Kansas City Christmas

by Julie Miller

  Then Irina had shown up at his office door.

  She had no loyalties conflicting her thoughts. She saw everything clearly. The money. The cover-up. What needed to be done to save them all.

  He hadn’t pulled the trigger that killed his friend. “I tried to save John’s life.”

  Susan collapsed in the corner of the seat with an audible gasp. Now she understood what he was trying to save her from. Now she’d come with him.

  And then he spotted the big, square vehicle in his rear view mirror, closing in behind them. A giant fist crushed what was left of his soul. “How in the…?”

  “Turn the car around, Bill.”

  He pushed harder on the accelerator.

  HOLLY TRIED TO RUB SOME warmth back into her nearly bare fingers as she stood and faced the audience who’d been watching her every move as she and her team processed the two dead bodies in the burned-out car. Edward and his brothers stood on their side of the yellow crime scene tape, as unyielding and unsmiling as the four faces of Mt. Rushmore.

  She looked from one grim expression to the next. Her heart was breaking at the fear and speculation that must be twisting them into knots inside. Better keep this clinical if she had any hope of maintaining her professional objectivity. “I can’t give you a conclusive answer until I get the vics back in my lab, but—”

  “Cut to the chase, Stick.” Edward’s expression was as cold and detached as she’d ever seen him. “Is it them?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Clouds of warm air masked their faces as they breathed out their relief.

  Not everything she had to say was good news. She glanced over at the detective in charge of the scene for approval before she held out the plastic evidence bag she’d already labeled. “But I did find this. Your friends were here.”

  Atticus reached for it first to study the gold ring inside.

  With only latex to keep her fingers warm, Holly shoved her hands beneath her CSI vest and tried to warm them against her body. “I took that off the driver. It has a Cyrillic Z etched on the inside.”

  “Looks like Dad’s fraternity ring,” Holden commented.

  Atticus adjusted his glasses and looked closer. “Not a fraternity ring. It’s a service ring. In this case, I’m guessing it’s something the members of Z Group received when they were officially disbanded.”

  He handed the bag to Sawyer to inspect. “Uncle Bill…” He paused as if saying the name left a bad taste in his mouth. “Bill Caldwell has one like it. I remember him wearing it at Dad’s funeral.”

  Edward took the bag and handed it back to Holly. “And we’re sure there are at least two different rings? This isn’t a souvenir Bill took off Dad, is it?”

  Holden shook his head. “Liza was there that night. She says it was definitely a woman who killed Dad and took the ring and chain off him.”

  “Speculate all you want,” Holly interrupted. “I deal in facts.”

  “I don’t like these facts.” Edward’s tone was bleak. He was probably still imagining that this was Bill Caldwell and their mother inside the charred vehicle.

  “Edward.” She tried to touch his hand but he flinched away. She’d like to blame it on the winter chill on her skin, but she recognized the signs of stoic withdrawal. He didn’t want to be touched, didn’t want to feel comfort—didn’t want to feel, period. But she refused to give up on the hurting man locked inside him. “It’s not your mother. The arson investigator places the fire late morning or early afternoon. That body has been dead for days.”

  “Thank God.” Holden finally offered her a grateful smile. “Since I talked with Mom just this morning, that can’t be her.”

  “So who are these bodies?” Edward asked. “Where did the ring come from?”

  “Offhand, I’d say it was a plant to throw us off the trail. We’ll have to check dental records, see if we can retrieve some DNA from the inner tissues, to ID them. But I’m guessing derelicts or bodies donated to science. If your friend Caldwell is involved—”

  “He is.”

  “—then he’d have access to research centers where he could ‘borrow’ a body. Someone tried to stage their deaths.” Holly returned both bags to her kit. “Ultimately, they’ve just given us more evidence we can evaluate and trace.”

  “More pieces to fit into the puzzle.” Edward’s eyes finally focused on her. But he was looking for answers from an M.E., not comfort from a woman who cared. “So, where the hell are Mom and Bill?”

  “Mount up, boys.” Kevin Grove waved the four uniformed officers on the scene toward their cars. “I think we found them. We’ve got a situation just a few miles from here at the winery.”

  “Bill and Mom?”

  “A man matching Caldwell’s description and two women. One could be your mom.” Grove closed his phone and clipped it onto his belt beside his gun. “The other woman is armed with a Makarov nine mil—a European spy weapon.”

  Edward nodded. “Irina Zorinsky.”

  “None of you were ever supposed to be working this case.” Grove matched eyes with Edward and each of his brothers, all of whom were pulling weapons and checking clips and preparing for battle. “But we’re twenty minutes from precinct headquarters and five minutes from the winery. I’m looking for all the backup I can get.”

  “Edward? Wait.” Holly reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out the leather wallet she’d taken from the box on Edward’s bed that morning. She opened it to reveal the KCPD badge inside. “You’ll need this.”

  For a timeless moment, Edward’s gaze hardened as he looked down at the symbol of guilt and pain—the symbol of the warrior; of the good, caring man he was inside, as well. Would he take it? Would he reclaim the job—reclaim the man she knew him to be?

  Holly held her breath—held his gaze. “Edward?”

  And then he snatched the badge from her hand, stuffed it into his coat pocket, and leaned across the yellow crime-scene tape. He caught the side of her neck with his gloved hand and pressed a quick, hot, hard kiss to her mouth. The instant he pulled away, without a single word, he turned and hurried to his Jeep to join the speeding parade of cars kicking up gravel and snow on the country road.

  After all five men had driven off into the hills to the north, Holly returned to her bodies and prepped them for transportation to her lab.

  She was certain of three things. She loved Edward Kincaid. Loved him so hard it hurt. And he needed her, maybe now more than ever.

  And neither Bill Caldwell nor Irina Zorinsky stood a chance against the cadre of armed police officers—of armed Kincaids—heading their way.

  “MOM!”

  “Su!”

  “Drop your weapon! Drop your weapon!”

  Twenty minutes of waiting and worrying, bickering and negotiating, threats and empty promises blew up in a matter of seconds when Irina Zorinsky turned her gun on Edward’s mother and fired. It had always been her practice to eliminate the threats to her world. She’d already buried a husband, a bastard son, countless employees who’d served their purpose—and one good man who’d been a cop for thirty years and a husband and father for longer than that.

  Tonight there were scuffles of guns and furniture, breaking glass, screams and then silence. Edward had simply charged forward from his cover, taking advantage of the momentary chaos and taking charge of the situation. He hoped.

  “Oh, God. Edward!”

  His mother’s gasp tore at his heart, but he couldn’t look away from his target. It was up to someone else to pull her out of harm’s way. He was taking out the bad guy.

  “Kincaid!”

  “Ed!”

  “He’s in it now. Let him work.”

  The worst thing about a Mexican standoff was that a man had to be able to pull the trigger. He couldn’t trust that the other guy—or woman, in this case—wouldn’t have the stomach for killing, either, and would drop his gun and walk away.

  Edward had no doubt that Irina Zorinsky had the stomach for killing. Bi
ll Caldwell was bleeding out on the floor beside him, having taken the bullet intended for Susan.

  “Foolish, foolish man. You’d be nothing without me!”

  Irina Zorinsky in the flesh was a beautiful, shapely woman. A throwback to red-lipped movie stars with exotic eyes and expensive tastes. Her lips might be trembling at the sight of her longtime lover and business partner dying with a bullet in his chest, but there was something cold and empty about her eyes. And the hand holding the gun was rock steady.

  “You’re just like your father, Kincaid. You’re the oldest, aren’t you? The loose cannon with nothing to lose that my Bill told me about.” The tip of her gun was barely a foot from Edward’s chin. The tip of his Glock was aimed squarely between her heartless eyes. “He couldn’t just let it go. When your father found out that Bill was still using our Z Group connections to turn a profit, he thought he had to do something about it. I had to come all the way from Sarajevo to do what Bill couldn’t. I eliminated your father, and I systematically eliminated anyone else who knew the truth. You have no idea how easy it is for a dead woman to wend her way around the world and take care of business that others cannot. And you think you’re going to stop me?” She laughed.

  Edward didn’t so much as blink.

  Grove was on a radio in the background. There was movement in his peripheral vision. One of the officers on the scene, a good Samaritan, perhaps, was on the floor helping his mother with Bill. He sensed his brothers searching for a location with a clear shot. None was clearer than his own. “You’re surrounded. And I’m not moving.”

  Unfazed by his threat, she smiled. “What about your girlfriend, the doctor? Won’t she be very sad when you’re gone? You know what it’s like to be left behind when a loved one dies, don’t you?”

  “Don’t listen to her, Edward!”

  Holly. Edward flinched at the sound of her voice, but didn’t dare look away. Damn it. She was the good Samaritan, a true doctor, tending to a dying man’s wounds. “Get out of here, Stick!”

  “I can’t. He needs my help. I need to reinflate his chest.” She pulled a checkered cloth off a nearby table and guided his mother’s hands to press against the hole near Bill’s heart.

  The two women he loved most in the world were in the line of fire. Again. “Damn it, Holly! Sawyer, Atticus—get them out of here!”

  “Where the hell is my S.W.A.T. team?”

  “Give me a rifle,” Holden commanded.

  “No, son. Your shoulder hasn’t healed enough for that yet.”

  “Be strong, Daddy. Grandpa says be strong. I know you can do it.”

  His daughter’s voice centered him. His father’s wisdom gave him courage.

  “Irina?” he started, in a voice rusty from injury but crystal clear in purpose. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Deputy Commissioner John Kincaid.”

  “HE’S GONE.” Ignoring the shouts and movement around them as Kevin Grove demanded backup, Holly reached across Bill Caldwell’s body and squeezed Susan Kincaid’s hand.

  Her gaze darted up to Edward in the middle of the winery’s dining room, standing toe-to-toe with Irina’s gun. The woman’s aim had been accurate. Despite Bill Caldwell’s heroic effort to save a friend or ease a guilty conscience, he’d never really had a chance at surviving. She didn’t think she could be more scared than she’d been that night she’d spent in the autopsy chamber, or the night she’d walked in on Edward contemplating a drink. But there was plenty of fear left in her to see the man she loved standing tall with a bullet pointed to his head.

  But she had to be strong. She’d been strong for Jillian and her family growing up. Edward needed her to be strong now.

  She lowered her gaze to Susan Kincaid. The older woman had been crying, but she was dry-eyed now. The family resemblance to her sons was unmistakable. Other than a few strands of gray, she shared Edward’s dark hair. His stubborn jaw must be from his father, but the courage and determination shining from Susan’s eyes had been passed on to her oldest son.

  “Mrs. Kincaid? You may want to turn away. I’m going to try to retrieve the bullet while it’s still fresh—before it begins to decompose. I need it for evidence.”

  Holly opened her tool kit. When she turned back to the body, Susan was already unbuttoning his jacket and pulling apart his shirt. “I can help.”

  She heard Edward’s voice above the fray. “Irina? You’re under arrest—”

  And then Holly’s phone rang.

  “Not now!” She dropped the scalpel and scrambled to retrieve Jillian’s phone from her kit. Unnamed.

  “Holly?”

  It rang a second time. Think, Holly. Figure it out.

  “That jerk.” Not her phone. Jillian’s. She’d only called one person besides Edward. And he was holding a gun right now, not a phone. That bastard. “Damn it, Rick, I know it’s you. You and your sick jokes.” She answered on the fourth ring. “Rick!”

  Her colleague stammered at her accusatory shout. “I was just calling to see why you didn’t come in with the bodies. Are you okay?”

  “Bull. You’re caught, you creep. I’m putting you on report.”

  And then she was staring at the barrel of a gun.

  “TURN OFF THAT DAMN PHONE!” The instant Irina swung her gun toward Holly, Edward attacked.

  He’d never punched a woman in his life. Now he had. He couldn’t say it felt good to hit her. But it felt damn good to do his job again.

  “Somebody get me some handcuffs.”

  EDWARD BRUSHED THE SNOW off Cara and Melinda’s gravestone.

  Though a part of his heart would always be buried in the ground beside them, he felt a new growth in his heart. It was a feeling of new life, new hope. And it was nurtured by love and confidence and purpose.

  “Good job, Daddy. Grandpa says so, too.”

  “Thanks, baby. I couldn’t have done it without your help to guide me. I love you, baby.”

  The crunch of snow alerted him to the long-legged woman walking up behind him. Holly had given him some time alone to square things with his family—to say his goodbyes and make his promises for the future.

  But now he was eager to move on with his life. Not that every step would go off without a hitch, but for the first time in two years, he was looking forward. And he wasn’t as afraid of feeling and living and losing as he’d been before he’d met Holly Masterson.

  The twinge in his knee and ankle as he pushed to his feet was just one of those hitches he’d learn to live with. He brushed away the tears freezing on his cheeks and straightened his coat. He adjusted the gun and badge he wore proudly, confidently, on his belt.

  He was back to the man he was supposed to be. John Kincaid’s oldest son. A testament to his father. A good cop. A good man.

  Because of this woman.

  He reached for Holly’s hand, pulled her to his side, and smiled. “Merry Christmas.”

  Understanding everything it meant for him to say those words, she smiled back and answered, “I love you, too.”

  Epilogue

  Edward Kincaid had lived through some scary things in his life. He’d held his daughter as she died. He’d stood up in an AA meeting and told a group of strangers that he was an alcoholic. He’d seen the woman he loved raise her chin defiantly as a murderer aimed a gun at her head.

  Yet walking up to his mother’s front door on Christmas Eve had to be about the scariest thing he’d ever done.

  But he had a promise to keep.

  Besides, the strong woman beside him had been most insistent. Part of the healing process, she’d said. Holly had been right about so many things—what he could do, who he could be. She’d been right about how to catch a killer and finally close the book on his father’s murder. Justice for his family had been a long time coming. It wasn’t as good as having his wise, loving father here to guide him. It didn’t take away the pain of knowing a lifelong friend had betrayed his entire family. But knowing William Caldwell was dead and Irina Zorinsky would pay for the l
ives she’d taken helped ease the Kincaid’s loss.

  Holly had known they could heal—Sawyer and Melissa and their son, Atticus and Brooke, Holden and Liza, Susan Kincaid.

  Even a beat-up son of a gun like him could. And they would heal, given enough time.

  But damn, this was hard.

  “Come on, Lieutenant.” Holly nudged him onto the front porch when his steps slowed. “Your family wants to see you.”

  Edward reached for the doorbell but hesitated as a flurry of activity crashed through the interior of the house. “Is that a dog barking?”

  “More than one, from the sound of things.”

  A little boy squealed. A mother’s warning softened into laughter and was joined by the deep voices of men.

  He felt Holly’s hand at the small of his back, urging him forward. “Go on.”

  Edward turned to face her, stroking her jaw with his gloved fingers, willing her to understand. “I abandoned those people inside. It took my father’s death to fish me out of a bottle and get me to even talk to them. My arrival might kill their celebration.”

  She smiled. That wise, beautiful curve of her lips that had always soothed him. “It might kill you if you don’t walk through that door.” She leaned in and kissed him with those beautiful lips. “Ring the doorbell. It’ll be the bravest thing you’ve ever done.”

  And so he did. After a beat of silence, the happy crowd inside seemed to rush the door. Edward quickly reached back to grab Holly’s hand and hold on tight for support.

  His mother opened the door. She wore the same holiday apron he remembered from his childhood. His brothers stood behind her. A wink from Holden. Nods of approval from Sawyer and Atticus. Beyond them, the commotion continued. Sawyer’s pregnant wife chased their toddler son through the foyer. A trio of dogs trotted behind, followed by a freckle-faced redhead trying to get their attention. A quiet beauty, with glasses and long hair, stopped to offer a shy wave before hurrying after the rest of the parade.