Julie Miller - Private S.W.A.T. Takeover

“Cruiser.” The confident voice hesitated, as though suspicious of the new tactic. “She’s a rescue hound. She used to race. They’re all rescue dogs. The little guy’s Bruiser and the big guy is Yukon.”

Though the terrier mix seemed to be watching the interchange between mistress and stranger intently, the malamute faced away from them, looking poised and eager to continue their run. Holden said, “I know it’s scary to come forward to work with the police, especially when there’s a murder involved. But we have teams in place who can protect you. KCPD and the D.A.’s office won’t let anyone hurt you. Just tell Grove the truth. He’ll make the arrangements to put you in a safe house if you’re worried about some kind of retaliation.” He looked up from petting his new friend and offered Liza a gentle plea. “This case has been dragging on forever. The longer it takes to solve it, the less likely it is that we will.”

The conversation seemed to rattle her independent attitude. Her silvery gaze blinked, fell to his chest, wandered off into the shadows. The abrasive woman who’d avoided his touch and given him lip was now avoiding eye contact and backing away. “I really can’t help you. I mean, I want to, but—I don’t think I can help you.”

“You don’t have to break protocol and talk to me,” Holden reassured her, “but please be completely honest with Detective Grove. Tomorrow. As soon as you can.”

“I need to be going.” She turned away, clicked her tongue at the dogs. “Good night, Mr. Kincaid.”

“It’s Holden.” But she was already skating ahead with her dogs, crouching slightly and holding on as the two bigger dogs pulled her down the path. Little Bruiser jogged along behind. In less than a minute she was out of sight beyond the trees and shadows.

Holden tipped his face to the moon, cursing his dumb luck and dumber idea for coming here in the first place. So he’d said his piece to Liza Parrish—gotten that much frustration out of his system. Instead of speeding the process, he’d probably terrorized the woman into being even more afraid of sharing everything she knew with the police.

He took a few moments to stretch before resuming his run. A few moments to realize that her scent clung to his shirt, citrusy and fresh, with a tinge of antiseptic thrown in. Feminine. Clean. It only intensified his improper fascination with the woman.

He gave himself a mocking thumbs-up. “Way to get her out of your head, Kincaid.”

He’d better make that appointment with the department shrink because he didn’t feel like getting drunk and when he was off his clear-headed game like this, he had no business getting laid.

Looking around the maze of shadows and moonlight, Holden forced himself to think like a cop. Things had quieted down in the neighborhood now that Liza and her pack had passed through. But the exercise path was still deserted. It was still nearly midnight. Even if she wasn’t a murder witness, this wasn’t the safest route for a lone woman to take.

Holden inhaled a deep breath and turned around. Keeping his distance so she didn’t know he was following, he jogged after Liza and her dogs, keeping a watchful eye out. That’s all his family needed—to have something freaky happen to the eccentric, albeit finely built, redhead who could identify his father’s killer.

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