"For what?" he asked evenly.

She looked away. "Everything. Letting you get shot. Not coming to visit you." She shrugged. "Getting you poked with a really big needle if you eat what's in the bag."

He grunted. "Nurses' trash talk. They don't scare me. Sit down."

She sat, but couldn't meet his eyes. She took the silence as long as she could before blurting, "So… Where's Kristen?"

"Home with Kara." Their daughter that Abe treated like the precious treasure she was. "Mia, look at me. Please."

No anger blazed in his blue eyes. Instead there was sorrow there that she didn't know if she could take. She lurched to her feet, only to have him grab her arm.

"Sit down, Mia." He waited until she had, then muttered a soft curse. "Did you think for a moment, one single moment, that I blamed you for this?"

She met his eyes squarely. "I thought you should. I knew you wouldn't."

"I didn't know if you were all right. Mia…" He swallowed hard. "I thought you'd gone after them," he said harshly. "And I wasn't there to watch your back."

She laughed sadly. "I did. But I couldn't find them."

"Don't do that to me again. Please."

"What, let you get shot up?"

"That, too," he said dryly. "Kristen said she tore you a new one this morning."

"I hope I never have to face her across a courtroom. I felt about an inch tall."

"You would have been a layer of slime on the floor if she hadn't felt sorry for you. You told her you weren't paying attention that night. Why?" He stopped her mid-denial. "Don't. We've been partners too long. I knew something was bothering you."

She drew a breath. "I guess my dad and the funeral… It just caught up to me."

His eyes narrowed. He hadn't bought it. Somehow she hadn't thought he would. "Is it so bad that you can't tell me?"

She closed her eyes, saw the headstone that lay next to her father's. The stranger's eyes meeting her over it. "If I say yeah, will you be hurt?"

He hesitated for a heartbeat then asked in a quiet voice, "Are you in trouble, Mia?"

Her eyes flew open, saw the concern on his face. "No. It's nothing like that."

"Sick?" He winced. "Pregnant?"

"No. And way no."

He sighed his relief. "And it's not a guy because there haven't been any in a while."

"Thanks," she said sarcastically and he smiled. "I'd nearly forgotten."

"Just trying to help." The smile faded. "If you need to talk, you'll come to me, right?"

"Yeah." She was glad that was over. "I have news. Remember Getts and DuPree?"

"I have a vague recollection," he said, his voice gone dry again.

"Well, it seems you got DuPree before Getts got you."

His eyes narrowed, focused. "Good. Hope the son of a bitch hurts a lot."

"DuPree hurts worse now." Her smile was a mere baring of teeth. "/ got him today. Joanna Carmichael told me where he was." His eyes widened in surprise and she nodded grimly. "Shocked the hell out of me, too. I guess all that skulking around she does is finally paying a dividend. But… Getts got away."

"Damn," he said softly.

"I'm sorry."

"Mia. You idiot. He shot you, too. Now he knows you know where he hangs. You got his buddy in custody. He's either going to go under or come out fighting."

"I'm betting he'll hide."

"Until he catches you unaware. I didn't see either of their faces, but you did. You're the only one who can identify Getts. We wanted them for murder before. Now we're tacking on attempted murder of a cop. You think he's gonna want you around?"

She'd already considered it. "I'll be careful."

"You tell Spinnelli you want a partner to watch your back. Until 1 come back."

"I got one already. Temporarily," she added hastily when his dark brows went up.

"Really? Who?"

"I've been loaned to OFI. Arson/homicide case. Guy's name is Reed Solliday."

Abe leaned forward. "And? Is he old, young? Rookie, experienced?"

"Experienced enough. A little older than you. Old enough to have a fourteen-year-old." Her shudder was exaggerated. "Keeps his shoes too shiny."

"He should be flogged."

She chuckled. "He seemed obnoxious early on, but it looks like he might be okay."

Abe opened the bag and she knew all was forgiven. "You don't want any, do you?"

"I ate mine on the way. And if the nurse asks, the bag's got mugshots in it."

He cast a furtive glance at the door. "Do you hear her?"

Her lips twitched. "I thought you weren't afraid of the nurses and their trash talk."

"I lied. The night nurse is the antichrist." He snagged a piece of the dessert and settled back against his pillow. "Tell me about the arson case. Don't leave out anything."

Monday, November 27, 11:15 p.m.

Penny Hill wasn't home. Why wasn't she home? He glanced at his watch, then fixed his gaze back on the house he'd scoped so carefully the night before. She'd been here last night, tucked into bed by eleven. He'd returned tonight, ready to roll and she wasn't here. He peered in her front window, hidden from the street by thick evergreens. There was only a great big dog sleeping on the living room floor. He clenched his teeth.

He had three choices. One, come back tomorrow night. Two, torch the place without her in it. Three, be patient and wait. He considered the options. The risks of waiting here, of perhaps being seen. The rewards of the hunt. Last time he surrendered the kill, anxious for the fire. Tonight he wanted more. He remembered little Caitlin with a shiver of restless pleasure. He could remembered the energy pulsing through his body. That incredible rush.

He wanted that rush again. The complete and total power of life and death.

And pain. He wanted the bitch to feel such pain. To plead for mercy.

He wanted Penny Hill to pay. His lips curved, wolfish. He"d wait. He had time. All the time in the world. She didn't. She'd count to ten and go to hell.

Monday, November 27, 11:25 P.M.

Mia climbed the stairs to her apartment. She'd hoped an hour run would get rid of all her nervous energy, but all it had done was soak her in sweat and make her taped shoulder throb. The second she pushed her door open she felt the difference. The air was warm and it smelled like… peanut butter?

"Don't shoot. It's just me."

A breath rushed from her lungs. "Dammit, Dana, I could have shot you."

Her best friend sat at her dinette table, hands up. "I'll replace the peanut butter."

Mia closed her apartment door and flipped the deadbolts. "Ha-ha. Nobody loves a dead comedian. When did you get home?" Dana and her husband had taken their foster kids to Maryland's Eastern Shore to spend Thanksgiving with Ethan's old friends.

"About midnight last night. Getting the kids up for school this morning was such a joy. Ethan and I put them on the school bus and went back to bed."

Mia pulled two beers from the fridge. "Going to bed with Ethan is such a hardship."

Dana grinned. "I'll survive." She shook her head at the offered beer with a grimace. "No thanks. Doesn't go with the peanut butter." She waited until Mia was slouched in a chair. "You didn't return any of my phone calls. I was worried."

"Join the chorus." Then she sighed when irritation flashed in Dana's brown eyes. "I'm sorry. God, I feel like a fucking broken record today. Sorry, sorry, sorry."

Dana lifted a brow. "You done?"

"Yeah." It came out surly and childish. Which was about right at this point.

"Okay. Look, I just wanted to check on you. Make sure you weren't dead or something. Nobody loves a dead sulker. So what have you been doing with yourself the last two weeks, Mia, besides avoiding me, and apparently everybody else?"