Title: Sniper's Song

Author: Sarah

E-mail: sydney453@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters.

Summary: A gunman is terrorizing the people of Miami--- and leaving Horatio clues to his next move

AN: So, so sorry for not updating in ages. First there was a horrible case of writer's block. Then I moved. Then I started my senior year of college. Bah, I could sit here for ages detailing all that has kept me away from writing, but I won't. My online diary is linked in my profile if you're interested.

I have to say thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews. They most definitely mean a lot and inspired me to keep attempting to write even when the ideas refused to come. I'm happy to say I've had a revelation of sorts and hope to finally finish this story in the next few weeks.

I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter Three

1501 Maple Shade Drive

Miami, Florida

10:55 PM

Parker Wilkinson paced his apartment, nearly bubbling over with anticipation. "Five more minutes," he muttered to himself. Five more minutes until all of Miami knew just what he was capable of. Five more minutes until every one of his meticulous plans made him famous. Well not him, exactly. His work.

Parker chuckled to himself. This was sort of his coming out party. He hoped everyone would appreciate all that he had done. His heart skipped a beat when he flicked on the television and heard the opening moments of the newscast.

"Tragedy at the chapel, a young woman is gunned down just moments after being married," the perky brunette newswoman began. Parker leaned forward in excitement as footage of the crime scene rolled.

"Twenty-six year old Heather Andrews was murdered in cold blood on the steps of St. Peter's Church this evening." The scene cut to a red eyed man in a tuxedo. "She was s-so happy, " he stuttered. "And now... now she's gone, whoever did this, whoever took her away from us..." the man, Heather's father-in-law, trailed off as he turned away from the camera.

Parker tugged at the collar of his navy t-shirt to keep from squealing with glee. This was so much sweeter than he thought it would be.

The report continued, "An investigation has begun, but so far no arrests have been made." The camera panned over the crime scene, giving Parker a wonderful view of all the upset that he had caused. Police cars and an ambulance lined the street, their lights flashing angrily against nearby buildings. Police officers and crime scene investigators combed the area, searching for clues that he had been too thorough to leave behind.

"Lieutenant Horatio Caine promised the victim's family swift action," said the newscaster as Caine's image flashed onto Parker's screen.

Parker smirked at the television, awaiting the response of the brilliant Lieutenant Caine.

"This crime will not go unpunished. We will find who did this," Caine said as his eyes bored into the camera lens, "and we will bring him to justice. Count on that."

The perky news anchor and her partner flashed back onto the screen. "Sad, sad news, Mike."

The newsman nodded his head, "Indeed it is. In other news..."

Parker angrily jabbed the off button and threw the remote at an overstuffed recliner. "Smug bastard. Son of a bitch," he hissed. "Thinks he can beat me. We'll see about that."

Miami-Dade Crime Lab

Saturday, February 22, 2003

7:30AM

Speedle shook his head as he read over the computer printout again. "Nothing, absolutely nothing," he said to the empty room. "If I didn't know better I'd say he was one of us. Not one fingerprint. Not one fiber. He's good."

"But we're better," came Horatio's voice from behind Speedle, causing him to jump slightly.

Speedle swiveled his chair to face the door and shot Horatio a withering look, "It's way too early for you to be popping up out of nowhere like that."

Horatio ambled into the room, "This man is cocky and vain. He's sending me note cards, preening and looking for attention. He's smart, I'll give him that, but he thinks he's smarter than he really is. People like him always slip up." Horatio leaned down to pick up the latest note card, "And we'll be there when he does."

"Uh, uh," Speedle said skeptically. "Or he could be some crazed jackass who doesn't know what he's doing and'll wind up shooting himself in the foot while cleaning his gun." Horatio looked at Speedle and shook his head slightly.

"Hey," Speedle said. "It could happen. And it would make our job a hell of a lot easier."

"But our job is not easy," Horatio declared, "that's what makes it interesting. What did you get from your interviews with the neighbors?"

Speedle pulled out his notes. "One woman claimed she saw some creepy guy," he said making air quotes with his fingers, "lurking around a couple of days ago. Other than that, nothing. No one saw a thing. Amazing."

"Did she get a good look at him?" Horatio asked.

"Yeah, said he was about six-two, dark hair, light skin, no distinguishing features," Speedle responded. "Just your average guy."

"Right. Have her come in and meet with our sketch artist." Horatio ordered authoritatively.

Speedle nodded and tapped at an appointment book with a pencil, "I'm way ahead of you. She's coming in after she drops her kid off at the sitter's."

"Good," Horatio responded. "Let's hope they can give us something to work with."

With that he stalked out of the room.

"...You're welcome. It was nothing, really. Bye. Have a nice day." Speedle said to Horatio's long departed back. "...Jeez."

"What have you got for me Calleigh?" Horatio questioned as he strode into the range.

Calleigh held up a rifle, "I'm ninety-five percent sure he used this type of gun. Standard issue hunting rifle. You can get it anywhere, even Wal-Mart," she paused and smiled a little. "They really do sell everything. Didn't attach a silencer so the bullet was as close to mint condition as it could be."

"And," Horatio urged.

"And nothing," Calleigh responded. "The rifle, the bullets... everything is standard. Nothing distinguishing about them. They're sold anywhere and everywhere."

"That's fantastic," Horatio said dryly.

Calliegh continued, "Of course I'd be able to match the bullet to the rifle itself, once we have it. Until then," she shrugged. "Nothing."

"Our shooter seems to have left us with a whole lot of that," Horatio remarked.

1501 Maple Shade Drive

8:15 AM

Parker hummed to himself as he polished the barrel of his rifle. Today was going to be a good day, he could feel it. He took the rifle apart and placed it carefully in it's case.

"Got to protect my greatest investment," he muttered.

Parker leaned towards the mirror hung over his dresser and admired his newly dyed hair. He smiled at his reflection.

"Always knew I'd look good as a redhead," he said as he patted his hair. "No time for narcissism. Time for action."

He picked up the rifle's case and headed for the door.

Time for a trip to the airport.