A/N: Contains spoilers for the end of season six. I do not own CSI: Miami or any of the characters save those I create myself. Please do not sue. This is just for fun.


If you'd asked me five years ago if I'd ever hunt down Horatio Caine, I would have laughed in your face and told you it was impossible. Of all the cops I'd ever known, Horatio was the absolute last I'd ever expect to go rogue. Sure, his brother had been dirty, had snorted more meth than he'd ever gotten off the streets. But Horatio was not Raymond. Horatio was not a man to give into greed, temptation, or even the slightest thought of abandoning his sworn promise to protect and serve.

Maybe that was the problem. You know what they say about something—or someone—being too good to be true.

He was standing right in front of me. All I had to do was squeeze down on the trigger and it would all end. All the violence, the death and the pain would end. For him. For me. For every officer that had ever served with him, and every heart he broke when he'd walked away from the job. Calleigh, Eric, Ryan, Natalia… they were mine now, their souls tainted and hearts wounded beyond belief by his betrayal. But they were still good people, solid criminalists sworn to uphold the law.

Even if it meant hunting down the man they had all loved in their own ways.

And me? Yeah, I'd loved him, too. Loved him with my whole heart. It was why I'd walked away from the job five years ago, and it was why I took it back when they'd told me what he'd done. I was the only one that loved him enough to go after him, and hated what he'd become enough to put that love behind me.

"Horatio… It's done. Come in with me."

Those blue eyes were as sharp as I remembered them, but they were cold and hard. Like glass instead of the way they used to remind me of the ocean. No love or compassion undulated in their depths. No emotion swirled warmth into his gaze. It was flat, cold and so full of intelligence that I wanted to weep. He was the undisputed King of Miami now. After Julia had deported him to Brazil, after he'd stood trial and was convicted of the murder of Antonio Riaz, he'd returned in disgrace. The Brazilian courts had sentenced him to exile. He was never again welcome in their sunny country.

What happened in the states was much worse, and yet much the same. An offer was made to him by the city he had loved most, by the badge that was as much a part of him as his own heartbeat: serve the rest of your career riding a desk in some obscure department, or quit.

Either way you looked at it, it was exile all the same.

He'd quit. And in a month's time had organized what was left of the Mala Noche into a force unseen since the days of the Mafioso. He'd brought back the old ways, the old codes. Women were women. They were to be cherished. Children weren't to be touched—at all. Collateral damage was unacceptable: meaning if someone wronged you, you went after that one person. If you so much as looked the wrong way at that person's innocent family, you were dead.

Caine would kill you, himself. He was Kaiser Sosay from The Usual Suspects. He was the ghost in the dark, the shadow under the bed. You fucked with him, his rules, or his family, and you were dead.

End of list.

My hand trembled, the gun wavering just slightly. Caine raised an eyebrow, staring at me in his million dollar suit, head cocked slightly to the side. "Megan," he said my name softly, causing a shiver to ripple down my spine. "Or should I say, Lieutenant Donner. You wear the rank well. I always knew you would."

Beside him stood Father Memmo Fierro, wearing his black priestly robes. His hands were clasped behind his back, and around his neck gleamed a rosary made of rubies and yellow gold. It was a gift from Caine to him when he'd taken his priestly vows. He was the only one Caine confessed to now. Even as the Don of Miami, Caine was still a devout Catholic.

How had it come to this? How had a man as good as Horatio become a murderer? How had a man as wicked as Memmo become a priest? And how in the hell had Horatio taken to confessing to the man that started this whole thing? Memmo had killed his iwife/i, for crying out loud!

"You wear your money just as well," I shot back, eyes brimming with tears. "How does it feel to profit off the sickness you once tried to heal? Bet you go to sleep every night in that fortress you call a home on Star Island, all safe and happy."

Something passed through those unearthly blue eyes. A shadow of anger? A shadow of pain? I didn't know. I was feeling too much to try and figure him out. This time I couldn't leave emotion at the door. Not when it came to him.

"I sleep well, thank you," he answered. "Now are you going to shoot me, or can I go to confession?"

Behind me, two of Caine's men—former Mala Noche—shifted slightly. His bodyguards, I realized. They were loyal to him to their last breath, and even if I gunned him down in the middle of this church, they'd kill me before I had time to draw my last breath. "Go," I sighed, lowering my gun. "And afterwards I want to talk to you."

Those lips curved slightly in what would have been a smile on anyone else's mouth. "I have a very busy day ahead of me, Lieutenant Donner. But you do have my number. Call my attorney and make an appointment. I'll be happy to accommodate you."

He started to turn away and I felt myself snap. My hand reached out, clasped over his wrist. "Dammit, Caine!"

He turned slowly to me, and in the blink of an eye it was his hand grabbing my upper arm, yanking me against him so hard my teeth nearly rattled. "DO NOT curse inside this church," He said softly, calmly. "You have no reason to question me. You have no proof, no witnesses and no evidence to indict me. Until you do, I would appreciate you keeping your distance or I will be forced to press harassment charges. Lieutenant Donner is not welcome in my home or near my person. Megan, on the other hand, is."

With that, he let me go. Just as calmly he turned and followed Father Fierro into the confessional, his two bodyguards taking up position around it.

He was my enemy now, and yet he'd left me an opening. For the first time since his reign as the King of Miami's underworld, he was ready to talk about it.