His computer beeped at him. He either had new e-mail or a hit on the search he'd scheduled to run three times daily. He sat in front of the screen and his breath caught. It was a new hit on the solid accelerant search. The first four entries were his own. But the fifth had been logged just that afternoon. By a Tom Tennant of Indianapolis.
Reed found the number for the Indianapolis Fire Department. Ten minutes and three transfers later, he got through. "Tennant." It was a sleepy growl.
"Tom Tennant? My name is Reed Solliday. I'm with OFI in Chicago. You logged a solid accelerant fire utilizing natural gas into the database this afternoon."
"Yeah, I did. Heli of a fire. Nearly took out half a city block." In the background Reed could hear the tapping of a keyboard. Tennant was checking him out.
"You'll find my four entries in the database already. This is likely related to a serial murder/arsonist in Chicago. What was the name of the homeowner at the origin?"
"I can't give you that information right now."
Reed blew out an impatient breath. "Can you tell me if the last name was Young?"
There was a beat of hesitation. "Yes. Tyler Young."
One of the sons. Shit. "Did he survive?"
Tennant hesitated. "I need to check you out first. Give me your badge number."
Reed rattled it off. "Hurry. Call me back when you've verified." They'd found one of the Youngs. Too late it seemed. They might be in time for the other three. He started to dial Mia, then canceled. He'd wait until Tennant called-
The shrill barking of the puppy broke the quiet. It sounded like Biggies was outside, but he hadn't heard Beth come down to let him out. Then the high squeal of the smoke detector added to the din. His heart jumped into his throat as he ran up the stairs dialing 911 as he ran. Beth was upstairs. Smoke already filled the hallway.
"Fire at 356 Morgan. Repeat fire at 356 Morgan. People still in the house."
"Sir, you need to get out," the 911 operator said.
"My daughter's still in here."
"Sir-" Reed snapped the phone shut, grabbed the fire extinguisher from the wall. "Beth." He tried to open her door, but it was locked. She had her headphones on. She couldn't hear him. He threw himself into her bedroom door and wood cracked and splintered. For a split second he could only stare in horror as flames licked the walls and smoke filled the room. "Beth!" He ran to her bed and yanked the blanket, emptying the extinguisher at the base of the flames, but her bed was empty.
She wasn't here. Wasn't here. He ran into the hall, checked the bathroom, the spare room. Nothing. He touched the door to his own room and it burned his hand.
Back to the bathroom. Wet the towels. Cover hands and face. He was on autopilot when he pushed open his bedroom door. The wave of heat knocked him back, smacked him down. His bed was solid flames. He dropped to his stomach and tried to crawl into the room. My baby. "Beth! I'm here. Call to me. Let me know where you are."
But he could barely hear the sound of his voice over the roar and the hiss. Then hands were pulling at him and he fought. 'Wo. My daughter's here. She's still in here."
He was dragged from the room by firefighters in full gear. Breathers covered their faces. One of them lifted the mask. "Reed? My God, man, get the hell out of here!"
Reed shook them off. "My daughter. She's still in here." Smoke filled his lungs and he fell to his knees, coughing until he couldn't breathe at all.
"We'll find her. You get out." One of the men pushed him out the front door into the grip of an EMT. "This is Lieutenant Solliday. His kid's inside. Don't let him back in."
Reed jerked away from the EMT, but another fit of coughing left him breathless. The EMT led him to the ambulance and strapped an oxygen mask to his face.
"Breathe, Lieutenant. Now sit. Sir."
"Beth." His body was limp. He could only stare as one of the windows shattered.
The EMT was bandaging his hands. "They'll find her, sir."
He closed his eyes. Beth's in there. She's dead. They won't be in time.
I didn't save my own child. Numb, he sat. And waited.
Saturday, December 2, 11:10 P.M.
The men had gathered around the pool table, and Mia guessed at least two of the guys were ones who'd kill to be with her. In the past she would have been flattered, but like she'd told Reed, the trouble never had been the sex. It was the intimacy. But the one man she'd been truly intimate with, sharing her deepest secrets, didn't want her.
Not the way it counted, anyway. She had no doubt that Reed Solliday wanted her sexually. She even knew down deep he wanted to want her emotionally. But he was afraid. As was she. And until she got past that fear, she'd come home to an empty place and be Aunt Mia to everyone else's children.
"I won." Larry Fletcher laid his cue across the table.
"You cheated," Mia corrected with a smile. "It's been fun, but I gotta go." Where, she wasn't sure. The two flatterers protested, then everyone went quiet at the radio call. When it was clear it wasn't for the 172, the chatter resumed, but Mia heard a phrase that made her heart stop. "Quiet."
"It's not us. Mia." David said, but she was already running for the stairs.
"That's Reed's house," she said over her shoulder and saw Larry's grim face.
He'd heard it too. "I'm coming with you," Larry said, right behind her.
Saturday, December 2, 11:25 p.m.
Mia ran to the ambulance. "Reed. My God." His face was lifeless but for the tears streaking his cheeks. His hands were wrapped in bandages. An oxygen mask dangled from his neck. She dropped to her knees. "Reed?"
"Beth is inside," he said, his voice flat. Dead. "I couldn't find my little girl."
She took his bandaged hand in hers. "Where is Lauren?"
"On a date," he said tonelessly. "It was just me and Beth."
"Reed, listen to me. Did you check Beth's room?" He nodded mechanically. "She wasn't there."
Little bitch, Mia thought, furious with the girl for causing her father such grief. Beth went out the window again. "Larry, wait with him." She stalked off to the side, radio in hand. "This is Mitchell, Homicide. I need a cruiser to proceed at fastest safe speed, with lights and sirens to the Rendezvous Cafe." She gave the address. "They're looking for Liz Solliday. Tell them to make a scene. And if she's there, scare her shitless."
"Ah, understood. Detective Mitchell." Dispatch said warily.
"No, you don't. Her house is burning down and her father thinks she's inside."
"Unit dispatched, Detective." Mia waited impatiently, tapping her foot, watching Reed grieve for nothing. Her anger faltered. What if she was wrong? What if Beth was in there? She could be dead. Kates had struck here, right in Reed's home.
After what seemed like an eternity of watching Reed stare at his burning house, the radio crackled, calling her name. "Mitchell, here."
"Girl is safe, sound, and uh, scared shitless. You want them to bring her home?"
"Yeah. Make her ride in the back. And make sure everybody sees them." Mia walked to Reed on shaky legs. "Reed, Beth's okay. She wasn't in the house."
His eyes snapped to hers. "What?"
"She went out the window. She probably hasn't been home for a few hours."
His eyes darkened. "Where is she?" His mouth precisely formed each word.
"At a slam poetry competition downtown. Place called the Rendezvous Cafe. I have a cruiser bringing her home, sirens and lights." Her lips quirked. "I told them to scare her."
He came to his feet, trembling. "You knew she'd gone there?"