Disclaimer: I do not own any of CSI Miami, Criminal Minds, or any said intellectual property. Please don't sue me; my lawyer's in jail.

A/N: There was an installment in my Emmie Stockburne series called "A Big Beautiful Murder", which took place between Our Little Secret and Talladega Nightmares. It was a Miami/NY crossover. I didn't like how it turned out and will probably use it for something down the road.

Since some important things took place in A Big, Beautiful Murder, I need to fill in the holes. Ryan and Emmie have hit a rough stretch of road in their marriage. After years of working as the crime lab's computer tech, Emmie feels useless since Tyler had learned everything she had known. She is ready to make a change in her life, but is not sure what. A cousin of hers is looking to start a charity. She finally settles on Marisol's Angels, in the memory of Marisol Delko-Cain. Marisol's Angels is a home and orphanage for children who had been trafficked into the United states. Emmie now does computer work for the charity as well as spend some time with the kids.

A special thanks to everyone for all the kind comments on the previous Emmie Stockburne series. I have decided to rate this story M for the graphic crime scenes.

Chapter 1—Never let Them See You Cry

Federal Criminal Court, Birmingham, Alabama, April 1999

"Place your hand on the Bible and raise your right hand."

Her stomach jumped from the nausea. Her throat tightened. She wanted more than anything in this world to just curl up in her bed, pull the sheet over her, and cry her heart out. Instead, she struggled to stand at attention and put her hand on the worn black Bible.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"Yes Sir."

The bailiff motioned toward the witness stand. "Be seated."

She took a deep breath, trying to dispel those feelings.

Come on, stop it!

"State your name and occupation for the record, please."

She leaned forward and held her churning stomach with one hand. "Emmalyn Stockburne-Qualls, Cyberagent Level Two, FBI Cybercrimes Analyst."

The bespectacled judge nodded to the prosecution. "Your witness."

As the carefully-suited federal prosecutor stood up, he held his pen at both ends, glanced at his notes, and stood in front of her, studying every inch of her that was visible from the witness stand, from her neat chestnut hair, to her pale complexion.

"Thank you, Your Honor" he said in his Alabama drawl. "Now, Agent Stockburne-Qualls. The Federal Government has called you as an expert witness to testify against Richard Domeyer, alias Talladega Slasher. Is that correct?"

"Yes Sir."

"Now Agent Stockburne-Qualls. In your own words, state for the record what you did in this case as a cyberagent and why you were called to do it."

Oh God. Why now?

"Well Sir, the said crimes occurred on Federal land, to wit, Talladega National Forest. As it was impossible to track the suspect's whereabouts any other way, the Bureau asked for my knowledge in cybertechnology and forensics."

Almost theatrically the prosecutor faced the jury while he looked at the ceiling and held his pen. He then walked around and faced her. "Now, Agent Stockburne-Qualls, I'm a little curious. How is it that a cybercrimes expert is able to help in the location of a murder suspect who has mostly committed his crimes out in remote areas such as the Talladega National Forest? Not much in the way of electronics up that way, is there?"

"Actually there is. We tracked the suspect by use of triangulation. It's cutting-edge technology. Right now the Bureau uses it, and only a handful of cities and states have the technology available."

The man stepped back slightly. "Using the courtroom's media board, Agent, would you explain to me how triangulation works and how you were able to track Richard Domeyer to the area of the Talladega National Forest in which he was apprehended?"

She took a deep breath and stood up on her black pumps, careful to look into the eyes of the man questioning her, Counsel, and the defendant who watched her with angry eyes. Her feelings were running high, and anything might make her cry or throw up right there in the courtroom, in front of the judge, the jury, that defendant, or worse yet, her boss. Nothing would destroy credibility like a crying, puking female FBI agent, she reasoned.

For several weeks she wanted to know why her stomach was turning inside-out on her at any second. And why she wanted nothing more than for her husband to be there to hold her, to caress her hair, to tell her everything was all right. To not let that jerk of a supervisor get under her skin.

But Dex was off on another training mission.

Oh, God, I feel sick! Stop heaving, dammit!

"All electronic communication devices, whether they be cell phones, pagers, or even satellite radios, can be tracked at times and places. In this case, however, cell phones give off radio waves that become more frequent as they're closer to a cell phone tower. The number will have a unique frequency. If three cell phone towers are picking up that phone's frequency at equal strength at the same time, we're able to make a triangle between the three towers and basically pinpoint the location of that cell phone. Since the technology tracks only in Real Time, we coordinated with the service providers in the local area. We knew that the victims were girls under twenty-one, all from outside the Southeastern United States and attending an event at the Talladega Speedway. With this information, the owners of the cell towers were able to alert us to when a nonlocal phone number was traveling from the Talladega Speedway up into the Talladega National Forest. For example, we determined that one victim's cell phone was at the Talladega Speedway at eleven forty-five. The providers then alerted me when that frequency was picked up on the road into the national forest after the races were over."

"And this is considered by the FBI to be an airtight, reliable method of tracking cell phones and any other two-way radios?"

"Yes Sir."

"No further questions."

"Oh, God, you did it!" Mary hollered as she hugged Emmie's neck. "You're the one who put the bastard away!" She backed up and looked into her eyes. "Are you okay?"

Emmie nodded sadly.

Mary Anne Bonner was the Birmingham Federal Court Reporter, a petite woman with blonde hair. She was awfully cheery for someone who worked with criminals, judges and lawyers all day long. Over the years, she and Emmie had learned to confide in each other safely. Mary sat down next to the tall, muscular former Marine and looked deeply into her green eyes.

"Come on. You looked pale up there. Something wrong?"

Without a word, she reached into her purse and handed her friend a folded piece of paper. Mary opened it and gasped. "Oh my God, that's wonderful!" She threw her arms around Emmie again, rubbing her back. "Aw, congratulations! I know you're gonna make a great mom."

Emmie made no more effort to hold back her emotions. She leaned her pale face onto her hand and sobbed, letting tears roll down onto her friend's blue suit jacket. "I feel so sick, Mary Anne."

"Aw, Emmie" she whispered. Then she moved back. "Does Dex know yet?"

"That's…part of the problem" she sobbed, wiping her eyes with a Kleenex.

"He's gone again, isn't he?"

Emmie blew her nose with a Kleenex and nodded. "Left last week. He's not due back till August this time."

The blonde-haired court reporter just bowed her head and rubbed her friend's back. They'd talked about this so many times before. Emmie had given her heart and her life to a Navy Seal who was gone nine months out of the year. Where he had gone was always a mystery, not to mention whether he'd come back alive. Emmie believed in keeping promises, and she was determined to tough it out, no matter what. They'd been over this time and time again. Emmie was so much taller than Mary Anne, so she could only reach up and tilt her head down to comfort her. "You gonna be okay?"

Emmie shrugged. "Yeah. Don't know what else I'm supposed to do."

"Look, I gotta get back and do cleanup. Call me tonight, okay?"

Emmie wiped her eyes and nodded. "Thanks."

Mary Anne reached forward and hugged her again. "I love you."

"I love you too. Thanks for being here."

Through her wet eyes, the Navy wife could barely read her court notes. In the silence she leaned against the metal table when the door opened.

Oh God, it's him! Go away!

She could feel her stomach knot up again as her throat tightened up. She covered her mouth and bent over slightly.

Robert Peeler was a tall, stocky redhead, a local from the Alabama area. Slowly, his hands behind his back, he paced in circles around the table, watching her all the time. "Emmie. You feeling all right? You looked a little distracted up there."

"Agent Peeler" she said coldly. "I'm fine. Thanks for your concern."

"Where's your husband?"

"Working. Where else?"

The stocky agent shrugged. "Oh, nothing. Just a little worried you might buckle under cross exam. Makes the Bureau look bad when that happens."

"I'm fine, thank you." You pig. "Did you need my help with something?"

He finally stopped and stood uncomfortably close to her, violating her personal space, just like he did now and then. Just inches away from her face he looked straight into her eyes. "The chief put you in for a special commendation. You know that?"

Emmie found it hard to look into his eyes. "I knew."

He put his hands on his hips now and nodded matter-of-factly. He knew his presence made her uncomfortable, and he was enjoying every minute of it. "Yeah, I saw the paperwork on my desk. Don't worry. I signed it and sent it on."

"Thank you." The young cyberagent knew Peeler thought he should have been getting this award.

"That's gonna go a long way toward a promotion."

"I know."

"Well, I'll see you back there. Don't slack off; you know how busy we are." With that he walked out and closed the door, leaving her alone.