Calleigh awoke the next morning to the unmistakable sound of bells. She frowned and turned on her side, taking in the rich sent of percolating coffee wafting around her. Suddenly, she sat upright, beginning to reach for her gun. Someone was in her—
"Good morning," a gravelly male voice called. Calleigh dropped her hand and grinned at the bedraggled man walking towards her with a cup of coffee.
"How'd you get in?" He raised his eyebrows in suspicion. "Not that I object, but..."
"Spare key...?"
"Oh, right."
"Coffee?" Calleigh looked up and smiled gratefully.
"You're lovely," she cooed, "absolutely wonderful." He climbed onto the bed and crawled onto her pillow, fully dressed in his ironed work clothes. Calleigh sipped at the mug, tasting the liquid and holding back a wince. Too much sugar, and way too much cream.
"Good?"
"Delicious."
"Good," Speed continued, "now, get yourself ready for work and I'll take you in the Jag." She hated that Jag.
"Ahh, Speed, I think—I think I'll stay home today," she said, slowly placing the coffee on the nightstand beside her. Tim rolled over and draped an arm over her stomach.
"Are you okay?" Calleigh nodded and rubbed his hand absently. "Cal?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," she assured him. "There's just something I have to take care of." Tim nodded, and Calleigh blessed him for his indifference. After a while, he sat up, kissed her good-bye roughly on the forehead, and informed her that a ham and cheese omelet was waiting for her in the oven.
Calleigh waited for her door to slam shut before slowly rolling out of bed. Sure enough , she grinned to find a fluffy omlette situated in the oven, closely watched by her tuxedo cat, Pete.
"Looks good doesn't it, Pete?" She took it out and threw Pete a chuck of ham, pulling out a fork and curling into a pretzel on her lawn chair out on the balcony.
Chewing on a too-dry piece of egg and cheese, she suddenly h eard the phone ring. Groaning, she tried to ignore it, but the ringing thrummed through her head like an alarm. Abruptly, the machine picked up, and Calleigh heard the sound of a person breathing on the other line. Before she could reach for the phone, it clicked off.
"Who was that, Pete?" she murmured, warily. She finished her omelet in uneasy silence, and returned indoors. Baffled, Calleigh froze as the phone rang again. She fearlessly ripped it from the wall and held it to her ear.
"Hello?" To her relief, a familiar voice welcomed her concernedly.
"Calleigh? Are you all right?" Alexx's worried face appeared affectionately in Calleigh's mind.
"Morning Alexx," she exhaled, "I'm fine. I've just got to take care of a thing or two..." Calleigh hoped that Alexx wouldn't interpret the worry in her voice.
"Do you want to talk about it, honey?" Calleigh caught her breath, actually wanting to answer her.
"No, Alexx, but thank you. I'll be back at the office at around four, okay?"
"Sure, baby," kind woman said warmly, but still a little concerned.
"You scared me to death, though, Alexx," Calleigh laughed jokingly. Alexx paused.
"What?"
"Earlier...calling me with tha tmessage," she continued. "Scared the bejeezus out of me."
"I didn't call you, honey."
Calleigh blinked.
"You didn't."
"No," Calleigh could hear Alexx frowning. "Calleigh, what happened? If you got a prank call, you know there's a watch for that sexual harasser..."
"It's fine, Alexx," Calleigh interrupted, suddenly very cold. "I'll see you at four." Then, she hung up.
Calleighj stared at the answering machine with a frown on her lips. She silently walked over to it and reach3ed out her finger to erase it, but at the last moment, switched to the "play" button. She fastforwarded it to the very end, and scrawled down the number the machine had traced the origin of the call to.
"...the last number that left a message on your phone was—867.437.2291—..."
The number sounded familiar, but she couldn't remember where she'd heard it before. Her mind strained in focus, and suddenly she snapped to attention. Oh. My. God.
She ran to her purse and drew out the piece of paper with her boss' address and phone number. Playing the message's number again, she watched, her heart flopping like a wet fish on land, as the number corresponded perfectly with the one on her paper.
