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Two Weeks In Miami	By : blackbear355 Category: 1 through F > CSI: Miami Views: 1436 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI MIAMI or any of it's characters. I do not make any money from writing this story. I do not own the character of MacGyver. The characters of Julie and her family belong to me.

Chapter List
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CHAPTER ONE

March 23, 1995 (Thursday)

JULIE'S FIRST DAY IN MIAMI

HORATIO AND JULIE MEET FOR THE FIRST TIME

Julie MacGyver, alias Piper, was grateful to be able to take this much-needed vacation from her home and hectic work schedule in Georgetown, Connecticut. She landed her Cessna at Miami International Airport, boarded a bus, and went directly to her hotel room. She arrived at about lunchtime. After checking in, and settling into her room, she ate lunch at a nearby McDonald's, then proceeded to the genealogy library for some serious research.
After spending some four hours at the library, she went to a pub--The Brass Rail--for supper. She ate her dinner in a booth, but afterwards, moved to a rather large round table near the center of the room. She liked this place, because it was dark, and intimate, and there was a piano in one corner of the establishment, and it was begging to be played. This was her first time here. She spread her genealogy paperwork out on the table, and began to study it, making a mental note to ask the manager if she could play that piano later.
Accompanying her to Miami was a god-awful ratty black synthetic wig, which she had purchased at a Halloween store the previous October. At the time of the purchase, she had intended to use this wig as part of a Nez Perce outfit she was creating to use on horseback in parade competitions. The wig just was not measuring up to her satisfaction, and she was trying to work with it, and braid it, and make it fit just so. Right now, it was on her head, and she was trying to brush it, but strands of hair kept coming out on the hairbrush, and she was becoming increasingly annoyed with it. Just two weeks before this vacation, on an impulse, she had cut her hair short, and dyed it black, in an effort to look more like her American Indian ancestors. She regretted both actions--the cutting, and the dyeing.
Unbeknownst to her, sitting at the end of the bar across the room, near the front door, was a ginger-haired man. He had just gotten off work about an hour before, and on his way home, decided to stop here at The Brass Rail for some relaxation, and to have a beer. Like Julie, this was his first visit to The Brass Rail. There were few patrons in the place at this time, so it wasn't long before his eyes were drawn to the solitary figure sitting at the circular table in the center of the room. His gaze fell upon her long black hair with braids. She was reading from several stacks of papers spread out on the table in front of her, and absent-mindedly toying with her long braids. She was engrossed in what she was doing, and seemed unaware of anything and anyone around her. The man was trying not to stare, but as he sipped his beer, his eyes kept going back to her. She looked very Native American Indian to him, and he thought she might be a Seminole from one of the reservations south of Miami. Without knowing why, he found her fascinating, captivating, and worthy of his attention.
And then, she did something that REALLY got his attention. With one hand, she moved the hair a little to the side, and then forward and back. Just enough for him to realize it was in fact a hairpiece--a black wig. Now, he couldn't take his eyes off her at all--he lit a cigarette, took a puff, and observed her. She appeared to be getting frustrated with that wig, as she tossed her head haughtily, threw the braids behind her, and grabbed one of the braids, quickly unbraiding it with a flourish. He had been observing her for about twenty minutes now.
With a deep sigh, Julie suddenly rose from her chair, and walked to the bar to buy another drink.
"Hi, little Piper," said the bartender. "Will it be the usual?" (She had been buying Dr. Pepper all afternoon, and had made the bartender's acquaintance.)
"No," she replied. "I would like to have a creme soda this time." For the first time, she noticed the ginger-haired stranger sitting at the end of the bar--they were no farther than eight feet away from each other--and she flicked her eyes noticeably up and down his form, then smiled broadly at him, showing two dimples, one on either side of her mouth. What else could he do but smile back at her? She didn't look at him again, but took a sip from her glass, paid for the drink, tossed a long strand of wig hair behind her, and went back to her table. No words had been spoken between them.
Back at her table, she was now aware of his glances, and she could feel the heat moving up her neck, and knew that her face was turning red, so she kept her head down. She made another attempt to adjust the awry piece of synthetic hair on her head, grimacing as she did so.
The man at the bar had noticed a slight Irish brogue when she spoke to the bartender, and when she turned to look at him, he got a glimpse of a lovely slant-eyed gaze from a pair of turquoise blue eyes. As she walked back to her seat, he observed her very tidy floral long-sleeved western shirt tucked neatly into clean blue jeans, with a leather belt, and brown moccasins on her feet. A Seminole who was half white, he considered. Very petite, and well-distributed throughout. She had the look of a fresh Texas blue bonnet, which was belied by the aura of a hothouse flower. Something else he noticed, as well. There was no wedding ring on her left hand.
He could not understand his own attraction to her. The feelings he suddenly had come over him were rather unnerving, for his thoughts seldom took this direction. In observing her, a thought occurred to him that she might be someone's girlfriend. And then, a word popped into his head, from out of nowhere, giving him a start. WIFE. He looked away quickly, at the bartender, at the piano in the corner, at the big-screen tv over the bar, at the glass of beer between his own hands. But his eyes traveled back to her. MY WIFE. He was shocked at what he was thinking. He didn't even know this girl.
She was now very much aware of his attention, and became very self-conscious. She peeked at him again, saw he was still looking at her, and averted her eyes. She went back to perusing the paperwork on her table.
Himself was a little bit shy also, but he thought the worst that could happen, was that she would say no. Her smile had let him think that she at least, might be friendly, approachable, and perhaps a good companion to talk to. So, he took his glass of beer, and slowly made his way toward her table.
Meanwhile, at Julie's table, a few minutes had passed. Minutes in which she was not aware of anyone around her, as she was giving her paperwork her full attention.
"Would--uh--would you mind if I sit down?"
Julie looked up in surprize at the sound of a voice like warm, smooth chocolate. The ginger-haired man was standing across her table from her, shyly regarding her, his head cocked sideways, his blue eyes watching her with curiosity.
"--No--"
He began to walk away, looking a little disappointed.
Quickly correcting her mistake, she said, "I mean--no, I would NOT mind if you sat down." Her look of surprize had been replaced by that same wonderful smile of encouragement that he had seen at the bar.
He sat down in the chair across the table from her, a little uncertain of himself.
He straightened his jacket. After a pause, in which neither one spoke, he thought, to get the conversation started, he should say something. So he softly said, "I'd--uh--I'd really like to see what you look like without that thing."
Another radiant smile, and she slowly lifted the wig off, after removing two hairpins, and laid it down on her pack, which was sitting on the floor at her feet.
Her hair was disheviled, and was a mass of spiky tendrils lying in all directions. Too polite to laugh, he averted his eyes to the table, the corners of his mouth twitching.
After a heavy silence, he crossed his legs, and folded his arms across his chest.
"I'm Horatio Caine." He volunteered, in a low voice.
"It is nice to meet you, Horatio Caine." She deigned to give him a quick little smile, which he returned. He was as shy as she. She was captivated with him, and could not take her eyes off him.
"And you are?" He prompted her, and she was jolted out of her stare.
"I--I am c--called Piper. Mac--MacGyver." She stuttered, self-consciously. She wasn't sure why she chose to give him her nickname instead of her real name, but she did.
"So--Miss Piper, where are you from?"
"Connecticut."
She leaned forward conspiratorialy, hand on one side of her mouth. He leaned forward, so he could hear her. "I am a tourist," she whispered, raising her eyebrows, and leaning back.
"I see." He nodded his head. "You came down here to see some sights--maybe do a little partying on The Keys--Spring Break?"
"No, Horatio Caine." She indicated her camera under a stack of papers on one side of the table. "I would rather take pictures than party. I am not on spring break."
Abruptly, she stood up. "I have to leave."
He uncrossed his legs, preparing to stand up.
"Will you wait for me--here?" She asked, leaning forward slightly, her gaze meeting his directly. "I will be right back."
"Mm hm, I'll wait." He settled back into his chair to wait for her.
After a few minutes, she retuned from the restroom at the back of the bar, and he watched her as she took her seat at the table and sat down.
They shared mutual smiles with each other, He saw that she had made an attempt to control her unruly black hair, probably with her fingers. He noticed that both dimples occurred only when she smiled.
Both Horatio and Julie were keenly aware of the other's slightly curious sexual interest in each other.
While she was gone, he had observed the paperwork scattered around on the table. "What is all this?" He pointed his pinky toward a page.
"My family history." Quickly, she changed the subject. "You are a fine-looking man." Her look to him was direct and no-nonsense.
He chuckled, looked down at the floor, and blushed. "Thank you."
"You are not in show business, are you?" Her head tilted to the side, and she gave him a sloe-eyed gaze.
"Whatda you mean? Uh--like in radio? Um---"
Are you in the entertainment industry?"
"No, not at all. I am a homicide detective, and a bomb squad officer with the Miami-Dade Police department."
"You are??" Her eyes flew open with a flash of worry. She frowned, and a dimple appeared over her right eye.
"Uh-huh." He shifted his position, leaned forward, his arms on the table.
"That is very dangerous work." She moved her pencil to the side, and folded her hands on the table.
He nodded and raised his head. "Yes, it can be."
"It must be very hard on your family."
"Yeah, it's--uh--um--" He clicked his tongue lightly against the roof of his mouth.
There was an uncomfortable silence, as though he was hesitant to give out too much information about himself.
He eyed her camera again, and nodded toward it. "So--you take pictures. You moonlight as a photojournalist?"
She nodded with a toothy grin. "I train and show horses, you see. I also write about them. And, in the springtime, I get to breed them, as well." Her head bobbed up and down for emphasis.
"Ah, I see." Another pause, as he tried to envision her breeding horses. She looked kind of dainty and petite to him. Horatio had never been around horses that much, and to him, they were extremely big. He wondered if the girl was really serious.
"You write a lot of human interest stories?" He leaned back in his chair.
"Once in awhile, I get to go to places like Brooklyn, or Pine Hollow, Kentucky, or Toad Suck Ferry, Arkansas." She laughed politely, and it sounded musical to him. "We need a human interest story, they say." Julie crossed her arms on her chest. "Send Piper to get it, they shout. So off I go to get the story, and before I know it, I have written something about methane gas in cows." She smiled at him, and once again, those two dimples appeared on either side of her mouth.
Horatio laughed softly.
"Does a--" she began.
"Are you--" he started simultaneously.
They both paused, waiting for the other to continue.
"No--go ahead." Horatio, always the gentleman, was willing to let her speak first.
"Do homicide detectives work regular hours, from nine to five, sort of? Or do you have to be on call all the time?" She adopted a more laid-back posture, loosening up, becoming more comfortable with him.
Another pause, while he gathered his words. "Well--um--right now, I am officially off-duty. I generally work five or six days a week. So, how long you gonnu be in town?"
"About two weeks, I should think. I just came in on an airplane this morning. I have been here before."
"Here? In Miami? When?"
"Two years ago, it was. I was passing through, then. But I liked it here, so I wanted to come back, and stay a little while, and do a bit of family history work."
"So, you have family here?"
"I do. They reside in the Palm Grove Cemetery. They are spirits, now." She let him think for a moment, and draw his own conclusions.
His head bobbed up and down, as her meaning dawned on him. He didn't know quite how to respond to that.
"You mind if I smoke?" He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket.
"They are your lungs, aren't they." This, she said in a nonchalant manner.
Julie's eyes were on his cigarette as he lit it. Her face was expressionless and patient.
I'm trying to quit," he offered by way of an explanation. He took a long drag, and let the smoke out slowly.
Julie studied him, as though he were her entire world. She noticed how clean and well-chiseled his hands were, a little on the large size, and very white, compared to her own skin, which was the color of tan honey. They were uncalloused, so he probably did not do any farm chores. His reddish-gold hair was neatly parted on the left side of his head, caused by a slight cowlick. A shock of hair was hanging rakishly over his forehead. His mouth was delicate, with a fuller lower lip, and it threatened to break into a smile at any moment. A barely-discernible row of freckles marched across the bridge of his broad nose. She noticed he had a small wart just above his nose, next to his left eyebrow, and an even smaller one to the right side of his nose. On his left cheek was a small, black mole. Above his lip was a prominent hollow area, as though it had been scooped out with a miniature shovel. She wondered if it were some kind of a scar from an old injury. His dress was casual, with a smart-looking black designer jacket over a blue shirt, which was opened at the collar. Matching black slacks and black loafers presented a very dapper appearance to her, and the overall picture was one she enjoyed looking at.
He appraised her in return. He figured she was probably in her early to mid-thirties. (how wrong he was.) Everything about her said country girl. Her hands were very expressive, fine-boned and delicate, with well-manicured nails. He noticed that her eyes had a slight but distinctive downward slant to them, making her appear rather sad in repose, which he now knew to be misleading, given her bright, beautiful smile. And when she smiled, her mouth was wide, with a slight cleft in her full lower lip. Her teeth were very white and even, with a slight gap between the two upper, in the front. There was a sprinkling of light freckles across her pert nose, which gave her a kind of impudent look. He was accustomed to meeting many women, mostly from the city, or the associates he worked with in the police department. He found this one to be refreshingly different, and he just couldn't quite figure out why.
She broke into an award-winning smile again, honest and genuine, which he could not resist, so he smiled back at her, tilting his head.
"Um--hey, listen--do you--um--do you wannu go somewhere, dinner, go for a drive,--um--go see a movie, or something?"
"I do not, Horatio Caine." Her eyes twinkled with delight. "I want to sit here and visit with you, if that is alright."
That was most definitely alright with him. "Sure. Will you excuse me?"
She acknowledged him with a nod of her head.
He stood up and went off to the bathroom, and her eyes followed his near-perfect form. He moved with a confident, cat-like grace, she thought, quite a contrast to his shy, somewhat awkward nature. On the way back to the table, he stopped at the bar, then returned with a Pepsi, and a creme soda for Julie. He sat back down.
"Thank you, Horatio Caine." She acted as though the creme soda was the greatest gift she had ever received. "This is soooo goooood--" she enthusiastically took the straw from her empty glass, and put it into this new glass.
Absentmindedly, apparently in deep thought, she ran her finger around the rim of her glass. "Do you like dogs, Horatio Caine?"
"Yeah. Been a long time since I had one, but I like Poodles."
"I got into Siberian Huskies when I was at University of Alaska."
Horatio cocked his head, full of curiosity. "Alaska? How--how'd you come to be there? --Anchorage?"
Julie vigorously shook her mane. "Fairbanks." She sighed deeply, before continuing. "I wanted to study the wolves, you see. I chose this as part of my education. So I stayed with--with them at Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. That was before the pipe lines, and the oil fields, and the rape of a paradise. Her eyes flashed momentarily, with a dark look.
Horatio couldn't help but notice how her western shirt showed off her bosom very well, as she slowly breathed in and out. She was neither overly large, or too small, although he would have liked a little more size. She was nearly perfect, in his eyes. He thought about what they might look like under that shirt. He tried very hard not to stare at her breasts, as he didn't want to appear rude. "What'd you major in?" he finally asked.
"It was Wildlife Biology, with a minor in Environmental Science."
"There are a lot of opportunities in that field, opening up all over the country."
She took another sip of her creme soda, very slowly. "I was making good money there, in Alaska. I had my classes during the day, and at night, I sang at a small night club--" She sniffed derisively. "--mostly for the tourists."
"You sing?"
"I have been known to sing a song now and then, but I would much rather be training horses or writing, you see."
He made a short little humming noise. "Hm. So, you actually lived with the wolves?"
"And I learned to sing like them, and for them, and to them." She was emphatic.
Horatio and Julie both took sips from their drinks.
"Why'd you leave Alaska?"
She looked at him seriously. "Well, be--cause--of reasons I will not go into now. I had to return to Connecticut, and that is where I have mostly lived, from that day to this."
"What were you, an exchange student?" Her voice carried the hint of an Irish brogue, which certainly was in contradiction to her Native American Indian appearance, he thought.
"Before Alaska, I was in California--at the--uh--California Polytechnic Institute, and I thought I would major in Equine Science and Reproduction, and Genetics--but, on a holiday to Alaska, I liked it there that much, that I applied, and was accepted, at the University."
Her gaze traveled over him again. "Where is your badge?"
He lifted his jacket, took his badge off his belt, and laid it down on the table in front of Julie. She looked at it closely, not touching it, nodded, and after a moment, he put it back onto his belt.
"Where is your gun?"
"My gun?" Her question was unexpected, and it startled him.
"I thought homicide detectives carried guns. Where is it now?"
"Um--it's in my car. When I'm off-duty, I--uh--keep it locked up."
"What kind of gun is it?"
"It's a--um--it's a Beretta Cougar F Series 8357. It's a standard issue sidearm." He paused, and she leaned her head forward, as an indication for him to continue. "It is a semi-automatic weapon developed for law enforcement and self-defense use. I just started using it last year." He paused again, and she waited. So he continued. "It has a rotating barrel, and the lockup allows for a straight recoil, which enhances it's accuracy and reliability."
Two pairs of blue eyes considered each other intently. He wondered if she had even understood anything he had just told her. She gave no indication one way or the other, so her next question kind of surprized him.
"Does it use the .357 SIG ammunition?"
"Yes--" Well, maybe she DID understand.
"And is it a first-generation Cougar?"
"Yes, it is."
"Where'd you learn about guns?" he asked.
"I do not know much about guns." She shifted in her seat, and moved her Creme Soda glass to the side. "My cousin's husband is a highway patrol in Connecticut. He uses a Beretta. I do not need a gun. If I need a weapon, I can rely on my knife, my slingshot, bow and arrow, or just a rock."
"Are you into archery?"
"Off and on." She lifted her creme soda glass thoughtfully, took a sip, and sat it back down.
"I had a rifle once," she said, changing the subject again. "And I could have it still, packed away somewhere." She rolled her eyes, trying to remember.
"It was a Winchester 3030 Lever Action."
"That's a pretty high-powered firearm for a woman."
"It was very old. My uncle gave it to me, before we left Ireland. He took me rabbit hunting with it."
"That's heavy-duty stuff," he persisted. "Not usually the kind of firearm you'd find with a young lady."
"I was eight years old."
His eyes widened, in disbelief. What kind of parent or uncle would give a child a high-powered rifle like that?
"I shot it, and fell backwards, right on my bottom." She laughed. "I had a large bruise on my shoulder, as well."
"And I missed the rabbit." She looked at him keenly. "I think it might be worth a lot of money now." Then she added, with a serious expression, "That is the gun, not the rabbit."
Horatio had a tendency to doubt her story, but she certainly looked sincere. Once again, an awkward silence fell between them, as once again, that word took over his mind. WIFE. His eyelids fluttered downward in embarrassment, and he looked away. He truly hoped she could not read his mind.
She picked up on his discomfort, not quite understanding why he was so shy, and so she was inclined to blush again, and her eyes fell onto the floor.
There was no denying the chemistry between the two of them, and this sudden attraction was a little uncomfortable to both. As unfamiliar as it was, it was deliciously pleasant, and mysterious, and electrical. leaving them with a desire to know more about each other.
It was her turn to ask him questions, so she inquired, "Can airboats be rented in Miami?" She stifled a yawn, and waited for his answer.
He noticed that her shoulders drooped a little, as though she were weary. "Uh--yes," he replied.
"How much would it cost?" she pursued.
He didn't answer right away, but continued to give her his curious look.
She explained. "I would like to see some more of the Everglades. I did not get to see much of it when I was last here. I would like to get some pictures."
"Well--um--what were you thinking? Half a day? All day?"
"Oh, I believe I can cover a lot of territory in half a day." Her eyelids were heavy, and she appeared to slump in her chair. "I have so little time here, and I have lots to do."
"Well--there is a place over in Coral Gables. I understand they have rentals available, and they are fairly reasonable." He leaned forward in his seat, and gave her his blue, acute look. "You need to get some rest."
She fidgeted in her seat, and muttered, "I cannot be tired. I have too much to do, to be tired." She looked at the clock on the wall above the bar. She saw that it was 9:00 PM. Her eyes traveled to the piano in the corner. Then back to him.
Horatio had already picked up on her body language. She WAS tired.
"Do you have a place to stay?" He leaned back in his seat, and crossed his arms again.
"Aye," she answered, stifling another yawn with the back of her hand.
She sat for another minute, her eyelids drooping, and suddenly, she looked at him with an intense gaze, and smiled in resignation.

***********************************************************

In one fluid motion, Julie scooted all her papers together, putting them into one pile, and started putting things into her pack. Wearily, she said, "I want to go back to my hotel room."
"You want me to walk you back?"
"If it pleases you."
"Would it please YOU?"
"It would." Once again, she bestowed that million-dollar dimpled smile upon him.
She stood up, and threw her backpack over one shoulder.
He stood and followed her toward the door, looking around him before they exited the building.
"If you walk with me, will your wife be upset with you?"
"I don't have a wife." They paused outside the door. "Do you have a husband?"
"I do not." She gave him a severe look, as though the whole idea was preposterous.
They walked for a little distance, each lost in his and her own thoughts. He wondered about her curious reaction when he had asked her if she had a husband. He was also curious about his own feelings for her, a young lady whom he had just met, and didn't really know that well. And why did the word WIFE keep popping up in his mind? He had her pegged as a country girl, and she had him pegged as a city boy.
"Will you work tomorrow?"
"Yes--but--um--I'm off tomorrow evening." He tilted his head sideways to glance down at her.
Julie said nothing, but she was extremely aware of his aura, as he was of hers.
Neither said anything for awhile. They walked side by side, the top of her head just reaching the level of his chin."
"It is a long walk to my hotel." She sighed deeply, wearily. Her turquoise eyes turned up to him. Thinking he might have somewhere else to go, or something he might need to do, she volunteered, "It is seven more blocks."
Horatio was actually enjoying her company. She was unobtrusive, quiet, and a shy little dish, and his feeling was very protective toward her. He was struggling with the vision of her being someone's wife, perhaps even his own, and he had no idea why he couldn't get that thought out of his mind. He had never considered country girls to be his type. And yet, here was one that he was attracted to. He laughed inwardly at the thought of her even having him as her husband. She would probably be more interested in a farm-boy type, or someone who shared her interest in horses.
He sneaked a sideways look at her again. She walked calmly beside him, hands in her jeans pockets, just looking around, with a slow, confident grace, and a natural ease of going.
"Uh--um--you wannu go back to my place?" He was interested in her, and not necessarily for sex, although he left open that possibility. He looked like a shy little boy, as he waited for her answer.

She stopped walking to look up at him with interest. Her tongue licked her lips as she thought. "Is it farther away than seven blocks?" She tried to stifle a yawn again. She was unsuccessful.
"Mm hm, it's--it's over in the North Side area."
She gave a long sigh, as though undecided, and her eyes went down, looking at his neck. She wanted to hold him, throw her arms around him, and yet she could hardly keep her eyes from closing.
"Not this night, Horatio Caine," she answered, as she started walking again. "It is very kind of you to ask."
She didn't want him to think she wasn't interested, and she thought of how she might encourage him. So she said, "But--there is one thing I would like to do."
He tilted his head downward to look at her. "What would that be?"
"I--would like--to hold--your hand. If th--that is alright with you."
"It sure is."
Her left hand reached out slowly, and she slid her fingers into his waiting right hand. His fingers tightened around her hand, snugly, and a jolt went through her. His grip was firm and strong.
"Well, tourist, what's on your agenda for tomorrow?" They continued walking.
"I will finish what I need to do at the genealogy library. Then, tomorrow afternoon, I will search for a song to add to my music collection."
"Any particular song you're looking for?"
"Una Paloma Blanca. I want to find the sheet music for it, or at least the words, so I can sing it."
"Is that your hotel, The Sand Dune?"
"It is not, Horatio Caine. Mine is the Super 8, across the street from it. You can see the sign from here. "
"Not too shabby--no pool, huh. Tasteful--but not too ritzy."
"It is good lodgings, but reasonable pricing, and I like that. Why do I need a swimming pool? There is an entire ocean to swim in."
"Good point," he replied, laughing softly. Then he continued, "This is a respectable section of town you chose to stay in."
They strolled across the well-lighted parking lot, still holding hands.
"I have two weeks to stay in Miami." With knitted brow, Julie was thinking about the amount of time she could be spending with this handsome redhead before she had to return home. She fought back another yawn.
"Uh--huh, so you said."
She hesitated. "If--if--you think me worthy--of your time--I--I would like to spend some more time with you--if that is--alright with you." Her lovely turquoise eyes looked into his, and she turned her face down toward the ground. She was painfully shy. She shuffled her feet.
"Uh--okay. How about tomorrow night?"
Once again, she flashed him that radiant, toothy grin.
"Perhaps we could take a walk on the beach, or--uh--" She looked away.
By now, they had reached the bottom of some stairs, and they stood there in front of a door to one of the rooms. They were still holding hands.
"Want me to pick you up here, at the hotel?" He gave her hand an affectionate little squeeze, and wiggled it a little.
"That would be delightful."
"This your room here?"
"No. It is upstairs. Room 240."
"What time were you thinking?"
Any time after 6:00."
"Sleep well, Horatio Caine." She backed away from him, toward the stairs, but she was still holding his hand.
"Goodnight, Miss Piper."
She held his hand a moment longer than she needed to, but finally released it, and paused three steps up, to look down at him. "Be careful walking back, mavourneen. The city can be a dangerous place at night."
"It can be."
Her look lingered on him a while longer than it needed too, then she turned, and trotted up the stairs to the second floor.
He waited until she opened and closed her room door, before he left. And he was thinking to himself, "It can be dangerous in the daylight, too, you enchanting little minx."
In bed that night, his last thoughts were of her and him, alone on an airboat.
// END OF CHAPTER ONE //
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Two Weeks In Miami