Karen Rose - Count to Ten

He scanned the other news. And stopped at the bottom of page three when he saw two familiar names. Joanna Carmichael and none other than Detective Mia Mitchell.

Apparently Mitchell had been shot at on Tuesday night. A gunman had fired shots in her neighborhood, at 1342 Sedgewick. Well, that was something you didn't see every day. A cop's address printed in the paper. That had to be fate or karma or something. He was becoming a firm believer in fate. Apparently this gunman had some kind of grudge against the good detective, related to another shooting almost three weeks ago. Apparently the gunman was a piss-poor shot and ran away.

He tore the article and meticulously trimmed the edges. Mitchell was a busy lady. Lots of enemies. She'd come too close yesterday. With Brooke Adler dead, she'd have every reason to come closer. If she got shot, they'd just put on more cops. But they'd be looking for this guy. He ran his finger under the name of the gunman. Melvin Getts . If Mitchell happened to die, they'd look even harder for the poor bastard.

It would be distraction and that's all he really needed now. Just a little distraction to buy a little time.

He shoved the article in his book, along with the others. He could sleep when it was over. Now, he had a loose end to tie up, then a sad face to put on. Poor Brooke was dead. He'd be devastated. And quick to offer his personal assistance to the cops.

It was the least he could do.

Thursday, November 30, 8:35 a.m.

A giant yawn nearly split Mia's head in two. "I'm tired."

"Me, too." Solliday was typing at his computer with a slow methodical rhythm.

He looked crisp and professional and not tired in the least and for a second she allowed herself the luxury of remembering what he'd looked like sprawled in her bed after the third bout of the best sex she'd ever had. "What are you doing?"

He didn't look up. "I think that before we go back to Hope Center, we should have a little background on the actors." His lips quirked up. "I mean the Axis of Evil."

"I should have done that already," she muttered and forced herself out of her chair.

"Well, you didn't," he said mildly. "That's why you have a partner, Mia, so you don't have to do everything yourself."

She leaned a hip against his desk and drew in a breath, smelling his aftershave. His face was smooth around the goatee, which had tickled her inner thighs. She let out the breath. "So that's why I have a partner?" she murmured, loud enough for only his ears.

His fingers paused on the keyboard, then resumed their steady pace. "Mia," he warned under his breath, through his teeth.

"Sorry. You're right." She shook herself and paid attention to the screen. He knew his way around law enforcement databases. She never thought of fire marshals using them. She was learning a great deal about fire marshals lately. "What did you find?"

He tapped a few keys and read the screen with interest. "Secrest is an ex-cop."

"Lots of cops go into private security after they retire. Doesn't surprise me."

"No, but this does. He quit and went to work for Bixby four years ago, just two years before he would have retired from CPD."

"Lost out on a hefty pension," Mia murmured. "I wonder what happened."

"Maybe you can talk to some of his old friends and find out."

"I'll ask Spinnelli to do it. He can weasel info I can't. What about Thompson?"

"Our helpful school psychologist," he muttered. "No record in this database." He Googled him. "Thompson's a PhD from Yale."

Mia frowned. "What's a Yale boy doing in juvie? The pay's gotta suck."

"He's authored a book. Rehabilitation of Juvenile Offenders. I checked Manny's Hope Center file. He's been in therapy with Thompson for some time."

She lifted her brows. "I wonder if Dr. Thompson's planning a sequel."

"It would explain his temper tantrum when we took Manny in. Can we get into his files?"

"Probably not based on what we've got, but we can ask. So what about Bixby?"

He kept his eyes on the screen. "He's authored a few articles on education."

"Two of the articles are on using education in rehabilitation," she noted.

"Again, I wonder why he's not going for a higher salary."

"We'll find out. Check on Atticus Lucas, the art teacher."

He did. "He's had exhibits before." He scanned the page then looked up at her. "Prestigious galleries. Again, I wonder why he's there."

"What about Hope? It'll be a nonprofit, right? Do you know how to check finances?"

The look he shot her was overly patient. "Yes, Mia."

The look she shot him was dry. "Then see if you can find anything while I check my voicemail. Then we should get going. All the teachers should be there by nine."

A newspaper landed on her desk. Murphy stood glaring. "What?" she said.

"You're in the news again, glamour girl. Page three of the Bulletin , bottom right."

For a moment she wondered if Carmichael had already reported on her wild night with Reed, but dismissed it. Press time was 1:00 a.m. at the Bulletin . Reed didn't leave until almost four. Her eyes dropped down and she felt the blood drain from her face.

It was worse. Way worse. Temper spilled over and she fought the pagan urge to wrap her hands around Carmichael's neck. "I want to…" Kill that woman . She bit the words off and looked up at Solliday whose eyes were worried. "Carmichael. She found out about Getts shooting at us on Tuesday night. She printed my home address. First Wheaton, now this. I have no privacy anymore. You know, I really hate reporters."

"What about Wheaton?" Murphy asked and she sighed.

"She noticed the mystery blonde yesterday. She tried to use it to get Reed to give her confidential information on this case."

"But you didn't, Solliday." Murphy's fingers drummed a beat on her desk.

Reed flicked him an impatient glance. "Of course I didn't." He picked up the paper calmly, but his jaw was clenched and his eyes flashed fury. "She needs to be stopped."

"She'll hide behind the first amendment." Mia ran her tongue over her teeth. "She's off my Christmas list, Reed. I don't care if she did give me DuPree on a platter."

His eyes still flickered with anger. "That'll fix her for sure. Mia, you can't stay at your place. Every scum-sucking toad in town will be hanging out on your doorstep."

She grinned. "Scum-sucking toad? I think I'm starting to rub off on you, Solliday."

"I'm serious, Mia. You have to find a new apartment."

"He's right, Mia," Murphy added. "It's like she painted a bull's-eye on your ass."

"I'm not moving and I'm not talking about this right now. I'm going to listen to my voicemail then do my fucking job." She grabbed her phone. Ignoring the two glowering men. Then frowned. "I got a message from Dr. Thompson last night."

"Which one of the Axis of Evil is he again?" Murphy asked, still mad at her.

"The school psychologist. He said he needed to see us. That it was urgent."

"I don't trust a word that comes out of his mouth," Reed gritted.

"Me either. But let's go find out what he wants."

Thursday, November 30, 9:15 A.M.

"Solliday and Mitchell here to see Dr. Bixby and Dr. Thompson," Reed said.

Marcy's mouth tightened. "I'll call Dr. Bixby."

Secrest was with Bixby, but Thompson was not. Neither knew about Brooke Adler's death, Reed decided. Or if they did, they were damn good at hiding it.

"Can I help you?" Bixby asked formally.

"We asked for Dr. Thompson as well," Mia told him. "We'd like to speak to him."

Bixby frowned. "You can't. He's not here."

Reed and Mia exchanged a glance. "Not here?" Reed asked. "Then where is he?"

"We don't know. He's usually at his desk by eight, but he hasn't come in yet."