Thanks again for the great reviews, here's the next part for you:

Buoyed with the new sense of hope Frank's information had given her Calleigh stayed at the lab longer than she had intended. Several hours and frustrating phone calls later she dialled a number that she hoped would lead to the man she had been trying to trace all day.

"Collins." A harsh voice barked.

She jumped slightly at the hardened tone of the FBI agent, "Richard Collins?"

"Who's asking?"

"My name's Calleigh Duquesne. I work in the crime lab at MDPD."

"And what has that got to do with me. Who gave you my number?" the man growled.

"I have my ways," she answered cryptically, attempting to match wits with the wily agent. "We have reason to believe that you have information on a case of ours."

"And what case would that be?"

"A few days ago a hit was put out on our lieutenant, Horatio Caine. You might know him better as John Kelly."

Silence filled the air; the pause in conversation seemed to last for an eternity before the man spoke. "He's taught you well, I see." She could hear him huff in amusement, "He never could leave things well alone. You're just like him, sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong." He paused again before continuing, "I warned you to stay away, this isn't something you want to get involved in. People will end up getting hurt."

"I'm already in involved and people have already got hurt!" she shouted down the phone as her temper frayed. Her eyes narrowed as the meaning of his words sank in, "Wait. The emails, you sent them, didn't you?"

"I had hoped that you and the Cuban boy would take notice, seems my efforts were wasted." He sighed dramatically, "Now you've got too many people involved. This isn't going to end well, you know."

"We need your help. He needs your help."

"I did everything I could, Miss Duquesne. It's not my fault your man was too stubborn to heed my warnings. I told him to pack his bags and move on before it was too late."

The pieces were starting to fall into place now, "It was you, wasn't it? You were the one Horatio was arguing with in his office."

"Very clever, he's trained you very well indeed."

Calleigh bristled at the man's smug tone, "You need to come down to the station and tell me everything you know," she commanded with more authority than she felt.

"I don't need to do anything, Miss Duquesne. I think you forget who you're talking to. This 'situation' is way above your pay grade."

"I need answers, I can't protect him if we don't know what we're up against." She pleaded with the FBI agent, trying to reason with him.

"You can't protect him; you would do well to leave it alone."

"His life is in danger; you owe it to him to help!"

"I don't owe him anything; he was a means to an end. Nothing more." His tone was cold and emotionless.

"You bastard!" she shouted as her temper boiled over, "I don't care what it takes, I'll track you down and you will tell me what I need to know." The response was a dial tone signifying that the man had hung up; she threw her phone down in frustration.

"It's times like these," Andy thought to himself as he laid back on the stiff mattress in his motel room, "that I could really do with a drink." His head was all over the place, years ago losing himself in a bottle of scotch was the perfect answer to a long day. He'd been sober for a long time now but the yearning for a drink never left him no matter how hard he tried. His long-held anger was starting to give way to doubt, he knew John was a good liar but was he that convincing that he could fake amnesia? "Wouldn't put it past him," he thought to himself.

What if it was true, that he didn't remember what had happened? It still didn't change the fact that he had done those terrible things. John had told him earlier that he had to do it, that he had no choice but surely there was a better solution than selling out to the Malucci's? He had wanted so badly to hate John for the rest of his life but looking into the pained soulful eyes of his old partner he almost felt sorry for him. If John had really lost his memory then perhaps it was better that way, telling him the truth earlier had only upset the man and set his recovery back further. He envied the younger man's current predicament, he laughed bitterly to himself as he realised that although John had been the one to cause all of their suffering he himself was the one that carried all of the pain of their past.

His pondering was disturbed by the shrill ringing of the phone by the bedside, pinching the bridge of his nose he answered it, "What is it?" he barked.

"It's Eric Delko."

"You, again? You applying to be president of my fan club or something?" He couldn't help snapping at the younger man, his head spinning from the rollercoaster ride of the last few days.

"You need to come down to the hospital." Eric's voice was insistent.

"No, I don't. I need you to leave me the hell alone."

"Please," the younger man begged, "He's really agitated; I can't get him to calm down. He's insisting he talks to you."

"I think we've both done enough talking today, it's late and I'm tired."

"Please just think about it, will you come by in the morning?"

He could hear the desperation in the other man's voice. His feelings for John rising back to the surface, he wanted to hate him and leave him to his misery but he realised that he could never turn his back on him completely. Right now his bruised ego wouldn't allow him to reach a hand out in forgiveness, he still needed to know why John had done it before he could lay the demons of their tattered friendship to rest. "I'll think about it," was all he said as he slammed the phone back down into its cradle, lying back down he tried to close his eyes and drift off to sleep.

Eric walked back into Horatio's room looking dejected, "Did you speak to him? Is he coming?" his brother in law asked as he attempted to sit up further in the bed.

He reached over and placed a hand on Horatio's chest, halting his movements. "He's not coming tonight," pain lanced through his heart as he saw the look on the other man's face. "I tried, I'm sorry." He watched as Horatio stared up at the ceiling, his voice made him jump when he finally spoke.

"I aimed a gun in his face, I could have killed him," he said out loud to himself.

"It was just a dream, it wasn't real." Eric tried to calm the redhead down, fearing a repeat of earlier in the day.

He turned his head to look at him, "No, it was real. I was in that building, moving drugs for the Malucci's. He came after me until I was cornered; I had to make a move." He looked at Eric, pleading with him to understand. "I swear that I didn't want anyone to get hurt. I had to make him see, I was the only one left. I levelled my gun at him when he was on the floor, he was defenceless. He'd dropped his gun when he fell, he wasn't a threat. I just needed enough time to get away."

The words were coming out of Horatio's mouth in a jumble and Eric struggled to make sense of what the other man was saying. "Easy, slow down," he said as a hand gripped his arm.

"I have to tell him," the redhead slurred as his strength finally ran out and his gripped loosened on Eric's sleeve.

Sitting watching his friend slip into a dreamless slumber he decided it was time to take action. Whether Andy liked it or not, he would insist that the other man met with Calleigh and himself tomorrow. They had all heard and been told different things, Eric realised that the three of them putting their heads together would give them all a better idea of what the hell was going on.