(Nip/Tuck / CSI:Miami)
by wordwolf
Disclaimers in Part I.
PART V.
The air in the DNA lab had seemed to thicken and chill as they went over the results yet again – accurate, but useless for identification, at least at present. Tim Speedle sounded irritated, as if expecting better. "Ordinarily, when we have this much evidence, it all starts to come together," he observed. "But what do we have here?"
"All sorts of good, solid stuff, that's what." Calleigh Duquesne almost moaned. "It's just that all together, it doesn't make sense."
Eric Delko, not to be outdone, started counting down the elements on one hand. "We've got an exact DNA match on the semen in the victims – but nothing on record. We've got amazing parallels on the profiles of both of them and on the next likely target – but with one glaring difference. We've got a picture ID'ed as being of the perp – but it's twenty-four years old, and he hasn't changed a bit. Hell, we've even got a likely timetable, but don't know what kind of trap to lay for this nut!"
"That last is not going to be a problem," said Horatio Caine with his usual quiet assurance. "I personally will be apprising this Karen Avalon of her situation. Dr. Troy gave us solid evidence that the perp has plans for Friday, which is to say, tonight."
"Not to mention," Speedle cut in, confidence returning, "that tonight the moon will be dark – for the second time this month."
"That's right, Speed," Caine continued, pleased. "There's no doubt as to when he'll make his move. We're going to surround her location with unmarked surveillance, and no one will be able to get in or out without us being able to practically write his biography. If, or rather, when he shows up, no disguise is going to protect him."
"But speaking of writing biographies, H," Delko continued, "I don't like the way this woman fits in. Sure, she's got the scorpion, but that's the only common factor."
"Not so," Duquesne protested. "Don't forget, all three of them grew up in the foster care system."
Delko granted the error. "You're right; I'd forgotten that. But still. Blair was an S&M porn star, Vanessa a rich sleazeball's nymphomaniac trophy wife – "
"Now then, Eric," Caine interrupted with a sly smile, "remember what Scott Ross said. We weren't there to judge them."
"Yeah, well, you try and avoid it," replied Delko sourly. "But this third one's practically Victorian!"
"It's those quiet ones you have to watch out for!" Speedle riposted.
Caine was shaking his head, but gently. "Some of us would like the victims' personal lives to be a factor; it would be emotionally satisfying, in a self-righteous way," he said in a fatherly voice; Delko reddened. "But what we really need to make the connection is the tattoo. We only found one more woman with it."
"Which doesn't mean there aren't others," Delko argued, "just that this one was trying to get rid of hers. Who knows how many others are happy with theirs?" No one wanted to answer that; it promised to turn their task from the Herculean to the Sisyphean.
"We can only go with what we know, Eric," Duquesne filled in for all of them. "But what is really bothering me is that ID on our perp."
"It's good, Calleigh," Speedle declared. "When we re-interviewed them, everyone who'd been at Blair Blackwood's condo Sunday night made the guy in the picture as having been there, and six of them made him as the pusher."
"But we've got no name, and the picture is from 1980!" she protested.
"Maybe he had a son," Delko offered.
"Maybe he had a clone," Speedle smirked.
That was when Caine's cell phone squealed for attention. "Caine. Yes, Dr. McNamara ... " The team went silent as their commander listened. "I see. Yes. I'll have an investigator out to you immediately to pick up that letter. Meanwhile, gather your family. It'd be best if you all stayed in tonight. Now don't worry, Doctor; I'll have a watch put on your house tonight, and as long as it takes until we get this guy."
XX
Karen Avalon peered through the peephole on her apartment door, not recognizing the tall man with the red hair and melancholy face, and did not move to unlock and open the door until he showed her the badge. "Miss Avalon? May I come in?"
Apprehensive, she opened to him. "Yes, sir?"
He smiled down at her, his most reassuring and avuncular smile. "Thank you. I'm Lt. Horatio Caine. I have some news for you that you might find distressing."
"Oh. Then we should both be sitting down. Won't you come in?"
The CSI commander noted in passing that the place was small, but tidy as a printed page. He further noted that his hostess was wearing a bathrobe, with her hair wrapped in a towel. She noticed him looking, turned pink, and explained, "You'll have to excuse my appearance, Lieutenant; I was getting ready to go out."
"With that formidable Dr. Troy?" he asked with a twinkle; she smiled shyly and averted her eyes. "That's part of what I came here to tell you, Miss Avalon," he continued. "It would be in your best interest to stay home tonight."
She motioned him to the couch, took a chair for herself. "Really? Why?"
Briefly, efficiently, and he hoped not too alarmingly, he explained about the murders and the scorpion. "We do have reason to believe he will make an attempt on you tonight." As her eyes widened, he hastened to assure her, "You'll be as safe as Miami-Dade PD can make anyone. Already unmarked vehicles and plainclothes officers are moving into position around this entire block. We'll have officers in the building lobby as well. Every one knows exactly what the suspect looks like, and will be ready for him."
"Are you going to station an officer in here? With me?" She looked ambivalent about that possibility.
"That won't be necessary. We intend to nail the bastard before he can get anywhere near you."
"I'm sure you can imagine how sweet that sounds to my ears, Lieutenant."
He gave her the avuncular smile again. "I appreciate that, Miss Avalon. So you'll have to change your plans for tonight, but otherwise, feel free to do as you please. Don't worry about a thing; we're on top of it."
Something disquieting occurred to her, and it showed in her face. "But what if he identifies you before you identify him?"
"In that case, he's likely to spook, then make another attempt later. We will continue to watch you, but we can't very well demand that you stay home indefinitely. This should help." He reached into his pocket and came up with a tiny black square. "Now I can only offer this to you, Miss Avalon; I can't compel you to take it. But I do recommend it strongly."
She peered at the fragment. "What is it?"
"A tracer chip. It will compromise your privacy, but only temporarily, and for your own protection. If you decide to take it, we ask that you keep it on your person whenever you leave home. It'll enable us to track you in case of trouble. Just until we catch him."
"I'll take it. Thank you."
"I hope that I'll be able to take it back and report his arrest to you tomorrow morning. In the meantime, take care, Miss Avalon, and thank you for your cooperation."
"It's I who should thank you, Lt. Caine." He smiled at her once more, rose and let her show him out, feeling the satisfaction of being in time – too rare an occurrence in his line of work.
Karen shut and locked the door behind her unexpected visitor, and went straight to the telephone to dial a certain cell number. "Christian? It's Karen ... Please forgive me, Christian, but I must break our date for tonight. I've had a visit from the police ... Let's just say they recommend that I stay in for now. I promise that I'll make it up to you once they catch whomever they're looking for ... Not much. I thought I'd just turn on the CD player, violate the civil rights of a chicken, and re-read 'Paterson'... Thank you for being so understanding, Christian!"
XX
It was not thirty minutes later when Karen's doorbell rang, and there was Troy, a savory-smelling takeout bag in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other. "Oh! Christian, this is unexpected!" A wide grin spread over her face to reflect his. "And very welcome."
"Don't try to bul – snow me," he replied as he entered. "You knew I was coming!"
"Why do you say that?" Her bewilderment was genuine.
"You put on Roxy." He cocked his head to indicate the music.
"To remind me of you," she parried. "I was expecting to miss you tonight." She gestured at her shorts and oversize t-shirt. "As you can see, I didn't dress for company."
"Okay, you win. I took you by surprise and swept you off your feet!"
"Last Tuesday, to be precise. Here, I'll take those to the kitchen." She accepted the bag and bottle from him. "Luckily, I haven't started cooking anything yet. Be right back; please, make yourself at home."
She returned a few seconds later, to find him still standing in her living room, the CD moving on to its next cut. The lush arrangement rose, swung softly around them:
Now the party's over; I'm so tired
Then I see you coming out of nowhere
Much communication in a motion
Without conversation or a notion
Avalon ...
Troy's eyes went to Karen's, blue gaze merging into dark. He approached; she felt his arms close around her, drawing her into the rhythm, gently leading her into the dance as she surrendered to and returned the embrace.
When the samba takes you out of nowhere
And the background's fading out of focus
Yes, the picture's changing every moment
And your destination, you don't know it
Avalon ...
Her eyes had drifted shut as she softened and held him; when she opened them again, he was looking deep into them as if seeing a vision. "This must be our song," he said softly.
"I've waited years for someone to share it," she answered, more softly.
There was no more to be said. His lips descended to meet hers.
In the bedroom, she gave herself to him with the trust and generosity of a child, and he responded with care and tenderness. No, she was not a virgin, but had all the innocence and wonder of one without the fear. As for him, there had been so much sex, but it had been so very long since he'd made love to a woman.
XX
Karen slowly roused to the feel of the hand on her shoulder, shaking gently at first, then more insistently. For a moment she was annoyed; then the thought dawned that he wanted her for something, anything, and whatever it was, it would be her pleasure to give. Her lips smiled before her eyes opened.
Now she rubbed those eyes, confused. Still dark? She'd expected the warm light of tropical dawn. Why would he wake her in the dead of night ... Suddenly she winced against the flash as the lamp on the far side of the bed snapped on.
Squinting, Karen sat up, turned toward the light – and froze. He was sitting comfortably on the other half of her bed, fully dressed in tight black jeans and long-sleeved black shirt, looking half Troy's age and two-thirds his weight. His hair was a golden wave, his eyes chips of emerald, his smile an icicle. In one hand he gripped the hilt of a gleaming steel sword.
Thought, heart, breath itself all seemed to stop in an instant of terror. His smile widened, sharpened as his eyes raked her up and down. The sword, needle-pointed, razor-edged, swung toward her; the blade lay flat against her cheek; she dared not even tremble. "Good evening, Karen," he breathed softly. "It's been so many years ..."
TO BE CONTINUED