A frantic Ryan Wolfe woke Horatio and Frankie at 3.30am. The shrill sound of Horatio's cell dragged them both from a deep sleep. Rubbing her eyes in a desperate attempt to wake up, Frankie watched Horatio sleepily, once again envying his ability to not only survive on very little sleep, but also to go from a deep sleep to perfect awareness in seconds. Horatio said little, but hung up with "I'll be in shortly."

Frankie groaned as she got out of bed and began to hunt for some clean clothes to wear. "What's happened?" she asked, her voice still raspy with sleep.

"Delaney's dead," Horatio answered shortly, but she knew his temper was not aimed at her. "He's killed himself." He paused for a moment. "You don't have to come in, you know."

She shot a long-suffering look at him. He might be able to survive on little sleep, but that didn't stop dark circles from shadowing his eyes, or a haunted look appearing on his face. She might not be needed professionally, but Horatio would need her support. She smiled lightly. "And miss a morning drive through Miami with my favourite person? I don't think so."

Grateful for her presence, even more grateful for her discretion, he drove them into CSI in silence. Frankie had nodded off on the short drive and, as he parked, he debated whether to wake her. She looked so peaceful he thought, a small smile on his lips. Then she gave a half-snort, half-sneeze as she woke up and he rolled his eyes. So much for peaceful.

Ryan was waiting for them at the front desk. "H! Thank God. Delaney hung himself with his own belt," he said.

"Dead meat is hung, people are hanged," Frankie corrected. Ryan and Horatio both gave her an odd look. "It's 4am people! Don't expect me to make sense! I'll go and get us some coffee," she said to Horatio, stretching up to kiss him on the cheek.

She found them in Delaney's holding cell, and waited outside, not wanting to contaminate the scene. Delaney hung from the light fitting, his belt neatly tied to form the noose. She had to hand it to him: Delaney was neater in death than she was in life. He looked almost as though he was at attention, his hands hanging by his side, his feet pointing like a gymnast. The single chair was lying on the floor under him, clearly where he had kicked it away from himself. By the side of the chair was an envelope, marked 'Lieutenant Caine'.

Horatio gave the envelope a long, slow look before he picked it up. Giving Delaney one final glance, he said, "Get the on duty coroner in here. I doubt we'll find any contrary evidence, but check the belt for prints, just in case he didn't do this to himself."

"Sure thing H. Oh, and I thought you'd want to know, Delaney lives, lived next to a nursery. I checked, and they use the same pesticide that we found on the bombs." Horatio nodded absently, and took an appreciative sip of the coffee Frankie handed him.

She followed him to his office, not wanting to leave him alone with this letter. They sat together on the battered couch that had been in the office since God-knew-when. Frankie drank some more coffee while she waited for him to open the letter. He heaved a sigh, shook his head and started to read. Without comment, once he had finished, he passed it to her.

Lieutenant,

I can only apologise again for the inconvenience and trouble I have put you and the other police officers to. I truly never meant to hurt anyone else, and I cannot express my horror at learning I was no better than those I was hunting. Those two children who died – my heart breaks for their parents.

As for David Hobart, as that is David Barker's real name, I have no regrets whatsoever. I only wish Kathryn Ellison had died as well. They should both burn in hell for what they have done. To profit from my daughter's murder, and to escape justice is an insult to Jessie's memory.

I am sure you are curious about how I tracked them down. When I discovered that those two had escaped, and that the Raleigh police department had no idea who they were, I decided that I had to find them myself. I had little luck with the police. They were unwilling to let me see the evidence from the case, or to tell me any news whatsoever. When Marty Periman was convicted, however, I knew that was my chance. I visited him in prison and convinced him to tell me his accomplices' names.

Unfortunately, I was posted to Iraq and had to postpone my revenge. When I returned, I retired from the Marines and set about tracking them down. When you have only one goal in life, it is very easy to achieve it. I lived only for revenge. Once I discovered they were in Miami, (I will not bore you with the long months of trial and error) I moved down here.

I had no evidence, nothing that would support my claims, but I knew that these two were living the high life due to my daughter's death. I wanted to kill them, to tear them apart. But more than that, I wanted people to know what they had done.

I knew that you were a man who would not rest until he found those responsible, and while I knew I would be caught, I knew also that you would find the truth about David Hobart and Kathryn Ellison.

Now that I have achieved my life's purpose, there is no point continuing with this life. My soul died the day my daughter did. It has just taken six years for my body to die as well.

Thank you for what you have done for me and for my daughter. Jessie can rest in peace now.

Frankie read the letter through twice before she spoke. "A sad end. This letter suggests he was probably mildly schizophrenic. The death of his daughter probably drove him over the edge and he began to see the world from a skewed perspective. To him, killing innocent people was justice, as long as the guilty died as well. I only hope Jessie does rest in peace now." She shuffled closer to Horatio on the couch, putting her arm around his shoulders. "It's done now."

Horatio was staring into the distance, his eyes fixed on a point she couldn't see. When she nudged him gently, in an effort to get a response, he turned to face her and pulled her towards him for a searing kiss. She broke away, laughing, before she was stopped by the expression on his face. "What was that for? Not that I mind of course."

He hesitated, biting his lip. "No one ever told you what happened when we caught the Fuentes brothers did they?" She shook her head. "I nearly killed Jorge." He spoke so quietly she had to strain to catch it. "'I wanted to kill them, to tear them apart,'" he quoted sadly. "I could have torn Fuentes apart without thinking, without remorse. He hurt you, and I nearly killed him for it."

Frankie hugged him tightly to her, one hand around his shoulders, the other tangled in his hair. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, but she held them back, concentrating solely on Horatio. "My hero," she murmured. He tried to shake his head but she repeated, in a firmer voice, "You are my hero. You nearly killed him. But you didn't. You stopped yourself. You are nothing like Richard Delaney." He shuddered at that last comment. "You are my hero and I love you."

"I love you too." He took a deep breath and sounded far more cheerful when he next spoke. "How about I get you a ride home while I stay and sort out the paperwork?"

"Sure," she agreed easily. "Then you can come home later and go back to bed yourself." Horatio hung his head in defeat, hiding a smile. There was just no reasoning with her when she spoke in that tone.