Count to Ten

by Karen Rose

  Stupid she could understand. “We all do stupid things when we’re distracted.”

  He met her eyes, held them for a long quiet moment. “What’s distracting you, Mia?”

  She opened her mouth, unsure. Disturbed because she suddenly wanted to tell him everything. All her secrets. But she was saved an answer by a sleepy voice.

  “Reed?”

  A woman stood in the doorway, rubbing her eyes and clutching a videotape. Mia looked at the woman, then -rapidly back at Solliday. To say there was no family resemblance would have been the understatement of the year.

  The woman walked across the kitchen, her hand extended, her smile bright white against her ebony skin. “You must be Detective Mitchell. I’m Lauren Solliday.”

  Mia shook off her surprise and shook the woman’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I hope I’m not imposing, coming in so late.”

  “Not at all.” She sniffed. “You found the lasagna?”

  Solliday nodded. “And I made a salad.”

  Lauren’s lips twitched. “Domesticity in a male. Can you beat it?”

  “His domesticity trumps mine,” Mia admitted.

  “We grew up in a big family. Everybody had to cook. Even Reed.” She handed him the tape. “I set it to copy the whole show in case I fell asleep. Which of course, I did.”

  “What did you tape?” Mia asked.

  “Lauren told me the fire at Hill’s house made the news. Let’s take a look.”

  He led them into the living room, popping the video in the machine while Mia scanned the room. It was elegance without intimidation, a delicate balance, Mia suspected. She wondered if Lauren or Christine had done the decorating. The mantel over the fireplace was packed with photos and a half dozen framed cross-stitched works of art. The one on the end was of wild roses with “CS” stitched in the corner. So this room was Christine’s. Solliday caught her looking, mistakenly thinking her attention focused on one of the pictures that looked like a UN photo.

  “That was the last reunion before Mom died,” he said. “My parents... and all of us.”

  Mia blinked as she took a quick count. “Holy shit,” she breathed.

  He chuckled. “We were an intimidating bunch.”

  “So I take it that your parents did a lot of adoptions.”

  Lauren’s smile flashed. “They adopted six of us formally. Reed was the first.”

  Mia pushed the wistful feeling away. “My best friend is a foster mother.”

  “The friend whose kids named your goldfish Fluffy,” -Solliday said dryly.

  “She’s the one. This is what Dana wants to build. You had a happy family.”

  Lauren took the picture and put it back on the mantel with fond precision. “We did.” She smiled over at Solliday. “We still do.” She gave Mia an assessing sweep, head to toe and back again. Then her lips twitched. “It’s very good to meet you, Mia Mitchell.”

  “Lauren.” It sounded like a warning but Lauren just grinned at him. “Let’s watch the news.” He sat at one end of the sofa and Lauren quickly took the other end, leaving Mia with the middle, uncomfortably close to Solliday. She was certain she’d been manipulated, but her attention was diverted when Hill’s charred house came into view.

  A pert reporter stood on the curb, Hill’s house in the background, and Mia’s pulse spiked. “Holly Wheaton,” Mia said in disgust. She truly hated that woman.

  “She drove me nuts last year when I was working an apartment fire. She doesn’t like me very much.”

  “That makes two of us. Was this live at six, Lauren?” Mia asked. “Or at ten?”

  “I know it was live at six. This looks like that same segment, rebroadcast.”

  Holly Wheaton aimed an earnest face toward the camera. “Behind me is what’s left of the home that belonged to Penny Hill, a social worker. Last night this house was ablaze, the work of an arsonist. But not only did this arsonist steal Ms. Hill’s home, witnesses say police believe he also stole Ms. Hill’s life.”

  The picture sliced to a home video of the fire. “This is what the scene looked like last night when flames consumed this house,” Wheaton voiced-over. “A quick-thinking neighbor shot this video, all the while terrified the fire would spread to his own home.”

  One of Penny Hill’s oh-so-caring neighbors had taken video and sold it to the press. Mia gritted her teeth. “Sonof-abitch.”

  Beside her on the sofa, Solliday blew out a breath. “On that we agree.”

  “This is the second suspicious blaze in less than a week,” the reporter went on as the home video ended and the picture cut back to the ruins. “Both fires resulted in fatalities. We’re told the police are treating both deaths as homicides.”

  The camera panned back as the reporter continued, showing Hill’s house draped with yellow crime scene tape, then farther back to show the houses on either side and the neighbors who’d turned out to observe the cameras. Mia jerked forward. A woman stood at the edge of the picture next to her car, looking up at the house. There was something in the way she held her body as she stared up at the blackened house. The camera had picked up on a fine tension that went beyond simple curiosity.

  “Look,” Mia said.

  “I see her,” Solliday returned tightly.

  “Police Lieutenant Marc Spinnelli issued a ‘no -comment’ statement earlier this afternoon, but has since scheduled a press conference for tomorrow morning. We’ll keep you informed as news breaks. This is Holly Wheaton, Action News.”

  Mia was staring at the screen. “Rewind.”

  Solliday already was. He slowed the tape, then took it frame by frame. “We can’t see the license number on her car. It’s a blue... Hyundai. Four or five years old.”

  “She could just be a bystander or a sensation seeker,” Lauren said doubtfully.

  Mia’s skin was tingling, her fatigue chased away. “I don’t think so. You want to pay Holly Wheaton a visit tomorrow? Maybe they caught more on tape.”

  Solliday smiled, a sharp feral smile that told her his instincts had been awakened as well. “She might still be at the station. Let’s call her now.”

  Mia shook her head. “It’s almost eleven. Nobody’s going to be answering the phones.”

  His expression shifted. “I have her direct line and cell,” he admitted. “And home.”

  A twinge of annoyance had her brows crunching. “I thought she didn’t like you.”

  “I thought she drove you crazy last year,” Lauren added more glibly and he glared at her. Lauren just grinned. “I’ll wrap up your dinner so you can take it with you.”

  When Lauren had left the room he turned his glare on Mia. “Five people died in that apartment fire last year.” Pain flashed in his dark eyes. “Three of them were kids. One baby still in a crib. Wheaton didn’t care about that, about any of them. She just tried to cuddle up for an exclusive. I wasn’t interested. Even if I had been, I sure as hell wouldn’t have been after that. I’m not that kind of man, Mia.” He stopped abruptly, his eyes locked on hers. “I only kept her card because I never throw anything away.”

  It was one of those moments, Mia thought, when the depth of a person was truly revealed. He wouldn’t be interested in a woman whose only care was camera angle and her number of minutes on air. That wasn’t the kind of man he was. The annoyance vanished, replaced with a deep respect and with it a resurgence of desire, deeper than before. Dangerous ground. Mentally she edged back. “Then let’s call her now.”

  He nodded once, hard. “Okay.”

  Chapter Ten

  Tuesday, November 28, 11:15 P.M.

  Wheaton was waiting for him at the front door of the studio smiling—until Mitchell walked in. Wheaton’s mouth pursed hard, and lines marred her famous face.

  Wheaton’s face was classically beautiful. And her body... Well, Reed wasn’t dead. She disgusted him personally, but his hormones apparently had no ethics. They hadn’t when she’d sidled up to him while he investigated that apartment fire last year, either. Her b
louse had been unbuttoned so that he could see the lace of her bra and the swell of her breast. Then she’d opened her mouth and that had been the end of that.

  “We saw your piece on the fire at Penny Hill’s house,” he said.

  She preened. “It was good, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, very. We want the tape. All the tape you took while you were there tonight.”

  Wheaton studied his face. “What’s in it for me?”

  “You won’t be broadcasting from a jail cell,” Mia said acidly.

  Wheaton’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t respond to threats, Detective.”

  Mia smiled then, and it wasn’t nice. “I haven’t yet begun, Miss Wheaton. We’re specifically interested in the video the neighbor took. Which neighbor was it?”

  “You know I won’t tell you that. I protect my sources.”

  “This is a homicide investigation, Miss Wheaton,” Mia snapped. “Two innocent people are dead. Cooperate or I’ll have a court order tomorrow morning banning any more showing of that tape. I want the tape you shot and the neighbor’s tape. Now.”

  “Holly, it’s been a very long day,” Reed said, making his voice soothing. “We’ve been on this case nonstop for twenty-four hours. We could get a court order, but nobody here wants to do that.”

  “I do,” Mia muttered and Holly’s chin went up and her mouth opened.

  “We don’t,” Reed said before either woman could speak. “Truly. We’re trying to put a killer behind bars, Holly. You can help us do that.”

  She jutted her jaw to one side. “In return for?”

  Reed glanced at Mia from the corner of his eye. “An interview when it’s all over.”

  Wheaton’s eyes went sly. “It could be weeks. How about a chat every morning?”

  “How about once a week?” Reed countered. He wanted a killer off the street. He wanted that tape.

  “Two times a week, days and locations to be determined by me.”

  Reed swallowed his sigh. “Fine,” he said wearily. “Can we have the tape now?”

  Her smile was feline. “I’ll send it tomorrow if I have time. Thursday at the latest.”

  Beside him, Mia opened her mouth. “Fu—”

  Reed cleared his throat, cutting off the rest of Mia’s curse. “Tonight. Now. Or the deal’s off and Detective Mitchell gets her court order.” He lifted his hand when Wheaton started to talk. “And I’ll personally see that every engine company in town bars you from any and all fire scenes and,” he added softly, “your boss will know why.”

  Wheaton’s mouth went grim and Reed knew they had a deal. “Wait here.”

  When she was gone he turned to Mia. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

  Her blue eyes were cold. “I’ll wait for you outside,” she answered.

  With a sigh he watched her go. Thirty minutes passed and finally Wheaton reappeared, a videotape in her hand. “It has the neighbor’s video?” Reed asked.

  When she didn’t see Mia, Wheaton smiled. “I would never welsh, Lieutenant.”

  “Of course you would if it benefited you. If this is missing anything, the deal is off.”

  Her smile went flat. “And how would you know if it were missing anything?”

  “Detective Mitchell will tell me after she seizes all tapes made since last Saturday. I expect she’ll have her court order by ten tomorrow at the latest.”

  She cocked her jaw, fury in her eyes. “I could erase them all.”

  He smiled and pulled his micro-recorder from his pocket, hit rewind and let it replay her last words as her eyes narrowed to angry slits. “I wouldn’t. Mitchell would love to see your ass in jail. I don’t think you’d find the accommodations to your liking.”

  “You sonofabitch,” she hissed.

  He pocketed his recorder and stuck the tape under his arm. Her assessment was very true in a basic kind of way. “Good night,” he said. “I’ll see myself out.”

  Mia was leaning on the hood of her little car, eating lasagna out of Lauren’s plastic bowl. When she saw him coming she tossed the container on the front passenger seat, her face a stony mask. He handed her the tape but she shook her head. “We’ll watch it tomorrow,” she said. “Eight o’clock.” She was walking away when he rolled his eyes and caught up to her.

  “Mia, you’re being childish,” he said and she whirled, fury snapping in her eyes.

  “You undermined me,” she hissed. “The next time I go to get evidence, I’ll have to work twice as hard. Dammit, I could have had a court order by tomorrow morning.”

  “But you have the tape now.” When she just looked at him, he sighed in frustration. “You weren’t going to get what you wanted that way, Mia. Sometimes it pays to be—” He cut himself off, but she’d already taken a step back as if he’d slapped her.

  “Nice,” she finished, her voice brittle. “I’ll make a note of it.” She walked around her car, shoulders hunched against the wind. She looked small. And hurt.

  Let her go, the voice in his head cautioned as she fired up her engine. By tomorrow she’ll be fine. But he’d seen the look in her eyes. She’ll bounce back. She’ll get over it by morning. Trouble was, he didn’t think he would. That’s not the kind of man I am.

  He got in his SUV, considering all he’d learned about Mia Mitchell. She cared, too much, but she coated her feelings with a sarcastic veneer so that nobody would know. He thought about that moment in his kitchen, when he’d caught her looking at him... She’d been interested. He was sure of it. Then when he’d denied interest in a woman like Holly Wheaton—That’s not the kind of man I am, he’d said—in Mia’s eyes he’d seen respect. So what kind of man was he? Perhaps it was time to find out.

  Wednesday, November 29, 12:30 A.M.

  Mia lived on a quiet street lined with identical apartments. They weren’t fancy, but they appeared clean. Flower boxes hung from most of the windows. He didn’t think Mia had one. He couldn’t see her taking the time for flowers any more than she’d taken the time for Fluffy the goldfish. Christine had been quite a gardener. She’d loved her roses.

  Mia had left so little space behind her car that maneuvering his SUV had been a challenge, his front bumper nearly kissing her rear. Too many double entendres there, he thought. Leave it alone. He watched her get out of her car wearily. Leave her alone.

  He knew he should. But for some reason he seemed unable to. She was watching him with steady eyes. Then she approached, waiting as he rolled down his window.

  “Tell me something, Solliday. Do you always follow your partners around?”

  It was a fair question, he thought. “No.”

  “Then why me? Am I that pathetically inept that you have to watch over me?”

  “No.” The trouble was, he wasn’t really sure why he was here. No, that wasn’t true either. He knew. He just didn’t like it. Go home, Reed. Do not get out of this vehicle. He got out of the SUV. “I didn’t want to leave it like that.”

  Her jaw tightened. “It was nothing. We went to get the tape. We got the tape.”

  Technically, he’d gotten the tape. And she had not. Holly Wheaton had made sure the distinction was crystal clear. Now, looking in Mia’s eyes, he could see that she still smarted from the confrontation. “Mia, she’s just a vindictive woman.”

  Color rose in her cheeks. “I’m all right. I promise I won’t cry myself to sleep.”

  “Will you sleep?”

  “If you ever go home, I might,” she said irritably. “I’ve dealt with bitches far bitchier than Wheaton, trust me. Hell, I’m far bitchier than Wheaton. Look, I appreciate your concern. But go home. We’ll study that damn tape backward and forward tomorrow. I promise.” She turned and squeezed through the space between their vehicles.

  He followed her, all the while telling himself to just do as she asked. Go home. But his feet didn’t obey and placing one hand on the SUV’s hood for support, he nimbly sprang over their bumpers, landing on his feet. “Mia.”

  “Dammit, Solliday.” She yanked open the
passenger door. “For the last time, I am okay. For the last time, go home.” She bent over, her hand searching under the seat.

  For a second he damned the ratty jacket that effectively covered her past her hips. Then he thanked it. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting your sister’s plastic bowl.”

  “You don’t have to give it back now. She has plenty of bowls.”

  “I wasn’t going to give it back. I only ate half of mine. I’ll eat the rest for breakfast.”

  He winced. “Lasagna for breakfast.”

  “It’s got all the major food groups, so don’t knock it.” She straightened, lifting the plastic bowl in the air like a trophy. “Lasagna, breakfast of champions.”

  His eyes followed hers to the container she held, then shifted to the left when he caught a movement from the corner of his eye. A car approached, too fast for the speed limit on her street. The window was rolling down and a face peered out. Reed had a split second for recognition to dawn before he saw a flash of light as the streetlamp reflected against the steel barrel of a gun.

  “Reed! Get—”

  Mia’s words barely registered as his reflexes took over. He leaped, and in the next moment they were both on the sidewalk, his body covering hers.

  A heartbeat later a shot cracked the air and her driver’s-side window shattered. He pressed her flat to the ground as a second shot took out her windshield and a third pinged off the hood inches from the top of his head as the car sped away, tires screeching and the odor of burning rubber filling the air. They were gone. At least the car was. It would be -stupid for the gunman to leave the safety of his vehicle. But the guy had shot at a cop in front of her own apartment, so how smart could he be?

  Reed lay there, straining to hear footsteps over the pounding of his heart in his ears, waiting for a fourth shot that never came. His body fully covered hers, one arm hooked around her waist, his face buried in her hair. His shoulder had taken the brunt of the fall where he’d landed and rolled. Her right arm extended straight out from beneath him, her weapon looking huge in her small hand. She’d drawn as he’d taken her down. He’d done the same. Gripping his nine-mil, he lifted his head. “Are you hit?”