Wednesday, November 29, 5:00 p.m.
Reed came out of Interview to find Spinnelli, Westphalen, and state's attorney. Patrick Hurst, waiting on the other side of the glass. "You rang," Reed said.
In Interview, Manny sat slumped in a chair, his arms crossed over his chest. Mia sat on the boy's end of the table, crowding him, trying to bully Manny into offering details, hoping he would correct her mistakes. So far all she'd gotten was a bored look.
"That's him?" Spinnelli asked.
Reed nodded. "Manuel Rodriguez, fifteen."
"Who's the woman?" Patrick asked, referring to the wispy looking woman who sat at Manny's other side looking at turns angry and uncomfortable.
"His court-appointed advocate. We were shocked she let us go on this long."
"Our gain," Patrick said. "His history?"
"Manny's been at Hope for six months. Before that he bumed down his foster house. He used gasoline and a match, nothing sophisticated. His foster mother was seriously burned. He seems to have remorse for hurting her, but not for setting the fire."
"They searched his room last night?" Hurst asked. "And found matches?"
"Yeah. At first the matches was all they'd admit they'd found, but after we found the eggs, they admitted that they'd found his stash of reading material. How-to articles on arson, but all on liquid accelerants, like the right mix of gasoline and oil. None mentioned the plastic egg as a delivery device. None mentioned ammonium nitrate."
"Did they also find pornography?" Westphalen asked quietly, his eyes on the boy.
"Yes, but that wasn't a big surprise. It's common with arsonists," Reed told Hurst when the man's brows lifted. "Many arsonists start fires, then… gratify themselves."
"I get the picture," Hurst said dryly. "So did he do it?"
"I didn't think so the first time 1 talked to him, at the school." Reed shrugged uneasily. "I still don't. This boy loves the fire. Practically salivates when you show him pictures of burning buildings. If he started a fire, he would have stayed to watch it burn. I don't think he could have forced himself to run away. Also, I don't get the sense of fury in this kid. Manny hurting his foster mother seems to have been an accident."
"But our guy used gasoline on Caitlin Burnette," Spin-nelli pointed out.
"But pouring it on a person is different than on a floor," Reed countered. "Manny has no history of direct violence against people, just structures."
Spinnelli turned to Westphalen. "Miles, what do you think?"
"I'm inclined to agree. But first, do you have photos of the bodies, Lieutenant? I want to see his response to the results of his handiwork, if it is indeed his."
"Mia has them in her briefcase." It was in the chair next to her. "We didn't want to show him actual photos of the scene or the bodies without Patrick's okay."
Patrick considered for a moment. "Do it. I want to see his response, too."
Spinnelli tapped on the glass. Mia leaned closer, deli ver-ing a few more parting verbal shots. The boy continued to look bored, never breaking his disaffected pose.
"His fury's been pointed at women so far," Reed murmured. "We wanted to see if she could get a rise out of him. Intimidate him."
"But he's not taking that bait," Westphalen commented. "Another reason I'm inclined to agree with you."
Mia shut the door. "He's not budging, but I have his advocate shaking in her boots."
"What do you think, Mia?" Spinnelli asked.
"He's hiding something, I think. He's got motive and means-his history of arson possession of matches and all those how-to articles-but I still get stuck on opportunity. I mean, the kid's been in lockup. How the hell did he get out to kill Caitlin and Penny and if he could get out, why the hell did he bother to go back?"
She'd voiced this concern on the way back from the school and it was valid. Reed had given it a lot of thought, "If he found a way out, he might come back just because it's more convenient to do so. It's cold outside and Hope Center is warm and gives him three squares a day. He'd have his cake and eat it, too."
Mia's brows bunched as she considered it. "It's possible. I'll be more inclined to believe he's involved if we can tie him to Caitlin or Penny. So what now?"
"The doctor wants you to show Manny the photos of the bodies," Reed said.
"Okay, but you should go in. He talks to you. He just stares at my chest."
And for that, Reed thought, no man on the planet could blame the boy. "Anything special, Doc?"
Westphalen thought a second. "See if you can get him off his guard before you show the pictures. I don't want that bored look. He hides too much behind it."
"I'll try." Reed walked back into the interview room and closed the door at his back.
The advocate lifted her chin. "Manny is tired. He's told you what you want to know. When are you going to stop this nonsense and let him go back to Hope Center?"
"I'm not sure he's going back. He might stay here tonight, as our guest."
Manny's chin jerked up. "You can't do that. I'm a kid."
"We have a special area for men under eighteen accused of capital crimes." He took his time finding the photos, watching Manny from the corner of his eye.
Manny's face was panicked. "What's a capital crime?"
Reed glanced up. "Death penalty."
Manny jumped up. "I didn't kill anybody." He turned to the advocate. "I didn't."
"Lieutenant." The advocate drew herself up straighter, although her voice shook. "You're just scaring him. He's done nothing." She pointed to a chair. "Sit down, Manny." He sat and she folded her hands on the table. "He wants a lawyer. Now."
"He hasn't been arrested," Reed said carelessly. "Should he be?"
"No!" Manny exploded.
Reed walked behind him, leaned over him and put the photos of the charred bodies on the table. "Should you be?"
Beside him the advocate covered her mouth and gagged.
Manny pushed his chair back, but Reed kept him from going anywhere. "Look at them," Reed said harshly. "This is what your fire did, Manny. This is what you did. This is what you'll look like when they pull your sorry ass off the electric chair."
Manny grabbed the table and pushed away with all his strength. "Let me go."
Hearing the boy's panicked tone. Reed stepped back and the chair flew to the floor, but it was too late as Manny retched.
It was a good thing they had more copies of the photos. It was a better thing that Reed had an extra pair of shoes in his SUV. The boy sank to his hands and knees, heaving, sobbing. Grimacing, Reed went into the anteroom to talk to the others.
Mia shot him a wince. "Sorry. If I'd known he'd do that…"
He narrowed his eyes at her. "You still would have asked me to go in."
She nodded philosophically. "Probably. I gotta say though, not bad, Solliday. Especially the part about the electric chair. I'll have to remember that."
"I didn't know if he'd know we hadn't used the chair in years," Reed said absently as he watched. The advocate was trying to help him. Manny just jerked away and hung there, shuddering. Reed shook his head. "He didn't do this. I think if he did he'd have been intrigued by the pictures. Fascinated, even." Manny crawled to the wall, arms around his knees, rocking. His eyes were closed and his lips moved. "He's not."
"No," Mia murmured. "He's scared. Listen to him." She turned up the volume.
"Can't tell." Manny muttered it to himself over and over. "Can't tell. Won't tell."
Everyone turned to Patrick. "Well?" Spinnelli asked. "Can we hold him?"
Patrick huffed in frustration. "What do you have, exactly?"
"We've got missing eggs and lots of fingerprints," Mia said. "Jack found more than twenty different prints in the art and science rooms. He's cross-checking all the prints against the teachers and inmates." She lifted her brows. "I mean children."
Patrick looked unhappy. "That's all?"
Mia smiled at Reed. "You found it," she said. "You get to share the best part."
It was the plum. "We also found remnants of chemicals used in the devices."
This caught Patrick's interest. "Explain."
That Mia's eyes held respect and admiration shouldn't make him feel as good as it did. But it did. "We checked out the science class lab. Under the hood I found evidence of hydrocarbon vapors and on the countertop remnants of gunpowder and sugar."
"Used for?" Spinnelli asked.
"What's a hood?" Patrick asked at the same time.
"A hood's a contained area with a ventilation shaft. I'm betting the samples Jack took today will show traces of kerosene-our analysis of the solid showed our guy mixed it with the ammonium nitrate. Mixed with liquid fuel, fertilizer becomes explosive."
Patrick looked appropriately impressed. "And the gunpowder and sugar?"
"Homemade fuses. He would have used the gunpowder and sugar to coat regular shoelaces." Reed shrugged. "I've seen it done before. Terrifyingly simple to find on the Internet. One of the pages Manny had hidden away gave the instructions."
Spinnelli's eyes were intense. "But you still don't think he did this?"
"Not alone," Mia said. "Just listen to him. Unless he's a really good actor…"
Behind the glass, Manny still rocked himself, still muttered the same words.
"Patrick, is this enough to hold him?" Spinnelli asked.
"Hell, yeah. I'll petition a new trial with family court based on what you found. That'll give you a few days to figure out what he knows and who else is involved."
"One night in holding will be all Manny needs to convince him to talk," Mia said.
"We'll see," Westphalen said quietly still watching the boy. "I hope you're right."
"And next?" Spinnelh asked.
"Jack's got Latent analyzing prints and the lab analyzing the powder Solliday found in the lab. And we're back to the files, to see if we can find a connection between Roger Burnette, Penny, and anybody in that screwy school." Mia pointed at Patrick. "When this is done you guys need to check that school out. They're just plain off."
"I'll add it to my list," Patrick said dryly. "Call me tomorrow with an update."
"I'll set up time tomorrow for a formal exam for Manny," Westphalen offered.
Spinnelli followed them out. "We appreciate it, Miles."
Behind the glass an officer escorted Manny back to holding and the advocate gave them a hard look through the glass before leaving through the same door Manny used.
And then, they were alone in the dim anteroom. Mia sighed. "Now we hit the files."
"First I change my shoes."
Her lips twitched. "I'm really sorry about that."
Reed had to chuckle. "No, you're not."
She grinned up at him. "You're right."
He met her eyes, intending to raise her one better, but he stopped. And really looked. The laughter faded from her eyes, uncertainty taking its place. And as he watched, her uncertainty mixed with awareness and his throat grew thick. Once again they were connected on a different level, just as they'd been the night before in the quiet of his kitchen. Gently he grasped her chin and tugged her face toward the light. The bruise on her cheekbone was beginning to yellow, the scrape on its way to healing.
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 rapped 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-trade 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 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 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."
Dana's lips twitched. "I'm not touchin' that with a ten foot pole. Okay, time-out's over. He's handsome, kind, and I'm betting he's interested and you're scared."
All those years as a social worker had honed Dana's observation skills. All the years as Mia's best friend had sharpened them to a razor edge. "Essentially, yes."
Dana leaned forward conspiratorially. "So, has he kissed you yet?"
A laugh bubbled up. "No." She sighed. "But it's headed that way."
"And?"
"And… I'm not looking for a relationship."
"Neither was I."
"That's different."
Dana lifted a brow. "How?"
"You love Ethan. You married him." And for Dana, that had been a huge step.
"At first I only planned to use him for sex and cut him loose when I was done."
Mia blinked. That one she hadn't heard before. "Oh?"
"But I didn't get done with him. I'm still not done. Don't think I'll ever be done. He's just too good in bed. All those muscles and all that energy…" She fanned her face.
Mia found herself tightening her thighs against the throbbing between her legs. "Not fair. You know how long it's been since I've had any and you're just rubbing it in."
Dana laughed. "I'm sorry. I couldn't resist. Oh, Mia." Her smile became sad. "Look at yourself. You're thirty-four years old and all you have is work. You go home to a dark, cold apartment and an empty bed. You wake up the same way. Your life is passing and you're just watching the days go by."
Mia swallowed hard, but the lump still closed her throat. "Not fair," she whispered.
"I'm tired of being fair," Dana whispered back. "I'm tired of watching you throw your life away because you don't think you deserve any better. Dammit, your father's dead, Mia. Kelsey's in jail and your mother… God only knows about her. But you, you I know. You, I care about. And if you think it's not fair to live like you do, you should be the one to watch you do it. It breaks my heart, Mia." Dana's voice broke. "And that's not fair."
Because her own heart ached, Mia lifted her chin and dropped her eyes. "I'm sorry."
Dana slapped the table. "Goddammit, Mia, yank that stick out of your ass and listen to me. You deserve a life. Don't tell me you don't want that." She spread her arms wide. "That you don't want this. Look me in the eye and tell me you don't want this."
Mia looked around the kitchen, at the cheerful colors, the sink filled with dishes, the refrigerator covered with the artwork done by small hands. And she wanted it, so fiercely it stole her breath. "Yes," she hissed. "I want it."
"Then take it." Dana leaned forward, her eyes turbulent. "Find someone and take it."
"I can't."
"You mean you won't."
"Fine. I won't."
Dana leaned back in her chair, her shoulders sagging. "Why not?"
"Because I'd ruin it." She jerked her eyes away from Dana's devastated face and finished it. "And I'll be damned before I ruin two kids like he ruined us."
There was silence, then Mia heard the sound of the nickel sliding back across the table. "I can't help you, Mia," Dana whispered. "I'm sorry." For minutes they sat not speaking, then Dana sighed. "Can I give you some free advice?"
"Can I stop you?"
"No. Human contact is a need, just like food. No food, you starve. If you deprive yourself of human contact it can do the same to your soul. You're attracted to Reed?"
Mia drew a breath. "Yeah."
"Then don't run away from him. See where this takes you. You don't have to have a house with kids and a husband to have a relationship. And despite the Valentine's Day cards, not every relationship is meant to last forever."
"Would you accept less than forever?"
"No, because I've tasted it and now I can't imagine being satisfied with anything less. But if you're bound and determined not to have filet mignon, then don't push away the hamburger. If you're honest with the man, hamburger might be enough sustenance to get you through. And who knows? Maybe he only likes hamburger, too."
"See that's where you're wrong. Only the sleazebags only like hamburger."
"And Reed Solliday is no sleazebag," Dana said heavily.
No, he wasn't. "Dana, I don't want to hurt anyone like I hurt Guy. Reed's a nice man. So it's hands off. I've gotta go. Thanks for dinner."
From her kitchen window, Dana watched Mia drive away. Ethan came up behind her, slid his hands around her waist. She leaned into him. needing him more than ever.
"Did you tell her?" he murmured and she shook her head.
"No, the time wasn't right."
Ethan splayed his hand against her abdomen. "You have to tell her sometime, Dana. She's a big girl and she loves you. She'll be happy for us."
That, of course, was the issue. "I know she'll want to be happy for us, Ethan. I guess I'm selfish enough to want to wait until I know she will be."
"Well, don't wait too much longer. I want to tell people. I want to shop for cribs and booties and stuff." He turned her in his arms and kissed her soundly. "But first, let's talk a little about that whole dominatrix thing."
Dana laughed as he'd meant for her to. "I do love you."
He pulled her close, held her tight. "I know."
Wednesday, November 29, 7:55 p.m.
Holly Wheaton watched Reed approach like an angry cat watches a recalcitrant mouse. Of course, Reed wasn't a mouse. But that didn't make Holly Wheaton any less a cat. A cat in a low-cut sheer blouse, suede miniskirt, and killer pumps.
It was abundantly clear what the woman had had in mind. Reed found himself curiously affected and repelled and… making comparisons. He wished Mia could be here to put this woman in her place. But also because he just wanted her here. Mia didn't have Wheaton's features, that face that made men's fingers pause on the remote as they channel surfed. But Mia had something more… natural. More appealing. Just… more. He let his eyes dip briefly below Wheaton's chin. Mia had her there, too. Hands down. Or hands on. Focus, Solliday. The shark is circling. He seated himself across from Wheaton and shook his head when the waiter appeared to fill his glass.
"No thank you." He handed the waiter the menu. "I won't be staying."
Wheaton's cheeks flushed. "I recall a deal. And speaking of such, you're late."
"I had another dinner engagement."
"You could have broken it."
"No, I couldn't have. Nor would I have. I don't have much time, Miss Wheaton. I promised you an interview. Please commence."
"Very well." She put her recorder on the table. "Tell me about the investigation."
"I can't comment on any ongoing investigation."
Her eyes narrowed. "You're welshing?"
"No. You asked for an interview. I didn't promise to answer your questions. Now I will, of course, provided you ask me something I'm at liberty to divulge."
She sat for a moment, then smiled and the hair on the back of his neck stood straight up. "So who was the woman that Detective Mitchell pursued today?"
Reed just looked at her, perplexed on the outside, but raging-bull mad on the inside. "Oh, you mean at the press conference. She thought she saw someone we wanted to talk to, but she was mistaken." He shrugged. "No mystery."
Wheaton huffed a chuckle before pulling a personal DVD player from the leather bag at her feet. She handed it to him. "Just hit play. The resemblance is uncanny."
He did and the rage inside him grew as he watched the camera pan the crowd and focus on the woman who was most likely Mia's half-sister. This was none of Wheaton's business. It was Mia's pain and he'd be damned if Wheaton cashed in on it. She took the player from his hand. "Tell me what I want to know or I'll go public with this."
"With?" he asked mildly. "She's not a person of interest.
Just a face in the crowd."
She lifted a shoulder. "Fine. I'll find out on my own."
"You do that. When you find out, let me know. I might like to go to dinner with her."
Wednesday, November 29, 8:00 p.m.
He sat at his desk, damning Atticus Lucas when he should be running through the evening's logistics one last time. One egg in the corner of the display case and the cops were all over the school. What the hell was a grown man doing playing with beads?
He'd been in that art room. The cops would find his prints somewhere. Sometime. And if they were the least bit good at their jobs, they'd realize something wasn't quite right. But it would take them… oh, days, at least to get to that point.
Unfortunately, they'd found evidence of his work in the lab as well. It was impossible. He'd cleaned so thoroughly and run the fan the entire time he worked in the hood. But they'd found something. He wouldn't panic. He needed time to finish. Time to do it right. But now, because of Adler and her idiocy, he'd have to hurry the job.
But all that was a distraction. He had work to do. Soon it would be time to move. He knew exactly where to go, what to do. There was an energy in the air. It would be something new. He was growing bored with houses anyway. He was ready to move on.
He'd timed it all well, but he'd need to be quick before the sprinklers and smoke detectors alerted the motel staff.
Which at the chosen time of night would be one lone person at the front desk drinking coffee and trying to stay awake.
He'd already scoped it the night before. He was ready. Mr. Dougherty wouldn't suffer. It wasn't his fault that he'd married a bitchy woman. Mrs. Dougherty, though… she had a lot to answer for. Very soon, she'd begin.
By answering to me.
The ringing of the phone jarred him back to reality. His first reaction was fear, but rage followed quickly. Rage at Adler for bringing the police to his doorstep. Which brought the fear to me. Was it the police? What did they now know? He answered the phone on the fourth ring. "Yes."
"I need to talk to you."
He blinked, more at the fierce tone than the words. "Okay. Why?"
"I've talked with Manny. He told me everything."
His fist clenched the phone, then he forced himself to relax. He injected a note of amused incredulity into his voice. "You believed him? Come on."
"I don't know. I need to talk to you."
"Okay. Meet me and we'll discuss it rationally."
There was a long pause. "Okay. Flannagan's Bar in half an hour."
He looked at his list. He'd checked nearly everything off, but there were still a few ends to tie off before he visited the Doughertys in their hotel. "Make it forty-five."
He stood, carefully loading his eggs into the backpack. Then he drew his blade from its sheath and turned it this way and that, catching the light, admiring its gleam. He'd sharpened it after Penny Hill. A responsible weapon owner cared for his tools.
The boy watched, a terrible fear clutching his heart. He knew firsthand what that blade could do. He also knew what the blade would do if he was ever discovered. So he pulled himself into a tighter ball and hid from the monster who haunted his dreams.