Karen Rose - Count to Ten

Three, two … and … Right on cue the air shook with the explosion, broken glass flying from the windows of Hill's house. He'd done a much better job at estimating the length of his fuses this time. He was at the end of the street before the first neighbor ran from their house. Carefully he drove, making sure to arouse no suspicion. Driving on, he pulled far off the deserted side road where he'd left the car he'd stolen that evening. He covered Hill's car with evergreen branches. Nobody would find it there.

He changed cars, making sure to take his backpack. Settling behind the wheel, he pulled off the ski mask and drove away. Penny Hill would be in a lot of pain right about now. He'd savor the satisfaction later.

Tuesday, November 28, 12:35 a.m.

"You were right. He's done it again."

Reed turned. Mia Mitchell stood behind him, her gaze fixed on the inferno that used to be the residence of Penny Hill. She'd gotten here fast. "It appears so."

"What happened?"

"Residents reported an initial explosion at about five minutes after midnight. Companies 156 and 172 responded at 12:09 and 12:15 respectively. They arrived at the site and the battalion chief immediately saw the similarity to Saturday's fire. Larry Fletcher called me at 12:15." He'd immediately called Mitchell, expecting a cranky middle-of-the-night reception. Instead she'd been instantly alert, professional. He glanced at the crowd, dropped his voice so only she could hear. "They think the homeowner was home. Her name is Penny Hill. Two guys went in to look for her."

Horror and pity and sad resignation flickered in her eyes. "Ah, shit."

"I know. The pair checked the right side of the house, but she wasn't there."

"They check the kitchen?"

"Can't get close enough yet. They've turned off the gas and run a line into the house. They're working it. There was a smaller fire in the living room."

"Trash can?" she asked and he lifted a brow.

"Yeah."

"I've been mulling it over. The trash can was the odd thing at the Doughertys'."

"Agreed. The solid accelerant was sophisticated. The gasoline was like an afterthought, but the trash can was almost…"

"Childish," she supplied. "I bounced it off Abe tonight. He thought the same thing."

Abe. her partner who was laid up in a hospital bed. "How is he?"

She nodded once, briskly. "He's good."

So then, he suspected, was she. Which made him glad. "Good."

"You talk to the crowd?"

"Yeah. Nobody saw anybody before, but everybody was inside, asleep or watching TV. Then all of the sudden, the big boom. One of the neighbors heard the squeal of tires just before the explosion, but he's pretty shaken up." Reed pointed to a man standing at the front of the crowd, his expression one of shocked horror. "Daniel Wright. There are skid marks on the driveway and Mrs. Hill's car is gone."

"I'll put out an all points for her vehicle."

"I already did." His brow lifted when hers went up. "Hope you don't mind."

Her eyes had blinked with surprise, then settled. "Of course not. Just so it gets done." She turned her gaze back to the fire. "They've got it under control."

"Knocked this one down faster. It hadn't caught hold in the top floor yet."

"He wanted that bed to burn in the Doughertys' house," she noted. "Why not here?"

He wondered the same thing. Two firefighters emerged from the house. "Come on," he said and started toward the truck where Larry stood with his radio. "Well?"

Larry's expression was grim. "She's in there. Mahoney says she looks like the last one. We couldn't get close enough to get her out in time." He eyed Mitchell. "You are?"

"Mia Mitchell, Homicide. You must be Larry Fletcher."

Larry's expression went from grim to wary. "I am. Why Homicide?"

She looked up at Reed, her blue eyes accusing. "You didn't tell him?"

Reed scowled. "I left him a message to call me."

"Tell me what?" Larry demanded and Mitchell sighed.

"The victim in the last fire was dead before it started. This one may have been, too."

Larry's frown was troubled. "I shouldn't feel relieved, but I do."

"Human nature," she said. "There wasn't anything you could have done."

"Thanks. Maybe we'll sleep tonight. You'll want to talk to the guys who went in. Mahoney and the probie. Hey!" he shouted at the men. "Mahoney. Hunter. Over here!"

Mahoney and the newest probationary member of their company trudged toward them, still in full gear with the exception of their breathing apparatus which hung around their necks. Both wore looks of exhausted devastation. "We were too late," Brian Mahoney said, his voice rough from the smoke. "She's charred, just like the last one."

The probie just shook his head. "My God." His voice was thick, horrified.

Mitchell stepped forward, peering up under the brim of the probie's hat. "David?"

The probie pushed his hat back. "Mia? What are you doing here?"

"I should say the same thing to you. I knew you took the exam, but I thought you were still waiting for an assignment."

"Been with the 172 for three months. I guess since you're here we should assume these were homicides. That the fire was just to cover them up."

"That's a good assumption. Do you know Solliday?"

The probie shoved his hat under his arm. Sober gray eyes met Reed's and annoyance prickled as Reed studied his face. Even dirty, this guy was a calendar boy. "No. I'm David Hunter, the new guy."

"Reed Solliday, OFI. I take it you know each other."

One side of Mitchell's mouth lifted wryly. "Yeah, we've had our fun in the past."

The thought of Mitchell having fun with the pretty probie sent a wave of irritation through Reed, so hard and fast it shocked him. Whoa . If Mitchell and Hunter were a number, it was none of his damn business. This fire was. "Tell me what you saw."

"Nothing at first," Hunter admitted. "The smoke was too thick. Black. The spray went to vapor right way. Showered back down on us. We kept moving, checked the bedrooms and didn't find anybody in the beds. We finally got close to the kitchen." He closed his eyes and swallowed convulsively. "I almost stepped on her, Mia. She was…"

"It's okay. Not an easy sight even if you've seen it before. How was she laid out?"

Hunter took a breath. "Fetal."

Mahoney took off his hat, wiped at the sweat on his brow. "The fire was high up, Reed. Char lines at eye level. Just like the last one. And the stove was pulled away."

"What about the trash can in the living room?" he asked.

"Just a metal wastebasket filled with newspaper," Mahoney said.

"The girl we found Saturday was dead before the fire," Larry said. "This one probably was, too."

Mahoney blew out a breath. "Thanks. It helps a little. You done with us?"

Reed looked down at Mitchell. "You done?"

"Yeah. David… Tell your mom hi," she said in what was an obvious substitution.

Hunter's mouth lifted. "I will. Don't be a stranger."

Mahoney and Hunter walked away and Reed unclenched his jaw. "You can't go in yet," he said, annoyed with himself for his curt tone. "Your boots won't protect your feet from the heat." He turned for his SUV, Mitchell following behind him.

"When can Jack and his team go in?"

"An hour. Ben and Foster and I will go in first, but go ahead and call Unger." He sat on his tailgate to change into his boots. Her call completed, she dropped her phone in her pocket and watched him, fists on her hips. Her watching him, combined with the cold air and his own ire, made his fingers even clumsier on the clamps of his boots. Finally, Mitchell lightly smacked his hands away and took over the task.

"Are you always so stubborn about asking for help?" she snapped.

"Are you always so sensitive to other people's feelings?" he shot back and her chin immediately lifted, her eyes narrowed. Cold.