feelings about it."
The doctor chuckled acrimoniously. "Or so I thought. Because I didn't realize how paranoid Crista was, or how willing Carl was to provide a shoulder to cry on."
"Paranoid?" Speed inquired, because that was what he really wanted to know about anyway.
"She always questioned where I was when I got home from working late; who'd been with me at the office; why I worked so late and where I had been when she called and found out I wasn't at work. She checked our phone records to make sure I wasn't calling someone she didn't know. She harassed every woman I worked with." Speed gave Keaner a similar look to the one he had shot at Eric earlier.
"This was way before I started dating Linda," Keaner added, seemingly obvious to the condescension.
"Okay, then I guess the missing time had more to do with the drugs than anything else," Speed commented.
"I used them to stay awake after the long hours and have some fun when I actually have some time to be social," the doctor defended. "I've never killed anybody or done anything to endanger someone else's life. That's more than people who've driven drunk can attest to."
"Whatever," Speed bristled. He didn't have time for an argument. "What does this have to do with the attempted breaking and entering you did?"
"Linda stood by me when I went into rehab and she was the only one. Carl contacted me when I got out. He said he felt bad about telling Crista what I was doing, both about the drugs and Linda," Keaner explained. "That he was going to help me the way I had helped him years ago. And everything started out okay too. I joined the practice and Carl helped me out with my court-appointed therapy."
"Seems like a logical choice. He already knew what your vices were, covering for each other for years," Speed commented. "So what went wrong?"
"Olivia, of course."
Dennis rounded the corner, heading to the break room to grab another cup of coffee. He didn't snort at work—at least, he hadn't in years—and he was going to need something to stimulate his brain this morning. It took him about two seconds to realize he has to go around someone to get through the doorway, but another minute to realize why the doorway is blocked to begin with. Half the office—or so it seems—has piled into the kitchenette.
Standing at the back of the room is Carl, his hands clasped around a white handkerchief, one that just happened to match the shade of the suit he was wearing. The man always carried handkerchiefs, but now they're sported as accessories. That's something he doesn't understand about Miami—this obsession with fashion. It was driving up his credit card bill, courtesy of Linda, that's all he knew.
But he stopped looking for coffee and started starring at the coffee colored locks that draped around an oval face. The fuchsia pink, sleeveless blouse accentuated her curves as much as her tight, black skirt slimmed and yet showed off her waist. The young woman smiled pleasantly at the nurses. A pang of desire hit him for the first time in ages, and not the kind he found when he picked up a woman at the bar after work.
"—she joins us with a background in psychology and customer service," Carl said. "I would like you to welcome Olivia to her practice. I know she will be working directly with Dr. Hicks, but if she has any questions, I would like everyone to help her out as she gets situated."
"I look forward," Olivia said, her southern draw creeping into her voice, "to working with you all." Their eyes met and for a second, they lingered. Like his and Crista's had lingered. Like with Linda.
He'd been served divorce papers today, but that didn't matter. He and Linda hadn't been really married for a better part of a year. Miami was supposed to be a fresh start for them, a place where their relationship could be out in the open and honest. But the city had ruined them. Linda spent all day at a plastic surgeons' office, seeing women come in and out all day who she thought were prettier than her. She drove up their credit card bills to keep up with 'the competition'. He'd slowly slipped into the partying lifestyle that Linda hadn't wanted to ever be a part of. If they weren't arguing about money, he was defending himself.
The brunette in front of him did matter. She was smart and beautiful, confident in a way the other two women in his life weren't. Olivia knew she was beautiful and fashionable. She wasn't thinking about the future, just the present.
She had each hand on the arms of his chair, encircling him. He was turned away from the papers on his desk and the door to his office. He loosened his tie with anticipation. Olivia's lips could do wonders for him, wherever she put them on his body.
She graced him with a teasing smirk. "So what kind of medicine should I dispense today, Dr. Keaner?" She tilted her head forward until they were barely an inch apart. "Would kisses make everything better or do we need something…stronger?"
He was about to answer when Carl came bustling in. "Dennis I need you to look over this—" Carl looked up that instant to see them in that intimate pose. Olivia quickly backed away.
"I'll try to have that file ready for you in the hour," she quickly said, swiping a random file off his desk and walking towards Carl. The man was too busy trying to decide what his reaction should be that he failed to get out of the way. Their shoulders practically slammed against each other as she left. The "Dr. Claymore" she said in acknowledgement was an afterthought.
She was barely down the hall when Carl started into him. "What the Hell do you think you are doing! You're married to Linda, remember? The woman you left Crista for?" Dennis spun his chair around to fully face the man. "You said you would kick both of your habits. That was what we agreed on when I said we would take on this practice together and I would be your therapist! You're going back on yourself, repeating yourself, repeating history? Why the Hell are you throwing it all away?"
Dennis lazily tossed the papers at his friend, unperturbed. "I can't throw away anything that's already gone."
The man was somehow more shocked by the legal work than what he walked in on.
The sessions were just like anyone would expect. Dennis would relay the stresses of the day, his thoughts on personal matters—the divorce in particular, seemed to be Carl's favorite topic of discussion. Why, he couldn't imagine. It was going a lot smoother than the last one. And now there was this window of opportunity that he hadn't had before. To enjoy life as he wanted to enjoy it.
And that's all he wanted to talk about. Livvie. Because telling his 'sponsor' about his mild clubbing and other 'relapses' was out of the question.
That was the only noticeable change over the months. Dennis would rattle on and on, answering whatever 'insightful' question his friend could come up with, Carl squibbling down note after note in his file like he was any other patient.
So he didn't understand when he approached Livvie at the office, her putting some last minute clients' files away in the cabinet, his hands going to her hips, to have her brush him off. Just about everyone had left, so he knew it couldn't be that she was worried about getting caught. When he tried again, he was rebuffed.
"Stop it!" was the stern command issued from her.
"Okay," he said, throwing his hands up in surrender. "Had a bad day or something?"
She promptly turned around. "I don't think we should see each other anymore."
Stunned, he asked, "You're joking right? This is your way of getting back at me for that nurse's uniform comment the other night, right? You know I didn't mean it, baby."
"Look," she slammed the file cabinet closed. "All we're doin' is foolin' around—a no strings attached relationship—which was fine, is fine. But I want out. This isn't working for me anymore."
"Hey," he grabbed her arm. "Did I do something wrong? Because you can tell me."
She wrenched her arm away and took a couple of steps to put some distance between them. "I won't be the possession of an addict, okay!" She stomped off.
As Dennis turned to go after her, he saw Carl watching them as he locked his office door.
He'd racked his brains, thinking of what he possibly could have done to make her think he was an addict. Yeah, he'd snorted up once or twice in front of her, but that was at the parties they'd gone to together. And that had been rare.
But he couldn't get any more out of her. She'd avoided him, deliberately scheduling her day so she was out of his sight. She'd told him not to call her "Livvie" anymore. At first, Dennis decided that it wasn't going to be over because she said it was over, but because he said it was over.
That didn't last long.
Because he still saw her everyday. And each time he saw her, Dennis remembered how she had made him feel, and he wanted more. He was addicted to her. No one had made him feel like she did. It had taken her walking away from him to realize that he was in love with her.
The nurses rolled their eyes when he tried to approach Livvie. One had even told him that she was dating someone. He knew that if he could figure out what had really set her off, he would get her back.
So he walked past her desk around lunch. Livvie was slinging files around, slamming file cabinets left and right, her heels hitting the carpet just a little harder than usual. Finally she sat down at her desk and typed at the computer rapidly. She didn't look up when he walked by.
"Hey Livvie," Dennis greeted her cheerfully, tossing his apple in the air. She briefly shot him a nasty look before looking back at the screen.
"Whatever you want, I'm not interested," she replied sternly, the pace of her typing picking up. He ignored her. She was probably having a bad day.
"I wanted to see if you wanted lunch," he stated nonchalantly.
"What part of 'I'm not interested' did you not understand?" she retorted. "Oh wait, selective hearing, along with compulsive lyin', cheatin' on whatever wife you're married to and snortin' is all part of your M.O., isn't it, Mr. Addictive Personality?" The words stopped him cold, but Livvie didn't seem to notice. "So I'll just have to spell it out to you. I'm not going to be your latest obsession or addiction, or Mrs. Dennis Keaner number three, or whatever! Carl told me how this is going to end and I couldn't agree more. You need to get over yourself and leave me the hell alone."
She then stopped acknowledging his presence all together, typing away at the computer like there was no tomorrow. The feeling of dread mixed with rage settling in his stomach like an anvil. Carl. This was all Carl's fault. He'd told her things. He hadn't been certain before…but now…
He hid in his office all day, fuming. He was glad he had made plans to have friends over at his house that evening because he was going to need to let off some steam. But first he had to get back at his so called friend.
Finally, he heard Carl leave in a rush. So it was their anniversary. Dennis hoped both Crista and Carl rot in hell. He didn't have to be a head doctor to know that Carl had stabbed him so far in the back he punctured his hear because of some effed up obligation to her.
But was Dennis going to let him get away with it? No!
Checking to see if the rest of the staff were gone, he went to Carl's office. He turned to filing cabinets and tried to open them, bound and determine to see exactly what his business partner had written in his 'confidential file.' Of course, the damn thing wouldn't budge. He quickly searched for keys to no avail. But that wasn't going to stop him. He quickly grabbed the letter opener off of Carl's desk. It had 'University of Virginia Class of 1990.' Dennis scowled. The letter opener wasn't even Carl's but his from his undergraduate degree. The man was determined to take everything from him!
He took the letter opener and jabbed it in the locks, tried to use the blade to pry the metal open. It was no use. The damn thing wouldn't budge. He was about to erupt in frustration when he had a thought: it would just be like Carl to give Livvie the entire file and if anyone suspected something, insist he had misplaced it.
So Dennis went to Dr. Hicks office, where Livvie always returned the files at the end of the day. He knew Hicks was a slacker when it came to things like locking doors and making reports. He went to Hicks' office and tried the same tactics, only it didn't work. Apparently Hicks didn't think about locking his doors because he had his files locked. He was about to go at the cabinet harder when he heard them. Frenec and Livvie. The office manager was getting ready to leave ,inquiring into how much longer Livvie would be staying.
The brunette's reply was as curt and polite as she could make it, saying without words what she was thinking. Madeline said her goodnight and quickly headed out of the office, Dennis holding his breath all the while. He had thought all the staff had gone home. If he had been caught by either of them, word would get back to Carl for sure.
This was useless. He couldn't find his file and without it, he couldn't take Carl on.
Frustrated, Dennis looked at his watch. He needed to live if he was going to meet his guests.
He was going to get back at Carl for this. Oh, yes. Livie was the one thing he had going for him at this job. She was the best thing that had happened to him. He wasn't going to loose her. He just needed to come back when no one was around, and then he'd get Carl.
Dennis quickly snuck out. He had a party to host, after all.
"He showed her my file, without my permission, without me there to explain my actions! I can't prove it, but I know he did. And I lost her because of him. Because he can't be the hero just once, no, no, he has to save every damsel that comes his way. So what happened to her, it's his fault," Keaner finished. "Or else she would have been with me the night she died."
The connections were slowly formulating in Speed's head—cause and effect, action and reaction—and the events that lead up to Delacroix's death were taking shape. The reason wasn't an obvious one, but a tangled and convoluted answer.
"That's what I needed to know," Speed said, as the last seconds of his time dwindled down. He turned around and walked back the way he came, signaling to O'Tool to let him out. Stupid mistakes. People made a lifetime's worth of them. And while most of them only burdened the people who made them, the Claymores' were going to have to answer for theirs, because they had gotten a young woman killed.
CSIMIAMICSIMIAMICSIMIAMI
Horatio drove his MDPD assigned hummer up the highway. On most days, it would take time—hours—to get to the state capital. But he was acting in an official capacity, which gave him leeway to exceed the speed limit as long as he didn't drive recklessly. He tried to not think of it as abusing power as he drove. He kept telling himself that time was of the essence and with Miranda's life possibly at stake. That imbued him to push on the gas petal a little more.
He had his CBC radio on so in the event Dispatch needed to contact him or there was an incident that required all available units, they could reach him and he could respond. As he listened to the call codes, it didn't cease to amaze him all the accidents, fender-benders, and crimes of all varieties that were called into Dispatch within an hour. Miami was currently the road rage capital of the country, but the rest of the state was hardly any better.
His thoughts slowly drifted. First to Speed. Alexx had called to ask him about his birthday, which was next week. Speed didn't like celebrating birthdays, and especially not in an elaborative manner. But he would let Alexx bake him a cake and fix him a nice dinner. He would accept small presents of books, culinary instruments, or tools for his bike from his friends informally. He would always spend part of his special day with Alexx since she "adopted" him.
Alexx was the first to learn of their relationship, the first to support it. Speed had told her years ago that he was gay, ironically, in an attempt to drive the former doctor away. He had assumed that, like many people that had entered his life, the knowledge of his sexuality would repulse her into leaving him alone. Not the smartest move, Speed had admitted to him, as he had forgotten in the heat of the moment that the medical examiner could have ruined blossoming career, if she'd been inclined. Instead, Alexx had just pointedly stared at the green trace expert and said "and that matters how?"
From that moment on, Alexx began being Speed's mother hen, seeing as the rest of his family had abandoned him. Speed did have an uncle in Miami that he visited once a month, but besides being his landlord, they weren't close. And Alexx insisted every year that Tim spend some of his special day with his family, if only for a meal.
What Speed didn't know was that Alexx and Horatio had teamed up this year to make this birthday memorable. While Tim would be having lunch and cake with the Woods family, Horatio would be getting dinner ready, chilling the wine and setting the mood. Calleigh had agreed to run the lab, and had talked Eric into working that day in exchange for a longer 4th of the July weekend off. Susie would be at work at the Agramont but Madison would be spending the day at a HeadStart fitness camp with fifty other children. Stetler—and yes, the thought alone of the IAB agent made him grind his teeth—was taking Yelina and Ray Jr. to Disney World that holiday weekend, so he wasn't sacrificing any personal time with his nephew in order to lead his own life.
There would be no interruptions. No Dispatch calls. No emergencies. No family complications. Just him and Tim. And during that golden window of opportunity, Horatio was going to give Tim a key to his apartment and ask him to move in with Horatio.
That wasn't the only gift he had planned for the night, but the one that would tell how the rest of the night would end. It was a huge move, for sure, and one Horatio had never offered to anyone before. Horatio knew that as sure as he was of Tim's commitment to their relationship, the offer could easily be rejected. Tim was the type of person who was used to being by his self. He'd told Horatio several times that he didn't mind solo cases or spending time alone in the lab, that he could actually focus more by himself then. Not that he didn't mind team work, as long as everyone pulled their own weight.
It was the Speed that worked alone that worried him; that could drive on his Ducati for hours, forgetting to tell anyone where he was going; that craved as much space and control as everyone else craved air. But as Calleigh's comments had echoed earlier, the risk this time was worth the reward.
That led his thoughts back to Miranda and Monica. Another call back to Detective Rouvin had confirmed his suspicions that Monica had been employed as a forensic accountant for Arizona, a position that was jointly held with the local FBI office in Phoenix. He knew a considerable number of protected witnesses had been place in identities that were closely connected with law enforcement to better assure their safety. Of course, he also knew the FBI had wanted Monica's unique services for their own benefit, as finding individuals with the talent to understand number patterns and money trails was rare. It also only confirmed his suspicion that it was someone working in a federal capacity that killed her. Monica had plenty of reasons to send Miranda to him, but trusting an outsider rather than someone within her own agency was a definite clue.
He drove to Florida State Penitentiary knowing that he was probably on a fool's errand. Even if Rafael Castenada did have something to do with Monica's death, he was too much of a businessman to willingly give Horatio the information for free. Horatio would rather deal Castenada to hell.
Because as much as the years might have changed Castenada, Miranda deserved better. From him or anyone else who was responsible for leaving her life in shambles. And as for Monica…why did you wait until after you were dead to let me know you were in danger? You could have left the program years ago and contacted me to let me know the truth. I had the right to know sooner! Why didn't you tell me?
He finally switched on the music, as the reports and his train of thought did nothing to help his mood. Country music blared out of the stereo, making him wonder who had fooled with his setting that last time the hummer had been detailed. But the song, while unfamiliar, was somber enough that didn't change the station yet.
*In my hometown,
For anyone who sticks around
You're either "Lost" or your "Found"
There's not much in between
In my hometown,
Everything's still "Black" and "White"
It's a long, long way from wrong to right
From Sunday morning to Saturday night
Everybody just wants to get high
Sit and watch a perfect world go by
We're all looking for love and meaning in our lives
We follow the roads that lead us
To Drugs or Jesus
My whole life
I've tried to run, I've tried to hide
From the stain glass windows in my mind
Refusing to let God's light shine
Down on me, down on me
Everybody just wants to get high
Sit and watch a perfect world go by
We're all looking for love and meaning in our lives
There's not much space between us
Drugs or Jesus
Everybody wants acceptance
We all just want some proof
Everyone's just looking for the truth
Everybody just wants to get high
Sit and watch a perfect world go by
We're all looking for love and meaning in our lives
We follow the roads that lead us
To Drugs or Jesus
God, did he remember being that lost once. Of course, his team would never believe he, their ever fearless, cool, determined leader had doubts and despaired about the path his life had taken him. (The exception was Alexx, of course. If his eyes were like a hawk's, than hers were x-rays). Because of the situation with Miranda, he couldn't help but remember his life, fifteen, sixteen years ago. Then, on a day like today, he wouldn't be driving out to visit a convicted man. He would be doing what his team was doing right about now: interviewing a suspect.
TBC…
*Tim McGraw, "Drugs or Jesus"