Thursday, November 30. 10:40 P.M.
"Olivia Sutherland?" Dana's tone was thoughtful as it came across the phone line.
Mia sat at Lauren's kitchen table. Reed's sister had prepared the guest room with matching towels and perfumed soap. Mia had almost pushed the soap aside, but was glad she hadn't. The scent was calming and, ridiculous as it sounded, feminine.
She'd thought of Reed as she'd used it, wondering if he'd like it, knowing he would. Knowing that was probably Lauren's intent all along. Sisters. Reed's and now… mine.
"She wore a jacket just like mine, but somehow looked better in it."
"You want Ethan to check her out?"
"That's okay. She gave all her info when we took her statement. If she doesn't check out, we'll know soon enough. She hated me. Before anyway."
"It had to be hard growing up without a dad, knowing he'd chosen someone else."
"And I grew up wishing I could be someone else."
"You're not going to let this chance slip away, are you? Please tell me you won't."
"No, I won't. I thought about what you said. About filet mignon and hamburger."
"That was with respect to men," Dana said dryly. "Not women and especially not women related to you. That's just wrong, Mia."
"Shut up. I meant, I thought about making do versus having it all. I've already missed too much by waiting for my life to settle, to be normal. Maybe Olivia and I can have a relationship, maybe not. She made the first step. I'll make the next one. And if nothing else, at least I can cure her of her misinformed view of her father."
Dana was silent, then asked, "How much will you tell her, Mia?"
"I don't know. Not all, I guess. Too much information and all that."
"Do you want me to come with you?"
Mia smiled. If nothing else, she had a good best friend. "I'll think about it."
"Did you think any more about what I said about hamburger with respect to men?"
Mia lifted her eyes to the ceiling. "Yes."
"And?"
She blew out a breath. "The man's no hamburger, Dana."
"Oh?" There was a cagey delight in Dana's voice. 'Tell me."
"Prime rib." She thought about the way he'd felt. The way he'd made her feel. "Way prime." And as if she'd conjured him, there he was at the back door. "Oops. Gotta go."
"Wait," Dana protested. "You never told me where you were tonight."
Reed was making faces outside the window. "I'm safe," she said and leisurely came to her feet. "And I'm about to… consume sustenance."
"Call me tomorrow and be prepared to be a little more forthcoming with the details."
Mia hung up and let him in. He'd also showered and changed, dressed in a pair of worn jeans and an old jersey, his feet sockless in a pair of gleaming leather loafers. The man did love his shoes. He shivered. "I misplaced my key to this side."
They stood, measuring each other in the quiet of his sister's kitchen. Then she tilted her head. "You lied. There's no firepole and no trapeze."
He didn't smile. "But there is a trampoline out in the backyard."
All of the sudden she didn't feei like smiling either. "So spill it, Solliday."
He didn't pretend to misunderstand. "We need to set some ground rules."
Rules. She could deal with rules. She had a few of her own. "Okay."
He frowned. Looked away for a minute, then back. "Why are you single?"
The question raised her hackles. "Hectic schedule," she said sarcastically. "Never found time to pencil in the fitting for my wedding gown."
He exhaled. "I'm serious."
Trouble was, so was she. Still, she found another answer, equally true. "I'm a cop."
"Lots of cops marry."
"And lots get divorced. Look. I'm a good cop. Being married is difficult enough under ideal circumstances. I don't think I could be good at both things at the same time."
The answer seemed to relax him. "Have you been?"
"What, married? No." She hesitated, then shrugged. "Engaged once, but no cigar." She regarded him evenly. "Why have you never remarried?"
His eyes locked on hers, sober and intent. "Do you believe in soul mates?"
"No." But her mind pricked. Dana and Ethan were. Abe and Kristen were. Bobby and Annabelle… were not. "For some people, maybe," she amended.
"But not you?"
"No, not me. Why? Was Christine your soul mate?"
He nodded. "Yes."
His conviction was unassailable. "And you only get one?" she asked.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "But I've never met anyone else like her and I'm not willing to settle for second best."
She couldn't stop the wince. "Well, that's direct."
"I don't want to lie to you. I don't want to misrepresent myself to you. I like you. Respect you." He looked down at his shiny shoes. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You just want to have sex with me." It came out flatter than she'd intended.
He looked up, wary. "Basically. Yes."
Irritation jabbed. "So why not pick up some woman in a bar?"
His dark eyes flashed. "I don't want a one-night stand. Dammit. I don't want to get married, but that doesn't mean I'll settle for… Never mind. I was wrong to start this."
"Wait."
He paused, hand clenched on the doorknob and said nothing.
"Let me get this straight. You want sex with someone you respect, whose company you can enjoy on a limited basis.
You do not want marriage or any semblance of formal commitment. I think the term for this is 'no-strings affair." Is this correct?"
He drew a breath, exhaled on his answer. "Yes. And my daughter doesn't find out."
Mia found herself wincing again. "We certainly wouldn't want to set a bad example."
"She's too young to understand. I don't want her thinking that it's okay to have indiscriminate sex. Because that's not what this would be."
Mia sat at the little table and raked her hand through her hair. "So this is a mutually beneficial, physical relationship with some pillow talk and no strings."
He stood where he was. "If you're willing."
She lifted her chin. "And if I'm not?"
"I go home and sleep alone." His eyes flickered. "I really don't want to sleep alone."
"Hmm. And you've had these 'no-strings' relationships before?"
"Not often," he admitted.
His long abstinence now made sense. "Which is why it'd been six years."
"Essentially. Did you want strings, Mia?"
There it was. The offer. It was filet mignon on a hamburger bun. All the taste, without the fuss of silver and fine china and waiters to tip. Twenty-four hours ago, in Dana's kitchen, it was what she'd insisted she'd wanted. Now, in Lauren's kitchen, she recognized this was what she was destined to accept. There would be no hearts to break, no children to ruin. It would be for the best. "No. I don't want strings, either."
He was silent as he stared down at her. He didn't believe her, she thought. She wasn't sure she believed herself.
Then he stretched out his hand. She put her hand in his and he pulled her from the chair. Slowly at first, he yanked her the rest of the way, banding his arms around her. Then he was kissing her, his mouth warm and hard and… necessary. The need unleashed within her was instantaneous, too powerful to deny.
She slid her arms around his neck, her fingers into his hair and took what she needed. His hands cupped her butt, lifted her into him, rubbed her against the hard ridge in his worn jeans. He sent uncontrollable shivers through her body and she arched against him. More. Please. The words echoed in her mind, never passing her lips, but she told him what she wanted with her body. With the way she kissed him back.
He tore his mouth away, kissed down her neck, hungry. Ravenous. "I want you." It was a growl, deep in his throat. "Let me have you." His mouth closed over her breast, wringing a desperate cry from her lips. "Say yes. Now."
She arched her back, abandoning herself to the feel of him. "Yes. Now."
He shuddered, hard, as if he hadn't been sure of her answer. Then he carried her through the kitchen and up the stairs to where the big bed waited. "Now."
Friday, December 1, 2:30 A.M.
The car at which he'd been scowling for the better part of two hours pulled away from the curb. Finally. He didn't think those teenagers would ever stop making out in the back of that Chevy. And once they did, the boy walked the girl to the door at 995 Harmony Avenue, just one house away from the one he wanted, only to spend the next half hour with his tongue down her throat at the front door. But now the girl was inside and the boy gone.
He slipped around the back of 993 Harmony Avenue, the ski mask once again in place. The homeowner had added on a suite with its own kitchen and separate entrance. He didn't know why Joe and Laura Dougherty were there. He didn't care. He just wanted to kill them so he could get on with things. He jimmied the lock on the back door with ease and slipped inside.
And a patch of white caught his eye. It was the same cat he'd put outside the night he'd killed Caitlin Burnette. Quickly he scooped up the cat, gave it one stroke head to tail, then put him outside again. He turned to study the kitchen, frowning at the electric coils on the stove. No gas again. No explosion again. He huffed a frustrated breath.
It couldn't matter anymore. He'd have to take comfort in making Laura Dougherty writhe in enough agony while she lived. Then he'd set her on fire, just like he'd done to the others. Quietly he crept to the bedroom. Good. Two people slept in the bed this time. He had them. They wouldn't get away again.
He tapped his back, made sure the gun was secure there, which it was. He didn't plan to use it, but he'd be prepared in case of the unexpected. He should have used it on the fire marshal tonight, he thought darkly. That he hadn't was as much an embarrassment as almost getting caught to begin with.
Solliday had rattled him. He hadn't expected so much speed from such a big guy. But for the minutes he'd run for his life, he hadn't thought about his gun. He liked knives much better anyway.
He approached the bed. Joe Dougherty lay on his stomach and Laura lay curled on her side. Her hair was darker than it had been all those years ago.
It annoyed him when women tried to stay young when they weren't. But he'd get to her later. First he had to deal with Joe. And he did, thrusting his knife into the man's back with stealthy skill, in just the right place that he died instantly. Just a little gurgle of air escaped his lungs. Old lady Dougherty was probably too deaf by now to hear it.
But she stirred. "Joe?" she murmured. He was on her before she could roll over, pushing her face into the pillow, pushing his knee into her kidneys. She thrashed with surprising strength. He pulled the rag from his pocket and shoved it in her mouth, grabbed her hands and secured them behind her back with thin twine.
Then he flipped her over and sliced the flannel nightgown from her body before lifting his eyes to her face. His heart skipped a beat. It wasn't her.
Goddammit to hell, this wasn't her. Teeth clenched he put the tip of the knife to her throat. "If you scream, I'll butcher you like a pig. Got it?" Eyes wide with terror, her head moved in a little nod so he pulled the rag from her mouth. "Who are you?"
"Donna Dougherty."
He was breathing hard. Control. "Donna Dougherty. Where is Laura?"
Her eyes widened further. "Dead," she croaked. "Dead."
He grabbed her hair and yanked. "Don't lie to me, woman."
"I'm not," she sobbed. "I'm not. She's dead. I swear it."
He felt an animal roar fight to escape his chest. "When?"
"Two years ago. H-heart attack."
The rage nearly overwhelmed him. He turned over the man lying next to her. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth and Donna moaned.
"Joe. Oh no."
"Fuck." The man was too young. This had to be Joe's son. Joe Junior. The woman had to go. She'd seen him. Viciously angry he'd been cheated yet again, he flipped her over to her stomach and holding her by her hair, slit her throat in one hard slice.
He laid the egg on their bed, his hands shaking. He should have taken the hint the first time they weren't home. Should have accepted this as fate. She wasn't as important as the others, but she'd been a missing piece in a finished puzzle, bothering him as long as she was alive. But Laura was dead. Long dead. And out of his grasp.
He lit the fuse, this time not to punish or to celebrate, but to hide.
Friday, December 1, 3:15 A.M
Reed knew the moment she woke up. Spooned against him, her tight body stretched and arched back into him. "Hey," she mumbled.
His face was buried in the graceful curve of her shoulder, his hand busy in the warm, moist heat between her legs. "Did I wake you?" he asked.
She sucked in a breath when his thumb found her most vulnerable spot. "I wondered how you'd manage this," she said. "I mean, given the whole…" She jerked back against him with a hard shudder. "Dexterity thing. Damn."
"I manage just fine," he said, stroking her, enjoying the way her body felt as she undulated. "I woke up wanting you again." He'd woken reaching for her, his heart easing when his hands grasped her flesh instead of empty air.
She tried to roll over, but he held her firmly in place.
"No." He pulled her leg back over his hip. "Let me. Let me." She yielded completely, moaning when he pushed into her. "Let me, Mia."
She grabbed him around his neck as she worked her hips like pistons. "I am."
She was. She'd let him do everything, responding with an intensity that made him feel like he'd conquered a continent. This time was no different and she came hard around him, pulling him into his own climax with enough force that it was a wonder his heart didn't stop. They lay panting and her laugh filled the room. "You woke me up."
He pressed a lazy kiss to the side of her neck "Should I apologize?"
"Would you mean it?"
"No."
She laughed again, softer this time. "Then don't." He held her to him, stroking the length of her thigh when he noticed the bruise on her arm in the dim glow from the streetlamp outside. Appalled, he switched on the light. "Did I do that?"
"What? Oh, that. No. I bumped into something on my way out of the office tonight."
"Good. I didn't mean to be rough with you."
"You weren't. It was just right." She sighed, content. "I think we've both got a lot of need stored up. It hasn't been six years, but it's been a while for me, too."
She'd been engaged. Suddenly he needed to know why she hadn't gone through with it. "Mia, why didn't you get married?"
She was quiet for so long he thought she wouldn't answer. He was kicking himself for asking when she sighed, this time pensive. "You want to know about my ex."
"What I really want to know is why you said you didn't want to want this." He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, made his tone light. "You're so good at it, after all."
But his teasing tone did nothing to lighten hers. "Sex has never been my problem, Reed. Guy never complained about that."
His name was Guy then. A French name. He couldn't see Mia with a French guy named Guy. She wasn't the roses and romance type. Still, jealousy speared at him and Reed pushed it away. Guy was gone after all. "What did he complain about, then?"
"My job. The hours." She paused. "His mother complained, too. She didn't think I was good enough for her baby."
"Mothers often don't."
"Did your mother think Christine was good enough for you?"
He remembered their relationship fondly. "Yes. Yes, she did. Christine and Mom were friends. They went shopping and did lunch and all those things."
"Bernadette and 1 never had that kind of relationship." She sighed. "I met Guy at a party. He was fascinated with my job. The whole CSI thing. And I was interested in his."
"What did he do?"
She flipped to her back and looked up at him. "He was Guy LeCroix."
Reed had to admit he was impressed. "The hockey player?" LeCroix had retired the season before, but he'd been magic on the ice. "Wow."
Her lips curved. "Yeah. Wow. I got great seats, right behind the penalty box." The smile faded. "He liked introducing me as his girlfriend, the homicide cop."
"So why did you get engaged to him?"
"I truly liked him. Guy's a nice guy and while he was playing, things were good. He wasn't home enough to make demands. Then he retired and things changed. He wanted to get married and I got sucked into the flow. Then Bernadette got involved. She had very specific ideas about how weddings, and wives, should be."
"I take it you didn't fit her requirements."
"No," she said wryly. "Anyway, I'd canceled one too many fittings for my dress and Bernadette threw a fit. I found out about it the next night when Guy took me to this fancy place downtown with linen and crystal and waiters who hovered " She grimaced.
She'd hate a place like that. He stroked her chin with his thumb. "And?"
"And Guy informed me that I'd canceled seventy-three percent of the appointments his mother had set for the wedding and then he got stern and added that I'd broken sixty-seven percent of our dates. That our dates came second was telling. Anyway, he insisted I 'improve my performance.' Yeah, I think that's how he phrased it."
"And did he have any coaching tips on how you should do this?"
Her lips quirked up in amusement. "Of course." Again the smile faded. "But the biggest gist of it was that I was to transfer to another department. Or better yet, quit altogether. I wouldn't be able to work once I was pregnant anyway." She stared straight up at Reed, defiant challenge in her eyes. "I'd been honest about that all along. I didn't want kids. He'd conveniently forgotten that fact or thought he could maneuver me into changing my mind. I reminded him and we had one major argument. And when it was done, I'd given him back his ring. He didn't think I'd do it in a public place like that with the china and linen."
He felt a stir of pride at her stand. "He was wrong."
"Yeah, but I hurt him. I didn't want to and I didn't mean to, but I did. He wanted a home and a wife and in the end he got a homicide cop."
It was too much of who she was to change, but he could feel some sympathy for LeCroix. "I should say I'm sorry."
One corner of her mouth lifted. "Would you be?"
He ran his fingertip under the fullest part of her breast, watched her aureoles pucker and her nipples stand erect. She had incredible breasts. "No," he said huskily.
Her eyes darkened in response. "Then don't. Anyway, I think Guy was less impacted by the whole breakup than Bobby was."
Ah. Now they were getting somewhere. "Bobby. Your father."
Her smile was brittle. "My father. He liked the thought of having Guy LeCroix as a son-in-law. I think in his mind it was the best thing I'd ever done."
He frowned at the bitter hostility in her voice. "Better than being a cop?"
"I was never a cop to him. I was just a… girl." She spat it, like the worst of epithets. "Good for marriage. If he got good hockey seats out of the deal, all the better."
Reed reached over her, pulled the old chain with its dogtags from the nightstand where he'd dropped them earlier. He'd thought it odd that she'd worn them as she'd never been in the military. He held them up to the light. Mitchell, Robert b. 'They're his. Why do you wear them if you hate him?"
Her brows crunched. "Your mother, did everyone know she was abusive, or did she have a nice face she let everyone on the outside see?" The need to know that had spurred him on suddenly froze. "Mia, did your father…?"
Her eyes shifted, then came back to him, shadowed and full of guilt. "No." But he didn't believe her and his stomach rolled at the images his mind stirred up. "No," she repeated, a little more forcefully. "He mostly just hit. When he got drunk."
His first impulse was to draw away, afraid of breaking her, but he didn't. Knew he couldn't. He swallowed back the queasy bile that burned his throat. Because he thought she needed it, he pressed his lips to her temple and held them there. "You don't have to tell me any more, Mia. It's all right."
But she kept going, her eyes now glued to the dogtags he still held in his hand. "When I was a kid, I used to think that if I was fast enough, smart enough… good enough that he'd stop drinking. Be the father to us that he pretended to the rest of the world that he was. I was the star athlete in high school. I thought it would make him care. When I realized that he wasn't going to change, the sports became my ticket out."
"You went to college on a soccer scholarship," he remembered. "You got out."
"Yes. But Kelsey was still home, getting wilder and wilder." Her lips pursed and he wondered what it was that she wasn't letting out. "It was her way of punishing Bobby. She couldn't make him stop, but she could embarrass the hell out of him, and once Kelsey got something in her mind, she wouldn't let it go."
A family trait, he thought. "She got in trouble."
"Oh, yeah. Took up with this addict named Stone. I tried to stop her, but she… wanted nothing to do with me. By the time she was seventeen she was hooked. By nineteen, she was in prison. For the first three years she was in, she wouldn't even see me. Then she did and…" She let the thought trail. Swallowed hard. "She"s all I have left. If Marc can't get her transferred…"
"Has Marc Spinnelli ever lied to you?"
"No. I trust him more than any man I've ever known. Except maybe Abe." She drew a breath and let it out. "And I suppose, you. I've told you things I shouldn't have."
Something inside him shifted. "I won't tell. I promise."
"I believe you. I think tonight put me on edge more than I'd like to admit. I really hate getting shot at." She flicked the dogtags in his hand. "But I never answered your question. The day I got my badge my father took me out with his cop friends at their bar. I was one of them then. A part of… something. Do you understand what that means'/"
He nodded. To be a part of something close-knit and supportive when you'd been alone for so long. He'd had that with the Sollidays, then with the fire department. Then with Christine. "It was like being in a family. Finally."
"Yeah. Anyway, Bobby was in his element, showing off. It was a big day, he said. And in front of everyone he gave me the dogtags. Said they'd kept him safe in Nam and hoped they'd keep me safe on the force. What was I going to do? I'd grown up with most of these guys but none of them ever knew what really went on in our house."
"Or they chose not to," he murmured and she shrugged.
"Who knows? Anyway, I put them on, intending to take them back off, but before I made it home I was in an accident. My car was totaled and I walked away without a scratch. I thought maybe the dogtags had some luck after all. And over the years, I've been lucky more times than I want to count."
He pressed a kiss to her shoulder where a puckered scar had formed. "Murphy told me about the other time. When your first partner got shot. He said they almost lost you."
"I was lucky then, too. Bullet hit me right here." She touched her abdomen. "Went straight through, missed every major organ. It was then I found out that I was missing a kidney. I'd been born without one, so there was nothing there to hit. The bullet sailed through and I was good as new." She looked away. "And Ray died. After that I had to add on the medic alert tag because of the kidney. A few times I almost took the dogtags off, but never did. I guess there's enough superstition in me to keep them on."
Shed put the engraved medic alert tag behind her father's dogtags. He wondered if she even knew she'd done so. "Or maybe a part of you still needs to please your father," he said and her eyes went flat. Carefully she slipped the chain around her neck.
"You sound like Dana. And you could be right. Which, Lieutenant Solliday, is the real reason I want no strings. I'm too fucked up not to hang myself with them." She rolled away and sat on the edge of the bed, alone, and his heart wanted to break.
"I'm sorry, Mia."
"Really?" Her voice was harsh.
"This time, yes. I am. I-" Her cell phone started to ring. "Dammit."
She grabbed her phone from the nightstand. "It's Spinnelli." Eyes on Reed's, she flipped it open. "Mitchell." She listened and the air rushed out of her lungs. "I'll call him. We'll be there in under twenty." She snapped her phone shut. "Get dressed."
He already was. "Another one?"
"Yeah. Joe and Donna Dougherty are dead."
His eyes shot up, his hands paused on his belt buckle. "What?"
"Yeah Apparently they moved out of the Beacon Inn " She pulled her shirt over her head and her eyes flashed "Apparently they were the original targets after all."
Friday, December 1, 3:50 A M
He hadn't come home. The child lay in his bed, curled into a ball, listening to the muffled sounds of weeping down the hall. It wasn't the fust night his mother had cried in her bed And he knew it wouldn't be the last. Unless he did something.
He hadn't come home, but his face was on the news. He'd seen it himself. So had his mother. That's why she'd cried all night. We have to tell Mom he'd said, but she d grabbed him, her eyes wild and scared. You can't. Don't say a word. He'll know.
He'd stared at her throat the top of the mark showing above her dress. The slice was long and deep enough to leave a scar. He d done that to his mother, the very first night. And threatened to do worse if they told. His mother was too scared to talk.
He tucked himself harder into the ball, shaking So am I.
Friday, December 1, 3:55 A M
The front of the house was intact. Two firefighters were coming from around the back, pulling the hose. The odor of fire still hung in the air Mia made her way past the fire truck to where two uniforms stood talking to the ME tech. It was Michaels, the guy who'd processed Dr Thompson's body less than twenty-four hours before. Behind him were two empty gurneys each with a folded black body bag.
"What do you have, Michaels?" she asked.
"Two adults, one male, one female. Both about fifty. Male's been stabbed in the back with a long thin blade, woman's had her throat slit. Both were in bed at the time. The bed was ignited, but ceiling sprinklers put out most of the flames so the bodies are burned, but not charred. I left the bodies in the bed until the fire marshals had a chance to look around. I understand they're on their way."
"I called Lieutenant Solliday as soon as I got the word. In fact," she said, looking over her shoulder, "that should be him right now."
Solliday's SUV pulled to the end of the line of cars. He grabbed his tool bag before making his way to the fire truck. He stopped to talk to the company chief, flicking occasional glances up at the house. Once, he lifted his hand in greeting, as if she hadn't just come from his bed. As if she just hadn't told him her damn life story in the most embarrassing and humiliating of ways. What was I thinking? What was he, now?
His was the best way to handle it, she supposed. She turned back to the uniforms. "Who ID'd the couple as the Doughertys? Last we heard they were in the Beacon Inn."
"The homeowner. She's sitting in the cruiser," one of the uniforms said. "Her name is Judith Blennard." He led Mia to the cruiser and bent down, speaking in an overly loud voice. "Ma'am, this is Detective Mitchell. She'll want to talk to you."
Judith Blennard was about seventy years old and didn't weigh many more pounds. But her eyes were fierce and her voice boomed. "Detective."
"You'll have to speak up, Detective. They carried her out without her hearing aid."
"Thanks." Mia crouched down. "Are you all right, ma'am?" she asked loudly.
"I'm fine. How are Joe Junior and Donna? Nobody will tell me."
"I'm sorry, ma'am. They're dead," Mia said and the woman's face crumpled.
She covered her mouth with a thin, bony hand. "Oh dear. Oh my."
Mia took her hand. It was ice cold. "Ma'am, why were they staying with you?"
"I've known Joe Junior since he was five years old. No better people in the world than Joe Senior and Laura Dougherty. Always volunteering with charities, taking in lost boys. When I saw what had happened to Joe Junior and Donna, it seemed right 1 should return the favor and take them in. I offered to let them use my addition for as long as they needed it. They refused at first, but… This was no coincidence, Detective."
Mia squeezed her hand. "No, ma'am. Did you see or hear anything?"
"Without my hearing aid, I don't hear much of anything. I go to sleep by ten and I don't wake up till six. I'd still be asleep if that nice fireman hadn't come in to get me."
It wasn't David Hunter's company, Mia had noticed right away. As the firefighters packed up their gear, Reed finished talking with the chief and started toward them, talking into his little recorder. He stopped at the cruiser and Mia motioned him down.
"This is Mrs. Blennard. She owns the house. She knew Joe Dougherty's parents."
Solliday crouched down beside her. "The fire took out the addition only," he said loudly. "Somebody was smart enough to build with firewalls and sprinklers."
"My son-in-law is a builder. We built the addition for my mother. We were afraid she'd leave a burner on or something, so we installed extra sprinklers."
"It saved your home, ma'am," he said. "You can probably go back in a few days, but we'd like you to stay somewhere else tonight if you don't mind."
She gave them a sharp look. "My son-in-law's coming to get me. I'm not a foolish old woman. Somebody killed Joe Junior and Donna tonight. I'm not sticking around for him to come back for me. Although it would be nice to get my hearing aid."
"I'll send someone in for it, ma'am." Solliday gave the request to one of the officers, then motioned to Mia. "The sprinklers wreaked havoc from an evidence preservation standpoint, but the bodies weren't burned."
"That's what Michaels said. Can we go in?"
"Yeah. Ben's already inside and I'm waiting for Foster to get here with his camera."
"And I called Jack. He's sending a team." She followed him around the back and inside where Ben Trammell was setting up the field lights.
"The fire only burned the bedroom, Reed," Ben said. "And not that much. We could get lucky this time and get something to tie our guy to this scene."
"Let's hope," Solliday said, shining his flashlight up at the ceiling. "Nice installation. The sprinklers wouldn't have been noticeable to White." The field lights came on and everyone stared at the bed. Mr. Dougherty lay on his stomach looking sideways and Mrs. Dougherty lay facedown in the pillow. Blood soaked the bedding.
"He died immediately," Michaels said from behind them. "Blade went right through his heart. She's got defensive wounds." He lifted her gown to show a large darkening bruise on her lower back. "Probably his knee."
"Did you cut her nightgown?" Mia asked and Michaels shook his head.
"We found her that way. The fabric's sliced clean through."
"Do a rape kit, okay?"
He shot her a glance. "Doesn't appear to be any evidence of force. Detective. This lady bruised pretty easily and there are no bruises on her thighs. But we'll do the kit."
"Thanks. Can he take them?" she asked Solliday and he nodded. Frustrated and sad, she stood with Reed at the foot of the Doughertys' bed as Michaels took them away. Then shook herself back into focus. "He killed Mr. Dougherty first," she said.
"Because he would have tried to protect his wife."
"Right. He died painlessly. But Mrs. Dougherty… He lied her up, shoved a knee in her back and at some point flipped her over and cut away her nightgown."
'"But then it looks like he didn't rape her. I wonder why. 1 can't see him as merciful all the sudden."
"He could have gotten disrupted. Then he flipped her back over and slit her throat from behind. Spooked and run. Why?"
"I don't know. Why the Doughertys to begin with?"
"It doesn't make sense," she agreed. "The Doughertys didn't even know Penny Hill."
"And we've been looking for ties that didn't exist all week," he added grimly.
But more than the wasted hours reading files, Mia was thinking about Roger Burnette and the grief in his eyes when he'd confronted her about their lack of progress. "We need to tell Burnette. He needs to know he's not responsible for Caitlin's death."
"Do you want me to go with you?" he asked.
She thought about the drunken rage in Burnette's eyes. Having Solliday along probably would be smart. "If you would."
"When I'm done here we'll go."
"I'll call Joe Dougherty's father in Florida." She was headed for her car when she heard her name. It was one of the officers and he held a white cat.
"Detective? We found this cat outside and Mrs. Blennard says it belonged to the Doughertys. She can't take it with her to her daughter's house."
Mia stared at the cat. "What do want me to do with it?"
He shrugged. "I can call animal control or…" He smiled engagingly. "Want a cat?"
Mia took the cat with a sigh. The ID tags on his collar looked remarkably like her dogtags. "You're a lucky cat, Percy. You dodged a bullet twice this week." The cat blinked up at her. "Kind of like me," she murmured. "You can sit in my car for now."
Friday, December 1, 5:05 A.M
He felt her behind him before she spoke. "Anything?" Mia asked.
Reed shook his head. "No. He didn't use gas, because there isn't any. He didn't coat Donna Dougherty's chest with the solid accelerant like Penny and Brooke."
"He did use an egg with a fuse," Ben said from the corner where he was sifting through debris. "That's about the only thing he did that was the same."
"I notified Joe Senior and did some door-to-door."
Reed could see how much it cost her. "Did you ask him how Joe Junior and Donna were linked to Penny Hill?"
"I tried. After I told him about their deaths, he stopped talking." Her brows crunched. "I called the local sheriff and they found him passed out on the floor, still holding his phone. They rushed him to the hospital. They think he had a heart attack."
"This just keeps getting better," Reed said. "That poor man."
"I know. I wish I'd known he had a heart condition. I'll get next-of-kin information on Donna Dougherty from her office when it opens in a few hours. On the plus side, I did get a description of a suspicious looking car that sat on the street for about two hours tonight. A girl and her boyfriend were making out in the boyfriend's backseat and every time they came up for air they saw this car. Light blue Saturn."
"Did they get a plate number when they were coming up for air?" Jack asked wryly.
"Only half. Oh, and he let the cat out again."
"Where is Percy?" Reed asked.
"In my car. He's clean this time. If you're ready, I still want to go to Burnette's."
"Let's go." He waited for her to leave, then groaned. An Action News van sat on the side of the road, a well-groomed Holly Wheaton standing in the street. He felt Mia tense next to him. "Don't say anything," he murmured. "Please. No matter how much you want to rip off her face. Don't mention Kelsey or her story. Let me say 'no comment.' "
Holly walked up to them, a feral gleam in her eye. "This is the fourth fire the arsonist has set this week. What are the police doing to keep the people of Chicago safe?"
"No comment," Reed said and walked faster, but Holly was not to be deterred.
"The victims here were Mr. and Mrs. Joe Dougherty, the same couple whose house was destroyed last Saturday night."
Mia stopped and Reed wanted to protest. But he'd cut her off at the knees the last time the two dueled. This time he'd keep his mouth shut. As long as he could, anyway.
"We don't release the names of victims until their families have been notified." She looked directly at the camera very soberly. "It's our department policy and it's the humane thing to do. I hope you agree. Now, if you'll allow us to get back to our jobs."
"Detective Mitchell, Caitlin Burnette will be buried today. Will you be there?"
Mia kept walking and Reed started to draw an easy breath.
"Detective Mitchell, some have said the murder of Caitlin Burnette was related to her father's career. Do you think a child should be punished for the sins of her father?"
Mia paused, her body snapping rigid. Her head turned, her mouth opened to spit out what would no doubt have been a scathing retort on Burnette's behalf. Then Reed felt the abrupt change as her shoulders relaxed. She stepped up her pace. "Follow me," she said, her voice low so that only he could hear. "Holly might have something."