Tuesday, November 28, 6:45 p.m.
Reed yawned as he pulled into the parking space beside Mitchell's little Alfa.
"Don't do that," she protested. "I still have tons of reading to do tonight."
"You're not going back to your desk. I know I need some sleep. So do you, Mia."
"I won't go back right away. I have something I need to do first. But I've got to get through some of those files. We've got nothing so far."
"The info we got from the sorority was disappointing," he agreed glumly.
"They can't tell us what they didn't see. If this guy stalked Caitlin, he was damn careful about it. At least we can rule out Doug Davis and Joel Rebinowitz."
"Lucky for Doug he has a temper. Being held without bail for aggravated assault in a Milwaukee jail gives him a tight alibi. We can tell Margaret Hill he's not blame."
"And luckily the arcade has a security camera." It had clearly shown Joel playing pinball during the hours in question. She scrubbed her cheeks with her palms and shot him a weak smile. "Go home and see your daughter, Solliday. Fluffy just isn't the conversationalist he used to be, so I won't be missing anything at home."
He didn't smile back. Fatigued, frustration flared and with it his temper. "No way. Tired people have accidents. People die. Go the hell home."
She blinked at him, surprised. "I'm not that tired."
"That's what the guy said who ran a red light and broad-sided my wife." Immediately he wished the words back, but it was too late.
Her blue eyes flickered sympathy. "And she died?"
"Yes." The one word vibrated with an anger that surprised him. But at the moment he wasn't sure who he was most angry with.
She sighed. "I'm so sorry."
So was he. "It was a long time ago." He gentled his voice. "Go home, Mia. Please."
She nodded. "Okay. I will."
That had been too easy. It didn't take a detective to realize she wasn't going home.
Something perverse nagged at him. She was going to get herself killed, and dammit, she was starting to grow on him.
He now understood why Spinnelli spoke so highly of her. He also had to admit she'd piqued his own curiosity.
Reed waited until she'd driven away, and then followed. At the first traffic light she hadn't detected his presence. She really must be tired, he thought. He pulled out his phone and said, "Home," and waited for voice recognition to do its thing.
"Hey, Dad," Beth said, startling him. Caller ID still caught him unaware sometimes.
"Hi, sweetie. How was school today?" The light changed and Mitchell continued onward, not trying to lose him. So far, so good.
"Okay. When are you coming home?"
"I'll be a little while. Something's come up on this case."
"What? You promised you'd take me to Jenny Q's tonight. Meet her mother. So I can go to her party this weekend, remember?"
The vehemence in her voice took him aback. "Well, I can go over there tomorrow."
"I have to study with her tonight."
It sounded as if every word was being spat from her mouth. "Beth, what's wrong?"
"Your not keeping your promise is what's wrong. Oh!"
It sounded like she stifled a sob and alarmed he sat up straighter. Hormones again. He could never keep track of which week to be careful. "Honey? This will be all right. I'll ask Aunt Lauren to go meet her mother if it's that important to you."
"Okay." She shuddered a breath. "Sorry, Dad."
Reed blinked. "It's okay, honey. I think. Put Aunt Lauren on the phone."
"What was that about?" Lauren asked a minute later.
"She wants to go to a party at her friend's house this weekend and I was going to meet the girl's mother tonight, but I'm working late." It was a small lie. Little and white. Still he winced. But made no move to turn around. "Can you take her over there to study and give the mom the third degree?"
"Do I get to use the bright lights and rubber hoses?"
He chuckled. "Knock yourself out. I'm not sure when I'll be home."
"Reed, are you working that fire that killed the social worker?"
Reed grimaced. "How do you know about that?"
"It's all over the news. My God. That poor woman."
"Which news?"
"Local. It was one of their lead stories. You want me to tape it for you for at ten?"
"That'd be great. Remember, Beth's got to be home by nine."
"I've been doing this a long time, Reed," Lauren said patiently. "You shouldn't worry about my taking care of Beth. You should be more worried I'll get married."
"Are you planning a big wedding any time soon?" he teased.
"I'm serious. One of these days I'll leave. You need to consider my replacement."
"Oh. This is about me dating." Lauren was good at back alley arguing.
"Finding a good wife is a lot easier than hiring a good nanny. And my biological clock is ticking. I've got to find a husband before they're all taken. Talk to you later."
Reed hung up, a scowl furrowing his forehead. What would he do with Beth when Lauren flew the nest? He did know he wasn't going to get married just to get a live-in nanny-slash-maid. He'd had a good marriage once. There was no way in hell he'd make do with anything less. He let his mind drift as he tailed Mia Mitchell's car, remembering Christine. She'd been the perfect wife. Beautiful, smart, sexy. He sighed. Yes, sexy. He had to stop letting his mind drift, because it kept drifting to sex.
But it was hard to control his mind when he was this tired, much less his body. He could remember everything so vividly. Just how she'd looked, how it had felt to make love to her in the quiet of the night. Touching her skin, her hair. The way she whispered his name when she was so close, begging him to take her to the sun. And how it had felt when she came, taking him with her. But most of nil, he remembered the amazing peace he'd felt afterward, holding her spooned against him.
Stop. Something was wrong with that fantasy. Different. Reed blinked hard, bringing all the taillights in his path back into focus. Whoa. Troubled, he blinked again, but the picture in his mind was unchanged. The woman in his mental wanderings wasn't tall and dark with the lithe body of a dancer. The woman in his mind was blond. Her body strong and compact. Her breasts… her legs… different. Her eyes weren't dark and mysterious. They were wide and blue like the summer sky.
Hell. The woman he'd been making love to in his mind hadn't been Christine. It had been Mia Mitchell. Restlessly he shifted, the picture of Mitchell still stubbornly filling his mind. Naked and waiting for him. And now that he'd seen her like that, even if it was only in his mind, it was going to be damned difficult to see her any other way.
"Well, that's just perfect," he muttered. Making love to a memory was safe. Dreaming about a real live woman was way too dangerous. So he'd push the very thought from his mind. This he could do. This he'd done before. This was discipline.
Four cars ahead, Mia was signaling her merge onto the interstate, going south. If he had a brain in his head he'd drive right on past the merge ramp, turn around at the next intersection and go home. But he didn't. For some reason he didn't try to fathom, he followed, wondering where she would take them.
Tuesday, November 28, 7:00 p.m.
He slid the vase full of flowers on the hotel's counter. "Delivery, ma'am."
A small woman stood behind the counter, typing. Her name tag said //smc tania and below it in smaller letters, //smc assistant manager. Around her neck she wore a photo ID and clipped behind it, a key card. He'd bet it was a master key. And he needed one of those.
She looked up with a tired smile. "I'll be with you in just a minute."
He yawned, then pushed the dark glasses up on his nose. They were just ten-dollar reading glasses, but they altered his looks. Combined with the long wig he'd picked up cheap, the difference would be enough to fool the security camera. "Take your time."
"You're working late," she said sympathetically.
His yawn had been no fake. He'd had a couple very late nights recently. "Got a few last minute orders. But this is my last delivery tonight. I get to go home."
Her smile was rueful. "Lucky you."
He let her type another thirty seconds. "The roads are really slick, so be careful when you drive home. They're calling for more snow tonight."
"Thanks, but I'm not going home any time soon. I'm here all night."
He grimaced. "All night? Jeez." All night? Damn. He wanted her key.
She shrugged as she typed efficiently. "I have two people out with the flu, so I'm pulling a double. Don't get off till seven tomorrow morning." She finished typing and turned, giving him her full attention. "Oh, what pretty flowers."
They should be. They cost him fifty bucks. "They go to…" He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. "Dougherty. Can you confirm I've got the right place?"
"You do," she said. "The Doughertys are guests."
"They'll get delivered tonight?"
"I'll deliver them myself as soon as I can step away."
Tuesday, November 28, 8:15 p.m.
After twelve years Mia should have been used to watching her little sister walk across the visitation area in a prison uniform. Kelsey dropped into the chair, waiting.
Mia picked up the phone on her side of the Plexiglas and after a moment's hesitation, Kelsey did the same. "He's buried," Mia said and Kelsey's lips quirked up.
"I should hope so. He'd be pretty ripe by now."
Mia's own mouth curved sadly. "I wish you'd been there."
"Dana was there for you."
"Yeah. She was and I'm grateful for it. But I needed you."
Kelsey's eyes flickered. "I would have been there for you. Not for him."
It was understandable. "I know."
"Why are you here, M?" It was always "M." Never "Mia." Kelsey took pains to keep herself removed in case somebody inside recognized Mia for the cop she was. Fortunately there was no family resemblance to link them. Kelsey looked like their mother, while Mia was the image of Bobby Mitchell. He'd been a blond charmer in his younger days, blinking those blue eyes to look sincere when the occasion called for it. Mia had always suspected he'd been a ladies' man. Now she knew for sure.
"Something happened you need to know about. When I got to the cemetery the day of Bobby's funeral…" She could see the small headstone in her mind. It had been a cold shock. One more betrayal to add to all those that had come before. "The plot next to him had already been taken."
Kelsey tilted her head back, her eyes narrowing. "By good old Liam."
Mia's mouth dropped open. Finally she found her voice. "You knew?"
Kelsey's brows lifted, her eyes cool. "You didn't? Interesting."
"How did you know?"
"Found a picture in a box in his closet when I was looking for money once. Cute kid, sitting in our chair. The 'true heir' to the kingdom."
Mia was floored. "I found the box when I was going through his suits for the funeral home. I didn't open it until I got home from the cemetery. I saw Liam's name on the gravestone on the plot next to Bobby's when I got to the cemetery for the burial. Until that moment, I had no idea Liam even existed." Liam Charles Mitchell, Beloved Son.
A shadow passed over Kelsey's face. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't have wanted you to find out that way. I really thought you knew. So what did she do?"
"She" was their mother. "At the cemetery? She zoned out." Later, she'd talked. Mia hadn't been patient with her mother. It would be a long time before the two of them spoke cordially again. That should bother me more than it does. "He was born when I was ten months old. He died a year later. I checked Liam's birth certificate. It said his mother was a Bridget Condon."
"I know."
Mia blinked. "Bobby told you?"
Kelsey lifted a shoulder. "I waited till he was drunk one day and asked him."
Mia closed her eyes. "Which time was that?"
"Just before Christmas when I was thirteen."
Mia remembered. "You had to get six stitches in your lip."
"And she told the hospital I'd fallen off my skateboard."
It was their mother's way. Juggle emergency rooms, juggle the lies. Anything to keep the secret. "Hell, Kelsey."
"It's done, M. He's in his own private hell now."
"He gave the baby his name." It had been bothering Mia for three weeks.
"He'd moved in with Bridget. He was going to marry the mother of his son."
"He was going to leave us because Bridget had a son. And Annabelle didn't."
"And he came back after the baby died."
"Yeah. I know. Annabelle told me that much." After Mia had confronted her after the funeral, in the privacy of her mother's house. "And Annabelle took him back."
"And nine months later, out popped me. Another girl."
"He rejected two children because neither of them had a dick." She clenched her teeth on a wave of fury. "All those years I tried to please him. Appease him." Mia sighed. "So what do you know about the other daughter?"
Kelsey blinked. "Excuse me?"
Mia blinked back. "At the cemetery… I saw a woman. She looked like me, just a little younger. She had my eyes." Bobby's eyes. "It was uncanny."
Kelsey was clearly at a loss. "That I didn't know. Can't help you there, M."
"Well, thanks for believing me at least. I know it sounds crazy."
"You've never lied to me." Kelsey sat back, considering. "So there are three of us misbegotten non-male spawn."
"That we know of. Maybe more. God knows how many times he tried for a boy."
Kelsey's lips quirked in amusement. "Well, it looks like Bobby shot mostly Xs. No little Ys to make little Bobbys."
Mia smiled, despite the weight on her shoulders. "God, I miss you."
Kelsey swallowed, hard. "Stop. Don't make me…" She drew a breath, took a surreptitious glance side to side. "It's like blood in the water, M."
"You come up for parole again in three months."
"Like I don't know the exact time to the minute? It won't do any good."
"I'll be there. I promise."
"You've always been there, every hearing. And I'm grateful. But Shayla Kaufmann is always there, too, and her grief carries more weight than your good words."
Mia clenched her fist. "It's been twelve years, Kelsey."
"But her husband and son are still dead."
"You didn't shoot them. The store video showed it clearly." Kelsey had stood there, her hand shaking so bad she'd nearly dropped the gun. Her boyfriend Stone had done the shooting and was serving life without parole. Kelsey had cooperated, earning her a deal. Eight to twenty-five. At the time, Mia had been relieved Kelsey's sentence hadn't been stiffer. Twelve years later, Mia knew exactly how slowly time could pass.
Kelsey's face was immobile, but her eyes had darkened with a torment she rarely let Mia see. "I didn't shoot, but I stood there while Stone did. I didn't do anything to save that man and his son. That father's last action was to shield his son with his own body" She held herself rigid and focused on a point over Mia's shoulder and Mia knew they were both thinking that was something their own father never would have done.
"Dammit, Kelsey, you were young. Scared. You were high."
"I was guilty." Her lips trembled and she pursed them. "And I still am."
Mia bit the inside of her cheek, hard. "I'll still be there at the parole hearing."
Kelsey's eyes closed for a long moment and when she opened them, they were again cool and detached. "I hear you took a bullet, kid."
The subject of parole was now closed. "Yeah. Two weeks ago."
"How's your pal?"
"Abe? He's in the hospital, but he'll be okay."
"Don't let him make you drop your guard." One side of her mouth lifted. "You're the only one who ever comes to visit me in here. I'd hate for anything to happen to you."
Mia cleared her throat. "Okay."
"Oh, yeah. And tell Dana I said thanks, but no thanks."
"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 desserts.
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 the 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 window. 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, blonde brows lifted. "Cafe 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 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 sleepover's 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 over coat 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 course 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 was an appropriate response, 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 in 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 in 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 area 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. Christine 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."
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, rebroadcasted."
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 with DCFS. 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 bpen 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."