Count to Ten (52 page)

Kates gave the boy a hard shove. “She said go.” Jeremy ran.

The front door opened, then slammed.

“We’ve got the boy, Mia,” Spinnelli said in her ear. “Get him to the window.”

Mia glanced at her mother, still tied to the chair by the stove. “Let her go, too.”

Kates smiled. “She wasn’t part of the deal. Besides, she’s rude.”

“You can’t kill a woman because she’s rude,” Mia snapped. “For God’s sake.”

“You obviously haven’t found Tania Sladerman from the hotel yet. Your mother stays. If you welsh, she’s dead. If anything goes wrong, she’s my ticket out of here.”

“Living room, Mia,” Spinnelli hissed. “
Now.
”

Mia started toward Kates, trying to lead him to the window. “So let’s get started.”

Kates waved his gun. “Sit down. We’ll do this my way. Cuff yourself. Both wrists.”

She can’t do that, Reed thought. She won’t. The boy was safe. Now she’d make her move. He cracked open the door. It opened into a walk-in pantry. An open door led to the kitchen. He crept to the door and peered around. Annabelle Mitchell sat with her back to the stove, tied and gagged. Kates stood between the chair and the stove, a pipe wrench in his right hand, a knife in his left, the blade pressed against Annabelle’s throat. Her eyes widened when she saw him and he shook his head.

His own eyes widened when he saw the .38 on the stove-top. Somewhere along the way Kates had upgraded from the .22 he’d taken from Donna Dougherty’s nightstand.

Reed shifted, bringing Mia into view. She sat in a chair, wide-kneed, leaning forward. “I’m wondering just one thing, Kates.” Her hands were between her knees, fumbling with her cuffs. Stalling.
Good girl.
Her backup piece was inside her boot. He should know. He’d taken it off her several times now. She was waiting for the opportunity to get to it.

“Just one?” Kates asked sarcastically. “Hurry up with the cuffs,” he added impatiently. “Or the old lady goes.”

“I’m trying,” Mia snapped back. “My hands are shaking, okay?” She drew a breath. “Yeah,” she answered him. “Just one question. The fuses. Why were they so short? I have two theories.” She looked up, grimly mocking. “My police shrink says your knife is an extension of your dick. I’m wondering if the short fuses were as well.”

Mia was baiting him. Trying to draw him into using the knife on her instead. And even as Reed saw the logic in her strategy, his heart clenched in fear. He set his aim at Kates’s chest. The moment he took the knife from Annabelle’s throat, he’d be dead.

Kates’s face turned a florid red. “You bitch. I knew you’d lie. Damn you.”

“Or,” she continued calmly, “my second theory is that the short fuses are really your way of dealing with the person who really killed your brother. You.”

“Shut up,” Kates hissed. But his eyes flickered wildly. She was close, Reed knew.

“You killed your brother, Andrew,” she said. “Every time you set a fire, a little part of you hoped it would take you out, too. Because you’re the guilty one. You killed Shane.”

“You don’t know shit and you’re going to die.” Without taking his eyes from her, Kates knocked the gas valve right off the pipe. But instead of a steady hiss, there was only a gurgle followed by silence.
Count that, asshole,
Reed thought with satisfaction.

Stunned, Kates’s eyes flicked to the pipe and Mia came to her feet, her backup piece in her hand. And before Reed could open his mouth to warn her, Kates hurled the wrench at Mia’s head. She ducked and Kates grabbed the revolver.

Reed fired, the shot thunderous in the silence. Kates’s knife clattered to the floor and a millisecond later, so did Kates. Reed rushed forward, his radio in his shaking hand, his fingers fumbling over the controls. He kicked Kates’s gun from his hand. “Kates is down. Mitchell’s mother is hurt.”

Blood flowed from the wound at Annabelle’s throat, but it didn’t gush. It could be worse. He grabbed a terry towel from the counter and pressed it to Annabelle’s throat. “Mia.” He twisted to see her and... his hands froze.

“Goddammit, Reed, what the hell are you doing in there?” Spinnelli’s furious voice crackled from the radio.

But Reed didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. Mia lay on the floor in a heap, her white T-shirt already soaked with blood. Reed somehow made it to her side on his knees, his hands shaking. “Mia.
Mia.
” He lifted her shirt and his pounding heart stopped. “Oh God.” There was a huge hole in her side and blood gushed.

Her eyes struggled open, dazed with pain. “Reed. Did you get him?”

He shrugged out of his coat and ripped at his shirt. He had to stop the blood. She’d bleed to death before they got her to the ER.

“I got him, honey. Stay still. Help’s on the way.”

“Good,” she answered. A groan rattled her chest. “It hurts.”

Hands shaking, he pressed his shirt to the gaping wound. “I know it does, baby.”

She drew a hard breath. “You should have let me keep the dog tags, Solliday.”

The front door flew open and EMTs charged in, followed by a swarm of uniforms led by Marc Spinnelli and Murphy. Murphy pulled Reed out of the way as the EMTs lifted Mia to a stretcher. “Her BP’s dropping like a rock. Let’s go!”

Numb, Reed watched them carry her out the door and into the waiting ambulance.

Another team carried Annabelle Mitchell out after her daughter. She was still alive, but unconscious. Spinnelli knelt next to Kates, pressed fingers to his throat. “He’s dead.” Spinnelli rose, heavily, his face pale beneath his bushy gray mustache. “One shot to the chest, another to the shoulder. Different guns. Who fired the chest shot?”

“I did. Mia shot him in the shoulder.” Reed’s knees threatened to give. “He had a knife on Annabelle then pointed the gun at Mia. When he threw the wrench at Mia, she shot him, but her aim was off. Mine wasn’t.” He leaned over and picked up his coat. “I’m going to the hospital now.”

Spinnelli nodded unsteadily. “Murphy, follow the bus to the hospital. Take Solliday with you. I’ll finish up here and meet you there.”

Monday, December 4, 11:05 A.M.

“Daddy?”

Reed forced his eyes open. Beth hesitated at the edge of the surgery waiting room, one of his shirts in her hands, fear on her face. He made himself stand, even though his stomach roiled and his knees were still weak. “I’m all right, Beth.”

She swallowed hard, then flew into his arms. “I know. I know.” She was shaking. “I heard about Mia and I thought it could have been you.”

Reed kissed the top of her head. “It wasn’t.” And it shouldn’t have been Mia, either.
I should have shot the bastard when I had the chance.
But that would have risked Annabelle’s life as well. Annabelle had been curiously absent from every painful secret Mia had shared. But he’d sensed no hate for her mother. He’d sensed nothing.

“How is she?” Lauren asked from the doorway.

“Still in surgery. We’re waiting.” He looked around the packed room. Twenty faces were frightened and drawn, nearly all of them for Mia. “We’re all waiting.”

Beth sniffed. “You smell like smoke. I thought there was no fire.”

“It’s cigarettes.” Her wide eyes startled a small smile from him. “Not mine.” Murphy had smoked a whole pack on the way over, abandoning the carrot sticks. Reed couldn’t blame him. “Thanks for the shirt.” He shrugged into it, saying nothing when Beth stepped up to do the buttons. There was no way he’d have been able to do it himself.

A doctor walked in, his face carefully expressionless, and Reed’s heart stopped in his chest.
She’s dead.
Beth squeezed his hand and Mia’s friend Dana came to her feet, pale. Trembling. Her husband Ethan rose, holding her up.

“I’m looking for Detective Mitchell’s family.”

“I’m her sister,” Dana said and pointed to Reed. “He’s her fiancé.”

The doctor nodded wearily. “Then come with me.”

Ignoring the shocked looks, Reed followed the doctor and the Buchanans into a smaller room. The doctor gestured to some chairs, then shut the door. “She’s alive.”

“Oh, God.” Dana crumpled against her husband. Buchanan lowered his wife into one of the chairs and stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders.

“But?” Reed said. He was still standing. He owed Mia that much.

“The bullet did a lot of damage. There are a number of internal injuries, but the most serious one was to her right kidney. We had to remove it.”

Reed sat down now. He looked at Dana, her eyes huge against her pale face, and knew she understood the true meaning behind the doctor’s words. But Ethan Buchanan did not. “So? She has another. You only need one, right?”

“She only had one,” Reed said woodenly. He wanted to throw something. But he reined it in. “So,” he said. “What now?”

“She’s not out of the woods yet. She lost a lot of blood and she’s still unstable. We’ll know more in a day. But if she survives, she’ll need to consider the options.”

“Dialysis or donation,” Reed said. “Test me. I’ll give her one of mine.”

The doctor’s look was kind. “Family would have a better chance of being a match.”

Dana looked uncomfortable. “Test me, but we’re... -adopted sisters.”

“And my wife’s pregnant,” Buchanan added.

The doctor blew out a breath. “I see.”

“She has a mother and a biological sister,” Dana said.

Now the doctor looked uncomfortable. “Her mother refused to be tested.”

Reed’s mouth dropped open. “
What?
”

“I’m sorry. Mrs. Mitchell is conscious and has refused.”

But Dana looked sadly unsurprised. “Her sister Kelsey is at Hart Women’s Prison.”

“Not anymore. She was moved. Spinnelli knows where.” Reed met Dana’s eyes. “And there’s Olivia.”

Dana nodded slowly. “Let’s check Kelsey first. Mia told me what happened between her and Olivia. She may not be receptive right now.”

“It doesn’t have to be now,” the doctor inserted. “She can survive on dialysis.”

“But she won’t be a cop anymore,” Reed said flatly.

The doctor shook his head. “Not a homicide detective anyway. Maybe a desk job.”

Reed swallowed.
It’s what I am,
she’d said. “I think she’d rather die.”

The doctor patted Reed’s shoulder. “Don’t do anything drastic right now.”

The doctor left and Reed pressed his fingertips to his temples. “I wish I’d shot the bastard when I had the chance. I was trying to save her mother, goddammit.”

“And now she won’t even be tested,” Ethan murmured.

“She’s a bitter woman,” Dana said quietly. “But Mia wouldn’t have wanted you to do anything differently, Reed. I’ll get in touch with Kelsey. She’ll donate. She loves Mia.” She drew in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry about the fiancé thing. I figured you’d want to be able to see her and they wouldn’t let you otherwise.” Her lips curved, but her eyes were devastated. “It worked in the movies.”

Reed huffed a tired, mirthless chuckle. “Congratulations on the baby. Mia told me.” As they’d sat on stakeout last night, waiting for Kates to appear.

Dana’s eyes filled then. “She has to get better. She’s going to be the godmother.”

“She told me that, too. She can’t wait.”

Dana blinked the tears away. “Hormones,” she muttered. “I have to go home for a little while to get things set up with the woman who’s watching our kids. I’ll be back later when Mia’s awake. Don’t let anyone tell her about this until I get back, okay?”

Reed felt like crying himself, but he nodded. “Okay. For now we just tell the others that she’s out of surgery. And we wait.”

She took his hands as she’d done the day they’d met. “And we pray.”

Tuesday, December 5, 7:25 A.M.

“How is she?” Dana murmured. Reed started to get up, but she pushed him back into the chair at Mia’s bedside in ICU. What seemed like a hundred tubes ran from her body and her face was as white as the sheets.

“The same.” She hadn’t stirred since they’d wheeled her from recovery. “The doctor says some of her not waking up may be exhaustion from the last week and from coming back to work too early after the last injury.”

Dana brushed at the hair on Mia’s forehead lovingly. “Our girl has a hard head. Can’t tell her anything.”

The bullet would have bounced off your damn hard head,
Jack had said.
Sometimes I wish you weren’t bulletproof.
And she wasn’t. “The last thing she said was that I should have let her keep her dog tags. I’m not a superstitious man, but I’m wondering if she was right.”

“Remind me to smack you,” Dana said mildly. “The dog tags needed to go and I’m grateful you convinced her of that. Reed, she’s a cop. She put herself in dangerous positions every day. Superstition has nothing to do with this. Have you had any rest?”

“Some.” Dana’s eyes were serene. Calming. “Why will her mother not be tested?”

“Annabelle always blamed her daughters for everything. If they’d been sons, life would have been different, she thought. If they’d been sons, Bobby Mitchell would have found another reason to be abusive. It was who he was. Kelsey and Mia paid the price.”

“Does she love her mother?”