"Most profilers say serial killers don't learn from mistakes in their previous killings, but I believe they do. They try to improve on their previous effort. You know how the more you do something, the better you get at it? Well, there comes a point where you peak, and you can only go down. With serial killers, a greed factor will set in where they'll believe the more they kill and get away with it, the easier it will be. And that's when they get sloppy and get caught." Tod W. Burke, professor of criminology at Radford University and a former police officer.

(H/C)

Eric Delko had never actually thrown up at a crime scene, but this one came close. He swallowed hard and forced himself to take deep breaths. "This woman is just sick, H. With every vic, she goes further."

Horatio was looking paler than usual himself. "She's enjoying it. But the more confident and wrapped up in it she gets, the more likely she is to make mistakes. Her lines aren't quite as straight anymore. She's starting to get careless." He swept the scene with his eyes like radar, turning to get the full picture. The body this time was in another lot behind some businesses. It was lying between two dumpsters and, because everyone only threw bags of trash in the nearer dumpster until it was full, no one had walked around to discover the man until the late afternoon. "She's trying for a parallel frame again with the dumpsters. Come to think of it, that first body was centered between a dumpster and a wall. She's slipping, though. You can tell from the burns. Let's really be careful going over this one."

Eric glanced at the sun. "We're going to lose the light, H."

"We'll go as far as we can, then set up guards and finish it tomorrow. We aren't processing this scene with lights." Horatio's hands, on his hips, clenched slightly in a rarely visible sign of frustration. "She will make her mistake. They all do. And when she does, we'll find it."

Eric nodded and changed angle for another picture. Horatio's cell phone rang, and he snapped it open without even looking at the caller ID for once, his eyes still fixed on the crime scene. "Horatio."

"Hey." Calleigh heard the distracted note in his voice, and she did not attach the nickname Handsome. He was fully focused on the crime at the moment, as he should be. She didn't want to disturb any chains of evidence that might be forming in his mind. "I just heard the news. Do you need me at the scene?"

He was silent for a minute, weighing her professional and family responsibilities, and she gave him time, trusting him for the decision. "I don't think so, Cal, at least not tonight. Peter just got in, and we're going to lose the light here in a couple of hours, anyway. We'll have to pick it up tomorrow. Also, Alexx had just left, and I didn't call her back. She can do the autopsy tomorrow morning, and you can get the bullet then. This isn't a one-day case."

"Same details as all the others?"

"The same but worse. We have got to catch this woman."

"We will. Do you want me to see if Jonathan can keep Rosalind tomorrow? Peter's here, but he's got no experience with kids. We don't want to throw him in the deep end right away. She could play with Alexx's kids while we're working."

"Why can't she just go to daycare?"

"Tomorrow's Saturday, Horatio."

He had forgotten, lost in the case. He looked over at Eric, the fun-loving date machine who hadn't even blinked when he'd mentioned working tomorrow, and wondered whether Eric had also forgotten or had just sacrificed the day off without regret to try to catch this killer. "So it is. Calleigh, you'd better tell Peter what's going on."

"I'd already explained that we'll still have to work while he's here. He won't mind."

"I'm sorry about tonight, Cal. Enjoy the evening yourself. I'll be pretty late, I'm afraid. We've got to check in everything we get tonight at CSI after it gets dark."

"It doesn't matter, Horatio. I understand." His mind was tracking some lead on the case again. She had heard the gears change from courteous regret to purpose. "I'll let you get back to work. See you later."

"See you later, Calleigh. I love you."

Calleigh smiled to herself. Even when his mind was elsewhere while he said it, his velvet tone caressing those words warmed her soul. "I love you, too. Bye, Horatio."

"Bye." He snapped the phone shut and pocketed it blindly, his eyes fixed on the man's hair, the jet black hair. Once again, this victim was on the small side for a male. "Eric, I think it's time we gave some of her victim selection criteria to the press. Obviously, the hair and size are staying consistent. Maybe we can warn future victims." All investigations withhold certain details of method for use later in trapping the killer, who couldn't have known them through the media. In this case, though, now that they were sure on that link, Horatio was willing to give up the knowledge if it would save even one life.

Eric waved a gloved hand toward the KMIA remote van, pulling up a few hundred feet away. Travis Fox, self-proclaimed emcee of Miami's crime scene, had arrived. "There's Fox, right on cue."

Horatio shook his head. "I said the press. He doesn't deserve the title." He considered briefly, consulting the Rolodex of his mind, then pulled his cell phone out again and dialed. Eric wondered if he ever had to look up a number after hearing it once. "Bruce? Horatio Caine. Did you hear about the latest murder? Right, the one Fox already announced several minutes ago. Well, I've got an exclusive for you."

(H/C)

Calleigh snapped her cell phone shut and put it back in her purse, then started the car, pulling out of the short-term parking lot. Peter, who had been engaged in a good-natured, on his part at least, staring contest with Rosalind, turned back around in his seat. "Does he need you?"

"Not tonight. Most of this one will have to be processed tomorrow, since they got started so late in the afternoon. We can't let night shift take it; we're trying not to split this investigation. I'm afraid it ruins our Saturday, though."

"I understand. Look, Cal, you two – uh, three – go on with your lives, just like I wasn't here. I haven't needed a baby-sitter for years."

She grinned at his tone. "That reminds me, I've got to call Jonathan when we get home, see if he can watch Rosalind tomorrow. Not that I don't trust you, Peter, but she doesn't know you yet. A whole day of her would get on both your nerves."

He looked relieved. "Thanks. I do want to get to know her, but I don't know the first thing about kids." He glanced back at Rosalind again, strapped into her car seat behind them. She was still watching him steadily, not looking around. "One thing I've always heard people say, though. I thought kids made noise."

"She does when she wants to. She's just not that receptive with strangers. Believe me, if you're staying with us, you'll hear her make noise." Calleigh glanced back herself at a stop light. "Are you getting hungry, Angel? We'll be home soon." Rosalind's eyes switched off Peter, and she brightened up and cooed. "See? She makes noise. She gets a lot louder than that, too."

Peter grinned. "Now that's more like what I've heard from people. So, Cal, tell me about her." Calleigh launched easily into one of her newest favorite topics, and the car slowly threaded its way through the rush hour traffic as they talked. When they pulled up in front of the house, Peter got out and stood assessing it for a minute while Calleigh unbuckled Rosalind. For the first time that afternoon, she remembered that he was an architect. "Nice set up. Contemporary but classy. They don't always go together."

"You've seen it before, Peter."

"Only twice, both times when Mother was here, too. Also, I was too busy sizing up Horatio then to notice details. Got to make sure he was good enough for my little sister, you know." Calleigh half hit him with her free hand. He hadn't been around to look after his little sister for a long stretch of her life, but she didn't want to destroy the relaxed moment by mentioning that. The past was past, and she was too happy with the present to hold a grudge.

"Wait till you see the inside, then, since you weren't paying attention before." He stood back, impressed with how adeptly she juggled baby, bags, and keys. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, turning back to catch his reaction. The door opened straight into the living room, the largest room by far. It ran the full depth of the house, drawing the eye irresistibly toward the large sliding glass doors at the back, facing the beach. Overhead, open beams spanned the room with a high arched ceiling over them, unfailing strength and free space combined. The kitchen was off to one side, the hall and other rooms to the other, but it was the living room with its meticulously-placed furniture, strong but elegant lines, and unparalled view that always impressed visitors. Peter crossed to the glass, drawn magnetically by nature's spectacle. "Wow. I'll bet you get wonderful sunrises here."

"We'll demonstrate one tomorrow morning in your honor." Calleigh dumped her purse and headed down the hall. "The guest room is down here, Peter, if you want to put up your suitcase." She diverted into the nursery to change Rosalind's diaper, then came back out to find him wandering around the living room again. He sat in a chair, bounced back up, and tried another.

"Contemporary, classy, and comfortable. I'll give you three stars, Calleigh. This room is beautifully laid out." He tracked the beams overhead with his eyes, measuring the distance.

"Horatio designed the house."

He was impressed. "Really? I thought he . . ."

Calleigh smiled at him. "You thought he was just a CSI and therefore couldn't do anything outside of a crime lab. He has many talents, Peter. In fact, I think he's good at everything. His best friend, Al Humphries, had a brother who had just moved to Miami and was trying to get established in the construction business. He gave Horatio a discount, and Horatio gave him a reputation. Here, let me get a bottle for Rosalind, and you can feed her while I work on feeding us." She demonstrated baby-holding techniques, and Rosalind and Peter eyed each other dubiously for a moment before Rosalind decided to accept the bottle at face value. Calleigh left them to it and headed into the kitchen. Hard to believe that she had been new at this herself only a few months ago. She called Alexx to discuss Saturday, then started cooking.

They chatted comfortably while eating, but the CSI in Calleigh detected a common link. Peter had relaxed and wanted to hear all about her, Horatio, and Rosalind, but any time she started to bring up Norfolk, where he lived, he dodged away, skillfully turning the subject back to her life. Afterwards, Peter walked around the living room again, looking at the pictures, while Calleigh tucked Horatio's share of the food into the refrigerator to be warmed up later. "Is this his family?" He didn't have to ask why there were few pictures of her family. She doubted he had many himself.

"Right. His parents and his younger brother. Some of them are of close friends, too."

"Is this his mother on the piano?"

"Yes. It was her piano. He says she could play a lot better than he can, but I don't believe it."

Peter ran unskilled fingers along the keys himself, and Rosalind, tucked into a baby carrier, immediately sat up and came to life, absolutely demanding. Calleigh laughed as she emerged from the kitchen. "He can't play, Rosalind. Not up to your standards, I'm afraid, no more than I can." She picked her daughter up, and Rosalind pulled toward the piano, stretching out short arms vainly, fingers flailing. Peter backed away from the keys.

"Sorry, Rosalind. Really. Believe me, you don't want to hear it."

"Maybe your father will play for you when he gets home," Calleigh said. Her tone abruptly fell flat. "Or maybe he won't. He probably won't feel like it tonight, and you'll be in bed already."

Peter, as sensitive to mood as she was, didn't follow that subject, going over to the glass doors and opening them. The cool breeze straight off the ocean flooded into the house, along with the heavy smell of salt water and the endless lullaby of the tide. Calleigh took a deep breath and stepped out with Rosalind to join him, flicking a switch that floodlit the entire deck. The sun was in free fall behind them. Peter had stopped just outside on the deck and turned, looking at the neatly-fenced pool tucked behind the house. "Is this new? I don't remember it, but I was distracted those other two visits."

"Just put in this year, back in May. It was a gift from everybody on the force." He looked puzzled, and she explained. "It was Eric's idea. You remember Eric Delko, don't you? After Horatio got the cast off his leg, he had to ease back into things. That was a really bad break, and they didn't want him putting a lot of stress on it right away, but he wanted to get moving and start getting back in shape, of course. He always loved running before, but there was a long stretch where he couldn't do it. He could swim, though. That was the one thing that would let him start getting some exercise without putting more stress on the leg. So Eric got the idea of giving us a pool. He took up a collection at the PD and managed somehow to keep it a secret. Horatio and I never knew until they gave us the check. Almost everybody contributed to it. Eric actually had to tell people to stop giving because he had enough." She smiled, remembering how much both of them had been touched by the gift and more by the overwhelming esteem and support behind it. "Horatio did insist on two things, though. The fence, because of Rosalind. See if you can guess the other, since you're the architect."

Peter studied the pool. "It's offset. It wouldn't disrupt the view from the living room to the ocean."

"Bull's-eye." Rosalind suddenly yawned, and Calleigh smiled. "Getting sleepy, Angel? I'm going to go rock her to sleep, Peter, and then we can talk some more. Make yourself at home."

By the time Calleigh got Rosalind put to bed, Peter had come back in. They sat in the living room talking, peeling away the layers of awkwardness, getting used to each other again. Increasingly, though, Calleigh looked at her watch. The clock struck ten. The clock struck eleven. "It's a hard job, isn't it?" Peter asked, catching her checking the time again.

"Hard but worthwhile," she replied. "Knowing you've touched lives, even saved lives, makes a difference. We help give closure to the victims, and we save future victims. I can't imagine doing anything else." Her eyes lit as she thought about it. "And I even get to share the work with Horatio."

"Two years on the 25th, isn't it? How has it been, Calleigh?"

It suddenly crossed her mind that that was about the fifth time he had asked her that question. "It's wonderful. Sharing your life totally with someone is the ultimate experience, Peter."

The lights of the Hummer found their way through the front curtains as Horatio turned into the driveway, and Calleigh immediately jumped up. She was waiting just inside the front door, and he stepped straight through the doorway into her arms. He sagged against her for a minute, then straightened up slightly as one foot swept behind him to close the door. Calleigh released him. "Have you had anything to eat, Horatio?"

He looked absolutely exhausted, worn out by responsibility as much as work. "I'm not hungry."

"That wasn't what I asked you." Assuming the answer, she headed into the kitchen.

Horatio turned to Peter and actually jumped slightly, his greeting dying halfway as Peter's uncanny resemblance to the latest victim seized him. Fresh from the crime scene, Horatio had to fight an eerie feeling for a moment that the victim had resurrected, clothed himself, and was now sitting in Horatio's own living room. This case must be getting to him. He'd met Peter before, of course. He shook off the thought and stepped forward. Peter was looking slightly puzzled. "Peter, great to see you again. Did you have a good flight?"

Peter stood to shake hands, studying Horatio. He always forgot somehow between his rare visits just how rock solid the strength of this man was. Utter confidence without arrogance or insensitivity. He'd never seen the combination anywhere else. He did wonder what had come over him for a moment there, when the attitude had totally changed, but Horatio was as smoothly assured as ever now.

They sat down again, talking, and Calleigh came back from the kitchen and handed Horatio a plate. "I want it totally empty in ten minutes," she said firmly.

"Yes, ma'am," Horatio replied meekly, picking up the fork. Peter grinned, and Calleigh caught it and grinned back at him. Horatio took a few bites, then started down the trail Calleigh had been trying to explore all evening. "So, Peter, tell us a little bit about yourself. How's life in Norfolk?"

"Pretty good. I think I like the ocean at Miami better, though. Norfolk is such a huge commercial shipping port, and between that and the Navy base, the view has those massive ships in it. Miami is less cluttered, mainly fishing and sailboats. Less intruding, somehow."

Horatio caught the faint trace of almost-wistfulness in his tone. "Are you thinking of moving down here?" he asked between bites.

It was Peter's turn to jump. "No. Not at all. I was just thinking out loud. I like Norfolk, really." He smoothly doubled back the conversation for the umpteenth time that evening. "So, how are things in Miami?"

Horatio studied Peter again, more thoroughly and less haunted this time. "Pretty good, except for this case we have going at the moment. There's something you ought to know while you're in Miami, Peter. This serial killer we're after definitely is picking smallish men with black hair, so be on guard." Calleigh jumped herself. She couldn't believe she hadn't thought of that point. To her, of course, he was her brother, not elements of a physical description. "I gave that much to the press tonight, Cal, now that we're sure she's sticking with that type."

Calleigh nodded. "Hopefully it will make a difference. She'll probably still manage to find victims, though. People never think it could happen to them."

"They won't really be safe until we catch her." A knife-edge of determination sliced across his tone. "The hardest thing, though, with a serial killer is how random it is. No connection on victimology beyond the appearance." Horatio took his last bite and set the plate aside.

"Her being a woman just makes it harder," Calleigh said. "They're much more devious. She's no match for you, though. We'll get her." They were sitting side by side on the couch, and she touched his arm lightly. Horatio looked down at her hand, then tensed up suddenly as puzzle pieces mentally realigned and clicked into a new picture. "What is it, Horatio?"

"What if it isn't just random?"

"You lost me, Handsome. We tried linking the victims."

"Lost me, too," Peter put in. "I thought all serial killers worked randomly."

Horatio's eyes were on fire, the fatigue momentarily burned away. "Statistically, they do. Practically all of them, anyway. But a woman is more devious, like you said. Have either of you ever read the ABC Murders by Agatha Christie?" They both shook their heads. "It was her mind, a woman's mind, that came up with that plot. Suppose you wanted to kill someone and had a real, personal motive. You can't just go kill that person because you would be a suspect. But your victim had black hair. So you go out and kill a few other random victims with black hair, then kill yours, then maybe even add a few more for good measure. Everyone says there's a serial killer on the loose stalking men with black hair, and nobody even considers whether there was a real motive against only one of them. Maybe that's what we're dealing with."

Calleigh followed him mentally. "That would fit the note. That statement about his being the first to die was a lie, Charlene said. Maybe because she wasn't really after that one, she was thinking of a future victim. That was the death that mattered to her." The excitement suddenly deflated. "It doesn't make her any less dangerous, though. Red herrings or not, she's killing people."

"It doesn't make her any less dangerous," Horatio said, "but it might make her easier to catch. If that's what she's doing, and it is just a theory. We're going to really dig into those victims' lives, individually, not trying to link. If it's the right theory, the proof will be there."

"On only one of them. It might not be one of the ones already killed, either."

"I know, Cal. It's a new direction to look, anyway. The directions we're on don't seem to be adding up fast. Maybe this is the key." He stood up, ready to head back down to the databases at CSI immediately, and Calleigh quickly stood up herself and hooked onto his arm like an anchor.

"Horatio, it's midnight. Tomorrow is soon enough."

He looked at his watch, surprised. "So it is." Reminded, he suddenly felt the fatigue surge back across the enthusiasm.

Calleigh saw it. "We'd better get to bed. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

He nodded. "I think I'll call that FBI profiler, too, and ask about the ABC theory. See what she thinks. She's been working on a profile of the killer anyway, and I faxed her several notes from the new scene before I left CSI."

"Tomorrow, Horatio. You've done enough tonight." At that moment, Rosalind woke up, and Calleigh sighed. "You need to talk to your daughter about timing. I'll get her."

Horatio shook his head. "I'll deal with it. She'll probably go right back to sleep. I haven't had a chance to say goodnight to her yet, anyway." He started down the hall to the nursery, and Calleigh turned back to Peter. He was looking after Horatio with admiration.

"He's really something, isn't he?"

"One of a kind." Calleigh sat back down on the couch. "About this case, Peter, I can't believe I hadn't thought of it, but this woman really is dangerous, and she's apparently getting worse as she goes. Don't assume anybody is innocent if she asks you to look at her car in a deserted alley, and don't drink with any strange women. You really do look a lot like the victims."

"Horatio looked like he'd seen a ghost for a minute when he first saw me. I guess that's what he was thinking."

"Probably was. He'd just come from a crime scene."

Peter leaned forward a bit. "So tell me about this case. The Black Widow, right?"

Calleigh flinched. "I wouldn't repeat anything Travis Fox says to Horatio."

"Yeah, we've got a few like that in Norfolk, too. Sensationalist creeps."

"Parasites," Calleigh said, remembering the man at the airport. "Anyway, yes, she is a female." She launched into a slightly edited version of the case. Even edited, it was bad enough. Peter was looking both shocked and sick by the end of it.

"I hope you catch her, Cal."

"We will. Like I said, she's no match for Horatio. I hope it doesn't take long, though." The clock struck 12:30, and she suddenly realized how long they had been talking. She couldn't hear anything from the nursery any longer. "Horatio?" She stood, curious, and went down the hall with Peter trailing her, then stopped in the nursery door, turning back and putting her finger to her lips to silence him. He came up behind her, and they stood there looking into the room. In the rocking chair, Horatio and Rosalind were both sound asleep.

(H/C)

The comparison microscope held the new bullet on one half of the field, the bullet from the second case on the other half. Calleigh peered through the eyepieces, carefully rotating the bullets. The third bullet wasn't quite as undamaged as the second one, but she was certain they had been fired from the same gun. She made a few notes, then carefully put up the bullets in their sealed containers and filed them, preserving the chain of evidence. She headed for Horatio's office, pausing in Trace to talk to Speed for a minute. He had recovered a print from one of the man's shoes and was running it through AFIS with no luck. "First time she's touched something she meant to leave at the scene," Speed said. "She's slipping."

"Does it match the partial on the Wal-Mart bag?"

"Yes. Doesn't match a name, though." He stared at the flickering records on the computer screen like he could will a match to come.

"Hopefully we'll have a suspect soon for you to match it to." She left Speed to his database searches and climbed the stairs to Horatio's office. He was on the phone, but he looked up and smiled at her as she entered, nodding toward the chairs in front of his desk. She sat down, and he switched on the speaker phone, letting her in on the other half of the conversation.

"It would be very unusual," the FBI profiler was saying. "I'm not saying it couldn't happen, but it would be unlikely. Serial killers very rarely have individual motives. On the other hand, I think a female perp would be more likely to come up with a plot like that than a male."

"Maybe she's read Agatha Christie," Horatio suggested.

"Could be. Killers do read books. I wouldn't exclude your idea, but keep all your options open investigating this one, Horatio."

"I will." He wasn't defensive. Directing detectives was her job, after all. He had wanted her opinion, and he accepted it.

"If you prove me wrong, be sure to let me know. We're always interested in comparing the real details to the profile. Back to the basic profile, our handwriting expert agrees with yours. This is a woman, which already makes her unusual statistically. I'd say she's white, since all of the victims so far have been white, and serial killers usually kill within their own race. Prime of life, from both the handwriting and statistics. I'm not sure if she's actually been abused – not all serial killers have – but I definitely think she has never had a normal relationship with a man. People who have had healthy sexual relationships would be incapable of the mutilations. She's well above average in intelligence, and she's perfectionistic and very organized. Almost certainly, she lives alone. She is definitely escalating, though. The progression of the mutilations is disturbing. Whatever started her killing, she's enjoying the act itself now. Many serial killers have described it as the ultimate thrill, better than sex or anything else you could name, and I think she's getting caught up in that. Also, she feels empowered more with every kill. She's going to get careless, I think. Hopefully, each scene will give you more to work from. She probably follows her own press. Almost all killers do. Killing is their effort at significance, and they get on an ego trip thinking that they have earned this recognition, this fear they've instilled in people. Even if you are right on motive for just one, given the escalation, I'd expect her to keep on killing, even after she gets her actual target. She won't quit until you catch her, or until she is incapacitated in some way."

"What do you and your handwriting experts make of that gap before the body count on the notes?"

"Again, we agree with yours. It's a lie. I'd say it's a lie based from the past, myself, not looking forward to a future victim she has a motive for. It's also a consistent lie across the three notes. First, second, and third. As you repeat a lie, you usually get more used to it. It can still be detected, but it gets progressively less obvious. Not this one. The space is widening, if anything. Whoever really was the first one to die, she's absolutely fixated on that point, refusing to let it go. I think that's probably the biggest key to what set her off. Maybe someone she lost years ago that she somehow blames society for. One more thing, Horatio. I agree on her being small physically, but watch out when you do catch her. These killers feel more empowered, more in control by killing, but when they are forced to realize they aren't in control, many of them either turn volatile or suicidal. It's more common for them to go suicidal, but some of them decide to go down fighting, try to take a few more out with them. I think a woman would be more likely to turn violent. Don't rely on what she did in a set-up she controlled when trapping the victims. She might turn on you, even if she didn't have a chance."

"We'll keep it in mind. Anything else?"

"Not at the moment, but let me know if you get anything new. Also, like I said, let me know when you catch her. I'm interested in really talking to this one."

"I'll try to arrange the meeting as quickly as possible. Thank you, Arlena." He hit the button, ending the call, and looked up at Calleigh. "What do you make of that?"

"Interesting. She didn't like your theory much, though."

He shrugged. "Just a theory. She has more experience than I have at this. We're not totally discarding it, though. I do want to dig a lot deeper into the backgrounds of the victims, and that's going to be hard."

"How?" They had the full computerized resources of CSI, along with absolute IDs.

"Even if I'm right – and I might not be – only one of these victims has the actual motive buried in the background. With the others, it would just be digging at a fresh wound for the family and gaining nothing. We're going to have to be sensitive on this, as well as thorough."

Calleigh hadn't been thinking of the families right then. Horatio never stopped thinking of the families, of course. "You're right. Are you going to do that yourself?"

"Anything involving talking to families, yes. I wouldn't want to put the team in that position." He also would do it better than anyone else on the team, Calleigh added mentally. "We're going to keep working on the physical evidence, too. Speed found a fingerprint. Also, the tox results are back. This one had also been drinking. 0.100. That's two out of three. We'll ask around the bars, show pictures of the victims. Maybe someone remembers something."

Calleigh suddenly remembered her original mission. "The bullets match, by the way. I hope we get more evidence than that for court, though. They're just beat up enough that a lawyer would try to confuse the jury. You know how some lawyers can be. They'll go to any lengths for a paycheck."

"Not all of them, but yes, I know some." Horatio abruptly chuckled, and Calleigh raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Speaking of people who will go to any lengths, I just had this mental image of Travis Fox on the witness stand, being cross-examined by one of the justice-for-hire lawyers."

"Tough call. I'd probably put my money on the lawyer, but it would be a good match-up. Too bad we couldn't sell tickets. Half of Miami would probably buy them." They both dissolved into laughter, releasing the tension, and Eric Delko, coming in with a report, wondered what was so funny. When they explained, he laughed harder than either of them.

(H/C)

"Horatio, what do you think is wrong with Peter?" They were heading into CSI two days later, having just dropped Rosalind off at daycare. He looked across at her.

"Haven't you worked it out yet?"

"No, and it's driving me nuts. He wanted this visit to meet Rosalind, but I'll swear he has ulterior motives. He watches us so intently sometimes, it probably makes his eyes hurt. He won't talk about his life at all, either. You mean you have worked it out?"

"Absolutely." He paused annoyingly, and she drummed her fingers on her thigh, waiting. "He's in love with a woman, but he's convinced that any relationship he could ever be in is doomed." He grinned at her look of surprise. "Believe me, Cal, I lived it for years. I could recognize it a mile away. Probably, in his case, the 'jinx' is genetic. He thinks all relationships turn into your parents. Therefore, since you share his DNA, he's collecting first-hand evidence on whether you're managing to overcome heredity and make it work."

Calleigh considered that. "You know, you could be right."

"Thanks. So much confidence there."

She smacked him on the arm. "You know what I meant. He's always said he'll never get into a relationship. Absolutely adamant about it, as long as I've known him. Even as a kid, before he ran away at 14. He never explained why, though."

"Love isn't something you choose to have. The only choice is whether to yield to it."

"There, you're definitely right. What do you think we should do, Horatio? Pin him down and explain to him in words of one syllable that we really are happy, and he could be, too?"

He shook his head. "He obviously doesn't want to talk about it. Also, the words wouldn't mean much, especially if the belief has been rooted there for years. Even with you, it took a little help from my mother to knock me out of it."

"Do you suppose she makes calls on demand? Maybe she could straighten him out."

He smiled. "Bet she would, too, if she could. She wouldn't mean anything to him, though. No, Calleigh, I think the best thing we can do is just give him a shining example of marital harmony."

"Okay, Handsome. I'll do my best to be obviously happy."

He looked across at her. The morning sun traced gold fingers through her hair, and her sparkling, vivid eyes were full of energy as always. All the beauty and spirit he had admired for years was on display, and the radiance of completed love was added now. "You don't have to try. You're a walking argument for love making people happy. He couldn't miss it."

She admired him in turn. "You're looking better all the time yourself, Handsome. And you were stunning to start with." She touched his arm, and his cell phone rang.

He sighed and fished it out. "End of touching moment. I think Rosalind, even as a baby, could give phones timing lessons. Horatio." His eyes tightened, and the relaxation of the morning shattered. "Another one? Where? On my way." He turned the Hummer at the next corner. Calleigh settled back in her seat and discarded any efforts at conversation. They had spent the last two days in intense searches, both through bars and through victims' backgrounds, coming up with nothing except that their first victim had definitely been having an affair. She wondered how much longer the death count would rise before the big break came.

Horatio pulled the Hummer up at the fresh crime scene tape, and in unison, they ducked under and headed down yet another alley. A trash collector had found the body this time, and he was propped against the wall as an officer took a statement. They rounded the dumpster and skidded to a surprised halt at the sight of the body carefully centered between the dumpster and the wall, clothes folded at the feet, with the usual increasing mutilations and the killer's score of four lines burned into his chest. Horatio stared at the jet black hair.

"Well, Travis," he said, "I guess you finally beat the police to a crime scene."