"You care about them," she said quietly.

"It's hard not to. They tend to grow on you."

"Mr. White!" A trio of boys caught up to them, looking panicked.

Devin gave the boys a smile. "What's up, guys?"

"We need help before the quiz today," one said and Brooke's heart deflated a little.

So much for Tater Tots, she thought. I'll be earing at my desk again.

Devin gave Brooke an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I'll get with you later."

With a silent sigh she watched him go. Tater Tots with Devin White was about as close as she'd come to a real date in a long time, which was pathetic. She turned toward her classroom. Then stopped short just as she rounded the corner.

Manny Rodriguez was looking both ways as he shoved something in the trash can just outside the lunchroom. A newspaper? That Manny had a newspaper for any constructive reason was unbelievable. She waited until he was gone then lifted the lid of the trash can and, wrinkling her nose, fished the newspaper out.

She'd expected to feel something heavy wrapped inside, but as she gingerly shook it, there was nothing.

It was today's Trib. Frowning, she pulled the paper apart until she found a hole with jagged edges. He'd ripped something out of the paper. An article? A picture? Whatever it was, it had been on page A-12. Briefly she considered keeping the paper, but ended up tossing it back in the trash can. Half of it was covered in cheese sauce. If it was something wrong, it would be information Julian could use in therapy.

She'd go to the school library, check the Trib. Perhaps it was nothing more than an ad for a video game. But remembering the look in Manny's eyes, she doubted it.

Monday, November 27, 1:15 P.M.

"So how old is your daughter?"

Reed looked up in surprise. They were the first words Mitchell had spoken since they'd sat down with their trays in the burger joint she'd chosen. He'd thought she was still angry about this morning. Nobody liked hearing the truth when it hurt and Reed had simply told the truth. If she wasn't capable, he'd ask for somebody else.

If she wasn't capable, it was understandable. A few quick questions to the ME had cleared the puzzle and Mitchell herself had added the final piece. A hurt partner and a dead father. Add the shoulder and she'd hit the trifecta. No wonder she'd been zoned out this morning. But he hadn't seen a single lapse in focus since. She'd been strong and sure with the girl's parents, saying the right things to ease the father's pain as best she could. And at the Doughertys' she'd pulled together the same scenario he had.

Maybe her silence was her way of processing information and not due to residual anger. Either way her question was an olive branch of sorts.

"Beth is fourteen." He grimaced. "Going on twenty-five."

"That's a tough age," she said sympathetically. Her eyes flicked to a point behind him. "I wouldn't go back to that age for all the tea in China."

"On that we agree. What's back there?"

"Barracuda." Eyes narrowed, she followed the approach of a woman with a long blond braid. "Carmichael. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The woman pulled up a chair and sat down. "Is that any way to greet me after two whole weeks?" She eyed Reed with interest. "I thought Reagan was coming back."

"He is, in a few weeks."

The woman put out her hand. "I'm Joanna Carmichael."

He wasn't sure if he should shake it. "Lieutenant Solliday-"

"OFI, I know. I ran the plates on your SUV before I came in."

Reed frowned. "I don't think 1 like having my privacy invaded like that."

Carmichael shrugged. "Goes with the territory. I'm with the Bulletin."

He looked at Mitchell who looked excessively annoyed. "You have groupies?"

Carmichael laughed. "She makes good copy. You're back sooner than I thought."

"I'm a fast healer. I don't have anything for you, Carmichael. All my cases were reassigned while I was on disability."

"This time I have something for you. I've kept my ear to the ground for you. One of my sources tells me that your partner hit one of the guys who shot at you before he was hit. Ripped a nice neat hole in the guy's arm." She lifted a brow. "Kind of like yours."

Mia shook her head. "Nobody matching their description's visited any of the hospitals for a GSW any time in the last two weeks. I've checked. Every damn day."

"Your punk's mommy is a nurse's aide. Word is she did a do-it-yourself job. Not too shabby either. Apparently he's a fast healer, too."

Mitchell's eyes had narrowed dangerously. "What's your punk's name?"

"Oscar DuPree. Is he your punk, too?" Carmichael asked with decepüve laziness.

Mitchell nodded curtly. "That's one of them. Where is he?"

"Hangs at a bar called Looney's. But he didn't shoot your partner. His pal, however, has been talking it up. Big bad cop took one in the gut. Fell like a rock. Bitch cop took one in the shoulder while she stared like a deer in the headlights."

Color was rising in Mitchell's cheeks. "Fucking little bastard. I owe you, Carmichael."

"No, you don't." Carmichael stood up. "You were nice to me once. I pay my debts. Now we're square." She checked her watch. "I've got to be going. Nice to meet you, Lieutenant. If you get a good lead on your fire/homicide, I'd appreciate the heads-up."

Reed kept his face poker straight. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, cut the bullshit, Lieutenant. You're arson, she's homicide. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to put the pieces together. So, what about it? What's the story here?"

Mitchell was methodically folding her burger wrapper into a paper football. The look she spared Carmichael was fierce. "You'll be the first to know. I pay my debts, too."

Carmichael chuckled as she walked away. "Last one to Looney's is a rotten egg."

"I take it we're taking a detour on our way to the sorority," Reed said dryly and Mitchell looked up, surprise in her round blue eyes.

"This is mine to do. If you drop me off at the precinct, I'll drive myself."

"Show me full rotation. Wind it up like you're going to pitch from the mound."

She tried to throw the paper football in the garbage and grimaced. "Shit. That hurts."

"You need to be back on disability, but you're not going to do that, are you?"

She met his gaze directly. "My partner was shot down like a dog in the street, Solliday. He's a good man and he was nearly worm food. The punk ass that did it is bragging. If it were you, would you go home and climb under the covers like a little girl?"

She had a way of articulating her thoughts so very clearly. "No. I wouldn't. Look, I'll drive you, but you call Spinnelli first. You get backup or I'll call this in myself."

She stood up, her expression determined. "It's my collar."

"That's fine. You get your collar, then we get back to Caitlin Burnette."

"Let's rock and roll, Solliday. With any luck, the vermin will be gathering at their local watering hole. We could be at the university by two thirty. Three at the latest."

Reed picked up their trays and slid the garbage into the can. "Three. Right."

Monday, November 27, 4:00 P.M.

"Hello, may I speak to Emily Richter, please?"

"If you're selling something-"

"I"m not, ma'am," he cut in quickly. "My name is Harry Porter. I'm with the Trib."

"I talked with you guys already."

"I know," he said soothingly. "But I'm looking for a comment from the homeowners, the Doughertys. Do you know where I can find them?"

She sniffed. "They're not home. They're on vacation."

"Oh. Well, thank you for your time, ma'am."

"You people at the paper should really talk to each other instead of bothering me," she snapped and he wanted to snap her neck. But for now, he needed her.