Count to Ten

  Dana’s lips twitched. “I’m not touchin’ that with a ten-foot pole. Okay, time-out’s over. He’s handsome, kind, and I’m betting he’s interested and you’re scared.”

  All those years as a social worker had honed Dana’s observation skills. All the years as Mia’s best friend had sharpened them to a razor edge. “Essentially, yes.”

  Dana leaned forward conspiratorially. “So, has he kissed you yet?”

  A laugh bubbled up. “No.” She sighed. “But it’s headed that way.”

  “And?”

  “And... I’m not looking for a relationship.”

  “Neither was I.”

  “That’s different.”

  Dana lifted a brow. “How?”

  “You love Ethan. You married him.” And for Dana, that had been a huge step.

  “At first I only planned to use him for sex and cut him loose when I was done.”

  Mia blinked. That one she hadn’t heard before. “Oh?”

  “But I didn’t get done with him. I’m still not done. Don’t think I’ll ever be done. He’s just too good in bed. All those muscles and all that energy...” She fanned her face.

  Mia found herself tightening her thighs against the throbbing between her legs. “Not fair. You know how long it’s been since I’ve had any and you’re just rubbing it in.”

  Dana laughed. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. Oh, Mia.” Her smile became sad. “Look at yourself. You’re thirty-four years old and all you have is work. You go home to a dark, cold apartment and an empty bed. You wake up the same way. Your life is passing and you’re just watching the days go by.”

  Mia swallowed hard, but the lump still closed her throat. “Not fair,” she whispered.

  “I’m tired of being fair,” Dana whispered back. “I’m tired of watching you throw your life away because you don’t think you deserve any better. Dammit, your father’s dead, Mia. Kelsey’s in jail and your mother... God only knows about her. But you, you I know. You I care about. And if you think it’s not fair to live like you do, you should be the one to watch you do it. It breaks my heart, Mia.” Dana’s voice broke. “And that’s not fair.”

  Because her own heart ached, Mia lifted her chin and dropped her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  Dana slapped the table. “Goddammit, Mia, yank that stick out of your ass and listen to me. You deserve a life. Don’t tell me you don’t want that.” She spread her arms wide. “That you don’t want this. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want this.”

  Mia looked around the kitchen, at the cheerful colors, the sink filled with dishes, the refrigerator covered with the artwork done by small hands. And she wanted it, so fiercely it stole her breath. “Yes,” she hissed. “I want it.”

  “Then take it.” Dana leaned forward, her eyes turbulent. “Find someone and take it.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You mean you won’t.”

  “Fine. I won’t.”

  Dana leaned back in her chair, her shoulders sagging. “Why not?”

  “Because I’d ruin it.” She jerked her eyes away from Dana’s devastated face and finished it. “And I’ll be damned if I’ll ruin two kids like he ruined us.”

  There was silence, then Mia heard the sound of the nickel sliding back across the table. “I can’t help you, Mia,” Dana whispered. “I’m sorry.” For minutes they sat not -speaking, then Dana sighed. “Can I give you some free advice?”

  “Can I stop you?”

  “No. Human contact is a need, just like food. No food, you starve. If you deprive yourself of human contact it can do the same to your soul. You’re attracted to Reed?”

  Mia drew a breath. “Yeah.”

  “Then don’t run away from him. See where this takes you. You don’t have to have a house with kids and a husband to have a relationship. And despite the Valentine’s Day cards, not every relationship is meant to last forever.”

  “Would you accept less than forever?”

  “No, because I’ve tasted it and now I can’t imagine being satisfied with anything less. But if you’re bound and determined not to have filet mignon, then don’t push away the hamburger. If you’re honest with the man, hamburger might be enough sustenance to get you through. And who knows? Maybe he only likes hamburger, too.”

  “See, that’s where you’re wrong. Only the sleazebags only like hamburger.”

  “And Reed Solliday is no sleazebag,” Dana said heavily.

  No, he wasn’t. “Dana, I don’t want to hurt anyone like I hurt Guy. Reed’s a nice man. So it’s hands off. I’ve gotta go. Thanks for dinner.”

  From her kitchen window, Dana watched Mia drive away. Ethan came up behind her, slid his hands around her waist. She leaned into him, needing him more than ever.

  “Did you tell her?” he murmured and she shook her head.

  “No, the time wasn’t right.”

  Ethan splayed his hand against her abdomen. “You have to tell her sometime, Dana. She’s a big girl and she loves you. She’ll be happy for us.”

  That, of course, was the issue. “I know she’ll want to be happy for us, Ethan. I guess I’m selfish enough to want to wait until I know she will be.”

  “Well, don’t wait too much longer. I want to tell people. I want to shop for cribs and booties and stuff.” He turned her in his arms and kissed her soundly. “But first, let’s talk a little about that whole dominatrix thing.”

  Dana laughed as he’d meant for her to. “I do love you.”

  He pulled her close, held her tight. “I know.”

  Wednesday, November 29, 7:55 P.M.

  Holly Wheaton watched Reed approach like an angry cat watches a recalcitrant mouse. Of course, Reed wasn’t a mouse. But that didn’t make Holly Wheaton any less a cat. A cat in a low-cut sheer blouse, suede miniskirt, and killer pumps.

  It was abundantly clear what the woman had had in mind. Reed found himself curiously affected and repelled and... making comparisons. He wished Mia could be here to put this woman in her place. But also because he just wanted her here. Mia didn’t have Wheaton’s features, that face that made men’s fingers pause on the remote as they channel surfed. But Mia had something more... natural. More appealing. Just... more. He let his eyes dip briefly below Wheaton’s chin. Mia had her there, too. Hands down. Or hands on. Focus, Solliday. The shark is circling. He seated himself across from Wheaton and shook his head when the waiter appeared to fill his glass.

  “No thank you.” He handed the waiter the menu. “I won’t be staying.”

  Wheaton’s cheeks flushed. “I recall a deal. And speaking of such, you’re late.”

  “I had another dinner engagement.”

  “You could have broken it.”

  “No, I couldn’t have. Nor would I have. I don’t have much time, Miss Wheaton. I promised you an interview. Please commence.”

  “Very well.” She put her recorder on the table. “Tell me about the investigation.”

  “I can’t comment on any ongoing investigation.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re welshing?”

  “No. You asked for an interview. I didn’t promise to answer your questions. Now I will, of course, provided you ask me something I’m at liberty to divulge.”

  She sat for a moment, then smiled and the hair on the back of his neck stood straight up. “So who was the woman that Detective Mitchell pursued today?”

  Reed just looked at her, perplexed on the outside, but -raging-bull mad on the inside. “Oh, you mean at the press conference. She thought she saw someone we wanted to talk to, but she was mistaken.” He shrugged. “No mystery.”

  Wheaton huffed a chuckle before pulling a personal DVD player from the leather bag at her feet. She handed it to him. “Just hit play. The resemblance is uncanny.”

  He did and the rage inside him grew as he watched the camera pan the crowd and focus on the woman who was most likely Mia’s half sister. This was none of Wheaton’s business. It was Mia’s pain and he’d be damned if Wheaton wou
ld cash in on it. She took the player from his hand. “Tell me what I want to know or I’ll go public with this.”

  “With...?” he asked mildly. “She’s not a person of interest. Just a face in the crowd.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Fine. I’ll find out on my own.”

  “You do that. When you find out, let me know. I might like to go to dinner with her.”

  Wednesday, November 29, 8:00 P.M.

  He sat at his desk, damning Atticus Lucas when he should be running through the evening’s logistics one last time. One egg in the corner of the display case and the cops were all over the school. What the hell was a grown man doing playing with beads?

  He’d been in that art room. The cops would find his prints somewhere. Sometime. And if they were the least bit good at their jobs, they’d realize something wasn’t quite right. But it would take them... oh, days, at least to get to that point.

  Unfortunately, they’d found evidence of his work in the lab as well. It was impossible. He’d cleaned so thoroughly and run the fan the entire time he worked in the hood. But they’d found something. He wouldn’t panic. He needed time to finish. Time to do it right. But now, because of Adler and her idiocy, he’d have to hurry the job.

  But all that was a distraction. He had work to do. Soon it would be time to move. He knew exactly where to go, what to do. There was an energy in the air. It would be something new. He was growing bored with houses anyway. He was ready to move on.

  He’d timed it all well, but he’d need to be quick before the sprinklers and smoke detectors alerted the motel staff. Which at the chosen time of night would be one lone person at the front desk drinking coffee and trying to stay awake.

  He’d already scoped it the night before. He was ready. Mr. Dougherty wouldn’t suffer. It wasn’t his fault that he’d married a bitchy woman. Mrs. Dougherty, though... she had a lot to answer for. Very soon, she’d begin.

  By answering to me.

  The ringing of the phone jarred him back to reality. His first reaction was fear, but rage followed quickly. Rage at Adler for bringing the police to his doorstep. Which brought the fear to me. Was it the police? What did they now know? He answered the phone on the fourth ring. “Yes.”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  He blinked, more at the fierce tone than the words. “Okay. Why?”

  “I’ve talked with Manny. He told me everything.”

  His fist clenched the phone, then he forced himself to relax. He injected a note of amused incredulity into his voice. “You believed him? Come on.”

  “I don’t know. I need to talk to you.”

  “Okay. Meet me and we’ll discuss it rationally.”

  There was a long pause. “Okay. Flannagan’s Bar in half an hour.”

  He looked at his list. He’d checked nearly everything off, but there were still a few ends to tie off before he visited the Doughertys in their hotel. “Make it forty-five.”

  He stood, carefully loading his eggs into the backpack. Then he drew his blade from its sheath and turned it this way and that, catching the light, admiring its gleam. He’d sharpened it after Penny Hill. A responsible weapon owner cared for his tools.

  The boy watched, a terrible fear clutching his heart. He knew firsthand what that blade could do. He also knew what the blade would do if he was ever discovered. So he pulled himself into a tighter ball and hid from the monster who haunted his dreams.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Wednesday, November 29, 8:40 P.M.

  Reed could see her coming in his rearview. He shouldn’t be here. He should have just waited until the morning to tell her. There wouldn’t be anything she could do tonight anyway. But he knew she’d want to know. He knew she wasn’t the type to... how had she phrased it? To hide under the covers like a little girl.

  She slowed the borrowed department car, rolling to a stop next to his SUV. For a moment she sat there, looking at him, then parked her car along the curb. Feeling like he dragged an anchor, he got out and walked up to her car, his hands in his pockets.

  She popped her trunk and looked up at him from the corner of her eye. “Something break on the case?” she asked. Inside her trunk were a half dozen grocery bags.

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Need somebody to tie your shoes or tear your mustard packets?”

  “No.” He nudged her aside and grabbed the bags in both hands. “Is this all?”

  She slammed the trunk shut. “I don’t eat much.”

  Without another word she led him up three flights of stairs and into her apartment. It was sparsely decorated as he’d known it would be. No pictures hung from the walls. Furniture was minimal. The TV was tiny and rested atop an old Styrofoam cooler. This wasn’t a home. This was merely the place she slept when she wasn’t working.

  His eyes settled on the small wooden box on her dinette table just before she whisked it and a trifolded flag into her coat closet that was equally bare. That the flag had belonged to her father was not a huge leap. He’d been a cop. He’d get a cop’s funeral. His widow would get the flag.

  That the box had also been his was logical. That the daughter had the flag and not the widow was telling. But given what she’d shared this morning, completely understandable. How hard it must have been to learn of her father’s infidelities while standing at his grave. How much harder for the widow. He thought of how he himself might have felt, learning that Christine had betrayed him. He simply couldn’t imagine it.

  That Mia Mitchell managed to stay focused at all was testament to the kind of cop she was. “You can put the groceries on the table,” she said and he did, all the while wondering how he would tell her that her privacy was on the verge of being threatened.

  He unpacked a bag, stacking frozen dinners. “I just got finished meeting with Holly.”

  Her eyes flashed. “I trust you left Miss Wheaton well and happy.”

  His temper rose. “I don’t like her, either, Mia. And I don’t like your insinuation.”

  She shrugged fitfully. “You’re right. I’m sorry,” she muttered. “Doesn’t matter anyway.” She reached for the stack of frozen dinners and he grabbed her arm.

  “Dammit, Mia. What’s wrong with you?”

  For a split second, the anger in her eyes changed to fear. Then just that fast, it was gone, defiance taking its place. She jerked her arm and shaken, he immediately let her go. “Go away, Reed. I’m not good company right now.”

  She grabbed the cartons and disappeared into the kitchen. He heard the freezer door open, then slam shut. She reappeared, fists on her hips. “You’re still here.”

  “So it would seem.” She stood there scowling, blue eyes flashing, somehow sexier in khaki pants and scuffed boots than Wheaton had been in a suede miniskirt and killer pumps. And he wanted her, scowl and all.

  “Look. You seem like a nice man. You deserve better than I’ve treated you. I’m not warm and fuzzy, but I’m not usually this rude.” The smile that curved her lips was obviously forced. “I’ll try to be nicer. Let’s get this case solved and you can walk away, hopefully none the worse for the wear.” She started for the front door, dismissing him.

  Not just yet. “Mia, I need to talk to you about Holly -Wheaton. It’s important.”

  She stopped five feet away, her back to him. “I really don’t care.”

  He sighed. “About this you will.”

  She turned to face him, wary. “What’s she done?”

  “Your absence from the press conference this morning didn’t go unnoticed.”

  She closed her eyes. “Oh shit.”

  “She knows about the woman you followed, that she’s important to you. She has video of her in the crowd. I thought you’d want to know, so you could be on your guard.”

  Her eyes opened, narrowed. “Goddamn, I hate that bitch.”

  “I’d have to say the feeling is mutual. Why does she hate you so much?”

  “We had a child rape/homicide and she tried to cuddle up to Ab
e for an exclusive, just like she tried with you at that apartment fire. Didn’t matter that Abe is married. Abe and I agreed the best way to get Wheaton off his back was to give an exclusive to somebody else. We talked to Lynn Pope of Chicago on the Town.”

  “I’ve seen her show, but I’ve never met her.”

  “Lynn’s a classy lady. I trust her. When Holly found out she filed a formal complaint with Spinnelli. He supported us, of course, and the next time he had a story, he gave the exclusive to Lynn. So Holly blames me for trying to ruin her career.”

  “Why you?”

  “Because the men couldn’t possibly have resisted her on their own. I had to have turned them against her. She’s a menace.” She sighed bitterly. “She’s also good at finding what she wants to know. Most men aren’t capable of resisting a pretty face like hers. Most are even less capable of resisting a short skirt or the twitching ass inside it.”

  There was a compliment buried in there somewhere, Reed knew, because he had resisted. But there was also something else, an acceptance that she, Mia Mitchell, didn’t have those same attributes and was somehow less desirable. Which pissed him off, because he was living, breathing, aching proof of just how desirable she was. “Nobody knows about your relationship to the blonde except the men in the room this morning. I won’t say a word. Spinnelli, Jack, and the shrink won’t say anything, either.”

  She pressed her fingertips to her eyes. “I know. I appreciate you coming by to tell me. Now I’m really sorry I snapped at you.”

  Reed wanted to go to her. To take her in his arms and hold her. But she’d pulled away twice and he was afraid she’d make it three times. And he’d be out. So he stood where he was, hands in his pockets. “It’s okay.” He injected a note of humor in his voice. “If I’d known how much you hated her, I would have let you get your court order.”

  One side of her mouth turned up sadly. “I knew you were a gentleman.”

  You’ve said your piece. Now go. But his feet stayed planted where they were. He couldn’t leave her looking so defeated. “Mia, I’ve watched you for three days now. You care about the victims. If they suffered. Finding them justice. You care about the families. Giving them support and dignity. That’s important to me. More important than warm fuzzies and especially more important than a twitching ass in a short skirt.”