MIAMI'S HERO

Chapter 3

"I've got to get something to eat!" Ryan moaned.

Most of the team - Calleigh, Eric and Ryan - were pouring over the mutilated remains of a hotel room's contents. A room destroyed by an explosion and fire the day before. Quick action by the Fire Department had prevented the whole hotel from being consumed, but had not saved a young couple, the room's residents, from death. So far, there seemed no motive, and, while waiting for full autopsy results, the team was working on the remains of the bomb.

"We need H," Eric murmured. "He's the bomb expert."

"Well, he's in court," Calleigh said. "I spoke to him an hour ago. He said there were 'delays on top of delays', but he's subpoena'd, so he's got to stay. I don't think we'll get him back today."

"I don't need H. I need food," Ryan repeated.

"I could go round to Tacchi's - get some sandwiches," Calleigh said brightly.

"Rather have steak and fries… But I guess a sandwich would do."

"It's not your turn," Eric added. "You went last time. Ryan's the most desperate - he should go."

The door opened to admit Frank Tripp. He gestured to the table. "Got anything useful from that lot?"

As one, they turned to him. "Just the man…," Eric murmured.

"Me? What have I done?"

"Sandwiches, Frank. We're all really busy here, and starving…"

"And I've got nothing better to do?" But the detective shrugged. "All right. This once. Tacchi's? Give me your orders…"

He recognised the girl immediately, as she worked behind the counter in the sandwich bar. The place was busy, and she said, "Next!" without immediately looking up.

At the ensuing silence, however, she met Frank Tripp's eyes. Recognition was clearly mutual, and she blushed. "Yes, Sir. What can I get you?"

He gave the order, and watched as she prepared the sandwiches. She was clearly uncomfortable under his unforgiving stare.

Finally, he said, "What's your name?"

"Michelle." She hesitated. "You're from the crime lab, aren't you? I've seen you…"

"I am. Frank Tripp. Detective. How long have you worked here?"

"About three weeks."

"Hmm." He was tempted to take her outside and question her, there and then, but Tacchi's was overflowing with customers, and, really, had she done anything wrong? He gathered up the bagged sandwiches, and walked back to the lab, deep in thought. He delivered the food, but said nothing to the others.

Horatio was back from court the next day. Clad in a lab coat, he walked slowly round the layout table, eyeing the fragmented debris. Walked round it again, then stood, hands on hips, head cocked slightly to one side. The others watched - master at work - as he leant carefully across and extracted a small blackened piece of metal from the pile.

"I know what this is."

"What?" Ryan supplied the expected prompt.

"This, my friends, is the key to the bomb-maker…" He looked at the three faces staring at him. Then laughed. "No, it's not." He dropped it back on the table. "It's a bit of a lamp fitting." He looked at them again. "I'm messing with you - you don't think I'll walk in and immediately find something you've missed?"

"You have before," Ryan muttered.

"Sorry, I'm teasing… What have you got so far?"

Eric went through their findings - which were minimal at best - while quietly enjoying his boss's good mood. Such moods were becoming rare, he thought, and he'd take advantage of this one while it lasted. And in the next couple of hours, with Horatio's expertise, they did make progress, identifying parts of both a timing device and a power source for the bomb.

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Frank Tripp was less happy. He found his mind dwelling, albeit unwillingly, on the girl, Michelle. He had been tempted to go back and speak to her again, but stopped himself. She really had done nothing wrong, and she wasn't doing anything wrong now. Something about her raised his suspicions however, and he knew his instincts were rarely misplaced. Logic told him that there were a dozen possible explanations for her earlier presence outside the lab, perhaps even connected with her new job at the sandwich bar. So, she had recognised him, but he accepted that his tall bald presence was quite distinctive. And he hadn't really identified a connection with Horatio… All right, once, one time, she had appeared to follow him. But she might not have been - Frank began to doubt what he had seen. Then there was Horatio's anonymous gift… But such things did happen, if rarely… And there was no proof that she had sent it… Most of all, Horatio was more than able to take care of himself. A man who had challenged the Russian mob hardly needed protection from a besotted young woman.

He decided he was far too busy to keep chewing over this rather vague scenario. If nothing else happened, then he'd put it down to a fertile imagination, although that wasn't something he was regularly accused of. Consequently, he did not raise the subject again with Horatio.

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Eric was grinning as he doled out the regular sandwich orders, including, unusually, one for Horatio. "Did you know you've got an admirer?"

Horatio frowned. "You sound like Frank. He thinks I've got a stalker. Well, he did. Who's this admirer?"

"Girl in the sandwich bar."

"I don't know any girl in the sandwich bar. I've never even been in there."

"Well, she knows you. I asked her to label the bags - it's such a big order today - and she asked if 'HC' was you. And she blushed."

"Blushed?" He was still frowning. "That doesn't constitute being an admirer."

"Open the bag."

Horatio did so. In addition to the sandwich - beef on rye, as ordered - the bag contained a Hershey bar.

"What's this?"

"She added it. Said you needed feeding up. That's when she blushed."

"If she knew me, she'd know I don't eat chocolate." He was mildly annoyed. "Why did you let her? It's not funny, Eric."

His colleague shrugged. "I told her not to, but it was hellish busy. I wasn't going to have a row about a chocolate bar in the middle of the shop."

Horatio sighed, putting the extra item aside. "Okay, but I'm not happy." Then he smiled. "Not that I can be bribed with a Hershey bar."

"Understood, boss," Eric hesitated. "Can I have it then?"

"Help yourself. What does she look like anyway?"

"Mid twenties, dark, quite attractive…."

It rang an unwelcome bell. Horatio nodded, as the faintest trace of concern wormed through his gut.

In fact, Horatio was rarely included in the now regular sandwich run. Either he was out, or he skipped lunch altogether. So the problem - if it was one - didn't arise again for quite a while.

When it did, it was his birthday. Birthdays weren't something Horatio made a song about. He preferred to ignore them, finding they came around all too quickly. In consequence, none of his team commemorated it, and that suited him fine. Except, this year, he got a call from Reception.

"Lieutenant… I've got a delivery for you…" Paula's voice sounded amused.

He was busy. "Can it wait?"

"Well… It's… attracting a bit of attention."

"Okay, I'll come down."

The cake had gathered several admirers - it was a near perfect replica of the admittedly striking building that housed the crime lab, complete with two figures, recognisably himself and Frank, on the steps. The sign outside had been changed to 'Happy Birthday'.

He was angry. "Who left this?"

"A courier brought it in. And this…" She handed him a parcel. "I took all his details," she added quickly.

Calleigh's voice interrupted his far from charitable thoughts. "My, that is a beautiful cake…"

"It's nothing to do with me!" he snapped. "Give me those courier details…" The reception desk was getting crowded. "Calleigh, do me a favor - take it upstairs, while I try and sort this out."