See chapter 1 for disclaimers, rating, etc.

(H/C)

"We don't detect crime. Crime detects itself."

Frederick Irving Anderson

(H/C)

Speed pulled out the envelope from the larger evidence envelope and studied it thoroughly. It was addressed in block letters to Narcotics. Nothing struck him immediately about the ink or the envelope except the over-careful printing, but he would test everything for trace and fingerprints. The note inside was a better starting point, since it would have only been handled by a few people, three of those already on file. Evidence. Leave the interviews to others; Speed always preferred the evidence. It would tell its own story and lead them to the criminal. He started fingerprinting, raising precisely three sets. The computer informed him with a series of cheerful beeps that they belonged to the secretary, her supervisor, and the captain.

"Oh, shut up," he told the computer. "Why can't something, just once, be easy?" Of course, the fact that the note's author had worn gloves probably meant that he'd worn them handling the envelope, too, meaning that Speed was about to spend his afternoon on a waste of time. Much as he preferred evidence, he preferred useful evidence even more.

His cell phone rang, sounding as annoyingly cheerful as the computer. "Speedle."

It was Horatio. "Speed, anything yet?"

"I just got started on it a half hour ago, H."

"That," Horatio pointed out, "is why I said yet."

"The note only has three sets of fingerprints. You get three guesses whose."

Horatio sighed. "That does increase the probability that the perp is someone with a prior history, though. Which we'd guessed, but it could have also been someone extracting revenge for a relative. When you get through with the envelope and note, start the records searches. Any case involving Steve where the criminal has been released. Give it a one-year window; this probably took planning."

Speed considered the probable number of people who had gone down for drug-related charges in Miami in the last several years on cases somehow involving one of the best detectives in Narcotics. He sighed. They would probably fill a small phone book, and no doubt many of them, given the justice system these days, were released every month to return to their illegal activities. "Will do, H."

"Keep me posted."

After Horatio hung up, Speed checked the envelope for prints. As expected, he found multiple sets. Probably at least 20 people had handled it legitimately in its journey, and these prints, unlike the ones on the interior note, were all tangled and overlaid. It would take careful sorting, and at the end of that, the computer would inform him that they belonged to 20 people who had handled it legitimately. This was going to be a long afternoon. He suddenly thought of Steve Parker's wife, returning to Miami. It would be even longer for several other people than it would for him. He started the tedious process of separating the prints.

(H/C)

The secretary was one of those people who built and destroyed paper clip chains while thinking. She was thinking now. Horatio wished she would at least stick to the same number of clips connected per chain before she started taking them apart again. He forced himself to say nothing; she was trying to help, and it was a minor annoyance compared to the size of the case facing them. "The mailroom runs mail three times a day. This was in the noon delivery. I didn't notice anything at first except that the letters looked a bit odd, but once I saw the message, I knew it was serious. I didn't let anybody touch it except Sergeant Hamilton."

"And we appreciate that," Horatio assured her. "It makes our job a little easier. How difficult would it be for an outsider along the way to drop a note into the interdepartmental mail?"

"Not that hard." She indicated the two baskets on the edge of her desk, carefully labeled in and out. "Every secretary and receptionist in any department would have these, and we all have front-line desks. The public meets us first. I might think it was odd, but I'm not always looking at the baskets. A person could take advantage of a phone call or a break to drop it in."

"Or could even create an opportunity," Horatio mused. "Ask for something that required you or another secretary to turn to the file cabinet or go get some paperwork. Mrs. Hamaker, I take it you haven't noticed anyone drop anything in your in basket today other than the mailman?"

"No, I haven't." She clipped her chain into a circle. "I can't swear that there was nothing in the basket right before the mailman came, though. It was emptied after the first run, and I really didn't look until the second one. Someone could have put it there in the meantime. I'm not always right here." The circle broke apart.

"Maybe," Horatio realized, "we have a witness who is."

Tripp followed his eyes. "Security cameras."

"Right. Of course, I doubt it was put directly in this basket. More likely put in someone else's out basket; somebody with a grudge against the Narcotics department might be afraid of being recognized by them. I'm going to need security tapes from every front desk and receptionist."

Tripp nodded. "Just from today? How long does it take mail to get through the system?"

"Probably from today," the secretary replied. "This came on the second run. If it was picked up somewhere else, it would go down to the mailroom, then get delivered next run. On a Sunday, there isn't as much volume, so it would probably be just one-run turnaround time."

"When is the first mail run?" Horatio asked.

"Around 8:00 a.m."

"And the last one last night?"

"4:00 p.m."

"And Steve left work at 7:00," Tripp remarked. "It had to be put in last night sometime."

"We'll need all the security tapes from last night, then. We also ought to put out a memo to all secretaries and receptionists to watch for any outsider slipping something into their out baskets."

"You think he'll contact us again?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Horatio stated. "I think this one will play with us until we catch him, and I intend to make it a very short game. If you could work on getting the tapes and notifying all departments and secretaries, Frank, I'll go meet Eric. You might talk to the delivery person, too."

"Lot of good that will do," Tripp commented. "The mailroom isn't known for the best and brightest. Probably, on a route he did three times every day, he wouldn't notice a troop of Marines standing by a desk." He was already starting out the door as he spoke, though.

Horatio smiled at the secretary. "Thank you, Mrs. Hamaker." He whirled with graceful efficiency and headed for the Hummer.

(H/C)

Eric felt uncomfortable looking through Steve Parker's house. It was bad enough after a victim's death, but with a living owner who had committed no crime, a brother officer Eric had actually met on a few occasions, it made him feel like a voyeur. He was working his way slowly through the rooms, making a more thorough search since his first look had not yielded any obvious signs of a struggle. He hit the flashing button to listen to Steve's messages, in case there was any appointment or setup call.

"Two new messages."

"Hello, darling. I thought you'd be home by now, but that's what happens when I leave you on your own, I suppose. Can't drag yourself away from work. We're having a wonderful visit up here, and everyone misses you. I just wanted to say goodnight. So did the girls, and they're going to bed now. Say goodnight, girls."

"Goodnight, Daddy."

"Night, Dad."

"Goodnight, Steve. I love you. I'll see you Monday when we get home."

"Message left at 9:23 p.m., Saturday, December 1st." Beep.

Eric cringed. How old were the girls? He quickly spotted a picture. Probably around 7 and 10 years old.

"Steve, it's Captain Martin. Pick up if you're there. Steve? Steve?"

"Message left at 1:05 p.m., Sunday, December 2nd. End of messages."

Eric jumped as the front door opened. For a minute, he had a feeling that Steve Parker had walked back in and would find his privacy being invaded. That thought was immediately replaced by a wish that he would do just that. Eric wouldn't even mind the awkward explanation.

No such luck. It was Horatio. "What have we got, Eric?"

"Not much, H. No obvious struggle. There were two messages on the machine. The first one was from his wife, 9:23 last night, wondering where he was. The second one was Captain Martin from this afternoon."

"And Steve got off work at 7:00 and left on time."

"He had to be taken on the way home, then. That first message hadn't been listened to. The machine said they were both new messages."

Horatio nodded. "We've got to find that car. I think we can safely leave the house for the moment. Eric, take the most direct route from here to CSI and walk it, seeing if anything jumps out at you. It's a long shot, but they have paid off before."

"No problem, H. It'll give me a nice walk, anyway, and it's doing something active, not just processing dead-ends."

Horatio gave him a sympathetic half smile. "Sometimes, dead-ends can be productive. I know what you mean, though. The waiting is awful, especially knowing that it's another officer out there in danger."

Eric nodded. "Last February, when Otis had you and Calleigh, we nearly went crazy that week. I can't even count the dead-ends, and on everything we did, we were imagining you two running out of time."

Horatio bumped him on the shoulder, and his tone almost sounded guilty for a minute. "That week was awfully hard on you. You never gave up, though, and in the end, it made the difference. We won't give up on Steve, either. Now, let's keep working. I'll go back to CSI and start watching tapes." He headed for the door, and Eric was rooted to the spot for a minute, staring after him.

"That week was awfully hard on us?" he repeated in disbelief.

Horatio turned back at the door. "Coming?"

"Sure, H. Let's go." Eric followed his boss out of the house.

A car was just pulling into the driveway, and the doors opened before the engine was even switched off. Two girls spilled out eagerly, followed by their mother. "Horatio! Do you have any news?"

"Go on," Horatio said to Eric. The hopeful worry in the eyes of Susan and the girls was almost a physical wound to him. He had to talk to them, even if he didn't have much to say at the moment. Eric nodded and started off at a brisk but careful walk, eyes scanning. "Let's go inside and sit down," Horatio suggested, and Susan looked at him and nodded. She understood what he was doing and why.

"Come on, girls." She led them into the house, and Horatio reluctantly followed. The part of his job he hated the most – and possibly the part he was best at – was connecting with victims' families. He didn't have to imagine what they felt like. He knew.

Susan had sat down on the couch, one girl on either side. The older one spoke up as Horatio sat down in the recliner facing them.

"Have you found our daddy yet, Horatio?"

"Well, not yet, but we're working on it." He looked at Susan. "We think he was taken by someone on his way home from work last night."

"I should have known something was wrong. I called about 9:20, and he wasn't home yet. He never goes out alone after his shift. He hated going to bars or clubs alone. He always comes straight home." She was switching tenses between present and past, unable to fully believe either that her husband was dead or alive.

Horatio leaned forward, closing the distance. "Susan, listen to me. You had no way of knowing what had happened. We still aren't sure what happened. The only evidence we have at this point is a note, and that wasn't received until today, so suspicions last night probably wouldn't have made any difference. We would have had nothing at all to go on."

She stared at her hands, at her wedding ring. "He is going to be all right, isn't he?" asked the younger girl.

Horatio reached out to touch her arm gently. "We'll do the best we can to make sure he's all right, Rachel. Meanwhile, I need you to help me with something. Can you do that for me?" She nodded eagerly. "You and Diane take care of your mother, okay?"

The two girls looked at their mother, who was obviously trying not to cry, and snuggled a bit closer to her. "It'll be all right, Mom," one of them said.

"Let's get something to eat," the other one replied. "We've got to stay strong for Daddy."

Susan looked at Horatio with watery gratitude. The assignment was for the girls' sake more than hers. "Thank you, Horatio."

"Keep your chin up," he replied. "And being taken hostage doesn't mean you won't be found. I can testify to that." She brightened up suddenly, remembering. "I've got to get back to CSI, but I'll keep you informed."

She sounded a bit more hopeful, though no less realistic. "Go get him, Horatio."

"I will. Take care of yourself, now. The girls, too."

"We will." She stood and hugged him. He hugged each of the girls next, then left the worried, waiting house and pointed the Hummer for CSI.

(H/C)

Calleigh woke up from a restless, solitary sleep, thinking for the umpteenth time that night that she had heard him. This time, it wasn't a dream. He came down the hall on cat feet, trying to be silent, but her senses were attuned to his presence. He went into the bathroom, then came out a few minutes later and softly entered the bedroom.

"You can turn on the light, Horatio. I'm not asleep."

"I can manage, thanks." She tracked his movements as he undressed in the dark, and then he climbed into bed next to her, immediately sliding over as close as he could get. She held him, reading the answers to her questions in the tension of his neck and shoulders. He had no more progress than he had had when she had called him earlier. She glanced at the clock. It was 2:30.

"Any progress?" He would never be able to get any sleep without talking about it at least briefly.

"No. Speed can't find any unauthorized prints. I've watched hours of security tape and found nothing. Eric can't find an abduction point. We have 32 people released in the last year who were sent down at some point on a case that Steve worked. I'll start working on tracking those tomorrow, and you can watch security tapes. We have a whole collection of them, about 12 hours worth on each. Even in fast forward, it's going to take forever."

"I'm surprised you came home for a few hours. Not objecting, mind you, just surprised."

She felt his facial muscles contract in a tired grin. "It wasn't entirely voluntary."

"Who kicked you out? Alexx? I didn't think she was down there today."

"No, it was Eric and Speed. I told them to go home for at least a few hours sleep, and Eric refused to leave unless I did, too. Then, Speed pointed out that if I was still at work tomorrow in blue jeans and a sweatshirt when everybody came in, I'd cause a few heart attacks."

Calleigh chuckled, mentally blessing Eric and Speed at the same time. "Bet you would, at that."

"I did remove the icicles, at least." So did I, she thought, and the thought effortlessly jumped from her mind to his. "I'm sorry, Cal. I know I made you a promise, but I just don't feel like it right now, with Steve out there somewhere and the case . . ."

"Horatio."

"Yes?"

"Shut up." She kissed him briefly, not giving it time to develop into anything more, and snuggled down more tightly next to him. "This night is going to be too short, anyway, and I'm not going back to sleep until you're asleep, so start sleeping."

"Have you been taking lessons from Eric?"

"No, he probably learned it from me. Somebody has to know how to deal with you. Now go to sleep, Horatio."

Secure in her arms, he surprised himself by doing just that.

(H/C)

He was still wearing his watch, and in the desperate stillness, if he listened hard enough, he could hear the steady tick, something from the everyday world, measuring everyday seconds and minutes. It was oddly reassuring; each tick brought rescue closer. He knew he would be found. Keeping him in one spot just made it easier for the detectives and CSI. Right now, Horatio was putting it together, closing in. His friend would be pulling out all the stops to find him. He tried to smile at the thought, and his dry lips cracked, leaving the unmistakable taste of blood in his mouth. It took him a few minutes to work up the saliva to swallow.

Thirst wasn't an adequate word any longer. Thirst was something he had known since a child, the delicious anticipation of a cold drink on a hot Florida day. This was a raging desert, a sun burning inside him, perversely shedding only heat, no light. He was slowly shriveling in his dark prison. The only light he had seen for however long was the blinding flashlight, that and the internal fireworks that danced on the back of his eyelids with the taser. His body twitched reflexively at the thought of the taser. He still had a metal prong stuck in his chest from the last session. At least the police removed the prongs as soon as perps were subdued. His captor just left them there, to fall out or remain in place on their own.

Keep thinking. Tick, tick, tick. How long had it been? His watch face glowed in the dark; if his hands weren't cuffed behind him, he could still read it. Lot of good that would do him. Knowing the time wouldn't help him escape. No, probably better to leave the glow to the curious mice and bugs.

He wished he hadn't thought of mice and bugs. They'd never bothered him before, but here, it was different somehow. Buried underground with the creatures of darkness.

Mice. He was a boy again, slipping a mouse into Mrs. Stephenson's desk drawer in third grade. He started to smile again, and again, the taste of blood seeped into his mouth.

Cramps suddenly knotted his muscles; they came regularly now as the electrolytes in his body were depleted. He forced himself to lie still and breathe. His stomach rolled, and the image of what would happen if he vomited with his mouth taped shut tightened his whole body in sharp fear, worsening the cramps. Think of something else. They would come. They were on the way right now. Soon, he would be with Susan and the girls again. Christmas was coming up, and they would all celebrate it together. Just a matter of time.

Tick, tick, tick.