Count to Ten (37 page)

Once again out of the public eye. He’d sat on the train, wondering who was watching him, comparing his face to the photo they’d shown on the news. He’d been coolheaded, not shrinking into his seat but not meeting anyone’s eye. Normal.

Had he got her? Was Mitchell dead, brains splattered all over the pavement? He wasn’t sure. His bullet had come close. But
he’d
come too close to getting caught, that was for damn sure. Solliday had seen him. Recognized him. His ruse had failed.

So step back. Stay out of public for a while. Do what you need to do tonight and tomorrow, hightail it out of town.
Find the last four, then you’re done.

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

“Just put the gun down slowly,” Mia said.

The woman did, placing her weapon gently on the sidewalk. “You got hit,” she said.

Mia holstered her own service piece. “A scratch.”

Two cruisers pulled up and Mia looked over her shoulder. Four more followed.

“I’ll take care of it,” Solliday said. “I’ll get them organized in a roadblock.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, then turned back to the woman. “Let’s have it.” She took the woman’s badge and held it up to the light. “Olivia Sutherland. Minneapolis PD.”

Sutherland’s mouth curved, that same self-mocking smile. “Hey, sis.”

Mia gave her back her badge. “Why didn’t you just come talk to me? Why have you been following me around for weeks? Are you trying to make me fucking nuts?”

“I wasn’t trying to make you... nuts. I didn’t know if I wanted to talk to you. I didn’t know if I wanted to
know
you. I kind of thought I wouldn’t.”

Mia waited a half beat before inclining her head. “And that would be
because
?”

She shrugged. “He wanted you. Not me. Your mother. Not mine.”

Mia blinked. Then laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

The mocking smile disappeared. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Obviously someone had painted this woman a much rosier picture of Bobby Mitchell than he deserved. “Let’s start again. Olivia Sutherland, thank you for saving my ass.”

The little smile came back. “I was hoping you’d noticed.”

“Why did you?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t want to like you. I wanted to hate your guts. But I watched you and realized I might have a few things wrong. I was set to leave this afternoon when I saw your address published in this morning’s paper.” She frowned. “You need to do something about that woman, you know. That Carmichael woman is poison.”

“Yeah. I kind of got that. So... you’ve been hanging here all day?”

“Off and on. Mostly on. I thought if you came home, I’d say hi and good-bye. But you don’t come home very often.”

“I know. I usually hang at friends’ houses.”

“The redhead at the funeral?”

“She’s one. Look, I want to talk to you, but I’ve got to take care of this.” She gestured over her shoulder to where Solliday had a map spread out on the hood of one of the cruisers, setting up the roadblocks.

Sutherland smiled. “When things settle down, we can talk.”

When things settle down.
Suddenly the phrase smacked Mia in the face. She’d lost too many things because she’d waited for things to settle down. Now here was an opportunity that might not come again. “No, because they never will. How old are you?”

Sutherland blinked. “Twenty-nine.” Then she smiled. “You’re rude to ask.”

Mia smiled back. “I know. Can you stick around for a few more days?”

“No. I had some time saved up, took some leave, but my captain is after me to come back. I have to go home.”

“Just another day. Please. I didn’t know you existed until three weeks ago. We obviously have a few things in common, besides Bobby. Where are you staying?”

Sutherland studied Mia’s face, then nodded. “Mother moved to Minnesota after I was born, but my aunt still lives here. I’m staying with her.” She scrawled an address and a phone number on the back of her card. “I know where you live.”

“Not for a few days. I’ll be on the move most likely. But here’s my cell.” She gave Sutherland a card, watched her pocket it, then thoughtfully raise her eyes.

“I lived my life wishing I was you. Hating you. You’re not who I thought you’d be.”

“Sometimes I even surprise myself,” Mia said wryly. “Now we’re going to have to take your statement. The guy you scared off has killed four women.”

Her blue eyes widened and it was like looking into a mirror. “Then that’s... ?”

Little sister read the papers. “Yeah. Come on. Let’s get to work.”

Thursday, November 30, 10:00 P.M.

Math Boy was gone. Reed silently fumed as he watched the police go door to door.
So
close. He’d come so close. He could see the bastard’s leering face. His triumphant grin when he knew he’d gotten away. If he’d been another step faster...

“If you keep frowning like that, your face will stay that way,” Mia said and leaned against his SUV next to him.

“I had him in my hands.” He gritted his teeth. “Dammit. I almost had him.”

“‘Almost’ only counts in hand grenades and horseshoes,” she said. “We’re wasting our time, Reed. He’s not going to stick around here. He’s gone.”

“I know,” he said bitterly.

“I’m wondering why he did this at all. Why me?”

Reed shrugged. “We’re getting close and he knows it. Besides, if he knows your address, he also knows you were shot at Tuesday night.”

She lifted her fingers to her cheek where an EMT had placed two stitches to close the skin the bullet had grazed. “A distraction.”

“Mia!”

As one they turned to find Jack by the door of her apartment building. He held a bullet in the palm of his hand. “If he’d been a fraction of an inch more on target...”

As it had multiple times in the last hour, Reed’s blood went cold. A fraction of an inch more and the bullet would have plowed into the base of her skull rather than skim the surface of her cheek. A fraction of an inch and he might have lost her.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said. “I’d be dead. Thanks, Jack.”

“Actually,” Jack said dryly, “it probably would have bounced off your damn hard head. Sometimes I wish you weren’t so lucky. You’re starting to think you
are
bulletproof. And you’re not.”

No, she wasn’t. Reed swallowed back the fear that rose in his throat every time his mind replayed the scene of her dropping to the pavement. “Jack, we’re beat. Can Mia pack her bag and get out of here?”

Jack eyed him shrewdly and Reed knew the phone calls between Abe and Aidan and Jack hadn’t just been about trading phone numbers. “Yeah. Watch her back until she gets... to where she’s going.”

They all looked around at that, each one realizing that the walls potentially had ears.

“I will.” Reed held open the door to her apartment building. “Let’s get your bag packed.” He waited until she’d unlocked her front door, then pushed her inside and up against the door, his heart pounding. He covered her mouth with his, too hard and too desperate. But in a second it didn’t matter because her arms were around his neck and she was kissing him back, just as hard and just as desperate.

He pulled away, breathing as hard as he had when he’d chased the scum-sucking murdering asshole toad. “Thanks. I needed that,” she whispered.

He rested his forehead on hers. “Dammit, Mia. I was so...”

She drew a breath. “Yeah. Me, too.”

He stepped back and she looked up at him, awareness in her eyes. “Pack fast. I want you out of here.” Then, unable to resist, he cupped her cheek and gently traced his thumb below the stitches. “I want you, period. Come home with me.”

“I don’t seem to have a choice.” One side of her mouth tipped up. “That was a lousy thing to do, manipulating me like that. Putting Lauren out of her own house.”

His thumb moved to her lower lip, fanning back and forth. “Technically, it’s my house. She just rents.” He paused a half beat. “The guest room on that side has a really comfortable bed. King size. Firm mattress.”

“Mine’s firm enough,” she said blandly, but her eyes darkened. “What else?”

“Well... There is the firepole. And the trapeze. And the trampoline.”

She laughed. “You win. I’ll pack.”

He followed her back to her bedroom. It looked like a tornado had gone through, sheets and blankets in a tangled mess on the floor. Just as they’d left them early this -morning. He eyed the bed, then her. She was eyeing it, too. Then shook her head.

“No,” she said. “Not with half of CSU combing the street outside my window.”

Hurriedly and without fuss she stuffed a duffel bag with the things she’d need, then hesitated, her hand on a small framed photo. Two teenage girls smiled brightly for the camera, but even though they stood close, they didn’t touch. “You and Kelsey?”

“Yeah.” She shoved it in the bag. “I need to tell her about Olivia, but I’m afraid to visit her in the new place. I’m afraid to even know where it is.”

“So...” He hooked a finger under her chin, lifted her face. It was the first time she’d mentioned the woman other than to take her statement and wish her a pleasant evening. Jack had figured out who she was, but Reed knew Mia wasn’t anxious to broadcast the woman’s identity to every uniform within earshot. “Tell me about Olivia.”

She shrugged. “You know everything I do. We’re going to try to get together for an hour tomorrow night and talk.” She started to shoulder the bag, but he took it from her.

“Let me. Please,” he added when her eyes flashed. It was so hard for her to accept help in any form. Tough. She’d have to learn to accept his.

For how long? That would depend on the conversation they’d have as soon as he got her back to his house. That would depend on her expectations. Right now, he was praying he hadn’t misjudged her need for independence. And strings.

She nodded, walked to her front door, then stopped. “Fuck,” she muttered, then wrenched open the closet door. Sitting all alone were the small box and trifolded flag. Teeth clenched, she grabbed the box and shoved it in the bag as well. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Eighteen

Thursday, November 30, 10:40 P.M.

O
livia 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 a sudden she didn’t feel 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.”

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 farther. “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.