Karen Rose - Count to Ten

Holly Wheaton's face appeared, sad and grave. "In light of the recent, tragic murder of the child of a local police officer, we wanted to take a look at the toll police work pays on their families. Often they pay a high price for their family's public service. Some, like Caitlin Burnette, are targets of revenge for their parents' stand against crime."

"Bitch," Mia muttered. "Using Roger Burnette's suffering for her damn ratings."

"More," Wheaton continued soberly, "find the expectations of being the child of a cop too great to handle and go the other way." The camera panned back and Mia felt her stomach simply drop. She opened her mouth but no words came out. Solliday gripped her arm and pushed her into a chair.

His hands covered her shoulders and shook gently. "Breathe, Mia."

She covered her mouth with her trembling hand. "Oh my God."

Wheaton gestured to the brick building behind her. "This is the Hart Women's Correctional Facility. Sentenced here are women who've committed crimes from drug possession all the way up to murder. Sentenced here are women from all walks of life, from all kinds of families." The camera zoomed to Wheaton's pained expression. "Even families of cops. One such inmate is Kelsey Mitchell."

"What is this?" Spinnelli demanded from behind them. "Oh God. Mia."

She waved him to quiet as Kelsey's arrest photo filled the screen. Kelsey looked haggard, old, strung out from drugs. "She was only nineteen," Mia whispered.

"Kelsey Mitchell is serving a twenty-five year sentence for armed robbery. She's both the daughter and sister of a cop. Her father died recently, but her sister, Detective Mia Mitchell, is a decorated homicide detective, and ironically, is responsible for several women being detained in the very same cell block as her sister."

"They're going to kill her." Mia could barely hear her own voice. "They're going to kill Kelsey." She lunged to her feet, her heart beating wildly. "She can't show this tape. This is a damn threat. She wants her damn story and she doesn't care who gets hurt."

"I know." Spinnelli ejected the tape. "I'm going to call Wheaton's producer right now. Try to calm down, Mia." He headed back to his office, his expression grim.

Mia reached for Solliday's phone. "I'm going call that fucking bitch myself."

Solliday grabbed her shoulders, twisting until she faced him. "Mia. Let Spinnelli take care of this." She tried to pull away, but Solliday held firm.

Pain throbbed in her shoulder and she flinched. "You're hurting me."

Instantly he loosened his grip, but he didn't let go. "Promise me you will not call Wheaton. You will not threaten her. You will let Spinnelli handle this. Promise me, Mia."

She nodded. He was right. Suddenly too weary to fight it, she lowered her forehead to his chest and rested against him. His hands tightened then opened wide, hesitating before moving to her back and bringing her close.

"Somehow it'll be all right," he murmured into hair.

She nodded, fighting the tears that rose in her throat. Cops didn't cry. She should know. Bobby had told her so. Often. "They'll kill her, Reed." He said nothing, just held her until she felt control of her emotions return. She pulled away, calm now. "I'm okay."

"No, you're not," he said quietly. "The last three weeks have been hell. You've held up better than anyone could have expected." He tilted her face up. "Even you."

His eyes were filled with both sympathy and respect and she took comfort from both. Then stepped away to find Aidan watching her and she felt her cheeks heat.

Wanting to shift the focus from what had obviously been a public embrace, she narrowed her eyes at Aidan. "You know, I think that Jacob Conti had a point after all."

For a second Aidan's eyes widened then he grinned before he could stop himself. He sobered himself, giving her a proper glare. "Mia Mitchell. You should be ashamed."

Solliday looked confused. "Who is Jacob Conti?"

Mia sat down in her chair with the list of Atlantic City hotels. "Bad man. Very bad." Conti was a very bad man who'd dealt his own brand of justice to a TV reporter who, through stirring things up to make news, put Conti's son in the sights of a killer. Conti's revenge for his son's death had been effective and final. Unfortunately for him, illegal as well. Mia would have to take more conventional routes of revenge.

"Old case," Aidan said. "Back when my sister-in-law Kristen was being stalked."

Solliday sat down at his desk and tapped at the keyboard with his methodical pace. Then he looked up, eyes wide. "He was a bad man."

He'd looked up the old case, then. "Told you."

"And Reagan's right. You should be ashamed." But there was a sudden sparkle in his eye. "You are a very bad girl, Mia."

She laughed softly, remembering the last time he'd said those same words. Then, the respite was gone, dread returning with a vengeance as she looked over at Spinnelli's door. If Wheaton's piece ran, Kelsey's life would be in certain danger. But she'd let Spinnelli handle it. For now. "Let's call these hotels, then call it a night."

Thursday, November 30, 5:30 P.M.

The Doughertys's big truck had finally pulled into the driveway at 993 Harmony Avenue. For a while he thought the girl at the hotel had lied. That would've been bad.

He'd been listening to the radio. Nobody reported Tania missing. And nobody had mentioned Niki Markov, the woman who should have been home with her two kids, but had instead had the bad luck to be sleeping in the Doughertys' hotel bed. If women stayed where they were supposed to be, they wouldn't get into such trouble. Now Niki Markov was dead and buried, her own suitcases providing her final resting place. He grinned to himself. Places , that was. Plural. The cops would never find all of her.

The Doughertys got out of the truck and headed straight around the back of the house, bags from JCPenney in their hands. They'd been shopping to replace clothes, most likely. Seeing as how all theirs were gone. Too bad they wouldn't need them.

After he finished here tonight, he'd be done in Chicago. He'd drive south on his way to the last few names on his list. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten since breakfast. He pulled the car from the curb knowing that when he returned it would be time to act. And old lady Dougherty's time to finally die.

Thursday, November 30, 5:55 p.m.

"Mia, can you come here for a minute?" Spinnelli stood in his office doorway.

Throwing a worried look at Solliday and Aidan, she approached. "What?"

"Inside. Shut the door. Reporters are the lowest forms of life on the planet."

Her heart sank. "They're going to run the piece." Her stomach followed. "Oh, Marc."

"Relax. I talked to Wheaton. She insists the video you got was a mistake. She meant to send you a copy of the press conference as you'd obviously been watching someone in the crowd." He lip curled in distaste. "She just wanted to help."

"Marc," she gritted through her teeth. "What about Kelsey?"

"I said relax. Wheaton hinted about an exclusive on this case. I turned her down flat and suggested that threatening a police officer was a felony. She got huffy and said there was no intended threat. The piece with your sister was scheduled to air Sunday night with or without any words from us. It was an ultimatum with a deadline."

Her heart was hammering, but trust in Spinnelli kept her feet glued in place. "And?"

"I can't stop her from airing that piece, Mia, but I'll be damned if that…" He drew a breath, editing himself. "I called Patrick. He's pulling some strings to have Kelsey moved to another facility tomorrow morning. She'll be brought in under another name. It'llbe done very discreetly." He lifted a shoulder. "It's the best I can do."