Karen Rose - Count to Ten

He'd sharpened the blade yet again. He wanted it to be quick. Springing to a crouch, he whipped the knife around and held it to his friend's throat. "Pull off at the next light," he instructed, keeping his voice low.

His friend's eyes whipped up to the rearview, wide with terror, but he knew he'd see nothing but the black ski mask. "If you want the car, I'll give it to you. Just don't hurt me."

He thought it was a carjacking, which was exactly what he'd hoped his friend would think. No use in risking identification, should the plan go south. They were off the main road now. The area was a little too populated for his liking, but it would do.

He grabbed his friend's hair and yanked his head at an angle. "Slow down. That's right. Nice and slow. Pull off onto the shoulder. Further. Now stop."

"Don't kill me. Please." He was sobbing. "Please don't kill me."

He frowned. He'd expected him to go with more backbone. What a girl. Maybe he wouldn't make it so painless after all. But his knife was sharp. It would slice deep given the smallest pressure. "Put it in park. That's right. Now roll down the window."

Cold air rushed in, feeling wonderful against his overheated skin. "Take the keys from the ignition." His target hesitated and he put more pressure on the knife. "Do it."

The car's engine went silent. "Now throw the keys out the window."

The keys hit the snow with a muted jangle.

"You won't get away with this," his target said, desperation in his voice.

How cliche. He'd choose his friends more wisely when he started his next life.

"I think I will," he responded in his normal voice and had one moment to savor the look of wild recognition before he yanked straight back and brought the blade across the man's throat. Hard.

Blood gushed. Spurted. Filled the car with its metallic odor. He wobbled the head side to side and found he'd nearly severed it. Cool. He'd never done that before.

He let go of the hair and climbed out of the backseat. With a handful of snow he cleaned his knife, then picked up the keys. Keys made a nice souvenir.

His jacket would have to go. His sleeve was covered in blood. He'd have to get a new jacket at some point. Perhaps when he got to the shopping center, he'd find a car with a coat in it. He'd walk to the shopping center, steal a car and have plenty of time for a nap before the Doughertys. He wanted to be fresh after all.

Wednesday, November 29, 11:15 p.m.

The house was quiet. Beth was asleep and Lauren was on her own side of the duplex. Reed sat on the edge of his bed and shuddered, torturing himself with the fantasy yet again, imagining what would have happened had he not needed to leave. Her mouth had been soft and sweet and hot and urgent all at the same time. Better than he'd imagined. And that was only a few short kisses. When he got her to bed…

She wanted him. He"d have her. Another shudder shook him. God. It hurt, he wanted her so much. He drew the chain from around his neck and held it up, the ring at the end shining softly. He'd worn the ring on his hand for the five happiest years of his life, then another two as he grieved. It was only at the worried insistence of his family that he'd finally taken it off, but it hadn't gone far. He'd worn it on a chain around his neck ever since. Knowing it was there was like keeping a little piece of Christine to himself. Just like Christine's poetry, it kept her alive in his heart. But tonight it wasn't dreams of Christine that crowded his mind. Mia was there, firmly entrenched. She'd stay there until he'd ridden this thing out, wherever it took them. Whatever it cost.

He set the ring swinging, like a hypnotist's coin. He could go over there right now. And have her. The blood was pounding in his head, drowning out all the reasons he shouldn't. He lowered the ring until it hit the nightstand and let the chain pool inside it.

He picked up the phone, hit Lauren's speed dial. "I need you to stay with Beth."

She yawned. "Give me two minutes. I'll be there."

He hung up, guilt for the deception eclipsed by a need that left him trembling. She'd wanted him, even though she hadn't wanted to. He'd find out why.

Wednesday, November 29, 11:50 p.m.

Mia blinked. She'd read that name before. Her eyes were tired. It was time to stop.

She sat back in the hard chair and twisted, stretching her neck muscles. She'd made it through a month of Burnette's case files, specifically the month before Manny Rodriguez was sent to Hope Center. She'd carefully catalogued every name, every place mentioned on every case Burnette had supervised or been associated with.

It was a nasty list. She didn't envy Burnette his Vice clientele. But other than being a nasty list, there was nothing useful or unusual about it. Not a single name or place popped. It was a tedious task, and she still had tons of paper to wade through.

But, as tedious tasks went, it had been a halfway decent way of pushing Reed Solliday and his intriguing mouth to the back of her mind. Well, not the back of her mind, really. More like… dead center. Front row. Hell.

She'd kissed him. And now she knew how he tasted. How his lips felt against hers. How it felt to press against that solid wall of muscle he called a chest. And now, having tasted him, she wanted to taste him again. She wanted it a very great deal.

Goddamn hamburger. She blamed Dana for this. She'd been happily miserable until she'd started craving hamburger. So what would happen when Solliday wanted to go upscale? Move from hamburger to filet? She'd get her heart broken, that's what.

And maybe break his, too. It was a sobering thought. But not enough to squelch the craving. She didn't just want to kiss him. Now that she'd taken the plunge… well, if he walked in this minute, he'd be a very happy man. At least for the short term. She was fairly good at sex, Mia knew. Sex itself had never been the problem. Intimacy was.

She stood up, stretched her back again. She was still sore from Solliday's tackle last night but she wasn't sleepy. There was too much caffeine in her system for her to sleep. So now she would lie in bed, stare at the ceiling, and wish she was getting laid.

Damn that Dana. She probably was getting laid, right this minute. It wasn't fair.

She paced restlessly, wondering if Solliday was sleeping. She certainly hoped not. She hoped he was-

A heavy knock at her door made her jump. Cautiously she drew her weapon from the shoulder holster she'd draped over a chair. Holding the gun down at her side, she stood on her toes and peeked through the peep hole in the door.

She huffed out a relieved breath. She opened the door to Reed Solliday, who stood on her welcome mat wearing a forbidding frown. "You scared me to death," she said, bypassing any greeting, then got worried. It was almost midnight. "What's happened?"

"Can I come in?"

Immediately she stepped aside and let him in. He stalked in, his stride almost belligerent. She closed the door and leaned against it. "What's happened?"

He took off his trenchcoat and dropped it on her sofa. He'd shed his suit coat and tie at some point. His shirt was unbuttoned so that a glimpse of coarse dark hair teased. Her heart started a slow pounding in her chest. The pounding got harder when he took the gun from her hand and returned it to her holster. And when he approached her with a hard, predatory cast to his face, the pounding spread low. And deep.

Not taking his eyes from hers he flattened his palms against the door on either side of her head. She was caged in. but there was no fear. Only excitement and the dark thrill of arousal. When he lowered his head and took her mouth it was savage and greedy and left no doubt as to why he'd come back. She let herself be swept away. Just his mouth on hers. She moaned and he jerked his head back. She stood, eyes closed, the door bearing her weight. His breath beat her hair and knew if she lifted her hand to his heart, she'd feel it thunder against her palm.