Karen Rose - Count to Ten

Her blue eyes were cold. "I'll wait for you outside," she answered.

With a sigh he watched her go. Thirty minutes passed and finally Wheaton reappeared, a videotape in her hand. "It has the neighbor's video?" Reed asked.

When she didn't see Mia, Wheaton smiled. "I would never welsh, Lieutenant."

"Of course you would if it benefited you. If this is missing anything, the deal is off."

Her smile went flat. "And how would you know if it were missing anything?"

"Detective Mitchell will tell me after she seizes all tapes made since last Saturday. I expect she'll have her court order by ten tomorrow at the latest."

She cocked her jaw, fury in her eyes. "I could erase them all."

He smiled and pulled his micro-recorder from his pocket, hit //smc rewind and let it replay her last words as her eyes narrowed to angry slits. "I wouldn't. Mitchell would love to see your ass in jail. I don't think you'd find the accommodations to your liking."

"You sonofabitch," she hissed.

He pocketed his recorder and stuck the tape under his arm. Her assessment was very true in a basic kind of way. "Good night," he said. "I'll see myself out."

Mia was leaning on the hood of her little car, eating lasa-gna out of Lauren's plastic bowl. When she saw him coming she tossed the container on the front passenger seat, her face a stony mask. He handed her the tape but she shook her head. "We'll watch it tomorrow," she said. "Eight o'clock." She was walking away when he rolled his eyes and caught up to her.

"Mia, you're being childish," he said and she whirled, fury snapping in her eyes.

"You undermined me," she hissed. "The next time I go to get evidence, I'll have to work twice as hard. Dammit, I could have had a court order by tomorrow morning."

"But you have the tape now ." When she just looked at him, he sighed in frustration. "You weren't going to get what you wanted that way, Mia. Sometimes it pays to be-" He cut himself off, but she'd already taken a step back as if he'd slapped her.

"Nice," she finished, her voice brittle. "I'll make a note of it." She walked around her car, shoulders hunched against the wind. She looked small. And hurt.

Let her go , the voice in his head cautioned as she fired up her engine. By tomorrow she'll be fine . But he'd seen the look in her eyes. She'll bounce back. She'll get over it by morning . Trouble was, he didn't think he would. That's not the kind of man I am .

He got in his SUV, considering all he'd learned about Mia Mitchell. She cared, too much, but she coated her feelings with a sarcastic veneer so that nobody would know. He thought about that moment in his kitchen, when he'd caught her looking at him… She'd been interested. He was sure of it. Then when he'd denied interest in a woman like Holly Wheaton- That's not the kind of man I am , he'd said-in Mia's eyes he'd seen respect. So what kind of man was he? Perhaps it was time to find out.

Wednesday, November 29, 12:30 a.m.

Mia lived on a quiet street lined with identical apartments. They weren't fancy, but they appeared clean. Flower boxes hung from most of the windows. He didn't think Mia had one. He couldn't see her taking the time for flowers any more than she'd taken the time for Fluffy the goldfish. Christine had been quite a gardener. She'd loved her roses.

Mia had left so little space behind her car that maneuvering his SUV had been a challenge, his front bumper nearly kissing her rear. Too many double entendres there, he thought. Leave it alone . He watched her get out of her car wearily. Leave her alone .

He knew he should. But for some reason he seemed unable to. She was watching him with steady eyes. Then she approached, waiting as he rolled down his window.

"Tell me something, Solliday. Do you always follow your partners around?"

It was a fair question, he thought. "No."

"Then why me? Am I that pathetically inept that you have to watch over me?"

"No." The trouble was, he wasn't really sure why he was here. No, that wasn't true either. He knew. He just didn't like it. Go home, Reed. Do not get out of this vehicle . He got out of the SUV. "I didn't want to leave it like that."

Her jaw tightened. "It was nothing. We went to get the tape. We got the tape."

Technically, he'd gotten the tape. And she had not. Holly Wheaton had made sure the distinction was crystal clear. Now, looking in Mia's eyes, he could see that she still smarted from the confrontation. "Mia, she's just a vindictive woman."

Color rose in her cheeks. "I'm all right. I promise I won't cry myself to sleep."

"Will you sleep?"

"If you ever go home, I might," she said irritably. "I've dealt with bitches far bitchier than Wheaton, trust me. Hell, I'm far bitchier than Wheaton. Look, I appreciate your concern. But go home. We'll study that damn tape backward and forward tomorrow. I promise." She turned and squeezed through the space between their vehicles.

He followed her, all the while telling himself to just do as she asked. Go home . But his feet didn't obey and placing one hand on the SUV's hood for support, he nimbly sprung over their bumpers, landing on his feet. "Mia."

"Dammit, Solliday." She yanked open the passenger door. "For the last time, I am okay. For the last time, go home." She bent over, her hand searching under the seat.

For a second he damned the ratty jacket that effectively covered her past her hips. Then he thanked it. "What are you doing?"

"Getting your sister's plastic bowl."

"You don't have to give it back now. She has plenty of bowls."

"I wasn't going to give it back. I only ate half of mine. I'll eat the rest for breakfast."

He winced. "Lasagna for breakfast."

"It's got all the major food groups, so don't knock it." She straightened, lifting the plastic bowl in the air like a trophy. "Lasagna, breakfast of champions."

His eyes followed hers to the container she held, then shifted to the left when he caught a movement from the corner of his eye. A car approached, too fast for the speed limit on her street. The window was rolling down and a face peered out. Reed had a split second for recognition to dawn before he saw a flash of light as the streetlamp reflected against the steel barrel of a gun.

"Reed! Get-"

Mia's words barely registered as his reflexes took over. He leapt, and in the next moment they were both on the sidewalk, his body covering hers.

A heartbeat later a shot cracked the air and her driver's side window shattered. He pressed her flat to the ground as a second shot took out her windshield and a third pinged off the hood inches from the top of his head as the car sped away, tires screeching and the odor of burning rubber filled the air. They were gone. At least the car was. It would be stupid for the gunman to leave the safety of his vehicle. But the guy had shot at a cop in front of her own apartment, so how smart could he be?

Reed lay there, straining to hear footsteps over the pounding of his heart in his ears, waiting for a fourth shot that never came. His body fully covered hers, one arm hooked around her waist, his face buried in her hair. His shoulder had taken the brunt of the fall where he'd landed and rolled. Her right arm extended straight out from beneath him, her weapon looking huge in her small hand. She'd drawn as he'd taken her down. He'd done the same. Gripping his nine-mil, he lifted his head. "Are you hit?"

"Only… by you." Her elbow jabbed his ribs. "Dammit, Solliday, I can't breathe."

You're welcome , he though sourly and lifted himself a fraction of an inch so she could breathe. "God." She shuddered out the breath, greedily took in another. "You hit?"

"No." He sucked in a deep breath of his own. Now that it was over, his muscles didn't seem capable of any movement at all. "I got a glimpse of his face. Looked like your Getts."