Karen Rose - Count to Ten

"I've seen her show, but I've never met her."

"Lynn's a classy lady. I trust her. When Holly found out she filed a formal complaint with Spinnelli. He supported us, of course, and the next time he had a story, he gave the exclusive to Lynn. So Holly blames me for trying to ruin her career."

"Why you?"

"Because the men couldn't possibly have resisted her on their own. I had to have turned them against her. She's a menace." She sighed bitterly. "She's also good at finding what she wants to know. Most men aren't capable of resisting a pretty face like hers. Most are even less capable of resisting a short skirt or the twitching ass inside it."

There was a compliment buried in there somewhere, Reed knew, because he had resisted. But there was also something else, an acceptance that she, Mia Mitchell, didn't have those same attributes and was somehow less desirable. Which pissed him off, because he was living, breathing, aching proof of just how desirable she was. "Nobody knows about your relationship to the blonde except the men in the room this morning. I won't say a word. Spinnelli, Jack, and the shrink won't say anything, either."

She pressed her fingertips to her eyes. "I know. I appreciate you coming by to tell me. Now I'm really sorry I snapped at you."

Reed wanted to go to her. To take her in his arms and hold her. But she'd pulled away twice and he was afraid she'd make it three times. And he'd be out. So he stood where he was, hands in his pockets. "It's okay." He injected a note of humor in his voice. "If I'd known how much you hated her, I would have let you get your court order."

One side of her mouth turned up sadly. "I knew you were a gentleman."

You've said your piece. Now go . But his feet stayed planted where they were. He couldn't leave her looking so defeated. "Mia, I've watched you for three days now. You care about the victims. If they suffered. Finding them justice. You care about the families. Giving them support and dignity. That's important to me. More important than warm fuzzies and especially more important than a twitching ass in a short skirt."

Her eyes were serious as she studied him from five feet away. "Thank you. That's the nicest thing anybody's ever said to me."

Now you can go. Dammit, just go . But still he stood. "Although you'd look every bit as good in a short skirt."

Her eyes heated and his heart turned over. "Second nicest."

He took a step forward, testing. She held her ground, but he could see her pulse flutter at the hollow of her throat. At her sides her hands flexed and clenched and he came to a stunning realization. He made her nervous. It was an ego-boosting, courage-building discovery. "About last night," he said. "I knocked you down."

She lifted her chin. "1 know. I was there."

"I haven't been shot at since I was in the army. My reflexes were a little rusty."

She sucked in one cheek. "Not all of them."

It was the opening he'd been waiting for. "So you did notice."

"It would have been difficult not to," she said dryly. "So was it reflex or interest?"

She'd regained her stride, her cocky balance. And somehow that made what came next more… fair. If he'd pressed his advantage when she was sad and defeated it wouldn't have been. "And if I said both?"

She regarded him levelly for a moment. "You could have waited until tomorrow to tell me about Wheaton. Why did you come tonight?"

The moment stretched as he considered his answer, then snapped as with two steps he eliminated the remaining distance that separated them. He slipped his hand around her neck, his fingers up into her hair and did what he'd wanted to do for days. When his mouth covered hers he felt her stiffen, then her arms were around his neck as she lifted on her toes and kissed him back.

He shuddered, as much from relief as release. It had been a long time since he'd held any woman this way. A long time since he'd tasted a woman's lips, felt the surge and surrender in her response. It was sweet, he realized. And familiar, as if he'd been here, done this before. Mindful of her bruised cheek he kept it much lighter than he wanted, much briefer than he wished. Stoically ignoring the coiled want in his gut, he ended the kiss, but held her tight against him.

"I wasn't sure you wanted this," he admitted. "You pulled away from me."

She rested her forehead against his chest. "I know."

It was said so wearily that he pulled back to see her face. "Why did you pull away?"

"Because I didn't want to want this. But I do." Her lashes lifted and it was if he'd been sucker punched. Her blue eyes were darkly aroused. His pounding heart climbed into his throat and with difficulty he forced it back down so he could breathe.

"Why? Why don't you want to want this?"

She hesitated. "How much time do you have?"

Time. Shit . "What time is it?"

"A little past nine. Why?"

"I promised Beth I'd pick her up at nine and that's clear on the other side of town."

She nodded. "I understand. We can talk more later."

He grabbed his coat from the old sofa and took two steps toward the door, then stopped and turned back around to face her. "She'll be fine for another few minutes. In fact, she's probably happy I'm late."

Her lips curved. "So how do you propose using another few minutes?"

"Doing what you don't want to want." He caught her chin and tilted her face up and this time she met him more than halfway, instantly taking the kiss to the next level. Hot and wet and full of motion, it set his body throbbing and left him wanting much, much more. Conscious of the time, he abruptly pulled away, and was gratified to see she was breathing just as hard as he was. "Warn me when you start wanting to want it," he said. "I'll make sure I bring along a defibrillator."

She laughed. "Go home, Solliday. We'll take this up again tomorrow." Her smile sobered a shade. "But not around the office, okay?"

"Okay." He leaned forward for one more kiss, then turned on his heel with an oath. "I have to go. Lock the door behind me."

"I always do."

He paused on the landing outside her door,. "I'll see you at eight tomorrow." With a little physical distance, his mind began to clear. "Don't go out alone tonight, okay?"

She looked amused. "Solliday, I'm a cop. I'm supposed to tell other people that."

He was not amused. "Mia, please."

"I'll be careful."

That was the closest she'd come to capitulation, he understood. "Good night, Mia."

A sober, wistful look flitted across her face. "Good night. Reed."

Wednesday, November 29, 10:05 p.m.

He'd finally come back. It had certainly taken him long enough.

He'd thought his target would wait inside Flannagan's for fifteen minutes, but he'd waited an hour. During which he'd hidden in the back floorboards of the man's car, biding his time.

The first part had been so easy and fast. He'd been early, waiting in the shadows. He'd watched as the man locked his car, which was a total joke. He'd been able to pop the lock with his trusty slim-jim in fifteen seconds. Then he'd gone flat in the backseat, pulling on the ski mask and waiting, visualizing in his mind what had to be done.

It wouldn't be pretty, but it would be fast. And painless. Because his target was his friend and didn't deserve to writhe in agony, like Mrs. Dougherty would tonight. But first things first. Focus . They'd been driving for fifteen minutes. It wouldn't be long now.

He wanted to sigh, but kept it in. He'd never killed someone he liked. There was a first time for everything, but he wasn't relishing the task.

He eased up on his elbow and stole a look out the opposite window. Good, they were on a small road, one lane each way. There was an all-night shopping center nearby where he could steal a car when he was finished. He drew his knife.