Count to Ten (28 page)

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.

Chapter Thirteen

Wednesday, November 29, 8:40 P.M.

R
eed could see her coming in his rearview. He shouldn’t be here. He should have just waited until the morning to tell her. There wouldn’t be anything she could do tonight anyway. But he knew she’d want to know. He knew she wasn’t the type to... how had she phrased it? To hide under the covers like a little girl.

She slowed the borrowed department car, rolling to a stop next to his SUV. For a moment she sat there, looking at him, then parked her car along the curb. Feeling like he dragged an anchor, he got out and walked up to her car, his hands in his pockets.

She popped her trunk and looked up at him from the corner of her eye. “Something break on the case?” she asked. Inside her trunk were a half dozen grocery bags.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Need somebody to tie your shoes or tear your mustard packets?”

“No.” He nudged her aside and grabbed the bags in both hands. “Is this all?”

She slammed the trunk shut. “I don’t eat much.”

Without another word she led him up three flights of stairs and into her apartment. It was sparsely decorated as he’d known it would be. No pictures hung from the walls. Furniture was minimal. The TV was tiny and rested atop an old Styrofoam cooler. This wasn’t a home. This was merely the place she slept when she wasn’t working.

His eyes settled on the small wooden box on her dinette table just before she whisked it and a trifolded flag into her coat closet that was equally bare. That the flag had belonged to her father was not a huge leap. He’d been a cop. He’d get a cop’s funeral. His widow would get the flag.

That the box had also been his was logical. That the daughter had the flag and not the widow was telling. But given what she’d shared this morning, completely understandable. How hard it must have been to learn of her father’s infidelities while standing at his grave. How much harder for the widow. He thought of how he himself might have felt, learning that Christine had betrayed him. He simply couldn’t imagine it.

That Mia Mitchell managed to stay focused at all was testament to the kind of cop she was. “You can put the groceries on the table,” she said and he did, all the while wondering how he would tell her that her privacy was on the verge of being threatened.

He unpacked a bag, stacking frozen dinners. “I just got finished meeting with Holly.”

Her eyes flashed. “I trust you left Miss Wheaton well and happy.”

His temper rose. “I don’t like her, either, Mia. And I don’t like your insinuation.”

She shrugged fitfully. “You’re right. I’m sorry,” she muttered. “Doesn’t matter anyway.” She reached for the stack of frozen dinners and he grabbed her arm.

“Dammit, Mia. What’s wrong with you?”

For a split second, the anger in her eyes changed to fear. Then just that fast, it was gone, defiance taking its place. She jerked her arm and shaken, he immediately let her go. “Go away, Reed. I’m not good company right now.”

She grabbed the cartons and disappeared into the kitchen. He heard the freezer door open, then slam shut. She reappeared, fists on her hips. “You’re still here.”

“So it would seem.” She stood there scowling, blue eyes flashing, somehow sexier in khaki pants and scuffed boots than Wheaton had been in a suede miniskirt and killer pumps. And he wanted her, scowl and all.

“Look. You seem like a nice man. You deserve better than I’ve treated you. I’m not warm and fuzzy, but I’m not usually this rude.” The smile that curved her lips was obviously forced. “I’ll try to be nicer. Let’s get this case solved and you can walk away, hopefully none the worse for the wear.” She started for the front door, dismissing him.

Not just yet.
“Mia, I need to talk to you about Holly -Wheaton. It’s important.”

She stopped five feet away, her back to him. “I really don’t care.”

He sighed. “About this you will.”

She turned to face him, wary. “What’s she done?”

“Your absence from the press conference this morning didn’t go unnoticed.”

She closed her eyes. “Oh shit.”

“She knows about the woman you followed, that she’s important to you. She has video of her in the crowd. I thought you’d want to know, so you could be on your guard.”

Her eyes opened, narrowed. “Goddamn, I hate that bitch.”

“I’d have to say the feeling is mutual. Why does she hate you so much?”

“We had a child rape/homicide and she tried to cuddle up to Abe for an exclusive, just like she tried with you at that apartment fire. Didn’t matter that Abe is married. Abe and I agreed the best way to get Wheaton off his back was to give an exclusive to somebody else. We talked to Lynn Pope of
Chicago on the Town.
”

“I’ve seen her show, but I’ve never met her.”

“Lynn’s a classy lady. I trust her. When Holly found out she filed a formal complaint with Spinnelli. He supported us, of course, and the next time
he
had a story, he gave the exclusive to Lynn. So Holly blames me for trying to ruin her career.”

“Why you?”

“Because the men couldn’t possibly have resisted her on their own. I had to have turned them against her. She’s a menace.” She sighed bitterly. “She’s also good at finding what she wants to know. Most men aren’t capable of resisting a pretty face like hers. Most are even less capable of resisting a short skirt or the twitching ass inside it.”

There was a compliment buried in there somewhere, Reed knew, because he had resisted. But there was also something else, an acceptance that she, Mia Mitchell, didn’t have those same attributes and was somehow less desirable. Which pissed him off, because he was living, breathing, aching proof of just how desirable she was. “Nobody knows about your relationship to the blonde except the men in the room this morning. I won’t say a word. Spinnelli, Jack, and the shrink won’t say anything, either.”

She pressed her fingertips to her eyes. “I know. I appreciate you coming by to tell me. Now I’m really sorry I snapped at you.”

Reed wanted to go to her. To take her in his arms and hold her. But she’d pulled away twice and he was afraid she’d make it three times. And he’d be out. So he stood where he was, hands in his pockets. “It’s okay.” He injected a note of humor in his voice. “If I’d known how much you hated her, I would have let you get your court order.”

One side of her mouth turned up sadly. “I knew you were a gentleman.”

You’ve said your piece. Now go.
But his feet stayed planted where they were. He couldn’t leave her looking so defeated. “Mia, I’ve watched you for three days now. You care about the victims. If they suffered. Finding them justice. You care about the families. Giving them support and dignity. That’s important to me. More important than warm fuzzies and especially more important than a twitching ass in a short skirt.”

Her eyes were serious as she studied him from five feet away. “Thank you. That’s the nicest thing anybody’s ever said to me.”

Now you can go. Dammit, just go.
But still he stood. “Although you’d look every bit as good in a short skirt.”

Her eyes heated and his heart turned over. “Second -nicest.”

He took a step forward, testing. She held her ground, but he could see her pulse flutter at the hollow of her throat. At her sides her hands flexed and clenched and he came to a stunning realization. He made her nervous. It was an ego-boosting, courage-building discovery. “About last night,” he said. “I knocked you down.”

She lifted her chin. “I know. I was there.”

“I haven’t been shot at since I was in the army. My reflexes were a little rusty.”

She sucked in one cheek. “Not all of them.”

It was the opening he’d been waiting for. “So you did notice.”

“It would have been difficult not to,” she said dryly. “So was it reflex or interest?”

She’d regained her stride, her cocky balance. And somehow that made what came next more... fair. If he’d pressed his advantage when she was sad and defeated it wouldn’t have been. “And if I said both?”

“You’d be honest at least.” She regarded him levelly for a moment. “You could have waited until tomorrow to tell me about Wheaton. Why did you come tonight?”

The moment stretched as he considered his answer, then snapped as with two steps he eliminated the remaining distance that separated them. He slipped his hand around her neck, his fingers up into her hair and did what he’d wanted to do for days. When his mouth covered hers he felt her stiffen, then her arms were around his neck as she lifted on her toes and kissed him back.

He shuddered, as much from relief as release. It had been a long time since he’d held any woman this way. A long time since he’d tasted a woman’s lips, felt the surge and surrender in her response. It was sweet, he realized. And familiar, as if he’d been here, done this before. Mindful of her bruised cheek he kept it much lighter than he wanted, much briefer than he wished. Stoically ignoring the coiled want in his gut, he ended the kiss, but held her tight against him.

“I wasn’t sure you wanted this,” he admitted. “You pulled away from me.”

She rested her forehead against his chest. “I know.”

It was said so wearily that he pulled back to see her face. “Why did you pull away?”

“Because I didn’t want to want this. But I do.” Her lashes lifted and it was as if he’d been sucker punched. Her blue eyes were darkly aroused. His pounding heart climbed into his throat and with difficulty he forced it back down so he could breathe.

“Why? Why don’t you want to want this?”

She hesitated. “How much time do you have?”

Time. Shit.
“What time is it?”

“A little past nine. Why?”

“I promised Beth I’d pick her up at nine and that’s clear on the other side of town.”

She nodded. “I understand. We can talk more later.”

He grabbed his coat from the old sofa and took two steps toward the door, then stopped and turned back around to face her. “She’ll be fine for another few minutes. In fact, she’s probably happy I’m late.”

Her lips curved. “So how do you propose using another few minutes?”

“Doing what you don’t want to want.” He caught her chin and tilted her face up and this time she met him more than halfway, instantly taking the kiss to the next level. Hot and wet and full of motion, it set his body throbbing and left him wanting much, much more. Conscious of the time, he abruptly pulled away, and was gratified to see she was breathing just as hard as he was. “Warn me when you start wanting to want it,” he said. “I’ll make sure I bring along a defibrillator.”

She laughed. “Go home, Solliday. We’ll take this up again tomorrow.” Her smile sobered a shade. “But not around the office, okay?”

“Okay.” He leaned forward for one more kiss, then turned on his heel with an oath. “I have to go. Lock the door behind me.”

“I always do.”

He paused on the landing outside her door. “I’ll see you at eight tomorrow.” With a little physical distance, his mind began to clear. “Don’t go out alone tonight, okay?”

She looked amused. “Solliday, I’m a cop. I’m supposed to tell other people that.”

He was not amused. “Mia, please.”

“I’ll be careful.”

That was the closest she’d come to capitulation, he understood. “Good night, Mia.”

A sober, wistful look flitted across her face. “Good night, Reed.”

Wednesday, November 29, 10:05 P.M.

He’d finally come back. It had certainly taken him long enough.

He’d thought his target would wait inside Flannagan’s for fifteen minutes, but he’d waited an hour. During which he’d hidden in the back floorboards of the man’s car, biding his time.

The first part had been so easy and fast. He’d been early, waiting in the shadows. He’d watched as the man locked his car, which was a total joke. He’d been able to pop the lock with his trusty slim-jim in fifteen seconds. Then he’d gone flat in the backseat, pulling on the ski mask and waiting, visualizing in his mind what had to be done.

It wouldn’t be pretty, but it would be fast. And painless. Because his target was his friend and didn’t deserve to writhe in agony, like Mrs. Dougherty would tonight. But first things first.
Focus.
They’d been driving for fifteen minutes. It wouldn’t be long now.

He wanted to sigh, but kept it in. He’d never killed someone he liked. There was a first time for everything, but he wasn’t relishing the task.

He eased up on his elbow and stole a look out the opposite window. Good, they were on a small road, one lane each way. There was an all-night shopping center nearby where he could steal a car when he was finished. He drew his knife.

He’d sharpened the blade yet again. He wanted it to be quick. Springing to a crouch, he whipped the knife around and held it to his friend’s throat. “Pull off at the next light,” he instructed, keeping his voice low.

His friend’s eyes whipped up to the rearview, wide with terror, but he knew he’d see nothing but the black ski mask. “If you want the car, I’ll give it to you. Just don’t hurt me.”

He thought it was a carjacking, which was exactly what he’d hoped his friend would think. No use in risking identification, should the plan go south. They were off the main road now. The area was a little too populated for his liking, but it would do.