Beth straightened her coat, pulled on her gloves and took off at a run across backyards, taking fences like a pro. Keeping her distance, Mia followed.

Friday, December 1, 9:55 p.m.

"You're late," a girl with a ring in her nose hissed and pulled Beth inside. "You almost missed your slot." That, Mia supposed, would be the infamous Jenny Q.

Mia had followed Beth downtown on the El to some kind of club called the Rendezvous. The kid had been damn hard to keep up with. She should be running track.

Beth took off her coat. "I had to wait. My dad went next door and I kept thinking he'd come back, but he didn't. I guess he's there for the night again."

Again? So much for discretion, Mia thought. Solliday thought his daughter was innocent. Well, she hadn't gone to a party but she'd snuck out to go wherever this was. Mia wasn't sure what this place was. It wasn't a bar, because no one was carding. It had a stage and about fifty little tables where a diverse group lounged. Jenny and Beth disappeared into the crowd, but when Mia tried to follow a man tapped her arm.

"Ten bucks, please." His badge said he was security. He didn't look like a druggie.

She dug in her pocket, pulled out her emergency twenty. "What's going on here?"

He made change and handed her a program. "It's competition night."

"And who's competing?"

He smiled. "Anybody who wants to. You want me to see if there's any slots left?"

"No. No thank you. I'm looking for someone. Beth Solliday."

He checked his sheet. "We have a Liz Solliday. You'd better hurry. She's on now."

Feeling like Alice in Wonderland, Mia hurried in. The lights dimmed and a spotlight lit center stage. And out walked Beth Solliday in a leather miniskirt amid polite applause.

"My name is Liz Solliday and the title of my poem is 'casper'," she said.

Poem? Mia held her program up to the red glow of the exit sign and blinked. Whatever the hell Slam Poetry was, Beth had made the semifinals. As soon as Beth opened her mouth, Mia understood why. The girl had a presence on the stage.

did I mention that I live with a ghost?

we'll call her casper she follows me staring at me her eyes my eyes her eyes she's stolen my eyes my dad, he's the one who invited her in sometimes when he looks at me he winces like he sees her when it's only me and i'm willing to bet he wishes he could make a trade if only for one day

Casper was Christine. Mia's throat closed, but Beth's voice was strong. Like music. And as she spoke, her words touched the very place Mia hurt the most.

i'm just the doppelganger reminding the world of the better version that once was flitting through my father's life almost invisible her eyes darker every day mine fade a little more every day my purpose less certain until i wonder who's the ghost and who just deserves better

The spotlight dimmed and Mia let out a breath. Wow. Grateful for the darkness, she wiped her cheeks dry. Reed's daughter had a gift. A beautiful, exquisite gift.

Mia stood up. And Reed's daughter was in trouble. One hell of a lot of trouble. She pushed in her chair and went to find Liz, who had a great deal of explaining to do.

Friday, December 1, 10:15 p.m.

He was still out there, the man cop. The lady had driven away hours ago. He didn't know what to do. Yes, he did, but he was so scared.

But police were your friends. His teacher had said so. If you're in trouble, you can go to the police. He turned from the window and sat on his bed. He'd think about it. He could tell the cops and maybe he would come back and hurt them. But maybe he would anyway. The lady on the news said he'd killed people, which he believed.

I ran wait for him to come and get me and be afraid for the rest of my life, or tell and hope the police really are my friends. It was a scary choice. But at seven years old. the rest of his life was a really long time.

Friday, December 1, 10:45 P.M.

Beth edged closer to the window as the El carried them home. I am so dead. Her stomach rolled every time she thought about what her father would do. She chanced a glance at Mitchell, who sat quietly, arms crossed. Beth could see the bulge of her holster through her sweat jacket. She had a gun. Well, she was a cop.

She still couldn't believe the woman had followed her. Followed her, for God's sake. It had been the moment she'd dreamed of, stepping off the stage to all that applause. And not polite applause, either. The real thing. Jenny Q and all the group had been there, jumping up and down and hugging her. And then she'd looked up and seen Mitchell standing off to the side, brows lifted. She'd said nothing, but Beth's heart had dropped into her feet. It was still somewhere down around her gut.

I am so dead. Her choice had been clear. Leave quietly or the cop would cause a scene. So here she was, chugging on the El toward home and certain doom.

"Believe it or not, that was the first time I ever did anything like that," she muttered.

Mitchell looked at her from the corner of her eye. "What, slam poetry or shimmying down a tree to gallivant all over town when your father told you to stay home?"

"Both," Beth said glumly. "I am so dead."

"You could have been, going downtown by yourself this time of night."

Beth's eyes jerked to Mitchell's face. "I'm not a kid. I know what I'm doing."

"Uh-huh. Okay."

"I do."

"Okay."

Beth rolled her eyes. "I mean, yeah, the 'Vous isn't in the best part of town."

"Nope."

"Will you say something that's not monosyllabic?"

Mitchell turned to look at her, eyes cool. "You are an idiot. A very talented idiot. Is that enough syllables for you? Although technically, 'okay' is disyllabic."

Beth sputtered even as the compliment warmed her. "I'm not an idiot. I'm a straight-A student. Honor roll." She shook her head, disgusted. Then sighed. "But you liked it?"

Mitchell's eyes changed. Went from cool to devastated. "Yes. I liked it very much."

"I wouldn't have taken you for a poetry fan."

One side of the woman's mouth lifted. "I wouldn't have, either. 'There once was a lady from Nantucket' is more my speed."

Beth huffed a chuckle. "The limericks crack me up, too." She sobered and drew a breath. "So, are you going to tell my dad?"

Her blonde brows went up. "Shouldn't I?"

"He's gonna freak."

"As well he should. He's a good father, Beth, and he loves you."

"He keeps me locked up like a prisoner."

Mitchell's eyes flickered. "Believe me, you're no prisoner. Do you love your dad?"

Beth's eyes stung. "Yes," she whispered.

"Then why didn't you tell him about the slam thing?"

"He's not into this kind of stuff. He's into sports. He wouldn't understand."

"I think he would have tried." She sighed. "Look, I don't want to get between the two of you. I'll give you until tomorrow to tell him. If you don't, then I will."