Count to Ten (36 page)

Thursday, November 30, 8:15 P.M.

“Good dinner, Lauren,” Reed said, helping her clear the dishes from the table.

Lauren looked at him shrewdly. “I’m surprised to hear that. You looked like you were punishing the food the whole time.”

More like he’d been punishing himself. He’d completely mishandled that whole thing with Mia. “Sorry. I have some things on my mind.”

“I guess you do.” She squeezed his arm and took the plates to the sink.

“Whoa!” He stopped Beth, who was leaving the room without a word. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Beth gave him the look. “Upstairs,” she said, like he was mentally infirm.

She’d been silent through dinner, a petulant scowl on her face. Once again she’d asked to go to this sleepover on the weekend. Once again he’d said no. It was getting old. “Get back here and help your aunt. I just don’t know what’s gotten into you, Beth.”

Setting her teeth, she started tossing silverware onto plates with a clatter. “Beth!”

She looked up and he was shocked to see tears in her eyes. “
What?
” she said through her teeth.

“Beth, honey, what’s wrong?”

Viciously she wiped crumbs from the table. “Nothing you’d understand.” Throwing the crumbs at the trash can, she ran from the room, leaving Reed staring, dumbfounded.

“What was that?” he asked.

Lauren took the broom and swept around the base of the trash can, where most of the crumbs had fallen. “Something’s been bothering her this week. Maybe it’s a boy.”

Reed closed his eyes and shuddered. “She’s fourteen, Lauren. Don’t say that.”

“She’s fourteen, Reed. Get used to it.”

“I’ll go talk to her.”

“Give her time to pull herself together.” She leaned on the broom and gave him an appraising stare. “You haven’t been with it the last few days, either. Need to talk?”

Reed looked over at her. Of all their siblings, he and -Lauren were the closest. He loved the others, but he and -Lauren had always shared a bond. “I don’t know.”

She smiled. “When you decide, you know where I live.”

“Ahh, that.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I kind of volunteered your house. For a worthy cause.”

She nodded, eyes narrowing. “You volunteered my house. Why?”

“Mitchell needs a place to stay for a few days. I offered the other side of the duplex. I figured you wouldn’t mind staying in the spare room since most of your stuff is here.”

She considered this in silence for a moment. “Why can’t she just share with me?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. He’d thought of that after he’d made the offer to Mia, then pushed the thought aside. He wanted her alone. He wanted her naked. He wanted to hear her cry out when she came. Without worrying about his sister overhearing or leaving his daughter alone. Understanding filled Lauren’s eyes and heat filled Reed’s cheeks.

“You’re finally taking my advice.”

“No, I’m not.”

“But—”

“Lauren, it’s none of your business, but now that you know, it’s temporary. Just like the partnership.”

Her eyes shadowed. “Do you know what you’re doing, Reed?”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t mean technique-wise. I assume you have that down pretty well.”

“Lauren,” he warned, but she ignored him.

“I meant this... thing. With Mia. Just remember that slinking around in secret doesn’t make it less important. Telling yourself it’s temporary doesn’t make it true. And even though she seems like a tough cookie, the woman’s got feelings.”

He knew that. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

“If wishes were horses.” She whisked the crumbs into the trash. “I’ll get her room ready.” Her expression pained, she ran her finger down his shirt, tracing the chain he wore beneath it. “You took it off last night.”

“You were in my room?”

“Looking for some aspirin. It was on your night table in plain sight. Be careful, Reed. No woman wants to live in another woman’s shadow. Even temporarily.”

He didn’t know what to say and the ringing of his cell phone saved him from saying anything. He didn’t recognize the number. “Solliday.”

Lauren shook her head and with a backward look, left to prepare Mia’s room.

“This is Abe Reagan. Mia’s partner.”

Reed’s guard went up. “Nice to meet you. Just curious, how did you get my cell?”

“Got it from Aidan who got it from Jack. Mia just left here. She said she was staying at your place, but I know she’s stopping by her apartment first. If I could, I’d go cover her.”

“I’ll go. Thanks for the heads-up.” Reed pocketed his cell phone. But first, he’d talk to Beth. He took the stairs two at a time, then knocked on her door. Loud music played inside and he couldn’t hear her answer. “Beth? I need to talk to you.”

“Go away.”

He jiggled the door, found it locked. “I need to talk to you. Open the door. Now.”

After about a minute, the door opened and she stood there staring up at him, belligerence in her dark eyes, still red and puffy from crying. “What?”

Gently he reached out to push some wet hair from her cheek. She flinched and pulled away, which hurt him more than her words had. “Beth. Please tell me what’s wrong. I can’t understand if I don’t know.”

“It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”

Helpless and frustrated, he frowned. “Are you sick? Do we need to see a doctor?”

Her smile was bitter and far too adult. “Are you asking me if I need a shrink? Don’t think so, Dad. You’re the one who’s always saying what a crock they are.”

He winced, her aim true. “I have said that. Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe there are lots of things I should do differently. I can’t know unless you talk to me, baby.”

Her eyes flashed. “I’m not a baby.” Then her eyes went sad, but he could see the slyness beneath. “You could let me go to the sleepover. That would make me happier.”

He stepped back, the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up. This wasn’t his child. This manipulating stranger belonged to somebody else. “No. I said you were on restriction and nothing you’ve said makes me change my mind. In fact, just the opposite. I don’t know what’s so important about this sleepover, but no, you cannot go. Starting now, I don’t want you going over to Jenny’s anymore.”

Her nostrils flared, her breath deliberate. “You’re blaming her. She said you would.” She stepped back, her hand on the door. “Are you finished ruining my life?”

He shook his head, having no words. “Beth. I have to go out for a few minutes. We’ll finish this when I come back.”

“Don’t bother,” she said coldly. “I’ll be asleep when you come back.” Then she closed the door in his face.

He shoved his hand through his hair, cupping the back of his head as if to hold it in place. What was wrong with his child? Was it just a temper tantrum? Or could it be more? Something... worse? But he couldn’t believe that. Beth was a smart girl. A good kid. She was only fourteen. But he knew what fourteen-year-olds could get involved in, from personal experience. But this was Beth. She wasn’t the kid of an alcoholic drug-addict who cared more for her next fix than feeding her son.

Beth was lucky.
She has me.
He sighed.
And right now, she hates me.
He didn’t know what to do. He felt like breaking down her door, but knew that wouldn’t solve a thing. He needed help. He’d call her guidance counselor first thing in the morning.

Now he had to see a woman who would probably make him feel as welcome as his daughter just had. “You should just give it up, Solliday,” he muttered as he walked down the stairs and grabbed his coat. He passed Lauren coming across the front yard as he walked out. “I have to go out,” he snapped. “Beth’s in her room.”

“Did you talk to her?” Lauren asked, a canvas book bag over one shoulder.

“For all the good it did. I’m calling her school counselor tomorrow.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“I’ll be back later.” He stalked toward the SUV, churlish and embarrassed for it.

“Reed?”

He stopped. Didn’t turn around. “What?”

“Take off the chain before you get there.”

Without looking back he climbed in the SUV, pulled out of the driveway and around the block. Then he slowed down and pulled the chain from around his neck, stared at the ring in his palm, then carefully laid it in the console next to his seat. “Shit.”

Thursday, November 30, 8:45 P.M.

There she was. He came to his feet in the alley across the street, slinging his backpack onto his back. It paid to travel light. If he had to run, he had everything he needed. The car he’d taken was parked a block away, close enough to get to once he’d done the deed. Then Melvin Getts would be on the news.
Not me.

Mitchell was getting out of her car across the street, a briefcase on one shoulder. She stood for a moment, alert, scanning the area, but he was tucked out of her sight in the shadows. She was a perfect target, her head in just the right position. His hand steady, he pointed the gun. From this -distance, he couldn’t miss. He aimed—

An SUV pulled up beside her, blocking his shot.
Dammit.
Lieutenant Solliday.

Solliday lowered his window and they were talking, but not loudly enough for him to hear what they were saying. Solliday sat back, scanning the street as she had done.

Shit. She was going up to her apartment. Who knew when she’d come back down? It could be two minutes or twenty. Hell, it could be all night. He had places to go. Doughertys to kill. He couldn’t stay here waiting for her.
Dammit.
It was now or never. It was now. He stepped out of the shadows and raised the pistol. And fired.

“Police! Drop your weapon.”

He lurched back. The shout hadn’t come from Mitchell or Solliday. Mitchell was nowhere to be seen and Solliday was out of his vehicle, his own gun drawn.
Shit.

He backed up, one step, then two. His heart stopped when Solliday spotted him.

“Stop.” Solliday was coming at a run. A fast run.

Get away.
He turned and fled.

Mia pushed herself to her feet, her radio in one hand, weapon in the other. “Shots fired at 1342 Sedgewick Place. Plainclothes officer in pursuit. Request backup ASAP.”

She stood in the street, making her mind focus through the adrenaline blur. Someone had yelled, right after the shot was fired, but the street was empty. She pressed the radio to her forehead, then back to her mouth. “Solliday.” When he didn’t answer panic began to grip her throat and she began to run. “
Solliday.
”

“I’m here.” His voice came crackling across the radio and she stopped, breathing hard, light-headed with relief. “I lost him,” he growled. “Get an APB out on White.”

She froze. “What?”

“White. Math Boy. Hurry, Mia. He’s still on foot around here somewhere.”

He tried to kill me.
“This is Detective Mitchell, Homicide. We are in pursuit of a Caucasian male, approximately twenty-three years of age. Five-eight, one hundred fifty pounds. Blond hair, blue eyes. Suspect is armed and wanted in connection with four murders. Goes by the name of Devin White. Repeat, suspect is armed.”

“We read you, Detective,” Dispatch said. “Do you need medical attention?”

“No. Just send backup. We need to seal off this entire neighborhood. He escaped on foot, so send a unit to the El station two blocks south of here.” She looked up to see -Solliday emerging from the alley at a jog. He stopped short, eyes going fierce.

“You’re hit.”

She lifted her hand to her cheek, wiped at the blood there. “Grazed me. I’m fine.”

He lifted her chin, nodded once, then let her go. “Who yelled ‘Police’?”

“Don’t know.” She turned in a circle, looking. “That was Math Boy? You’re sure?”

He nodded, still breathing hard. “Yeah. Fast little bastard. I almost had him and he darted around some trash cans and knocked them into my path.”

“You were pretty fast yourself.”

“Not fast enough. He’s given us the slip again.”

“We’ll set up roadblocks.” Her instinct said someone was still there. “But the El is only two blocks from here. He could be there now. He could still be here. Dammit, I feel like somebody’s watching...” A noise behind her had her spinning around, her weapon in a two-handed grip. “Come out with your hands up.”

“I’ll be damned,” Solliday murmured and Mia blinked.

From out of the shadows, near where White had escaped walked...
her.
Her blonde head was covered with a black beret and instead of the dark suit she’d worn at the press conference, she wore a black leather jacket, identical to the one Mia had been wearing the night Abe was shot. Her lips were curved in a self-mocking smile. In one hand she held a -pistol, but flat against her raised palm. The other hand held a badge.

Mia blew out a breath. “God, this day just keeps getting better and better.”

Thursday, November 30, 9:15 P.M.

He got off the El two stops later and walked right to a little Ford, his slim-jim in his hand. A wiggle and a pop later he was behind the wheel and thirty seconds after that, driving down the road, his backpack on the seat beside him.