Karen Rose - Count to Ten

Dana's eyes widened. "She came back?"

"A few times. She never speaks, just looks at me. I'm never close enough to grab her. I swear this is driving me crazy, Dana. And I know my mother knows who she is."

"But she won't tell you."

"Nope. Good old Annabelle. I did get her to tell me about the boy." She set the beer down, its taste suddenly bitter. "I've got to tell Kelsey. She needs to know."

The last time she'd spoken with her sister had been the day their father died, through the Plexiglas as she always did.

Mia never asked for any special visitation with her sister. Having the other inmates know Keisey Mitchell's sister was a cop would not be in Kelsey's best interest.

Kelsey needed to know what she'd found. Maybe she could finally find peace.

"I can go tell her," Dana offered.

"No. It's my responsibility. But thanks. I'll have to fit it in. I got a new case today."

"With who?"

Mia studied her bottle carefully. "With Reed Solliday. Arson."

Dana's brows lifted, knowing her moods well. "And?"

"Seems like a nice guy. Not married. Fourteen-year-old kid. Moves like a dancer."

"I never understood how that was such a turn-on for you."

Mia chuckled ruefully. "Me, either. Good thing he's off limits."

"You said he wasn't married."

She sobered. "I also said he was a nice guy."

Dana made a frustrated sound. "Mia, you piss me off."

"I don't mean to."

Dana sighed. "I know. So… What will you do with the box?"

"I don't know." Her mouth twisted. "I put my dogtags in it."

Dana's eyes dropped to her chest. "Then why are you wearing them now?"

Mia fingered the chain around her neck. "Because once I put them in the box, I couldn't sleep. I don't know, it was like a panic attack or something. So I got up and put them back on." She lifted a brow. "That was the night before Abe was shot."

"You were shot, too, Mia."

"And look at me." She spread her arms wide, sardonic. "Good as new."

"I can't understand how a smart woman like you is so superstitious."

Mia shrugged. "I'd rather be superstitious and alive than logical and dead."

"And if it were a rabbit's foot, I'd say no harm, no foul. But they're Bobby's, Mia, and until you take them off, you're still connected to him." With a frustrated sigh, Dana stood and put on her coat. "Ethan will be worried about me so I have to go. Come out to the house tomorrow. I'll fix you a special treat for dinner. The kids brought you something."

"Please say it's not another goldfish," she begged and Dana smiled.

"No, not a goldfish." She gave Mia a hard hug. "Get some sleep."

Monday, November 27, 11:35 p.m.

Penny Hill breathed a sigh of relief. Her garage door was several inches closer than it usually was. I never should have had any of that punch. But it was my retirement party, after all. Should have called a cab . She'd been lucky not to have hit another car or been stopped by a cop for DUI. Wouldn't that look just dandy in my file ?

But her file was now officially closed. After twenty-five years with the Department of Children and Family Services, she was calling it quits. A lot of families had come her way. A lot of successes. A lot of regrets. One moment of shame. But that water had flowed under the bridge years before. She couldn't change it now.

She was free. She tugged at her briefcase, teetering on her feet. It was unusually heavy. She'd cleaned out her desk and stuffed the briefcase full. Too much punch made her too unsteady to haul it in tonight. I'll get it tomorrow . Now, all she wanted was a strong antacid and a soft pillow. Wearily she opened her front door.

And flew forward, violently. Her head smacked the newel post as the door closed and she was jerked to her feet by a pair of strong hands. Pulled against a hard body. She started to scream but a cold gloved hand covered her mouth and she felt the bite of a blade against her throat. She stopped fighting, feeling a spear of hope when her daughter's dog bounded into the room. Please, Milo. Don't be friendly for once .

But the dog just stood there wagging his tail and the man behind her relaxed. He forced her forward, into her kitchen. "Open the door," he said. "Let the dog out."

She did as he said. Happily Milo bounded away across her fenceless backyard. "Now lock the door, just like it was before," he said and she obeyed. He let go of her mouth just before he forced her to her knees. Then flat on her face. She cried out as he grabbed her hair and smashed her head into the linoleum. Hard.

"If you scream, I'll cut out your tongue."

She drew a deep breath into her lungs to scream anyway. Laughing softly he pressed her face into the floor again, his knee hard against the back of her neck. He shoved something in her mouth. Cloth. She tried to spit it out and gagged. Don't throw up. You 11 die if you throw up. You 'll die anyway. Dear God. I'm going to die .

A whimper of terror escaped her throat and he laughed.

He tossed the ziplock bag holding the used condom in his backpack. He'd been lucky with Caitlin. He wouldn't rely on luck this time. If by any chance he failed to completely incinerate Penny Hill, he'd made sure there would be none of his DNA left behind. She lay on the floor, curled in a fetal position. She was in pain. But not enough. She would be, though. A few more things to do and he could be on his way.

In her car, which he'd left running in her driveway, her briefcase was in the backseat. The briefcase was an unexpected find. Who knew what information he'd find inside?

But first things first. He spread the same nitrate gel over her torso that he'd used in the egg and ran a fuse out of the room, alongside the fuse that led to the egg. He'd come prepared this time. Caitlin Burnette had been unplanned and he hadn't been thinking. He'd used gasoline on her when he should have used the gel from the second egg. Gasoline burned off too quickly. He wanted Miss Hill to burn very thoroughly. But in the event she did not, he didn't want her surviving to tell tales. That would be bad.

Once more he returned to his backpack, pulling out the two garbage bags he'd packed. He pulled one of the bags over his head and poked his arms through the sides. With the wrench he removed the valve on the gas line behind the stove. In a few minutes the top half of the room would be filled with gas.

He'd crouched down next to Penny Hill, the knife in his hand, before realizing he'd nearly forgotten the most important thing. Quickly he ran to the far corner of her house, crumpled some newspaper and threw it in the trash can. Then he pulled the filterless cigarette from his pocket and carefully lit it, sat it on one end so that the burning tip rested away from the paper. In a few minutes, the cigarette would burn to its end.

Back to Miss Hill. He ran back to the kitchen and grabbed her arm. Hard. Her eyes slowly opened. "For Shane," he said. "You remember Shane. You placed him and his brother in some godforsaken foster home in the middle of fucking nowhere." Her eyes flickered in startled recognition. "You never came to check on them. For a whole year. They were sodomized there. So now you understand why I had to do that to you."

Quickly he sliced her arm, just above her elbow and blood spurted all over the plastic bag he wore, warm and wet. "You'll die," he promised. "But first, you'll burn." He crouched closer, until he was in her face.

"Count to ten, bitch Then go to hell"

He pulled off the plastic bag, rolled it up and put it in the clean bag, threw his tools in his backpack, shouldered it, then lit the fuses from the relative safety of the laundry room. Ten … Nine … He ran to the front door, pulled it firmly closed… Eight … Then he was in her car, peeling out of the driveway, counting down all the while.