She traced a pattern in the moisture on her glass. "You were a firefighter before you joined OFI. If I asked why you changed, would you say it was none of my business?"
"I'd say I owe you one secret revealed, Detective. Christine asked me to change. She was afraid I'd get hurt. I'd always been interested in the investigation side and I'd just finished my degree. The time seemed right and it made her happy."
Christine must have been his wife. Again jealousy pricked, which was irrational. "I assumed it had something to do with your hands."
"That would be two secrets. But okay. It's not something I'm particularly proud of. I lost it for a little while after Christine died. Drank too much. One night I was working on my car. I shouldn't have been drinking but I was, and I dropped the battery. It cracked and acid leaked on my hands, damaged the nerves in my fingertips. Stupid, really."
Stupid she could understand. "We all do stupid things when we're distracted."
He met her eyes, held them for a long quiet moment. "What's distracting you, Mia?"
She opened her mouth, unsure. Disturbed because she suddenly wanted to tell him everything. All her secrets. But she was saved an answer by a sleepy voice.
"Reed?"
A woman stood in the doorway, rubbing her eyes and clutching a videotape. Mia looked at the woman, then rapidly back at Solliday. To say there was no family resemblance would have been the understatement of the year.
The woman walked across the kitchen, her hand extended, her smile bright white against her ebony skin. "You must be Detective Mitchell. I'm Lauren Solliday."
Mia shook off her surprise and shook the woman's hand. "It's nice to meet you. I hope I'm not imposing, coming in so late."
"Not at all." She sniffed. "You found the lasagna?"
Solliday nodded. "And I made a salad."
Lauren's lips twitched. "Domesticity in a male. Can you beat it?"
"His domesticity trumps mine," Mia admitted.
"We grew up in a big family. Everybody had to cook. Even Reed." She handed him the tape. "I set it to copy the whole show in case I fell asleep. Which of course, I did."
"What did you tape?" Mia asked.
"Lauren told me the fire at Hill's house made the news. Let's take a look."
He led them into the living room, popping the video in the machine while Mia scanned the room. It was elegance without intimidation, a delicate balance, Mia suspected. She wondered if Lauren or Christine had done the decorating. The mantel over the fireplace was packed with photos and a half dozen framed cross-stitched works of art. The one on the end was of wild roses with "CS" stitched in the corner. So this room was Christine's. Solliday caught her looking, mistakenly thinking her attention focused on one of the pictures that looked like a UN photo.
"That was the last reunion before Mom died," he said. "My parents… and all of us."
Mia blinked as she took a quick count. "Holy shit," she breathed.
He chuckled. "We were an intimidating bunch."
"So I take it that your parents did a lot of adoptions."
Lauren's smile flashed. "They adopted six of us formally. Reed was the first."
Mia pushed the wistful feeling away. "My best friend is a foster mother."
"The friend whose kids named your goldfish Fluffy," Solliday said dryly.
"She's the one. This is what Dana wants to build. You had a happy family."
Lauren took the picture and put it back on the mantel with fond precision. "We did." She smiled over at Solliday. "We still do." She gave Mia an assessing sweep, head to toe and back again. Then her lips twitched. "It's very good to meet you, Mia Mitchell."
"Lauren." It sounded like a warning but Lauren just grinned at him. "Let's watch the news." He sat at one end of the sofa and Lauren quickly took the other end. leaving Mia with the middle, uncomfortably close to Solliday. She was certain she'd been manipulated, but her attention was diverted when Hill's charred house came into view.
A pert reporter stood on the curb, Hill's house in the background and Mia's pulse spiked. "Holly Wheaton," Mia said in disgust. She truly hated that woman.
"She drove me nuts last year when I was working an apartment fire. She doesn't like me very much."
"That makes two of us. Was this live at six, Lauren?" Mia asked. "Or at ten?"
"I know it was live at six. This looks like that same segment, rebroadcasted."
Holly Wheaton aimed an earnest face toward the camera. "Behind me is what's left of the home that belonged to Penny
Hill, a social worker with DCFS. Last night this house was ablaze, the work of an arsonist. But not only did this arsonist steal Ms. Hill's home, witnesses say police believe he also stole Ms. Hill's life."
The picture sliced to a home video of the fire. "This is what the scene looked like last night when flames consumed this house," Wheaton voiced-over. "A quick-thinking neighbor shot this video, all the while terrified the fire would spread to his own home."
One of Penny Hill's oh-so-caring neighbors had taken video and sold it to the press. Mia gritted her teeth. "Sonof-abitch."
Beside her on the sofa, Solliday blew out a breath. "On that we agree."
"This is the second suspicious blaze in less than a week," the reporter went on as the home video ended and the picture cut back to the ruins. "Both fires resulted in fatalities. We're told the police are treating both deaths as homicides."
The camera panned back as the reporter continued, showing Hill's house draped with yellow crime scene tape, then farther back to show the houses on either side and the neighbors who'd turned out to observe the cameras. Mia jerked forward. A woman stood at the edge of the picture next to her car, looking up at the house. There was something in the way she held her body as she stared up at the blackened house. The camera had picked up on a fine tension that went beyond simple curiosity.
"Look," Mia said.
"I see her," Solliday returned tightly.
"Police Lieutenant Marc Spinnelli issued a 'no comment' statement earlier this afternoon, but has since scheduled a press conference for tomorrow morning. We'll keep you informed as news breaks. This is Holly Wheaton, Action News."
Mia was staring at the screen. "Rewind."
Solliday already was. He slowed the tape, then took it frame by frame. "We can't see the license number on her car. It's a blue… Hyundai. Four or five years old."
"She could just be a bystander or a sensation seeker," Lauren said doubtfully.
Mia's skin was tingling, her fatigue chased away. "I don't think so. You want to pay Holly Wheaton a visit tomorrow? Maybe they caught more on tape."
Solliday smiled, a sharp feral smile that told her his instincts had bpen awakened as well. "She might still be at the station. Let's call her now."
Mia shook her head. "It's almost eleven. Nobody's going to be answering the phones."
His expression shifted. "I have her direct line and cell," he admitted. "And home."
A twinge of annoyance had her brows crunching. "I thought she didn't like you."
"I thought she drove you crazy last year," Lauren added more glibly and he glared at her. Lauren just grinned. "I'll wrap up your dinner so you can take it with you."
When Lauren had left the room he turned his glare on Mia. "Five people died in that apartment fire last year." Pain flashed in his dark eyes. "Three of them were kids. One baby still in a crib. Wheaton didn't care about that, about any of them. She just tried to cuddle up for an exclusive. I wasn't interested. Even if I had been, I sure as hell wouldn't have been after that. I'm not that kind of man, Mia." He stopped abruptly, his eyes locked on hers. "I only kept her card because I never throw anything away."
It was one of those moments, Mia thought, when the depth of a person was truly revealed. He wouldn't be interested in a woman whose only care was camera angle and her number of minutes on air. That wasn't the kind of man he was. The annoyance vanished, replaced with a deep respect and with it a resurgence of desire, deeper than before. Dangerous ground. Mentally she edged back. "Then let's call her now."