3.

For the greater part of her evening, Schell spent the majority of it being introduced by Lionel to various different members of historical, archeological and academic societies who all had a part or interest in the preservation of the fascinating history surrounding Florida. On the plus side it led to several vital contacts for research information on the projects she would be doing for the Maritime Trust, and several challenging conversations on various historical shipwrecks, the facts and fiction surrounding them and other painters who had depicted them. The conversations ebbed and flowed, healthy in interest, humour, and debate, and all the while Schell was keenly aware that her feet were killing her.

Silently cursing her shoes, she was discreetly shifting weight between each foot and trying to find a graceful way to make some sort of exit to find relief when Lionel, tipsy now from the free flowing amounts of champagne being catered around the place, cornered her with another introduction. He was in full representative mode, proudly displaying the Trust's latest artist to any and all who came near.

"Schell, darlin'," he bubbled forth, towing towards them by the hand a middle-aged woman with dark blonde hair. "I finally found her!"

"The woman of your dreams, Lionel? What happened to your wife?" she asked innocently, causing the pair to laugh.

"Gotta mind like a steel trap, Connie, watch yourself," Lionel warned, before turning to Schell. "Darlin' this is Constance Lange, she's the owner of the gallery where your exhibit is going to be opening at."

"Oh!" Schell said, brightening and offering her hand. "It's very nice to meet you."

"And you are Schell Demereau!" said the woman, who had about as thick a southern accent as Lionel did. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my dear. I have heard so much about you! Is it true you helped identify all those stolen paintings up in the Pacific Northwest earlier this year?"

Schell nearly blanched, especially when the members of the crowd they were with suddenly turned their attention towards her.

"Stolen paintings?" One of the men asked in surprise.

"What's this about stolen paintings?"

"Uhhh…" Schell started, looking at Lionel beseechingly.

"Why, yes!" Lionel said. "Our Schell here was instrumental in helping break up a West Coast forgery ring…"

"Lionel!" Schell gasped, appalled at the lie, as the assembled crowd began peppering her with questions.

"Well when Lionel here told me who the Trust had commissioned for their paintings, I just knew I had to have an exhibit of her works. Lionel here tells us you actually identified originals from museums all over the West, is that true?" Constance chimed in.

"Look," Schell started, holding up her hands. "I learned a little something about identifying forgeries from my grandpa, that's it," she shrugged. "I certainly didn't break up a forgery ring!" she half laughed in embarrassment.

"Oh there's got to be more to it then that!" Constance pressed.

"There sure is, she's just being modest about it. C'mon darlin'! Don't be shy about it. This is something to be proud of…" Lionel pressed.

"Lionel," Schell said, looking at him in frustration. "It's an ongoing case, I can't discuss it."

"Fifteen, folks, fifteen different museums had insurance on them paintings!" Lionel rambled on, flashing his fingers, "The reward money our Schell here earned was enough for her to put a down payment on an apartment in Miami Beach…"

"Now there's a nice chunk of Miami real estate!" One of the men said, looking speculatively at Schell.

"That must've been a one hell of a reward."

"Surely you can tell us something about it; I read in the papers that some people died because of this…" Constance pressed.

"Oh, listen folks, I'm sorry," Schell said, shaking her head. "I really can't discuss this with you." She shot a glare towards Lionel, who was opening his mouth to speak again. As her representative to the Trust, he had been privy to several of the facts concerning the case and instrumental in connecting her to the Trust's lawyers. (Who had helped break the stalemate between the defense and prosecutors; allowing her to leave Seattle.).

She spent the next half hour trying to extricate herself gracefully from the questions being thrown at her until she was finally able to break away with the excuse of needing to use the ladies lounge. She even headed in the direction of them, but then slipped around the backs of the crowd and aimed for the door leading to the observation deck.

The evening was warm, something she was not quite used to, when she considered it was November, and there were smaller scattered groups here and there on the deck, chattering away. She made a beeline to a location further away, overlooking the huge fountain and landscaping in a courtyard below and providing a bit of seclusion. The balcony was bathed in a muted glow from a subdued lighting system designed to draw the eye to the courtyard. Here the roar of the fountain drowned out the noise of the crowds and groups of people and allowed Schell a little privacy.

She gently toed off one shoe, bending down to remove the other and sighed in genuine relief as her bare feet made contact with the surface of the deck. "Oh you poor miserable things!" She muttered to herself, moving closer to the rail and a light stanchion where she tugged up a bit of skirt from her gown and looked down at her feet. "You guys are gonna make life miserable for me in the morning…" She hissed in pain as her gently probing fingers massaged a cramped foot.

Between her hissing and gasps as she found the sore spots on her feet and the bubbling roar of the fountain below, she never noticed someone approaching from the shadows to the her right. She was turned away from them, one hand holding the rail, the other holding her foot. She was looking in dismay at a blister that was forming on her heel. Her thoughts were scrambled, flickering from her time in Seattle, to the move and the several court appearances she had had to make over the past six months.

"Schell?"

She thought she heard a voice ask, as she paused in probing, thinking it to be Lionel. "Lionel, please…" she said. "I'm sorry I ducked out, but I had to do something about my feet. Whoever invented stilettos should be damned to wearing them." she murmured bitterly.

She heard someone clear their throat.

"Schell."

Schell froze, her gaze staring sightlessly at the light stanchion, still holding one foot and twisted away from the speaker. That voice. She felt like every nerve suddenly got a jolt of electricity as she abruptly stood up straight and turned. How could she ever forget that voice?

Stepping out of the shadows, immaculate in his tuxedo, and looking like something from a dream, was Horatio Caine.

Schell blinked at him in shock, her mouth dropping slightly open as she looked at the tall redhead before her. That she was genuinely surprised was beyond doubt and as the initial jolt began to wash away, she got a good hard look at his face.

"Horatio?" she whispered, a frown appearing between her eyes as she stared. It was the same man she remembered, right down to his head being tilted to one side and toying with the edges of one of his fingernails, but with something distinctly different. He looked liked he'd aged beyond his years, his eyes darkened by fatigue, the shadows, something else? She couldn't place it. He looked troubled, hurt, and she could swear there was a hardness that utterly hid the blue eyes she remembered so well.

"How…" he started to speak, stammering, before he blinked quickly and looked away out over the courtyard. He seemed to be collecting his thoughts.

Schell was scrambling to do the same, so stunned was she by his sudden appearance and at such a function, as well.

"How…" he started again, stopped, licked his lips, then looked down. "I - I thought you were gonna call me?" His voice sounded distant and he was unable to look at her. "How - how long have you been in Miami?"

As she drew in a deep breath he cast a glance her way, seeing a look of realization dawning on her face. She looked away from him a moment and gently sighed.

"Oh, dear," she murmured and looked at him again. "Horatio, I did try calling you, three weeks ago."

"Three weeks…" he frowned thinking, and realizing to his horror that he had been the prime suspect in a murder, then. "I never got a call from you," he said, looking at her.

"I couldn't call your cell phone, I misplaced your card in the move, so I called the Crime Lab." She said, looking at him in consternation. Was that a note of accusation in his voice? "I did try to call you…" she said again, watching him.

He had placed his hand on his hip, the other reaching up to stroke the sides of his mouth as he looked out over the courtyard.

"What is going on with you, what's wrong?" she asked, perplexed.

He blinked again, started to look her way, unable to conceal the look of turbulence in his eyes, then he reached into his tuxedo jacket and pulled out his cell phone. He flipped it open, jabbing a preset button for a programmed number and looked at her as he lifted the cell to his ear.

"Yeah, this is Lieutenant Caine, do you have the roster and log sheets in front of you?" he asked to whoever answered the phone. "Good, check back three weeks ago and tell me who was on desk duty." He had looked down a moment before looking back up at Schell who was staring at him. "Who did you talk to?" he asked her.

She stared at him for a split second. "Pardon?"

"Who did you talk to? Who did you leave a message with?" he asked. Whoever was on the other end of the line got his attention from Schell for a moment. As he started talking, she bent and slipped her shoes back on. Standing up straight, he was looking at her again.

"What day?" he asked.

Schell stared at him in disbelief. He was about to repeat his question when the person on the other end of line asked him one.

"There was a message called in from a Schell Demereau that week. Is it there on the incoming calls log?" He asked. He looked at Schell as she suddenly looked away, lifting a hand to her mouth.

"What day did you call?" he asked her again.

Schell looked back at him, then lifted her hand in a stop gesture. She was about to say something, paused then leaned forward, looking him in the eye. "You're the policeman, Lieutenant, you figure it out," she said softly.

There was a look of puzzled surprise in his eyes as she suddenly turned and started walking away from him.

"Schell," he started to say, abruptly snapped his cell phone shut, stuffed it away and walked after her, "Wait a second, Schell!" His ground eating strides caught up with her and as he reached up to catch her elbow in his hand, she felt his touch and spun, raising both her hands up and stumbling backwards a little.

"Schell, wait a minute…" he was saying, but he stopped at the look of hurt on her face.

"You know…" she said quietly, pitching her voice so as not to be heard by people around them, "You did this to me once in Seattle and I didn't say anything because you were right. This time, however, you are wrong… How dare you question my word?" her eyes flashed in anger.

"I just…" he started to say.

"I don't know who you are…" She said, shaking her head, hurt and confusion bubbling up in her, "but you sure aren't the gentleman I met," she said flatly, still looking him in the eye. His face went blank as her words hit home, then she turned and began walking away from him again. She left him standing there looking like someone had punched him in the gut.