"At the morgue. We pulled a double homicide last night. He won the toss, so I'm calling next of kin." Murphy's eyes abruptly narrowed. "You have company."
Mia turned, a groan catching in her throat when her shoulder burned. Then she forgot all about her shoulder. Striding across the bullpen with a look that would terrify most serial killers was the assistant state's attorney. Abe's wife. Guilt had Mia avoiding Abe's family for two weeks. Now it was time to face the music. Unsteadily she rose and prepared to take what she had coming. "Kristen."
Kristen Reagan raised her brows, her lips tightly pursed. "So you live after all."
The woman had every right to her anger. Kristen could have been a widow had the bullet hit Abe's gut just an inch lower. Mia braced herself. "Just say it."
Kristen said nothing, instead studying her in a way that made Mia want to squirm, bringing back memories of frowning nuns and stinging palms. Finally Kristen sighed. "You dumb ass," she murmured. "What did you think I was going to say?"
Mia's spine straightened at the soft tone. She would have preferred the harsh words she deserved. "I wasn't paying attention. Abe paid the price."
"He said you were ambushed. He didn't see them at first, either."
"My angle was different. I should have seen them. I was…" Preoccupied. "I wasn't paying attention," she repeated stiffly. "I'm sorry."
Kristen's eyes flashed. "You think he blames you? That / blame you?"
"You should. I would." She lifted a shoulder. "I do."
"Then you're an idiot," Kristen snapped. "We were worried, Mia. You disappeared after they sewed you up. We looked everywhere, but we couldn't find you. We thought you'd been hurt, or killed. Abe's been out of his mind worrying about you. And all this time you've been off somewhere sulking, feeling sorry for yourself?"
Mia blinked. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…" She shut her eyes. "Shit."
"You didn't mean for us to worry." Kristen's voice was flat. "Well, we did. Even Spinnelli didn't know where you were until you called last week to say you'd be back this morning. I went by your apartment six times."
Mia opened her eyes, remembering three of those times. "I know."
Kristen's eyes widened. "You know? You were there?"
"Kind of. Yeah." Sitting in the dark sulking. Feeling sorry for herself.
Kristen's brows furrowed. '"Kind of? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
The room had quieted and everyone watched them. "Can you keep your voice down?"
"No. I can't. I've sat by Abe's side for two weeks while he waited for you to call. In between morphine drips and surgery, he worried that you'd gone after Getts yourself and were dead in an alley somewhere. So if I'm a little short on patience or sympathy or discretion, then so be it." She stood, her cheeks flushed. "You better show up at his hospital room after your shift. Explain to him what 'kind of means. You owe him that much." She took two steps, then stopped. Slowly she turned, her eyes no longer flashing, but filled with sorrow. "Dammit, Mia. You hurt him. When he found out you were okay and that you just hadn't come to see him, he was so hurt."
Mia swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."
Kristen cocked her jaw. "You should be. He cares about you."
Mia dropped her gaze to her desk. "I'll be there after my shift."
"See that you do." She paused, then cleared her throat. "Mia, look at me, please."
Mia raised her eyes. The anger was gone, concern taking its place. "What?"
Kristen lowered her voice to a mere whisper. "You've had a hard time the last few weeks, what with your dad and all.
Mistakes happen. You're human. And you're still the partner I want watching my husband's back."
Mia watched until Kristen was gone, then sank down into her chair. They thought she was upset about her father's death. If only it were that easy. "Shit."
Murphy's voice was mild. "You're white as a sheet. You should have taken a few more days."
"Looks like I should have done a lot of things," she shot back, then closed her eyes. "Have you seen him?"
"Yeah. He was a mess for the first week or so. Aidan says they're letting him out tomorrow or the next day, so unless you want him to hold it over your head that you didn't visit him, you'd better go tonight. What the hell were you thinking, Mia?"
Mia stared into her very clean coffee cup. "That I fucked up and nearly got my partner killed. Again." Murphy said nothing and Mia looked up, sardonic. "You're not going to tell me it wasn't my fault? This time or last time?"
Murphy pulled a carrot stick from a plastic bag on his desk. "Would it do any good?"
Mia eyed the stack of perfectly cut carrots as Murphy slipped one between his lips. "You're trying to quit again, aren't you?"
He held her eyes for a long moment, not fooled. "Two weeks. Not that I'm counting."
"Good for you." She stood, her legs steady again. "I need to tell Spinnelli I'm back."
"He's in with somebody. But he said he wants to see you right away and you should just come in."
Mia frowned. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I just did." She'd made it to the door to Spinnelli's office when Murphy called her name. "Mia. It wasn't your fault. Abe or Ray. Shit happens. You know this."
Abe, who'd escaped by the skin of his teeth no thanks to her. Ray, the partner before who hadn't been so lucky. The cops sent Ray's wife fruit baskets, too. "Yeah." Drawing a breath, she knocked on her lieutenant's door.
"Come," Spinnelli ordered. He was sitting behind his desk, a frown bunching his bushy salt-and-pepper mustache, but his eyes softened at the sight of her. "Mia. Glad you're here. Come in. Sit down. How are you?"
Mia closed the door behind her. "Cleared for duty." Her eyes widened as the occupant of Spinnelli's guest chair turned. Hell. Then the guy in the trench coat from downstairs was lurching to his feet and he didn't look any happier than she felt.
For a second she could only stare. "You're Detective Mitchell?" he said accusingly.
Mia nodded, feeling her cheeks heat. The man had caught her practically asleep on her feet right outside the station house. He'd thought she was a mental case. Any chance at a good first impression was shot straight to hell. Still, she gathered her composure and met his dark eyes squarely. "I am. And you are?"
Spinnelli stood up behind his desk. "This is Lieutenant Reed Solliday from OFI."
Mia nodded. "Office of Fire Investigation. The arson guys. Okay. And?"
Spinnelli's mouth quirked. "And he's your new partner."
Monday, November 27, 9:00 A.M.
Brooke Adler sat on the corner of her desk, aware that half a dozen sets of eyes would be permanently glued to her cleavage for the next fifty minutes. If she was lucky maybe one of the boys in her class would be paying attention to the lesson she'd so carefully prepared. She didn't hold out much hope. Then again, neither did the boys.
The only hope in this place was on the sign on the front door, hope center for boys. Sitting before her were thieves and runaways and juvenile sex offenders. She would have preferred lions and tigers and bears. Oh my.
"So how was Thanksgiving?" she asked brightly. Most of the boys had spent Thanksgiving here, in the dorms of the residential school.
"Turkey was dry," Mike complained from the back row. There really wasn't a back row, Mike just created one every morning. The end chair on the first row was empty.
She searched the faces of her students. "Where is Thad today?"
Jeff slouched, outwardly cool. But there was always a tension, a coldness in his eyes, that kept Brooke on edge. "Faggeus stole the leftover pie from the fridge."