LITMIR.BIZ

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for Christmas dinner last year. Her mouth watered at the memory of silky, semisweet frosting and light, moist layers of pure fudge heaven.

      Her bowl of cereal was sounding pretty sad right about now.

      She entered the parking garage and jogged up the ramp to the second level, where she’d parked her red pickup that morning, long before they’d gotten the call to the Gallagher Security Systems building. As the morning’s events passed through her mind, her thoughts took a left turn and landed on the image of GSS’s boss, Quinn Gallagher, running the show in his poshly furnished, high-tech penthouse office.

      The tailored suit and way he spoke, straightforward and concise, as though he was used to people jumping at his word, were clear indicators of his wealth and power. But the short dark hair with that one shaggy lock falling out of place onto his forehead, and those Clark Kent–ish black glasses said science geek. Surprisingly, there’d been muscles under that suit coat. She’d seen them flex and push at the seams of his jacket when he picked up his little girl. Quinn Gallagher was an odd combination of a man—a nearsighted nerd with guns and pecs hidden beneath his suit and tie.

      Miranda grinned at the inside joke of her own making. Did Mr. Gallagher even know that he resembled a famous comic book character?

      “What’s so funny?”

      Stifling the startled gasp that tried to escape, Miranda halted at the big man climbing out of a truck parked in the row across from hers. The black KCPD sweats marked him as a friend, but recognition made it difficult to keep her feet from dashing to her own vehicle. Talk about lousy timing.

      “Hey.” Lame greeting, but sufficient. Holden Kincaid needed no introduction. She shrugged off the sappy grin that had caught his attention. “Private joke. About a comic book.”

      “It’s Murdock, right?” He pointed to the proportionately sized silvery malamute circling the bed of his truck. “Yukon, stay.” Amazingly, the dog sat on his haunches as his master crossed the driving lane to extend his hand. “Holden Kincaid.”

      “I know who you are, Officer Kincaid.” There was nothing but polite friendliness in his demeanor, so running away from the man whose return to duty was giving her such fits about her job would only broadcast the insecurity she needed to hide. With the work-out sweats, stocking cap and scarf tucked around his neck, she could guess he wasn’t here to take her job this evening. “Going for a run?”

      He nodded, thumbing over his shoulder at the dog. “Ol’ Yukon there loves the snow, so any chance we can do a winter run, we go for it.”

      Keep it natural and conversational. “Even on Christmas Eve?”

      His laugh clouded the chilly air. “Liza said I needed to get out of the house for a couple of hours. I take it there’s some Santa Claus stuff in the works with her and my son. So I took the dog out for a run, then came here to lift weights in the fitness center. I figure they need about another thirty minutes before it’s safe for me to go home.”

      Liza must be the wife. Friendly man. Obedient dog. Family at home. Miranda’s isolation burned like a giant hole opening up in her belly.

      “Well, I won’t keep you from Santa Claus.”

      “Wait a sec. Murdock?”

      “Yeah?”

      When she turned to face him again, his smile had turned into a wry frown. “I’m glad we ran into each other.”

      Right. So she was naive to think she was the only one who felt there was a competition between them. He was trying to make the best of an awkward situation. She should be mature enough—confident enough—to do the same. She pulled her ponytail from the collar of her coat and tossed it down the middle of her back, busying her hands for a moment to calm her nerves. “Yeah, well, it was bound to happen. I mean, you’re back from leave, and I’m…always here, apparently.”

      With something like a sigh of relief, Kincaid’s smile returned. “Captain Cutler said you were a bit of a workaholic.”

      Guilty as charged. “I like the rush of the job, I guess. I feel useful. I’m in my element.”

      “I know what you mean. I love being home with my wife and the baby, but I’m anxious to get back to it.”

      Great. So she and Holden Kincaid were kindred spirits with similar talents. They might have been friends under other circumstances—if he wasn’t gunning for her job; if she hadn’t taken his in the first place.

      She glanced around the nearly deserted garage and tried to make an exit again. “Well, um…Merry Christmas.”

      “Murdock.” This time Miranda kept walking. “Look, I just wanted to say this isn’t how I wanted it to happen.”

      She opened her truck door, but stopped at the odd remark. “Wanted what to happen?”

      Her cell phone rang in her pocket, but she was more concerned about deciphering the apology stamped on Holden’s expression.

      He nodded toward her coat pocket. “You’d better take that.”

      “What are you talking about?”

      “Your phone. It may be Captain Cutler.” He started backing away. “If so, it’s important.”

      “How do you know…?” An ingrained sense of duty pushed aside the ominous vibe that this chance meeting with Holden Kincaid had nothing to do with coincidence. Too many phone calls in her life meant a summons to an emergency, and seeing Michael Cutler’s name on the screen of her phone indicated this was a call she couldn’t ignore. She climbed into her truck, closing the door as she hit the answer button. “Yes, sir?”

      With a “Merry Christmas, Murdock,” Kincaid turned and jogged down the ramp and disappeared around the garage’s front gate into the night.

      “I didn’t catch you in the middle of dinner, did I?” her commanding officer asked. The friendly greeting told her this wasn’t an emergency.

      So Miranda took the time to start her truck and get the heater running before answering. “This is a good time to talk. What’s up?”

      “We’ve had a situation develop over the course of the day at Gallagher Security Systems that requires your…unique expertise.”

      “A situation?”

      With a muffled curse, the captain cut the chitchat and got straight to the details. “I talked to Sergeant Wheeler about your schedule this week. She said you volunteered to take some extra patrol shifts over the holidays so that some other officers could spend more time with their families.”

      He was calling her on Christmas Eve over this? “I’ve already cleared it with the desk sergeant. It won’t count as overtime. I’m just trading my vacation days for another time.”

      “It’s an admirable gesture, but I took the liberty of clearing your schedule for the next week. I’ve already talked to Holden Kincaid, and he’ll take the shifts you were going to cover so no one else has to change their plans. The team is on On Call status this week—if something comes up, he’ll fill in for you.”

      A bolt of icy electricity rippled down Miranda’s spine and her gaze shot to the black pickup in her rear-view mirror. This isn’t how I wanted it to happen. Kincaid’s words made sense now. He’d already known he was replacing her—not on SWAT 1, not yet—but that was what the preemptive apology was about. Cutler had already made the arrangements to get her out of the picture.

      The gray dog sat in the back of the truck, watching her. He’d probably known his master was here to take her place, too.

      She clenched her fist around the steering wheel as those insecurities that had plagued her since the Rich Girl Killer screwup shivered through her. She was losing the job she loved, losing her family, as Dr. Kilpatrick had put it. Only a girly-girl would sit here and cry about it. Still, the inevitable feelings of loss, betrayal and failure burned beneath her eyelids.

      “Randy?”

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