"Tim you look seriously uncomfortable," Ridley teased as she leaned up to fix his tie.
"I really wish I hadn't agreed to this," the traces expert grumbled, "since when does going out for dinner constitute looking into murder?"
"Since we don't have any jurisdiction and we're trying to play good politics with the neighbours," Ridley retorted humorously as she stood back. "Besides, when's the last time we went out for dinner?"
Tim quirked an eyebrow at that as his lip twitched threatening a smile. "And there I thought you liked our takeaway nights," he said dryly. Truthfully he was glad to see Ridley happy again and she was happy, she practically beaming from ear to ear. Tim liked to think it had something to do with his efforts to make amends for his earlier prying with some physical but affectionate attention. That thought made him smile as he recalled how earlier in the year Ridley wouldn't even get into a bed with him to cuddle never mind anything else but now, despite the few nightmares, odd pallid face and slight trembles now and again, she was definitely a lot better. Oh Tim suspected the trauma would remain for years, how could it not given all she had suffered and at the hands of two men, but at least there was now evidence to show she could live through it and get on with her life despite it.
"You know I love our noodles," Ridley retorted happily, "but dinner in Vegas, that is exciting."
Tim shrugged. "I'm not so sure," he grumbled.
Ridley shook her head at him with a chiding frown. "Calleigh would have loved this," she complained.
"Yes," Tim agreed, "but Calleigh wouldn't offer you a witty commentary on the real Vegas or," he grinned mischievously, "warm the bed quite the way I do."
"Ew Tim!" Ridley gave him a light push before turning back to the mirror sitting on the dresser. She frowned as she smoothed down her deep purple dress and fidgeted with the crystal choker at her neck awkwardly before tugging her dress up and then frowning at the pink scars on her arm. The dress had two straps lined with silvery glitter, and a band of the same silvery glitter around the waist, it was fitted at the top and flowed outward below the waist in gossamer pleats that reached the knees and swished beautifully with every step. It was also low cut at the back, with the straps criss-crossing and ending in a translucent bow just at the waist, exposing some of the pink scars that lingered there. Ridley was deeply regretting the dress; truthfully she'd never even given it much of a glance when she had snatched it up on sale in a shop in Miami just yesterday. She had been urged by a phone call from Calleigh to get something to wear in Vegas. Calleigh had reminded her friend that Vegas was a place of nightclubs and parties after all and if Ridley wanted to blend in she was going to have to make an effort to look the part of a visiting party girl as well as simultaneously appearing as a professional member of the law. As the blonde had advised it should be business suits during the day and dresses at night.
Tim eyed the pale pink scars poking up at her back, and remembered seeing them the very first night they had slept together; minute crescents more prominent where the arch of her bottom began. He had wondered about them even then but not cared enough to pry. Now he knew all about them, though Ridley had never outright said, they were marks left by Hawkes; Tim recognised them for what they were, the telltale signs of nails digging into Ridley's flesh so tightly and so frequently they had left a permanent mark. It made him sick to think of it and he purposely shrugged the image off knowing Ridley would only worry and become self-conscious again if she saw his dark gaze. The worst of it was that some of those scars were more prominent, red rather than pink, he knew they were fresher, from almost a year ago when a man known as the Suburban Legends killer had re-enacted Hawkes' torture on Ridley and then added some of his own sadistic pleasures to it. He had been Hawkes' son though Ridley didn't know and could never know, even now Tim pondered darkly if Ridley had ever suspected or would ever guess at it. Horatio had known just by looking at the man who he was, how had Ridley not? Was it simply something she had dismissed as her own mind playing tricks? Tim didn't know and he didn't want to, he was terrified of the day that his, Horatio's and Eric's deception might surface causing Ridley to fall apart.
He placed a hand just above her waist and stood by her side staring at her in the mirror. "You look beautiful," he said sincerely.
"Thanks, you scrub up well too," she commented happily as she turned and looked up at him with a tender smile, "even if you do look like you hate it."
"And I do," Tim grumbled, "suits make me uncomfortable but hopefully Warrick will stop looking at me like I'm a tramp."
Ridley giggled at this. "Yeah he did keep staring at you and he said you looked different like it was a bad thing, did you get surgery I don't know about?"
Tim frowned down at her. "No," he scorned.
There was a knock on the hotel door. "Are you guys ready?" Horatio called out impatiently.
Ridley wasn't to know it but Horatio had not wanted her and Tim sharing a room, that was something Tim had insisted on, arguing with his superior that he didn't want Ridley alone and, unfairly, appealing to Horatio's guilty and paranoid side. It amused Tim how Horatio almost acted like a firm father figure when it came to Ridley, frowning at her adult relationship with a co-worker, always making a point of knowing where she was at night, in a subtle manner of course, even checking out the areas. Calleigh had actually caught Horatio looking into a bar she had intended to take Ridley out to one weekend, the blonde had thought the redhead had wanted to join them but somehow Tim knew the reality was Horatio had wanted to make sure the place was safe for his girls, or girl rather, as he seemed confident enough in Calleigh's ability to protect herself. Tim knew part of it stemmed from Horatio's guilt over failing to find Ridley when she was a teenager and imprisoned by Hawkes, and then his guilt over breaking his promise to keep her safe from the Suburban Legends killer, but the dark haired man thought part of it was from Horatio's genuine affection for the New Yorker.
"Coming," Ridley called out as she grabbed her purse and hurried to the door.
Horatio had only just returned half an hour ago and taken a hasty shower to dry and banish some of the dusty heat from himself before changing into suitable dinner attire. He had left a couple of hours ago, unwittingly (though Tim was inclined to think otherwise) interrupting Tim helping Ridley out of her shirt. He had frowned when Tim had greeted him at the door unabashedly with the shirt in hand and had sounded just a little irritated when he had informed his co-worker he would be out on business for a short while. Tim and Ridley had assumed he had meant with Catherine, neither of them even speculating that it might be with someone else.
The redhead greeted Ridley with a small smile that didn't quite reach his dark blue eyes as he tried to hide the fact that his day hadn't gone as well as he had hoped. He had met with FBI Agent Matt Harrison, a friend of Horatio's CIA friend Danny Burns, who had informed him bluntly that the problem wasn't just a cop screwing up the cartel's business but that it was a high profile cop who had drawn a lot of unwanted and unnecessary attention to said cartel in Miami, and that the city hadn't exactly stopped talking about it. He had even suggested that media attention was probably the only thing saving Ridley right now as she was too high profile for the cartel to attempt anything just yet but equally they might change their minds and decide to take advantage of her spotlight and send out a clear and bloody message to the public. Agent Harrison had continued to state that the FBI didn't consider Detective Moon to be of any real value and that the only reason he was even obliging Horatio by looking into the matter was due to the good work Horatio's brother Raymond had done within the DEA, and Danny Burns' insistence.
It was all well and good stating that Ridley had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and taken advantage of by a terrified young woman who had not known who she and her friend had been robbing but members of the cartel had been killed and one arrested. The cartel had been denied their vengeance against a girl who had robbed them, they were missing drugs, they had lost men, and one lone detective had publicly embarrassed them. As Agent Harrison had explained it was going to be extremely tough trying to find something they wanted more than Ridley's head. Agent Harrison had also advised Horatio to get the captive cartel member and their witness/survivor, Emily Jenkins, into hiding as soon as possible for obvious reasons.
"Are you okay Horatio?" Ridley pried as she looked up at him inquisitively.
"Fine," he assured, "just hungry. Good work on Speed's tie," he praised mockingly, earning a glower from Tim.
Ridley smiled. "I thought so too," she said proudly as she stepped out of the hotel room. "So where are we going?"
"The Golden Labyrinth," Horatio answered calmly, "it's where Miss van le Rael had dinner the last night she was in town, mother Monqiue wasn't a fan. The best bit was the name Catherine found the reservations under."
"Oh?"
"Alice Liddell," Horatio retorted dryly. "Seems Estella was a fan of the book too."
"That must be why he picked her," Ridley retorted with a mild look of horror. "Poor girl."
Back in Miami, Calleigh and Eric were carrying out a very important and secretive mission, getting Emily Jenkins to a safe house. The traumatised teenager had just wanted to go home but after being warned that she could be offered no protection from the cartel if she didn't co-operate she had been persuaded to testify against them, in part because of Yelina's kind persuasion tactics and Calleigh's reassurances.
Horatio had not really wanted Calleigh or Eric near the case but they were his ears and eyes while he was out of the city and he trusted Calleigh to see that things went smoothly in his absence. Their cartel member was already in jail, rotting until he was ready to roll, so there was only Emily to secure. The woman had been currently spending time under guard in a hotel but after speaking with Agent Harrison, Horatio had to agree that the city was too dangerous to host the woman until the case went to trial. So, through Calleigh and Frank, the arrangements to see her hidden in a backwater part of Florida no one would think to look was being sorted.
Calleigh was unimpressed that the FBI had not seen fit to intervene and offer the girl witness protection but they didn't deem her evidence enough to bother. She hadn't seen her friend's murder after all and she didn't know names but she knew enough to identify whom she had gotten drugs from and she had pointed out the cartel members who had chased her and Ridley, identifying them as people she had taken drugs from. It was scant but they had to do something, Emily's friend had been brutally tortured before being murdered, innocent people had been gunned down in the streets and the public were calling for justice.
So here they were, just after eight o'clock in the evening, heading towards Santa Cruz coffee house, trying to appear inconspicuous as they headed to meet Emily and Yelina and sneak them into a seemingly unremarkable car that actually had bullet proof, tinted windows. It wasn't an ideal meeting place, too public, too many bystanders at risk, but someone high up the chain had made the call, keep it public and somehow that meant it was a lower risk and an easier job. Just two girlfriends out having coffee and meeting a couple of other friends, soon to disappear from the city without notice.
"Just a couple of hours and this will all be over," Eric remarked cheerfully as he rubbed his palms together. It was proving to be a chilly autumn night, quiet as it was out of season though the coffee house was doing decent enough business. Eric hated the plan and he had been vehemently opposed to it but it had all happened too quickly for him to offer much protest. Frank had objected to him and Calleigh being the ones who picked up Emily and Yelina to drive them from the city but Calleigh had retorted that Frank and his friends just looked too much like cops for the cartel to be thrown. The cartel surely wouldn't suspect CSI agents of being undercover operatives involved in sneaking a key witness from the city, after all that wasn't the usual business for the CSI. That was if they were even watching Calleigh and Eric and knew them for the CSI.
Calleigh nodded grimly as she kept her clear blue gaze on the coffee house before them as they paused to cross a road. 'If only,' she thought wearily, thinking of the reason behind Ridley and Tim going to Vegas with Horatio. The blonde knew they couldn't take anymore and neither could she, she had seen Ridley almost die several times in hospital, watched as she had stopped breathing, as her heart had frozen and her body had turned blue, and she had seen Tim unconscious on a hospital bed, weak and pale as he had almost bled out. Sure she had only known Ridley for just over a year and Tim annoyed her more often than not but they were still her friends and lately they had all been growing closer, they hung out together, they partied together, drank together and sat on the beach together and Calleigh was desperate for that to continue.
"Calleigh you look worried," Eric said softly as he gazed at her with concerned, warm, brown eyes. "I know Horatio only made the call a couple of hours ago but Frank and the others have been prepared for this, the plan was set up days ago, alright not the coffee house specifically but the plan to get Emily out."
"I know," Calleigh said calmly even as her hand brushed against the gun at her hip and she reminded herself that yes, it was definitely fully loaded. "It's not normal protocol for us though Eric," she continued quietly, "I mean this isn't something the CSI normally do."
"I know," Eric repeated as he made himself smile to reassure her, "but come on, it's exciting right? Just think, Tim and Ridley are getting bored with room service and we're out here dodging the cartel."
Calleigh gave a thin smile at that and shook her head. "Yes I'm sure they would be so jealous of us," she commented sardonically.
The pair reached the other side of the road, pausing as they neared the coffee house at last. Tall glass windows and a glass door, it was brightly lit and looking warm and inviting, especially on this cool night. Calleigh counted at least ten customers, three staff and then Yelina and Emily, sitting in a corner booth, almost out of sight, but not quite. The blonde frowned, too visible, how long had they been there?
Eric gripped Calleigh's right hand suddenly and gave it a quick squeeze. "Stay safe Calleigh," he said seriously.
"I will," she retorted with forced confidence, "best shooter in Miami right here."
"I know," he replied even as he continued to look at her firmly, conveying his concern in his stare.
"Promise me a drink once this is all over?" Calleigh quipped hopefully. "And I don't mean coffee."
Eric grinned. "I promise." He finally released her hand and headed to the door. The bell tinkled invitingly as Eric stepped in, followed by Calleigh. It was then that they realised that they had arrived just in time but what neither could guess at in the few seconds of panic before the chaos was whether they had arrived just in time to stop a massacre or be caught up in one.
Ridley marvelled at the strip as their chauffeured car, courtesy of Las Vegas CSI, drove them through it. It was all lights and buzz just like Miami and New York and yet there was a difference. On its upside Miami oozed sun tanned models, trust fund babies, spring break fools and celebrities trying to sun away from the limelight yet not wanting to be quite out of it yet. New York's upside boasted a class system of students with a cutthroat division, the highest standard of models, designers, artists, and published writers, and a different sort of celebrity, always busy and always seen. On its darker side Miami had the cartel, immigration problems, retired mob bosses, and people and drug trafficking whilst New York's underworld boasted robbery, murder and drugs galore, it had one of the top crime rates in the country, and it was a concrete jungle of wealth and crime mixing company bosses with petty thieves. One tower block could have families who sent their children to private schools and had nannies and maids, whilst another tower block hosted drug dealers and addicts behind broken doors, neighbours to waitresses working long hours just struggling for a life and barmen who thought they could be poets or songwriters all while jamming up against a paper thin wall they could hear a heroin addict's baby howling through.
Vegas though, Vegas was something different. Its problems were neatly hidden underneath, a culture of the homeless hiding with the rats in forgotten sewers. Up above Vegas was a mixture of everything, it welcomed anyone who had a coin to spare and it mixed them together in a melting pot of lights and gambling- models, trust fund babies, tourists, hen parties, stag dos, celebrities big and small, conventions, furries, magicians, cross-dressers, anime lovers, anything and everything, Vegas held its arms open to them all lacking Miami and New York's judgement and scorn. Oh sure, in Miami and New York weird existed and thrived but weird was weird, in Vegas there was no weird, you simply smiled and went 'it's Vegas' to anything that seemed unconventional.
Ridley knew it was all a facade but she was seduced anyway, going wide eyed at the sphinx and black pyramid of the Luxor, the infamous waterworks of Caesar's Palace, the glowing blue ball of Planet Hollywood, the Bellagio's fountains, the miniature Eiffel Tower of Paris Las Vegas, and the glamorous Tangiers.
"Palm trees and lights," Tim remarked sardonically, "not much different from Miami after all."
Their ride finally came to a stop outside a restaurant with a miniature hedge maze leading up to its entrance. Before it several Japanese tourists snapped photos while a hen party dressed as fairies giggled and began to make their way through.
"You have got to be shitting me," Tim complained whilst Horatio thanked their chauffeur.
"Now that's quirky," Ridley commented with delight. She blushed faintly when Tim exited the car and turned and held his hand out to her.
He gave the expected scowl at her surprised look and remarked defensively, "you want a dinner date then fine, we'll have a dinner date, a proper one."
"I guess that makes me the chaperone," Horatio commented innocently.
Tim looked to his superior and felt just a prickle of unease at the stern look the redhead gave him.
"Only until we get to the table," Ridley said cheerfully as she pulled Tim towards the mini maze with a gleam of excitement in her grey-brown gaze. "Then I'm sure we'll be even numbers."
Tim rolled his eyes in despair as they managed to pass Marilyn Munroe, Michael Jackson, Elvis, Godzilla and King Kong all at once. "I guess they don't know Halloween is over," he grumbled.
"Welcome," a man dressed like a medieval squire greeted them chirpily, "can you fine sirs and lady find your way through the maze to the banquet?"
"If we can't do we become Vegas property?" Tim retorted dryly.
The squire looked puzzled before he held out a selection of menus to them. "To stop thou getting discouraged on thy journey, thou mayst browse upon ye delights of ye feast ahead and be inspired to keep going."
"You know ye never meant the," Ridley pointed out helpfully with a smile as she accepted the menus, "there was a letter called a thorn, it looked a bit like a p but printing presses didn't have it so they substituted with a y giving us ye."
"I don't know what's worse," Tim murmured, "his bad English or your knowledge of it."
"Thank you," Horatio addressed the now worried looking squire politely, "I'm sure we will be able to navigate our way without getting discouraged."
"I wish Calleigh was here," Ridley mused as they started walking, "she and Eric would love this."
"Delko would probably get lost," Tim sneered as they bypassed the giggling hen party who were taking photos with a suit of armour and a wooden sign that said 'Turn Ye Back'.
"See that's just inaccurate," Ridley murmured, "either they mean ye to be you or they mean it to be the."
"Okay firstly, this is Las Vegas not medieval England so it doesn't matter, secondly, I highly doubt it's the most inaccurate thing we'll find tonight," Tim commented, "and thirdly, you were just complaining about the misuse of ye as the so be happy the sign means it as you."
"Yes but ye was spelt as ge when meant as you," Ridley argued.
"Is this an interest of yours?" Horatio queried curiously as they found themselves literally walking around in a circle as the maze compelled them to.
Ridley shrugged. "I didn't get a college degree you know," she said coolly, "like all of you, in fact I barely finished high school, then I went to the city and worked full-time in a museum whilst studying criminology at night. I learnt about Old English at the museum, I left when I got into NYPD and I got my criminology course. People used to make fun because I didn't have much of an education but I was able to impress them sometimes with the stuff I learnt at the museum. Anyway, it's why I decided to study to be qualified with the CSI too, put all of you college graduates in your place," she finished with a slightly smug nod. "Well that and I found it quite interesting," she admitted quietly.
"You never mentioned that," Tim murmured with a slight frown, "I mean I knew you didn't go to college and that you had CSI training, obviously, but I didn't know you worked in a museum."
"Well I don't know where you were before Miami," Ridley pointed out.
"New York actually," Tim confessed, "I grew up in Jamaica, Queens."
Ridley laughed. "Wow Tim you and Horatio are both New Yorkers at heart!" She grinned up at them both. "Do Calleigh and Eric know your secret shame? Are they aware that you're both, hmm what is it Eric calls me, oh yes- a short tempered, yellow taxi loving Northerner or a fasting talking bagel lover, or-"
"Yes, Delko and Calleigh know I'm from there," Tim interrupted.
They paused when they found themselves face to face with a row of distorted mirrors set in the hedge maze and Ridley flinched, this was a little too familiar. She eyed the scars on her right arm distastefully before gripping Tim's left hand suddenly and leaning into him. She could smell his blood anew as she recalled what had followed the Hall of Mirrors and the tiger, the sight of Tim on the ground, whiter than chalk as his chest seemed to bloom blood.
"Something wrong?" he quipped as he looked down at her in confusion.
"No," she assured as she shook her head.
"It's just an illusion," Horatio remarked reassuringly. He knew what memory the mirrors had invoked, unlike Tim he knew where Ridley had been before she had found Tim on the ground with a bullet in his chest. "Come on or we'll be late for dinner."
They kept going, meeting several more hopeful diners and bypassing a small, fake moat with an animatronic crocodile in it, a fake tower, and three doors all promising salvation before popping open to revealing mocking birds that sprung out with caws and laughter, startling several young men and women as they did.
At last they reached the queue and the entrance of gold tinted glass with a sign above it reading 'The Golden Labyrinth'. They reached a woman dressed as a medieval maid, at least that's what Ridley supposed, and Horatio gave over Catherine Willows' name.
"Ah yes, table 83," the woman said as her fingertip paused on a computer screen. She turned behind her and called over another squire with the authentic name of Donny. "Donny take these sirs and lady to table 83," she instructed.
"This way please," Donny said as he gave them a yellow toothed smile. He was a spotty male in his early twenties with scruffy, brown hair and an unwashed appearance that Horatio didn't think was part of the theme of lowly squire.
The restaurant was huge and every table was surrounded by a fake, soft, green hedge like back whilst the smooth floor had a pattern on it that was meant to mimic pebbles. There were also confusing arrows, paw prints and footprints on the floor, fake topiaries that resembled animals, false trees with colourful arrows on them pointing in all directions and torches on the walls with fake, fluttering flames.
"I think I hate this place," Tim murmured as they passed several squires, wenches and knights before finally reaching a large, round table just behind a topiary of a unicorn.
Seated at the table were Catherine, Warrick and Nick, who had the grace to look apologetic as he glanced up at Ridley and purposely avoided Tim's unpleasant stare.
Catherine stood up revealing a stunning, fitted, gold sequined dress that stopped short daringly close to her waist revealing her enviable, long, tanned legs. Her hair was down in natural looking waves that had probably taken hours to achieve, her skin vibrant with the natural golden glow of Vegas' sun, not freckled or spotted thanks to good care and rarely seeing the burning sun thanks to working night shift, and her make-up was subtle and flattering, blush at the cheeks, gold dust on the eyelids, and gloss on her thin lips. She was stunning and whilst it looked effortless Ridley knew enough about hair, clothes and make-up to know that the older woman had put in a lot of time and effort.
'Who's she trying to impress?' the New Yorker pondered. 'All of us or just one?' She glanced up at Horatio out of the corner of her eye and stifled a giggle as she noted the awkward, flustered look he was trying to subdue, it was the same look he had given Nina and Yelina on numerous occasions.
Catherine faltered, meaning to give a big, confident smile but when she saw Horatio in an expensive dinner suit all she managed was the small, shy smile akin to a blushing schoolgirl. The redhead certainly did know how to wear a suit well unlike his fussing, dark haired companion who was tugging at the tails of his own jacket and smoothing down non-existent wrinkles on his sleeves.
"Welcome to the table," Catherine greeted at last, "please sit down."
Catherine was beside Warrick who was opposite Nick, and gestured pointedly to the seat beside her, which Horatio took leaving Ridley to occupy the seat beside Nick as she feared Tim exchanging a few more heated words with the Texan if he took the chair. Tim, unimpressed with Ridley choosing to sit beside the undeniably attractive, muscular Vegas CSI, sat down with a scowl and stared at the table pointedly.
"I asked Chris to come," Catherine said to Ridley gently, "as you requested but he never really gave me a response one way or another, just said he would check his work schedule."
Ridley smiled back gratefully and nodded. "That's okay, Uncle Chris was never a fan of fancy restaurants," she murmured as she glanced about. It was easy to get caught up in the noise, the crowds and the design, and the detective struggled to remind herself that they were meant to be here on business.
"Oh you guys will appreciate this," Catherine said suddenly with a warm smile at Horatio, "Warrick show them the photo you dug up."
Warrick nodded as he hunted through his pocket for something before tugging out a crinkled Polaroid and pushing it towards Horatio, glancing slightly at Tim as he did. He had went to a lot of effort to hunt for it, needing to prove to himself that he was right about the Miami traces expert, even Catherine agreeing with him wasn't enough, he had needed to actually see it again to believe it.
"Well," Horatio mused with a small smile, "look at that."
"Case closed for Miami and Las Vegas," Catherine murmured, "and a nice present for Grissom since he was eager to see what our Florida counterparts looked like."
Horatio turned the Polaroid round and pushed it towards Ridley and Tim. "I'd say we've all changed, but definitely you most of all Speed," he commented teasingly.
"Thank you," Warrick murmured aloud without meaning to, earning an odd look from the Miami trio.
Ridley looked down at the photograph with both amusement and surprise. It depicted Catherine, Warrick, Tim, Horatio, Calleigh and Eric all standing side by side bathed in the golden Miami sun and looking satisfied as they faced the camera, all their stares hidden by shades. Catherine had shorter, blonder hair; Warrick's afro was shorter, Horatio's hair seemed browner and Calleigh's blonde mane was longer but Tim was definitely the one who looked the most different. Tim's hair was shorter than Eric's, barely an inch long, close to the scalp, and neat and tidy with a fringe, it was decidedly un-Tim as was the clean, smooth shaven chin, the white polo neck and the grey trousers.
"Brilliant," Tim grumbled bitingly as he shoved the Polaroid back across the table to Warrick with only the briefest glance down at it.
"You did look different," Ridley murmured as she looked at him questioningly.
"You look different in those photographs with Silver," Tim pointed out coldly.
"Tim," Horatio was quick to chide.
"Okay," Ridley murmured as she opened up her menu and immediately busied herself with it.
They ordered after ten minutes and while they were eating their starters Nick brought some humour back to the table by telling Ridley and Horatio about catching former lab rat Greg Sanders channelling his inner showgirl as he had paraded about the lab wearing an infamous showgirl's glittering headdress blissfully unaware of his audience.
When their main courses arrived they finally talked about the case.
"According to the staff Estella was here with five friends," Catherine explained, "on the Thursday from seven until half eight roughly, they had a main course and dessert, put it all on Estella's credit card and then left. No one noticed anything out of the ordinary and we haven't picked up anything unusual on the cameras but you're welcome to check, they've already been secured for the lab."
"Good," Horatio enthused. "And did the staff know who she really was?"
"Of course," Catherine retorted, "asides from the pseudonym being an obvious fake, people all over Vegas knew Estella as Monique van le Rael's daughter. No one recognised her friends though, you can see on the footage but they weren't exactly classy looking people and I don't think any of them went to Miami."
"What kind of people were they?" Ridley questioned.
"Scruffy, pasty, weirdly dressed," Warrick mused.
"They looked like punks," Nick continued, "you know, kids with bad piercings and tattoos who are clearly into underage drinking and probably drugs too. I doubt they'd have gotten in here if not for Estella."
"A double life?" Horatio wondered aloud.
"Drugs," Ridley repeated carefully as she met her superior's gaze, "think she got some from our friend?"
"It's a possibility," the redhead admitted.
They finished their meal amicably, Ridley and Nick making amends as Ridley joked about Sleepy Hollow and her numerous pranks there. They shared stories about bad Halloween jokes, and Nick confessed to being a fan of the Sleepy Hollow movie though horror wasn't really his thing. All the while Tim sat in a moody silence, quietly simmering as Ridley seemed to spend more time facing Nick than him.
At the end of the meal, once the bill was split and paid, Tim didn't bother waiting for a lingering chat, instead he stood up pointedly earning a look of irritation from Horatio.
"Eager to go?" Catherine quipped lightly. "Well we're all off tomorrow, courtesy of Vegas wanting to show Miami a good time. How about a drink?"
"I'm tired," Tim muttered.
"Of what, the company?" Warrick queried dryly.
Tim shot him a glower of annoyance but held back a sardonic retort.
"Warrick," Catherine scolded calmly though she kept her gaze on Tim.
"Sorry but he's been moody since he got here," Warrick said, letting his own annoyance show. "You were fun in Miami, what the hell happened?"
"Life," Tim answered sarcastically.
"Detective Speedle," Horatio addressed him coolly, letting his own frustration with the man show, "if you want to retire for the evening that's fine, we can regroup tomorrow."
"Good," Tim answered bluntly before he looked to Ridley expectantly.
Ridley looked up at him questioningly before her gaze hardened slightly at his scowl. "I want to see more of Vegas," she admitted.
"Fine," Tim snapped, "new city, new cop, that's your thing, I'm sure Nick will give you a good, personal tour." He turned and stormed off before Ridley could even react to his implication.
Ridley sat at the table in shock, her face white as she tried and failed to digest the insult.
Horatio gave the young detective a sympathetic look and murmured, "let's see Vegas Ridley."
I had so much fun writing this chapter! Yes, I know, I'm so mean but I had to give you some EC, better than none at all, right? I realise Tim's character probably changed between Cross Jurisdictions and Golden Parachute simply because characters do change from pilots but I prefer creating an explanation :-) I also like evolving on Ridley and H's complicated relationship as I imagine H as being somewhat overprotective of Ridley as he's trying to overcompensate for failing her, and at the same time he feels she's owed a lot of happiness and he's not sure if Tim's really offering that plus he's starting to realise Ridley doesn't really have family and he feels he's somewhat similar.
Plus I love the Vegas team so much and hope I'm doing their cameo here and characters justice.