A/N: Sorry for making you wait so long! But finally getting around to the next part of the story. Enjoy.
PART THREE
Speed sneezed, something in the air iritatting his sinuses. In an unflattering way he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt, his hands currently encased in a pair of purple latex gloves. He hated the things. Not so much the color, though he found it mildly annoying—whatever happened to plain old white?—but more the way they made his hands feel. It had to do with the powder inside. He knew it was meant to keep the gloves from sticking to his skin and thus make them easier to remove. Did not mean he liked the lasting feeling. So why the hell was he working a job that required him to even wear the stupid things?
Because he found the work damn interesting.
And he liked putting bad guys away.
When he first took the job he expected it to be all about the science, about figuring out the puzzle in the mess of murder. If anyone had asked him back then how he felt about the possibility of being shot at and nearly dying, he would have laughed. Now he knew better. After so many brushes with death he no longer thought of his job as innocent, safe. Yet he kept working. Someone had to help catch the killers and put them behind bars. He quiet liked the idea of analyzing a tiny little piece of threading only to have it be the beginning of a trail leading back to a corrupt person who ended up in handcuffs.
Most times they ended up behind bars as well; which suited him just fine.
"Storm's rolling in fast," Calleigh's southern accented words dipped into his mind interrupting his thoughts.
Blinking, Speed turned his gaze toward the ever darkening sky. Another infamous Florida storm. What was it he heard one time, that Florida received more lightning strikes than any other state? He often wondered if it was true considering the amount of nasty weather that rolled through the Midwest. Days like today served to remind him of the frequent pop-up storms. At least it wasn't going to be another hurricane. For some reason the massive tropical storms tended to bring out an extra douse of nut jobs.
"Figures," he grumbled, tightening his hold on the expensive camera he held in one hand. A silver case filled with all sorts of equipment sat at his feet.
Calleigh reached out grabbing the rail before she lost her balance. She shot a glance back over her shoulder at him. "Might want to speed this along before we get caught in the full brunt of it."
"Lead on."
He followed her as she made her way along the exterior of the yacht. When the call came across Speed had been more than content to sit in the lab playing catch-up on tests. He should have known Calleigh showing up with a big smile on her face meant something was a foot. Another crime scene in need of processing. Another person lost their life. He tried to get out of it by suggesting she take Ryan. The youngest member of the crew, however, was already on a case. So then he thought she might like to have Horatio join her, he always thought the two of them had a thing together. Apparently Horatio wandered off with Frank. Neither answering their cell phones. Something about police business, she muttered. As if they weren't part of the police force. At last he hinted she could take Delko. Go figure, Delko was working with Ryan.
Which left him.
Speed glanced skyward again, the blue sky quickly being eaten by dark grey clouds. He waited at the top of the stairs while Calleigh navigated her way down. A freakin' yacht. Why did the scene have to be on a yacht? The job would have been more fitting for Delko. The man loved the water, in fact, he turned out to be the department's scuba diver. The one they all turned to when they needed something retrieved from the inky grip of water.
Thinking of Delko he felt a familiar flutter in his stomach. Nearly a year now. A total of 365 days. Who saw it coming? Certainly not him, hell he never expected them to ever be anything more than friends. Their relationship started out a bit rocky, to say the least, what with him almost dying when he took a bullet to the chest—Delko liked to tell him the scar was sexy while he thought otherwise—and then the whole incident that took place after he returned to work. How he managed to get through it all without losing his mind always surprised and amazed him. Eventually, though, as all things must it got better and everything clicked. He wound up moving in with Delko.
Er, well, they moved to a new apartment since neither of their places were big enough for two.
Three, he corrected himself. They were three.
"Are you coming down?" Calleigh called up.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, a violet-pink bolt of lightning streaking across the sky. For some reason it made him shiver. All of a sudden he felt like he should get off the yacht, hightail it back to the grey Hummer waiting in the parking lot. Safety, something about the vehicle and dryland made him think of safety. Like he had never been a boat in the middle of a storm. It came with the job. Sighing, he took the first step down as the water started to rock the boat with greater waves. At one point he was knocked slightly off balance falling against the wall, hitting his shoulder and almost dropping the camera. He cursed under his breath. And like a goddess of pearly white teeth, blond hair and sparkling eyes Calleigh came into view, taking his crime kit. Safely he made it into the belly of the yacht.
His first thought, why couldn't the body have been on the upper level?
His second thought had more to do with the cost of the extravagant boat.
As he learned over the years money did not guarantee safety from the horrible realities of life. Yeah, it might allow someone to buy security gadgets and even armed bodyguards. But if someone wanted a person dead bad enough there were ways of getting around just about every protective measure possible. People murdered people half way 'round the world thanks to the internet and killers for hire. Even mobsters managed to knock off people while behind bars, whether they were the ones doing time or it was a prisoner they wanted whacked.
"What a mess," Calleigh muttered, eyeing the disheveled bed.
Speed half expected to see the body sprawled across the rumbled sheets. Definitely a sign of…a little recreational activity. "Uh, you can take the bed."
"Ah, aren't you sweet," she drawled, walking to the bed's side to set down his kit.
"Where is the dead person?"
Calleigh blushed the slightest bit. He only managed to notice it because it so rarely happened. She shrugged. "I haven't been able to locate it. I'm sure it must be around here somewhere."
"I sure as hell hope so," he said. Smears and droplets of crimson marred the once highly polished wood and carpet. Judging by the amount of the red stuff, and his years of experience on the job, he would bet his last dollar on finidng the body aboard the yacht. There was no way in hell any who lost that much blood could be out walking around. Unless of course….the idea sent a shiver down his spine.
Calleigh must have seen it because she giggled. "Delko watching those zombie movies again?"
"What do you mean again? When does he stop?" he walked around the room noting the details. Like the expensive looking pen on top of the dresser right beside a watch with what might have been diamonds or simple fakes. "I will never understand why a man who works with the murdered wants to sit down and watch the living dead."
"We all get our kicks somewhere, Motorcycle-boy," remarked Calleigh. She disappeared through a doorway.
Outside the world grew yet darker plunging the interior of the boat into an inky gray. The lights onboard seemed dim making Speed wondering if something might have been done to the boat. He knew so little about them. Did they work the same way as cars? Would the lights being left on drain the battery? Maybe he should ask Delko. He jumped about six feet in the air when a loud rumble of thunder made it sound like an explosion right over his shoulder. His teeth rattled. Calleigh squealed from the other room caught just as off-guard as him. Any laughter at her reaction was smothered as the boat lurched to the side. A small blessing he opted to avoid eating lunch for he was pretty sure at this rate it would have revisited him and that would mess up the whole scene.
He began to pull open the drawers of the dresser. Another crack of thunder. The sound of Calleigh speaking in the other room barely reached his ears. He turned to ask her what she said only to find her walking through the doorway with a phone in hand. Judging by the expression on her face she was having a hard time hearing, no doubt the storm messing with cell service. He went back to rooting through the dresser drawers. All filled with clothing fitting to a female. Eyes darted back to the watch. Definitely male. Theories were starting to take shape.
"Pack up your gear," instructed Calleigh.
"What, why?"
"H wants us off the boat. Something about the storm."
As the craft rocked the storm outside drew ever nearer. "Isn't he worried about evidence? Things are going to get knocked about, mixed together. We won't be able to tell what's from the storm and what was caused by the murder. And what about the body, we still haven't located it."
Calleigh gave his concern considerable thought, chewing her bottom lip. "Okay, let's do it like this," she checked her watch. "Ten minutes. Get as many pictures as you can while I search for our missing corpse. Sound good?"
"Make it fifteen and you've got a deal," he said. Even as the words left his mouth he knew it to be the wrong thing to say. Unsure why, though he felt the overwhelming sense of dread a second time. Calleigh gave him thumbs up, then darted out of sight. Tentatively he reached for his gun. Found it safely on his hip. A small comfort to have it near.
Thinking it might be best to get off the boat as soon as possible he began to snap as many pictures of the boat's interior as he could, making sure each photo overlapped the last so as not to miss anything. He worked his way through the rooms of the cabin, noticing the large mess, wondering how much of it had to do with the actual crime or the fact the boat was being rocked more and more violently. After a few minutes Calleigh stepped into the room carrying both their cases.
She shook her head before he could even ask. "No sight of the body. I'm not sure it's onboard."
"Why would it be?" he mused as he took his last photo. "You commit a crime on the ocean, dump the body in the water, make it harder to prove anything happened." A loud crack of thunder made it sound as though something fell on the boat prompting both of them to look-up. "And with this storm it might take us a while to get into the water. The current could drag the body out by then."
"Well shoot," Calleigh grumbled. She hefted their cases. "Might as well get going."
Together they trooped up the steps, both of them feeling as though they would lose their balance at any moment. The storm had yet to reach them, perhaps only minutes away, but already it proved to be violent. Calleigh stepped out on deck first, the wind almost enough to force her back into the cabin. She trudged ahead finding it hard to keep her balance. Oddly enough carrying both crime kits seemed to help her out a bit. As Speed tried to walk along the side of the cabin toward the dock the boat pitched violently, heaved by a big wave. He was tossed against the side of the cabin knocking the side of his head on the wall. Almost instantly there was a ringing in his ears.
Speed shook his head to clear it. The boat rocked again sending him tumbling in the other direction. He slammed into the railing, hands wrapping around it. The camera fell from his grasp. He heard a cracking sound but before he could react the railing at his back gave 'way. Speed felt himself falling. His arms tried desperately to find something onto which he could grab.
But they found nothing.