Mia looked up at Murphy who was unsuccessfully trying to bite back a smile, then back at Jeremy. "You watch a lot of TV, don't you, Jeremy?" she asked.

"And I read," he said. "But mostly TV." Then his chin trembled, spoiling his facade. "I have to have the protection for my mom. He hurt her once. Really bad. She's afraid." Tears filled his eyes. "And she cries all the time. Please, lady, please don't let him hurt my mom." He stood there, so brave and alone as tears ran down his freckled cheeks and Mia had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from crying with him.

Crying would hurt Jeremy's expectation of cops. But she did gather him in her arms and hug him tight. "We'll protect your mom, Jeremy. Don't worry, honey."

Murphy already had his radio out, calling for support.

Mia backed away and wiped Jeremy's cheeks with her thumbs. "You hungry, kid?"

He nodded, sniffling. "We didn't finish our dinner last night."

"I've got a breakfast burrito in my car. I'll split it with you while we wait for CSU."

Jeremy nodded sagely. "They should bring X-ray and metal detectors."

Mia's lips twitched. "I'll tell them you said so."

Saturday, December 2, 7:15 a.m.

Reed stopped behind a line of cruisers and CSU vans. Nothing was happening yet. He supposed they were still waiting for the warrant. Mia was leaning against her department car. He approached, not knowing what to say, or how she'd respond.

He didn't know of what he felt. Or what he wanted. It had been a sleepless night. She looked over and gave him a friendly smile that didn't come close to brightening her eyes. "Lieutenant Solliday," she said formally. "I have someone here you should meet."

Inside the car was a little boy, with strawberry blond hair and freckles.

"Lieutenant, this is Mr. Jeremy Lukowitch," Mia said. "Jeremy, this is Lieutenant Solliday. He's a fire investigator."

Fear shadowed the boy's eyes. "Detective Mitchell says she'll protect my mom."

"Then she will. She's a good cop."

Mia swallowed, but her smile didn't falter. "Jeremy, you wait here in my car where it's warm, okay? I'm going to trust you not to touch anything."

"I won't."

She started to walk away, then stuck her head back in the window. "Jeremy, we won't go inside until we have a warrant, but will your mom come out?"

"She's probably still asleep. Sometimes she takes sleeping pills."

Mia nodded briskly. "That's fine. I'll be back soon." She backed away from the car slowly, but her expression had grown grim. "Are you EMT trained, Reed?"

"Yeah. You think she OD'd on pills?"

Mia was jogging now, going around the back where Jack linger was poised for action, waiting for the warrant. "Not knowingly, maybe. But she saw White. She lived with him. He's not gonna let her live."

"We get the warrant?" Jack asked.

"Not yet. I think the mom took some pills. We're going in." She threw her shoulder into the back door and it cracked. But she winced and hissed. "That hurt."

"Y'think?" Reed said. "Move." And with one heave the door splintered. Both of them drew their weapons and he followed her in.

"Mrs. Lukowitch, this is the police." She ran back to the bedroom where a woman lay curled in a fetal ball. "Ah, shit. Ah, hell. I smell cyanide." She holstered her gun and felt for a pulse. Then stepped back. "She's dead, Reed. Rigor's already setting in."

Reed sighed. "Eleven."

"You were right. Bodies weren't what he was counting." She closed her eyes. "Now how do I tell that baby his mother is dead?"

"With me. I'll tell him with you."

She nodded. "Okay. Let's go."

Saturday, December 2, 8:10 a.m.

Mia and Reed shielded Jeremy with their bodies as the ME wheeled his mother out in a body bag. But the boy wasn't watching. He was looking straight ahead, at nothing at all. Mia crouched down when the ambulance had driven away. "Jeremy, sweetie, I have to work on your house."

"What will happen to me?" he asked so softly she had to lean forward to catch the words. "My mom is dead. My dad is gone. Who will take care of me?"

Me, Mia wanted to say, but didn't. This was a boy, not a cat. "I've called a social worker. They'll put you in a temporary home until we can get something worked out."

"A foster home," he said dully. "I seen them on TV. Kids get hurt there."

Reed shot her a look and she stepped back. He crouched down in front of Jeremy. "Son, I know what you've seen on TV. But you need to understand, those are only the bad ones and they're rare." The boy wasn't buying it, so Reed tried again. "Jeremy, you're a very smart boy. How many airplanes do you think fly in America every day?"

Jeremy turned his head. "Thousands," he replied flatly.

"That's right. How many times do you hear about plane crashes on the news? Not many. You hear about the one or two bad planes, but never the thousands of good ones that reach their destinations safely every day. Same with foster care. Bad ones happen, but they're rare. I grew up in a good one. so I know."

Jeremy's shoulders sagged. "Okay." He looked up at Mia. "Can I still see you?"

Her heart squeezed. "You bet. Now we have to do our jobs, Jeremy. You sit tight and don't leave without me, Lieutenant Solliday, or one of these officers."

His look was far too wise for seven years old. "I'm not stupid. Detective Mitchell."

She ruffled his hair. "I know."

Murphy waved to them. "Got the warrant."

"That was good, what you said to him," she murmured as they walked. "Thanks."

"Mia…"

"Not now, Reed. I can't." She hurried off, leaving him watching her back. Confused and torn he jogged after her to watch what buried treasure Jack would dig up.

Saturday, December 2, 10:30 a.m.

It was a good day to be alive. Things were finally looking up. Put on a happy face. He grinned as the ridiculous phrases flitted through his mind. He'd left Tyler alive and burning. Immensely satisfying. He'd nearly started straight for Sante Fe, but the adrenaline high had quickly ebbed. Exhausted, he found a cheap roadside motel and went to sleep. When he woke, he was clear minded once more. He'd drive to Santa Fe, sticking to back roads. Once there, and once finished, Mexico seemed the best idea for laying low. Eventually his picture would be old news and he could return.

He had to go under. Hide like a girl. Because Mitchell had his picture everywhere.

Rage for the woman bubbled up and he pushed it back. He'd tried to get her once. He needed to learn from Laura Dougherty. Listen to fate. Let it go.

Control returned and with it the logistics of his plan. Even when he emerged from Mexico, he would not return to Chicago. He'd settle somewhere south, where it was warm. So he need to get his things. His memories. It was another eight hours of his life, from Indy to Chicago and back south to where he'd started that morning. But he'd waited ten years. What was another eight hours? He wanted his things.

His instinct was alerted blocks from the house. He turned two blocks too soon and slowed to a stop. He could see cruisers and vans and men with shovels. At his house.

Mitchell had found his house. She'd taken his stuff. Coldly he turned his car around. To hell with fate. The woman had to pay. She'd dodged a bullet twice this week. Lucky bitch. But her luck was about to run out.

Saturday, December 2,11:45 a.m.

Mia rocked back on her heels, fists on her hips. The table was covered with the items they'd recovered from the Luko-witches' yard. And they'd needed both the X-ray and metal detectors. Jeremy would be proud of that at least. "This is remarkable."