"Delko, have you talked to Horatio this morning?"

"No, but he should be in soon, Rick."

Stetler looked at his watch, then back at Eric. "His shift started ten minutes ago."

Eric looked up from his work. "He probably hit traffic. He'll be here soon," he said sharply.

Stetler raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious. "Tell him to call me when he gets in," he ordered, then walked away purposefully.

Eric snorted disdainfully, then went back to examining the fingerprints on the table. Morning sunlight poured in through the glass windows, the lab coming back to life after the night shift switched to the day.

A soft tap on the glass doorway roused him from his work. He looked up to see Calleigh standing there, a sweet smile on her lovely face.

"Morning, Cal," he said, smiling back at her.

"Indeed it is a lovely morning," she answered. "Hey, have you seen Horatio? I can't find him anywhere and he's not answering his cell."

Eric frowned. "Stetler was in here looking for him, too." He checked his watch and frowned deeper. "That was a half-hour ago. He hasn't called in?"

Calleigh shook her head, her smiled having disappeared too. "Neither Tripp or Ryan's heard from him either."

"That's strange."

"It is," she agreed softly, almost to herself. "I'm going to go check with the desk."

With that, she disappeared down the hall. Something twinged in the pit of Eric's stomach: something was wrong.

Calleigh returned a few minutes later. "He hasn't called the desk and he hasn't left a note either," she said, clearly worried now. "Am I the only one who thinks this is weird?"

"No, I was just thinking the same thing," Eric assured her. "Why don't you try his cell again?"

She nodded, flipping open her phone and dialing. She held it to her ear expectantly for only a few seconds before she closed it again. "He must not have it on, it just goes right to voicemail."

"Maybe he…"

But Eric was interrupted by the arrival of Tripp.

"You guys busy?" Tripp asked. "We just got a call-out for a possible kidnapping. Wolfe's on his way there already, if you wouldn't mind joining him."

"Okay, Frank," Calleigh said. Tripp nodded then left. " I'm sure he just got stuck in traffic," Calleigh added to Eric.

"Yeah. Sure."

"Gabrielle Andrews. Nineteen years old, first-year student at Dade University. She was out here at six a.m. walking her dog when she claims to have seen two men come up behind a third, hit him over the head, and shove him into a black van," Wolfe reported. "She doesn't remember the plate number but she did say that the victim came out of that apartment building," he added, pointing to the complex behind him.

He was standing in the complex's parking lot with Calleigh and Eric, who had just arrived. A girl with long, brown hair stood holding the leash of a big golden retriever on the other side of the yellow tape, talking to a police officer. The tape surrounded the majority of the lot, encompassing a handful of cars and a set of tire treads on the asphalt.

"I had just started taking pictures of the treads when you guys got here, so if you want to start..," but Ryan stopped short. Calleigh and Eric weren't listening to him. They stood staring transfixed at the apartment complex.

"Guys?" Ryan asked. "What's up?"

"Eric..," Calleigh whispered.

"Yeah," he answered.

"Am I missing something here?" Ryan prodded.

Eric look at him as if he was just seeing him for the first time. "This is where H lives," he said.

"Oh, good. Maybe he knows something about any problems between the tenants," Wolfe said. "Maybe he'll know our vic."

"Ryan, Horatio didn't come to work today. He didn't call in either," Calleigh told him softly.

Ryan laughed half-heartedly. "What are you guys saying? You think H was the guy…"

The blank look on their faces told him everything. He went numb.

Calleigh immediately took action. "We need to call this in now. Eric, get on the wire, tell dispatch that we have an officer in distress. Then get Tripp and Natalia down here, we'll need everyone we've got. Ryan, go talk to the witness, get everything you can out of her. The smallest detail could be the most important. I'll call the lab and tell them to be ready for anything. There's only one case in Miami today."

"Do you remember what any of them looked like?" Ryan pressed, an edge creeping into his voice.

The scene had changed dramatically in the last ten minutes. Radios blared from the hands and waists of dozens of police officers that cleared the area and kept onlookers away. Scent dogs barked as they sniffed out the trails of the men. Sirens screamed to and from the scene constantly, transporting supplies to the scene and evidence back to the lab. Ryan was finding it very hard to concentrate in the racket.

"No, I'm sorry I don't remember!" Gabrielle cried almost desperately. "I was too far away and I didn't have my contacts in yet!"

"Come on, you had to have seen something!"

"Stop yelling at me! I'm trying to help!"

"Then help!"

The girl looked as if she was on the verge of tears. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip. "The two guys both had dark hair, either black or brown. And the guy they hit had … red hair. Yeah, that's it. I remember because even though I could barely see his face, the sun was reflecting off his hair."

Ryan couldn't speak. The ache in his gut had been right: Horatio Caine had been taken.

"Do you remember anything else at all?" he asked more softly, his voice cracking a little.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think anything of it until they hit him. By then they moved so fast I didn't get a good look at them. All I know was that they shoved him into a black van and they drove off in a hurry."

"Which way did they go?"

"Down the street that way," she replied, pointing. "Toward the highway."

Meanwhile, Eric was measuring and examining the tire treads on the street. Natalia came up behind him.

"I can't believe this is happening," she said.

"Me either, but it's happening," Eric replied shortly. "And we can't lose focus on finding H."

"You're right. Did you get anything?"

"These treads are consistent with the girl's story about a van. They're the right size for a vehicle that big. I also found some black paint transfer on that curb over there," he said, pointing. "Looks like they ran up on it when they raced off. I sent a sample to the lab."

"Need any help?"

"I'm good, but check with Calleigh."

Natalia walked over to Calleigh, who was examining a parked silver sedan. "That's Horatio's car," she pointed out.

"Yeah," Calleigh sighed. "I was just going over it for any trace. My guess is that they grabbed Horatio as he was getting in his car to come to work."

"I'll help," Natalia said. The two women closely examined the car, taking in every inch of the silver surface. Natalia suddenly stopped.

"Blood," she said.

Calleigh came over to look. Sure enough, a small, red streak could be seen on the driver's side door. She handed Natalia a swab.

"I'll get this to the lab right away," Natalia said, closing up the sample.

Lara Taylor, a single, overworked cocktail waitress, was not in a very good mood that morning. Drunken customers had given her an exceptionally hard time last night. More than half of the male ones had tried to grab her more than once, and everyone who wasn't doing that was constantly pestering her for their drink orders. For God's sake, she only had two hands!

Lara descended the three flights of stairs of her apartment building to her mailbox in the foyer. She was expecting a paycheck any day now. It was almost always late.

"Morning, Freddie," she said to the young doorman.

"Same to you, Miss Taylor," he answered, shooting her a sweet smile.

Lara went up to her mailbox, number 48, taking the little key out of her jeans pocket. She opened the box and was delighted to see her check had finally come and was not so delighted to see a small stack of bills to go with it. She pulled the pile out and closed up the little box. She began to leaf through the envelopes as she began to walk back up the stairs. She had only made it up half a flight when she stopped.

A small, white envelope was at the bottom of the pile. It had no return address or stamp on it, but it did have a name on it. And it wasn't hers.

Lara climbed the rest of the flight to the second floor and knocked on the door labeled 24: the landlord's apartment.

He opened the door and saw who was there. "Hello, Lara," he said pleasantly. "The hot water hasn't shut off again, has it?"

"Oh, no, Mr. Karter. I just got this envelope in my box but it's not for me, and I don't recognize the name. Do you know who Tim Speedle is?"

Ryan rubbed his eyes tiredly as he waited for the coffee to finish brewing in the lounge. The day had barely begun and already he felt as if he'd been awake for days. The thought of Horatio as someone's captive made his stomach turn over. What he wouldn't give for this all to be over and for Horatio to be back safely.

Calleigh came in just as he was pouring himself a cup. He poured her one too.

"Thanks," she said, sipping the brown liquid."Valera just paged me. She said the blood analysis was almost done. You want to come?"

"I would, but I'm off to help Eric find a match for those tire treads," he explained. He added softly, "How're you holding up?"

She tried to muster a brave smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'll be okay once we bring H home."

He nodded understandingly. "Me too, Cal."

"Done yet, Valera?" Calleigh asked, striding into the DNA lab.

"A few more seconds," Valera answered, tapping her foot and watching the machine like a hawk.

"Good, then I haven't missed it," came a voice from the doorway.

Calleigh turned. "Alexx? What are you doing up here? You know I'd call you if something came up."

"I couldn't stay down there waiting, honey," Alexx answered.

"Done!" Valera yelped, ripping the sheet out of the machine. She read it, then handed it to Calleigh.

"Blood sample A, the one from the car door, is a match to Horatio," Valera reported, sounding defeated, as if she had been holding on to some hope that this had all been some colossal mistake.

"Thanks, Valera," Calleigh said, and walked briskly out of the room.

Valera looked at Alexx mournfully. "She's trying to stay strong for the rest of us," she remarked.

"She has to, baby," Alexx answered, "because it's all that's keeping her going."

"I still don't see how you can do this without going completely blind," Ryan remarked, exasperated.

He had been examining tread patterns with Eric for half an hour now, and his eyes were starting to go cross-eyed.

"You get used to it after doing it almost every day," Eric said distractedly. "Maybe you should go help Natalia look through Horatio's case files for awhile."

"Ryan? Could I borrow you for a second?"

Wolfe turned to see Tripp at the doorway, the same tight look on his face that everyone in the lab shared that day.

"Sure, Tripp. Delko, you mind?"

"Get out of here and rest your eyes for a bit," Eric said, not taking his own eyes off his work.

Ryan followed Tripp down the hall to the reception desk. A stout man with a potbelly and a mustache stood leaning on the desk, looking nervous and clutching a small, white envelope. Seeing Tripp, he straightened and came forward.

"Ivan Karter, this is CSI Ryan Wolfe," Tripp said. Mr. Karter bowed his head slightly to Ryan. Wolfe looked at Tripp expectantly.

"What did you need me for?" he said.

"Mr. Karter is the landlord of an apartment building off Flagler. One of his tenants got an interesting piece of mail this morning."

"What makes it so interesting?" Wolfe asked.

"There's a ransom note for Horatio inside it."

Ryan went cold. He hastily put on a pair of gloves and carefully took the envelope from the little man.

"Who all has touched this?" he demanded.

"Just me and the lady who got it in mail," Mr. Karter assured him.

Ryan looked at the envelope closely and observed the name on the front. He frowned. "This says it's addressed to Tim Speedle," he said.

"Officer Speedle was tenant of mine until he died a few years ago," Mr. Karter explained in a thick accent. "The lady who got the letter lives in his old apartment. I thought it was just junk mail of some kind, so I open it. There was a note inside along with photograph of man who was tied up somewhere. I didn't like the look of it, so I come straight to you."

"That's good, very good," Ryan said, his thoughts elsewhere. "Thank you very much. Tripp here is going to escort you back downstairs where you'll give a statement, and then you can go home, okay?"

Mr. Karter nodded, then followed Tripp to the elevator.

Ryan took the envelope to an empty lab table as fast as he could without completely breaking out into a sprint. He whipped out his cell phone and called Calleigh.

"Cal? It's Wolfe. Come to documents. We may have just caught a break."

Carefully, he opened the envelope and slid out a small piece of white paper and the photo. He read the note as slowly as his racing thoughts would allow.

Ryan read the note twice more, memorizing it. Calleigh came in just as he was about to turn over and face the photo.

"What do we got?" she asked him, pulling up a seat next to him.

"We got a ransom note," he answered gingerly sliding the white paper to her. "Well, actually we didn't. Speedle did."

Calleigh looked at him. Her green eyes bored into his. "What?"

He handed her the envelope too. "It was delivered to his old apartment."

"Why?" she asked no one in particular.

"There was a picture too, but I haven't looked at it yet."

She looked at the back of the photograph, at the harmless blank paper.

"Flip it," she ordered softly.

Ryan turned the photo over.

It was a picture of a dimly lit room of some kind. A single grungy window provided light to the seemingly wooden building. There were no furnishings with the exception of a few bits and pieces of rusty tools and scrap wood. And in the middle of the floor lay Horatio Caine, unconscious, a bleeding wound on his head.

Ryan's breath caught in his chest, and he held his fist to his mouth to keep from losing his control. Calleigh just stared at the photo blankly.

"We need to get this to analysis. That window may be able to give us a location," she said softly, picking it up and carrying it next door without another word.

"What do you mean 'the city won't fund it?'" Ryan cried, outraged.

"I know this is hard for you, Wolfe, but the city of Miami cannot ask its citizens to pay for this," Stetler said.

"Horatio Caine puts his life on the line every day for these people! How can you not ask them to pay!" Ryan yelled, completely losing his temper. "You just won't ask because you've always hated him!"

"Ryan!" Calleigh warned, stepping in."Go take a walk and cool off."

With one last reproachful look, Ryan obeyed, slamming the wall with his fist on the way out.

"I'm sorry, Calleigh," Stetler said. "My hands are tied here. I can't fight departmental policy."

"And I won't fight you," she replied coolly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go find a way to get Horatio back."

The first thing he noticed was the buzz of insects and the other random noises of wildlife. Horatio slowly came to in a dingy room. He was lying on a hard, wooden floor that was covered with dust. His face felt dirty and crusted over with what must have been blood. His head throbbed fiercely.

He tried to sit up slowly, but he was hindered by the ropes binding his hands together. The small shack smelled musty and ancient. There wasn't much to the place but for some scraps of wood here and there and some old carpentry tools.

He tried to remember what had happened. He had been heading out to his car to go to work as usual. Someone had called out to him and he had turned around. The next thing he knew was a blinding pain in his head and then darkness. He couldn't remember anything else between then and now. He didn't even know how long he'd been there. All he knew was that he felt weak and dreadfully thirsty. He tried to roll around a bit, but the ropes binding his hands and feet must have been tied to something else.

He opened his dry mouth and began to yell.

"Help!" he croaked, barely able to form the word with his parched throat. "Someone help me!"

The door to the shack opened. A man came in and hit Horatio in the head again. He fell back and was unconscious once more.

"I got the money," Wolfe whispered in Calleigh's ear.

"Where?" she demanded, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Does it matter?"

"Yeah, Ryan, it does."

"A guy owed me some money. I collected a debt," he told her.

"A half a million dollars? Don't insult me, Ryan," she scolded.

"Please, Cal, don't worry about where I got it right now," Ryan pleaded. "You can get angry with me after we get H back."

"You cannot afford to be doing crap like this. You were just reinstated!"

"I just took out a loan, okay?"

"From who?"

"Calleigh…" His brown eyes were pleading.

She looked at him square in the eye for a long moment. "You'd better hope that Stetler never gets wind of this. You'll be out on your ass faster than you can blink."

He returned her gaze fully. "You think I really care about that right now?" he asked quietly. "H gave me a second chance when he didn't have to. He gave me my life back."

"Alright," she said. "Call Tripp. Tell him we need to organize a drop."

Clouds covered the moon that night, making it even darker than usual. Ryan sat in Tripp's car, impatiently watching the solitary garbage can a couple dozen yards away from them. No one had come to check for the bag in the five hours that they had been sitting there. The bag had been dropped as instructed, and now a perimeter of police officers surrounded the area. But no one had come.

Tripp got on his radio. "You see anything yet, Hoffman?"

"No sir," came the reply.

"Lee?"

"Nothing. There's nobody out here, sir."

"Damn," Tripp cursed, tossing the radio back down in frustration.

The two men were silent for awhile.

"I wonder how he's doing," Ryan remarked in a quiet, cracked voice.

Tripp looked at him, and noticed for the first time that day how awful Ryan looked. His bloodshot eyes were sunken in, the shadows under them only making it look worse. He seemed too tired to sit up, sheer willpower the only thing holding him up. Tripp wondered if he'd eaten anything all day.

"He's hanging in, Wolfe, you can count on that," Tripp said reassuringly. "He'll be all right."

Ryan nodded, though unconvinced.

Tripp hurriedly changed the subject. "Have you eaten anything today? You look like a ghost."

Ryan looked at him with an almost confused look, as if he didn't understand what Tripp meant.

"I'll keep an eye out for any activity if you want catch a few winks, you know," he offered.

Ryan gave him an almost insulted look. "I'm fine, Tripp."

Tripp shrugged. "Whatever you say, Wolfe."

The hours dragged by slower than ever. Ryan looked at his watch constantly, thought it seemed like it had stopped, time was going by so slowly.

Suddenly, a thin knuckle rapped on Tripp's window. A teenage girl stood outside, looking very upset and holding something in her other hand. Tripp rolled down the window.

"Can I help you?"

The girl looked like she was about to cry. "Are you a cop?" she asked him.

Tripp nodded.

"I work at the 24-hour coffee shop down the street," she explained. "I was outside for my break and some guy came up to me, pointed a gun at me and told me to do what he said."

"Are you okay?" Tripp asked.

She nodded, though she started to sob. "He told me to give this to an officer named Tim Speedle," she said, holding out a cup of coffee. "He said he'd be here somewhere, watching that garbage can. He also told me to give him this note."

She passed Tripp a piece of paper through the cracked window. It was a second note. Ryan took it with gloved hands and unfolded it.

"Why would they give us the directions if they didn't pick up the money yet?" Ryan asked Tripp, confused.

"Miss, we're going to need you to come to the station with us and make an official statement about what happened, alright?" Tripp said.

The girl nodded.

Tripp got back on his radio. "Hoffman, go up to that can and check to see if that bag is still there."

"Roger that."

"You don't think..," Tripp began.

"I didn't see anything!" Ryan cried.

Ahead of them, a dark figure was moving toward the trash can. "It's just me boys, hold your fire," Hoffman said over the radio.

He pushed at the flap of the can and peered inside with a flashlight. "What the…"

He kicked the can over with a deafening crash. "The bag's gone! There was a hole in the ground underneath it!"

Ryan practically dove out of the car and sprinted up to where Hoffman was standing. Sure enough, there was a hole about two feet in diameter in the sidewalk underneath the can. Ryan shone his flashlight down into it: a sewer tunnel.

"Damn it!" he yelled.

"There's no prints on either note, the envelope or the photo. Whoever these people are, they aren't complete idiots," Eric said.

"Great. A dead end," Ryan declared, holding his head in one hand.

"Not completely," Calleigh stated. "We're still pulling every one of Horatio's case files and we have the second ransom note."

"The bastards who took H kept up their end of the ransom note deal," Natalia pointed out, "Who's to say they won't do it again? For all we know they've already left town. They have the money."

"If they were just going to run, why would they specify a time?" Calleigh said. "And why do they keep sending everything to Speedle?"

Ryan picked his head up suddenly. "That's it," he said, his gaze drifting off to nowhere in particular. "We've been doing this all wrong. We don't need to look at H's files, we need to be looking at Speedle's. I'd bet anything that the guy we're looking for has been somewhere for at least four years, probably jail, and that even though his case had some ties to Horatio, it was mostly to do with Speedle."

"If he'd been put away before Speed's death, he probably would've had no way of knowing about it if he's been in prison this whole time," Eric added.

"Eric, start cross-checking files. Pull anything that has both Speedle's and Horatio's name on it. Go back as far as the database will let you," Calleigh told him.

"I'm on it," he said, and left. Natalia went to help.

Ryan stood up to leave too.

"Where are you going?" Calleigh asked.

"The rendezvous is in six hours. If I work fast, I may be able to process that trash can before I have to be in the glades," Ryan answered.

"And what makes you think you're going?"

Ryan regarded her for awhile. "You remember what I told you before. I owe Horatio more than you can imagine. The least I could do to repay him is to bring him home."

"Ryan, you've been up for almost 24 hours straight," she said, not unkindly. "You haven't eaten. You need to take care of yourself if you're going to help H. You shouldn't have gone to the drop last night. You should've rested like everyone else while patrol did their job."

"Cal..," he began.

She held up her hand to silence him. "Say no more. I do understand, whether you care to believe it or not," she told him gently. "You go to the lounge and get some sleep. I'll process the trash can."

"But..," he protested.

"Don't start," she said flatly. "You know I'm right."

Defeated, he held his hands up in surrender and walked down the hall heavily, but he had no intention to do what Calleigh told him. He looked around, making sure no one saw him, then ducked into an empty layout room to examine some of the samples from the explosion.

He did his work for a few hours. He was dimly aware of the sun coming up. After what seemed like an eternity, Tripp came to find him.

"It's time, Wolfe," he said.

The drive out to the glades felt like the longest Ryan had ever taken in his life. Every patrol car that raced along the highway had its lights and sirens blaring. After what seemed like a lifetime, Tripp slowed the car down and brought it to a halt. He pointed out across the marshy terrain.

"About two hundred yards in is where you should be headed," he told Wolfe. "We sent some guys to scout the perimeter and they've called it in all clear. I'd get you closer, but we're not taking any chances. There's a shack is in the middle of a clearing. We'll be right behind you, staying out of sight. Fire and rescue are on standby just in case."

Tripp saw that Ryan wasn't paying attention, instead looking out of the car window with a faraway look on his face. "You sure about this? You don't have to be the one to go, you know."

"I'm sure," Ryan answered, looking Tripp straight in the eye.

"All right, then."

Without a second look, Ryan got out of the car and started walking. Only his training kept him from breaking out into a sprint, he wanted to get there so badly. The grass and reeds reached up past his knees and brushed at his hands. Everything was muddy, and he repeatedly had to watch his step lest he trip into a pool of water.

The direction in which he has heading lead him to a small copse of trees. As he entered it, he could see past the tree-line and into the clearing beyond. Just as the kidnappers had described it, there was the rundown shack in the very center of it.

Ryan's heart began to race even faster. His pace quickened to a jog as he cleared the tree-line and made for the small building. There was nothing and no one anywhere around.

"H?" he called.

No answer.

"H? You in there?" he tried again.

Still no answer.

Ryan had gotten to almost fifty yards away from the shack.

The small wooden building suddenly exploded with a force so strong it knocked Ryan off his feet and threw him backward. He lay stunned in the grass, looking up at the sky. He saw hundreds of birds scared out of the trees in which they were perched, but he couldn't hear their shrieks. All he could hear was a dull roaring in his ears, shot through with a high-pitched whistling. He was completely numb, save for a slight wetness on the right side of his face.

Tripp and at least a dozen other police officers burst into the clearing from all directions. Tripp stared at the tower of flame that was a shack a minute ago in horror and disbelief, then spotted Ryan on the ground.

"Put that fire out and get me rescue!" he ordered, then ran to Ryan's side. "Wolfe!"

Ryan couldn't hear him. He just laid on the ground, blinking dazedly at the sky, the gash on his head bleeding freely.

Tripp reached him and kneeled down next to him. "Wolfe! Can you hear me?"

Ryan looked at him blankly. The roar in his ears was dying down , but he could still only barely hear Tripp, as if he was hearing him through a very thick wall. He focused his gaze on Tripp's face hovering above him, barely clinging to consciousness.

"You okay?" Tripp asked. "Can you sit up?"

Ryan didn't move. "What happened?"

Tripp looked back at the roiling furnace that firefighters were now trying desperately to put out before any sparks ignited the surrounding brush. He then forced himself to face Ryan again.

"It blew, Ryan," he said heavily. "The bastards blew it up."

Ryan was sure he had misheard him. "Did you get Horatio?"

"No, Wolfe. No one came out. He's gone."

"What do you mean he's gone?" Ryan asked, confused.

Tripp looked as if he was about to say something, but couldn't bring himself to do it. He just looked back at the blazing ruins.

Ryan struggled to sit up, refusing to believe it. Tripp helped him. When Ryan's gaze met the horrible scene before him, he went completely cold and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. His mouth fell open.

"No," he whispered.

"Wolfe…"

"No," he said louder.

"Calm down, you need to let the paramedics have a look at you."

"No!" he screamed, tearing away from Tripp and throwing himself toward the shack. He didn't get far before he dropped to his knees, too exhausted and hurt to hold himself up. Tripp caught up to him and grabbed him back from the blaze. Ryan fought him, reaching out desperately.

"Ryan, stop! It's over," Tripp pleaded.

"No!" he repeated weakly, exhaustion swamping him. "It can't be…"

"It is, Wolfe. Horatio's gone."

The lab had never been so deathly quiet in all the years Calleigh had worked there. Everyone was subdued; many were visibly devastated. Calleigh felt numbed to it all as she walked the pristine hallways. It hadn't quite hit her yet, though she had temporarily forgotten what she was supposed to be doing with the files in her hand.

She passed the lounge. Eric was inside, his back to her, pacing like some sort of caged animal. Suddenly he lost control and kicked a chair; it crashed into the table deafeningly. Calleigh jumped at the sound. Eric sat down on a couch heavily and sat there with his head in his hands. Calleigh thought about going to him, and almost did, but decided that he was best left alone for awhile.

Calleigh stepped into a vacant examination room and closed the door. She took a moment to acclimate herself, aware that she was surrounded by glass and consequently extremely visible. She didn't want anyone to see her as anything but steadfast.

She laid the file out on the table in front of her and opened it. Inside were pictures of the newest crime scene. Her eyes were fixed on the black swathe of land that had once been an inferno. She pushed the photo aside; she didn't want to think about that.

A corner of a photo at the bottom of the stack caught her eye. She pulled it out; it was the original photo of Horatio that the kidnappers had sent with the first ransom note. She looked it over mournfully. Then something else came to her attention. A few moments later, she was staring at a screen with a shocked look on her face.

Alexx found the cool quiet of the morgue somewhat comforting in her current state. She still had a job to do, but she was having a hard time keeping herself together. She was glad to be alone; the dead never asked questions.

She was just finishing some paperwork when she heard a small noise coming from somewhere nearby. Curious, she went to go see what it was; noises in an empty morgue were usually not a good thing. She went out of the examination room and listened hard. The noise was coming from a short way down the hall. She kept walking and was startled to see someone sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to their chest with their head in their hands.

It was Ryan.

Alexx went to sit down beside him and put a hand on his arm. His head shot up slightly, and he looked at her sideways with shadowed and bloodshot eyes. The gash on his head had been bandaged up. He let out a shaky breath.

"You don't look so good, baby," she said concernedly.

He didn't reply, only gave a small shrug of indifference.

"You want to talk?" she gently prodded.

He looked at her straight on and opened his mouth as if to speak, but then hesitated.

"I failed him, Alexx."

Tears welled up in her eyes. "Sweetie, you didn't fail anyone. This isn't your fault."

"I should have gone alone like the note said to. I should have realized that they would have been watching the place, that it wouldn't be that easy."

"Ryan, no one could have predicted this."

"After all he did for me, I never repaid him. I couldn't even help him when he needed me to."

"You can't put that kind of burden on yourself, you did everything you could to save him. Everyone knows that."

He just shook his head and reburied it in his hands.

"You need to take care of yourself, sweetie. When was the last time you ate something?"

Valera suddenly burst into the room, looking around wildly. She spotted Ryan and Alexx on the floor.

"Calleigh's found something. Come back up to the lab right now," she told them.

"This is the photo of Horatio that came with the ransom note," Calleigh said, pulling the image up on the screen. "And this," she continued, dragging another image up next to it, "was taken at this morning's scene."

"Okay, so…" Eric began. "What?"

Calleigh magnified the first image. "Look out the window of the shack Horatio's in. That tree you can barely see? It's a black mangrove tree. Now, judging by the sunlight glare in this photo, the window is facing southeast. Now look at the second picture." She magnified that one. "Looking at where the shack used to be facing southeast like the window would have been, what do you see?"

"There is no black mangrove," Ryan answered quietly.

"That means there's two different shacks," Natalia put in.

"Right," Calleigh confirmed. "Horatio's still alive."

"Calleigh, we may have just caught a major break," Delko said. "Early this morning I was out collecting samples from the ransom drop point, and I found a single drop of blood on a pipe in the sewer tunnel. It got put on hold after what happened this morning, but I just ran it. DNA matches a Mitch Pison. Did ten years for abduction of a minor and assaulting an officer. Guess who was the investigator that signed off on the case."

"Horatio."

"You got it. And apparently Mitch just made parole two weeks ago."

"We have an address?"

"3216 East Locus Boulevard. Tripp's on his way out there now."

"Great. Hey, have you seen Ryan?"

"I think he went with Tripp."

Calleigh sighed. "Of course he did."

Mitch Pison was not the hardened criminal everyone was expecting. He was a smaller-sized man with neat, well-kept black hair. He was clean-shaven and bereft of tattoos and piercings. His clothes were clean and his face was washed. It all made Calleigh very uneasy.

"Do you know why you're here, Mr. Pison?" she asked.

"I'm assuming you're going to try to pin something on me, being an ex-con and all," he replied sarcastically.

"You're here because we found your blood at our crime scene this morning." She showed him a picture of the sewer tunnel. "Care to explain that?"

He considered it silently. "I don't know how that got there."

"Let me refresh your memory. You kidnapped a police officer and demanded ransom to be delivered to a spot just above this sewer tunnel. You made this hole, put a trash can over it, and waited for someone to drop in the money."

"You got it all wrong. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Cut the crap," Tripp barked. "What was it, a bloody nose? The bag hit you on the way down?"

"I want a lawyer," Pison demanded nervously.

"I'll bet you do," Calleigh said. "And I'd love to get you one…as soon as you tell me where the officer is."

"I don't know, I..," he began, but he stopped talking very suddenly. His eyes followed something sharply outside the glass interrogation room. Calleigh turned her head to see what he was looking at.

It was Wolfe. He was walking by with a file in his hand.

Pison clenched his jaw tightly, and his hand on the table formed a fist.

Calleigh saw all this but continued carefully. "If you're willing to level with us, it will go much easier for you. You're already looking at another twenty years minimum, life if our officer dies. You may want to consider that."

"I'll consider it if you give me a minute with that guy right out there," he growled, pointing at Wolfe.

"You're hardly in a position to be asking anything," Tripp retorted.

Pison looked up at him condescendingly. "I may know something," he said. "But I'll only tell it to him. Alone."

A few minutes later, Pison was glaring at Ryan across the table.

"Do I know you?" Ryan asked.

Pison snorted disdainfully. "It's been ten years."

"Ten years since what, Mitch?"

"You seriously don't recognize me?" Pison snarled. "Maybe you would if I was covered in my brother's blood again."

Now Ryan was starting to get heated up. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Pison, losing all control, jumped up from his seat and screamed, "You killed my brother, you son of a bitch!"

Ryan stood up too. He was far too exhausted and mentally pushed past his limit to be rational. "Where is he?" he yelled back.

"You want to know where your friend is?" Pison spat, "He's dead! He blew up into little pieces and splattered all over the glades! Don't play with me, I know you were there! I saw you get knocked on your ass! "

Ryan clenched his fists, trying to control the shaking. "I'm going to ask you one more time. Where is he?"

"Yeah, like I'm really going to help you."

"Really." Ryan suddenly lunged across the table. Pison roared like an animal and dived back at him.

Tripp and Delko, who had been watching outside, burst into the room. "Wolfe! Calm down!"

The two men fought to break up the scuffle. Delko grabbed Ryan around the waist and yanked him backwards. Tripp restrained Pison with handcuffs and shoved him back into his seat. Ryan put a hand to his mouth; his lip was split. In his other hand was a piece of paper.

"This was in his pocket," he said, handing it to Delko.

Eric read it and frowned. "It's more directions into the glades." He looked at Pison. "This where the second shack is?"

Pison looked at Eric with a disgusted look on his face, but didn't say a word.

"I'm going to take that as a yes."

Ryan found himself in Tripp's car for the second time that day. The sun was beginning to go down over the everglades, giving the sky a fiery orange color. A heavy weight pressed in Ryan's head; something didn't feel right.

"Almost there," Tripp said, half to himself.

Calleigh walked into a lab where Eric had Pison's mug-shot displayed on a large screen. He was looking at it very closely, a confused look on his face.

"Everything all right?" she asked.

"I thought so," he said, not looking at her. "But now I'm not so sure."

"What's up?" She came to stand beside him.

"You see that spot?" he asked, pointing. "Just above his left eyebrow?"

"A birthmark. Why?"

"The guy we have downstairs doesn't have one."

"What?"

"Ryan was all over that guy. I had to pull him off Pison, and I am telling you, there was no birthmark."

Calleigh and Eric rushed downstairs to where Pison was being held. They looked at him through the glass, and sure enough, there was no birthmark on his face.

"What the hell..," Calleigh said.

"The search came back," Delko announced. He and Calleigh were in the lounge. "The guy we have in custody downstairs is not Mitch Pison. It's his twin brother, Dan. That's why his DNA matched our sample from Mitch: twins have identical DNA. He's an employee of the county sanitation and maintenance department, so he would have been able to gain access to the tunnels. He's definitely part of this. We just need to find Mitch."

"What did Dan mean when he accused Ryan of killing his brother? Mitch got out of prison only recently," Calleigh pointed out.

"I don't know. Why don't we go talk to Dan and see what he has to say?"

Calleigh did not like the way Dan Pison was acting. He sat in the interrogation room with a triumphant little smirk on his face. It was as if he suddenly had no care in the world.

"Why did you pretend to be Mitch, Dan?" she asked him.

"I wonder if it's over yet," he whispered.

"If what's over?"

"Officer Speedle should be almost there by now. All according to plan."

"That's another thing," she said. "Why did you send everything to CSI Speedle? What's he got to do with anything?"

"I don't know about any CSI, but Officer Speedle killed my brother ten years ago."

"Mitch was released only two weeks ago," Delko reminded him, slightly frustrated.

"Not Mitch," Dan said, as if annoyed with their misunderstanding. "Our older brother, Mark. Him and Mitch ran a job ten years ago. Kidnapped a little girl from her stuck-up parents and kept her in a shed until the ransom was delivered. I didn't want any part of it. The cops caught up to them before they could collect. Things got out of hand, Mark started shooting. A few minutes later he was dead, shot in the back. Turns out some green cop fresh out of the academy named Speedle got off a lucky shot when Mark had his back turned. They all called him some kind of hero, but he killed my brother, the bastard. Now he's going to get what he deserves."

"Not from you, he's not," Delko snapped. "Speedle died three years ago."

Dan paused and look at him. "What?"

"Speedle died three years ago in the line of duty."

Dan looked extremely confused now. "If Speedle's dead, then who was that guy in here before? The young one?"

"That was CSI Ryan Wolfe. The same one who went to the first shack this morning."

Dan's mouth dropped open slightly. His gaze drifted into nowhere confusedly.

Delko stood up and leaned across the table toward him. "Dan, if there's something going on, you need to tell me."

"He told me to use my job to get into the tunnels to pick up the ransom. I was supposed to get caught and pretend to be Mitch. I was supposed to let the cops find the directions. Neither of us ever saw a picture of Speedle. We sent everything to him to draw him out, to show himself. We thought we did this morning. We thought that other cop was him."

"You thought Wolfe was Speedle," Calleigh realized.

"Where's Mitch now?" Delko demanded.

"He's in the glades watching the shack. He's going to…oh, my God."

"What's Mitch going to do, Dan? Tell us!"

"He's going to kill him."

"He's going to kill Wolfe?"

"No, he's going to kill the other one. Right in front of him, just like he killed our brother in front of Mitch. That's why we blew the first shack: to give him a taste of what was to come."

"Except you got the wrong guy," Calleigh added.

"You've got to stop him," Dan said. "This isn't revenge anymore. Mitch doesn't know!"

The line of patrol cars blazed by, sirens blasting. The second shack was in an area that was easily accessible to vehicles, and Tripp and the other officers were coming up on it fast. Ryan could see the shack about a hundred yards away. As soon as Tripp stopped the car, Ryan jumped out and drew his weapon.

"Wolfe, you should wait a second, let everyone get here," Tripp advised.

"H could be hurt. We need to get him out now," Ryan replied shortly, and took off toward the shack.

He reached it in a matter of seconds. "Horatio?" he called. "You in there?"

He heard what sounded like a small moan. "He's here!" Ryan shouted to Tripp, who was busy directing. Wolfe tried the door; it was locked. He kicked it in.

Horatio was lying in the middle of the floor, seemingly unconscious. He was bound and gagged; a dried streak of blood ran down the left side of his face. The rope tying his hands and ankles were fastened to metal stakes cemented into the floor.

"Okay, H, we got you now," Ryan told him, holstering his gun and crouching down beside him. "I'll get you out of here, just hang on, boss."

He untied the fabric that was around his mouth, then what was around his wrists and ankles. Ryan shook his shoulder. "H? Wake up."

Horatio's eyes opened a little. He looked at Ryan dazedly.

"You okay, H?"

Ryan helped him to sit up. Horatio put a hand to his head painfully. His breathing was a little ragged, but other than that, Ryan thought he sounded alright. "I think I'm alright, Wolfe." His voice was cracked and his throat was very dry. "What happened?"

"You don't remember anything?"

"Every time I woke up they put me out again. How long has it been?"

"Almost two days."

Horatio suddenly noticed Ryan's bandaged head. "What happened to you?"

Ryan smirked wryly. "Why don't we save that happy story for another time?" he suggested. "Come on, let's get you out of here." Ryan helped him to stand and begin to walk outside.

Tripp's cell phone rang just as he saw Ryan emerge from the shack supporting Horatio. Many of the officers that had come cheered when they saw them. He answered the phone, full of relief. "This is Tripp."

"Tripp, it's Delko. Get out of there now, there's a shooter in the area."

"There's a what?" He could barely hear him due to the cheering going on around him, coupled with the sirens still going off.

"A shooter! No time to explain, just get everyone out now!"

"You're breaking up. One more time?"

Ryan had almost gotten Horatio to the paramedics waiting nearby when he noticed something odd: there was a bright red dot on Horatio's back. With a jolt, he realized what it was.

Ryan threw himself at Horatio's back as a loud bang ripped through the air. Horatio felt the weight slam into him. He fell forward; Ryan landed on top of him then rolled off to the side. Officers all around drew their guns and shouted orders to each other, looking for the shot's origin. Someone yelled something and pointed to a tree nearby. The officer who had spotted the shooter opened fire on the tree where he was hiding. Mitch Pison fell out of the tree and hit the ground with an audible thud, dead. All was silent.

Then Horatio heard a small sound coming from next to him. He looked over to his right. Ryan was lying on the ground next to him, choking on something.

It was blood.

"Wolfe…" Horatio crawled to his side and sat by his head. He lifted Wolfe's head and shoulders and laid them against his chest, holding him up so he could breathe easier. He gripped Wolfe's cold left hand and felt him grab on tightly.

"Hang in there, partner," he said softly to Ryan, then yelled hoarsely, "Rescue!"

Ryan struggled to breathe as his blood flooded onto Horatio's shirt. "H..," he choked.

"Don't try to talk, Wolfe," Horatio advised. "Take it easy."

"H…I can't…I can't… breathe…"

"I know, it'll be okay. We'll get you out of here."

A horrible memory flitted through Horatio's mind, one of another young CSI lying on a floor, bleeding. He kept saying he couldn't feel anything…Horatio shook the memory of Speed's death from his mind.

"H, I'm…I'm sorry…"

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

"Can't…I can't…"

"I know it. They're going to take you to the hospital now, okay? Hang in there."

The paramedics arrived at a run. "Gunshot wound to the back, probably hit a lung," Horatio told them. As they got out their supplies and began to work, Horatio turned back to Ryan. "They're going to have a look at you, then they'll take you to the hospital, okay? Wolfe?"

Ryan's eyelids were drooping. He had stopped moving. He looked up at Horatio through the slits of his eyelids. "I'm…sorry..," he repeated, much quieter now.

"No, Wolfe," Horatio said, "Stay with me. You hear me? Stay with me, hang on."

But Ryan's eyes closed the rest of the way. The hand that had been gripping Horatio's so strongly before slackened completely.

"No," Horatio whispered. "No. Wolfe? Wolfe?"

One of the paramedics held two fingers to Ryan's wrist. "He's still got a pulse, but it's weak," she said. "We need to get him on the chopper now."

With some help, they got Ryan onto a stretcher and carried him over to a waiting medical evacuation helicopter. "Wolfe, you hang in there, you hear me?" Horatio said to him. "Hang on, partner."

He backed away from the helicopter and watched as the doors were closed and the chopper took to the air. Tripp came to stand beside him. "For the past 48 hours, he hasn't slept or eaten knowing you were still out there." Tripp told him. "I ain't never seen such loyalty."

Horatio was speechless as he watched the helicopter above flew away. It was strange knowing that someone he cared about was inside, fighting for his life.

"You should get checked out, too. That cut doesn't look so good."

At first, it seemed Horatio wasn't going to answer, but finally he conceded. "Okay."

Everything was dark. All the sounds were oddly muffled. Ryan's throat ached with an unnatural pain, and his eyes felt far too heavy to open.

"Ryan."

That voice was so familiar to him, and yet for some reason his mind felt too muddled to identify it. It sounded so close, as if it was right next to him.

"If you can hear me, open your eyes."

Something in the voice told him that it was an order, not a request. Ryan struggled with himself for a moment, then forced his eyes open a tiny bit. Horatio sat in a chair next to his bed, a bandage on his head and a small smile on his face.

Ryan tried to say something, but he couldn't. Horatio held up a hand to quiet him and leaned closer.

"Don't try to talk," he said. "You stopped breathing in the emergency room and they had to put a tube down your throat to help you. The doctor will be in soon to take it out. The bullet perforated your lung, but they were able to repair it."

Unable to say anything, Ryan just blinked heavily at him.

"Anyway, I've been talking to the others," Horatio continued, "and they told me about all your work to find me. I just wanted you to know how grateful I am for that."

Ryan wanted to respond in some way, but was too weak to so much as shrug.

"I don't want you to worry about anything right now, Wolfe," Horatio told him. "We'll talk later. Get some rest, okay?"

As Ryan was starting to drift back to sleep, he faintly heard, "Thank you."