Title: Sight for Sore Eyes
Rating: PG-13.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, and I'm only borrowing them. No infringement intended, no profit obtained. Breeze alone is my personal creation. She is a work in progress, and you will see more of her in the future. And thanks go to Marianne for previewing the first scene and giving it the Speed seal of approval. He's the hardest character on the show for me to get into, because we're absolutely nothing alike, so I'm a bit nervous that my muse has decided to branch off more extensively in that direction.
Personal Writing Creed: I will NEVER in my life, under any circumstances, write a story that does not have a happy ending.
Series Recap: Fearful Symmetry, Can't Fight This Feeling, Gold Medals, Surprises, Honeymoon, Blackout, The Hopes and Fears, Anniversary, Framed. All archived at Lonely Road.
A/N: Beware, this one scores high on the angstometer. However, if you make it through this one, I promise, as a reward for enduring Framed and Sight, the next installment will contain no angst. Absolutely none. It is a one-parter that is pure fluff. Further preview of that story at the end of this one. Unlike most of the other Fearful Symmetry stories, Sight is cathartic. I've got a lot of imagination, but Calleigh's feelings here are not imagined. I only mention that because I think you would put it together by the end of chapter 2 anyway and wonder about it. If the feelings seem to go beyond fiction to reality, you're absolutely right, they do. Some factual details have been changed for the sake of the plot and to give poor Cal a break, but the thoughts are too real. I just needed to finish off something and mark it concluded, and writing about it is the best way I know to master it. Rest assured while reading this, all is well in real life and all will be well in fic life. Refer to my writing creed above.
Dedication: Sight is dedicated to my mother, who was my unfailing anchor and encouragement last winter during the most frustrating three months of my life.
***
"Eyes of unholy blue."
Thomas Moore
***
The roar of a motorcycle shattered the early Saturday morning calm. Along the desolate stretch of pavement sped a bike and its rider. She was leaning low into the wind of her own making, her medium length brunette hair wisping out beneath her helmet and thrown back in the force of her wake. The bike, like its rider, was only medium sized and unpretentious, the single bow to elaboration being the customized license plate. QK SLVR.
The woman slowed the bike as it passed a fence corner, bringing it to a halt suddenly, spinning it around with no question that the machine would bow to her will over its own momentum. And it did. She sat in the road, waiting for the second motorcycle, which buzzed over the last hill after a few seconds and slowed as it approached her. She took off her helmet, shaking out her hair. She always looked windswept, even without an excuse, but at the moment she had one. She laughed as the other bike came to a halt facing her. "Gonna have to change your nickname, Speed."
Speed grinned at her. "What would you change it to, Breeze?"
"Tortoise, maybe."
"The tortoise won that race in the end, you know." She laughed again and saluted him mockingly, scoring his point. He laughed with her. He had laughed more the last two months than he had in the two years before that, it seemed. She pulled on her helmet again and kicked her bike into action, not racing away this time, just riding. He moved his bike up beside her. The road was plenty wide enough, and there wasn't any traffic out here, anyway. That was why they had picked this straight, abandoned stretch of back road with no intersections to race.
Speed caught himself studying the woman who rode beside him. They hadn't raced much, but she invariably won. And he knew why. Breeze specialized in calculated risks. She knew exactly how far she could push her machine and herself, beyond strict caution but not to undue recklessness. It was why she had won against all the men who had raced her. The cautious analyzers were left eating her dust, but the recklessly uninhibited were pushed beyond their limits and lost control, while she came from behind to claim victory. Speed himself detested risks, calculated or otherwise. For him, the bike was something he could be in control of. He did not want to ride beyond his comfort level. Gradually, though, over the last two months of dating this woman, he had started to wonder if there were calculated risks worth taking. And the fact that he was starting to wonder scared him.
Breeze glanced across at him and shouted over the engine noise, not too loud now that they were just riding easily. "Want to go out to eat tomorrow night? My treat."
"I really need to work. Stuff is behind at the lab."
"It's the weekend. Come on."
Speed felt his brakes coming on again. He was enjoying the progress of this relationship, but it was frightening, too. She had had last night. She would have tonight. Were three nights in a row too close to a serious commitment? He had never had a serious commitment who didn't leave him. "I ought to work one night this weekend. I've already missed last night."
"Is your boss that much of a slave driver?"
"He's pretty demanding."
"You ought to introduce us some time."
"I will." But not just yet. They had double dated with Eric, but Speed didn't want to insert himself and Breeze under Horatio's microscope quite yet. H might take the honors at work, but Speed refused to let his boss solve his personal life before he had finished processing all the evidence himself. "I've really got to work Sunday night, Breeze. Maybe next weekend."
"Okay." She fell into silence, but she wasn't sulking. Speed liked how she would push but would back off at a roadblock sign, too. She was persistent but not annoying, taking the lead but not dragging him. He smiled, watching her, and she felt it and grinned back at him. "Race you to the next property line. I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself."
"Breeze." The protest died. What was the point? She wanted to, and she was hard to detour. "Okay. Go."
She waited courteously for the start signal, then accelerated smoothly, already pulling away from him in the first few seconds. He tried to make himself push the limits more and couldn't. She sailed away, rising over the next hill and out of sight. He knew he wouldn't be left behind, though. She would stop and wait for him. It always happened.
It didn't this time. She reappeared over the hill, traveling quickly even for her, and her face was dead white. "Tim," she shouted as she came up to him.
"What's wrong, Breeze?"
"There's a body in the ditch over that hill." Speed instantly accelerated, making better time than he had in the race, and she matched him but, this time, did not go on ahead, keeping her bike by his side.
***
Horatio opened his eyes, trying to make himself wake up gradually. No use. His brain instantly came online, ready for the day. It's Saturday, he told himself. We were going to sleep late. You already slept late, replied another part of himself. Most people wouldn't call this sleeping in, he replied. But you aren't most people, he pointed out to himself. He rolled over softly and feasted his eyes on Calleigh, giving himself his favorite subject to think about while trying to let her get a little more rest. They had worked long hours last week on a tough case, finally nailing the suspect yesterday afternoon, wrapping up the evidence late last night. They had both been teetering on the precipice of exhaustion when they got home and had barely had the strength to stagger to bed. They had mutually agreed to sleep late for once. So why was he awake already?
He memorized her face again. Soft strength, iron determination but with a delicate beauty when she truly opened her soul. She reminded him of sunlight. No, not sunlight as much as the northern lights. Aurora borealis. Shifting, shimmering, multicolored, bold and strong but artistically graceful, captivating the eyes of his heart. Calleigh.
She always looked vulnerable in sleep. He loved watching her that way. It was the ultimate privilege she could grant, to allow someone to see her defenseless. He appreciated the honor with every fiber of his soul and hoped that he could return it with an abandon that matched hers. All his life, he had feared abandon. All of his risks had been calculated. The only contrast he had ever known was emotional collapse, when everything that mattered fell apart before his eyes and in his heart. Only Calleigh had taught him emotional freefall, surrendering everything only to discover safety and freedom, not ruin. The parachute of love was strong and unfailing, once he had made the jump.
Her eyes fluttered and opened gradually. He filled her vision, as she filled his, the eyes connecting perfectly like matching puzzle pieces, blue to blue. What a delicious way to start the day, she thought. Horatio the first thing she saw every morning, as well as the last thing she saw every night. Waking up to find those incredible eyes watching her. She smiled lazily at him. "Morning, Handsome. What a life."
He followed her train of thought perfectly. "Morning. So many wasted mornings before this."
"Yep. And so many wasted nights."
"Mmmm." He gave a low rumble of agreement. "Like last night. We were too tired to see each other by the time we got to bed. We'll fall back into the past if we aren't careful."
"I'm not so tired now."
He caught her in his arms, his grasp gentle but unyielding. "Neither am I." She wound her own arms around his back, capturing him, as he had captured her. And the phone rang. "Let the machine get it," Horatio growled. "It's Saturday." In spite of himself, though, he raised his head, listening intently as the answering machine in the kitchen started recording.
"H, Speed. Pick up. It's important."
Horatio rolled over and picked up the bedside phone. "I'll take your word on that for the moment, but I demand proof."
"All you want." Speed's voice was somber. "Breeze found a body."
***
The Hummer pulled up, and Horatio and Calleigh exited. Breeze stood at a respectful distance, looking both upset and interested. Speed was kneeling by the body without touching it. "You got gloves?" Calleigh handed him a pair, and he snapped them on. "H, Calleigh, this is Breeze." He was already going in for a closer look at the body and didn't seem to register the fact that his introduction only included one out of three actual names.
Horatio smoothly covered the omission. "Horatio Caine," he said, extending a hand. "I've heard a lot about you."
"I've heard about you, too." She sized him up. Striking in appearance, especially the magnetic eyes, but the thing that intrigued her most was Speed's reaction to his arrival. Even while kneeling studying the body, Speed had straightened up slightly when Horatio arrived. Not in a stiffly military way - he was the least likely candidate to show military discipline she could think of - but subconsciously putting out an extra effort. He wanted to give his absolute best to his boss.
Horatio, formalities dispensed with, turned to join Speed at the body. Calleigh smiled at Breeze. "I'm glad to meet you, too." She liked the look of this woman. A bit rough around the edges, windswept, but there was strength in the eyes. She could easily picture her with Speed. "I'm sorry to go all professional," Calleigh apologized, "but we have to. Did anyone call the police?"
"Tim did right after he called you." Just then the police cruiser pulled up, and Adele exited, coming over to them.
"Adele, this is. . . " Calleigh stopped, forgetting the actual name for a minute. Breeze fit so well.
"Dana Silver." Breeze filled in the blank. Adele glanced at Horatio and Speed, still checking out the body. Speed was now snapping pictures.
"You were out riding and just found him?"
"Right. Just dumped there in the ditch, like somebody's trash." She shivered slightly. Calleigh gave her arm a warm squeeze.
"Calleigh." Horatio's call was quiet but sliced easily across the gap between them. She smiled at Breeze and went over to him as Adele took over the questioning. Horatio looked up at her, already almost predatory in his focus on the case, like she had seen him so often. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?"
The man lay crumpled on his side, like he had just been rolled out of a car, exactly like somebody's trash. Three things jumped out at her immediately. First was the lack of any obvious wound. The second was the expression on his features, a convulsed grimace. Strangest of all, though, were the pinprick red spots on the skin. "Never. What would make him all spotty like that?"
"We'll have to ask Alexx. Probably it's a side effect of some poison. Sure looks like a poison case. He died having convulsions."
"Strychnine, maybe?"
He shook his head. "I saw a strychnine case once. Once was enough. The convulsions and expression here aren't severe enough."
"Are you serious?" she asked, although she knew he was. This man looked like he had died in agony.
"Unfortunately, yes. Strychnine is worse. It also has a strongly unpleasant taste. Unless Alexx finds a needle mark somewhere, he probably ingested this poison orally. Nobody would ever swallow strychnine unless it was in a capsule or such."
"Why don't you think he took it in a capsule?"
Horatio opened the man's mouth slightly, indicating a slight scratch on its roof. "That looks fresh. I think however he took it, he cut his mouth. That wasn't a capsule." He glanced at his watch. "Alexx should be here soon. I called her."
"Well, we can rule out suicide," said Speed. "Unless he arranged for a friend to dump him in a ditch afterwards."
"There are less painful ways to commit suicide, anyway," said Calleigh. She eyed those taut features again. Strychnine was worse than this? "So how do you take poison and cut your mouth at the same time?"
"Put it on a fork?" Speed suggested.
"We'll have Alexx double check the timing on that scratch. Also see if she can get any residue from it. Either metal or poison." Horatio stood up and looked up and down the road. "Not a single car has been by since we got here."
"None since we found him," Breeze volunteered.
Adele looked around herself. "Nice desolate place to dump a body. But they didn't want to totally conceal it. It had to be found here in a day."
Calleigh had been patting down the victim, both looking for a wound and for anything else of interest. "Horatio, he's still got his wallet. It's in his back pocket, the one he's lying on." They rolled the victim gently and extracted it, and Calleigh handed it to Horatio. Adele came over to him as he opened it.
"Roger Claridge, age 39. And an address. Also about $50."
"Not robbery," said Adele.
"Nobody poisons someone at a robbery," Speed pointed out. Alexx and the ME's van pulled up just then, and they all stepped back to allow the others room to work.
"Alexx, what do you make of the red spots?" Horatio stood behind her, looking over her shoulder.
She studied them carefully. "It can be a sign of some poisons. Arsenic, DDT, narcissus. And other odder ones. Not too many could cause it, though. I'll be sure to test for all of them."
"Thank you, Alexx. Also, he has a scratch on the roof of his mouth. Was that there before death?"
She pried his teeth open. "I can tell better back at the lab, but it looks like it occurred right around the time of death. It took something sharp to do that, too. Not like a knife, with a blade, but still sharp." She closed the mouth gently. "You didn't have an easy exit, did you?"
"A fork?" Speed suggested again.
"Maybe, but it's a deep enough scratch that there should be others next to it from the other tines."
"A one-tined fork," he persisted.
"You may have a few, but I doubt he did," Horatio pointed out, looking at the man's clothes. He wasn't wearing a business suit, but there was no lack of money here, either. "Okay, Alexx, let me know the autopsy results. Speed." He hesitated, looking at Breeze.
"It's okay, sir," she said, the title coming naturally addressing him. "I'll just go on home. I've got my bike. Call me when you get finished tonight, Speed."
"Will do." She was starting to get over the first shock of it, Speed thought. She usually called him Speed and Tim about equally, enjoying the way his nickname fit with hers, but she had only called him Tim since finding the body. Reassured, he grinned apologetically at her, and she returned it, then mounted the bike again. QK SLVR left the scene but moving slowly now, all racing forgotten.
"She looks like a keeper," said Horatio.
Speed instantly jumped back to the case. "So, I'll check for tire tracks, residue, anything else around here. Doubt there's much, though. I think they just rolled him out of the back seat."
"There's bound to be something," Horatio said. "And it will be enough to nail the killers. Calleigh, go with Alexx to the autopsy. Make sure there isn't a wound somewhere to give us a weapon. Then track me down. I'm going with Adele to talk to the next of kin." His lips set together in a firm line. He absolutely hated talking to next of kin.
"Okay. See you later." He and Adele left, and Calleigh walked over to Speed. "She does look like a keeper."
"So, Alexx, find out anything yet?" Speed's remark darted away from Calleigh's comment.
"Yes," she replied instantly. Speed went over to her.
"What's that?"
"Horatio is right. She does look like a keeper."
"Stick to the case, would you? Remember the case?" Speed starting checking the road for residue, putting some distance between them, and Calleigh and Alexx grinned at each other over the body.
***
"Potassium bromate," said Alexx sadly, studying the preliminary lab reports. "I was afraid of that, after seeing his stomach lining. What a way to go. That explains the spots, and the internal ulcerations, and the damaged kidneys."
"Potassium bromate," Calleigh repeated thoughtfully. "Where have I heard of that before?"
"It's not as common anymore, but it's an ingredient in some neutralizers. Used in manufacturing cosmetics."
"Ugh." Calleigh eyed what was left of Roger Claridge. "Almost enough to make you think about stopping using cosmetics. Almost."
"It's actually harmless most of the time. There are far worse things in cosmetics."
"Harmless?"
"Unless it's taken internally. Potassium bromate reacts with the hydrochloric acid in the stomach and turns to hydrogen bromate, which is an extremely irritating acid. Unless potassium bromate gets to the stomach, it isn't dangerous."
"It wouldn't react in the mouth?"
"No. I'm still trying to work out the instrument on that scratch. Something sharp but not bladed. I am sure that it occurred right around death."
"What form would that be in, Alexx? Could you put it on something and stick it in someone's mouth?"
"Sure. It's a solution. And the stuff is highly toxic, once it hits the stomach. Dip anything into it and put it in the mouth, and it would be fatal without immediate treatment." She opened Claridge's mouth and studied the scratch again. "Maybe the scratch occurred when the convulsions started. If he still had whatever the instrument was in his mouth at that point, he could have grabbed at it desperately and cut himself getting it out because of the degenerating coordination." She gave the corpse a comforting pat on the shoulder.
"What's the effective time?"
"Five to twenty minutes." They both studied the body. "So he puts an unknown sharp object, which someone dipped in potassium bromate, in his mouth and leaves it there for five to twenty minutes. That still doesn't sound right."
Calleigh shook her head. "At least it's a starting point. The boys can try to track availability. You can't just buy it over the counter, can you?"
"No. It would be hard to find outside a cosmetics company, I would think. Don't hold me to that, though. I only give the method; the means is your job."
"Thanks. I'd better call Horatio and fill him in." Her eyes sparkled a bit at the thought of calling Horatio, even strictly on business, and Alexx smiled at her with warm understanding. Calleigh pulled out her cell phone and hit speed dial #1, glad that they could at least have open conversations now. "Hi, Handsome. We have some news for you." She reported all of the autopsy results.
"Great. Have Alexx tell Speed and Eric. They can work on the chemical. I also have a few names to run through the computer." He gave them to her, and Calleigh wrote them down.
"These are our vic's enemies?"
"Right, according to his wife. One of them is his own brother. She says there was bad blood between them. I'm not sure I buy that brother being a murderer, but we'll check him out, of course."
"Why don't you like him for a suspect?"
"There's another brother, only this one is mentally retarded. The brother the wife named keeps him and looks after him. That shows compassion, and not many murderers have it."
"I see what you mean. Are you and Adele going over to talk to him?"
"Only me. Adele got called off on a breaking development on one of her other cases. She asked me to forge on alone." She heard the smile in his voice. Adele often protested, in a good natured way, that Horatio was trying to do her job as well as his.
"That'll be hard on you, I know, but you'll just have to manage. Want some company?"
"Depends on whose." He followed her thought but playfully pretended not to.
"Mine."
"Always, then."
"Always." Calleigh's smile mirrored his, and Alexx grinned more broadly to herself, knowing that Calleigh wasn't paying any attention to her at the moment. How on earth had it taken those two so long to get together? Everyone in the office had seen their special link for years, a link that just wasn't there with other members of the team. At least they were together now. Finally.
"I'm almost driving by CSI on my way to his house. Is five minutes too soon to start eternity?"
"Not soon enough, but I'll try to hold out. See you then."
"I'm counting the seconds. Bye for now." Horatio hung up, and Calleigh stood there for another second, holding the cell phone like the memory of the conversation alone would continue it.
"Calleigh," Alexx asked patiently, "what was it he wanted you to tell me?" Calleigh's mind returned to her body with a jerk, and she started filling Alexx in.
***
Horatio brought Calleigh up to date as the Hummer crawled through the Saturday afternoon traffic. "Claridge's hobby is woodworking. He has a workshop separate from the house. Last night, he was working on a project there late, and his wife didn't wait up for him. They had separate bedrooms. When he wasn't there this morning, she assumed he had gotten up earlier and gone back to work out there. She had a hair appointment herself, so she got ready and left without looking for him."
Calleigh stared at him. "You mean she actually never missed him until you knocked on the door?"
He nodded. "They rarely talked, hardly ever ate together, even on the weekends." He glanced across at her. "What some people call marriage never ceases to amaze me."
"That's not marriage; it's coexistence."
"Coexistence with vows. That should mean something, call for some effort, anyway."
Calleigh reached across and put a hand on his arm. "Horatio, everyone in the world isn't like you. It's wonderful that you think they should be, but it isn't going to happen." She squeezed his arm. "Don't you dare change, though." He seemed a bit edgy, unusually sensitive to the world's failings, even for him. "What's the matter?"
"I'm not sure." The comment was completely honest. "I've just got a feeling, nothing I can explain, that something is wrong, or is about to be wrong, or something." He was less articulate than usual, trying to explain something that didn't make sense. Horatio detested things that didn't make sense.
Calleigh was suddenly uneasy herself. Horatio's instincts were remarkably accurate, even when he couldn't explain them. "Just now, you mean? Talking to the wife?"
He shook his head. "All day today. Since we left the house." His lips compressed slightly as he tried to track that feeling down and again drew a blank. "Anyhow, the wife. She admits that there had been distance between them. Said he was totally wrapped up in work. Most of the enemies she listed are work enemies. He was an executive. I took a quick look in the workshop. Nothing jumped out at me, but we'll get Speed and Eric to process it. It could be our primary crime scene. I locked the shop at the moment to secure it and took the key."
"What about the brother?"
"They were estranged. Hadn't spoken in two years, after Claridge told the third brother to his face they should put him in a home. According to the wife, he didn't think his brother qualified as a full person. Gregory Claridge disagreed. He and his wife were taking care of him themselves."
"I can see why you don't like Greg as much as a candidate."
His thoughts returned to the wife. "She said she just didn't notice her husband was missing. And it fit with her attitude. Not even angry at him for working so hard, just apathetic. She didn't even care enough to act like she cared he was dead. They shared nothing but the address." He looked across at her. "I hope I never stop noticing you, Cal."
"You won't. Anymore than I would stop noticing you. I'll stop breathing first." His eyes went distant again, chasing out that tantalizing feeling that didn't make sense. To distract him, Calleigh told him about Alexx and the phone call. "She thinks we're cute."
"We are." He kissed her hand as they were stopped at a light. "Speaking of cute, what did you think of Breeze?"
"I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it. She's just like him."
"A bit more assertive, but they're awfully similar. I hope Speed doesn't let this one get away."
"I think she's chasing him."
He grinned. "I bet she's faster, too." They pulled up at the house. It was a large place with an extensive front yard and a high paneled fence hiding the back yard. Horatio and Calleigh walked up the sidewalk to the door. No one answered the knock, but the latch hadn't quite caught, and the door swung open as Horatio knocked again. Tentatively, they entered. "Miami-Dade Police," Horatio called. "Is anyone here? Mr. Claridge? Mrs. Claridge?"
Calleigh looked around the large living room. "No lack of money in this place. Why would they leave their door unlocked when they go somewhere?"
"There was a car in the drive." They circled the living room, studying the furnishings, looking for any signs of life. Horatio started toward the back of the house. "Is anyone here?" he called again. "Hello." Calleigh headed for the other exit, a side door leading to a hall, then stopped short with a gasp. Horatio heard her and whirled around instantly.
A large man came out of the first door off the hall. He was at least 6 feet 3 and burly. From the back, he would have looked like a football player. From the front, Calleigh instantly realized that he would be more likely to play with blocks. The eyes were those of a startled child, the features slack. What drew their attention instantly, though, was the gun. He held an old pistol in his hands, leveling it at Calleigh. Her trained eyes instantly sized it up. Old, dusty, rusty, and uncleaned. It looked like it had been in an attic or on a closet shelf for years. If it was loaded, in that condition, it was as dangerous to the man holding it as to her. "Cat," he said, waving the gun threateningly toward Calleigh.
"No," she said with forced calm. "I'm Calleigh. You must be . . . " She looked over to Horatio, not knowing his name.
"Phillip," said Horatio. "You must be Phillip. We're with the police, Phillip. Is your brother around? Or his wife?" He started toward them with smooth strides, his voice silky, not reaching for his own gun. Phillip instantly tightened his grip on the gun and waved it at both of them. Horatio stopped. "We're not going to hurt you, Phillip. We just want to talk." His eyes sized up the gun's condition as quickly as Calleigh's had.
Phillip frowned slightly. "You're not the cat? Burglar?"
Understanding was instant. The Miami cat burglar, as the press had dubbed him, had stalked the city for weeks now, raiding only unoccupied houses, stealing only items that were easily fenced. There were never any witnesses, even when neighbors had been immediately next door and awake. There had never been any violence. His name was increasingly in the news, though, and Phillip had obviously heard of him, probably from television.
"No," said Calleigh. "We're not the cat burglar. He only comes at night. We're the police." She oozed femininity suddenly. "And he isn't a woman. We just need to talk to your brother. Give me the gun, Phillip, so we can talk." She edged forward. He lowered the weapon uncertainly. Horatio held his ground, since Calleigh seemed to have a better connection with Phillip at the moment. He was listening to her. "We just need to talk to them about something, and then we'll go. And that gun is dangerous. You could hurt yourself." She was almost up to him now. "Come on, give it to me, Phillip. You don't want to hurt someone, do you?" He shook his head. "I didn't think so. Let me have it." He extended the gun slowly toward her, holding it sideways now, not pointing it. Calleigh stopped two feet away and started to reach for it.
A door banged loudly in the back of the house, and Phillip, who had been totally focused on Calleigh, jumped, his fingers tightening reflexively, one of them hitting the trigger. The long-neglected gun blew up as the bullet exploded still in the chamber. The flash lit the hallway as the explosion echoed through the house. Calleigh was thrown backwards by the blast into the living room, and Phillip was tossed back down the hall a few feet.
Horatio's heart stopped, even as his feet started. "Calleigh!" He was never aware of the steps it took him to reach her. He frantically felt for a pulse and relaxed a bit as he found a strong one. All vitals seemed stable. She had some minor burns on her hand and her face, but she seemed to have just been knocked out when she fell.
"What the hell. . . Phillip!" A woman ran into the living room and froze, her horrified eyes tracking from Horatio to Calleigh to Phillip. She went to Phillip first, kneeling beside him. He was writhing on the hall floor. "Who are you? What happened?"
"Miami-Dade Police. The door was open. Phillip apparently thought we were burglars, and the gun he had exploded." Horatio wrenched himself away from Calleigh long enough to assess Phillip. He looked worse. Of course, he had actually been holding the gun, which Calleigh hadn't yet. Both hands and arms were burned badly. "Mrs. Claridge, call 911 and get me some cloths soaked in cold water."
She stood up, numbly obeying. Phillip's panicked eyes looked like a wounded animal's, unable to comprehend the sudden pain. He focused on Horatio in spite of it. "I didn't mean it, Mister," he gasped.
"I know you didn't," Horatio assured him. His anger was at whoever had left a gun within Phillip's reach, any gun, cared for or not. It had been an accident waiting to happen, and it could have been triggered by something else if not by them today. "It's okay, Phillip." He patted him comfortingly on the shoulder.
"Is she okay?"
Horatio looked back at Calleigh. He could see her breathing steadily. "Just knocked out, I think." Phillip's expression was puzzled. "Yes, she's okay." He still wasn't sure himself, but it would calm Phillip down.
Mrs. Claridge returned at that point with a bowl full of cold water and some washrags. "Soak them and put them on his hands and arms," Horatio directed. He headed back to Calleigh. All vitals still strong. She looked almost peaceful. He gripped her hand tightly, repeating his words to Phillip, trying to reassure himself. "She's okay. She's okay." But the uneasy feeling that had haunted him all day remained.
***
Horatio hated paperwork at the best of times. He especially hated paperwork now, while Calleigh disappeared through the ER doors. He told himself that it was helping her and tried not to snap at the triage nurse.
"Is she allergic to any medications?"
"No." Couldn't she write faster? Horatio fought down the urge to rip the clipboard from her hand and scribble the answers down himself.
"Is she on medication for any pre-existing condition?"
"No." He craned his neck, trying to see through the tiny glass windows in the swinging doors. And that was pointless. It only led to a hallway. He suddenly hated those doors.
"Is there any chance she could be pregnant?"
That one brought his full consideration. "Not that we know of, but you'd better run an HCG before doing any x-rays, just to double check."
The nurse made another methodical note on the clipboard. "If you'll have a seat in the waiting room, Mr. Caine, we'll let you know her condition as soon as possible."
Horatio dropped into a seat in the waiting room, but his mind sprinted through the swinging doors, following Calleigh. She was stable, he told himself. Perfectly stable. Even the EMTs had seemed more concerned about Phillip. He felt a moment's sympathy for Phillip, who had been bewildered by the pain but showed more stoicism than a lot of people Horatio had known. Then his attention swung back, like iron to a magnet, to Calleigh. What was taking so long?
A hand landed gently on his shoulders, and he looked up into Alexx's concerned eyes. "Any word?"
"Not yet. She was stable, though. I think she was just knocked out by the blast." Alexx picked up his hand gently, and he realized that he had dug his fingernails clear into his palm while thinking.
"What happened out there, Horatio?" He told her, and her sympathy widened to include Phillip. "Poor man."
"Right. He was handing it over to her. Just a stupid accident, but it should have never happened. Who could leave a gun where he could get it?" He had more personal things than the case to discuss with Gregory Claridge when the chance came. Alexx saw the thought and stroked his hand gently.
"Mr. Caine?" Horatio bounced up out of the chair to face the orderly. "I was told to give you a brief report. Your wife is perfectly stable. We're still running tests. One thing, though, the HCG came back positive. She is pregnant."
Horatio's feelings somersaulted from worry to elation back to worry. "Is everything okay? How far along is she?"
"About five weeks. And everything seems okay, from the child's point of view."
His thoughts refocused on Calleigh. "Has she regained consciousness yet?" Surely, from simply being knocked out, she should be awake by now.
"Um, well." The orderly stalled, and Horatio actually gripped both his arms painfully, ready to squeeze the answer out of him. Alexx gently pried him off. "She started to regain consciousness, but the doctor sedated her. He didn't want her awake until more testing was completed."
That sounded wrong even to Alexx. "Testing for what? Why wouldn't he want her awake?"
"The doctor will tell you more as soon as he can. We don't know everything yet. I have to go now." He retreated, still eyeing Horatio warily, and vanished through those hated swinging doors.
Horatio collapsed in a chair. "Why wouldn't they let her wake up? I would think it would help in assessing for a head injury."
Alexx didn't have any answers for once. "I don't know. I'm sure they had a reason." She stroked his arm again. "You didn't know she was pregnant, did you?"
"No." His mental calculator switched on. "Five weeks. That would make her due in February." He smiled in anticipation. "We've really been looking forward to it. She'll be thrilled. When she wakes up."
"She'll be okay," Alexx crooned. "Everything will be okay." She stayed there with him for another eternal half hour, and the doctor finally appeared through the swinging doors.
"Mr. Caine? Your wife suffered a very slight concussion, as well as a few minor burns to the right hand and the face. She's perfectly stable. We have her sedated at the moment." He hesitated on the brink of his next remark.
"Why didn't you let her wake up?"
"We were afraid she would become too agitated, and we didn't want to have to explain things to her until we had the answers ourselves."
"Explain what things? What is wrong with her?" Horatio's eyes nailed the doctor's, and the doctor retreated to his chart.
"Her injuries are minor, except for one. She's blind."
Rating: PG-13.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, and I'm only borrowing them. No infringement intended, no profit obtained. Breeze alone is my personal creation. She is a work in progress, and you will see more of her in the future. And thanks go to Marianne for previewing the first scene and giving it the Speed seal of approval. He's the hardest character on the show for me to get into, because we're absolutely nothing alike, so I'm a bit nervous that my muse has decided to branch off more extensively in that direction.
Personal Writing Creed: I will NEVER in my life, under any circumstances, write a story that does not have a happy ending.
Series Recap: Fearful Symmetry, Can't Fight This Feeling, Gold Medals, Surprises, Honeymoon, Blackout, The Hopes and Fears, Anniversary, Framed. All archived at Lonely Road.
A/N: Beware, this one scores high on the angstometer. However, if you make it through this one, I promise, as a reward for enduring Framed and Sight, the next installment will contain no angst. Absolutely none. It is a one-parter that is pure fluff. Further preview of that story at the end of this one. Unlike most of the other Fearful Symmetry stories, Sight is cathartic. I've got a lot of imagination, but Calleigh's feelings here are not imagined. I only mention that because I think you would put it together by the end of chapter 2 anyway and wonder about it. If the feelings seem to go beyond fiction to reality, you're absolutely right, they do. Some factual details have been changed for the sake of the plot and to give poor Cal a break, but the thoughts are too real. I just needed to finish off something and mark it concluded, and writing about it is the best way I know to master it. Rest assured while reading this, all is well in real life and all will be well in fic life. Refer to my writing creed above.
Dedication: Sight is dedicated to my mother, who was my unfailing anchor and encouragement last winter during the most frustrating three months of my life.
***
"Eyes of unholy blue."
Thomas Moore
***
The roar of a motorcycle shattered the early Saturday morning calm. Along the desolate stretch of pavement sped a bike and its rider. She was leaning low into the wind of her own making, her medium length brunette hair wisping out beneath her helmet and thrown back in the force of her wake. The bike, like its rider, was only medium sized and unpretentious, the single bow to elaboration being the customized license plate. QK SLVR.
The woman slowed the bike as it passed a fence corner, bringing it to a halt suddenly, spinning it around with no question that the machine would bow to her will over its own momentum. And it did. She sat in the road, waiting for the second motorcycle, which buzzed over the last hill after a few seconds and slowed as it approached her. She took off her helmet, shaking out her hair. She always looked windswept, even without an excuse, but at the moment she had one. She laughed as the other bike came to a halt facing her. "Gonna have to change your nickname, Speed."
Speed grinned at her. "What would you change it to, Breeze?"
"Tortoise, maybe."
"The tortoise won that race in the end, you know." She laughed again and saluted him mockingly, scoring his point. He laughed with her. He had laughed more the last two months than he had in the two years before that, it seemed. She pulled on her helmet again and kicked her bike into action, not racing away this time, just riding. He moved his bike up beside her. The road was plenty wide enough, and there wasn't any traffic out here, anyway. That was why they had picked this straight, abandoned stretch of back road with no intersections to race.
Speed caught himself studying the woman who rode beside him. They hadn't raced much, but she invariably won. And he knew why. Breeze specialized in calculated risks. She knew exactly how far she could push her machine and herself, beyond strict caution but not to undue recklessness. It was why she had won against all the men who had raced her. The cautious analyzers were left eating her dust, but the recklessly uninhibited were pushed beyond their limits and lost control, while she came from behind to claim victory. Speed himself detested risks, calculated or otherwise. For him, the bike was something he could be in control of. He did not want to ride beyond his comfort level. Gradually, though, over the last two months of dating this woman, he had started to wonder if there were calculated risks worth taking. And the fact that he was starting to wonder scared him.
Breeze glanced across at him and shouted over the engine noise, not too loud now that they were just riding easily. "Want to go out to eat tomorrow night? My treat."
"I really need to work. Stuff is behind at the lab."
"It's the weekend. Come on."
Speed felt his brakes coming on again. He was enjoying the progress of this relationship, but it was frightening, too. She had had last night. She would have tonight. Were three nights in a row too close to a serious commitment? He had never had a serious commitment who didn't leave him. "I ought to work one night this weekend. I've already missed last night."
"Is your boss that much of a slave driver?"
"He's pretty demanding."
"You ought to introduce us some time."
"I will." But not just yet. They had double dated with Eric, but Speed didn't want to insert himself and Breeze under Horatio's microscope quite yet. H might take the honors at work, but Speed refused to let his boss solve his personal life before he had finished processing all the evidence himself. "I've really got to work Sunday night, Breeze. Maybe next weekend."
"Okay." She fell into silence, but she wasn't sulking. Speed liked how she would push but would back off at a roadblock sign, too. She was persistent but not annoying, taking the lead but not dragging him. He smiled, watching her, and she felt it and grinned back at him. "Race you to the next property line. I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself."
"Breeze." The protest died. What was the point? She wanted to, and she was hard to detour. "Okay. Go."
She waited courteously for the start signal, then accelerated smoothly, already pulling away from him in the first few seconds. He tried to make himself push the limits more and couldn't. She sailed away, rising over the next hill and out of sight. He knew he wouldn't be left behind, though. She would stop and wait for him. It always happened.
It didn't this time. She reappeared over the hill, traveling quickly even for her, and her face was dead white. "Tim," she shouted as she came up to him.
"What's wrong, Breeze?"
"There's a body in the ditch over that hill." Speed instantly accelerated, making better time than he had in the race, and she matched him but, this time, did not go on ahead, keeping her bike by his side.
***
Horatio opened his eyes, trying to make himself wake up gradually. No use. His brain instantly came online, ready for the day. It's Saturday, he told himself. We were going to sleep late. You already slept late, replied another part of himself. Most people wouldn't call this sleeping in, he replied. But you aren't most people, he pointed out to himself. He rolled over softly and feasted his eyes on Calleigh, giving himself his favorite subject to think about while trying to let her get a little more rest. They had worked long hours last week on a tough case, finally nailing the suspect yesterday afternoon, wrapping up the evidence late last night. They had both been teetering on the precipice of exhaustion when they got home and had barely had the strength to stagger to bed. They had mutually agreed to sleep late for once. So why was he awake already?
He memorized her face again. Soft strength, iron determination but with a delicate beauty when she truly opened her soul. She reminded him of sunlight. No, not sunlight as much as the northern lights. Aurora borealis. Shifting, shimmering, multicolored, bold and strong but artistically graceful, captivating the eyes of his heart. Calleigh.
She always looked vulnerable in sleep. He loved watching her that way. It was the ultimate privilege she could grant, to allow someone to see her defenseless. He appreciated the honor with every fiber of his soul and hoped that he could return it with an abandon that matched hers. All his life, he had feared abandon. All of his risks had been calculated. The only contrast he had ever known was emotional collapse, when everything that mattered fell apart before his eyes and in his heart. Only Calleigh had taught him emotional freefall, surrendering everything only to discover safety and freedom, not ruin. The parachute of love was strong and unfailing, once he had made the jump.
Her eyes fluttered and opened gradually. He filled her vision, as she filled his, the eyes connecting perfectly like matching puzzle pieces, blue to blue. What a delicious way to start the day, she thought. Horatio the first thing she saw every morning, as well as the last thing she saw every night. Waking up to find those incredible eyes watching her. She smiled lazily at him. "Morning, Handsome. What a life."
He followed her train of thought perfectly. "Morning. So many wasted mornings before this."
"Yep. And so many wasted nights."
"Mmmm." He gave a low rumble of agreement. "Like last night. We were too tired to see each other by the time we got to bed. We'll fall back into the past if we aren't careful."
"I'm not so tired now."
He caught her in his arms, his grasp gentle but unyielding. "Neither am I." She wound her own arms around his back, capturing him, as he had captured her. And the phone rang. "Let the machine get it," Horatio growled. "It's Saturday." In spite of himself, though, he raised his head, listening intently as the answering machine in the kitchen started recording.
"H, Speed. Pick up. It's important."
Horatio rolled over and picked up the bedside phone. "I'll take your word on that for the moment, but I demand proof."
"All you want." Speed's voice was somber. "Breeze found a body."
***
The Hummer pulled up, and Horatio and Calleigh exited. Breeze stood at a respectful distance, looking both upset and interested. Speed was kneeling by the body without touching it. "You got gloves?" Calleigh handed him a pair, and he snapped them on. "H, Calleigh, this is Breeze." He was already going in for a closer look at the body and didn't seem to register the fact that his introduction only included one out of three actual names.
Horatio smoothly covered the omission. "Horatio Caine," he said, extending a hand. "I've heard a lot about you."
"I've heard about you, too." She sized him up. Striking in appearance, especially the magnetic eyes, but the thing that intrigued her most was Speed's reaction to his arrival. Even while kneeling studying the body, Speed had straightened up slightly when Horatio arrived. Not in a stiffly military way - he was the least likely candidate to show military discipline she could think of - but subconsciously putting out an extra effort. He wanted to give his absolute best to his boss.
Horatio, formalities dispensed with, turned to join Speed at the body. Calleigh smiled at Breeze. "I'm glad to meet you, too." She liked the look of this woman. A bit rough around the edges, windswept, but there was strength in the eyes. She could easily picture her with Speed. "I'm sorry to go all professional," Calleigh apologized, "but we have to. Did anyone call the police?"
"Tim did right after he called you." Just then the police cruiser pulled up, and Adele exited, coming over to them.
"Adele, this is. . . " Calleigh stopped, forgetting the actual name for a minute. Breeze fit so well.
"Dana Silver." Breeze filled in the blank. Adele glanced at Horatio and Speed, still checking out the body. Speed was now snapping pictures.
"You were out riding and just found him?"
"Right. Just dumped there in the ditch, like somebody's trash." She shivered slightly. Calleigh gave her arm a warm squeeze.
"Calleigh." Horatio's call was quiet but sliced easily across the gap between them. She smiled at Breeze and went over to him as Adele took over the questioning. Horatio looked up at her, already almost predatory in his focus on the case, like she had seen him so often. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?"
The man lay crumpled on his side, like he had just been rolled out of a car, exactly like somebody's trash. Three things jumped out at her immediately. First was the lack of any obvious wound. The second was the expression on his features, a convulsed grimace. Strangest of all, though, were the pinprick red spots on the skin. "Never. What would make him all spotty like that?"
"We'll have to ask Alexx. Probably it's a side effect of some poison. Sure looks like a poison case. He died having convulsions."
"Strychnine, maybe?"
He shook his head. "I saw a strychnine case once. Once was enough. The convulsions and expression here aren't severe enough."
"Are you serious?" she asked, although she knew he was. This man looked like he had died in agony.
"Unfortunately, yes. Strychnine is worse. It also has a strongly unpleasant taste. Unless Alexx finds a needle mark somewhere, he probably ingested this poison orally. Nobody would ever swallow strychnine unless it was in a capsule or such."
"Why don't you think he took it in a capsule?"
Horatio opened the man's mouth slightly, indicating a slight scratch on its roof. "That looks fresh. I think however he took it, he cut his mouth. That wasn't a capsule." He glanced at his watch. "Alexx should be here soon. I called her."
"Well, we can rule out suicide," said Speed. "Unless he arranged for a friend to dump him in a ditch afterwards."
"There are less painful ways to commit suicide, anyway," said Calleigh. She eyed those taut features again. Strychnine was worse than this? "So how do you take poison and cut your mouth at the same time?"
"Put it on a fork?" Speed suggested.
"We'll have Alexx double check the timing on that scratch. Also see if she can get any residue from it. Either metal or poison." Horatio stood up and looked up and down the road. "Not a single car has been by since we got here."
"None since we found him," Breeze volunteered.
Adele looked around herself. "Nice desolate place to dump a body. But they didn't want to totally conceal it. It had to be found here in a day."
Calleigh had been patting down the victim, both looking for a wound and for anything else of interest. "Horatio, he's still got his wallet. It's in his back pocket, the one he's lying on." They rolled the victim gently and extracted it, and Calleigh handed it to Horatio. Adele came over to him as he opened it.
"Roger Claridge, age 39. And an address. Also about $50."
"Not robbery," said Adele.
"Nobody poisons someone at a robbery," Speed pointed out. Alexx and the ME's van pulled up just then, and they all stepped back to allow the others room to work.
"Alexx, what do you make of the red spots?" Horatio stood behind her, looking over her shoulder.
She studied them carefully. "It can be a sign of some poisons. Arsenic, DDT, narcissus. And other odder ones. Not too many could cause it, though. I'll be sure to test for all of them."
"Thank you, Alexx. Also, he has a scratch on the roof of his mouth. Was that there before death?"
She pried his teeth open. "I can tell better back at the lab, but it looks like it occurred right around the time of death. It took something sharp to do that, too. Not like a knife, with a blade, but still sharp." She closed the mouth gently. "You didn't have an easy exit, did you?"
"A fork?" Speed suggested again.
"Maybe, but it's a deep enough scratch that there should be others next to it from the other tines."
"A one-tined fork," he persisted.
"You may have a few, but I doubt he did," Horatio pointed out, looking at the man's clothes. He wasn't wearing a business suit, but there was no lack of money here, either. "Okay, Alexx, let me know the autopsy results. Speed." He hesitated, looking at Breeze.
"It's okay, sir," she said, the title coming naturally addressing him. "I'll just go on home. I've got my bike. Call me when you get finished tonight, Speed."
"Will do." She was starting to get over the first shock of it, Speed thought. She usually called him Speed and Tim about equally, enjoying the way his nickname fit with hers, but she had only called him Tim since finding the body. Reassured, he grinned apologetically at her, and she returned it, then mounted the bike again. QK SLVR left the scene but moving slowly now, all racing forgotten.
"She looks like a keeper," said Horatio.
Speed instantly jumped back to the case. "So, I'll check for tire tracks, residue, anything else around here. Doubt there's much, though. I think they just rolled him out of the back seat."
"There's bound to be something," Horatio said. "And it will be enough to nail the killers. Calleigh, go with Alexx to the autopsy. Make sure there isn't a wound somewhere to give us a weapon. Then track me down. I'm going with Adele to talk to the next of kin." His lips set together in a firm line. He absolutely hated talking to next of kin.
"Okay. See you later." He and Adele left, and Calleigh walked over to Speed. "She does look like a keeper."
"So, Alexx, find out anything yet?" Speed's remark darted away from Calleigh's comment.
"Yes," she replied instantly. Speed went over to her.
"What's that?"
"Horatio is right. She does look like a keeper."
"Stick to the case, would you? Remember the case?" Speed starting checking the road for residue, putting some distance between them, and Calleigh and Alexx grinned at each other over the body.
***
"Potassium bromate," said Alexx sadly, studying the preliminary lab reports. "I was afraid of that, after seeing his stomach lining. What a way to go. That explains the spots, and the internal ulcerations, and the damaged kidneys."
"Potassium bromate," Calleigh repeated thoughtfully. "Where have I heard of that before?"
"It's not as common anymore, but it's an ingredient in some neutralizers. Used in manufacturing cosmetics."
"Ugh." Calleigh eyed what was left of Roger Claridge. "Almost enough to make you think about stopping using cosmetics. Almost."
"It's actually harmless most of the time. There are far worse things in cosmetics."
"Harmless?"
"Unless it's taken internally. Potassium bromate reacts with the hydrochloric acid in the stomach and turns to hydrogen bromate, which is an extremely irritating acid. Unless potassium bromate gets to the stomach, it isn't dangerous."
"It wouldn't react in the mouth?"
"No. I'm still trying to work out the instrument on that scratch. Something sharp but not bladed. I am sure that it occurred right around death."
"What form would that be in, Alexx? Could you put it on something and stick it in someone's mouth?"
"Sure. It's a solution. And the stuff is highly toxic, once it hits the stomach. Dip anything into it and put it in the mouth, and it would be fatal without immediate treatment." She opened Claridge's mouth and studied the scratch again. "Maybe the scratch occurred when the convulsions started. If he still had whatever the instrument was in his mouth at that point, he could have grabbed at it desperately and cut himself getting it out because of the degenerating coordination." She gave the corpse a comforting pat on the shoulder.
"What's the effective time?"
"Five to twenty minutes." They both studied the body. "So he puts an unknown sharp object, which someone dipped in potassium bromate, in his mouth and leaves it there for five to twenty minutes. That still doesn't sound right."
Calleigh shook her head. "At least it's a starting point. The boys can try to track availability. You can't just buy it over the counter, can you?"
"No. It would be hard to find outside a cosmetics company, I would think. Don't hold me to that, though. I only give the method; the means is your job."
"Thanks. I'd better call Horatio and fill him in." Her eyes sparkled a bit at the thought of calling Horatio, even strictly on business, and Alexx smiled at her with warm understanding. Calleigh pulled out her cell phone and hit speed dial #1, glad that they could at least have open conversations now. "Hi, Handsome. We have some news for you." She reported all of the autopsy results.
"Great. Have Alexx tell Speed and Eric. They can work on the chemical. I also have a few names to run through the computer." He gave them to her, and Calleigh wrote them down.
"These are our vic's enemies?"
"Right, according to his wife. One of them is his own brother. She says there was bad blood between them. I'm not sure I buy that brother being a murderer, but we'll check him out, of course."
"Why don't you like him for a suspect?"
"There's another brother, only this one is mentally retarded. The brother the wife named keeps him and looks after him. That shows compassion, and not many murderers have it."
"I see what you mean. Are you and Adele going over to talk to him?"
"Only me. Adele got called off on a breaking development on one of her other cases. She asked me to forge on alone." She heard the smile in his voice. Adele often protested, in a good natured way, that Horatio was trying to do her job as well as his.
"That'll be hard on you, I know, but you'll just have to manage. Want some company?"
"Depends on whose." He followed her thought but playfully pretended not to.
"Mine."
"Always, then."
"Always." Calleigh's smile mirrored his, and Alexx grinned more broadly to herself, knowing that Calleigh wasn't paying any attention to her at the moment. How on earth had it taken those two so long to get together? Everyone in the office had seen their special link for years, a link that just wasn't there with other members of the team. At least they were together now. Finally.
"I'm almost driving by CSI on my way to his house. Is five minutes too soon to start eternity?"
"Not soon enough, but I'll try to hold out. See you then."
"I'm counting the seconds. Bye for now." Horatio hung up, and Calleigh stood there for another second, holding the cell phone like the memory of the conversation alone would continue it.
"Calleigh," Alexx asked patiently, "what was it he wanted you to tell me?" Calleigh's mind returned to her body with a jerk, and she started filling Alexx in.
***
Horatio brought Calleigh up to date as the Hummer crawled through the Saturday afternoon traffic. "Claridge's hobby is woodworking. He has a workshop separate from the house. Last night, he was working on a project there late, and his wife didn't wait up for him. They had separate bedrooms. When he wasn't there this morning, she assumed he had gotten up earlier and gone back to work out there. She had a hair appointment herself, so she got ready and left without looking for him."
Calleigh stared at him. "You mean she actually never missed him until you knocked on the door?"
He nodded. "They rarely talked, hardly ever ate together, even on the weekends." He glanced across at her. "What some people call marriage never ceases to amaze me."
"That's not marriage; it's coexistence."
"Coexistence with vows. That should mean something, call for some effort, anyway."
Calleigh reached across and put a hand on his arm. "Horatio, everyone in the world isn't like you. It's wonderful that you think they should be, but it isn't going to happen." She squeezed his arm. "Don't you dare change, though." He seemed a bit edgy, unusually sensitive to the world's failings, even for him. "What's the matter?"
"I'm not sure." The comment was completely honest. "I've just got a feeling, nothing I can explain, that something is wrong, or is about to be wrong, or something." He was less articulate than usual, trying to explain something that didn't make sense. Horatio detested things that didn't make sense.
Calleigh was suddenly uneasy herself. Horatio's instincts were remarkably accurate, even when he couldn't explain them. "Just now, you mean? Talking to the wife?"
He shook his head. "All day today. Since we left the house." His lips compressed slightly as he tried to track that feeling down and again drew a blank. "Anyhow, the wife. She admits that there had been distance between them. Said he was totally wrapped up in work. Most of the enemies she listed are work enemies. He was an executive. I took a quick look in the workshop. Nothing jumped out at me, but we'll get Speed and Eric to process it. It could be our primary crime scene. I locked the shop at the moment to secure it and took the key."
"What about the brother?"
"They were estranged. Hadn't spoken in two years, after Claridge told the third brother to his face they should put him in a home. According to the wife, he didn't think his brother qualified as a full person. Gregory Claridge disagreed. He and his wife were taking care of him themselves."
"I can see why you don't like Greg as much as a candidate."
His thoughts returned to the wife. "She said she just didn't notice her husband was missing. And it fit with her attitude. Not even angry at him for working so hard, just apathetic. She didn't even care enough to act like she cared he was dead. They shared nothing but the address." He looked across at her. "I hope I never stop noticing you, Cal."
"You won't. Anymore than I would stop noticing you. I'll stop breathing first." His eyes went distant again, chasing out that tantalizing feeling that didn't make sense. To distract him, Calleigh told him about Alexx and the phone call. "She thinks we're cute."
"We are." He kissed her hand as they were stopped at a light. "Speaking of cute, what did you think of Breeze?"
"I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it. She's just like him."
"A bit more assertive, but they're awfully similar. I hope Speed doesn't let this one get away."
"I think she's chasing him."
He grinned. "I bet she's faster, too." They pulled up at the house. It was a large place with an extensive front yard and a high paneled fence hiding the back yard. Horatio and Calleigh walked up the sidewalk to the door. No one answered the knock, but the latch hadn't quite caught, and the door swung open as Horatio knocked again. Tentatively, they entered. "Miami-Dade Police," Horatio called. "Is anyone here? Mr. Claridge? Mrs. Claridge?"
Calleigh looked around the large living room. "No lack of money in this place. Why would they leave their door unlocked when they go somewhere?"
"There was a car in the drive." They circled the living room, studying the furnishings, looking for any signs of life. Horatio started toward the back of the house. "Is anyone here?" he called again. "Hello." Calleigh headed for the other exit, a side door leading to a hall, then stopped short with a gasp. Horatio heard her and whirled around instantly.
A large man came out of the first door off the hall. He was at least 6 feet 3 and burly. From the back, he would have looked like a football player. From the front, Calleigh instantly realized that he would be more likely to play with blocks. The eyes were those of a startled child, the features slack. What drew their attention instantly, though, was the gun. He held an old pistol in his hands, leveling it at Calleigh. Her trained eyes instantly sized it up. Old, dusty, rusty, and uncleaned. It looked like it had been in an attic or on a closet shelf for years. If it was loaded, in that condition, it was as dangerous to the man holding it as to her. "Cat," he said, waving the gun threateningly toward Calleigh.
"No," she said with forced calm. "I'm Calleigh. You must be . . . " She looked over to Horatio, not knowing his name.
"Phillip," said Horatio. "You must be Phillip. We're with the police, Phillip. Is your brother around? Or his wife?" He started toward them with smooth strides, his voice silky, not reaching for his own gun. Phillip instantly tightened his grip on the gun and waved it at both of them. Horatio stopped. "We're not going to hurt you, Phillip. We just want to talk." His eyes sized up the gun's condition as quickly as Calleigh's had.
Phillip frowned slightly. "You're not the cat? Burglar?"
Understanding was instant. The Miami cat burglar, as the press had dubbed him, had stalked the city for weeks now, raiding only unoccupied houses, stealing only items that were easily fenced. There were never any witnesses, even when neighbors had been immediately next door and awake. There had never been any violence. His name was increasingly in the news, though, and Phillip had obviously heard of him, probably from television.
"No," said Calleigh. "We're not the cat burglar. He only comes at night. We're the police." She oozed femininity suddenly. "And he isn't a woman. We just need to talk to your brother. Give me the gun, Phillip, so we can talk." She edged forward. He lowered the weapon uncertainly. Horatio held his ground, since Calleigh seemed to have a better connection with Phillip at the moment. He was listening to her. "We just need to talk to them about something, and then we'll go. And that gun is dangerous. You could hurt yourself." She was almost up to him now. "Come on, give it to me, Phillip. You don't want to hurt someone, do you?" He shook his head. "I didn't think so. Let me have it." He extended the gun slowly toward her, holding it sideways now, not pointing it. Calleigh stopped two feet away and started to reach for it.
A door banged loudly in the back of the house, and Phillip, who had been totally focused on Calleigh, jumped, his fingers tightening reflexively, one of them hitting the trigger. The long-neglected gun blew up as the bullet exploded still in the chamber. The flash lit the hallway as the explosion echoed through the house. Calleigh was thrown backwards by the blast into the living room, and Phillip was tossed back down the hall a few feet.
Horatio's heart stopped, even as his feet started. "Calleigh!" He was never aware of the steps it took him to reach her. He frantically felt for a pulse and relaxed a bit as he found a strong one. All vitals seemed stable. She had some minor burns on her hand and her face, but she seemed to have just been knocked out when she fell.
"What the hell. . . Phillip!" A woman ran into the living room and froze, her horrified eyes tracking from Horatio to Calleigh to Phillip. She went to Phillip first, kneeling beside him. He was writhing on the hall floor. "Who are you? What happened?"
"Miami-Dade Police. The door was open. Phillip apparently thought we were burglars, and the gun he had exploded." Horatio wrenched himself away from Calleigh long enough to assess Phillip. He looked worse. Of course, he had actually been holding the gun, which Calleigh hadn't yet. Both hands and arms were burned badly. "Mrs. Claridge, call 911 and get me some cloths soaked in cold water."
She stood up, numbly obeying. Phillip's panicked eyes looked like a wounded animal's, unable to comprehend the sudden pain. He focused on Horatio in spite of it. "I didn't mean it, Mister," he gasped.
"I know you didn't," Horatio assured him. His anger was at whoever had left a gun within Phillip's reach, any gun, cared for or not. It had been an accident waiting to happen, and it could have been triggered by something else if not by them today. "It's okay, Phillip." He patted him comfortingly on the shoulder.
"Is she okay?"
Horatio looked back at Calleigh. He could see her breathing steadily. "Just knocked out, I think." Phillip's expression was puzzled. "Yes, she's okay." He still wasn't sure himself, but it would calm Phillip down.
Mrs. Claridge returned at that point with a bowl full of cold water and some washrags. "Soak them and put them on his hands and arms," Horatio directed. He headed back to Calleigh. All vitals still strong. She looked almost peaceful. He gripped her hand tightly, repeating his words to Phillip, trying to reassure himself. "She's okay. She's okay." But the uneasy feeling that had haunted him all day remained.
***
Horatio hated paperwork at the best of times. He especially hated paperwork now, while Calleigh disappeared through the ER doors. He told himself that it was helping her and tried not to snap at the triage nurse.
"Is she allergic to any medications?"
"No." Couldn't she write faster? Horatio fought down the urge to rip the clipboard from her hand and scribble the answers down himself.
"Is she on medication for any pre-existing condition?"
"No." He craned his neck, trying to see through the tiny glass windows in the swinging doors. And that was pointless. It only led to a hallway. He suddenly hated those doors.
"Is there any chance she could be pregnant?"
That one brought his full consideration. "Not that we know of, but you'd better run an HCG before doing any x-rays, just to double check."
The nurse made another methodical note on the clipboard. "If you'll have a seat in the waiting room, Mr. Caine, we'll let you know her condition as soon as possible."
Horatio dropped into a seat in the waiting room, but his mind sprinted through the swinging doors, following Calleigh. She was stable, he told himself. Perfectly stable. Even the EMTs had seemed more concerned about Phillip. He felt a moment's sympathy for Phillip, who had been bewildered by the pain but showed more stoicism than a lot of people Horatio had known. Then his attention swung back, like iron to a magnet, to Calleigh. What was taking so long?
A hand landed gently on his shoulders, and he looked up into Alexx's concerned eyes. "Any word?"
"Not yet. She was stable, though. I think she was just knocked out by the blast." Alexx picked up his hand gently, and he realized that he had dug his fingernails clear into his palm while thinking.
"What happened out there, Horatio?" He told her, and her sympathy widened to include Phillip. "Poor man."
"Right. He was handing it over to her. Just a stupid accident, but it should have never happened. Who could leave a gun where he could get it?" He had more personal things than the case to discuss with Gregory Claridge when the chance came. Alexx saw the thought and stroked his hand gently.
"Mr. Caine?" Horatio bounced up out of the chair to face the orderly. "I was told to give you a brief report. Your wife is perfectly stable. We're still running tests. One thing, though, the HCG came back positive. She is pregnant."
Horatio's feelings somersaulted from worry to elation back to worry. "Is everything okay? How far along is she?"
"About five weeks. And everything seems okay, from the child's point of view."
His thoughts refocused on Calleigh. "Has she regained consciousness yet?" Surely, from simply being knocked out, she should be awake by now.
"Um, well." The orderly stalled, and Horatio actually gripped both his arms painfully, ready to squeeze the answer out of him. Alexx gently pried him off. "She started to regain consciousness, but the doctor sedated her. He didn't want her awake until more testing was completed."
That sounded wrong even to Alexx. "Testing for what? Why wouldn't he want her awake?"
"The doctor will tell you more as soon as he can. We don't know everything yet. I have to go now." He retreated, still eyeing Horatio warily, and vanished through those hated swinging doors.
Horatio collapsed in a chair. "Why wouldn't they let her wake up? I would think it would help in assessing for a head injury."
Alexx didn't have any answers for once. "I don't know. I'm sure they had a reason." She stroked his arm again. "You didn't know she was pregnant, did you?"
"No." His mental calculator switched on. "Five weeks. That would make her due in February." He smiled in anticipation. "We've really been looking forward to it. She'll be thrilled. When she wakes up."
"She'll be okay," Alexx crooned. "Everything will be okay." She stayed there with him for another eternal half hour, and the doctor finally appeared through the swinging doors.
"Mr. Caine? Your wife suffered a very slight concussion, as well as a few minor burns to the right hand and the face. She's perfectly stable. We have her sedated at the moment." He hesitated on the brink of his next remark.
"Why didn't you let her wake up?"
"We were afraid she would become too agitated, and we didn't want to have to explain things to her until we had the answers ourselves."
"Explain what things? What is wrong with her?" Horatio's eyes nailed the doctor's, and the doctor retreated to his chart.
"Her injuries are minor, except for one. She's blind."