Count to Ten

by Karen Rose

Beth rolled her eyes. “I mean, yeah, the ’Vous isn’t in the best part of town.”

  “Nope.”

  “Will you say something that’s not monosyllabic?”

  Mitchell turned to look at her, eyes cool. “You are an idiot. A very talented idiot. Is that enough syllables for you? Although technically, ‘okay’ is disyllabic.”

  Beth sputtered even as the compliment warmed her. “I’m not an idiot. I’m a straight-A student. Honor roll.” She shook her head, disgusted. Then sighed. “But you liked it?”

  Mitchell’s eyes changed. Went from cool to devastated. “Yes. I liked it very much.”

  “I wouldn’t have taken you for a poetry fan.”

  One side of the woman’s mouth lifted. “I wouldn’t have, either. ‘There once was a lady from Nantucket’ is more my speed.”

  Beth huffed a chuckle. “The limericks crack me up, too.” She sobered and drew a breath. “So, are you going to tell my dad?”

  Her blond brows went up. “Shouldn’t I?”

  “He’s gonna freak.”

  “As well he should. He’s a good father, Beth, and he loves you.”

  “He keeps me locked up like a prisoner.”

  Mitchell’s eyes flickered. “Believe me, you’re no prisoner. Do you love your dad?”

  Beth’s eyes stung. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Then why didn’t you tell him about the slam thing?”

  “He’s not into this kind of stuff. He’s into sports. He wouldn’t understand.”

  “I think he would have tried.” She sighed. “Look, I don’t want to get between the two of you. I’ll give you until tomorrow to tell him. If you don’t, then I will.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Indianapolis, Friday, December 1, 11:00 P.M.

  There it was. Tyler Young’s townhouse. He sat in a car down the street, watching the neighborhood. He’d need to wait a little longer for this crowd to be in bed.

  He was nearly calm. He’d had to get hold of himself back in Champaign. He’d waited too long to exorcise his ghosts, because now they were all dead. Laura Dougherty and now Bill Young and his wife, Bitsey. The wife had just passed on, the nursing home said sadly. And our records are confidential, they’d added mournfully, so no, we can’t give you next of kin.

  He’d nearly lost it. He’d held back only after seeing the flicker of suspicious fear in the nurse’s eyes. So he’d respectfully excused himself, gotten in his car, driven to the middle of nowhere and set a cornfield on fire. Just a random act of kindness.

  So he was down to two. Tyler and Tim. It was like Tim Young had dropped off the face of the earth. He could let Tim go. But Tim had been big enough, strong enough then. Just not brave enough to stop Tyler. He had to find them both. To finish this.

  If Tyler knows where his brother is, by God, he’ll tell me. Because this time, I hold the power. I’ll hear him beg. Then I’ll see him die. You count to ten, you fucking bastard. Then go to hell.

  Chicago, Friday, December 1, 11:05 P.M.

  Mia closed the door to Lauren’s place. It was dark and quiet. “Reed?”

  But no one answered. She wandered through the house, half hoping she’d find him asleep on the sofa or better yet, in the bed, but the house was empty. Just me.

  She should be tired, but she was still buzzed. She held Lauren’s keys up to the light. There were two keys; one was for the other side. She could slip in, find him. Beth was safe in her room, having shimmied back up the tree despite Mia’s objections.

  She actually considered going up the same tree to Reed’s room, but chucked the idea with a grin. She’d probably fall on her ass and break something. She fingered the chain around her neck. Or not. She seemed remarkably resilient these days.

  Or not. She thought about sitting on his lap, crying her eyes out, then once again telling him things she had no business telling him. But he was easy to talk to and she’d wanted him to know. For the first time she’d wanted to throw her faults out there.

  Maybe it was a test. To see if he’d throw her back. He hadn’t yet.

  She slipped into Reed’s side of the duplex. It was quiet. She crept up the stairs, her heart pounding. If the house was a mirror image to Lauren’s, the last door on the right was the master bedroom. There he was, sprawled on top of the bedspread, sleeping deeply with the light still burning. Still dressed down to his shiny shoes.

  He’d had a long day, too. She’d get him comfortable, then go back to her own room on the other side. Then tomorrow, she thought, she’d find a new apartment as close to this house as she could. Because there was no way in hell she was having sex in this room. It was Christine’s, down to the lace on the bedspread.

  She frowned at the picture on his nightstand. Christine. Of course he’d have a picture of his wife. He loved her. Still. He’s never found anyone quite as good, the little voice reminded her. Beth felt the same. It was when Mia went to loosen his belt that she saw the book. Carefully she slid it from his fingers and curious, peeked at the title, but there was none. It was a notebook, and every page inside was handwritten.

  She glanced at his face. He still slept. She should put the book right down. Right now. But he’d listened to her conversations. This only seemed fair. She flipped to the front page. It said simply “My Poems, by Christine Solliday” but the next page tightened her throat. “To my darling Reed. I promised you my heart. Here it is.”

  Poems. Every page was poems, in Christine’s own hand. So Beth came by her talent naturally, she thought. And how wrong the girl had been about her father’s understanding. Every page was worn, some dog-eared. This book was well read and well loved. It was Christine’s heart. And Reed’s.

  The words blurred as she read and Mia blinked away the stupid tears. He’d been honest after all. He’d said no strings. And like a fool I believed that would be enough.

  Hands trembling, she put the book on the nightstand and went to work on his shirt. A fine gold chain appeared, glistening in the dark hair of his chest. He hadn’t worn it when they’d made love, but vaguely she remembered feeling it against her cheek earlier, as he’d held her and let her cry. She wouldn’t cry now. Not yet. She’d put him to bed, then go back and... She got to the bottom of his shirt and her fingers went still.

  At the end of the chain was a ring. A plain gold band. He still wears his wedding ring. Her heart squeezed painfully, but her hand was bent on self-torture and lifted the chain. The ring dangled, reflecting the light from the lamp.

  With a jerk Reed woke, one hand closing over the ring while the other closed over her wrist with enough force to make her flinch. “You’re hurting me,” she whispered.

  Immediately he released her arm, but his hand stayed wrapped around the ring. His face was hard and angry. “What are you doing here?”

  Mia took a step back. “Obviously making a big mistake. Good night, Reed.”

  She made it out of his room, down the stairs and out the front door. Her hands shaking, she managed to get the key in Lauren’s front door and bolted inside. She stood, breathing harder than if she’d run a mile. She thought he’d follow her. Obviously that was a big mistake, too. Her whole body was shaking now. Badly.

  Stupid. She hadn’t eaten in... She couldn’t remember the last time. She downed a slice of cold pizza, her stomach churning. When she was on her second slice the front door opened. Reed’s face was pained, his shirt buttoned. If he still wore his ring, at least he had the decency to hide it from her. No, that wasn’t fair. The ring was his business. He told you from the beginning, Mia. No strings. “We need to talk, Mia.”

  She shook her head. “It’s all right. Go back to bed, Reed.” He didn’t move and her patience snapped. “You know, I’ve had a really foul day. I would like to be alone now.”

  He came closer, cupped her cheek in his palm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “Don’t be.” She swallowed back the lump that rose in her throat. “You told me what you wanted from the start. I’m the o
ne who keeps crossing the line. I can’t play by your ground rules, Reed. I can’t do an affair with no strings. I was wrong to try.”

  He went still. “Then maybe we can change the ground rules.”

  Hope lit a little fire in her heart. Then she slipped her hand inside his shirt and pulled out the chain where the plain gold band dangled and the fire in her heart fizzled. “You know, I spent most of my life competing with a dead boy I never knew existed for the love of a man who wasn’t worth slime. I’m not going to compete with your dead wife, Reed, even though the prize would be... very worthwhile. I think I -deserve better than that. Now, I think you should go. I’ll be out of here tomorrow.”

  She thought he’d argue, but he stood, his expression haunted and desolate. “I guess I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

  “Eight o’clock. Spinnelli’s. I’ll be there.”

  She didn’t see him to the door. She turned to the backyard, wishing things were different. That she was different. Then something brushed at her leg and she jumped.

  Percy looked up at her, accusation in his eyes. “Meow.”

  With a weak laugh she picked him up. “I’d forgotten about you. At least you can ask for your dinner, unlike poor Fluffy.” She rested her cheek against his soft fur, felt his purr. “Let’s eat, Percy, then bed.”

  Indianapolis, Saturday, December 2, 2:15 A.M.

  You’d think a realtor would have better home security, he thought as he let himself in through Tyler Young’s patio door. His loss, my gain. Shouldering his heavy load, he crept up the stairs, listening, but there was no sound except for the pounding of his own heart. Finally.

  He would finally face the one who’d killed Shane, as an adult now, not the helpless kid he’d been. Two people slept in the bed, one a woman. A ceiling fan turned above the bed and along with Tyler’s snores, covered his steps as he moved to the woman’s side. One stab of his knife and she painlessly gurgled her last.

  Tyler still snored heavily and this close, he could smell liquor on his breath. Good. Drunk people made such easy targets. Tyler would be that much easier to subdue.

  He had dreamed of this as a kid, in the Youngs’ house of hell. Every night he’d fantasized his revenge as Tyler... He swallowed, the memory making his stomach churn even now, ten years later. As Tyler did what Tyler did. The fantasies had kept him sane then. Now, those fantasies were about to come true. Now he’d do what Tyler did. Every single step. Quietly he fixed the chain he’d brought to the head of the bed, down at the floor. At the end of the chain was a cuff and with a click he snapped it around Tyler’s beefy wrist. And held his breath.

  But Tyler’s snores continued. The rag for Tyler’s mouth was soaked in urine, another little trick he’d learned from the man who was now his captive. But he had his own tricks now. With great care he took out the third of the knives he’d treated with his curare paste. How easy to do, and how... -exotic. His gun in his left hand, he quickly opened one of Tyler’s veins with his right. Tyler’s eyes surged open, but the gun was already aimed between the man’s eyes. Horror filled Tyler’s eyes by degrees as he took in the gun, the chain, his bleeding arm.

  But there was no recognition and that pissed him off. “It’s Andrew.” He knew the moment Tyler remembered and laughed softly. “In about two minutes you won’t be able to move, but you’ll feel every little thing I do.” He leaned in close. “This time you’ll count to ten, Tyler. This time you’ll go to hell. But first, you’ll answer to me. I’m going to take out this rag. If you scream, you will die. Understand?”

  Tyler nodded, sweat beading on his forehead.

  He removed the gag with distaste. “Where is Tim?”

  Tyler licked his lips nervously. “If I tell you, will you let me go?”

  He hadn’t even asked about his wife. “Sure.”

  “New Mexico. Santa Fe.” He drew back a fraction of an inch. “Now let me go.”

  Before Tyler could react, he shoved the rag back in his mouth. “You grew up stupid, Tyler. Let me help you. One, two, three...” And as he counted Tyler’s body went stiff and rigidly still. “Ten. It’s showtime.”

  He knew he didn’t have much time. Under normal circumstances, Tyler would lose consciousness in under ten minutes. But after ten years, he wanted more than ten minutes and he wanted Tyler Young fully aware. He wanted Tyler Young to feel pain. He wanted Tyler Young to pay.

  So he’d planned ahead. Placing his gun on Tyler’s nightstand, he unpacked his kit. As usual he carried his sharp knife and lead pipe and his remaining plastic eggs, but tonight he’d brought a little extra along. He pulled an oxygen tank and mask from his pack. He’d be able to extend Tyler’s conscious minutes by three times by forcing oxygen into his lungs. Tyler might just pass out from the pain first.

  The thought made him smile.

  “So, Tyler,” he said conversationally, placing the mask over the man’s frozen face. “How y’been? Molested any children lately?” Tyler and his wife had no children, at least no children that lived with them. He’d checked all the bedrooms before finding the master, and there were no children in this house. No pets either. So he could fully concentrate on his work. “Can’t talk? Too bad. You’ll just have to listen to me. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you informed, every step of the way. First, I’ll break your legs, just because I can.”

  And he did, enjoying the way Tyler’s eyes crossed with pain. He then rolled the pipe from one hand to the other. “Normally I’m finished with the pipe by this point,” he said, still casually. “But I have another use planned for you. See, I don’t like men. Just women. But I’d hate to let that keep me from giving you the same pleasure you gave me.” He could tell Tyler understood. “Excellent. Oh, and the knife? Normally I just slit throats with it, but again, I have a special use planned for you.” He grinned down at his victim, kept alive because he wished it. Tyler would die when he wished it. “You called us dickless pussies back then. I guess you’ll get to find out what that term really means. So let’s get this show on the road, Tyler. Before the oxygen runs out.”

  Chicago, Saturday, December 2, 6:35 A.M.

  Murphy watched as Mia approached his car. He was alert, but eyed the coffee cups in her hand with appreciation. He got out and stretched, then took one. “Thanks.”

  She leaned against the car, looking up at the house. “Anything?”

  “White never came back, but the kid’s been watching. There he is now.”

  Once again the blinds bent and little fingers appeared. Once again Mia gave him a warm smile and a wave. Once again the kid disappeared. “I say we try to get a warrant. We’ve certainly gotten them on less before.”

  “I’ll call a cruiser to watch while we’re in meeting. We’ll coordinate with the others.”

  The others. Which would include Reed. She would do her job.

  “Spill it, kid,” Murphy ordered in his mild way. “What did pretty boy Solliday do?”

  She smiled, surprised she could. “Nothing. He made no promises, Murphy, and broke none. And I got a couple of nights of really good sex out of the deal.”

  Murphy winced. “Rub it in, why don’t you?” He tilted his head. “Let me know and I’ll mess up that pretty face of his for you.”

  “My hero.” Abruptly she sobered. “Look what we have here.”

  The front door opened and the kid came out, dressed for church in a dark suit and a clip-on tie. He paused on his front porch, then sucked in a breath and started walking, not stopping until he’d crossed the street to where they stood. He was holding the flyer they’d given his mother. It was flattened, but someone had crumpled it. His swallow was audible.

  He was only about seven or eight. Reddish blond hair was carefully wet and combed. Freckles covered his face. She’d always been a sucker for freckles. Soberly she held out her hand. “I’m Detective Mitchell. This is Detective Murphy.”

  He shook her hand. “I’m Jeremy.”

  “Jeremy Lukowitch?” Murphy asked and the boy nodded.

&n
bsp; “Where’s your mom, Jeremy?” Mia asked.

  “Still asleep. I think we should go to the station,” Jeremy said gravely.

  “And maybe we will,” Mia said, then went down on one knee. “Tell me, Jeremy, have you seen the man in this picture?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  He swallowed again. “Lots of times. He lives here sometimes.”

  Oh, sweet bingo. “Do you remember the last time you saw him, honey?” she asked.

  “Thursday morning before I went to school, but he came home late that morning.”

  “Do you remember what time?”

  “Five forty-five. I looked at my clock.” Jeremy lifted his chin. “You should get a warrant to search our backyard.”

  Mia’s heart was knocking, but she kept her voice calm. “What will we find?”

  “He buried stuff there.” Jeremy started counting on his fingers. “Thursday, Tuesday, Sunday and last Friday.”

  Mia blinked. “Last Friday?”

  Jeremy nodded soberly. “Yes, ma’am. Now I’ll agree to testify if you give me and my mother witness protection. We’d like to change our names and move to... Iowa.”

  Mia looked up at Murphy, who was unsuccessfully trying to bite back a smile, then back at Jeremy. “You watch a lot of TV, don’t you, Jeremy?” she asked.

  “And I read,” he said. “But mostly TV.” Then his chin trembled, spoiling his facade. “I have to have the protection for my mom. He hurt her once. Really bad. She’s afraid.” Tears filled his eyes. “And she cries all the time. Please, lady, please don’t let him hurt my mom.” He stood there, so brave and alone as tears ran down his freckled cheeks and Mia had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from crying with him.

  Crying would hurt Jeremy’s expectation of cops. But she did gather him in her arms and hug him tight. “We’ll protect your mom, Jeremy. Don’t worry, honey.”

  Murphy already had his radio out, calling for support.

  Mia backed away and wiped Jeremy’s cheeks with her thumbs. “You hungry, kid?”

  He nodded, sniffling. “We didn’t finish our dinner last night.”