Private S.W.A.T. Takeover

by Julie Miller

  “Sober. Healthy.” Holden shrugged, suspecting that this tangent in the conversation was his brother’s efforts to distract him from worrying about Liza—and feeling guilty that she’d misread his interest in her as some kind of manipulation regarding their father’s murder. But with nothing but a closed door to study, he went along with the conversation. “I picked a fight with Edward.”

  “Really? And how did that work out for you?”

  Holden grinned. “Turned out to be kind of a good talk, I think. He was getting rid of Cara and Melinda’s things, said he couldn’t move on as long as they were around. I suggested he keep a few sentimental items—that he might want them back some day.”

  “You tried to stop him and he didn’t slug you?”

  “Not this time. I doubt I’m on his favorite brother list right now, but he stayed to have dinner with Mom and Bill when I got the call to the animal clinic.”

  A third voice, deep and rumbly, joined the discussion. “Maybe Ed’s starting to heal a little bit.” Their second oldest brother, Sawyer, came over from his desk where he’d been working at the computer. “At least he’s keeping his head above water and coping with the real world—not like he was a year ago.” He tossed a print-out onto Atticus’s desk. “Take a look at this. I got a hit on that Trent Jameson guy Grove called in. He’s a psychologist, known for his groundbreaking research into hypnotherapy.”

  Atticus picked up the print-out and photo. “Looks like we’re in the wrong line of work, boys. Dr. Jameson earns upwards of $10,000 an hour to talk about his research.”

  Holden scanned the paper next, zeroing in on three lines near the bottom. “This says Dr. Jameson has been sued for malpractice twice in California.”

  Sawyer leaned across the desk and pointed out the next two lines. “One case was dismissed, the other settled out of court. Psychology isn’t a finite science.” Sawyer would know, as he continued to go to counseling sessions with his wife, who’d barely survived an abusive first marriage. “Sometimes, a patient has unrealistic expectations about what can be accomplished or how fast it can be done.”

  “And sometimes, the psychologist just doesn’t get the job done.” Holden dropped the paper and stood. He tossed his coffee cup into the trash and circled around to stand beside Sawyer—one of the few men in KCPD who stood even taller than he did. “Why the hell would you need a hypnotherapist on a police investigation? If he’s there for Liza, anything she’d say under that kind of influence would be inadmissible in court.”

  Atticus, ever the voice of reason in the family, had a theory. “Could be he’s just her regular therapist. We know she doesn’t have any family—that they died during a home invasion down at the Lake of the Ozarks a few years back. That’s public record. Maybe Jameson is who she calls when she needs a friend around.”

  Holden knew from their own limited investigation that Liza lived alone and had no parents. But he hadn’t realized they’d been murdered. Earlier, at the clinic, she’d asked him how he dealt with all the violence in his line of work. She wasn’t just talking about today’s events, or even his father’s murder. Maybe Liza had seen all the violence she could stand, and Dr. Jameson was helping her cope with that. Could be that, as much as she was willing to work with KCPD, it was just an extremely difficult task for her to get through.

  Now all those people were in there, bombarding her with questions?

  And she was alone with them?

  “Um, where are you going?” Sawyer called after him.

  Holden was already halfway to the conference room. He wanted to know if Liza was okay. If Trent Jameson was there to help her. He wanted to know if she’d accept his apology and let her know that, in a room full of Montagues, he was there for his lady Juliet.

  He knocked on the door and heard a responding lull in the conversation on the other side. When the heated sounds picked up again as if his interruption was of no consequence, Holden raised his fist to knock again.

  The door swung open and Kevin Grove answered. “What do you want? Didn’t Cutler dismiss you?”

  There were files out on the conference table, a city map had been pinned to the wall. A least three different conversations were going on at once.

  “Kincaid?” Holden looked past Grove’s shoulder and zeroed in on Liza’s tight-lipped expression. Her eyes locked on to his.

  “You okay?” Holden didn’t know if he’d whispered or shouted.

  But his words reached their target. Her slight nod would have been more convincing if her skin wasn’t so pale and her hands weren’t clenched into fists on top of the table. Dr. Jameson, who sat beside her, patted her arm, demanding her attention. She glanced at the doctor for a moment, then swung her gaze back to Holden.

  “I’m sorry about all this.”

  Grove was the only one who heard his apology as he urged Holden back into the main room and closed the door behind him. “Sorry, pal, you’re not invited to the party.”

  “What are you doing to her in there?”

  “Go home.” Grove’s tone was sympathetic enough, but he wasn’t budging from the doorway. “You’ve done your job with Miss Parrish. Now let me do mine.”

  For a split second, Holden debated whether he could shove the burly ogre aside. Given his current mood, he probably could get past him. But the thought of fighting his way through all the rest of the officers inside—as well as a little common sense and departmental protocol—made him think that walking away was a better choice. For now.

  Ignoring the questions and unwanted advice from his brothers, Holden stalked down the hallway to the men’s room. He took care of business then went to the sink to splash cold water on his face.

  When he straightened, he looked into the mirror and saw he had company.

  Kevin Grove turned on a spigot two sinks down and washed his hands.

  Holden took his time drying his. This meeting wasn’t a coincidence.

  When Grove reached for the paper towels, he finally spoke. “Anything you want to tell me about you and Liza Parrish?” Holden wadded his towel and tossed it without answering. “Don’t pretend you don’t know her. I saw Hayley Resnick’s news report. And I know what a bodyguard looks like.”

  “Liza needs one.”

  “It shouldn’t be you.” Grove pitched his trash and buttoned his suit jacket. “You two have history?”

  About seventy-two hours worth.

  But the connection to Liza Parrish was there, and he wasn’t going to deny it. “I want in. Even if I’m just the runner who delivers the pizza and bagels to the safe house you’re sticking her in, I want to be on her protection detail.”

  Grove seemed to give his request real consideration. “I don’t like it. But if you want to help, you may get your wish. Come with me.”

  Holden shrugged at his brothers’ curious expressions as he followed Kevin Grove into the conference room. Some sort of decision must have been reached because folders were now closed, and at least one of the conversations he overheard was about a new truck someone was thinking about buying.

  Grove waved Liza over, but she was already on her feet and hurrying around the table.

  “Thank you.” She beamed a smile up at him that elicited half a grin of his own.

  But he was still missing something here. “Thank me for what?”

  Liza pulled back the lab coat she still wore and reached into the front pocket of her jeans.

  Grove started to fill in the blanks. “Miss Parrish won’t even talk about cooperating with us until she knows her dogs are okay.”

  Well, hell.

  She pulled a key ring from her pocket, then proceeded to remove what looked like a house key. “Bruiser, Cruiser and Yukon have been locked up in the house all day long. They need to be fed again, given fresh water and taken out for their run. Otherwise, I’m afraid they’ll chew up my couch or leave some unexpected presents for me.”

  “That’s what you want me to do? You want me to check on the damn dogs?”

  L
iza tucked the extra keys back in her jeans, looking a bit stunned by his response. She glanced up at Grove, then propped her hands at her hips and turned on the attitude. “Would you excuse us for a minute, detective?”

  With a reluctant nod, Grove stepped aside and Liza nudged Holden out the door. He got around the corner into a secluded hallway before the attack started. “Look, Kincaid—those dogs are my family, and I’m responsible for them. I’m just asking you to do a favor.”

  Holden could go on the offensive, too. He backed her toward the wall. “I’m a trained special weapons and tactics officer. I’ve taken survivalist training and I know how a man like the guy who’s after you thinks. And you want me to let your dogs out?” When he realized he was venting more frustrated emotion than cool-headed logic, he retreated a step and softened his voice to a more rational tone. “Is this some kind of punishment for kissing you?”

  “No. I—”

  “Because I wanted to. And if it wouldn’t cost me my badge, I’d do it again.”

  “You want to kiss me again?”

  “Like hell on fire.”

  The freckles vanished as a blush colored her cheeks. Her gaze fell to the center of his chest, possibly to the badge hanging on a chain there. “Could you really lose your job by getting involved with me?”

  His chest expanded with a deep sigh. “I’d at least get a reprimand in my file. Maybe get a promotion delayed. But I didn’t want you to get into trouble, either. I want you to be focused on your testimony and help find justice for my dad. And I want you to listen to the men who are in there trying to figure out how to protect you.”

  She reached out and touched his badge, gently, almost reverently. “You look just like your dad, you know. The first time I saw you—for a second, I thought I was looking at a ghost.” She pulled her hand away. “You’ve been through so much already. I don’t want to get you into trouble. I’m sorry. I won’t bother asking you for the favor.”

  When she turned to walk away, Holden’s heart nearly imploded inside his chest. He snatched her hand and pulled it back to his chest, splaying her fingers over his aching heart and holding them there.

  Shakespeare wasn’t the only one who could create a mess with an unwise but irresistible relationship. “Talk to me about the dogs.”

  “I need someone to take care of them.” The warmth of her hand and the growing brightness of her smile seemed to have a healing effect on his ravaged conscience. “They know you. At least, out of all the choices in that room, you’re the only one the dogs have met. Cruiser definitely has a crush on you. And Bruiser will like anybody who gives him treats. And Yukon, well…he needs someone with a strong will and a commanding voice in order to stay in line.”

  She paused unexpectedly, turning her head to the side. Holden tucked two fingers beneath her chin and turned her face back to his. “A commanding voice I can do. What else?”

  “I need someone to understand what those dogs mean to me, Kincaid. I owe those three everything. They’re the only thing I have in my life that I can always count on.”

  Holden looked down at those beseeching gray eyes that wanted so badly to trust. He released her hand and reached for the one that still held the key. He caught both the key and her fingers and held on tight. And he made a vow.

  “No, they’re not.”

  Chapter Seven

  Liza decided that Kevin Grove was a lot nicer than his gruff demeanor first led her to believe. She wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking he had changed his mind about needing her testimony to nail John Kincaid’s killer—after all, he’d stationed police officers in unmarked vehicles at either end of her block, and had ordered two more on foot to patrol the wooded area behind her house. But she’d discovered that he could put that bulldog tenacity on hold and actually be a bit of a softy—for short periods of time, at any rate.

  “All right,” he groused, apparently satisfied with all the electronic sensors and listening devices he’d plugged into her telephone and set up around each door and window of her house. “I’m going out on the porch to uh, have a cigarette.” His expression was far less amenable when he looked over at Holden, lounging against the kitchen sink. “You can have that long with her before I chase you out tonight.”

  “You don’t smoke,” Holden pointed out.

  “Do you want me to step outside or not?”

  “Enjoy your break, detective.”

  Once they were the last two people in the house, Liza pushed Bruiser’s head off her lap and got up from the kitchen table to rinse the milk from her empty glass. Her brownies had been a hit with each of the security team members who’d come inside, and she pulled the now-empty baking dish off the counter and scooted Holden aside while she filled it with water to soak overnight.

  While she’d been dutifully listening to every security precaution that Grove had insisted upon, Holden had been out on the exercise path with the three musketeers, as he’d dubbed her menagerie of pets. “So how did your evening go?”

  “Great. Everyone’s been run, fed, watered, and now they’re settling down to sleep it off.” He nodded toward Bruiser, who was still circling the table, looking for something edible fall to his level. “Except for Mooch-face over there. You’d think he’d be full by now.”

  Liza laughed, and the black and tan terrier mix took the sound as an invitation and trotted across the linoleum to join them. “This one’s never full. Probably comes from living on the streets and eating food whenever and wherever he could find it.”

  Holden rinsed the empty glass he’d been drinking from and put it in the sink beside hers. “You said Bruiser’s the dog you were rescuing the night you found Dad?”

  She nodded. “Bruiser was skin and bones when I found him under a Dumpster in that alley. You could see every rib, each hip bone—his nails were overgrown and he could barely stand on his own when I picked him up.” Liza smothered a sob at the sad irony of her situation. Details about the dog she could remember. But details about the gunshots and the men who’d killed Holden’s father?

  “Hey.” A strong, gentle finger twisted through a wisp of hair at her temple and tucked it behind her ear. “Don’t go there. Not tonight. You’ve had enough to deal with already today.”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what? Not pushing? Not tonight.”

  When he leaned in like that, she could see that Holden really did have long eyelashes. The beauty of them was so at odds with the ruggedly masculine angles of his face that it made noticing them feel like she’d discovered a secret about him. One that was hers alone to keep. “I’m sorry you’ve been reduced to dog-sitter, but trust me, from my perspective, you’re the hero of the day.”

  “Just doin’ my job, ma’am,” he drawled in that soothing, warming pitch.

  She tore her gaze away from his blue eyes and found herself staring, for the second time that night, at the brass and blue enamel badge that hung around his neck. He was a cop, just like his father. Just like each of his brothers, apparently. Watching Holden and his S.W.A.T. teammates work and joke with each other, seeing Detective Grove’s diligence and the dedication of each of the officers who’d been in that conference room with her earlier tonight, she was beginning to understand that there was a brotherhood among the members of the KCPD that went beyond badges and bloodlines.

  One of their own had been murdered. And they were all looking to her to give them the answers they needed to bring their brother’s—or father’s—killer to justice. The weight of that responsibility was daunting. But she vowed tonight, more than ever, that she would do whatever was necessary to restore her memories and give them the answers they—and she—needed.

  But standing close to Holden like this, in the warmth of her kitchen, with his fingers stroking gently at her temple, and his seductive voice calming her more effectively than any therapy or medication, Liza began to believe that she would remember what she needed to one day. With every breath of his clean, undoctored scent, made musky by the work of the d
ay, Liza began to believe that she wasn’t quite so alone in the world. As unbelievable as it seemed, in the short few days that she’d known Holden Kincaid, she was beginning to think that she might be falling in love with him. Could reality be working as quickly as Shakespearean fiction?

  “You tired?” he asked, misreading her silence and pulling away.

  “Exhausted.” She summoned a smile to alleviate his concern. She was in no way, shape or form ready to admit to her thoughts. “But then I’m a grad student doing her internship, so I’m pretty much always tired.”

  “Then I’d better be saying good-night so you can get to bed. Make sure Grove sleeps on the couch, okay?”

  “If the dogs let him.” Not quite ready to let Holden’s reassuring presence go, she started plucking short, tawny hairs off his black uniform shirt. “I can see from the evidence here that you were playing with Cruiser. I told you she’s got a crush on you.”

  “Yeah, I’ve always been popular with the ladies.” Liza arched an eyebrow at the macho bravado in his voice. “By the way, the little guy likes me, too.”

  Liza scooped up Bruiser and cradled the dog high in her arms, holding him so that he could rest his front paws on Holden’s chest. “Do you like Kincaid, too, Bruiser?” In answer, the dog licked Holden’s face. “Oh, yes, you do. Yes, you do.”

  “Easy, tough guy.” Holden smiled wryly, grabbed the dog’s muzzle in a playful grip and pushed his tongue away. “Not exactly the kiss I was hoping for.”

  Laughing in a way she hadn’t for a long time, Liza pulled Bruiser down to her hip and reached up to wipe the traces of the dog’s lick off Holden’s cheek. His eyes locked on to hers at the caress, and the piercing blue color warmed, warming her in turn. Sliding her hand around to the sandy-brown crop of hair above his starched collar, Liza pulled his head down to hers. This was the kiss she wanted him to have. The kiss she wanted to receive.

  Holden’s hands came up to frame her face and feather into her hair as his mouth opened, moist and deliberate, over hers. She parted her lips and his tongue swept in, as familiar and wonderful as if they’d kissed like this before. Liza whimpered at the delicious tingling that danced through her blood when she slid her tongue against his.