by Julie Miller
Once she had her coat buttoned up, she turned on the blinking red nose of the Rudolph pin at her lapel. The gaudy reindeer jewelry was a testament to her late mother, who’d loved to decorate and celebrate the holidays in a big way. Her parents had been gone for fifteen years, her family fractured. But over the years, she’d grown closer to Eli and Jillian than they’d ever been as children. Now, instead of missing her parents, she paid homage to them by maintaining some of their happiest—and goofiest—traditions. Touching the pin and feeling a loving smile from somewhere in Heaven, Holly grabbed her purse and gloves and headed for the exit.
If she was lucky, the streets would be cleared, the traffic would be light and she could get home to her apartment and get some decent sleep before she had to report for work again in the morning.
She had just pulled one glove on when her cell phone rang. Surely Eli wasn’t calling for another round of how she and Jillian couldn’t survive without big brother in the house.
Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her phone. The same familiar word instead of a number stared back at her.
Unnamed.
“Okay, fella.” Breathing out a weary sigh, Holly opened the phone. “Hello?”
Nothing. But the connection was live. She could hear the faint hiss of shallow breathing in the background.
“Hey. I know you’re there. You have the wrong number. You need to stop calling me.” More silence. Not even so much as a suggestive or crude message if that was his intent. Just…someone listening. “Who is this?”
Click.
She jerked the phone from her ear as if the soft disconnect had been a zap of static electricity.
What the hell kind of psych game was this? Holly snapped the phone shut and dropped it into her purse as she pushed open the door to the main hallway. “Idiot.”
A blur of white lunged at her from around the corner. “Gotcha!”
Holly yelped, automatically punching at the man who’d startled her while her heart was already thumping in her chest. “Damn it, Rick!”
Guffaws of deep-pitched laughter faded into a wide toothy grin on Rick Temple’s clean-shaven face. “Oh, that one was priceless. If you could see your expression.” He rubbed at a spot on his shoulder. “But you’ve got a mean punch, Doc.”
Talk about idiots. How one man could know so much about forensic science and yet beans about interacting with people in a mature, normal way eluded her. “What are you, in junior high? Sorry about the bruise, but startling the crap out of me is not funny.”
“Depends on your perspective.”
Holly flashed a grin that was more of a sneer than sincere.
“You’re a grown man. One of these days you’re going to have to start acting like one. These practical jokes are hard on my blood pressure.”
“Oh, but you make it too easy, lady. Walking around all serious, focused all the time. I’ve got to lighten you up.”
“Giving me gray hairs isn’t the kind of lightness I find amusing.”
“You’re not that old, Doc. You’ve got to start having some fun.” At least he had the decency to retrieve the glove she’d dropped. She knew him to be thirty-two years old, but the grin he still wore looked two decades younger as he handed over the glove. “Think of these little encounters as my way of keeping you on your toes.”
Did he think she wasn’t doing her job? The corrupted evidence files she’d been trying to re-create made her prickle a little more defensively than usual. Not for the first time, she wondered how much of Rick’s teasing was really a warped sense of humor and how much might be resentment that she’d gotten the supervisory job that they’d both applied for. It might be wise for her to remind him who was in charge. “You know, Rick, if you weren’t as good at your job as you are, I might have to write you up for your…personality quirks. If any of your jokes interfere with anyone’s ability to do their job…”
“Oh, good one, Doc. Flatter me and call me out, all in the same sentence.” He pulled back the front of his lab coat and shoved his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans. “I just wanted to catch you before you left and let you know that the preliminary report on that bullet I’m processing doesn’t look promising. I’ve been able to break it down into its components, and maybe even tell you how they’re decomposing so quickly. But pull a manufacturer’s name off it? Even at a microscopic level, I haven’t been able to pull anything substantive off the casing.”
Good. Fortunately, he could be serious when he talked about work. “Any luck with the caliber?”
“I’m guessing a thirty-five mil. I should be able to give you something definitive by the morning.”
Holly was breathing normally now. Her smile was genuine. And another possibility regarding the mysterious shadow had presented itself. “Thanks, Rick. Say, were you down in the basement a few minutes ago, trying to catch me with your update? I was on the phone, but you could have come in.”
“No.” As her humor returned, his faded. “I just now came down from the ballistics lab. Are you checking on me every moment of every shift now? Or do you just miss working side by side with me?”
“We still have plenty of opportunities to work together. I thought someone might be looking for me, that’s all. Thanks. I’ll look forward to that full report.”
“First thing in the morning, I promise. You headed out?”
She nodded. “I’m done for the night. See you at seven?”
“I’ll be here.”
“Good night.”
“Boo.” He flashed his hands in her face, startling her slightly. “Too easy. Just too damn easy.” Rick’s chuckle disappeared with him into the men’s locker room.
Shaking her head, Holly pulled on her remaining glove and turned toward the exit to the parking garage.
Nine nights out of ten, Holly enjoyed working the late shift. With a few juvenile colleague exceptions, she preferred the quiet and solitude of the nighttime hours. Dealing with fewer people meant she could concentrate on her work. Dissecting bodies and processing biological evidence tended to have an isolating effect in the first place, but the calm and quiet and focus on the job were what allowed her to deal with crime scenes that could often be gruesome, and victims who were always some form of tragic. Having to deal with the victim’s family or witnesses on top of the crime itself could be draining.
Yet tonight she couldn’t seem to settle inside her skin.
Holly pushed open the thick steel door that led from the lab building into the attached parking garage. The heels of her boots grated against the concrete as she strode to her car, the abrasive grinding of soles and grit echoing off the walls of the garage. There was an edginess crawling through her veins, and despite knowing she’d be reporting to help with a double-shift in the morning, she was beginning to think she wasn’t going to be getting much sleep tonight.
She didn’t know if it was the unexplained shadow or the pesky anonymous phone calls that had her so off-kilter. Maybe it was Rick’s eternal pleasure at getting a rise out of her or the conversation she’d had with Eli. No doubt it was a combination of all those things that made her so uneasy.
Lengthening her stride, she hurried past cars and trucks and empty parking slots. She pulled her keys from her purse and squeezed her fist tighter around the shoulder strap. Chances were, she was subconsciously preparing herself for another surprise from Rick.
That’s why, when she heard a car door open, she didn’t immediately panic. Enough was enough. If he wanted to keep playing these games, then she would chew him up one side and down the other like the immature child he was.
Only, that was no child climbing out of the black Jeep next to her Honda. And it wasn’t Rick.
Holly stopped. Stared. Retreated a step as a dark-haired man slowly unfolded himself from behind the wheel.
Rick Temple was merely annoying. This guy made her curl her toes inside her socks and brace for trouble.
When she wore her high-heeled boots, Holly stood six feet tall.
This guy was taller. Broader. The brass tip of a cane clacked against the concrete, drawing her attention down to the ground for a split second. When the car door closed, her gaze darted back up to collide with eyes that were gray and hooded and cold like steel. The late-night shadow of his beard was scraggly and dark and added an air of menace to his square jaw and angular features. Despite the cane, he moved from the shadows with a deliberate grace and Holly instinctively backed away.
“Dr. Masterson?” His gritty voice was deep in pitch, but hoarse, as though a cold had settled in his throat.
He knew her name? “Yes?”
Was that her pulse hammering in her ears? Or warning drums thundering inside her head?
The gray eyes cut right to the truth. “Don’t be afraid of me.”
Impossible.
“I need to talk to you.”
This man was no shadow.
And he was no practical joke.
Chapter Three
Great job, Lieutenant. The woman was running.
“Dr. Masterson?”
In the time it took her to spin around and move those long legs a couple of steps, Edward hooked his cane around her elbow. She twisted to escape but he tugged her off balance and caught her with his hand.
“Let go of me!”
When her leather purse came sailing toward his head like a roundhouse punch, he deflected the blow with his shoulder. “Hey! Watch it!”
A knee came next. He was forced to drop his cane and wrap both hands around her upper arms to protect himself.
“Let. Go,” she said through gritted teeth.
“You don’t understand.” There wasn’t much meat on her tall, lean figure, but what was there was all muscle. As his grip tightened, her struggles increased. “I just want to talk.”
“Then let go.”
“You’ll run.”
“I’ll scream.”
She was already making plenty of noise. Edward stifled a sigh. Their names had crossed during one investigation or another. He recognized her face from trials where they’d both testified. But he was still a virtual stranger. He should have introduced himself. Man, was he out of practice in dealing with people.
Trying to look less threatening and guessing he was failing miserably, Edward guided her back against a concrete pillar, easing his grip on the pink wool of her coat. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m a…” Cop. Wrong. He couldn’t exactly say that anymore. “I’m Edward Kincaid. You know my brothers Sawyer and Atticus. You and I have met briefly before—a couple of years back. Through work.” He waited for the names to register, the recognition to show in her eyes. Framed by long sable lashes, they were hazel green with beautiful gold sunbursts, doubts and suspicion shining from them. His hands were simply resting against her sleeves now, though he had her escape pretty well blocked with his body. “I need to ask you some questions about my father’s murder.”
She finally stopped twisting like a fish on the end of a hook, but her nostrils flared and her narrow chest rose and fell, unexpectedly distracting him, as she fought to regain control her breathing and this ridiculously out-of-whack meeting. “John Kincaid? You’re his oldest son?”
“Yes.”
“The late deputy commissioner was your father?”
“Yes. You performed his autopsy.”
Her eyes narrowed past pretty and she batted his hands away. “Haven’t you heard of the telephone?”
“I thought this was a conversation better done face-to-face.” Raising his hands in mute surrender, he tried to show her—albeit a little too late—that he had no intention of harming her. “I didn’t expect you to think you were being assaulted. I guess my face has changed more than I realized since the last time our paths crossed.”
“You said that before. When did we work together?”
“We testified at the same trial.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his black leather coat. She didn’t need to see the fists he had to make in order to say the dead man’s name. “André Butler’s.”
“Yes, of course, I remember now. Drug trafficker. Gang leader. Fancied himself a mini mobster. That ended in a mistrial. He…Oh.”
The color drained from her cheeks. He could see the apology—then the pity—cross her expression almost as quickly as the recognition appeared. She was checking out the scars along his jaw from the crash. Remembering the headlines. Maybe she’d even attended the funeral. The one that he’d been too busted up to remember much about. “I’m sorry. So sorry. Your family. I worked on all three…” She pressed her lips together, cutting that line of conversation. “Of course, I remember you. You should have introduced yourself sooner, Detective.”
“Let’s just go with Edward or Kincaid for now.” He wasn’t about to explain that one. He drew in a deep breath, determined to start this conversation all over again. If Holden could talk him into doing some legwork on this case, then he’d better do it right. His fists eased their grip inside his pockets. “I apologize for alarming you, but I was told you worked the night shift. I thought I could catch you on the way home.”
“Instead, you scared the life out of me,” she said. He turned to keep her in his line of sight as she moved away from the pillar to the open area in the middle of the garage. He’d give her the space and pray that with those legs she didn’t bolt. In some ways, he was in better shape than he’d been before the accident. But he didn’t think his right knee and ankle had a quick sprint left in them. “If you need to consult on a case, you should make an appointment.”
Turn around. Look me in the eye. Show me you’re not running. “This isn’t exactly an official visit,” he explained.
With that, she stopped. He forced himself to look away from the heart-shaped rounding of her bottom as she squatted down in her jeans. Just being polite, he told himself, pretending a few dormant male hormones hadn’t just stirred to life below his belt buckle. Well, if feeling guilty at perking up over a woman who wasn’t his late wife didn’t put him in a mood, then Holly Masterson’s actions did.
She stood and turned, holding out the cane she’d picked up. Held it out with an apologetic “Sorry” like he was some kind of crippled old man who needed her help.
Edward snatched it from her grasp and plunked the tip down on the concrete, feeling a sudden need to lean on its support.
“What is it, then?” she asked. Despite his surly lack of thanks, she was looking more curious than irritated now. And the fear he’d put in her eyes a few minutes ago was long gone. “Have you discovered a new lead on your father’s murder?”
Right. He was here to work. To ask questions and do things a regular cop couldn’t do. Hormonal reactions and hits to the ego had nothing to do with this. “Detective Grove is running the investigation, but I have a different angle I want to work on the case.”
“And you have clearance to do that on your own father’s murder?”
“I said it was unofficial.”
“I see.” She worked her green-gloved fingers around the strap of her shoulder bag. When the kneading movement stilled, she tipped her chin and looked him straight in the eye. “You do know that the two bullets I recovered from your father’s body in April have since decomposed to the point that they’re useless for any kind of clinical analysis. And that my lab’s original ballistics and trace reports on them were purged from my computer files by a virus?”
His brothers had filled him in on the destruction of evidence that seemed too convenient to be any kind of accident. “Those are just a couple of the problems I have with this case. That’s why I’m taking advantage of my…inactive…status with the department to do a little investigating on my own.”
She clutched the strap tighter and took a step closer. “You think there’s someone on the inside messing with this case?”
“Possibly.” Somebody with connections somewhere had been systematically eliminating witnesses and destroying evidence almost as soon as they were uncovered. Z Group, the covert agency Edward and his brothers belie
ved was behind their father’s murder, had vast resources—enough to pay off or extort cooperation from almost anyone. It was the players who wouldn’t cooperate—like John Kincaid—who’d been silenced. “I don’t want to think it’s a cop, but there are a lot of other people with connections to the department to consider as well—the lab, the press, technical staff, veterans, family.”
She shook her head. “No one from my lab—”
“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just looking for answers.”
Her smooth, unadorned lips curled into a pensive frown. But those hazel eyes indicated she’d been thinking something through from the moment he’d released her. It almost startled him when her face relaxed into a smile. “I’ve never liked an unfinished puzzle. As long as it’s not illegal, how can I help?”
The steel door leading from the garage into the building opened behind her and a young man with spiky brown hair walked out. Edward lowered his voice. “I’d rather not discuss it here. Are you free right now? I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”
It was half past midnight on a Wednesday morning. But he was hoping her work schedule meant she was a fellow night owl. “Well, I was planning to go home and get five hours of sleep before I have to turn around and come back to work in the morning. We’re all covering extra shifts during the holidays so folks can go on vacation and be with their families.”
Holidays. Holly. Oh, joy. The blinking reindeer nose on her coat had been far easier to ignore than the unique color of her eyes. But now Rudolph seemed to be flashing in his retinas like some kind of danger warning. Suddenly, what had just been another winter night was now one of the final shopping days left before Christmas. Suddenly, he was bleeding out in the snow and saying Merry Christmas to his daughter for the very last time.
“Hey.”
Something soft and warm brushed across the back of his knuckles and Edward’s eyes popped open. Oh God. Where had he gone? What had he said? Was he scowling as hard as the cramp in his jaw indicated? He needed to get out of here and get a beer.
No, Daddy. You promised.
