Karen Rose - Count to Ten

There'd been a wry admiration under his criticism. "Thanks. I think."

Tuesday, November 28, 4:30 P.M.

"Hello," he drawled. "May I speak with Emily Richter, please?"

Her sigh was longsuffering. "This is she. With whom am I speaking?"

"My name is Tom Johnson. I'm calling from the Chicago Bulletin ."

"How do you reporters keep getting my phone number?" she demanded.

"You're listed in the phone book, ma'am," he said politely. Damn idiot woman .

"Well." She sniffed. "I talked to one of your reporters already. A woman. Her name was… Carmichael. You should talk to her if you want details about the fire."

"Well, ma'am, I'm not covering the fire itself. I'm with a different department. I'd like to feature your neighbors in a small piece. Let the community know they have a need. Give folks a way to help out, this being the holiday season and all.

My deadline's in just a few hours. If you could help me out, I"d sure appreciate it."

"Well, what do you want from me?" she snapped.

I'd love to shut you up, you old bag , he thought, then injected a lazy smile into his voice. "I've been trying to reach the Doughertys, but nobody knows where they are. I'd like to talk to them, find out what they need the most, things like that."

"They just got back this morning." She sniffed. "From Florida. They were here, talking to the police. I went out after the police were gone, to offer my help, of course."

Of course . "Did they mention where they were staying by any chance?"

"I didn't ask. But they had a parking permit from the Beacon Inn."

Thank God for gossiping old busybodies , he thought with a grin. "Thank you, ma'am. Happy holidays." He hung up, satisfied.

Mrs. Dougherty, you and I have a date. A hot one . He chuckled. A hot date. Sometimes I slay myself . He dragged the mammoth phone book from below the phone and found the hotel's number, dug in his pocket for more change and dialed.

A perky voice answered. "Beacon Inn, this is Tania. How can I help you?"

He deepened his voice. "Yes. I'd like the room number for Joe Dougherty, please."

"I'm sorry, sir. We don't give out the room numbers of guests. I can connect you."

The back of his neck heated in anger. "Actually, I'm having flowers delivered to him and his wife. I just need the room number to tell the florist."

"Just tell the florist our hotel name and location. We'll deliver them for you."

Her smug tone clawed at him. We'll deliver them for you . She wasn't going to tell him, the high-and-mighty bitch. He gritted his teeth against the impotent rage. "Thank you, Tania. You've been so helpful." He hung up and narrowed his eyes at the phone.

Flowers it would have to be. And Tania would wish she really had been helpful.

Tuesday, November 28, 6:45 p.m.

Reed yawned as he pulled into the parking space beside Mitchell's little Alfa.

"Don't do that," she protested. "I still have tons of reading to do tonight."

"You're not going back to your desk. I know I need some sleep. So do you, Mia."

"I won't go back right away. I have something I need to do first. But I've got to get through some of those files. We've got nothing so far."

"The info we got from the sorority was disappointing," he agreed glumly.

"They can't tell us what they didn't see. If this guy stalked Caitlin, he was damn careful about it. At least we can rule out Doug Davis and Joel Rebinowitz."

"Lucky for Doug he has a temper. Being held without bail for aggravated assault in a Milwaukee jail gives him a tight alibi. We can tell Margaret Hill he's not blame."

"And luckily the arcade has a security camera." It had clearly shown Joel playing pinball during the hours in question. She scrubbed her cheeks with her palms and shot him a weak smile. "Go home and see your daughter, Solliday. Fluffy just isn't the conversationalist he used to be, so I won't be missing anything at home."

He didn't smile back. Fatigued, frustration flared and with it his temper. "No way. Tired people have accidents. People die. Go the hell home."

She blinked at him, surprised. "I'm not that tired."

"That's what the guy said who ran a red light and broad-sided my wife." Immediately he wished the words back, but it was too late.

Her blue eyes flickered sympathy. "And she died?"

"Yes." The one word vibrated with an anger that surprised him. But at the moment he wasn't sure who he was most angry with.

She sighed. "I'm so sorry."

So was he. "It was a long time ago." He gentled his voice. "Go home, Mia. Please."

She nodded. "Okay. I will."

That had been too easy. It didn't take a detective to realize she wasn't going home.

Something perverse nagged at him. She was going to get herself killed, and dammit, she was starting to grow on him.

He now understood why Spinnelli spoke so highly of her. He also had to admit she'd piqued his own curiosity.

Reed waited until she'd driven away, and then followed. At the first traffic light she hadn't detected his presence. She really must be tired , he thought. He pulled out his phone and said, "Home," and waited for voice recognition to do its thing.

"Hey, Dad," Beth said, startling him. Caller ID still caught him unaware sometimes.

"Hi, sweetie. How was school today?" The light changed and Mitchell continued onward, not trying to lose him. So far, so good.

"Okay. When are you coming home?"

"I'll be a little while. Something's come up on this case."

" What ? You promised you'd take me to Jenny Q's tonight. Meet her mother. So I can go to her party this weekend, remember?"

The vehemence in her voice took him aback. "Well, I can go over there tomorrow."

"I have to study with her tonight ."

It sounded as if every word was being spat from her mouth. "Beth, what's wrong?"

"Your not keeping your promise is what's wrong. Oh!"

It sounded like she stifled a sob and alarmed he sat up straighter. Hormones again. He could never keep track of which week to be careful. "Honey? This will be all right. I'll ask Aunt Lauren to go meet her mother if it's that important to you."

"Okay." She shuddered a breath. "Sorry, Dad."

Reed blinked. "It's okay, honey. I think. Put Aunt Lauren on the phone."

"What was that about?" Lauren asked a minute later.

"She wants to go to a party at her friend's house this weekend and I was going to meet the girl's mother tonight, but I'm working late." It was a small lie. Little and white. Still he winced. But made no move to turn around. "Can you take her over there to study and give the mom the third degree?"

"Do I get to use the bright lights and rubber hoses?"

He chuckled. "Knock yourself out. I'm not sure when I'll be home."

"Reed, are you working that fire that killed the social worker?"

Reed grimaced. "How do you know about that?"

"It's all over the news. My God. That poor woman."

"Which news?"

"Local. It was one of their lead stories. You want me to tape it for you for at ten?"

"That'd be great. Remember, Beth's got to be home by nine."

"I've been doing this a long time, Reed," Lauren said patiently. "You shouldn't worry about my taking care of Beth. You should be more worried I'll get married."

"Are you planning a big wedding any time soon?" he teased.

"I'm serious. One of these days I'll leave. You need to consider my replacement."

"Oh. This is about me dating." Lauren was good at back alley arguing.

"Finding a good wife is a lot easier than hiring a good nanny. And my biological clock is ticking. I've got to find a husband before they're all taken. Talk to you later."