Jack grinned. "I'll kiss Julia, too. Now go. I got things to do."
Mia and Reed climbed out and Mia looked up at the sky. "It's sunny."
"Perfect weather to clean up after a fire," Reed said dryly.
Mia grinned up at him. "I've got some things to do, but I'll come out and help as soon as I can. Then we have to get in position for tonight. This could be it."
Reed watched her drive away, back in her tiny little Alfa. She'd gotten it back from the department garage just that morning, the windows replaced. There was still a bullet ding in the hood. She lived with danger every day and shrugged it off.
If the two of them really had something, if this became something, he'd have to learn to live with that danger. Now he knew how Christine had felt about him going into fires. He sighed. And, speaking of fires, he had one to clean up.
Sunday, December 3, 5:15 p.m.
"What have you done?" Dana came out of the house while Mia fought with the big box some helpful young clerk had tied into the trunk of her Alfa. Twine was every wheie.
"Friday was payday so I went shopping. Got a coat, some books, and this monstrosity." She looked up at Dana. "I'm sorry about last night."
"Me, too. I wanted to tell you about the baby, but you've been kind of fragile lately."
"Yeah. Well. Help me get this out." Cutting at the string with her keys, she freed the box, carried it into the kitchen, and set it on the table. "Open it."
Ethan came to the doorway, barefoot, his shirt hanging open and Mia could only think that Reed was a thousand times better. Especially without the ring. That definitely helped his sex appeal. "Hey, Mia," he said as Dana ripped at the wrapping paper.
"Ethan. Hope I wasn't interrupting anything."
Ethan grinned. "Nope. Too many kids in the house. But I was trying."
"Oh, Ethan, look." Dana looked up, her eyes moist. "Our first baby gift."
Mia shifted, uncomfortable. "It's a car seat, Dana. No need for the waterworks."
"It's the hormones," Ethan confided in a loud whisper, then kissed Mia's cheek. "Thank you." He smiled down at her and Mia knew he understood.
Dana wiped her eyes. "Somebody's here you might want to see."
Jeremy. "Let me guess. He's watching TV."
Ethan's smile faded. "Documentaries on the History Channel, all afternoon. He hasn't said more than a few words. Understandable, given he's just lost his mom."
"I was hoping he'd be here by now. I have something to give him. But first, keep your eyes open. The guy that killed his mom set fire to Reed's house last night."
Dana and Ethan exchanged a look. "Nobody hurt?" Dana asked.
"No. We're thinking it was either payback or a distraction, like when he shot at me. Either way, this guy probably won't bother with Jeremy, but…"
Ethan nodded, jaw tight. "I'll watch. Don't worry."
"From a former Marine, that's good enough for me," Mia went into the living room and sat next to Jeremy. "Hey, kid."
He turned only his head to study her. "You came back."
Her heart squeezed. "Of course. I practically live here. Dana's my best friend."
"You catch him yet?"
"Nope, and I'm here to see you. I brought you something." She reached into the bag from the bookstore and handed him the large glossy book on jet planes.
His eyes widened and he took the book, but didn't open it. "Thank you." He turned back to the television. "This show is about ancient Greece."
"Yeah, I caught it last night." She settled back against the sofa and put her arm around his shoulders. "But I find I pick up a lot more the second time around."
It was about time. He'd waited for Mitchell the whole damn day. He rolled his eyes. She'd been shopping. Somehow he'd thought more of a woman who filled her pantry with Pop-Tarts. But she was here. He crept through the wooded area that cut Dana's house off from the rest of the houses on the street. He wanted to get a look inside. To check the lay of the land in case she planned on staying there tonight.
He squinted through his binoculars. He could see in the living room window, barely. Well. He lowered the binoculars, blinked hard, then raised them again. It was double or nothing and he'd hit double. Finally. For sitting next to Mitchell, his head on her shoulder, was Jeremy Lukowitch. If he wasn't with Yvonne, she must be dead or really sick, so the pill swap must've worked. If she was dead or really sick, the boy was the one who'd turned him in. I should have killed the brat when I had the chance.
A plan started to form. He had three eggs left and he knew exactly how to use them. His stomach growled. But first he had to get some food and some sleep.
Sunday, December 3, 6:15 p.m.
The mustache and wig afforded him some anonymity. Enough so that he could chance entering a diner and getting some food. Mitchell had made it so he couldn't show his face anywhere in Chicago. He scowled at the television behind the counter. His picture was on the news again. He fought the urge to see if anybody was looking at him, keeping his eyes on the screen. The reporter was talking about Penny Hill.
"Action News has learned today that Ms. Hill was not the caseworker who handled Mr. Kates's placement. An unfortunate accident placed her on disability for a year, during which time case manager Milicent Craven allowed the boy to go unmonitored. The boy was lost in an abusive environment, his cries for help unanswered. Now Penny Hill is dead. Ms. Craven could not be reached for comment. Andrew Kates remains at large, another victim of an American social service system too bogged down by bureaucracy to adequately care for the children whose lives depend on them. We'll keep you up to date on this breaking story. This is Holly Wheaton, Action News."
Fate had denied his justice with Laura Dougherty. He would not be deprived again.
But the timing was interesting. Mitchell had proved far more resourceful than he'd expected. It could be a trick. He'd check out Craven. If she was legit, then he'd act.
Sunday, December 3, 6:20 p.m.
Spinnelli switched off the television in the conference room. "Good work, Mia."
"And I'd like to thank the Academy…" Mia smiled. "Okay, now what?"
"Now 1 want you to meet Milicent Craven." Spinnelli opened the door to a woman, middle-aged and graying. She came in and sat at the table.
Reed leaned close. She looked fifty, but she was probably no older than Mia. "When I'm fifty, can you make me look thirty again?" he asked and the woman grinned.
"I'll give you my card."
Spinnelli smiled, too. "This is Anita Brubaker. She's undercover, getting ready to come back to the real world. She's been living as Milicent Craven for two years at the address in the phone book. Her neighbors know only that she works for the state."
"So you're the canary in the cage," Mia said. "You okay with this?"
"I am. I'll be in the house every evening through the night until we catch him. Then once we do, I won't need the undercover ID anymore anyway. Everybody's happy."
"Except Andrew Kates." Spinnelli sketched the neighborhood on his whiteboard "This is Craven's house Mia, I want you and Reed here, Murphy and Aidan here, and Brooks and Howard here, in unmarked cars. I'll have cruisers in position. DCFS is alerted that if anybody calls for Milicent Craven they'll be connected to a voicemail we've just set up. If Kates or the press call, they'll get a confirmation of her existence."
He looked around the room. "Questions?" All heads shook no. "Then get busy. This time tomorrow I want Andrew Kates in custody."
Stacy stuck her head in. "Excuse me. There's a man out here saying he needs to talk to whoever's in charge of the Kates investigation. He says his name is Tim Young."