Thomas spent a week in Darnell, then announced that he was off to Rio. The morning after he left, Calleigh found an album of photographs on the foot of her bed. For my beautiful sister he'd written. The first photograph was of Arundhati standing in a marketplace, a basket in her hand. Her face was turned towards the camera, caught in a laugh. Calleigh smiled sadly; now she understood why Thomas had fallen so hard for this woman.

A month after Thomas' departure, Marjorie knocked on Calleigh's door. "You have a visitor," she announced.

Calleigh wasn't dressed for company but she couldn't be bothered to change. She ran a brush through her hair and pulled on a pair of slippers. When she got downstairs, she wished she'd made more of an effort.

Horatio stood in the middle of the living room, his hands in his pockets. Now that he was here, she realized just how much she'd missed him. His back was towards her as he looked at the family photographs on the wall. Calleigh nervously fiddled with the hem of her shirt.

"Hi," she said when she finally found her voice.

He turned slowly, his expression unreadable. Then, as he looked at her, he smiled. "Hi."

"What are you doing here?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them, and she bit her tongue to keep from saying anything else.

"I wanted to see for myself how you were doing. Everyone says to tell you they miss you."

"How are you coping without me?"

A look of pain crossed his face and Calleigh knew he'd misinterpreted the question.

"At work," she added. "Alexx says there's a new guy. I guess I'm not that hard to replace." She laughed.

"No one could replace you."

The conversation was heading into dangerous territory. She needed to turn back quickly. Now, while there was still time. "Uh, can I get you something to drink?"

"Your mother's already offered."

"Oh. Well, umm, sit." Calleigh felt ridiculously like a schoolgirl. She gestured for him to sit on the couch while she curled up in an armchair.

"How are you?"

"Good. I'm good. Just about all better, although my mama's still paranoid about letting me do anything. Sometimes it hurts, but I think that's psychosomatic." Aware she was babbling, Calleigh was helpless to stop herself. "Doc Abbot gave me vitamin E oil to rub on the scars. I think it's helping. They're not as bad as they used to be . . ."

She trailed off as Horatio knelt in front of the armchair and raised his hands to her waist. She held her breath when he tugged the drawstrings of her pants and pulled them down just enough to see her scar. He rubbed his thumb over the raised flesh. She closed her eyes; his touch had made her spine tingle.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his breath falling hot against her skin. When his lips brushed her scar, she let her head fall back.

You shouldn't be doing this! her conscience screamed.

I know she agreed, even as her fingers wound through his hair, pulling him closer. But she had missed him and it had been so long since she'd felt his touch and . . .

Marjorie coughed from the doorway. Horatio returned to his seat, looking at a spot on the floor, his usually composed face flushed. Calleigh knew he was as embarrassed as she was. She buried her face in her hands, not sure whether to thank her mother or curse her for the interruption.

"Well," Marjorie drawled, "I see my daughter's taken Southern hospitality to another extreme."

Calleigh was mortified. She sank further into the armchair and wished she could disappear completely.

"I assume you'll be staying for dinner, Mr. Caine?"

"If I'm not intruding—"

"Not at all. It's been a while since this house has seen a dinner party."

"Mother! A small dinner's fine. You don't have to go to the effort of—"

"Nonsense." Marjorie smiled, ever the perfect hostess. "It's not an effort. Mr. Caine has come all the way here."

"Call me Horatio," he said.

Marjorie turned her smiling face to him and it was settled. Calleigh wondered exactly when it was that she'd lost control of her life.

* * *

Horatio studied Marjorie Duquesne over his glass of brandy. When she'd pressed the drink into his hand, he'd found himself unable to decline. He smiled, likening her to a force of nature. She reminded him of Calleigh. They both moved with the same elegant grace and carried their beauty with an unconscious ease. It was obvious where Calleigh got her spirit from.

Marjorie glanced upwards. "I wonder what's taking her so long."

Calleigh had disappeared earlier, saying she needed to get ready for dinner. Horatio felt underdressed, especially when Marjorie had come down in a beautiful blue gown. "Who else is coming to dinner?" he asked.

Marjorie smiled, noticing his confusion. "No one. I enjoy playing hostess, and Calleigh needed an excuse to get out of those awful sweatsuits she insists on wearing."

"Is this the house she grew up in?"

Marjorie nodded. "Yes, although I'm afraid it doesn't hold too many happy memories for her. I only found the courage to divorce Ken once she and Tommy had left."

"Tommy?"

She picked up a photo. "Her younger brother. He's a photographer. Calleigh preferred a different kind of shooting, unfortunately."

Horatio smiled, enjoying this glimpse of Calleigh's family. He pointed to another photograph, recognizing a younger version of Calleigh holding hands with a strange boy. "Is this Tommy?"

Marjorie sighed and sat down. She smiled fondly but what she said came as a complete surprise to Horatio. "That's Clayton. Calleigh's twin."

"Calleigh has a twin?"

"Had. He drowned about a month after this picture was taken. Calleigh was devastated; he was only six years old."

"I'm sorry." Horatio set the picture down, sensing he'd pried enough.

"That's when my husband started drinking. Our marriage went downhill from then on. When Calleigh started playing with guns, I just about died. I was convinced she'd end up shooting herself. And then she came home one day and told me she wanted to be a cop. Every time the phone rings I pray it isn't someone calling to tell me she's dead. I don't think I could stand to lose another child."

"Calleigh's good at what she does. You should be proud of her."

"It still almost got her killed, didn't it?"

Horatio sat next to her. "No, it didn't. I almost got her killed."

Just as Marjorie looked at him in surprise, Calleigh spoke from the door. "No, you didn't."

Horatio held his breath. Calleigh was a vision in red, the dress hugging her in all the right places. For a moment, she was all he saw, then, slowly, the rest of the world came back into focus.

Marjorie chose that moment to disappear, saying she needed to see if dinner was ready.

"Calleigh, you look . . . you look great."

"It's not black, but it is one of the few dresses that still fits me. I swear, my mother's trying to fatten me up."

He shook his head, unable to see even an ounce of fat on her. He realized he was staring and took a sip of brandy.

Calleigh came to sit next to him. "So tell me why you really came. As great as Rosa's cooking is, I'm sure it wasn't that. And I also doubt it was to chat to my mother."

"You've been away a long time."

She nodded. "Doctor's orders. No work until I was completely recovered."

"Are you coming back?"

She hesitated long enough for his heart to break. "I really don't know, Horatio."

"Dinner's ready," Marjorie announced.

* * *

"Do you know why Dos Santos tried to kill you?" Horatio asked. He and Calleigh sat on the porch steps, looking out at the night sky.

"It doesn't matter," Calleigh said.

"Yes, it does." He thought she'd never been more beautiful than she was now, her face bathed in moonlight, her hair falling softly past her shoulders. He was close enough to feel her warmth without actually touching her and he ached to close the gap between them.

"I'm just glad nothing happened to Ray."

"I'm not here to talk about Ray."

Calleigh sighed. "Dos Santos is in prison. He can't hurt anyone anymore."

"Calleigh—"

"I used to sit out here with my dad, when he wasn't passed out on the floor." Calleigh swiftly changed the subject. "We talked about everything. And it kind of made up for everything else he did."

"I've seen a lot of your dad lately," he confessed.

"He's had you picking him up at the bar, hasn't he? I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to deal with him."

"I picked him up once. We had a long chat when he sobered up." He didn't tell her that Kenwall had been so drunk that he'd forgotten about his daughter's injury. "He joined the AA. He's been sober for a month and a half now."

Calleigh shook her head. "He says that but every time he's tried, he's failed."

"He means it this time."

Calleigh was silent.

"You said earlier that you weren't sure you wanted to come back to Miami."

"I don't know what I want."

"You know, we never had that talk."

She turned her head. "Horatio, don't do this."

His eyes met hers. Please, they begged.

Hers said, I can't.

He gave the tiniest of nods and bent his head to hers. Her lips parted enough to allow his tongue access to her mouth. She kissed him back with equal fierceness. Drowning in her, he found some last reserve of sanity and pulled back. He cupped her cheek in his palm, surprised to find it wet with tears.

"I'm sorry," he said. He'd never meant to make her cry. "I'd better go. I have a plane to catch in a couple of hours."

When she didn't stop him from leaving, he told himself it didn't matter.

It was a lie.