Karen Rose - Count to Ten

Her canopy, now the roof above his head.

His stony crevice, her very foundation.

A light knock on his door had his pulse rocketing. He put the book away under the cards, feeling foolish. It was just a book. No cause to hide it like a guilty secret.

No. It wasn't just a book. It was a memory. Mine . "Come in."

Lauren stuck her head in, looking unhappy. "I'm sorry, Reed. I pushed too far."

"It's okay. Let's just leave it alone."

"Well… Good night." She closed the door and Reed sighed.

Then chuckled, because from out of nowhere came the mental picture of Mia Mitchell on her toes in the face of that arrogant little lawyer-boy. "Bully named Bubba who wants to be your best buddy," he murmured. Somehow he suspected a poetry reading wouldn't be her ideal first date. Mia Mitchell would want to go somewhere physical. Football, hockey. If I asked her out, we'd go to a game , he thought, then shook his head at his own meandering. He would never ask her out.

There would be no first date with Mia Mitchell. She was definitely not his type. He took a long look at Christines picture. She was his type. His wife had been grace and elegance with a sparkle in her eye when she felt mischievous or fun. Mitchell was brash and bold, every movement packed with pent-up energy, every word laid bare of nuance.

His gaze rested on the drawer where the book lay hiding. The words there had been Christine's heart. And his own. He couldn't see a woman like Mia Mitchell appreciating the delicate balance of words and emotions. Not that it made Mia a bad person. Not at all. Just not his kind of woman.

Not that it mattered. Theirs was a temporary business relationship. When he found Caitlin Burnette's murderer he would be back to normal. Which was just the way he liked things. He gathered the dirty sheets. He had time to do a load of laundry during halftime. Football, leftover pizza from the weekend, and a beer. It was a good life.

Monday, November 27, 8:00 p.m.

Beth Solliday took off the bathrobe she"d hastily donned at her father's knock and stepped in front of her full-length mirror. Her eyes critically analyzed the balance of color and style in the outfit she'd chosen for the weekend. Jenny Q had ordered it for her online. There was no way her father could know she'd bought it. She'd skipped lunch for two months to pay for this outfit, but it would be worth it.

She dialed Jenny. "It's Beth." She grinned. "I mean Liz."

"Are we on?"

"Laid the foundation. I told him he'd met your mother already last fall."

"Fine. I'll tell my mother that she met him. She never remembers anything."

"Good. See you tomorrow night."

"Bring the goods."

"Oh, I will." Beth hung up, did one last twirl. Then she changed into her pajamas and hid the outfit. Soon she'd step out. Experience life. She wasn't a little girl anymore.

Monday, November 27, 8:00 p.m.

Mia flashed her badge at the nurse. "I'm here to see Abe Reagan."

"Visiting hours are over, ma'am."

"I'm here to discuss Detective Reagan's gunshot wound. We have a lead."

The nurse sucked in one cheek. "Uh-huh. What's in the bag, Detective?"

Mia looked down at the brown paper sack that contained baklava, one of Abe's favorites. She looked back up and, with a straight face said, "Mugshots."

The nurse nodded, playing along. "He's the third door from the end. Tell him if his blood pressure goes up from eating those mugshots, my needle is extra large tonight."

"Man, you guys are evil," Mia muttered, hearing the nurse chuckle behind her. Slowly she approached Abe's room, her stomach in a knot. She stopped outside the door and nearly turned around. But she'd given her word. Lightly she knocked.

"Go away. I don't want any more Jell-O or applesauce or whatever you have," came the cranky reply and despite her trepidation Mia had to grin.

"What about this?" she asked, holding the bag out as she walked in.

Abe was sitting up in bed, the game on the TV. He muted the sound and turned to her with a guarded look that wiped the smile from her face. "Depends. What is it?"

He peeked in the bag, then looked up, his expression inscrutable. "You can stay."

Awkward, Mia stuck her hands in her pockets while she searched his face. He was thinner. Gaunt. Her heart skipped a beat as new guilt piled high. He said nothing, just sat looking at her, waiting. She puffed her cheeks and blew out a breath. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asked evenly.

She looked away. "Everything. Letting you get shot. Not coming to visit you." She shrugged. "Getting you poked with a really big needle if you eat what's in the bag."

He grunted. "Nurses' trash talk. They don't scare me. Sit down."

She sat, but couldn't meet his eyes. She took the silence as long as she could before blurting, "So… Where's Kristen?"

"Home with Kara." Their daughter that Abe treated like the precious treasure she was. "Mia, look at me. Please."

No anger blazed in his blue eyes. Instead there was sorrow there that she didn't know if she could take. She lurched to her feet, only to have him grab her arm.

"Sit down, Mia." He waited until she had, then muttered a soft curse. "Did you think for a moment, one single moment, that I blamed you for this?"

She met his eyes squarely. "I thought you should. I knew you wouldn't."

"I didn't know if you were all right. Mia…" He swallowed hard. "I thought you'd gone after them," he said harshly. "And I wasn't there to watch your back."

She laughed sadly. "I did. But I couldn't find them."

"Don't do that to me again. Please."

"What, let you get shot up?"

"That, too," he said dryly. "Kristen said she tore you a new one this morning."

"I hope I never have to face her across a courtroom. I felt about an inch tall."

"You would have been a layer of slime on the floor if she hadn't felt sorry for you. You told her you weren't paying attention that night. Why?" He stopped her mid-denial. "Don't. We've been partners too long. I knew something was bothering you."

She drew a breath. "I guess my dad and the funeral… It just caught up to me."

His eyes narrowed. He hadn't bought it. Somehow she hadn't thought he would. "Is it so bad that you can't tell me?"

She closed her eyes, saw the headstone that lay next to her father's. The stranger's eyes meeting her over it. "If I say yeah, will you be hurt?"

He hesitated for a heartbeat then asked in a quiet voice, "Are you in trouble, Mia?"

Her eyes flew open, saw the concern on his face. "No. It's nothing like that."

"Sick?" He winced. "Pregnant?"

"No. And way no."

He sighed his relief. "And it's not a guy because there haven't been any in a while."

"Thanks," she said sarcastically and he smiled. "I'd nearly forgotten."

"Just trying to help." The smile faded. "If you need to talk, you'll come to me, right?"

"Yeah." She was glad that was over. "I have news. Remember Getts and DuPree?"

"I have a vague recollection," he said, his voice gone dry again.

"Well, it seems you got DuPree before Getts got you."

His eyes narrowed, focused. "Good. Hope the son of a bitch hurts a lot."

"DuPree hurts worse now." Her smile was a mere baring of teeth. "/ got him today. Joanna Carmichael told me where he was." His eyes widened in surprise and she nodded grimly. "Shocked the hell out of me, too. I guess all that skulking around she does is finally paying a dividend. But… Getts got away."

"Damn," he said softly.

"I'm sorry."

"Mia. You idiot. He shot you, too. Now he knows you know where he hangs. You got his buddy in custody. He's either going to go under or come out fighting."

"I'm betting he'll hide."