Karen Rose - Count to Ten

Which left point three. His escape. He hadn't been seen running to his own car. Lucky, lucky. Next time he couldn't count on that kind of luck. He'd have to come up with a better means of escape. One that, even were he spotted, would do the police no good. He smiled. He knew just what to do there.

He considered his plan. It was good. But, he had to admit, it was the sex that had made the evening complete. He'd killed before. He'd taken sex before. But now, having experienced murder and sex together, he couldn't imagine one without the other.

It should come as no surprise, really. It was, he supposed, his one… weakness. And perhaps his greatest strength. Of all the weapons he'd ever wielded, sex was the finest. The most basic.

Of all the ways to put a woman in her place, it was the very best. Young, old… it didn't really matter. The enjoyment, the release, was in the taking-and knowing they would never go a day without remembering that they were weak. And he was strong.

His biggest problem was that he'd let them live. It was almost what had gotten him caught before. It was almost what had earned him a punishment far greater than he'd experienced in the laughable juvenile detention system. He'd learned from that, too, as evidenced by Caitlin Burnette. If one planned to rape a woman, make sure she didn't live to tell the tale.

But he had to be completely honest. Technically, the night had gone off much better than he'd dared hope. Realistically, he'd failed. He'd missed his target. In the light of day, the fire, even taking Caitlin, paled. This couldn't be about fire. The fire could only be the tool. This was about payment. Retribution. Old lady Dougherty had escaped her fate. She was out of town. For Thanksgiving. He'd gotten that much from the girl. But she'd come back and when she did, he'd be waiting.

Until then, he had more to do. Miss Penny Hill was next on his mental list of offenders. She and old lady Dougherty had been thick as thieves. Penny Hill had believed Dougherty's lies. So did I, in the beginning . In the beginning, Dougherty had promised them safety. His lips twisted. Hope . But in the end she'd turned, accusing them of things they hadn't done. Her promise of safety was mercilessly broken. She kicked them out on the street and Hill had shipped them away, like cattle. It's for the best . Hill had said as she'd driven them away, straight into hell on earth. You'll see . But it hadn't been for the best.

She'd lied, just like all the others. He and Shane had been helpless, homeless. Vulnerable. Old lady Dougherty was homeless. Soon enough she'd be helpless. And then dead. Now it was Penny Hill's turn to become helpless and homeless. And dead. It was only fair. To use her own words, it was for the best. She'd see.

He checked the clock. He had someplace to be. He didn't want to be late.

Monday, November 27, 6:45 a.m

Daddy!"

The shout, accompanied by the banging on his bedroom door sent the tie tack in Reed's hand skittering to the floor and under his dresser. He sighed. "Come in, Beth."

The door exploded, admitting both fourteen-year-old Beth and her three-month-old sheepdog, who took a running leap, landing in the middle of Reed's bed. The dog shook, sending muddy water everywhere.

"Biggies, no." Beth yanked on his collar, pulling him across the sheets to the floor where he sat, puppy tongue sticking out just far enough to make him too cute to punish.

Hands on his hips, Reed stared in dismay at the muddy streaks the puppy left behind. "I just changed my sheets, Beth. I told you to wipe his paws and dry him off before you brought him back in the house. The backyard is a mud bath."

Beth's lips twitched. "Well, his paws are clean now. I'll wash the sheets again. But first I need lunch money, Dad. The bus is coming soon."

Reed pulled his wallet from his back pocket. "Didn't I just give you lunch money a few days ago?"

Beth shrugged, her hand out. "You want me to go hungry, or what?"

He shot her an overly patient look. "I want you to help me find my tie tack. It rolled under the dresser."

Beth dropped to her knees and felt under the dresser. "Here it is." She dropped it in his palm and he handed her a twenty.

"Try to make it last for at least two weeks, okay?"

She wrinkled her nose and in that moment looked so much like her mother that his heart squeezed. Beth folded the bill and slid it down into the pockets of jeans that hadn't seemed that tight before. "Two weeks? You've gotta be kidding."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" He looked her up and down. "Your jeans are too tight, Bethie," he said and she got that look on her face. Damn, he hated that look. It seemed to have appeared about the same time as the pimples and the mood swings. Reed's sister Lauren had informed him in a dark whisper that his baby was no longer a baby. God. PMS. He wasn't ready for this. But it didn't seem to matter. His baby was a teenager. She'd be going off to college any day now.

His mind flitted to the victim they'd found in the rubble of the Dougherty house. If she was the college house sitter, she wasn't much older than Beth, and Reed still didn't know her name. He still hadn't heard from Joe Dougherty Junior. He had been able to trace the burned-out Chevy in the garage to a Roger Burnette, but when he and Ben had stopped by the Burnette address, no one had been home. He'd try again this morning after he stopped by the morgue and the lab.

Beth narrowed her eyes, her acidic tone piercing his thoughts. "Are you saying these jeans make me look fat?"

Reed sucked in his cheek. There was no good answer to this question. "Not even close. You're not fat. You're healthy. You're perfect. You do not need to lose weight."

Eyes rolling, her tone became long-suffering. "I'm not going anorexic, Dad."

"Good." He let out the breath he'd been holding. "I'm just saying we need to go shopping for bigger jeans." He smiled weakly. "You're growing too fast, baby. Don't you like the idea of new clothes?" The tie tack rolled in his clumsy fingers, no longer as dexterous as they once had been. "I thought all girls loved shopping."

Quickly Beth took over the task, fixing the tie tack and smoothing his tie with a practiced hand. The look he hated disappeared, replaced by a wicked grin that made her dark eyes sparkle. "I love shopping. I bet we could spend six hours in Marshall Field's alone. Sweaters and jeans and skirts. And shoes! Just think of it."

Reed shuddered, the picture abundantly clear. "Now you're just being mean."

She laughed. "Revenge for the fat comment. So you want to go shopping, Daddy?"

He shuddered again. "Frankly, a root canal without Novo-cain seems less painful. Can Aunt Lauren take you?"

"I'll ask her." Beth leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Thanks for the lunch money. Daddy. Gotta go."

Reed watched her dart away, the sloppy pup at her heels. The front door slammed as Beth headed out, the sheets on his bed still muddy from the dog she'd begged him to buy for her birthday. He knew if he wanted to sleep on clean sheets tonight, he'd best change them himself. But the smell of coffee tickled his nose. She'd remembered to flip the switch on the coffee machine, so he'd cut her slack on the puppy prints. Despite her sometimes volatile mood swings, she was a good kid.

Reed would sell his soul to make sure she stayed that way. He glanced over at the picture on his nightstand. Christine serenely stared back as she had for eleven years. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he picked up the picture and dusted the frame with the cuff of his shirt. Christine would have enjoyed Beth's coming of age, the shopping trips, the "talk." He doubted even the "look" would have phased her. Once he would have damned the world that his wife hadn't had the chance to find out. Today… he set the picture back on the nightstand so that it once again covered the dust-free strip of wood. After eleven years, the rage had become sad acceptance. What was, was. Shrugging into his suit coat, he shook himself. If he didn't hit the road soon, traffic would make him late. Coffee, Solliday, then get moving .