I couldn't concentrate. My sister was in the hospital, dying of a gunshot wound, and I was trying to process the crime scene. It's a good thing Calleigh was with me, or I probably would have screwed everything up. I mean, come on––I may not be the weapons expert, but I know what a GSR cone is.

At least I found something useful––the complimentary bottles of Yarmy rum that would eventually lead us to Mari's shooter. Calleigh gave me a knowing stare. "I imagine that you and Horatio are gonna want to take it from here."

As if on cue, my cell phone rang. Without even having to look at it, let alone answer it, I knew who it was, and why he was calling. My heart pounded, and I felt a hot dread writhing in the pit of my stomach. I looked anyway.

The caller ID read, Caine.

Never before has the sight of my boss's name on my cell struck such terror into me. I like H––it's hard not to. But he was at the hospital with Mari, and there was only one reason he would be calling me, now.

I flipped open the phone, and it took me a few seconds to work enough moisture into my mouth to speak. "H?" I finally croaked.

"Eric," he said, and even over the cell line, I heard something in his voice I'd never heard before, something he'd always kept hidden in the face of tragedy. Something I'd never, ever expected to hear coming from Horatio Caine. I knew with ever greater certainty what he was going to say, and yet I couldn't bring myself to believe it. "Eric, Marisol didn't––didn't make it."

I'd known it was coming. Even before today, I'd known it was coming. If it hadn't been Fiero, it would have been the cancer. But the news still hit me like a sledgehammer. I think a part of me died with her.

I love you, sis. I hope you know that, wherever you are.