Private S.W.A.T. Takeover

Holden adjusted the umbrella to keep his mother covered as William Caldwell, his father’s best friend since their fraternity days at college, bent down to exchange a hug. The laugh lines alongside his mouth had deepened into grooves, emphasizing his silvering hair and indicating another casualty of John Kincaid’s death.

“Holden.” As Bill pulled away, he reached for Holden’s hand. “I can’t tell either of you how sad, and how angry, this makes me.” Releasing them both, he straightened his own black umbrella over his head. “I’m making a sizable donation to the KCPD Benevolence Fund in John’s name, but if there’s anything more personal I can do…anything…ever….”

Bill Caldwell ran his multinational technology company as smoothly as he’d told B.S. stories around the campfire on the many hunting and fishing trips he’d taken with the Kincaids over the years. But today he seemed to be at a loss for words.

Susan squeezed his hand, rescuing him from his overwhelming emotions. “Come to the house, Bill. We’re having an informal potluck dinner. Nothing fancy. I just want to be surrounded by everyone who loved John. I want to celebrate what a good, wonderful man he was.”

Bill squeezed back and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I’ll be there.”

Holden settled his mother into the back of the black limousine they’d ridden in to the cemetery. After tucking a blanket over her damp legs and finding a box of tissues to set beside her, he closed the door and circled the long vehicle to greet Atticus as he walked up the asphalt road. Alone.

Holden’s temper flared again. “Where the hell is Edward?” His long strides took him away from the limo. “You went to talk to him. What did he say?”

As usual, Atticus didn’t ruffle. “I talked to him. As tough as this is on us, you have to know it’s probably harder for him to be here. His wife and daughter aren’t that far from where—”

“I know he’s hurting,” Holden snapped. “But Mom wants to see him. He can’t be such a selfish son of a bitch that he’d cause her pain, can he?”

“Get off your high horse. Sawyer’s with him—bringing him around to avoid the crowd. Ed won’t let Mom down.”

“You don’t have to defend me, Atticus.” Edward and Sawyer walked out of the woods to the limo. “Got your boxers in a knot, baby brother?”

The rain whipped his face as Holden spun around. Edward’s dark hair and beard had been trimmed short—a vast improvement over the shaggy caveman look he’d sported a couple of weeks ago the last time Holden had dropped by his place to try to annoy him out of his drunken grief. Yet there was something dark and sad about his pale gray eyes that wiped away Holden’s temper.

He noted the scar cutting through Edward’s beard, and the way he seemed to lean heavily on his cane as he approached. Edward had been through more than any man should have to endure, and Holden was immediately contrite about any doubts he’d had about his oldest brother’s loyalty to the family.

“Hell.” It wasn’t much to offer in the way of sympathy, but Holden walked the distance between them and wrapped Edward up in a tight hug. “I miss you.”

At first, Edward’s shoulders stiffened at the contact. Then one arm closed around Holden’s back and squeezed with a familiar strength. But just as quickly as the bond was affirmed, Ed was pushing him away. “Get off me, kid.” He inclined his head toward the limo. “Is Mom inside?”

“Yeah.”

Edward swiped the rain from his face and looked at Holden, then beyond to Sawyer and Atticus. The four brothers hadn’t been united like this for a long time. But the unspoken sentiment between them felt as strong as ever. “This ain’t right.”

After Edward climbed into the backseat for a few minutes alone with their mother, Holden closed the door and straightened, standing guard to ensure their privacy. Sawyer rested his forearms on the roof of the limo on the opposite side, looking first to Atticus beside him, and then across the top to Holden. “We’re gonna get whoever did this, right?”

“Right,” Atticus said before turning away to scan the departing crowd and keep everyone else away from the private family meeting.

Holden took the same vow. “Amen.”

Chapter One

October

Oh God. In her sleep, Liza Parrish rolled over and tried to wake herself up. It was happening again. And she couldn’t stop it.

“Shh, baby. Shush.”

Liza closed her hand around the dog’s muzzle and hunched down closer beside him in his hiding spot in the shadowy alley. The fact that he didn’t protest the silencing touch was evidence of just how close to starvation this furry bag of skin and bones was.

He was lucky she’d come here after classes and work tonight, following up on a call to the shelter about an emaciated stray wandering the dock area that neither the county’s Animal Control Unit nor the Humane Society had been able to catch. She’d get him back to the vet’s office where she was interning—feed him a little bit of food and water, run some tests to make sure he wasn’t infected with heartworm or some other debilitating disease, give him some love and a bath, and maybe just save his life.

But who was going to save her?

She hoped the dog was the only one who could hear her heart thumping over the whoosh of the Missouri River, surging past only a few yards away.

Trying to calm herself so the dog wouldn’t panic and give away their position, Liza blinked the dampness of the foggy night from her eyelashes. If only she could blink away the stench of wet dog and old garbage just as easily. If only she could blink herself to safety.

Her leg muscles were beginning to cramp in protest against just how long she’d been curled up with the knee-high terrier mix, hiding behind the trash cans and plastic bags that smelled as if they could have been left in this alley off the river docks ever since the warehouses on either side had closed. She was tired, aching, chilled to the bone—and scared out of her mind.

But she wasn’t about to move.

Hearing two gun shots from the other side of the brick wall she huddled against did that to a woman.

Watching the two men waiting in the black car parked only ten, maybe twenty feet from her hiding space also kept her rooted to the spot. Her jeans were soaking up whatever oily grime filled the puddle where she crouched. The only warmth she could generate were the hot tears stinging her eyes and trickling down her cheeks.

Was this what it had been like for her parents and for Shasta? Endlessly waiting for death to find her. Fighting back the terror that churned her stomach into an acid bath. Driving herself crazy trying to decide whether, if she was discovered, it was smarter to fight or run for her life.

She felt her parents’ terror. Felt her pet’s confusion as he valiantly tried to protect them. Felt their senseless loss all over again.

Two gunshots.

Death.

And she had a ringside seat.

The dog squirmed in her arms and Liza absently began to stroke his belly, feeling each and every rib. “Shh, baby.” She mouthed the words. She wasn’t the only witness to this crime.

Eyewitness.

Almost of their own volition—maybe it was a subconscious survival streak kicking in—her eyes began to take note of the details around her.

Black car. Big model. Missouri plate B? Or was that an 8? Oh hell. She couldn’t make out the number without moving.

But she could see the men inside. She had a clear look at the driver, at least. He was a muscular albino man, with hair as shockingly white as the tattoos twining around his arms and neck were boldly colored. In the passenger seat beside him sat a black man. He was so tall that his face was hidden by the shadows near the roof of the car’s interior. She could tell he was built like a lineman because he was having a devil of a time finding room enough to maneuver himself into his suit jacket.

The size of the black man was frightening enough, but the albino looked crazy scary, like he’d beat the crap out of anyone who stared crosswise at him.

She was staring now. Stop it!

Liza closed her eyes and turned away. She could note any damn detail she wanted, but if those crazy colorless eyes spotted her, she was certain there’d be no chance to tell anyone what she’d seen.

The gunshots had rent the air only a couple of minutes ago, but it felt like hours had passed before she heard the next sound. The sticky, raspy grind of metal on metal as someone opened the front door of the warehouse and closed it with an ominous clank behind him. At the sharp bite of heels against the pavement, she opened her eyes again. The black man was getting out of the car with an umbrella, opening the back door.

“No, Liza. Don’t look.” It was almost as if she could hear her mother’s voice inside her head, warning her to turn away from the eyes of a killer. “It’ll hurt too much.”

“But I need to see,” she argued, feeling the tears welling up and clogging her sinuses again. “It’s the only way I’ll be free of this nightmare.”

“Don’t look, sweetie. Don’t look.”