"Many waters cannot quench love,
Neither can the floods drown it."
The Bible, Song of Solomon 8:7
***
Steve's eyes fired a split second before his gun did, and Calleigh, knowing what was coming, hurled herself sideways. There was no chance of tackling him - he was too far away - but maybe she could avoid the shot. Not entirely. As she dodged, she felt a sharp tug on her left sleeve, then a thin, hot ribbon of pain. She rolled as she hit the ground and was almost instantly back on her feet. Rosalind's scream hung in the air and echoed off the trees, and Calleigh turned up the trail toward the girl. She couldn't help it. "Rosalind, I'm okay. It's okay." The girl's mouth snapped shut, but her eyes were still wide open. Pete was staring at Steve, his own gun slack. If Calleigh had been that close to him, she could have taken him in a second, but Rosalind was only 10, and she had already faced more today than any 10-year-old could be expected to.
Steve's eyes switched from Calleigh to Rosalind and back, like the lashing tail of a predatory cat before the fatal pounce. He instantly swung his gun hand around, and it wasn't Calleigh he was aiming for now. Rosalind, still sitting on the log, stared at him speechlessly, then looked back to Calleigh, the eyes pleading. "Take off the ring," Steve repeated. He cocked the pistol. Calleigh considered for half a second, but there were limits to her defiance. The ring could be replaced. The child could not. Reluctantly but quickly, she removed the ring and started toward him. "Freeze." The gun wavered back toward her, but his threat was still directed toward Rosalind. "You'd like to get up close enough to tackle me, wouldn't you? Put it down now, and back off. Walk over to the others." Calleigh knelt and gently, lovingly placed the ring on the ground, then backed away, going quickly to Rosalind, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders. She glanced at her left arm. The bullet had just grazed her high on the arm, leaving a bright red scratch. It was barely bleeding. Not even worth stitches, probably, but the sting of it sharpened her anger that much more. You'll pay for that, she promised silently.
Steve picked up the ring. He caught her eyes, grinned at her, and spit on it. Calleigh held steady, though her soul flinched. You will pay for this, you bastard. Steve grinned more broadly at the hate in her eyes, pocketed the ring, and came up the trail toward them. "When we get up to that cabin, gorgeous, I'm going to have to teach you some manners." His gun never wavered, steady on Rosalind now. He was smart enough to recognize the key to Calleigh's cooperation. "Get up, kid. Move it. Pete, put out that damn cigarette." Pete dropped the cigarette and fumbled to get his gun out of his pocket again. Give me two seconds alone with him, thought Calleigh, and then two seconds with Steve. We'll see who's the better shot. Her feet slowed down the pace as much as they could, trying to make it easier for Rosalind, trying to buy time, but her mind was moving at a flat gallop.
***
Horatio walked out of the empty house. Well, not empty - there were police and the waiter's sister there - but empty of anything that mattered. They had been here, though, and recently. Aside from the evidence in the bedroom, he could feel the glow of her presence fading like the embers in a dying fire, still giving heat. He recalled his feeling that morning, that someone had been watching him in the hotel lobby, had seen the waiter taken into the manager's office. Another of them had been there and had bolted, taking Calleigh and Rosalind with him.
Sanders came alongside him. "I think she's telling the truth," he offered tentatively. The sister had been fairly talkative, furious that her partners had abandoned her, but she claimed to have no idea where they had gone.
"She is," said Horatio. "She's too mad to lie right now. Unfortunately, her telling the truth doesn't help us."
"So what next?" asked Sanders. "What do you do in CSI when you're roadblocked?"
"Look for a detour." Horatio turned back to face Sanders directly, his eyes intense. "There are two possible routes from here, and I want us to split up. Each take one. Whichever is right, we'll get there sooner that way than just picking one and picking wrong."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Get back to the station and call the city. Park on their phone line. Don't let them call you back. We have names now for all four, and Steve, we know, has a record of minor offenses, did some light time. What you need is someone with a central database to run all of these names. Prior addresses, known acquaintances, relatives. Most of all, any contacts Steve had in prison. Cell mates. Anyone who has been paroled recently. Look for any connection at all to any person or address near here, then go search there."
"Right," said Sanders. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going back to my original idea. I'm going to try to find where Rosalind was taken and see if there's anything else there to help us." It was more than that, but he didn't explain his real reason. Most criminals, when partners started getting caught, when the net started to close, abandoned contacts, instead of involving more. His gut instinct was that Steve would run away from other people, not to them. He itched to get out on those trails, especially the distant ones. That was the direction he would take himself in Steve's shoes. He opened the door of Sanders' car and picked up the package on the front seat, unwrapping the laser binoculars. He hung them around his neck, put on his sunglasses, and headed toward the river at a fast walk. Sanders watched his tall figure until he disappeared around a corner, then shook himself into action and walked around to the driver's side. As he got in, the woman was led from the house in cuffs. She called out to him, "Right, you go catch that bastard. He still owes me my share." Actually, Sanders thought, I think you've gotten more than you bargained for. He put the car into gear and drove off, wondering what Horatio was really up to.
***
Horatio covered the trails quickly, doing the job he had said he would, measuring off distances, but rapidly moving farther and farther from the falls. The way he saw it now, Rosalind had been hiking on the trails herself when she was captured. The kidnappers then taped the ransom message on the spot and split up, one delivering it to the hotel while another took the girl to the house. He measured another distance, carefully jotted it down, and moved along another hundred yards. Suddenly, he realized how close he was to the swaying bridge. In that instant, he decided to make himself cross it, for no reason other than to get victory over something, to try to ease some of his frustration. He knew frustration blocked clear thought. Easy, Horatio, he told himself. Calleigh's probably already rescued them both. You'll probably meet them coming back.
He rounded the last curve, and the bridge was up ahead. No one else was in sight; it was around lunch time. In an hour or two, more hikers would be here, but now, he had it to himself. And that was how he wanted it. He started forward, forcing himself to see the bridge, to see that it wasn't that other one. Then, almost onto it, he stopped dead. Something out of place, something wrong. He instantly widened focus and turned a slow circle, letting himself absorb his surroundings. He spotted the Rubic's Cube immediately, and his heart leaped straight through the top of his head. She had been here. He was on the right trail. And they couldn't be that far ahead of him. He picked up the cube and pocketed it, smiling slightly at the picture of Calleigh dropping it for him. He was touching what she had touched shortly before. Then he turned toward the bridge.
The minute he felt the swaying motion under his feet, it all came back. This time, though, he refused to let himself stop. His hands gripped the rope rail so tightly that it hurt. One step at a time, he told himself. One step at a time. Straight to Calleigh. Her voice in the moonlight, calling him back, warred with the memory of the collapse. He was sweating, and his heart threatened to pound straight through his chest, but he kept going. Halfway now. He pictured Calleigh at the end of the bridge, waiting for him. Three-quarters. Keep going. Almost there. He stepped off the bridge onto firm ground again and stopped for a moment, letting his pulse slow down a bit. Victory sang through his veins along with it, though. He had managed it. The fear was still there, but when he needed to, when he had to, he had worked past it. He was still in control. He could live with being afraid, as long as he knew he was stronger than it was. It would not conquer him. It was just fear. And simple fear really did not matter, like Calleigh had said. "You're right, Cal," he said aloud. "Here I come." He started off at a smooth run, eyes scanning all sides of the trail. She would leave other clues for him, like she had left the cube. And now he was not only following their trail but moving faster than they were. He held himself back from full speed, not burning himself out but settling to the task like a distance runner to the race. Waiting at the finish line was Calleigh.
***
Calleigh kept trying to slow the pace down more, seriously worried now that Rosalind was near exhaustion. The brief rest period earlier had hardly been restful. The girl's feet dragged in the dirt, and she stumbled over and over. Calleigh had taken her arm, trying to help, but the trail got harder and steeper as they went. Finally, Rosalind had had enough. She hit a dead halt in the middle of the trail, and not even Steve's gun could move her. "I can't," she said. The flat, expressionless tone convinced Steve when further words would not. "You." He waved the gun at Calleigh. "Pick her up."
"Me? You're kidding. I'm not that much bigger than she is. And in case you forgot, I've got a hurt arm." Calleigh probably could have carried Rosalind for a while, but her mind was working like lightning, sorting out the possibilities here. If she couldn't, and Steve certainly wouldn't, then that left . . .
"Pete." Pete, seizing the opportunity to light a quick cigarette, jumped guiltily to attention. "Pick her up, Pete. No, wait." He had seen the flash in Calleigh's eyes. "Give me your gun. I want both of them." So much for the chance of getting hold of it somehow.
Pete passed his gun to Steve, who tucked it into his pocket. He then turned to Rosalind and picked her up, staggering slightly. On they went, first Pete with Rosalind, then Calleigh, then Steve a safe distance behind her, one gun aimed, one in his pocket. Pete had already been wheezing when he picked the girl up, though, and his own pace soon dropped to a crawl. He stopped himself finally, sitting down on a rock, still holding Rosalind. "Sorry, Steve," he panted. "Just give me a minute."
"Damn cigarettes," Steve said. His gun swung back toward Calleigh. "Now, gorgeous, drop the front. You carry her." Calleigh forced herself not to react. 100 yards behind Steve, swift and silent as a panther, Horatio glided around a corner. He stopped instantly, sizing up the situation. Pete, focused on the ground, did not see him. Steve had his back to him, but although he wasn't aware of Horatio, he was aware of Calleigh's sudden confidence as all fear vanished. The insult was more than he could bear. "Pick her up, damn you!" He saw the refusal in her eyes and cocked the pistol again. This time, Calleigh knew, he meant to kill her. His manhood had taken all it could from this slight woman who refused to be afraid of him. It was the only way he could think of to even the score.
Horatio had been walking toward them silently, but he was still 50 feet away. He saw Steve's shoulders tense, and he knew that time had run out. He was too far away to tackle him, he had no gun, and if he called out, distracted Steve, he might still shoot Calleigh reflexively as he turned. In desperation, Horatio used the only weapon he had. He threw the laser binoculars.
The heavy plastic and glass object hit Steve sharply across the back of the head and literally knocked him to the ground. Calleigh leaped instantly, grabbing the gun, and Horatio was there almost as quickly, pinning him down. Their eyes met briefly over the downed criminal, savoring victory, savoring each other. Then, as Calleigh pulled the second gun out of Steve's pocket, Horatio took the first one and stood, instantly aiming at Pete, who sat on his rock with his mouth literally hanging open. "You want to try anything?" Pete eyed Horatio up and down and shook his head wordlessly. "Good decision. Let the girl go." Rosalind slipped from his arms and rushed to Horatio, attaching herself fiercely to him. He hugged her back, carefully keeping his gun hand free, and turned back to check on Calleigh and Steve.
Calleigh had the gun still ready, but one hand was covered with blood. Steve's blood. "You really walloped him, Horatio. He's got a gash three inches long on the back of his head." She stood and rolled him over with her foot. The eyes were dazed but conscious. Calleigh stood over him, one foot on his chest. Remembering, she bent carefully, keeping an eye on him, and pulled her ring out of his pocket. Finally, she spit in his face. Horatio came up alongside her. "Allow me," he said. He disentangled his free hand from Rosalind, took the ring, and slipped it back onto her finger. Their eyes met for a long, satisfying moment.
"Now," said Calleigh, "what do we do? I don't think this jerk can walk back down, and I know Rosalind can't. I'm pooped, too." She didn't say it, but she realized now that Horatio's shirt was soaked with sweat and his breathing not quite steady. She remembered that he had been running when he first rounded the corner. He ran all the way up that trail, she thought. Almost 10 miles. And he was only three months out from his accident, had only started working out again a month before.
"Calleigh, I have a confession to make."
"What's that?"
Horatio pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. "I cheated. Last night, after you were kidnapped, I asked Sanders to loan me a phone."
Her eyes rested on it appreciatively. "I forgive you. I must admit, I'm glad to see one."
"They do have their uses. At times."
"At times," she agreed, as he started dialing. Steve's bewildered eyes tracked from the woman standing over him to the man with the phone, and his foggy mind still tried to work out what the hell had happened.
**
Later that evening, Horatio and Calleigh re-entered the honeymoon suite. She carefully bolted the door behind them, fastening the chain, as Horatio crossed to the couch and dropped into it. "Do you think there's any hope for him?" she asked. They had just reluctantly shared a celebratory dinner with Stevens and Rosalind. The man was so effusive in his thanks that it was pathetic.
"People do change," said Horatio.
"Sometimes. You think he will, though?" She came up behind the couch where he was sitting and started working her hands along his shoulders, untying the knots.
He sighed. "Not really. He's always been wrapped up in business first. Rosalind says that's what broke up the marriage. Once the shock wears off, he'll probably revert to form."
"At least her mother is caring."
"Yes." He turned his head slightly, looking back at her. "Do you mind if we keep in touch with her, have her over now and then?"
"Of course not. Be a shame not to, with her right in Miami." She continued working on his shoulders, feeling the tension draining away. She had no doubt that the last 24 hours had been harder on him than on her.
"Are you sure you're all right, Cal?"
"I'm absolutely fine, Horatio. It's only a scratch. Once the hotel doctor put some stuff on it, it even stopped hurting. And chloroform doesn't hurt you in small doses. I even got a very sound night's sleep last night, although the hard way." She eyed the taut angles of his face. "What about you? Did you get any sleep at all?" He nodded. "How much?" she insisted.
"About 30 minutes," he admitted.
She bent over and kissed the top of his head. "Well, tonight, you're going to get some real sleep. And no dreams allowed, you hear?"
He reached one hand up and lightly stroked the side of her face. "I already have one. Will you let me keep it?"
Utterly charmed, she walked around the couch and climbed into his lap, snuggling against him. "Just that one, then. But no others. I mean it."
He pulled her against him. "One's enough," he said, bending to kiss her. She answered his kisses with her own, feeling the heat rising between them. After a minute, though, he broke away. "You're sure that arm is okay?"
She smiled at him. "Horatio, it doesn't bother me in the slightest."
His smile answered hers, his incredible eyes, amused and playful now, drinking in the sight of her face in the moonlight once again. The reality, not just the memory. "Prove it to me," he said, his voice a low rumble.
Later, he had to admit he was thoroughly convinced.
***
Eric and Speed were waiting as Horatio and Calleigh entered CSI. "Look who decided to come back," said Speed. "We were taking bets whether you'd just decide to stay in Niagara Falls."
"There's a thought," said Horatio. "What about it, Cal? Year round."
She smiled at him. "I'd hate to see the hotel bills, though."
"I bet a week is bad enough," muttered Speed. Eric kicked him lightly on the shin.
"We are glad to have you back," said Eric. "Been too quiet around here."
"We'll do our best to liven things up a bit," said Horatio. "By the way, Eric, thank you again for your help with that package."
"No problem, H." Eric still wondered about that package.
"What package?" asked Calleigh.
"Eric is the one who shipped me the laser binoculars."
To Eric's amazement, Calleigh instantly walked over to him, hugged him fiercely, then kissed him. "Thank you, Eric. They were a lifesaver. We never would have made it without them."
"Which reminds me," said Horatio, "one thing I've got to do today is order another set. Between the broken lenses and the dented casing, I don't think that pair will be much use to us anymore."
"You ought to bill them to Niagara Falls," said Calleigh.
"No, fair's fair. I'm the one who threw them. I'll pay to replace them." He smiled at Calleigh. "Besides, it was cheap at the price."
"That it was," she said, answering his smile with one of her own.
"Well, I'd better see what paperwork has sprouted on my desk while I was gone. See you at lunch, Calleigh." He turned for his office.
"See you then, Horatio." She headed for Ballistics. Eric and Speed were left staring at each other. It was a good minute before Eric broke the silence.
"You've got company, man. I'll never understand either one of them."
Speed shook his head. "I'm gonna go work on something simple, like trace evidence."
Speed left, and Eric stood there for another minute, then wandered down the hall into the main lab, looking up toward Horatio's office. He could see him up there at his desk, phone to his ear. Probably ordering laser binoculars. To replace the ones he had thrown and broken. On his honeymoon. With a shrug, Eric gave up on it. "Welcome back, H."
The Bible, Song of Solomon 8:7
***
Steve's eyes fired a split second before his gun did, and Calleigh, knowing what was coming, hurled herself sideways. There was no chance of tackling him - he was too far away - but maybe she could avoid the shot. Not entirely. As she dodged, she felt a sharp tug on her left sleeve, then a thin, hot ribbon of pain. She rolled as she hit the ground and was almost instantly back on her feet. Rosalind's scream hung in the air and echoed off the trees, and Calleigh turned up the trail toward the girl. She couldn't help it. "Rosalind, I'm okay. It's okay." The girl's mouth snapped shut, but her eyes were still wide open. Pete was staring at Steve, his own gun slack. If Calleigh had been that close to him, she could have taken him in a second, but Rosalind was only 10, and she had already faced more today than any 10-year-old could be expected to.
Steve's eyes switched from Calleigh to Rosalind and back, like the lashing tail of a predatory cat before the fatal pounce. He instantly swung his gun hand around, and it wasn't Calleigh he was aiming for now. Rosalind, still sitting on the log, stared at him speechlessly, then looked back to Calleigh, the eyes pleading. "Take off the ring," Steve repeated. He cocked the pistol. Calleigh considered for half a second, but there were limits to her defiance. The ring could be replaced. The child could not. Reluctantly but quickly, she removed the ring and started toward him. "Freeze." The gun wavered back toward her, but his threat was still directed toward Rosalind. "You'd like to get up close enough to tackle me, wouldn't you? Put it down now, and back off. Walk over to the others." Calleigh knelt and gently, lovingly placed the ring on the ground, then backed away, going quickly to Rosalind, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders. She glanced at her left arm. The bullet had just grazed her high on the arm, leaving a bright red scratch. It was barely bleeding. Not even worth stitches, probably, but the sting of it sharpened her anger that much more. You'll pay for that, she promised silently.
Steve picked up the ring. He caught her eyes, grinned at her, and spit on it. Calleigh held steady, though her soul flinched. You will pay for this, you bastard. Steve grinned more broadly at the hate in her eyes, pocketed the ring, and came up the trail toward them. "When we get up to that cabin, gorgeous, I'm going to have to teach you some manners." His gun never wavered, steady on Rosalind now. He was smart enough to recognize the key to Calleigh's cooperation. "Get up, kid. Move it. Pete, put out that damn cigarette." Pete dropped the cigarette and fumbled to get his gun out of his pocket again. Give me two seconds alone with him, thought Calleigh, and then two seconds with Steve. We'll see who's the better shot. Her feet slowed down the pace as much as they could, trying to make it easier for Rosalind, trying to buy time, but her mind was moving at a flat gallop.
***
Horatio walked out of the empty house. Well, not empty - there were police and the waiter's sister there - but empty of anything that mattered. They had been here, though, and recently. Aside from the evidence in the bedroom, he could feel the glow of her presence fading like the embers in a dying fire, still giving heat. He recalled his feeling that morning, that someone had been watching him in the hotel lobby, had seen the waiter taken into the manager's office. Another of them had been there and had bolted, taking Calleigh and Rosalind with him.
Sanders came alongside him. "I think she's telling the truth," he offered tentatively. The sister had been fairly talkative, furious that her partners had abandoned her, but she claimed to have no idea where they had gone.
"She is," said Horatio. "She's too mad to lie right now. Unfortunately, her telling the truth doesn't help us."
"So what next?" asked Sanders. "What do you do in CSI when you're roadblocked?"
"Look for a detour." Horatio turned back to face Sanders directly, his eyes intense. "There are two possible routes from here, and I want us to split up. Each take one. Whichever is right, we'll get there sooner that way than just picking one and picking wrong."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Get back to the station and call the city. Park on their phone line. Don't let them call you back. We have names now for all four, and Steve, we know, has a record of minor offenses, did some light time. What you need is someone with a central database to run all of these names. Prior addresses, known acquaintances, relatives. Most of all, any contacts Steve had in prison. Cell mates. Anyone who has been paroled recently. Look for any connection at all to any person or address near here, then go search there."
"Right," said Sanders. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going back to my original idea. I'm going to try to find where Rosalind was taken and see if there's anything else there to help us." It was more than that, but he didn't explain his real reason. Most criminals, when partners started getting caught, when the net started to close, abandoned contacts, instead of involving more. His gut instinct was that Steve would run away from other people, not to them. He itched to get out on those trails, especially the distant ones. That was the direction he would take himself in Steve's shoes. He opened the door of Sanders' car and picked up the package on the front seat, unwrapping the laser binoculars. He hung them around his neck, put on his sunglasses, and headed toward the river at a fast walk. Sanders watched his tall figure until he disappeared around a corner, then shook himself into action and walked around to the driver's side. As he got in, the woman was led from the house in cuffs. She called out to him, "Right, you go catch that bastard. He still owes me my share." Actually, Sanders thought, I think you've gotten more than you bargained for. He put the car into gear and drove off, wondering what Horatio was really up to.
***
Horatio covered the trails quickly, doing the job he had said he would, measuring off distances, but rapidly moving farther and farther from the falls. The way he saw it now, Rosalind had been hiking on the trails herself when she was captured. The kidnappers then taped the ransom message on the spot and split up, one delivering it to the hotel while another took the girl to the house. He measured another distance, carefully jotted it down, and moved along another hundred yards. Suddenly, he realized how close he was to the swaying bridge. In that instant, he decided to make himself cross it, for no reason other than to get victory over something, to try to ease some of his frustration. He knew frustration blocked clear thought. Easy, Horatio, he told himself. Calleigh's probably already rescued them both. You'll probably meet them coming back.
He rounded the last curve, and the bridge was up ahead. No one else was in sight; it was around lunch time. In an hour or two, more hikers would be here, but now, he had it to himself. And that was how he wanted it. He started forward, forcing himself to see the bridge, to see that it wasn't that other one. Then, almost onto it, he stopped dead. Something out of place, something wrong. He instantly widened focus and turned a slow circle, letting himself absorb his surroundings. He spotted the Rubic's Cube immediately, and his heart leaped straight through the top of his head. She had been here. He was on the right trail. And they couldn't be that far ahead of him. He picked up the cube and pocketed it, smiling slightly at the picture of Calleigh dropping it for him. He was touching what she had touched shortly before. Then he turned toward the bridge.
The minute he felt the swaying motion under his feet, it all came back. This time, though, he refused to let himself stop. His hands gripped the rope rail so tightly that it hurt. One step at a time, he told himself. One step at a time. Straight to Calleigh. Her voice in the moonlight, calling him back, warred with the memory of the collapse. He was sweating, and his heart threatened to pound straight through his chest, but he kept going. Halfway now. He pictured Calleigh at the end of the bridge, waiting for him. Three-quarters. Keep going. Almost there. He stepped off the bridge onto firm ground again and stopped for a moment, letting his pulse slow down a bit. Victory sang through his veins along with it, though. He had managed it. The fear was still there, but when he needed to, when he had to, he had worked past it. He was still in control. He could live with being afraid, as long as he knew he was stronger than it was. It would not conquer him. It was just fear. And simple fear really did not matter, like Calleigh had said. "You're right, Cal," he said aloud. "Here I come." He started off at a smooth run, eyes scanning all sides of the trail. She would leave other clues for him, like she had left the cube. And now he was not only following their trail but moving faster than they were. He held himself back from full speed, not burning himself out but settling to the task like a distance runner to the race. Waiting at the finish line was Calleigh.
***
Calleigh kept trying to slow the pace down more, seriously worried now that Rosalind was near exhaustion. The brief rest period earlier had hardly been restful. The girl's feet dragged in the dirt, and she stumbled over and over. Calleigh had taken her arm, trying to help, but the trail got harder and steeper as they went. Finally, Rosalind had had enough. She hit a dead halt in the middle of the trail, and not even Steve's gun could move her. "I can't," she said. The flat, expressionless tone convinced Steve when further words would not. "You." He waved the gun at Calleigh. "Pick her up."
"Me? You're kidding. I'm not that much bigger than she is. And in case you forgot, I've got a hurt arm." Calleigh probably could have carried Rosalind for a while, but her mind was working like lightning, sorting out the possibilities here. If she couldn't, and Steve certainly wouldn't, then that left . . .
"Pete." Pete, seizing the opportunity to light a quick cigarette, jumped guiltily to attention. "Pick her up, Pete. No, wait." He had seen the flash in Calleigh's eyes. "Give me your gun. I want both of them." So much for the chance of getting hold of it somehow.
Pete passed his gun to Steve, who tucked it into his pocket. He then turned to Rosalind and picked her up, staggering slightly. On they went, first Pete with Rosalind, then Calleigh, then Steve a safe distance behind her, one gun aimed, one in his pocket. Pete had already been wheezing when he picked the girl up, though, and his own pace soon dropped to a crawl. He stopped himself finally, sitting down on a rock, still holding Rosalind. "Sorry, Steve," he panted. "Just give me a minute."
"Damn cigarettes," Steve said. His gun swung back toward Calleigh. "Now, gorgeous, drop the front. You carry her." Calleigh forced herself not to react. 100 yards behind Steve, swift and silent as a panther, Horatio glided around a corner. He stopped instantly, sizing up the situation. Pete, focused on the ground, did not see him. Steve had his back to him, but although he wasn't aware of Horatio, he was aware of Calleigh's sudden confidence as all fear vanished. The insult was more than he could bear. "Pick her up, damn you!" He saw the refusal in her eyes and cocked the pistol again. This time, Calleigh knew, he meant to kill her. His manhood had taken all it could from this slight woman who refused to be afraid of him. It was the only way he could think of to even the score.
Horatio had been walking toward them silently, but he was still 50 feet away. He saw Steve's shoulders tense, and he knew that time had run out. He was too far away to tackle him, he had no gun, and if he called out, distracted Steve, he might still shoot Calleigh reflexively as he turned. In desperation, Horatio used the only weapon he had. He threw the laser binoculars.
The heavy plastic and glass object hit Steve sharply across the back of the head and literally knocked him to the ground. Calleigh leaped instantly, grabbing the gun, and Horatio was there almost as quickly, pinning him down. Their eyes met briefly over the downed criminal, savoring victory, savoring each other. Then, as Calleigh pulled the second gun out of Steve's pocket, Horatio took the first one and stood, instantly aiming at Pete, who sat on his rock with his mouth literally hanging open. "You want to try anything?" Pete eyed Horatio up and down and shook his head wordlessly. "Good decision. Let the girl go." Rosalind slipped from his arms and rushed to Horatio, attaching herself fiercely to him. He hugged her back, carefully keeping his gun hand free, and turned back to check on Calleigh and Steve.
Calleigh had the gun still ready, but one hand was covered with blood. Steve's blood. "You really walloped him, Horatio. He's got a gash three inches long on the back of his head." She stood and rolled him over with her foot. The eyes were dazed but conscious. Calleigh stood over him, one foot on his chest. Remembering, she bent carefully, keeping an eye on him, and pulled her ring out of his pocket. Finally, she spit in his face. Horatio came up alongside her. "Allow me," he said. He disentangled his free hand from Rosalind, took the ring, and slipped it back onto her finger. Their eyes met for a long, satisfying moment.
"Now," said Calleigh, "what do we do? I don't think this jerk can walk back down, and I know Rosalind can't. I'm pooped, too." She didn't say it, but she realized now that Horatio's shirt was soaked with sweat and his breathing not quite steady. She remembered that he had been running when he first rounded the corner. He ran all the way up that trail, she thought. Almost 10 miles. And he was only three months out from his accident, had only started working out again a month before.
"Calleigh, I have a confession to make."
"What's that?"
Horatio pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. "I cheated. Last night, after you were kidnapped, I asked Sanders to loan me a phone."
Her eyes rested on it appreciatively. "I forgive you. I must admit, I'm glad to see one."
"They do have their uses. At times."
"At times," she agreed, as he started dialing. Steve's bewildered eyes tracked from the woman standing over him to the man with the phone, and his foggy mind still tried to work out what the hell had happened.
**
Later that evening, Horatio and Calleigh re-entered the honeymoon suite. She carefully bolted the door behind them, fastening the chain, as Horatio crossed to the couch and dropped into it. "Do you think there's any hope for him?" she asked. They had just reluctantly shared a celebratory dinner with Stevens and Rosalind. The man was so effusive in his thanks that it was pathetic.
"People do change," said Horatio.
"Sometimes. You think he will, though?" She came up behind the couch where he was sitting and started working her hands along his shoulders, untying the knots.
He sighed. "Not really. He's always been wrapped up in business first. Rosalind says that's what broke up the marriage. Once the shock wears off, he'll probably revert to form."
"At least her mother is caring."
"Yes." He turned his head slightly, looking back at her. "Do you mind if we keep in touch with her, have her over now and then?"
"Of course not. Be a shame not to, with her right in Miami." She continued working on his shoulders, feeling the tension draining away. She had no doubt that the last 24 hours had been harder on him than on her.
"Are you sure you're all right, Cal?"
"I'm absolutely fine, Horatio. It's only a scratch. Once the hotel doctor put some stuff on it, it even stopped hurting. And chloroform doesn't hurt you in small doses. I even got a very sound night's sleep last night, although the hard way." She eyed the taut angles of his face. "What about you? Did you get any sleep at all?" He nodded. "How much?" she insisted.
"About 30 minutes," he admitted.
She bent over and kissed the top of his head. "Well, tonight, you're going to get some real sleep. And no dreams allowed, you hear?"
He reached one hand up and lightly stroked the side of her face. "I already have one. Will you let me keep it?"
Utterly charmed, she walked around the couch and climbed into his lap, snuggling against him. "Just that one, then. But no others. I mean it."
He pulled her against him. "One's enough," he said, bending to kiss her. She answered his kisses with her own, feeling the heat rising between them. After a minute, though, he broke away. "You're sure that arm is okay?"
She smiled at him. "Horatio, it doesn't bother me in the slightest."
His smile answered hers, his incredible eyes, amused and playful now, drinking in the sight of her face in the moonlight once again. The reality, not just the memory. "Prove it to me," he said, his voice a low rumble.
Later, he had to admit he was thoroughly convinced.
***
Eric and Speed were waiting as Horatio and Calleigh entered CSI. "Look who decided to come back," said Speed. "We were taking bets whether you'd just decide to stay in Niagara Falls."
"There's a thought," said Horatio. "What about it, Cal? Year round."
She smiled at him. "I'd hate to see the hotel bills, though."
"I bet a week is bad enough," muttered Speed. Eric kicked him lightly on the shin.
"We are glad to have you back," said Eric. "Been too quiet around here."
"We'll do our best to liven things up a bit," said Horatio. "By the way, Eric, thank you again for your help with that package."
"No problem, H." Eric still wondered about that package.
"What package?" asked Calleigh.
"Eric is the one who shipped me the laser binoculars."
To Eric's amazement, Calleigh instantly walked over to him, hugged him fiercely, then kissed him. "Thank you, Eric. They were a lifesaver. We never would have made it without them."
"Which reminds me," said Horatio, "one thing I've got to do today is order another set. Between the broken lenses and the dented casing, I don't think that pair will be much use to us anymore."
"You ought to bill them to Niagara Falls," said Calleigh.
"No, fair's fair. I'm the one who threw them. I'll pay to replace them." He smiled at Calleigh. "Besides, it was cheap at the price."
"That it was," she said, answering his smile with one of her own.
"Well, I'd better see what paperwork has sprouted on my desk while I was gone. See you at lunch, Calleigh." He turned for his office.
"See you then, Horatio." She headed for Ballistics. Eric and Speed were left staring at each other. It was a good minute before Eric broke the silence.
"You've got company, man. I'll never understand either one of them."
Speed shook his head. "I'm gonna go work on something simple, like trace evidence."
Speed left, and Eric stood there for another minute, then wandered down the hall into the main lab, looking up toward Horatio's office. He could see him up there at his desk, phone to his ear. Probably ordering laser binoculars. To replace the ones he had thrown and broken. On his honeymoon. With a shrug, Eric gave up on it. "Welcome back, H."