Private S.W.A.T. Takeover

by Julie Miller

  “Yukon? Oh, damn. Yukon!”

  These few days with Liza had moved at a supersonic pace. As the dog bounded off into the trees and Liza chased after him, Holden wondered if every day of her life moved this fast. He wondered if he could keep up. He wondered at just how badly he wanted to try.

  “Here, boy!” she shouted. “Yukon! Hey, a little help?”

  Holden stuck his tongue behind his teeth and let loose a shrill whistle. “Yukon! Come!”

  The dog halted and turned. With a shake of his shoulders that reminded Holden of a shrug of resignation, the big malamute loped straight back to the Jeep and jumped into the backseat with the other two dogs.

  “Show-off.” Liza jogged up behind them, looking young and fresh and nothing like the tortured soul whose nightmares had left her in agony. She shot her fingers through her hair, fluffing the copper silk into irresistible disarray. “Thank goodness he answers to you. I thought I could trust him off his leash in the unfamiliar surroundings—that he’d be less likely to run off if he didn’t know where his next meal would be coming from.” Catching a deep breath, she pressed a hand to her chest and beamed a smile at Edward. “Thank you for all your help.”

  “Thanks for asking.”

  In two short hours, Liza had done for his brother what no one had been able to do for nearly two years—he smiled.

  Just for a moment, and then it was gone.

  If nothing more ever came of their relationship, Holden would always be grateful to her for that.

  Edward? Maybe not so much. He was already heading back up to the porch and waving them away. “Now give a man some peace and get out of here.”

  MR. SMITH TILTED HIS FACE forward and looked into the mirror, inspecting the stitched-up gash in his shaved scalp.

  With distinct injuries like the long bruise across his sternum, the slight scrapes from the air bag’s deployment on his face—sure indicators of an automobile accident that would never be reported—an emergency room and full-fledged doctor had been out of the question. But this after-hours clinic offered a sufficient enough facility. And, more importantly, for the right amount of money, the staff who’d worked on him could be discreet.

  “It’s a good look on you.” Long feminine fingers gleamed against starched black cotton as his employer helped him slip into the new shirt she’d brought him. She touched one French-tipped nail to the tiny tattoo—a Cyrillic Z—on his right shoulder blade, where he’d branded his allegiance to her. Her reflection smiled beside him. “It’s another badge of honor for you.”

  “A badge of honor for failing his mission?” The boss paced in the background. Though Mr. Smith was savvy enough not to dismiss the boss’s influence and experience, he could feel an air of desperation in the examination room. With the click of a remote, the television above Mr. Smith’s unused bed was turned off. “This job is all over the news this morning. A car wreck on 291. A house in the suburbs shot up by rival gangs.”

  Mr. Smith pulled on a silver silk tie. “Is that the spin KCPD is putting on it?” Imagine that, the work of one man, trained in stealth, with an extensive arsenal at his disposal, being credited for the work of an entire gang.

  The boss was less impressed. “What I see is a lot of damage, a lot of publicity—and no dead witness. Do I need to call in someone to assist you?”

  Now that was insulting. “Mr. Smith” had been the code name for Z Group’s top assassin for over thirty years. And he’d held the distinction longer than any of his predecessors. For one of his superiors to accuse him of losing his edge meant he was in danger of being stripped of his status. A former Mr. Smith had nowhere to go. Unless he moved up and became a boss.

  Or he became dead.

  Rich, number one and alive were all choices far better suited to his tastes.

  He flicked a dimple into the perfect knot of his tie before turning to look the boss directly in the eye. “I will deal with Officer Kincaid myself. Without him, the redhead will be easy prey. Your secrets will be safe once more.” And, his reputation as the best would be restored. “Did you get me the information I asked for?”

  The boss nodded. “I’ve activated my contacts to see if we can narrow down the search. Until Kincaid calls in, we’ll have to rely on deductive reasoning and track them.”

  A good hunt. He nearly licked his lips at the challenge. Securing a location for his assault on the safe house, including eliminating the one cop on patrol who’d seen his setup in the trees behind the neighbor’s house, had been little more than a game to him. Kincaid’s escape had upped the stakes and made the mission more suited to Mr. Smith’s particular skills and talents.

  Besides, the cop had jammed the firing pin of his favorite rifle with that crazy lucky shot from the house.

  “Fine.” The delay would give him a few hours to catch some shut-eye, put on a proper suit and clean his guns. “I’ll need a new vehicle, as well.”

  “It’s already in the parking lot out front. The keys are in your overnight bag.” Side by side, the boss and his employer headed for the door, looking more like two business associates—or family, even—than the rivals they’d turned out to be.

  Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

  Should he be concerned that the boss and his current employer could put aside their love-hate relationship and join together to turn him into the scapegoat for their dirty secrets and the dead bodies necessary to keep them?

  Of course, he should. He’d put a contingency plan into place for that possibility as well.

  The boss stopped at the door and turned. “Don’t disappoint me.”

  Mr. Smith inclined his head with the slightest of nods and watched them leave. As he gathered his things and went outside to a new black SUV, he began to formulate his strategy. The redhead wasn’t the issue anymore—though she was his paycheck and he would certainly get that job done. His seductive employer and powerful boss weren’t even the issue. His personal mission now wasn’t about Z Group or secret witnesses or covering their asses or any other damn thing.

  This was personal. This was survival of the fittest. Holden Kincaid’s skills and resourcefulness had proved to be almost as good as his.

  Almost.

  There was only one Mr. Smith.

  Kincaid was good. But he was better.

  He had to be.

  Chapter Ten

  “Penny for your thoughts.” Liza strolled up beside Holden, who stood at the lip of the steep rocky bank of the Black River.

  The moon was full, illuminating the path from their tent in the Ozarks, even through the canopy of tall, ancient pin oaks and evergreens. But it was cold in the moonlight, and away from the campfire, she huddled inside her sweater, wishing they’d had the time to pack winter coats. Of course, if they’d had that kind of time and opportunity, they wouldn’t be roughing it like survivalists at a deserted off-season campground in the first place.

  Holden was staring down into the water rushing past below their feet. Between the dark eddies and deeper currents, the water hit the big granite rocks, splashing up into the air and glittering like diamonds in the moonlight. It was a beautiful, rugged area, and she felt completely isolated from any vestige of civilization or danger.

  So why was he still so quiet? “Hello? I staked the dogs out on their leashes and cleaned up all our trash. What are you doing?”

  He breathed in deeply, stretching his shoulders against his sweater, and pulling his hands from the pockets of his jeans. “I’m thinking that it’s too late to catch anything tonight.”

  Relieved by his answer, Liza laughed. “Come on, I already made a couple of mean turkey-and-Swiss sandwiches and even roasted marshmallows for those s’mores you ate. You are not thinking about fish.”

  “Canoeing, maybe? The river’s deep enough here if you keep to the channel. Of course, when you get to the Shut-Ins,” a unique formation of giant rocks that split the river into dozens of mini-waterfalls, “you’d have to carry the canoe quite a ways—”


  “Wait a minute. You mean you in the generic sense, right? I am so not carrying your canoe for you.”

  That earned the beginnings of a familiar smile. “Well, we could put wheels on the bottom and hitch up Yukon. Make him do the work.”

  Liza shivered and hugged her arms around her middle. But she wasn’t ready to walk away from this companionable exchange just to get warm. “Are there walking or biking trails around here? I bet this is beautiful earlier in the autumn, when the trees are just starting to turn. Or in the summer. All the shade would keep things fairly cool.”

  “It’s a great place any time of year.” She felt his gaze on her and Liza tilted her chin to meet his wistful expression. “My dad took us all over the state to camp and fish and hunt—”

  “You shot Bambi’s mother?”

  He laughed. “I wondered when Dr. Animal Lover would figure that one out.”

  “Oh, from Day One, mister. I figured you were one of those outdoors-y tough guys. Intellectually, I understand about controlling animal populations and conservation, but I can’t say it will ever be a hobby of mine.” She crinkled up her face and made a confession. “I have to admit, though, that I love a good breaded catfish. My mom had a great recipe. Or some grilled walleye.”

  “You mean you’re not a vegetarian?” He seemed properly aghast.

  “Hello. I ate two of those turkey sandwiches, too.” She swatted his shoulder playfully, then wound her arm through his and snuggled to his side. “Tell me about your dad and coming here.”

  His telling sigh quieted their laughter and brought them closer together. “Every weekend of every summer—unless one of us had a ball game or Scout camp—Dad would pack us up and take us somewhere. Mom came sometimes, but it wasn’t her thing. Well, actually, I think she kind of enjoyed being outdoors, but she knew it was a guy thing for us.”

  “And you have three brothers, right?”

  He nodded. “Sometimes, my dad’s best friend from his fraternity and military days, Bill Caldwell, came with us. Man, did they have jokes and stories to tell that—” he cleared his throat “—I won’t repeat.”

  “That good, huh?”

  They stood together in the serenity of the moment for some time before Holden spoke again. “It was never about catching a fish or seeing who could build a fire without matches. It was about spending time with my dad. And my big brothers. It was about becoming a man.”

  “John must have been a wonderful father.”

  “The best. He taught us about integrity and character and loyalty. Taught us about love.” She felt Holden grinning above her. “He taught me to sing, the best way to get back at Sawyer when he pulled a prank on me. He taught me to respect the land and appreciate the beauty of nature.”

  Holden leaned back from the link of their arms and reached down to tip her chin up. There was a drowsy longing in his expression that stirred an answering warmth inside her.

  He studied her face long enough that she gave a nervous laugh. “What?”

  “Thanks for listening. I miss him.”

  The laughter transformed into a liquid energy that filtered into her blood. “I know. I miss my folks, too. It’s good to remember what was wonderful about them.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah.”

  He drew his finger along the curve of her jaw. “Your skin’s beautiful in the moonlight.”

  “Are you crazy? I’m a pale woman with freckles from head to toe.”

  “Seriously?” Within a heartbeat the mood between them changed from trading comforts to something much more intense. “You have freckles…everywhere?”

  The look in his eyes changed from gentle longing to downright predatory. And daring.

  Liza began a slow, knowing laugh and tried to back away. “Oh, no. No, no.”

  But Holden had a hold of her wrist. As she tugged away, he tugged back, pushing up the end of her sleeve. He touched his fingertip to the back of her hand. “One.”

  “You are not—”

  “Two.”

  Liza tried to twist away, but he used the motion to spin her around and pull her back against his chest. With his arm pinning her waist, he brushed the hair from her temple and touched her cheek. “Three.” He touched her again. “Four.” And again. “Five.”

  She was laughing out loud by the time he dipped his mouth to the side of her neck. “Thirteen. Fourteen.”

  “Stop!” She wriggled against him, rubbing her bottom over the zipper of his jeans.

  He moaned against her collarbone. “Fifteen.”

  “Kincaid!”

  He palmed her belly, sliding his hand up beneath her sweater and undershirt to brand her cool skin. “I can only count the ones I can see. I wonder if I can feel them? Hmm.” He tongued the sensitive skin at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. “Or taste them.”

  An instant heat followed the friction of his hand and mouth, filling Liza with desire as much as laughter. “You can’t—” She made a token push against his arm, but his hand slipped higher. “You can’t—”

  His palm settled with a possessive heat over her bare breast and Liza cried out at the instant spear of fire that went straight to her core. “I feel that,” he whispered in a seductive caress against her ear. He caught the aching nipple between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed and tormented the pearling nub until she wasn’t laughing at all, but whimpering with need. “Liza…”

  His voice was low and urgent, and it fueled something urgent inside her, too. At some point in this seduction, Liza’s hands had started moving, too. She reached behind her, digging her fingers into his corded thighs and anchoring her bottom against his growing need. The rush and splash of the river filled her ears and seemed to set the pace and the fury of the blood pumping through her veins. Something blindingly hot and ultra-feminine gathered in her tingling breasts and pooled between her thighs.

  “We can’t…here…it’s…freezing…” It was a breathless protest, a beseeching request.

  He pulled his hand from her breast and turned her, forcing her to retreat as he moved forward. He bent his head and kissed her. Took another step and obliged when she tilted her mouth to kiss him again. “Run.”

  “What?” She was mindless with fire and want, and didn’t understand.

  He kissed her one last time and slipped his hand into hers. “Race you.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” He pulled and she followed. Their steps were awkward at first, but then she found her balance and darted ahead. His long legs stretched and easily ate up the ground to surge in front of her. She pumped her legs faster and together they reached the tent, breathless and laughing, startling the dogs and on fire for each other.

  Inside the tent Liza pulled off her sweater and shirt and toed off her running shoes as Holden zipped the tent flap shut. He unhooked his belt and gun and kicked off his boots while she skimmed his sweater over his head and arms, pausing only long enough to treat herself to a taste of taut male nipple nestled in a thatch of golden brown hair.

  The race continued with a crazy, fumbling effort to zip the two sleeping bags together, lose their jeans and then climb inside the giant insulated bag before the brisk autumn temperature had a chance to chill their fire.

  Holden squeezed her bottom and dragged her on top of him, finding her mouth and kissing her sweetly, deeply, thoroughly, kissing her until she thought she might burst from the conflagration of heat building inside her.

  “What are you doing?” Liza asked when Holden reached outside the bag to retrieve a flashlight. Surely he wasn’t having second thoughts. Had he heard something? “Kincaid?”

  He turned on the light, grinning like a boy who’d just discovered a whole new jar of candy. “I lost count.”

  He rolled her off to the side and then dove inside the sleeping bag. “Kincaid?”

  She felt the nip of his teeth on her bottom. “One.”

  By the time Holden got to ninety-three beneath the curve of her left breast, Liza was a feverish quiver of h
eat and desire. Breathing hard, feeling heavy, needing him, she begged him to finish the game. “Holden. Please.”

  He tossed the flashlight out of the sleeping bag and crawled squarely on top of her, propping himself up on his elbows and gently stroking the damp hair off her cheek. “Say it again.”

  “Please.”

  “Say my name. Not Kincaid. Say it.”

  She dragged her fingers down his slick back and squeezed the curve of his muscled backside. She grinned. “Holden.”

  He entered her once and retreated, teasing her. Entered her again and filled her up, letting her adjust to his size and shape. She’d concede the race if he’d only grant her what she needed.

  “Now, Holden.”

  “Yes, Liza.”

  He captured her mouth and moved inside her and carried them both, winners, over the finish line together.

  HOLDEN LAY AWAKE IN THE DARK for some time after, his body blanketed by a beautiful naked woman, his soul replete with the kind of solace that could only come from a connection to another person that was as true and right as the link he felt to Liza Parrish.

  He grieved for Dominic Molloy and his father. Railed against the injustice of having his father and best friend taken from his life by some bastard who thought they deserved to live and thrive while two good men were dead. He felt protective and possessive of, and totally humbled by the gifts this woman had given him.

  Laughter. Hope. Healing.

  Undeniable passion.

  Unmistakable love.

  They were fated to be together, meant to love—like that silly story about Romeo and Juliet she’d mentioned.

  As he drew gentle circles across the smooth skin of her back, and the soft caress of her sleeping breath whispered across his chest, Holden vowed that their ending would be very different from the bard’s version of that love story. They were going to survive this. They were going to marry and have kids—they’d have more dogs, at least. And they were going to live happily ever after.