A/N: The continued adventures (mayham) of Dino, Terry, and Miami's top CSIs.

Dino had never let Terry drink alone, and wasn't about to start. Terry had walked into the first place that looked like it might serve palatable alcohol. Of course, considering the man was former SAS and Australian the term was relative. Rather than risk his taste buds on the coolant they called whiskey, Dino ordered a generic beer and watched his friend down two shots in rapid succession. Idly, the red-head commented, "It can't be that bad."

"It's worse," his usually unflappable partner replied despondently.

Rolling his eyes, Dino muttered, "Now who's over-reacting." Terry made a face at him and began working on his own beer. The two snarked back and forth. Dino's words were more artistic and graceful, Terry was blunt. Both shared the sarcastic tone. They were so involved in their verbal one-up-manship that neither did more than register the four young Latinos that entered.

When the shooting started, they responded. Seizing the silk shirt, Terry heaved Dino over the wooden bar before he followed, assisted by Dino yanking on his belt. Behind the cover, they both drew their weapons and returned fire. In a matter of seconds the less experienced attackers were down. Shaking slightly, Dino remained crouched behind the bar. Turning to Terry, he demanded, "What the fuck was that?"

A stoic shrug of Terry's shoulders hid how startled the man really was. He blew out at deep breath then looked at the red-head. "They were after us."

"Shit." Dino's vicious statement expressed both men's feelings. In tandem, they moved from behind the bar, sweeping the area with their guns. They covered each other with the ease that came from practice in every situation imaginable. Terry covered Dino while he checked the men. Two were dead, one was so far gone there was no point in trying to save him, and the fourth was conscious. His dark eyes stared up at the two men, looking like a frightened rabbit.

Holstering his weapon, Dino kneeled over the kid. He looked imposing to the young Latino, red-hair awry and blue eyes sparkling with rage. "Why were you shooting at us?" he asked in a deceptively friendly tone.

Understanding the implied threat, the kid swallowed nervously and stammered out in broken English, "There is a contract out on your head Senor Caine, quinientos mil American dollars for your body." Terry growled his displeasure. "We were just trying to make good on it."

"So you shot me?" Dino sounded pissed. "Brilliant. Look, I'm not Caine, okay. So you and your friends can just stay the fuck away from me." He shook the kid, "Clear?"

Frantically, the kid nodded. "Si, Senor. You are not Caine. I should stay away from you." Dino seized his shirt and hauled him to his feet. "And I should leave now," he finished nervously limping out of the bar.

Terry gave a long groan. "You know," he said wearily, "that word is going to get that Caine killed these guys. And Caine is going to find out and know it was us and make our lives miserable." He slammed his gun back into its holster.

Shrugging, Dino replied, "Let's get out of here before he shows up." His grin was the one that drove Terry straight up the wall and over it.

"I'm going to let them shoot you next time," Terry promised darkly as the two walked out of the bar and blended in with the rest of the crowd. "Before my mind goes completely walkabout." Dino just laughed and slung his arm around his friend's shoulders.

CSICSICSICSI

"Well," Speed announced unhappily, "the bartender's lips are sealed tighter than Delko's wetsuit. The old one." Eric muttered something unflattering under his breath.

Horatio wasn't really listening. Behind the lenses of his sunglasses, his gaze was focused on the floor. "Speed," he said slowly, "what are we missing."

The darker man shrugged and commented scathingly, "Decent funding? Seriously," he followed his boss's line of sight. "We're missing a victim. There's four distinct blood pools, but only three bodies."

Putting his hands on his hips, Horatio asked, "Victim or shooter?"

"Victim," Calleigh said firmly. "The three vics were carrying uzis. Those use 9mm shells. I've got casings from .45s and .32s." She displayed one of the brass cups on the end of her pencil. "Also," she gestured at the bodies. "Whoever did this knew what they were doing. Double tap in the heart, one in the head. I'm thinking professionals."

Speed kneeled next to her. "Two shooters?"

A crisp nod. "At least."

There was a muffled yelp, then Eric appeared from under the bar with a piece of cloth in his forceps. "Hey, H, take a look at this."

Pulling on a pair latex gloves, Horatio accepted the fragment of cloth. "Silk? Blue silk with embroidery in the same shade of blue. Hmm."

"That's like the shirt your twin was wearing," Speed commented digging out an envelope for it.

A queer smile appeared on Horatio's lips. "I think we need to pay Mr. Beverly and his friend a visit."