by Julie Miller
He took a few moments to stretch before resuming his run. A few moments to realize that her scent clung to his shirt, citrusy and fresh, with a tinge of antiseptic thrown in. Feminine. Clean. It only intensified his improper fascination with the woman.
He gave himself a mocking thumbs-up. “Way to get her out of your head, Kincaid.”
He’d better make that appointment with the department shrink because he didn’t feel like getting drunk and when he was off his clear-headed game like this, he had no business getting laid.
Looking around the maze of shadows and moonlight, Holden forced himself to think like a cop. Things had quieted down in the neighborhood now that Liza and her pack had passed through. But the exercise path was still deserted. It was still nearly midnight. Even if she wasn’t a murder witness, this wasn’t the safest route for a lone woman to take.
Holden inhaled a deep breath and turned around. Keeping his distance so she didn’t know he was following, he jogged after Liza and her dogs, keeping a watchful eye out. That’s all his family needed—to have something freaky happen to the eccentric, albeit finely built, redhead who could identify his father’s killer.
Chapter Three
“Bruiser, you mooch—get your nose off the counter. Brownies aren’t for dogs.” Without pausing to let Liza remove his leash, her furry soul mate had trotted straight into the kitchen to inspect the pan she’d left out on the counter to cool. Liza locked the door behind her and sat on the Hide-a-bench in the front hallway to remove her skates. “Besides, they’re mine.”
Chocolate was a good antidote for a stressful day, and she’d been craving the sweet stuff more than usual lately. If she thought Bruiser’s short legs could handle it, she’d add another mile to their nightly run to make up for the indulgence. As it was, she’d better watch how many “antidotes” she baked after dinner or the stress would start to show on her hips.
But she’d start watching tomorrow. After the week she’d been having—too little sleep, too much work, therapy sessions that left her agitated, embarrassed and more uncertain than ever that she could recall anything useful about John Kincaid’s murder, plus two run-ins with John’s overbuilt, in-her-face and under-her-skin son—she deserved a double-sized brownie tonight.
Liza lifted the top of the bench seat and dropped her inline skates, helmet and pads into the storage compartment inside. She finger-combed her hair back into its wispy layers and whistled for the dogs. Bruiser and Cruiser showed up right away to let her unhook their leashes and reward them with a treat. “I’m feeding myself first, Yukon, if you don’t come when I call you.” She whistled again. “Here, boy. Yukon, come.”
He barely acknowledged her from his spot on the couch.
“Fine. We’re eating without you.” She padded to the kitchen in her stockinged feet, shedding her jacket and hanging it over the back of a kitchen chair as she went. Then she opened a cabinet and reached for a plate to serve herself a brownie. “Ouch.”
Drawing her arm back for a closer inspection, Liza cradled her elbow and slowly twisted it from side to side. How could she have missed hurting herself? She must have jarred her funny bone pretty good in her tumble with Kincaid. Though she’d like to credit the endorphins released during that final mile of her run for masking the injury, she had a feeling her preoccupation with Officer Kincaid was the real culprit that had kept her from feeling any pain until now.
How embarrassing, crashing into a man she wasn’t even supposed to meet. Pressing her body against his from chest to toe. Noticing things.
Even in those few short moments they were tangled together on the pavement, she’d noticed he was A) incredibly warm, despite the temperature’s drop into the 30s; B) built like an Olympic swimmer—long and solid and packed with muscle, hinting that he probably enjoyed sports and working out as much as she did; and C) he had the most beautiful eyelashes she’d ever seen on a man. Light brown, long and framing piercing blue eyes.
“Stop it.” Liza chomped a bit of brownie that was too big for her mouth, determined to take note of every sweet, chewy detail of her snack rather than wasting another moment thinking about Holden Kincaid. “He’s just a man,” she muttered around the mouthful.
A man who happened to bear a discomfiting resemblance to the murder victim who haunted her dreams.
“Yeah. There’s no bad omen about that, is there.” She swallowed her sarcasm along with her brownie. “C’mon, guys.”
After tossing a couple of rawhide chews down to Bruiser and Cruiser, and tucking one into Yukon’s dish, Liza poured herself a glass of milk. With the glass in one hand and a plate of chocolate therapy in the other, she joined the dogs in the living room. She didn’t bother turning on a light or picking up the remote. There wasn’t much on TV she wanted to watch at this time of night, and sitting with her three best friends—make that two friends and a maybe, as Yukon hopped down when she tried to join him on the couch—would help her unwind so that she’d have a shot at five or six hours of uninterrupted sleep.
Yukon ambled off to the kitchen to enjoy his rawhide in solitude while Cruiser curled up on the cushion beside Liza and Bruiser stretched out at her feet. The quiet was soothing, her body replete from exercise and fresh air. Once the initial sugar rush wore off, the chocolate and milk and late night should make her sleepy.
With her eyes adjusted to the interior darkness, she could see the sparse practicality of her furnishings. One woman didn’t need a lot, especially when she spent the majority of her time at work or in class. And with three dogs of her own, and others she fostered from time to time living here, she didn’t want a lot of good furniture around that could be turned into dog beds, or a house filled with sentimental knickknacks that might be accidentally broken by a wagging tail.
Still, the darkness revealed the loneliness of her existence. She’d put most of her parents’ belongings into storage after their deaths—or had given them away to relatives and charities. As a college student, she’d lived in a small apartment with no space for such things, but mainly, as an orphaned nineteen-year-old, she hadn’t wanted reminders of all that had been taken from her.
The one family photo she kept on her bookshelf looked mighty lonely. Maybe after six years, she was ready to face her past on a day-to-day basis without breaking into tears or clenching her fists in anger. She should unpack one of the embroidered pillows her mother had made, or put one of her father’s bowling trophies out beside the photo so that the picture wouldn’t seem so lonesome. So that she wouldn’t feel so lonesome.
Almost as if she could read her thoughts, Cruiser nudged her head into Liza’s lap and demanded she be petted. Liza smiled and obliged, smoothing her hand along the graying muzzle and stroking the dog’s streamlined head. “How can I be lonely with you guys here?”
Talking to dogs and missing her parents—yeah, the darkness revealed an awful lot.
Including the tall black SUV parked across the street.
A faint blip of awareness nudged its way into Liza’s brain. “What the…?”
Suddenly, the stench of garbage and an icy dampness chilling her skin were as real to her as they’d been on that April night down by the Missouri River when two gunshots had rent the air. Almost as if she was plunging down into a black hole, reality deserted her and she found herself alone in a dark alley, with only fear and death and a starving dog for company. Everything around her was black—the wall in front of her. No, not a wall. A car. A big black—
Bruiser’s high-pitched bark yanked her firmly back into the reality of the late October night. Cruiser jumped off the couch and joined the smaller dog at the front window, offering a token bark of her own. A deliveryman coming to the door was usually the only thing that got them this excited.
“Hush, you two,” Liza chided as she climbed to her feet. “You’ll wake the neighbors.”
Yukon beat her to the window to check out the commotion. Pushing aside the dog and pulling back the sheer curtain, Liza peered out at the vehicle. An
y shiver of unease was overshadowed by the three-dog alarm going off in her house. Wait a minute. Was that…? Her gaze zeroed in on the oversized man sitting behind the wheel. Surely he wouldn’t…
Liza’s nerve endings hummed with awareness, waking her senses. She leaned forward. There were a million black cars in the world. Nothing particularly profound about this one except…There was definitely someone in that car. Not her neighbor’s car. Not her neighbor. “Oh, my God.”
The shadows beyond the circle of light cast by the nearest streetlamp kept her from making out a face. But the bulk of the man’s shoulders looked familiar. There was no exhaust coming from the back of the car, so the engine wasn’t running. He was just sitting there. Watching. Big man. Too close. Paying too much attention to her and her house.
“The nerve of that guy.” She was already striding toward the front door. “Just leave me alone, already.”
Trusting her temper would keep her warm, and that telling off the nosy cop wouldn’t take two seconds, Liza unlocked the door and stepped outside. The moisture collecting on the concrete of her front step soaked into her socks but didn’t stop her.
“Hey! Kincaid!” She marched down the sidewalk, pointing her finger at the tinted glass and silhouetted driver inside. “For the last time, quit following me. You know damn well we’re not supposed to have contact. You’re going to get yourself in trouble.” She reached the street and angled her approach, heading straight for the car. “Besides, you’ve got my dogs all fired up and I don’t want a complaint—”
All of a sudden, the headlights came on, flashing the high beams into her eyes. “Hey! Damn it, Kincaid!”
She threw her arms up in front of her face, shielding her eyes. The next curse out of her mouth died when she heard the engine turn over and rev up on all cylinders. “Kincaid…?”
The grinding pitch of rubber tires spinning against asphalt screeched in her ears.
Not good.
By the time the tires found traction, Liza was already running, diving toward the curb as the SUV barreled toward her. She hit the grass and slid, feeling the wind of the speeding car whip past her, and the cold muck of the damp ground seeping into her clothes.
“You son of a bitch.” That was no accident. He had to have seen her. He was a cop, for Pete’s sake. Whatever happened to “serve and protect”? Liza pushed up on her hands and knees. “Kincaid!” She stood as the SUV spun around the corner, kicking up gravel and speeding out of sight. “You son of a—”
“Liza!”
Footsteps pounded the pavement behind her. A hand grabbed her arm. She yelped, spun around. Saw a ghost.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut against the ball bearings rolling around inside her skull. “How did you…?”
“You okay?” She blinked her eyes open. Kincaid was still there. Tall. Broad. Close. He glanced over the top of her head, then behind him, looking in every direction before zeroing in on her. “I saw that idiot peel out of here. Not that you’re a whole lot smarter for running out in front of him—”
“I don’t understand….” The ground rushed up beneath her.
“You’re not okay.”
Strong arms caught her as she sank to the curb. Long fingers pushed her head forward between her knees, and massaged the back of her neck until the faintness passed.
As Liza regained her senses, the dark asphalt dusted with bits of gravel came into focus. She became aware of the warmth springing from her neck and circulating out into her stiff limbs. She marveled at the size of the big running shoe lined up beside her narrower, muddy sock.
She was sitting outside on a damp autumn night next to Holden Kincaid. And she was squeezing his big, sturdy hand between hers as though it was the only lifeline to keep her from drowning in a swirling pool of nightmares.
The comfort she should have taken from that hand ended as soon as the realization was made.
“Remember!”
Suddenly, in her mind’s eye, she was clutching a bony corpse’s hand. The touch was cold and dead, not warm and full of life. “Remember.”
Liza jerked her hand away. “If only I could,” she murmured, rubbing away at the imagined chill that remained.
“If only you could what?”
Why was she so certain she’d recognized that big man? That stranger? She didn’t know him. Didn’t know that car. Didn’t know enough about anything anymore to properly protect herself.
The massage at her nape went still. “Liza. Talk to me. What just happened?”
Even at a whisper, the timbre of his voice was deep and resonant, and utterly soothing.
She pointed her thumb toward the intersection where the SUV had turned. “I thought you were stalking me.”
“What?”
“I was so certain that was you.” Liza lifted her chin and looked Holden in the eye. She touched her fingertips to the prickly stubble shading his jaw, reassuring herself that he was real. That he was here. That she wasn’t crazy. The heat of remorse warmed her cheeks and she curled her fingers into her palm. He was real enough, and she’d been completely unfair to be so suspicious of his intentions. “I’m sorry.”
“Besides the fact that I drive a red Mustang parked three miles from here, I’m not in the habit of running down women in the middle of the street.”
“Only on the exercise path.”
A slow smile eased the grave intensity from his face. “Good one. But, for the record, you and your pack ran into me.”
She felt herself smiling back. “We tend to go wherever Yukon wants.”
“I can imagine.”
Liza shivered. She hugged her arms across her middle, unsure whether the chill came from the cold seeping in through her soggy clothes or her mind recalling just how close she’d come to being roadkill. “Why would someone do that? Was that road rage for yelling at him?”
“I got a plate number, so I’ll call it in, see if we can pick him up.” Holden stood, towering over her huddled position. “Could be nothing personal at all, just a dangerous drunk who shouldn’t be behind the wheel tonight. I’ll take care of it.”
He’d take care of it? What? No. She handled her problems her own self. That was just the way she operated. Still, the concise, confident words were reassuring, even if spoken by this Montague she wasn’t supposed to be talking to. “Thank you.”
“Can you stand?”
Liza nodded. When he reached down to take her hand, she avoided it and the disturbing nightmare his tight grip conjured, drawing herself up onto her own two feet. But when he flattened his palm at the small of her back, checking up and down the street before escorting her across, Liza didn’t pull away.
She’d grown halfway accustomed to his casual yet protective touch by the time they reached her front door. But as guilty as she felt about believing he’d purposely meant to harass or hurt her, she wasn’t prepared to invite him inside to make amends.
“Why are you still here?”
He pointed to his chest. “Cop, remember? Besides, my mom says I should always walk the lady to her door, no matter what the night was like.”
“If tonight was a date, it’d rank as pretty lousy, wouldn’t it?”
“It wouldn’t have been all bad. I mean, considering neither one of us had to be rushed to the hospital….”
She laughed before she could stop herself, but quickly fell silent. After all, this wasn’t a date. “I meant, why are you even at my house? In my neighborhood? We parted ways twenty minutes ago.”
He nodded, shifting his supporting hand to her arm to guide her up onto the front step before releasing her. “I ran to the end of the path and was on my way back when I heard somebody cursing my name. Pretty loudly, I might add.”
Liza cringed before turning around to face him. “Sorry about that. I saw the big silhouette of a man in the car, remembered how you were watching me at the police station yesterday—”
“I told you I was admiring the view.”
Standing on the step above him, her eyes looked straight into his. She couldn’t tell if the dark blue irises were being mischievous or sincere, but she could say that either possibility intrigued her. “Right. You have a thing for redheads. I still don’t believe that line.”
Definitely mischievous. “Why were you staring at me?”
Because you remind me of a dead guy?
That sobering thought put the brakes on the inexplicable desire to continue sparring with the man. She wasn’t so starved for human interaction or rattled by nearly getting run over that she’d let her sarcasm go to that place. “You remind me of…” Your father. What was she doing? Inhaling a deep, cleansing breath, Liza fixed the coolest, most reserved expression she could muster onto her face. “You remind me of someone I met once. Thanks for your help, but this is awkward. Detective Grove said I shouldn’t have contact with your family, in case this goes to trial and I have to testify—”
“This will go to trial.” His friendly, amused expression disappeared behind a mask that was all cop, all man, all business—and frankly, a little scary. “Anything you can do to help Grove find Dad’s killer, and build the case against him—I need you to do that. My brothers and mom—and me, too—we need your help. Please tell Grove exactly what you saw so that we can move on this investigation. If you’re afraid of some kind of retribution from the killer, KCPD has safe-houses. We can protect you.”
So that was why he was here. Why he’d picked her out of the crowd and watched her at the police station. Why he was being charming and attentive now. Why he was ignoring Detective Grove’s recommendation and having this face-to-face conversation with her.
Save the day. Name the killer. Fix their broken lives.
No pressure. No guilt.