Tuesday, November 28, 6:45 p.m.

Reed yawned as he pulled into the parking space beside Mitchell's little Alfa.

"Don't do that," she protested. "I still have tons of reading to do tonight."

"You're not going back to your desk. I know I need some sleep. So do you, Mia."

"I won't go back right away. I have something I need to do first. But I've got to get through some of those files. We've got nothing so far."

"The info we got from the sorority was disappointing," he agreed glumly.

"They can't tell us what they didn't see. If this guy stalked Caitlin, he was damn careful about it. At least we can rule out Doug Davis and Joel Rebinowitz."

"Lucky for Doug he has a temper. Being held without bail for aggravated assault in a Milwaukee jail gives him a tight alibi. We can tell Margaret Hill he's not blame."

"And luckily the arcade has a security camera." It had clearly shown Joel playing pinball during the hours in question. She scrubbed her cheeks with her palms and shot him a weak smile. "Go home and see your daughter, Solliday. Fluffy just isn't the conversationalist he used to be, so I won't be missing anything at home."

He didn't smile back. Fatigued, frustration flared and with it his temper. "No way. Tired people have accidents. People die. Go the hell home."

She blinked at him, surprised. "I'm not that tired."

"That's what the guy said who ran a red light and broad-sided my wife." Immediately he wished the words back, but it was too late.

Her blue eyes flickered sympathy. "And she died?"

"Yes." The one word vibrated with an anger that surprised him. But at the moment he wasn't sure who he was most angry with.

She sighed. "I'm so sorry."

So was he. "It was a long time ago." He gentled his voice. "Go home, Mia. Please."

She nodded. "Okay. I will."

That had been too easy. It didn't take a detective to realize she wasn't going home.

Something perverse nagged at him. She was going to get herself killed, and dammit, she was starting to grow on him.

He now understood why Spinnelli spoke so highly of her. He also had to admit she'd piqued his own curiosity.

Reed waited until she'd driven away, and then followed. At the first traffic light she hadn't detected his presence. She really must be tired, he thought. He pulled out his phone and said, "Home," and waited for voice recognition to do its thing.

"Hey, Dad," Beth said, startling him. Caller ID still caught him unaware sometimes.

"Hi, sweetie. How was school today?" The light changed and Mitchell continued onward, not trying to lose him. So far, so good.

"Okay. When are you coming home?"

"I'll be a little while. Something's come up on this case."

"What? You promised you'd take me to Jenny Q's tonight. Meet her mother. So I can go to her party this weekend, remember?"

The vehemence in her voice took him aback. "Well, I can go over there tomorrow."

"I have to study with her tonight."

It sounded as if every word was being spat from her mouth. "Beth, what's wrong?"

"Your not keeping your promise is what's wrong. Oh!"

It sounded like she stifled a sob and alarmed he sat up straighter. Hormones again. He could never keep track of which week to be careful. "Honey? This will be all right. I'll ask Aunt Lauren to go meet her mother if it's that important to you."

"Okay." She shuddered a breath. "Sorry, Dad."

Reed blinked. "It's okay, honey. I think. Put Aunt Lauren on the phone."

"What was that about?" Lauren asked a minute later.

"She wants to go to a party at her friend's house this weekend and I was going to meet the girl's mother tonight, but I'm working late." It was a small lie. Little and white. Still he winced. But made no move to turn around. "Can you take her over there to study and give the mom the third degree?"

"Do I get to use the bright lights and rubber hoses?"

He chuckled. "Knock yourself out. I'm not sure when I'll be home."

"Reed, are you working that fire that killed the social worker?"

Reed grimaced. "How do you know about that?"

"It's all over the news. My God. That poor woman."

"Which news?"

"Local. It was one of their lead stories. You want me to tape it for you for at ten?"

"That'd be great. Remember, Beth's got to be home by nine."

"I've been doing this a long time, Reed," Lauren said patiently. "You shouldn't worry about my taking care of Beth. You should be more worried I'll get married."

"Are you planning a big wedding any time soon?" he teased.

"I'm serious. One of these days I'll leave. You need to consider my replacement."

"Oh. This is about me dating." Lauren was good at back alley arguing.

"Finding a good wife is a lot easier than hiring a good nanny. And my biological clock is ticking. I've got to find a husband before they're all taken. Talk to you later."

Reed hung up, a scowl furrowing his forehead. What would he do with Beth when Lauren flew the nest? He did know he wasn't going to get married just to get a live-in nanny-slash-maid. He'd had a good marriage once. There was no way in hell he'd make do with anything less. He let his mind drift as he tailed Mia Mitchell's car, remembering Christine. She'd been the perfect wife. Beautiful, smart, sexy. He sighed. Yes, sexy. He had to stop letting his mind drift, because it kept drifting to sex.

But it was hard to control his mind when he was this tired, much less his body. He could remember everything so vividly. Just how she'd looked, how it had felt to make love to her in the quiet of the night. Touching her skin, her hair. The way she whispered his name when she was so close, begging him to take her to the sun. And how it had felt when she came, taking him with her. But most of nil, he remembered the amazing peace he'd felt afterward, holding her spooned against him.

Stop. Something was wrong with that fantasy. Different. Reed blinked hard, bringing all the taillights in his path back into focus. Whoa. Troubled, he blinked again, but the picture in his mind was unchanged. The woman in his mental wanderings wasn't tall and dark with the lithe body of a dancer. The woman in his mind was blond. Her body strong and compact. Her breasts… her legs… different. Her eyes weren't dark and mysterious. They were wide and blue like the summer sky.

Hell. The woman he'd been making love to in his mind hadn't been Christine. It had been Mia Mitchell. Restlessly he shifted, the picture of Mitchell still stubbornly filling his mind. Naked and waiting for him. And now that he'd seen her like that, even if it was only in his mind, it was going to be damned difficult to see her any other way.

"Well, that's just perfect," he muttered. Making love to a memory was safe. Dreaming about a real live woman was way too dangerous. So he'd push the very thought from his mind. This he could do. This he'd done before. This was discipline.

Four cars ahead, Mia was signaling her merge onto the interstate, going south. If he had a brain in his head he'd drive right on past the merge ramp, turn around at the next intersection and go home. But he didn't. For some reason he didn't try to fathom, he followed, wondering where she would take them.

Tuesday, November 28, 7:00 p.m.

He slid the vase full of flowers on the hotel's counter. "Delivery, ma'am."

A small woman stood behind the counter, typing. Her name tag said //smc tania and below it in smaller letters, //smc assistant manager. Around her neck she wore a photo ID and clipped behind it, a key card. He'd bet it was a master key. And he needed one of those.