He'd try again tomorrow. He pocketed his cell with a scowl and pushed Laura Dougherty from his mind. Tonight was Penny Hill's turn to dance. He couldn't wait.

Monday, November 27, 4:00 p.m.

Mrs. Schuster looked up from her computer when Brooke came into the library. "Hello, Brooke. What can I do for you today?"

Brooke pointed to the periodical rack. "I just wanted to look at today's paper."

"The sports section is gone," she said, with a resigned little sigh. "Devin took it. He's working the stats so he can win the football pool next week. I think a math teacher doing the pool is an unfair advantage. Like insider trading."

Brooke chuckled. "I take it you lost this week."

Mrs. Schuster grinned. "Big time. Take your time with the paper, Brooke."

"Thanks." Brooke flipped to page A-12. And sighed. The article Manny had ripped out was about a home fire. The house had burned to the ground. One fatality.

She made two copies of the article, wondering how many others Manny had clipped. Although the boy couldn't set fires at Hope Center, Manny was at least feeding his addiction passively. It would be one more thing they could discuss in therapy.

She stopped in the mailroom and slid one the copies in an envelope for Julian Thomas. She'd just put it in his box when the door opened and Devin White came in with two other teachers. It was the end of the day when everyone stopped in to check their boxes, so his coming in wasn't any real surprise. Still her heart gave a little jolt.

"Brooke." Jackie Kersey gave Brooke an encouraging smile. "We're all going out for a drink. Come with us."

Brooke made a quick glance Devin's direction, but his face was averted, looking in his box which was on the very bottom row. From this vantage point, she had a very nice view of his rear end. "I really shouldn't," she murmured.

Jackie's lips twitched, noting the direction Brooke's gaze had taken. "It's happy hour at Flannagan's, two for one. I'll order a beer and you can have my second."

Devin looked up from his mail and smiled. "Come on, Brooke. It'll do you good."

She laughed, a little too breathlessly. "I was just going home to grade papers anyway. "I'll meet you all there."

Chapter Five

Monday, November 27, 5:20 p.m.

Mia opened her eyes when Solliday stopped the SUV. They sat in front of a convenience store. "Why are we here?" Mia asked stiffly. Every square inch of her body ached like she'd been put through a meat grinder. But worse yet would be having to tell Abe that the bastard who'd shot him was still on the streets.

He lifted a brow. "I had three cups of coffee waiting for your pal."

Mia winced. "I'm sorry. I didn't think it would take that long." They'd sat for two hours when DuPree finally showed up with his arm in a sling. Still they'd waited for Getts, the shooter, until she'd spotted DuPree sneaking out the back door. He'd taken off at a run and she'd had no choice but to take him down. Even with his arm in a sling, he'd been a fighter. "You should have interviewed the girls at the sorority house."

"What, and miss the fun?" he said dryly. "Watching you take down a drugged out SOB twice your size was worth the price of admission, even if you didn't catch Getts."

"Slimy little sonofabitch," she snarled softly. "He must have made us."

"You'll get Getts. And you can sleep tonight knowing his pal's in a six-by-eight."

He looked positive and sincere. In fact, he looked damn impressed. Maybe she'd been given a second chance to make a first impression. "Thanks for driving through that back alley and cutting DuPree off. At least I can give my partner that tonight. Let's get to the sorority so you can get home."

He got out of the SUV. "Later. The second reason we're here is that I'm starving and you need something in your gut so you can take some more medicine for that pain. It's a wonder you didn't dislocate your shoulder. What do you take on your hot dog?"

"Anything except ketchup. Thanks, Solliday."

All day she'd walked beside Reed Solliday, feeling small. Now she could watch him as he walked through the store. He moved with a fluid grace unusual for a man his size. And watching Solliday move, she thought of Guy. The comparison had been inevitable, she supposed. It had been a while since she'd thought of Guy LeCroix, which was telling in itself, but now she remembered with stunning clarity.

Guy had moved just like that. It's what had attracted her from the beginning, that panther grace in a big man. He'd thought he loved her, but ultimately, wanted far more than she could give. She didn't really miss him, which was also telling. But she hadn't wanted to hurt him either. She hoped he'd found what he was looking for with his new wife, that he was happy. Since Guy the well had been relatively dry. She'd seen a few men here and there. Mostly there. Nobody serious.

Thinking objectively in the quiet of her mind, she could admit none were better looking than Reed Solliday, even though he did look like Satan when he did the eyebrow thing. Although that little goatee of his did frame a nice mouth.

Mia imagined a mouth that nice would prove an asset in certain areas. As would that panther grace.

Mrs. Solliday must be a very content woman. For a split second, Mia felt a twinge of wistful envy for Mrs. Solliday, whoever she was. But quickly she squelched it. She didn't do cops. It was her life's mantra. But he's not a cop. "He's close enough," she murmured aloud. Still, a girl could watch. Reed Solliday was a very watchable man.

He was at the counter now, paying for their food. The clerk frowned, then dumped a handful of change into the sack Solliday held open. Shaking his head Solliday opened his door, and corralling her wayward thoughts, Mia took the food from his hands.

"My biggest fear is that Beth will bring home a guy like that and I'll have to pretend to like him," he grumbled, settling into his seat. From the sack he pulled a handful of packets. "The condiment pumps were empty. You'll have to make do with these."

"I'm sure I've had worse. Come to think of it, I have worse every time Abe picks the place we eat. He's into that vegetarian crap. Thank you." Mia ripped open one of the mustard packets while Solliday opened the center console between the seats. Nestled among a half dozen cassette tapes was a mason jar half-filled with change. Solliday poured the change from the sack into the jar and closed the console lid.

Mia blinked at him. "Wow. You've got to have ten bucks in change in that thing."

"Probably." He took one of the hot dogs and proceeded to eat it plain.

Appalled, she gaped. "No toppings? Not even mustard?"

He looked at the hot dog with distaste, hesitating. Then he shrugged. "I have trouble manipulating small items."

The jar of change now made sense. "Like pennies and nickels?"

He took a bite and made a resigned face. "Yep."

"And mustard packets?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

Mia rolled her eyes. "Give me your damn hot dog, Solliday. I'll put on the mustard."

He handed it over. "Relish, too?"

She shook her head. "Relish, too. Why didn't you just ask?"

He shrugged again. "Pride, I guess."

"Given your assessment of me this morning, I should think it would be shame," she shot back and he laughed. He had a nice laugh, deep and rich, and his smile changed his face from Satan to… well, wow. For a moment she stared. Wow. Then with a hard blink she dropped her eyes to the carton in her lap. Mrs. Solliday was a very lucky lady.

"Touche, Mitchell. Although for the record, as of this afternoon I'm duly impressed with your capability. I haven't seen a move like that since high school."