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these things before she got hungry and the stores had closed?
    The light changed. She jumped over the slushy gray snow that had accumulated against the curb, and hurried across the street. That was another thing she missed with John being over in Afghanistan. Besides the bear hugs and patient advice, the man could cook. She’d never really had to learn because he had the gourmet talents and interest in the family. Miranda could easily recall the ham, mashed potatoes, baby asparagus, fruit salad and thick chocolate cake John had fixed 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