Count to Ten

by Karen Rose

  She wasn’t a classically beautiful woman, but there was something about her face that drew him. He knew it wasn’t wise. He told himself to let her go, but he didn’t seem able. No, that wasn’t true. He just didn’t want to. And that was something that hadn’t happened in too many years to remember. His thumb grazed her jaw and he watched the awareness in her eyes treble.

  “You should have gone to a doctor. You might have a scar.”

  “I don’t scar easily,” she murmured, so low he almost didn’t hear it. “I guess I’m lucky that way.” She pulled away, took a step back, both physically and emotionally. “I’ve got to get to those files.” And she was gone before he could open the door for her.

  Wednesday, November 29, 5:00 P.M.

  Brooke paused, trembling as she stood before Dr. Bixby’s office door. She’d been summoned. It didn’t sound good. Drawing a breath, she made a fist and knocked hard.

  “Come.” Dr. Bixby looked up from his desk, his expression forbidding. “Sit.”

  She did, as quickly as her knocking knees would carry her. She opened her mouth to speak, but Bixby waved his hand. “Let’s cut to the chase, Miss Adler. You did a stupid thing. Now the police are crawling all over my school and this will not sit well with the advisory board. You have jeopardized my work. I should fire you right now.”

  Her mouth slightly agape, Brooke could only stare. -Bixby’s lips curled in a sneer.

  “But I won’t,” he continued. “Because my lawyers have advised against it. Seems like your Detective Mitchell spoke to the attorney while she was searching the premises this afternoon. Said you were worried about getting fired. Said any move to terminate you would look bad in the event of a lawsuit. Are you planning to sue me, Miss Adler?”

  Brooke somehow found her voice. “No, sir. I had no idea Detective Mitchell had spoken to anyone about me.”

  “We’re compiling your file, Miss Adler. We’ll be able to terminate you with just cause very soon. It would be better for all concerned if you resigned. Immediately.”

  Brooke fought back a wave of hysterical nausea. Thoughts of rent and bills and student loans charged through her mind. “I—I can’t do that, sir. I have responsibilities.”

  “You should have thought about that before you went on an unauthorized jaunt. I’ll give you two weeks. At the end of that time I’ll have enough in your file to let you go.” He leaned back in his chair, looking powerful, and something in Brooke snapped.

  She surged to her feet, her face hot. “I did nothing wrong, and anything you manage to gather against me will be lies.” She opened the door, then paused, her hand clenching the knob. “If you try to fire me, I’ll go to the press so fast your head will swim.”

  His lips thinned. “Spin,” he said dryly. Mockingly. “My head will spin.”

  She nearly faltered, then saw his knuckles whiten as he clenched a pen. Her chin came up. “Whatever. Don’t try it, Dr. Bixby, or you’ll be the one who’s sorry.”

  Slamming the door, she marched out of his office and into Devin White, who stood waiting in the hall. His lips were twitching. “Make his head swim?” he asked.

  Now that it was over, tears burned her eyes. “He’s going to fire me, Devin.”

  His amusement fled. “On what grounds?”

  “He’s making them up.” A panicked sob welled in her throat.

  Devin kneaded her shoulders restlessly. “He’s just threatening you, Brooke. I know a good lawyer or two. Let’s get a beer, calm you down, then we’ll decide what to do.”

  Wednesday, November 29, 6:05 P.M.

  Reed thought a half hour was enough time. It allowed Mia to reestablish her composure and allowed him to change his shoes and get them both a decent cup of coffee. He should have gone straight home, it was past six and he needed to set things straight with Beth. He thought about the way he’d dealt with his daughter the night before and the way he’d dealt with Mia Mitchell a half hour before and wondered if females ever hit an age where the men in their lives knew the right thing to do or say.

  But he had done the right thing with Mia. It sounded cheesy, but it felt too right to have been wrong. Of course she’d be wary, uncertain. But he wasn’t so out of practice that he didn’t recognize good chemistry when he stumbled across it. A relationship with a cop would be difficult. Priorities would at times interfere. But the more he thought, the surer he became that if there was a woman who wouldn’t want strings, it would be Mia.

  And if she does? The question slyly insinuated itself, rattling him. If under that rough and sarcastic exterior beat the heart of a woman who wanted a home, husband, and children? Then he’d regretfully, but respectfully, walk away. No harm, no foul.

  Reed started across the bullpen, his steps slowing as he approached her empty desk. The files she’d been reading were gone and so was Mia.

  “She went home,” said a cop in a rumpled suit who held something skinny and orange between his lips. A carrot, Reed decided. Another, younger, man sat across from him, typing with hurried strokes, a dozen red roses in tissue paper on top of a foil-wrapped gift box at his elbow. “You must be Solliday. I’m Murphy,” the rumpled one said, his tone easy although his eyes were watchful. “And this is Aidan Reagan.”

  Reed recognized the younger man. “We met, kind of.”

  Murphy looked surprised. “When?”

  Reagan glanced up at his partner. “In the morgue on -Monday. I told you I’d seen him there.” Then he dropped his eyes back to his keyboard and Murphy’s lips twitched.

  “Don’t be hurt by my partner’s bad manners. He’s a -newlywed and today’s his one-month anniversary.”

  Aidan looked up, his eyes narrowed. “Actually it was yesterday, but I had to work and missed it. If I miss it tonight...” He shook his head. “I will not miss it tonight.”

  Murphy’s chuckle was just a tad evil. “I hope not. I hate to even think about the mood you’ll be in tomorrow if Tess doesn’t try what’s in the box tonight.”

  Reagan didn’t even look up. “You’re trying to break my concentration, but it won’t work.” He tapped a few more keys and hit the button on his mouse with fanfare. “There. My report’s done and submitted. I’m off to have dinner with my wife.”

  “And dessert,” Murphy said.

  Reagan’s eyes rolled heavenward as he pulled on his coat. “God, yes. Don’t work too late, Murphy. Nice to see you, Solliday.” He dashed off, the roses under one arm and the wrapped box under the other.

  Murphy’s sigh was lusty. “I was with him when he bought what’s in the box. Almost made me want to get married again.” He looked over at Reed. “You married, Solliday?”

  “No.” But his imagination was working overtime, envisioning what had been in the box. Envisioning it on a certain curvy little blonde. “I take it that you’re not, either.”

  “Nope.” Murphy absently crunched on his carrot stick, but his eyes had gone from watchful to sharp and Reed got the feeling that the man was annoyed with him.

  “How did Mia get home?”

  “Spinnelli got her a department car.”

  “Oh. Well, was she all right when she left?”

  “Sure. She packed her files and said she’d read them at home. Said to tell you to meet her in Spinnelli’s at eight tomorrow morning. Oh, and she took a message for you.” Murphy pushed a piece of paper to the edge of his desk and sat, waiting.

  Reed sighed when he read the words.

  Holly Wheaton called. She’ll meet you for dinner at seven tonight at Leonardo’s on Michigan. Wear a tie. She says their pasta is divine and it’s her treat.

  “Dammit. She had my cell number. Why did she call Mia?”

  “I expect she wanted to rub it in Mia’s face. Having her take a message like she’s your secretary just sweetened it. You and Wheaton have something going?”

  Reed flinched. “God, no. The woman’s a viper. I made a deal with her so that she’d give us some video she’d made of one of our fire scenes. I’ve done it before�
��traded an interview for information. I just had no idea Mia would get so angry about it.”

  “Most of the time Mia’s just like one of the guys, fairly predictable. But when Wheaton crosses her path... Stand back because the claws come out.”

  He’d seen a little of that last night. “Why?”

  “You’ll have to ask her that. It was personal. Was that -coffee for her?”

  “Yeah.” Reed handed Murphy one of the cups. “You’ve known her a long time?”

  “Ten years. Back before Ray Rawlston was her partner.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He died.” Murphy looked away. “Line of duty. Mia took out the guy that did it. Took a bullet herself.” He looked back, his face pained. “We almost lost her.”

  Reed sat on the edge of Aidan’s desk, stunned. “My God.” He couldn’t think about her that way, almost being gone. “And then she and Abe get shot? What are the odds?”

  “I don’t know. I do know she’s very... vulnerable right now.”

  It was a warning and Reed had the good sense to take it as one. “She had a shock this morning, seeing that woman in the crowd. But I think having to admit it to us might have been even harder for her.”

  Murphy nodded. Slowly. “She’s strong, mostly. But she’s got heart, and that sometimes yanks her under. Don’t yank her under, Solliday.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Good. Now, throw me that box of Pop-Tarts in her drawer. I’m tired of these damn carrot sticks. Kicking the habit’s a bitch.”

  Reed tossed him the box, brows lifted. “She won’t like you eating her stash.”

  Murphy shrugged. “I’ll just blame it on you.”

  Wednesday, November 29, 7:15 P.M.

  “That was delicious,” Reed said. “You’ll have to make this recipe again.”

  Beth beamed. “We made it in Consumer Tech.”

  “Home Ec,” Lauren supplied. “He’s right, Beth. This is terrific.” She lifted a teasing brow. “I might just be replaced as cook of the household.”

  Beth laughed. “I don’t think so. Besides, this was homework. I get points when you fill out the questionnaire.” She pulled two pens from her pocket. “If you gush too much, Mrs. Bennett’ll think you’re lying, but be nice enough so that I get an A. Nines will be good, but give me a ten for cleanliness. Bennett’s a neat freak.”

  “And here I thought you were trying to weasel something out of me,” Reed murmured, scanning the questionnaire. “Or perhaps to apologize.”

  Beth scrunched her mouth in a frown. “Da-ad.”

  He’d leveled the worst punishment he could think of. No weekend party. “What?”

  “I thought you might let me out this weekend. Just to go to Jenny Q’s house.”

  Reed reached over and tapped her nose. “You don’t have to bribe me, Bethie. Just say the words. I’m... sorry.” He drew them out and she rolled her eyes.

  “I’m sorry.” She snapped it out, fast and far less sincerely than he’d wanted.

  “For what?”

  “Dad!” She bristled, looking so much like Christine in a snit. A dramatic sigh rustled the papers on the table. “I’m sorry I was difficult last night.”

  “You weren’t difficult, Beth. You were downright rude. And in front of a guest.”

  Her eyes went sly. “New lady partner. Does this mean Foster won’t be coming for dinner anymore? That would be a real shame.”

  “Sure he will. Detective Mitchell is a temporary partner. Why worry about Foster?”

  “I dunno. He’s kind of hot in a... artsy kind of way. -Cameras. Film. Maybe he can take some shots of me. For my modeling career.” Then she laughed as his jaw dropped. “Just kidding.” She propped her chin on her fist. “So how about the dame?”

  Lauren was laughing by now. “Yeah, Reed, how about the dame?”

  Reed drew a breath, still reeling from the “Foster hot” comment. “Just to be straight, were you kidding about Foster being hot or you having a modeling career?”

  She peered over at his paper. “Ten on cleanliness and nine on taste?”

  His eyes narrowed. Women and their deals. Thoughts of facing Holly Wheaton across a table left him nearly as cold as the thought of Foster being hot. “Deal.”

  Beth smiled. “Both.” She looked down at her plate, then back up. “I’m sorry, Dad. I was rude. I was just so mad you wouldn’t let me stay over at Jenny’s house that I...” She trailed off when he lifted his brows. “I’m sorry. That’s all.”

  “Accepted.” He filled out the questionnaire and handed it back to her. “And done.”

  She brightened. “So I can go to Jenny’s for a sleepover this weekend.”

  Lauren put a cup of coffee next to his plate, her expression saying she was ready to take cover over what was coming next. “No,” he said. “The punishment stands.”

  Beth’s mouth dropped open. “Dad!” She lurched to her feet. “I can’t believe this.”

  “Sit down,” he said and was shocked when she obeyed. “You were insufferably rude. You raised your voice to me and slammed the door so hard you knocked a picture off the wall upstairs. I’m usually so proud of you, but last night I was ashamed.”

  Her eyes dropped to the table. “I understand.” When she lifted her eyes, they were calm. “That science project that Jenny and I have been working on is due tomorrow. Can I at least go to her house to finish it? It’s not fair that her grade suffers, too.”

  Reed looked over at Lauren, who shrugged. “All right,” he said. “Get your things. I have a meeting to go to, so I’ll pick you up when I’m done.”

  Her jaw clenched, Beth nodded and walked away.

  Reed sighed. “I’m a sucker, aren’t I?”

  “Yep. But you love her. I’m so glad she has this life, but sometimes I wish she could understand how much harder it is to say no. My birth mother didn’t care enough to.”

  “Mine, either.” Reed brooded into his coffee. “She was never sober enough.”

  Lauren’s face scrunched with worry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you remember.”

  “It’s okay.” He looked up. “It’s just that Mia and I had to visit juvie today.”

  “So now she’s Mia. So, Reed, to quote Beth, what’s the deal with the dame?”

  “She’s my partner, Lauren.”

  Lauren’s mouth curved. “But no ‘that’s all.’ I call that progress.”

  “I’m ready,” Beth said from the door.

  Reed stood up. “Then let’s rock and roll, kid.”

  Wednesday, November 29, 7:45 P.M.

  Dana eyed Mia’s clean plate, then nodded. “You’re done. Finally.” They were the last two sitting, Dana’s foster kids having cleaned their plates long before.

  Mia rolled her eyes. “You’re a bully. I hate vegetables.”

  “You come here because you want me to bully you. I’m always glad to oblige.”

  Much of her temper over Holly Wheaton’s call had dissipated over dinner. Being around Dana’s kids made it hard for her to stay mad. But she still had enough mad left for a final jab. “You’d make a good dominatrix,” Mia grumbled and Dana laughed.

  “Dana the Dominatrix. I like the sound of that.”

  “So do I.” Dana’s husband, Ethan, wandered into the kitchen and kissed the back of her neck. “We could have some fun with that. Gives me ideas.”

  Dana smacked him playfully. “You don’t need any new ideas.” She pulled his head down for a kiss and Mia felt the pang she always felt when she saw them together. Except tonight, it wasn’t the same. It was sharper, somehow. Darker. Normally the pang was happiness for Dana and sometimes wistful longing for herself.

  But tonight it was jealousy and... resentment. Troubled at herself, she cleared her throat. “Guys? For God’s sake, do you mind already?”

  Ethan was the first to pull away, looking puzzled at her harsh tone. “Sorry, Mia. I’ll take care of overseeing homework tonight, honey. You two can talk.” Tenderly he
ran the back of his fingertips over Dana’s face before he left the room, and Mia couldn’t block out the sensation of Reed Solliday’s thumb brushing against her jaw.

  She’d run tonight. She’d gotten scared and run like a little girl. Wheaton’s phone call was just an excuse to be angry with him. It was easier than dealing with what she’d felt when he touched her face. He’d done it last night as well. She’d pulled away then, too.

  “I’m ready whenever you are,” Dana said quietly.

  Mia slid a nickel across the table and Dana smiled. “It’s a quarter now,” Dana said. “Inflation. But I’ll just put it on your tab. Go ahead. Talk to me.”

  “I’m a stupid idiot.”

  “Okay.”

  Mia scowled. “You’re not earning your quarter.”

  Dana’s laugh soothed. “Point me in the right direction, Mia. I’m not psychic.” She sobered. “I’ll make it easier for you. A, it’s the woman you think is your half sister. B, you’re ripped up because two people are dead and you can’t bring them back to life because you’re not God. C, you were almost killed last night, which you haven’t mentioned once by the way, or D, Reed Solliday.”

  “How about E, all of the above?”

  “Mia.”

  Mia sighed. “E, all of the above, but at this moment mostly D?”

  “Is he being mean to you?” Dana asked, as if she were comforting a five-year-old.

  She opened her mouth to say something snide, but her repository of comebacks was suddenly empty. “No, he’s been a perfect gentleman. He opens doors, pulls out chairs, holds umbrellas over my head.”

  “He should be shot,” Dana drawled in a deadpan voice.

  “I’m serious, Dana.”

  “I know, honey. So besides making you feel awkward by treating you with the respect you deserve, what else does he do?”

  “Ooh, you’re good.”

  “Thousands agree. Stop stalling.”

  “Last night he followed me to the prison. I went to tell Kelsey about Liam and her.”

  “That’s interesting. So how is Kelsey?”

  “Stubborn as ever about the parole board. And she knew about Liam and his mother, but not the woman. Oh, and she said you could keep your crabs.”