Karen Rose - Count to Ten

She lifted a shoulder. "Fine. I'll find out on my own."

"You do that. When you find out, let me know. I might like to go to dinner with her ."

Wednesday, November 29, 8:00 p.m.

He sat at his desk, damning Atticus Lucas when he should be running through the evening's logistics one last time. One egg in the corner of the display case and the cops were all over the school. What the hell was a grown man doing playing with beads?

He'd been in that art room. The cops would find his prints somewhere. Sometime. And if they were the least bit good at their jobs, they'd realize something wasn't quite right. But it would take them… oh, days, at least to get to that point.

Unfortunately, they'd found evidence of his work in the lab as well. It was impossible. He'd cleaned so thoroughly and run the fan the entire time he worked in the hood. But they'd found something. He wouldn't panic. He needed time to finish. Time to do it right. But now, because of Adler and her idiocy, he'd have to hurry the job.

But all that was a distraction. He had work to do. Soon it would be time to move. He knew exactly where to go, what to do. There was an energy in the air. It would be something new. He was growing bored with houses anyway. He was ready to move on.

He'd timed it all well, but he'd need to be quick before the sprinklers and smoke detectors alerted the motel staff.

Which at the chosen time of night would be one lone person at the front desk drinking coffee and trying to stay awake.

He'd already scoped it the night before. He was ready. Mr. Dougherty wouldn't suffer. It wasn't his fault that he'd married a bitchy woman. Mrs. Dougherty, though… she had a lot to answer for. Very soon, she'd begin.

By answering to me.

The ringing of the phone jarred him back to reality. His first reaction was fear, but rage followed quickly. Rage at Adler for bringing the police to his doorstep. Which brought the fear to me . Was it the police? What did they now know? He answered the phone on the fourth ring. "Yes."

"I need to talk to you."

He blinked, more at the fierce tone than the words. "Okay. Why?"

"I've talked with Manny. He told me everything."

His fist clenched the phone, then he forced himself to relax. He injected a note of amused incredulity into his voice. "You believed him? Come on."

"I don't know. I need to talk to you."

"Okay. Meet me and we'll discuss it rationally."

There was a long pause. "Okay. Flannagan's Bar in half an hour."

He looked at his list. He'd checked nearly everything off, but there were still a few ends to tie off before he visited the Doughertys in their hotel. "Make it forty-five."

He stood, carefully loading his eggs into the backpack. Then he drew his blade from its sheath and turned it this way and that, catching the light, admiring its gleam. He'd sharpened it after Penny Hill. A responsible weapon owner cared for his tools.

The boy watched, a terrible fear clutching his heart. He knew firsthand what that blade could do. He also knew what the blade would do if he was ever discovered. So he pulled himself into a tighter ball and hid from the monster who haunted his dreams.

Wednesday, November 29, 8:40 p.m.

Reed could see her coming in his rearview. He shouldn't be here. He should have just waited until the morning to tell her. There wouldn't be anything she could do tonight anyway. But he knew she'd want to know. He knew she wasn't the type to… how had she phrased it? To hide under the covers like a little girl.

She slowed the borrowed department car, rolling to a stop next to his SUV. For a moment she sat there, looking at him, then parked her car along the curb. Feeling like he dragged an anchor, he got out and walked up to her car, his hands in his pockets.

She popped her trunk and looked up at him from the corner of her eye. "Something break on the case?" she asked. Inside her trunk were a half dozen grocery bags.

He shook his head. "No."

"Need somebody to tie your shoes or tear your mustard packets?"

"No." He nudged her aside and grabbed the bags in both hands. "Is this all?"

She slammed the trunk shut. "I don't eat much."

Without another word she led him up three flights of stairs and into her apartment. It was sparsely decorated as he"d known it would be. No pictures hung from the walls. Furniture was minimal. The TV was tiny and rested atop an old Styrofoam cooler. This wasn't a home. This was merely the place she slept when she wasn't working.

His eyes settled on the small wooden box on her dinette tabie just before she whisked it and a trifoided flag into her coat closet that was equally bare. That the flag had belonged to her father was not a huge leap. He'd been a cop. He'd get a cop's funeral. His widow would get the flag.

That the box had also been his was logical. That the daughter had the flag and not the widow was telling. But given what she'd shared this morning, completely understandable. How hard it must have been to learn of her father's infidelities while standing at his grave. How much harder for the widow. He thought of how he himself might have felt, learning that Christine had betrayed him. He simply couldn't imagine it.

That Mia Mitchell managed to stay focused at all was testament to the kind of cop she was. "You can put the groceries on the table," she said and he did, all the while wondering how he would tell her that her privacy was on the verge of being threatened.

He unpacked a bag, stacking frozen dinners. "I just got finished meeting with Holly."

Her eyes flashed. "I trust you left Miss Wheaton well and happy."

His temper rose. "I don't like her, either, Mia. And I don't like your insinuation."

She shrugged, fitfully. "You're right. I'm sorry," she muttered. "Doesn't matter anyway." She reached for the stack of frozen dinners and he grabbed her arm.

"Dammit, Mia. What's wrong with you?"

For a split second, the anger in her eyes changed to fear. Then just that fast, it was gone, defiance taking its place. She jerked her arm and shaken, he immediately let her go. "Go away, Reed. I'm not good company right now."

She grabbed the cartons and disappeared into the kitchen. He heard the freezer door open, then slam shut. She reappeared, fists on her hips. "You're still here."

"So it would seem." She stood there scowling, blue eyes flashing, somehow sexier in khaki pants and scuffed boots than Wheaton had been in a suede miniskirt and killer pumps. And he wanted her, scowl and all.

"Look. You seem like a nice man. You deserve better than I've treated you. I'm not warm and fuzzy, but I'm not usually this rude." The smile that curved her lips was obviously forced. "I'll try to be nicer. Let's get this case solved and you can walk away, hopefully none the worse for the wear." She started for the front door, dismissing him.

Not just yet . "Mia, I need to talk to you about Holly Wheaton. It's important."

She stopped five feet away, her back to him. "I really don't care."

He sighed. "About this you will."

She turned to face him, wary. "What's she done?"

"Your absence from the press conference this morning didn't go unnoticed."

She closed her eyes. "Oh shit."

"She knows about the woman you followed, that she's important to you. She has video of her in the crowd. I thought you'd want to know, so you could be on your guard."

Her eyes opened, narrowed. "Goddamn, I hate that bitch."

"I'd have to say the feeling is mutual. Why does she hate you so much?"

"We had a child rape/homicide and she tried to cuddle up to Abe for an exclusive, just like she tried with you at that apartment fire. Didn't matter that Abe is married. Abe and I agreed the best way to get Wheaton off his back was to give an exclusive to somebody else. We talked to Lynn Pope of Chicago on the Town ."