Samantha was on her third cup of coffee when Horatio arrived at the office the next morning. She focused her attention on her mug when he looked at her.

"Sam?"

"Morning." Her smile was a little too bright.

"About last night, I'm sorry. I wasn't myself. I know that's absolutely no excuse but I need you to know I never meant—"

"Horatio, it's okay. Don't worry about it."

He didn't look convinced.

"Look, you didn't take advantage of me or anything, I promise. Please don't feel bad about it."

He pulled out a chair and sat down. "It was unfair of me."

In an instant, she understood. It wasn't guilt for himself, or even her. "This is about Calleigh, isn't it?"

He said nothing and she knew she was right.

"You feel that you've been unfaithful to her."

"We were never together, in that sense."

Samantha shrugged. "It doesn't change the way you feel about her. Horatio, don't feel guilty. In your head, you were with her last night. And . . . you have to face the possibility that she might not come back."

Horatio surprised her then and took her hand. "It's hard, isn't it?"

"What's hard?"

"To see someone everyday and realize one day that you're in love but can never, ever, have that person."

Samantha pulled her hand away and stood. "I don't know what you mean."

Jack chose that moment to arrive. Horatio raised his eyebrow at Samantha. She flushed and sipped her coffee to hide her discomfort. If Jack noticed the tension in the room, he said nothing.

"We got lucky. I have phone records from Tuesday night showing that one phone call came into Calleigh's room. It's a cell phone belonging to a William Mansell. He registered for the conference and one of the lectures he signed up for was Calleigh's."

Horatio looked up, new life in his eyes. "Do we have an address?"

The first time Calleigh Duquesne woke up, she was still too drugged to understand what was happening. The next time, her mind was clear and her arms ached from the position she lay in. Aerosmith blared in her ears, a blindfold covered her eyes and she was gagged. When she tried to move, pain shot through her shoulder blades and she lay still and prayed for relief.

The third time, she was jerked awake as her captor ripped the duct tape from her mouth. She breathed in deep gulps of air, mistakenly thinking that she was being rescued. But the blindfold and the earphones remained in place, and there was no attempt to remove the handcuffs from her wrists. She felt a straw at her lips and tentatively sucked on it. When she discovered it was water, she wanted to cry.

Too soon, it was pulled away and more tape covered her mouth. She struggled, unaware of whom or why she was fighting. The handcuffs dug into her already raw wrists and she moaned against the gag.

Please, she thought, please just let me go.

There were hands on her cheek. Hands in her hair. Lips on her forehead. She twisted her head away. Steve Tyler screamed in her ear. The blindfold was damp with her tears.

At this point, it was easy to surrender to the fear that had threatened to overwhelm her since the second awakening.

Calleigh let go.

William Mansell lived in Queens in an apartment block that had seen better days. He answered his door with a smile and seemed unsurprised that the FBI wanted to speak to him.

"Yeah, I was at the conference," he said. "I heard one of the speakers went missing. That's not cool."

"Mr. Mansell, you're not a law enforcement officer. What exactly was your interest in the conference?" Horatio and Jack had agreed beforehand that Samantha would do the questioning, partly because of her resemblance to Calleigh and partly because people always tended to underestimate her.

Mansell's smile widened. "I'm a writer. I thought it would be useful research, you know. For my novel. It's a thriller."

"Thrilling."

Mansell narrowed his eyes and dropped his gaze from Samantha's eyes to her chest, then her legs. "My central protagonist is a female FBI agent. Think 'Silence of the Lambs', but not. You know, we should have dinner sometime. I'd like some insight into your job."

Samantha was sure that wasn't the only thing he wanted insight into. She cleared her throat and glanced at Jack and Horatio. Neither one of them seemed impressed with William Mansell.

"You attended Calleigh Duquesne's lecture, is that correct?"

"Yep."

"And you called her that night."

"If you say so, it must be true."

Samantha smiled. "What did you speak about? Our records show the call lasted seven minutes."

"There's a shooting in my novel. I wanted her opinion on the accuracy of the scene. She agreed to meet me for breakfast on Wednesday morning but, unfortunately, she never arrived. I thought she'd changed her mind. I called her hotel again but she wasn't there either."

Samantha nodded. "And where were you supposed to meet?"

"Nino's. They've got the best waffles."

"Okay. I think that's all, Mr. Mansell. Thanks for your time."

"Please, call me Will. And give me a call when you close this case. I'd love to talk to you about it."

It was a struggle for Samantha not to laugh at the look of horror on Jack's face. "Good luck with your novel."

As they stood to leave, Horatio asked, "What did you do about the scene?"

"Which scene?"

"The shooting."

Mansell shrugged. "I'm thinking of scrapping it. It's a psychological thriller anyway. Think Jonathan Kellerman. Think Jeffrey Deaver."

Jack handed Mansell a card. "If you think of anything else, please let us know."

"No problem."

Samantha was pleased to be out of Mansell's apartment. "Well?" she asked.

"The story seems solid," Jack said.

"What about you, Horatio? Do you think Calleigh would have agreed to meet him?"

Horatio nodded. "Probably."

Nino's catered to a young crowd, mostly college-age people. Samantha followed Jack to the counter. As they waited for the manager, Samantha realized it was just she and Jack and she felt suddenly awkward.

"I'm sorry I missed your call last night," she said.

Jack didn't look at her but she felt him stiffen next to her.

"What did you want to talk about?"

"It's not important."

"Jack—"

"Can I help you folks?" The manager had purple hair, a nose ring and a nametag that identified him as Mickey. Or her, Samantha thought. It was hard to tell when everyone was so androgynous. He (or she) smiled at the agents. "Table for two?"

Jack showed Mickey his badge. "Agent Malone. This is Agent Spade. We're investigating a disappearance."

"No way!"

"Yes way. Were you working on Wednesday morning?"

"Yeah."

Jack took out a photo of Calleigh. "Did you see this woman here?"

Mickey nodded and pointed to a table near the window. "She was sitting over there with Will."

"William Mansell?"

Mickey rolled her (or his) eyes. "Yeah. He's always in here talking about the novel he's supposedly writing."

Samantha and Jack looked at each, both feeling that they'd finally got a break. Samantha leaned forward. "Do you know what they were talking about?"

"Max!" Mickey yelled. A pretty girl (or boy, Samantha thought as she took in Max's appearance) approached the counter.

"Yeah?"

"You had Will's table on Wednesday, right? With the hot blonde?"

Max nodded.

"What did they talk about?"

"He was showin' her some pages, from his book, I guess. Somethin' about a shootin'. I didn't, like, listen to their whole conversation or anythin'. But they were here for, like, an hour an' a half. She was makin' notes an' shakin' her head an' stuff."

"Did they argue about anything?"

"Nope. He was, like, upset but he didn't say nothin'. He paid for the meal and called a cab for her."

"What did he do after she left?"

"Nothin'. He got in the cab with her."

Samantha glanced outside at Horatio. He was on the phone to someone in Miami. She left Jack to thank Max and Mickey and went to fill Horatio in.

William Mansell picked up his notepad and sat at the foot of his bed. Calleigh had stopped struggling a while ago; he hoped she wasn't dead. That wouldn't do, not before they had the chance to chat about what she'd felt. He made a few notes about the FBI's visit. This was the best idea he'd had – the novel was going to be great. He decided he'd wait a few days before calling the female agent. He needed to finish this bit of research first.

He wondered what Calleigh would have thought if she'd known the FBI had been in the very next room, looking for her, and congratulated himself on his cleverness. This was going to make a great scene. He turned the hi-fi off and removed the earphones. Calleigh didn't move, even when he shook her shoulder.

"Ahh, shit. Not good."

Then he brightened; here was the opportunity for him to dispose of a body. He smiled. "Now that's what I call invaluable research."

He stepped back and ran through his options. He always thought best out loud. "Butcher knife . . . too messy, too much time. Dumpster in an alley? Maybe . . . Or I could dump her in the park. Acid to disguise her? Nah, where would I get acid anyway? Fire? Or I could dump her in the Hudson . . . Hmm, this is harder than I thought."

There was a loud crash as the SWAT team broke through the front door. Mansell hardly had time to think before he was pinned to the floor by a heavy body.

"This is not cool," he mumbled into the carpet. "I know my rights. You can't just do this."

Horatio was the first at Calleigh's side. He pulled the blindfold off and removed the gag. "Calleigh? Cal, talk to me. Calleigh, wake up!"

The paramedics pushed him aside and started to work on her. "I've got a pulse," one of them said, and Horatio remembered how to breathe again. He felt Samantha's hand on his arm as they took Calleigh away. He turned to her, certain that her smile mirrored his, and hugged her.

"You got her back," Samantha said. "Your second chance. Don't waste it."

He didn't intend to.