might have been on any normal day with any other woman sitting in his lap.
The dog shook his silver fur, then curled his bushy tail around his backside and eased back onto his haunches.
“Sorry.” The fringe of Liza’s coppery hair was barely visible beneath the rim of her helmet as she adjusted it on her head. Then she slid onto her kneepads beside him and tried to untangle the leashes that bound their legs together. “He doesn’t warm up to people easily, but as far as I know, he doesn’t bite. Bruiser’s the one who’ll nip—”
A miniature German Shepherd-looking terrier thing jumped, barking, onto Holden’s thigh and stretched as close to Holden’s face as his ensnared leash allowed. He recognized the yipping bark from earlier. “Um…”
“Bruiser. Sit.” Liza snapped her fingers and pointed, and the black and tan spitfire moved back to the pavement and obeyed.
“Sweet.” He admired her authority over the dog. Not counting the tan greyhound who was sniffing his stocking cap, the canines seemed to be under control. Holden joined the quest to untangle themselves, but a closer inspection revealed the pale cast beneath the freckles on Liza’s cheeks. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “That’s what the helmet and pads are for.” She spun around on her knees to untangle the red leash that had wound around his ankles. “Are you?”
“I’m fine.” In fact, he barely noticed the ache in his shoulder and hip. Sheathed in fitted black running pants, her firmly rounded bottom bounced in front of him. Holden politely looked away—for a second or two. Heck, he was a healthy young male, and she was definitely a healthy young female. Holden Kincaid. He shifted uncomfortably as his mother’s voice reminded him of her expectations about how a lady should be treated. Ogling wasn’t on the list. Ignoring the improper heat simmering in his veins, Holden turned his attention to the greyhound who insisted on being petted. He stroked her smooth, warm flank. “I guess the dogs are okay, too? Are these guys all yours?”
Liza glanced up long enough to visually inspect each creature. “I’m sure they’re fine.” She continued to work quickly, almost frantically, to extricate herself and the dogs. When Holden reached down to help, she snatched her fingers away to attack a different tangle.
In another few moments they were free. Holden pulled his feet beneath him and stood while she looped the handle of each leash around her wrist. He took her arm to help her stand. But as soon as she was upright, she shrugged off his touch, nearly toppling herself again. “Easy,” he murmured.
She skated backward far enough to put her beyond his well-intentioned reach. When she was firmly balanced on her wheels, she tilted her chin and glared. Her puff of breath clouded the air between them. “What are you doing here? I’m not supposed to be talking to you.”
“Well, it’s a little late for that.” But she clearly wasn’t one for sarcasm, so he turned to more serious matters, and gestured up and down the empty path. “You should find an indoor track if you want to run at night.”
She pulled the dogs between them and straightened their leads. “And who would allow these three to join me? They need their exercise, too.”
“Then how about running in the daylight? Even with the dogs to protect you—” not that the greyhound nuzzling his hand was any great deterrent, “—this path is isolated enough to make it a dangerous place to run at night.”
“You’re here,” she argued.
“It takes a few more guts to go after someone my size than yours.” She was above-average height, and the wheels on her skates put her at eye-level with his chin. But there was still something distinctly feminine and vulnerable about her slender curves and youthful freckles that could catch a determined predator’s eye. “Any woman should take the proper precautions.”
Her eyes darted to the side as she seemed to consider his advice. But there was nothing but bold bravado in her expression when she tipped her chin to meet his gaze again. “You’re John Kincaid’s son. Do you know who I am?”
“Yeah.” There was no sense lying about what she must have already guessed. “I’m Holden Kincaid and you’re Liza Parrish.” He extended his hand to complete the introduction.
She didn’t take it. Instead, she wound the three leashes around her palm and tested their snug fit. “You’re not here by accident, are you. Detective Grove and the D.A. want to keep my face and name out of the papers—keep me as anonymous as possible. How did you find me?”
“I’m a cop.”
“You shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be talking to you.”
“So you keep saying.” Propping his hands at his hips, Holden leaned in a fraction. “But my brothers and I intend to find out the truth about what happened to our father. A gag order isn’t going to keep us from knowing that you’re the key witness. What story are you telling Grove? Did you see who killed my father?”
“I can’t answer those questions.”
Maybe assertive cop mode wasn’t the best approach here. He reached down and scratched behind the ears of the willing greyhound, suspecting the dogs might be the way to gain her trust. “What’s her name?”
“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
