Count to Ten

by Karen Rose

Murphy pulled a carrot stick from a plastic bag on his desk. “Would it do any good?”

  Mia eyed the stack of perfectly cut carrots as Murphy slipped one between his lips. “You’re trying to quit again, aren’t you?”

  He held her eyes for a long moment, not fooled. “Two weeks. Not that I’m counting.”

  “Good for you.” She stood, her legs steady again. “I need to tell Spinnelli I’m back.”

  “He’s in with somebody. But he said he wants to see you right away and you should just come in.”

  Mia frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I just did.” She’d made it to the door to Spinnelli’s office when Murphy called her name. “Mia. It wasn’t your fault. Abe or Ray. Shit happens. You know this.”

  Abe, who’d escaped by the skin of his teeth no thanks to her. Ray, the partner before who hadn’t been so lucky. The cops sent Ray’s wife fruit baskets, too. “Yeah.” Drawing a breath, she knocked on her lieutenant’s door.

  “Come,” Spinnelli ordered. He was sitting behind his desk, a frown bunching his bushy salt-and-pepper mustache, but his eyes softened at the sight of her. “Mia. Glad you’re here. Come in. Sit down. How are you?”

  Mia closed the door behind her. “Cleared for duty.” Her eyes widened as the occupant of Spinnelli’s guest chair turned. Hell. Then the guy in the trench coat from downstairs was lurching to his feet and he didn’t look any happier than she felt.

  For a second she could only stare. “You’re Detective Mitchell?” he said accusingly.

  Mia nodded, feeling her cheeks heat. The man had caught her practically asleep on her feet right outside the station house. He’d thought she was a mental case. Any chance at a good first impression was shot straight to hell. Still, she -gathered her composure and met his dark eyes squarely. “I am. And you are?”

  Spinnelli stood up behind his desk. “This is Lieutenant Reed Solliday from OFI.”

  Mia nodded. “Office of Fire Investigation. The arson guys. Okay. And?”

  Spinnelli’s mouth quirked. “And he’s your new partner.”

  Monday, November 27, 9:00 A.M.

  Brooke Adler sat on the corner of her desk, aware that half a dozen sets of eyes would be permanently glued to her -cleavage for the next fifty minutes. If she was lucky maybe one of the boys in her class would be paying attention to the lesson she’d so carefully prepared. She didn’t hold out much hope. Then again, neither did the boys.

  The only hope in this place was on the sign on the front door. hope center for boys. Sitting before her were thieves and runaways and juvenile sex offenders. She would have preferred lions and tigers and bears. Oh my.

  “So how was Thanksgiving?” she asked brightly. Most of the boys had spent Thanksgiving here, in the dorms of the residential school.

  “Turkey was dry,” Mike complained from the back row. There really wasn’t a back row, Mike just created one every morning. The end chair on the first row was empty.

  She searched the faces of her students. “Where is Thad today?”

  Jeff slouched, outwardly cool. But there was always a tension, a coldness in his eyes, that kept Brooke on edge. “Faggeus stole the leftover pie from the fridge.”

  Brooke frowned. “Jeff,” she said sharply, “you know that name isn’t tolerated. So where is Thad today?” she repeated more soberly.

  Jeff’s smile made a shiver race down Brooke’s spine. Jeff’s smiles were mean. Jeff was mean. “He got a stomachache,” Jeff said blandly. “He’s at the clinic.”

  Thaddeus Lewin was a quiet kid, rarely spoke. Brooke wasn’t sure who’d nicknamed him Faggeus. She was positive she didn’t want to know why. She picked up her copy of Lord of the Flies with a sigh. “I asked you to read chapter two. What did you think?”

  Linking Lord of the Flies to the Survivor TV show had produced a flicker of interest the week before. Now their faces were blank. No one had completed the reading. Then to her surprise a hand went up. “Manny?” Manny Rodriguez never volunteered.

  Manny leaned back in his chair. “The fire was cool,” he said smoothly.

  Jeff’s brows went up. “They got fire in this book?”

  Manny nodded. “These kids get stranded on this island, so they start a signal fire to get rescued, but it gets out of control.” His eyes gleamed. “Burns the whole side of a mountain and takes out one of the kids. Then later they catch the whole island on fire.”

  He sounded almost awed and Brooke’s skin prickled. “The signal fire is a symbol—”

  “How did they make the fire?” Jeff asked, ignoring her.

  “They used the fat ass’s glasses like a magnifying glass,” Manny answered. “The fat kid gets it in the end.” He grinned. “Boulder smashes his head open. Brains everywhere.” He looked over at Brooke with a leer. “I read ahead, Teacher.”

  “I used a magnifying glass to kill a bug once,” Mike offered. “I didn’t think it would work, but it really does.”

  Jeff’s smile flashed, wolfish. “They say that sticking a hamster in the microwave is a myth, but they’re wrong. Cats are even better, but you need a really big microwave.”

  “That’s enough,” Brooke snapped. “Manny, Jeff, Mike, stop it.”

  Jeff slid back down in his chair, smirking as his eyes slid back to her breasts, slowly so that she would know he stared. “Teacher likes pussy... cats,” he murmured just loud enough for her to hear. Brooke decided it was best to ignore him.

  Manny just shrugged. “You asked,” he said. “The fire was cool.”

  “The fire is a symbol,” she said firmly. “Of common sense and morality.” She frowned at the class. “And stay away from the microwave. Now let’s talk about the symbolism of the signal fire. You have a quiz on Wednesday.”

  Every set of eyes dropped to her breasts and Brooke knew she’d be talking to herself. Three months ago she’d arrived at Hope Center, the ink barely dry on her diploma, fresh-faced and eager to teach. Now she just prayed she’d get through the day. And that somehow, someway she’d get through to these kids. Please. Just one.

  Chapter Three

  Monday, November 27, 9:15 A.M.

  Reed Solliday drew a careful breath and let it out. For a split second the woman had looked angrily stunned. Well, that made two of them, because Reed wasn’t thrilled about his new “partner” either. Marc Spinnelli insisted that Mia Mitchell was one of the best, but he’d seen the woman staring at the precinct door like a deer caught in the headlights. He’d stood behind her for a full minute before she’d detected his presence.

  Not the highest recommendation for her skills. Plus, with her battered leather jacket, worn-out hat, and scuffed boots she’d looked...well, not like a detective he’d want watching his back. Still, he extended his hand. “Detective Mitchell.”

  Her grip was solid. “Lieutenant Solliday.” She turned to her boss, her face calm, but her spine rigid. “What’s this all about, Marc? Abe’s coming back.”

  “Of course he is, Mia. OFI discovered a homicide in one of their arson scenes. Abe will be out for a few weeks. -Consider yourself on loan. Sit down and let Reed explain.”

  They sat and Mitchell gave him her full attention. Her eyes were clear and alert now. And blue, like Christine’s china they used only on holidays. The scruffy hat she’d worn kept her short blond hair dry except for the edges that curled around her face. She’d stowed the ratty jacket and fortunately now looked more professional in a black blazer. Unfortunately the thin, clingy shirt she wore under the blazer didn’t do a thing to hide her curves. For a small woman, Detective Mia Mitchell had a hell of a lot of curves.

  Reed enjoyed staring at a nice set of curves as much as the next guy, but what he needed was a partner, not a pinup and certainly not a distraction. However, he sensed no flirtation in her, no softness, so he wouldn’t hold the curves against her.

  “On Saturday night there was a fire in Oak Park,” he began. “We found a body in the kitchen. This morning the ME called. The X-ray showed a bulle
t hole in her skull.”

  “Carbon monoxide in the lungs?” Mitchell asked.

  “Barrington was going back to check. He wanted me to know about the bullet since it changes the nature of the investigation.”

  “And the jurisdiction,” she murmured. “You’ve seen the body?”

  “I was going to the morgue after I finished here.”

  “You have an ID on the victim?”

  “Tentative. The house is owned by Joe and Donna -Dougherty. They went out of town for Thanksgiving and hired a house sitter named Caitlin Burnette. She’s the right size and age, and the car we found in the garage was registered to Roger Burnette, so for now we’ve assumed the body we found is Caitlin. The ME will have to make a positive ID based on dental records or DNA.” She flinched at that, though the movement was barely enough to catch.

  Spinnelli handed her a sheet of paper. “We printed a copy of her license from the DMV’s files.”

  She studied the page. “She was only nineteen,” she said, her voice gone low and husky. She looked up, her blue eyes now dark. “You’ve informed the parents?”

  The thought of breaking the news to the girl’s parents nauseated him. It always did. He wondered how homicide detectives hardened themselves to the task, doing it every day. “Not yet. I went by the Burnettes’ twice yesterday, but nobody was home.”

  Spinnelli sighed. “There’s more, Mia.”

  Reed grimaced. “If the body in the morgue is Caitlin -Burnette, her father’s a cop.”

  “I know him,” Spinnelli said. “Sergeant Roger Burnette. Vice for the last five years.”

  “Oh shit.” Mitchell rested her forehead against her palm before shoving her hand through her short hair, leaving it standing in blond spikes. “Could it be a grudge kill?”

  Reed was wondering the same thing. “I guess that’s what we have to find out. The Doughertys are flying back some time today. I’ll interview them when they come home.”

  She met his eyes for a brief instant. “We’ll interview them,” she corrected quietly.

  The challenge was implicit. Annoyed, he nodded. “Of course.”

  “We’ll need to get a crime scene unit out there.” She frowned. “You’ve already been over the house, right? Shit, this rain’s gonna make a mess of things.”

  “We were out there all day yesterday. I photographed every room and gathered samples for the lab. Luckily we tarped the roof. The rain shouldn’t be a problem.”

  She nodded evenly. “Okay. What kind of samples?”

  “Carpet, wood. I was looking for evidence of accelerants.”

  She tilted her head a fraction. “And?”

  “My instruments say they’re there and the accelerant dog picked up two different kinds. Gasoline and something else. The lab said they’d have results later today.”

  She shook her head. “As crime scenes go, this one’s going to suck eggs, Marc.”

  Reed straightened. “Our procedure is to gather evidence to support arson as quickly as possible. We got a warrant. We took nothing more than we needed to establish source and cause until we knew how the girl had died. Our search is clean.”

  Her eyes softened a fraction. “I wasn’t talking about your search, Lieutenant. I was talking about fire scenes in general.” She glanced at Spinnelli. “Can you send a uniform to the Dougherty house? Make sure nobody touches anything until we get there.”

  “We’ve got a security guard there at the scene,” Reed said stiffly. “Although if you’re willing to foot the bill for round-the-clock surveillance, I’ll send our guy back. Our budget isn’t as big as yours.”

  “That’s fine. Now that it’s a homicide I’d rather have a cop on hand anyway. No offense,” she added quickly. “I’ll call Jack and ask him to meet us there with his CSU team.”

  “I’ve got two team members waiting for them at the house. Foster Richards and Ben Trammell. They’ll be able to let them in and show them what we did yesterday.” He’d already called the two men and told them to be ready to join the team he knew Homicide would be sending. He’d added a warning to Foster to play nice in the sandbox with CSU. He’d added a warning to Ben to watch Foster.

  She rose. “Good. But first, let’s go to the morgue to see what Caitlin can tell us.”

  Spinnelli stood as well. “Call me when you’ve notified the parents. I’ll contact Burnette’s captain so his precinct can send flowers or whatever.”

  “You’ll want to update the warrant,” Reed said. “Ours was specific to the arson.”

  Spinnelli nodded. “I’ll call the state attorney’s office and have your warrant by the time you get out to the scene.”

  Mitchell tilted her head toward Spinnelli. “Lieutenant Solliday, can you give us a few minutes alone? You can wait at my desk. It’s the one next to the clean one.”

  “Sure.” He eased the door closed, but instead of going to her desk he leaned against the wall, his head angled toward the door to maximize his eavesdropping.

  “Marc, about Abe’s case,” she said.

  It was the second time she’d mentioned Abe. He glanced over at the clean desk. That would be Abe’s, he surmised.

  Spinnelli’s voice held a warning note. “Howard and Brooks are on it.”

  “Murphy says the trail is cold.”

  “That’s true. Mia, you—”

  “I know, Marc. This is my priority and you know it will be. But if I hear something, if anybody hears anything and I’m available... Dammit, Marc, I saw him.” Her voice became fierce. “If I see the asshole that got Abe, I’ll know him.”

  “He got you, too, Mia.”

  “A damn scratch. Marc, please.” There was a pause. “I owe it to Abe. Please.”

  Another pause, then a sigh. “If you’re available, I’ll call you.”

  “I appreciate it.” The door opened and Reed made no attempt to move. He wanted her to know he’d heard. Color flooded her cheeks, her eyes narrowing as she saw him standing there. For a few seconds she just stared up at him, annoyance in her eyes.

  “Let’s go to the morgue,” she said flatly and turned for her desk where she grabbed the ratty jacket and hat. “Here’s your umbrella.”

  She tossed it to him, then gingerly she shrugged into the jacket, favoring her right shoulder. Spinnelli said she was fully recovered, but Reed had his doubts. If she wasn’t, he was going straight back to Spinnelli for another detective. She took the stairs two at a time which he suspected was a combination of pent-up anger and the desire to make him jog to keep up. He’d already worked out that morning, so he took the stairs one at time, letting her wait on the street. He put up his umbrella but she stepped away.

  “I don’t have my department vehicle back yet and my own car’s very small,” she said, not turning around when he caught up. “You wouldn’t fit.”

  Her words held obvious double meaning. He chose to ignore the personal dig and focus on the issue of transportation. “I’ll drive.” Reed considered offering her a boost up into his Tahoe, but she swung up into the cab with surprising agility and only a minor grunt of pain. He slid behind the wheel and looked over at her pointedly. “You’re not ready to be back yet, are you?”

  She flicked him an angry glance before staring straight ahead. “I’m cleared for duty.”

  He started the engine, then settled back in his seat, waiting for her to meet his eyes. A minute of silence ticked by before she finally turned her head, frowning.

  “Why are we still sitting here?” she demanded.

  “Who is Abe?”

  Her jaw clenched. “My partner.”

  And you’re not, was the silent addendum. “What happened to him?”

  “He got shot.”

  “I take it he’ll be all right.”

  He wouldn’t have seen her flinch had he not been looking for it. “Eventually.”

  “You were shot, too.”

  Her cheeks hollowed. “A scratch.”

  He sincerely doubted that. “Why were you staring at the gl
ass this morning?”

  Her eyes flashed. “None of your damn business.”

  It was exactly what he expected her to say. Nevertheless, he’d say his own piece. “I’m afraid I have to disagree. Like it or not, you’re my partner for the foreseeable future. Anybody could have gotten the jump on you this morning, gotten your weapon, hurt you or somebody else. I need to know you’re not going to be staring off into space when I need you, so I’ll repeat the question. Why were you staring at the glass this morning?”

  Something in his words struck a chord because her -flashing eyes went totally cold. “If you’re worried that I won’t be watching your back, worry no more, Lieutenant. What -happened this morning was my personal business. I won’t allow my personal business to interfere with our work. You have my word on that.”

  She’d held his eyes through all her words and now that she was done, she continued to stare in a way that dared him to cross her. “I don’t know you, Detective, so your word means very little to me.” He held up his hand when she opened her mouth to utter what he was sure would be unprintable. “But I do know Marc Spinnelli and he has confidence in your capability. I’ll let this morning pass. But if it happens again, I’ll ask Spinnelli for someone else. You have my word on that.”

  She blinked several times, her teeth clenched so hard it was a wonder they didn’t shatter. “The morgue, Lieutenant. If you please.”

  Reed put the car in gear, satisfied that he’d made his point. “To the morgue.”

  Monday, November 27, 10:05 A.M.

  Mia was out of Solliday’s SUV before he’d come to a complete stop. Threaten to go to my boss, my ass. As if he’d never gotten lost in thought in his life. So blow it off. It’s no big deal. Right? She fought not to grind her teeth as Solliday followed her across the parking garage. Wrong. It was a big deal. He was right. Anybody could have surprised her, taken her weapon. She slowed her pace. She hadn’t been careful. Again.

  He caught up to her at the elevator and she silently pushed the button. Without a word Solliday followed her in and stood close enough that she could feel the heat from his body. He stood like a granite monolith, arms crossed over his chest which made her feel about eight years old. It was all she could do not to cower into the corner. Instead, she kept her eyes locked on the display as the numbers went up.