by Julie Miller
Making a basket with his fingers, Holden tilted her head back and closed the distance between them, plundering her mouth with a lazy thoroughness that made her breathing erratic and her breasts heavy with need. She stroked her palm over the sandpapery stubble at his jaw, then let her hand trail over the soft knit turtleneck at the column of his throat. He claimed everything she was willing to give, stamping his touch, his healing, his passion onto her eager mouth.
Liza’s fingers slipped lower, hooking on a button and unfastening it. She slid her hand inside his shirt, rubbing her palm over the ridges of his sweater and squeezing her fingertips into the warmer bulge of muscle underneath.
Holden’s hands were moving, too. He dragged them down along her spine, creating a heated friction that warmed her from her skin to her core. When he reached her hips, his fingers spread downward, catching the curve of her bottom through her jeans and lifting her into his growing arousal. Pulling her closer. Kissing her harder.
An icy cold nose poked her chin, startling Liza. With a gasp, she drew away.
“Bruiser! Oh.” A different kind of heat flooded her cheeks and left her feeling slightly unbalanced. She set the dog on the floor and sucked in a couple of deep breaths, trying to clear her head and ready an apology for spoiling the passionate moment. “Sorry about that.” She shot her fingers through her hair and glared at the innocent pooch. “I can’t believe I forgot we had company.”
But Holden was smiling instead of complaining. “Don’t apologize. I kind of lost track of where I was myself. That kiss was perfect.” He touched her lips. They felt swollen and hot, and they chased after Holden’s fingers as he grinned and pulled them away. “Perfect.”
It was only when he reached up to rebutton his shirt that she saw his hands quaking with the same kind of tremors that seemed to be dissipating like aftershocks through her body. “I’d better go before Grove comes back in and arrests me for loitering.”
Liza walked him to the front door. She could definitely see the dangers of things moving so quickly between them. Romeo and Juliet had acted impulsively on their ill-conceived passion, and look where it had gotten them. Still, Liza had felt more secure, more herself, more alive in these few hours she’d spent with Holden Kincaid than she’d felt since before her parents’ deaths. As heady as it was frightening, it wasn’t a feeling she was eager to let go. “Will you be back tomorrow?”
“Nobody can keep me away.” He stopped at the door and looked behind her to the furry trio making themselves comfortable on and around her couch. “After all, I promised the three musketeers that I’d take them for a run in the morning.” His gaze came back to her upturned face. “And we’d hate to disappoint them.”
“We sure would.”
“Plus, if you’re going to thank me like that every night…” He let the invitation, the promise, linger in the air.
He dipped his head and caught her mouth in a quick kiss—a graphic, vibrant, all-too-brief reminder of the passion they’d just shared. “Until tomorrow morning.”
“Good night, Kincaid.”
He knocked to signal Grove that he was coming out before opening the door.
“Good night…Liza.”
“I AM NOT GOING WITHOUT MY DOGS. Period. End of discussion.”
Holden stood back like a fly on the wall while Kevin Grove and Lieutenant Cutler tried to argue with Liza about the benefits of moving her to a more secure safe house. He’d shown up at about seven in his sweats and running shoes to find Liza practically stomping around her kitchen, feeding the dogs and the cops breakfast and filling the dishwasher while zipping back to take periodic glances at a thick textbook which lay open on the table. Her hair was still damp from a shower and drying naturally into chunky wisps that she occasionally smoothed with her fingers.
The woman was a dynamo of energy, and Grove and Cutler didn’t stand a chance.
“I thought you’d arranged everything so that I could stay here,” she went on, jotting something from the text onto a note card and sticking it into the back pocket of her jeans.
Kevin Grove looked like he needed sleep more than he needed the mug of coffee he cradled in his hands. “That was before you told us about the car nearly running you down night before last. If someone has already IDed your house and is following you, then we’d like to throw him off the trail by putting you up someplace where he can’t look up your address in a phone book.”
She shooed Bruiser away from the open dishwasher, added soap to the dispenser and then started the machine. “I told you, I’m perfectly willing to cooperate as long as you move me someplace that can house them, too.”
“The dogs complicate things.” Cutler tried to explain one of the lessons of witness protection Holden had been taught. “They require going in and out—”
“I require going in and out.”
“Three dogs would draw attention to the house. The idea is to blend in with the scenery so no one suspects what kind of operation is going on inside.”
Holden scratched Cruiser’s smooth head as the greyhound leaned against his leg and thrust her head into his hand. They could throw out logical appeals until they were blue in the face, but Holden was quickly learning that arguing with Liza Parrish with her mind made up was like arguing with a brick wall. Cutler and Grove should give up now. They had a better chance of being hit by lightning than of separating Liza from her pets.
“Why can’t you just post more guards here at my house?” Liza picked up her backpack from beside her chair, closed the book and stuffed it inside.
“We have a budget to consider—”
“Would you stay put inside?”
“No.” Liza zipped the bag shut and plopped it back on the floor. “I have classes to attend, a job to go to.”
Cutler leaned back in his chair. “Not for a few days, you don’t. You wouldn’t want to put any of your classmates or coworkers at risk, do you?”
“No.”
Holden straightened away from the wall as Liza sank into her chair at the table. Cutler had used a hostage negotiation technique on her, and it had worked. Liza was thinking about worst-case scenarios now, evaluating how her choices could affect the people she cared about.
“What about my appointments with Dr. Jameson?” With a little less zing in her voice, she turned her argument to Kevin Grove. “You said they were more important now than ever. I’m supposed to see him this morning.”
“He can come here.”
“Trent Jameson?” Sitting didn’t last very long for Liza. She was up out of her chair, pacing the length of her kitchen as she continued. “Do you know what kind of convincing it took to get him to come down to the police station last night?”
Grove carried his coffee mug to the sink and rinsed it out. “Jameson is a citizen of the community who can do his public duty like the rest of us and work here for one day. The city will still pay him his basic fee, whether he does the job at his office or here.”
“The city’s paying Jameson ten thousand dollars to counsel you?” The words were out before Holden could stop them. “What about the department’s shrink that you told me to go to?”
Liza’s arms slid around her waist in a self-comforting hug that he wished he could give her. Her gaze slid toward the corner of the room where Holden stood, but didn’t quite reach his eyes. What the hell was going on here?
Lieutenant Cutler pushed away from the table and stood. “I recommended our psychologist to you because I just needed you to blow off some steam and focus. What I understand from our meeting last night is that Miss Parrish is part of some kind of research study.” He glanced at Grove and Liza to verify his explanation. “Apparently, Dr. Jameson has developed a treatment program that works specifically with witnesses like her.”
Liza nodded. But Holden still felt as though he was missing something when she continued to avoid eye contact. “Dr. Jameson wasn’t particularly pleased with the results of my session at the precinct offices. He thinks I’ll do better in th
e controlled space of his office,” she said. “There would be too many people, too many distractions here.”
“Fine,” Grove agreed. “We’ll escort you to Jameson’s for your appointment.”
“Before we go, can I go for a run with my dogs? I’m not used to sitting around so much. They aren’t, either.”
“Should I just paint a ‘Shoot me’ sign on your back?”
Holden moved forward. “You’re out of line, Grove.”
“Back off, Kincaid.”
Cutler positioned himself between the two men. “Boys!”
Liza tried to be a little more reasonable. “Presidents of the United States have gone running with their Secret Service men. Why don’t you all just come with me?”
“I’ll go with her,” Holden volunteered. Her pent-up energy pushed against the walls of the house. Like Cutler had told him, she needed to blow off some steam if KCPD wanted her to keep her head in the game. “Trip, Molloy and Delgado can come, too. We have to do daily fitness training, anyway. We could take care of both jobs at the same time.”
Cutler nodded. “Fine.”
“Cutler!” Kevin Grove’s protest boomed through the house, startling Cruiser and sending her trotting out of the kitchen. “Miss Parrish is my responsibility. This is my—”
“The investigation may be yours. But security is my detail. She’s fighting us on things the way they are, so if we give on this, we’ll get more cooperation in return. I trained these men myself. I guarantee you they’ll keep her safe.” He turned and dismissed Holden with a nod.
“I want her in a vest, and I want your team armed and hooked up to a radio at all times.”
“Yes, sir.”
Resisting the urge to gloat, Holden opened his phone and crossed into the living room to call Dominic and the others. After hanging up on Delgado a few minutes later, Holden tuned in to the hushed voices of the two men still arguing in the kitchen. Liza was still in her bedroom changing.
“If this doesn’t pan out, I can’t make my case. This better be worth the trouble we’re going to for this witness.”
“Is there any reason why it wouldn’t be?” Cutler asked.
“I kept her name out of the press for as long as I could. Now that the world knows we’ve got a witness to John Kincaid’s murder, the bastards behind his death will be closing in. The clock is ticking.” Kevin Grove’s curse drew Holden closer to the archway to eavesdrop. “I just hope she remembers what she needs to before they get through us and find her.”
“They won’t get through—”
“Remember what she needs to?” Holden had never been one to avoid a confrontation when something needed to be said. He stepped into the kitchen and demanded an explanation. “What does that mean?”
Grove scowled, looking even more like a bulldog than ever, then he laughed. “You mean with all the unsanctioned snooping you and your brothers have been doing for the past six months, you don’t know?”
“Don’t know what?”
“Your girlfriend didn’t tell you?”
“Grove…”
“Allow me, detective.”
Holden turned at Liza’s voice.
She stood in the kitchen archway, pulling a navy blue sweatshirt down over her gray, fitted running suit. She tilted her chin up proudly, defensively—but the robust energy that had sparkled in her eyes a few minutes ago had vanished.
“I’m sorry, Kincaid. I want to help your family and KCPD, I really do.” Something inside him sagged as her own deep sigh rounded her shoulders. But she never once lowered her gaze. “I suffer from traumatic amnesia. I remember finding Bruiser, and I remember finding your father. But what happened in between? All I know is I was afraid. I can’t tell you who murdered your father…because I don’t remember.”
LIZA JUMPED INSIDE HER skin as two gunshots exploded in the night.
“Relax. You’re perfectly safe here.” She wasn’t sure she believed Dr. Jameson, but she tried to obey. “Breathe deeply, Liza. Return to your quiet place.”
She hugged the pillow to her stomach and focused on her breathing.
Liza clutched the emaciated dog tightly in her arms and smelled the dank river. The sound of tires on the damp pavement drew her attention to the front of the alley. She muzzled the dog with her hand and crouched down low, flattening her back against the rough brick wall. Car doors slammed and she could hear men’s voices. One of them laughed.
“Liza?” Dr. Jameson’s voice filtered into her mind. “I need you to tell me what you’re seeing. What you hear.”
The spring night was damp this close to the river. The moisture of it clung to the dog’s fur and intensified his sour smell. Thank goodness she’d parked far away, because the men wouldn’t realize she was here. Of course, she hadn’t known how far she’d have to go to track down this dog Anita had told her about. She hadn’t known she’d be witnessing a murder.
“Liza.” His tone was a little sharper now, less patient than the gentle voice that had lulled her into this sleepy state. “Can you hear my voice?”
She nodded. “I hear you.”
“Good.” The soft music in the room was replaced with the abrasive whine of a rusty metal door sliding open. Someone was coming out of the warehouse. Or was someone going in? She couldn’t see. “Now I want to you move closer to the black car. Open the door in your mind and tell me what you see.”
She pulled her mind back to the car, to the images she could barely see. “Two men. One has white hair and tattoos clear around his neck and down his arms. He isn’t wearing a coat.”
“Good. What does the other man look like?”
She peered through a gap between the plastic bags. The stench of the rotting garbage inside made her eyes tear up and her nose run.
“Tell me about the other man.”
“He’s—”
Liza’s mind shuttered, as if someone had drawn a blindfold over her eyes. There was only blackness inside her head. “Doctor…?”
“Relax. Breathe deeply. In through your nose, out…”
Dr. Jameson’s words got lost in the fog of her memory. Another voice—cold, heartless—shivered down her spine. “Did you hear that?”
The skinny dog could barely move, but he still had fight in him. His mournful whine vibrated through his body and echoed along the walls of the alley.
Fresh tears stung Liza’s eyes, replacing the caustic irritation of the garbage with the shock of bone-deep fear. She stroked her fingers along the dog’s empty, distended belly, desperately coaxing him into silence.
“Tell me about the other man, Liza. Who’s there with you?”
“It’s just a mutt.” The tattooed man’s voice was higher in pitch than the other man’s. “I had a dog when I was a kid. I lived in Yugoslavia back then. Hell, they don’t even have Yugoslavia anymore. I miss that dog.”
“I hate dogs.”
The other man sounded vaguely familiar. But how could it? She’d never been to this part of Kansas City before. She didn’t know these men.
“What is it, Liza?” Dr. Jameson kept pushing. “Tell me what you’re seeing.”
“From the sound of it, he’ll be dead by morning.”
“If someone hears it, they may call the police.”
“Or the dog catcher.” The tattooed man laughed. “Do they still have dog catchers?”
“If anyone comes, it could give us away before the boss is finished with the mission.” There was a rasp and a click that Liza couldn’t identify.
“What are you gonna do with that gun?”
“I’m going to track down that dog and shut him up.”
Liza jerked as if she’d been slapped. Suddenly, she was in a different place. At a different time. “No. Please. I don’t want to be here.”
“From the look of things, the dog was probably trying to defend the place when they broke in.” The police woman who’d called Liza home from college was trying to be kind.
“I’m sure Shasta barked at the intruders
.”
“Then I imagine they did it to shut her up. Before the neighbors could hear. She was the one alarm they couldn’t shut off with a stolen key code.”
So the thieves had shot her dog.
“No. Mom? Dad?” They’d killed her dog. Killed her parents. Liza was locked inside her head with the nightmare. The hot tears that leaked from beneath the silk eye mask were as real as the pain she felt. “I don’t want to do this anymore.” Was she speaking out loud? Was she dreaming? “Make it stop. Mom and Dad are dead. I don’t want to see that again.”
“Damn it, Liza. Go back to the alley.”
Her jumbled up mind struggled to sort out the present and the past.
“Test subject is too agitated to remain in deep suggestive state.” Dr. Jameson was talking into his recorder. “Drug therapy is only recourse left to pursue.”
Her parents’ deaths were in the past.
Men who would murder were in the past.
“Liza, I’m going to count to three and you will be awake. One…”
“I don’t want to do this,” she pleaded.
“Two…”
Drug therapy?
“Three.”
Liza’s eyes popped open beneath the mask. She ripped it off her face and squinted up at the ceiling, waiting for the ivy-print border to come into focus. When the rapid rise and fall of her chest evened out and she thought she could sit up without the room spinning around her head, she did. The headache wasn’t as bad this time, just a dull twinge behind her eyes. But the fear and confusion were more disconcerting than ever. “Dr. Jameson, I don’t think this is helping.”
He looked up from the notes he’d been scribbling. “You’re too impatient. You don’t listen to me half the time. It’s no wonder we can’t make this work.”
“I’m not taking drugs. I heard you say that. Even for the truth, I won’t do it.”
With a scoffing noise, he tossed off his reading glasses and went to his desk to turn on a lamp. “I’m only talking about a small dose of Sodium Penthothal to relax you.”