Count to Ten

  He threw back his head and laughed and for one moment she wondered if she and Dana were both blind and stupid. “I’ll bet it was.” He sobered. “Why are you here, Mia?”

  She should tell him about Dana and the baby because as hard as it had been for her, it would be worse for him. But not tonight. “I’m at loose ends tonight.”

  His eyes shadowed. “Fair enough. We have a pool table upstairs.”

  “Can I ride the firepole back down?”

  He grinned, lightening the dark mood. “Sure.”

  “Then rack ’em up, Ace.”

  Saturday, December 2, 10:50 P.M.

  Lauren was on a date and Beth was sulking. It was eleven on a Saturday night and he was alone. He closed his eyes and let himself admit that he didn’t want to be alone. He wanted Mia here, with him. He wanted her smart mouth, her rough edges and her soft curves. God, the woman had the softest curves. He remembered how it felt to sink into her, thrust against her, fill his hands with her. She’d been...

  Perfect. He opened his eyes and stared at the wall, wondering if he was both blind and stupid. Perfect. She wasn’t elegant and the home she made would be filled with take-out boxes and sheets that didn’t match. But it could be a home. She made him...

  Happy. He fingered the chain around his neck. He’d hurt her. Mia.

  But it wasn’t too late. It couldn’t be. He got up and paced. He wouldn’t let it be.

  His computer beeped at him. He either had new e-mail or a hit on the search he’d scheduled to run three times daily. He sat in front of the screen and his breath caught. It was a new hit on the solid-accelerant search. The first four entries were his own. But the fifth had been logged just that afternoon. By a Tom Tennant of Indianapolis.

  Reed found the number for the Indianapolis Fire Department. Ten minutes and three transfers later, he got through. “Tennant.” It was a sleepy growl.

  “Tom Tennant? My name is Reed Solliday. I’m with OFI in Chicago. You logged a solid-accelerant fire utilizing natural gas into the database this afternoon.”

  “Yeah, I did. Hell of a fire. Nearly took out half a city block.” In the background Reed could hear the tapping of a keyboard. Tennant was checking him out.

  “You’ll find my four entries in the database already. This is likely related to a serial murder/arsonist in Chicago. What was the name of the homeowner at the origin?”

  “I can’t give you that information right now.”

  Reed blew out an impatient breath. “Can you tell me if the last name was Young?”

  There was a beat of hesitation. “Yes. Tyler Young.”

  One of the sons. Shit. “Did he survive?”

  Tennant hesitated. “I need to check you out first. Give me your badge number.”

  Reed rattled it off. “Hurry. Call me back when you’ve verified.” They’d found one of the Youngs. Too late it seemed. They might be in time for the other three. He started to dial Mia, then canceled. He’d wait until Tennant called—

  The shrill barking of the puppy broke the quiet. It sounded like Biggles was outside, but he hadn’t heard Beth come down to let him out. Then the high squeal of the smoke detector added to the din. His heart jumped into his throat as he ran up the stairs, dialing 911. Beth was upstairs. Smoke already filled the hallway.

  “Fire at 356 Morgan. Repeat, fire at 356 Morgan. People still in the house.”

  “Sir, you need to get out,” the 911 operator said.

  “My daughter’s still in here.”

  “Sir—” Reed snapped the phone shut, grabbed the fire extinguisher from the wall. “Beth.” He tried to open her door, but it was locked. She had her headphones on. She couldn’t hear him. He threw himself into her bedroom door and wood cracked and splintered. For a split second he could only stare in horror as flames licked the walls and smoke filled the room. “Beth!” He ran to her bed and yanked the blanket, emptying the extinguisher at the base of the flames, but her bed was empty.

  She wasn’t here. Wasn’t here. He ran into the hall, checked the bathroom, the spare room. Nothing. He touched the door to his own room and it burned his hand.

  Back to the bathroom. Wet the towels. Cover hands and face. He was on autopilot when he pushed open his bedroom door. The wave of heat knocked him back, smacked him down. His bed was solid flames. He dropped to his stomach and tried to crawl into the room. My baby. “Beth! I’m here. Call to me. Let me know where you are.”

  But he could barely hear the sound of his voice over the roar and the hiss. Then hands were pulling at him and he fought. “No. My daughter’s here. She’s still in here.”

  He was dragged from the room by firefighters in full gear. Breathers covered their faces. One of them lifted the mask. “Reed? My God, man, get the hell out of here!”

  Reed shook them off. “My daughter. She’s still in here.” Smoke filled his lungs and he fell to his knees, coughing until he couldn’t breathe at all.

  “We’ll find her. You get out.” One of the men pushed him out the front door into the grip of an EMT. “This is -Lieutenant Solliday. His kid’s inside. Don’t let him back in.”

  Reed jerked away from the EMT, but another fit of coughing left him breathless. The EMT led him to the ambulance and strapped an oxygen mask to his face.

  “Breathe, Lieutenant. Now sit. Sir.”

  “Beth.” His body was limp. He could only stare as one of the windows shattered.

  The EMT was bandaging his hands. “They’ll find her, sir.”

  He closed his eyes. Beth’s in there. She’s dead. They won’t be in time.

  I didn’t save my own child. Numb, he sat. And waited.

  Saturday, December 2, 11:10 P.M.

  The men had gathered around the pool table, and Mia guessed at least two of the guys were ones who’d kill to be with her. In the past she would have been flattered, but like she’d told Reed, the trouble never had been the sex. It was the intimacy. But the one man she’d been truly intimate with, sharing her deepest secrets, didn’t want her.

  Not the way it counted, anyway. She had no doubt that Reed Solliday wanted her sexually. She even knew down deep he wanted to want her emotionally. But he was afraid. As was she. And until she got past that fear, she’d come home to an empty place and be Aunt Mia to everyone else’s children.

  “I won.” Larry Fletcher laid his cue across the table.

  “You cheated,” Mia corrected with a smile. “It’s been fun, but I gotta go.” Where, she wasn’t sure. The two flatterers protested, then everyone went quiet at the radio call. When it was clear it wasn’t for the 172, the chatter resumed, but Mia heard a phrase that made her heart stop. “Quiet.”

  “It’s not us, Mia,” David said, but she was already running for the stairs.

  “That’s Reed’s house,” she said over her shoulder and saw Larry’s grim face.

  He’d heard it, too. “I’m coming with you,” Larry said, right behind her.

  Saturday, December 2, 11:25 P.M.

  Mia ran to the ambulance. “Reed. My God.” His face was lifeless but for the tears streaking his cheeks. His hands were wrapped in bandages. An oxygen mask dangled from his neck. She dropped to her knees. “Reed?”

  “Beth is inside,” he said, his voice flat. Dead. “I couldn’t find my little girl.”

  She took his bandaged hand in hers. “Where is Lauren?”

  “On a date,” he said tonelessly. “It was just me and Beth.”

  “Reed, listen to me. Did you check Beth’s room?”

  He nodded mechanically. “She wasn’t there.”

  Little bitch, Mia thought, furious with the girl for causing her father such grief. Beth went out the window again. “Larry, wait with him.” She stalked off to the side, radio in hand. “This is Mitchell, Homicide. I need a cruiser to proceed at fastest safe speed with lights and sirens to the Rendezvous Café.” She gave the address. “They’re looking for Liz Solliday. Tell them to make a scene. And if she’s there, scare her shitless.”

 
“Ah, understood, Detective Mitchell,” Dispatch said warily.

  “No, you don’t. Her house is burning down and her father thinks she’s inside.”

  “Unit dispatched, Detective.” Mia waited impatiently, tapping her foot, watching Reed grieve for nothing. Her anger faltered. What if she was wrong? What if Beth was in there? She could be dead. Kates had struck here, right in Reed’s home.

  After what seemed like an eternity of watching Reed stare at his burning house, the radio crackled, calling her name. “Mitchell here.”

  “Girl is safe, sound, and uh, scared shitless. You want them to bring her home?”

  “Yeah. Make her ride in the back. And make sure everybody sees them.” Mia walked to Reed on shaky legs. “Reed, Beth’s okay. She wasn’t in the house.”

  His eyes snapped to hers. “What?”

  “She went out the window. She probably hasn’t been home for a few hours.”

  His eyes darkened. “Where is she?” His mouth precisely formed each word.

  “At a slam poetry competition downtown. Place called the Rendezvous Café. I have a cruiser bringing her home, sirens and lights.” Her lips quirked. “I told them to scare her.”

  He came to his feet, trembling. “You knew she’d gone there?”

  “Not tonight. I knew she’d gone last night.” Warning alarms began to sound in her mind. He wasn’t just angry at Beth. He’s angry at me.

  “You knew my fourteen-year-old had gone out the window and you didn’t tell me.”

  “She promised she’d tell you herself. I told her if she didn’t tell you, then I would.”

  “Well, you didn’t.” He spat out the words and Larry Fletcher frowned.

  “Reed, she’s okay. Beth’s fine. And Mia tried to help.”

  Reed towered over her, fury in his eyes. “That wasn’t help.”

  Mia stepped back, trembling herself now. “I’m sorry. I thought it was the right thing to do. That’s why I don’t have kids.” She swallowed hard, then remembered Percy. The cat was as lucky as she was, but still her heart pounded. She found the chief in charge. “The girl you thought was inside was somewhere else. She’s being returned.”

  The chief’s eyes narrowed. “I risked my men’s lives for an AWOL kid?”

  “Hey, she’s not my kid. But my cat’s inside on the other side of the duplex.”

  “We’ve contained the fire to this side, but we’ll go in for your cat when we can.”

  “Thanks. Oh, and there was a puppy. Fuzzy dog, this big.” She gestured.

  “Over there. We found him by the tree. Leg’s broke. Otherwise he’s fine.”

  “Thanks. Tell me, is the house destroyed?”

  “Mostly the top floor. Everything in the bedrooms.”

  Mia remembered the book he’d held in his hand. My -darling Reed. The book was gone. She closed her eyes on a wave of regret. She couldn’t blame him for being angry. He’d had a giant scare. She should have told him about Beth. She’d had plenty of opportunities throughout the day. But she’d so hoped Beth would tell him herself.

  She shook herself back into action. This was the work of Andrew Kates. He was close by. She called Jack and -Spinelli, then noticed the four calls from Murphy, all within the last fifteen minutes. With all the noise, she hadn’t heard her cell ring.

  She called him back. “Murphy, it’s Mia. What’s happened?”

  “I can barely hear you, Mia.”

  “That’s because Kates burned Reed’s house down. I’m surrounded by fire trucks.”

  “Was anybody hurt?”

  “No, but Kates found us. Reed was the target this time. What did you find?”

  “Three of the four Youngs. The father and mother are both dead, natural causes. Tyler Young died in a fire last night in Indianapolis. I faxed Kates’s photo to the PD.”

  They’d been too late. “Thanks, Murphy. I’ll let Reed know.” Mia walked back to Reed, her posture apologetic. “I’m sorry, Reed. I was wrong not to tell you about Beth.” He glowered and said nothing. “Murphy found three of the Youngs. One of them was killed in a fire last night.”

  His glower softened to a glare. “I know. Indy OFI posted it to the database I’ve been searching all week. I was going to call you when I got confirmation, but this happened.”

  “So we have one more target left to find.”

  He nodded. “Thanks for telling me. About the Youngs.”

  “Reed, I didn’t want to come between you and Beth.” She watched as the cruiser approached, its siren adding to the chaos of the scene. “The prodigal daughter returns.”

  “We won’t be killing any fatted calves,” Reed said darkly and marched over to the cruiser. Beth got out, face stark with shock and horror. Reed glared, bandaged fists on his hips, then caught his daughter in a fierce embrace that made Mia’s eyes sting.

  Behind her, Larry cleared his throat. “Mia, I’ve known Reed Solliday a lot of years. He’s a good man. He didn’t mean to hurt you. He was just scared mindless.”

  “I know that.” She also knew he’d keep hurting her until this was over. Wearily she wished it was. “I’m going to get my cat and go to a hotel. Make sure he’s okay, Larry.”

  Larry gave her a shrewd look, reminiscent of Murphy. “Which hotel?”

  She laughed shakily. “Probably the first one I come to. Good night, Larry.”

  Beth sobbed. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m sorry.” He held her tight, afraid to let her go.

  “I thought you were dead,” he said hoarsely. “Beth, don’t ever do this to me again.”

  She nodded, then pulled away, her eyes fixed to the house. “Oh, Daddy. It’s gone.”

  “Not all. Just the top floor.” But it would take some time to put their house back together. He wondered how much time it would take to put their trust back together. “Mia said you went to a slam poetry competition. Beth, why didn’t you just tell me?”

  “I didn’t think you’d understand why it was important to me.” She lifted a childish shoulder, but her words were adult. “Maybe I wanted something that was only mine.”

  “Beth, everything I have is yours. You know that.”

  She looked up, her eyes wet and very serious. “No, Daddy. It’s all hers. Mother’s.”

  He blinked. “I don’t understand.”

  She sighed. “I know.” She lifted his hands, her eyes filling again at the sight of the bandages. “Oh, God, your hands. How bad is it?”

  “Light burns. I’ll heal.” He pushed a lock of hair from her face. “I love you, Beth.”

  His baby launched herself into his arms. “I love you, too.” And as his arms closed around his child, he heard Mia’s voice. Just tell her you love her, okay? And he knew the woman understood a great deal more than he’d ever given her credit for. He lifted his head, looking for her. But she was gone. He straightened abruptly. Mia was gone.

  “What’s wrong?” Beth asked anxiously.

  “I need to find Detective Mitchell.”

  “She went to a hotel,” Larry said from behind him.

  “Which one?”

  “She said the first one she came to.” His old friend’s face was carefully nonchalant.

  Reed’s eyes narrowed. “How did you two arrive together?”

  Larry shrugged. “She was playing pool with Hunter and me and the boys tonight.”

  Jealousy pierced him, swift and sharp. Mia surrounded by men, one of them calendar boy David Hunter, with whom she’d had a past. Amusement filled Larry’s eyes and one side of his mouth lifted. “You want me to find which hotel she went to?”

  “Yeah. Please.” Reed turned back to Beth, who was watch-ing knowingly. “What?”

  “Detective Mitchell told me to tell you. She said you were a good dad and I owed you better. She was right. I’m sorry, Dad.”

  “I don’t know what to do about her, Beth. She’s not... like your mother.”

  “So? Dad, last I looked, my mother was dead.” She drew a breath. “But you’re not.”

&n
bsp; And somehow, it was that simple. “You’re so much like your mother. She wrote poetry, too.” Which was gone forever. But he’d deal with the loss of it later.

  “Really? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Maybe I wanted to keep something of her that was just mine, too.” He cupped her cheek, kept his voice gentle. “You are grounded for the rest of your life.”

  Her jaw dropped. She got ready to protest, then wisely closed her mouth. “Okay.”

  “Now, I think I heard something about Biggles needing attention. He’s over there.” Reed pointed to the puppy. “You see what needs to be done and I’ll finish up here.”

  Sunday, December 3, 3:15 A.M.

  The history of jet aviation was better the second time around. Mia lay in the hotel bed, Percy curled up on her stomach. The History Channel was replaying its schedule and she’d already seen histories of ancient Greece and Rome. She’d discuss them with Jeremy when he got to Dana’s. The boy would be happy there and she could visit—

  The knock on the door startled her. Grabbing her gun from the nightstand she peeked through the peephole. Her shoulders sagged and she opened the door. Reed.

  He was freshly showered and shaved, a light bandage now only on the palm of one hand. The other held a plastic drugstore sack, the memory of which sent her senses pulsing. He looked handsome and... necessary. She could see the colors of the key card through the front pocket of his shirt. He was staying here. At this hotel. Proximity tempted, powerfully. But his shirt was open enough for her to see the glint of the gold chain around his neck and she squeezed her swollen heart back into its place. “Reed.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “It’s late.”

  “You weren’t asleep.” His brows crunched slightly. “Please.”

  Cursing her own stupidity, she stepped back and put her gun on the table by the door. “Okay.” Words swirled in her head, but she kept them there. For all intents, Reed was married. And she didn’t do married men. Or cops. Or partners. Or anyone.

  He closed the door. “I wanted to apologize. Beth told me what happened. You did exactly the right thing.” He looked down at his shoes, then back up with a boyish grin that made her chest hurt. “The sirens and flashing lights were a nice touch. I don’t think she’ll be climbing out windows again any time soon.”