by Julie Miller
Surely a fate that would deny him his father and best friend would not deny him this woman.
He raised his head to press a kiss to the crown of her soft copper hair. “I love you, Liza Parrish,” he whispered. “I love you.”
He was about to drift off to sleep himself when he felt the first jerk of her body. “Liza?”
“Shh, baby. Shush.” Her words slurred against his skin.
Damn. The nightmare was taking her. He slid his fingers to the back of her neck and tried to coax her awake. “Come back to me, babe. Come back.”
“Black Buick.” She shifted in his arms but refused to wake. “See you.” Her whole body was quaking now, reliving the murder and terror. “Tattooed. Pinstripe. Black man. No hair.”
He gave her a gentle shake as her sleepy words began to ramble. “Liza. Come on, baby, wake up.”
“No.” She jerked. “I see…I see you.”
“Liza?”
“Pinstripe. Woman. Don’t get in.”
“Liza.” He said her name more firmly, shook her harder. But would she feel it as some kind of attack in her dreams?
“Who…? Thank you, Mr. Smith. No-o-o!”
Enough.
Holden palmed her head to his shoulder and held her tight as she screamed herself awake.
“Easy, baby. Easy.” He peppered kisses over her face and hair, absorbing the lingering aftershocks of fear that vibrated through her body.
As her pulse evened out and her breathing relaxed, Holden tried to comfort her. “Liza—”
But she pushed away and sat up straight, pulling the sleeping bag and him up with her. “It was a woman!”
He reached for his sweater and pulled it over her head to keep her warm.
“What was a woman?” he asked, wanting to pull her back into the sleeping bag to keep warm.
Perhaps sensing his intentions, she pushed the voluminous sleeves up and shoved her bangs off her forehead, avoiding his grasp. “I remembered. Maybe not all of it yet. But I remember more of that night. Maybe enough to help.”
“Hold on.” He raised a calming hand. “You’re telling me that all the sudden, you’ve gotten your memory back?”
She nodded, and crawled up to sit on her knees, pulling his sweater down to cover herself in the sexiest damn version of a mini-dress he’d ever seen. “It was a woman I saw wearing the pinstriped suit. A dark-haired woman who got into the backseat of the black SUV that night. She was the only person who came out of the warehouse after I heard the gunshots. She must have killed your father.”
Holden was stunned. Liza could identify his father’s killer? He had to believe her. Her skin was flushed with excitement, her eyes clear. “Why do you think you’re remembering this now?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, after six months feeling lost inside my own head, always looking over my shoulder and wondering if that person was the killer, or that one—and never even knowing who was a threat to me and who wasn’t—maybe after all that…” She reached over to frame his face between gentle hands and smiled. “I think last night, for the first time in months, I finally felt completely safe. I knew I wasn’t alone with my fear anymore.”
He caught one hand beneath his and turned his head to kiss her palm. “You’re not alone.”
She pulled away, then lifted the top of the sleeping bag and climbed into his lap. Holden was more than happy to wrap his arms around her when she snuggled against his chest. “I can also tell you a little more about the men who were with her. There was that tattooed albino—all muscle—who was driving.”
“Tony Fierro.” Holden nodded. Atticus had uncovered Tony’s identity earlier in the year. “He was murdered in his jail cell, after my brother Atticus investigated him. Fierro tried to recover some incriminating information my father had on the people Fierro worked for.”
“So he is part of your father’s murder investigation.”
“Yeah.”
He massaged the back of Liza’s neck and urged her to go on. “What else do you remember?”
“The black man. Tall. Shaved head. Nice suit. Deep voice. The woman called him ‘Mr. Smith.’”
“An alias, I’m assuming?”
“Yeah. It was like a nickname.” Liza paused to take a steadying breath. “She said, ‘The job is finished, Mr. Smith. I know what you mean about the satisfaction of seeing your victim’s eyes before you pull the trigger.’”
“Oh, God.” Holden’s arms convulsed around Liza at the horrific image of what his father must have suffered.
Liza wound her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I should have said that differently.”
“No.” Her caring eased some of the pain. His training as a cop helped him push the rest of it aside. For now. “I need to hear everything. Exactly as you remember it. No detail is too small. So a woman killed my father. She’s friends with a hit man named Mr. Smith. And they took pleasure out of what they did to my father.”
“There’s something more I saw this time, Holden.”
“Something more?”
She pulled away, but only far enough that he could see the sorrow in her expression. “There was someone else in the car.”
“A fourth person?” She’d never even hinted at that detail before.
“I couldn’t get a good look at the face. But the dark-haired woman pulled something from her purse. It was a ring, I think.”
Not his father’s wedding ring—he’d had that on when they buried him. “Are you sure it was a ring?”
She held up her palm as if picturing exactly what she’d seen. “It was small and round and gold. She handed it to the person inside and said, ‘John doesn’t deserve to wear this anymore. His tattoo might say different, but he was really never one of us.’”
The slain members of Z Group had all had one thing in common—the tiny tattoo of a Cyrillic Z somewhere on their body.
“Is that important?” she asked softly.
“It could be. If we can find out who has that ring.”
Chapter Eleven
Holden stopped playing with the curve of Liza’s thigh where Kevin Grove had scratched his phone number onto her jeans. His senses buzzed on high alert. “What do you mean there was no body?” he asked into his cell phone. “I saw that car roll three times. If the crash didn’t kill him, then he’s in a hospital somewhere.”
His disbelief reflected on Liza’s face. “They can’t find Mr. Smith?”
As the pieces of her mind began to fall back into place, there was no doubting that a professional hit man working for Z Group was after them.
Holden switched his cell phone to the other ear, forcing himself to turn away from the fearful uncertainty that made the skin beneath her freckles go pale. He wanted to pull her tight in his arms, wind the clock back seven months and pretend he had nothing to do but spend a lifetime of days like this one, sharing picnic lunches, getting better acquainted with her trim, taut body and the sassy mouth and sharp mind that went along with it.
But reality didn’t work that way. He’d hoped that the people who’d murdered his father were taking some time to regroup and plan another strategy for silencing KCPD’s star witness. But if the mysterious Mr. Smith was still alive, then they were out of time. If he had any connections at all, which Holden suspected he did, then he could already be tracking them. Danger and the death Mr. Smith promised could already be close by.
Holden gestured to Liza to start packing their lunch back into the cooler. She nodded and quickly went to work as he turned his attention back to the phone call. “Explain what happened.”
While Grove gave him a report, Holden scanned a full 360 degrees for any sign of traffic on the park’s gravel roads—or for any extra shadows moving among the trees. The detective sounded just as antsy about this whole turn of events as he was. “The air bags deployed. He was wearing his seat belt. Apparently, he walked away from the crash. I’ll put Liza’s description of Mr. Smith out over the wire, but�
��we lost him.”
“Who the hell is this guy?”
“He’s getting help from somewhere.”
Holden’s gaze was automatically drawn to the flash of Liza’s copper-red hair. She was strong and sexy and savvy, compassionate to a fault and achingly vulnerable in a way that tugged at his heart and kindled an instinct to protect her that went far deeper than the badge tucked into the pocket of his jeans. Right now, he was the only help she had.
“Let’s pack the rest of the gear,” he instructed Liza.
Her gray eyes, brave but full of fear, connected with his. “He’s coming, isn’t he?”
He answered the rhetorical question by checking the Glock at his belt, then pulling up the right leg of his jeans to make sure the Smith & Wesson he wore in an ankle holster was loaded and ready to use. He picked up the cooler the instant she was finished and carried it to the back of the Jeep. “There’s no need to panic, but we need to get moving. Grove and his men have lost track of Smith. I don’t intend to make a stationary target for him.”
“I’ll get the dogs.” Despite the sexy sway of her bottom as she jogged back to the tent, Liza was as game as any man he’d ever worked with. She might be scared—she should be—but she was keeping a level head and not allowing the emotion to cloud her thinking or question his orders.
Her cool head was a hell of a lot more conducive to survival than the irrational anger pumping through Holden’s veins right now. Try as he might, the icy detachment he needed to ensure her safety just wouldn’t come. This wasn’t about protecting a witness any longer. Z Group had already denied him a father and a friend. He wasn’t about to let them take this woman from his life. Not when he’d already opened up his heart and wedged her firmly inside.
“The press is all over this,” Grove went on as Holden’s gaze followed Liza’s every step. “I keep directing them to the public liaison officer, but Hayley Resnick has already called me twice for a statement—about the gun fight at Liza’s house and about your father’s murder. She’s not buying the cover that it was a gang-related shoot-out, and wants to know if I’m still working your father’s case.”
“Maybe she likes you.” It was sarcasm meant to further the conversation.
“She’s not my type.”
“A gorgeous blonde isn’t your type?” Holden returned to the tent, unzipped his gear bag and pulled out an extra ammo clip to tuck into his belt.
“You did get a look at my face, didn’t you? Or were you too busy watching Liza’s backside to notice me? I think it’s more that I’m not her type.”
“You’re pretty in my book, Grove.”
“Bite me.” Holden could hear a murmur of voices and other phones ringing in the background, and assumed Grove had set up a command center of sorts. “Look, I ran this by Major Taylor. I know you’re hiding out someplace down south—”
“We’re already on the move.”
“Good. We want you to hit the road back to K.C. I’m working on arrangements to get you directly into a safe house. Are the dogs—?” Bruiser barked as Liza dumped his dog food back into the sack and carried it to the rear of the Jeep. “Ah, yes. Sounds like the kids are still with you. I’ll make sure we can support them at the same location as well. I owe that little terrier my life. If he wants Fifi and caviar at the safe house, he’ll get it.”
Holden laughed. “I’m afraid you’ll have to rescue your own pooch from the pound, Grove. I don’t see Liza parting with any of these guys.” Bruiser ran in circles around Liza’s legs and continued to bark, getting Cruiser hopping and excited as she joined the parade. But hiding out from a hit man who refused to die made laughter impossible to hold on to. “Liza remembered more details last night.”
“Yeah? Let me get my notepad. Go.” By the time Holden had relayed Liza’s account of the fourth person in the black Buick SUV the night of his father’s murder, the mysterious gold ring in the dark-haired woman’s hand and her comments about “John not deserving to wear it,” the dogs had become truly agitated. “Is everything all right, Kincaid?”
Liza was kneeling down now, trying to calm them, talking to the musketeers as though she expected them to understand every word she said. “What are you so fired up about? Did you see a squirrel? Come on, you two. I know this isn’t our regular routine, but think of all the new smells and how much you like to ride in the car and…” Liza froze.
Like a call from his commanding officer, everything inside Holden went on alert. “What the hell?”
“Kincaid!” She grabbed the two dogs by their collars and dove for the ground as the passenger-side window of the Jeep shattered above her head.
Holden pulled his gun and ran. “We need backup! Now!”
“GET IN THE CAR! Get in the damn car!”
A second red dot of light danced through the brown grass on the ground beside her head and Liza rolled as the next shot tore up the dry leaves and dirt. “Where is that coming from?”
Why was this happening? Again. Please, God, not again!
Holden had pulled his gun and was firing blindly off into the trees to the north. Crouching low, he zigzagged back and forth, snatching Yukon by the collar and running up to her. “Move it, Parrish! Move!”
Keeping their unseen assailant pinned among the trees, he heaved the frantic-eyed malamute into the back of the Jeep.
“How did he find us?”
Holden slammed the back end shut and fired again. “Haul ass, Parrish. Talk later.”
As he dashed around to start the engine, Liza obeyed, loading the other two dogs in. She was climbing up beside them when a slash of fire burned across her right arm. “Son of a—”
She grabbed her upper arm. For a split second she paused and stared in disbelief at the red stripe that grew thicker and wetter across the upper sleeve of her sweater.
“Liza!”
Holden’s shout cut through her shock. As she shoved the dogs out of her way, he grabbed her uninjured arm and pulled her on in. Her feet were barely off the ground when he stomped on the gas. The Jeep rocked and spun and threw a wave of dirt and debris up behind it as the wheels dug deep into the earth for traction. Once the tires hit solid dirt, they shot off onto the gravel road. The momentum threw Liza into Holden’s lap and slammed the door behind her. The dogs yelped as they were tossed from side to side across the backseat and floor.
“Stay down!”
Holden fired out her broken window, but the instant he stopped, a half dozen bullets pinged against the side of the Jeep. One thunked.
“How bad are you hurt?” The butt of his gun poked against her as he pressed his fingers into her back, checking her from side to side for injuries while her face bobbed atop his hard thigh. “Liza! How bad are you hurt?”
Bracing one hand against his denim-clad knee, she tried to right herself, tried to reassure him they were still in this chase together. “I’m okay. The bullet grazed me. It’s a long gash, nothing more. I’ll be fine.”
Holden pushed her cheek back down to his thigh. “You’re hit. That is not fine.”
Another spray of bullets peppered the road behind them and took out the back window. She lurched inside her skin and Holden cursed. It was blue and pithy and only half of the fear and anger Liza was feeling right now. “How did he find us?”
“Pull the ammo clip from my belt,” Holden ordered before answering. “I’m guessing the fourth person in that car you saw has something to do with it.” Keeping her head down, Liza reached across Holden’s lap and buckled him in before pulling the magazine of bullets from his waist. He did something to his gun and the spent magazine popped out onto the floorboards. He reloaded. “Can you buckle yourself in without raising up?”
Liza eased her death grip on Holden’s leg and scooted backward to reach for the seat belt. Gritting her teeth against the ache that throbbed through her arm, she twisted around and secured the belt across her lap. “I’m good.”
“You’re doing great, babe. Just hang on to something.” Holden eased
a little more speed out of the racing Jeep as the sound of a powerful engine roared through the shattered windows. “Somebody has inside information. Those bastards knew where to find my dad on his Sunday morning run. Knew how to find the other Z Group members. They knew about Dad’s journals.”
“You mean somebody we trusted told him where we were hiding? Only Detective Grove and your brother Edward knew where we were, right?”
“Somebody eavesdropped or somebody told.”
The growl of an engine and spit of gravel behind them grew louder. Liza grabbed the back of the seat, inching herself up to peer over the top. Black. Buick. SUV.
The driver’s shaved head and dark skin were as familiar to her at sixty feet as they’d been a mere six feet away. The coldly intense expression chilled her just as deeply. “Mr. Smith. It’s him—I remember him. Bald and big and—”
Holden pounded the steering wheel with his fist. “Hell!”
Liza ducked back down at Holden’s curse. “What? That sounds bad. What’s wrong?”
“He hit the gas tank. We’re losing fuel fast. We won’t make it to the highway.” With a jerk of the wheel, Holden violently switched directions. The Jeep careened onto two wheels, throwing Liza into the door. They came down hard on the two airborne wheels and a terrier landed in her lap. “Here. Hold this.”
Liza automatically wrapped her fingers around the gun Holden pushed into her hands. “I don’t know how to—”
“Just don’t shoot anything. Especially me.”
His knuckles turned white as he fisted both hands around the wheel. Liza held on to both dog and gun as they left the road. Her stomach lurched as they vaulted down into the ditch and climbed up the rocks on the opposite side. “What are you doing?”
“Playing a hunch. Hoping like hell I’m right.”
“About what?”
“Your Mr. Smith likes his nice suits and fancy cars? I’m guessing he’s not a country boy.”
“GO, GUYS! RUN! Run!”
Liza shoved the dogs away and they scattered into the trees and rocks, instinctively running away from the explosive pops of Holden’s gun each time he turned to fire on the black man who pursued them.