Count to Ten

Mia frowned. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just did." She'd made it to the door to Spi

Abe, who'd escaped by the skin of his teeth no thanks to her. Ray, the partner before who hadn't been so lucky. The cops sent Ray's wife fruit baskets, too. "Yeah." Drawing a breath, she knocked on her lieutenant's door.

"Come," Spi

Mia closed the door behind her. "Cleared for duty." Her eyes widened as the occupant of Spi

For a second she could only stare. "You're Detective Mitchell?" he said accusingly.

Mia nodded, feeling her cheeks heat. The man had caught her practically asleep on her feet right outside the station house. He'd thought she was a mental case. Any chance at a good first impression was shot straight to hell. Still, she gathered her composure and met his dark eyes squarely. "I am. And you are?"

Spi

Mia nodded. "Office of Fire Investigation. The arson guys. Okay. And?"

Spi

Monday, November 27, 9:00 A.M.

Brooke Adler sat on the corner of her desk, aware that half a dozen sets of eyes would be permanently glued to her cleavage for the next fifty minutes. If she was lucky maybe one of the boys in her class would be paying attention to the lesson she'd so carefully prepared. She didn't hold out much hope. Then again, neither did the boys.

The only hope in this place was on the sign on the front door, hope center for boys. Sitting before her were thieves and runaways and juvenile sex offenders. She would have preferred lions and tigers and bears. Oh my.

"So how was Thanksgiving?" she asked brightly. Most of the boys had spent Thanksgiving here, in the dorms of the residential school.

"Turkey was dry," Mike complained from the back row. There really wasn't a back row, Mike just created one every morning. The end chair on the first row was empty.

She searched the faces of her students. "Where is Thad today?"

Jeff slouched, outwardly cool. But there was always a tension, a coldness in his eyes, that kept Brooke on edge. "Faggeus stole the leftover pie from the fridge."

Brooke frowned. "Jeff," she said sharply, "you know that name isn't tolerated. "So where is Thad today?" she repeated more soberly.

Jeff's smile made a shiver raced down Brooke's spine. Jeff's smiles were mean. Jeff was mean. "He got a stomachache," Jeff said blandly. "He's at the clinic."

Thaddeus Lewin was a quiet kid, rarely spoke. Brooke wasn't sure who'd nicknamed him Faggeus. She was positive she didn't want to know why. She picked up her copy of Lord ofthe Flies with a sigh. "I asked you to read chapter two. What did you think?"

Linking Lord of the Flies to the Survivor TV show had produced a flicker of interest the week before. Now their faces were blank. No one had completed the reading. Then to her surprise a hand went up. "Ma

Ma

Jeff's brows went up. "They got fire in this book?"

Ma

He sounded almost awed and Brooke's skin prickled. "The signal fire is a symbol-"

"How did they make the fire?" Jeff asked, ignoring her.

"They used the fat ass's glasses like a magnifying glass," Ma

"I used a magnifying glass to kill a bug once," Mike offered. "I didn't think it would work, but it really does."

Jeff's smile flashed, wolfish. "They say that sticking a hamster in the microwave is a myth, but they're wrong. Cats are even better, but you need a really big microwave."

"That's enough," Brooke snapped. "Ma

Jeff slid back down in his chair, smirking as his eyes slid back to her breasts, slowly so that she would know he stared. "Teacher likes pussy… cats," he murmured just loud enough for her to hear. Brooke decided it was best to ignore him.

Ma

"The fire is a symbol," she said firmly. "Of common sense and morality." She frowned at the class. "And stay away from the microwave. Now let's talk about the symbolism of the signal fire. You have a quiz on Wednesday."

Every set of eyes dropped to her breasts and Brooke knew she'd be talking to herself. Three months ago she'd arrived at Hope Center, the ink barely dry on her diploma, fresh-faced and eager to teach. Now she just prayed she'd get through the day. And that somehow, someway she'd get through to these kids. Please. Just one.

Chapter Three

Monday. November 27. 9:15 a.m.

Reed Solliday drew a careful breath and let it out. For a split second the woman had looked angrily stu

Not the highest recommendation for her skills. Plus, with her battered leather jacket, worn-out hat, and scuffed boots she'd looked… well, not like a detective he'd want watching his back. Still, he extended his hand. "Detective Mitchell."

Her grip was solid. "Lieutenant Solliday." She turned to her boss, her face calm, but her spine rigid. "What's this all about, Marc? Abe's coming back."

"Of course he is, Mia. OFI discovered a homicide in one of their arson scenes. Abe will be out for a few weeks. Consider yourself on loan. Sit down and let Reed explain."

They sat and Mitchell gave him her full attention. Her eyes were clear and alert now. And blue, like Christine's china they used only on holidays. The scruffy hat she'd worn kept her short blonde hair dry except for the edges that curled around her face. She'd stowed the ratty jacket and fortunately now looked more professional in a black blazer. Unfortunately the thin, clingy shirt she wore under the blazer didn't do a thing to hide her curves. For a small woman, Detective Mia Mitchell had a hell of a lot of curves.

Reed enjoyed staring at a nice set of curves as much as the next guy, but what he needed was a partner, not a pinup and certainly not a distraction. However, he sensed no flirtation in her, no softness, so he wouldn't hold the curves against her.

"On Saturday night there was a fire in Oak Park," he began. "We found a body in the kitchen. This morning the ME called. The X-ray showed a bullet hole in her skull."

"Carbon monoxide in the lungs?" Mitchell asked.

"Barrington was going back to check. He wanted me to know about the bullet since it changes the nature of the investigation."

"And the jurisdiction," she murmured. "You've seen the body?"