Count to Ten

by Karen Rose

  “For what?”

  “I got a postcard from her vacation to the beach. Big ugly crab on the front. She said she wished I could have been there to help her eat them. They look like bugs.”

  “I’ll tell her. I’ve got to get back now. I have another few hours of reading to do after I smack a man silly.”

  Kelsey’s brows lifted in lazy interest, but her eyes were sharp. “Police brutality?”

  “Nope. This is my temporary partner. He followed me all the way from town and now he’s waiting out in the parking lot.” She huffed. “Thinks I didn’t see him tailing me.”

  Amusement now lit Kelsey’s eyes. “Now why would he do a thing like that?”

  “Because he...” Mia thought about all the kind things Reed Solliday had done for her over the last two days. -Coffee, medicine, opening doors like she was... a lady. It would appear that Reed Solliday was an old-fashioned gentleman and a nice guy. Who’d played football. And liked poetry. And seemed to feel the pain of the victims as keenly as she did. She sighed. “He was worried about me. Apparently somebody wrecked his wife’s car when they were too tired to drive.”

  “So he’s married?” Kelsey shook her head reproachfully. “M.”

  “He’s a widower with a kid. And don’t get that look in your eyes,” she added, when Kelsey did just that. “He’s temporary, just until Abe gets back.”

  “What does he look like?”

  The man was big. And built. “A little like Satan.” She ran her thumb and forefinger around her mouth. “He’s got this goatee thing going on.” That framed a very nice mouth.

  “Interesting.” One brow went up. “So is this Satan a fallen angel or a gargoyle?”

  Mia shifted in her chair uneasily. “He’s... easy enough on the eyes.”

  Kelsey nodded, her mouth bent in speculation. “And?”

  And he’s decent. And I like him. She drew a breath. Hell. “That’s all.”

  Kelsey stood up. “Okay, if that’s how you’re going to play it, I’ll wait for Dana’s next letter. She’ll give me the straight scoop.” And without saying good-bye, Kelsey hung up the phone and walked away. She never said good-bye, she always just walked away.

  For a minute Mia just sat there, her heart aching. Then she carefully hung up the phone and went to give Solliday his just deserts.

  Tuesday, November 28, 8:30 P.M.

  It took her long enough, he thought sourly, as Tania exited the hotel lobby carrying the flowers. The inside of the car he’d taken was nice and warm and he’d nearly fallen asleep waiting for her. All the doors were on the outside of this motel, so he knew she’d need to pass this way sooner or later.

  Slowly he drove through the parking lot, keeping her in his sight all the time. Finally she stopped and knocked. The door opened, not wide enough for him to see inside. But that was okay. He lifted his binoculars and focused. Room 129. Go, me.

  He yawned again. He was so tired. He wanted old lady Dougherty, but he didn’t want to be so tired he didn’t enjoy it, or worse, that he made a mistake. It was a foolish man who took chances when he was fatigued. Besides, he needed a key card and Tania didn’t get off till seven tomorrow -morning. He could take it now, but somebody would notice when she didn’t come back to the desk. Because after he took her key card little Tania and her smart mouth wouldn’t be going anywhere.

  He had time. It wasn’t like the Doughertys had a place to go. So he’d go home, get some sleep and be back tomorrow morning to make sure Miss Tania got home safely.

  Tuesday, November 28, 8:45 P.M.

  Reed was dreaming. He knew inside the dream that he was dreaming, but that made it a little more okay. Because he knew even as he dreamed that it would not come true. He would not pull Mia Mitchell into his bed. He would not tear the clothes from her body. He would not kiss every inch of her creamy skin. And he certainly would not come inside her with enough force to make her blue eyes glaze over.

  So because none of those things would ever happen, he knew he’d better enjoy the dream as long as it lasted. And he was enjoying it. As was she. Her tight body was arched up, her internal muscles gripping him as he moved. “God, Reed,” she was moaning, not the delicate little whispers of Christine, but loud, loud enough to penetrate his own pleasured stupor. “Reed.”

  Reed woke with a start, his eyes flying to his car window where Mitchell stood pounding her fists on the glass. She rolled her eyes when she saw him jolt to awareness. -“Dammit, Solliday, I thought you were passed out from -carbon monoxide.”

  He rolled the window down, still reeling from the dream that had been way too real for his comfort. He nearly reached for her, knowing now how her face would feel between his palms. But he didn’t really know. Nor would he. “I guess I fell asleep.”

  She looked mad. Why was she mad? “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Here? He looked around, saw the fence, the security post. Prison. Oh, yeah. The drive out from the city came back with clarity. So much for a surreptitious tail. Damn. He’d been made. “Um...” His mind was utterly blank. His body utterly hard.

  Her eyes still snapping, she stared at him. “Did you really think I didn’t see you?”

  Some of the blood was returning to his brain, making things more comfortable on both counts. “Maybe. Okay, yeah, I didn’t think you saw me. I blew it, didn’t I?”

  Her frown softened. “Yeah, but your intentions were good. You have a nice nap?”

  He felt his cheeks burn, as if his dream were a scarlet letter branded on his forehead. “Yeah. I did.” He looked up at the prison building, its lights glaringly bright against the night sky, then back at her. “If I ask what brought you here, will you tell me it’s none of my business?”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You are the nosiest of men.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You also seem to be nice and relatively harmless.”

  His dream flashed back, vivid and clear and in full Technicolor. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt either of them. “Most of the time, yes.”

  “And you did bring me coffee twice today and a hot dog yesterday.”

  That sounded promising. “And I let you pick where we ate lunch, both days.”

  Her lips curved. “Yes, you did.” The small smile faded. “I was visiting my sister.”

  It was not what he’d expected. “What?”

  “You heard me. My younger sister’s in for armed robbery. Shocked?”

  “Yeah. I have to say I am. How long has she been in?”

  “Twelve years. I come during visiting hours like everybody else. I don’t want anybody inside to know her sister’s a cop.”

  Stunned, he had no idea what to say. One side of her mouth lifted, likely in sympathy for his inability to speak. “Like you said yesterday, sometimes it’s worse with cops’ kids. My sister is paying for some really bad decisions. If she doesn’t make parole, she’ll go on paying another thirteen years.”

  “So you really do understand how Margaret Hill felt about her mother.”

  She just stood there, watching him. Saying nothing.

  “Well.” He scratched his face where new stubble was starting to itch. “What now?”

  “Now I go back and read files.”

  There were dark shadows under her eyes. “Or we could grab some dinner.”

  She studied him carefully. “Why?”

  “Because my stomach’s growling so loud I’m surprised you can’t hear it.”

  Again her mouth quirked. “I can hear it, actually. I meant why did you follow me?”

  “You were tired and you feel guilty because you haven’t processed information in those files in one night that will probably take both of us days to get through.” She hadn’t bought his explanation, so he gave the only answer that would satisfy them both. “For some reason I like you. I didn’t want anything to happen to you. That’s all.”

  She flinched, her eyes taking on a suspicious glint that rocked him as she took a giant step back from his win
dow. She turned her head to look up at the prison building. When she looked back, her eyes were clear, her smile slightly mocking. “Then let’s get something to eat. But not around here, okay?”

  He nodded. “Okay. This time you follow me.”

  Tuesday, November 28, 10:15 P.M.

  Reed stepped out of his garage and waited as Mitchell’s little Alfa turned into his driveway. He was a little surprised she’d stuck with him when it became clear they were headed to his house, but here she was, ratty jacket and all. He’d had partners over for dinner before after all. Foster, a bachelor with a hot plate, was a regular.

  But Foster sure as hell didn’t look like Mia Mitchell. Reed’s heart thudded heavily in his chest as she got out of her car. From where he stood, he could see her every curve. You’re crazy, he thought. This is a bad idea. B-A-D. But there had been something in her eyes, a soft vulnerability. He’d thought she had no softness in her yesterday morning. He could see now that he’d been very wrong.

  She stopped three feet from him, blond brows lifted. “Café du Solliday?”

  “I don’t know about you, but I can’t stand the thought of another burger in a sack.”

  Her lips curved, amused. “You gonna cook for me?”

  “That depends on your definition of cook. Come.” He led her through the garage into the kitchen where Beth stood at the microwave as popcorn popped. “Hi, honey.”

  Beth turned only her head to glare at him. Rolling her eyes, she looked away.

  Conscious of Mitchell behind him he took a step toward his daughter. “Beth?”

  “What?”

  “What’s wrong now?”

  Beth set her jaw. “Nothing.”

  “I think I’ll go,” Mitchell murmured and he held up his hand.

  “No, it’s okay. Beth, this is Detective Mitchell, my temporary partner. This is my daughter, Beth. My polite daughter, Beth.”

  Beth shook her head with a disgusted huff. “It’s nice to meet you, Detective.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Beth. Look, Solliday, I can—”

  His smile was strained. “You can sit. Please. Beth, if you won’t tell me what’s wrong in a reasonable way, then you can go to your room.”

  “What’s wrong is that everybody continues to treat me like I’m four years old. All I wanted was to stay over at -Jenny’s tonight. I even brought my toothbrush, for God’s sake. But Lauren...” She gritted her teeth. “Lauren embarrassed me in front of everyone.”

  “Who was everyone?”

  “Never mind.” The corn continued to pop, each sound like another punch of tension.

  “Lauren followed my instructions. You know no sleepovers on school nights.”

  The microwave beeped and Beth grabbed the bag. “Fine.” She slammed the microwave door and a minute later slammed her bedroom door. Reed turned to Mitchell with a wince.

  “I swear I had a nice daughter once.”

  She smiled ruefully. “Aliens. Pods. Body snatchers. It’s the only explanation.”

  With a tired chuckle, he took off his overcoat and suit coat and laid them across a chair. “I’ll give her a chance to cool off before we discuss which privileges that little tantrum cost her. Take off your coat, Mia. Stay awhile.”

  Coming to his house was a really bad idea. But as Mia watched Solliday move around his kitchen, it was damn hard to mind. He’d shed his coat and set his dirty shoes outside. They still bore the remnants of mud from that morning, although Mia was quite certain they’d be shiny enough to see her face in by eight o’clock tomorrow.

  Meeting his daughter had been interesting. But Beth was fourteen and Mia supposed that said it all. What had been more revealing was his response. Patient, firm, and bewildered. Bobby would have backhanded her to the floor. Even Kelsey had never defied him in front of company. But Mia pushed Bobby from her mind and focused on the different but equally unsettling thought of Reed Solliday.

  He was tugging at his tie and Mia found the sight a lot more intimate than she would have liked. The play of his muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt as he pulled the tie free of his collar sent a flutter through her gut and a sharp zing straight down.

  Reed Solliday was a very watchable man, and in the quiet of his kitchen she could admit to herself that she was interested. Watch yourself, she told herself firmly. You don’t do cops. But he’s not a cop, her mind reasoned as she fought to keep from staring at the dark coarse hair that now peeked from his open collar. Fucking technicality. Get a grip. She dragged her eyes up to find him staring at her, eyes nearly black.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, as if he read her thoughts.

  What was wrong was that Reed Solliday looked way too good standing there with his tie off and that it had been a very long time since she’d had a man and that desire had suddenly, unwantedly come knocking. Pounding. Crashing at the damn door. But as none of those were appropriate responses, she shrugged. “I’m not sure why I’m here.”

  His brows lifted in challenge, his gaze still fixed on hers. “Dinner?”

  She swallowed. “I thought we were going to stop someplace close to the precinct.”

  He looked away, severing the invisible thread that had connected them. He pulled a glass casserole dish from the refrigerator. “I like to eat real food when I can.”

  Real food Mia could appreciate. “So what is it?”

  He peeled back the foil. “Looks like lasagna.”

  “You didn’t make it?”

  “Nope.” He slid the dish into the oven. “My sister Lauren did. She’s a good cook.”

  So his sister was the one who watched Beth when he had to work late. Mia had wondered. Now she was relieved. And annoyed that it mattered at all. Casting her eyes aside, she watched him rummage in the fridge for lettuce. “Do you want help?”

  “No, thanks. I’m not the cook my mom was, but I can manage a salad.”

  Was. “So she’s dead? Your mother.”

  “Five years ago. She had cancer.”

  “I’m sorry.” And she was. From the wistful tone of his voice, he’d loved his mother and obviously missed her. She thought about Bobby and wished for just a fraction of -Solliday’s grief. But there was none and would never be. “What about your dad?”

  “He remarried and retired to Hilton Head. Plays golf every day.” The words were tempered with affection and she felt a pang of jealousy that made her ashamed.

  He set the salad bowl aside and pulled a pitcher of tea from the fridge. “I called for my messages while I was waiting for you back there at... Well, back there. Ben left me the analysis on the accelerant from Hill’s house. It’s ammonium nitrate, the same as the Doughertys’. It’s commercial grade, could have been bought in any feed store. I hate to send Ben off chasing wild geese until we have something more to go on.”

  “Once we’ve gotten some leads from the files we can show some photos around. See if any of the local fertilizer distributors remember anything. What about the plastic eggs? I’ve been trying to remember the last time I saw a panty hose egg in the store.” She made a face. “Not that I go looking for such devices of torture myself.”

  He smiled as he sat down with two glasses of iced tea. “I Googled them Sunday. The company changed from plastic eggs to cardboard boxes in ninety-one.”

  “But our boy had at least three of the eggs.”

  “The sites I checked said that they’re used for arts and crafts, but again, without a suspect, we’re looking for a needle in a haystack. I did have Ben call all the arts-and-crafts stores in the area, but he came up empty. The eggs do come up occasionally on eBay so his source might not even be local. All we really have is some blood and hair, both belonging to the victim, and shoe prints that could have belonged to anybody.”

  She could hear the frustration in his voice. “Give Jack some time. If our guy dropped anything, he’ll find it.” She checked her watch, concern nagging at the back of her mind. “It’ll be midnight soon. You think he’ll strike
again?”

  “If not tonight, then soon. He likes the fire too much to stay away.”

  Mia bit at her lip. “Why fire? Why does he like fire?”

  “Fire can be fascinating, hypnotic. It can destroy with seemingly effortless ease.”

  “It’s powerful,” she said and he nodded.

  “And wielding that power makes the arsonist invincible, for just a little while. He can create chaos, bring trucks full of firefighters speeding to the scene. The arsonist commands the actions of others. He sees it like making puppets dance on a string.”

  “It’s a compulsion,” she murmured and watched his eyes flash.

  “No. That makes it sound like they can’t help it. They can. They just choose not to.”

  Mia remembered his words to Miles. “You don’t believe in compulsions?”

  “People say that they have compulsions when they really mean gratification means more to them than the people they’ll hurt. When they don’t want to be held accountable.”

  She frowned. “You don’t believe in mental illness?”

  He frowned back. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Mia. I do believe some people are mentally ill. That they truly hear voices or think they’re being pursued. I’ve never met an arsonist that wasn’t declared mentally competent. It’s not compulsion. It’s choice.”

  There was something there. Something very deep. Right now, she was too tired to see it clearly so she let it go. “You’ve done this a long time,” she noted quietly instead.

  He visibly forced himself to relax. “About thirteen years.”

  She traced a pattern in the moisture on her glass. “You were a firefighter before you joined OFI. If I asked why you changed, would you say it was none of my business?”

  “I’d say I owe you one secret revealed, Detective. Chris-tine asked me to change. She was afraid I’d get hurt. I’d always been interested in the investigation side and I’d just finished my degree. The time seemed right and it made her happy.”

  Christine must have been his wife. Again jealousy pricked, which was irrational. “I assumed it had something to do with your hands.”

  “That would be two secrets. But okay. It’s not something I’m particularly proud of. I lost it for a little while after -Christine died. Drank too much. One night I was working on my car. I shouldn’t have been drinking but I was, and I dropped the battery. It cracked and acid leaked on my hands, damaged the nerves in my fingertips. Stupid, really.”