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?” Captain Cutler was speaking in her ear. “You still there?”
Tearing her gaze away from the dog and turning off those self-sabotaging emotions, she managed to keep an even tone as she answered. “I’m here, sir. Why don’t you want me to work over the holiday?”
“I don’t want you to work patrol,” he clarified. “Since you’re not traveling out of town, I’m recruiting you for a dedicated assignment this week. And you
will
be receiving overtime pay for the extra hours.”
Pay was the last thing on her mind at the moment. “What’s the team going to do at Gallagher Security?”
“Not the team, Randy. You.”
“Well, can’t Holden take the assignment instead of covering for me?”
“No. He can’t.” The normal clip of authority in his tone softened to something slightly more paternal. “I’d consider it a personal favor if you do this for me. Can you meet me tomorrow? After you’re done with whatever plans you have for Christmas morning?”
Miranda’s sigh filled up the cab of the truck. She was available after a bowl of cereal tonight if he wanted. Besides, doing a personal favor for the captain couldn’t hurt her chances of staying on SWAT Team 1 now that Holden Kincaid was back in the picture. “I’ll be there.”
She jotted down the address he gave her and promised to meet him at noon.
What kind of assignment was she good enough for, but Holden wasn’t? Or was it a case of what assignment was Kincaid too good for, but she was adequate enough to fit the bill?
Stop it, Murdock.
Miranda willfully shut down that negative voice in her head and disconnected the call. Dr. Kilpatrick might have her pegged better than she’d given the psychologist credit for. Her confidence really had been rattled by recent events.
Miranda shifted the truck into Reverse and pulled out of her parking space. When she braked to shift into Drive, she took a moment to scan her surroundings. There might be skeleton crews working over the holidays at KCPD, but none of them had parked up here. There wasn’t a soul to be seen. It was just her and the unblinking malamute who watched her drive past. And the dog didn’t count.
She was alone on Christmas Eve. No one was here to see her drive away; no one was at her apartment to welcome her home. Her boss had some sort of mysterious assignment that would separate her from the rest of the team for a week.
One might think she’d have gotten used to going solo through life by now.
But she hadn’t.
It stank.
Chapter Three
6 Days until Midnight, New Year’s Eve
What was she doing out here in the middle of this ritzy new subdivision on the northern edge of Kansas City on Christmas Day?
The homes were spread out on tracts of land, each one big enough to be a city park, with tall, old trees lining the road, and well-established landscaping, despite the newness of the construction of the multistory, sprawling mansions she could see from the road. Her whole apartment could probably fit into the garage of one of these places. Heck, it could probably fit into one closet. She was a long way from her home in downtown Kansas City in more ways than one.
Miranda checked the address in her hand one more time before turning her truck into the short driveway that marked the entry to Quinn Gallagher’s estate. Unlike the other estates she’d passed, there was no part of the house visible from the street until she pulled right up to the front entrance. Taking note of the cameras set on either side of the front gates, she peeked through the wrought-iron bars. There was a secondary set of gates recessed behind the decorative entrance. They looked solid, like steel doors that could come together to completely close off the front entrance. And from this vantage point she could see that the masking effect from the street had more to do with the height of the brick walls surrounding the property rather than the mansion being smaller than any of the others in the area.
Almost austere in its offset, multitiered design, the white house was set well back from the road, with a frozen creek that acted almost like a moat circling around it. The only thing breaking up the lines and angles of the numerous windows and long porches were the ropes of colored lights and greenery decorating it for the holidays. With a foot of snow on the ground, the undisturbed lawn on either side of the long, curving driveway created a sea of white. Approaching the house without being seen would be nearly impossible. It was probably an architect’s dream home, or, more likely, the brain child of a man obsessed with security for himself and his family. Snow drifted three feet deep at the base of the tall brick walls on either side of her, and nestled on every leaf of the thick ivy covering the barricade, completing the illusion of an impenetrable ice palace.
“The Fortress of Solitude,” she mused out loud, wondering if Quinn Gallagher had read the same comic books she had growing up. Either he was clueless about the whole steely-man-hidden-beneath-the-nerdy-exterior persona he projected, or he possessed a tongue-in-cheek sense of humor and was actually playing up the similarities to the incognito superhero.
Then again, maybe she was the only one in a five-mile radius who noticed that the gazillionaire inventor turned businessman resembled an icon from her youth.
Ignoring the random thought, Miranda rolled down her window to press the call button on the intercom system outside the gate. As she leaned out, her eyes went to the black BMW parked in front of a giant evergreen wreath at another set of estate gates farther down the road. It wasn’t unexpected to see an expensive car with a driver in this part of the city. It wasn’t unusual to even see the tinted windows that masked whoever was riding in the backseat.
But it was Christmas Day and she’d been the only traffic moving through the neighborhood since she’d turned off of I-435 near the airport. And if that was someone visiting a family member, why park in the street? Why not pull up to the gate as she had?
Maybe they were lost and stopping to read a map or check a GPS. It was a plausible explanation.
“Yes?” The unidentified voice over the intercom demanded her attention.
Apparently, friendly greetings weren’t standard procedure here. Miranda followed suit. “Officer Murdock from KCPD. I’m here to meet with Captain Cutler and Mr. Gallagher.”
“You’re expected.”
She heard a metallic snap, a motor firing up and then the distinctive sound of gears grinding against each other. Retreating from the cold, she rolled up her window and watched the heavy gates slowly slide apart.
She might have shifted into Drive and readied her truck to drive on through if some little sixth sense hadn’t pricked the hairs at the nape of her neck. Never one to ignore such a cosmic warning, Miranda subtly angled her head to check her mirrors and windows.
A woman so used to being alone had fine-tuned the instinct to notice when she wasn’t. Her gaze went back to the black BMW.
They weren’t lost.
They were watching her.
Or maybe watching the Gallagher estate?
As soon as she turned in her seat to look head-on at the lurking car, the backseat window rolled up and closed, giving her a glimpse of silver hair and pale eyes staring in her direction. The window hadn’t been cracked open before. Someone was definitely checking her out.
And there was no excusing the passenger’s curiosity as an effort to decide whether or not to approach her. The car with its unseen occupant suddenly sped up and drove past.
Instinctively, Miranda kept her truck in Park and blocked the entrance to the Gallagher estate. It wouldn’t be the first time an opportunistic thief or terrorist or whatever threat waited inside that car seized the opportunity to enter a locked-down area by tagging along when someone else opened the door. But the BMW never slowed. In a matter of seconds, it had turned the next corner and disappeared over a hill leading back to the highway.
But not before she’d pulled a notepad and pen from the center console of her truck and copied down the license plate number.
“You coming?” the voice from the intercom asked. “Drive forward so we can lock the gates.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tucking the plate number into her coat pocket, Miranda shifted into gear and pulled forward. She steered around the first curve of the driveway and headed toward the bridge decorated with multicolored lights and garland that spanned the frozen creek. A mysterious car with a curious passenger might be nothing important.
But a SWAT officer left nothing to chance.
“B
ABYSITTING
?”
Quinn finished the calculation he was figuring and typed the variables into the laptop on the desk between him and the leggy blonde sitting beside his good friend Michael Cutler. He adjusted his glasses as he glanced from Michael to Miranda Murdock. Had he not explained himself clearly?
He zeroed in on the curious mix of shock and resentment darkening the mossy-green irises of Officer Murdock’s eyes. She looked intelligent enough to understand the situation. This wasn’t going to work if the woman had an attitude, either. Surely Michael wouldn’t recommend her or have her on his team if she was a problem. “There’s a distinction, Miss Murdock.”
“It’s
Officer
Murdock.”
“My mistake,
Officer.
” He wished he had options besides Blondie here right about now. “I’m hiring you to protect my daughter until the threats against us have been resolved.”
“Wait a minute.” Her booted feet hit the carpet and she leaned forward in her chair. “I work for KCPD. You can’t just hire me away.”
For a split second, Quinn’s multitasking mind wandered away from both his calculations and the irritating need to clarify himself. For that split second, his brain filled with observations about Miranda Murdock’s black uniform and how not even the mannish turtleneck or starched collar could detract from the natural blush staining those sculpted cheekbones. And her long hair, pulled back with an eye toward practicality rather than style, was more than just blond. He detected variations of honey and wheat and sunshine in the strands framing her face. Very pretty coloring all round.
A pesky voice cleared its throat inside his head. Why was he noticing a woman all of a sudden? Why was he noticing this one? He had a wife. So the key word was
had,
since Valeska had been killed three years ago, shortly after Fiona’s birth. His New Year’s resolution in January had been to finally put away the wedding ring he hadn’t been able to take off. He hadn’t made any resolutions yet for the upcoming year about starting a new relationship, or even considering candidates who’d be eligible for one. This argumentative tomboy certainly wouldn’t be suitable.
Move on.
Just like that, the moment passed. Thoughts of his wife’s murder and the veiled threats against his daughter and company negated any fanciful observations about a woman’s subtle beauty and focused him firmly on the business at hand. He nodded toward the SWAT emblem embroidered above her chest pocket and returned to his calculations. “You can’t wear that outfit around Fiona.”
“I earned the right to wear this uniform.”
“And you should be commended for that. But my donation to the KCPD Widows & Orphans Fund gives me the right to decide how you dress around my daughter. I don’t want her frightened or put off by the military-looking attire.” Quinn completed his calculations and plugged them into the new parameters he’d been texted this morning. “She likes jewel-tone colors. Do you have anything like that you could wear? Jeans or slacks are acceptable over the holidays.”
“Jewel-tone…?” Her unadorned cheeks were blushing again. Temper, he suspected, not embarrassment. “Do you want me to paint my gun fuchsia pink?”
Quinn swung his gaze over to his friend for help. “Michael?”
This conversation had already taken more of his time than it should have. He had a deadline he needed to meet here. Hours after he’d transferred the money from his mother’s trust fund into the unmarked Swiss bank account, he’d received the next threat. Rework the blueprints on a remote-access lock he’d designed several years ago. It was an old system that was no longer in use with any of GSS’s customers, so it didn’t pose a security breach to GSS or any of its production facilities. But Quinn didn’t ask why the unidentified caller wanted him to waste his time on this today. It was enough that the caller had threatened to deliver another present for Fiona by the end of the day if Quinn didn’t comply.
Complete the task or it will be Fiona’s last Christmas.
Protests or not, refitting the old design by 5:00 p.m. made gaining Miranda Murdock’s cooperation of the utmost importance.
Michael Cutler had seen the text. He understood the threat. Maybe he could get Officer Attitude there to understand. “This
is
a police matter, Randy. Quinn and Fiona are Kansas City citizens whose lives and livelihood have been threatened. With GSS’s connections to KCPD, as well as to global security, the commissioner has asked us to form a protection detail to stay with the family 24/7 until we get this straightened out.”
“Through New Year’s Eve,” Quinn added, prepping the design for an online trial. “24/7 until January 1. And then…” His stomach somersaulted as he thought of his beautiful little princess playing with her presents in the adjoining family room. He prayed he’d be able to right whatever perceived wrong this bastard was accusing him of by New Year’s Eve. He wished his unseen enemy had come straight for him instead of involving Fiona in this sick countdown game. But then the creep must have known that there was only one way to get Quinn to do exactly what he wanted—threaten the love of his life.