Karen Rose - Count to Ten

Larry gave her a shrewd look, reminiscent of Murphy. "Which hotel?"

She laughed shakily. "Probably the first one I come to. Good night, Larry."

Beth sobbed. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I'm sorry." He held her tight, afraid to let her go.

"I thought you were dead," he said hoarsely. "Beth, don't ever do this to me again."

She nodded, then pulled away, her eyes fixed to the house. "Oh, Daddy. It's gone."

"Not all. Just the top floor." But it would take some time to put their house back together. He wondered how much time it take to put their trust back together. "Mia said you went to a slam poetry competition. Beth, why didn't you just tell me?"

"I didn't think you'd understand why it was important to me." She lifted a childish shoulder, but her words were adult. "Maybe I wanted something that was only mine."

"Beth, everything I have is yours. You know that."

She looked up, her eyes wet and very serious. "No, Daddy. It's all hers. Mother's."

He blinked. "I don't understand."

She sighed. "I know." She lifted his hands, her eyes filling again at the sight of the bandages. "Oh, God, your hands. How bad is it?"

"Light burns. I'll heal." He pushed a lock of hair from her face. "I love you, Beth."

His baby launched herself into his arms. "I love you, too." And as his arms closed around his child, he heard Mia's voice. Just tell her you love her, okay ? And he knew the woman understood a great deal more than he'd ever given her credit for. He lifted his head, looking for her. But she was gone. He straightened abruptly. Mia was gone.

"What's wrong?" Beth asked anxiously.

"I need to find Detective Mitchell."

"She went to a hotel," Larry said from behind him.

"Which one?"

"She said the first one she came to." His old friend's face was carefully nonchalant.

Reed's eyes narrowed. "How did you two arrive together?"

Larry shrugged. "She was playing pool with Hunter and me and the boys tonight."

Jealousy pierced him, swift and sharp. Mia surrounded by men, one of them calendar boy David Hunter, with whom she'd had a past. Amusement filled Larry's eyes and one side of his mouth lifted. "You want me to find which hotel she went to?"

"Yeah. Please." Reed turned back to Beth who was watching knowingly. "What?"

"Detective Mitchell told me to tell you. She said you were a good dad and I owed you better. She was right. I'm sorry, Dad."

"I don't know what to do about her, Beth. She's not… like your mother."

"So? Dad, last I looked, my mother was dead." She drew a breath. "But you're not."

And somehow, it was that simple. "You're so much like your mother. She wrote poetry, too." Which was gone forever. But he'd deal with the loss of it later.

"Really? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Maybe I wanted to keep something of her that was just mine, too." He cupped her cheek, kept his voice gentle. "You are grounded for the rest of your life."

Her jaw dropped. She got ready to protest, then wisely closed her mouth. "Okay."

"Now, I think I heard something about Biggies needing attention. He's over there." Reed pointed to the puppy. "You see what needs to be done and I'll finish up here."

Sunday, December 3, 3:15 A.M.

The history of jet aviation was better the second time around. Mia lay in the hotel bed, Percy curled up on her stomach. The History Channel was replaying its schedule and she'd already seen histories of ancient Greece and Rome. She'd discuss them with Jeremy when he got to Dana's. The boy would be happy there and she could visit-

The knock on the door startled her. Grabbing her gun from the nightstand she peeked through the peephole. Her shoulders sagged and she opened the door. Reed .

He was freshly showered and shaved, a light bandage now only on the palm of one hand. The other held a plastic drugstore sack, the memory of which sent her senses pulsing. He looked handsome and… necessary. She could see the colors of the key card through the front pocket of his shirt. He was staying here. At this hotel. Proximity tempted, powerfully. But his shirt was open enough for her to see the glint of the metal chain around his neck and she squeezed her swollen heart back into its place. "Reed."

"Can I come in?"

"It's late."

"You weren't asleep." His brows crunched slightly. "Please."

Cursing her own stupidity, she stepped back and put her gun on the table by the door. "Okay." Words swirled in her head, but she kept them there. For all intents, Reed was married. And she didn't do married men. Or cops. Or partners. Or anyone.

He closed the door. "I wanted to apologize. Beth told me what happened. You did exactly the right thing." He looked down at his shoes, then back up with a boyish grin that made her chest hurt. "The sirens and flashing lights were a nice touch. I don't think she'll be climbing out windows again any time soon."

"Good. Because first slam poetry, then…" She sighed. "What do you need, Reed?"

His smile faded. "I think I need you."

She shook her head. "No. Don't do this to me. I want more than you can give me." She laughed bitterly. "And if you gave it, I wouldn't know what the hell to do with it anyway. So let's just stop this now. You said you didn't want to hurt me. So go."

"I can't." He ran a thumb over the two stitches under her left eye. "I can't go." He threaded fingers up into her hair, tilted her face up. Took her mouth in the sweetest, gentlest kiss she'd ever had. "Don't make me go. Please, Mia."

A shudder racked her body. She'd never wanted anything so much. Of their own volition her hands reached, flattening on his chest as her arms wound around his neck and she kissed him back. For the first second it was tentative, then the kiss exploded, open-mouthed. Demanding. She let herself be drawn in, let herself want. Desperately.

No . She broke the contact and stepped back. "You can't be this cruel, Reed."

He was breathing hard. "I hope not." His throat worked as he set the plastic sack on the table next to her gun. He pulled out two little black velvet jewelry boxes and snapped them both open. Both were empty. "I thought we could do this together."

She was losing her patience. "Do what?"

"You take off your chain, I'll take off mine."

Her mouth fell open. He stood there, face expectant. Eyes painfully uncertain. "And then what?"

"I don't know. We play it by ear. One day at time. But this time with strings."

Her heart was pounding. "I don't know how to do strings, Reed."

He smiled. "I do." He slipped his finger beneath the thin tank top she wore and pulled out the old chain. Shook it so the dogtags clanked. "So? What do you say?"

Mouth dry, she nodded. "Okay." And she was astounded when his shoulders settled. He'd actually thought she could say no. "But I have to keep the medic alert tag."

"Thought of that." He pulled a cheap silver chain from the sack. "This will do for now." He put the chain in her hand. The price tag said five dollars. In that moment, it was worth more than all the diamonds in the world. He lifted the old chain from her neck. "Change the medic alert tag now."

Hands shaking, she did, then slipped the new chain on. "It's lighter," she said.

"Pays to dump a little excess weight every now and then." He drew a breath and took off his chain. "Let's do this, Mitchell."

And they did, she closing her box with a satisfied snap, he closing his with a caress of his thumb. "I'll put mine away," he said. "In my safety deposit box."

"I don't know." she answered. "Maybe I'll throw mine in Lake Michigan."

He grinned. She grinned back. It felt good. "So what else's in the sack, Solliday?"

His grin went siy. "Big box," he said and waggled his brows. "Variety pack."

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "You were pretty sure of yourself."