Karen Rose - Count to Ten

He made a disgusted face. "Why?"

"Because we're primary on the case. Spinnelli will field all the questions, but we'll be there as the poster children of cross-agency cooperation. Relax. Your shoes are already shiny. I've got to change into my dress uniform and my shoes pinch."

He grimaced. "So we're window dressing."

"More like bait."

His brows shot up. "Who will they let into the press conference?"

Mia's smile was sharp. "Spinnelli told them not to be too picky about credentials."

"He's hoping the arsonist shows up."

"He's certainly not doing it for the exposure. Spinnelli hates wearing his dress blues even more than I do."

"Suddenly I feel a smile coming on."

She chuckled. "Drive, Solliday. I've got calls to make."

Wednesday, November 29, 7:25 a.m.

Tania Sladerman staggered down the stairs to her apartment, exhausted from the double shift. She knew the manager at the Beacon Inn wouldn't even thank her for covering, but at least the overtime pay would help cover next semester's tuition.

She missed twice before shoving the key into her dead-bolt. Then jerked upright when a hand grabbed her hair and yanked back her head. A knife. To my throat .

A scream broke free, but his other hand clamped her mouth, muffling it. "Don't say a word," he breathed. "Or I'll slit your fucking throat."

Wednesday, November 29, 7:55 a.m.

"This was easier than I thought," Reed said as they walked up to Jared's father's house. The kids at the bus stop had given up their comrade without blinking an eye.

"It's always easier to ask kids. They don't worry about selling their video to the highest bidder." Mia rapped on the door and waited, her head tilted in apparent repose, but Reed knew better. She'd been livid when she found out who Jared's father was. The door opened and Mr. Wright's eyes widened.

Mia's smile was not pleasant. "I hope you remember me, Mr. Wright. Or perhaps Oliver Stone would be more appropriate? I hear you're in the filmmaking business."

Wright's eyes hardened. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"Illegal, no. Immoral, plenty. She was your neighbor and you profited from her death. You stood there with tears in your eyes. Were those for the camera, too?"

"I told you what you wanted to know. Besides, it was my son that took the video. Duane. He's in high school. It was… homework."

Mitchell's mouth twisted. "You can call it what you like while you're handing it over."

Wright's mouth dropped open. "You can't do that. It's private property."

"It's evidence. There are a few ways to do this. You can wait here while I call in for a warrant. Or"-she held up a finger when Wright would have protested-"you can go to your office and then I can show up with a warrant in an hour or two once everyone is at their desk. I've got to go to a press conference this morning, so I'll still be in full uniform, escorting you to the door. Or, you can give me the video now and go on with your day."

Wright's jaw tightened. "Are you threatening me, Detective?"

Reed vividly remembered the scene with Wheaton the night before. This was the same song, second verse. And the more he'd thought about Wheaton, the more he realized Mia had been right. He had usurped her authority. It wasn't the way partners behaved.

"Yeah, she is. Which is it going to be, Mr. Wright? Door number one, two, or three? And I wouldn't think of trying to destroy the videos because then O think she'd make sure she hauled you downtown and the charge would have more teeth. Like obstruction."

Mia nodded. "Sounds good, Lieutenant. Obstruction it would be."

"Wait here." He slammed the door in their faces.

Mia looked up, her eyes once again full of respect. "Well, done, Monty Hall."

The door opened and she turned her attention back to Wright who slapped a videocassette into Reed's hand, barely waiting for Mitchell to write him out a receipt before slamming the door so hard the house shook.

"Thank you for doing your civic duty with such a cheerful spirit," she murmured. "Let's get these back to the office and see if we can figure out who our mystery lady is."

Reed followed her back to his SUV. She frowned at him. "Are you okay, Solliday?"

Reed nodded, grateful he'd regained some of the moisture in his mouth. Because the moment she'd looked up, so serious, his mouth had gone completely, utterly, bone dry. He clenched his jaw as they headed back to the city. This was damn inconvenient and a totally bad idea. She was a totally bad idea. But the images that had taunted him during the night returned and with them a yearning that left him breathless.

It was Lauren's fault, he decided. She'd put the idea in his mind, that he needed someone. That he'd be alone. Of how long it had been since he'd had a relationship. It was just bad luck that fate had paired him with a woman detective at the same time. He damned Lauren and damned fate. And wondered how Mia felt about strings.

"Solliday, your face is… pasty. If you need to throw up, let me drive."

Grimly he laughed. Mia Mitchell did have a way of articulating the obvious. "I'm fine. Besides, your feet won't reach the pedals."

She made a sarcastic face. "Smart ass. Just drive, Solliday."

Wednesday, November 29, 10:10 a.m.

Mia scanned the crowd who sat impatiently waiting for Spinnelli to appear. It was cold outside but Spinnelli had wanted to maximize access. There were reporters in the crowd, but also a half dozen cops in plain clothes. Spinnelli had set up surveillance in advance and there were several cameras recording the event from several angles. Holly Wheaton sat in the front row, her eyes shooting daggers, although they seemed to be aimed at Solliday. Mia glanced up at him, standing beside her, his feet spread, his arms folded over his chest. He looked like a bodyguard.

"Wheaton looks like she wants to do you some serious harm," she murmured.

"She said some things after you left. I suggested she might… reconsider."

Something in her warmed. "You took up for me?"

His mouth curved inside his goatee. "Something like that."

"Okay. Thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome."

Mia rocked slightly on her sore feet as she studied faces. "See anybody you know?"

"No known firebugs, if that's what you mean. But check out the back. Ten o'clock."

Mia had to bite back a scowl. "One blondbitch with a braid," she muttered. "I'm still pissed that she printed Penny Hill's name before we could inform the family."

"But she did give you DuPree. You said she was on your Christmas list forever."

"I lied," she muttered and heard his deep chuckle. The warmth inside her spread. Soothed, even though she wanted no part of it.

Spinnelli walked up to the podium. The crowd sat up straighter. "We've had reports in the press of a string of fires and homicides. We're here today to set the record straight. We've had two fires in the last week, presumably set by the same arsonist. At each fire site, one body was discovered. We're treating each death as a homicide. At this time we are pursuing a number of leads. Leading the investigation are Detective Mitchell, Homicide, and Lieutenant Solliday from the OFT. Both are decorated, seasoned professionals with many years experience between them. They have the full support and resources of both departments at their disposal. I'll take a few questions now."

A Trib reporter stood. "Can you confirm the first victim was the child of a cop?"

"This is true. The deceased is Caitlin Burnette, a nineteen-year-old college student. We ask that you respect her family in this time of mourning. Next?"

Holly Wheaton rose gracefully and Mia gritted her teeth. "The second victim was a social worker. It's hard not to make a connection between the two. A cop's daughter and a social worker. Are we talking about someone with a mission of revenge?"