A/N: I hated how the writers dumped on Speed after they lamely killed him off. Couldn't someone come up with a better idea? Christ, I thought these people got paid to write creatively. . . . oh wait. I'm complaining about a group of people who thought nothing of putting a surfboard manufacturer in Florida. . . or a tsunami hitting Miami. . . or. . . throws up hands Never mind. Forget I said anything. rolls eyes Disclaimers in full force and effect; I own nothing.

Eight

This wasn't the first time she'd been on the back of his motorcycle, but it was the first time they'd headed out with no clear destination. She was tucked up close to Tim, their torsos close, her arms tight around his waist, her thighs resting just behind his. The Ducati wasn't exactly built for two, but at the moment neither of them really cared.

While he steered the bike through the early evening traffic, Tim focused all of his attention on the road. Calleigh's fists were tucked low on his hips, her thumb and fingers wrapped around his belt. She'd done this the last time he'd given her a ride and he hadn't given it a second thought. At least not then.

Now though, his skin was tingling.

She was pressed up close to him, her breasts resting just below his shoulder blades. Tim dared a glance down when she flexed her fingers, getting a better grip on his belt. A wry grin crossed his features and he was instantly thankful Calleigh couldn't see it.

With a shift of his hips and shoulders, Tim easily wrestled the Ducati around a snarl of cars on the causeway heading north. Calleigh shifted with him, then rested her head between his shoulders.

Feeling the tension ease from his muscles with every mile they traveled further from the lab, Tim hit I95 and let out the throttle.

For now, all he wanted to feel was her behind him and the road stretched out in front.

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Hank had thought long and hard before approaching Sorcha. The whole time he'd debated with himself about it, he'd known any slip could cost all three of them their lives. But he couldn't stand by and do nothing. Not any longer. The poor girl was beginning to come apart at the seams, and anyone with half a brain and a trained eye could see it. The inability to control anything about her life was preying on her, and it was only a matter of time before she snapped.

It wasn't part of his job to help her. In fact, the last communication he'd received had mentioned specifically that he was not to intervene at all. She was a civilian and a civilian she would stay, even if she was a kidnapping victim.

Hank no longer cared what his orders were. Not when it came to her. An ingrained, inherent sense of honor had driven him to serve his country. It was driving him now, goading him to act where his superiors had refused.

The life of an innocent baby rested solely on his shoulders.

The only hope she had, and by extension her mother, was him. Hank wouldnt allow them to become casualties. He'd do anything in his power to get them to safety.

Standing idly by was no longer an option; neither was failure.

Closing the door to El Comadreja's suite of rooms, Hank counted it a small victory that he'd gotten the other man to release the two from their current windowless prison.

Now all he had to do was plan and wait.

Sooner, rather than later, Sorcha was going home.

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Eric had no idea how late it was, or how long he'd been searching through the numerous databases looking for any clues regarding Sorcha Hannagan's whereabouts. All he really knew was that he had to take a break. His eyes were tired, his head was pounding and his stomach had been growling steadily for the last twenty minutes.

Debating with himself for another ten, all the while hitting one dead end after another, he finally conceded defeat. The riddle of who owned the Cessna Citation that had flown from the Azores to Miami would have to wait for another day.

Backing up all the files and printing out the most important parts, Eric simultaneously flipped open his cell phone and dialed Speed's number. On the fourth ring, voicemail kicked in and Eric left a message.

By the time he had all the paperwork in order, another twenty minutes had passed. Realizing Tim hadn't called him back, Eric redialed as he made his way through the halls toward the exit. "Yo, Speed, I'm hungry. I figured we could shoot the breeze while I get something. Call me when you get this."

Frowning down at the device, Eric finally registered the time. It was inching close to nine thirty and he couldn't wait for Speed to get something to eat. Hunger was quickly becoming an issue.

The cool night air felt good after the static environment of the lab and Eric changed his mind about ordering out. Instead, he headed toward his parent's house. He was guaranteed food there and he wouldn't have to shell out money for it, either.

Giving Speed one more call, Eric was surprised when the message this time was 'out of range'.

Huh. Where the hell did he go this time?

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The cell phone at his hip vibrated, but Tim ignored it. He usually turned it off before heading out on his bike, since it was nothing more than an annoying distraction, but with the welcome addition of Calleigh's company, he'd forgotten about it. He wasn't sure of the time, though he knew they'd been on the road for a while. The sun was long gone and the air had started turning cooler.

His denim jacket was providing enough cover, but Calleigh wasn't wearing anything as warm. Though she didn't feel cold – quite the opposite – Tim knew it had to be chilly back there. Calleigh's arms were secure around his waist, tucked underneath his jacket. She hadn't once tapped him to indicate she was tired or needed to stop, and he was beginning to think her stamina equaled his own. If they'd been in a car, he'd've sworn she'd fallen asleep, but doubted she'd be that foolish on the bike.

She jumped a bit when his phone buzzed a second time, and he moved his arm, squeezing hers against his side. He half thought she might reach for it, but she made no move to do so. Instead her thumb stroked over his side, driving him to distraction. Checking the gas gauge, he realized they were going to have to stop soon.

Tim glanced up at the exit signs, surprised to see the next one was for Daytona Beach. Shaking his head at his own foolishness, Tim angled the bike toward the exit.

Hopefully, Calleigh wouldn't be too pissed at him when they stopped.

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Night shift was out and the lab was mostly quiet, dark and unoccupied, when computers and printers whirred to life.

The fax machine rang, pages spitting out while two of the computers beeped, alerting the empty room of incoming mail.

All the queries Delko had sent out earlier were yielding information; but no one was there to retrieve it.