Karen Rose - Count to Ten

Maybe her silence was her way of processing information and not due to residual anger. Either way her question was an olive branch of sorts.

"Beth is fourteen." He grimaced. "Going on twenty-five."

"That's a tough age," she said sympathetically. Her eyes flicked to a point behind him. "I wouldn't go back to that age for all the tea in China."

"On that we agree. What's back there?"

"Barracuda." Eyes narrowed, she followed the approach of a woman with a long blond braid. "Carmichael. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The woman pulled up a chair and sat down. "Is that any way to greet me after two whole weeks?" She eyed Reed with interest. "I thought Reagan was coming back."

"He is, in a few weeks."

The woman put out her hand. "I'm Joanna Carmichael."

He wasn't sure if he should shake it. "Lieutenant Solliday-"

"OFI, I know. I ran the plates on your SUV before I came in."

Reed frowned. "I don't think 1 like having my privacy invaded like that."

Carmichael shrugged. "Goes with the territory. I'm with the Bulletin ."

He looked at Mitchell who looked excessively annoyed. "You have groupies?"

Carmichael laughed. "She makes good copy. You're back sooner than I thought."

"I'm a fast healer. I don't have anything for you, Carmichael. All my cases were reassigned while I was on disability."

"This time I have something for you. I've kept my ear to the ground for you. One of my sources tells me that your partner hit one of the guys who shot at you before he was hit. Ripped a nice neat hole in the guy's arm." She lifted a brow. "Kind of like yours."

Mia shook her head. "Nobody matching their description's visited any of the hospitals for a GSW any time in the last two weeks. I've checked. Every damn day."

"Your punk's mommy is a nurse's aide. Word is she did a do-it-yourself job. Not too shabby either. Apparently he's a fast healer, too."

Mitchell's eyes had narrowed dangerously. "What's your punk's name?"

"Oscar DuPree. Is he your punk, too?" Carmichael asked with decepüve laziness.

Mitchell nodded curtly. "That's one of them. Where is he?"

"Hangs at a bar called Looney's. But he didn't shoot your partner. His pal, however, has been talking it up. Big bad cop took one in the gut. Fell like a rock. Bitch cop took one in the shoulder while she stared like a deer in the headlights."

Color was rising in Mitchell's cheeks. "Fucking little bastard. I owe you, Carmichael."

"No, you don't." Carmichael stood up. "You were nice to me once. I pay my debts. Now we're square." She checked her watch. "I've got to be going. Nice to meet you, Lieutenant. If you get a good lead on your fire/homicide, I'd appreciate the heads-up."

Reed kept his face poker straight. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, cut the bullshit, Lieutenant. You're arson, she's homicide. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to put the pieces together. So, what about it? What's the story here?"

Mitchell was methodically folding her burger wrapper into a paper football. The look she spared Carmichael was fierce. "You'll be the first to know. I pay my debts, too."

Carmichael chuckled as she walked away. "Last one to Looney's is a rotten egg."

"I take it we're taking a detour on our way to the sorority," Reed said dryly and Mitchell looked up, surprise in her round blue eyes.

"This is mine to do. If you drop me off at the precinct, I'll drive myself."

"Show me full rotation. Wind it up like you're going to pitch from the mound."

She tried to throw the paper football in the garbage and grimaced. "Shit. That hurts."

"You need to be back on disability, but you're not going to do that, are you?"

She met his gaze directly. "My partner was shot down like a dog in the street, Solliday. He's a good man and he was nearly worm food. The punk ass that did it is bragging. If it were you, would you go home and climb under the covers like a little girl?"

She had a way of articulating her thoughts so very clearly. "No. I wouldn't. Look, I'll drive you, but you call Spinnelli first. You get backup or I'll call this in myself."

She stood up, her expression determined. "It's my collar."

"That's fine. You get your collar, then we get back to Caitlin Burnette."

"Let's rock and roll, Solliday. With any luck, the vermin will be gathering at their local watering hole. We could be at the university by two thirty. Three at the latest."

Reed picked up their trays and slid the garbage into the can. "Three. Right."

Monday, November 27, 4:00 P.M.

"Hello, may I speak to Emily Richter, please?"

"If you're selling something-"

"I"m not, ma'am," he cut in quickly. "My name is Harry Porter. I'm with the Trib ."

"I talked with you guys already."

"I know," he said soothingly. "But I'm looking for a comment from the homeowners, the Doughertys. Do you know where I can find them?"

She sniffed. "They're not home. They're on vacation."

"Oh. Well, thank you for your time, ma'am."

"You people at the paper should really talk to each other instead of bothering me," she snapped and he wanted to snap her neck. But for now, he needed her.

He'd try again tomorrow. He pocketed his cell with a scowl and pushed Laura Dougherty from his mind. Tonight was Penny Hill's turn to dance. He couldn't wait.

Monday, November 27, 4:00 p.m.

Mrs. Schuster looked up from her computer when Brooke came into the library. "Hello, Brooke. What can I do for you today?"

Brooke pointed to the periodical rack. "I just wanted to look at today's paper."

"The sports section is gone," she said, with a resigned little sigh. "Devin took it. He's working the stats so he can win the football pool next week. I think a math teacher doing the pool is an unfair advantage. Like insider trading."

Brooke chuckled. "I take it you lost this week."

Mrs. Schuster grinned. "Big time. Take your time with the paper, Brooke."

"Thanks." Brooke flipped to page A-12. And sighed. The article Manny had ripped out was about a home fire. The house had burned to the ground. One fatality.

She made two copies of the article, wondering how many others Manny had clipped. Although the boy couldn't set fires at Hope Center, Manny was at least feeding his addiction passively. It would be one more thing they could discuss in therapy.

She stopped in the mailroom and slid one the copies in an envelope for Julian Thomas. She'd just put it in his box when the door opened and Devin White came in with two other teachers. It was the end of the day when everyone stopped in to check their boxes, so his coming in wasn't any real surprise. Still her heart gave a little jolt.

"Brooke." Jackie Kersey gave Brooke an encouraging smile. "We're all going out for a drink. Come with us."

Brooke made a quick glance Devin's direction, but his face was averted, looking in his box which was on the very bottom row. From this vantage point, she had a very nice view of his rear end. "I really shouldn't," she murmured.

Jackie's lips twitched, noting the direction Brooke's gaze had taken. "It's happy hour at Flannagan's, two for one. I'll order a beer and you can have my second."

Devin looked up from his mail and smiled. "Come on, Brooke. It'll do you good."

She laughed, a little too breathlessly. "I was just going home to grade papers anyway. "I'll meet you all there."

Monday, November 27, 5:20 p.m.

Mia opened her eyes when Solliday stopped the SUV. They sat in front of a convenience store. "Why are we here?" Mia asked stiffly. Every square inch of her body ached like she'd been put through a meat grinder. But worse yet would be having to tell Abe that the bastard who'd shot him was still on the streets.